#and then you offer to come pick them up and drive them home for a week of help and relaxation once the experience is over since that's

[plutotheplum]

chapter three | the chariot

caleb x fem!reader

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “You’re not leaving.” Caleb stalks towards you, his fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your head up. “You’re not leaving until you’re fucked full of my cum.” He dips his head, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Understand, sweetheart?��

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, modern au, smut, fluff, kissing, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, biting, bondage, vaginal fingering, handjob, dog tags, inappropriate photos, confessions

wc: 6.9k

a/n: this turned out to have a little more romance than i was expecting to write but i hope you enjoy! caleb is just soooo 🫦

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the emperor

“Why are you wearing a scarf?”

You clear your throat, fingers tapping against the side of your glass of juice agitatedly. 

“It’s quite cold, isn’t it?” you supply lamely, fingers itching to reach up and tug the scarf tighter around your neck, desperately hoping that Caleb hadn’t taken notice of the marks that were now in full bloom.

“Cold?” he echoes, raising his brows. “We’re in the middle of spring. Are you feeling sick?”

You hardly hear his question because you’re too busy trying to tilt your head in a way that doesn’t look too suspicious. The stupid fabric was beginning to itch, and it was driving you crazy.

Xavier had offered to help when he’d found you in his kitchen in the morning, desperately twirling a whisk against your neck. It had hardly helped. You would’ve opted for a turtleneck, but there was a certain lack of them in your closet. Instead, you’d rummaged around, managing to fish out an oddly-patterned scarf from the depths.

“C’mon, are you sick?” Caleb prods, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, the couch dipping under both your weights as you shift.

“No,” you mumble, silently wishing that this wasn’t happening right now. All you can manage is a pitiful excuse. “I just happen to really like scarves, Caleb.”

“Well, it looks ridiculous,” he says drily, nuzzling into your cheek. “You gonna take it off anytime soon?”

“It’s chic,” you correct, trying to squirm away from him. “And no, I’m still cold.”

Caleb huffs out a laugh, his lips pressing against your cheek fondly. You bite your lip when he picks you up, situating you on his lap, his chest warm against your back. Normally, it’d feel nice if you weren’t currently overheating and overwhelmed. 

You stiffen when Caleb rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you closer. His lips drag across your jaw in a fleeting kiss and you can feel your eyes sliding shut, lulled into a state of comfort by his thumbs gently rubbing circles into your stomach through your dress.

Out of everyone, Caleb was the one you’d known the longest. You’d grown up together, until he’d moved away for a couple of years before coming back, his demeanor a little more intense than you’d remembered. You still weren’t sure of the reason, but Caleb had gotten sterner over the years, less willing to let you go.

He’d been your first kiss back then, your lips clumsy and inexperienced when he’d kissed you and shy, fleeting glances exchanged between you when he’d walked you home, his hand grasping yours firmly.

You’d never quite gotten the chance to explore the possibility of something more… serious with him, not when Caleb was joining the military soon after. You’d hardly even seen him around until the past few months, his schedule freeing up while he awaited deployment. 

“I missed you,” Caleb murmurs, his nose nudging against the side of your head.

“I missed you too,” you mumble, playing with his fingers, your palm pressing against his a few moments later, hands locking together.

He smiles, and you hum when he squeezes your hand, wiggling on his lap happily. Caleb lets out a low noise, one his hands curling over your hip to stop you.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re no fun.”

Caleb huffs out a breath, his face pressing into your neck with the intention of mouthing across your skin. He lets out an irritated noise when he’s met with a faceful of your woolly scarf, letting out an exasperated breath.

“Please take the damn thing off.”

“Can’t,” you reply, feigning innocence, “it’s too cold.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “I can warm you up.”

You shake your head, jerking out of his grasp when he tries to tug your scarf free from around your neck. You’re at your wits end, squeaking when Caleb tries to lunge for you again.

“I want to have sex with the scarf on, Caleb!”

“Is that a new kink?” he laughs, his eyes lighting up, “c’mon baby, you gotta take it off.”

You squeal when he manages to catch you, your little dance around his coffee table coming to an end when he pulls you into his chest, his arms firm and unrelenting, preventing your escape.

“S- stop!” you yelp, trying to squirm out of his arms, shrieking when he hooks his fingers into the gap between your scarf and neck, pulling it free. “Caleb!”

Caleb catches your hand when you try to cover up your neck, his expression dropping when he sees the extent of damage Xavier had laid to your skin. You stare up at him, swallowing nervously, fingers itching at your side, desperately wanting to snatch the scarf back from him.

“What,” he sucks in a shaky breath, “what the fuck is that?”

“N- nothing!” you protest, trying to turn your back to him. “It’s- it’s probably just an allergic reaction to my scarf!” You manage to twist yourself, hand shooting out to grab your scarf, pretending to give the little tag a once-over. “Mhm, yep, definitely an allergic reaction. I- I am, in fact, allergic to wool.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Caleb scoffs, “I know you aren’t allergic to anything.”

“It happens with age,” you lie through your teeth, “ever heard of dermatitis?”

Caleb stares at you blankly, shaking his head incredulously after a moment. “You’ve been spending too much time with Zayne,” he mutters. You watch uneasily as he balls his hands up into fists before he unclenches them, his fingers spreading out in a strained gesture. “Who did it?”

“Xavier,” you mumble, playing with your fingers. 

“I’m going to missile strike his apartment.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so on edge. “You can’t do that,” you reply exasperatedly, “I live in the same apartment complex, remember? Besides, wouldn’t that be like a crime?”

“That is a crime,” Caleb snaps, pointing at your neck accusingly, “I mean what the fuck did you do with him? He’s practically tried to devour you whole.”

You flush when you remember what you had done with Xavier. The teasing, the feeling of his mouth on your tits, you’d enjoyed it.

Caleb glares at you when he sees the faraway look in your eyes, his arms crossing over his chest. “You don’t have to look so satisfied.”

“Well, he did satisfy me,” you mutter under your breath, shifting on your feet awkwardly.

Caleb scrubs a hand over his face before running his fingers through his hair. His jaw clenches as he stares down at you, gaze fixated on the discolored splotches that cover your neck. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the air and you wring your hands together, averting your gaze from his.

“I can leave,” you offer quietly, “if that’s what you w-”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “You’re not leaving.” Caleb stalks towards you, his fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your head up. “You’re not leaving until you’re fucked full of my cum.” He dips his head, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Understand, sweetheart?”

“What?” you ask breathlessly, somehow pinned in place by his darkened gaze and stern expression, holding none of the playful humor that you were accustomed to.

“You’re not leaving my apartment until I fuck you full of my cum,” Caleb repeats, tightening his grip on you. “Do you understand?”

“Well, I-” you sputter, cheeks hot, struggling to comprehend his words. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, spinning you around, his palm warm against your stomach. You bite back a whimper when he caresses your stomach, his hand pressing down firmly when you turn your head, eyes fluttering shut.

Caleb keeps his hand there, fingers splaying out, trying to encompass every inch of you that he can. His nose nudges against the side of your head, his breath hot against your skin. “Cat got your tongue, hm? You can go and sleep with those two pieces of shit but you can’t answer a simple question, huh?”

“Xavier’s not a piece of shit,” you shoot back agitatedly, eyes opening to send him an irritated look. “And neither is Rafayel. Grow up, Caleb.”

“I was right here,” he hisses, glaring down at you. “I was right fucking here and you decided you wanted to fuck four other men to have a fucking baby.”

“Yes, I did,” you retort sharply, turning in his arms, your finger pressing into his chest harshly. “If you can’t handle that, then maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

Caleb’s eyes flash with anger, his grip on you loosening when you take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I agreed first,” he snaps, “or did you forget about that little detail?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” you say exasperatedly, throwing your arms up. “I’m here, in your fucking apartment, Caleb! And yes,” you snap harshly, blinded by your irritation, not quite paying attention to the words slipping out of your mouth, “I want to be fucked full of your cum!”

Caleb’s expression falters when he hears the latter part of your outburst, his eyes widening. Your chest heaves, a frustrated sound leaving you when you realize what you’ve said. You may as well have grabbed a shovel and started looking for a plot of land to bury yourself in.

Instead, you send him a glare that you hope is venomous enough, shoving past him to save face, storming into his bedroom.

“Hey, what are you-” Caleb begins, trailing after you awkwardly, his movements unsure. 

Still fuming, you unzip your dress, flinging the fabric at his stupidly handsome face, irritated by his bewildered expression. Caleb’s face disappears for a moment while he sputters, managing to ball your dress up before you throw your bra and panties in his face too. His cheeks flush at the sight of your panties, his fingers clenching around the lace.

“I’m ready,” you announce, well aware of the marks Xavier had left on your breasts and a few more that were hidden between your thighs. You gesture towards yourself. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Fuck me.”

“Uh-” Caleb clears his throat, taken aback by your sudden burst of determination, “maybe you should… calm down first?”

“You think I should calm down?” you retort sharply, “you’re the one that was throwing a temper tantrum!”

“For good reason!” he protests, setting your clothes down on top of his dresser before stepping towards you. “All someone needs to do is take one look at your neck and they’d understand where I’m coming from.”

“You started it with Xavier,” you hiss, finger prodding into his chest once again, “if you hadn’t riled him up, then maybe he wouldn’t have done this.” You gesture towards your neck agitatedly.

“Clearly it’s not just your neck, is it?” Caleb murmurs, his hand sliding up over your waist, his warm, calloused hand cupping your breast, squeezing gently. “All over your tits too.” He frowns at the sight, leaning back to watch your nipples harden at his ministrations, his eyes narrowing when he sees the splotchy marks left by Xavier. “You call that fair, sweetheart?”

All you can manage is a stubborn pout, averting your gaze. He sighs, and you shuffle forward, pressing your face into his chest. “He apologized,” you say, remembering the way Xavier had been on his knees. You let out a heavy breath. “Turns out he’s really good at apologizing.”

“I bet he is,” Caleb grumbles bitterly, his fingers pinching at your nipple absentmindedly.

You whimper, silently cursing yourself for being so weak. Caleb’s other hand comes up to cup your other breast, weighing it in his hand. The breath he lets out sounds a little too strained to be considered normal, your head tilting upwards to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he says finally, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, his expression turning slightly serious.

Caleb lowers his head, his nose brushing against yours. He doesn’t go any further, simply staring into your eyes. It’s a little unnerving until you realize what he wants from you. Fingers curling into his shirt, you bring him a little closer to you, eyes slipping shut as your lips meet his in a chaste kiss.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper against his lips, “for not being understanding of your um-” you pause, trying to think of the right word, “preferences?”

He hums, his hand sliding up over the side of your neck to cup your cheek. “Yeah,” Caleb murmurs, “I still don’t think you understand what you mean to me.”

You blink up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. Caleb’s eyes bore down into yours, his expression conflicted. You stare into his eyes searchingly when you think you spot a hint of wistfulness breaking through. “Caleb?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers, both of his hands cupping your cheeks now. “I like you, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you say, the tension bleeding out from you. “I like you too, Caleb,” you chirp, a smile on your face, “you didn’t have to scare me like that.”

“What?”

“What?” you parrot back, confusion marring your expression yet again.

“No,” Caleb huffs out an irritated breath, “no, I like you.”

You give him a blank look. “...I know. You just said that.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, “I like you as in romantically. As in I’ve spent the last fifteen years of my fucking life pining after you.”

What? Your mouth opens before you close it, stunned into silence. You always knew Caleb had a little thing for you, but fifteen years? 

“And you didn’t say anything earlier?” you manage out, “and you chose to confess now?” You gesture towards your bare body, cheeks flushing.

“The timing was never right,” he replies stubbornly, his eyes narrowing, “and yes.”

“I don’t think the timing is right now!” you protest, shaking your head.

“You don’t feel the same way.”

You shoot him an indignant look. “I didn’t say that, Caleb. It’s just… it’s complicated. You know it is.”

“Always is with you, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his jaw clenching.

“Are you serious?” you begin, feeling cornered, “if you had just said some-”

You’re cut off when Caleb dips his head, pressing a bruising kiss against your lips, one that steals the air from your lungs, leaving your vision blurry when he pulls back.

“It’s okay,” Caleb says, his arms sliding under your thighs to pick you up before he dumps you on his bed unceremoniously. “The baby’s going to be mine, and when it is, I’m going to put a pretty fucking ring on this finger.”

“Marriage?” you squeak out, your complaints muffled by his mouth when he crawls over you, his mouth working against yours hungrily.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pecking your lips gentler this time, “‘m gonna marry you, sweetheart.”

You were fairly certain the constant high altitudes he was flying at had gotten to his brain. Zayne could help, you think belatedly, until that thought is brushed away when he kisses your cheek, his lips returning to yours soon after, his tongue licking into your mouth, 

“What if the baby’s not yours?” you ask him breathlessly, thighs spreading wider when he settles his hips between them.

Caleb frowns at you, his grip adjusting on your hip. “It’ll be mine,” he says self-assuredly, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You can’t be sure-”

“I’ll cum twice,” Caleb retorts.

“That’s- that’s against the rules!” you try to protest, a needy sigh slipping out of you when he mouths at your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin as though trying to erase the marks laid there. “You- you all agreed to cum once ah- to- to make it fair!”

“Nothing fair about this whole thing, honey.”

Your toes curl when he calls you honey, an unbidden giggle slipping out of you. Caleb leans back to stare at your expression, a smile pulling at his lips when he sees you trying to hide away in the pillows, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, pressing soft kisses all over.

“You like that,” he laughs, his hand finding its way between your thighs.

“So- so what?” you ask breathlessly, moaning against his mouth when he slides his fingers between your puffy folds, your lips meeting his for a brief kiss, hips bucking when Caleb rubs your clit.

“So stop pretending like you don’t.”

You paw at his broad shoulders, fingers latching onto his biceps greedily. Caleb groans softly at your groping, his eyes going half-lidded, a pretty pink tinging his cheeks when you run your hands over his chest, squeezing his firm pecs.

“Take your shirt off,” you whisper, hands sliding under the hem of his shirt to feel his bare skin.

Caleb complies, sitting back on his knees. You watch as he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, the silver chain around his neck grabbing your attention, the metal of his dog tags clinking together. 

“You still wear these?” you muse as you sit up, your fingers coming up to fiddle with his dog tags, flipping one of them over to read his name stamped into the metal. “Even when you’re not deployed?”

“All the time,” he murmurs, his fingers encircling your wrist, lips brushing over your knuckles.

You shiver at the fleeting kiss, leaning forward, your hands pushing at his chest to get him to lie down. Swinging a leg over his hip, you settle down on his lap, watching the way his dog tags settle between his pecs.

“I suppose you are a big shot, Caleb,” you sigh, biting your lip, fingers skimming down his chest teasingly.

“Colonel,” he corrects, watching hazily as you squirm down to settle on his thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats and boxers to pull them down.

Caleb’s cock slaps against his abdomen, hard and thick and somewhat imposing. You stare down at his arousal, cheeks flushing at the sight, watching as his cock twitches, pre-cum smearing across his skin.

“‘s nice,” you offer, hand wrapping around his cock, cunt throbbing when you feel the weight of him in your hand. “And- and big.”

“Bigger than theirs?” he asks, raising his brows, watching you closely as you begin to stroke his cock lazily.

Sylus’ was comparable, but you decide against telling him that, lest he throw another fit. Instead you nod, fighting the urge to roll your eyes when Caleb’s chest puffs out, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

His hand slides between your thighs and you shift, settling on top of it, grinding your hips across his calloused palm, wetness coating his skin. Caleb lets out a heavy breath and you whine, mouth opening and tongue lolling out to let spit drip from your mouth onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, throwing an arm over his face to hide his flushed expression, “baby, you’re fucking insane.”

“You wanted to missile strike another man’s apartment,” you shoot back, trying to pry his arm away from his face, eager to see his expressions. “Wanna see, Caleb.”

“I never said the idea was off the table,” he grouses, tilting his head to the side to let you mouth at his neck, his hips bucking up into your touch, trying to fuck his cock into the confines of your hand. “He could be a security threat,” Caleb mutters, his hands groping at your ass, squeezing and kneading. “Remind me to do a background check.”

“You’re such a baby,” you sigh, peering down to watch his cock move through your hand, tightening your grip.

A glob of pre-cum pools from the tip of his cock and you squirm, trying and failing to shuffle down and take his cock into your mouth, glaring at him when he keeps you anchored against him, on his lap.

“Always hungry for cock, hm?” Caleb coos, drawing out a loud moan from you when he curls his fingers, sinking them into your clenching pussy. “My cock-hungry little slut.”

You stifle a whimper, hips rising and falling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. His cock throbs in your hand and you squeeze, watching as more globs of thick pre-cum bead at the tip, smearing across when you spit down on his cock again, your lustful gaze meeting his.

“What?” you mumble, pecking his lips gently, eyes fluttering shut.

“Nothing,” he breathes out against your lips, his fingers crooking further, your head tipping back when his fingers hit the sensitive spot inside of you, the feeling enough to have you crying out. “You’re just… pretty.”

You blink up at him, lower lip jutting out in a pout, heart lurching uncomfortably in your chest. You press your face into the crook of his neck, your wrist twisting at a faster pace, jerking him off more desperately.

“Ah-” Caleb moans, his hand on your hip tightening when you rock your hips faster, his eyes squeezing shut when he feels the clench of your pussy around his fingers. “Slow down, honey.”

“I wanna watch you cum,” you say, teeth scraping along his shoulder, thumb brushing over the head of his cock, smiling when you feel Caleb jolt and grunt.

“No-” he shakes his head, “no, shit- I can’t cum now, baby.”

You ignore him, hand stroking faster, your other hand drifting to cup his balls, massaging them gently. Caleb curses and you squeal when he slaps your ass, the view of his room changing suddenly when he grabs you by your hips and pins you down into the bed.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him that you weren’t done stroking his cock, but you’re only met with the creak of Caleb’s bed as he gets off of it, disappearing through the door. Your brows furrow, the bed dipping as you crawl to the edge of the bed. “Caleb?” you call out, “are- are you coming back?”

Your confusion only grows when he returns with your scarf in hand. “I- I wasn’t serious,” you begin, feeling disoriented when he moves towards you, “I don’t actually want to have sex with the scarf on.”

Caleb smiles, his eyes glittering with mirth. “I thought it might help you keep your hands to yourself,” he murmurs, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, making your face scrunch up. 

You stare up at him, head tilting in question. Caleb huffs out a laugh at your expression, nose nudging against yours to land a kiss to your lips this time. His hands slide under you, picking you up before placing you closer to the headboard of his bed. You squirm under him, watching as he straddles you.

While he’s too busy pinning your wrists together, you lean forward, mouth enveloping his cock. Caleb jerks at the sudden sensation, cursing loudly, his body hunching over as you lap at the head of the cock.

“Can you listen for once?” he asks exasperatedly, his eyes narrowing down to look at you as you try to crane your neck forward, trying to take him deeper into your mouth.

Caleb rolls his eyes when you don’t listen, his fingers sliding over your wrists, winding your woolly scarf around and around, effectively binding them together. You whine when his cock slips out of your mouth with a soft pop, trying to sit up only to find your movement restricted. Your head tilts back, a huff of air leaving you when you realize he’s tied your wrists to the railing of the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you were into bondage, Caleb.”

“It’s not-” Caleb sputters for a moment, before he stares at you suspiciously, “how do you know what bondage is?”

You smile up at him sweetly. “I like to read.”

He decides against chastising you, instead making a mental note to pry into whatever it was that you were reading. Your eyes flutter shut when he strokes his hand over your hair, his lips slotting over yours. “Is this okay?” he asks, fingers trailing down your sides to grip your hips, “being tied up?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, pecking his lips gently, “it’s okay.”

You bite your lip as you watch him slink down your body, his lips leaving kisses as he moves. A soft sigh escapes you when he swirls his tongue around your nipple, his teeth biting down gently before he kisses your nipple, smiling against your skin when you twitch.

Caleb’s fingers slide over your stomach, his teeth scraping across your skin. You whimper when he settles between your thighs finally, trying to reach down to run your fingers through your hair only to be reminded of the fact that you’ve been tied up.

“Hands to yourself, honey,” he reminds you, his eyes twinkling with amusement when you pout.

“Jerk,” you murmur, head tipping back when his breath ghosts over your puffy folds, his fingers spreading you open.

“Think you like that about me,” Caleb mumbles, swallowing at the sight of your wet pussy, letting out a strained breath, “‘s pretty, baby. Really fucking pretty.”

You flush, pussy clenching when he licks over your clit, thighs twitching. Caleb’s fingers wrap around your thighs, placing them over his broad shoulders, his mouth opening wider. Tongue sliding through your folds, he laps at your cunt obscenely, your eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. 

He thinks he could die a happy man when you squeeze your thighs around his head, his mouth wrapping around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue against the swollen bud. 

Caleb’s name spills out of your mouth repeatedly in a pleading chant, tears pricking at your eyes when he digs his fingers into your thighs roughly. It all feels so good, his mouth on you, the tight grip he has on as though you might just disappear out from under you if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

You blink down at him when Caleb pulls away to lick his lips, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick and his spit, his gaze heady. A whimper leaves you when he bites your inner thigh, over the marks Xavier left, his teeth imprinted into your skin as you surrender yourself to him.

Caleb decides it’s not enough, pressing a kiss to your clit before he’s moving you to flip onto your back, your scarf twisting with you.

“Get on your knees, baby,” he rasps, tapping your hips.

You do your best, face shoved into the pillows as you squirm up onto your knees, feeling slightly mortified when Caleb spreads you apart, his hands kneading at your asscheeks. 

“Don’t- don’t do that,” you whine, body jerking forward when Caleb runs his tongue through your folds unexpectedly.

“You’re shy now?” he laughs softly, biting into the fat of your ass playfully.

You ignore him, too busy moaning into the pillows when Caleb rubs your clit, his face pressing between your thighs, nose pressing up against your pussy. A sharp gasp leaves you, hips rocking back, trying to grind against the bridge of his nose while his tongue joins his fingers, lapping over your swollen clit.

“Caleb,” you mewl, hands gripping onto the railing of his headboard, the wool of your scarf rubbing against your wrists, “nghhh- ah- you’re so-”

“Charming?” he offers.

You let out a strangled laugh, squeaking when his hand comes down on your ass. He spanks you again, and you make a noise in protest, trying to crawl away, except you have nowhere to go, the scarf fastened enough to prevent you. It’s all too much when his tongue presses into your aching cunt, a cry escaping you as Caleb fucks his tongue in and out of you.

He squeezes your thigh harshly and your movements grow more desperate, trying to sway your hips back when his mouth latches onto you clit again, the press of his nose too much to handle. 

“Gonna cum?” Caleb asks, his voice a low growl, “huh, baby? Gonna cum on my fucking tongue?”

“Y- yes!” you squeal, your knees giving out under you when he shoves his tongue back into your cunt, fucking it in and out of you. “Oh fuck, Caleb- oh fuck!”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he growls, his fingers rubbing at your clit fast and with just enough pressure that you give a trembling cry of his name, slumping down against the sheets as your thighs twitch uncontrollably, panting raggedly to try and catch your breath, toes curling in delirium. 

Caleb loosens the scarf binding your wrists when he sees you struggling to move, his cock smearing pre-cum across your thighs and stomach as he turns you over, lips slotting over yours in a desperate kiss. 

He’s picking you up soon after, chasing after your lips when you pull away to catch your breath, capturing them again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Caleb’s kisses are messy, spit leaking out from the sides of your mouth as he settles you onto his lap, his hands running up and down your sides soothingly.

“Can’t- can’t breathe,” you complain, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Caleb grumbles his displeasure under his breath before his eyes catch sight of your reddened wrists. Letting out a sigh, he grabs one of them, fingers running over your wrist gently, lifting it up to his lips to press soft kisses.

“You okay?” he murmurs, reaching for your other wrist, repeating his ministrations. “Was it too much?”

“No,” you say quietly, kissing his jaw, “it was good. I- I um- enjoyed it.”

Caleb smiles when you meet his eyes, his lips pressing up against the pads of your fingers. You smile back, feeling a little shy despite everything. He tucks your messy hair behind your ear, his touch skimming down your throat fleetingly.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he confesses, letting out a heavy breath, his head tipping back to rest against the headboard.

“I’m here,” you whisper, feeling unsure about what else to say, your fingers playing with his dog tags, bringing them up towards you to kiss the small, metal plates.

Caleb’s expression softens as he watches you, his heart thudding in his chest.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” you continue, kissing him sweetly. “See?”

You reach out, fingers sliding under his silver chain to lift it up over his head before you place it around his neck. The metal chimes softly, his dog tags settling between your breasts.

Caleb nearly cums at the sight. You know exactly how to rile him up, know exactly what to do to make him feel like a lovesick fool. He stares down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, fingers flexing against your hips.

You look so sweet, so soft, perched atop his lap delicately. He doesn’t know what to say when you peer up at him, feeling short of breath when you lean forward to kiss his cheek gently. Caleb’s fingers reach out to graze his dog tags, the cool metal grounding him at least for a moment.

“I hate how you make me feel,” he murmurs finally, hands smoothing over your sides, dragging you closer, groaning softly when your breasts squish up against his chest.

“Sorry?” you offer meekly, biting your lip when he squeezes the fat of your ass.

“Don’t be,” Caleb sighs, his forehead pressing against yours.

He kisses you gently, lips smacking against yours in the quiet of his bedroom. You rock your hips, pussy sliding over the length of his cock. Caleb grunts into your mouth, lifting you up, his hands grasping you under your thighs while you mewl, hand grasping his cock to line him up against your entrance.

“Caleb,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut when he sinks you down slowly onto his cock, nails scratching his pecs at the feeling of him stretching you out, his cock thick enough to have you feeling like you’re being split open.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers, “doing so good for me. Taking my cock so well, yeah?”

You nod, still scrabbling at his chest, whining when he sinks you down onto the entire length of his cock, your pussy trying to accommodate his size. Caleb smiles against your cheek, kneading at your hips, muttering soft words of encouragement.

Your eyes meet his, hands sliding over his shoulders to let your arms wrap around his neck. Caleb leans back, resting against the headboard as you shuffle on his lap to get more comfortable, beginning to roll your hips.

“Good girl,” Caleb says hoarsely, “just like that, baby. Take your time.”

Spreading your legs to set a wider base, you rise up before dropping your hips back down, making Caleb groan when he feels you beginning to bounce on his cock, his eyes fluttering shut. You bite your lip at the sight, arms tightening around his neck, fucking yourself on his cock, gasping when you feel his cock twitch.

You think you might feel him in your stomach, his cock so fat and thick that it has your cunt clenching in quick succession in an attempt to readjust with every rise and fall of your hips. Caleb’s dog tags jingle with every bounce of you on his lap, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder, his teeth scraping across your shoulder.

“Wanna feel you fuck me full,” you mumble, nuzzling against his jaw, “please?”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, “you wanna be bred, sweetheart? Wanna have my baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, sending him a drunken smile when he stares down at you.

Caleb’s fingers hook into the chain around your neck, tugging you closer until you’re moaning against his mouth, his darkened eyes watch the bounce and sway of your tits as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Good fucking girl,” Caleb grunts, “ride my cock, sweetheart. Gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

His words are obscene, his teeth biting at your lower lip, fingers pinching at your nipples until you’re writhing on his lap. You squeak when he wraps his hands around your waist, letting out a sharp gasp when he picks you up as though you weigh nothing and slams you down onto the length of his cock.

“C- Caleb! ‘s too much!” you wail, nails scratching down his back, unable to meet his eyes properly, not when he’s using you, taking you like you’re nothing but a ragdoll.

“No,” Caleb snaps, “it’s not too much; fucking take it.”

You squeal when he bites your breast, hands flailing for purchase, trying to grab out for something, anything, but it’s hard when he’s fucking you onto his cock like this, your hands landing on his shoulders briefly. The clank of his dog tags is drowned out by the sounds of his balls slapping against you, the lewd noises of his cock thrusting in and out of your clenching pussy.

“Do you like me?”

“Wh- what?” you manage out, lashes fluttering rapidly as you try to blink clearly. 

“Do you like me?” Caleb asks, his voice hoarse and raspy, enough to have you clenching around his cock. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “Say yes,” he breathes out, pressing his chest more firmly against yours, as though trying to meld your bodies together. 

You feel lightheaded and short of breath when his fingers shift, pressing into your lower stomach. His voice turns into something softer, something more pleading. “Say yes, sweetheart.”

“Y- yes,” you hiccup, heart fluttering in your chest, “I- I like you Caleb.”

“Again,” he demands, nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering above yours.

“I like you,” you say breathlessly, kissing his jaw, “like you so much, Caleb. Wanna be bred, please- please cum inside.” You don’t exactly why you utter the next words, but you figure Caleb ought to be into that sort of thing, the power trip it gives him when he’s clinging to control. “Please, Colonel?”

“Oh my- fuck!” Caleb swears sharply, and you can feel his hips jerk, his grip on you faltering when you call him by his title. “You little minx- fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you whine, smiling against his mouth, pawing at his thick pecs, tongue licking over his lips. “‘m sorry, Colonel. Just- just wanna have your baby.”

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Caleb groans loudly, fingers dimpling the flesh of your hips, “‘m gonna fill this pretty pussy up, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, feeling beyond fucked out, your head a swirl of Caleb, and Caleb only, unable to register anything other than the feeling of his cock snug inside your cunt, the cool metal of his dog tags against your skin, his mouth on yours.

“Ah-” Caleb whines, high and broken, the sound enough to make your back arch, nails digging into his chest.

He manages to fuck you on his cock a few more times, his hands pushing at your hips until your pussy hugs the entirety of his cock, your ass snug against his balls. Caleb moans into your ear, panting and whining as he cums, his cock twitching inside of you as hot spurts of cum spill out, filling you up.

You twitch atop him, the walls of your cunt fluttering around him, eyes squeezing shut as you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

Caleb clicks his tongue when you try to squirm off of him, rubbing his hands over your thighs when you complain about the ache settling in your muscles.

“Stay,” he whispers, kissing your temple, “gotta make sure it takes.”

A few minutes later, you curl up into his side when he lays you down gently, his hand rubbing over your side soothingly. Only the sounds of your breathing fill his room, Caleb’s fingers stroking across you gently. Your lips meet his when he lowers his head, sighing when he squeezes your thighs, massaging them gently.

“We don’t have to do it twice,” he whispers, “I was just- it was the heat of the moment.”

You stare at him, taking in the softness in his eyes, your head tilting to nuzzle into his palm when he strokes his thumb across your cheek. It’s against the rules, you remind yourself, and yet fifteen years… the number is enough to make your stomach flip.

“Did you mean it?” you ask quietly, your fingers tracing across his chest, over the ridges and dips of his muscles.

Caleb lets out a low sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. “Every word, sweetheart.”

There’s a long stretch of silence and Caleb presses his nose into your hair, his eyes opening when he hears the clink of metal. You give him a shy smile, leg swinging over his hip as you straddle him.

The man under you groans softly when you roll your hips, his eyes raptly watching the gentle sway of his dog tags between your breasts. The soft, sweet sentence that you utter next has Caleb closing his eyes in a silent prayer. You truly were going to drive him to madness.

“Better make up for lost time, Colonel.”

- 

Caleb has never seen you more disarmed than when you’re asleep.

He supposes it’s a bit creepy to stare at you while you’re sleeping, but he can’t help it, having been stirred awake by a cramp in his leg. His fingers ghost across the curve of your cheek, careful not to wake you, an uncomfortable ache piercing through his heart. 

If only he could keep you here with him.

But Caleb knows how stubborn you are, and he knows the rules of this little scheme that he agreed to, even if they are stupid and he’s already broken one of them. He stiffens when you stir, a smile pulling at his lips when drool slips out the side of your mouth, your body squirming as you roll over onto your back.

When he catches a glimpse of your marked neck, his irritation flares again, lips thinning. Caleb supposes he is driven by jealousy, there’s no point in denying it, not when the ugly head of envy rears his head and he finds his vision tinted with a hue of green that makes it difficult to think clearly.

His fingers are curling over your thigh gently, prying your legs apart carefully, his breath catching in his throat when he sees his cum smeared between your thighs and all over your pussy. Messy, he thinks, lowering his head to kiss your hip affectionately.

The flash of his phone camera isn’t bright enough to wake you up. Caleb stifles a groan at the picture, trying to will away the throb in his cock, his gaze entranced by the image of your messy pussy, covered and filled up with two loads of his cum. 

Just like how it should be, he thinks belatedly. Caleb would make it his lockscreen if it wasn’t so intimate. 

His fingers tap across his screen, finding Xavier’s number. There’s no need for unnecessary texts. The image is sent, Caleb’s lips pulling up into a sneer at the thought of the silver-haired man. 

Caleb tosses his phone onto his bedside table, wrapping his arms around, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead, humming softly as you curl up into his arms, snuggling closer as you seek out his warmth. The soft sounds of his clinking dog tags catch his attention.

Caleb decides he’ll need to get an extra one stamped. 

One with your name.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless @flwerie @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @babyx91 @thisaintviolet69 @scoupsonlycherry @blubearxy @midiplier @young-adult-summer @daisys-mushroom-garden @sunsethw4 @lads-ficrecs @buffytheangelslayer @helios-eyre @browneyedgirl22 @straows @lennysnicket @actuallynarii

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[bueckersleftbraid]

”—The Weight of Staying

WC: 5.9k

singer/songwriter!azzi x nylibertyplayer!paige

warnings: none? this is pretty much just fluff

Some people are bad at letting go. Others are even worse at walking away for good. Paige and Azzi have always been a little bit of both.

authors note —> hi loves, I’m finally uploading again. I am absolutely in love with this storyline, so I hope that all of you love it too! I’m not sure if I will be adding to this, but let me know if you would like that.

A cool breeze blew through the open window in Azzi’s apartment, which was 5 floors up but the noice of the city was still evident from below. She sat at her desk, the blank page of her song writing book glaring at her. She had tried everything. Rhyming— which Azzi always thought sounded a bit childish anyway—, listening to other artists, just writing out her thoughts. But nothing seemed to work. Everything just felt like it was missing something. And honestly, Azzi felt like a part of her was missing too. She hadn’t spoken to Paige in weeks. Despite Paige having a strand of home games, so she would be in the city for a while, Azzi hadn’t gotten up the courage to text her. It had always been a cycle with them. Almost lovers, almost enemies, always something. 

Their last fight had been, well, stupid to say the least. It always ended in Azzi wanting more and Paige not being able to give her that. Paige had to travel all the time for games or brand deals or whatever event she had going on that week, which left Azzi alone in a city that was supposed to be for them. Despite this, Azzi always found herself being dragged back to the blonde. And tonight was just the same. Azzi felt alone and the only one who could make her feel better was Paige. The only one she wanted to even try. Finally, Azzi decided to pull out her phone, clicking on Paige’s contact.

Are you home?

She hit send, before locking her phone and exhaling. She looked around. God, her apartment was a mess. Cluttered with clothes and suitcases from her recent trip to Los Angeles for a pop-up concert. The only shelf that looked perfect— as it always did— was her vinyl collection. One that held so many memories. Late nights in summer when she would curl up with Paige and listen to music together. 

Suddenly, a buzz. That was quick. 

Home now. Need something?

Azzi smiled at the message. Despite the lack of contact between the two in recent times, Paige still offered to help. Because it was Azzi. How could she not?

A hug maybe. Trying to write and nothings working.

Azzi exhaled as she typed the message. She never felt like she had to hide with Paige, like she needed to feel shame for her emotions.

Want me to come pick you up?

A small smile immediately blossomed on Azzi’s face. They were back. It had always been a routine that Azzi wouldn’t call an Uber. Paige thought they were sketchy. She always said, “You never know who’s driving. Could be a creep,” which Azzi would always agree. The blonde would insist on driving Azzi herself to anywhere she needed.

Yes please, see you in 10?

Text you when I’m outside 

Once she got the message, Azzi packed a small bag. Only intending on one night at most— she had most of her stuff already at Paige’s place anyway. She slipped makeup wipes, a pair of pajamas and some clothes for her meeting in the morning, a small bag of makeup— only the necessities; blush, mascara, and a light coverage concealer— a comb so she could at least part her curls in the morning. Everything else Paige had.  

Soon enough her phone buzzed.

Outside the lobby to the left, my normal spot

Azzi smiled softly at her phone before slinging her bag over her shoulder and slipping on a pair of uggs—her black tasmans that she had matching with Paige. They were a random gift one day. The blonde had said, “I thought they suited us,” which of course made Azzi’s heart flutter— and grabbing her keys. She slipped out of her and walked down the empty hallway of her floor, relishing in the comforting silence of the moment as she waited for the elevator. 

As she exited the lobby, the chill of the midnight air hitting her and sending shivers through her body. Maybe a T-shirt wasn’t the best choice of clothing. The brunette wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way down the block to the black Jeep Grand Cherokee, a large car considering that Paige barely ever drove people around. 

“Hi Az,” Paige spoke, voice smooth as ever, as Azzi slipped into the passenger seat, the brunettes ears immediately being filled with the faint sound of Daniel Caesar.

Azzi leaned back into the seat, letting the city blur past them in streaks of gold and blue. The heat in the car was just starting to kick in, making the windows slightly fogged around the edges. The warmth felt good—comfortable, familiar. But Paige wasn’t acting like herself.

Her left hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual, and Azzi noticed the subtle way she leaned her body away from the driver’s side door, favoring her right. It was something only someone who knew her—really knew her—would’ve picked up on.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, glancing over, her voice light but tinged with concern.

“Mhm,” Paige responded quickly, too quickly. She didn’t meet Azzi’s eyes. “Just… sore. Took a fall during the game the other night.”

Azzi turned slightly, folding one leg beneath her in the seat. “Your shoulder?”

Paige sighed, her jaw tightening. “Yeah. Landed weird on it. It’s fine. Just bruised or something.”

There was a pause, the silence settling between them like fog. Azzi could feel it. The thing they always did—this dance of pretending nothing hurt until it did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, not accusing, just tired in that way that only comes from missing someone who’s still technically there.

Paige shrugged with her good shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Azzi didn’t respond at first. The music in the background shifted to something low and piano-heavy—Daniel Caesar bleeding into H.E.R.—and the ache in her chest bloomed a little bigger.

“You’re not a bother,” she said softly. “Not to me.”

Paige didn’t say anything. But she reached across the console, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s until the brunette laced them together.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, just the warmth of Paige’s hand and the soft hum of music holding them together.

They pull up to Paige’s apartment.

The elevator ride up was quiet. Not awkward—just sleepy. Azzi leaned slightly against the wall, her head tilted to the side as Paige fished her keys out of her jacket pocket. The blonde was clearly favoring her right arm now, movements slow and calculated.

“You need help?” Azzi asked, watching her struggle with the key in the door.

Paige gave a dry chuckle. “Don’t insult me.”

Azzi smirked but didn’t respond. She just stepped inside when the door opened, greeted by the soft scent of vanilla and clean linen. Paige always kept the place minimalist, a reflection of how she liked to keep her life—orderly, neat, controlled. Azzi’s own chaotic energy was always a bit of a contrast, but it had blended into the space over time. A pair of her shoes still by the door. Her favorite mug on the drying rack. A sweatshirt draped over the back of the couch.

“I was gonna clean up,” Paige said as she dropped her bag by the door. “But, you know, bruised ego. Sore arm.”

“You think I care if your throw pillows are fluffed?” Azzi replied, dropping her own bag gently onto the couch.

Paige gave her a small smile, something fond flickering across her face. But then she winced again, subtle but noticeable, as she moved to take off her jacket.

“Okay, nope,” Azzi said, stepping forward. “Let me.”

She helped Paige out of the coat gently, the fabric sliding off her shoulders with effort. The blonde hissed a little as her injured shoulder twisted, and Azzi’s hands immediately stilled.

“You’re sure it’s just bruised?”

“I didn’t go to the trainer.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Of course you didn’t.”

Paige shrugged with her good shoulder. “Didn’t want them to bench me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached for the hoodie Paige had been wearing beneath the coat.

“You’re gonna have to take this off too,” she said quietly. “Let me see.”

Paige hesitated, and for a second, Azzi wondered if she’d resist. But then the blonde raised her arms—slowly, painfully—and let Azzi peel the hoodie off like a second skin. Beneath it, she wore a loose tank top, and Azzi’s eyes immediately caught the faint purpling bruise blooming across her shoulder and collarbone.

“Jesus, Paige,” she breathed. “This isn’t nothing.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

Azzi carefully guided her to sit on the couch, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a heating pad and a bottle of ibuprofen she knew was always tucked in the medicine cabinet. She handed Paige the pills and plugged in the heating pad, sitting beside her as it warmed up.

