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mandoinevarro · 4 years ago

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WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About

Pete invites you to meet his friends from The Dirt and makes you promise not to flirt with any of them, which is a lot easier said than done, especially when Colson Baker acts like that.

Request: “Hey so I love all your writing and I just thought you should know that! But also I’d your requests are on still would you mind writing a youre Pete’s little sister but kells got a crush xx”

Colson x reader

Warnings: Drug use, Cursing

A/N: I know, Dom (Yungblud) wrote the song, but also I am the writer and I say that Y/N wrote it :) Anyways, enjoy. This is only part 1 of what is probably going to be a fun, cute lil series. Also thank you to the anon who sent this! You made my day(s)

Word Count: 2411

| ii | iii | iv | v |

masterlist

New York was lonely without your brother. He had been filming in New Orleans for the past three months, leaving you alone. You had some friends, but Pete was your best friend. You were only eight months younger than him and practically attached at the hip. You supposed going through trauma together would do that to people.

He facetimed you all the time from set, updating you on things in his life, showing you cool stuff from the set, and introducing you to his castmates. You had kept him updated on your music, playing him demos of songs you were writing and getting his opinion on them.

Him being away wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely sucked for you. So, when Pete texted you that he was having a few friends from the movie over the night he got back, you were ecstatic.

Before you left your apartment to walk to his, he texted you.

You’re not allowed to flirt with any of my friends

You rolled your eyes as you locked your door, preparing a response.

I’ll try my best

Your phone buzzed seconds later.

I’m serious. I don’t trust any of them with you.

And I don’t need that kind of awkwardness in my life

Like if you date one of my friends and it goes badly

I don’t wanna deal with that shit

You chuckled at his chain of texts.

Don’t flirt with your friends because they’re dicks, got it

Don’t worry bro, I know the sibling code

You came to find out that that was a lot easier said than done. When you walked into his place, everyone in the room turned to look at you. You recognized most of them from your facetimes with Pete, but you doubted they remembered who you were. One who did remember you was Colson, Pete’s new best friend. He made eye contact with you from across the room, a sly grin on his lips. You sent him a small smile, Pete’s text running through your head briefly.

You found your brother lounging on the couch, a huge grin on his face. He was definitely tripping on mushrooms. “Y/N!” He yelled. “This is my baby sister, everyone.”

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the room, grabbing a drink from the cooler, and taking an empty seat on the opposite couch. “I’m less than a year younger than you, Pete.”

You heard a snicker from the one of the guys, looking over to see Colson covering up the smile on his face. “But you’re still younger than me so it counts.”

Everyone went back to their own conversations, which you were thankful for. “Y/N, you remember Colson, right?” Pete motioned to the blond guy.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking him up and down. His muscle tank exposed the sleeves of tattoos, which seemed to cover every inch of his skin. “Your hair was different, but yeah I remember you.” You opened the beer on the coffee table, taking a swig.

“You’re the musician, right?” He asked you, leaning back onto the couch.

You nodded, “Aspiring musician but, yeah.”

“Oh, she’s great. You should hear her sometime.” Pete butted in, grinning like an idiot at you.

You rolled your eyes but had a smile on your face. “I work primarily as a songwriter and editor right now, but I’m trying to work on putting out some of my own stuff.”

You felt a little intimidated talking to Machine Gun Kelly about music, seeing as he was one of the best in the industry, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in your work. “Well, if you ever want some help or someone to listen to it, I’d be willing.” He flashed a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

“Thanks, that’s really cool of you.” You bit your lip slightly, trying to hide the fact that you were totally breaking Pete’s rule.

Pete sent a glare your way to which you raised your eyebrow. You weren’t really flirting; you were just… making connections. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve been working on this sketch idea, Y/N, and I need your opinion.”

You nodded, letting him talk. “So, I was thinking like, there’s this guy with posters all over his wall. Like life size posters of a bunch of different people. And he falls asleep while doing homework and he dreams about them coming to life. And it plays out like one of those really bad commercials that encourage kids to stay in school and shit. Like the posters are telling him to study for his test, but then there’s this one poster that’s like, very sexy. And she’s just like, talking about hot dogs and everyone else gets really sick of it and one of the other posters tries to like, tear down her poster or something.”

Throughout his description, you got more and more confused. “Pete, that’s not funny that’s just fuckin weird.” His mouth hung open in shock. “Dude, seriously? The big punchline is the playboy poster girl talking about hot dogs until the other poster people get tired of it?”

“Yes.” Pete said, as if it were obvious. “That’s hilarious.” You glanced at Colson with a questioning look on your face. He seemed as unsure of the joke as you were.

“Pete, man, that’s not your best work.” Colson clapped him on the shoulder and you giggled at Pete’s disappointed expression.

“You guys are mean.” He pouted and you two laughed. “Ok, well, how would you make it funny?”

“I don’t know if you can, bro.” Colson’s laugh was contagious. When he laughed his whole body shook, his feet stomping and everything.

“What are the other posters?” You asked, trying to be supportive but knowing this wouldn’t turn out very good.

“Well, I was thinking maybe one is like a video game character. Like that lady from Wreck-It-Ralph. The mean one. And then like a snowboarder who is definitely high, and someone else, I dunno.” He shrugged, taking a hit from the joint in his hand and passing it to you.

“Okay…” You trailed off, looking at Colson for support. You brought the blunt to your lips, inhaling the smoke and bringing it down, letting the smoke leave your mouth slowly. You passed the joint to Colson, who gladly took it, a smirk on his face.

Pete looked between you two at the small interaction, a frown. “So, the posters,” he brought your attention away from the man again, “they’re all really serious about teaching this dude math. But the hotdog girl just keeps talking about hot dogs in like this really high-pitched voice.”

You watched the smoke fall from Colson’s lips, not fully paying attention to your brother.

“Yeah man, I think that sounds funny.” Colson told Pete, his eyes lingering on you for a little longer than they should have. “It could use some work but if anyone can make it funny, it’s you.” Colson punched your brother on the shoulder, but the look he sent you said the exact opposite.

You held in your giggle, taking another sip of your beer.

The rest of the night followed a similar pattern, you and Colson flirting and Pete trying to get in between you two. At one point, after a few more hits of weed and a couple more drinks, Colson brought out a guitar, insisting you play something for him. Where he got the guitar from, you had no idea, but you didn’t ask questions. Instead, you rolled your eyes, insisting that “if I have to play something, so do you.”

Everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to care about the noise, or too drunk. You started strumming, trying to remember the chords to a song you had started writing a few days ago. “There’s no lyrics yet, just a melody I came up with.” You blushed, feeling very self-conscious suddenly.

“Guess I’ll just free style to it then.” He chuckled as you started to strum, your fingers working the strings like they had your whole life.

The blond man closed his eyes, head nodding as you played and thinking of what to rap.

“Watch me, take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night. Catch me, I’m the one on the run away from the headlights.

No sleep, up all week wastin time with people I don’t like. I think, somethin’s fuckin wrong with me.

You smiled as he sang, watching his expressions change as he tried to think up the next line.

Drown myself in alcohol, that shit never helps at all

I might say some stupid things tonight when you pick up this call

I be hearin silence on the other side for way to long, I can taste it on my tongue, I can tell that somethin’s wrong.”

He opened his eyes, looking rather proud of himself. “I had some of those lyrics already, but I just changed ‘em a little. I really liked that.”

You nodded, “That was impressive.” You smiled, looking back down to the guitar when something hit you.

You began to play the same melody but pitched higher to fit your voice.

“Roll me up, and smoke me love

And we could fly into the night

You take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own

Take drugs, on gravestones, to figure it all out on your own.”

You looked up to Colson, watching his expression change, his eyes wide. Pete had a proud look on his face.

“Pete, you are a sucky hype man. You did her no justice.” Colson hit Pete on the arm.

“Whaddya mean, I told you she was great.”

Colson looked over to you, a stupid smile on his face. “Seriously, that was fucking amazing. Like, we gotta write that shit out some day.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the blush from reaching your cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” You were trying your best to keep your cool as Colson kept his gaze on you, but you were completely freaking out on the inside.

A little while later, almost everyone was gone except you, Pete, Colson, and Douglas Booth, who joined your conversation not long after your jam session. Pete let out a yawn, directing your attention to the time.

“Jesus, it’s already 4am?” You asked, a frown on your face.

“Why, you got somewhere to be, darling?” Douglas asked you, your face scrunching up from the nickname.

“I have a writing session at 11 am tomorrow. Or, today, I guess.”

Pete reached out to hit you in the head, playfully, which you dodged. “Go to bed, dummy.”

You shrugged, “I’m gonna be dead at it anyways, might as well keep the party going a little longer.”

Douglas rolled his eyes, patting your shoulder. “Be that as it may, I am ending this party and going home. Goodnight, guys. It was nice meeting you again, Y/N. Good to see you guys.” Douglas and the guys did that little hand slap and hug thing before he left.

“I love you both, but I will also be going to sleep. And you should too.” Pete stood up, stretching his arms out before giving Colson a fist bump and leaving to his bedroom.

Once your older brother left, Colson moved to the couch you were on, his arm falling over your shoulders. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “And how can I help you Mr. Kelly?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m assuming Pete gave us both very similar talking to’s, given the glares you’ve been receiving all night.”

“You mean the “don’t flirt with my friends” talking to or the other one?” You tilted your head, a sly look on your face.

“That’s the one.” Colson laughed through his nose, an adorable smile on his face. You were both considerably high, but you still knew exactly what you were doing.

You moved closer to Colson’s body, “Well then I guess we’d better not do this.” You said quietly, leaning into him. “Or this,” You grabbed his jaw, inches from his face.

“Or this?” He whispered, connecting your lips. You smiled into the kiss, tasting the weed on his tongue. You adjusted your body so you were facing him, his arm that was once around your shoulder now wrapped around your waist.

His other hand grabbed your leg, pulling you up so you were straddling his lap, and your arms wrapped around his neck. His lips seemed to fit perfectly around yours, and you did all you could to keep yourself from moaning into the kiss as his hand began to travel up your leg.

Realization hit you like a brick wall, and you pulled away, your breathing heavy. “Sorry,” you muttered after a few seconds. You climbed off his lap, smoothing out your shirt. “We shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t have done that.” You smiled awkwardly down at him.

He nodded, the same realization hitting him. “Yeah, that’s not the best idea. Sorry I wasn’t really thinking.”

You shook your head, cheeks still very red. “No, no, no don’t apologize. It was fine, it’s all fine.”

He nodded, looking down awkwardly. “I should get going.” He stood up, landing a little too close to you.

“Why don’t you just sleep here? Pete won’t mind and it’s a lot easier than going home.” You bit your lip awkwardly, taking a few steps back.

Colson scratched the back of his neck. This was a very different demeanor than he had before, and you found it very cute. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.” You moved towards the guest bedroom, a guilty smile on your face. You moved your hand to your lips, feeling where Colson’s lips had graced you minutes before.

You came back to find Colson laying on the couch, one hand behind his head. “We don’t have to tell Pete about that, right?”

You shook your head, a small smile still playing on your lips. You put the pillow behind his head, watching his eyes as he watched your lips. “Stop looking at me like that or I’ll do something else we can’t tell Pete about.” You said quietly, watching him grin. You pulled the blanket over him, leaning down to be level with his face.

“I kind of like the things we can’t tell Pete about.” Colson chuckled, leaning forward to connect your lips again.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #pete davidson

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cacoetheswriting · 4 years ago

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drinking game

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild cursing, mentions of alcohol consumption, really just fluff Word Count: 1.2k Request By: anonymous: “can you write a spencer reid x reader fic where they're dating in secret from the rest of the team?”

“Alright.” Morgan exclaimed calling attention to himself. “It is about to hit nine o’clock on Halloween and we are all still heads buried in paperwork. I don't know about the rest of you but I am getting out of here, this bad boy needs to get his boogie on.” He got up out of his chair and demonstrated some questionable dance moves.

“Who’s with me?” He glanced between the rest of the group. His eyes landed on you. “Y/L/N? I know you can’t pass up a free drink.” “Free drinks?” Emily’s ears perked up. “Are you buying for all of us Derek or is that offer just for Y/N?” JJ smirked at Emily’s comment. From the corner of your eye you could see Spencer stiffen in his chair.

The two of you have been dating in secret from the rest of your team for a couple of months now - the only people that knew were Hotch since he was your boss, and Penelope since she was your best friend.

Hiding your relationship from a bunch of profilers, experts in human behaviour, was surprisingly easier than either of you thought it would be. However because Spencer talked you into keeping your romantic relations private for the time being, you have been on the continued receiving end of male flirtations. Derek being one of those males.

Although you had to admit it was quite cute to see Spencer get jealous.

“Drinks on me for all of you pretty ladies.” He winked at Emily. “But only if you get your asses up and out of here within the next five minutes!” “I’ll go get Garcia.” JJ said with a smile. “And I’ll get Hotch and Rossi.” Emily added.

Morgan looked at Spencer. “What about you pretty boy? Care to join us?” The young doctor looked up from his desk, his eyes briefly locked with yours before he turned his attention on Derek.

“I guess I could use the break.” Morgan clapped his hands. “I knew you wouldn't let us down kid!”

A short while later all of you arrived at a bar. Luckily Emily had some pull and managed to organise a booth, otherwise it would've been a long stuffy night.

Derek was on drink duty. He enlisted Hotch’s help and the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

You made yourself comfortable beside the young doctor. He placed his hand gently on your thigh; subtly so not to attract any unwanted attention. A small smile circled your lips. It was nice to be this close to him again after a long day of keeping your emotions at bay.

“Since it’s Halloween, we should play a spooky game.” Garcia squealed tapping her fingertips on the table. “Penelope, don’t you think we deal with enough gore on a daily basis?” Rossi raised an eyebrow. Garcia sighed, a look of disappointment spread across her face.

“We could play a drinking game. How about Paranoia?” You suggested, your smile directed at Garcia. “Spooky.” Her eyes glistened with excitement once again. “And don’t worry Rossi-” You turned to face him. “-, it’s not as grisly as it sounds.” The older agent laughed. “I trust you kid.”

Hotch and Morgan returned with the drinks and you began to explain the rules of the game.

“Basically, we go in turn and whisper questions to each other and the responder has to say the answer out loud. If one of the players can't take the suspense and wants to know what the question was, they have to drink to earn the knowledge.” “Sounds simple.” Emily said. “Are you sure it’s a drinking game?” “Oh, you would be surprised how nosy people can be. Even the most laid back generally crack at least once.” You replied confidently.

“I’ll start!” Derek exclaimed. Eager to get the party started. He leaned towards Penelope and whispered something in her ear. The blonde giggled at whatever he said. “Definitely not.” She stated at which Derek sighed and sulked back in his seat.

Penelope proceeded to whisper her question in Emily’s ear. “Once or maybe twice.” The brunette replied. “Twice actually, it was twice.” She clarified with a mischievous smile.

Morgan reached for his drink and took a sip. The rest of the group laughed.

