#cars go by when he’d just done a whole race distance that morning and he could have just already left the track

[rickybaby]

another angle of blake and daniel. 😅

https://twitter.com/TimKraaij/status/1761053475419390447?t=7GBOMqzYL2Nc-qS7HF2Z9Q&s=19

Look who’s here at Turn 8 👀

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

———————————————————————

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (5/5)

part of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.7k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, smut.

a/n: many many notes at the end. unbeta’d as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Javi clicks off the radio as soon as the car starts, and you spend the first half of the ride in silence. For a while, he seems to be focused intently on driving, but you know him well enough to see the wheels turning in his head. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but still, there’s something about that little frown that suggests that his thoughts are far from lunchtime traffic. 

It doesn’t bother you - your mind really isn’t on the road, either. 

“I can’t figure it out.” You’re startled to find that it’s your voice breaking the silence. 

“Can’t figure out what?” Javi takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He’s still not looking at you.

“Who did this, and why.” You swallow past the emotion that wells in your throat, firmly redirecting your thoughts to facts and evidence. “It wasn’t an accident, Peña, I’m ruling that out now. Somebody planted a bomb in Emilio’s store.” 

Javi purses his lips tightly. 

“And call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Escobar.” Your voice is rising now as you warm to the argument. “Like, this is his MO, right? Bombing civilian small business, terrorism, chaos…” you trail off, furrowing your brow as you rest your forehead against the cool window. “Just… why here? Why Bogotá?”

Why Emilio? 

Javi’s face freezes. He’s quiet for a long time. You watch him warily from the corner of your eye. To the casual observer, he’s all calm stoicism, snuffing his cigarette and reaching both hands to finger the steering wheel. But you know better - you read the subtle stiffness in his shoulders, the carefully shuttered expression, the white knuckle grip that suggests that he’s far more stressed than he’s letting on.

Something wild throbs in your chest and you have a sudden, irrational suspicion that he might know more than he’s saying. The moment stretches, and just as you’re ready to panic, Javi huffs a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know,” he admits in a low voice, and the bubble of uncertainty shatters. “But I’m going to find out.”

There’s something cold in his tone, a controlled, a calculated malice that threatens vengeance, and you rest your forehead against the window, wondering at the profound sense of reassurance you draw from his words.

Out of nowhere, a truck swerves in front of you, and Javi leans hard on the horn, cursing and flipping off the driver out the window as you weave past him.

You can’t help a small smile at that - Javier Peña, taking out his worries on the unassuming drivers of Bogotá.   

Again, silence stretches between you.

“I think it’s time you told me about your morning.” Javi’s voice is soft, but still, you know it’s not a request. 

“There’s not much to tell,” you confess. Again, not entirely true, but you haven’t even begun to process it all, and the details are overwhelming to contemplate. “I volunteered to stay over at headquarters. They wouldn’t put me in the air two nights in a row, but still, I wanted to know what was happening.”

His lips twitch at this. 

“It was quiet. I left around seven, I think. I’m not entirely sure. Figured somebody would call me with news. And then…” You pause, swallowing hard. “I was almost home. At the corner of 70.” 

You remember waving to Emilio, the way his eyes had lit up when he’d spotted you, his toothy grin. He’d been so proud, introducing you to that guaro.You blink, bracing yourself against the yawning pit of grief that threatens to open in your chest. Not now. Please.

“Then the store exploded.”

You and Javi draw a deep breath at the same time. The ensuing silence is stifling. 

“Then what?” he prompts you gently.

You glance up, noticing that he’s parked the car. Neither of you move.

“I stumbled back,” you continue haltingly. You just want this conversation to be over. “It’s all kind of a blur, from there. It was really weird, like… like being in a time warp, or something.”

He nods grimly, like he understands.

“I decided to go to your place…” you’re nervous, confessing this part to him. As tense as he is, as awkward as things have been, any reference of your previous liaisons feels like stirring hot shit with a stick. “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t wait for the police to arrive?”

Desperation and indignation rise in you. “Javi, I’d just witnessed my fucking apartment go up in flames, okay? Excuse me if I didn’t perform to your exacting standards!”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, and oh, fuck. You realize that you’ve just called him by his name again - something you’ve made a point not to do since that horrible morning in the shower.

Ugh.

You drop bonelessly against the passenger seat, all of the fight leaking from you. This fucking day… god, just, fuck this day.

“I’m sorry.” Javi’s voice is so whisper-quiet that it almost doesn’t register. 

You take three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

“It’s fine,” you say, once you’re grounded again. “But I’m - I’m just done talking, okay?”

“Yeah.” Javi opens his door with a deep sigh. “Okay.”

♠

Javi lets you in, and you go straight for the sofa, settling awkwardly with your hands in your lap.  

God, now what? You’re right back where you started - no home, no job to do, and no answers. Exhaustion and helpless resignation swallow you whole, and you sit like that for a long moment, staring into the middle distance and fighting the urge to rest your head in your hands. 

After a while - you’re not sure how long - you notice the absolute silence permeating the apartment. Javi hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You’d totally forgotten he was there.

You glance up.

He’s draped against the front door with his arms folded defensively across his chest, frowning fiercely at nothing. 

“Hey.” You aren’t aware that you’ve moved until you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes flutter shut and he exhales, long and slow, tilting his head back against the door so that he’s facing the ceiling, and okay, now you’re seriously freaked out. 

“Javi?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers.

“Can’t do what?”

He grimaces like the sound of your voice is painful. “Please don’t make me.”

You take a half step closer, alarm bells screaming in your head. You have never, ever heard this man beg, not once in all the time you’ve spent together. “Don’t make you… Javi, what?”

His gaze flicks to yours, and you suck a sharp breath. 

Javi looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are wide and dark, brow furrowed deep, and he’s staring at you with so much longing in his expression that little sparks of electricity go zipping across your skin. 

“God, Ears, baby, I was there,” he rasps. He takes one quick little step forward, as if to reach for you. “I went to your place as soon as I heard, as soon as the plane landed…”

You brain skitters to a stop. 

Oh, Christ. He hadn’t told you that. You don’t even have time to wonder about it, though, because Javi is still speaking, words pouring out of him as if revisiting the memory has cracked him wide open. 

“And it, it was a fucking crater, okay? And nobody had seen you, nobody had heard anything, and they had the fucking - the fucking body bags -” His voice cracks, and he presses his fists to his eyes, as if to hide his face while he gathers himself. 

Horror floods you. You’re starting to put it all together now. You’d been so distracted by your own terrible day that you’d not once thought to ask about Javi’s. You imagine him at the bomb site, picking his way through ash and rubble, flashing his badge at firemen and emergency responders, firing off questions, watching them load up body bags…

Oh, fuck.

Javi shakes his head sharply, as if dispersing the memories, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Querida,” he breathes, pinning you with an expression of open desperation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Oh. 

It takes a lot to scare Javier Peña. You know this. He’s a fearless man. He has to be.

But this morning, Javi had been terrified. You recall his voice over the phone, tense and clipped, the blustered sigh of profound relief, the clattering footsteps as he’d raced up the steps, his eyes, not quick and efficient, but frantic as he’d taken you in, alive and healthy and wearing his clothes.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, unable to articulate just how profoundly you mean that. You’re still reeling from the implications of it all.

“I know,” Javi chokes. He blinks hard, almost like he’s baffled by it. “You’ve been right here the whole time.” He hitches a breath. “And goddammit, baby, I can’t sit here and listen to you say my name without wondering what the hell else I’m losing.”

Reality shifts and realigns in an instant. Fear and disbelief give way to fierce longing, and your voice comes out as a choked whisper. “Come here.”

Javi does, haltingly at first, as if wondering if you really mean it. You fall into his arms, and he pulls you close, reverently, as if you are the most precious thing in the world. He presses his forehead carefully to yours, catching your jawline with his palms and threading his fingers through your hair. 

“God, baby,” he rasps. “When I saw you… When I heard your voice…”

“I’m okay,” you remind him, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m okay.” 

He sighs deeply, and a bubble of tension you weren’t even aware of bursts at the sound. You melt into him, and he holds you tightly for a long, long time, swaying your bodies gently back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. 

You tilt your face to him, pressing your lips to his skin, and he huffs brokenly, his body still wrapped around yours like he’s reluctant to create any space between you. He’s shaking as he takes your face in his hands, pausing just long enough to fix you with a wild-eyed, pleading glance.

“Okay?” he breathes. 

“God, yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

And just like that, Javi’s kissing you like a man without air, awkward and starving, catching the back of your neck with one hand, the other roaming beneath your shirt to stroke at your ribcage.

There’s nothing gentle about it. A month’s worth of desperation has been building in both of you, and now, Javi’s frantically mapping your body with his lips and tongue, peppering little licks and kisses and soft nips down your jaw and neck while you scramble awkwardly for the buttons of his shirt. You struggle to keep your fingers under control as one gigantic hand finds your ass and squeezes. You gasp, inadvertently popping his last button. 

Damn, you liked that shirt. 

Undeterred, you push it aside, finally free to explore his chest and back and belly for the first time in far too long. Javi’s skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his body smooth muscle and soft heat as he leans into you. His hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, one brushing the bare skin of your torso as it wanders up to grasp at your bra, the other gripping at the hollow of your hips. You arch into his touch, groaning low into his mouth, and he bucks in response, cock straining at his jeans, denim deliciously rough against your palm.

“What do you want, baby?” he gasps into the hollow of your throat. Those gorgeous hands have migrated back to your ass now, clutching with a greediness that leaves you panting. 

“Just…” God, you can’t even think, your brain flickering in and out, overloaded with pleasure and pent up emotion and Javier Peña. “Just you, Javi. Now. Please.”

He whimpers, his erection digging rock-hard into your belly, and the sound nearly brings you to your knees - cool, collected, suave Javier Peña, keening for you. 

Javi hikes you up so quickly that you yelp, hips pinning you as he drives you into the wall. You brace yourself for impact, but he’s already anticipated that - one hand cups the back of your head, cradling you protectively, the other reaching past your thighs to clench at your pussy.

You moan, rocking into him, bracing your elbows against the wall to grant him access. You shimmy your hips, and he hitches your skirt up with a fist, dragging your soaking panties to the side as he buries his fingers inside you.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Javi’s fingers pulse deep into your core, once, and then again, that come-hither curl of them driving you wild as he pumps through your juices. You scramble back, opening yourself as best you can with your limited mobility as he presses his knee beneath your leg to hold you in place. 

God fucking damn, there’s something about being pinned to the wall by this man that leaves you trembling and leaking.

Groaning, Javi sinks his mouth onto yours, and you arch up to meet him, sucking sloppily on his lips, his stubbled jaw, whatever you can get to. You tug his hair hard, mostly for leverage, and he gasps, throwing his head back in a way that allows you access to his neck. You love Javi’s neck - it’s delicious, all fascinating gentle dips between tight tendons, and you relish the opportunity to explore each of its arcs and hollows with your tongue.

He shudders as you nip and suck and bite at him, grinding your body against his as you clench your legs around his waist. 

You’re both panting at this point, skin slick with sweat. It’s hard to know where you end and Javi begins, but it’s so, so good, feral and desperate and heated, and somehow, he’s still managing to pulse his thumb at your clit.  The motion sets a fucking fire in you, slow, deep waves of hot pressure building in your core.

“More, Javi,” you beg against his clavicle, shimmying your hips against his hand. Any other day, you’d be content to stay here, caught between him and the wall as he wrings your orgasm from you with the pads of his fingers. But there’s something else building in you, a desperation that has both nothing and everything to do with physical release, and you just need him closer. “I- I need -”

Javi growls, gently dropping you to the floor as he shucks out of his jeans. You help him along with trembling fingers, giggling incoherently as your heads brush clumsily in your haste. You take the opportunity to shrug out of your shirt and bra, and then Javi’s pinning you with a gaze that’s almost predatory, dark enough to send shivers of anticipation curling down your spine. 

You back against the wall and raise a brow, daring him to come get you.

He does, hoisting you up easily - he really is stronger than he looks. One knee hikes beneath your thigh, his opposite hand clenched behind your ass, thumb digging deep into the hollow of your hip. You absently notice that he’s once again braced his opposite hand between your head and the wall, threading his fingers through your loosened braid, but you don’t have time to consider it, because he’s thrusting into you, quick, shallow pumps that leave you gasping for air.

It’s mind-blowingly amazing, and a wild, wanton part of you wonders why the hell you haven’t done this before - just kick off your clothes and go at it like animals in the hallway. You sink deeper onto him, angling your hips just-so, and oh fucking christ, he’s rubbing right against your clit, hard and fast and sloppy in the very best way.

You throw your head back, spasming around him, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. He’s still wearing his fucking shirt, and you cling to its open edges with enough force to rip. Javi hisses, rhythm faltering as he slips from you. For a moment, you pause like that, him holding you with shaking thighs, your lungs and skin burning, heaving breaths mingling hot on each other’s faces, but then he’s realigning himself, shifting his angle a little. You shimmy up the wall, desperate to accommodate. 

The second round is even more brutal than the first, choppy and shallow. Your abs are burning; it’s a difficult position to maintain, but that familiar fullness is building achingly delicious in your core, so you hold out, gasping. Javi’s breathing raggedly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he presses it against yours, eyes wide and unfocused as he thrusts into you. 

He’s trembling with exertion.

“Fuck!” He’s slipped again. You sink to the floor, reaching for his wrist.  He looks at you, face twisted in a resentful snarl. 

“Javi,” you gasp, kissing him before he can react. What you’re doing is hot as fuck, but it’s not working right now. You’re both too tired, too desperate and shaky, and you need release. “Take me to bed.”

“Hmm,” he moans into your mouth. It must be agreement, because pulls back - you shudder at the loss of contact - and then hoists you over his shoulder in a move that makes your head spin. You giggle a little, breathless and giddy and almost incoherent with need.

Javi carries you through the apartment like that, you clinging to him like a koala bear with your legs locked around his waist and your head draped over his shoulder. He drops you lopsided on his unmade bed. Automatically, you flop over onto your stomach and gather your knees to your chest, remembering how he loves to take you from behind. 

“No,” his voice is strained. A hand, surprisingly gentle, tugs at your shoulder, and you go with it, twisting so that you’re on your back again, sideways in the bed. “I need…” Javi’s panting, dark eyes burning a hole in you. “I need to see you, baby.” His voice breaks, his expression vulnerable, almost apologetic. 

A rush of affection overtakes you, and you reach for him, pulling him close for another deep kiss. Javi straddles you, palming himself in preparation, and you have the foresight to shove a pillow under your ass - if you’re going to be doing this face to face, then you want him as deep as possible.

When you glance up, he’s watching you open-mouthed, absently tugging at his leaking cock like he just can’t help it.

God, he’s beautiful. 

He sucks a startled breath, looking at you in wide-eyed wonder, and oh fuck. You’d said that out loud. 

“Javi,” you whine, yanking him closer. You don’t have time to feel awkward, goddammit. You just need him. For real. Inside you. Right now.

You both shudder as he sinks deep into you. He stays still for a moment, and you clench against him desperately, urging him to move, dammit, but he’s holding off. 

“Baby,” he rasps, glancing down at you, red-faced. “I’m not - I’m not going to last.”

That confession alone makes something swell tightly in you, and you buck your hips in response. “It’s okay,” you rasp, trying hard be good, to hold still, to not overwhelm him.  “I won’t, either.”

He rocks against you, a tiny pulse, just enough to fucking tease, but it must be an unconscious thing, because he’s still looking you in the eye like he’s afraid you’ll reject him, or condemn him.

“Javi, please,” you keen, patience thoroughly spent. You reach up, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and tugging hard. “I don’t care. I just need you. All of you.”

That gets him moving.

Javi rocks against you, setting up an achingly slow, almost careful rhythm, his left hand still cradled around the back of your neck to brace your head as he draws himself to the hilt, then nearly all the way out again. It’s gentle and sweet, but dammit, you want more. You pull your knees to his elbows to encourage him deeper, digging your heels into his back. Javi gets the message, because he twitches and groans, curling around your body and bracing himself against your shoulders, abruptly driving into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs - hard, fast, and deliciously brutal.

It’s exactly what you need.

You curl up against his chest, abs burning as you glance past your breasts to the place where your bodies are connected. The edges of his open shirt skim the sensitive skin of your ribcage, framing the view and drowning you in more sensation. Heat is pooling in you, tension building and sparking and curling your toes. There’s something surreal and wonderful about watching yourselves work in tandem, his hips and yours, pulsing and perfect.

Javi shudders, and you drag your eyes back to his face, not daring to miss a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and that expression alone, that little purse-lipped grimace of pleasure, is enough to drive you to the edge. Controlled, careful, restrained Javier Peña coming undone for you, rattled for you, staring at you like it hurts to draw a fucking breath in your presence… goddamn, you twisted little shit, you’re really liking that.

His rhythm is faltering now, thighs clenching erratically, breath coming in ragged little pants. You know that he’s close. 

You reach up to stroke his cheek. “Javi,” you whisper. His eyes find yours, glossy and wild. His mouth is open, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. He trembles in response, a full body shudder, his eyes flickering shut.

“It’s okay. Let go.”

His breath hitches, and he bucks wildly, collapsing against your chest with a low, broken groan. The hot heaviness of him pulsing into you releases a shockwave of pleasure down you spine. You gasp as your core clenches, spreading his heat, but it’s not quite enough, you’re not quite ready, and you grit your teeth at the loss of friction as he softens inside you. 