They sat in silence for a while, the glow of the living room lamps casting soft shadows against the walls. The pad began to hum gently, heat spreading over Paige’s shoulder. Azzi pressed a blanket into her lap, then curled her knees up on the couch, her head resting lightly against Paige’s good shoulder.

“I missed you,” Azzi said eventually, voice quiet.

Paige looked down at her, eyes soft. “I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a while. No words. Just warmth. Paige with the heating pad pressed gently against her shoulder and Azzi tucked beside her, legs curled up beneath her, body angled just slightly toward the blonde like she couldn’t help it. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty but full. Of unspoken things. Of things they hadn’t let themselves say for months.

Azzi’s thumb moved idly against the soft material of the blanket, mind tracing memories she wasn’t sure she had permission to keep anymore. She could feel Paige breathing—slow, steady—and she closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to get swept back into whatever this always was between them. Almost something. Always something.

“You can stay, you know,” Paige murmured, voice low, rough around the edges.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open. “I planned to.”

“No, I mean…” Paige turned slightly, wincing again. “Stay tonight. But like—not just sleep and go. Just… stay. For a while.”

Azzi tilted her head up, surprised. Paige never asked. Not for time. Not for company. She gave it when she had it, and then she was gone again—training, flying, media, whatever. But not this. Not her asking Azzi to stay.

“What’s that mean?” Azzi asked, soft but not tentative.

Paige looked away, lips pressing into a thin line before she answered.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Just… the apartment’s been quiet lately. And everything feels louder when it’s just me. But when you’re here, it’s… I don’t know. Easier.”

Azzi’s chest tightened. She wanted to be angry—because hadn’t she always been the one who stayed, while Paige let her? But then Paige shifted again, just slightly, and her fingers found Azzi’s beneath the blanket. Their hands slid together like puzzle pieces worn soft with time.

“I’ll stay,” Azzi said. “But I’m taking the good pillow.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh—more air than sound. “Deal.”

They ended up on the bed—not in the way they used to be, not tangled in each other or chasing heat in the dark—but side by side, Azzi having changed into her sleep shirt, Paige in a new hoodie that didn’t pull at her shoulder. The lamp on the nightstand cast a dull amber glow across the room, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, low and lazy against the late-night streets.

Azzi lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Paige mirrored her, though her eyes were on Azzi.

“Do you ever think we’re just… bad at timing?” Paige asked quietly.

Azzi blinked, surprised. “All the time.”

“And do you ever think…” She trailed off, her voice catching. “That maybe we’re only like this—when it’s broken. When we’re hurting.”

Azzi turned her head, their eyes meeting in the low light.

“No,” she said, firm but quiet. “I think that’s when we remember we need each other. That’s not the same thing.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her gaze didn’t drop. Eventually, she nodded, more to herself than anything else.

“Good,” she whispered. “’Cause I don’t want to forget.”

Azzi reached over and turned off the lamp. The room darkened, and the silence wrapped around them again.

This time, Paige was the one to move first—her good arm draping gently across Azzi’s waist, tentative, like she wasn’t sure she still had the right. Azzi didn’t say anything. She just scooted a little closer and laid her palm over Paige’s hand, grounding them there.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, they both fell asleep easily.

Together.

____

Azzi woke to sunlight.

It poured through the gaps in the curtains, soft and golden, casting faint lines across the white sheets and the wall beyond. For a second, she didn’t remember where she was. Then she shifted slightly, felt the gentle weight of an arm draped across her waist, and everything came rushing back.

Paige. The night. The way they’d just been—no performance, no boundaries, just bodies breathing in sync for the first time in too long.

Azzi blinked against the light, turning slightly to look at her.

Paige was still asleep. Her hair was mussed, falling softly over her forehead, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other looped around Azzi like it belonged there. Her expression was unguarded in sleep—lips parted slightly, brows soft, lashes casting little shadows against her cheeks.

Azzi didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she let herself study the woman she had loved in a thousand almosts. Paige always looked so invincible—on the court, in press photos, even just walking down the street in oversized sunglasses and a hoodie like she owned the sidewalk. But like this? With her body curled in the quiet of morning, shoulder still bruised beneath the fabric of her sweatshirt, hand twitching slightly in sleep—she looked real. And Azzi felt something twist in her chest because God, she was still so far gone.

Eventually, Paige stirred. Her fingers flexed gently against Azzi’s waist before her eyes blinked open, hazy and slow.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

Azzi smiled. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world hadn’t cracked open yet. No game plans. No studio deadlines. No red-eyes or sponsorship deals. Just the bed. The blankets. The echo of the night before lingering between them.

But then Paige’s phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Then a third time—longer, insistent. Paige let out a groan, reaching out with her good arm to grab it from the nightstand.

Azzi rolled onto her back, letting her eyes fall to the ceiling as Paige squinted at the screen. There was a pause, and then—

“Hey,” Paige said, already sliding off the bed. “Gimme a sec. I just have to take this. It's my agent.”

Azzi’s stomach dropped, just a little.

She listened as Paige padded out of the bedroom, her socked feet quiet against the hardwood floor. The door stayed open—just enough that Azzi could hear her voice from the living room.

“Yeah, I know… No, I’m fine, just a small thing with the shoulder. I’ll be good by next week... Yeah, I can make it to LA for the shoot... That soon?”

Azzi closed her eyes.

Of course.

The bubble had to pop eventually. It always did.

She sat up slowly, running a hand through her curls, already matted from sleep. Her chest felt tight—not because Paige had done anything wrong, not really. But because it had been so easy, for just a moment, to believe they were building something new. Something that wouldn’t crack under distance or time zones or priorities that never seemed to align.

Paige's voice carried again, muffled but clear.

“I’ll talk to Azzi, yeah. I think we’re... figuring stuff out.”

Azzi froze.

That phrase—figuring stuff out—hit her in the gut more than it should’ve. She knew Paige meant well. She always did. But that was the problem. Paige always hovered in that middle ground. Never let herself name it. Never jumped in all the way.

Azzi wasn’t sure how many more almosts she could take.

She pulled her legs up onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to quiet the storm that had started brewing again. It was always like this—sweetness followed by the inevitable sting. Paige was a safe place until she wasn’t.

A few minutes later, Paige walked back in. Her face looked slightly flushed, like she knew the spell had broken too.

“Hey,” she said again, softer this time. “Sorry. It was about the Nike thing. They want to reshoot in LA next week.”

Azzi nodded but didn’t look at her.

“Cool,” she said, voice carefully neutral.

Paige hesitated by the doorway. “I didn’t know they’d move it up. I didn’t say yes yet.”

Azzi gave a tight smile. “You will.”

Another pause. Another silence that said more than either of them were ready to.

“I don’t want to leave things like they were before,” Paige said finally. “I want to figure this out. For real.”

Azzi looked up at her. Her eyes were tired, but steady.

“I need you to stop figuring,” she said gently. “And start choosing.”

Azzi left Paige’s apartment just after nine.

She didn’t say much when she slipped on her coat and gathered her things—just pressed a kiss to Paige’s cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary. Paige had offered to drive her, but Azzi had gently declined. She said she needed air. What she didn’t say was that she needed space to think. To feel whatever it was she had been pushing down since the second Paige picked her up last night.

The morning was crisp, cool enough that the wind stung slightly when it hit her face. She clutched her small bag to her chest as she walked, head tucked low, letting the hum of the city wrap around her. Car horns. Distant sirens. A bike bell. A dog barking from somewhere nearby. All of it layered over itself like some gritty, living song.

She arrived at the small downtown office space she sometimes used with her creative team—a shared suite lined with plants and windows and half-finished lyrics taped to the walls. Azzi was the only one there this early, which she preferred. It was easier to be honest when no one was watching.

She dropped her bag onto the couch and made herself a coffee from the old French press someone had left behind months ago. The smell filled the room—warm, earthy, grounding.

Her laptop was already on the desk. Her notebook beside it. Pages dog-eared and ink-stained, full of scraps of songs that never quite found their endings.

She stared at the blank page in front of her.

For weeks, the words hadn’t come. Everything had felt too forced, too shallow. Every verse had read like she was trying to trick herself into caring. But this morning, something felt different. Not lighter, exactly—but sharper. Like everything was suddenly in focus. The way Paige had held her. The bruise across her shoulder. The way she had said “I think we’re figuring stuff out” like that was enough.

Azzi reached for her pen before she even realized what she was doing.

She didn’t start with a melody. Not even a verse. Just a single line, scrawled in her messy, looping handwriting:

“You only hold me when you’re aching.”

She paused, staring at it.

Then she kept writing.

“You only call when the silence hurts. I only answer when I’m breaking— we don’t love, we just revert.”

The words came like a slow tide, not a flood—but enough. Enough to feel like something inside her had loosened. Like maybe she didn’t have to wait around for Paige to choose her to start choosing herself.

The door creaked open softly about twenty minutes later, and her manager, Cam, poked his head in. “Hey. Didn’t expect you this early.”

Azzi didn’t look up. “Had a weird night.”

“Productive at least?” he asked, nodding at the notebook.

Azzi finally glanced up at him, a quiet fire in her eyes. “Starting to be.”

Cam gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s all we need.”

____ 

The hours blurred.

Azzi stayed hunched over her notebook, the coffee long gone cold on the desk beside her. She filled two pages before she even noticed her hand cramping slightly from how tightly she was gripping the pen. The words weren't perfect. Hell, some of the lines didn’t even rhyme. But they meant something. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like she was trying to squeeze a feeling out of herself that wasn’t there.

It was already early afternoon by the time she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her wrist absently. She stared at the mess of her handwriting and felt… heavy, but clear. Like she was finally starting to tell the truth. Even if it hurt.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at it, expecting some promo email or a spam call, but her stomach dropped when she saw the name:

Paige.

She hesitated.

Last night had been easy. Easier than it should’ve been. But this morning—watching Paige slip back into the life that had always pulled her away—it was like a cold hand wrapping around her chest again.

Still, Azzi picked up.

"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, Az,” Paige's voice came through, a little breathless, a little uncertain. “Uh... what are you doing right now?”

Azzi glanced around the empty studio space—the sunlight slanting in through the high windows, the echoes of her own restless heart.

"Working," she said simply.

A beat of silence.

“Can I come by?”

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers to her temple. Paige didn’t usually ask. She just showed up. Like she belonged in every version of Azzi’s life, no matter what.

“Yeah,” Azzi said after a long moment. “I’m downtown, same spot.”

Another pause.

“Okay. Be there in twenty.”

The call ended before Azzi could change her mind.

Twenty minutes later, the studio door creaked open again, and Paige stood there, looking strangely out of place in her sweats and scuffed sneakers, a black baseball cap tugged low over her brow. She had one of those giant iced coffees in hand, the condensation dripping down her fingers.

Azzi didn’t get up. She just raised an eyebrow.

Paige lingered in the doorway, like she wasn’t sure she was invited in after all.

“I brought you one too,” she said lamely, holding out a second drink.

Azzi took it but set it down on the table without tasting it.

Paige shuffled in a few steps, balancing against the table across the small room from Azzi. She looked hesitant, like she was ready to bolt at any second.

"I didn’t mean to make this morning weird," Paige said quietly.

Azzi just looked at her, the silence stretching thick between them.

"I just... I get scared," Paige continued, voice low. “Every time it feels good between us, I get scared. That I’m gonna mess it up. That I’ll choose wrong again. And then I do mess it up, because I’m thinking about it too much instead of just—" she broke off, dragging a hand through her hair. "Instead of just holding onto you."

Azzi swallowed hard, her throat thick.

"You always think you have time," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige blinked at her.

"You think you can figure it out later. After the season. After the shoot. After the next flight. But every time you leave, it’s harder for me to believe you’ll come back different."

Paige’s jaw tensed. Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, but she didn’t.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” she said finally, brokenly. “But I don’t want to be good at it with anyone else.”

The rawness of it hit Azzi square in the chest.

She stood up, pushing her chair back with a small scrape of wood on concrete. Paige flinched, but Azzi didn’t move toward the door. She walked over to her guitar case instead, pulling it out of the corner of the room where it leaned, forgotten.

“I wrote something this morning,” Azzi said, adjusting the strap over her shoulder.

Paige straightened a little, hopeful, nervous.

Azzi sat on the edge of the couch and let her fingers fall naturally into the opening chords she’d started sketching out hours ago. The music was simple. Honest. A little rough. She hadn’t planned on sharing it with anyone yet.

But this? This was the only way she knew how to explain.

Her voice cracked slightly on the first line, but she kept going:

“You only hold me when you’re aching, you only call when the silence hurts… I only answer when I’m breaking, we don’t love, we just revert…”

When she finished, the room was so quiet she could hear the faint buzz of the old overhead lights.

Paige’s eyes were shining, but she didn’t say anything right away. She just crossed the space between them, slow and careful, and sat on the floor in front of Azzi, knees brushing hers.

“I don’t want to just revert anymore,” Paige said finally, voice raw. “I want to choose you.”

Azzi stared at her for a long moment, guitar still cradled against her ribs like armor. She wanted so badly to believe her. To fall into her the way she always had.

But this time, she needed Paige to prove it.

Not just say it.

Azzi set the guitar down carefully on the couch beside her.

For a second, she didn’t speak. She just let the silence settle between them, heavy but not unbearable. She studied Paige—really studied her. The way her cap was slightly crooked. The way she sat with her hands open on her knees, like she was offering something invisible, something fragile.

"I don't want to be the thing you run to when you're lonely," Azzi said finally, her voice soft but unflinching. "I want to be the thing you stay for."

Paige's lips parted slightly, like she was going to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded—small, almost imperceptible, but real.

"I can't..." Azzi exhaled, pressing the heels of her palms against her thighs. "I can't keep doing this half-way. The almosts. The almost home, almost love, almost enough." Her voice shook, just a little, but she kept going. "If you want me... reallywant me... you have to show up. Not when it's easy. Not when you miss me. Every day. Even when it's hard."

Paige’s throat worked as she swallowed.

"I can," she said, so quietly Azzi almost missed it. "I will."

Azzi stared at her, searching her face for any flicker of doubt. She found none. Just that raw, terrified honesty that Paige always tried to cover up with jokes and casual shrugs.

It hit Azzi then—how hard it must have been for her. To admit she didn’t know how to stay. To admit she was scared. Not of Azzi—never of her—but of what it meant to need someone so much.

Paige shifted closer on her knees, so their legs touched fully now.

"I’m scared," she whispered, eyes never leaving Azzi's. "But I’m more scared of losing you."

Azzi felt something crack wide open inside her.

Slowly, she reached out, letting her fingers brush along the edge of Paige’s jaw. Paige leaned into the touch immediately, her breath hitching.

"You’re not gonna lose me," Azzi murmured. "You just have to meet me here."

Paige closed her eyes like the words physically hurt. When she opened them again, they were glassy, full of something deep and endless.

"I love you," she said, voice trembling. "I love you, Az. I think I always have."

The world seemed to tilt around them. The studio, the city outside, the entire universe, all shrinking down to this—this tiny, infinite space between them.

Azzi’s breath caught. She didn’t say anything at first. She just leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Paige’s, their noses brushing.

And then, when she was sure her heart wouldn’t explode from how full it was, she whispered it back.

"I love you too."

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t shouted from rooftops or stitched into a song yet. It was a promise made in the quiet, in the space between heartbreak and hope.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her hands finding Azzi’s and gripping tight.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. No more half-way.”

Azzi smiled, small but real.

“No more half-way.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—knees pressed together, hands locked, breathing the same air—before Azzi pulled Paige up onto the couch beside her. They sat tangled up in each other, the half-finished song still humming in the background of the day, like a promise they could finally start believing in.

____

For the first time in what felt like months, there was no rush between them. No ticking clock, no unspoken countdown to goodbye.

Paige stayed.

Not just physically, but really stayed.

After the weight of their confessions, Azzi expected a kind of awkwardness to set in—the kind that usually came after they said too much, after vulnerability cracked them open. But it didn’t. Instead, there was a lightness. A kind of tentative peace.

Azzi leaned back against the worn arm of the couch, legs stretched out over Paige’s lap. Paige didn’t seem to mind; she just absently traced small, lazy patterns along Azzi’s calf with her fingertips, like her hands needed to be touching her at all times now, just to make sure she was still there.

Azzi picked up her notebook again, thumbing through the pages. She wasn’t writing anymore, not really. Just letting herself exist in the space she and Paige had built here—messy, bruised, but somehow still standing.

Paige glanced around after a while, taking in the studio with fresh eyes. "You live here or something?" she teased gently, bumping Azzi’s leg with her knee.

Azzi smiled without looking up. "Feels like it sometimes."

"You should eat," Paige said after a beat, voice soft but a little firm in that way she got when she was pretending not to be worried. "You get weird when you don't eat."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her amusement. "I’m fine."

"Nope. Not buying it. Come on."

Before Azzi could protest, Paige was shifting her legs carefully off her lap and standing. She stretched—arms overhead, shirt riding up slightly to reveal a flash of tan skin—and then offered Azzi her hand.

Azzi hesitated for just a second before taking it.

They walked a few blocks to a tiny corner deli Azzi liked, one that Paige always pretended was “too sketchy” but secretly loved because they made the best egg sandwiches in the city.

Inside, it smelled like bacon grease and fresh bagels. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Azzi ordered a sandwich with avocado and turkey bacon; Paige got a greasy, overstuffed BLT and a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

They sat by the window, the city sprawling out in front of them, afternoon sun glinting off car roofs and apartment windows.

Paige unwrapped her sandwich sloppily and took a huge bite. Azzi laughed under her breath as the blonde tried—and failed—to keep tomato from sliding out the side.

"You’re a mess," Azzi said, shaking her head.

Paige just grinned, mouth full. "You love it."

Azzi ducked her head, blushing. "Unfortunately."

They ate in easy silence for a while, trading bites, stealing sips from each other’s iced coffees without asking. Paige doodled on a napkin with a blue pen she pulled from her pocket—terrible little stick figures of the two of them, complete with what she claimed were guitars and basketballs.

Azzi snorted when she saw the final product. "You’re artistically challenged."

"Hey," Paige protested, mock-offended. "That’s our album cover right there."

Azzi smiled so hard her cheeks hurt.

She couldn’t remember the last time it had been this easy. The last time she hadn’t been waiting for Paige to look at her phone or check the time or make some excuse to leave.

Paige was just... here. With her.

Choosing her.

When they finished eating, Paige reached across the table, her thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of Azzi’s mouth. It was such a small thing, such a nothing thing—and yet it made Azzi’s heart stutter painfully in her chest.

Paige’s hand lingered, fingers sliding lightly along Azzi’s jaw, like she couldn’t help herself.

"I meant it," she said, voice low, almost shy. "What I said before."

Azzi caught her hand, holding it there against her cheek.

"I know," she whispered.

And for the first time in a long, long while—Azzi let herself believe it.

____

By the time they made it to Azzi’s apartment, choosing the brunettes place tonight for a change of scenery, the sky had deepened into a soft purple, city lights starting to flicker awake.

Paige kicked off her sneakers by the door without thinking, like it was second nature, and Azzi trailed behind her, dropping her bag with a muted thud.

The apartment still smelled faintly of vanilla candles and Azzi’s floral shampoo—the comforts of home—but the energy was different now. Calmer. More theirs somehow, not just Azzi’s.

Paige wandered into the living room, picking up one of Azzi’s records from the perfectly neat vinyl shelf. She turned it over in her hands, then shot Azzi a soft smile over her shoulder.

"Want me to put something on?"

Azzi nodded, already toeing off her Uggs and tugging her oversized sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in a simple ribbed tank top underneath. She plopped down onto the couch, curling her legs underneath her, watching as Paige carefully slid a record onto the player.

Soft, crackling acoustic guitar filled the room—the kind of music that made everything slow down, even time.

Paige dropped down onto the couch beside her, not bothering with any distance this time. Their thighs pressed together naturally, warmly. Paige let out a quiet sigh, her body relaxing into the cushions.

They sat there for a few minutes, just breathing, the music wrapping around them like a blanket. Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder without thinking about it, and Paige turned slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate or tinged with fear like it used to be. It was steady. Sure.

Azzi closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the feeling.

"I miss this," she murmured into Paige’s sweatshirt. "I miss us."

Paige's hand found hers, fingers intertwining with a kind of quiet reverence.

"We’re right here," Paige whispered back.

After a while, Azzi shifted so she was tucked completely against Paige's side, her hand splayed over Paige’s heart. She could feel the steady thud beneath her palm, grounding her.

"You know," Paige said after a long stretch of silence, her voice low and a little sheepish, "I still have that stupid necklace you gave me before my rookie season."

Azzi pulled back just enough to look up at her. "The one with the little A on it?"

Paige flushed a little, nodding. "Yeah. I keep it in my bag. Even when I'm traveling. Even when... when we weren't really talking. It just—felt wrong to leave it behind."

Azzi's heart clenched so painfully she thought she might cry.

"You're such a sap," she whispered, blinking quickly.

Paige smiled, slow and crooked and full of everything she never used to say out loud.

"For you? Always."

Azzi ducked her head again, letting her forehead rest against Paige’s collarbone. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, the record turning lazily in the background.

At some point, Azzi must have drifted off because when she blinked her eyes open again, the room was darker, the only light coming from the window where the city glittered beyond the glass.

Paige had adjusted them at some point, laying them down properly along the couch. Azzi was half on top of her, one arm thrown across Paige’s middle, their legs tangled together. Paige’s hand was still rubbing slow, lazy circles against Azzi’s back, her breathing even and steady.

Azzi shifted a little, burying her face deeper into Paige’s sweatshirt.

“Stay,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Paige pressed another soft kiss to her hair, whispering against her curls, "Always."

Azzi smiled into Paige’s chest, her whole body sinking into the kind of peace she hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 21/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011) THIRTEEN (2012) FOURTEEN (2013) FIFTEEN (2014) SIXTEEN (2015) SEVENTEEN (2016) EIGHTEEN (2017) NINETEEN (2018) TWENTY (2019)

WARNING - this is ~25k long. Sleep first. Or make yourself comfy. Eat something.

HUGE thank you to all the people who have given this a chance, and especially those who have been my cheerleader/s from the start. @phisworld14 especially gets a special shoutout for putting up with me sending her messages constantly about EVERYTHING.

CHAPTER TWENTYONE – EPILOGUE

            “Come home with me?” Bradley asks. Part of him is terrified Jake might say no. He wants to talk, but doesn’t particularly want Ice and Mav within hearing range when he does so. There are limits for his personal groveling and humiliation and he edges them toward the door, leaves their drinks untouched where they are, which will no doubt annoy both Ice and Mav, but he has more important things to think and worry about right now and he hopes they’ll understand.

            “You really don’t live here?” Jake asks as he follows Bradley’s lead and puts his shoes back on.

            “No,” Bradley says, a little horrified. He also bites back the fact that he told Jake a little earlier that he wanted to take him to his parents. “I have my own place, a little closer to base actually.”

            “Okay. Well. I’m at your mercy. You’re my ride.”

            “Tell me where you want to go…” Bradley states, and he doesn’t just mean about vehicular transport. He’ll take Jake back to base if that’s what he wants. Or a diner, somewhere neutral. “You’re the one giving the directions right now…” he offers, and they’ve gone from talking about hot drinks to driving and they’ll get to the point eventually but it feels safer, circling the subject like this.

            “You better be serious about this Bradshaw…” Jake mutters, and Bradley knows then that he understands exactly what Bradley is saying. Offering.

            “Well, you’ve met my parents. Well. Half of them. Wait. Maybe one-third, because my mom and dad are dead…”

            “You’re rambling.”

            “You make me nervous,” Bradley admits, because if they’re going to do this… if he’s going to do this… then he needs to be honest and upfront from the start. At least when he can be, because sometimes he really struggles to identify how he’s even feeling, let alone voice it aloud. He should probably share that fact with Jake.

            “Do I now?”

            “Yeah. Why wouldn’t you make me nervous?”

            “I don’t know. You tell me…”

            “I’m… I’m terrified of fucking this up,” Bradley states, then sucks in a breath. “Again.” he says on an exhale and Jake’s lips twist into a half-smile and he so desperately wants to just lean over and kiss him, instead starts the Bronco and reverses down the driveway.

            “Pretty sure we’ll fuck it up. But…”

            “But?” Bradley asks, hope lacing his question.

            “Well. Bit of a difference between doing it by accident and doing it because you want to hurt someone… think we’ve hopefully moved past the deliberately hurting each other stage.”

            “Yeah. Years ago…” Bradley says, because it’s nothing but the truth, glances across at Jake who is staring out the window.

            “Mmm. Well then. As you said… you’d like to get to know me.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So what am I to you now?”

            “The guy I’m dating. My partner. My boyfriend. All of them… take your pick. Make up a name if you want to.”

            “Hmm. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

            Bradley isn’t going to say that he has, because he suspects that that’s part of the problem. Jake wanted him to be all of those things years ago, and fuck if he’s only just starting to realize what he almost let slip through his fingers.

            “Then boyfriend it is…” Bradley offers quietly, throat feeling tight and he lets silence fall, focusses on driving but when he feels Jake’s fingers brush over his hand on the stick shift he turns his hand over, squeezes Jake’s hand and turns to smile at him. The tightness in his throat still there and he licks his lips and sucks in a deep shuddery breath. He drives, wants to say something, words tumbling over in his head, half-apology, half-explanation.

            “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready before.”

            “What?”

            “I wasn’t ready to be yours.”

            “Oh. And you’re ready now?”

            “I think I’ve been working on getting ready to be yours for the last decade. More than ready. If you’ll have me…”

            “You’re an idiot.”

            “That’s not an answer Jake…”

            “Well. It sort of is. Of course I’ll have you… even when I hated you I loved you.”

            “Jesus Jake…” Bradley says under his breath, because that’s heartbreaking and he wishes he could go back and change things. Wants nothing more than to reach over and kiss him; instead holds himself back, suspects that maybe they might need to take things a little more cautiously. Ease into an actual relationship with more open communication than they’ve had in the past. The last thing he ever wants to do again is hurt Jake.

…         …         …

            “Did I just hear Bradley?” Maverick asks, head poking around the corner, and he’s toweling himself dry, wearing only his boxers and Tom lets himself step forward and press a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, feels warm at the responding wide grin he gets from Pete.

            “Yes.”

            “Uh. Has he gone already?”

            “He was just here with Seresin.”

            “Hangman? Really?”

            “Maybe finally sorting out their relationship…”

            “Thought you said they didn’t have a relationship…”

            “Well. I think they might be taking the last ten years and trying to turn it into one.”

            “Oof. That’s…” Pete pulls a face and Tom purses his lips, because yes, they’re both familiar with how difficult that can be. “What did they come for exactly?”

            “Does it matter?” Tom asks, because he has his suspicions, given Bradley’s whole head-banging episode against the fridge, and Seresin’s expression as he took in the photos. He hopes it’s had whatever desired effect on Seresin that Bradley was aiming for. Knows Bradley will be wanting… something. Seems to have finally settled into his own skin and he wonders sometimes. “I know we did our best, but sometimes I think Bradley would have been better raised by someone…”

            “Don’t you dare say someone who loved him. We love him.”

            Tom sighs, shakes his head.

            “Maverick. Pete. That isn’t what I was going to say… I think he would have maybe found himself a bit sooner if he hadn’t spent so much of his life trying to live up to an ideal frozen in glass.”

            “What do you mean? Are you talking about Goose?”

            “No. Well. Yes. But… us as well. I’ve had so many people tell me that I must be so proud of him, because of everything he has achieved, everything he’s become. But then I try to recall how often I’ve told him that I’m proud of him and I… I come up empty. I don’t generally tell men under my command that I’m proud of them.”

            “Oh…”

            “Yes. And I don’t know if he’s been trying to live up to Goose, or to you, or to me… but to have any or all of us as people to try and live up to? The fact he’s not more messed up is a small miracle.”

            “You really think that’s what he’s been trying to do?”

            “I don’t know Mav…” Tom sighs, tired suddenly. “But if it were you? I know you had to fight against your own father’s reputation, but imagine having three reputations to either overcome or live up to…”

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah.”

…         …         …

            “So, uh. This is my place… my parents. My uh, real parents that is…”

            “You’re fine Bradshaw. Bradley…”

            He jerks his head, feeling inexplicably awkward and exposed showing Jake his home. This isn’t a place that he shares with people outside of his immediate family. Hearing Jake say his name, the first time he’s called him something other than Bradshaw or Rooster in years makes him feel fragile. He needs something to do with his hands, stop himself from reaching out.

            “You want a drink? I’ve got… a whole range.”

            “Just some water would be good. Stay hydrated and all that.”

            “Yeah, okay. Uh. Feel free to look around. I’ll go and grab some water I guess…”

            “You’re not worried about me finding all your secrets?”

            “You know all my secrets,” Bradley replies, because it’s the truth, and he likes that Jake has followed him into the kitchen.

            “Do I?”

            Bradley opens his mouth, ready to say yes, of course, and then pauses.

            “All the important ones. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask.”

            Jake takes him at his word, starts asking questions like he’s on a fact-finding mission and Bradley wonders if he’ll ever be given the opportunity to do the same. He doesn’t care if it takes him years to find out all of Jake’s secrets, he’s willing to wait however long it takes. They end up settled on the sofa, facing each other but just within touching distance. Jake continues to ask questions and Bradley continues to answer them.

            He ends up sharing facts about everyone he’s had sex with, that he remembers anyway. He does mention his one threesome but refuses to expound on it further when Jake raises a curious eyebrow. Then he’s talking about his time at the USNA, hiding his relationship with Maverick and Ice, using Tamsin and Petra, along with Sarah to offer a thin smoke screen to anyone just glancing past. His relationship with Natasha, and Jake seems surprised to learn that she’s known all of it for as long as she has. Mutters about her balancing skills and Bradley has no idea what he means by that.

            “Can I ask you a question?” Bradley asks, and Jake nods, waves his hand as if encouraging him to continue and he cannot believe how much he finds him so endearing and amazing.

            “Were you jealous?”

            “Which time?”

            “When you saw me with Tamsin and Petra. Were you jealous?”

            “Trying to stroke your ego there Rooster?”

            Bradley’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t let himself actually smile. He’s starting to realize that Jake uses his callsign when he’s getting defensive. Thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s just learnt a failsafe way of dismantling his walls as easy as breathing, and that’s admitting his own feelings.

            “No. Just wanted to let you know that I would have been, if our roles had been reversed. Fuck. I’m jealous of fucking Coyote some days…”

            “Yeah?” Jake asks, clearly surprised.

            “Yeah. Of course.”

            “You don’t have any reason to be jealous. Coyote is awful in the sack.”

            Bradley barks out a surprised laugh.

            “Is he?”

            “Fucked if I know, but… point stands. You don’t have to be jealous of him.”

            “I’m not jealous of the sex. Hypothetical or otherwise. It’s your close relationship with him. I want that with you.”

            “Well. It’s yours. If you want it.”

            “Yeah. I… I do want it.”

            “It’ll take a while.”

            “Years and years…” Bradley offers, confirms and the smile Jake gives him is small and hesitant, and he returns it, a little wider and brighter because it feels like a weight has lifted. They sit there, looking at each other, fingers just touching, brushing each other and it’s a sharp contrast to so many of their previous interactions. The conversation has left him tired, emotionally drained but also refreshed like he’s had a really good cleansing cry. Then Jake is shifting, moving closer and he holds his breath, watches as Jake kneels awkwardly on the sofa beside him, eyes meeting his.

            The kiss is soft, like spun sugar, delicate in its newness and just as sweet.

            “You want me to take you home? Or do you want to stay? Up to you,” Bradley says softly, and he’s quietly serious, runs gentle fingers down the side of Jake’s face, brushes hair back off his forehead. He’s going to be fine with whatever Jake chooses, whatever he wants; however, he wants to move them forward, his face is schooled into easy acceptance of giving Jake whatever he wants. Then Jake is shifting again, straddling his thighs and he moves a little to accommodate him, lets his hands rest on Jake’s legs, looks up at him and waits for an answer, tries not to get his hopes up.

            “I want to stay.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Take me to bed… please.”

            “Yeah?” Bradley asks again, needing to make sure, and his voice breaks on the question and Jake clearly thinks it’s funny, laughs into his chest, nodding his head.

            “Yeah.”

            He kisses Jake then, lets his hands settle on his hips, fingers reaching around to press into Jake’s ass, grinds them together as best he can and Jake is kissing him, fingers curling and tugging into his hair and he groans, wants Jake everywhere.        

            “Mission parameters?”

            “You’re such a massive dork…”

            “Yep. Guilty.”

            “Just… take me to bed. Then take me apart.”

            He’s not quite sure what Jake means by that, doesn’t want to stop and keep poking and prodding and asking questions. He’s familiar enough with Jake’s body at least to know what he likes and doesn’t like. He braces himself, wonders if this is going to end in hilarity, disaster or a trip to Urgent Care, but he stands, muscles straining as his fingers dig into Jake’s thighs and ass, holding him up. Jake squawking, arms gone tight around Bradley’s neck, and he’s swearing under his breath but he’s pretty sure Jake’s secretly pleased. And his bedroom is close.

            Jake isn’t light, though, and he grunts as he maneuvers around the furniture, distracted a little by the fact that Jake has decided sucking at his neck is a good idea. He pushes him against the wall, readjusts his hold a little so it’s more secure and Jake’s laugh is bright in his ears.

            “If you fucking drop me right now…”

            “We’re both going down before I drop you…” Bradley promises with a grin, because it’s maybe ten steps and he means it. He would rather fall to the floor with Jake in his arms than just drop him to the floor. Jake’s arms are tight around his neck as he takes the steps, and he doesn’t drop him onto the bed, but it’s a close thing and Jake seems to know it, if the amusement in his eyes is any judge.

            “You can carry me next time…” Bradley says wryly, lowering himself to lie as close to Jake as possible without simply lying directly on top of him like he wants to. Then Jake is pulling him, legs spreading to make room for him and Bradley doesn’t need more of an invitation than that, rolls and settles, lets his body blanket Jake and he looks down at him. Lets himself soak in the fact that Jake is here, in his bed, in his home.

            “Hi…”

            “Hi.”

            He grinds his hips a little, not hard, not fast, just… a little bit firmer than the pressure of where he’s resting, covers Jake’s mouth with his own, kisses and licks into his mouth, just sinks into the pleasure of the closeness, the way their bodies are moving against each other, hands exploring and plucking at clothes, fingers finding bare skin.

            “Fuck…”

            “This… okay?”

            “I’ll tell you if it’s not. Promise.”

            That makes him relax a bit, that Jake understands where he’s coming from and it gives him a little flare of promise that a relationship between them might not be quite as fraught with mines as it might have been otherwise.

            “Good. Thank you…”

            He shifts, sits up and separates them enough so they can strip each other’s clothes off, fingers gentle and smoothing over skin, kisses leaving invisible trails. He kisses his way down Jake’s body, still wonders if he’ll ever get used to the idea that Jake and him are… well. That there is actually a Jake and him. That Jake is giving them a chance together and he will do anything and everything to make it happen.

            Well. Nearly anything.

            “If I blow you can you still come if I fuck you?”

            “Oh you absolute asshole…”

            “What? We’re not that old…” Bradley says, not sure what he’s said to make Jake say that, to call him an asshole.

            “I wasn’t… yes. Yes. Please… yeah… that… that sounds perfect.”

            He licks and sucks and it’s something of a luxury, having Jake spread out in a bed, no time constraints and he realizes then why Jake was maybe calling him an asshole. It’s not the same as their first time, but it is very similar and he wants Jake come-drunk, warm and pliant beneath him. He slicks up his fingers a little, runs them over Jake’s hole as he blows him, sucks and licks while his fingers just circle and brush over, not pushing in, not yet. Jake said he wanted him to take him apart and Bradley can do that, knows how to do that. Hasn’t in a long time, but he hopes that Jake trusts him enough to let him take care of him, and not just with this.

            “Oh fuck… uh…shit… Bradley…”

            He sucks harder, feels Jake’s fingers curling in his hair carefully, the shifting in Jake’s hips as he tries to both push and press and stay still. He lets his jaw go slack, wants to drool and get Jake sloppy, wants to revel in the messiness and the fact that they have time, have each other. His own cock is hard, throbbing a steady tempo with his heart, blood hot. But he’s practiced, more experienced now, at ignoring and holding off and he feels single minded in his determination to take care of Jake first and foremost. He lets Jake’s cock hit the back of his throat a couple of times before he pulls off, kissing the head in sympathy as Jake whines at the loss of contact, of suction.

            “Jake… want you to fuck my throat… want everyone to know what I got up to with you tonight… think you can do that for me?”

            “Oh fuck…” Jake’s voice is barely an audible whisper, a broken sound edging toward a sob.

            “Soon…” Bradley promises.

            “Bradley…”

            He bites his bottom lip, but it does nothing to stop the smile he knows is on his face. Pleasure is bubbling through him and he settles back down to his task at hand, sucking Jake’s cock until he comes, tips over the edge into pleasure because Bradley is the one taking him there, step one in taking him apart. Jake’s fingers feel a little shaky in his hair and he groans as Jake shifts a little, his hips flexing and pressing his cock further into Bradley with restrained politeness. He doesn’t want that. He wants Jake mindless with pleasure.

            He reaches for Jake’s hand, the one resting on his head, curls his fingers around Jake’s and pulls his own hair and Bradley groans, repeats the movement and Jake is swearing under his breath and Bradley knows he’s got the message and lets his hand fall away. Jake’s fingers stay, tugging Bradley’s hair with an edge of desperation as his hips begin to jerk and Bradley lets his eyes glance up to Jake’s face. Their eyes meet and Jake’s eyes slam shut, like the sight of Bradley looking up at him is too much.

            “Oh fuck… you’re going to kill me…”

            Feeling a little perverse, he slows down, massages over Jake’s perineum, sucks each of his balls into his mouth carefully one after the other, drags his moustache up the length of Jake’s cock before sucking him back down again for a few drawn out seconds before beginning the process from the start. Jake is pleading with him, not quite begging to come, but getting there. The fifth or sixth time, Bradley’s lost count, Jake’s hand in his hair is tight, hiships jerking and twitching uncontrollably and he’s no longer making sounds that Bradley can recognize as actual words, although part of his name is making its way out of Jake’s lips, along with what he’s pretty sure is meant to be please.

            Jake’s body arches off the bed as he comes, and Bradley gags a little but he swallows and draws back, mouth and tongue gentler now, just holding Jake’s cock rather than trying to coax out an orgasm. Jake’s entire body is shaking, shuddering out its pleasure, his hand in Bradley’s hair now there, resting. He waits for Jake to either shift away or say something. Anything.

            “Fuck…”

            Yeah. That’ll do for a start.

            “You’re so fucking gorgeous…” Bradley says, and his voice is definitely rough and low. He starts peppering little kisses over the inside of Jake’s thigh, up over the jut of his pelvis, then over his stomach, murmuring more words as he kisses a path up Jake’s body, let’s his cock drag over the muscles of Jake’s legs and groans when Jake reaches and wraps his hand around his cock. “Only getting started in taking you apart…” Bradley says, and then he licks one of Jake’s nipples, can’t help but feel smug when Jake groans, his body shifting and pressing against him, seeking more of the touch and Bradley smiles as he licks over the over nipple, teases it a little with his teeth.

            Like he hoped, Jake has relaxed completely, his body warm and lax, and he gives in to the urge to kiss him, knows Jake doesn’t care about the lingering taste of come. He rubs against Jake’s body, grinds his cock against the flesh of Jake’s thigh despite Jake’s hand trying to give him an awkwardly angled handjob. He doesn’t need the added stimulation, already more than hard enough and he’s still got to prepare Jake for taking his cock. He grabs for the lube, has to scramble for a bit because he doesn’t want to look away from Jake.

            He moves his hand and presses in with a finger, takes his time, forces himself to be patient and build the anticipation in his own gut with the knowledge that he’s getting to give Jake pleasure. More pleasure. It’s that which helps him ignore the aching in his own cock, and he’s generous with the lube and stretching, isn’t going to ask how long it’s been but instead treat Jake exactly how he’s always wanted to treat him, with desire and reverence.

            “You good?”

            “You know it…” Jake says, but his words are slurred, legs spreading even further, his eyes fixed on Bradley. He rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, rubs the extra between Jake’s ass cheeks and bends down to kiss him again, lets himself just enjoy the intimacy of kissing and not needing to hurry it along. Jake’s hard again, his body shifting and chasing the friction Bradley’s body offers and he lets him grind and flex against him for a bit while they kiss, his own cock definitely hard and aching.