“Really Morgan?” Hotch asked with a grin on his face. “What? I can’t help I’m a naturally curious person. What was the question baby girl?” Derek looked at Penelope. “I asked her if she’s ever dined and dashed?” She replied giggling.

The game carried on into the night. Everyone was a few of drinks in by now and it was Spencer’s turn to whisper something to you. He lifted his hand and using his fingers placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. He leaned in close, his hot breath hit your skin sending shivers down your spine.

“What’s the first thing you look forward to when you wake up in the morning?”

"You.”

The word escaped your lips so naturally it took you a second to realise what you just said. Fuck. Eyes locked with Spencer’s, your cheeks flushed red instantly as you bit your tongue down. Fuck.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Emily and JJ shrieked simultaneously. They both reached for their drinks. Morgan also took a sip from his glass and the three of them eagerly waited for Spencer to reveal what he asked.

Spencer smiled at you as you mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’, mentally facepalming yourself. He squeezed your leg gently indicating it was alright before he turned to face the group.

“Come on pretty boy, spill.” Morgan said eagerly. “I think we should call it a night.” Penelope chimed in. She looked at you. “No, no. We all had to share our questions.” Emily interrupted.

“I think I’ll keep the question to myself.” Spencer stated making Hotch and Rossi laugh.

“That’s not the rules of the game!” Derek argued.

“Exactly!” JJ agreed and took another sip of her drink.

"The question will remain between me and Y/N.” Spencer stood his ground. “Instead-” He tried to continue but was interrupted. “That’s not fair!” “Rules are rules!” Derek protested. “You didn't let me finish.” Spencer maintained his cool.

“I think you should listen to him Morgan.” Hotch said with a grin. He knew what was about to be said. Derek rolled his eyes but leaned back in his seat.

“According to different studies it only takes up to four minutes to decide whether you like someone or not.” He began. “It took me all of fifty seconds to make up my mind when I first met Y/N.” The young doctor reached for your hand under the table and squeezed it.

“I won’t tell you what the question was because I want to keep that private for me, for us.” Spencer lifted your intertwined hands and placed them on the table in front of you, for everyone to see.

Rossi noticed immediately. He smiled, almost as if to say I knew it. Emily and JJ were next to realise what was going on. Both beamed at the two of you excitedly. Morgan was the last to comprehend. He blinked a few times before turning to Garcia.

“Is that why you said, definitely not, when I asked earlier in the game if should ask Y/L/N out? Baby girl, how long have you known about this?” He questioned. Penelope couldn't help but snicker, which only made you chuckle.

And just like that the whole group was laughing.

masterlist

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #CRIMINAL MINDS FANDOM #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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skzfairies · 3 years ago

Text

about yuri’s idol friendships outside of ateez!

lia from itzy (jiri)

they met while training in JYP

they would always pratice dancing and singing together, and spent most of their free time together and would often go to karaoke booths or just sit infront of rivers and relax

lia would translate for yuri often since korean was still very new to her and it was difficult to find to study it while being a trainee

they always call each other during their solo vlives and compliment each other and embrass each other stop it 😭😭 they are so cute

they made a promise to see every new marvel movie together, or watch the nee series together, this promise as not been broken yet awhhhh

they make sure to always support each other, and always make sure to promote each others activity, they are each others #1 hype woman

yuri was fan girling the whole time itzy was on stage during mama, girl was having the time of her LIFE

ryujin from itzy (ryu-mi)

these two met through lia, and lia regrets introducing them to each other sm now 💀

these two are LOUD

basically inseperable omg

lia claims that ryujin is stealing her best friend and that she had yuri first

and yuris like LADIES 🤭, theres enough of me to go around 🙄✋

ryujin and yuri are literally so chaotic oh my god

they did a vlive once, and oh my god

they got yelled at for being way too loud, and they also got scolded for giving gross tmi’s 😭

they are literally soulmates

yuri said that she’s happiest when shes with ryujin :(

and ryujin will always make sure to mention yuri in her vlives

STOP get me a friendship like ryujin and yuri’s 😭

yuqi from g-idle (song-mi)

they both met during isac

yuri kinda got um, she got lost 🤭

and she ran into yuqi and was like, freaking out

yuqi was like, girl ??? you okay?

yuri was about to cry at this point stop it 😭😭 she felt like a lost little kid

“i just lost my group, haha, i’ll find them dw dw!”

yuqi was like, 🥺 (i hate this emoji I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS THIS OKAY) , this girl is so cute let help her

yuqi grabbed her hand and deadass walked around the whole track with her until she found her group 😭

they laughed at how similar their names were and both talked about how ugly their track suits were 😭

they exchanged numbers after that, and yuri like, fell in love

she would not shut up about yuqi the rest of the day 🙄✋

get this girl a gf plz

whenever they are free though they always meet up for lunch or go shopping together

yuqi is the only one yuri goes in person shopping with 😭😭

yuqi is also so tiny nxt to yuri oh my god its so cute

jeno from nct dream (jeri)

um, no idea how these two met 😭

both yuri and jeno cant remeber i-

they are so stupid goodbye

they are pretty sure they met in the halls of a music show, or maybe they met at isac

they just, became friends ?

both of them competed in the pubg during isac

jeno was the first person yuri killed LMAOOO

jeno released an embarssing photo of yuri for that one 😭😭

it was her asleep in a cafe she was still cute though

kinda got in a dating scandal for that 🤭

but both of them were like 🤢🤢 never in our lifetime

literally argue ALL THE TIME

they bickered over what flavor of ice cream was the best during vlive over phone for 20 minutes 😭

hongjoong had to call her to get her to hang up plz

they dont really hang out a lot but they play video games together when they can and often help each other out of writers block

changbin from stray kids (yubin)

these two met during kingdom

they both did the rap unit together, and hongjoong literally had to carry yuri out of the studio to get her to leave 😭😭

miss yuri was literally star struck OKAY

she would randomly ask him questions that weren’t even on topic STOP

“yeah i think we should add more bass-“

“how do you have such big muscles changbin 😟”

changbin was like 🤨 but also like 😎💪

was so happy when she figured out that he was born a day after her

“now you can be destined besties with mingi and i!”

changbin finds her so cute stop

before hongjoong and yuri had to leave they got in a super deep talk about music and how beautiful it is

hongjoong rudely interuppted them so they exchanged phone numbers to continue their lovely conversation 🙄✋

yuri always ask him if he feels like hes living a double life as a dwaekki.... texts him at least once a week that LMAO

a/n: yuri has a lot more idol friends than this, i might do a part two later or else this post will be so long 😭

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a-southern-reader · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 2. Bouncer Jaune AU

“Oh please tell me!”

“No.” Said Jaune smiling and shaking his head in the campus cafeteria.

“Pretty please, I’ll let you beat me in Smash Bros.” Ruby stated like it was the best deal in the world.

“Then it’s not a true victory. Why do you even want to know?

“Well when your friend tells you they got a job you typically tend to ask where at.”

Jaune stopped his bite for his peanut butter sandwich halfway. “Well I can’t tell you because it’s a secret.” He said with a smirk.

“A regular secret or top secret?”

“Top secret.” As he said it with a smile.

“Dang it!” Ruby pouted, until Jaune gave her half of his sandwich. Which was promptly devoured in less than five seconds. “Still though working late hours is going to tire you some. You need to get good sleep if you want to keep your grades.”

Jaune turned and looked at her. “Really? This coming from the girl who stays up all night playing video games when her roommate isn’t there.”

“Hey I skipped a grade and because of that I get extra time to relax to make up for all that stress from the extra work.”

After Ruby and Jaune finished their lunch they decided to use the extra time to walk around on the campus grounds. “Why are you taking a job anyway, it’s not like you need the money?” Ruby questioned with her arms folded behind her head.

“Well I got a bunch a free time after my classes. You spend yours running for the cross country team. While I’m just doing nothing after I finish studying. Plus Sun works there so I’ll have a friend to hang out with.”

“Ah ha!” She shouted and jumped to look at him. “So Sun works there.” She accused to him. Jaune looks at the girl proud with her detective skills.

“Yes Sun works there, you got me.” He said with smile on his face.

She looks down at her watch, “Okay I got to go, I have practice in about half an hour. Good luck tonight!” She yelled already running towards the track.

It’s 2:50 and Jaune is walking to “Huntresses.” He stops in-front of a store to check himself out in the reflection of the glass. He makes sure his hair looks nice and he tucks his small black shirt in his pants. He wants to look decent not only for his boss, but to also show he’s taking his job seriously when facing people inside. Jaune finishes looking at himself in the glass and walks into the club.

“Ayyyyyye Jaune is here! Let’s get ready to party!” Yelled Sun in his DJ booth blasting music and showing off his dance moves.

“Hey Sun, why don’t you go dance on stage instead of the girls?” Yatsu asked while standing by the bar.

“Because Goodwitch knows that I would drive all the girls out of business!” Sun exclaimed while laughing.

Yatsu laughed at his joke as well and turned to look at Jaune as he walked up. “Hey I’m Yatsu, you must be the new guy.” He extended his hand out to shake. When Jaune reaches out to shake it he doesn’t even see his hand anymore because it got shallowed by his. Yatsu looks at Jaune and smiles, “Did Shade tell you to wear a shirt that was small to show off some muscles?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to get as much advice as possible. You got any to give?” Jaune asked.

“Yeah, try not to get a boner. It’s extremely awkward when you ask someone to get out with that pointing at them.” Yatsu jokes and gives a light punch on his shoulder. “Just stay close to me and I’ll show what all you’re suppose to do.”

It’s 4:30 and guys start coming into the club. “Shade is the guy checking who gets in. Our job is to look around and stop a problem before it happens. Especially if a guy starts getting too handsy with one of the girls.” Yatsu explained to Jaune.

“Alright gentlemen it’s time for your hot stepmom dreams to finally come true. Let’s welcome Momma Manlte!” Sun said on his microphone over the whoops and cheers.

Jaune watched as the dancer walked out from behind the curtains. He started to believe maybe Yatsu’s advice wasn’t entirely a joke. She had a red top and bottom that really show off her mature body. Her boobs looked like they wanted to burst out of her top.

“She makes a killer casserole.” Jaune snaps out of it and looks and Yatsu. “I’m serious, she had some leftover casserole she made and gave it to me.” He explained.

Jaune tried to not get distracted by the show and just looked around watching out for trouble. The woman was fine, all the guys who were close to her were just slipping dollars inside of her tong. He looked at the bar, nobody causing any trouble over there.

“Jaune relax some it’s early. Nobody is going to cause a scene the second they get in here. Just walk around some and stretch your legs.”

He takes his advice and starts to wonder around, but is still keeping an eye on everyone. Every now and then he does look at the woman dancing on stage. Shes rolling her hips around, getting on her hands and knees so guys can look down her cleavage. Near the end she stands up and one of hers arms wraps around her chest. Her other one goes to the back of her bra and unclasps it. She grabs an end and slings it over her shoulder without exposing her chest, only teasing the men with the possibility of it. She walks away swaying her hips, but just before she disappears behind the curtains she stops and looks in Jaune’s direction. She flashes him and all the men groan wondering who got to be the lucky man who saw her rack when she walked away.

“She’s likes you that’s for sure.” Jaune turns around and sees it’s the bartender. “The names Neptune, and you are a lucky son of a bitch. Momma Mantle doesn’t just let anyone see her assets like that.”

“She doesn’t just do that for all the new guys?”

“If that was the case people would be applying for jobs twenty four seven!” He joked.

As time went by Jaune was more relaxed and was just leaning against the wall and doing a little search every now and then. He assumed maybe that casserole dancer told all the girls back stage that there was a new guy that she liked. Because every once in a while a girl would be dancing and send a wink in Jaune’s direction. One thing he likes about his job for sure is Sun’s creative introduction for all the girls.

“Hide your wallet and heart because this girl will steal them both. Here comes Princess Bandit!” As a tomboyish girl with a tattoo walks out with a “I can kick your ass attitude.”

“She maybe small, but remember dynamite comes in small packages. Plus her hair reminds us of that sweet Neapolitan ice cream. Let’s give it up for Chocolate Strawberry!” That girl was short, but her bust and bottom did more than accommodate for that.

Before Jaune knew it the last dancer was coming up. “Alright everyone it’s getting close to closing time, but one girl came in last minute to provide our final show. You all know her, you all love her. It’s the Ice Queen!”

Jaune looked at the stage as she came out. The name Ice Queen really nailed her appearance. Her white hair was a obvious reason why it was picked, but it only scratched the surface of it. Her outfit didn’t match the color of her hair, instead it was a light blue. Her skin was pale, but not in that sickly way. It was like pure snow in winter and her outfit’s color really contrasted with it making it stand out with her pale skin. She walked with an air of elegance around her that made you pay attention. They way she danced on stage and swinging around the pole was like a ballerina. Heck that’s what Jaune felt like he was watching. Not watching a sexy girl exposing herself to get some money, but a beautiful ballerina putting on a show that memorizes the audience.

“Hey man you there?” Yatsu asked Jaune while nudging him. “We got to make sure that everyone leaves man. Don’t worry the girls will still be here when you come back.”

He didn’t want to leave, he continued to watch Ice Queen as she returned to back stage. He would throw some money out if it meant he could still watch her dance.

Once the club closed Sun and Jaune got out and started walking back to campus. “So what you think man? Easy job, rocking music, and you get to watch all those women dancing for free!”

“Yeah it sure was something, so a couple of them go to our university right?”

“Well yeah, a couple of those girls are around our age so it would make sense. But don’t think I didn’t notice it man.” Sun smirking at him as he said it.

“Notice what?”

“Dude! That Mantle Lady, she full on flashed you man. Do you realize how much money people throw at her to get a glimpse of them, and on your first day she just lets you see them!”

“Maybe if you show her your dance moves she’ll show you her goodies.” Jaune said laughing with Sun.

That’s the second part! I kept on walking up during the night until I said screw it and just started to write something. It started small until it just snowballed into this.

For those who may not know “Princess Bandit” is Vernal. Because Vernal deserves more love dang it!

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years ago

Text

Drowning Part 7

I felt like writing today, so you guys have two Drowning parts today. Enjoy, but beware that I did not edit this.

Masterlist

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: possessiveness, medical whump, odd medical practices, anesthesia, major descriptions of vomit, striped of clothing (not sexual), restraints, IVs, needles, knives, surgery (intense descriptions)

Hero blinked her eyes open, taking in the scene around her. She wasn't in the chair anymore, she could move her arms and legs and there wasn't the consistent beep of the monitors hooked up to Supervillain's skin.

Her hands must've have recovered some of their strength for she dug them into the object she was laid upon. It sunk down, but rebounded when she released pressure.

A bed.

Her head was also set gingerly upon a soft pillow- caressing to give her optimum comfort.

Light streamed in through a window, landing on her torso. Hero stiffened, noticing a shadow pass through her abdomen where it stopped.

"Look at me."

Hero hesitantly brought her head up to meet Villain's blue eyes. Memories of their encounter streamed through her head, blocking any other thought process.

"There we go now dear," Villain sat on the foot of the bed, tracing some form of shape into the ruffled covers with a smug smile on his tanned face.