You watch his face twitch, relief and ecstasy and something else, something fierce and sharp that you can’t possibly name.

You groan, reaching your fingers down to your core, battering against him. You tug at your clit, index finger tap-dancing in that perfect circular motion that sends you straight over the edge as Javi flops bonelessly beside you.

Desperate for contact, you sink into him, still working to salvage that orgasm, concentrating hard on the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage with each chugging breath, the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes flutter open, and there’s a look of quiet desperation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, reaching for you with wide eyes. “Babe, I -”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” you reassure him, batting his hand aside with your elbow before he can interfere. The waves are crescendoing now, almost painful in their intensity. You’re so fucking close, words and reason are beyond you. “S’okay, Jav, I’m close… I just need…  need you to…. “

“What do you need, baby? Anything.”

“Just - just be here.”

Javi inhales sharply, then gathers you closer to him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his face in the crook of your neck, peppering you with the softest of kisses. One hand rests firmly on your head, its thumb working little circles on your uninjured temple, the other trailing down your body to splay at the sensitive underside of your belly. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “I’m here.”

Oh god, oh god. The pressure fucking hurts, burning in your toes, clenching in your core, and just when you think that you’re useless today, that sex is absolute bullshit and you can’t possibly take anymore, that -

“You’re so…  my god, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

It’s not Javi’s tone, broken as is is. It’s the frankness of the confession, the rawness. Javier Peña is not a sweet talker, especially not in bed. He’s not pandering to you. It’s more like the words have been dragged from him at gunpoint, pulled from the very deepest recesses of his subconscious, and it’s that honesty, that awed, reverent authenticity, that drives you over the edge.

It all happens in an instant. The bubble of tension in your core bursts abruptly, and you come with a choked gasp, mind blinking in and out as you ride out wave after wave of sweet relief. Javi is with you the whole time, cradling you in his arms as you shatter. 

It’s not the longest orgasm you’ve had, or even the most intense, but there’s something about him holding you, about sharing the same skin and air and listening to him murmur sweetly in your ear, that transcends any release you've ever experienced. You ride the waves of your orgasm, swearing to the heavens that you’re breaking apart, and somehow, you’re taking Javi with you like you never have before, splintering and reconverging in a way that’s intimate and vulnerable and precious beyond words.

You come back to reality, breathless and trembling, and the first thing you notice is Javi staring at you with something like reverence in his expression. 

“Hey,” he breathes, running a gentle finger down your cheek. 

“Mmm,” you curl into his chest, just breathing him in, all warm, sticky skin and stale cigarette and perfect man. 

You stay that way for a long time.

“I missed you,” Javi whispers hoarsely, pressing soft lips against your ear. 

“I know,” you choke, because you do. That rush of clarity that had effused you in the front hallway is only more potent now. You and Javi had been dancing around each other for months, each of you too stubborn and too afraid to admit to the other that your feelings ran so much deeper than you let on. It’s so obvious now, how stupid you’d both been, and how much you’d missed by being stupid. 

You’re horrified to feel tears tracking down your cheeks. God, reality has caught up with you all at once, exhaustion and fear and horror and relief all snarled up with post-coital vulnerability, and you curl deeper into Javi, tucking your face down in an effort to hide.

He notices, though. He always notices. “Baby?” Javi tilts your face up, tracking over you with concerned, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Exposure turns your tears to choked sobs, and it’s all you can do to speak. “I’m fine,” you gasp, and it’s both the truth and a lie. You’ve never felt safer than you feel now, or more connected to another human than you are to Javier Peña in this moment. 

And that’s the thing. There’s still so much left to say. So many emotions, so many worries, so much grief. It all wars for dominance in you, everything at once, and you’re not even sure what the fuck you’re crying about until all of the sudden, you’re choking on words.

“Emilio,” you gasp. “He - he -”

Javi draws a sharp breath of understanding, wrapping strong arms around you as you cry. 

“He was… he was gone… and there was nothing I could do!”

“Oh, baby,” Javi murmurs into your ear, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin of your back. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And, and…” You’re sobbing so hard that your chest burns, and it’s all you can do to breathe, but the dam has burst, and it’s all coming out now, whether you want it to or not. “Oh, god, Javi, I missed you, too.”

He chuckles a little at that, peppering your forehead with gentle kisses and thumbing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Steve was right,” he confesses, tucking your head under his chin. “We’re both idiots.”

This startles a wet giggle from you. You imagine Murphy confronting Javi like he’d confronted you, red-faced and indignant and insisting that you both deserve one another. “Yeah,” you sniffle through your tears. “He was.”

“He’ll be insufferable about it, too.” Javi’s holding your hand now, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth over your knuckles. You sigh breathily into his chest, crying until your sobs turn to shudders, and then finally, until you’re wrung raw and thoroughly exhausted. 

Javi holds you the whole time.

You exhale raggedly, noticing for the first time just how slimy you are. “Ugh, gross,” you mutter, covering your face with your hand as you draw away from Javi, horrified. 

Jesus Christ, if you’d just slung snot all over Javier Peña’s bare chest… god, you think you won’t survive the humiliation.

But Javi doesn’t seem bothered. He sits up, glancing around his bedroom for a tissue. Finding nothing, he shrugs out of his shirt, offering it to you silently.

You stare at it, then him. 

“What?” he asks, incredulous. He’s still holding out the shirt, eyebrow cocked as if to question why you won’t just take it. 

 “Nothing,” you say. And that’s a lie. There’s something so uniquely Javi about the gesture, wanting you to wipe your nose with the shirt off his back. But that’s just him - genuine, resourceful, efficient. It’s cute and perfect and ridiculous, and it makes your chest swell and ache.

But you can’t quite put all of that into words right now, and you know he wouldn’t understand even if you tried, so you take the shirt from him with a grateful smile and blow your nose in it like a goddamn heathen. 

Javi wads it in a tight ball when you’re finished, chunking it unceremoniously on the floor. 

You roll your eyes, and he smirks at you, squeezing your hand as he climbs out of bed. After his cigarettes, you think. “Pretty sure you dropped them on the kitchen floor,” you call after him. 

“Yup,” he verifies from the hallway.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean up, and by the time you’re done, Javi’s waiting for you, propped up against the headboard with his eyes shut, smoke curling from his mouth. He pats the bed beside him, not looking up, and you snuggle under his arm, sighing contentedly. 

This is new, the cuddling, sharing his bed, burrowing against his side as he smokes, and you savor every detail. His skin is still slick with cooling sweat, and you can hear his heartbeat beneath his ribs where your head rests, slow and steady. Neither of you need to speak, each just drawing comfort from the presence of the other.

Afterglow, you decide, is a very good word for it.

“Javi?” you ask after a long, long time.

“Yeah?” he whispers. You wonder if he thought you were asleep.

“What is this?” You wave your hand, indicating the tiny space between his chest and yours. You know what it looks like, and you know what it is for you, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving anything uncertain between you, not after all of this.

Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds that breath for a long time, but the silence doesn’t scare you, not anymore. That’s just Javi’s thinking face, the one you know so well.

After a while, Javi turns to face you fully. “This is me,” he starts slowly, reaching for your hands and lifting them to his chest, “deciding that I’m not going to miss any more opportunities.”

Your breath catches. That sounds - well, coming from Javier Peña, it sounds an awful lot like a vow. 

“I’m all in, Ears.” Javi kisses each of your hands in turn. “If that’s okay with you.” He glances up almost hesitantly, the question burning in his eyes.

There’s something about the gravitas of the delivery that hints that his words are more than they seem. Javi’s gaze is pinned to yours, dark and serious, and a shiver runs down your spine. You might be lacking some context, but Javi’s resolve is impossible to miss. 

You consider it for only half a second. You’ve known for a long time now that there’s a lot more at stake in Colombia than just your career. Hell, you’d known that from the moment you let Javi walk away from your apartment for the first time. And he’s made his position pretty clear, too. You bite back a loopy grin as you remember him blowing past Martinez at headquarters. 

Yeah, there’s no salvaging this secret.

"All in," you say, gripping his hands tightly and wishing you could be half as eloquent and intense and awesome as he is. “I like the way that sounds.”

It’s the honest truth. 

Javi breaks out into a soft smile that shows off that single dimple, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah,” you try to answer, just as you are interrupted by a huge yawn.

Javi snorts. “Go to sleep, Ears,” he says fondly, pointedly throwing back the bed covers. You shoot him a petulant frown, and he rolls his eyes, undeterred. “Seriously, baby. This is just getting stupid now.”

“Whole day is stupid,” you mutter darkly as you climb under the blankets - not because he told you to, but because you want to.

“Oh really?” Javi teases. “The whole day?”

“Well,” you pretend to contemplate. “Guess the sex was alright.” You grin wolfishly at him from beneath the covers. 

His response does not disappoint. “Alright?” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Christ, baby, kick a man while he’s down.” He side-eyes you, frowning. “Guess I really do need to up my game, huh?”

“Your words, Jav,” you mumble. The full force of your exhaustion has hit you with a vengeance, and talking is hard. 

“I will make it up to you baby,” he growls in your ear, suddenly serious. “You know I will.”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh. Any other time, that voice would have gone straight to your core, but now, not so much. “I do.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss on your nose, then slips out of the bed. The loss of his body heat is enough to draw you out of your stupor, just for a moment. 

“Stay?” you call pathetically, just as the lamp flicks off. 

Oh. 

Javi settles back in beside you, wrapping his arms around your chest and nuzzling into the back of your neck with his nose. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers into your ear as you finally, finally drift off. “Not going anywhere.”

♠

Author notes/ confessions:

Whew, and that’s a wrap. Big, big notes here guys. I am incapable of being brief, apparently. 

First, I know a lot of you are chomping at the bits to know who the fuck bombed Ears’ apartment. I tried to place a few little clues here and there, but ROE takes place sometime between 2.06 and 2.07. To summarize, Los Pepes, the vigilante group targeting Escobar, is funded by the Cali cartel. In retaliation, Escobar starts bombing Cali cartel owned business - their drug stores in particular. This really heated up in Bogotá around December 1992, which is when ROE ends. 

Now, here’s the fun thing - Javi is absolutely already working with Los Pepes at this point - a relationship he initiated during the month that he and Ears were on the outs. Ears’ intuition in the car is correct - Javi does know, or suspect, more than he’s saying. This is a major plot point for a story that I have in the pipeline, but working that in here - god, guys, that’s too much, and ROE needed to end like 10k words ago, honestly. 

That being said, if anybody has interest in being a beta, or just letting me scream ideas at them, hit me up. This little “one shot” has turned into a full blown universe in my brain, and these ideas are dying to get out. 

The sex. Yeah, I know the sex isn’t great, but I wanted it that way. It was a strange choice on my part, both for Javi’s character and as a first foray into writing smut, but it just seemed appropriate. Sex is rarely ever as mind-blowing as depicted in fic, and besides, these two have had lots and lots of perfect sex. They’re a pretty equal match in that department, but this time is different. I wanted to put the emotions on display, rather than the physicality. It just makes sense that this time would be rushed, desperate, and messy. They are both emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, I really, really wanted to come full circle from the shower scene, where Ears never gets her completion, and also the scene on the sofa when Ears comforts Javi after a terrible day by saying, “I’m here.” There’s some sort of cathartic and earned about Ears bringing herself to completion while Javi just holds her. That being said, I know I owe Javi, and you guys, some smutty one-shots. I plan to deliver, I promise.

You’ll notice that I mention ears choking, coughing, sputtering, breathing, wheezing, feeling a tightness in the chest, aching… she’s got a small pulmonary contusion from being in such close proximity the blast zone. It’s a common injury in bombing survivors, and hers isn’t massive or life threatening, just inconvenient. Pulmonary contusion symptoms tend to develop hours or days after the injury, so she’ll steadily get worse, and when she does, the whole story of her experience with the explosion WILL come out. She’s still got a lot of trauma to process, both physically and emotionally, but Javi is gonna be there every step of the way (after he flips shit first, that is). I’ll let you guys imagine this one, though, because I have already dragged ROE out far longer than I really should have, and it’s mostly medical bs, anyway. 

Last of all, if you’re still here, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I haven’t written in years, and this story pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Your support, comments, likes, reblogs, reaction gifs - they all mean the world to me. 

@tiffdawg​, you are directly responsible for this dumpster fire. I hope you’re proud. :)

Much, much love, and a happy new year to each of you.

~ Jay

[baby-n-boo]

Pink is not a girl’s color- regressor! Tommy, finally big brother tubbo, cg! Wilbur

Tommy was little. There was no two ways to put it. And, as if it wasn’t obvious enough from the fact he hadn't sworn in a whole ten minutes, His thumb was inserted firmly in his mouth as he gamed one-handedly, a small piece of paper over each of the webcams on his monitors, in case someone saw. He had finished his stream that day in rather a hurry, logging off of the dream SMP almost as soon as the confirmation came through that the stream had ended, already feeling the pull of the headspace on his mind, and knowing he wouldn’t have been able to hide it from his friends should he have fully slipped. But, for now, he was idly wandering around a solo server he had made for himself, trying to remember where he had built his home last time he had been on the server. His chair creaked in protest, as he tried to bring his knees up to his chest, resting his feet on the very edge of the seat, making him jump. It wasn’t that he was easily scared when little, but the fact he had become accustomed to the silence that seemed to surround him when he was small, since nobody ever wanted to talk to him without being mean.  

But it was ok. He could look after himself. He was a big boy, really! Mumbling to himself, around his thumb, he tried to direct his character over to the little hill he could see in the distance, not noticing the river running between himself and said mound, and promptly falling right in. At the sudden change of perspective, Tommy panicked, pulling his hand away from the keyboard like it had burnt him, in the hopes it would be fixed if he stopped. But it didn’t, leaving him arrested in fear, watching as the pretty bubbles went away, and his character started taking damage. He didn’t want the pretty red hearts to go away, they were nice!  

Whining slightly as the last one slipped away, and the death message popped up on screen, shading everything in a dim sort of red, Tommy shoved the mouse away too in frustration, refusing to respawn. He wore a stubborn pout as he spun on his chair to turn his back on the screens, just in time for a knock to sound on his door. Worrying for a moment, he yanked his thumb out, and minimised the tab, not wanting anyone to see, before calling out a “Yeah?” that sounded too loud and brash to be right, even for his normal self.  

Wilbur, poking his head through the door carefully, smiled to see Tommy not doing much, before starting to speak. “I, uh, I saw your stream ended? I was wondering if you wanted to come spend some time with real people now?” he joked, referencing how little time Tommy actually spent socialising. Despite how much he really really wanted to nod yes, and go with him, Tommy shook his head, carefully measuring his voice to reply. “Nah, you’re alright, I have masses of women to talk to.” he tried to joke back, his smile just a little too wide, the usual bravado missing from the tone, though Will shrugged it off, sure that if something was up, Tommy wouldn’t hesitate to complain about it.  

“Well, if you change your mind, don’t forget, Toby and I ’re right downstairs.” He reminded Tommy, with a slightly stern look, before ducking back out the door frame. He tried to nod an affirmation, turning as if to go back to his game, but, as soon as he heard the door click back into place, and the creak of the stairs, he pushed up off his chair, padding over to his bed instead. He wasn’t big enough for gaming, right now, and certainly not to go face his friends. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad they had offered to come over and keep him company while his parents were away for some business trip or other, but it was hard to hide his little space from them when he knew they would be watching his streams, and constantly reminding him to actually care for himself. Especially since it had saved him the embarrassment of his parents hiring some babysitter that never actually did anything, once they found out how old he was.  

Tummy rumbling as he sat down cross-legged amid the rumpled sheets, and pulled his favourite blanket out from under his pillow, Tommy whined, having run out of fruit snacks the previous night when he had been streaming till two in the morning. Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue, him just having to sneak down and grab something from the cupboards under the guise of still streaming, but he knew, as soon as he set foot on the stairs today, his friends would be dragging him into a switch game tournament, or a conversation, or, even worse, a trip to the store. Shuddering at the very thought of going outside, Tommy shook his head. No, going hungry was much better than whatever they had in store for him.  

His PC kept chiming with discord messages, probably from his other streamer friends to wonder why he had ended so fast, but he merely ignored them, balling up under the ratty sky-blue blanket, and trying to get his head to stop being quite so fuzzy. It didn’t help as his thumb crept back into his mouth, brushing against the cold metal of his braces, and he curled tighter, the scratchy material of his jeans starting to irritate him, as he slipped further and further. It was only a matter of time before something bad happened, so, desperately clinging to the last shreds of his adult mind, Tommy stumbled over to his closet, kicking off his jeans and baseball shirt in a frenzy of unstable movement.  

Once he was sure that it was all off, he glanced nervously toward the door, and quickly grabbed a bundle of material, throwing it onto the bed before someone could burst in and see it. Yanking a pair of shorts over his boxers, he quickly scurried back to the comfy area, hiding between the sheets as he fought his way into the other thing, a hoodie that was clearly multiple sizes too big, smelling of a foreign but comforting cologne. He’d picked it up from Wilbur’s bag the first night he had been here, thinking it had been his own, and had been reluctant to give it back upon discovering it, in fact, was not, something about how it made him feel small making it appealing.  

Flipping up the hood, so it fell over his eyes, Tommy giggled, flapping around the oversized sleeves in a childish manner, entertained by even the slightest of things in little space. By this point, his adult mind had entirely slipped away, replaced with the simple, cotton candy thoughts of the child Tommy now was. Confused as to why he was being so boring and lying round in bed all day, he pushed back his coverings with a smile, before gasping, looking around for Henry - his cow plush- in between the all-together too mature sheets. Black circles were just so grown up! Where were the dinosaurs? Or the racing cars!  