            “Come on… get your dick in me…”

            “So charming…” Bradley says, grinning and bending down to kiss him again, glad that the laughter and teasing has come back without even seeming to try. He shifts Jake’s legs, is already between them, rubbing and pressing the head of his cock against Jake’s hole.

            “I am the most charming… but I’m going to die of old age… hurry the fuuu– ”

            He presses and presses and presses, it’s hot tight all-encompassing driving him to pin-point focus as he holds himself fully sheathed in Jake’s body, hands shaking a little with the effort to not just fuck into him wildly.

            “You were saying?” he asks, but the playful bite sounds breathless to his own ears, and he shifts slightly and Jake clenches down and he groans, deep and guttural. “Jake… gotta move… please…”

            “Yeah… fuck yeah…”

            He takes that as implicit permission, pulls back slowly, halfway before pressing back in with a groan, his entire body shivering at the sensation. Jake’s low hum is promising and he repeats the movement, slow and steady, rocking into him. It’s a bit disorganized, holding Jake’s hips and legs and he pushes in, holds himself and grinds while also reaching for the pillows. He shoves them under Jake’s back and hip, and it’s a little awkward but they’re grinning at each other, and he feels light.

            Happy.

            He doesn’t want the feeling to end, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to capture this feeling, of a first time without it being the first time, allowing himself to feel everything he does for Jake and trying to make Jake aware of it without saying anything. He will tell him, not right now, but soon enough. Jake’s fingers are digging into Bradley’s ass encouraging him on, breath warm and damp and he pants out Bradley’s name, mixed with expletives and delicious little sounds Bradley wants to hear more of. Hopefully for a long time.

            He comes with a punched out grunt, his mouth latched firmly onto Jake’s neck, the fingers of one hand clenched into Jake’s flank, the others gripping the sheet of the bed. It’s fine though, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have scratch marks down his back, Jake’s fingers and hands clinging to him even now. He kisses up Jake’s neck, along his jaw, licks into his mouth as he continues to ride out the lingering jolts of pleasure from his orgasm, his cock still hard as he thrusts a little languidly, grinding and circling his hips just right to press into Jake’s prostate. He pulls back a little, just enough to wrap his hand around Jake’s cock, to shift him a little so Jake can relax his legs and so he can jerk him off. If that’s what he wants.

            “What do you want Jake? Going to come for me like this? Or want me to finger you and suck you off again? Want to give you whatever you want. Want to give you everything…”

            Jake comes with a shudder, his ass clenching tight around Bradley’s cock and he lets out a low fuuuck as his body shivers with over sensitivity and he wonders what it is exactly that set Jake off. He looks forward to future investigation and he smiles as he places kisses everywhere he can reach with his mouth before he shifts, pulls out of Jake and kisses the little furrow in his brow, murmuring be right back. Jake’s fingers wrap tight around his wrist though and he stops, leans back down and runs his nose through the sweat damp hair around Jake’s ear.

            “Bradley…” whisper quiet.

            “Yeah baby…” Bradley whispers back and the endearment slips so easily from his mouth and he freezes for a second, wonders if Jake will mind. He remembers being unable to call him anything but baby. The little hiccupping sound Jake makes has Bradley concerned, worried that Jake’s crying… and fuck. He is. He kisses tears from Jake’s face, voice soft as he murmurs his apologies.

            “Shit Jake… sweetheart. I’m sorry…”

            “Just… don’t let go.”

            “Never again…”

            He doesn’t let go, shifts a little to reach for the box of tissues to clean up instead, but he doesn’t stop touching Jake, lets his fingers be gentle, lets himself press his lips wherever he wants. Like with the Bronco and the moustache he remembers the first time they fucked, how different Jake had been. A lot softer and trusting and Bradley wonders if he gets to get that back. Hell. He’ll work toward it for the rest of his life if he has to. Because Jake used to be come drunk and lazy after coming. That changed to terse abrupt departures and words, but right now Jake is in his arms, more alert but also far more relaxed and seems completely uninclined to move anywhere.

            And like their first time together he remembers their conversation afterwards, their frank and open words about what they liked and didn’t like. Both of them treating it like a debrief. No secrets between them. Fuck. Looking back no wonder it had fucked Jake up when he’d just pretended to not even know him when they’d started crossing paths professionally. Making their entire time together a secret that he couldn’t even share with Bradley.

            “We’ve… you’re… we’re definitely…”

            “Sexually compatible?” Bradley provides, and part of him relaxes even further, because this is the familiar ground they’re treading as well.

            “Mmm. Well. That and all the practice you’ve no doubt had…”

            Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up and he’s glad Jake can’t see him, because he’d accused Jake of being jealous, but he hadn’t seriously thought that he might be insecure about it. He can allay that fear or worry at least, and he makes Jake roll over so they’re facing each other, fuzzy in the dim light.

            “Most of my practice was a while ago now. I mean, I haven’t had sex with anyone but you this entire year, so…”

            “What?”

            “Jake… I’m not… when I was younger, yeah. But… not for several years now. You’ve been someone I always kept circling back to, and it probably wasn’t healthy. For either of us. But that was then. I don’t want anyone but you. Okay?”

            Jake is nodding quickly, lips tight, he’s swallowing like he’s holding back tears again and Bradley leans forward and kisses him, slow and thorough, lets his hands run all over Jake’s body and hopes he’s conveying the depth of what he’s feeling. He’s all in.

            “You know… talking about jealousy. You set a pretty unfair bar.”

            “What? What kind of bar?” Bradley asks, because that hadn’t been talking about jealously just now, although he supposes alluding to the past and all the people he has slept with might make Jake feel jealous.

            “Sexual expectations…”

            “Did I? When?”

            “The first time,” Jake mutters, sounding exasperated. “Kind of brutally unfair having you for an entire weekend when I was young, and then having to… experience so much shitty sex afterwards, knowing it could be so much better…”

            “Oh. I’m sorry. Should I have given you a shitty sexual experience?” Bradley asks with a laugh, leans is and bites playfully at the curve of Jake’s neck. He feels a flicker of possessiveness, of pride, that Jake has always compared the other people he’s had sex with to Bradley and found them lacking. Fuck. He’s never going to admit that aloud to anyone, although he suspects from the way Jake is looking at him his expression has given him away.

            “It’s why I sometimes had sex with you again. Because I was like, surely it can’t be as good as I remember it being. And then…”

            “I’d knock your socks off.”

            “And rip my heart to pieces in the process…”

            Bradley recoils, but he supposes it’s fair. They can’t ignore their very shaky and less-than-ideal past. All the times Jake has thrown acid-laden words his way and he knows that they were a coping technique, one he no doubt forced Jake to employ. Wonders if suggesting they get therapy together would be too much too soon. He wants… so much.

            “I’m sorry…”

            “You can spend the next ten or twenty years making it up to me… then we can figure out what we want to do.”

            Oh. He pulls back, tries to focus better in the half-light, wants to see Jake’s face better but all he can really see is the outline, but it’s enough.

            “Twenty years huh?”

            “Seems a good a start as any.”

            “Yeah… yeah it definitely is.”

            If Mav and Ice can figure out their relationship through DADT and marriages and children then he and Jake can surely figure it out as well.

…         …         …

            He pushes himself against Jake, lets his lips press into the curve of his neck.

            “Morning…”

            “Morning.”

            “You okay?”

            “Yeah. Just…” he shrugs then, face scrunching in the way Bradley has come to recognize as a little self-depreciating but inwardly annoyed with himself all at once, for doubting himself. It’s uniquely Jake and he suspects that not very many people get to see this side of him.

            “It’s a lot to have dumped on you in an evening and even more to process?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Anything I can do to help?”

            “You’re doing enough…”

            “Well… I can do more. I want to take you on dates, and have showers with you, and go and get haircuts, and go grocery shopping and fight over replacing the toilet paper and… everything. I want everything. Does that help?”

            Jake nods, quick and fast and Bradley lets himself cup Jake’s face in his hands and kisses him, slow and sweet. He’s spent years holding himself in check, has no reason to hold back now. Tries to put the way he’s feeling into actions, worried that if he speaks them out loud they’ll be too much for Jake. All at once after everything.

            “I want to take you dancing.”

            “Yeah? Line dancing?”

            “Yeah. That okay?”

            “Of course. I really enjoyed doing that with you last time…”

            The little smirk Jake gives him is softer and it fills him with warmth, a little more confident that they’ll be more than okay; that Jake feels comfortable enough to be soft with him, even after everything.

…         …         …

            Pete wakes up in pain, not a new experience, but still not one he thinks anyone likes. His back aches, and he knows he’s getting on in years, but the two ejections and crash landing haven’t exactly endeared his body to repeating any of it ever again. Then Ice’s hands are on him, large and warm and he’s pushing him back into the bed.

            “Where does it hurt the most?”

            “Uh. You don’t have to…”

            “Pete… let me. Please.”

            Pete lets out a sigh, and it morphs into a groan of relief as Ice’s hands press into the aching muscles around his spine, digging in and relieving some of the aching pressure that’s built up. He slumps a little bit more into the bed, feels Tom press a kiss to his shoulder and he wonders if he’s angling for sex. He’s not averse to the idea at all, would be more onboard if the pain wasn’t quite as distracting as it is. Although the longer Tom massages his back the more the pain slips away.

            “It’s not like I mind doing this. Not really. I don’t have anywhere I need to be…”

            “You’re a perverted old man…”

            “Mmm. I am. Can’t keep my hands off you. Even when our bodies are falling apart…”

            “At least they’re falling apart together.”

            “That’s almost poetic Mav…”

            “I should take up poetry.”

            “I’d love to read it.”

…         …         …

            He tries not to feel insecure about it, but when he hears Jake end the call with bye mom, love you his heart twists painfully. Jake hasn’t talked about his family at all. Bradley doesn’t know anything about them. He doesn’t know why Jake hasn’t mentioned them; if it’s some misplaced sense of guilt that his mom is alive and well, while Bradley’s mom is dead? Or is he embarrassed to be with Bradley? Or is it something else? He needs to know.

            “Talking to you mom huh?”

            “Yeah…” Jake says on an exhale, and he sounds tired.

            “Um. Everything okay?”

            “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

            He’s lying. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it’s visceral and immediate, the knowledge that not only is Jake lying, but he knows him well enough now to be able to spot it without even trying. Why he’s lying is a completely different matter.

            “Jake… please tell me?”

            “How old were you when you came out to your family?”

            “Uh… shit. I… I was still at high school,” Bradley laughs, hit with the sudden memory. “I told Mav I thought I was gay, and I knew then I wanted to go into the Navy and Mav was telling me that it’d be hard and I remember thinking to myself what would he know?”

            Jake looks at him in shock.

            “You didn’t know he was gay?”

            “No! He’d married my mom. Ice was married to Sarah. I was a very self-absorbed teenager dealing with my mom dying and… yeah. In hindsight I can’t believe I missed it all, but…” he shrugs then, because he’s trying to get Jake to talk. “Anyway. They were all great. Supportive. Loving.”

            “You’re lucky.”

            “Yeah. I know,” Bradley says quietly. “Can you tell me?”

            The look on Jake’s face hurts, and he knows he’s not the one causing it, wraps his arms around him and just holds him. Wants to say not to worry about it, but also feels that this is something, a part of Jake, that he really should know about going forward.

            “I was back from my first deployment. Had my wings and feeling very accomplished and grown up. Figured I’d be able to survive if they kicked me out. I had places I could go. I was an adult. But… uh… knew kicking me out was definitely on the cards.”

            Bradley doesn’t dare say anything, just leaves the space for Jake to talk, organize his thoughts, wraps his arms around him a bit tighter.

            “They didn’t exactly kick me out, but they did ask me to leave. Haven’t invited me home. They asked me not to tell anyone else in the family…”

            “Wait. What?” Bradley asks, confused. Haven’t invited Jake home? Since his first deployment? To not tell anyone else?

            “Oh, they don’t want to disown a son serving in the great US Navy, but no one can know he’s gay.”

            “Jake…”

            “It’s fine. It is what it is. I just… I usually volunteer to take deployments so they cover the holidays… I call home and talk to my mom every couple of weeks, but…”

            “Oh baby…”

            “If I even refer to it, they just… ignore it, talk over it, or hang up on me. It’s…”

            “Fuck. I’m sorry Jake.”

            “It’s fine Bradshaw. Not all of us can have an idyllic coming out story…”

            “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

            “Do what?”

            “Make light of my own life like I had it easy.”

            “Looks pretty good to me from where I’m standing. Sitting. Whatever.”

            “Just… fuck. Jake,” he huffs out a breath of frustration. “It was… yeah okay. It is good. Now. And it’s definitely better than what you’ve got to deal with. But it’s not a competition. I’m… my dad died when I was three. I didn’t get it for like… two or three years, that he really wasn’t ever coming back. Then I spent most of my childhood freaking out that Mav wasn’t going to come back from every single deployment. It kind of fucked me up, and then, the person who had been stable in my life? She got cancer and died Jake. In under a year. Just… gone. And I was lucky, because I got to live with Ice and Sarah and see Tamsin and Petra grow up, and I was included in their family in every way. But I was… they weren’t my mom and dad.”

            Jake’s silent.

            “Do you think they would have been okay with you being gay?”

            “Uh. My mom and dad?”

            “Yeah.”

            Fuck. Given what Jake’s just shared this feels like taking a knife and twisting it, but he won’t lie.

            “I know they would have been, because my mom introduced Ice and Sarah. Married Mav. Slider, uh, Admiral Kerner, he told me that they did that because there had been rumors. Anyway… I know I had it good. I’m sorry your family don’t accept you and love you like they should. See every amazing part of you.”

            Jake hums under his breath and Bradley wonders what he’s thinking.

            “You’re pretty well adjusted despite everything.”

            “Oh,” Bradley snorts. “Trust me. I’m not. Or I wasn’t. Mav made me get counselling after my mom died and then… well. I went and got some more about five years ago.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. I felt like I kept making the same dumb mistakes and figured I needed to work on that so…” he looks at Jake, his stomach in knots because he knows Jake is one of the reasons he wanted to be better. Won’t quite share that with Jake quite yet, because he was only one of the reasons, not the sole reason. But being this open and honest is still a struggle.

            “Well we can’t both be fucked up.”

            “You’re not fucked up Jake,” Bradley murmurs, and Jake rolls his eyes. “And even if you were, doesn’t change anything.”

…         …         …

            Bradley is a nervous wreck.

            He’s not worried about Mav and Ice. They’ve met Jake. They both like Jake, even if he hadn’t saved them, Jake can really turn on the charm when he wants to. Ice already liked him before he saved both him and Maverick from being shot from the sky, and Mav likes the fact that he’s an excellent aviator and clearly cares about him; he is not going to ask which one Mav considers more important. It’s the other people he loves who he needs to introduce Jake to and have meet Jake in turn.

            Tamsin and Petra.

            Except Tamsin and Petra are used to spotting bullshit from miles away. Their moms and dads both passing on all their skills and Bradley should be better at it considering, because Melissa is queen, but he suspects she’s also used to patients maybe stretching the truth a little or lot depending. Tamsin and Petra though, they’ve been exposed to the worst and best of them their entire lives and he really wants them to like Jake. Wants Jake to like them, and he wonders if he’ll be a little irrationally jealous anyway, like how he feels about Coyote sometimes.

            Plus it’s only been a week, but it’s Tamsin’s birthday so she’s coming home for the weekend, along with Petra, and it’s not Thanksgiving, but it’s still a family gathering and he’s bringing… he’s bringing Jake. It feels important.

            “Calm the fuck down. What are you so worried about?”

            “I just… I really want them to like you. And for you to like them.”

            “I’m easy to like. They’ll love me. And I’ve already got something pretty major in common with them, so I’m not too worried about not having common ground…”

            Bradley frowns, tries to think of what it is Jake could be talking about.

            “Don’t hurt yourself there Bradshaw… I’m referring to the fact that they love you.”

            “You love me?” Bradley asks dumbly, all his worries over the last day or so about saying the same words and feeling like it would be too fast and scare Jake away. Instead Jake is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “What?”

            “You’re an idiot. Of course I love you…”

            “Oh. I love you too.”

            “I’m aware. You tend toward flashy gestures, or silent acts… I’m slowly becoming wise to your ways.”

            “I have ways do I?” Bradley asks, imminently pleased by the fact that Jake is apparently learning things about him that even he himself might not be privy to. He wonders what exactly he’s said or done to make Jake so sure, wants to keep doing it. He slides his arms around Jake’s waist, can’t stop grinning at the fact that they just casually told each other they loved each other.

            “You have very obvious tells once you know what to look for. And I’m looking.”

            “That’s good… I want you to look.”

            “Mmm. It’s no hardship when you’ve not got a bad side…”

            “I don’t huh?” Bradley asks with a grin, wrapping his arms tighter and tucking his head into the crook of Jake’s neck to place a soft kiss, grins when he feels Jake’s body shiver all over and kisses him again, lets his moustache drag over sensitive skin.

            “You know you don’t…” Jake says, and he sounds pleasingly breathless. Bradley wants to take him to bed and continue to make him sound like that, rolls his hips a little so Jake knows exactly what he’s thinking, but will say words as well, knows Jake will like hearing them.

            “Mmm. Neither do you. Every part of you is good.”

            “You’re so cheesy…” Jake mutters, rolling his eyes but he still looks pleased. Happy.

            “Oh eww… it’s like seeing the parentals…”

            He jumps a little at the new voice and he looks over to see Petra and Tamsin standing in the doorway watching them and he flushes a little, embarrassed. He doesn’t think they’ve ever seen him even kiss someone, because he just didn’t ever do that type of thing with Callum, and that’s the only previous boyfriend either Tamsin or Petra might remember. He forces himself to relax, to remind himself he has nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s in his own house with his boyfriend and these are his sisters.

            “Speak for yourself. They’re fine. You’re fine,” Tamsin repeats to them this time, and Bradley grins at her, draws in a deep calming breath and untangles himself from Jake to give them both hugs of hello. Then he steps back to Jake’s side and wraps an arm around his waist again. Doesn’t want him to feel like he’s facing the three of them like some form of interrogation squad or weird interview panel.

            “Tamsin, Petra, this is Jake Seresin. Jake, these are my sisters, Tamsin and Petra Kazansky.”

            “You know, I’m thinking of changing my last name to Mitchell…”

            Bradley is pretty sure that’s bullshit, because Petra is a shit stirrer. Of course, Jake’s eyes have gone wide as he looks at Petra, he quickly looks at Bradley, an eyebrow raised and he shrugs helplessly. It’s obvious if you’re looking, and Jake has all the pieces, even if Bradley hasn’t implicitly spelled it out to him the Maverick is Petra’s biological father.

            “I won’t though. Dad would be all sad about it. So. You’re the boyfriend.”

            “Yep, nice to meet you.”

            “Hmm. You know he snores right?”

            Bradley opens his mouth to object, wonders where the hell this conversation is even going. They’re not meant to gang up on him… oh. Wait. Maybe that might help a little.

            “He doesn’t if he’s tired enough…” Jake says, expression deadpan and Bradley flushes, red-hot and immediate at the implication. Tamsin is laughing and he supposes Jake should start as he intends to go on, but a little of the harder tougher shell is there, he recognizes the layer for what it is now; Jake protecting his heart.

            “Oh ew… gross. I do not need to think about you two going at it. What do you know about cars?”

            “I know your brother is driving a better car now than ten years ago…”

            “That’s a matter of opinion. An incorrect opinion.”

            “What do you mean? I’m the one that told him he needed to get himself a Bronco…”

            “Are you now?”

            And they’re off, talking about cars and racing and Bradley had no idea Jake was even into cars that much, but Petra seems to be delighted to finally have someone new to talk to, and he has no idea if Jake’s making his opinions be the opposite of hers just to be ornery or whether it’s what he truly believes, but he’s grinning and then following Petra out to the Bronco and he feels something settle further inside him. They’re going to get on even better than he had hoped.

…         …         …

            Bradley doesn’t ask for favors. Doesn’t ask for much. Has never asked him to use his name or rank for anything to benefit him; in fact has gone out of his way to ensure he never received preferential treatment. But he has asked for this, and Pete had agreed immediately. He’s not even going to have to do paper work. Easiest favor ever. The Dagger Squad have been trying to make Hangman’s new nickname stick, give him a new callsign. Pete was there on the carrier, he heard what Bradley had said, what he’d called Hangman while he was woozy with pain and shock.

            Angel.

            They think it’s funny. He supposes it might be, if they hadn’t been so close to death. He can look back now and know that they got lucky over and over and over. Having Hangman be called Angel makes a joke of the matter though, one he knows neither he nor Bradley are ready to accept. He doesn’t know how Hangman feels about it. Some of them are maybe joking about it to deal with the pressure, but he also can’t let their coping technique impact the mental health of others.

            He also suspects Bradley doesn’t know or remember why they started calling Hangman Angel, but everyone has noted that Hangman doesn’t particularly like it, which might be why some of them are keeping at it. So he knows Bradley isn’t asking himself, but rather because he wants to make Hangman happy. Pete is pretty sure being reminded of the person you love nearly dying every time someone uses your callsign would be difficult. Along with the fact that Bradley could never call him angel as an endearment. That’s what he had realized when he’d heard the Dagger squadron members using it a couple of times. Bradley uses nicknames and pet names easily, making them up on the fly. He’s already heard him call Seresin baby and he’d quickly turned his head to hide his surprise. Pleased surprise, but still.

            So he’s going to let them know in no uncertain terms that Hangman’s callsign will not be changing.

            “Aviators… please take a seat.” Bradley and Hangman are notably absent, but they’re comfortable enough with him that they don’t hurry to obey, clearly feeling the more relaxed vibe he was aiming for. “Now, this is not a formal request, however I do want you to take what I am about to say to you seriously –”

            There’s a cough and he looks up to the open door to see Ice standing there, just out of sight of everyone else. He’s dressed in his service khakis, which is odd. He hates those, but he looks fierce and impressive and Pete lets his eyes wander a bit before Ice coughs again, sharper, and gives him a look coupled with an eyeroll. Oh. Oh fuck. Yeah. Having Ice deliver the request, despite it being an informal one, adds a significant weight to it.

            “Ah…” he looks between his husband and the Daggers. “Attention,” he states, and there’s some grumbling considering he just told them they could sit however when Ice steps forward the grumbling immediately stops and they’re all standing at attention. Natasha knows of course, and maybe Machado now, but everyone is looking a little unnerved.

            “You can sit down,” Ice says, and Pete supposes he doesn’t need to introduce him. They all know who he is. “I’m just here to inform you that Lieutenant Seresin will not be getting a new call sign. Am I understood?”

            There is a chorus of yes sirs and agreement and Pete is pretty sure this is overkill, but he supposes when Bradley asks for something they’re going to ensure it happens.

…         …         …

            Tom knows Bradley is nervous, despite both his and Pete’s reassurances that everything will be fine. For some reason Bradley seems to think that Melissa and Sarah are the harder nuts to crack, while he and Pete are both of the opinion that it’s Tamsin and Petra’s far more scathing assessments which are likely to carry more weight. However Tamsin and Petra both report back that they like Jake, which is reassuring. Even if Petra had had some scathing things to say about his vehicle preference. He hasn’t yet had an opportunity to see them all interact, and while he knows travelling two weekends in a row is exhausting, Tamsin and Petra are both still young and seem more than happy to come home for birthdays and Thanksgiving.

            Melissa and Sarah are completely charmed by Seresin, who has said charm dialed all the way up. Bradley clearly has to stop himself from laughing out loud when Petra calls Jake a suck up under her breath, because he just turns, waggles his eyebrows in Bradley’s direction suggestively and Petra is groaning. It makes his heart feel full, all his kids at the table for dinner, along with his closest friends and everyone happy. It’s good.

            “Jake! Come have a look at the photo albums…” Tamsin says as soon as they’ve finished eating. Tom knows a ploy to get out of washing up when he sees one, hides his smile around his mug of tea, catches Sarah’s smile across the room. Seresin seems more than willing to look through the family photo albums, and he’s not quite relaxed around Tom, he’s definitely getting on well with both Tamsin and Petra. Bradley groans and mutters about making himself useful doing the dishes and Tom follows him through to the kitchen along with Petra.

            “I like him. He’s good for you.”

            “Yeah. He is. And I love him so… I’m glad you like him because it would have made future family dinners awkward as fuck.”

            “What’s his family like?” Tom asks, curious.

            “Uh… not as accepting as ours.”

            “Oh shit. Really?” Petra asks, turning with soapy hands Tom has to duck out of the way of.

            “Yeah. He still talks to them. But… uh. He doesn’t visit. Don’t expect to meet them at our wedding or anything.”

            “Are you getting married?” Petra asks, but Tom is pretty sure his eardrums are ringing along with Bradley’s.

            “Not yet we’re not… Jesus. Shh! I haven’t asked him. Fucks sake Pet… we only just sorted our shit out…”

            “But you’re… thinking about it?” Petra asks, eyes wide and incredulous; she’s whispering now but Tom is pretty sure that that particular horse has bolted and no doubt dancing the tango in a field if Seresin and everyone else didn’t somehow hear her previous yelling.

            “If it’s not him it sure as hell isn’t going to be anyone else for me.”

            “That’s kind of sweet. Romantic.”

            “Well, I’m coming up on forty. Had to sort my shit out at some point right?”

            “Ugh. You’re so old…”

            Bradley snorts and Tom pulls a face, shaking his head and leaving them to it. If anyone asks, he’s too old to wash dishes by hand.

…         …         …

            Seeing Bradley with Seresin settles something inside him. That Bradley isn’t going to live a life surrounded by only family.

            “Does he make you happy?”

            “He drives me completely fucking insane. But… yeah. I’m really happy. Just… yeah. It’s really good.”

            “I’m glad. You seem happier.”

            “I was already happy Mav…”

            “I know, I said happier…”

            Bradley rolls his eyes but heads over to where Jake is sitting with Petra. Bradley has always reminded him of Nick, the moustache adding to the illusion when he decided to keep it nearly a decade ago. But he’s never seen Bradley in love before and it reminds him of the look on Goose’s face every time he saw Carole, or talked about her, or thought about her. He’d never seen that particular look on Bradley’s face until he watched him look at Jake Seresin.

            “You see it too?” Ice asks, coming to stand beside him.

            “Yeah. It’s a good look on him.”

            “Mmm. I have to agree. Come on, we’re holding up the gift giving.”

            Pete lets himself be led away, and they’re celebrating their family holidays, a combination of Christmas and Hanukkah with it falling over Christmas this year. Melissa is covering Christmas Day so they can all celebrate together today, the 30th. He knows better to ask Jake what his family are doing, simply includes him in all of their little family traditions and pretends not to notice the shine of tears when Tamsin had pointed out the newly added stocking to the hearth bearing Jake’s name.

2020

            "Dude, I'm happy for you both... really I am. I just... I want you to know when Jake loves, he loves deep and long. Hell, I thought he'd never get over the guy he fell in love with back in 2009...."

            Bradley cough-splutters on his drink.

            “Wait. A guy from 2009?”

            “Yeah. What? Shit. Has he not told you about him?”

            “Um…” Bradley starts and he has a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Not in so many words.”

            “Fuck. I didn’t mean to make trouble. I just… I assumed you guys would have talked about shit like that.”

            “Coyote, Javy. It’s fine. I know about the guy. If he ever comes back you have my full permission to knock him over the head and bury the body. Okay?”

            “Uh… okay. Yeah. Sure. Weird… you know him?”

            “Yeah, we’re acquainted,” Bradley mutters with a wry grin as he watches Jake across the Hard Deck. Jake’s personality hasn’t changed, he’s still arrogant and cocky, confident in his innate skills. His tongue can still be on the sharp side, and he doesn’t suffer incompetence or fools, however he seems to laugh easier. But when they’re alone all of Jake’s armor just dissolves away to nothing as long as he’s careful not to put him on the defensive. They’re still figuring things out but it’s been good. Better than good.

            “God. Go hang out with you man. Think they can see your heart eyes from space,” Javy says, shoving at him and Bradley grins, doesn’t need to be told twice. He strides across the bar and presses himself up against Jake’s back, hooking his chin over his shoulder where he stands watching Phoenix and Bob play pool.

            “Jake… baby… princess…”

            “What have you done?”

            Bradley can’t help but laugh against Jake’s neck, the fact he knows him so well. Phoenix is making gagging sounds and he and Jake both give her the finger which just makes her laugh and give it back.

            “I haven’t done anything wrong. Well. Not recently.”

            “Okay…” Jake says, and the word is drawn out, drawling and suspicious and Bradley can’t help but laugh again.

            “Just… I already apologized but I was made to realize just how much I fucked up. So I’ll just… keep being grateful every day that you forgave me for being an idiot.”

            “Uh. What?”

            “Just… something Javy said.”

            “What did he say?” Jake asks, and he’s getting stiff in Bradley’s arms, even more suspicious and Bradley shakes his head, angles down to capture Jake’s mouth with his own and kisses him until he relaxes, lets his body slump and cover him.

            “Javy just… he told me… about this guy… a guy you were really hung up on. How he really fucked you over.”

            “Oh…”

            “Yeah…” Bradley breathes. “Told him if he ever turned up again I’d help him bury his body…”

            “Yeah?”

            “Definitely. You have to try knock some sense into him first of course.”

            “God you’re an idiot.”

            “Less of an idiot now than I was ten years ago…”

            “Aren’t we all?”

…         …         …

            He finds Tamsin in the garage with the punching bag and he wonders if he should even ask. She’s got tear tracks down her face, but she’s not currently crying; she clearly didn’t think she needed to go for waterproof mascara this morning. He walks a wide circle so she can see him, doesn’t want to startle her and get a punch to the nose. When she sees him she plucks her ear pod out.

            “Hey papa…”

            “Hey. Didn’t expect you here. Uh. You want to talk about it?”

            “No. Yes. Maybe.”

            Pete nods, wonders if he should call in reinforcements. He’s never been good with crying, although he’d like to think he’s gotten better. Matured. He’s just worried he won’t know what to say to make things right. He will always try, but sometimes he worries that he’s making things worse.

            “Why are men idiots?” Tamsin bursts out, and thank fuck, that’s an easy question at least.

            “Oh, it’s years of evolution.”

            That makes her giggle-snort and he feels a welling up of pride that even through whatever she’s dealing with he’s made her laugh.

            “Which one in particular are we talking about? Or is it just… men in general?”

            “Ross.”

            Ah. The boyfriend. He probably should have guessed. Although Ross hasn’t ever been a problem before. He’s been around for years.

            “Oh. Do I need to provide an alibi?”

            Again there’s another laugh and Pete leans against the workbench.

            “Dad can provide an alibi for both of us if it comes to that, you and Bradley can help me bury the body…”

            “And what’s Petra doing in all this?”

            “Oh, she’d probably be the one to actually kill him.”

            “That bad?”

            “No,” Tamsin says with a loud sigh and Pete just nods slowly, because he’ll decide for himself.

            “He’s just… he dropped out. Decided he didn’t want to study engineering after all and now he’s just… bumming around.”

            “Okay… maybe he’s taking a while to figure his life out?”

            “He dropped out six months ago. He’s been living with me, but he just… sits around and smokes all day and I hate the smell. He isn’t doing anything…”

            “Is he maybe… depressed?” Pete suggests, trying to be even headed. For all he knows they could get back together. And Ross is, was, one of the nicer ones.

            “I don’t care if he is. Depressed or not I deserve a guy who won’t –”

            “Who won’t what?” Pete asks, wondering exactly how that sentence is meant to finish. His brain is offering up several possibilities and none of them are pretty. Shit. Maybe Ice will need to have an alibi ready. Not for murder, but maybe assault. Then again Tom would be right beside him.

            “Won’t steal and cheat.”

            “Hmm. Enough that you want to make a report to the police?”

            “No. I kicked him out, went to my landlord and asked to change the locks and deactivate my spare security fob just incase. Then went to campus security and asked them to keep an eye out for him. Just said he might loiter around and make a nuisance of himself. I just… I wasted three years.”

            “Oh. Oh sweetheart I’m sorry…”

            That seems to set off the tears, and he just opens his arms and hugs her, lets her cry and pats her on the back as she mutters about assholes and time wasters and he lets his mind wander a little, what he can do that would maybe make her feel a little better when he realizes that there is maybe something.

            “Just… I know you don’t like violence, but… give me a couple of minutes okay?”

            She wipes at her eyes and gives him a nod and he races off to Ice’s office, finds a photo of the offending Ross and quickly prints out two copies, before returning to the garage with them. He uses electrical tape to stick one copy to the punch bag, and then, to the newly acquired dart board he sticks the other.

            “There. No alibi required. And can I just say, if you want to talk to someone who can really commiserate about men being idiots, you should really talk to your dad. He’s had years of experience.”

            That really has her laughing and Pete grins.

…         …         …

            He doesn’t say the words very often. Not first. Struggles to say them to people who aren’t his family, wonders if he should tell Jake that that’s the case or whether he already knows. No. He won’t assume Jake knows anything. He’s said them before, repeats them effortlessly when Jake tells him first, easy as breathing. But he wants Jake to know. To be sure.

            “I love you Jake…”

            The smile on Jake’s face takes his breath away, wide and bright and the words are returned to him easily and he hopes his answering smile makes Jake feel the same way he does right now.

            “I love you too.”

…         …         …

            Fucking global pandemic.

            What the actual fuck is his life now.

            Everyone’s deployments are extended if they’re at sea, and he’s very fucking glad that the entire Dagger Squad are stationed together in North Island and their orders remain the same. Training, studying, simulations, flying, more training. It’s all still the same except not. The roads are emptier, shops closed, hospitals busier and Melissa and Sarah stop visiting. Tamsin and Petra both come home to finish their semester of study remotely, but Melissa refuses to let them stay with her and Sarah, insisting that they take her seriously.

            So they do. It’s an unusual way of living, and the bubble they create is odd. Tamsin and Petra bouncing between his place, and then staying with Ice and Mav. The fact that there is Harley, Ducati and Ceccato is a bigger drawcard. That and Mav drags Ice away to the hangar every other weekend under the guise of doing maintenance. He’s pretty sure that’s code for alone time but he’s not going to probe. Ice sends pictures of them flying and yeah, that’s nice for them.

            They’re asked to accommodate other officers in their homes if they can, so he invites Bob to join them, after Natasha and Coyote inform him that they’re going to bunk in together. That raises a few eyebrows, but he and Jake wisely both keep their mouths shut on the matter. It all happens so fast that he doesn’t really have time to tell Bob much of anything. He lets Tamsin and Petra know he’s going to have someone staying so they don’t take Bob out when they see him, but he’s reclined back on the sofa, feet in Jake’s lap when Bob appears in the doorway to the living room in his sleep clothes, eyes wide.

            “Rooster! Bradley! There’s a… there’s a woman in your kitchen.”

            “Blonde or brunette?” Bradley asks, a little distracted because Jake is drawing something on his ankle. He thinks it’s the outline of a dick but he’s not sure, trying to mentally visualize the image.

            “Uh… blonde? Does…”

            “That’s Tamsin. His sister. She must have come around late. Hair color wouldn’t have mattered. He’s got two sisters…”

            “Oh shit. Yeah. Sorry Bob. Come let me do a proper introduction.”

            Tamsin is standing and staring at the coffee maker as if willing it to go faster, and he wonders if she knows he’s set it up to make a large pot now, that she might be waiting a while. He goes over and gives her a hug and presses a kiss to the top of her head, because she’s all sleepy and grumpy, hair in a messy plait down her back and wearing her most comfortable sweatpants and t-shirt.

            “Tam, this is my friend Bob. Bob, this is my sister Tamsin. Her and our other sister Petra are taking turns spending time here…”

            “Robert. My name’s Robert… Bob is my callsign.”

            Bradley blinks, not expecting the correction at all.

            “Oh. Sorry. Robert Floyd. Callsign Bob.”

            “Nice to meet you Robert,” Tamsin says, and she’s reaching out to shake Bob’s hand, smiling politely, although her smile turns more grateful when Jake shoves his half-full cup of coffee into her hands as he enters the kitchen as well. It sounds weird to hear Bob called Robert.

            “Nice to meet you too. I didn’t realize Rooster had sisters.”

            “Uh… shit. Yeah. Sorry. I forgot to kind of tell you about my family…”

            Jake snorts and Bradley rolls his eyes, pokes out his tongue which just makes Jake grin at him.

            “I love our family. Our parents. Really. I do. I know how lucky I am to be so wanted, loved and supported. But seriously, if I have to deal with Papa’s hovering for another hour I’m going to snap.”

            Bradley snorts, because they’d stayed home this weekend rather than going to the hangar, and the shelter in place order is making Mav a little stir-crazy and making it everyone else’s problem. Hopefully Ice will take him out to the hangar so he can fly.

            “You’re, uh. Dads?” Bob asks, looking between Bradley and Tamsin, and Jake is wearing a shit-eating grin, clearly entertained and Bradley groans.

            “Shit. Knew I forgot to tell you. Sorry, with the whole… lockdown thing. Admiral Kazansky is –”

            “My dad.”

            “And Mav is her –”

            “Papa.”

            “Are you going to let me finish my own –”

            “Sandwiches!” Tamsin singsongs and Bradley groans and Bob looks amused.

            “So it’s not just me and Jake in our bubble. You’ll actually get a fair amount of choice. There’s us here, and then Mav and Ice at their place. Tamsin and Petra switching between the two. So… seven of us between two houses. And the base.”

            “Oh. That’s… that’s really good. Uh. Is there… do you have a mom?”

            “Of course. I have two of them as well. Mom and Mama. Sarah and Melissa. Mom used to be married to Dad, but it was all, like, a cover story. Pretty romantic really…”

            Bob is blinking and Bradley exchanges a look with Jake, because he’s glad Tamsin somehow thinks that Ice having to hide his feelings and emotions to Mav by marrying and having kids with a woman is somehow romantic… Ugh. He guesses they’re pretty extreme lengths, and Tamsin and Petra wouldn’t exist otherwise. But still. The coffee has finished and Jake pours himself a new mug, topping up Tamsin’s and then silently asking Bradley if he wants more and he shakes his head, unable to hide his smile though with the realization that they’re silently communicating in a way he’s used to seeing between Sarah and Melissa as well as Mav and Ice.

…         …         …

            Tom is glad to be retired. Because he has Zoom calls with his replacement and listens to how he has to deal with everything and is so infinitely glad that it’s no longer any of his concern. A global pandemic was never something he thought he’d have to manage, and he’s glad it’s not officially his problem. He looks up to see Seresin standing in the doorway to his study and he waves him in.

            “Sir…”

            “You can just call me Tom. I’m retired. Well. Mostly. It’s in process…”

            “Uh. Sorry. I call my own father sir…”

            “Oh,” Tom says, surprised. Not only is it the first time Jake has mentioned his family, but the idea of any of his children calling him sir makes him feel uncomfortable. Even Bradley only ever did so when there were other people around and they were both in uniform.

            “Was there something I could help you with?”

            “I just… sorry. Do you remember when we first met?”

            Tom leans back and nods.

            “2011. On board the Carl Vinson. We had dinner. I believe we all had steak because I was eating with you all.”

            “You had dinner with everyone who was in the class of 2010. I just… I wondered if you had any particular reason for that sir.”

            Smart boy Tom thinks to himself, and he nods again, waves a finger at the chair opposite his desk and Jake obligingly sits.

            “You’re wondering if it was a coincidence,” Tom states, and Seresin is nodding. “You’re right to question it, because no, it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

            “So Bradley had told you about me?”

            “Not you specifically, no. We had a conversation around the matter, DADT, and…” Tom frowns then, tries and remembers what advice he had given Bradley. “I had my suspicions…”

            “Oh.”

            “Never did anything about them of course. Didn’t need to once DADT was repealed. However observation skills and following your gut are… useful. As is keeping meticulous and coded notes of everything you learn through the grapevine.”

            “Notes sir?”

            “Mmm. I have dozens of notebooks. They’d be quite damning if they fell into the wrong hands. If they figured out my code anyway. I believe Aubrey may have gotten close before deciding she’d rather not know.”

            “Who is Aubrey?”

            “My assistant. Ex assistant now I suppose. Invaluable. Would you like to learn it?”

            “Learn… your code?”

            “Yes. I think you would become quite savage in your desire to protect those you love.”

            Tom knows he’s judged the man correctly and he pulls out one of his notebooks, the one which actually details his thoughts on figuring out who Bradley’s potential ill advised hookup had been and knows back then he never imagined he’d be considering the man as his future son-in-law, however he suspects it’s only a matter of time.