"What do you want?" Hero asked, though she halfway knew the answer.

"You, of course, my dear," Villain said with such confidence that it almost sounded arrogant, cocky...

Possessive.

"Well, now you have me," Hero stated, her tongue feeling bitterly dry. "Where's Supervillain?"

"You still care about him? I thought the doctor- oh sorry, your friends- did a pretty good job of taking those feelings away," Villain tutted. "What breakfast? I made a smoothie bowl." Then he added with a twinkle to his gaze, "Your favorite."

"Hmm no thanks," Hero smiled, still glaring at Villain as if that would remove him from her sight. His whole fit body was a vulgar sight.

Villain sighed dramatically. "Can't I do anything right for you?" He asked, voice in a bitter snarl. "Nope," he answered himself. "No because Hero is too righteous to take anything from a villain..."

"Quit with the guilt tripping. It is not working," Hero informed him, rolling her eyes. "I don't want anything because I don't need anything."

"You can't walk."

"Can to," Hero retorted, crossing her arms, relieved that those at least had some strength in them.

"Try it," Villain dared, leaning against the bed with his palms dug deeply into a mattress, a twinkle in his eyes. Hero vaguely noticed the decrease in swelling, the near fading scar on his right temple- a reminder of how long she had been caged up.

Hero swung her legs to the other side, dangling them down before putting all her weight on the shaky muscles. Gripping the sides of the bed, she pushed herself off and...

She fell, only to be caught by strong arms.

"There now. Proved you wrong dearie, now how does breakfast sound?" Villain asked, smiling down at his little captive.

Hero snarled, tucking her chin to her chest, before nodding subtley. Villain grinned even wider and carried her to the kitchen where she was sat down at the table.

"What are they doing to Supervillain when I'm not there?" Hero asked, looking down at her hands.

"Probably healing him up," Villain replied as he dished flax meal and chia seeds on the berry smoothie bowl. "And then do who knows what."

"We should rescue him," Hero said, nearly a whisper. Villain cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He asked nonchalantly. Hero nodded and took the cold metal spoon and began to eat the more than delicious breakfast.

"That is, hmm, not happening," Villain scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Why not?" Hero asked, pausing her eating.

Villain didn't answer. He just left and began to wash the dishes.

"Hello?" Hero called, but received no answer in return.

Within the next fews days of movement, Hero built up enough strength in her legs to carry herself across the house without as much as breaking a sweat.

"I want to watch a movie tonight," Villain said once when Hero was helping clean up after dinner.

"What movie?" Hero asked, never giving him an joy-filled statement once in her stay.

"Thor," Villain replied. "The first one."

"Why don't we watch Iron Man? The first one. Or whichever one Tony gets drunk at the party and fights Rhodey."

"Because Stark sucks, Loki is the best."

"Uh, nooo. Loki is the definition of bad acting," Hero rolled her eyes as she set a dirty plate into the sink.

"Stark is the definition of a crappy character," Villain retorted as he handwashed a knife. Hero studied him, watching as the soapy water drenched his long sleeve shirt. His soft blonde hair trickled into his icy blue eyes as his pink lips were pulled tight into a concentrated purse.

"Or maybe we watch the Kissing Booth," Hero murmured and joined Villain to rinse off the plates and utensils to put them in the dishwasher.

Villain smiled, but it wasn't his usual broad, creepy smile that made shivers run down Hero's spine. It was a smile one, a contented embarrassed one. Tied with his blushing cheeks, Hero would've even called it cute.

That was if he never betrayed her, or never kidnapped her.

If he never kept her from rescuing Supervillain in that wretched place.

Yes, Hero noticed that doors that could only be unlocked by Villain's fingerprints. The sealed windows that refused to budge.

And the fact that the one story trailer house was different from Villain's previous home that consisted of three stories with a gym room and a gaming room.

He was moved, or moved himself, specifically to keep Hero locked in.

Not even his charisma could change that foreboding fact.

《~~》

"Welcome Supervillain to the lab."

Supervillain blinked slowly as LED lights brushed past tender eyelids. The rolling floor memorized him slightly as he watched the equally placed lines fall under the gurney's wheels.

The gurney took a turn, causing a nauseating lurch of vertigo to pass through his stomach. He held back the urge to gag and instead burped repeatedly until he tasted the beginnings of vomit.

Tossing his head over to the side, Supervillain opened his mouth a threw up. He wanted to lurch, but the restraints around all points of movement other than his head and neck forbid that. He was left to allow the puke to streaming down his front, landing on his bound hands.

"Look at you!" One of the heroes chastised, slapping Supervillain hard across the face with a backhanded slap. The world around Supervillain whirled and he nearly threw up again if it wasn't for the gag- no, metal bit- shoved into his mouth, hitting his teeth and sending yet another gag reflex through his esophagus. But this time, he was forced to keep the vomit within and threw up inside his own mouth. Groaning and eyes rolling up slightly, Supervillain laid his head back against the thin pillow that protected his head against any form of head injury. Eyes fluttering closed, he tried to draw more sleep in.

Only for a sudden release in pressure to wake him up from his momentary slumber. The bit was removed and his body was held under a faucet for his mouth to be washed out. Someone came behind him and dumped a bunch of listerine into his unsuspecting mouth. Sputtering from the numbing taste of strong original mouthwash, Supervillain allowed his head to dangle- black hair wetted by the flowing hot water.

Next, his soiled clothing was removed- even his pants- and replaced by a faded pair of shorts. His torso was left bare.

The next movement was of him being laid across a metal table, his limbs once again being held in place by the four-point restraint system- padded metal contraptions barricading any form of movement or escape from the inevitable pain that was to come.

"Patient is restrained, begin procedure."

Nurses bustled around, two on each side of him, one by his feet, and one by his head.

"We are going to force the water out of his lungs," another voice, one that was not owned by any of the nurses surrounding him. Out of the corner of Supervillain's eye, he saw the doctor. The doctor, pacing around not even once looking at the stretched out patient before him.

"This will be painful, but we need the patient entirely conscious for this to work," the doctor instructed. "We are going to insert a tube directly into his lungs- on both sides-, piercing them, and using a sort of plunger instrument to force the liquid through his trachea. To ensure he does not choke, Medic and Nurse, once the plungers are released, you ladies need to unrestrain him and roll him over to his side. We go slow and the second all the fluid is expelled, we need to anesthetize the patient to due emergency surgery to stitch the lungs back together. Estimated recovery time is a couple days with the rapid-healing drug we will administer. Any questions? Prep the IV, Nurse2 be ready there."

The hairs on Supervillain's arms stood up and goosebumps picked his skin. The order from the doctor made him struggle against the restraints, pulling aggressively against them.

"Oh please don't do this," he blubbered, tears spilling from his ducts. "Don't do this. I can't do this. Oh please, please, please, please." He started sobbing, terrifed, as a nurse stuck his elbow with a needle.

"Prepare insertion."

Two sharp metal pieces found their home right below Supervillain's rib.

"Ultrasound."

A cool gel was squirted between the two sharp pricks before a rectangular object was placed upon it.

"Ultrasound ready."

"Begin incision."

A buzzing sound, right before a knife cut in his skin. No, not once, that was a lie, but two.

Two sharp, agonizing knives.

Supervillain screamed, wailed pitifully, as his body thrashed around.

"Stop, stop!" He begged, picking his head up only for hands to shove it back down. His fingers stretched out, clenched, anything for the torture to end.

"Left, move yours towards the ribcage a bit so you don't cut the liver."

Supervillain tensed, clouded thoughts coming to the surface. Cut my liver..., he thought before attempting to evade the knives cutting into his body.

"Don't, don't, don't!" he screeched. "Please."

"Prepare to pierce the lung."

Supervillain shoved himself downwards, but it did nothing with the unrelenting cuffs keeping him close to rock still.

The pure agony that he felt when the knife pierced the lung, then the way the knife evolved into a plunger, was indescribable.

Supervillain screamed. Screamed so loud that even the practiced nurses flinched. The doctor though stayed still, watching the procedure with his authoritive gaze.

"Release the patient."

His wrists and ankles were quickly let free by the wave of a card. He tried to curl in on himself to avoid the operation, but professional hands kept him stretched out.

"Start pumping at Level One to begin."

The horrendous feeling of the machine inside of Supervillain changed into a coveted one when the same machine started to pump. A plunger hit the liquid, sending it up and into his trachea.

Supervillain coughed, rolled over to his side. At first, he imagined that the left plunger would quit working as if it was kinked, but found out that it must've been electrically powered.

Mucus, blood, and water shot up through his trachea. Pain forgotten, Supervillain gagged and coughed the abhorrent liquid out until blackness began to crawl at the edges of his vision. It clouded his thoughts, but he body still involuntarily gagged, coughed, and spat all of his lung's content out.

"Stay awake," a rough voice sounded as his body was shook. Supervillain complied and returned to his coughing fit, agony once again returning to his veins and muscles.

Then, as soon as it started, the pressure ceased as soon as it started.

"Administer the anesthesia promptly."

A dial clicked, though Supervillain hardly registered it. Even before the sedative started pumping through his veins, he was losing consciousness.

A mask was placed above his mouth just as the world descended into blackness.

#supervillain whumpee #hero whumpee #villain whumper #villain caretaker #?#medical whump #pneumonia #anesthesia #drugged whumpee #heros and villains #not me making two characters argue over my two favorite characters from the marvel series #lab whump #surgery

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miss-dr-reid · 4 years ago

Text

This is calm, and it's, Doctor #3

TW -mention of case and bodily torture etc.

The Unsub was targeting red-heads. They were bound and kept for a week and then murdered in what seemed to be the messiest way possible.

"One girl every week. As soon as he dumps one, he already has another," JJ spoke, showing photos of victims and crime scenes on the big screen, "this is week four, and this week has only just started for our unsub." She finished, looking around the table.

"judging by how fast the unsub replaces these girls, I feel like it's safe to assume that he felt he was easily replaced, most likely by a former girlfriend and now feels like he is getting some sort of revenge on her with these innocent ladies." I chimed in. Everyone nodding in agreement, continuing to add their own theories.

It felt like the side of my head was burning. I turned to the direction the sensation was coming from, my eyes averted the gaze of Spencer, who quickly looked away, playing coy and shuffling in his seat. The meeting finished and Hotch turned to me,

"Got your go-bag?" His face still stern.

"In the car, Sir." I replied, he barely reacted, but I could tell he was a little surprised for me to be prepared to go on my first day.

"Good. Wheels up in thirty." And with that, he took his file and left the room.

"So, JJ showed us your resume, and I think it's fair to say that you and pretty boy will be quite close competition." Derek teased while propping himself on the desk next to me. Confused I asked him,

"Competition for what?" Seeing as we're supposed to be a team and all.

"Who's got the biggest brains!" He replied, almost shocked that I didn't know the answer.

"Oh..." I trailed off, looking quickly at Spencer who was watching our conversation, "I guess we'll see. I gotta get my go-bag, it's in the car-"

Derek leaned in towards me, "Take him with you. He needs some decent company." I nodded and stood up. I waved at Spencer to follow me.

He hesitated at first, but Derek and everyone else ushered him to follow. We grabbed our files and headed out of the conference room, hearing giggles as we left, Spencer looked back for a second, causing me to as well.

Nearing the elevator, no words were spoken, the silence wasn't awkward, but it felt like he wanted to say something. We got in the elevator and I thanked him for buying my coffee this morning.

He let out a small sigh and a light laugh,

"Yeah, well, not that were knew you were going to be there, BUT, seeing as you were and U recognised you from your file...I heard you mention how nervous you were and I wanted to help, it seems like I didn't help, instead threw you off even more. You were so flustered, I felt so bad. You reminded me of myself when I first started. That's why I didn't say anything else until Morgan showed up..." His head lowered as if he was talking to the ground.

"Oh, no, please don't feel bad. I was mostly confused at the gesture of a stranger buying me something, even if it was just coffee." I reassured him. The elevator doors opened and we stepped out, Reid following me to my car, he asked me what Morgan had whispered in my ear earlier.

"He just said you needed company, and I'm also in need of company, so I was happy to take the offer." I told him, leaning into the boot of my car to grab my bag.

I shut the boot and looked up at him, his face sceptical of what I'd just said.

"I'm happy to have the company. I'll take all the company I can get right now." I confirmed with him. Seeming satisfied with my answer, we headed back.

Once we got back to the bullpen, the team all came over to us and we all started talking. After a while of small talk, we all drifted toward where I assumed the jet would be. I was trailing at the back, following the group, enjoying myself, feeling very happy that everyone was so accepting.

Walking into the jet, everyone seemed to have their own seats. Hotch at the front, Rossi across the table in the same booth. JJ across the small Hall from them. Emily and Derek sharing a booth behind JJ, and Spencer, at a table by himself toward the back. The only seat available was the one at the table with Spencer. I sat down and he pulled out a chess set.

"Do you play?" He looked over expectantly.

"Not competitively." I said, adjusting myself in my seat.

The game lasted what seemed like forever. I played along with him, amusing him and testing the waters, but I could see his moves before he was even thinking about them. I made my final move, pinning his King into a check mate.

"No way!" He whined, his voice almost a squeak, throwing his hands in the air. He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, falling back in to his chair.

"Next time." I giggled at him.

Hotch called for everyone's attention, discussing the case and delegating roles. Being told that I would be out in the field while Reid was to stay at the local station caused a tiny sick feeling in my stomach v unsure why, I distracted myself by getting up to get a coffee. I walked into the smaller room in the back and grabbed a cup.

Derek popped in, offering some help with the coffee machine.

"You're doing good with him." He nodded towards Spencer who was looking over the cheese board, I assume replaying in his head.

"I'm just treating him like a person. I rather enjoy his company." I said, studying Spencer, sadness beginning to creep in me, knowing what is like to be the outcast.

We finished making my coffee and I settled down on the chair in front of Sidney. Watching his facial expressions as he replayed the game, occasionally moving and replacing pieces. I stopped my coffee in amusement. I helped him out, by putting pieces back to the move before his last fatal move was. He focused, his eyes flicking between pieces over the board. He made a nice and looked up at me and nodded towards the board.

I saw that his move was different than the game we just played, so I adjusted him and made my own move. It was over in 5, Reid's face following ad he realised he got me. He not-so-subtly chicken to himself, interlacing his fingers, sitting back with the biggest smile across his lips. I sipped my coffee, smiling at the beautifully wholesome scene unfolding in front of me.

"You're good." I praised, taking another sip of coffee, watching him silently accept the compliment, nodding in agreement.

We landed and everyone went their separate ways, to their assigned locations. Emily and I were together. We went to the most recent crime scene. When we arrived, I got my gloves out and ready.

"The lack of blood staining indicates that the victims were definitely killed elsewhere and this is purely a dump site." I trailed off, remembering the pictures of the victims, "He also took their hearts, right. That fits in with him being replaced. He must have given his all to this girl, so when she moved on, she took his heart with her, leaving him empty. More he's getting his revenge how he sees fit." Emily nodded, agreeing with what I was saying.