Temporarily distracted from his search by the thought of cars, Tommy gasped, running over to his cupboard, where he hid away all his colouring books, dragging out some nice-looking ones, and his big box of Crayola pens, giggling as they rattled noisily. Throwing them to the floor, Tommy lay down on his tummy across his rug, pushing up the too-long sleeves until he could see hs fingers. Wiggling them around, he couldn’t help but beam, it being such a silly movement, especially as they all bunched up to try picking up the slippery box of pens, only for it to bump back down. Kicking contentedly as he tried again, it wasn’t long before it was tipped upside down, the rainbow of colors spreading across the rug in a mess only a child could make, blues bouncing and reds rolling. In fact, every color other than pink.  

Not that Tommy noticed this lack, grabbing up his favourite colour, and flipping to a random page, cheering as it was a cool race car, with flames up the sides, all waiting to be coloured. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, he kept the lid in, chewing on the tip of it as he scribbled messily up and down the door of the car, smiling as it got bluer and bluer the more that he scribbled. Even if it didn’t particularly stay in the lines. Blue was nice, it was a boy’s color, like the sky, and the sea, and blue race cars that go nyoom! Will once said blue was a happy color, so that must mean it was good! Why else would he say it?  

It wasn’t like pink. Bleh, pink is a girl’s color, why would he want /that/? Pink was all flowers and dresses and bubblegum, blehhhh. Pulling a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out, which, in turn, made the lid fall out, Tommy shook his head. No, pink was most definitely not for a big boy like him. In his daydreaming, he hadn't heard the stairs creak, nor the tentative knock on the door, not realising as Tubbo crept into the room. “Hey, Tommy? Wilbur said we could ord- oh.” he started, before noticing his friend on the floor, surrounded by coloring pens. Tommy, spinning round at the familiar voice, smiled to see Tubbo, waving gently with his uncapped pen, but making no effort to get up, instead turning back to his coloring once he was done. “Well, I was gunna ask what pizza you wanted, but it’s ok, I'll just say pepperoni. Have fun with … what you’re doing.” Tubbo murmured, not wanting to disturb Tommy when he seemed so concentrated, instead shutting the door behind himself, and heading back down the stairs to where Wilbur was waiting on the sofa.

“Hey. What’d he say?” Will greeted, his laptop open to some takeout website, smiling gently as Tubbo relayed the information for pepperoni, before placing the order quickly. “Alright, that’s done, is he coming down?” he asked, shutting his laptop once he was done, just as Tubbo settled back in the armchair and picked up his switch. “Nah, he’s little.” he spoke simply, as if it was common knowledge, reopening his animal crossing island to keep fishing, like he had been. Confused, Wilbur tilted his head, brushing aside his hair as it flopped over his eyes, and let out a quiet “Huh?”, making Tubbo look up, and meet his eyes. “What do you mean little?” he asked, curiously, not understanding as the teen clammed up, looking mortified. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should /not/ have said that.” He muttered, hiding his red face behind the console. “It’s not my place to say.” he tried to wriggle out of the situation, but, with a stern look from Wilbur, he was pinned in place.  

“um...wow, how to put it...” he fidgeted in place, trying to find the words to explain to a rapidly more and more concerned WIlbur. “um...he’s thinking like a kid...not Tommy?” he tried, but, from the blank look he got back, he knew that wasn’t enough. “It’s...It’s like a response to stress? Or...or just cuz...?” he tried again, watching as Will nodded slowly. “Um...he’s coloring right now...i don’t think he wants to be bothered?” he interrupted, as Will stood, to go up the stairs. “I could...i could try to find a website to explain to you, if you wanted? I'm... I'm not too good at this.” Tubbo offered, reaching for his laptop, silently relieved as Wilbur sat back down.  

“That would be nice, actually, I'm lost.” He admitted, handing it over, and watching as Tubbo struggled to type out whatever he was trying to, eventually finding a page that seemed right. “Uh, it’s a Tumblr page but...i think it’s got the stuff on...” he mumbled, passing the brightly coloured page back over to him. Credit to him, as Tubbo watched on nervously, Will didn’t seem disgusted, reading with genuine intellectual curiosity, before sitting back. “Woah, okay. That’s intense.” He commented, letting out a deep exhale, and rubbing his eyes. “Why is he little, did you say?” he asked, but Tubbo froze. “I’m...i’m actually not sure. Tommy does it both ways, on purpose and not. Maybe the lore stream today? He did end quickly...” he commented mostly to himself, then rubbing his upper arm. “He normally comes and DMs me after if it’s been a hard stream though... maybe cuz you’re here, he didn’t want to talk about it?”  

Throwing out theories, Tubbo tried to hide his confusion and slight hurt that the little he liked to think of as his baby brother when he was in headspace, hadn't told him, chewing on his nails a little. “I do know he calls you his brother though...maybe he was shy in case you didn’t like him doing it?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to the bespectacled 24 year old watching with rapt attention. Luckily, he looked amused, adjusting his beanie. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the only time, I'm practically his older brother all the time.” He chuckled, casting an eye over the page still up on his screen. “It says here about something called...CGs?” he sounded tentative as he looked up to Tubbo again. “It does, and before you ask, No, he doesn’t have one. And yes, he really should, the chaotic doesn’t go down.” he replied, feeling a lot more comfortable now they could make fun of his friend again.  

“Should...should we head upstairs, go make sure he doesn’t like...set fire to something?” Will suggested, after a few moments of chuckling, right before a loud thump interrupted Tubbo’s beginning complaint. “Ok, Ok , maybe that’s a good idea.” he smiled, putting his switch to the side before standing. “I’ll go warn him.” He held out a hand to stop Will mounting the steps before him, smiling as he feigned offense. “Trust me, you wanna prepare for this, he might still be Tommy, but he’s... different.” Running up the stairs, best as he could, with the nerves he now had in every vein, he quickly pushed open the door, to see the little tugging at a stuffed animal wedge in a cardboard box. Carefully pulli ng it out, he easily identified it as Henry, pushing it into Tommy’s arms with a smile. “I have a surprise for you, Toms, you ready?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle as Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “Awe, good!”  

Awkward, shuffling footsteps were the only indicator Will was coming in, before he rounded the corner, with a small smile. “H-Hi Tommy.” his arms were held awkwardly in front of him, crossed across his chest like he didn’t know how to react. But it wasn’t too much of an issue, since, as soon as he saw Wilbur, Tommy jumped to his feet, running to him. “Wilby!” he cheered, hugging him tightly. “Missed chu!” he grinned, as Will hesitantly pet his hair. “Uh, hey kid, whatchu up to?” he asked, as Tubbo watched on with a soft smile, perching on the bed.  “I heard you were coloring?” he asked, looking to the teen for confirmation, as he nodded enthusiastically again, and dropped to his knees, grabbing his pens to keep going.  

“Yeah! Iz blu!” he smiled, thrusting a cyan pen to the elder one. Carefully sitting down between him and the wall, Wilbur smiled and nodded. “You’re right, it is blue. Do you like blue?” Clearly that was the right question, since Tommy started speaking, so fast they could barely get a word in edgewise, about the color, kicking his legs happily as he started to scribble again, starting to color in the fire on the side of the car now, under the watchful eye of his friends.  

Furrowing his brow slightly at the missing color, Will spoke up, after some small humming being the only thing to break the silence. “Hey, Toms, where’s your pink?” he wondered aloud, jumping slightly as Tommy shouted a “No!”, rather vehement. “No,no, no! Pink for /girls/.” he mumbled, when Will shushed him. Curious, he tilted his head, his hair falling agin, and ‘hmm’d  slightly. “Pink isnt a girl’s color, Tommy, what makes you think that?” he didn’t understand, not even as Tommy sent him a disbelieving face. “Pink...pink for princess” he struggled to explain, making Tubbo nod quietly from where he sat.  “But, I like pink, Toms, am I a princess?” he chimed in, taken aback as Tommy giggled, and nodded. “P’incess tubby!” he smiled, making Wilbur chuckle and nod. “That’s right, kid, Toby’s a princess now.” watching the teen stand and mockingly spin around, before carefully bopping Tommy’s head, like a fairy. “ding, ding, Tommy is now a kid!” he laughed, moving over to the cupboard that usually housed the colouring, pulling out a shameful looking pink tub, and placing it on the floor beside the kid. “Let’s try these ones too, huh?” Will prompted, picking up a pastel pink, and doodling a small flower in the corner.  

Tommy nodded, gently, slipping a little, pink pacifier into his mouth when nobody was looking, and hesitantly choosing a maroon pen, trying a clumsy smiley face, soon joined by tubbo doodling a bee, of course. Laughing, Will tried another flower, and a heart, wanting to keep what he did simple, making Tommy smile as a little of the ink went over his fingers. Catching the pen before he tried to draw on his own face, Will tutted gently at Tommy, his new little friend. His little...brother? Before they realised it, the scribbly car had been overshadowed by their doodles, Tommy having branched out into pink the more his friends didn’t seem to mind it being there, slowly smiling more and more, until he was giggling loud and free, fully convinced now, that Pink was, in fact, not a girl’s color.  

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Seven: Humanity

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, reader is a virgin.

Word count: 6,300>

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Seven - Next

Max stood outside, his back pressed against his car. He closed his eyes as the morning sun warmed his skin - only it felt more like an unpleasant, burning sensation. He felt a fire of anguish rife within him. He was furious. How had he let all this happen? How had little Maxwell Lorenzano let this happen? He scrunched up his nose in disdain as a single tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his cheek. He had nobody to blame but himself, and that’s what hurt the  most. He had come so close to losing everything. He could still lose everything. You had preached to him about how Diana was symbolic of hope and that she’d never judge him, yet, Max couldn’t help but feel like she was judging him. When she told him that the consequences of his actions lay in his fate with Alistair. And in that moment, he felt so undeserving. He was a bad man who had done bad things and maybe he just wasn’t cut out to be a father. Maybe Alistair would be better off with Julianna. Maxwell found himself losing hope.

You were still inside, looking over some documents about Dolos’ dreamstone that Diana had been collecting. She explained to you that most of it had been provided by her old friend, Dr Barbara Minerva. Dr Minerva was a gemologist, according to Diana, who had looked into Romulus’ dreamstone just a few days ago. “Where is she now?” you asked Diana as your finger traced the sketch of the stone. At least you knew what exactly you were looking for. A gorgeous citrine stone with Greek scripture engraved into it.

Diana smiled faintly, but the glaze in her dark eyes were not lost on you. “She’s gone.” Diana whispered, looking into the distance. 

“Oh Diana, I’m so sorry,” you frowned, placing a gentle and comforting hand in the small of Diana’s back. “Did Max know her?”

Diana took a sharp breath. “Yes.” she said coldly, before spinning around on her heel and walking over to her desk. You wanted to prod further and find out more but you noticed how stand off-ish Diana had become over your brief mention of Max and his relationship with Barbara. You figured it might not be best to push it. At least not right now.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about Maxwell and you were aware that he had been standing outside for quite a long while. You hoped that he was okay. You sighed, taking Diana and Barbara’s research and composing it into a pile for you to take away. “I should be going then. If we want to catch the flight to Athens.” you shrugged with a caring smile. Diana glanced back at you. 

“Did my mother grant you permission to come here?” Diana asked, quirking her eyebrow.

You bit your lip nervously. “No,” you admitted. “Queen Hippolyta believed I was foolish for wanting to come here. I told her I had my calling but she didn’t care. My mother Hestia granted me a secret passage. Queen Hippolyta hasn’t been the same since you left.” 

Diana nodded knowingly before saying your name gently, almost cautiously. “My mother didn’t grant you permission to come to the world of man because you’re too powerful.” Diana informed you. Her face hardened and she had become incredibly serious. You knotted your eyebrows in bewilderment and slowly shook your head.

“I- I don’t understand.” you said weakly. Too powerful for the world of man?

“You are the daughter of Zeus and Hestia. You are a goddess,” Diana smiled, cupping your face with her hand. “I’m only a demi-God, I have half the power you have. I can be here. But to have a whole Goddess walking on this earth, utilizing her powers… you’re playing a dangerous game. I’ve read about this in ancient Amazonian mythology. It would lead to the world’s destruction.” Diana explained quietly. “I would never want to harm this world.” you reassured Diana, pulling out of her grip and narrowing your eyes in disbelief. 

“I know,” Diana hushed you. “I know you would never want to harm this world. But it’s not about what you want. It’s about the inevitable. Do you think Maxwell wanted to cause all the death and destruction? All the hate and war?”

“No of course not.” you replied.

“But he did. And now he’s… dealing with the aftermath. You might be here to help Maxwell and that’s okay. That is your duty. But you cannot stay. You must return to Themyscira once this is over with. You have to.”

“Yes but Max-” you began to protest but Diana cut you off.

“Once you fulfill your calling and bring him and Alistair together, you will have satisfied your duty as the goddess of home and hearth. You have no reason to stay, right?”

She was right. No reason to stay. But shit- you had become so attached to Max Lord and his son, you never even considered the fact you might have to leave them. It wasn’t even a ‘might’. You were going to have to leave them eventually and you didn’t have long at all. “Right,” you confirmed sadly, but trying to remain as composed as possible. “But I don’t even know how to get back to Themyscira.” you sighed.

Diana grabbed the rope of your lasso and traced the patterned ridges in between her father. “By combining both our lassos, I can create a one-way portal back home. When all this is over, you know where to find me,” Diana promised. Your heart ached. You felt nauseous. And you knew now you had to go outside and face Maxwell. You had to tell him. Your mind was racing as you wondered how he’d react to the news. “I know how you feel...” Diana said softly before looking out the window and into the sky above. “Once you’re back home, you’ll miss him. You’ll think about Max every single day. Just like I think about Steve.”

You didn’t even know how to answer, you were hurting too much. You knew Diana was only looking out for you and what was best for the world of man, but this wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t you stay? Why did you have to leave Maxwell? You picked up the papers and held them close to your chest. “I’ll see you in Athens, Diana.” was all you said, before leaving the Smithsonian.

Maxwell saw you approaching before you set eyes on him. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath before giving you a small wave so you knew where he had parked his car. As he caught your attention, a bout of relief washed over you. He was beautiful - his hair golden under the sun and the gold rings on his fingers sparkling as the rays of light bounced off them. He made you feel safe and happy. But as you got closer to him, you began to feel afraid. Leaving him was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

The car ride to the airport was difficult. Maxwell hadn’t put the radio on this time, and so the journey was filled with an unwelcome silence. Every few minutes you would take a shaky exhale and try and work up the courage to tell him what Diana had told you. About how you couldn’t stay. You had to leave. But even before you said anything, you could cut the tension with a knife. He wasn’t okay and you knew it.

-----

“Flight RD270401 from Washington D.C. to Athens, Greece, is now boarding from gate 8.” echoed the airport speakers overhead. With your hand pressed against the cold window glass, you looked in awe at the airplane. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before. You looked back at Maxwell, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, talking to one of the airport employees. She was clearly saying something he had no interest in hearing. He shook his head to whatever she had told him, and he wiggled his finger at her. The conversation ended with him signing an autograph for her and then sauntering towards you.

You had managed to swindle your way past passport security thanks to your trusted lasso of Hestia, but Maxwell was still anxious you'd somehow get stuck in Athens without a passport and wouldn't be able to return to D.C. back in time for the court hearing. You tried reassuring him that everything would be alright, but he had a stubborn mind and he was already worked up from what Diana had told him earlier. That the consequence of his actions lied in the fate of his and Alistair's relationship. He knew that couldn't be good.

“She changed our one-way plane tickets to return tickets, so we have two days to get the dreamstone and then we must head back to D.C.” Maxwell informed you with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Only two days in Greece, and then it was back home to prepare for court. And then you had to go. He had barely spoken to you since the museum. You understood his stress and you missed hearing his sweet voice, but you didn't want to push him to talk about what happened back there if he wasn't ready.

"What did it cost you?" you asked hesitantly. 

"She just wanted an autograph and my number," Maxwell shrugged, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the airplane. He was trying to read the docking gate number. "Come on, that's our flight."

Even though Diana had clearly explained that the world had forgotten about the broadcast, he couldn’t shake his guilty conscience. It felt strange- people still approaching him and asking him for autographs, giving him attention. It only added to his feeling of shame.

Maxwell walked hurriedly and you felt like you were practically chasing after him. There was hardly a rush. The airplane had just landed. "Your number?" you asked curiously.

"So she can call me." Maxwell explained further, his voice stone cold and emotionless. His comment was abrupt and to the point. It wasn’t a big deal. She might have believed she had a chance to go on a date with Maxwell Lord, but she really didn’t, and Maxwell knew that. He had more important things going on, and besides, his mind was already unwillingly preoccupied with you. 

"Why would she want to do that?" you asked and Maxwell scoffed. He knew you weren’t accustomed to the nature of exchanging numbers and what that meant, but his frustration was increasing by the second. The thought of getting on a flight made him feel anxious and uneasy. He hadn’t been on a flight since he used the President’s chopper, Marine One, to fly to the bunker. Every little thing was reminding him of the incident and it was traumatic. Maxwell hadn’t even prepared himself for the chance of coming into contact with the dreamstone again.

"Jesus, do you have to question everything?" Maxwell snapped, abruptly halting in his footsteps and turning to you. You froze, your blood running cold as you sensed his anger. You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling timid, and ducked your head down. He shouted at you, and the ferocity in his voice made you feel small and vulnerable. "I'm sorry," Max sighed when he saw the change in your conduct. His heart sank in his chest, knowing that he was to blame for your demeanor. Just like he was to blame for everything else. "Let's just get seated, okay?"