            Sure enough Tom finds he enjoys Jake’s company more than he thought he would. It’s not quite as easy as it is with Bradley, or Tamsin or Petra, but Jake is easy going and respectful, and not just to Tom, but to Sarah and Melissa. Not that they’re seeing much of either of them at the moment, Melissa insisting on them staying away from her with her working in the hospital and at such a higher-level risk of exposure with her work. But he’s glad of the opportunity to get to know Seresin better.

…         …         …

            He and Jake are both promoted to Lieutenant Commander and he wonders just how much chatter is happening behind closed doors. Because yes, Ice might be retired now, however that doesn’t stop him getting phone calls, or consulted with big wide sweeping things. Bradley isn’t stupid. He knows Jake and Ice have developed some type of mentor-mentee relationship because Jake has the drive to try and prove himself. Bradley is finding himself more and more content with the smaller things now that he has Jake.

            He’s not surprised at all when Natasha and Javy announce that they’re together and finally giving it a go. They both give him significant looks and he wonders if Jake is getting the same looks. It’s definitely something they’ve talked about, something that they want for their future together. Then Natasha is asking Tamsin and Petra to be her bridesmaids and Bradley doesn’t have time to think about that, he’s too worried about his future hearing loss.

2021

            Bradley isn’t even thinking about it when he sees it. A ring in a shop window and his heart just… skips. He wants to buy it. Needs to buy it. Wants to see it on Jake’s finger and have everyone know that he’s taken, that he’s Bradley’s. He doesn’t think about it, just walks in, buys it and walks out, the weight of it in his pocket making him feel jittery with nerves. Don’t think, just do. Fucking Mav. Fucking Natasha making him think about it even more. He doesn’t head home, instead goes to Ice and Mav’s, nerves vibrating so much he can almost hear them jangling in his head. He lets himself in and goes and sits at the table closest to the kitchen and just stares at the ring he just bought.

            “Uh… if that’s an engagement ring I’m sorry to disappoint. I’m a married man…”

            “Fuck off Mav, you know it’s not for you.”

            “You want to propose to him?”

            “I… yes. I mean. I know it’s not been that long. But also…”

            “It’s been nearly two years. That’s plenty long enough.”

            “You think so?”

            “Yes. That man’s world begins and ends with you. I know how he feels because I feel the same way about Ice.”

…         …         …

            “You ever think about having kids?” Jake asks, and he sort of thought Jake had fallen asleep already.

            “Um. I love kids… I honestly haven’t thought about having them though. It’s not like we’d accidentally stumble into having them…” Jake huffs at that, and Bradley can’t tell in the dark if he’s amused or annoyed. “I would love to raise a family with you Jake, if that was something you wanted. It’s… it’s not a deal breaker for me either way. We have kids, great. We don’t have kids, still great.”

            “We’d make very cute babies…”

            “Yeah we would,” Bradley agrees, and the image of a baby with Jake’s eyes and blonde curls lights up in his brain, Jake lying there with a baby sleeping on his chest and oh fuck, maybe he’s not quite as on the fence as he thought.

            “How about we get married first…”

            “How very traditional of you Bradshaw.”

            “I’ll show you traditional,” Bradley mutters with a laugh and he blows a raspberry on Jake’s stomach, making them both laugh.

            “What? You going to knock me up and force a shotgun wedding?”

            “You want me to try?” Bradley challenges and Jake’s gaze goes dark.

            “Always want you to try darlin’…”

2022

            Tom isn’t sure what’s wrong, but Jake is pacing back and forth. Harley has given up trying to follow, has simply slumped down and is watching with his eyes. Tom would make a joke about wearing a track in the carpet but Jake is actually wringing his hands. It’s very out of character and he’d be worried if he didn’t already have a slight suspicion about what it might be about.

            “What’s wrong Seresin?”

            “When will Mav be home?”

            “Did you want to call him?”

            “No. No it’s fine. I just… I’ll wait.”

            “Did you need to speak to me?” Tom asks, because he’d been under that impression, but is now a little confused.

            “I, uh, want to talk to both of you…”

            Bingo.

            He hides his smile as best he can, glad then that he hears Mav’s bike in the drive, the garage door opening and closing.

…         …         …

            “Ice! Jake!”

            “In here!”

            “Hey…” Pete greets, looks around for Bradley. Separating Jake and Bradley is something he’d maybe count as a sign of the apocalypse, and he glances at Jake, ready to ask where his other half is when he notices Jake looks decidedly pale, maybe a little green.

            “Everything okay? You look like you’re about to be sick… Is Bradley okay?”

            “He’s fine. I just… uh. I needed to ask you both something. I, uh, already asked the girls…”

            “Smart move…” Ice says quietly, looking amused and Pete frowns.

            “Asked them what?”

            “I want to ask Bradley to marry me…”

            “But isn’t Bradley…”

            Tom starts coughing loudly and he’s flailing out, accidentally kicking him and Ice doesn’t even apologize. Pete glares at him only to find Ice staring at him wide-eyed.

            Oh shit.

            He understands the kick to the leg now.

            “Sorry Jake. You were saying?”

            Jake’s eyes are narrowed, glancing between the two of them; he’s been a part of their family for well over two years now, marrying Bradley will simply be a formality. However Jake also knows them all much better, knows when they’re hiding something, or trying to bullshit him. He’s definitely become wise to their ways and it’s been pretty great including Jake in their family. He pulls Jake into a tight hug, tells him to go right ahead and ask Bradley and then Ice does the same and Jake finally looks less like he’s going to throw up.

…         …         …

            Bradley hasn’t planned anything big or romantic, although he guesses it’ll become romantic with retellings and nostalgia. But a walk along the beach, just the two of them, peaceful and quiet. He doesn’t even need to bribe Jake to leave the house to go out. They walk hand in hand and watch the sun creep closer and closer to the horizon, turning the sky pink and orange. He stops and turns, takes in Jake’s profile, bathed in the pain-orange glow of the sun and he wants to remember this moment forever.

            “Jake…”

            “Mmm… yeah?” Jake murmurs, finally turning to look at him and he smiles, steps in close, whispers the question he wants to ask against Jake’s cheek.

            “Will you marry me?”

            Jake pulls back to gape and stare at him, looking shocked. Like they haven’t talked about one day getting married.

            “Jake? Baby?”

            “You… but… I…”

            “How are you surprised by this? We’ve talked about getting married…”

            “Yes! But I asked Mav and Ice, and Tamsin and Petra!”

            “Oh… oh that’s sweet of you.”

            Honestly he’s surprised they all managed to keep it quiet from him.

            “But… you…”

            “You want me to take it back so you can ask me instead?” Bradley asks, biting his lip so he doesn’t burst into laughter.

            “No! You can’t take it back. But… yes. Yes I’ll marry you. Oh my god you fucking asshole…”

            “Yeah, there’s the Jake I know and love…”

            “Put your damn ring on my finger Bradshaw…”

            He slips the ring onto Jake’s ring finger, then brings it up to his mouth to press a kiss to where it now sits.

            “Love you.”

            “Yeah. Love you too. Can’t believe you beat me,” Jake grumbles and Bradley silences him with a kiss.

2023

            Because Jake thinks he’s funny he insists on them getting married on Bradley’s 40th birthday. The reasons he lists off are annoyingly logical, but Bradley knows it’s also because it means every year from now on Jake’s going to be able to say Bradley’s birthday present is going to be staying married to him. He can imagine it all too easily and it just makes him smile. Jake totally steals Petra to be his groom’s woman, along with Javy, leaving him with Natasha and Tamsin to stand up with him and he gets dragged along for massages and manicures, sends photos to Jake telling him he’s missing out, only to find out that the others are doing exactly the same thing.

            The ceremony is short, and it’s only about fifty people all up, and no-one mentions the lack of Jake’s family once. He suspects Javy has gone around and discreetly let everyone know the situation. He knows Jake tried to tell his mom. He also knows that she hung up on him and then didn’t answer his calls for five weeks. He doesn’t want to tell Jake what to do, but some days he really wishes he could. He’s standing on the side watching Ice dance with Tamsin and Mav with Petra when Jake leans into his side and presses a drink into his hand.

            “I figured it out…”

            “What?”

            “Your threesome. It was with Phoenix’s cousin and his husband.”

            “Jesus Jake, shh!”

            “Oh shit. She doesn’t know?”

            “No! Why would I fucking tell her that? I didn’t tell you! How did you figure it out?”

            “Oh. Patrick came over and congratulated me, and the way he kind of wiggled his eyebrows and then winked at me made me think he might have first-hand knowledge of exactly what I was locking down…”

            “Oh my god…”

            “I mean. They’re hot. And nice.”

            “Yeah. They are… but…”

            “Oh, you’re far too possessive to let anyone else into our bedroom huh?”

            “I… yeah. Sorry.”

            “Oh. Don’t apologize. I like it.”

            “Yeah, I know you do.”

            “Mmm. Come on. Dance with me.”

…         …         …

            “Huh. Can’t really call you Seresin anymore,” Tom muses and Jake grins.

            “No sir, you’ll have to start calling me Jake.”

            “When you start calling me Tom. Or Ice.”

            “Deal. Who do you think is going to be weirded out the most?”

            “Hmm. Tough call. But my money’s on Mav.”

…         …         …

            The Dagger Squad are officially reassigned; however he and Jake are sent to Fallon together, along with Natasha, Javy, Rueben and Mikey. The others are sent to Corpus and given that Tamsin is based in Houston with NASA doing something with her software engineering degree he lets her know that the rest of the Dagger will be in her neck of the woods. She’s coming up 27 and he’d be a little intimidated by her if she wasn’t also his kid sister. She has all of Ice’s confidence and ability to command attention and he knows she’s going to go places. Petra is also in Texas, although she’s working on the mechanics of racecars and driving them. With both there he and Jake take a long weekend and head to Corpus next time they have leave.

            It’s not the Hard Deck, but it’s still a Navy bar and when Petra walks in she draws attention; she’s wearing jeans and form fitting Wonder Woman t-shirt, nothing fancy at all but she’s still eye catching. Tamsin follows her, and she’s wearing a lilac-colored pantsuit, looking incredibly put together and he wonders what her colleagues think of her. Neither of them have seen him or Jake yet, and most people here are in civvies.

            “You got a name gorgeous?” one man asks, clearly deciding to try his luck and Bradley has seen this type of interaction play out before, although never in a Navy bar. This ought to be good.

            “I give names to those who earn them.”

            “And what do we need to do earn it?”

            “If you need to ask, then you’re already down and out.”

            Beside him Jake is rigid and he puts a hand on Jake’s arm to stop him from going over, pulls him back and shakes his head slightly.

            “Do not go there. They can both look after themselves. Trust me. Those newbies do not stand a fucking chance.”

            “You sure? There are five of them.”

            “Uh huh. Very sure. Made that mistake once. If they’ve been drinking it’s a different story, but even then, they just get vicious. Petra especially. Remember who their father’s are… Fuck. Think of Sarah and Melissa.”

            Jake nods, but his eyes don’t leave Tamsin and Petra. Tamsin has spied them now, is fighting back a smile and Bradley rolls his eyes at her as she subtly shifts them closer.

            “You’re hanging out in a navy bar near the base. Pretty sure that makes you base bunnies. What are you doing here if you’re not looking to…”

            “Looking to what? Enjoy a drink in peace and quiet? You don’t think that maybe I’ve come from the same base?” Petra asks, and she’s toying with them Bradley realizes.

            “We’re all naval aviators. Here for Top Gun. Do you know what that is?”

            “Oh my god… she’s going to eviscerate them,” Jake murmurs beside him, but he’s grinning widely and Bradley ducks to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

            “Yep.”

            “I do know what Fighter Weapon School is, and I also know that it isn’t here in Corpus. In fact,” Petra starts and Bradley meets her gaze and she grins, vicious sharp, as Jake toasts her with his bottle of beer. “In fact, I think you’re the new flight school intake and that I have more flight hours than all of you put together at this point in time.”

            A couple of the guys standing around look a little belligerent at that claim and he winces, hopes this isn’t going to end up in someone getting thrown out. Some of them are muttering about her not knowing anything about flight school and Bradley wonders what level of the stupid-barrel they’ve been scraping.

            “My father is the retired Admiral Kazansky. Yes. That Admiral Kazansky. My step-father is the retired Captain Maverick Mitchell,” Petra provides.

            “Oh god this is glorious,” Jake says to him quietly and Bradley has to concede that yes, it is indeed entertaining.

            “My brother is Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, my brother-in-law is Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin. I think I have an idea of what flight school is. And it’s a far cry from Top Gun. Now, you gentlemen are stopping my sister and I from joining our brother and his husband.”

            Bradley takes that as his queue and he steps toward them, Jake following and they’re not in Corpus for work, but the others don’t know that.

            “Gentlemen…”

            Almost as one they all stiffen as if on parade and he keeps his face carefully blank, notes Jake does the same, although Jake also looks a lot more calculating.

            “Sir.”

            “Hmm. Slightly disappointed in the welcome my sisters received. Be better.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “Have a good evening.”

            “On the other side of the bar,” Jake adds, and there’s more yes sirs and mumbling agreement and they all move off, some with nervous glances over their shoulders.

            “This is why I don’t like coming to Navy bars,” Petra mutters, and Jake grins at her.

            “Petra, I am never going to want to meet you anywhere but a Navy bar from now on. That was amazing.”

…         …         …

            “Bradley… I’d like to talk to you about something.”

            “Sure, of course. What is it?”

            “I’d like to offer my services as a surrogate.”

            Bradley gapes, knows he must freeze because Jake reaches over and closes his mouth with a not-so-gentle finger on his jaw.

            “That’s a hell of an offer Petra…” Jake starts, cautious, and Bradley is already shaking his head.

            “We can’t ask you to do that.”

            “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

            Bradley doesn’t know what to say, looks to Jake who is looking completely shook. He knows Jake’s family would never, that he continues to be amazed by Bradley and his weird family dynamics but loves them all the same.

            “And I know you would never ask. Which, again, is why I’m offering. You guys would make great dads. If that’s something you want to do.”

            “Holy shit… you’re actually serious.”

            “Of course I am. Mama is a doctor. I already talked to her about the risks.”

            “Thank you Petra. We’ll have to talk about it. You can change your mind as well…” Jake says, and he’s gone stiff and formal, Bradley doesn’t like it, but he’s also used to it, a rarer form of Jake’s defense system.

            “Oh. I know. Mama made me talk to someone. Several someone’s. Then said I probably wouldn’t change my mind until I was actually giving birth and cursing you both…”

            “You… that’s… quite the bombshell,” Bradley mumbles, reaching for Jake’s hand and gripping it, feels Jake’s fingers grip back just as tightly.

            “Well. I thought I’d tell you sooner rather than later. You’ll need time to figure everything out, because I’m only signing up until the baby or babies are born. I know I don’t want to be a mom.”

            “You’d… do it more than once?” Jake asks, voice rough.

            “Well, yeah. Of course. I can’t imagine growing up without my siblings. You need to have at least two.”

            “Holy shit…” Bradley breathes. “Thanks Pet… we’ll, uh, we’ll talk about it and let you know as soon as possible, okay?”

            “Yeah, of course.”

2024

            Tom doesn’t know quite what Pete is upset and worked up about, but he’s used to waiting him out. Sometimes Pete doesn’t know himself what it is that’s bothering him, and he’ll bring it to Tom soon enough. He suspects it has to do with Petra being pregnant, although it’s early days yet and Tom has already dealt with both Bradley and Jake freaking out over the whole ordeal. He’d brazenly told them that this is the easy part, that it’s once the baby is born that they’ll really start freaking out.

            Out of the four of them, he’s the one with the most experience of being around pregnant women. Of course, Sarah and Melissa are offering their own support, but Jake and Bradley have taken to asking any question that pops into their heads with no regard to how sensible or ridiculous it might be, or the time of day or night they’re sending the message. He’s taken to muting notifications, but leaving the ringing option on, because he does still want to be reachable in case of emergency. Asking his opinion between different formula brands does not constitute an emergency. Especially when the baby isn’t even here, is a good six or seven months away.

            Bradley has put in his papers to retire from the Navy. That’s fortunately timed to finish in six months, which is just as well as Tom cannot imagine him having nothing to do between now and then. Jake on the other hand has been busting his gut working on another promotion and Tom has tried to get him to ease off a little. With both Maverick and Bradley out, it leave Jake as the sole active aviator with air-to-air kills and he knows the Navy is eager to keep him, and keep him happy. Tom is just going to need to teach Jake how to tweak those to get his way sometimes, and to know when to capitulate.

            Bradley and Jake have talked about their plans, sought their advice about where to base themselves. Decided that North Island makes the most sense because while Bradley can and will follow Jake to those positions he’s deployed on land, but when he’s sent onto a carrier for months on end Bradley will be grateful for the support that he, Mav, Sarah and Melissa can and will offer. Especially when the second baby arrives, although that’s assuming Petra really goes through with this a second time, if Bradley and Jake haven’t changed her mind with their slightly unhinged behavior. It’s probably a good thing she’s in Texas for the next few months, insisting on working; she can choose to ignore them and Tamsin is there as well which is reassuring.

            “I… do you sometimes feel like you don’t deserve the life you’ve got?”

            “What?” Tom asks, looking up from the crossword and processes what he just heard; Harley stirs and looks at him with one eye open before settling back to sleep. “No. We’ve worked damn hard to have everything we have.”

            “Just… I know. We’re so lucky. We’ve got this amazing family. I just… I don’t think I ever thought of Bradley becoming a dad himself. Something else Nick and Carole will never see. We get to become grandparents and they…”

            “Well shit Pete… they didn’t get to be here for any of it, but it doesn’t mean we don’t deserve it. It’s not like we murdered them. And do you think they would want Bradley to be alone, or for us to miss out on it all. You were part of their family and always would have been if they’d lived.”

            “Yeah, yeah I know. I just. Bradley’s mine. I’ve always… he’s always held a special place in my heart. He’s my kid you know. Just… he’s going to be even more my kid.”

            “Uh. How exactly?”

            “He’s going to be the father of my grandkids… Our grandkids. I feel like I’m really part of their family now, my blood being tied into theirs with the baby. Holy shit. We’re going to have grandchildren Tom…”

            “Oh Pete… come here…”

            Pete doesn’t cry very often, wasn’t there for Petra’s birth or a lot of her childhood at all really, but he’s going to be around a lot for this. Doesn’t have any choice in the matter, unless he decides to disappear to the hangar for a couple of nights. He’s not going to tell Pete he’s being silly, emotions don’t work that way and he just can’t believe that he’s going to be a grandfather either. He had thought, assumed, that the joys in his life had been made clear to him and finite in their number, not that he might have new people enter his life.

            Naïve of him he supposes.

            Well, he’s got a few months to get used to the idea.

            He can’t wait.

…         …         …

            “Hey Tim Tam… what’s up?” Bradley asks, and she rolls her eyes at the nickname but he slides the packet of chocolate cookies and offers her one. Her and Petra are visiting for a week, bookended by two weekends. Jake is massaging Petra’s feet while they watch car racing and he’s well aware it’s their bonding time, so Tamsin hovering in the kitchen gives him an excuse and a distraction. He watches as she scans the wine rack and picks a bottle. He’d make a quip about her making herself at home but he suspects she bought nearly all of the bottles, and he’s always insisted they treat it like their third home. He can’t change up the rules on them now. He follow her out to the back garden, smile soft as they walk past Petra and Jake yelling at the TV, oblivious to them passing through. She’s obviously got something she wants to offload.

            “How did you know you were in love?��

            “Uh…” Bradley’s eyes go wide, because of all the questions he could be asked that is not one he even really has an answer to even now. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to answer that question. It took me years to figure my shit out. Maybe Jake would be better to talk to?”

            “Jake isn’t my brother… you are.”

            “I mean… Jake’s your brother-in-law. Okay. Sorry. I just… I really think he might have a perspective that would be more useful…”

            “Okay. Can I just talk to you for a bit first?”

            “Yeah. Of course. You know that.”

            “Okay. So… I think I’m in love.”

            Bradley bites back his first automatic response, because her shoulder punches hurt and she wouldn’t hesitate if she thinks he’s being a sarcastic shithead. It’s not always appreciated, not like it is with Jake and their friends.

            “Okay. I didn’t… uh. Is this a problem?” he finally settles on asking, because he hadn’t even been aware she’d been dating or seeing anyone, and that doesn’t mean she hasn’t met someone and fallen in love.

            “I thought we were just friends… but…”

            “One of the best foundations for a relationship is friendship. You’ve known them for a while then?”

            She nods then, chews on her bottom lip and she’s not meeting his eyes and that’s unusual…

            “Tamsin…?”

            “I just. I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love with a guy in the military…”

            “Wait. He’s… he’s in the service?”

            “Yeah…”

            “Do I know him?”

            “Yes.”

            “Who?” Bradley asks, and the protective streak he usually ignores has just raised its head and he’s wondering who the hell it is that has Tamsin sitting here looking so uncertain.

            “It’s Rob…”

            “Who the fuck is Rob?”

            “Robert.”

            “You… you mean Bob?”

            “I am not calling him by his stupid callsign!”

            “Uh…” Bradley starts, blinks, because of everyone’s callsigns Bob’s is by far the least stupid he’s ever heard. Much like the man, really. And he knew her and Bob had become friends during lockdown a few years ago, that Bob has been based in Texas at Corpus.

            “You know it’s not what he gets called at home right? All his family call him Rob or Robbie? Bob is definitely a callsign.”

            “You’ve… you’ve met his family?”

            “Um. Just through a video call once. They rang while we were having lunch and I told him to answer. So. Yeah.”

            “Bob.”

            “Yeah.”

            He likes Bob. Will like him a lot less if he hurts Tamsin, but…

            “If you have to fall in love with a guy then… yeah. He’s good. Nice. I like him. He treating you right?”

            She rolls her eyes at that and Bradley blows out a breath, puts both of his hands up in surrender. Heaven forbid he care. Jesus. He keeps his mouth shut and wonders what he’s going to be like if he has a daughter. Oh fuck. Well. At least he’s had plenty of practice.

            “Yes. I’m just…”

            “Just what?”

            “It’s not weird?”

            “Weird how?”

            “He’s… a bit older than me. Settled. Your friend and squadron member…”

            “How long have you guys been secretly dating?”

            “We haven’t. We became friends back in 2020, during –”

            “When he was living with us. Yeah. And…”

            “We just kept talking and then we’ve chatted and talked, had meals together whenever he’s been passing through. Then a couple of weeks ago he asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner and I asked as friends or something more and he… his whole face just lit up Bradley. Like I had maybe given him that magic of a Christmas morning as a kid? You know?”

            Bradley does know, and the fact that Bob is looking at Tamsin like that, it making her feel special and magical and… like she could be his entire world.

            “Yeah. Yeah I know… so you went to dinner?”

            “Mmm. He’s… he’s so funny. And sweet. And so handsome…”

            “Okay… you know Mav and Ice are going to have an opinion right?”

            “Yeah. That’s the other thing I wanted to talk about. Robbie –”

            “Robbie?”

            “Bradley! Focus!”

            “Sorry. Just, uh, go on.”

            “Rob seems to think I’m maybe worried about tell them, and I’m not. But he might be, and he doesn’t want to ask permission –”

            “Good,” Bradley mutters, and he still gets hit in the shoulder and he pulls a face. “I’m just saying! You get to make your own decisions!”

            “I do! And we all know it. But I think he wants to show me he doesn’t care about who my parents are.”

            “They’re nearly all retired…”

            “You really think that matters?”

            “No. I guess not. So… what? Bob’s just going to rock up to Ice and Mav’s and pick you up for a date all the way from Texas?”

            “Oh… oh my god Bradley! You’re a genius!”

            “Uh. Am I?”

            “That’s perfect! Thank you!”

            “No worries… any time,” Bradley offers, and wonders what it is he said exactly.

…         …         …

            Petra and Tamsin are both staying for a week, splitting their time between the three different houses. Petra is currently at Bradley’s letting Jake pamper her, which is maybe helping his little freakout about his impending fatherhood of making it worse. Pete’s not sure, he doesn’t remember freaking out this much, however he also knew he wasn’t really the one who’d be primarily responsible. Thinking about Petra and the rollercoaster accident, being the first of them on the scene to comfort her and make sure she was okay, well, he likes being there for them all.

            There’s someone at the front door. He grumbles under his breath as he heads towards it, because Tamsin is here, and Ice, and yet he’s the one getting up to answer the door. His attitude changes abruptly when he opens it and Bob is standing there looking equal parts steadfast and nervous.

            “Bob. What are you doing here?”

            “Evening Maverick. I’m here to pick up Tamsin?”

            “Tamsin?”

            Pete blinks. He wonders if Robert Floyd has any entries in any of Ice’s little notebooks he still hasn’t cracked the code for. He knows Jake has been gifted the notebooks, and taught the code and the idea of Jake Bradshaw climbing the ranks makes him smile.

            “Yes. Your eldest daughter?”

            “I… I know who Tamsin is. I just…”

            “Sorry Papa, I was just finishing getting ready. Hi Rob…”

            “Rob?” Pete asks, and Tamsin is there dressed in jeans and slouchy top, but her hair and makeup is all carefully done and she looks gorgeous.

            “Tamsin. You look beautiful.”

            “Thank you. Shall we go?”

            “Of course. Night Maverick.”

            “Night…” Pete says, watching as Tamsin skips down the front steps, Bob’s hand on her lower back. “How long has that been going on?” he mutters under his breath.

            “Who was it?” Ice asks, appearing in the door of his study and Pete waves wordlessly at the now retreating figures and looks at Ice.

            “You have anything on Robert Floyd?”

            “Robert Floyd? I… no. I don’t think so. Why?”

            “He just picked Tamsin up for a date.”

            Ice looks completely blindsided and it’s nice to have company there at least. He knows logically that they haven’t ever known details of any of Tamsin’s boyfriends prior to her bringing them home and them sitting through family dinners where he and Ice grilled them under the guise of polite interest. Robert Floyd though is someone that Ice can skip all those steps with. He’s aware it’s overstepping some boundaries, but he can’t bring himself to care. They’ve done it already for Bradley, doing it again for Tamsin seems easy. The door is already open.

            Except it isn’t.

            He’s retired. They’ve both retired.

            Doesn’t quite have access to the same resources as he used to.

            He could of course call in favors but… wait. What is he so worried about? Bradley and Jake will know Bob far better than any notes Ice might have. Plus Bob has already been around for several family dinners, he’s not going to be easily intimidated by them.

            “Huh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

            “Neither…”

            “Hmm. I’ll invite Aubrey over for dinner. Maybe have lunch with her on base one day this week. Maybe both.”

            Pete grins, because there’s the man he knows and loves.

…         …         …

            Tom comes home from lunch with Aubrey a little disgruntled. There’s nothing. Nothing. Robert Floyd has an exemplary service record, is skilled and well liked. Seems like a rule follower to the letter and he wonders if that type of person suits Tamsin, or whether he’s trying to press what he likes in Maverick onto her with how similar she is to him sometimes.

            He’s just going to have to trust that she knows what she wants. She’s never hesitated in ending her relationships that haven’t measured up to whatever ideal she holds. It’s fine. She’ll be twenty-eight at the end of the year. Hell. Petra is having a baby. They’re all old enough and adults and he needs to stop worrying so much. He walks into the kitchen, can hear noise which tells him it’s where he’s likely to find Maverick, and sure enough he’s there, standing on top of the stepladder he’s dragged in from the garage.

            “Mav… what are you doing?”

            “I’m baby proofing the cupboard up here.”

            “How is the baby going to get on top of the fridge Mav?”

            “This baby is going to have my genes, we have to prepare for every eventuality.”

            “And yet Petra never climbed onto the top of the fridge in her infancy. Just… deep breaths Pete. It’ll be okay. Kids are a lot more physically resilient than you think, trust me. We raised Bradley, Tamsin and Petra. A grandbaby should be easy. Its parents will be doing all the heavy lifting.”

            “I know… I just…”

            “You can worry, but how about we think

            His little pep talk has stopped Mav putting child-proof locks on the cupboard even he needs a step ladder to reach, but Tom gives in to the allowing of foam on every sharp edge. Knows Mav is anxious and this is his way of dealing with it, however he’s not going to imprison all his belongings in cupboards even Pete needs a stepladder to open.

…         …         …

            Bradley has never felt so ill-prepared in his life. Melissa has assured him that six weeks early is fine, that while it’s not ideal, there’s nothing to suggest anything is wrong. Despite all of that though he’s a mess. Tamsin is in the room with Petra. Melissa and Sarah are sitting with Mav and Ice across the room, because Mav looks as shaken and worried as he does. Jake’s knuckles are white on his knees and no matter how much Bradley tries he knows he’s not exactly a reassuring presence, his own nerves seeming to feed Jake’s and then feeding back to him. So they’ve settled on silence, not wanting to snap at each other through their joint worry.

            Then a nurse appears, looking at a piece of paper.

            “Bradshaw-Kazansky family?”

            “That’s… that’s us,” Ice is saying, standing and waving a hand at them all and Bradley is glad someone is there to do the talking. The nurse looks at the six of them, clearly unsure how it works but clearly decides she doesn’t care enough to ask, although she does a double take at seeing Melissa.

            “Mom and baby are both doing well. I was told mom would like to tell you the details. You’ll be able to all go in shortly, but I was looking for dad?”

            “Dads,” Jake croaks out. “We’re the dads…” he reaches for Bradley’s hand and they stand together, taking a step forward.

            “Okay. Well gentlemen, if you’d like to follow me?”

            They follow her and he tries to pay attention so he’ll be able to find his way back to the waiting room but gives up. He’ll ask for directions. Then he’s watching Jake undo the buttons of his shirt, sitting back in a large recliner and the nurse is placing a diaper-clad baby on his bare chest, covering the baby with a flannel sheet. She’s saying something about regulating body temperature, and kangaroo care and it’s all turning to static in his ears because Jake is sitting there with their child on his chest, his hand resting on its back, thumb moving back and forth and eyes transfixed on the top of its head. He’s never seen something so amazing.

            “Thank you…” he manages, quickly presses a kiss to Petra’s forehead. She’s grinning and looking pleased but tired, Tamsin is looking a little shell shocked and he wonders if he should ask or just be happy that the outcome is all he needs to know about. He goes and stands beside Jake before Tamsin pushes a chair toward him. It’s not anywhere near as comfortable as the recliner Jake is set up in, but nothing is going to make him move anytime soon. He runs his fingers over the soft fuzzy down on the baby’s head and then lets his hand rest on top of Jake’s, leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of his face.

            “Welcome to fatherhood… you look good. It suits you.”

            “Good. Not a look I’ll be getting rid of anytime soon. Yeah. I’m stuck with this one… Yeah, thank you Petra…” Jake adds, looking up at her with a watery smile and she smiles back.

            “You’re both more than welcome. I expect to always be the favorite Aunt. Sorry Tamsin, you’re automatically relegated to second place…”

            “I’m okay with that. Holy shit Petra, you were amazing… She was amazing.”

            “We’ll take your word for it,” Bradley says with a smile, because it had been something Petra had wanted, neither of them in the room. He knows Jake had been a little disappointed, however he suspects all of that is forgotten now that he’s holding their…

            “Is it a boy or girl?”

            “Oh. Boy bits. Five pounds and five ounces. You want to hear his name or wait for everyone to be here?”

            Petra had also asked if she could name the baby, considering she’s asked for very little else neither he nor Jake could say no. He trusted her to pick a color for his Bronco, he trusts her to pick a name they can live with, that the baby asleep on Jake’s chest can grow up with. The weight sounds good, he immediately wants to look it up, research average weights for premature babies.

            “Wait… we’ve waited this long,” Jake says without looking up and Bradley shares a smile with Petra and Tamsin.

            He snaps a picture of Jake with their newborn son, will send it to the Dagger group chat in a couple of days. Bob and Natasha will keep it quiet in the meantime, because they of course already know. Weirdly it’s Natasha who has had the hardest time adjusting to Bob and Tamsin dating, and given him the shovel talks to end all shovel talks. He doesn’t think Bob realized quite how close Natasha was to Tamsin and Petra, with her never talking about Bradley and his family out of habit despite being part of it for over a decade.

            Then Mav, Ice, Melissa and Sarah are entering the room, promising they’ll only be a few minutes to the nurse, who is nodding and smiling. Melissa has immediately picked up the medical chart, and Sarah is hugging Petra with tears streaming down her face and Bradley assumes it’s happy tears. Ice and Mav both hug him, then Tamsin and Petra, once Sarah has let her go. Then they’re all looking at Jake and he looks up, and no-one is going to mention that his eyes look wet.

            “You’re all here… let me introduce our newest family member. Mitchell Tom Bradshaw.”

            He hears Mav suck in a sharp shuddering breath, knows what it sounds like when someone is hit with too many emotions at once and lets himself feel smug. He knew she’d pick a good name.

…         …         …

            “They named him after us…”

            “Petra named him. She loves you. Us.”

            “We did good.”

            “Yeah. We did.”

…         …         …

            Even weeks later, finally home and functioning on less sleep than he’s used to, he will never get sick of the sight. Even better than he imagined, seeing Jake hold their son on his chest, tiny fingers curled around Jake’s index finger. He didn’t think he could love Jake more, that he could love someone else so fiercely and so immediately than he does Mitchell, but he does. His own happiness makes the tears on Jake’s face all the more shocking and he crouches down.

            “Hey. What’s wrong?”

            “Just… fuck them. I just… I’m always the one reaching out to them, making overtures and always having to make concessions to fit their world view. I’m over it. I don’t want our kids thinking that I’m okay with being treated like that…”

            “Jake…”

            “No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. We have a kid Bradley. We’re married. And they… they don’t want to hear about any of that. They just care about my latest promotion. How much of me do they really care about if they don’t also care about the people I love huh?”

            He’s so proud of Jake making Commander, knows he’s got his eyes set on the long term and he’s more than happy to support that. Bradley sucks his lips into his mouth, because he’s glad that Jake has finally come to that conclusion, but had also never wanted to push it. They’re Jake’s family after all, and he’s never met them. Will likely never meet them now. Jake has other family who do love and care about him and that’s who Bradley will save his time for.

2025

            “I’m forty, I…is that too old to have a baby?”

            Bradley opens his mouth, promptly shuts it again, is fairly certain there’s not a right answer to that question. Mitchell is sitting in his highchair, chewing on a rusk and watching them both with wide eyes. He’s never seen photos of Jake as a baby, but the green eyes and blonde hair make it obvious to anyone with eyes which of them is the biological father.

            “Do you want me to call Tamsin?” Bradley offers, because he’s pretty sure a woman is probably the best person for Natasha to be talking to. “Callie? Melissa? Sarah? Uh. Petra?” he offers as a last-ditch attempt, because Petra is off racing in Australia somewhere and even before he’d have to figure out time zones he doesn’t think Petra would be someone with answers.

            “You’re my best friend, fucking deal with it…”

            “Uh. Right. Okay. You need to talk to Coyote. Uh. Chocolate? I mean, I can’t offer you wine…”

            She laughs wetly and Mitchell laughs as well, high and bright and her eyes slide sideways to him and Bradley wonders if having an eight-month-old baby sitting there when you’re freaking out about being pregnant is a good or bad thing.

            “Do you like it?”

            “What?”

            “Being a parent.”

            “Yeah. I… I love it. It’s… yeah.”

            “No regrets?”

            “Oh, I have plenty of regrets, but not about this. Not about marrying Jake or leaving the Navy…”

            “I just… Javy… he just… it was immediate. I don’t want him to propose because I’m pregnant!”

            “He’s had the ring for over three years. He’s not proposing because you’re pregnant. Well. He probably is, because that clearly made him pull the trigger but he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to ask you…” Jake says from the doorway and both he and Natasha turn to look at him, Mitchell squeals with delight and Bradley feels his insides his just turn to warm soupy goop watching Jake’s face soften as he looks back.

            “How’s my best boy… you been a good boy for daddy?”

            “What?” Natasha asks.

            “Javy. He’s all twisted up in knots thinking you’re going to end things with him.”

            “I don’t want to end things with him!”

            “Don’t tell me that, tell him. And ask him when and where he bought the ring. Man seemed to take lessons from the Rooster school of romance…”

            “Hey! It got me you didn’t it?” Bradley

            “Mmm. Despite my better judgement,” Jake teases and Bradley wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight, lifting him off the ground before placing a comically loud smacking kiss on his cheek because it makes Mitchell laugh.

            “Ugh. How are you both still so sickeningly sweet.”

            “We work at it,” Bradley replies with a laugh.

…         …         …

            It’s harder to get everyone together, schedules and careers spread out over the globe. However, Petra’s twenty-seventh birthday seems to be the focal point for the family gathering this summer. It’s a big lunch, timed between Mitchell’s naps and Tom won’t admit that he also likes having the odd afternoon nap now, something that the cats and dog all seem to agree is a good idea.

            Aubrey is coming, as is Slider. Natasha joining them is standard, however Machado will be coming with her, they’re apparently engaged and expecting a baby. And Robert Floyd is of course coming with Tamsin, Tom’s come to appreciate the quieter man, his calm assessment of situations and then cutting right to the heart of the matter. He understands now what Tamsin sees in him, other than the fact that he clearly dotes on her and thinks she’s amazing; a sentiment she for once seems to return. He’s glad, they both deserve good people.

            Wait.

            Is that a diamond he sees on her finger?

            He has some questions to ask.

…         …         …

            During lunch Pete takes every opportunity to steal away his grandson. He doesn’t need to, sees him frequently, however he loves the excuse to crawl around on the ground and play, even if his knees and back protest a little when he does it for too long. He’s not old yet and he can stretch it out.

            “Wait. His name is Mitchell Tom Bradshaw? I’d like to remind you that I was your favorite uncle when you were growing up kid!” Slider interjects into whatever conversation he’s having and Pete feels smug.

            “Only because my real favorite uncle became my dad,” Bradley says with a laugh, and then he’s saying that Petra chose the name and Pete’s glad the attention isn’t on him because he feels like he’s been sucker punched. Bradley has called him dad once or twice, the first time when he was a teenager and Pete remembers Bradley promptly bursting into tears. He’d thought that it had been a slip of the tongue more than anything else, not that Bradley seriously considered him his father. Stupid of him when he considers Bradley his son. He remembers at the time feeling a same of loss renewed afresh at the thought of Goose and he looks at Mitchell trying to chew on a rubber ball.

            “You know what I’m going to do Mitchell? I’m going to tell you all about your Grandpa Goose…”

…         …         …

            “So… you guys are going well.”

            “We are. You didn’t have to run off to Australia you know. We weren’t going to try and give him back.”

            Petra laughs at that, blows a raspberry on Mitchell’s stomach and shakes her head, smiling as he giggles and tries to crawl away.

            “I know. It wasn’t just for my sake though. I wanted to give you time to bond with him. And I did lie around on a beach for two weeks. Mama made sure of that. But. You guys ready to do it again?”

            Jake chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering and Bradley looks at her incredulously.

            “Are you?”

            “I’m not saying right now, but maybe next summer?”

            “Fucking hell Petra… we have the easy part. It’s your body you’re…”

            “I’d argue that you have the harder part. A lifetime is a hell of a commitment. I don’t want to be a mom, but seeing the two of you like this? Knowing that’s because of what I did? I do want that.”

            “Then we’re not going to say no. We’d love to give Mitchell a sibling.”

2026

            Tamsin’s thirtieth birthday is a big deal, mainly because it’s also her wedding day. Jake’s already been warning Bob about the perils of having a partner sharing a birthday and wedding anniversary, telling him about how demanding and annoying people can be, making sure Bradley hears him, but it’s ruined by the badly hidden wink Jake sends in Bob’s direction.

            “As long as you don’t pass yourself off as the gift every year you’ll be fine,” Bradley says with a laugh, kissing Jake on the cheek and slapping him on the ass as he swoops down to pick Mitchell up and throw him into the air. He’s a robust two-year-old, and they joke about his middle name being Trouble rather than Tom. Silence has become incredibly suspicious.

            Petra is five months pregnant and has informed them that this pregnancy feels even easier; when Bradley expresses concern that he hadn’t been aware that the first one had been bad she just says she had no frame of reference then. She has no morning sickness, no extreme tiredness and also seems to be glowing the glow which people apparently talk of with regards to pregnant people. She does bemoan the fact that she can’t drink at her sister’s wedding, but then she shares a look with Natasha about how maybe that’s for the best and he wonders what happened there.

            Natasha and Petra are Tamsin’s bridesmaids, while Bob has asked him and Jake to stand with him. It’s a full Navy wedding, and it’s been a while since he’s worn his dress whites, but they still fit fine. Tamsin’s dress is white with gold detailing and her and Bob both can’t stop smiling. Jake looks equally stunning and Bradley can’t take his eyes off him.