We looked around a bit more, not finding much. Emily got a call from Hotch, calling us back to the station. We got back in the car and drove off, Emily driving.

"Crazy first day, hey?" She questioned, glancing my way for a second.

"It's gone. I was packed ready. Not that I was expecting to get the job, but I was just so excited. I had to be ready for anything, you know?" My voice light as I recounted this morning's events and how everyone had been so nice.

"You're doing great!" She chimed, "And... having two brainiacs on the team will make it interesting..." Her voice trailed off.

"He's good at chess." I remarked, smiling at the thought of playing him again.

"Three PHD's means you're fierce competition, y/n. He hasn't had that yet. As long as you don't go too crazy with showing off, I think you two will get along great. He loves being challenged and using his brain...." She continued to list a few things that she's learnt about Sidney, making a mental Lyst, I thanked her for letting me know as we were pulling up to the station car park.

She smiled at me as we entered the building. Opening up the door, we went in. We found Reid hovering over a board-map set up with markers in hand. Watching him work was almost relaxing. He had a rhythm, almost, in the way he measured distances, made his marks on the map and the occasional tapping of the markers on his chin as he quietly thought to himself.

I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought, so I stood off to the side, I could see the board clearly at I leaned against a nearby desk b Emily joining me, offering me a cup of coffee she had just made. Her and I watched Reid as he worked.

Soon enough the rest of the team arrived. There wasn't many leads and it was getting late. Hotch dismissed everyone and we went across the road to the hotel. Everyone went their separate ways and went to bed.

This is part #3.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader

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crimsonrae · 4 years ago

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The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter Four

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.

CharlesxOC,

Rated: Mature

A/N: Here is Chapter Four. I’ve been re-watching the first season and Charles really is a little shit: Between thinking of what he had done to Buckingham’s daughter to make her beg, teasing Margret (though really she deserved and enjoyed it) and hearing him tell a paramour to ‘Get her husband to lick it off’ ... I’m like ‘I kind of want to smack you.’ So to clarify this is very early Charles right now - he’s about twenty-three/ twenty-fourish and Katerina: I would place about five years older than Georgiana. Thank you to everyone who liked and showed support. I always love hearing from you guys. 💕 I really appreciate it 😊. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

If you would like to be tagged in my stories please add yourself to the taglist linked in my bio!!

@wolvesandhoundshowltogether @cavillhavoc @omgkatinka @promptandpros @multixwolf @oddsnendsfanfics @vikingsbifrost @marswritings @imneonpanda @tumblnewby @henryfanfics101 @lebguardians @agniavateira

Big Bad Wolf

Katerina chewed on the inside of her cheek as she helped Georgiana ready herself. In truth, the younger girl hardly needed her assistance, but the finishing of laces and plaiting of hair was a good distraction from the conversation that the maid needed to eventually begin. It wasn't until Georgiana had tied a simple ribbon around her crown and picked up a cloak that Katerina didn't remember seeing in the Lady's trunk that she knew she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Lady Georgiana..." Katerina began hesitantly, not feeling embolden as Georgiana merely turned a sweet acknowledging glance her way. It was too trusting and made her gut twist with mild guilt. She silently cursed Charles Bandon's name, "When we go to the markets you need to be on your guard."

Georgiana frowned bemused, while she was an Earl's daughter, she had been to the markets before... not London's, but Wiltshire had its own section of stalls and shops. She lifted an incurious brow at her lesser, "Were you planning on stopping in a tavern or a brothel?"

It was Katerina's turn to blink in confusion, "...N-no, milady."

"Are we still getting herbs and a few bits and bobbles?" Georgiana pressed unconcerned as Katerina nodded, "Then what nefarious activity should I be on guard for?"

"Not a what really... more a who." Katerina edged uncomfortably as she refrained from fidgeting.

By this point, Georgiana had turned her full attention to her servant with an expression torn between amused and expectant. The last time she had seen someone look this uncomfortable it had been her mother as her father announced whom she was to marry. As that particular memory, her amusement became somewhat tempered, "A who?"

Katerina nodded, "It seems that Mr. Charles Brandon has taken an interest in you, milady. I believe he will seek you out at the markets today."

Georgiana felt a strange mix of emotions at the servant's words. She was suddenly terrified that Charles had discovered where his lost lamb had gotten to, but also excited? Nervous? Her heart was doing funny things in her chest while her stomach seemed to flutter in dread. She had no liking for any of it.

Feeling flushed and suddenly trembling, she attempted to keep her expression as placid as possible. She had told Katerina much about the man who had taken her maidenhead, but not his name and she was reluctant to give that particular detail away now, "Mr. Brandon? For what purpose? He knows that I'm engaged to Lord Somerset."

An almost pitying grimace crossed Katerina's expression, "Mr. Brandon cares not for such details... He has something of a reputation when it comes to the ladies of court."

Some part of Georgiana was wholly unsurprised by this pronouncement. She had heard a few whispers during tea and promenades with a few of the courtly matrons, but it was the way he had pursued and ravaged her that had already clued Georgiana onto that fact. Charles had been entirely too confident in everything he did that night not to have a few lovers. She had only been relieved to find that he wasn't married. She couldn't bear the thought of humiliating another woman in such a way... though she had hoped, perhaps naively, that Charles would feel the same.

Heart sinking in her chest, she stubbornly pushed her swelling emotions away, "Well, Mr. Brandon will simply have to learn that just because he chases doesn't mean he'll capture his quarry."

"Of course, milady." There was a pause as Katerina watched her young mistress flare almost defiantly at her unintendingly patronizing tone.

Then a thought seemed to occur to Georgiana as her gaze narrowed faintly, "Katerina, how does Mr. Brandon know I'll be at the markets? I haven't told a soul."

Katerina felt an embarrassed flush climb to her cheeks as she weakly uttered, "My apologies, milady..."

A strange stab of betrayal welled in Georgiana as she quickly connected the dots. She felt angry that her information had been given away so easily and wondered at what else her servant had imparted.

Shakily, she demanded, "What else did you tell him? Should I be waiting for more lecherous men to hound my heels now that I'm... I'm damaged goods. Should I expect Lord Somerset to break off our engagement? Will my father be storming through that door to vent his humiliation and anger at me?"

Katerina's emerald eyes widen in surprise as she softly shook her head.

"No, no, milady. It wasn't like that at all..." She sighed and tried to find the right words, "I don't gossip, milady. It leads to too much trouble, especially around here. Mr. Brandon knows this about me... he knows me too well." She said a little bitterly, "The only information I conveyed, was your whereabouts. Anything else he would have to get elsewhere."

Georgiana studied her a moment in an almost surly manner. Katerina's frustrated anger hadn't escaped her notice. She knew resentment like that and it brought a thin strain of concern to the surface as tentatively she asked, "You're angry with him...did he force you, Katerina? Did he hurt you?"

A rueful chuckle left the servant as she shook her head, "I'm angry with me, milady. Mr. Brandon can be quite persuasive when he wants to be and almost single-handedly determined. It's why I warn you to beware of him, be on your guard. You have yet to be exposed to his particular set of charms, but that should only give you armor against him."

Georgia nearly choked on an incredulous laugh that bubbled in her throat. Oh, she knew Mr. Brandon's charms alright... And so too, it seemed did Katerina. A different feeling of betrayal wound tight around her heart, but she knew it was silly to even feel it. Brandon wasn't hers, after all.

Pouting vaguely, she sent an uncertain glance to the fearful maid, "Only my whereabouts?"

"Yes, milady." Katerina stated soundly a feeling of quiet relief settled in her stomach as it slowly became clear that Georgiana wouldn't have her dismissed.

To her credit, Georgiana managed to force out a grudgingly sympathetic smile and retort, "He is rather handsome, isn't he?"

Katerina giggled, "If only he didn't know it, milady."

Georgiana hummed in agreement before her smile turned sly and she teased, "Well, we should go get you some of your tea then."

Katerina blinked in shock at the lighthearted dig but found another chuckle escaping as she nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she was rather looking forward to Brandon's encounter with Georgiana. It would be a show, of that the servant was certain.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Charles was beginning to hate the markets.

Admittedly, the last time he had spent any time here was when he had been a boy. It had been a treat then, now his business tended more towards the smiths and cobblers than any of the food stores. He was finding it all very tedious and boring. He had waved off more than one vendor seeking his coin and quickly learned to steer clear of the stalls selling fish and hens – the stench would wake a dead man. Though a particularly good noonday meal was had, when he had discovered where the baker resided. Since then, he had been content to linger near its walls as he carefully scanned the milling crowds.

A little over an hour had passed and he had yet to see either Katerina or the Lady Georgiana. He was beginning to think he had been misled. On the verge of giving up his hunt, Charles wandered from the food stalls toward the blacksmiths. This trip was not to be wasted; he had been meaning to order a new sword for the tournaments and this was as good a time as any.

Of course, it was when he set his sights on new endeavors that his original one came into view. He found Kitty amongst the stalls catering to spices and liniments. Her fiery red hair made her a beacon in the crowd. Quickly, he stepped back amongst the shadows of the booths as he observed her bartering with a merchant for some herbs. He did another scan of the area but saw no courtly lady hovering nearby.

He frowned.

It was possible that Lady Georgiana had changed her mind and had simply sent Katerina in her stead. If that were the case then his time spent milling about had been wasted indeed.

Quietly, he sidled up to Kitty as a small jar of dried leaves was passed to her. She peered up at him in curiosity before a disgruntled frown befell her lips. He tried not to grin at her dour look. Kitty was always fun to tease – her unwillingly willing participation in his games never ceased to amuse him.

"Kitty."

"Mr. Brandon." His name sounded like an epithet from her lips.

He smiled beguilingly, "Where is your mistress?"

Katerina hummed dispassionately under her breath, though a subtle mocking gleam entered her gaze at his question, "She is here, sir."

Charles found himself narrowing his gaze at the servant, "Where, Kitty?"

"Use your eyes, sir." Katerina instructed almost loftily as she placed her jar into the basket she carried, "Surely, your sight is not so bad."

Charles felt his brow furrow as he continued to stare at her, but when she merely blinked at him, he knew he would gain no further help. Stifling an aggravated sigh, he once again looked over the crowds. The finery of court would have caught his attention, but he saw only fellow courtiers that fell into that role. Instead, he began to study every female with a predator-like intensity, all the while he could feel Kitty growing steadily more amused.

He was torn between storming off and demanding her assistance again when a voice chimed at Katerina's side, "Looking for your lost lamb still, Mr. Brandon?"

Katerina bit her lip as Charles's gaze swung around. Georgiana stood next to her with a perfectly innocent expression painting her mien, but that was momentarily lost to Charles as he took in her outfit. She was dressed not too dissimilarly from Katerina and bore no jewelry at all. Her skin was bare and her hair plaited neatly, her only accessory was a silk ribbon. Though a blossomed young woman, she looked every inch of her seventeen years at that moment.

Startled, he inclined his head as he barely remembered his manners, "Lady Georgiana... I almost didn't recognize you."

"I dare say you didn't." Georgiana replied lightly as she passed a parcel of fabric to Katerina, "Nor have you answered my question."

"No..., I supposed I haven't, milady." Charles agreed almost belatedly. He felt off-put and she... she was unsurprised by his presence, "I'm afraid that my lost lamb will remain lost."

Georgiana raised a brow, "How sad for you. Did you need Katerina for something Mr. Brandon? If not, we have more items to gather before the day grows too late."

Charles wasn't sure if Georgiana realized it, but a vague note of haughty disapproval tempered her tone. His lips twitched with a desire to smirk, but he held it at bay. It appeared that Kitty had divulged something of their tryst to the Lady – well that made things more difficult, "Actually, I was seeking your company, milady, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Georgiana tilted her head in acknowledgment, "Something may have been mentioned, though I fail to understand your interest."

Her sea-blue eyes glittered warily and a sense of familiarity washed over him as it had the previous two encounters that he had with the Lady. He swore he knew her and for a fleeting moment he wondered if she was his Charlotte, but her indifference to him had him reconsidering. His little virginal treat had been full of blushes and smothered giggles – he would be hard-pressed to pull those from the tauntingly affable woman before him. Still... it would be interesting to try.

"A beautiful young lady? New to court? I would be remiss not to take an interest." Charles answered genially and wasn't surprised when both women looked unimpressed. It brought a wicked smile to his lips.

"And that lady is engaged, as you well know, sir. Your interest is undue." Georgiana retorted primly and felt her mother beam with pride somewhere. She nearly gagged on her words, but she refused to let Brandon have anything that looked like the upper hand in this conversation. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that she knew he had already found others to warm his bed that pricked her nerve or the fact that the mischievous spark in his eye still sparked her interest. It now seemed intolerable that where he had once seemed dangerous and seductive, he now seemed cocksure and smarmy.

She was overcome with the desire to hit him.

Just once. If only to wipe the knowing smirk from his all too delectable lips.

"And where is your intended? Should he not be attending to you as a dutiful fiancé should?" Charles prodded lightly as he saw an opening in their little tête-à-tête. It was obvious to all that the engagement was arranged, this was no love match, and he sorely doubted that she wished to bed a man thrice her age.

A biting smirk answered him as Georgiana stepped away from Katerina's side and into his space, "As you know, Mr. Brandon, my fiancé holds an important station and has much to do. Though I'm sure his load would be lightened if his lessers performed their courtly duties with the same dedication that you seem to have in finding bedfellows."

A shocked bark of laughter tore from Charles's throat at her boldness, "Who said anything about bedfellows, Lady Georgiana? Surely, you don't think a man's - my interest is purely carnal? I wouldn't think a lady of your standing would have such indecent thoughts. I'm of a mind to demand an apology."

"An apology?" Georgiana proclaimed incredulously.

"For your indecorous assumptions to my character." Charles stated evenly as he turned a pointed stare to her companion, "No doubt influenced by other sources."

"Hardly, and do leave other sources out of this, sir." Georgiana retorted without missing a beat, "But please do tell, what were your saintly intentions?"

Despite her annoyed inflection, Charles could see that she was enjoying this strange battle of wills, and even more strange he was too. She was quick with her sharp words, but she hadn't strayed yet into recklessness. He wanted to push her there.

He allowed a patronizing smile as he answered, "Merely to offer my friendship and guidance, milady. Court can be quite daunting to those who have no experience."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him and Charles wondered how much further he could provoke her before she gave in to her irritation.

Yet, she showed a measure of control that he hadn't expected.

"How kind of you." Georgiana drawled before gesturing to Katerina to continue to the other stalls and stepping back herself. He frowned as she began to make her parting courtesies, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Brandon. The day grows long and I still have shopping to complete before supper."

"Truly? It looks more like you're running away, milady." Charles taunted and hid a pleased smirk when her back stiffened and she turned to him again.

Her eyes blazed at him as she imitated his mock politeness, "Running away? Oh no, sir, I'm merely letting a little lamb that I unwittingly snared free."

Amusement warred with outrage at her words. He had wanted her reckless, but now he was suddenly so very tempted to throw her over his knee or at the very least teach her to curb her tongue.

His smile turned sharp as he leered over her, "I am no lamb, lady."