You didn't reply, but followed him to gate 8 in silence as you queued up to get your tickets checked so you could board. Everything about this experience was brand new and awe-inspiring. You had watched many airplanes jet off into the sky and fly into the clouds above. Despite being so far away from home, you found comfort in knowing that both you and the Amazons were underneath the same sky. You had never felt so close to them.

Maxwell was truly more than happy to help you find the dreamstone. He knew it was something you needed to do, and after all, you were helping him with Alistair. You had warned him that if you didn't find the dreamstone, it could cause the world to end. The world had almost ended just a few days ago before Max had renounced his wish. It was serious. But to Max, all that mattered was Alistair. Even if you successfully destroyed the dreamstone, if he lost custody of Alistair then his life would be over. Alistair was his whole world. His only reason. He couldn't lose him. His life depended on it.

Just as you got strapped in, a flight attendant walked by. "Ah, are you two on your honeymoon?" she smiled, her blue eyes glittering. "Two seats in first class have just opened up, if you'd like." 

"Yes!" Maxwell exhaled sharply, unclipping his belt and then reaching down to your lap unclip yours and pull you up. He needed the luxury of first class. It brought him a sense of normality. 

“What’s a honeymoon?” you hissed, looking around the cabin.

“Just pretend we’re married, okay?” Maxwell hissed back before putting on a fake smile to present his charming exterior.

As the air hostess guided you to first class, she swooned over Maxwell.

“I love your infomercials,” she cooed, placing her hand on his arm and tracing the curve of his bicep. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy in your chest. “The part where you’re on a yacht and you say that thing about how you don’t need a business degree to get started is so inspiring. And sexy.” she sighed longingly, fluttering her dark eyelashes.

Before Max could reply, you grabbed his hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly with shock. Maybe he was always going to be taken aback by your touch. You made him feel a way he had never felt before. 

“Yes,” you smiled leaning over to take her hand off Maxwell. “My husband is very talented.”

There was no denying the way Max’s heart raced at your words. He swore he’d never remarry after Julianna. He’d also sworn that he’d never fall in love again. But then you came into his life and things changed. For a second, he actually imagined what it would be like to marry you. He imagined a life where he could show you off on his arm. He could treat you, spoil you, kiss you all day and all night. He imagined you looking over Alistair. He had already become familiar with the maternal side of you. As his mind wandered, he imagined the possibility of you giving him some more children. He cursed himself for letting himself get carried away; lost in thoughts that could never happen.

About an hour later, you were finally in the air and looking over Diana’s documents about Dolos’ dreamstone, provided by Dr Minerva. Maxwell was slumped against the blue velveteen chair, his legs spread as he nursed a glass of whiskey and picked at some peanuts. You sighed, feeling defeated. Your mind was overcome by all this new-found knowledge about the stone and you just wanted to relax. If you could do anything, you’d curl into Maxwell’s lap and fall asleep in his strong arms. But there was one thing preying on your mind. One thing you still needed to tell him.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, and Maxwell looked up at you, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours.

“Better,” he admitted with a small smile. “Athens is very beautiful. I think you’ll like it,” Your heart warmed knowing that he was feeling better. It was probably due to his intake of alcohol but nevertheless, his anxiety had eased and that’s all that mattered. Maxwell took a deep breath and tried to repress the smirk that was threatening to play on his lips. “You’re beautiful. Come here,” he said, patting his thigh. You bit your lip and walked over to Max, sliding down and sitting in his lap. He wrapped his arm around your body and pressed a soft kiss into your neck. Whiskey always gave him a boost of confidence but nothing had ever felt so right. You belonged in his arms. You belonged with him. He dragged his tongue up your skin and pressed a kiss into your jaw, nibbling at you gently with his teeth. You hummed in delight, loving the way his lips felt against you. “I am so glad you’re here,” Maxwell admitted, looking into your eyes. “I’m so glad you came into my life. I don’t know what I’d be doing if you weren’t here. I don’t know how I’d cope.” he confessed before pressing another kiss into you.

Your blood ran cold at his words. He might not know what he’d do without you, but he’d have to learn. You couldn’t stay with him in DC no matter how much you wanted to and he was going to have to learn to accept that. You had to tell him. It was now or never.

You pulled away from his lips and smoothed your hands over his hair. You noticed the way his roots were a dark brown colour and thought about how it faded into a dirty blonde. Did he dye his hair? You remembered your vision of him when he was younger and he had dark brown hair. That was why you hadn’t recognised him as Lorenzano. You still had so many questions to ask him but so little time.

“Max...” you croaked as tears pricked your eyes. 

“Hey, what is it?” Maxwell cooed, rubbing circles into your back. You rest your head on his shoulder. You really were in love with him.

But you had to suck up your feelings. You closed your eyes. “I can’t stay,” you revealed, taking a deep breath. When Max didn’t reply, you managed to bring yourself to open your eyes and look at him, trying to judge his reaction. “Diana said I can’t stay.”

Maxwell was perplexed. He looked at you, then looked at his surroundings on the airplane and then looked back at you. “You can’t stay where? D.C.?”

“The world of man,” You sighed, playing with his hair. It was so difficult to read Maxwell’s expression. It felt like he was frozen in time. “She said I’m a goddess and I’m too powerful to stay. I could accidentally cause the world’s destruction.” you scoffed at how ridiculous Diana’s claim sounded, but deep down, you knew it made sense. She was your princess and you had to trust her, no matter what.

“But- what- how- what?” Maxwell exclaimed. He felt sick. He didn’t understand, but his stomach was in knots. There was a chance he was going to lose Alistair, and now you were going to leave him too. Maybe this is what he deserved, but he didn’t like it one bit. You had only just come into his life and you were like a blessing in disguise. Now you were going to leave?

“Max,” you whimpered, letting the tears drip down your face. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back home. I want to stay here with you and Alistair.” you sniffed, pressing your palm flat against his chest. Seeing you cry was pushing him to cry.

“Don’t go,” he begged, shaking his head. “There must be a way you can stay. A loophole or something.”

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head in defeat. “I wasn’t even meant to come here. Our queen denied my request but my mother granted me passage to the world of man. She shouldn’t have, but she just wanted me to complete my calling and fulfil my duty as the goddess of home and hearth.”

“Hey, we’ll figure something out okay?” Max reassured, but his expression showed anything but assurity.

“We can’t,” you sobbed. Your tears were beginning to dampen his shirt but he didn't care. He held you close and tight as if it was going to be the last time. “I have to go.” you confirmed, hating the way the words sounded as they parted your lips.

“How long do we have?” Maxwell asked you, letting a tear slip down his cheek. You gasped and quickly wiped his tear away with your thumb.

“No longer than a week. Five days, maybe. As soon as the court case is over. As soon as you gain custody of Alistair, I must go.” you informed Max, exhaling shakily as you fought for composure. Max shook his head profusely in disbelief.

“I wish we had more time.” he choked out, resting his forehead against yours, his grip around you tightening. 

You stayed in Maxwell’s arms for the rest of the journey. You’d both even fallen asleep at one point. When you landed in Athens, everything still felt bittersweet. The sky was dark and it was in the middle of the night. The resort was isolated but Maxwell was right, it was beautiful. Pearly white stars pierced the sky and small waves rippled through the turquoise tranquil waters. You followed your guide group to the hotel in silence. 

“I don’t want this to ruin our trip, or ruin our final few days together.” Maxwell whispered as you queued in the lobby for the key to your hotel room.

“Me neither,” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder and taking his hand. “I love your hands.” you whispered back, tracing his fingers and brushing over his knuckles.

“Yeah?” he asked, his breath hitching as you brought his hand up to your lips.

“Yeah.” you confirmed.

-----

“We only have five days until this is all over.” you purred, tugging on Maxwell’s shirt and falling backwards onto the bed. You giggled when you heard the springs in the mattress go as Maxwell hovered above you. Your hands found Max’s cheeks and you looked him in the eyes.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” Maxwell admitted although his tone was low, gravely and almost dark as he planted sloppy kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He never wanted this moment to end - or any moment that he shared with you, for that matter. Nothing had changed. You still revelled in the way he kissed you and the way his touch erupted a frenzy of butterflies in your stomach.

“Me too,” you huffed, bringing your hands down to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. “But all I know is that I want to make every second that I’m with you count. I never want to forget this, Maxwell Lord.” you smiled, pulling him down to kiss you again. He moaned as your tongues intertwined and he guided his large hands over your frame.

As you made out, you relished the way he touched you and your bodies moved together in sync. It was like they were made for each other. That Zeus had sculpted you to fit with Maxwell Lord; to be with him, guide him, and love him when he didn’t feel loved. Maxwell had always laughed off the concept of ‘soulmates’, seeing himself as nothing more than an independent, stone cold businessman. But maybe, after all this time, he was wrong. In the past week he’d learned so much about himself, and what really mattered. You were teaching him that it was okay to rely on others for comfort and affection.

You reminded yourself of the reason you were in Greece. You had to focus on obtaining the dreamstone. It was important, but with this clash of tongues and teeth and Maxwell Lord on top of you, it was easy to forget about why you had come to Athens in the first place. Sure, destroying the remaining dreamstone was important, but so was Maxwell.

“There’s something I want to know,” you huffed, drawing away from him for just a second to regain your breath. “During my time studying the world of man, I took particular interest in family and babies, probably due to me being the goddess of home and hearth. I spent a lot of time studying babies and… how they’re made. The history books describe it as beautiful. An indescribable pleasure that you know I’ve never experienced before. There are no men on Themyscira. But I want to feel it. I want to feel the pleasure and I want you to show me. Please Max. Show me.” you whispered, bucking your hips upwards and rolling yourself over his crotch. You’d thought about it a lot, maybe even just as much as he’d thought about you in that way. You already knew you trusted him, especially with something like this. 

His brown eyes turned a whole shade darker with lust as he slid his hands under your shirt.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, wanting to make absolute sure you certainly wanted this.

“I am,” you confirmed. “But only if you want to too.”

“I do,” Maxwell nodded, his lips curving into a smile. “Believe me, I really do.” 

You grinned ecstatically, kissing him again and moaning into his mouth when he squeezed your breast, just like he'd done the previous night when you were both making out in his bed. He knew you liked it. “Let me take this off,” Maxwell groaned and you nodded, stretching your arms in the air so he could pull your shirt off you. “Fuck, you're so perfect.” he whispered to himself, as he stared down at your bare chest. He leaned in and kissed between the valley of your breasts. He peppered kisses along the soft plushness and licked a stripe along your hardening nipple. As he cared for your breast with his lips, he fondled your other breast with his hand, squeezing it lovingly before switching it up again. He was so skilled at this. He knew all the right ways to make you feel good.

Soon, you began to feel that familiar fire heat up in your core. The same fire you had felt when you were kissing him in his own bed. Your new panties felt like they were soaked with your arousal as he peppered kisses down your stomach and to the hem of your pants. “How do you feel?” Max asked you, looking up with concern. He just wanted to make sure you were still okay with this. He cared about you so much.

"Nervous, but excited," you exclaimed. "Will- will it hurt?"

"It might, just a little. Might be slightly uncomfortable at first. But if it gets too much you can tell me, okay?" Maxwell reassured, kissing the lobe of your ear. "I'd never ever want to hurt you honey."

"I know," you smiled, running your fingers through his soft locks of hair. "But first, let me take care of you."

Unsure what you even meant, Maxwell doubled back. You were new to this, inexperienced, and yet he found himself intrigued by what you meant when you said 'take care'. You shuffled out from beneath him and kneeled on the mattress. You unbuttoned Maxwell's shirt and tossed it on the floor, and then unzipped his pants. As you pulled down the silver zipper, you noticed the imprint of his bulge pressed against the tight tailored pants. It was long, thick, and achingly hard, precum already beading at his tip. You subconsciously licked your lips and Maxwell chuckled over your eagerness. It was adorable. But his laughter was cut short into a choked moan as you traced the shape of it through the material, gently with your index finger. "You look so big…" you trailed off, biting your lip nervously. 

"Take off my pants and find out." Maxwell urged and you nodded your head. You pulled down his pants and his cock sprung free, bouncing against his tummy. The head was dark pink in colour and already leaking.

“Wow…” you gasped, wiping his precum and letting it wet your hand before wrapping your fingers around his length and starting to pump him. He tossed his head back and moaned wantonly, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

“You really don’t have to-” Maxwell stiffened up as you kitten-licked the tip of his cock. You let your fingers stroke the base and play with his balls as wrapped your lips around his thickness. “-I-fuck. This is your first-first time. I want to make you feel good.”

You pulled your lips off him with a pop and looked at him with doe eyes. “This feels good for me. Tastes good too.” you promised before sinking your mouth back down onto him, deeper this time. He stretched your mouth so wide your jaw began to ache and you gagged around him. You bopped your head up and down, loving the way his fingers tugged on your hair and the way he bucked his hips deeper into your throat.

“Won’t last,” Maxwell warned. “Fuck. Pull off.” he gasped for breath and you followed his instruction, removing your lips from his throbbing length. He wished he could’ve just spilled his seed down your throat but he wanted to make this as memorable as possible for you. It wasn’t just going to be a quick blowjob. You deserved more.

“How was it?” you asked, pouting your swollen lips. Maxwell leaned in and kissed you, tasting his own saltiness on your tongue.

“Perfect,” he sighed lovingly. “You’re perfect.”

Max gently pushed you down amongst the sheets and discarded the rest of your clothes so you were laying in bed completely naked. He pressed his hand on the apex of your thigh and opened up your legs. His cock jumped when he looked down at your glistening folds. You were already so wet for him and he’d hardly even touched you.

Maxwell kissed up the inside of your thighs, revelling in the softness of your skin. He knew he’d never be able to forget this. As he neared your core, your heart began to race with anticipation. Max pressed a soft kiss into your clit and you let out a gasp that you didn’t even realise you were holding back. You felt Max smirk against you and he separated your folds with his two thumbs. Now that you were completely spread open for him, he began to lick you up and down, his cock twitching as he tasted you. He’d eaten the widest variety of expensive desserts in his lifetime, but you were by far the most delicious thing he’d devoured. Everytime his tongue flicked upwards against your clit, your entire body would involuntarily quiver. He loved it. He loved watching you become putty under his touch. 

He decided to focus more of his mouth on your clit and began to quickly flick his tongue over your bundle of nerves before sucking on it. His moans sent vibrations straight through you and he noticed how your hole began to clench over nothing. He was desperate to fill you up. To feel you. But he had to prep you first. He didn’t stop with the licking, but he did nudge a finger over your hole. You pushed your hips closer to him, wanting more.

“I’m going to finger you now, is that okay?” Maxwell asked, pulling off you. His lips shone with your slick and you swore he had never looked so beautiful.

“Yes please.” you whimpered.

“If it gets too much, tell me.” Maxwell whispered before reattaching his lips to your pussy and poking his index finger into your entrance. He kissed your clit one last time before pulling away and pushing his finger deep into you. He flushed pink as your soft walls tightened around his finger, and he couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel if he replaced his finger with his cock. He watched you in awe, thrusting his finger in and out of you, experimenting and curling it upwards until he was satisfied that he’d located your g-spot. “Sweet girl,” he moaned, watching you intently as you brought your free hand down to rub your clit as he fingered you. “I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You moaned something incoherent but Maxwell felt his heart race as he took in your appearance. You were a sight he could never forget - all spread out for him, your back arched in pleasure. He pushed his middle finger inside of you, as well as his index finger, and you squealed with pleasure as he stretched you open.

“Oh Max, oh fuck Max.” you whined as obscene wet noises filled the room. He loved the way you said his name. He always had. This whole experience felt like a dream come true.

“So fucking beautiful.” he growled before ducking his head back in between your thighs and continuing to eat you out. With the combination of his tongue and fingers, it wasn’t long at all until your climax washed over you.

Maxwell pulled off you and reached down to stroke his own cock which was achingly hard, desperate for any kind of relief. “I want you inside of me.” you begged, reaching out to pull Max on top of you.

Maxwell leaned over you, propping himself up on his elbows and you shivered as his cock nudged against your entrance. He rolled his hips up and down, his tip rubbing against your folds. He was teasing. You grabbed onto his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin. “Please Max,” you panted. “Make love to me.”

Maxwell moaned at your words and pressed a quick peck to your soft lips before obliging and pushing himself into you.

"How does that feel?" Maxwell murmured, his breath fanning over your neck as he sat himself deep inside of you. You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock as waves of pleasure jolted through your body. You knew that the tales had described intercourse as pleasurable but you never imagined it could feel so good.

"I feel so full," you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as your walls adjusted to his length. Max knew the second he started moving he wouldn’t be able to last long. He’d imagined this so much. He’d gone so long without sex. And you were so fucking perfect. "Move, please."

"Ngh— fuck, are you sure?" Maxwell asked, giving your breasts a gentle squeeze. You nodded and Max doubled out slightly before pushing himself back in with a wanton groan. He felt your cunt clench around him. "So fucking tight." he whispered. You bit your lip, wondering what it meant to be ‘tight’ and hoping he was enjoying it as much as you were.

"Is that okay?" You asked, holding onto his bicep for support as he pushed a few shallow thrusts into you.

"More- more than ‘okay’ honey. You’re amazing." He mumbled, his eyes snapping shut. You gasped as you felt every perfect ridge and vein rub against the inside of your walls. "You feel so perfect, sweet girl."