            “I do love a man in uniform…”

            “Well, you sure got a wide range to pick from here.”

            “Only interested in one.”

            “Yeah? Do I know him?”

            “I think you’re familiar. Going to make the most of the empty house while we have it right? No chance of any interruptions…”

            “I like the way you think.”

2027

            “Ah, Uncle Ron… you were so upset about Mitchell not being name after you, I thought you should be the first to know. We named her after you…”

            “Jesus kid, I was kidding…”

            “Meet Slider…”

            The look Slider gives Bradley is so unimpressed it makes him burst into laughter at the sight. Serve the man right.

            “You’re not serious I hope, that’s a terrible name for a baby. Should have got Petra to name this one too…” Slider is saying, but he’s holding his arms out, ready to take the baby from Bradley, who doesn’t seem in any particular rush to let go of his daughter and Pete doesn’t blame him, he’s pretty sure she hasn’t slept anywhere but in someone’s arms since she was born three weeks ago.

            “Well, we agree on that at least,” Bradley says, settling the baby in Slider’s arms. He notes that Tamsin is off to the side and discreetly filming with her phone. Good girl. “Her name is actually Veronica Carole Bradshaw. Closest name to Ron we could both agree on…”

            “I… I was joking kid. You didn’t need to…”

            Pete smiles, knows a little how Slider might be feeling; has heard Jake talk haltingly of how Slider had been his first CO after flight school, that he’d held the man in high regard before he’d become part of his extended family. He continues to stack blocks with Mitchell so that he can measure his height against them and lets himself feel the sense of happiness that being surrounded by his family brings him now.

…         …         …

            He’s not expecting Jake home early, so when he hears the car he already knows something is wrong. Not usual or standard for a Tuesday afternoon. He doesn’t know what to expect, but Jake’s standing in the doorway to the garage and he looks pale, maybe a little green.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I… I’m… My dad’s died.”

            Oh shit. Bradley doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t going to offer his condolences. Wonders how Jake found out, because as far as he’s aware Jake hasn’t called his family since Mitchell was born nearly three years ago.

            “What do you want to do?”

            “I don’t fucking know.”

            Bradley nods, supposes that’s probably a normal response right now and hands Nic over. He hadn’t realized it when they’d been trying to chose a name, he’d agreed with Veronica after hearing about Jake’s professional relationship with Slider, despite thinking it was a mouthful. Then he’d heard Jake calling her Nic and Nicole and he’d realized that there was his dad’s name hidden alongside Slider’s, and in calling her Nicole it’s a combination of both his parents’ names.

            It makes him feel… it makes him feel.

…         …         …

            It’s probably the biggest argument they’ve had. Jake insisting he go alone, and Bradley insisting the complete opposite. Held in hissed whispers while the kids were sleeping he’d finally asked Jake if he’d let Bradley go alone if it was him. That had made Jake waver and Bradley knew then he’d be coming. Bradley doesn’t want to go to the actual funeral, but he wants to be there, waiting for Jake, to wrap his arms around him and remind him that he’s not alone anymore.

            He hears the knock on the motel door, loud, and he’s glad both kids are already awake. He answers it, Nic tucked up under his chest while she gums on her fist while her bottle warms up. Standing there is a woman who has to be Jake’s mother, the family resemblance is striking. With her is a younger man and woman. They also look related but Jake has never mentioned siblings and he feels uneasy.

            “Can I help you?”

            “Oh. I’m sorry. I was looking for…”

            Well fuck. She clearly thought Jake had come to Texas alone. He knows Jake told her he was getting married, because she’d hung up on him and then not answered his calls for weeks.

            “If you’re looking for Jake he should be back shortly.”

            “Who are you?”

            Well. He’s not going to lie. And if she’s here for Jake she can take everything that comes with him.

            “I’m Jake’s husband.”

            He can tell the words hit like blows, the older woman almost staggering back and he jiggles Nic a little. He’s torn between indignation that she dare come here, but also the other two are simply looking a little confused.

            “Daddy… I’m firsty…”

            “Is your water bottle empty?” Bradley asks, looking down at Mitchell and he can see her looking. Wants to step to block her view. Mitchell has Jake’s wide green eyes and blonde hair, there is no mistaking that Jake is his father.

            “Juice?” Mitchell asks, hopeful, and Bradley shakes his head, hides a smile.

            “I’ll get you some apple slices,” Bradley says to him, compromising. He resists all his internal manners to not apologize to the woman watching them. “Would you like to wait for Jake?”

            “Who’re you?” Mitchell asks, staring up at the now shocked looking woman.

            She can’t just hang up on this, pretend this doesn’t exist. She might want to try, if she turns and walks away now, lets Bradley close the door on her. But she is still Jake’s mom and this is the first time he’s met her, dressed in stained sweat pants, baby spit-up on his shoulder. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t feel any need to try and impress her.

            “I’m… I’m your Grandma?”

            “Like Nanny Sarah and Granma ’lissa?”

            Bradley bites his lips between his teeth, eyes narrowed and she’s looking between Mitchell and him with some sort of hope and sadness and he sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. He might want to snap and snarl but Mitchell is right there.

            “Yeah. Just like that darling. She’s Daddy’s mom.”

            “Oh. Can I meet your mommy too?”

            Bradley’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed tight in his chest.

            “No sweetheart, she died a long time ago.”

            Mitchell is frowning, and Bradley knows death isn’t a concept he’ll understand yet, vaguely remembers from firsthand experience.

            “Oh. Okay. Maybe later?”

            “No sweetheart. You can’t meet dead people…”

            He really wishes he wasn’t having such a wrought conversation with his son in front of an estranged family member.

            “Oh. Okay. Apple juice?”

            “Apple slices,” Bradley corrects. “But you can have a glass of water to dip them in, okay?”

            “Okay!”

            Bradley wishes everyone was as easy to please, turns back to his audience standing just outside the doorway.

            “I… look. I need to look after the kids. If you want to see Jake you can wait for him,” it’s June in Texas, and he hates that he’s about to do this. “Come in.”

            “Sorry, I missed you name…”

            Bradley uncharitably thinks I didn’t tell you my name but he smiles blandly, doesn’t offer to shake hands, uses Nic as a convenient excuse.

            “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

            “Bradshaw… that’s…”

            “Mmm. Jake took my name. He doesn’t have a particularly strong attachment to Seresin.”

            “Oh. And… the children?”

            “How about you tell me your names first,” Bradley offers, glad that for once Mitchell hasn’t decided to interject his name into the conversation, is happily dipping his apple slices in the cup of water and sucking the water off.

            “Jake hasn’t talked about us?” the young woman asks, and he thinks she’s maybe a little older than Tamsin.

            “Should he have?” Bradley asks, lets a little callousness bleed through into his tone, lets his eyes narrow toward Jake’s mom again.

            “We’re his cousins…” the guy says, and he seems annoyed at the idea of Jake not mentioning him. Bradley doesn’t care for their feelings at all. He pulls the bottle from the warmer and checks the temperature. One-handed he does up a bib around Nic’s neck and then settles her back into the crook of his arm, offering her the bottle which she sucks on with gusto.

            “Great. Jake’s never mentioned you. I think he was granting you all the same courtesy we were granted. Jake was told he wasn’t allowed to let anyone else in the family know he was gay…”

            “What? That’s ridiculous. Who would tell him that?” the man scoffs and Bradley looks at Jake’s mom.

            “Mrs Seresin, would you like to explain? Share where Jake heard that?”

            Bradley feels a little meanspirited as he listens to her stutter out her reasons, and he supposes twenty years ago in rural Texas, with a staunch church-going community it would have been shameful if you cared more about public opinion than your own child. But it wasn’t a community the forbid him from telling, it was his family. Jake’s cousins are looking more and more horrified, and he still doesn’t know their names. And he can’t remember Jake’s mom’s name either. She’s fallen silent and her hands are shaking.

            “I can’t make you anything right now, but please help yourselves to tea and coffee…” Bradley offers, nodding his head toward the kitchen. It’s all basic stuff, it’s not like this is their home, otherwise he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t have invited any of them in. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever want to invite her into his home. None of them move though.

            “Babe, I’m back. I got the –” Jake starts, but he stops mid stride upon seeing everyone there. Bradley watches as Jake’s face shutters and he feels bad that he’s been ambushed, should have maybe called him and given him a heads up. “Mom. What are you doing here?” Bradley steps in close to Jake, leans in and gives him a kiss to the cheek all while continuing to give Nic her bottle. He refuses to make anyone in this room comfortable except for his husband and kids.

            “You… you left the funeral before I could talk to you.”

            “You don’t want to talk to me mom. You don’t want to hear about what’s going on in my life. You made that very clear when you hung up on me each time I said Bradley’s name…”

            “What the actual… uh. Sorry.”

            Jake’s eyes swing to his cousins and Bradley wonders what tales have been getting told about Jake’s apparent refusal to visit. What kind of character do they think Jake has to not let his mom come here alone.

            “I think you should go. My number hasn’t changed. You can pick up the phone and call me just as easily as all the times I called you. I… I’m happy. I have an amazing family that all love me just as I am. If… if you want to try and be a part of that then… then you need to put in the work.”

            Bradley feels so proud of him, can see his mom accepting his words and nodding and Bradley wonders what Jake’s life would have looked like if things had been a bit different. She’s making her way towards the door and Jake’s cousins are looking between her and Jake.

            “It was nice to meet you Bradley.”

            “Hopefully next time we can meet under nicer circumstances,” Bradley offers, because that isn’t actually a lie, and he still doesn’t know her fucking name.

            “Hey man, sorry about the attitude earlier. I just… had heard shit. Not accurate shit. I’m Jackson. Nice to meet you and I’d say welcome to the family but… holy shit.”

            That makes Bradley and Jake both huff, Jake shaking his head and Bradley shifts Veronica back to upright, passing Jake the bottle before deciding to switch and give Jake the baby. He can probably do with the touch and comfort and Bradley will save wrapping him in his arms for when everyone has gone.

            “Yeah, wasn’t exactly going to roll out the red carpet…” Bradley mutters.

            “Nah man, I get it. It’s sweet. Everyone just thinks Jake’s this asshole leaving his parents behind and doesn’t call. Most people didn’t think he was going to show for the funeral. Don’t think anyone is going to be prepared for the truth…”

            “Can we tell people? Family I mean? Explain your side? I’m Joanne by the way… I… we’d… some of us would really like to get to know you. All of you.”

            “That’s honest at least,” Jake says with a sigh. “Yeah, go ahead and tell people. No worse than them thinking I’m a neglectful son I guess.”

            “We don’t care. Uh. We do care. But. Not about the whole… gay thing,” Joanne says awkwardly and Bradley wonders if Jake’s mom brought two younger cousins that she thought might be more accepting. A question for another day. Or maybe never. They’ll have to see how it goes.

2028

            He blinks, certain he’s seeing things but the view doesn’t change. Petra and Tamsin, both curled up on the sofa, curled against each other just like they used to do when they were small. A different house. A different sofa. But it’s definitely them. There are dozens of used tissues strewn all over the table and floor and he moves quietly, needs to tidy them up otherwise Ducati will wreak havoc and it’ll look like a snowstorm inside. He isn’t surprised about Petra, she’s staying with them. However Tamsin and Bob are meant to staying with Melissa and Sarah, all gathered for Veronica’s first birthday party which is meant to be tomorrow. Or rather later today. Well. There’s nothing for it.

            “Girls… you need to wake up…”

            “Dad?”

            “Yeah… It’s after midnight. Time for bed. The spare room is made up as well.”

            “Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome sweetheart. Everything okay?”

            “Yeah. Nothing a good cry didn’t fix.” He frowns at that, because crying has never equated itself to feeling better in his book, but Tamsin isn’t looking sad, instead she looks calm and relaxed, and he supposes she has been asleep. “You’re going to be a grandfather again. I was just… freaking out a little. Petra talked me through it.”

            “Oh. Oh sweetheart, congratulations,” he murmurs quietly, because he knows they’ve been trying for over a year, hugs her close and then holds his arm open for Petra to join in.

…         …         …

            Jake is promoted to Captain and Pete grips him in a tight hug, can’t begin to tell him what it means to see Captain Bradshaw adorn his name plate.

…         …         …

            Catherine Seresin is joining them for Thanksgiving.

            It’s taken over a year of careful phone conversations, some video calls and Bradley can concede that she has been trying. However neither he nor Jake want her staying with them, and he’s glad Jake said that first. They know she’s likely motivated by the fact that there are grandchildren in the picture, and he’s spoken to her on the phone a couple of times, when Jake’s asked him to answer.

            She is standing there now, looking at the photos on the walls and nearly every ledge and shelf above three foot. There are professional family portraits and promotion shots mixed with more candid family moments. They all tell a story and everyone they love is there, including his parents. He can see her studying them, likely trying to make sense and put faces to names. They’ve shared photos of themselves and Mitchell and Veronica.

            He has listened to Jake’s conversations with her, he’s also held Jake in his arms as he cried afterward. Wonders if she is aware of just how much hurt and damage she causes with her thoughtless comments. He knows he’s caused some of Jake’s past hurts, but he hopes like hell that they are indeed all in the past. He’s grateful that Jake trusts him enough to let himself cry and be vulnerable when he needs to be. Right now though Jake seems cautiously optimistic.

            Thanksgiving is going to be big. The first time everyone has been able to gather together since Tamsin and Bob’s wedding two years ago. Javy, Natasha and their twins are staying with them, and he’s glad it’s only for a few nights, although Mitchell is having a blast with his younger cousins staying. Having them as guests gives them a plausible excuse to offer Catherine Seresin a room at Ice and Mav’s place, which she’d accepted with grace

            “Trial by fire…” Bradley had muttered, because he doesn’t think Mav and Ice are difficult, but he grew up with them. He’s never thought about them from an outsider point of view before, let alone one who is sort-of homophobic. Ice and Mav both are incredibly protective though, won’t put up with any nonsense. Petra is also staying, along with Slider. Bob and Tamsin are staying with Melissa and Sarah, along with their newborn daughter, Natalie. The meal is going to be complete and utter chaos, but it will be full of laughter and love. The fact that Jake’s mom is going to be there is just something he’s going to have to deal with. Endure. Maybe it won’t be as bad as he thinks.

            Mitchell and Petra are coloring at the table, pictures of racecars because they’re both obsessed. Petra has already taken Mitchell for a ride on a skateboard, much to Bradley’s horror and Mav’s cackling glee. Bradley wonders if he’ll go bald or grey first. Nic has fallen asleep on Slider’s chest as he sits back in his recliner, both of them content and Ceccato has joined the pile. Ice is making dinner, insisting that he doesn’t need help.

            “You both look so handsome…”

            “Back when they knew what a solid night of sleep felt like,” Mav jokes and Bradley rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Sleep has become a hot commodity. “That was Tamsin’s wedding, so they were already experiencing sleepless nights with Mitchell.”

            Catherine continues to look, asking questions of both Jake and Maverick and Bradley lets himself relax a little, knows he’s unlikely to relax completely until they’re back home.

…         …         …

            Tom stands in the kitchen and waits for the coffee to finish. He makes a large pot when Petra is staying, certain she drinks directly from the pot. It’s also his habit to make two cups of coffee and then take them back to bed when Pete isn’t staying at the hangar. He hears footsteps, turns, half expecting to see Mav or may Petra. Instead, it’s Catherine, looking tired.

            “Coffee?”

            “I… yes please.”

            “Happy Thanksgiving,” Tom says, passing her a mug and gesturing toward the creamer and sugar.

            “Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving…”

            It’s awkward, but he’s aware that she is trying. Has been trying. He knows Bradley doesn’t trust her, but his conversations with Jake about the matter make him think she’s simply been ignorant rather than malicious. They drink in silence for a few moments and he wonders what topics of conversation might be safe. Then Pete stumbles in and he feels relieved, given something to do. He pours another mug, directs his sleepy husband to a chair and presses a kiss to his forehead, well aware that he has an audience. Then Slider is staggering in looking grumpy and Tom sighs, pours another mug and sets the pot to refill.

            “Mitchell, I swear you have all the grace of a herd of elephants…”

            Pete simply grunts and Tom isn’t sure the other two are aware they have company.

            “Mitchell? I thought your name was Peter?”

            “Pete. Mitchell is my last name. Oh. Good morning Catherine…”

            “Oh. Morning. I… I didn’t realize Mitchell was named after you.”

            “Petra named him. Was her choice…”

            “And a very good choice she made too,” Tom says.

            “Petra… your daughter?” Catherine asks him, and Tom knows his surprise shows on his face. She hasn’t met Sarah yet, or Tamsin. Has no idea how much Petra looks like Pete. And how it’s very likely Jake hasn’t shared this information with her, either by simple omission or by choice.

            “Yes. Our youngest. She offered to be Bradley and Jake’s surrogate.”

            “Oh… I. I didn’t realize. Jake didn’t tell me.”

            “He likely has his reasons. She… she knew Jake and Bradley would make very good parents. Wanted to make that possible for them.”

            “That’s… very generous of her.”

            “Yes. Her mother’s influence I suspect,” Tom says quietly, because of course Petra had been able to talk with her about it in depth.

            “I look forward to meeting them both.”

2029

            He wraps his arms around Jake, presses a kiss to the back of his neck as he looks out at the back yard, no doubt thinking about work rather than the yard work which they’d talked about needing to do. He presses another kiss, runs his hands over Jake’s ass, hums appreciatively. Glad it’s early in the morning and they’ve had a good night’s rest and have until lunch tomorrow to spend time together.

            “Hey…”

            “Hey. You trying to start something Bradshaw?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Ah. So you did have ulterior motives by arranging for the kids to spend the weekend at their grandparents…”

            “It’s our anniversary…”

            “No it fucking isn’t,” Jake counters, turning around to face him and frowning.

            “Oh. No. Not wedding anniversary. I mean… today’s the day I saw you in the club, dancing.”

            “You remember the date?”

            Jake sounds skeptical and he guesses that's fair. Bradley would love to say that he does, that the date is seared into his mind. But that wouldn’t be true. He knew it was coming up through, and he has a record of all his stations and deployments, so he’d been able to look it up, so he can say with certainty that it is today. He kisses along Jake’s jaw as he explains, saying that he thinks twenty years is worth celebrating. That he feels lucky that he can pinpoint to almost the hour when he saw Jake.

            “Bet you didn’t think you’d end up married to me…” Jake says, and he sounds a little breathless already.

            “No. Didn’t think I’d ever get that lucky. Didn’t know DADT was going to be repealed so soon after. Had sort of resigned myself to a fairly solitary future…”

            “Surrounded by your loving family. Very solitary,” Jake says dryly and Bradley shakes his head, presses Jake against the kitchen bench, grinding against him.

            “You can be surrounded by people and still feel alone. I don’t though, not when you’re with me.”

            “I haven’t felt like that since we sorted our shit out…”

            “Which is coming up ten years now. Still an anniversary…”

            “Such a sap.”

            “Yep. I love you.”

            “Mmm. Love you too.”

THE END

[rav1377]

Sweet and Spicy

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x fem!reader

tw:SMUTTTT, dash of fluff, little aftercare, piv, rough stuff, spit, freaky Johnny, etc. (lmk if I missed any)

can be read in the But Sir! universe

it was oddly warm weather outside, all sticky and hot. everyone on base had been sweating like sinners in a church, windows open and fans blasting, acs pushed to their limit, some breaking under the stress. just hot and miserable. so when you’d gotten off work and changed into shorts and a old band shirt, you wanted something refreshing. something to get your mind off the heat. a nice drink sounded great.

the bar is thankfully cold and you sit at a booth in the corner, waltzing with a little cold drink in hand. more people trickle into the bar, volume increases slowly. two men that walk in you do recognize though. “Kyle! Johnny!” you call, waving at them over the crowd of people. Kyle’s eyes snap to you first, lips breaking into a smile. he yanks Johnny away from the bar and to where you sit. “bonnie!” Johnny growls, smiling. he’s shoving himself into the booth next to you, arm around your shoulder. he’s pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, Kyle slipping into the seat across from you two. he reaches across the table, pulling your chin to him to have his turn, closed lips pressing just next to your mouth before letting go. “what are you doing here?” Johnny asks, shoveling some pre-shelled peanuts into his mouth. “trying to cool off, it’s too hot to be doing anything else.” you say, putting your head on his shoulder. “I’ll go get us some drinks, Gaz.” he says, rising from beside you. Kyle nods, popping peanuts into his mouth, chewing one before the other.

Johnny’s back a few minutes later, three beers in hand. “got to drink real beer, ay hen? not that fruity stuff!” he laughs, plopping them down on the table. Kyle shakes his head. picking up your drink, you push it to him, offering him a sip. he takes a swallow, grinning. “aw that’s just tae sweet. guess it suits ye though.” he swaps it with a beer, placing it in front of you. you shake your head. “nuh-uh.” you say, crossing your arms. Kyle chuckles as Johnny spits his tongue out at you, reaching for a drink of his beer. Johnnys hand drifts, sitting on your leg, rubbing small circles. the conversation rises and falls, never wavering between the three of you. when you all finish your drinks, sitting in silence.

Kyles eyes trace down your face as you lean into Johnny. “i reckon we ought to get out of here.” he muses, leaning his chin on his hand. blushing, Johnny stands, pulling you out of the booth with him. “mm. we should.” Johnny agrees, offering you his arm. Kyle pays, leaving some cash on the table before falling into step behind you and Johnny. the door is opened and the sticky air hits you again. Johnny is practically dragging you to an unmarked car, pulling you onto his lap in the passenger seat, Kyle climbing in the drivers. “don’t worry, hen. the drive is not bad.” his accent purrs in your ear, and you grind down on him, feeling him harden beneath you. Kyle grins and pulls out of the parking lot. “behave.” he says, the drive beginning.

recognizing the drive, you perk up and away from Johnnys lips. “why are we going back to base?” you ask, facing Kyle. “where else would we go? we can’t all get nice apartments like you.” he teases. you look down, ashamed and embarrassed. should’ve kept your fat mouth shut. (don’t worry, they’ll put it to good use.) “dinnae worry hen, it’s just easier than rentin’ out one, even when we’re nae there.”Johnny assures you, petting your hair, pulling you to his mouth again. you’d never thought about it that way. your boys don’t really have a home to come back to, just each other and a cold base. something in your heart burns at that. the base looms in the windshield, and Kyle lowers his window to slip a pass to the gate guards. you bury your face into Johnnys neck, hoping they didn't recognize you. when you park in the lot, Johnnys tugging at your wrists again, desperate to get inside. “Johnny!” you cry, trying to slow down. “slow down!” you mewl, looking back at Kyle pleadingly. licking his lips, he grabs Johnnys bicep. “Soap.” he says firmly, removing your poor wrist from his grasp. you rub at it as Johnny looks at you, eyes now regretful and sad. “sorry hen.”Johnny just doesn’t know his own strength sometimes! you can forgive him, can’t you? you giggle, pushing him on his shoulders slightly. he leads you down a hall you’ve never been before, and you see why now. it’s the boys personal quarters. a sterile kitchenette is cramped with a small table, taking up most of the space. a couch looks at a tv mounted on the wall, blankets scattered on it. three doors are down a small hallway connected to the kitchen/living room. ones open, and you see a bathroom, all grays and whites. to the left, a door remains shut. but Johnny opens the one to the right. a queen bed is shoved into the left corner of the room, a twin into the right. dresses sit on the door wall, no doubt containing the boy’s clothes.

Johnny pulls you again, throwing you onto the bed. he’s desperate, pulling at the elastic waistband of your shorts, teasing your underwear down with them. Kyle’s sitting next to you, pushing your old shirt up to let your tits spill through. fingers pulling down your bra to allow his mouth run over each bud. you mewl, bucking into nothing. Johnnys neglecting you, busy eyes looking at your chest. “Johnny.” you whisper. his blue eyes snap to yours before nodding again. fingers trace down your torso and into your thighs before toying with your entrance. you’re not quite as ready as he’d like, so he puts his mouth to work instead, licking and pulling your release from you. you come like that, Johnnys tongue determined and rough on your clit while Kyle kisses and licks your chest delicately. Johnnys mouth vibrates on you when as you do, you begin twitching as he won’t stop. relentlessly attacking you, wanting to make you feel good again. Kyle’s patting your hair, shushing you as your hands find purchase in his chest. “my-ohmygodddd-Johnny!” you squeal, feeling yourself pushed over the edge, trembling.

Kyle on the other hand is the opposite, tending to your soft skin with gentle kisses and kind words. he leans over before shoving Johnny away from your cunt. he pulls your bottoms off all the way before leaning to see your face. “tell us what you want, use that pretty little mouth.” he says, nipping at the skin under your chin. “gah-wan’ want you and Johnny.” you gasp out as his fingers brush that sensitive skin under your breasts. Kyle grins, reaching down to pull his length out, spreading wetness over your with his tip. then he’s pushing in, and you mewl, back arching. Johnny watches on eagerly, squeezing himself to the sight of it all. Kyle bottoms out and he groans, waiting for you to adjust. “mm. move, Kyle, please?” you ask, hands on his hips. he’s so slow and gentle, opposite of what happened last time with him. cooing at you, brushing his hands up the sides of your stomach and hips with each stroke. your breath is ragged and low as you grip his forearms. Johnny whines a few feet away, hand shaking as he touches himself. Kyle looks back at him. “what? feeling neglected you mutt?” he turns back to you, not stopping his motions. “he don’t like not being the center of attention.” Johnny huffs. “nae. just don’t like ye being a hog.” he says, stepping forward so his chest is on Kyle’s back. the rough fiber of Johnnys shirt rubs on Kyle’s bare back as the scot nibbles at Kyle’s ear, hands coming up around his waist. “go on, give our hen what she wants.” he growls. Kyle’s eyes become lidded as they look into Johnnys. Kyle keeps his slow thrusts though, hands slowing on your body. Johnny pushes Kyle over so his chest is on yours and yanks his thigh to bend over yours. “ye don’t start doin’ it properly, and I will show ye how.” he bites out, lining up himself with Kyle’s puckered hole. the dark eyed man looks at you and gasps at Johnnys actions, picking up the speed of his hips, stuttering when Johnny bites the side of his neck, leaning in close. you and Johnnys faces are close now that Kyle’s face is buried in your neck. “oh-oh god.” he grinds out, trying to move faster under Johnnys weight. you mewl when Johnny leans away from Kyle and closer to you, pressing a heated kiss to your lips. Kyle groans as Johnnys length tries to push inside him.

“och-c’mon Kyle…”Johnny whispers. “i’ll make ye feel good if you make her feel good.” Kyle lets out a guttural noise when Johnny slips inside him more. then he pulls out suddenly before pushing your face to the side, cupping a hand by your mouth. “spit. help make Gaz here feel good.” Johnny orders. you obey, gathering drool in your mouth before letting it hit his hand. Johnny pulls back and coats himself in it, aided by precome. then he’s right back at it, pushing into Kyle. Kyle’s hands grip the shirt that’s rucked over your chest as his thrusts pick up. you gasp, feeling him touch that sweet sport in you. Johnnys got plans of his own, reaching a right hand to yank Kyle’s neck back for leverage, starting to plow into him. he groans before murmuring, “ngh-ye feel ‘mazing Kyle. ye gonna make her come, fill up that pretty cunt o’ hers?” Johnnys babbling, eyes falling closed against Kyle’s shoulder. the weight of two men squish you now, not letting you move. you wish you could though, the overstimulating movements from Kyle getting to be too much, coil winding in your lower stomach. Kyle’s close, the feeling of you wrapped and clenching around him combining with Johnnys length inside him getting to be too much. “yea.” Kyle says gruffly, hands drifting up to your face as he bucks into you. his mouth is all over you, and you grip his wrists as he kisses you. “thankyouKyle please need you inside me, c’mon.”you murmur against his lips. panting, his hips pick up, hitting that spot in you every time. Johnnys making Kyle feel good too and it’s only a couple more strokes before Kyle’s spilling into you, groaning. his limp against you, body touching every inch of you. you gasp as you feel his release coating you. Johnnys still moving inside of Kyle, causing the man to still move in you with every thrust.

“too much Kyle?”Johnny howls with laughter, pulling out of Kyle. the scot pulls Kyle out of you by his waist, pressing a kiss to the man’s temple. Kyle smirks, stupid grin on his face as he curls into your side, nuzzling your cheek with kisses. his left hand creeps down to your clit as Johnny pumps himself, lining up. he’s being mean, pushing in with only his tip. you keen, trying to get more of him in you. “Johnny….”you whine. “alright alright.” he growls out, pushing in roughly, all the way down to his base. you twitch in Kyle’s arms. Johnnys brutal, not relenting when you plead for him to slow down. “nae, none of that, bonnie.” he says, gripping your shoulder. “take it bunny, you can take it.” Kyle whispers in your ear, sucking bruises into your neck. you moan, head falling back as it becomes too much. “ahm close bonnie, so close.” Johnny gasps out. “slowdownslowdownjohnnyplease.” you beg, but he doesn’t listen. it’s too much for you, and Kyle’s fingers aren’t helping. Johnny continues still. “cmon bonnie, you can do it, cmon come on me.” he says roughly. Kyle’s fingers push you over the edge and you’re releasing all over him, trying to get away. Johnnys still pressed firmly into you as he fills you up with a low moan. he collapses on you, panting. he pulls out finally, release dripping out of you.

the three of you stay like that for a while, you’re stuck between the two men. Kyle’s hand rubs gentle circles on your waist while Johnny grinds into your ass slowly, petting your thigh that’s slung over Kyle’s hip. “i should go home…it’s late.” you murmur, tracing Kyle’s jawline. “mm. no. you can stay.” he whispers, kisses ur nose. “but civilians aren’t supposed to stay on base…” you say, trying to wiggle out. Johnnys hand keeps you planted though. “nae. yer staying bonnie.” he murmurs, face against the back of your neck. the bed is comfortable. they are warm. the blanket is soft. your eyes begin to flutter shut and you drift off. Kyle watches you and smiles. “reckon we tuckered her right out.” he says, looking at Johnny. “reckon we did.” he replies back. Kyle grabs Johnny by the mohawk, pulling him over your body to kiss him. Johnny hisses softly but relents, and presses rough kisses against Kyle’s soft ones. Johnny retracts, laying his head on your shoulder while Kyle leans his to rest in your neck.

yeah, this is nice.

BONUS:

Simon wakes up in the middle of the night, looking for something to snack on. been a tough day and not a lot to eat. he scratches his hip, fridge open. Johnny made some soup the other day, his mums recipe. the large man pulls it out, pouring some into a bowl, popping it into the microwave. hm. he hasn’t seen Johnny since the official work hours ended. or Kyle. they said they were going out for a drink at the local pub though. Simon rubs his face, pulling out his bowl, before sitting his large frame in a chair, slowly eating the warm meal. they probably are in their barracks or in a jail after starting some dumb fight. he downs his bowl, belly full, and places it in the sink before walking to their door. he knocks first, softly saying their names. no answer. he pushes open the door only to see them curled up on Johnnys bed. with you in between them. Kyle’s shirtless and your band shirt and bra are tangled. Johnnys boxers and jeans are missing, but he still wears his shirt. Simon chuckles quietly. guess they did find something nice at the pub. he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the scene illuminated by moonlight. his boys will be fine, but you’ll be uncomfortable. he pads over and I clips your bra with ease, pulling it over your head easily thanks to the oversized tee shirt you wear. he’d rather you sleep shirtless than a bra pushed everywhere and holding everything but your pretty tits. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and pats Kyle’s thigh before leaving the room. he opens the door to his own barracks. Price is still where he left him, working by lamplight, filling out paperwork. “cap’n.” Simon says gruffly, turning off the light. John glares at him in the dark. “got work i need to do, Simon.” voice tired and annoyed. Simon scoffs and grabs John’s arm. surprisingly, the other man doesn’t resist, and climbs under the sheets. Simon sits on his own bed, pulling a tank top off his chest. John’s gazing at the ceiling before his eyebrows furrow. he turns to Simon. “where are the boys?”he asks. Simon smirks and unlocks his phone, showing the picture of the three of you circled up like kittens. John’s eyes soften and he grins. “‘ope they showed ‘er a good time.” he says sleepily before rolling over. Simon grunts in agreement and rolls off to sleep, satisfied.

[batsinurbelfrey]

.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Third Wheel

Dark!SatoSugu x reader

(Warnings: Yandere, dark content, dark, misogynistic language, delusional behavior, kidnapping, blood, violence, +ShokoHime x reader, choking (not in the sexy way tho), threesomes, oral!F!recieving)

Synopsis: Regardless of what Satoru and Suguru tell you, you've always felt left out in this relationship. But when you leave, you quickly find out there's no line your ex-lovers won't cross to get you back

Word Count: 7.3k

When you come home that night, they're already cuddled together, watching TV. 

It's cute. Your boyfriends were always so loose with their affection. When Suguru was cooking, Satoru would lean on his back, more than happy to talk his ear off. Suguru would hold Satoru's waist, steadying him, being his anchor. At night, you'd catch them reaching for each other, trying to hold hands even in their sleep. 

It's clear to even the blind: they are soulmates. 

And you were just extra baggage. 

You don't know how you caught their eyes, but this past year was fun. They've been sweet, both of them have. Inviting you into their lives, into their home, into their bed. Everything moved so fast, but you didn't mind. You were young and a bit spontaneous. Two beautiful men showing a glimpse of interest in you wasn't something you could pass up. This was nice, while it lasted. 

But unlike them, you aren't forever. Their bond would never come close to anything they could have with you. 

It took a while for you to accept that, but eventually, you did. 

"Hey, babe," Satoru calls. "Rough day?" He lazily waves you over. Suguru grunts, before shifting over to make space. 

Despite it all, you're a coward. You don't announce it; you just stare at them. Fondly. Yes, this was nice. You don't think you could handle telling them, though; that would be too much. Seeing how little they cared would break you. 

"Yeah." You give. "Rough day." 

You weave through the house. It's theirs. Not yours. That they've made clear. You're an afterthought. It's the little things. Their toothbrushes are together, yours on the other side of the sink. Their shoes were neatly stacked side by side, and yours were always tucked away in a corner. Left out. Forgotten. Why wouldn't it be like that? They've been together for years. You were still an outsider. 

You only have a little to grab. You just grab your extra clothes, the hair clips you have a terrible habit of leaving around. Just a few items. And then the bedroom looks like you'd never been there at all. 

When you come back out, they don't notice your suitcase. Satoru laughs loudly at something happening on screen. Suguru chides him sternly. Good. It's better this way, you think as you take your suitcase to your car. You don't need any additional heartbreak. 

You make a few more rounds, collecting everything you need. Suguru only catches you when you are about to leave their house forever. 

"Angel?" He calls. "Where are you going?" 

He's looking at you, head tilted in mild curiosity. You manage to smile, looking down at your car keys. 

"Out for a drive." You shrug. "I'll be back." 

Suguru takes it at face value. He lets you go with a small 'have fun'. The walk to the car is heavy. Metal dumbbells on your shoulders. 

When you get in the seat, you finally allow yourself to sob. 

~

I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore

That's how you ended the wall of text before blocking them. It was the coward's way out. 

"No." Utahime's quick to tell you. "It's the only way. Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise." 

You shouldn't be so quick to listen to her, considering she hates them both. Still, she was more than happy to offer you her home while you picked yourself back up, and started looking for an apartment. You'll humor her for the time being. 

"She's right," Shoko pipes up. Her dark circles are even more prominent tonight. You guiltily think it has more to do with you than with her patients, but she and Utahime have insisted that you stay with them. 

"It was for my sake, more than theirs." You say honestly, tucking yourself into the couch. "They...don't care about me. At least, not like they do each other." 

Utahime rolls her eyes. "You are blind." She says. "Those two were obsessed with you. I'm just glad you got out while you could." 

You laugh, but it beats crying all over again. Utahime doesn't find what she said as funny. She chides you again, something about being oblivious before she settles down to watch the movie she put on. Shoko falls asleep right at the intermission. Her head falls against your shoulder. Utahime leans against you too. And it's nice to have friends to fill the void they left. 

~

Satoru appears first. 

You woke up later than you would have liked. Your eyes are itchy and red from crying all night. Utahime was more than happy to give you her guestroom, but you know you can't take advantage of her kindness for too long. Tomorrow, you'll start apartment hunting. 

Today, you'd sit on the couch and eat ice cream. 

When you go downstairs, you hear a hushed whisper. Utahime's by the door, using her body to keep someone out. She looks angry. 

"-No one's here but me. Now get the fuck off my property." She seethes. 

You recognize his voice. You aren't ready. "Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" 

"No." Utahime gripes. "So go, Gojo-" 

He catches your eyes. Your heart gets stuck in your throat. 

He's taller than her. It takes little to no effort to barrel through her body, easily shoving her aside to get to you. You flinch, his touch burns when he grabs you, pulling you into his arms. 

"Oh, baby." He sighs into your hair. "There you are. Missed you." 

It's too soon. You aren't ready. You can still feel the emotions bubble up from that night, when you collapsed in Utahime's arms, sobbing your heart out. This wasn't fair. They never made it fair. 

You cast a glance at Utahime. She was scowling, close to boiling right over the edge. It gives you enough strength to try to push Gojo off, but he only lets go, when he wants to. 

"Okay." He smiles, reaching down to grab your hand. "C'mon. Let's go home. You had us both so worried for a sec, but if we explain everything to Suguru it'll be okay." 

You find your voice then. As well as your strength. His grip on your hand isn't all that tight. It slips away when you gently shake him off. Satoru stops, confused. 

"Satoru..." You start. "Didn't you get my text?" 

He rolls his shoulders, agitated. "Yeah, but-but it doesn't matter." 

There it was. His lovable personality. Casual careless, nonchalance. For once, you aren't annoyed by it. Maybe your grief made you numb to it. 

"I did mean it," you say as plainly as you can, "every word." 

He freezes. You smile at Utahime. 

"Could you give us some time?" You ask. 

She frowns, but she's never been able to say no to you. 

"Ten minutes." She finally says, before she's marching back to the kitchen. You still hear her muttering while leading Satoru back to your room. 

"I'm sorry." He says when the door shuts behind him. 

"For what?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, taking off those glasses he loves so much. You can't look him in the eyes for too long. It brings up too many memories. 

"I fucked up, right?" He says, he sounds desperate. You've never heard him sound like this before. "I'm sorry. I dunno what I did, but I'm sorry." 

You shrug, picking at the lint of your sleeves. "You didn't do anything. I just...it felt like a good point to just-" 

"-Leave us?" He cuts in. "Come home, baby. I'm so sorry, just come home and we'll figure this out." You look away because you can feel the tears burn up. 

"You didn't do anything." You insist, but your voice is weaker. 

"Was it Suguru? Did he do some bullshit?" Satoru interrogates. "What'd he do? I'll kick his ass, I promise." You hide your smile underneath your sleeves. 

"He didn't do anything either," you assure, "neither of you did." 

He's getting more and more desperate. "Then why did you leave us? What's wrong with us? Why can't we go home and talk this out? Please come back, baby; home doesn't feel like home without you." 

Isn't this what you wanted? A confession. Evidence that they wanted you just as much as they wanted each other. Satoru certainly did. Suguru did, too, considering how hurt Satoru implied him to be. A week ago, you might have been over the moon, too wallowed in self-pity to do anything but agree, run back into their arms, and willingly sink back into 2nd place all over again. 

But the thought of going back to their home makes you feel sick. 

"I can't." You decide. "I just can't. It's over, Satoru." 

I'm sorry. You keep that last line to yourself because you're too scared to crack in front of him. Shatter. Splinter. 

Satoru doesn't share the same sentiment. You hear movement, and when you look up, he's crying. 

A part of you wants to hug him, but you hold yourself back because he isn't yours anymore, and maybe he never was. Still, it hurts seeing him like this. The piece of you that still wanted him is ready to forgive and forget. Your vindictiveness keeps it at bay. 

"That's not fucking fair." He's saying through his tears, even when he's crying, he's beautiful, "You-you can't just ditch us like this. You don't get it; we can't live without you. It's killing us; you're killing us, baby." He staggers forward, in a way that makes you afraid he might fall. In the end, he just collapses on the bed. Eventually, you take a seat next to him. 

He's looking around, you catch him eyeing the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. The hair ties on top of the drawer. The plushies on the bed. You think it might finally be starting to sink that that you're truly gone. 

"Suguru can't sleep these days, y'know that?" He starts, a sardonic laugh in his throat. "He pretends to, but he can't. He stays up all night just wishing you'd come home. The guy is miserable without you, and you can't even gimme a fucking answer." 