"No." She agreed quietly as she registered how close they now stood to each other, "More a wolf in sheep's wool."

As if in agreement with her assessment, a low rumbling growl answered her words as he leant closer still, "I wouldn't bite...much."

His predatory gaze noted that she had begun to faintly tremble as he reached a gentle finger to brush along her cheek. Goosebumps painted her arms at his touch and the shuddering breath she took lighted a fire that traveled straight to his cock. But it was her greenish-blue eyes – eyes that shone with wariness and curiosity, also shone with heady desire. She wanted this. Good...the little minx wasn't nearly as unaffected as she would like to seem.

"I think." Georgiana started somewhat shakily as her soft hand wrapped over his, "I think you would devour me if given half the chance."

He let her pull his hand down from her face and studied her intently. He could see that she was on the edge, but if he pushed too hard then she would fall away from him rather than into him.

Quietly, he asked, "Would that be so bad, milady?"

Georgiana stared at him wide-eyed, "Maybe... it would be trouble. You certainly seem like trouble, Mr. Brandon."

"Careful, Lady, I may extract an apology from you yet."

"I-"

"Lady Georgiana!" Katerina called in the distance like a burst cork from a champagne bottle.

It yanked the couple back to the present and Charles could only watch as she slipped from his grasp.

She pulled her hand from his and he found that he missed its warmth, but he didn't follow after her as she slid back into the crowds like a lovely wraith. His dark blue eyes followed her as she scurried to Katerina's side and dared a timid glance over her shoulder to find him. Her curiosity, wariness, and desire still there, but now muted. His lust burrowed into his veins under that look and was not to be moved.

Yes... yes, he would devour her. The Lady really should know better than to run from a wolf.

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"Lord Somerset."

Charles looked up from his paperwork and abruptly moved to stand for a bow at the sight of the Queen. He hadn't heard her approach and was mildly surprised to see none of her ladies attending her, "Your Majesty."

She smiled politely and gestured for him to stand properly, "I did not mean to intrude, my Lord."

Somerset frowned with a passing glance at the plans for a tournament that the King wanted to hold. Another costly waste of frivolity in the Chamberlain's opinion, but he was not one to oppose the whims of his monarch. Especially not one as temperamental as Henry. He shook his head gently and offered the Queen a rueful grimace, "Your presence is never an intrusion. Is there something I can help you with, ma'am?"

"Yes, I am holding afternoon tea tomorrow with a few of the ladies of court. I would like it if Lady Georgiana were to attend." Katherine said simply with an expectant look, "It would benefit her to know her peers better, no?"

Somerset smiled at the Queen's graciousness. It would behoove Georgiana to become more familiar with the players at court. She would spend much of her time here in residence with him and having a few allies in place by the time of their wedding would allow for a smoother transition, "That sounds like a splendid idea, Your Majesty. I am to sup with the Stafford family this evening. I will pass along your invitation."

Katherine's smile turned a little more genuine, "I would be most grateful, Lord Somerset. I would have passed on the invitation myself, but it seems that Lady Georgiana is visiting the markets today. Preparing for the wedding, no doubt."

That surprised the Lord Chamberlain, Georgiana had shown only the minimal amount of interest on their impending marriage. Not that he blamed the poor girl, but he had been under the assumption that her mother would make the majority of the arrangements. His heart lightened slightly at the thought of her becoming more involved. It showed at least a cursory acceptance of her fate... He truly did need to spend more time with her.

Realizing that he hadn't answered the Queen, he smiled pleasantly, "I'm sure, ma'am. There is much to do before the month is out."

Katherine almost seemed to hesitate as she studied the Earl. She was not one to meddle in the affairs of court, unless those affairs somehow affected her and her family, but she would also be remiss not to speak plainly, "Yes, I can imagine. Lady Georgiana showed her grace and obedience well before my husband...but tell me, Lord Somerset, do you know if she is truly happy with this match?"

Charles was hardly surprised by her question, much like Henry he had seen her glimmer of disapproval at the marriage announcement, "In truth, your majesty, I do not know. I have only been presented with her grace and obedience, as well. She doesn't seem to have any objections."

"That is not the same as being content, my Lord." Katherine stated sagely, "She is young and still has much to learn of this world. I would like you to remember that."

A strange mix of chastened and vague amusement welled up in Somerset at the Queen's subtle lecture. A complacent expression crossed his features as he sought the words to placate her, "I shall, ma'am. My Elizabeth, God rest her, was a boon to me in many ways that I didn't expect of a wife. She was my friend. I hope for much the same from Georgiana."

Something softened in the Queen at his quiet confession. She nodded her head understanding, while she had barely known the late Lady Somerset, she had known of her integral role in her husband's work. Katherine could only hope that Henry would one day feel the same of her. Lately, the hopeful shine in the King's icy gaze had been replaced by resigned disappointment. She hated that look.

Drawing a breath, she decided her meddling in this particular affair was at an end, "I shall let you return to your work. Have a good night, my Lord."

"You as well, Your Majesty." Somerset intoned as he watched her sweep from the room.

He pondered for a brief moment over whether Georgiana could count the Queen as one of her courtly allies...

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#Charles Brandon #charles brandon fic #charles brandon fanfiction #duke of suffolk #the tudors #tudors fanfiction #tudors fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Katherine of Aragon #The Wiles of Men and Women

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aleidawrites · 4 years ago

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Baby Animals Are Romantic

A gift for @semicolonsandsimiles who gave me the prompt “post-canon/established relationship” for the @pynchpromptweek Pynch Secret Santa 2020. Have some of Ronan and Adam being soft and going on dates with each other!

Title: Baby Animals Are Romantic

Word Count: 3301

Summary: Adam had never been to the county fair before, so when Ronan suggests they go he figures this is a farming thing. But Adam's eager to spend time with his boyfriend, even if he also has to listen to an auctioneer trying to sell steers. Or, in which Ronan just wants to take his oblivious boyfriend on a date and maybe hold hands on the Ferris wheel.

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Ronan approached him a couple of weeks after they had finally discussed the dream-goop. It felt like they had progressed to a new stage of their relationship, with Ronan dedicated to his dreaming again and Adam figuring out what school was going to look like. Adam was bent over one of his many lists (this one a bulleted list of all the work study opportunities on campus) when Ronan rested his shoulder on the door jam to the study where Adam had taken up residence.

He liked the large wooden desk.

“You know, the fair’s coming up,” Ronan muttered.

“The what?”

Adam looked up from his list — the best chance for steady hours was working in the campus cafeteria but the assignment at the library would let him do surreptitious homework on the job more often — and frowned at Ronan. He could remember a school fair in elementary, but Ronan wouldn’t have those same memories.

“Wait, the county fair?” Adam laid his pen down carefully on the desk and leaned back.

The county fair took place every August at the fairground, which was just another field north of Singers Falls. Aglionby never paid much attention to the county fair, with the ruckus of the Fourth of July always outshining anything else that happened during the summer up until last year. Adam vaguely remembered some of his classmates in elementary school talking about their 4H projects or art submissions with markers and crayons.

“I’ve never been to the fair,” Adam said slowly. Ronan stood up straighter, pushing himself off the door. “What’s even there?”

“Y’know, competitions and shit, who can grow the biggest pumpkin, who’s got the best pig.” Ronan slumped fully into the room to lean against Adam’s desk, like standing straight was a hassle for him. “There’s rides they set up for kids, like those tiny airplanes that you get in and spin around.”

Adam didn’t say that he had never been in those rides as a kid. He knew Ronan wasn’t bringing that up to remind Adam of what he hadn’t had. They just had different perspectives of what kids had. Adam had a mattress on the floor of the double-wide, and Ronan had a dad who created magical things from dreams.

“And the auctioneer will come by to sell off livestock and shit,” Ronan said, speaking faster. “Steers and stuff for farmers. Sometimes there’s baby animals from the stock.”

Oh, so that was a thing. Adam leaned his elbows on the desk so that he could be closer to Ronan’s downturned face.

“You wanna go?”

Ronan’s shoulders slumped so fast that Adam barely noticed how high they had been before. But Ronan’s face relaxed at the same time, and that was more fun for Adam to watch.

“Shit, Parrish, don’t act like you're doing me a favor or anything,” Ronan drawled.

Adam rolled his eyes. For everything that had happened over the summer, Ronan was still shit at asking for what he wanted. He could’ve just asked Adam to go with him to the county fair auction.

“Fine.” Adam hid his smile in his shoulder and picked up his pen again. “When’s the auction?”

“Friday afternoon,” said Ronan. “You just have the factory shift on Friday, right? You’re free after that.”

Ronan asked like he didn’t have Adam’s whole work schedule memorized. Adam looked up and didn’t bother concealing his smile at Ronan.

“Yep.”

To Adam’s delight, the tips of Ronan’s ears turned pink as he nodded as if nothing was unusual about that.

“Good.” Ronan turned on his heel and marched back out the door. “Hey, brat, what’re you doing with that?”

Adam left Ronan to manage Opal on his own, but he was still smiling when he hunched back over his lists.

…

They left Opal with the Fox Way ladies on Friday, something Opal herself had mixed feelings about, but she seemed happy enough with all the various herbs the women let her chew on. Ronan drove the two of them back through Singers Falls and up to the fairgrounds.

Adam had only ever seen it when it was an empty field, mostly mowed down grass with patches of dirt or mud, depending on the season. Ronan kept vibrating in the driver’s seat, shifting so aggressively that Adam wondered if he should’ve offered to go “driving” with him before going to the fair. Or instead of it.

When they finally got to the fair, just after lunch, the field was already half full of cars on one side of the skinny two-lane road. The field on the other side of the road was full of white tents and footpaths around the various attractions. Rows of red and yellow and green tractors stretched out from one side of the fair into the empty trimmed field. True to what Ronan had said, there were a few carnival rides for kids, including a full sized Ferris wheel near the center of the fair.

“There’s a lot of people here,” Adam noted as they parked and got out of the Beemer. Lots of people was typically not Ronan’s jam.

“Don’t be a wuss, Parrish,” Ronan said. He hurried around the car to stand close to Adam’s side. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed at Adam’s hand and jerked him towards the road. Adam went. It was hard not to follow Ronan Lynch when he was this much like Ronan Lynch, a black T-shirt covering his shoulders while the wicked curves of his tattoo peeked out at the base of his neck.

For a minute as they crossed the road, Adam wondered if he should be more careful, if he should take his hand away from Ronan’s. His parents weren’t generally fair-goers, so he didn’t expect to see them or anyone else from the trailer park here, but farmers were their own kind of people. What would they think about two boys holding hands as they ran to the admission booth? But as soon as they pulled up to the ticket window where a gray-haired lady with a straw hat sat taking money, Ronan let go of Adam’s hand to dig in his pocket.

“I could’ve got that,” Adam protested, mostly because he could.

“So, you can buy us lunch,” said Ronan as he folded his wallet and shoved it back into his jeans.

The lady gave a string of pink paper tickets to Ronan, who tore it in half and gave one half to Adam. He took them and frowned at them. They looked like raffle tickets, but Adam wasn’t sure what purpose they served here.

“C’mon,” Ronan said and walked through the gates.

Inside the fairgrounds were full of lines of people grouped and moving like pods of fish. The packed squadrons of bodies all moved the same way, like rush hour traffic with bodies instead of cars. Ignoring everyone, Ronan pulled Adam to a stop in front of a fork in the dirt path and tilted his chin up towards the open sky.

“The games are that way.” Ronan pointed to the right.

Adam saw the pointed tops of colorful booths painted in reds and oranges and mechanical spires that — sure enough — propelled tiny metal airplanes up with kids strapped in and screaming in delight.

“I wanna know if they have the stupid carnival shooting games,” said Ronan. Adam rolled his eyes, but Ronan’s eyes went yet another direction. “There’s the Ferris wheel.”

Adam followed Ronan’s finger to the large white and purple wheel at the other side of the fairgrounds, straight ahead of where they were.

“Yeah, looks kinda cheesy.” Adam had only seen those kinds of things in movies. But it wasn’t what Ronan was here for, and in lieu of a responsible farmer, Adam supposed he could nudge Ronan towards the actual prize. “Where’s the animals? You said there would be babies.”

A frown darted quickly across Ronan’s face as he turned to Adam, but then he softened into something private, something reserved for Adam and the Barns. It was the kind of look that made Adam think they could survive a few years of long-distance, as long as Ronan always looked at him like that when he came home.

“Yeah, sure, Parrish, let’s go look at the babies,” said Ronan.

Slipping his shoulder behind Adam’s back, Ronan nudged Adam forward and down the left-hand path. They navigated around the people walking the opposite direction, and Adam felt Ronan’s hand pressing against his back, just below his shoulder blades where Ronan’s body blocked anyone looking closely at the two boys. Adam’s skin felt hot under his T-shirt.

They walked together to a long barn with a shiny metal roof, and Ronan shifted to take the lead up the incline to the end of the barn where the main doors were standing wide open. Adam recognized the smell immediately: hay and warm bodies and corn. But this was different from the Barns in a way that Adam could only attribute to the dream quality of Ronan’s home. Even once everything was awake again, there was a sense of peace over the whole thing, a wildness that the cows, the deer, Opal, and Ronan himself all were a part of.

But Ronan looked happy enough to be in his natural environment. The thought of teasing Ronan that he belonged in a barn made Adam’s mouth quirk up. Ronan grabbed his hand before he could say anything and pulled Adam towards one side of the barn.

“Look,” Ronan pointed into the pen.

People were pressed up against the wood of the pen, but Ronan just elbowed a man out of the way and ignored the glare that he received in turn. Adam scoffed but walked up beside Ronan and looked inside the wooden pen. Two lambs sat in the pen next to the back wall while a third lamb walked around on spindly legs, jerking its way back and forth from the many outstretched hands of the people crowding the pen then darting back to the safety of the other lambs away from people.

Adam rested his elbows on the top of the pen and watched the lamb dance back and forth adventurously, nipping at the outstretched fingers of a kid who had climbed up the rungs of the pen and then hopping back out of reach of all the adult hands that stretched out to pet the animal. Beside him, Ronan sighed and leaned down over the closed pen, nearly folding himself in half. He let his hand dangle loosely near the fluffy bedding lining the pen and ignored the rest of the people clamoring to see the baby lamb and entice them closer. Adam watched as one of the lambs from the back of the pen got up on its own shaky legs and nosed its way closer. Ronan wiggled his fingers and let the lamb approach him and sniff cautiously.

Adam leaned harder onto Ronan and watched the lamb lick at Ronan’s fingers, wary but eager for something that Ronan had. Adam could sympathize.

Ronan glanced up.

“Wanna pet him?” he asked softly, his voice toned down from his usual boisterous shredding of the English language.

Adam scooted closer to Ronan and leaned down with him, letting his fingers dangle just like Ronan had instead of thrusting his hand out in beckoning motions like the rest of the people. The lamb moved from sniffing Ronan’s fingers to seeking out Adam’s. It’s tongue tickled the tips of his fingers, and Adam stretched his hand out a little further and gently patted the top of the lamb’s head. He turned to see Ronan grinning at him.