Max brought his hand down to your cunt and began to circle your clit with his thumb, mirroring your own previous actions. The pleasure flooded through your body and you arched your back as he hit your sweet spot. "Mmm," you couldn't even find words. You found your toes curling and your mouth slack as he throbbed inside of you. His fingers worked at you like magic and it wasn't long until your legs began to involuntarily shake. Max could feel your oncoming high too, when your pussy walls squeezed his cock, aching to milk him for all he had. 

"Are you close baby girl?" Maxwell asked, his thumb speeding up and his thrusts becoming deeper and harder. “Oh you are, aren’t you?”

"Maaaax," you groaned, feeling your juices drip down his manhood as he fucked you faster, his balls slapping against your cunt.

"I'm close," He warned, gently biting down on your shoulder. "I'm going to count down from three and- and I want you to let go. Relax. Cum with me." Max ordered and you nodded your head against his sticky, sweaty skin.

"O-okay," you gasped.

"Three, two, one- fuck!" Maxwell exclaimed when your body limped in his arms and your pussy contracted around him, twitching as you reached your climax. He spilled his salty seed inside of you, painting your walls just like he'd painted the bathroom tiles when he'd masturbated over the thought of you previously.

“Oh my- Max, Max, Max,” you chanted as he slowly softened inside you before pulling out. You whimpered at the loss of his fullness and Maxwell rolled off you. You both spent a few moments to regain your breath and you felt his cum leak out of you. You curled up into his tan chest and pressed a kiss into his pink lips. “Thank you Max.” you whispered with gratitude, bumping your nose with his.

He was so in love with you, there was no question about it. If he could, he’d spend the rest of his life doing that. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. The thought of you leaving him was eating Max alive. Maxwell wrapped his arm around you and held you tight, just like he’d done so on the airplane. He wanted to tell you that he loved you, but if you were leaving, it might just make things worse. He leaned over to the nightstand and switched off the lamp.

“Goodnight honey.” he whispered as the room became enveloped with darkness.

“Goodnight Max.”

Taglists - let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

I Believe In Love: @thebloodrobin @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @biharryjames @thwiso @pedrolorian @julieteagk @starsandmando @kishie8 @supernaturalcat7 @depressedchillipepper @galaxypox @cocastyle @welcometothepedroverse @galactic-rhi @honestlystop @walkerchick007 @winchesterxxi @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @why-cant-i-hold-all-my-husbanda @criminalmind1927 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @lola-max-sugar @thesadvampire @wonder-jedi @eternallyvenus @way-too-addicted-to-anime @spacedaddydinn @fandommastermind @persephonequeenofthedead​ @computeringturtle @skullchik89 @ashamed23 @honimello​ @jaa1682-27​ @savannah-elliott​ @drinkingwhileblogging​ @tanyaherondale​ @vonschweetz​

[zemodaddy]

Shades of Him

Chapter 3

Warnings: violence, fluff, caring zemo, death

For the first time in awhile, you had slept without another nightmare. Granted it was like 3 hour you had rested but still. You didn’t want to get up, not yet. It was so warm and comfy that moving would be a sin. The blanket wrapped around you felt like a cocoon, making you feel safe. Your eyes slowly fall open. They land on a couch across from you. That’s strange, how did you.. Realisation slapped you in the face. That blanket around you isn’t a blanket at all. You look down. An arm was wrapped around your waist. It was then you felt the soft pounding of a heart beat against your back. Panic started to set in. This is not good you thought, not good at all. Closing your eyes you think of the best way to get out of your predicament.

“What the actual hell” Your eyes fly open. Sam stood there, eyes wide, staring at you. Shit. “Sam calm down, this can be explained.” Your whisper. “Can it?!” He whisper shouts “ I’m going to get Bucky”. Oh fuck no. Sam had already left the room to find him. Carefully you untangle yourself from Zemo. He was still sleeping peacefully on that couch, thank god. Slowly you roll over, however you miss judge your move and fall onto the carpet below with a loud thud. Zemo stirs in his sleep. You curse yourself as you get up and race after Sam.

You didn’t realise that as you exited the room, two chestnut eyes had followed your every move. Thankfully you reach Sam just as he was about to knock on Buckys bedroom door. You pull him into a room that looked like some type of storage area for food. “Look I woke up really early this morning and went down to get some pills for a headache that I had” Sam raised his eyebrows. “and so you ended up sleeping with the enemy?” “You make it sound like I did something more than just- anyway he’s helping us! I wouldn’t call him an enemy” He ignores your statement and says “So how did you-“ You explain what happened last night “so I sat next to him and fell asleep, nothing happened!”

You hear footsteps in the hallway. “ I’m no one to judge y/n, just please be careful, especially around him.” “You know I’m always careful!” You grin. He returns the gesture and opens the door. Your glad he kept this between the two of you, Bucky would freak out and get his metal arm in a twist. You walk back into the kitchen followed by Sam. Zemo was gone which explained the footsteps. Had he heard anything? You push that thought aside and go to make some tea for the second time that morning. You and sam both sit at the breakfast table, sipping from your mugs. He really was a good friend to you.

You were getting yourself ready when Sharon announces that she has a location on Nagel. You hurry and quickly check yourself in the mirror. You wore black slightly baggy pants, a matching vest top reaching just above your belly button and an accompanying jacket. It was perfect for missions like these, not too suspicious and practical. You fix all your weapons to yourself including you new gun and head downstairs to meet the others.

You all arrive at a place with cargo containers littered all around you. On the way there you kept glancing at Zemo to see if he acted any different. Fortunately he just kept to himself. Did he notice your intimate moment this morning? His expression revealed no answers. Following Sharon in the maze of cargos she led you to one particular one, handing you each an ear piece. “I’ll keep and eye out for you while you talk to Nagel” she says “thanks Sharon, for everything you’ve done so far” “just hurry people” you nod and all pile into the container.

Finding it completely empty, you do some searching until Zemo finds a secret door leading to a downstairs lab, an upbeat song playing in the distance. Walking down one by one you find a man filling test tubes up with some sort of liquid. Bucky stops the music and he turns around, shocked to find us standing there guns raised. “Who are you what do you want” ignoring his first question you state “you recreated the super soldier serum” after being told to get out of his lab you had no option but to threaten him. Nagel looked just like the crazy scientist you expect him to be, his calculating voice didn’t help that imagery.

“I’m not saying anything” you roll your eyes. This guy does not understand how this is supposed to work. You step forward until you were in front of him. “I can burn you alive from the inside out by making your blood boil, starting from your feet, then your legs, then to your heart, so I suggest you start talking” disbelief was prominent on his face so you summon up a flame around his ankles. “Okay!” He down right screamed. He begins to explain how he created the serum and how it was stolen by a girl named Karli.

“Guys we have company” Sharon says over the device. Shit how have they found us so quickly?

“Is there any serum here?” Sam asks. “No” was all he said. Sharon runs in “we’re seriously out of time”. Bang! A gunshot sounds through the lab. Zemo was holding the gun, now being restrained by Sam and Sharon. Seconds after, you were thrown back against a wall, the noise of an explosion had blinded your ears. Things were breaking and smashing all around you. Your whole body ached from the force that had lifted you into the air.

You hadn’t realise how much derby covered your body until a strong hand lifted you out of the rubble. None other than Zemo was now guiding you out of the collapsing lab and out into the open. “Are you okay?” That was the second time he’d asked you that today. “I’m fine” you were slightly annoyed at him. You were perfectly capable to getting out of there yourself, you’ve experienced worse. Guns were being fired and you both duck. You pull out your gun and start shooting back. “Did you steal that from somewhere?” “what? how did you-“ “they all have trackers on them, this is how they must have found us so soon” he looks at you. The one thing you didn’t want to do was get your friends hurt, and now you have led them right into a trap. “I..I didn’t know”. You were disappointed in yourself, and when you looked over towards the others, now also fighting these bargain hunters, that feeling turned to anger. Anger at yourself for being so stupid. You felt your body fill with energy.

The bargain hunters started shooting at you again, making you explode with rage. Without another word you start to run towards the men standing a few metres away from you, and send a monstrous flame, racing towards them. You let them find you. Another burst of flames in the other direction, engulfing the unfortunate soul in a living hell. You put your friends in harms way. The men started running away now. You couldn’t let them get away. You needed them dead. Fire burnt in your eyes, and death shone upon you, guiding you to them. You felt yourself loose control. Loose that sense of focus you had before, your task was to find them, and make them suffer for your mistake. It was the only way to stop that feeling of guilt building in you. If you deal with the threat then was there really any harm done?

Zemo had been watching your fiery battle in astonishment. He couldn’t move, he could only watch you gracefully send those men to their deaths. Only when he saw you move once again, following the guys running for their lives, did he run after you. “Y/n stop”. You spin around ready to fight whoever that voice belonged to. You stopped short. “Darling I think they’re gone now”

“No” you say forcefully and in a gravelly voice. “They want to hurt us”. You were not yourself anymore. You were only the killing machine you were trained to be. Zemo takes a few small steps towards you. “They’re gone” he repeats, taking another few paces. You look down on your hands, flames licking them. You had let yourself become the person you swore to keep away. “ you’re okay now” Zemo rips you out of that thought. You couldn’t find anymore words to say but “I’m sorry” you whisper, your eyes began to well up with tears. The baron reaches his hand out carefully, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

Before he could reach you however, your knees hit the solid ground and your face falls into your hands. Zemo quickly follows your action and wraps his protective arms around you, letting you bury your head into his chest. At that moment you didn’t care who he is or what he had done. You didn’t care how this would affect your future. All you wanted to do was crawl in a hole and stay there for the rest of eternity. “It’s okay your safe now”. Your mind was spinning with thoughts. It felt like you would never be able to escape them ever again. Zemo strokes the back of your head as he rests his chin on top of it, locking you into that embrace. You felt the most vulnerable at that point but yet so safe.

On the way to the airport you separate from Sharon. No one questions your blank expression as you look out of the car window. They had all seen your outburst. All knew better than to talk to you while your were like this. It was better for you to have space to think. Zemo had helped you get to the car, after you calmed down a little. Now being emotionally and physically drained, you wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped you. Would you ever have ever returned to your normal self if he didn’t come for you?

Back in the jet Zemo was preparing something in the small kitchen at the front of the plane and Sam and Bucky were discussing the next move. You were sat away from them, staring aimlessly out of the window again, pretending to be interested in something outside. A few moments later Zemo hands you a cup of tea that you presumed was cherry blossom from the look of it. You give a very small smile and return to your staring. He leaves and a few minutes later returns with a blanket, silently suggesting to you to get some rest.

You sip at your drink and feel yourself drift away from reality. “How is she” a faint voice asks. “By the look of things mostly just tired now” a different voice whispers. “I should talk to her when she wakes up” “are you sure that’s a good idea.” “It might help” that was all you heard as you travelled to the world of dreams.

Note~

I know these aren’t the longest ever but the next part should be up in a day or so! Hope you enjoy 😊

[cacoetheswriting]

if we made it - spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: blood/gore, mentions of injuries etc., explosion, (usual cm stuff tbh), other than that just fluff Word Count: 1.5k Request By: anonymous: “can you do a spencer reid x fic where one or the other gets severely hurt??”

-

The sound of wailing sirens in the distance caused you to slowly open your eyes. Agonising pain coursed through your aching body. The damage you sustained in the explosion was quite severe. Left arm was definitely broken, a deep laceration spread across your torso oozing blood, blood also gushed down your forehead and cheeks. Your right hand moved to your face in a desperate attempt to identify the wound but the sudden movement only caused you to wince in misery.  

“Sp-pencer...” You managed to croak. “Spencer.” Gently you tilted your head from side to side analysing your surroundings. It was hard to see through all the heavy smoke, not to mention the throbbing sting from your head wound. You called out his name again a little louder but there was no response. 

Carefully you managed to sit up. That’s when you spotted the young doctor; laying motionless about ten feet away from you. “Spencer. No, no.” Panic overcame you. Despite the ache of your injuries you tried to stand. From experience you knew you were losing too much blood yet you ignored your better judgement and limped your way towards him.

“Spencer.” His name rolled off your tongue once again as a mere whisper. There were now tears in your eyes. You sat beside him, your whole body shaking. He didn't seem to have any major visible injuries apart from a few cuts and bruises here and there yet he was still unconscious. 

“Help! HELP!” The screams were tiring you out.

You fumbled through the pockets of his FBI jacket in search of his phone, since yours was in the car when it exploded, whispering ‘It’s gonna be okay Spencer’ over and over again. Luckily the device seemed to be working just fine and you managed to dial for help before dizziness completely overcame you and everything went black.

ABOUT SIX HOURS AGO

“So let me get this straight.” Emily stated curiously. “We’re now thinking this was arson? That we’re dealing with an arsonist?” She glanced between the team and sighed. “Couldn't this guy still be a pyromaniac like we profiled?” She enquired further.

It was Spencer who spoke next. “Pyromania is an impulse control disorder characterised by the pathological setting of fires. Interestingly enough most acts of arson are not committed by pyromaniacs.” “Of course they’re not.” Emily muttered under her breath and leaned back in her chair. This made Rossi snicker under his nose. 

Spencer continued: “A person with pyromania doesn't set fires for gain, ideological reasons, to express anger or for vengeance.” “By that definition they certainly don’t set fires to cover up another criminal act which we’ve now learned is what happened in this instance.” JJ chimed in. Spencer nodded.

“We have to relook at the whole profile.” Hotch stated. He proceeded to divide the team and assigning them various tasks. As usual you were paired with Spencer - not that was ever a reason to complain. 

As the rest of the BAU members scattered, Spencer got to his feet and walked up to the bulletin board. He turned back around to look at you. “Are you okay? I know arson cases are hard on you.” You tilted your head up to meet his gaze and smiled softly. “I’m okay Spencer.” He nodded and turned his attention to the map, your eyes still glued to the back of his head.

The rest of the afternoon flew by in a blink of an eye. Before you realised the sun outside had set and the sky now glistened with a million little stars. A small yawn escaped your mouth, The faint moan caught Spencer’s ear and he turned his attention from the map to you. “Coffee?” He raised an eyebrow. “Bed.” You replied with a soft giggle. Spencer smiled and looked at his watch. “Well we have been up for almost eighteen hours.” 

You looked back at the scattered papers on the table in front of you. It was no use to continue this tired. “On second thought, coffee does sound good.” You got up from the table and headed for the door. “Would you like one?” “Please, with creamer and suga-” “Sugar, I remember.” Spencer smiled and watched you walk out of conference room. 

The young doctor followed you with his gaze. He couldn't help but notice how incredible you looked lately. If he was being honest you were always beautiful, but lately it was as of he paid attention to it more. He did not realise until now how when you smiled your whole face lit up, how your eyes glistened. How your hair perfectly fell around your face complimenting your jawline. 

Maybe one of these days he'd have the courage to ask you for coffee outside of work, on a date. “One of these days.”, he thought to himself and looked back at the map. 

You waltzed back in shortly with two coffees in hand. “I’m just off the phone with Hotch.” You began whilst handing Spencer his drink. “Everyone is heading back to the hotel, we’re gonna pick up tomorrow morning.” “Would you like to go too?” He enquired. “If the hot chocolate instead of coffee in your cup isn't clue enough.” You joked, hoping he'd laugh. He did. 

Spencer got behind the wheel, like he always did with you. He waited for you to get settled in before starting the car. Click. “Did you hear that?” “No.” You looked around for the source of the noise and decided it was just your mind playing tricks. 

About ten minutes into the drive back to the hotel - click. “Okay you must have heard it this time?” You furrowed your eyebrows confused. Click. Click. That’s when you knew what was coming. 

You locked eyes with the young doctor. Panic. 

Before either of you could react there was an enormous explosion. A rift of orange flame engulfed the vehicle. Windows shattered. Smoke and fire rushed in. You blacked out. 

The ringing in your ears brought you back to reality. White. All you could see was white. You blinked a couple of times; until the hospital room came into a clear view. Someone grabbed your hand.

“You’re awake.” The voice you knew all too well. “Spencer...” His name rolled off your tongue with such ease it made your heart skip a beat. “Spencer you’re okay.” Your hands travelled to his face, surprisingly he did not flinch. Instead he shifted in his spot closer to you. 

“How? How are you sitting here right now? You were unconscious and yo-ou were-n’t-t breathing and-d-” There were now tears in your eyes. Your chin began to tremble. 

Spencer squeezed your hand tighter. “The doctors checked me out and I’m all good, just some bruises.” He reassured, his voice soothing. He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. 

There was a brief moment of silence in which the two of you simply looked into each others eyes. The young doctor cleared his throat. You bit your bottom lip, your heart now in your throat. 

“You should rest.” Spencer consoled. “I’ll be right outside in the waiting room getting some work done.” “You can work from here.” You said almost too quickly. “I mean-” “I’ll stay.” A smile spread on your face from cheek to cheek. It made Spencer smile. 

The young doctor watched as you leaned back in your pillow. His mind was racing at this point and he couldn't pinpoint one thought, which was something he didn't experience often. What he did know however was that the two of you were lucky to be alive. “It was a gas explosion.” You wanted to interrupt but he continued. “As gas explodes, it produces a powerful shockwave that surges away from the ignition point. This blast, and the heat radiated from the combusting gas, are extremely dangerous.” 

“I’m not sure where you're going with this Spencer.” “In most gas explosions, the heat of the blast is hard to escape, because it radiates in all directions.” He took a deep breath. “We survived and it doesn't make sense to me.” “Spencer, not everything in the world has to make sense.” “This should.” 