His voice cuts you just the way it's supposed to. You wince, feeling his words slice into his skin, finding their way into your heart. You look at his shoes for a moment. He didn't bother to remove them. Maybe that's another reason why Utahime was so pissed. 

"I was starting to feel like an afterthought with you two." You speak. "I mean, it makes sense, you two were together, first. I thought the barrier would just take time to go away....but then it didn't." 

How many times has Suguru taken Satoru's hand over yours? How many times has Satoru forgotten your drink but not Suguru's? How many inside jokes you didn't understand? You always felt petty for being jealous over the tiniest things, but those tiny things kept getting bigger and bigger until it felt like they'd been purposely building that barrier themselves.

You were sick of feeling like the third wheel in your relationship. 

"Baby..." Satoru's voice is tinged in guilt and you can't look at him because you can feel the tears start to well up. "I-I didn't realize." He grabs your hand. 

"Come home." He pleads. "We'll fix it, I promise. We'll be better. We'll do better." 

You shake your head, slipping away from his grip. 

"It's too late." Your voice is shaky. Please let him not notice. Please, please, please for once can his oblivious about everything but his one and only work in your favor? "You can't fix anything, Satoru. Not now." 

"You haven't even given us a chance to-" 

"You should go." You stand up. Satoru follows you out the door. Utahime's already outside. She catches your eyes and nods. 

"Gojo." She speaks, tone clipped. "Get the fuck out of my house." 

He stills, frozen like the prettiest painting in the world. His eyes turn to ice as he stares at her. Utahime doesn't budge. If anything, she advances, pulling you close, acting like a human barrier between you and your ex-boyfriend. You take it immediately, nestling into her side, taking refuge from his icy stare. 

There's silence. You only relax when you hear his footsteps fade and the door slams ricochets into the apartment. And that's when you break down into Utahime's arms completely, letting her coo you into comfort. 

"Maybe I am being overdramatic," you say when Shoko comes back later that day. Utahime was enraged since Satoru left, pacing around the apartment. It's only after both you and Shoko coaxed her back into the couch that she calms down enough to take a seat next to you. 

"Maybe this whole thing is ridiculous. I-I should just go back and-"

"No." Shoko is immediately saying voice firm. "Absolutely Not." 

You can smell the hint of smoke when she came back from the hospital. You try not to assume it's because of you. 

"No way in hell are we letting you go back there after what he did." Utahime gripes. 

"He didn't do anything." You argue. "I swear, I-I was just...being pathetic." 

Warm hands lift your head up. You struggle, still shuddering from your sobs as Utahime forces you to look at her. 

Her eyes are brown. Not as glittery as Satoru's, who's eyes shine like the burning sun itself. Not like Suguru, with his celestial purple. No, hers are just brown. 

You didn't realize how beautiful brown eyes could be. Not just the color of home; the color of chocolate; the color of brownies. The way the light cast down at them made them deep and dark, like a night sky. If you looked closer, you could see tiny stars swimming around. 

"Listen. Are you listening?" When you nod, her voice softens. She tucks your hair behind your ear. 

"You deserve better." She insists. "You deserve better than them. So so much better. I know you can't see it right now, but there is better out there waiting for you." Her voice loses all momentum all at once. "Just...trust me, okay?" 

Her desperation to be heard makes you smile a bit. You nod. Her frown loosens, just the tiniest bit. She relaxes. 

"Thanks," you say after a beat. "I...I needed that. I'm glad I have goods friends." 

Utahime's hands drop from your face. She collapses into the couch cushions with a groan. Shoko laughs. 

"Told you." Shoko says, mirth and alcohol on her tongue. 

Utahime flips her off, and Shoko takes her place. She settles into your side. 

"They were assholes." She tells you. "Forget about them. And she's right, you deserve better." 

You were glad they were there for you, even when you weren't there for yourself. It felt nice that they cared. Vouched, Advocated for your comfort. They made better boyfriends than your old boyfriends ever did. Their support helped heal the Satoru and Suguru-sized holes left in your heart. Every day became a bit better. 

When Suguru eventually turned up, you were a bit more prepared. 

He's a bit nicer than Satoru was. He actually knocks, instead of relentlessly pounding on the door. He doesn't barrel through Shoko when he spots you cowering behind her. His face betrays nothing. He's still. A polite smile is stretched on his lips. Shoko isn't happy about letting him into her home, but when she glances at you, you nod. You needed to do this. You needed closure. 

And so did Suguru. 

You don't speak to him until you're shut in your room. Geto cuts the silence first. 

"How have you been?" He asks nicely. 

"Good." You respond. "You?" 

"Good." 

Conversation stilts. You don't know what to say. Luckily, your ex is never the man who stays silent for long. 

"How's living with Shoko and Utahime been?" He asks, "I'm surprised you've put up with them for this long. They were pretty scary in high school." 

"I bet you two were scarier." You counter. 

He smiles. It's soft, looks good on him. You find yourself smiling back. When you take a seat on the the of the bed, he doesn't follow. You don't know whether to feel glad or not. 

"Yeah, I'm not the proudest of those times." He admits with a sheepish laugh. 

It dies down, and you know the artificial barrier between you two has broken. You shift, waiting for the inevitable. 

"Satoru told me what happened." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Angel. We-I didn't know how you felt. Everything was so perfect, I just thought you felt the same." 

"It's fine." You assure, and this time, your throat doesn't clog up, and your eyes don't feel itchy. "Really. It's-it's fine." 

"It's not." Suguru shakes his head. "You'd be in bed with us if it were." 

That comment pricks something deep within your skin. You swallow, turning away from his piercing purple eyes. They were much like Satoru's. Breathtaking, you could stare at them for hours. You used to. 

But now, you don't have that desire anymore. 

And maybe now that you aren't so attached, maybe you could try being a little more honest. 

"I was jealous." You finally admit. "I couldn't help it. I-I always felt like I was fighting within my relationship. You two were so much closer to each other than I was. Than I ever could be, honestly." 

Suguru frowns, troubled. 

"That's not true." He insists, soft, but something's burning underneath his tone. "Satoru and I have history, but that doesn't mean-" 

"I was runner-up." You cut him off. "For both of you. Looking back, I'm not really upset. It was always impossible for anything to come between the two of you. This-" You gesture between you and him "-was always inevitable." 

"It's my fault." You smile at him, hoping it comes across as sincere as you feel. "I couldn't stand being second place." 

He moves then, kneeling in front of you. Eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He catches your hands in his. You let him. A parting gift. 

"Angel." He starts. "We never once thought of you as that." 

You shrug. "It doesn't matter." You reply. "It's how I always felt. You can't really change the way I feel about things, Suguru." 

You think he's realizing that he's beginning to lose you. His grip gets tighter as if he can physically keep you with him at the very least. He shifts until he's right at your knees, looking up at you desperately. 

"Come back." He insists, abandoning his persuasions. "Just...come back. At least for a little while? We can try again, can't we? Just give us a second chance?" 

It's strange, they don't look too similar, but you can see the similarities. Wow, they're just perfect for each other, aren't they? Yin and Yang. Two halves; one whole. 

You were always a leftover. You just had to learn that the hard way, through days of heartbreak, crying, and sobbing your heart out. It took you awhile to understand that the affection they had for each other is different from the affection they had for you. 

You shake your head. His hands nearly crush yours. 

"I love you." 

It takes you a while to figure out what he said. When it does sink in, your world tilts. Your heart stops at his abrupt declaration and you must stare at him because why? At first, you think he's just desperate: lovebombing. And then you look into his eyes, his sincerity. No, he means it. It makes you feel worse. 

"Satoru does, too, but you know him-he'd rather die than admit something like that." Suguru gives a bitter laugh, one you find familiar even after all this time. "I've always wanted to tell you but thought it was too soon. I thought we had all the time in the world." His voice tapers so he doesn't have to say the obvious but clearly you three didn't. 

You want to reach over, tuck a stray lock behind his ear but you stop yourself because he isn't yours anymore. You gave it all away when you ran. Instead, you curl your hands around his in silent understanding. 

You don't know how you didn't realize it before, but Suguru is less put together than usual. His hair is typically well-groomed and shiny, but now you see split ends. His eyes are clear and bright, but today...they aren't. A dull purple. Hazy violet. 

He's miserable. 

You did this. This was all you. 

"Satoru misses you," he says, "always had. Barely smiles anymore. I don't think I can blame him." 

They loved you. They love you. This was all what you wanted. Just a bit of recognition. There's a tiny part of you that's still itching to jump back in Suguru's arms, kiss him until you're out of breath 'just kidding! it was a prank! let's go home!' and then you two would leave hand-in-hand back to Satoru. 

Going back to them would make them happy, but not you.

But Shoko was right. You deserved better. 

 "It'll get better." You assure. "You'll heal." 

Day by day, the cracks in your heart start to seal. Bit by bit. It may never heal over completely, but you know you'll be okay one day. And they'll be alright too. Who knows, maybe in a couple years, you'll all laugh at this. 

Suguru shakes his head and stands up. His eyes are just the bit glassy, but he's blinking them away before anything gives. It's just like him, honestly, so you're not too upset. 

"You don't get it." He's smiling, not quite in humor. "I don't think you'll ever do but..." He trails off, mid-thought. 

"But what?" You press. 

Then he sighs and closes his eyes. When he looks at you again, his signature pleasantly cold smile is on his face. 

"I did all I could, I think." He turns around, abrupt. "I'll see myself out." 

You're caught off-guard by his sudden departure, but by the time you're following him, Shoko's already leading him out the front door, locking it with exasperation. 

"Is that it?" She asks. "They won't be barging in anytime soon, right?" 

You stare out the window, watching as Suguru gets in his car. Something bubbled in your stomach. 

~

It was one of those nights. Shoko had come back early. Utahime was back from the school. You had planned a cute little evening for the girls and a relaxing night in. You had everything: wine, freshly-prepared dinner, a cheesy horror movie, and an announcement you're sure they were more than happy to hear.

You had just settled down the blanket when you hear Shoko come through the door. You take off her coat before she can even touch it, excitedly flitting around her. 

"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" Shoko asks, her dark circles even more profound than before. You don't have to feel guilty about those for long. 

"You'll see!" You chirp back. 

Utahime strolls out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. Her hair is still wet. You'll ask if you can blow dry it later. 

"That's what you've been saying for nearly an hour now." Utahime groans. "Just tell us already. Or at least, me."

"Patience." You chastise. "But, it's a good surprise, I promise." 

She's not satisfied, but she sits down anyway. They eat dinner, complimenting your skills all the while. You preen at their praise. It's a stark contrast between Suguru and Satoru, how cold they'd often been whenever you did something nice for them: tilted smiles, less-than-receptive words of 'oh baby you didn't have to'. 

As you lived with both couples, you can see the similarities. Utahime's temper is close to Satoru's, but that's where the similarities stop. She's more serious and less likely to blow off your feelings with a playful huff. Shoko and Suguru share the same laid-back personality, but Shoko is always there to listen to you instead of cutting you off with condescending sympathy. 

Wow, maybe Satoru and Suguru were a little more shitty than you initially thought. 

Eventually, the night draws to a close. They're drunk, full, and smiling. Perfect. You clear your throat just when Shoko refills her fourth glass. 

"Again, I'd really like to thank you for letting me stay." You start. "It meant so much to me to have two amazing people to support me like this. So, thank you." 

Utahime smiles. "Don't thank us," she says, "again, you can stay for as long as you want-forever, honestly!" 

You nod. "Well, I don't think I have to do that anymore." 

Shoko freezes mid-sip. 

"What?" She asks. 

"I talked to my parents." You tell them, oblivious to their stone faces. "And I'm going to move back in with them, just until I get back on my feet. Isn't that great? Now, you two won't have to-" 

You stop when you finally notice how cold they look. Utahime looks close to tears. 

"What's wrong?" You ask. 

"You're leaving?" Utahime asks, her voice nearly cracks. "Why?" 

That...wasn't what you were expecting. Shouldn't they be glad the third wheel is finally out of their house? Why does Utahime look so heartbroken? Why is Shoko so quiet? What was going on?

"Isn't-isn't this what you wanted?" You fumble with your words. "Now, you don't have to share the house with me anymore. It'll be just the two of you again." 

They exchange glances, and it reminds you of those secret conversations Suguru and Satoru used to have. Except this time, you can read their faces. 

"What if...we don't want it to be just the two of us anymore?" Shoko starts, hesitant, reproachful like she's approaching a scared wild animal. 

Your eyebrows scrunch. "I don't understand." 

At that, Utahime drops her head in her hands. "Oh, c'mon! We've been doing this for weeks! You can't be that oblivious-" 

And then, she stops herself. Looks at you. You stare right back, and the three of you have the exact same realization at the exact same time. 

"Oh." You breathe. 

"Oh." Utahime whispers. 

"We're all idiots." Shoko says behind her glass. 

"Wait wait. Hold on." You backtrack. "You-you two want...with me?" 

"Yes!" Utahime exclaims. "Yes! God, now everything makes sense. I thought you were just trying to let us down gently, but this whole time you just weren't even paying attention!" 

"No." You argue, face hot. "You two were just really subtle." 

"We all sleep in the same room, these days." Shoko lists. "'Hime sat on your lap with nothing on but a bra and panties." 

"I thought we were just doing friend things!" 

"What kinds of friends sit on your lap, half-naked?" Utahime asks, mortified. 

"I-I-" You give up. 

All this time. You were mourning over something you lost months ago, even when there was something blooming right under your nose. God, you're an idiot. 

Hands. They clasp your own. You look up into Utahime's pretty brown eyes. 

"We want you to stay." She whispers. "We want you." You take a glance at Shoko. 

"Do you want us?" 

You take a deep breath. 

You nod. 

She's smiling, and then Utahime's kissing you. Soft, so soft, nothing like the possessive kisses Satoru gives you. It's innocent and adoring and you find yourself melting into her completely. 

Utahime disappears and before you can mourn her warmth, Shoko's lips join yours. You can smell the alcohol, the slightest sting of cigarettes. You don't mind it. Her kisses are nothing like Suguru's, all powerful and domineering. She takes what you give her, asking ever so nicely for more. 

You break away, panting. 

"You good?" She asks. 

You nod. 

"Good." Shoko hums. "Cuz we're gonna fuck you now." 

"What?" 

Shoko pushes you down on the couch. You land with an oomph before Utahime's descends on you with a flurry of kisses. 

"Waited so long to do this, baby." She's sighing into your lips, fiddling with your shirt so she can pull it off. "Weeks and weeks." 

She pulls down one of your bra cups, massaging at your tits. You hadn't had action in so long, so you eagerly encouraged her movements, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Shoko takes her place next to her girlfriend, pawing at your other tit. 

"Look." Shoko purrs. "One for each of us." Her soft mouth sucks on your nipple, swirling it around her mouth. Your head leans back with a pleasant sigh. 

"Feel good?" Utahime asks. "She's good with her tongue, isn't she?" 

"Yes," you nod, and Utahime gives out a delighted giggle, peppering your face with kisses. You gasp when you feel her hand shift through your shorts, palming at your dripping pussy. 

"Poor thing." Utahime's cooing, and there's a brief hint of mockery in her tone. You've never heard that before. It turns you on even more. "They never gave you attention back there did they?" She circles your clit. "They were too busy sucking each other's dicks to pay attention to such a pretty pussy." 

Shoko pops off your tits, shifting down. She kisses her way to your stomach. You blearily watch as she adjusts herself until she's right at your shorts. Utahime follows her lead, tugging off your shorts. Your panties go next. 

And then you're staring down at them with trepid anticipation. 

"I meant what I said." Shoko says softly. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who cares for you." 

"You deserve us." With that, She and Utahime latch onto your pussy. 

They're everywhere. You have to stop yourself from cumming right then and there, arching your back as one of them sucks on your clit while the other licks into your hole. She manages to stick her tongue inside of you, and it's enough to shoot sparks through your eyes. 

"So tight." Utahime's hissing into your cunt. "Sho, after this, you wanna try to fuck this pussy with your strap?" 

There's a soft laugh, and Shoko pulls away from your clit to answer, much to your disappointment. You whine, thrusting your hips in the air. She stills you with a hush. 

"I don't think we're ready just yet." She hums. "Yet." 

When you glance down, they both are making out with your clit. It's debaucherous. Their soft lips are connected, your tiny bud locked in the middle as their spit trickles down into your pussy. Utahime groans and when you look further down, you realize she's touching herself. 

You don't know which part of this makes you cum, but you cum. It's the hardest you've ever orgasmed. There's so much stimulation that your hips buck up, trying to chase the sparks of pleasure. They let you, licking you through your orgasm. 

When you come down, your thighs fall apart, splayed against the soft cushions. Utahime still isn't finished, licking at your clit. You shudder at the overstimulation, whining until Shoko is pulling her off of you by her hair. 

"Good, baby?" She asks, crawling back up to you. You kiss her as an answer. She melts in delight. 

You break the kiss, glancing over at Utahime. 

Taking the silent request, she kisses you again. You can taste yourself on her lips. You don't mind it. For some reason, it's sweeter on Utahime's tongue. 

When she breaks away, she stares at you, face soft. "You're staying, right?" She asks you. "You'll stay with us? Because after this, I don't think we could ever let you go." 

You give a shy nod, and Utahime beams. 

"Then, you're ours now," Shoko says, settling into your side. "And we're yours. Always." 

"Always." You breathe, content, happy. You could almost go to sleep. 

Shoko slaps your thigh. 

"Not yet." She warns before propping you up. "First, I want you to sit on my face." 

Hours later, you wake up delightfully sore in bed. The two girls are curled up next to you. When you move, you can still feel the bruises Utahime left. You never knew she liked to bite so much. 

You can't even begin to remember what happened, but you don't regret any of it. Hours and hours had passed as they fucked you and fucked each other, and you fucked them. 

Shoko shifts beside you. She was always a light sleeper. 

"Awake?" She asks. 

"Yeah." You softly say back. 

She hums, shifting a little more to face you. Utahime's behind you, arms protectively curled around your waist. At your voice, her eyes twitch. 

"Shut up." She grumbles, but her arms cinch around your waist. 

Shoko stretches as she rises up. You miss her body warmth but you don't mind the view she gives as she saunters over to the dresser, pulling on some clothes. 

"I'm gonna get food." 

Utahime mumbles out her order. You say nothing because you don't want to come in between them, and then Shoko looks at you. 

"What do you want?" She prompts. 

You blink, and when you answer, Shoko smiles, and then she's out the door. 

The interaction makes your heart warm. 

Still, it can't last. 

When you go to get up, Utahime protests, grabbing your wrist. 

"And where are you going?" She prods. 

You fumble. "Back to my room?" 

"What? Why?" Utahime demands with a frown. "What's the point, you're already with us, now." 

"Oh." You blink, but you give in and slink back into bed. "Is...this really okay?" 

"For God's sake, " she hisses, but you don't count it against her because Utahime has always been a little grumpy after waking up. "Yes. We're obsessed with you. How are you so blind?" 

"We want you, and we're not like them." Her voice drops in disdain. "We'll treat you better. You're ours now. You're mine." 

"Yours." You repeat, something warm fluttering in your belly. 

"You can't leave, we'd go crazy, okay?" She seriously tells you. "If someone else takes you away, I'd lose it. And Shoko is okay with murder." 

You laugh. 

"That's not a joke." She warns. 

"I know." And you kiss her again. 

It's like that for a couple weeks. You live in peaceful domestic bliss with two wonderful girlfriends. Now that you're in an actual loving relationship, you can't tell why you ever contemplated ever going back to Satoru and Suguru. Shoko actually talked to you about your feelings. Utahime cared about your input. You weren't treated like an afterthought, second place. 

They were with each other longer than they had been with you, but they never made you feel like you had to fight for your relationship. Speaking off Satoru and Suguru, they never once contacted you after their first two attempts. They'd clearly given up. 

Everything was just perfect. 

And then, it just wasn't. 

You were in bed with them. Fifteen minutes ago, Utahime shuffled off to go to the bathroom. She still wasn't back. Half asleep, Shoko grumbled. 

"She's probably in there fighting a cockroach." She complains, but she rises anyway. "Sleep, I'll be back." She kisses you on the cheek, and then she's gone. 

Their body warmth fades, but they stay because they're tired. These days, you can't really sleep without them, so you wait for the girls to return. Two minutes pass. Then, five. Then, ten. By then, the bed is cold. 

You open your eyes, sitting up. It's so quiet. Are they okay? 

You pull off the comforter, stepping onto the cold wooden floor. The apartment feels strangely...haunted somehow. The air felt heavier now, thick with an invisible tension, like the house itself was holding its breath. It must be because you feel alone, you're sure of it. 

The bedroom leads to a dark hallway. As you make your way down, you can hear something. Voices? Murmuring. The relief almost makes you laugh. Seriously, what were you even afraid about? 

The living room is horrific. 

They look dead. You can't tell if they're breathing or not. Shoko's eyes are closed. Utahime's limp body is sprawled across the floor. There's blood on the wooden panels. 

Suguru doesn't even blink. 

"You're awake." He says it so casually, like waking up to your ex-boyfriends mauling your girlfriends is normal. 

"What..." Your voice fails, you weakly try again. "What did you two do?" 

Satoru answers, smiling with glinty teeth. 

"Isn't it obvious? We're getting rid of the competition." 

You don't understand, your brain hasn't caught up yet, you still think you can talk to these psychos. 

"It's their fault." Satoru's still smiling, but there's nothing happy about his tone. He's carrying a knife. There's blood on it. "It's all their fault. They manipulated you into breaking up with us, baby. That's how these useless sluts got you into their arms." He spits on Utahime's hair. You cover your face with your hands. 

"But, it's not like you aren't at fault, Baby." He points the knife at you. "You left us for them. I'm not letting you off the hook for that." 

You don't know what he's saying. His movements scare you, his eyes, the knife. When you glance at Suguru, you don't know what you're expecting. 

But you know you aren't expecting...that. 

His purple eyes are icy cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion. You don't think you're staring at a person, anymore. 

"You lied," Suguru says, "You lied about us not giving you enough attention. You just wanted to leave us. For them." 

You step back. They step forward. 

Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise. Utahime warned you. Looking at her limp body, you wondered if she thought they'd ever go this far. 

"I didn't." You weakly insist. "I-I wasn't lying about anything! It-it wasn't like I wanted to leave-" 

"Stop lying," Gojo insists. "Stop fucking lying already." 

He smiles again. 

"It's okay, baby. I know you'll come back with us. Right after we're done dealing with these two whores." 

"You'll belong to us." Suguru promises and he steps on Shoko's hands. "Just like always."

They were both crazy. Nothing could get through to them. Now, you would sit there and watch them maul the only things in your life that made you feel complete. 

The worst part is that everything was your fault. 

Shoko's pinky twitches. You can see Utahime take shallow breathes.

And you speak. 

"I'm sorry." 

Your weak voice makes them stop in their tracks. Satoru glances at you, Suguru does too. You can't convince them. The only thing you can do is play into their delusions. 

"You're right." You say, the tears finally feeling useful. "I just wanted to leave. I-I was just bored. I wanted something new." Suguru's lips curl and you quickly move on. "But-but the more I stayed with them, the more I realized...how much I missed you two." 

Satoru halts. You caught him. 

"I did." You stress, carefully making your way to him on feet that were close to dropping at any minute. "Every day, I thought about you two." You reach out, touching his face with shaky fingers. "I really really wanted to come back, but I was afra-afraid you wouldn't...want me back."

Satoru reaches up to touch your hand. His fingers are cold. You resist the urge to shudder. 

"You missed us?" He wonders. 

The lie feels like sand. 

"More than anything." 

His kiss is violent. He crushes you with his grip, touching and biting and everything you hate. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting him suck your soul dry. 

"Don't kill them." You whisper when he finally pulls away. "Please don't kill them. Everything was my fault." 

Satoru's face is pensive. His gaze drifts off to Suguru's. Those silent conversations you hated so much. 

Then, Satoru gives a delighted sigh. 

"You're lucky. I love you so much." He kisses your nose, before pushing you in Suguru's arms. 

"I'll clean up here. Suguru, go back to the truck." He demands. 

You don't fight, letting Suguru drag you away. Shoko and Utahime live in apartments, but you're afraid if you scream, Satoru might change his mind and gut them anyway. Before Suguru leads you off, you catch Gojo scoffing before he kicks at Utahime's face. You gasp and pray that when Shoko wakes up, she'll be coherent enough to call for an ambulance. 

I'm sorry, you tell them. I'm so so sorry. 

Suguru pushes you into the backseat of their vehicle. You obediently take a seat. 

"You shouldn't have left." He tells you. "You should've stayed." 

His face is cold, but his tone betrays the tiniest tremor. If you weren't so scared, you'd laugh. The irony is that he's the one who feels wronged here. 

"I'm sorry," you say anyway. 

He hums, not quite satisfied with your answer. 

"You aren't." He responds, and you hate how well he knows your tells. 

And then, he grins. 

"But you will be."

Hands reach out, gripping your neck. You flail immediately as Suguru cuts of your oxygen. You can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe. No matter how tightly you squeeze onto his wrist, digging your nails into his hands, clawing at his face. He keeps you still, keeping you there as you grow weaker. Your vision gets blurry. Your attempts get sluggish. There's a kiss on your forehead, and you black out completely. 

~

You wake up in a room you've never seen before. And your neck is sore. 

The pain drifts in as soon as consciousness does. You feel like you have a hangover, your head throbs, your eyes struggle to remain open. You can't go back to sleep either, not when it hurts so much. 

The panic doesn't settle in until you catch the cuffs on either one of your legs, keeping you attached to the bedpost. Silver chains, with enough lead to let you move around a bit. The cuffs are padded so you don't rub yourself raw. You don't care about the thoughtfulness. 

They're in the room with you, watching with silent eyes. Nausea builds up in your stomach, and you wonder how long they'd stayed there, just watching you. 

You miss Shoko. You miss Utahime. You missed people who actually loved you. 

Not these two. Monsters that lied and pretended, but deep down, they were just too selfish to share. 

"You were out for a while." Suguru comments. 

"I told you to use the syringe," Satoru remarks, but he doesn't sound too upset. At his voice, Suguru laughs. 

You shift in your spot. Suguru takes that as an invitation. He sits at the edge of the bed, watching you with satisfied eyes. You must look pathetic: shivering, in tears. He reaches up, catching your tears with his finger.

"So cute." And then he frowns. "You know why we're doing this, yes? You were bad. You need to be punished."

"I'm sorry." It's all you can say. You feel like a broken record, doomed to repetition over and over again.

"You aren't. You should stop lying." Suguru says sweetly. "But I'm sure, a couple hours in your new home will help you think about how much you hurt us."

You wanted to scream, but you can't cuz your throat still hurts from Suguru's hands, and you know he's not above putting his hands on you this time. Maybe he never was, you just never saw this side of him until you made him snap.

"You're leaving?" You stumble, moving as they back away but the chains only take you so far. There are no windows, and when Suguru shuts the light off, the only thing that's keeping you from the dark entirely is the light emitting out the hallway.

"Wait." You beg. "Please. Wait, don't-don't leave me here. I'm sorry. This is scary. I'm scared."

Satoru hesitates at your broken voice. Like a shark smelling blood, you pounce.

"Satoru, please."

"If you keep coddling, then the lesson will never be learned." Suguru warns.

Satoru stares at you. He's not wearing his sunglasses. You can see him for what he is now.

"I love you." He says it so sincerely, you almost believe it. "This is for your own good."

The door shuts, and everything goes dark.

[golden-ebony]

Ten's a Crowd ·ᴥ·✿˖°

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/female!Reader

♡ Word Count: 2.4k

♡ Rating: Explicit 18+

♡ Warning/Tags: SMUT! MINORS DNI, p-v, oral fem!receiving, a tad of overstimulation,

♡ Summary: As Robo said: Logan would turn your plushies around before fucking you raw btw, he told me himself—pulls em off to the side with a gruff little “You don’t wanna see this next part bub” before turning you every way BUT loose.

♡ Note: @robo-writing MADE A POST THAT MADE ME BOTH SCREAM CHUCKLE AND INSPIRED TO CREATE THIS PIECE. robo is also one of my favs so check them out too!

You wanted to take it slow with Logan. Even if every bone in your body wanted to jump his, you actually liked him and didn’t want to do anything you believed could sabotage your budding relationship. This was a mutual yet unspoken understanding between the two of you. 

He had every intention of taking things slow with you–make his intentions clear. Having met you while you bartended at his favorite spot, you had seen him pick up and take a few girls home. You were different, and he wanted to make that clear. 

Still, every time Logan dropped you off at your apartment, it became more charged. After your first date, he simply dropped you off. After your second and third date, it ended in short yet sensual kisses. The tension was building the entirety of your fourth date. When Logan had you pressed against your apartment building door, your moans were smothered by the passionate open mouth kisses. And by god, you wanted to give in, but mother nature had other plans for you. Despite either of your wishes, you called it a night.

Your fifth date was at a drive in-movie. You brought the blankets that were laid out in the bed of Logan’s truck. The both of you admittedly got a handsy during the movie, practically missing the end of the movie.

As Logan parked in the front of your building, he carried the folded blankets that you brought to your building door. Before he could offer to bring the blankets up for you, you muttered the four words he had been waiting to hear for almost a month.

“You wanna come up?”

Logan couldn't help but perk up at that question. Your voice was as sweet as honey, and the soft glow of the porch light framed your face perfectly. He tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of his lips tugged into a small smile when you invited him up.

"Course," he said, his voice rough and low as he tried to contain the lewd thoughts that started flooding his brain. 

As you brought him up the elevator, the tension between the two of you was thicker than the blankets he carried. You needed him–need him bad. 

As soon as you entered the apartment, you told Logan that he could put the blankets on the couch. He haphazardly tossed them on the cushions but didn’t take his eyes off you. The intensity in his eyes was betraying the restraint he was trying to maintain for weeks. 

Barely a beat afterward, you were all over each other. The kiss was sloppy, your tongue immediately submitting to his. Logan’s hand roamed slightly under your sweater, fingers pressing against the warmth of your skin. 

Stumbling backward toward your bedroom, Logan kept his lips on your, drinking in the taste that he desperately wanted–hell, needed. As he laid you down, he didn't break the kiss, slowly trailing his hand up your thigh. His lips found their way to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“Been thinkin’ about this all night, darlin’,” he growled against your neck as he hovered over you. His grip on your thigh tightened, earning a gasp from your lips. “Just like that, baby, I need to hear ya.”

Logan’s other hand hiked up farther near your head until his hand began crushing something soft, something smaller than a pillow. Still focused on marking the skin over your pulse, he moved his hand again just to squish another item, almost losing his grip on the bed. 

With a hint of frustration, Logan’s eyes glared open. His stare was immediately met with glossy, black buttoned eyes of a brown cow and the cheery eyes and blushing face of…maybe a dumpling, he thought.

He paused his lips’ freezing against your skin. Logan pulled away slightly to get a better look at what was under his hand. He chuckled, his voice gravelly as he looked down at the squished yet irate octopus.

You sighed due to the loss of contact, swiveling to see what had caught Logan’s attention over the woman he was making out with. He had a mixed expression of confusion and amusement. 

“You find my plushies entertaining?” you softly giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows.

“I just…” Logan’s voice was gruff with a smirk as he sized up the 6–no, 8–plushies eyeing him down. The cow, dumpling, octopus, platypus, jellyfish, hot sauce bottle, bumblebee, and mushroom propped against your pillows all had their eyes on Logan, silently judging him. “I just didn’t expect an audience. Your little posse is a bit intimidating,” he teased, looking down at you with a cheeky grin.

“Didn’t think you were one to falter under pressure,” you chuckled. From your back, you turned to look at your plushies. You gave him a tantalizing look as you grabbed the angry octopus from his hand, shaking it in his face. “They’re just here to be cute.”

“Yeah, they’re cute.” Logan’s attention was diverted back to your exposed abdomen from your slightly lifted sweater. A deep growl emitted from his chest as he lifted your sweater further to reveal your plum colored bra. His large hand cupped your right breast as a wry smile grew on his lips. “But what I’m planning on doing with you…it’s far from cute, sweetheart.”

Logan was quick to remove your sweater, throwing it toward the  mushroom, causing it to fall off the bed entirely. He dipped back down to your lips with a renewed passion. Dropping the octopus on your nightstand, you were quick to tug at Logan’s t-shirt, practically begging to lose it.

Ripping it off, you could feel your arousal pool at the sight of his broad, hairy chest and sculpted form. Over your head, he tossed his shirt. It landed over the eyes of the soft platypus, but you didn’t notice. You were too enveloped in the hot kisses Logan was lying between the valley of breasts down to the waist of your leggings. His rough hands massaged your breasts until they popped out of their constraints. 

Ragged short moans fell from your lips as he grazed and twerked your hardened nipples. Your hands raked over his larger hands before moving to his taunt shoulders, nails scraping his shoulder blades. Logan grunted as he felt your nails rake across his shoulders, his darkened eyes locking on you, hungry and filled with lust.

“Love the pretty moans you make for me, baby,” Logan groaned, his hands moving to the sides of your leggings to wiggle you out of them. Taking your panties with them, you were exposed to Logan. The glisten and scent of your arousal was too tempting.

Feeling his warm breath against your aching cunt, you inched forward, desperate for any form of contact, “Please, Logan. I need to feel you…”

Without another word, Logan applied a heavy striped lick against your cunt all the way to your pulsing clit. A stuttered moan escaped your lips as Logan buried his face into your cunt, wrapping his arms around your soft thighs to pull you closer and keep you legs opened wide.

“Hm, so fuckin’ sweet. All for me, sweetheart?” he muttered against your cunt, the vibrations causing a shiver to run up your spine. You almost missed what he said as tongue lap and darted into your sopping core at a speed that had to be sinful. 

You could barely get the words out. Your mind was reeling with such intense pleasure that Logan could only grab your attention again by nipping on your inner thigh. You quickly winced 

“You gotta speak up, darlin’. I gotta hear you,”

“All for you, Lo-Logan! Because of you!” Despite your volume, your voice came off small and pathetic as your need for Logan grew.

Rewarding you, Logan pressed a harsh kiss against your clit, sending shockwaves through you. Your hips tried to buck but were secured firmly by the strength of Logan. He was practically making out with your cunt, his nose adding just enough pressure to your clit to run you like a facet.

“So goddamn pretty, so perfect,” he softly breathed against you, darkened eyes temporarily meeting your lust-blown ones like man possessed. Your head tilted back in ecstasy, his stare too intense.

Your finger interlocked with your comforter and his hair. The grip Logan had to keep around your thighs only grew harsher as you thrashed around him. It was a vicious cycle. Your elevated moans drove Logan to delve deeper which only made your thrashing worse and your moans more boisterous. Logan knew you’d learn better once you woke up with the bruised prints in the morning. You knew you’d cherish them. 

From your tightened grip on his hair and the sheets, Logan knew you were near your edge. His name was spilling out of your lips as if it was the only word you knew now. Coming up for air didn’t matter; Logan was prepared to drown in your soaked core.

Your climax was almost violent, your legs quiver as you released. Logan lapped it up like a dying dog, the taste of you making him moan. He couldn’t help but rut against the edge of your bed as he licked you clean through your high. The friction was welcomed but not enough.

Your body relaxed as you tried taking in deep breaths to regain a semblance of control. Before releasing your thighs, Logan affixed one last bold brush to your ruined cunt for good measure. Your cheeks were flushed as you looked down at him again. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intense. His eyes seemed almost feral, his need for you evident. He needed more–more of you, all of you.

Logan slowly kissed a path up your body, pausing momentarily to admire the indented prints he had left on your hips. He relished the taste of your skin, his lips leaving a trail of light kisses along your thighs, hips, your stomach, your chest. Your body was still quivering 

Finally, his face, still damp with your arousal, was mere inches away from yours, a smug smile on his lips. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before he spoke, his voice a low, rough whisper.

“You okay, darlin’?”

You huffed into a small smile. It floored you how he’d asked, knowing damn well he could still feel your toes curling and your leg involuntarily shaking. It floored you further how badly you still wanted him.

Kissing the corners of your mouth, darting your tongue to gather the remainder of your arousal from his face, you hand grazed his growing bulge. You received a strained grunt from Logan.

“Why do you still have these on?” The sound of your rough and sultry voice, your question–it only made the strain in his jeans worse.

Standing and exposing his full physique, he was quick to remove his jeans and briefs.  Your eyes went wide as the sight of his thick, engorged cock, the tip already leaking down a vein. 

Logan chuckled lowly at the sight of your reaction. Seeing your widened eyes and parted lips, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“So goddamn greedy, baby. Didn’t get enough already?” he mocked, laying down to cage you under the weight of his body again.

In response, you pulled him closer, your lips attached to his neck. Your tongue smoothed over every nip. Logan growled, his cock finding some relief from the friction against your hip.

Logan's eyes softened as he was again face-to-face again with the soulful eyes of your cow, slightly tilted on its side. Its fallen comrades were on the floor, preemptively averting their own innocent eyes.

He spoke gruffly, under his breath, “Uh, yeah, you don’t wanna see this next part, bub.” He picked up the cow and spun it around, leaning it against the headboard.

Your plushies didn’t see it, and you could barely handle it. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes as Logan continued to roughly push into you climax after climax after climax. From your back to your stomach to your side, your body was completely coated with sweat and pleasure. Hearing you moan, beg, and whimper only drove Logan to push you further and further till the only word you could conjure was his name.

“It’s not too much, sweetheart, yeah?” Logan’s warm breath groaned against the back of your neck, raising the hairs on it. His bulky arm hooked around to belly, trapping your pelvis against his. He had slowed his tempo in comparison to the previous two rounds, but he hadn’t been this deep. With his leg The tip of his cock was pressing faint kisses against your cervix. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he could witness your face contort in continued pleasure. “You can take it, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good all night.”

Your voice was gravelly–surely going to be gone in the morning–as your exhausted eyes peered toward Logan, “I-I can’t, Lo-gan…not again.” 

“C’mon, just one more for me, baby. Fuckin’ sinful how good you feel,” he murmured against your flushed cheek. 

You nodded as you watched Logan hand move down to your overstimulated clit. The slightest pressure was enough to make your soft walls abruptly clench around his cock with a lusty ring. Rolling your hips against his, Logan was close to losing it. A growl escaped Logan’s chest as he picked up his pace–a stuttered pace. 

“That’s it, baby. Let it happen. Drench my cock.”

“Fuck, Logan!” You cried, your entire low body trembling against his. Your own arousal dripped down to your thigh, dampening your blanket.

Logan pressed your arched back closer to his hairy chest. With one final thrust, he was incoherently grunting before staining your walls with his seed. Filled with his warmth, you felt your body completely relax–finally. 

Logan's breathing was ragged against your neck. The only things that filled the room were your and Logan’s shared pants and the scent of your mixed arousals. He held you like that for a few moments, his heart pounding against your back. Logan was now having second thoughts about ravishing so rashly for your first time.

“Too much?” Logan asked, his voice tired and laced with concern as his hand softly massaged your side.

You wrapped your hand behind you to caress Logan’s cheek. A weak smile formed on your lips, “No, no…it was…” You couldn’t find the words. Your brain was foggy with gratification. Instead, you reached for your irate octopus on your nightstand. Quickly inverting the plushie, the octopus now had a gleeful expression. 

Handing it to Logan, he gruffly chuckled, accepting your response. He planted a chaste kiss on your cheek with a satisfied smile. It was just the beginning for you two–or the ten of you.

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

[tddyhyck]

sudden urges [ l.dh ]

pt 1 (can be read as a stand alone)

pairing ⇢ enemies with benefits!haechan x afab!reader

warnings ⇢ 18+, car sex, squirting, wet & messy, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), light nipple play (kinda), food play (ig), unprotected sex, oppa kink, crying, mean names and pet names, pussy slapping, hair pulling, cheating/affairs mentioned, creepy old man mentioned

word count ⇢ 6.9k

playlist ⇢ red line_5sos / turn your phone off_pinkpantheress & destroy lonely / sweet as sin_ten / bite_troye sivan

a/n ⇢ how do we feel about 1 more regular part and then maybe a part from hyuck’s pov?? also, in my world hyuck is the readers oppa so it’s not really a kink all the time

masterlist

you didn’t want to call him but you didn’t really have anyone else who you could call. well you did but he was the first person you felt like talking to. which wasn’t how it was supposed to work. shivering on the curb while your finger hovered over his name on the screen. sighing you tapped it crossing your fingers and toes that he picked up.

“hey,” he whispered lazily as if he didn’t pick up halfway through the first ring.

“uh hey,” you poked at a hole in your tights.

“miss me?”

“can you come get me?” you blurted before he could even finish. the line was silent for a moment then you heard rustling.