“C’mon,” said Ronan. “I bet there are some calves they got further down.”

…

They passed through the other end of the livestock barn, where Ronan had stopped by pretty much every pen to see the baby animals and try to entice each one closer. Every time he had gotten an animal to come close to him, he offered petting privileges to Adam, which he appreciated. But Adam liked seeing Ronan’s unique magic with barns and baby animals even more than touching them himself. For all his dangerous appearance, Ronan was most at home being soft around animals.

After the barn, Ronan dragged Adam — fairly willingly but still — down the continuing path that looped back around to the carnival games that were all grouped together, next to the mechanical toy rides. Adam beat Ronan in a game of “shoot the water gun at the target,” which won him both an oversized red foam cowboy hat and a heated look from Ronan. It was only when Ronan had a bizarrely large stuffed giraffe under his arm that Adam thought he might be missing something.

“We should get food,” Ronan said. “You’re buying, right?”

Adam glanced down at the beaten watch on his wrist, still able to tell him when he was about to be late for a shift.

“What about the auction?”

Ronan frowned at him.

“Why would you wanna see an auction?” he demanded. “It’s just a bunch of people yelling about cows.”

“You yell about cows on a regular basis, Lynch.” Adam rolled his eyes. Ronan was probably just protesting too much and didn’t want to go to something that he was being forced to.

“Those’re my cows, though,” Ronan said into Adam’s good ear. “Special breed.”

Adam felt his cheeks flush and tried to brush the blush away with the back of his hand.

“Let’s do whatever you want,” he tried. “Where d’you want to go?”

Ronan stopped in between a booth with a ring toss and the back of a food cart that smelled like hot oil and sugar.

“I brought you to have fun, Parrish,” he said. “Are you that much of a workaholic? We talked about this.”

Adam bristled. He breathed in deeply, almost matching Ronan’s smoker-inhale, and told himself to be calm.

“Excuse me for trying to make sure you get what you need outa this,” he muttered lowly.

“Excuse you?!” Ronan’s eyebrows flew up.

Adam grimaced. The words had slipped out. Fighting with Ronan was still a charged activity for the both of them. Adam was still getting used to softness, from both himself and from Ronan Lynch.

“Look, I’m trying to be considerate of you here,” Adam explained very calmly.

“Well, don’t feel like you have to spare my fucking feelings!” Ronan bit out.

Adam threw his hands into the air, funny cowboy hat and all.

“You wanted to come!”

“I wanted to go on a date with you!” snapped Ronan.

Adam blinked his way out of his sudden anger and felt his stomach sink in its absence. Ronan looked suddenly sheepish and angry that he was sheepish. His jaw ticked like he was clenching his teeth, like he was trying to hold his words back from where they could do the most damage to Adam.

“I can do better than just driving in cars,” Ronan said. “This was gonna be fun. Way to ruin the day.”

Adam’s stomach turned to lead. He hated the idea that this was all ruined because of him. Part of his mind argued that going to the county fair was a weird idea for a date, but he recognized the defensive part of himself, the part that constantly looked for ways that he could get hurt so that he knew where to protect himself.

But the larger part of him saw Ronan’s jaw clench the same way it did when he was trying not to let his lip tremble, trying not to show how much he felt.

Adam thrust his red cowboy hat into Ronan’s hands and shoved him towards a wooden table in front of the food truck.

“Wait there,” he ordered. “I’ll get us lunch.” Ronan glowered at him unconvincingly. “Just wait there—” Adam just needed a couple of minutes to get his brain in order. “—I’ll be back.”

He marched off, trying to see what looked like actual food in this place.

…

Adam returned with a paper plate damp with grease and soaked in powdered sugar. Ronan was still sitting at the wooden picnic table, his head resting on his folded arms on the table. Adam slid the fried pile of dough toward Ronan and sat next to him. Sitting across would be too far away.

“I bought a funnel cake,” he said.

Ronan lifted his head and stared at the deep fried treat. It wasn’t real food, but Adam had thought it smelled good and was the kind of thing Ronan would enjoy stuffing his face with.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I didn’t know this was supposed to be a date. I thought you were just looking for more animals for the farm.”

Ronan snuffled into his bare elbow and then rested his chin on his arms.

“You’re a real romantic, Parrish.”

Adam bent his head and leaned into Ronan’s shoulder so that he could hide the small smile that threatened his mouth. Ronan was at least willing to forgive him, which made the shameful tightness in his belly abate a little.

“You like baby animals, though.” Adam pressed his head against Ronan’s stubbled skull. “I knew you wanted to come here.”

Ronan shifted beneath him like he wanted to sit up straighter but didn’t want to actually lose Adam’s touch.

“So, you didn’t wanna come?”

“I didn’t say that,” Adam said quickly. He drew his head back so that he could wrap his arm around Ronan’s waist cautiously, still aware that they were surrounded by people who had probably grown up like Adam’s parents. “I liked seeing you with the lamb. That was cute.”

Ronan’s ears turned bright pink, and he turned to hide most of his face against Adam’s neck.

“Shuddup.”

Adam grinned.

“I’m just saying.” He shifted his hand up to cover Ronan’s ribs. “I would’ve come even if I didn’t know it was a date. I like being with you.”

Ronan relaxed into him, and Adam held his breath like he always did when he had to remind himself that this was his now. He wasn’t being selfish for having this.

“So, next time I should spell things out for you,” Ronan murmured into his neck.

“Might be good.” Adam knew his own weaknesses, and he was prone to not communicating. He was working on that.

Then Adam straightened, shifting so that Ronan’s head rolled off his neck.

“Or I could ask you,” Adam said to Ronan’s confused (and slightly disappointed) look. “Ronan Lynch, do you want to ride the Ferris wheel with me?”

The brief glance of Ronan’s wide eyes made Adam smile through his heated cheeks. He knew he was blushing, but Ronan’s cheeks were fully pink now.

“I can try to bribe the guy to stop us at the top,” said Adam. “Like in the movies.”

Ronan inhaled his smoker’s breath and leaned so close that he nearly headbutted Adam.

“Thought that was cheesy.”

“I don’t need a replay of what I missed out on, Lynch.” A bit of leftover shame curled in Adam’s stomach before he smothered it entirely. He focused on softening his face, and he took Ronan’s hand tentatively. “But if you want to show me your favorite stuff, I can get behind that.”

Ronan threaded his fingers through Adam’s.

“I wanna be with you,” he said. “The rest doesn’t matter so much.”

Adam grinned.

“So, come on.” Adam pulled Ronan until he followed Adam to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“What about the funnel cake?” Ronan protested. Adam didn’t think he really meant it.

“That’s barely food, Lynch.” He rolled his eyes anyway. “I’ll buy you some real food after the Ferris wheel.”

“Fair food is a time-honored tradition, you pleb.”

Adam grinned all the way through Ronan’s complaining as they walked hand-in-hand through the fairgrounds.

#pynch #fanfiction #writing #the raven cycle #pynchpromptweek

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onyourzeus · 4 years ago

Text

• beat of my heart | ydw

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: beat of my heart pairing: yoon dowoon (of day6) & you genre: fluff, non-idol!au, college!au words: 4.3k

author’s note: finally, a dowoon fic that i thoroughly enjoyed writing (hence how long it is) it went on a different track than planned, but isn’t that how most of my fics are turning out to be? lol. please do enjoy!

this dot fic is part of the falling asleep on the bus scenario i intend to write for each day6 member. check out the others: wonpil (currently only have 2/5 completed)

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

there isn’t a lot that occupies dowoon’s mind. he gets classified as an introvert by people who have known him for years but this doesn’t mean too much for him

sure, he likes to keep to himself and only open up to people he’s trusted for a while which… is the kind of life he wants to lead

with that being said, other things that goes under Dowoon’s Approved Interests would be: playing the drums, playing a ton of games, and… animals

upon entering college, he wondered if he’d have the free time to care for animals just like when he was younger, volunteering at the nearest animal shelter in which everyone who worked there knew who he was

and always regarded him as the shy little boy but also borderline an animal whisperer. it gave dowoon lots of fun memories to look back on his childhood, and for a moment he considered studying veterinary science to continue his passion for loving dogs cats and everything in between

but another love of his life was introduced in first year high school, and that is the drums. as his social circle expanded (as much as he permitted it to, so not by a lot), so did his club activities in music and even playing as a filler in different bands became his priority (next to academics)

he still visited the shelter from time to time, it wasn’t something he could just drop so easily; bonding with stray-turned-angelic pets waiting for their forever family was his form of therapy, in a way, when music got too complicated at times or when he’s struggling with a class

and then there’s playing league or overwatch or pubg to release stress in a more high-energy fashion

so when the time came that he needed to choose a major, the first thing that came into mind was music theory. he wanted to get better at playing drums, understanding notes, and improving his performance skills overall

he’s experienced frustration over figuring out the rhythm for certain songs he liked to play before, so this is what made him decide that music is the type of interest he’d want to pursue as a career

and bonding with animals… well, would be just that. this way, he doesn’t get burnt out with the one hobby he feels much peace with. his happy place, if you will

so imagine dowoon’s surprise when he learnt of a volunteering organization on campus that caters to helping out local animal shelters on the weekends. literally what he has been doing since he was a wee lad

it was perfect timing to have passed by the club booth during intro week, he already planned on auditioning for the established bands on campus (day6 sounds like a perfect fit for him, tbh) but he hadn’t reached that level of confidence with his drumming skills yet

distracting himself with going to the shelter every so often would help him leave the dorm for a bit (his roommate ha subtly asked many a times for him to ease off of the mouse clicking during the late hours of the night and shouting, “gg” over and over)

the first few times he went to the org’s events at the shelter, it was… a little awkward

one, he didn’t know anybody and two, he isn’t exactly the cute little shy 10 year old he once was that knew every auntie and uncle in his small town.

and everyone else in the event… already seems to know each other. dowoon recognizes the guy who handed him a flyer talking to the animal shelter coordinators up in the front. he had been lost in the crowd of his peers that he has no idea what’s going on

he just wants to pet sum dogs and play laser pointers with cats, is that too much to ask for?

suddenly, everyone had dispersed into groups and apparently you choose where you want to be included in

great, dowoon is just smiling awkwardly to himself as he feels the tips of his ears blush bright red

“hi! dowoon, right? do you have a group to join?” he whips his head to the sound of your voice, just a few feet ahead of him. he’s confused as to why you knows his name, so he points to himself and feels the flimsy paper nametag attached by double-sided tape on his shirt

oh, duh. they had the new prospective members do it a while ago

he sees your name too, and remembers it in the back of his head like a prayer

dowoon shakes his head, perpetually shy and blushing hard now. you feel a sense of guilt singling him out like that in the crowd, so you approach him more closely and signal to follow you

“i’m part of the board members, and we don’t have enough people in our group so you can come join us!” as publicity chair, it is your duty to make others feel comfortable and welcomed in the org. and this is your time to shine

“we’re looking at some bigger doggos today, do you have any pets, dowoon?” you try to make polite introductions as you lead the group to where you’re assigned. like a lost puppy on his own, dowoon follows suit. he’s grateful for some guidance, and actually seeing the animals calm him down for a moment

and it doesn’t feel like everyone’s staring at him anymore as he hears chit-chatting surrounding the place

so he focuses his attention on you instead, and he somewhat regrets it

he’s not those guys who don’t have girl friends, but most of the friendships he’s formed with them are due to the fact that he was introduced by a mutual friend

so dowoon is, how do you say it, entranced by the way you talk about your first big dog in the house

and the two that followed after, and how you stopped playing with your friends from the neighborhood

because all you needed in life were your golden retrievers and newfoundland

dowoon finds himself sharing his own childhood experiences of spending time at a shelter, but never having a dog of his own

“family allergies,” he shrugs and you pout for him in frustration

wow, he’s never seen someone so invested by the fact that he never got to own a pet for himself

“well, dowoon,” you tell him as you’re approaching the section of big dogs, “i hope you enjoy your time here. this is one of the biggest shelters near campus, and fortunately a lot of dogs and cats get adopted every month!”

your enthusiasm for #adoptdontshop makes dowoon feel excited again, he’s just itching to be back doing what calms him down in a therapeutic sense

you instruct the other members to join in a pair or a trio to assist the shelter coordinators with grooming some of the dogs and going for their scheduled walks

this makes dowoon suddenly panic inwardly again, why does everything have to be done in groups?

“want to come with me?” you ask him in the middle of his inner monologue. you’re met with a look of surprise similar to how he reacted when you called out his name just a few minutes prior

“me? you’re not partnering with anyone else?” you shake your head, “as you can tell, they’ve already made up their minds. you’re one of the only new people i saw come to our event today, so i’ll be glad to show you around!” and you genuinely are. it’s rare to see a newbie look so obviously excited to be here, let alone by themselves

usually the people you’ve come to know who join your events are just there for the instagram stories or a pseudo-date of some sorts. you’re happy they’re helping out the shelter with taking care of the pets even for a few hours in the day, but their intentions lie far and beyond with what you have in mind joining the org

however, having approached dowoon and giving him your usual spiel on your love for dogs— he was actually listening and nodding along to the right moments!!! it was so refreshing, especially with the way he’s just excitedly tapping his feet right now awaiting where you’ll lead him next

“oh, let’s hang out with lady! she’s actually going to be adopted soon, but i want you to meet her,” you lead dowoon to one of the bigger stalls on the right where lady was. you call out to her, and immediately you see a tail of a fawn colored pitbull sway back and forth

she comes near you first, sniffing and licking at your petting hands. lady senses dowoon standing idly by your side, and you’re about to tell him how to approach the dog when dowoon does it for himself

he bends down to her level, lifts up a loosely closed fist and lets lady smell her first. “hi lady, nice to meet you. my name is dowoon,” he coos at her, finally lady lets him in her space as her tail wags even faster

“that’s amazing,” you point out, “we had a really hard time teaching her to trust new people”

dowoon shrugs, grinning while he’s at it and you can tell how modest he’s trying to be. but the way he’s rubbing lady’s belly and chuckling at her snorts make you believe that dowoon knows what he’s doing. and he’s enjoying it to the fullest

“thank you for trusting me, miss lady,” dowoon tells the dog who has completely fallen in love with him too. you just watch him, in awe of the scene before you until dowoon looks your way

he catches you having a weird, goofy smile and so you fake cough your way as an excuse and tuck a hair beneath your ear. “does she need to go for a walk?” he asks you, tone inquisitive and hands busy petting lady much to her delight

“we can, y-yeah,” you find yourself a little out of breath, so out of the ordinary for you. but you comply to his wish and ask the coordinator for lady’s leash and the record book.

and that’s kinda how you and dowoon started hanging out a lot on the weekends. after that first event you met him, you’re quick to tell him about the incoming ones the org has for the following weeks (albeit some were supposed to be a secret, you couldn’t resist) and that you’ll be really happy if he came

for the pets, of course

dowoon had informed you that he’s trying to join a band on campus, so he might not be at every event you described. although he’ll do his best, for all the other dogs and cats he hasn’t met yet. you become curious about the guy, but not enough confidence to ask about this band or anything other than his love for animals

so for the next few weeks of the semester, whenever you get to lead an event you’re always looking for a shy boy in the crowd. and 80% of the time, dowoon comes through

there are instances when the other board members ask you to proceed with a diff group or a diff task, and before they can sweep dowoon away from your group…

“ah, actually he’s interested in becoming my intern, so i think it’s best to keep him under my wing!”