You wish you knew what to say - you usually did. Instead you reached for the folder on your lap and began going through the file. Work. Work always helped him. He of course knew what you were doing and in that moment it brought everything into perspective.

“Y/N?” “Yes?” “Would you like to have coffee sometime?” “We have coffee all the time at work.” You joked. “Well then would you like to have coffee sometime outside of work. I would like to take you on a date.” Your eyes darted from the papers in your lap. “A date?” “A date.” 

There was nothing to think about. No hesitation. “I would love to have coffee with you sometime Spencer.” The young doctor beamed at you. “Only took us almost dying for you to ask me.” You teased. “Better be some really good coffee.” “The best coffee you’ve ever had.” Spencer replied. Gently, he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it softly. 

-

masterlist

[moral-turpitudes]

Just Business:

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Some Fluff, Slight smut?, Swearing, Drinking, Neglect, Fighting, Blood/Gore, etc.

Word Count: 3,195

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader 

Requested by: Anon

Request: “Could you make one with Tommy where he married the reader for business purposes and she wants to make things work but he’s cold towards her so she spends most of her time with Charlie, and when the whole family have to go back to Small Heath they become close but he gets jealous. Angst/Fluff and Smut if you think it fits.”

Summary: A marriage done for business seemed fitting at first, but as tensions rise among the family, Tommy eventually finds it in him to love again, but it falls on deaf ears as Y/N struggles to cope with his antics. 

The clock struck midnight as you lied awake, the door ajar where Tommy had left to go to his study. He’d often leave you in the middle of the night when his thoughts became too much and when his emotions would threaten to take over. He had only cried around you once before, and it was when his wife Grace, had passed. Other days his mood would swing like a fragile ball on a pendulum, and you being one of his assistants at the company, you got to see almost every face of Thomas Shelby first hand, except one of genuine love. His love seemed to only be reserved for ghosts.

The next morning you would awake and hear Charlie crying, and scuffling down the hall looking for his father. He was a toddler, hell-bent on trying to run through the house any chance he got, so mornings were often spent chasing him around the vast expanse of rooms. Unfortunately, Tommy was already gone for the day, leaving you and the nanny to care for him until it was time for you to come in during the afternoon.

At some points while at home, you swore you could feel the portrait above the stairwell giving you daggers as you carried Charlie up to his room, Grace’s glistening, painted eyes boring a hole into your soul. Tommy hadn’t been the only one affected by her sudden death though, as the whole family was facing his wrath lately.

Your marriage had been a quick business arrangement ordered by Polly. She grew tired of Tommy’s antics, thinking him finding someone else would help him move on despite Grace’s death being only 6 months prior. And so here you were: a diamond ring and signed paper here, a nice dress and a family portrait of fake smiles there, and nothing but tense conversations and awkward attempts at affection getting you by until now.

Tommy was never one for love, at least not with you. You knew that deep down the only time that he seemed to love you was when he fucked you on the nights that the business became too much for him. When he’d come home needing some sort of release that wasn’t opium or whiskey, something to keep the memories of Grace and the shovels at bay, if only for a little while.

As the clock down the hall drew nearer to noon, you finally got Charlie down for a nap and got ready for work, a tear threatening to flow down your cheek as you put on your makeup, thinking about how much you had loved him secretly, even before Grace died. You’d always steal glances at him and would stay after to help him with paperwork, and it didn’t take long for Polly to know. She hated Grace, seeing as she betrayed them years before, almost destroying the family. But she’d always see the way you interacted with him and the rest of the boys and Ada, and how you immediately helped with Charlie when things got too much for Tommy. She loved you and the rest of the family did too, seeing as you were one of his most loyal assistants, and so it only made sense at the time that maybe you would be the perfect fit for Tommy. You never wanted his wife dead, and you could’ve gone your whole life just admiring from afar like all the other women would do on the streets, but you didn’t think you’d end up how you were now. Taking the place of his dead wife, being a step-mom to Charlie, and trapped in a loveless marriage to the man you felt so strongly towards.

As you blotted your tears away, you quickly finished up your makeup. Attempting to look somewhat alive despite your loneliness inside. If it wasn’t for this union being for “the sake of the business” as Tommy harshly put it when you’d overheard him talking to Polly, you’d be out finding someone who actually loved you, but in your twisted turn of events this was what had to be done.

The nanny came by the room, giving you a sympathetic glance as you tightened the belt around your waist that was accentuating your dress, you mentally kicking yourself for wearing such a revealing dress without thinking about the cold weather outside.

“I’ll have Charlie for the rest of the day as usual Mrs. Shelby, and I’ll let the maid know to straighten up and the cooks to start prepping for dinner later.” She said softly.

“Alright, thank you...truly. I...I mean we don’t know what we’d do without you all. I know Tommy doesn’t say much...but thank you for all your work.” You say, giving her a small hug. She was your only friend in the house it seemed. She’d help you when you’d drink yourself into a crying fit when Tommy was off on business, and she’d listen to you when you needed reassurance on if it was the right choice by marrying him.

“If he didn’t love you, you’d be sleeping elsewhere my dear. He’ll wise up, just give him time.” She would say, helping you back to the bedroom on those cold, dreary nights.

As you left the insanely large house you drove out onto the gravel roads, nearing Small Heath gradually. Your heart raced as you parked the car along the black dirt roads, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as the sounds of pounded metal filled your ears from the warehouses in the distance.

Other women and children would move out of your way as you swiftly walked down the narrow sidewalks and through the doors of the shop. The sound of papers flipping and typewriters clicking as you made your way silently over to your desk that was next to Tommy’s office.

“Good afternoon Y/N how was the drive?” Polly asked sitting near you. You sighed and looked at the stack of papers on the desk as you answered.

“It was fine. Quiet as usual up until arriving here of course.” You said with a small smile. You hoped she wouldn’t see the silent pain behind your eyes but you knew she did because she lingered there for a bit longer.

“Trouble at home?” She asked, her eyes flicking to Thomas as he sat in his office smoking a cigarette and looking at his own stack of papers.

“Always.” You said shortly, getting out your own cigarette and lighting it.

“Am I doing something wrong Pol? I’ve tried my best to be there for him. To be there for Charlie. To try to love him even though he couldn’t give a damn about me...” You said looking out at the lobby of the shop, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“You’re doing the best you can my dear. I’ll have a talk with him.” She said, an annoyance in her voice as she said the last part.

“Thank you.” You said as she walked off, knocking hard on Tommy’s door. You could see in through one of the windows, but you willed yourself not to look at him as your anger bubbled up inside you.

The stack of papers in front of you seemed like a mountain at the time, business proposals, unsigned license agreements, betting numbers, bank statements, anything and everything under the sun needing to be signed by the end of the day, and so while you heard Tommy shouting at Polly, you poured yourself into your work.

After awhile you saw Polly leave in a hurry and so you got up, following her out the door with your coat draped over you.

“Where are you going Polly?” You asked, the chilled air almost taking your breath away.

“To the Garrison. I need a drink. Do you care to join?” She asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You said sighing in relief as you both hurried into the bar. The familiar scent of smoke and whiskey filling your nose as a few people sat inside drinking their woes away.

“What will it be?” The bartender said.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, what about you Y/N?” Polly said.

“Whiskey.” You said eyeing the bottle you’d grown to love only because of your bastard of a husband.

“He’s already rubbed off on you. Whiskey was never your drink till now.” Polly said sipping her gin.

“Well, now it is. Needed something strong enough to deal with his bullshit.” You said, knocking back a shot.

“What did he say when you talked to him?” You asked, bracing yourself for the worst.

“He told me that he’s wanting to move you and Charlie back here to Small Heath due to the recent gang problems.” She said.

“Is he mad? He can’t up and move right now! Why would he do that? He doesn’t care about us! I practically see his son more than he does.” You said, grabbing the bottle from behind the counter.

“Hey that’ll cost ya!” The bartender said. You and Polly shot him a look and he glanced at the huge rock on your finger.

“Oh...I apologize Mrs. Gray...and...Mrs. Shelby. It’s on the house.” He said before turning to serve the other patrons.

“Why would he fucking move us down here...if he doesn’t love me why would he want to protect me? I was just a fucking business deal after all...right?” You said, a tear slipping down your face as you knocked another shot back.

Polly glanced at her drink as she let you continue.

“He told me he wants to keep you safe because he loves you, I know my nephew well enough to see that he does love you, he’s just god-awful at showing it recently.” Polly said.

“Well when he wants to actually care about me more than his dead fucking wife then let me know.” You said before taking the shot glass and whiskey bottle and walking to one of the booths in the back of the bar.

Polly sighed and finished her drink, watching as a blonde haired man came over to your table and sat next to you, draping an arm around your shoulder.

The shots slowly made their way into your system as you poured yourself another one, barely acknowledging his presence at first.

“Why are you alone and wearing a dress like that with a ring around ya finger aye? Old husband getting ya down?” He asked, whiskey tainting his breath as he spoke in your ear.

“How about we go somewhere more quiet. I can love you like he couldn’t.” He said. You knocked back a couple more shots and smirked as you awkwardly ignored his advances and made flirty conversation to pass the time. Polly stiffly turned back to her drink, striking up a conversation with the bartender as you soon let your hand wander down the mans chest as he got closer.

You felt wrong for making moves on him as he wasn’t your husband, but at this point you had no love to really lose, or so you thought.

Just as you and the blonde haired man started making out, you heard the doors to the Garrison fly open, revealing your emotionless shell of a husband. His stoic face looking towards the bar to see Polly nursing another gin and tonic and chatting up the bartender.

“Thought you were working, Polly.” He said annoyed.

“I am. I’m trying to work on your love life because you won’t. I love you but you don’t know a good thing until it’s gone.” She said, her words stinging him a bit as he thought of Grace.

In the distance he heard a familiar giggle and his head shot up, his eyes glaring at the woman he desperately came to love, wearing a revealing evening dress, kissing and giggling with some blonde haired worker from god knows where.

“Is that what you call working on my love life Polly?” He said pointing to you in the distance, your face burning as the now half-drunk bottle of whiskey coursed through you, helping you not to have a care in the world as you giggled at the mans joke as he reached for your waist.

“If that’s what gets you to see reason, then yes.” Polly said sipping her drink as she watched you two making out.

“As much as I want to I can’t. I’m sorry...I’m married...” You said breathlessly, stopping his hands from traveling further.

“He doesn’t have to know.” He said.

You looked up through your slightly blurred vision to see the familiar peaked cap of your husband getting closer to your table.

“He already does.” You said, a nervous edge to your voice as you watched everything unfold before you.

Tommy yanked the man off you by the back of shirt and spun him around to where he was facing him.

“What are you doing here messing around with my fucking wife aye!?” He said pushing him roughly into the wall before landing a fist to his jaw.

The man smirked, spitting out blood right onto Tommy’s shirt before speaking.

“I was just about to do what you couldn’t.” He said.

You cringed and took another shot as you heard the sound of the mans jaw break as Tommy’s fist landed on his face once again, rendering him unconscious.

As you watched in silence, he grabbed his cap and cut a gash in his face that was deep enough to need stitches.

“Tommy stop!” You yelled, struggling to get up and stumbling towards him, nearly knocking him over. His breathing was ragged as you clutched onto him, his arms gripping your waist and steadying you.

“I-I can explain...” You said wiping a stray tear from your eye as you felt your mascara streaking down your face.

“Explain fucking what Y/N!? That you wanted to fuck him? Am I not enough for you? You had to go find some random man just because I’m busy?!” He said shouting loudly.

You shakily stepped forward looking him in his eyes which were burning like blue flames from jealousy.

“If I did why would you care? Just say it Thomas...you don’t fucking love me! You love Grace, and no woman will ever amount to her even though she’s six feet under. You’ve never loved me...and you just expect me to act like everything’s fucking fine, but it’s not!.....Hell! I even see your fucking son more than you do, now how is that love Thomas? If you don’t love me just say it. Because I’ve loved you as best I could...and I’ve loved you long before that. If you did love me, and I mean actually loved me...then this wouldn’t have been a “business deal” it would’ve been a proper fucking marriage!” You yelled, throwing your shot glass on the ground, watching as the glass shattered into a million sparkling pieces on the wooden floor.

He stood there silently as you stumbled off towards the restroom, shooing Polly away as you closed the door behind you and locked it. You practically collapsed on the floor sobbing as the cold tile soothed your burning skin, the room spinning the longer you laid there.

“What are you going to do Tommy?” Polly asked as she eyed him from her seat at the bar.

“I’m going to try to get my wife back. It’s not a fucking business deal anymore Pol. Never was. You think I didn’t notice the whispers from you and the lads when she’d leave the room? About how she liked me and how we’d be good together? You think I didn’t notice her eyes watching me as I worked despite being married to Grace? Of course I loved Grace but she’s not been the easiest fucking thing to get over. I know I’ve been a terrible husband, I can see it in Y/N’s eyes every day...I can see her withering away from me as well as Charlie and it kills me inside...I’m just not the best at loving people and you know that...ever since Grace died it’s like a part of me has too, but I’m going to get that back. I have to.” He said, his eyes glistening a bit as he headed for the restrooms.

He knocked lightly and waited before calling your name, panic coursing through him as you didn’t answer.

Without a second thought he shoved his shoulder into the door, busting the lock and stumbling in to find you on the floor barely conscious.

You mumbled something unintelligible as he crouched down and picked you up, bringing you out to his car as Polly followed quickly behind.

“My god where are you taking her?” She yelled over the start of the engine.

“Home. Tell the lads I’m taking the day off.” He said before speeding off towards the house.

Once there, he carried you to the lavish bathroom that connected to your all’s bedroom and sat you down in a chair. He quickly got a cold rag and wiped it on your forehead and around the rest of your face trying to keep you conscious. You perked up slightly at the cold sensation but were quickly overcome by the all too familiar feeling of nausea, your body cursing you as you stumbled towards the toilet almost blindly. Tommy held your hair back as best he could, waiting for what felt like ages for you to stop getting sick. With a weak hand you flushed and stumbled up, shakily brushing your teeth and staring at your tragic reflection in the mirror as Tommy kept an eye on you from the door frame. He held a pair of your sleepwear and one of his t-shirts in his beat up hands.

You looked at him as you grudgingly took the clothes from him, changing into them carefully as your balance was still shit.

After wrestling them on, you went straight for the bed, barely acknowledging Tommy’s presence as he watched you carefully.

“I’m going to bed Thomas. You can leave for all I care.” You said wrapping yourself in the plush covers and closing your eyes.

“I’m not leaving Y/N.” He said as you heard his footsteps softly move towards the bed. The mattress shifting a bit as he climbed in next to you, letting you snuggle up against him.

“You should be at work.” You mumbled.

He stroked your arm lightly as he laid there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not while my wife’s a mess.” He said.

“Why should you care?” You asked, sleep threatening to take over.

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’ve just been terrible at showing it. To both you and Charlie. I love you and I’m not going to lose you. I can’t lose you.” He said quickly, knowing you’d fall asleep at any moment.

“Tell me you love me when I wake up then, because I won’t remember this.” You said, listening to his heartbeat as you let the darkness overtake you.

“I will, I promise.” He said, gently kissing the top of your head as he laid there with you, hoping sleep would take him too.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed from the Thomas Shelby tag list, just shoot me an ask/message)

Main Tag List

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

x

Summary: “Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance.”

Read on AO3

Read chapter 16 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

A/n: The final chapter of arc I. Buckle up, my loves 🖤

Chapter 16: Say Could That Lass Be I?

***

Heartbreak. Jamie had always thought that expression figurative— that people simply referred to the loss of love and the emotional suffering that goes with it. But as he led Claire toward the distant hill with her wee hand clutched in his, ready to send the love of his life away, the pain in his chest was as real and physical as if his heart had truly been cleaved in two. His chest clenched in agony, and the only thing keeping him moving forward was sheer, monumental will. 

Claire was oblivious. That morning, he had wrapped her up in a tartan blanket to keep her warm and simply herded her out to the car without more than a few words. She’d asked him where they were going, and he’d nearly broken down crying that moment. All he’d managed was a hoarse, “for a walk,” while his windpipe felt like it was being crushed. 

As he helped her out of the car, she took his hand— hers so wee and fitting perfectly into his— and smiled brightly up at him. 

God, he wanted to kiss her. 

His selfish, breaking heart wanted so badly to have that one memory to treasure for the rest of his life without Claire. He longed to draw her to him, press his mouth to hers, feel her soft lips on him, and then he would never ask for another thing from God. He spent nearly half the walk trying to talk himself out of it. 

He couldn’t do that to her. She was going home, never to see him again, and it wouldn't be fair. 

He turned back to her then, and she gave him the brightest smile that illuminated the dark chasm growing inside him. She was his sun, and looking at her— simply enjoying being with him and unaware of their parting in a few minutes— he felt dizzy. Being in the presence of such light only made the agony of losing her that much greater. 

The lump in his throat was so thick and stifling that he could barely breathe. It was all he could do to hold himself together and keep going. 

But he had to be strong, for her sake. He had to let her know it was okay to go. 

“Jamie, now will you—” 

She had begun to ask him for the tenth time what was going on when she suddenly stopped dead. He glanced back at her to see her eyes wide and fixed on the distance, all the blood drained from her face. 

Claire had caught sight of the hill. 

The heartbroken expression and the shake of her head as she looked at Jamie ruined him. 

“Listen, mo nighean donn, I—”

“Why are we here?” she asked in a dangerously low, even voice. 