“send me your location.” you breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing as you pulled the phone away to send a quick message. the line was still silent while you waited for it to say read.

“what are you doing over there?” you could practically see his face, eyebrow quirked up and jaw tense big brown eyes staring through you.

“just had to drop some papers off.” it was half true. you did ride the bus over and drop off a stack of papers to your professor.

“that’s all?”

“stop interrogating me, goddd,” you groaned, tugging the hole on your tights, ripping it more. “i’ll tell you when i see you.”

“i’ll be there in 5 i guess.” you heard keys jingle.

“i’m on the sidewalk near building F,” you offered.

“he just made you wait outside? what an ass can’t even drive you home and leaves you to sit outside in the snow?” haechan grumbled into the phone.

“he uh,” you pause realizing how bad it was about to sound.

“wife?” he simply asked. you’d only talked to haechan before about it mainly because he always pried and because you didn’t want lectures from everyone else. there wasn’t a desire to make him like you so you didn’t hide the bad things from him.

the professor was married and you knew that from the beginning, but he had swore they were separated. you believed him until his wife invited half the department to a dinner party where she flashed heart eyes and he doted on her. it made you sick, she was maybe a few years older than you while he pushed retirement.

it wasn’t that you felt obligated to agree when he asked but he was the one giving you credit hours and promising to write recommendations. when he first approached you it made you feel special and admired like you were a four leaf clover picked in a field. now it didn’t feel so special when you realized he did this all the time.

“unhuh,” you murmured. the line stayed silent and you could hear him turning on a blinker “thanks for coming. i didn’t want to bother anyone, they're all so stressed and losing their minds over that exam.” it wasn’t a lie they were prepping for an exam, but for some reason you wanted him to distract you with banter.

“i took the bus though you know, and brought like the biggest stack of papers i finally finished grading. but it stopped running- the bus, guess it was the weather.” you tried to fill the silence rambling on about nothing.

“didn’t think i would take so long, but i had to bring them by i dunno why he makes me. it’s so much easier to just file them away in the office but he always has me come by so he can check them. like i’m incompetent. i wrote the key so i would know.”

“because he wants to fuck you.” haechan mumbles.

“huh?” you ask.

“i’m here.” he pulls into the parking lot and hangs up. you shiver when you stand up before he pulls up in front of you. opening the door you slide in savoring the warmth.

“what did you say?” you question before putting your bag down.

“i said he wants to fuck you. that’s why he makes you bring some bullshit papers.” he rests his elbow on the window leaning his head on his hand looking at you lazily. he turns the heat up while you buckle your seatbelt.

“i know that but he won’t give me the credit unless i bring them by,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“that’s so fucked up. you should report him.” he eases off the brake pulling away from the sidewalk.

“it’s not a big deal.” you sigh still picking at the hole on your leg. “it’s just sex.”

“is he better than me? actually if he is don’t tell me,” you roll your eyes hitting his chest.

“shut up,” you shift in your seat.

“well is he?” he smirks, coming to a stop, looking over at you, hands low on the steering wheel. you shrug but he can read the answer on your face. he reaches over, snapping his fingers in your face and pointing to his own.

“i asked you if he fucks you better than me,” he emphasizes.

“no,” you mumble, looking away again. you know he’s smiling to himself gloating.

“where do you wanna go? are you hungry?” you shrug in response, cheeks pink from your admission. “ice cream?”

“can we eat it at the park?” you ask perking up at the thought of a cool and creamy sweet treat.

“of course.” he turns the wheel heading to your favorite ice cream spot. “can’t believe you want that when it’s like, negative degrees.”

“my love for ice cream is greater than my desire to be warm. plus we’re in a car you have heat we’re fine.”

“can’t believe he made you sit out in this,” he motions with a hand to the sky. grey and dreary, clouds full of snow and sleet that had been spilling periodically throughout the day.

“she would have seen me.”

“well he should have thought of that before asking you to come over. what if you get sick or hurt or someone snatchesd you. then who will grade his papers?” you roll your eyes at his dramatics. he pulls into the familiar parking lot, the neon sign bright but missing the i-c-e so it just says “homemade cream.” he pulls in behind a car already waiting at the window.

“probably some other pretty but stupid girl. it doesn’t matter i’m fine and you picked me up.” you grin nudging his shoulder. “did i wake you up?”

“well not exactly i was going to nap but then my phone rang and this hot girl was on the line all like ‘oppaaaaa please can you come get me from this evil villains house and take me for ice cream and can you pay for it pleaseee ooooppa.’” you gawk at him mimicking your voice quite well for what it’s worth.

“i do not sound like that,” you groan, hitting him again.

“you kinda do though,” he grins, releasing your wrist.

“so you think i’m hot?” you smirk teasingly lean close to him.

“no i just hang out with you because of your personality,” you hit him again, but he grabs your hand when it meets his chest. you rip away before he can interlace your fingers.

“if you keep hitting me i’m gonna hit you back and that would look bad to future employers.” he turns away as you smile, listening to him give the order. strawberry on a cone for you as always and a hot coffee for him. when the worker leaves you lean forward chin on his shoulder.

“i like it when you hit me sometimes,” you whisper. you swear you can feel the hair on his neck stand up. “you know down there.”

“shut up,” he nudges you away before the worker brings his card and receipt then leaves again to make the order.

“just being honest, oppa,” popping the p sound before running fingers over his knee. he jerks, bouncing the leg and brushing your hand away. you huff, air blowing on his ear making him shiver. the window opens and he grabs your ice cream, passing it to you before he grabs his drink with a thank you.

“mmmm,” you moan when you taste the ice cream. sweet and creamy and perfect.

“look at the sign,” pointing to the burnt neon with a grin.

“you know a thing or two about homemade cream,” grinning he taps your leg.

“and you know a thing or two about begging for it.” you smile to yourself, leaning back in the seat crossing your legs.

“begging seems dramatic doesn’t it?” he questions. you grab your phone ready to find the familiar voice memo he had sent you. you up your volume fully before pressing play.

‘heyyyyy, i’m like so fucked up right now,’ he tries to grab your phone as his voice plays from it. ‘i’m walking to your place at least i think i am. fuckk- are you even awake. i’ll sit outside, i don't care.’

“turn it off, oh my god,” he groans, one hand clenching on the wheel while the other presses against his ear..

“nuhuh.”

‘i had a dream about you. i think it was a dream i don’t know. um, wait but there was you, you were there and you finally rode my tongue. i want you to so bad. you’re too freaky to not ride my face at least once. do i need to beg on my knees for it?’

“you’re evil,” wincing as he hears his slurred voice playing back.

‘if i do will you? please. you taste so good and fuck - like so good. now i’m thinking about it. getting hard like a loser over thinking about pussy.’

“i sound so pathetic.”

“yeah you do. it’s hot.” grinning before taking another swipe at your ice cream.

‘shit - anyways uh i’m coming over i know you’re alone. at least i think you are… what if you have a guy in your bed. i’ll jump out of your window then when you look at him you’ll get sad. that’s fucked up but i want you alllll to myself sometimes.’

you turn the audio off before he starts professing his feelings. you’d never talked about the last few minutes of the voicemail. a quiet acknowledgment of the open secret between you both. you weren’t actually sure if he remembered all that he said.

that night you’d opened the door to him on his knees begging for you, but he fell asleep on your couch 10 minutes later with a silly look on his face.

“i still want you to ride my face,” he admits.

“you’re obsessed with eating pussy.” you laugh into your ice cream.

“is it such a crime to love your pussy?” raising his hands after parking in your usual spot turning the car off.

“we’d all be arrested if it was.”

“we can share handcuffs.” he offered a wrist to you and you held yours next to his.

“not the first time,” you tease as you pull away. you tug the lever beside you leaning your seat all the way back and kick your feet up on the dash.

“hey hey no shoes on my baby i just got her detailed,” he scolds grabbing your ankles and lugging you off. groaning, you lift your feet and rest them over his lap.

“yeah i didn’t care about these sweats anyways,” he deadpans looking at your shoes.

“they’re not muddy,” you say, pulling your legs away before reaching down to pull the shoes off. you put your now shoeless feet on his lap again and he doesn’t complain. silence settles for a moment aside for him sipping his coffee and you licking your ice cream contentedly.

“how long are you stuck grading his papers?”

“eh maybe two months. i hope he gets sick of me before then.”

“unlikely.” he mutters to himself, reaching up he fiddles with the sunroof, opening the shutter letting in the orange glow of the street light.

“do you think his wife knows?” he turns his head at your question. “she’s got to right? he probably did the same thing to her too.”

“do you want her to know?” the ice cream is melting too quickly.

“maybe. i don’t know. what’s better? it would be best if they were in an open relationship and she knew but was okay with it.”

“well that’s best case,” he leans his own seat back looking over at you at eye level.

“worst case?”

“she knows and hates you?” he suggests, making you groan.

“she’s so sweet too. fuck, i’m so terrible.” you close your eyes not wanting to look at his.

“he’s a manipulative geriatric asshole and you were vulnerable and naive. he’s terrible for taking advantage of all these girls.” he reassures, patting your arm softly. a weird moment of humanity between both of you.

“i’m not going over again.” you announce.

“good girl,” he pats your head now.

“don’t do that.”

“what?”

“be nice.” he laughs a real full belly laugh and it makes your stomach twinge weirdly.

“i’m soooo nice.” he looks up out of the car sunroof.

“yeah and i'm a worm,” you roll your eyes and his hand slides over your leg he laughs again

“you think i'm mean,” he pouts, poking your leg.

“name one time you were nice to me?”

“hmm,” he pauses a finger tapping his chin before he leans over cupping your ear to whisper. “what about the time i made you cu-“

“lalalala i can’t hear you,” you cut him off, pushing his face away.

“you need new tights,” still smiling as he prods at one of the holes in the sheer material covering your skin.

“you don’t think it gives me an edge?” lifting your leg slightly showing off the ripped black fabric.

“you don’t need an edge, you're mean enough.” you fein surprise trying to kick him but he grabs your leg before you can. squeezing your thigh when he pulls it against his warm body.

“you think i’m mean?” you copy him.

“i can name at least 100 instances.” you roll your eyes. “ok, just one?” he grins over at you before saying.”probably when we met and you called me the hunchback of notre dame.”

“but it made you work on your posture.” you point out. he nods in response. “you were just as mean, i only said that after you said i looked like helga from hey arnold.”

“you were wearing that same pink outfit,” he defends.

“i was a powerpuff girl,” you grumble.

“how’s the ice cream?”

“devine.” he’s looking over at you with big stupid brown eyes. staring back at him you lick over the remaining creamy treat. swirling over the cone collecting the pink cream on your tongue. you’re being overly provocative letting some of the ice cream slide out of your mouth and onto your lips.

“if it’s so good don’t let it go to waste.” thumb brushes over the drip, swiping it into your mouth. you don’t hesitate to suck the melted strawberry off of his finger moaning at the taste. he pulls away spit sticking to his thumb before he licks it. he’s so disgustingly gross and sexy it’s annoying. what light that shines from the sunroof makes him look too golden, too delicious, too warm.

“so sweet,” he sighs. big brown eyes still watching you when you wrap your lips around what’s now a sad hill instead of a full scoop.

“can i have some?” before you can answer he leans in grabbing your face pulling you to meet him. his tongue laps into your mouth collecting the cool sweet liquid. it makes you burn, hot cheek in his hand as he leads you. turning your head to deepen the kiss. the melting treat drips over your fingers as his lips melt into yours.

using the hand that is still on your leg, now gripping the flesh, he pulls you over. settling you on top of him, mouths still open exchanging hot breaths and spit. pulling away you sit back feeling the bulge pressed against you. catching your breath as you look down at him, lips red and puffy, eyes dazed. you press a finger to them to see how soft they are and he licks your digit.

“do you want some more?” moving to switch your hands. bringing the pink sticky fingers to his lips. he sucks them greedily, tongue splitting your fingers licking between them lewdly. watching as you grind against him, knees pressed tightly on his sides while he holds your hips. trailing your fingers from his mouth you slide them over his lips and down his chin. slippery still from his spit you move them finger painting his neck.

“did you fuck him?” it catches you off guard but you keep your fingers on his neck feeling his pulse under them. “like today did you?”

“no. he-“ you pause, deciding if you should share. “he came in his pants and then his wife called.” haechan laughs hard, making you shake on him.

“what a fucking loser.”

“why do you ask?” you bring the messy cone to your mouth again tasting what’s left.

“i don’t want to sound weird.”

“tell me,” you pout bouncing on him. he groans, squeezing your hips to stop you. you can feel his growing hardness against your inner thigh and it makes you clench.

“is it jealous if i say i don’t want to fuck you if he just did. i don’t want my dick near his.” he offers.

“who said we were going to fuck?” raising an eyebrow at him.

“please, mommy,” he whimpers, sitting up face in yours, clasping his hands making puppy dog eyes.

“stupid,” you mumble, pushing his face away, head hitting the seat with a thud.

“can i be honest?” he nods eagerly, hair bouncing against the headrest.

“i don’t even know the last time we did. he keeps nutting before i even get his pants off. plus it’s kinda small, no hate to the micros but like,” you pause using your finger to measure around 4 inches.

“it’s not doing anything.” he’s giggling under you again, this time his cock pressing against you with each shake of his body. you can feel the wetness slipping from you pooling in your tights.

“god, how can a guy like him be married and seduce beautiful young women while having a fast finishing micro. double homicide but he gets rewards.” he shakes his head.

“money,” you rub your fingers together.

“so i’m bigger?”

“obviously.” you roll your eyes finishing the last of your ice cream at least what hasn’t turned to soup.

“so let’s see.” you lean back putting the cone in the spare cup holder. he peaks under your skirt noticing your lack of panties.

“see what?” you watch him stare between your legs so you flip the skirt up for him. “this?”

“don’t distract me.” he closes his eyes, pressing his head back. “i can fuck you better, have a way bigger dick, and buy you ice cream.” he counts each “pro” on his fingers.

“what’s your point?” reaching for his lifted fingers you pull them to your core rubbing them over your tights.

“just that.” he pauses moving his fingers against you letting the seam of your tights brush against you cunt. “i’m a much better option.”

“like to date?” you laugh loudly but continue grinding down seeking more of his touch. you don’t catch the way his eyes dull at your reaction. the idea of him being more than whatever he was to you a joke. he could still dream and dwell on you for hours and days and weeks.

“ew no, just to do these activities,” he replies his other hand slithering over your ass.

“yeah we hate each other, remember?” you smirk down at him as he grabs your ass kneading the flesh.

“oh yeah sorry. don’t let me forget how much i despise you.” he groans pressing the tips of his digits against the tights. moaning when the seam catches against your clit again, you grind down.

“wouldn’t be so fun if we liked each other, or something.” breath catching in your throat as he swirls around your clit. you don’t see the way he looks up at you when you say that. he wonders if you can tell. it makes him mad the way your so oblivious to his affection for you.

“yeah people who like each other don’t do this.” he moves his other hand to your center, gripping the tights and yanking. the middle seam tears easily exposing your cunt to the cool air of the car.

“haechan,” you squeal. “i liked these.” you pout slapping his arm. he keeps going sliding his fingers between your lower lips, collecting slick.

“i told you.” he pauses a finger teasing over your entrance, tapping your waiting hole. “you need new ones.” he fucks a digit into you hard. you whine as he begins to flick his wrist curling the pad of his middle finger into you.

“but i liked these,” whining and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“you can keep them.” his fingers are fast moving to curl against your sweet spot. “wear them for me.”

“i hate you,” voice shaky as you grind down, his palm pressing against your clit.

“i know,” he leans up, lips ghosting over your neck. using his other hand he unzips your oversized hoodie making you shiver.

“i do. fucking hate you,” you moan when he bites your now exposed skin. you grab his hair in response, tugging him away.

“tell me all about it baby, let it out,” he looks up at you. finger working faster in you.

“hate when you look at me like that,” you whimper, closing your eyes, savoring the ghost of his thumb over your clit.

“what about this?” thumb rubbing circles around you swollen bud while his finger continues curling inside of you. grip tightening on his shoulder and in his hair with a gasp.

“hate it,” peeking down watching his wrist flicking fast and hard. your tummy tightens hearing the squelch of your cunt filling the car.

“and this?” he has that grin on his face watching you melt in his hands like your ice cream when he adds a second finger.

“so much,” you whimper. “hate it so much.”

“poor baby. let it out,” he licks over your neck nibbling lightly at the bare skin. the heat spreading over your tummy feeling the knot tightening. so close and you want it.

“hate me so much you’re gonna cum?” he tuts. you hate him you really do. his hand slithers pulling the top of your camisole down letting your breast spill out. squeezing the flesh before pinching your nipple. clenching around his fingers at the tug of his pointer and thumb on the hard nub.

“you think about me when you’re alone, don't you?” he questions, thumbing your nipple and clit at the same time, sending shockwaves through you. “gushing in your panties when you think about how much you hate your oppa?”

“fingering your cunt wishing it was me?” his words make your toes curl more than his fingers. you’d never admit it to him, your mind trailing to him when you can’t sleep. opening yourself up imagining he was there telling you dirty things. your vibrator is fine but he’s so much better.

“or do you hump your pillow thinking about me? it’s not as good is it?” you shake your head mouth opened gasping.

“leaves you wanting more? wanting your oppa’s cock to help you.” his words pull you closer. you bounce on his hand chasing the release.

“moaning for your oppa all alone.” leaving open mouth kisses along your neck when he whispers, “gonna let it out for your oppa?”

“hate you,” releasing onto his fingers with a whine cunt tightening around them. your fingers tug at his hair and he moans into your neck slowing his hand but still slowly pumping into you. thumb still swirling around your nipple when you look down watching the slow flick of his wrist and see the wet spot on his sweats.

“don’t tell me you came in your pants too?” you tease, breathily.

“all you, sweet cheeks,” pulling his fingers out sticky string connecting to your pussy as more slick dribbles out onto the grey material. he brings them to his lips savoring your taste on his tongue. his other hand falls from your chest settling on your tummy rubbing circles with his thumb. your tit still hanging out as you release the grip you had on him your fingers quickly find his waistband. pulling down the fabric you release his cock.

“no panties?” looking up at him grinning as he leans back head resting on his arms.

“i was trying to be fast.” you take his cock in your hands pumping the length. pushing your ass back to bend down and take him in your mouth. he hisses between his teeth when you wrap your lips around his tip. bobbing your head he reaches down to brush your hair out of your face. you pull back releasing him before spitting messily onto his cock.

“fuck,” he groans as your hand speeds up using your spit and his precum to glide over his length. you look up at him through your lashes watching him bite his lip. he stares back at you, before taking him back in your mouth, sucking him slowly.

“you’re so fucking hot,” gripping your hair with his voice raspy. “i hate you too,” his hips buck when you laugh, mouth vibrating around him. continuing you bob your head letting his cock bump the back of your throat when your nose touches his pelvis. you linger swallowing around him.

“fuck fuck fuck,” he groans, using your hair to pull you away. releasing his cock with spit dripping out of your mouth onto his pants. his chest heaves your hand lazily pumping his length. you wipe your mouth before sitting back up. you wiggle forward on him sitting so your cunt presses against his member.

“do you have condoms,” you turn rummaging in the glove box.

“maybe,” he mumbles, watching the way the head of his cock disappears between your folds.

“bro,” you lift a pair of your panties from the box.

“oh yeah you left those,” he says nonchalantly, holding your hips dragging you over his cock. rolling your eyes, continuing to look, attempting to ignore the hardness bumping your sensitive clit, searching for a foil packet but only finding ketchup.

“can we just do it raw?” you side eye him contemplating. “i’ll pull out.”

“it’s gonna be messy.” you sigh, shutting the compartment.

“you like it that way,” his eyes are staring between you. you're grinding on him without his help so he moves his hand to spread your pussy watching the slick coat his member. a mischievous look on his face when he tugs at the ripped tights opening them more.

“hey,” you shriek, slapping his hand. he doesn’t flinch, hands laying across your thighs as he moves his thumb to lift the head of his cock against your clit, groaning at the pressure. you keep your pace hips rocking back and forth. you grip the hem of his shirt pushing it up on his chest.

“shit,” he whimpers, precum pumping from the slit as he grabs your hips to stop you.

“up,” you lift yourself shimmying forward. he holds himself guiding to your entrance and lifting his own hips while you slide down. you groan in unison when you sit fully. you don’t move for a second savoring the fill of his cock. but his impatient hips jump, jostling you over him, making you double over.

“fuck,” you whimper leaning over him hands under his shirt, your hair falling in his face. you push against him, nails digging into his skin and start riding him. ass slapping against his grey sweatpants any sound muted by the fabric. the head of his cock bumping your sweet spot with every bounce.

he reaches around gripping your ass using what’s left of your tights to move you up and down faster, deeper. moans fill the car along with ripping fabric beside the building steam.

“so deep,” you whine. he leans up, hips meeting yours, face now only centimeters away. you shriek when his hand slaps against your ass.

“like it when i hit you down there,” he repeats your stupid comment from earlier has him hitting your skin again. he grips your tights pulling you up and down on him.

“i meant,” you lean away pushing on his chest for leverage with one hand the other going to your clit. “here.” you wince slapping softly over your sensitive bud.

“let me try again,” his hair falls in his face and he leans into you. his mouth latching onto your nipple and slapping your clit harshly. you shake overwhelmed by the suction on your chest, repeated hits to your g-spot, and slick fingers thrumming your clit.

“there?” he asks, releasing your nipple while still tonguing the bud. you nod furiously, tears building in your eyes overwhelmed.

“aww don’t cry little doll,” he teases using his teeth to pull the other side of your top down before sucking the nipple into his mouth.

“so much,” you whimper, hands threading in his hair roughly.

“thought that was how you hated me?” his breath is so hot like the tears you feel on your cheeks. he continues pounding into you, hips driving deeper with each thrust.

“yeah,” you can’t form a thought just his hands, and his tongue, and his fingers, and his cock, his dick, him, him, him.

“cat got your tongue,” tugging your bottom lip. you mumble nothing but everything at the same time feeling yourself come undone slowly but all at once. whining again when his tongue laps at your nipple. his fingers swirl quickly on your clit.

“s’ full,” you moan. he slaps your clit again making you shake clenching tightly around him.

“oppa’s cock to much for you?” you shake you head, core tightening as your release approaches faster and faster.

“want it,” you whine, nodding mouth opened spit dribbling down your chin, cock drunk.

“gonna cum because you hate me again?” he grins up at you. you squeeze around him in response, hearing him hiss. speeding up his finger on your clit sending you over the edge.

“oppa,” you whimper, arching into his hold as you cum. hot pleasure fills your body as your hips jerk. pussy pulsing around him but he doesn’t slow down continuously bumping your sweet spot over and over.

“let it out for your oppa,” cooing, he feels the puddle growing on his pants. the pads of his fingers don’t stop causing your release to spray over his lower half.

“oh my god,” you whimper leaning into his shoulder. hips shuddering as he still moves in you.

“you’re so tight,” your cunt still squeezing around him as he slows. heavy breathing into his neck while you come down he slowly ruts into you. finally pulling back looking at the mess you made on him.

“sorry,” you whimper, overstimulated from the fullness.

“it’s fucking hot,” he replies as you push him back to the seat. he looks pretty brown eyes blown wide and staring up at you, his hair sticking to his forehead. you’re determined to have him fill you up. suddenly needy for his hot cum in you. your fingers move the hem of his shirt farther up, pads brushing his nipples making him shiver.

“what are you doing?” you start moving your hips again, swiveling them.

“what does it look like?” you deadpan fingers pinching his nubs. he whines head tipping back with closed eyes.

“cum in me.” you whisper against his stomach. tongue flicking over his sticky skin as you bounce on him. he peers down at you watching you slither up his chest before tonguing his nipple.

“fuck,” he whimpers biting his lip. his hands holding your hips start to pull you up and down on him. quivering from sensitivity with each drag of his cock.

“nuhuh,” you move your hands to stop his. “let me.” you lift your ass up before slapping back down the squelch and slap of skin fills the car. your hands hold his wrists hovering over your skin, but he reaches for you needily.

“wanna fuck you.” you whine flicking his nipple with your tongue. “make you cum.” pausing licking up his chest to his collarbone. “fill me up, oppa,” you whisper into his ear.

he’s keening at every word and every squeeze of your tight cunt around him. pulling back, releasing his hands, using yours to press l against the steamy window for leverage and the other finding your clit.

“feels so good, oppa,” you whine when his cock hits your sweet spot again. he finally moves his hands using his thumbs to spread your pussy watching the sticky connection as his cock disappears in you.

“fuck i’m gonna cum,” he groans as you pull him closer to the edge.

“cum for me oppa,” you whimper fingers circling your clit and nipple.

“love it when oppa fills up my cunt,” hips fucking into you and his head falls back as he pumps hot seed into you with a moan. you keep moving your hips, milking his cock. letting the tip abuse your insides trying to cum again.

“unhuh,” you whine, overstimulating him as his cum starts to slip out of you. it sticks to your inner thighs, strings connecting you.

“shit, stop, fuck,” he grabs your hips stopping your movements.

“i’m so close though,” you whine, fingers still padding against your clit. he pulls you off of him with a groan, cock lazily slapping onto his pelvis. you move your fingers fucking two into your puffy pussy but it’s not enough it never is.

“help me,” you whine and he adds a finger beside yours fucking into your cunt pumping his load back into you. you bounce down meeting creamy digits as he curls them.

“let me show you,” he coos using his finger to push the tips of your own into you making you moan instantly.

“it’s gonna,” you moan out, gripping his wrist. “come out.”

“what happened to that tight little cunt? did oppa fuck you loose?” you whimper and he adds a second finger watching your hole swallow four fingers with ease. the pads of his fingers helping you curl yours, pressing just right. you feel so close just a little more you think rubbing your clit faster and harder.

“fuck i’m,” your hips start to shake. “i’m.” you can’t finish, crying out.

“one more time, for your oppa,” he directs more than asks.

you garble out curses as you cum. squirting onto your hands and his spent cock. your wrist slowing but he keeps going coaxing the streams out of you. you can’t think of anything, your body buzzing and shivering with waves of pleasure. it feels like it’s never going to end each bump of your own fingers inside you makes you spill more.

“no more, can’t,” you mumble, grabbing for him. mind numb and cunt pulsing out small dribbles.

“so greedy,” he tells you, pulling out with you, one final spurt hitting his dick. you lay your hand on his thigh but he slaps your cunt making you cry. his sticky fingers rubbing against you slowly. he feels what’s left of his cum start to pool on his fingers, mixing with all you gave him.

cupping his fingers he scoops it from you making you quiver again. before he can move his hands you grab his wrist pulling his fingers to your mouth slurping the mixture onto your tongue.

“fuck,” he hisses, watching you diligently sucking every drop from him. “so fucking nasty.”

sitting back on his thighs with a huff looking down to inspect the damage. his pants are practically dark grey now and his shirt even has damp spots. your fingers spread your lips so you can peak at your pussy, wet and swollen still slightly pulsing.

“i gotta put some towels or something in here. this is like the fourth time.” you giggle pushing your hair out of your face.

“sorry,” you puff.

“next time i'm just going to open the door and let you make a mess on the pavement.” you roll your eyes but the thought of him holding you up for anyone to watch while you squirt makes you tingle.

“you're so freaky. don’t tell me you want me to,” he reads your mind.

“shut up,” you push him away.

“next time i’ll just bend you over the hood.” you whine legs squeezing his. your both still catching your breath the air in the car hot and muggy. you groan as you slide from his lap into your seat.

“i’m going to have to get her detailed again.” he mutters looking between your legs where the slick rubs on his seat.

“sorry,” you grin. he looks around to see if anyone is outside but it’s empty. he always parks far away from the entrance, behind the permanently closed pool. it’s rare that anyone pulls up near you. he tucks himself in his ruined sweats lifting his hips to pull them up before opening the door. the rush of cool air hits you, making you close your legs quickly.

haechan rummages in the trunk, he did keep towels and a change of clothes. after the first time you made a mess he secretly stockpiled items for you. a sweater here, some pants there, a duplicate of your favorite blanket.

he pulls out one of his sweatshirts, tugging his own shirt off, tossing it in a small basket he put back there. he shivered pulling the clean one on quickly. he grabbed two towels before walking back to the door handing you one.

“i thought you didn’t keep towels in here?” you question grabbing the towel and shifting it under you.

“i’m not known for telling the truth.” he wipes over his seat cleaning up the mess. he walks back to the trunk as you lean your head against the seat, sighing.

he puts the towel on top of his shirt, grabbing wipes and two pairs of sweatpants he closes the trunk with an elbow.

“here,” his voice makes you open your eyes. he’s holding wipes up and you grab them. pulling them out you wipe over his seat, he’s standing outside swiftly pulling off his pants. you look up his ass in your face and you can’t resist slapping it.

“b word,” he shrieks, turning to you, almost falling, he hopes on one leg, tugging the pants over his shoes. his refusal to call you a bitch makes you laugh. he’s so tender.

“hey you can only call me that during sex,” you scold.

“that seems like the last place i should call you that,” he points out, stepping into the sweats.

“but i like it,” you pout, closing the wipes watching him jump into his pants.

“because you,” leaning in before tapping a finger on your nose. “are a freak.” you bite at his finger but he pulls away too quickly grabbing something off the roof.

“here,” he holds your own pants to you.

“i’ve been looking for these,” you groan, ripping them from his hands. “how long have you had these?” he shrugs getting back into his seat. not bothering with your tights you slip your skirt down letting it pool on the floorboard. he sits his seat back up starting the car again and blasting the heat. you pull the pants over your legs enjoying the soft warm fabric.

“why do you have my pants,” you prod poking his side.

“in case you needed them,” he states plainly.

“awww you’re so sweet,” you pinch his cheek. “do you like me or something?”

“gross,” he blurts, side eyeing you. “do you want me to drop you at your place?”

“please,” you respond, scrolling on your phone. the car is quiet except for the heat blowing through the vents. “thanks for picking me up by the way, and the ice cream.”

“no worries,” he mumbles, turning the wheel.

“do you have more of my clothes?” you open the glove box pulling your panties out.

“just some leggings and shit in the trunk,” he tells you casually.

“why are you stealing from me,” you sigh, making him chuckle.

“i’ll just get pee pads instead. is that better?”

“god that’s weird. i never do that with anyone else,” you admit.

“wait what?” he stops at a light, looking at you grinning.

“i mean i’ve come close but never like,” you pause motioning, “that. the first time was with you.” you see his ego growing beneath his skin already regretting what you said.

“you’re saying only my dick, my fingers, my tongue can get you like that,” he’s smiling to himself and it’s so annoying you want to slap him and kiss him. you shake your head, getting the last thought out of your head.

“don’t get a big head or anything. i shouldn’t have said it.” you roll your eyes picking at fuzz on your pants.

“if it helps you’re the only one who can make me cum by just playing with my nipples.”

“i’m sure you can do that all by yourself.”

“i’ve tried.” he says flatly.

“you’re too impatient. you just want to nut as fast as possible when you’re alone.”

“well duh why would i want to drag it out if i’m alone and not playing with you. i don’t even jerk off that much anymore, i just edge myself for you.” you dwell on what he said. he makes it sound like you’re the only one he’s hooking up with.

“you don’t edge yourself for-“

“no.” he interrupts you before you can start listing people. “i don’t hook up with anyone else.”

“what?”

“i don’t hook up with anyone else.” he repeats.

“i dunno, that’s a little too intimate, haechan,” you tease, trying to seem like you don’t care. part of you wants to think about what it actually means and another part wants to ignore him and be oblivious.

“is it? i like being intimate with you,” he meets your eyes quickly, fingers crawling up your leg.

“that sounds so serious,” you breathe deeply.

“don’t tell me you didn’t like that?” recalling how you felt less than 15 minutes ago. squeezing your legs together and your eyes closed. “i know you. you hate that i do, but i know how i make you feel. i’m confident in that.”

you stay quiet the only sound coming from the heat and wheels on pavement. his hand still rests on your thigh, fingers softly thrumming. you don’t really have an answer or any witty remark. he’s right. he does know your body better than anyone you have ever been with. you hate to admit he knows you better too. reading your mind with ease and his humor is just as dirty and weird. deep down you know how you feel for him but you can’t, it breaks the unspoken rule between you too.

“why do you have to be so,” you groan, his hand smooths over your leg.

“i think you know how i feel about you,” he mutters, turning onto you street.

“huh,” you heard him.

“we’re here,” he pulls up beside your apartment.

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing your bag and shoving your panties in. opening the door and haechan rolls the window down as you slam the door.

“don’t forget,” he holds your skirt up and you grab it from him.

“thanks.”

“good night.”

“good night, and just so you know, i don’t know how you feel about me.” you tell him, pulling back before turning to walk to your door. you want to look back and see his face but you get your keys out and turn them in the lock.

he sits watching you turn the door knob and disappear into your house. he sighs, eyes closing and leaning his head back rubbing his eyes with his palms.

[meowdei]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[morganbritton132]

This little idea (or this one) hasn’t left me yet so suffer through more of my ramblings.

Look, Eddie was gonna stay away from Steve.

He watched Steve swipe Billy’s keys off a table at lunch and then chuck them into the woods behind the school last week, and decided that he wants no part of that.

If King Steve is testing out teen rebellion, that’s fine but Eddie is eighteen and he doesn’t have rich boy money to bail him out when shit hits the fan. So…

He keeps his distance. He goes to class. He misses three days of school because he’s got laryngitis again. Now he’s sitting in a booth at the diner, miserably eating ice cream and watching Steve Harrington stroll in.

Steve didn’t have to sit with him. The diner was practically empty because it was 10:30AM on a Tuesday when everybody else is at school. So, no. Steve didn’t have to slide in across from him.

“I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Steve says like Eddie was weird for thinking he might. “Got my car back. You sound awful, by the way.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything else because his throat is on fire, but Steve talks. He talks largely about nothing but in that way that you do when you haven’t talked to anybody in a long time which makes no sense. Steve is popular.

Eddie kinda spaces out because he doesn’t care about baseball, but his attention snaps back into focus ten minutes later when a hand clamps down on Steve’s shoulder. Steve is too casual, “Hey, Hop.”

“How’d the appointment go?” Hopper asks in a voice that sounds like it’s physically being restrained. “The MRI, right? Everything come back clear?”

“Clear as crystal, Chief,” Steve replies. “Got the uh, the A-Okay. Back to normal.”

“Uh-huh,” Hopper nods and then yanks Steve up by his shirt. “Then why’d Owens say you were a no show?”

Steve sputters. This is the first time Eddie’s ever seen him lost for words, but it doesn’t last as Steve scoffs, “That’s like a health code violation!”

He doesn’t get to say much else because Hopper pulls him out of the building. Eddie watches them argue in the parking lot and then pays his bill.

He’s leaving when Hopper marches back into the building but is luckily spared a glance from the chief. He’s not sure if Hopper even noticed him sitting there and he is fine with that.

What Eddie should do is get in his van and go home, but instead, he finds himself walking towards where Steve is waiting next to Hopper’s truck. As he gets closer, he sees that Steve is less waiting and more handcuffed to the side mirror so he can’t leave.

Steve rolls his eyes about the whole thing when he notices Eddie and then offers him a cig from the pack he stole out of the truck’s open window. Eddie shakes his head so Steve pockets the pack before asking, “You can pick a lock, right? I’ve seen you do it before.”

Eddie almost asks ‘when?’ but just sighs instead because…yes. He can.

Hopper returns to his truck five minutes later with coffee to an open handcuff dangling from his mirror. No kid in sight.

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Oikawa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 1)

You help out an injured crow. It seems to be a bit of a strange crow, though.

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, still linkon city but mc is not a hunter, basically an alternate universe, minor character deaths, mc has a distinct backstory and personality, slow burn, hurt/comfort, you’re lowkey a disney princess witch character who attracts crows 🐦‍⬛✨💅

314.27.

You exhale slowly. Barely enough to cover food for the next two weeks, until your next paycheck. That nasty cold last week really gutted this month’s budget.

With a heavy heart, you retrieve your card from the ATM and start your usual trek toward the city park, stopping by the familiar food cart that sells peanuts at a good price. (Yes, a questionable purchase, considering your financial situation. No, you will not acknowledge said questionable purchase.)

Linkon City in mid-December is bone-chillingly cold, blanketed in powdery snow—but that’s never stopped you from your daily visit to the park. The freezing temperatures tend to drive most people away, leaving the usually lively space quiet. You, however, can’t resist coming to see your friends.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Speak of the devil. Well, devils.

A giddy smile tugs at your lips, and the exhaustion from the day evaporates.

“Hi!” you call out to the murder of crows circling above. Their midnight feathers gleam against the brilliant pink, orange, and purple hues of the winter sunset. You reach into the inside pocket of your weathered but ever-loyal overcoat and grab a handful of peanuts, tossing them onto the snow-free patches of ground.

The crows descend immediately, squabbling as they pick at the treats.

Moving carefully so you don’t spook them, you settle onto a nearby bench. A few of the bolder ones flutter down to join you, perching on the bench as their beady eyes lock on your face. Beaks held high, they wait expectantly, clearly hoping for more. You huff a soft laugh and oblige, tossing another handful.

Your peculiar friendship with these crows began a few years ago. The day of your family’s funeral.

A drunk twenty-year-old behind the wheel of his rich businessman father’s SUV, barreling down the highway at four times the speed limit. Your mother, father, and younger brother, on their way to your college graduation. A tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

You don’t remember much after that. Everything that followed was all a blur. The driver didn’t really face any consequences, thanks to their family’s influence. Their lawyer presented you with a pitiful settlement offer (or, in hindsight, maybe you were more or less threatened into accepting it). Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness at the time, or the suspicion that your lawyer might have been paid off by the driver’s family, but you ended up agreeing to settle.

It didn’t matter anyway. Your family was dead.

The funeral was a simple event. Some extended family came to offer their support and condolences. Once the day ended and everyone went home, however, you were left alone in your family’s house.

You don’t remember much, but you do remember standing in the middle of your living room, a growing tightness in your chest slowly overtaking you, as if your heart was being squeezed from the inside. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Somehow, you ended up bolting out the door—leaving it wide open behind you—and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but you eventually found yourself here, at this very park, sitting on this very bench.

A single crow had perched nearby, watching you silently. Your hand brushed against your coat pocket, and you found some leftover peanut shells from the funeral’s snack offerings. You absentmindedly tossed them toward the crow, and it hopped down to peck at them. There was something oddly comforting in the way it ate, its sharp black eyes darting back toward you as if to say thank you.

The next day, you returned. One crow turned into three, then six. Slowly, more joined, until it seemed like the entire murder looked forward to your daily visits and peanut offerings.

A sudden, loud thump behind you pulls you from your thoughts. You instinctively turn toward the sound, only to find… nothing. Frowning, you scan the area, glancing left and right, until your eyes land on a crow lying on the ground directly behind your bench.

You gasp and quickly stand, rushing over to it.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, crouching down and scanning it for signs of injury. It looks like it fell straight out of the sky.

The crow caws at you—loudly. Unlike the murder behind you, its caw is sharper, more jarring. It grates against your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Its eyes seem to gleam red when the light catches them at certain angles, similar to how a cat’s eyes flash in the dark.

Then your gaze drops to its left wing, which is bent unnaturally.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you murmur, leaning closer to examine it. The injury doesn’t look like a typical fracture. The way the wing bends reminds you more of a mechanical part with a screw loose than a broken bone.

It caws again, louder this time, as if trying to get your attention.

You glance up at the sky and realize it’s grown darker. Heavy clouds swirl above, signaling an impending snowfall. Behind you, the other crows begin to disperse, their farewell squawks echoing as they take flight.

Looking back down at the injured crow, you watch as it tries to take off, only to crash back onto the ground with its unusable wing.

“Um, would you like to stay with me until your wing feels better?” you ask hesitantly.

The crow tilts its head to the side, almost as if it understands you. You miss the subtle garnet glow in its eyes as you carefully scoop it into your arms, cradling it gently to avoid jostling its injured wing.

“I’ll help you out until you’re better,” you say softly, already walking toward home. “I don’t have much, but you can have the rest of the peanuts I bought earlier.”

The crow doesn’t resist, settling into your arms. Its body relaxes against you, and you tighten your hold to shield it from the cold winter air.

You know your groceries won’t stretch far for the rest of the month, but your conscience won’t let you leave an injured animal out in the snow. Hugging the crow a little closer, you feel a small smile tug at your lips when it starts to coo softly.