“we’re doing interns??? now?? i thought we canceled that—”

“he’s just interested, nothing too serious or finalized but yep— ah, dowoon, over here!”

what a save, and gladly dowoon didn’t hear

he’s actually formed a few acquaintances within the returning members, and it makes you proud to see him come out of his shell a lil

even if you don’t know much about him yet, just his major and the band he’s trying out for (which is looking very good, in his terms) as long as dowoon voluntarily wants to attend the events, it’s a success to you

“who are we meeting today chief?” dowoon would tease you once the event has started, and it’s becoming a running theme in your guys’ greetings

hmm, you decide, major,” is what you’d call him (as you squeal and squirm involuntarily inside) “bathing ole’ mister winston or trying to teach tiny toffee how to sit and stay for more than two seconds?”

dowoon visibly shudders, remembering the time the english mastiff mister winston slobbered him so much as a form of thanks for keeping him squeaky clean, and you basically laughed at his face for 15 seconds straight

“let’s teach toffee some tricks today,” he relents as you already knew the answer but wanted to see reactions of his flashbacks

you’re not sure if any one of the board members have noticed your particular liking to dowoon. if they did no one said a word because the whole point of the organization is

to have fun with animals and prepare them well for their furr-ever home, which is what you and dowoon love doing together. there’s a kind of synergy that you feel being with dowoon and working with one dog

dowoon knows more techniques on how to calm down anxious dogs than you’ve ever learned being in the org

you have to admit sometimes you’re still skittish, jumping from loud sounds or yelping in response to mister winston pawing at you (and his paws are bigger than your face)

or maybe it’s the fact that dowoon is there teasing you instead, intentionally hiding from you when you need a helping hand only to return with a handful of kittens in his embrace. “sorry, they were calling out to me and i couldn’t resist.”

you’d roll your eyes and attempt to get upset, but the way his own shines and his shy giggle coming out of him when the kittens fight their way to nuzzle against his cheek— it’s harder than you thought

anyway, you tell yourself that you’re keeping dowoon by your side because the two of you learn a lot together, and the back and forth coordination you have with tougher to care for dogs makes the job easier, it’s really that. it really is

or maybe it’s more… because as the weeks go by and dowoon couldn’t come round the shelter on the weekends, he asks if you want to see him practice with the band he’s joined

unfortunately, a lot of the times clash with your events or other school related activities, so dowoon insists on sending you videos of him playing the drums

it was a wild ride of messages, to be honest, because at first the camera would just be showing the ceiling, and then it would be recording his shoes, then just the surface of a drum until the vibrations shake it off of wherever dowoon was putting his phone against

nevertheless, you’d listen to how he plays the instrument he truly loves, and it was another side of him that got you feeling enamored

the day has come that there was no event at the shelter, and dowoon alongside other day6 members were having a busking session on campus grounds

“i’ll record you this time, dowoon, you don’t have to rely on faulty angles and physics anymore,” you tell him minutes before the gig started. you’ve seen dowoon give off a positive, excited aura in the shelter, but being with his bandmates and sitting in front of his drums— you’re observing a different side of him

and it’s addicting. to watch

“oh, guys by the way, she’s the one i was telling you all about,” you hear dowoon tell his members while you stand on the side. a question mark pops in your head, what does he mean by that???

soon after, everyone introduces themselves to you and shakes your hand. and you’re stunned, having known their names before (courtesy of dowoon) but not really associating a face with it

“you didn’t tell me your friends are good looking,” you tease dowoon, “you’re hanging out with the right crowd,” you add, poking him on the side to watch his reaction

and you get what you wanted, ears blushing and hands shoving you away playfully

around you, a crowd has started forming and you notice people from the org watching on the sidelines too

posters fill up the air with names of the members— and even dowoon

huh, why does that hurt a little inside (maybe you should have made a poster too? you glance at dowoon to see him gazing upon the cheers of the crowd and perhaps his name in sharpie, enclosed in hearts by his supporters)

that hurt a little more too

you shake away the weird feeling, and remind yourself that you’re here to record him for the first time, and to listen to him play live

when they finally begun their performance, you became more speechless than you thought. you’ve gone to indie music gatherings before and have watched a couple of up and coming bands do their thing

but day6 is something else— and most especially, you know the drummer

the ones those girls behind you are screaming your ear off for

he’s a god with the drums, eyes closed in parts that require careful and soft beats but you see the fiery look in them once the song comes up to its peak

it was thrilling, it was a sight to behold. dowoon in his other element, another side of dowoon you’d love to get to know more of

you resist from screaming his name so that your recording doesn’t sound ugly (you’re sending it to him after all), but that doesn’t mean your heart isn’t beating as loud as the rhythm of his drums

a few times during the performance, you catch him looking at your direction, but you’re not sure so you just raise a thumbs up with one hand while the other holding your phone feels strained as they go on

it’s ok, it’s all for dowoon

an hour later, their set ended with a bang and girls and guys alike flock to the members to get a poster signed or something else of theirs (dowoon had already given you a pre-signed poster. friendship benefits?)

you didn’t want to leave without congratulating him for a very successful first gig, so you sit by the benches. a little farther away from the platform where they performed to give yourself fresh air, and understand why your heart continues to pound so hard and so fast

and the cheers for dowoon’s name playing back in your mind

it’s the after show adrenaline, you tell yourself, rewinding the footage you recorded to pass the time

your mistake since it was all just dowoon

there were times when you “accidentally” zoomed it in his face, and kept it there. for minutes on end

god why does he smile like that, stop you’re hurting my HEART

“someone’s a fan,” a low, litling voice creeps up behind you

and your first instinct is to punch the invader of your personal space

which you did (albeit not as strongly as you wanted) but when realizing who received said punch…

“dowoon holy shit WHY WOULD YOU GO BEHIND ME LIKE THAT”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOUR REACTION WOULD BE SO VIOLENT”

so uh, there you suddenly are

in the college’s nurse office

with the drummer of what seems to be a rising band on campus, dowoon

getting his bloody nose (literally) checked out, and asking him serious questions without you in the room

“did she really think i’d punch you like that???”

“i think it was really nice of her to look out for me, you know,” dowoon smirked, and the two of you had already come out of the office and you were ready to actually punch him for real this time

but you decline your desires because you still feel a bit guilty

a part of you knew it was dowoon, the voice was a dead giveaway, but you’re “logical reasoning” says you didn’t want him, nor anyone, to see you admiring his face on video. playing it on loop

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, cringing at the turn of events tonight “can you still make it to the band’s after dinner party? can you still eat with your nose like that?”

“you’re so weird,” dowoon replies, pinching the bridge of his nose as he elicits a short “ow” of pain, and you can’t help but feel so terrible

“ughhhhhh dowoon pls say i didn’t break your nose or else your fangirls will hate me”

“what”

“you heard me don’t make me say it again”

“say what again :)” at this point he’s just messing with you, his nose doesn’t look crooked anyway and he definitely knows there were girls fawning over him!!

“c’mon, i’ll pay for the uber to take you to the restaurant,” you urge, it’s the least you can do for physically hurting the person who seems to be confusing you what draws the line between being a friend and… potentially liking them more than that

dowoon doesn’t respond, just shakes his head no and walks alongside you

“what do you mean no???” you’re baffled, why would he decline such a good offer??

“no i’m not going to the dinner, it’s fine i get to see them every day,” he reasons out. he stretches his arms and evokes a yawn. “besides i’m pretty beat from the gig, so i’m just gonna crash back at the dorm”

you’re not convinced, what if he’s just pretending to be sleepy so he doesn’t bother you anymore? biting your lip, you contemplate on persuading him to go but buying his dinner (you’re not sure how that will work) until he stops in his tracks and

pinches your cheeks

to stop you from thinking as your eyes land on his

dowoon huffs, eyebrows creased with concern as he says, “you look like one of the dogs we fed last week who wanted more food in his bowl, but he doesn’t know he’s on a diet.”

he.. really compared u… to a dog????

“what do you mean by that,” you counter, cheeks heating up from the sensation of his fingers pinching at them. not too painful, but enough to consciously feel the pressure of his touch on your face

not to mention his focus is all on you

“you’re upset because i won’t give in to your apology gift,” he explains further. “but really, i’m fine. you didn’t break any bones, and you aimed for my nose. if it were my hands that got hurt then it’ll be a different story”

you groan outwardly, not knowing how to best him out of his logic

“c’mon the bus is coming soon, let’s call it a night,” he says, releasing your cheeks from his grasp and instead, tugging at your hand to follow his lead this time

you don’t let it go

once you enter the bus, dowoon finds an empty two seater and slides right in by the window seat, patting the one next to him. you reluctantly take the spot, still reeling from the way he held your hand so effortlessly, still confused about how you feel about him, still wanting to make it up to him

“is there an event tomorrow?” dowoon asks, escaping you out of your reverie. you churn your brain to think as this is a good opportunity to divert your attention somewhere else

“i believe so. i’m not leading the event, but it’s basically adoption day at the shelter. did you want to come?”

“of course, if you are”

“oh,” that caught you off guard… he can always come to events even if you aren’t, he’s a member now and he’s good friends with the other board members…

“if you’re not, then are you busy doing something?” he yawns again, eyes becoming droopier by the minute as the bus takes it leave

“not really… we can go… together,” you attempt to string coherent sentences together, but the sight of dowoon dozing off at the electric hum while the bus moves entrances you

his pale soft skin contrasts the tiredness in his voice, trying to keep himself away by answering you

“mm. yeah, i’d like to go with you...anywhere… with you,” he starts mumbling, head dangerously close to colliding against the window

silently, you chuckle. and admire the hardworking effort you’ve seen dowoon achieve so far, it makes you momentarily forget about figuring out your feelings

cause it’s kinda obvious with the way you’re seeing him right now, usually you’d tease him, take a picture for blackmail or even feel slightly awkward sitting in the bus next to each other

but right now, you admire him. and wish you can talk to him more about the band, about his dreams, about going to events “as long as it’s with you”

you hear him continuously mumble string of phrases that are incomprehensible at this point, and instead of making fun of the guy (you’ve done enough damage to his nose), you gently tell him, “sleep, dowoon. i’ll wake you up when your stop is here.”

“mmkay,” he gives in, breathes out heavily and

leans against you

resting his head on your shoulder, even making himself more comfy by nuzzling his cheek by the junction of your neck

in a way it sets your heart aflame

but on the outside, you feel at ease. that he can easily take the hit with his nose just mere moments ago and willingly let his head, and his mind rest for a little right by your side

you don’t have to wonder about your feelings anymore

you’d want this to happen more in the future, and hopefully

you’re just wishing upon a star here, that dowoon feels the same

#day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 au #day6 x reader #yoon dowoon imagines #yoon dowoon scenarios #yoon dowoon au #dot series #by:jiae

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jemelle · 4 years ago

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these are ties that bind (8/8)

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 1,465

story masterlist / all writing

you can also find this story on ao3!

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue. this chapter: two years later, a perfect summer evening.

a/n: when I started this fic in march, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. eight months and 50(!) pages later, here we are, and it has been such a pleasure to get to tell this story. thank you so much to everyone who has given tattb a chance. i’m endlessly grateful for your likes, reblogs, and especially your kind words.

this final chapter is lovingly dedicated to my sibling for beta-ing, to @ssa-lesbian for being there since day 1, and to @robins-gf for endlessly hyping this fic <3

epilogue.

The string lights Emily had hung made the backyard look like something out of a fairytale. The guests mingled together, drinking homemade punch and eating food from the grill Aaron was carefully tending.

It was a warm evening in August, a few days before Carrie’s eighteenth birthday. The air was humid and the occasional mosquito buzzed around the edges of the party. From the kitchen window, Emily could see Penelope and Spencer swaying slightly to the music while JJ and Morgan fought over a football that had appeared seemingly out of thin air. Rossi sat in a deck chair, watching the proceedings with an amused look on his face, while Will sat beside him, cradling Henry in his arms. Even Jordan was here, making conversation with Aaron as he slid burgers into buns.

True to Emily’s prediction, Penelope had been the first to figure them out. She swore she’d never tell how she connected the dots, but Emily suspected that Penelope regularly checked in on all of them in less than legal ways. Once Penelope knew, their cover was all but blown, so Hotch had convened an all-team meeting to break the news.

He and Emily had told them the story straight, so to speak. The team understood that they weren’t really in love, but neither Emily nor Aaron felt that coming out was necessary for the story. Emily had come out the next year anyway, telling everyone as they sat around a crowded booth in the same bar where she had first told JJ. Aaron, for his part, he had reassured Emily that he was content with just being out to her.

Two years later, Emily thought that they were doing pretty well. Not every day was easy, of course. Sometimes Aaron snapped and Emily swore and Carrie sulked and Jack sobbed, but those days were few and far between. More often, there were sad days, because nothing would ever really heal what had happened to Carrie. On sad days Emily or Aaron begged off work, watching terrible movies with Carrie until she had cried herself out.

Every year, the three of them flew out to Denver to visit Carrie’s family. The old lady who ran the florist nearest to the cemetery knew when to expect them by now, and Emily’s perfunctory refusal to accept the flowers she insisted on providing free of charge had become something of a routine. Carrie liked to visit the cemetery alone, and she often sat there for hours, seemingly lost in thought. After she was finished, she and Emily and Aaron would go visit her old friends, the ones who had turned up for her when she had expected to be most alone.

There was always a little part of Emily that was scared Carrie would leave them. She would decide that Denver was still her real home, or that she wanted to live closer to her aunt and uncle in Phoenix. Emily had long since promised herself that she would support Carrie in whatever she wanted to do, but that wouldn’t lessen the sting. Nothing like that had ever come to pass, but in less than a month, Carrie would be heading off to college.

Emily knew that Carrie’s parents had emphasized the importance of college, and that she had been fighting with them about it the night they had died. When she first came to live with them, Carrie had wanted to re-join all the activities her parents had encouraged. It had taken time and a lot of therapy, but eventually she had realized that straying from her parent’s wishes wasn’t a betrayal, not when what they had wanted most was for her and Danny to be happy.

When the time came for Carrie to apply to college, Emily and Aaron made sure she understood that they would be proud of her no matter where she went. In the end, Carrie had chosen the University of Virginia, promising to make the two-hour journey home often. Still, it would be strange to not have her around every day. Emily had gotten used to her snark and sincerity, the way she cut right to the truth every time.

Tonight, Carrie was standing in a corner, Haley by her side, both of them watching over Jack. Emily and Haley would never be the best of friends, but they had long since formed a truce, recognizing that they both wanted the best for their strange little family. Haley loved Jack, that much was obvious, and she treated Carrie like the big sister Jack had never had. She was happy to take them both when cases ran long, though Emily secretly suspected that was because Carrie was able to calm down Jack better than anyone.