He was regretting his plan instantly. Her expression wasn’t quite that of the devastation of betrayal, but it was something like broken trust, because she looked at him with a tiny glimmer of pleading in her eyes— begging him to tell her it wasn’t true. That look was eating him alive. 

“Sassenach, listen to me...” he started again, desperate. 

He tried to tug her onward in the direction of the hill, but she stayed planted firm. 

“I’ve found a way to bring ye home safely,” he finally blurted out. 

The reason he was able to drag her forward in that moment wasn’t because she was more willing than she had been a moment ago. Sheer surprise made her go unresistant and allowed Jamie to pull her back into motion. It seemed her feet were moving on their own accord, operating on instinct in response to him. 

“What?” she choked out. 

“Aye.” 

With a terrible rending in his chest, he explained everything to her. Geillis’ book. Travel between realms. The gemstones offering protection. 

She was silent the entire time, eyes wide as if that would allow her to see something intangible, trying desperately to wrap her head around everything he’d just laid on her. He didn’t even give her time to react; the words simply spewed from him in a heartbroken rush as he managed to drag her up the hill. 

They stood then in the shadows of the towering stones. To Jamie, the stones felt like grave markers— looming ominous and solemn. 

Here lies the heart of James Fraser. He learned how to feel, to love, only to lose her before they even had a chance. 

Claire’s face was white as a sheet. For once, her expression was unreadable to him. Perhaps it was because she was hiding it, or perhaps Jamie was simply blinded by the force of his own emotions and the all-encompassing longing for her to stay, but he couldn't tell what was going on in her brain. His only thought was that he knew she was terrified of the stones, and that only hurt him further. 

“Here is my father’s ring. It’ll ensure ye safe passage,” he found himself saying. 

He grabbed her hand and shoved the ring on her finger without ceremony. She studied it for a long moment, looking blank, and then turned her face back up to Jamie. It looked like she was about to speak, but he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear what she had to say. 

“There’s nothing for you on this side,” Jamie choked out, “nothing. Save a world ye dinna ken and people who arena yer own. Ye deserve tae go home.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to help convince her or himself. 

While he was speaking, he had dropped her hand and was slowly moving backward. He had to harden himself if he’d ever be able to leave her. He had to turn off his feelings and let his breaking heart turn to ash before he did something selfish like fall to his knees and beg her to stay. 

The rushing in his ears was deafening. 

“There’s no use waiting,” he said in a low voice, “I hafta leave ye now.” 

He put more distance between them— Claire standing frozen in the spot where he’d put her as he stepped backward, her perfect lips parted just slightly. Every inch between them felt like another nail in his coffin, only a thousand times more agonizing because his heart was still beating. 

The voice that came from his closed throat was unrecognizable even to himself as he mustered a raspy, “goodbye, Sorcha.” 

He wanted to add a “I’ll never forget ye so long as I live,” or something— anything— that could possibly convey even a fraction of how much she meant to him, but his throat had closed so much that he couldn’t force it out. 

Claire just stood there, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Silent and swaying slightly. 

Before the tears could rush from his eyes, or worse, before she could say some goodbye that broke his resolve, he turned sharply and threw himself down the hill. If she called goodbye after him, it didn’t reach his ears. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look back. He didn’t think he could go on, but his feet propelled him forward, away from the love of his life. 

She’s going home— he told himself as the first tears began to fall— back to her people. She’ll be happy. 

But he was suffocating on the lump in his throat and the world was feeling so terribly unfair; He couldn’t seem to get himself to believe his own arguments, caught up as he was in his grief. 

His whole body was shaking, to the point where his fingers went numb. He didn’t know grief could do that. He wished it could numb his heart and his mind. But his traitorous brain was slogging on, and it took everything inside him to repeat the mantra of “she’s going home.” She probably was home at this very moment, back with her people. 

Toward the bottom of the hill, his steps slowed from their frantic pace to a resigned shamble, heavy with the weight of what he’d done. 

Now that she was gone, there was no need to rush into a life of emptiness. He might as well take his time. 

When he reached the spot where the ground was flattening out, his feet stopped altogether. His legs felt like jell-o, and he wanted to fall to his knees and weep. He probably would have collapsed too, if not for the brittle feeling in his body that made him go stock still. Everything seemed almost distant as the tears gathering in his eyes overflowed to trickle down his cheeks. 

How could he possibly face a life without her? 

He found himself frozen under the weight of that terrible desolation. Jamie wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face it. 

Heartbreak. He knew now with visceral clarity how accurate that was. 

Then, in an instant— a second so fast Jamie was certain his mind had conjured it— something pulled him back from the yawning chasm of despair opening at his feet.

A sound from behind him that made every muscle in his body freeze. 

A shout of his name. 

It couldn’t be. 

He turned slowly, disbelievingly, and saw an image that would be burned into his mind forever. A figure— a familiar figure that couldn’t possibly be anyone but his beloved— was barrelling down the hill. Claire’s hair was billowing around her ethereally, giving her the most perfect aspect. The sun behind her illuminated her silhouette, as if nature itself was caressing her unreal perfection. As she ran, the tartan blanket around her shoulders came loose, and the moment was picturesque as it swirled up into the air behind her, forgotten. She simply ran faster, racing down the hill toward him. Rooted to the spot, a tear still tracking down his face, Jamie could only watch her in astonished disbelief. 

Suddenly, she was mere feet from him. 

“James Fraser, you fool.” 

And then she was flying into his arms. He barely had time to embrace her back before her mouth smashed against his and they were kissing.  

The world stopped. Truly, the planet must have frozen on its axis, and every person on it must have been halted in their tracks. Because she was kissing him— and he, her— with a fervor he’d never before experienced. 

As she kissed all the words from his mouth, the breath from his lungs, and the grief from his heart, a joy previously unimaginable rushed from his center to the very tips of his fingers. 

The kiss was everything he’d imagined and more. Her lips were so soft, so perfect, molded to fit his. Like coming home, there was an incredible feeling of rightness. It was a mix of scorching and tender, somehow perfectly his Sorcha.

His lungs constricted until he thought air would be obsolete in the reality of her. The electricity crackled, consuming them both in a cloud, leaving him dazed and stunned but somehow so amazingly alive. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire. He was aware of every part of his body, and every part of hers against his, but nothing so acutely as his lips caressing hers. 

Now that he was kissing her, he found he couldn’t stop. It must have been minutes, hours. He held her body flush to his, and he was shaking so hard with the strength of his emotions that his hand trembled where it cupped the back of her head. For her part, she had both arms wrapped around his neck and was holding as tightly as she could as he devoured her mouth. He was delirious with joy. 

Finally, when his lungs would surely burst, he parted from her lips just enough to gasp in air. 

“You said there was nothing on this side for me,” Claire panted breathlessly, lips barely brushing his as she spoke, “but there’s you. There’s you, you bloody fool. I love you.” 

The world was dropping out from under Jamie’s feet but at the same time he was more anchored than he ever had been— he was falling, but Claire was catching him. Giving him everything he’d ever dreamed of but had been too scared to risk. Here it all was at his feet— in his arms. How his life had changed in the matter of seconds. 

“I love you, mo nighean donn,” he told her, just as out of breath, “I’ve loved you all this time.” The words felt like a rush exploding from him, the truth of his heart suddenly bared for all to see. 

He brushed her wild hair behind her ear as a joyful tear escaped his eye. His fingers caressed her face for the first time without shame. Her lips were slightly puffy with the force of their feverish kisses, and her pupils were blown wide as she gazed at him with adoration. Indulging the desires he’d stamped down for days, he cradled her face with both hands and stroked his thumbs along her jaw as he spoke. 

“So ye’re stayin’ then?” he asked, a little shyly, barely able to contain the hope bursting from his chest. He could scarcely believe this wasn’t a dream, and he would have questioned his sanity if not for her very real body in his arms. 

“I’m staying,” she breathed reverently. 

And then they were kissing again. He held her tightly, clutching her wee body with greedy joy, and kissed her with utter abandon.

Lips desperate for connection and mouths fused, two hearts reached for each other to become whole.

***

a/n: Ahhh there it is! Arc I... mutual pining no more!!

Okay, I've been waiting to say this for like forever, but Jamie Fraser is often an unreliable narrator and a sweet, sweet dumbo!! He doesn't communicate with her well and often just assumes what is going on inside her head. Angst could have been avoided with some communication bbs!! So if you've been wanting to yell at Jamie at least a little during the course of the story, Claire's "James Fraser, you fool" is for you!! I have a lot more I would like to say about arc I, but in the interest of not making this note longer than it already is, I'm posting an arc I commentary on my tumblr. I'd love if you'd check it out! 

The story is far from over!! Arc II is coming along! I have like 12k written on it already, woohoo! Updates may be more like every Saturday ish but I’ll probably throw in a few weekdays to spice things up.

Next

[honeypirate]

Hi 🥺 first of all thank you for the follow and the amazing writings 😭❤️ and secondly hopefully I can request a Aone x reader where the reader is like usually very blunt and mean skater girl vibes. But with Aone they are like all bubbly and very shy with him. And everyone wonders why they are together 🥺

Hopefully you can do this request !!!! Have a amazing day my love!!!!!!!

THIS IS SO CUTE AHHHH! 

thank you so much for this! i had so much fun writing it. i’m not experienced with writing skater things, this was my first try lol i hope you like it. 

Aone Takanobu x Skater Girl Reader

warnings: maybe a swear or two 

words: 2.5k

“God Ko did you have to take so long? We’re going to be late now. I should have just left without you!” you shouted at your best friend Koganegawa over the sound of the wind in your ears, your foot coming down to push against the concrete on the sidewalk as you both skateboard the relatively short distance to school.

 He had volleyball practice and you had softball practice at the same time in the morning, and being two out of a handful of students who like to skate you guys became fast friends,  when you ran into each other the first morning skating to school for practice he decided right then and there you would be best friends. 

“Oh come on Y/N-chan! I know you’re glad you didnt leave me behind!”  you shake your head, your hands shoved in the front pocket of your black hoodie as you coasted down the hill, “no part of me is glad!” you shout back and he sticks his tongue out at you, causing you to laugh. 

Since most of the teachers and faculty weren’t at the school in the morning you usually used your skateboard in the school, which wasn’t a problem until today. Because of Koganegawa being unusually late, they were practicing with a different setter, causing the ball to be set at the wrong angle causing Aone to hit it straight out the door at the same moment you passed by and of course hitting you in the back and knocking you off your board. 

“Aone you hit someone!” a voice shouted from the gym, Koganegawa who had stopped a few feet before you so he could go into gym was now on his knees with laughter, you caught your self with your hands and knees then with the momentum slipped onto your elbows, you felt your knees sting as you rolled up to a sitting position. 

You could hear the team running towards the door as you inspected your knees, Koganegawa having a hard time crawling over to you since he was laughing so hard, “you should have seen that! I wish I could have gotten it on video! It was hilarious!” he’s on his back now, holding his stomach as he laughs, you shoot him a glare “shut up you ass! It really hurt!!” you rubbed your wrists, they were starting to ache from the impact. 

The rest of your angry words died on your tongue as a white haired boy ran over to you, taking a knee and looking at you with furrowed brows. “Are you okay?” he says and you feel your cheeks flush from his intense gaze, he reaches out and takes your hands in his, inspecting your palms and wrists as you stared up at his handsome face, completely at a loss for words. 

“I didn’t mean to hit you” he says, the rest of the team behind him watching the scene go down, most of them silent, shocked that their quiet giant was speaking so much. You can't help the quiet giggle that escaped your throat when he looked back into your eyes, “I- I’m fine! No worries! A couple scrapes is all” you manage to say, your cheeks feeling hot and your palms starting to sweat, he was so cute! you ‘ve always had a crush on him from all the games you went to, he had such a kind and good vibe it made your heart happy, and here he was! Your crush! Basically holding your hands! After he hit you with a volleyball but that was a different case.  

���Yo Y/n why are you acting so weird?” Koganegawa says, now kneeling beside you both, looking between you and Aone, trying to figure out the vibe he was getting, the rest of the team had retreated back inside the gym and you heard some whispering from inside. You send a glare at him as Aone looks down at your knees now, the skin red and rubbed raw through the holes that were already in your jeans. His gentle fingers brush above the mark and you get goosebumps, when he’s satisfied that you weren’t really hurt he took your hand and helped you to your feet. 

He leans down and picks up your skateboard, handing it to you as he bows deeply “I’m sorry again” he says and you take the board before awkwardly bowing back, “dude you’re still late for practice” Koganegawa says and you curse under your breath, “see you after class Ko! Thank you Aone!” you say as you throw your board down, skating off in the direction of the girls locker room at the other end of the hall. 

“How are you friends with that girl?” Futakuchi was saying as they started to practice again, “she’s always angry. She's a psycho skater. You heard the rumor that she lit the principal's car on fire” Koganegawa growls “and that was just a rumor! She's a good person, sure she has mean vibes but she’s just a badass! She’s blunt and keeps me humble. She’s a good friend and you should see her play softball, she's insanely talented” he sets a ball to Aone perfectly to spike and the white haired boy hits it with so much force it slams against the gym floor. He didn’t like hearing Futakuchi bad mouth you, you were adorable and sweet, how could they not see that? “Focus guys come on” and with that their coach had silenced all talk unless it was vb related. 

“Ugh! Im so awkward! I thanked him! I thanked him for hitting me with a ball! God help me!” you think as you take your board out of the locker in the locker room, practice was finished and now it was time for classes, you make your way to your normal locker and stash your board there, leaning in, you rest your head against the board and books as you sigh defeatedly.

“Whats your problem?” Ko says coming up by you to his locker that was on your left, “did you fuck up stealing third again? Or maybe you’re feeling like an idiot because of your encounter with Aone earlier? Does someone have a crush?’ you growl and lean out of your locker “at least I wasn't caught with volleyballs in my shirt like boobs” you quip back and he gasps “that was one time!” he shouts and you scowl “yeah, sure, okay” you close your locker door and turn to him “if you tell anyone about this morning I’ll print off that picture and post it around school. Don't make me do something i would really enjoy” you smile sweetly before turning and heading down to your first class. 

After school you had more practice before showering and heading to the gym to wait for Ko, it was something you had done before but this time your stomach had flipped into knots thinking about Aone again. You wanted to run into him but at the same time you never wanted to see him again, you popped a cherry bubblegum lollipop into your mouth as you walked, your board under your arm. 

You stuck your head into the gym to see the team just standing and chatting, practice having just ended, you make eye contact with Aone and squeak as you pull your head back, pulling the sucker from your mouth as you lean against the other door that was closed, your heart racing and your cheeks already starting to feel warm. You weren't a shy person so why did he make you feel this way? You tried to calm your racing heart but before you could your heart footsteps approaching. 

Aone looked out the hallway, around the door to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hi” you whisper before popping the sucker back into your mouth. You saw the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile as he walks out into the hallway to stand in front of you. “I- I uh” you stumble through our words, swallowing hard you took the sucker from your mouth again, your hands moving through the air as you spoke, “I’m sorry about earlier. When i was being awkward. I thanked you as I left, essentially thanking you for hitting me with a ball and that was... weird of me. Anyway I hope you dont think im weird now” you look down at your feet for a moment, your faded black and white slip on checkered vans tapping together at the toes, before looking back up into his kind eyes “do you? Uh i mean, do you think i'm weird now?”  you twist the sucker stick between your thumb and forefinger as you wait for his response. 

He shakes his head no and you smile, a sigh of relief passing your lips as you scratch behind your ear with your free hand “oh good!” you say “im glad” he reaches out, taking your hand gently in his hand, a look of concern as he inspects your palm which was now covered in tiny cuts. You chuckle softly and relax your hand in his “it wasn't because I fell” you realize after saying that, that it was because of a fall, just not that one, you hastily correct yourself, the awkward feeling in your body growing “I mean, it wasn't because of you making me fall, it was because of softball, I forgot my gloves today” 

The rest of the team exited the gym now, stopping when they see you two, Aone doesn't let go of your hand he continues his inspection as the rest of the team just watches. “Aone” you whisper after a few moments and then he looks back up at you then over at his team, sending them a look that says if they didn't just go he’d be mad, Koganegawa in the front put a skip in his step as he ran off towards the locker rooms, pulling Futakuchi behind him so he wouldn't stay behind and be a dick, the rest of the team following suit, all of them watching you two the whole way causing your cheeks to grow as red as possible.

 “Uh shouldn't you go as well?” you whisper and pop the sucker back in your mouth, he watches you actions and you smile softly “want one? I have grape, cherry, and watermelon” he nods and says “watermelon” you reach in your backpack and hand him a watermelon bubble gum lollipop and he bows a little before taking off the wrapper and putting it in his mouth, a smile forming on his lips as he enjoyed the flavor. “Thank you” he says, his voice a little whistle-y around the candy in his mouth and you nod “no problem” 

After that you brought him a watermelon sucker every day, making sure to stop in after practice every evening and give it to him, he looked so happy every time it made your heart soar, after a little while he started sitting by you in the cafeteria, your other softball and skater friends looking at you funny the first few times but soon didn't mind. Your angry badass persona would be replaced by bubbly shy and cute, three things you rarely were. 

“What is going on?” Futakuchi said one afternoon in the cafeteria as he looked over at you two together “I don’t get it.” another one of the team members says “She’s skater punk and will beat your ass and he's a quiet soft boy won’t hurt a fly” one of Futakuchi’s friends says through a huge bite of a sandwich. Ko just sighs “you guys should get to know her. She’d never hurt a fly either. She's actually quite afraid of confrontation as well unless she knows you or you really deserve it” after a moment Futakuchi says “i still don't see it”

Your phone beeps and you look down at it, it’s a text from Ko that just says “looking cozy ;)” you send him back a middle finger emoji. 