You don’t notice the faint whirring sound beneath its gentle cooing, like the hum of tiny mechanical gears.

note: not sure where I’m headed with this tbh, but it’s kinda like an alternate universe of the game’s main story. still set in linkon and the concept of evols still exist, but mc is basically an average citizen. (lowkey gonna treat this whole thing as a massive projection of recent irl feelings teehee.) we’ll see how this goes!

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[emilys-bangs]

take a seat | e.p

Tags: lap sitting (sometimes in inconvenient places), bau!reader, emily’s man-spreading, reader is insecure about their weight, multiple concerns about being too heavy, too many mentions of emily’s thighs, brief mention of nail picking, there’s a bar scene but it’s not mentioned whether or not reader drinks, a gross man as a plot device, getting together, personal space does not exist in this fic, the last part skips to uc emily (rated t? it’s a bit spicy idk), the usual use of petnames

Summary: Circumstances happen. Sometimes, the solution is to make yourself comfortable on your dizzyingly attractive coworker’s lap. She holds your hips, you hold your breath. Or, 5 times Emily’s lap makes for a good seat. Requested here.

Word count: 6.5k (woah!!) (this says nothing about me)

A/N: it’s not mentioned which seasons this takes place in but I imagined season six emily because…yeah…..yall already know. However the last part does skip to uc emily (and married reader and emily yey :3). Clearly I went wild with this fic lol. I hope you like it <3

1.

You’re the last of your teammates out the door of the precinct. 

Just as you were following Morgan to the car, you realized you’d forgotten your phone—which was lying on the bathroom counter, forgotten in your haste to finish up before everyone left—and circled back in for it. It took a bit to find, your head cloudy with exhaustion after four consecutive days of working on the case. You slide it into your pocket now and briskly cross the parking lot to the open door of the SUV, starting when you find Emily already seated at the edge. Reid sits beside her, trapped by Morgan on his other side.

You blink at the three agents already stuffed in the backseat. JJ took the other SUV to drive a shaken victim home, and most of the precinct’s officers have already retired for the night. Only a few other cars loiter in the lot, the lights in the building dimming fast, throwing the night in more shadows. You quickly do the math and cringe at the solution.

You’re a grown adult. You hardly weigh a feather. Reid would probably snap under your weight, Morgan’s slight smirk already hints at the teasing you’re in for if you sat on his lap, and Emily…

Sitting on Emily’s lap is the last thing you should be doing right now. Just the flick of your eyes towards her spread thighs makes you fluster, swallowing hard at the way her left knee encroaches onto Reid’s space and forces both of his neatly together in front of the center console. Heat gathers on your neck, intensifying with the force of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Reid should get up.” You blurt before anyone says anything.

“What? No—I’m already seated, why should I get up?” His voice goes high pitched, his bottom lip jutting out in a sulk.

“Because.” You press your lips together, waiting for someone to back you up. They don’t. Traitors. “You’re a stick figure, honey. I’m—”

“You can sit on my lap,” Emily offers.

Oh, hell no.

“What?”

“She won’t bite, cupcake.” Morgan drawls, grinning when Emily shoots him a glare. “But you’re plenty welcome to sit on my lap, if you’d prefer. I know Prentiss here can get a little intense.”

Her jaw ticks.

“Come on, Y/N.” Emily isn’t harsh, but she’s not exactly patient, either. “It’s just for a few minutes.” Her eyes flick up to Hotch in the driver’s seat. Yours do, too, but your boss says nothing about the probable—no, definite—laws you’ll be breaking by finding yourself a seat atop one of your coworker’s thighs. So you do it.

“Is nobody concerned about breaking the law here?” You ask, but the attempt is half hearted. Everyone’s exhausted, and the outside chill is starting to creep in through your thin shirt.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Rossi says easily. “And we just placed a serial murderer in custody. I think the sheriff will let us off the hook for an unlawful ride back to our motel—for some much needed rest, might I add.”

Hotch turns to look at you. “I could drop them off and come back for you.” He offers.

“What? No, that’s—it’s fine. Fine. Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head. It’s fine. The motel is hardly 15 minutes away. You can survive that long, surely you can. Looking at Emily, you try not to let it show how nervous you are—if you do, she’d back off, steadfastly refuse to sit you on top of her, and probably get out herself and demand from Hotch that he come back for her later. Which is really more trouble than all this deserves.

Fine. You’ll sit on her stupid lap.

“Don’t blame me if your legs go numb.” You mumble as you climb into the car, feeling your voice tremble in the back of your throat.

“Give me a little credit,” Emily says dryly. Her hands settle on your waist, lightly steadying you as you close the door. It shuts with a loud thud, and you gingerly settle yourself on her thighs. Her knees, really. She’s closed them to give you more space—space you don’t use as you lean forward and hold on to the back of Rossi’s headrest. You all but hover above her lap, holding most of your weight up and leaning into the seat ahead of you. 

It hardly takes a minute before your thighs start to tremble with the exertion. Emily’s hands leave your waist; they leave behind a strange mix of hot and cold under your clothes. The absence of their weight is infuriatingly disappointing. 

Hotch glances at you in the rear view mirror. “All good back there?”

“All good, boss,” Emily replies.

He drives off. You grip the headrest tighter as the car lurches onto the road, the low speed knocking you off balance.

Shit.

Emily’s hands return to your waist. Her fingers dig into your sides, gripping firmly through your clothes. You swallow, hands going clammy even before she leans in, her chest just brushing your back.

“You can sit.” She says into your ear, the whisper of her voice so low it’s almost elusive. “I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.”

Something tickles your neck. You think it could be her hair. “I’m not exactly light as a feather.” You mumble haltingly, the particles of her fading perfume swimming in your lungs.

“And I’m not Reid,” Emily shoots back a little too loud.

“What?” Reid asks meekly.

You both ignore him. When the car drives over a bump in the road, you teeter. 

Emily’s hands grip you tighter. She exhales a low, frustrated breath; it skims the skin of your neck, teasing the fine hairs at your nape to stand on edge. 

“Careful, Hotch,” she mutters, fingers flexing on your hips.

The car slows. Everything is starting to cramp—your fingers around the headrest, your thighs trembling with your own weight, the heels of your feet digging into the floor between Emily’s. Outside the window, the precinct is still in view.

This is ridiculous.

You inhale a quiet breath. You’ll move back when you let it go, you decide. Holding it for a beat—two, three—you let it inflate your chest before exhaling and slowly easing yourself back onto Emily’s thighs. Inching back as if she won’t notice, gingerly letting your weight drop on her lap the more you scoot further into her. Your back finds the rounded softness of her chest. The curve of her knees nestle under yours. 

You bite your lip, bracing yourself for her to push you back up to her knees—or hell, even throw you at Reid—but all she does is tug you up further into her. She squeezes once, lightly, clearly satisfied. You relax a fraction as her hands leave your waist and loop around your hips instead, a makeshift seat belt to keep you against her chest.

“This okay?” She whispers, a hand pressing against your ribs. You’re not sure if you imagined the shake of her voice or not.

You nod silently.

Muscles tense, back ramrod straight, you try to breathe in slowly and hope that Emily’s fingertips don’t catch the edge of your racing heart. They dig in lightly, much looser than the firm arm anchoring your hips to hers. You can feel the heat pooling between your bodies—doubling, spreading, scorching. 

You’re used to Emily touching you. But not like this. She squeezes your elbows, shoulders, gently nudges the small of your back and lets her fingers linger when she adjusts something for you—your vest, hair, swiping invisible lint off of your clothes. You like those touches, you seek after them and glow warmly from the inside when you earn them oh so easily. But this? Oh, this could just kill you.

“Relax.” She says quietly. You fight hard against the urge to squirm at the warm fog of her breath on your neck, a small squeeze to your waist going unnoticed. “We’re almost there.” The rumble of her voice vibrates through her chest and into yours. 

The car tilts. Or maybe it drives over a pothole.

Either way, you’re dizzy.

Blood rushes hot under your skin. You bite your tongue, refraining from snapping at Hotch to hurry the fuck up when a deep inhale from Emily jostles your chest as well. 

It’s a small miracle that you get out of the car without stumbling, knees weak and legs boneless. The cold air slaps your cheeks and gives you reprieve from the heat burning them. You don’t get a good look at Emily until you’re in the elevator, trapped between her and the wall; the moment your eyes fall on her, her gaze snaps up. 

The corner of her mouth curls imperceptibly. She wets her bottom lip, dragging it into her mouth with a shine of teeth, the shadow of a dimple flashing, there and gone in an instant. 

Her cheeks are pink.

Oh, heaven help you.

2.

Your whole body feels like it’s been rammed by a truck. Your feet throb in your shoes, your shoulders ache, and your lower back is finally getting back at you for the way you’d outrageously slouched for the large majority of the three hour car ride. Two agents, a few hundred miles—hardly worth a whole jet for their comfort, right? Sometimes you think the BAU has you spoiled.

But then again, here you are, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, leaning against the front desk of a dilapidated motel lobby because for some reason—in spite of the laughably low demand—yours and Emily’s rooms still aren’t ready yet. The scrawny guy at the front desk had looked at you confusedly, scratching his chin and mumbling, that’s tonight? much to your dismay. You hadn’t been hoping for a five star service, but the least you can ask for is a ready room by the end of the night.

He’d scampered off—presumably to get the rooms ready, but it’s been ten minutes and he’s not back yet which leads you to think he’s maybe avoiding the disgruntled glare you’re throwing at the wall. It’s not like you can help it at this point. Your hip aches where you lean it against the vacant desk, and every so often you enviously eye the lone chair that Emily occupies in the narrow stretch of space so generously called a lobby.

And that’s a whole other thing, because you’re trying hard not to stare. 

Emily’s bag rests in the wide open space between her spread legs. Her hands are on her thighs, fiddling with the creases in her slacks like she always does, idle, her head lazily tipped back against the wall but her eyes still razor sharp. 

You wish she would just close her damn legs. Every time your eyes fall on them, unabashedly staring at the flex of her thighs when she restlessly shakes them out, you’re reminded again of the car. The overwhelming heat of her body, the strength of her hands on your hips—protective.

It does nothing to help your massive, debilitating crush on her. Not when you now fluster every time you see her sit on a damn chair, gaze wandering to her thighs and the way they held you up, the smooth scent of her perfume settling down in your gut with each inhale. Talking to her is even worse. Somehow, the line has blurred more. You have no idea where you stand, what you are, or how you’re expected to behave. You’ve always been an overthinker, but this is bursting your head.

Safe to say, work has been hard lately. Especially with Emily’s amplified flirting. At least, that’s what you think it is. You can’t figure her out sometimes (most of the time) when her lips stretch into a smooth curve, eyes going sparkly with playfulness and words dripping charm you can’t tell is manufactured just for you or is mass distributed to everyone in bulk.

You snap out of your head when Emily lifts her head, arms crossing over her chest. Drawn to the movement, your eyes meet hers.

“You’re sulking.” She notices.

Her calm tone grates on you. “I’m tired.” You snap. “I’ve been on my feet for half the day.” And you’re hogging the only seat. But you’re mindful enough to hold your tongue on that one. She’s hardly the reason you’re in this mess.

But she is making it harder to deal with—in several aspects.

“I’m pretty comfortable if you want to sit on me.”

You blink at her, irritation wavering.

Her eyes go the slightest bit wide. Lashes blending into bangs, a deer in headlights look there and gone in a flash. The inside of her cheek moves with what you think could be a bite as her mouth opens, brows delicately drawing together. “I mean…” She begins then trails off, her usual silver tongue failing her.

You feel your mood lighten. Emily’s cheeks tint a faint red and you press your lips against a smile, trying to ignore your body’s reaction to her words. Because you know damn well how comfortable she is.

“How forward of you. Or you could get up,” you suggest, halfway torn between laughing and bursting into a ball of flame.

Where’s the stupid reception guy?

Emily’s chivalry fails her. “I’m not getting up, I’m tired, too.” She protests, bringing her knees together. Your eyes drop to them. “I’ve been in heels all day.”

Your lips purse in displeasure.

It only takes a few quiet beats before Emily sighs, bending down to reach for her bag. “Okay, fine.”

Your eyes widen when you see what she’s doing. Immediately, you back down. 

“Hey, no, don’t. It’s okay, I was just complaining—”

She gives you a docile smile. “I don’t mind, babe. I’ve been sitting for a while—”

“Emily, don’t you dare get up—”

She ignores you. Before she fully stands, you walk over to the chair and sit down, forcing her thighs back on the seat. 

Emily lets out a quiet huff; the flimsy chair almost knocks backward from your sudden assault, teetering on its back legs. She steadies it and grips your hip, long lashes fluttering up at you as her thumb digs in under the hem of your blazer.

Oh, god, what have you done?

The corners of her lips twitch, messing with the pattern of your already unsteady pulse. “See?” She says, her voice strangely high pitched, “Now we’re both sitting.”

Your arm is just shy of her chest. When Emily inhales a little too deep, the buttons of her shirt press against your bicep—a short kiss, then gone. 

You’re still numb with your own stupidity. Only your eyes do any good, scanning her face and watching as the blush deepens on her cheeks, fair skin blooming red in real time with the fast pace of your heart.

You move to slide off her lap. Emily holds you in place. “What, am I that bad of a seat?” She murmurs, her arm lightly circling both your thighs. If you weren’t so focused on trying to control the heat in your face, you would have lingered on the strange tremble of her voice.

You ignore how heavenly it feels to sit down. You also ignore the way the tips of her fingers rest on the crest of your ass.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.” You say, horrified and unsurprised to find your voice choked.

Emily shakes her head, mussed bangs slipping from their place. “You’re not, promise. Besides, it’s—uh, it’s not our first rodeo.” Her brows raise, a small arch. 

You flick your eyes away, overwhelmed by the small distance between your faces.

Her hands loosen their grip. “But if it’s—if you’re uncomfortable, I mean—”

“I’m not.” You say quickly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Her hands disappear from your body. You try not to make it obvious you’re staring—or disappointed—as she hooks one arm over the back of the chair, her nail notching on the tattered skin of her thumb. She peels away at her cuticle, repetitively picking at the skin as she watches the open doorway of the lobby. Her nail digs in, twists, and draws blood.

“Stop.” You take her hand unthinkingly, wincing at the sight of her nails. Emily’s eyes are hot on your face. “Doesn’t that hurt?” You ask, your thumbs gently holding either side of her wrist.

“It’s an easy pain.” Her voice is breathless. “Manageable, I guess,” she shrugs, her eyes darting away.

You frown. Her cuticles really are a gnarly sight—uneven skin and jagged nails and blood on her thumb. 

Emily’s hand twitches in your loose grip. You look up, she looks away again, swallowing as her eyes return to the door. A visible pulse beats in her throat; the line of her jaw is sharp. 

Her leg starts jolting. You jolt with it.

“Emily—”

“Uhh, your guys’ room is ready.” The receptionist says as he walks into the lobby. He briefly stares at the largely inappropriate sight in front of him. You stand quickly, fixing your clothes.

“Room?” You echo.

“We only have one available.” He says bluntly.

Your eyes meet Emily’s. Any retort you expect from her dissolves into silence, the both of you staring at each other with similarly wide eyes, hot cheeks.

Well, shit.

3.

When you see the guy from the corner of your eye, you tense. He’s almost concealed in the shadows frothing at the corner of the bar’s walls, waiting just beyond the bathroom you came out of. You quietly curse and dodge through a group of giggly women in hopes of losing him. 

He’d been practically glued to you at the bar, sidling up to your side with lecherous eyes and overwhelming cologne, both of which left a sour taste on your tongue as you ignored him from behind your shoulder and placed the team’s orders. When JJ came over to help you with the drinks, he stayed behind, but the heat of his eyes followed you all the way back to the table, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. You saw him while dancing—lurking at the edge of the floor, inching closer until you hid behind the broad line of Morgan’s shoulder. Now he’s materialized on your way to the bathroom, and still he’s on your tail. You could deal with him, you know that—and your friends would be more than happy to—but it’s not worth causing a scene over.

At the table it’s just Reid and Emily. Hotch and Rossi are both long gone, and everyone else is busy dancing as Reid rambles over a bowl of forgotten chips, mouth moving rapidly, hands gesturing wildly in excitement. Emily nods along and pops nuts in her mouth with smooth flicks of her wrist. Her hair is fluffed from her earlier dancing, skin gleaming under the lights. You see her, knees spread, arm hooked over the back of the booth, and it sparks your brain.

“Emily!” You gush, slipping into the area between the table and her body and promptly dropping into her lap, both your legs slotting in the ample space between hers. 

She stiffens, her body going tense when your ass perches on her thigh. You briefly hate yourself as you press yourself into her chest, draping an arm around her shoulder and pressing the flat of your wrist to the warm, smooth curve of the nape of her neck. “Behind me,” you breathe into her ear, the dark strands of her hair rustling to skim along her exposed collarbone.

Emily instantly relaxes. Her arm slides around your waist, heavy and strong, fingertips idly skimming along your side as if she’s been doing it for years. 

“Sweetheart, what took so long?” She murmurs sweetly, the warm drawl of her voice turning your knees to mush. Her eyes meet yours and you go almost nauseous with want, dizzy at the way the bar lights outline her irises and make them gleam, dizzy at the honey-thick pet name that burns in your blood. You draw a sharp breath, stomach clenching; it trips in your lungs when her slender fingers graze your jaw, teasingly getting a feel for the hard bone nestled under your skin. “You had me worried, I was about to come looking for you.”

You can barely think. You know you’re too heavy, all your weight on one of her thighs, probably numbing it beyond belief, but you’re fixated on the way she touches you still. The searing heat of her gaze is enough of a touch all on its own. Having her look up at you, lashes so glossy they look wet, is a strange high you can’t get over.

“B-Bathrooms were full.” You stammer. You’re sure your pulse beats through your wrist and right into the back of her neck. It’s too much, all of it—her warm hands, the solid muscle of her thigh flexing as she brings it, you, in closer. Turning your head, you accidentally meet the guy’s gaze, his looming form jolting you back into reality. 

You tense on Emily’s lap. 

She feels it. Her hand leaves your jaw to grab your thigh, securing you further into her chest. The inherent protectiveness of it makes you flutter. 

“Can we help you?” Her voice sharpens as she turns too, her eyes narrowing. It’s a tone you recognize—the unforgiving edge she serves to unsubs in interrogation rooms, cold and stripped of mercy.

You almost shiver. The guy certainly does, though he tries to hide it with a stony glare.

“I’m alright,” he snipes, dragging his now disgusted gaze up and down your body. Emily’s hands tense, flexing on your hip and thigh until he finally turns with a shake of his head, sulking away to the bar.

You straighten the moment he does, inching away from Emily’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly, clambering to get off of her lap. “God, Emily, I don’t know what came over me—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice tender but her lips pressing together into a thin line. The edge of her jaw hardens. “How long has he been bothering you for?”

You grimace as you settle on the booth next to her, eyes flicking up to Reid. You’d forgotten he was there, honestly—he’d been observing in silence, and other than his concerned look he doesn’t give any other reaction.

“A bit,” you say, not really wanting to elaborate. Emily’s eyes look far too murderous right now, and, really, this was supposed to be a fun night out. The enjoyment has fizzled out like flat soda, and though you throw Emily a smile, your heart’s not in it anymore. Your head is too cloudy, stomach tangled and twisted in knots—half nervous, half lovesick. A small tremor rocks your hands. “He was just being bothersome. Really, it’s okay, Em.” Before you can think you’re leaning over, your lips finding her cheek in a quick kiss. 

You’re close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath.

When you lean back you find that her pupils are blown, her lips slightly parted. A fleeting rush of confidence brightens your smile. “Thanks for saving me.” You murmur.

Her tongue darts across her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is gritty, the smoky remnants of a bonfire. Emily clears her throat, “Yeah, anytime.”

You seem to have shocked her out of any reprimand. But you haven’t distracted her enough to stop her from splitting a cab with you and dropping you off, though your apartments are on opposite ends of the city. 

Fully composed, she drops a similar kiss on your cheek. Your keys almost tumble to the floor.

4.

It’s a strange sort of exhilarating to be allowed to brush your lips over the raven strands at Emily’s hairline. Her skin is warm, and after months of teasing, months of relentless tension, stolen glances and sly touches, here you are, red string finally pooled loose on the floor between you.

It’s a rare weeknight. Takeout has been ordered, movie switched on, and you get to experiment with things like these. Finally.

Her hair smells like coconut. You sift your fingers through it when you straighten, smiling as Emily’s arms gently hug your waist, her forehead rubbing against your torso.

“What was that for?” She asks as she tilts her chin up, the lilt of her voice curving to match her smile.

You really have no clue.

“Just because I can.” You shrug one shoulder. “I can, can’t I?”

Her eyes trap you from beneath coal-dark lashes. “Honey, you can try to set me on fire and I’ll let you.” She drawls, warm and flirty. You’re briefly caught off guard, too distracted by the velvet-smooth cadence of her voice to notice her hands skimming until they find your hips. Fingers curling down around the backs of your thighs, she tugs gently, forcing you in until your legs hit the couch.

“That seems irresponsible.” You stammer a little, flustering under her stare. She does it so openly, eyes unabashedly burning holes into your skin and flaying you open. 

You somewhat thought that confessing to her would make it easier on your heart. You now know you were dead wrong.

Emily tugs more. You all but stumble into her, bracing a hand on her shoulder to keep yourself steady. It’s not hard to know what she wants, but you play dumb anyway, a roiling pit settling in your gut.

“Emily,” you say nervously, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She indulgently squeezes the soft of your thighs. “Sit.”

“I’m good,” you blurt, tensing against her hands. “I don’t wanna bother you, plus there’s plenty of room over here”—you gesture to the couch—“your couch’s awfully comfy, I don’t know if you know—”

“You wouldn’t be bothering me,” Emily interrupts softly. “Not at all. Is something wrong?” She asks after a beat, when you’ve let the silence stretch. You chew on the inside of your cheek and shake your head, trying not to squirm away from the intensity of her gaze.

Her hands loosen on your thighs. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” She says seriously, all previous mirth gone. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I expect stuff like that from you.”

“I know,” you say, your skin itching. You fiddle with the hair that cascades down her shoulder, for some reason stuck here in front of her though she’s not holding you still. The truth is, you know how good it feels to be that close to her. To feel the strength of her beneath you, the warmth that glows in the gaps between your body and hers. There’s a certain…safety in the space between her arms. You can only imagine how it would feel when you’re both openly allowed to be affectionate with each other, all previous barriers crumbled and broken down at your feet.

Emily takes your hand and brings it to her lips. Her kiss is just a gentle press, the slightest pressure on your knuckles. “Okay,” she says softly, smiling as she pats a spot on the couch next to her. “C’mon, I want to start the movie.”

You love her for letting it go. It’s a comforting warmth under your skin, and it’s just enough for you to ignore the anxious churning in your stomach.

“I want to.” You say, voice hushed as you place the backs of your fingers along her jaw, dispelling nervous energy. “I want to be close with you like that, and it’s not…it’s not that it makes me uncomfortable—I mean, we’ve tried it before.” Your lips twist into an ironic smile.

“Then?” Emily nudges, her hands gently roving over the sides of your legs. The whisper of her too-soft tone is almost too much.

You puff out a small laugh, chest aching. “Come on, Em. I’m not exactly the lightest person in the world.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

“So, what does that have to do with anything? I’m not the lightest person in the world, either.” Her shoulders raise in a shrug, brows furrowed like you’re not making sense.

You can’t believe she’s making you spell it out. It certainly wasn’t something your previous partners were ever hesitant about, never mind the teasing tones they used in a futile attempt to soften the blow. Baby, my leg’s gone numb—with a squeeze of your waist, a condescending had any dessert today? masked by a smile, the way it pulls enough of a reason for you to clamber off with a bad taste in your mouth.

But stupid, kind Emily.

“I’m too heavy.” You say flatly.

“Not to me.” She shoots back, her palms hot on your thighs. “I can take it.”

Heat flares at her words. You gape, mouth dry, “Jesus—”

“I can.” Her voice drags into a half whine. Emily’s eyes flash, her nails digging into the fabric of your jeans. “Come on, give me a little credit here. You’ve sat on my lap before—”

“Because I had to.”

“And did I drop you? Did I complain? Honey—” She shakes her head, the drag of her tongue across her lip briefly distracting you. “Let’s get one thing clear here. You want to and I want to, right?”

You nod.

“Then all you have to do is worry about being comfortable. That’s it. I want you here.” She says clearly, enunciating every word. “You’re not too heavy, and you definitely won’t be bothering me.” Her eyes go soft, her fingers rubbing over your pulse where she’s still got your wrist clutched in her grip. “I got you. I promise.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You really don’t mind?”

“Please.” She breathes, as if she might die if you don’t. 

Your face must give, because her hands are gently nudging again. This time you don’t fight the pull, letting her help guide your knee up to the edge of the couch, then further. Emily’s other arm circles your waist and tugs down to get your hips to meet hers. You hesitate, hovering above her.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. Her smile is gentle, reassuring. You return it nervously as you settle in the rest of the way, her hands never leaving your body even after you sit with a quiet breath. It’s awkward at first; you shift to get comfortable, moving your limbs this way and that, but Emily waits patiently until you do. You finally find the right spot, your knees settling on the sides of her hips, snugly hugging her narrow waist. Your heart pounds in your ears, just about drowning out the sound of her low, almost inaudible sigh.

“Hi, gorgeous.” She beams, all but throwing the light of the sun in your eyes.

“Hi.” You lean into her hand when she cups your cheek. Her other draws patterns on your hip. “I didn’t know you wanted me to sit on your lap that badly.”

“Are you kidding?” Emily places a small, singular kiss on your closed mouth. “The thought hasn’t left my mind since you first sat on me in the car. It was so hard to keep my hands to myself.” Her voice has gone smoky, low and rumbling through your chest.

She didn’t, really. You would’ve said just that, but you don’t think you can say anything. She’s overwhelming you—totally, completely. The hand on your hip moves gently, traveling and squeezing; her fingers trace up from your jaw to your cheekbone, sometimes reaching the corner of your eye before returning to carve the same path. And just—her. The scent of her perfume and the curves of her dimples and the exposed triangle of her throat all thanks to her form-fitting shirt. Her touch, the relaxed slopes of her posture. The way she smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose into yours.

It’s not possible for her eyes to soften further, you think, but you’re proven wrong. “You’re thinking too much,” she whispers. “Don’t think.”

Her lips seal over yours, warm and sweetened with her saccharine words. She traces the seam of your mouth with her tongue, slips her hand under your shirt and palms the warm skin of your waist, aiming to distract. You hardly last before melting into her, muscles gone liquid. When she kisses you like that, you couldn’t form a thought if you tried.

5.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Emily only looks slightly guilty. She’s warm with the glow of the desk lamp washing over her, pen held between long fingers, hand stilling over yet another report. You blow out a huff as you cross the floor of her home office, trying to hold on to it and not let your lips twitch into a smile when she rolls her chair back automatically, leaving ample room for you to slot in between the desk and make yourself comfortable on her lap. Because really, there’s nothing funny about this. It’s nearing midnight. You’re sure she hasn’t left that chair in more than a few hours.

“You should be in bed.” Emily murmurs. Her hand settles warmly on your waist, her thumb tracing the slopes under your pajama shirt.

“You should be in bed.” You return none too gently.

“I will be,” she promises, dropping a kiss on your mouth, “in a minute.” 

You level her a look, knowing full well she’s lying. She’s trying to soften you up with kisses and touches, but this has happened enough times that you’re (mostly) unaffected. Emily sees the unyielding line of your lips, and she places another kiss there.

“I just want to finish this last one. It won’t take long.”

“It won’t,” you agree. “But then there’ll be the next one, and the one after that, and the one after that”—you ignore her sigh—“and that will sure as fuck take long.”

You hate how work-oriented she’s been. Emily loves her job—and you do, too, you get it—but this is more than loving. It’s obsession, perfectionism, working herself to the bone. She used to be the first one out of the office. Now she’s the one declining team drinks because she’s busy with her paperwork, the high pedestal of her looming office distancing her from everyone.

From you.

You miss your wife. You’re with her almost every day, your steps in time with hers, but it hasn’t been the same lately. The skin under her eyes is constantly dark with exhaustion, calluses hardening on the sides of her fingers from hours of continuously holding her pen, and she’s been trying to hide the strain in her neck but you feel the knots every time you cup the back of it, trying to coax her away from uncomfortable chairs and bloody files.

You shift on her lap, knees spreading to slot her waist between them. It’s become a natural move, smoothened with time. Now you bring your chest almost flush with hers, your pelvis to her hips, hands spread over her ribs—just to feel her here with you.

“You’ve been neglecting me.”

It seems a petty, selfish thing to say, but it hits home. The fight immediately leaks out of her, the skin between her brows creasing, her eyes going soft with regret.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I know I have, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

She fidgets with the pen in her right hand. Hasn’t even dropped it, you notice, relying on her left and shifts of her hips to bring you in close. You fight the urge to pull it from between her fingers and instead rub wide arcs over her torso, thumb skimming over the softly fluctuating movement of her chest. The buttons running down the center of her shirt are cool under your skin. You toy with them. 

“You don’t know when to stop.”

Nimbly, you flick open the buttons of her Henley, starting from the bottom. One after the other, as Emily’s breathing quickens and fills the silence her words had failed to. The sides of the shirt wilt open; her skin shines gold under the lampshade. You dip your head to kiss it, honey-colored and just as sweet.

“When was the last time you went to bed with me, hm?” You murmur, involuntarily smiling when her thighs flex under yours. “Just went to bed with me, and we fell asleep together. Can you remember?” Your hand roams, finding the hem of her sweatpants and slipping past. Emily’s chest rises sharply under your lips. 

“Honey.” She grips your waist—her right hand still notably absent. “I really need to—”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Your teeth dig into her flesh. Emily hisses lowly, muttering a curse as you soothe the sting with your tongue. “’M’sorry,” she says breathlessly; you look up to find her pupils blown, bottom lip blooming a fresh red like she’d bitten on it. “I know I’ve been caught up with work, I’ll do better, promise.” 

You skim your fingers over her hip bone. Emily jolts beneath you, her thighs tensing again. Her hand is hot on your cheek as she brings you in, kisses you with more attention than you remember getting from her in weeks. You can feel the desperation behind it—an apology—as your hand wanders deeper between her thighs. 

“I’ll do better, amor,” she mumbles against your mouth, frayed and trembling. 

It never gets old how she reacts to your touch. Nothing gets to her like the feeling of skin on skin—kisses, squeezes, tight hugs and idle fingers everywhere. It’s how she communicates, how she wants to be communicated with, craving the weight of your touch and the whisper of your skin. There’s solace in the scarce bit of space between your bodies. 

You hum against her mouth, fingers nudging past damp fabric. They wade through searing, wet heat, and immediately get soaked to the knuckle. Emily’s hips buck into your hand, a choked gasp on her lips. 

“You don’t know when to stop,” you murmur, wrist already cramping at the angle. With your free hand, you skim idly over her jaw, feeling her stuttering pulse under your finger. “I can do that for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I know, so let me help, hm? Even Unit Chiefs need a little support.” Your fingers sink home, and Emily’s lashes flutter. “Yeah?” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah,” Emily gasps. The skin at the base of her throat gleams. You curl your fingers and she breathes your name; you tilt on her lap, rising with the rock of her hips, but her grip on you is bone-crushingly tight.

“Been so long, hasn’t it, Em?” You’re thrumming now, blood hot under your skin, your pajama pants sticking to your thighs from her overwhelming body heat. A tilt of your wrist, a slow circle with your thumb, and her jaw clenches. 

The sight of it sends sparks crackling down your spine. It’s like you’re drunk on her. 

“It’s okay.” You kiss her chin, catching the edge of her lips. “I won’t let it happen again. And neither will you, right?”

Emily whines quietly, both her hands digging sharply into your hips. You smile, the gesture gone unnoticed beneath her closed eyes.

Paperwork is the last thing on her mind.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: fluff, smut: slight somnophilia, dry humping, p-in-v, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

so this story was supposed to be just a small drabble consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away..

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” a surprised look paints over her countenance.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might want it back,” he smiles, holding out a phone to her, the pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance; a worn-out t-shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it.

She’s not wearing anything else and he’s trying his hardest not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair.

She swallows nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never ended up doing anything when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for an entire week after the particularly long shift she’d had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder before letting her get some much needed rest, telling himself he could be patient.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her at the moment— she looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms right now and slump down on her bed, crawl under crisp sheets and feel her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” she clumsily offers, not wanting him to go just yet.

His brows raise in surprise because she’s being uncharacteristically bold, making his mouth twist in amusement. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and jus’ wanna go home, sorry, don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown accustomed to.  

“Nah, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold before taking a look around her cozy home; picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls and leafy plants adding greenery to the small space. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him when he takes a seat around the kitchen table. And when she sits down on a chair next to him, he can’t help but stare at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up, revealing the tops of her thighs and allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out.

He clears his throat.  

“You, uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot?” he tries to focus on something else, anything else while taking a quick sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah…sometimes it’s jus’ kinda hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. Like I try to close my eyes, but then the loud voices of customers and the clinking of plates keep replaying in my head and suddenly m’wide awake, you know?”

“Is there anything that helps?” he prods.  

“Um, I don’t know, I guess jus’ trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh yeah? So, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re just usin’ me right now in order to fall asleep?” he teases, grinning when he manages to drag out another giggle from her.  

“Guess I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she blinks up at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” he jokingly huffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

He thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy; a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape his tongue.

“You, uh, you into cuddling?” he asks, noticing how her eyes round out in surprise.

“Uh— I mean, probably if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” he says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent about this whole situation when she feels almost dizzy; dazed mind reeling and her vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“You, um…you want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” his brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all m’sayin’ is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having somethin’ else to focus on ‘n shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this when he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees before swiftly getting up on wobbly feet—nearly falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at the sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him rather amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle— caging her in with mindless fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter shut.  

“You good?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Mhm,” she blissfully hums, letting out a content exhale because he’s so warm and big— making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

Soon, her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy.  

‘Sweet dreams’ is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a place where the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she stirs from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in with Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what woke her up because it’s still murky in her unlit bedroom— the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots of her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

Then, she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass.

There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization. He’s hard.

Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low rumble— his grip only tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” she calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel his heavy breathing against her neck—bigger hands pawing at her hips every now and then and trying to pull her closer, as if they’re not already effectively glued together, leaving her no space to move.  

She’s already beginning to grow sticky between her thighs when he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in some sort of a stupor.  

She can’t help but let out a faint mewl when her clit throbs, pestering for more friction since the soft fabric of her underwear is not even close to enough, more or less torturing her with the its cottony graze.

And that’s when Rafe finally stirs, the weight of his arm loosening like a tight knot unfurling, finally allowing for her lungs to greedily suck in the air of the quiet room.

“Shit— sorry, my bad,” his tone is gravelly, and she could swear some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides in response.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects. 

“It’s…uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries, it happens,” she rambles with heated cheeks because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that? 

“Nah, s’fully my fault, jus’ had this, uh, nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” she inquires with a yawn, perhaps slightly too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” his brows raise. 

She manages a hum.

“Well, there was this, uh, real pretty girl…‘n she had me in her mouth ‘n was lettin’ me do whatever I wanted,” he murmurs, a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh.” She tries to appear indifferent, even if there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom in the pit of her stomach.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?”

He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here? 

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she, uh, let me do this,” he confesses at the same time as he grabs at her hips again before pushing against her, earning a whimper when she can feel how big he is through the thin material of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what’re you doing?” she asks through a whine— his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

“I— what are you…what’re you talking about?” her brain is foggy, unable to think straight when he’s so close. However, he doesn’t respond, merely continues the retelling of his dream.

“Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper— shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock.

Somewhere along the way, her inhale gets stuck in her throat, mindlessly moving her achy cunt over him and causing him to let out a heartfelt grunt.

“Needy little thing likes this, huh?” he helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips and dragging her over his cock— filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” he says while already slipping a hand in her panties; petting at her puffy clit, earning a surprised moan from her before she lifts up the hem of her shirt for a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Gettin’ real fuckin’ wet from me just bein’ close to you, huh?” his thumb rubs lazy circles over her sensitive button, making her cry out as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fuckin’ pants if you keep doin’ that…you wanna know what else was in m’dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“Pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, did this,” he mumbles out as he takes himself out, causing her eyes to round out when she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head on her clit— one, two, three times, and then he’s smearing it over her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean; pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out and turning her into a whimpering mess.

The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked to where they connect, fascinated. “Fuck, sweetheart, does that feel nice?” he asks, thumbing over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper and forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

“Feels so good, Rafe, think m’gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his features while he keeps nudging his dick about halfway in and then out, never fully plunging it inside.  

“You feel so…can’t— can’t hold it,” watery droplets gather in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as her teary eyes look into larimar and she keeps rolling her hips against him, chasing after a release. 

“Go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” he encourages, and she doesn’t need to be told twice before she’s crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, fuckin’ give it to me,” he grunts, and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching—rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he finally stuffs his cock inside her, to the hilt.

Then, he’s stilling inside her and groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim— making her feel so full.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him and burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

She thinks she could die happy right now.  

“Did so good for me, shit, should do this more often, yeah?” he says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it; head as empty as ever and merely managing a hum of agreement before she’s tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

[berry-potchy]

Dad's Best Friend!Miguel O'Hara blurb because I'm obsessed

UPDATE: Part 2

I love the DBF!Miguel O'Hara scenarios that have you sneaking around and fucking while your family is around and unaware BUT consider:

DBF!Miguel O'Hara who offered to let you stay at his place when you moved out for college. You don't have to worry about rent or anything because he'll take care of everything. He'll take care of you.

It all seemed so good and innocent at the start. You even got to have the place to yourself most of the days because of his demanding job. Miguel said you can bring your friends over but no romantic partners or flings allowed. Not that you had anyone in that way when you're so busy yearning for Miguel. You've had a crush on him since forever and every time you tried to get into a relationship or have sex with anyone, anyone your age, your mind always compared them to Miguel. For the longest time you were hopelessly yearning, convinced that he'd never return your feelings until one night.

You were lying in bed trying to catch your breath after fucking your pussy raw with your vibrator thinking about how hot Miguel looked that morning in his nice suit, ready for an important business meeting he had. You were about to fall asleep when you felt the bed dip and suddenly Miguel was pulling you close to him, your back against his chest. Your bare ass still wet from your own slick, flushed against his erection and the only barrier that separated you was the same sexy suit you had been fantasizing about. He was so big, he felt bigger than how you imagined him and your cunt throbbed, seemingly ready to be used and abused again.

He kissed your neck, licking and sucking, marking you as his while murmuring how long he had been wanting to do this. He heard you moaning his name when you thought he was going to come home late and he immediately called in his office to tell them he's taking a sick leave. He's going to spend that time fucking you, on every surface in the house, making up for all those times you teased him in the mornings just walking around in an oversized shirt and no bra. You didn't even wear shorts around him, gave him a show of your cute ass, trying to reach mugs from the high kitchen shelves. He had to go shamefully jerk off in his car just so he didn't have to go to work with a very obvious boner. How'd he explain that to your dad when he inevitably bumped into him in the office? His precious little daughter living under the same roof as this pervert?

Hearing you moan his name while you fucked your slutty cunt was the last straw, all his self restraint went out the window. He took your vibrator from your hand and let it overstimulate your swollen clit but immediately take it away when he feels you almost going over the edge. You whine and beg him to let you cum but he just laughs. He promised you'll cum plenty of times, more than you can handle.

Of course he eats your pretty pussy out and fuck you all night in so many different ways, in positions you never even heard of. Your pussy was swollen and oversensitive, and you're pretty sure your cervix is deliciously bruised. Miguel kisses your pussy as an apology but gets distracted and tongue fucks you and makes you cum again.

You slowed down some time in the morning. Miguel made you breakfast but soon enough you found yourself bent over the kitchen counter getting railed again. You don't know how this man had that much stamina at his age. You were getting close to cumming when you heard your phone ring. Your dad was calling you. You helplessly looked back at Miguel, expecting him to stop so you can pick up the call but he didn't stop and clicked the answer button for you. Your dad happily greets you over the phone wondering how you're doing and you tried to keep your voice steady and told him everything's good and uni was going great. Miguel leaned over, pressing his chest on your back and driving his cock deeper and harder into you. It took everything in you not to cry in pleasure and you wondered if your dad can hear the erotic sounds of Miguel's cock abusing your sopping wet hole and his balls slapping your aching clit.

Your dad told you he heard Miguel was taking a sick leave which he has never done befor. He was convinced that he must be really sick for that workaholic to finally take a break so he asked you to take care of his best friend for him. You told him not to worry because you were taking really good care of him.