Leaving the house, Emily made her way over to the snack table, setting down the bowl of pretzels she had been carrying. When she looked up, Haley was motioning her over, gesturing at her empty cup and then Jack in turn. As Emily reached their corner of the yard, Haley headed off to refill her drink, leaving Emily and Carrie to monitor Jack.

Without warning, Emily was overcome by a wave of emotion. This life still felt like a dream sometimes. Past Emily would never have believed that this was where her life would end up. After Italy, she had been so angry, and after Declan, so resigned. In her lowest moments, she had told herself that she would never deserve a family. Emily knew now that she had been wrong, that she deserved to love and be loved. She also knew how exceptionally lucky she was to have found this family.

“I love you, you know that?” Emily said, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the party. If she looked at Carrie, there was a good chance she would cry. If anything could ruin the joyful mood of this evening, that would be it, even if the tears came only from a place of happiness.

“I know,” Carrie said, no trace of sarcasm in her voice. She took a slow sip out of the cup in her hand. In her periphery, Emily saw a single tear fall down Carrie’s cheek. “I know.”

When Haley came back, new drink in hand, neither Emily nor Carrie had looked at each other. She gave them a strange look before striking up a conversation with Carrie about what she wanted to study in college.

Emily bid them adieu and headed towards Aaron, the adoption papers burning a hole in her back pocket. They had applied for them months ago, but the envelope had only arrived a few days ago. Emily had snatched the letter from the mail as soon as it arrived, hiding it among her paperwork. The plan was to give them to Carrie on her birthday and let her make a decision about what she wanted.

Unlike the thought of Carrie leaving, this decision didn’t feel Emily with dread. No matter what she chose, Carrie would always have them to come home to.

She reached Aaron as he was finishing up making dinner, flipping the last of the burgers and sliding them into perfectly toasted buns. At his call, the guests flocked to the table, Spencer and Penelope almost tripping over each other in their haste to get food. After grabbing a plate, they dispersed once more, leaving only Emily and Aaron by the grill.

A few months ago, JJ had asked Emily if she and Aaron would stay married after Carrie turned eighteen. Until JJ had asked, Emily hadn’t considered the possibility they wouldn’t, which she supposed was answer enough. That thought process would have been unthinkable two years ago, when begrudging respect was the only thing keeping them together.

They stood next to each other as they ate, watching the future they had built together. The lines around Aaron’s eyes were softer now than they had been two years ago, and he smiled more, though he was still tough-as-nails Hotch when he needed to be. At the end of a long day, or a tough case, the thing Emily looked forward to most was his companionship. He would sit with her at the kitchen table, or rope Carrie and Jack into a game of pictionary, somehow always anticipating what she needed. When she woke up thrashing, he was there, and when he couldn’t sleep, she sat up with him until his breathing evened.

Emily finished eating, setting her plate on the table behind her and wiping her hands on a paper napkin. Aaron mimicked her, then refilled his cup from the nearby punchbowl.

As he turned to her, Emily raised her own cup, bumping it against Aaron’s before taking a drink, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “So,” she said. “How about that divorce?”

tags: @robins-gf, @catgrantknows, @lizziechase, @blakes-dictionxry

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #queerminal minds #*mine #*fic #these are ties that bind #don't mind me being sappy #i just can't quite believe i did this

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benkouji726 · 4 years ago

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Five times they behaved liked an old married couple and one time they really were

Written for MalexWeek 2020, Day 2. Fic Prompt: Trope Day.

Summary: They found their way back together.

The fic actually contains 2 tropes: 90% of “The Old Married Couple” and 10% of “Shipper on Deck” because I like cliches SO MUCH.

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

1. Bickering

They had been staring at each other across the booth in Crashdown for five minutes now.

Michael broke down first. “Looks like they all bail on us.”

Alex snorted. “Gee, what clued you in? Is it the fact that we’ve been sitting here for half an hour now and still no one showed up? Or the texts we JUST received from our so-called friends declaring they all have to ‘BAIL ON US’?” He even made the air quote gesture, the bastard.

So something crawled over someone’s ass and died today. “Really? Your are gonna be like this.”

Alex ignored him. Great.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked, and pathetically hoped Alex would say no. Because even a snappy Alex was still better than no Alex at all.

Alex answered his question with a question. Of course he did. “Do YOU want to leave?”

Michael shook his head, and decided to throw in some moment of truth. “Honestly? I think they set us up, because in the past two weeks I may or may not have whined many times to them about how much I missed you.”

Alex seemed oddly angered by that. “Well, you sure have a funny way of showing that. Because last time I checked, my phone number is still the same, and I go to the same bar and the same diner on a daily basis, safe to say I’m not the hardest person to find.”

Michael muttered something under his breath.

“What is that? I crack code, I don’t read lips.”

“I said I didn’t want to see you dating someone else!” Shit. That was a mistake.

Alex froze for a moment, then he said, slowly. “You mean you don’t want to see me dating after you and my best friend ended your relationship which lasted almost ONE YEAR right in front of me?”

Michael deflated. “OK. That’s fair. But I really missed you. Can’t we just like, be friends? We’re still friends, right?” He might sound a little too desperate, but he honestly didn’t care anymore.

“I don’t know, Michael”, shit, why did he always have this chill when Alex called his first name? It’s like Pavlovian reaction at this point. “How do we do it? Say ‘what’s up, bro’ every time we see each other?”

So he really was gonna be like that. Well, takes two to tango.

“Or we could, you know, discuss our mutual dislike of the disgusting eating habit of dipping the fries in the milk shake thing”, he pretended to think for a moment, “oh, sorry I forgot. It’s only MY dislike.”

Alex smiled at that. He took a fry, dipped it into his milkshake, threw it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then said, still smiling sweetly, “Yet you screamed so loud that one time when I dipped your cock into the milkshake and licked it clean.”

Michael choked on his clean, fry-crumbs-free milkshake. “You are not playing fair.”

“And you’re surprised? I didn’t climb the military ladder so fast by being nice.” Alex smirked.

Michael smirked right back. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sore loser. You didn’t speak to me for two days when I beat you at Mario Kart”.

“That’s because you cheated!”

“How does one cheat at MARIO KART?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you used your Tele...” Alex stopped himself abruptly when their waitress appeared to ask them if they needed some refill.

They both declined and headed right back into their argument about who was the better gamer.

When Michael finally stood up to get their bills (they argued about who should pay the bills too, Michael won), it was already two hours later, and they both had a big smile on their faces.

Alex watched Michael go to the cashier, a little too intensely, so he didn’t notice the little old lady at first, she had to wave her hand in front of him to get his attention.

He turned to her, confused. “Uh, can I help you?”

She patted on his shoulder. “My husband and I were like this too”, she said, wistfully, “we used to bicker all the time, but our hearts were in the right place”, she looked at Michael’s direction and back to Alex, “you and your young man are gonna be just fine.” She patted him once more, and went away.

Huh.

——————————————

2. Finishing each other’s sentences

They were at the supermarket together when Alex said, “why...”

“Does Liz need so many eggs? Beats me. She said she needs them to do some kind of experiment, but I highly suspect it.”

“And why...”

“Did she send us to get these? According to her, we need the legwork and some fresh air because she said and I quote, you are talking in codes and I reek of oil at this point.”

“I’m...”

“Getting a little annoyed by me right now? You want me to stop finishing your sentences? Well, it’s not my fault you are this predictable.” He was asking for trouble, Michael knew. But he couldn’t help it. Alex and Forrest had broken up for a week now, and Alex still didn’t tell him, he had to be informed by Izzy, it was a little irritating.

Alex narrowed his eyes. “You think you know me so well.”

“Apparently I do.” He smiled innocently.

“You’re not that complex either, you know”, Alex stepped forward, right into his personal space, “I can read you like an open book.”

So it was game on.

For the next two weeks, they were trying their best to beat each other to the punch, finishing each other’s sentences, sometimes even saying things before the other could even open his mouth.

Kyle snapped at last.

“Would you PLEASE stop?” He groaned, “We get it. You’re dating now and you are stupidly in love and you know each other SO WELL. Just, get a room, OK? Other people are still trying to find their soulmates or something.”

“We are not...” They spoke at the same time.

“Great, you’re upgrading to saying things unanimously now?” Kyle threw his hand into the air. “I give up.”

They both blushed. Unanimously.

——————————————

3. Touching casually

They were both leaning onto the table to study some printed out files from another secret government agency that Alex found and hacked, Alex was writing out code patterns to determine which one fit the file, when Michael suddenly discovered something.

In a hurry to write down his thoughts, he didn’t try to get another pen. He reached out, grabbed Alex’s pen-holding hand, and wrote down a keyword. His head bowed beneath Alex’s chin, some of his curls brushed his face, so Alex used his free hand to brush it away, he lingered a moment there, as Michael finished writing the word but his hand stayed there, thumb gently rubbing Alex’s in a slow circle.

Then Alex pulled away, and they continued discussing the file.

Things escalated real fast after that.

At first it was just a hand on the back, a pat on the shoulder, that sort of things. But then they often stood near enough that their hips were touching, Michael sometimes threw his arm around Alex’s shoulder when they were laughing together, or Alex would play with Michael’s hair when they were sitting on the same side of the booth, listening to their friends or talking to them. It was nothing sexual, they were friends, friends stayed in each other’s personal space ALL THE TIME, right?

Then one day, they were having a group movie night. They decided to sit on the sofa, so naturally no one else wanted to sit on it. With that much room, they sat down, a foot or so between them.

Halfway through the movie though, Alex was rubbing his right knee. Michael took one glance at him, and immediately sat beside him. He lifted Alex’s right leg onto his left, and put his hand on Alex’s knee. Alex let out a moan.

The whole group was looking at them now. Alex blushed.

“I, his hand...” Alex took a breath and regained some control back, “you all know aliens run hot right? His hand is like a thermos, it’s good for my knee.”

“You know”, Liz began, “You don’t need to explain here. People do this all the time for their loved ones, it’s sweet.”

“But”, Isobel cut in, stopping whatever Alex was trying to say, “next time, don’t do it in front of us, maybe? If I hear my brother-in-law moan again when I die, it’ll still be too soon.”

“Guys, stop teasing them”, Max said, at which point Alex had already given up, “they’re not even dating”.

“Yeah”, Maria went in for the final blow, “because the old married couple don’t date anymore. You guys really should make more of an effort if you want to keep the sparks alive, you know?”

“You mean we should just ditch you all to enjoy our little world, just the two of us?” Alex crooked his head, playing along.

“Aww, honey, you’d do that for me, for us? I thought you said we should keep our friends company or they’d be too boring a bunch.” Michael added.

He never took his hand off Alex’s knee.

——————————————

4. Pet names

“Darlin’, I’m home!” Michael called out, as he entered their secret base.

Kyle looked up, confused. “Since when did you begin to use pet names for each other?”

Alex didn’t even spare Michael a glance. “I didn’t. He is just being a dick.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you wound me. And you’re such a pretty liar, considering you called me ‘Mikey’ just the other day.”

“Sarcastically, yes.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Now would you please cut the bullshit and come look at this?”

Michael fluttered his eyelashes: “For you, sweet cheeks? Of course.”

Kyle wanted to leave. He also wanted to die a little.

Then Alex turned his full attention to Michael, and said in an almost robotic voice. “Gee, you are so kind, my little teddy bear.”

Kyle was wrong. He didn’t want to die a little. He wanted to die A LOT.

Michael, on the other hand, smiled like a cat finally got the cream. “Don’t mention it, pumpkin.”

His eyes twinkling, his tone teasing. But there was also genuine softness and gentleness in his overall demeanor, like he was standing in front of the most precious person in his whole life, and he called his name.

Alex rolled his eyes again. But when he looked back down, there was a secret smile tugging at his lips.

——————————————

5. Couple’s therapy

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” How was this his life, Alex wanted to ask.

To his credit, Michael looked bashful for once. “I’ve been seeing this therapist for four months now. And she said we could use a couple’s therapy, so she gave me this Groupon. I thought it’d be great for us.”

Alex stared. “You do know we’re not actually a couple, right?”

Michael looked a bit hurt by that, but he recovered quickly, “We kinda are, though. We both haven’t seen any other people for about half a year now. We spend almost all of our free time together. We touch each other constantly. We talk about everything and anything. Everyone assumes we’re at least hooking up, some think we already eloped!”

“Friends also do that kind of things together. And other people’s opinions really don’t bother me”, Alex didn’t look at him while saying this, so there was still hope right?

At this point, any hope was worth fighting for.

“Yeah, except friends aren’t normally in love with each other.” He said, looking right into Alex’s eyes, daring him to deny it.

Alex hesitated, and resigned. “When is it?”

—————————————

Dr Brown already knew so much about him it was a little unsettling.

“Have you talked anything other than me during your sessions?” Alex couldn’t help to ask.

“Of course!” Michael sounded offended. Meanwhile Dr Brown said, calmly, “Very little.”

Michael threw a betrayed glare at her, but she just smiled.

“So, what do you want to know?” Alex was always direct, “fair warning though. I refuse to talk about my childhood, my parents, my family, my job, my gay struggles, or anything from my past, including my past with Michael.”

“That’s OK”, Dr Brown still smiled, not bothered at all. “I only have one question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“You walked in, already in combat mode, because you treat any foreign environment as a threat, not to mention this foreign environment might force you to open up which you only do when you are around a certain and small group of people. But then Michael walked in too, and your stance changed. You were still in combat mode, but you also put yourself in a protective position, slightly in front of him. Meanwhile, you relaxed noticeably as if you trusted him with all you’ve got. When you sat down, you leaned to him unconsciously, and every time he spoke or touched you, you were calmed and grounded.”

Alex’s voice was raw when he spoke. “That was not a question.”

“So my question is”, she continued, “why do you still deny it, when you’re clearly in love with each other and already in a steady relationship?”

Alex didn’t have an answer for that. He got up and left.

————————————

+1 “How is your headache”

He’d been avoiding Michael for three days now. He was miserable in all of the days.

He was debating whether he should quit being a coward and finally get what he wanted when there was a knock on his door.

He was not even a little surprised that it was Michael.

He was surprised by the flower though.

“What is this?”

Michael held out the flower, eyes pleading. “Wanna take you out for a date.”

“I haven’t slept well these past days, my head kinda hurts, going out is not something I want to do now,” Alex said, and rushed to say the next bit because Michael looked devastated, “But we could stay in, order some take out, and watch Star Wars together?”

Michael relaxed a fraction. “You mean rewatch Star Wars.”

“Yeah, well, I have this habit of falling in love with something and never managing to fall out of it, don’t I?”

Michael smiled, a little teary. “Guess we have that in common.”

——————————————

They ate, they talked, they watched Star Wars.

Then Michael was crowding Alex into the back of the couch, and asked tentatively: “how is your headache, honey?”

To that, Alex replied with a kiss.

#malexweek20 #malex20 #malex #Malex fic #my fic #5+1 things #old married couple #tropes

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