When you leave the cafeteria you turn to say goodbye to Aone but stop with the way he was looking at you, expectantly, like he wanted to say something but was too shy. You were about to ask him to walk you to class but the words couldn’t escape your mouth, your shy tongue keeping them in your throat. Koganegawa comes over and lightly shoves your shoulder. “Hey lovebirds” he says with a mischievous grin and you glare at him “what are you doing?” you ask him through your teeth, your cheeks growing warmer and he just chuckles “our y/n here is quite something huh?” he asks Aone to which he just nods once “I know a secret about her if you want to know it” your face turns totally red as you glare at the dumbass “Ko I swear to god if you don't shut your mouth” you seethe at him and he just laughs harder, sneaking to hide behind Aone and simultaneously standing on his tiptoes to whisper “she has a cruuush” your eyes go wide as you stare in horror at your supposed best friend, your cheeks red in embarrassment as Aone just looks down at you, confusion in his expression. “KO! Shut! Up!” you say and he shakes his head “on you” he finishes his sentence before taking off, you go to run after him but Aone just grabs your hand, keeping you next to him “is it.. True?” he asks and you look down at your shoes again, debating lying but you doubt you’ll get a better chance to confess, “yes” you whisper and after a few long seconds of silence you look up at him, meeting his eyes. 

 His cheeks are dusted pink as well as the tips of his ears and he has a small smile on his lips “I” his voice was a little too quiet so he clears his throat to try again “I like you too” he says and you feel your smile widen, going from ear to ear as you beam up at him “really?” you ask and he nods. You can't help but throw your arms around his middle and hug him in the middle of the hallway, he hugs you back gently, his big body almost engulfing yours. 

The bell rings for the first time and you pull back “will you walk me to my class?” you ask and he nods, smiling down at you with his eyes closed. You lace your fingers with his and begin walking again “to think this all started because you hit me with your volleyball and sent me flying off my skateboard” he sends you a look that says he was still sorry about that and you laugh, squeezing his hand as your cheeks turn red again “I'm not sorry about it Aone, so you shouldnt be either. I got to meet you and it was worth it.”  the tips of his ears turn red as his thumb brushes yours. You get a glimpse of Ko watching you down the hall very obviously taking photos of you guys and you remember what you told him you’d do if he ever told your secret, you squeeze Aone’s hand softly again and smile mischievously up at him, a smile he would come to know all too well, and say “so I have to do something a little, delinquent-y and I was wondering if you would help me? It’s a prank on Ko for spilling my secret”

[whump-town]

It’s A Wonderful Life

Inspired by the only Christmas movie that I like and last night’s episode of Prodigal Son

A dangerous car wreck puts Hotch in tricky situation-- to stay or to go?

Part One of Three (and don’t worry, I already wrote part two and am editing part three so it’s done I’m just not posting it all in one go-- so you’ll actually get the whole fic)

Feat: autistic Reid and Jack  (because I always thought that was what made the doctor’s appointment Hotch missed so important)

Aaron Hotchner wakes to the sound of his bedroom door slowly groaning, the old hinge creaking as it’s opened. If he hadn’t heard the faint, pattering footsteps beforehand, he might be fearful of what kind of intruders were trying to make their way into his home. However, before he can even roll to the edge of the mattress and offer his little burglar a hand up he’s being whacked in the face by a stuffed bear. Only able to grunt a complaint as a little fist grip tightly onto his pajama bottoms and-- “Hey, buddy.”

Jack looks nearly surprised to find his father staring back at him.

“You’re up early.”

Jack smiles, shyly leaning forward until he’s half laid across Hotch’s chest and half-buried down in the comforter. Placing one hand on Jack’s back, he leans up to see his alarm-clock. They’ve still got thirty minutes before the alarm goes off and the day must go on. Regardless, he sinks back into the pillows under him. Even if there’s no way he can go back to sleep, he can enjoy some pre-school-sized cuddles.

Thirty minutes is up too fast.

Carrying a squirming, unhappy five-year-old against his side he yawns and makes his way to the kitchen. “Oatmeal?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Oatmeal is the only thing that Jack will eat. It’s a… comfort food. The therapist, not the family one they go to but the one that specializes in autism, said that oatmeal was one of Jack’s comfort foods.

There was a bit of a debate about if Hotch should try to introduce additional foods with the oatmeal and now they’re working by trial. Oatmeal doesn’t meet too many dietary needs and having Jack fall underweight and little for his age was just another blow to Hotch. He understands that he can’t take these things personally-- Jack being nonverbal isn’t anyone’s fault. Jack being autistic is not some cosmic payback. It’s just a thing. Something that the two of them are working with.

It was just so much easier with Haley here too.

He’s a little cranky now but today is a good morning and Hotch isn’t going to ruin it by trying to encourage Jack into eating apples. He’ll cut up a few pieces of banana for Jack to either eat or ignore and be content when Jack eats his oatmeal and finishes his orange juice and that’s plenty. That’s good.

“Ugh.” This is the part Hotch struggles with. Speaking. For the language center of Jack’s brain to develop properly, Hotch has to speak more than he does. Silence is far more natural for him and he’d like to think the same for Jack. Speaking all the time, saying everything is tiring and he hates it. The thing is, he and Jack work exceptionally well sans spoken words. Jack’s ability to communicate is exceptional, Hotch has to work for it, but he’s five and Hotch doesn’t know any five-year-olds that are flawless at communication.

“Ah, thank you,” he signs the words too. His sign language isn’t actually that good but, again, they make it work. “Can you go to the chart and--” Hotch smiles, Jack already running over to the poster on his wall. Smiling as he pulls the velcro pieces off and puts the little drawing of a toothbrush and hairbrush over to the done side. “Thank you, Jack. You’re doing so good this morning. How about socks and shoes now?”

Jack gets to pick his socks out.

Reid’s idea.

Hotch had been very hesitant to ask Reid for any help. To acknowledge the one thing that they never talk about. In the face of everything that happened with Foyet and then with Haley he’d been left with no other choices. Strangely enough, Reid is the only person that has never made Hotch feel like an awful father for not knowing what to do.

Jack… kind of hates Reid, though.

“Oh, nice!” Reid says that Hotch should encourage the things that Jack likes. So, every morning he works a little harder to be happy when Jack picks out two completely different socks and turns around to search for his approval. “Do you know what color this one is?” Hotch asks.

Jack sits down on the floor, wiggling contently as he waits for Hotch to slip his socks on.

“Jack,” Hotch encourages, jostling Jack’s thigh to get his attention. “What color is it?” He holds the sock patently in his palm watching Jack get momentarily agitated. He raises his hand, ready to sign the word himself but Jack beats him to it. Clicking his tongue as he smiles and pats his lip with his middle finger.

The sign calls for the signer to form the letter “p” and then to tap or flick their middle finger against their lip but who cares about that?

“Good job!” Hotch praises and it’s so easy to be happy. Jack’s so fucking smart and he’s already so excited to tell someone. Jessica or Dave or whoever he sees first. “Pink! Your sock is pink!” The other has dinosaurs on it, it’s a favorite and Hotch finds himself washing it and its pair at least twice a week. He thinks it might have more to do with the soft yellow coloring of the sock.

Jack’s favorite color is yellow.

“You wanna go play with your rocks?” Hotch asks, slipping his hands under Jack’s arms and righting him on his feet. “I’m going to go get dressed, okay?” He waits, making sure Jack is going to go drag his tubs of rocks out before going off on his way.  He can worry about limiting the number of rocks Jack takes with them later.

It’s Wednesday which means that he has to take Jack to the office for two hours until his program opens for the day. Technically, he should be in Kindergarten but Garcia found this program for him. He and Reid had gone to scope the place out. Hotch was way in over his head back then (and still is but then he’d been trying to cope with Haley’s death and getting Jack into school).

Though most of the things that the program had to offer were things he couldn’t understand Reid has taken it in. Explaining every little detail until Hotch understood not only the style of learning they were enforcing but why Jack had loved their foam furniture so much.

Hotch doesn’t know how he would have gotten through the last few years without the team.

With everything that happened with Foyet, he’s surprised that they can stand him at all. Maybe they shouldn’t. Their ability and drive to stay no matter what he did is commendable and he’s lucky to have a group of people that care about him but he has to consider why.

Why did they stay?

Morgan got a promotion, recently. With a short, strongly worded letter Morgan could have control of the whole department and he should have it. No one would think twice about snatching it up out of his hands.

He watched Reid struggle with addiction. Has hidden and protected Reid’s autism diagnoses from being filed on his record. His right hand, the woman he trusts more than any other agent, is a chronic insubordinate mess. For whom he has stepped on many toes. Despite his retirement and the push to fill the position in other ways, Hotch asked Rossi to come out of retirement. No one liked that idea but he did it anyway. There’s his decision to bring Garcia on despite her record, which had caused a lot of trouble.

JJ-- Well, she’s perfect so she’s probably the one they can’t use against him.

But how many times had Haley called JJ? Before the divorce and after. Even if they can’t use JJ against him, she probably hates him.

His life is a good and proper mess.

And now he has to go convince his son not to bring two pockets full of rocks with them.

He has to hike his dress pants up to squat down. If he brings himself down to Jack’s level it’s supposed to be more efficient for communication. That’s understandable. He’s certainly not going to stand over Jack. Jack’s hardly three feet tall, it can be a little overwhelming. Not to mention that’s over three feet of distance between them.

“Buddy,” he holds Jack’s hands in his own. “Buddy, you can take two.”

Two. Jack can count. Two just doesn’t sound like a bargain.

“Four,” Hotch caves. “Two for each pocket.”

Okay, he can live with that.

Jack hates his car seat but holding two rocks in each hand seems to soothe him enough to allow Hotch the chance to strap him into his seat. That and his sketchers hitting the seat’s bottom lights the whole car up in flashing blues and yellows.

Hotch glances back at him a few times. Sometimes Jack tries to put the rocks in his mouth. He’s never swallowed one, he just likes the cold way the rock feels in his mouth but if he does that while Hotch is driving it’s easy to understand how that might not end well.

He gets to an intersection in town, frustrated when he catches the redlight. “There’s no way this stoplight hasn’t ruined someone’s day before,” Hotch mumbles to himself. The thing gets stuck on red for an absurd amount of time. The lights are regulated, a fact Reid reminds him of all the time, but this one will stay on red for longer than two minutes. By the fourth minute, all patience is thrown out the window.

When the light turns green he glances back at Jack through the mirror, smirking. He looks back to the road still smiling. Jack is content, clicking his tongue, and watching the world pass by through his window. It’s like he can breathe-- he can stop for just this moment and know he’s doing something right.

He doesn’t see the other car racing across the intersection, blind with rage. There’s the horrible ripping of metal and the hiss of smoke and then nothing.

Turns out he was right.

That stoplight is going to ruin someone’s day.

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Fifty-Eight) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Dom/sub relationship. Dirty talk. Bondage (belts). Sex toy (vibrator). Edging. Impregnation kink. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”. Drugging(s). 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 9646

Timeline: A few weeks after part fifty-seven.

Criminal Minds Discord Server

Mine and Hotch’s anniversary was approaching, and even though we had vacation days saved up, we decided that we weren’t going to take time off to celebrate. It was going to be over the weekend, but still. If Strauss wanted to call us in for a case, we were going to show up. But, Rossi didn’t want me and Hotch to worry about it because our anniversary was more important, according to him, so he told us that he wanted us to focus on each other and not work. On Friday afternoon, Rossi showed up at our door, and without warning, he put a ring of keys in Hotch’s hand while saying, “No work. Not a single second of it. I want a figlioccio (godson) before I die or so help me.” When we asked what all of this was about, he dodged by giving us an address and strict orders to stay away until Tuesday morning.

“Dave, what is this?” Hotch questioned, turning the keys over in his hand.

He explained that he still had a place out in New York City that he didn’t use anymore. It was all ours for the weekend so that “Mom and Dad can have a little alone time.” I blushed at his comment. Our strict orders to stay away included a less than “veiled” threat that he would go to the Director himself and have us fired on the spot. I remembered thinking to myself that he was being a little hyperbolic, but I understood his point.

So, when Morgan showed up an hour later—something that was apart of Rossi’s plan all along, it seemed—we packed a few bags, got in the car, and we started driving up to New York City. Morgan had apparently asked if he could babysit Scarlet and Jack with Jessica while we were gone; but Hotch seemed absolutely terrified that we would come home to a burning house, even though I was insisting that it would be fine. I trusted Morgan. I knew that he wouldn’t actually let anything happen to our kids, especially since I got to see up close how good he was with Scar while Hotch was gone in the Middle East. One day, he was going to be a great dad. Besides, Jessica was going to be there, which meant that Hotch really had no reason to worry because we trusted her around our kids all these years, and Morgan was just like another big kid. She could wrangle all three of them, if she needed to.

When we arrived at Rossi’s place, I felt my jaw practically hit the ground. When he said he had a place in New York fucking City, I just assumed it was a small apartment, since that was the extent of what most of the city could afford. But not David Rossi. Not the Italian millionaire who insisted on spending his money on small, stupid, worthless things, like cigars and expensive pancetta. I should have known. If he was going to buy a place out there, he was going to go above and beyond, and he was only going to give me and Hotch the best of the best. That was why he gave us the keys to this place for the weekend. It was a huge floor-through apartment on the top floor of one of the nicest buildings around. Getting up there was a challenge, but it was also fairly simple, in some weird way. There was a doorman, and there was security which we had to check in with since we were unfamiliar faces. However, once we mentioned David Rossi, everyone’s demeanor changed. They all started apologizing for the inconvenience, and they were practically begging us to tell them if we ever needed anything… even though we really wouldn’t need anything at all. We just wanted to get upstairs. So, they all magically left us alone.

Up in the apartment, Hotch and I couldn’t help but laugh at how big and ostentatious it was. This felt absolutely ridiculous Was it necessary? No. However, was it incredibly nice? Yes. It was a relief to be alone again with no work, no friends, no kids, and absolutely no worries. It was just me, him, and an ugly bear rug in the living room.

Hotch let go of the bags he had brought up before turning and sweeping me off my feet. I gasped then giggled. It had caught me so off guard, but now that I was in his arms, I didn’t care about anything else in the world. All I could think about was his eyes. They were staring right into mine, searching for little signs that told him how much I loved him. And that was when I noticed a familiar sparkle in his eyes. It was the sparkle that said he loved me so fucking much that he’d die for me, but also that he would do anything I wanted for me… everything.

I kissed his jawline, just under his earlobe. “I brought the black box,” I whispered seductively.

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t want to see the city or get dinner first?”

“No, Sir.”

He set me down on my feet. “Find the bedroom while you’re getting undressed.” He spun me around so that I could lay eyes on the hallway where the bedroom could be. As I took my first step in that direction, I felt him slap my ass, making me giggle, and he chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, taking off my shirt slowly while walking, then turned to throw it at him.

I picked up my pace. Kicking off my shoes, then sliding out of my socks, I could spot the bedroom in the distance, the door wide open, practically inviting us inside after a long day of driving, and what was sure to be a long night, too. Racing down the hallway, I hopped and shimmied out of my pants, catching myself on one of the walls every time I wobbled and nearly tipped over. I was standing in just my panties and bra now when I entered the bedroom, finding the forest green comforter that I sank into as I jumped onto it.

That was when I heard shuffling outside. I bit my lip, hurrying to reach behind me so that I could unclasp my bra before Hotch could come in and scold me for not obeying his command by getting undressed faster. As my bra fell, I tossed it to the side. Just as I saw his shadow creep towards me, I laid down and lifted my hips up so that I could push my panties down, and then set them to the side for him, if he wanted to use them as a gag, or if he wanted to put them in his pocket, or even if he just wanted to disregard them entirely by throwing them onto the floor.

“Look at you,” he teased lightly, his voice lower than usual. There was his Dom space. I recognized it immediately without even having to look over at him. “So good for me, baby.” I dared to glance at him with a smile creeping onto my face. “Put your hands at your sides for me. Keep your legs together.” I did as I was told. I wasn’t willing to rock the boat just yet, though I knew I would once the opportunity presented itself. “My good, obedient, eager whore.”

I melted at his words. “Yes, Sir,” I croaked, even though I meant to sound confident. I swallowed hard and tried again. “I’m your good, obedient, eager whore.”

He grinned ear to ear. After taking a second to admire me as I was sliding into sub space, Hotch looked around the room for somewhere to set the black box. When he had decided on the desk to my left, he headed there without saying anything. I was so anxious. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were somewhere other than our bedroom at home, or if it was the fact that we had both slid into our respective headspaces so easily, or if it might’ve had to do with the fact that Halloween had only been a couple of weeks ago and I was still entirely obsessed with everything we had done before we were interrupted by the kitchen timer downstairs. Was he going to punish me like he had that day? Was he going to reward me for being so good to him? Would I even get his cock at all? So many questions were swirling through my head, and I wasn’t getting any answers just by watching him dig through the black box.

Hotch approached the bed with two belts in hand. My eyes widened as I watched him expertly loop one of the belts up to make homemade handcuffs. Without even having to demand anything of me, I stuck my hands out in front of me, and he smiled while sliding the belt onto my wrists before tightening it as much as he could. I hissed. His smile didn’t fade in response, though—in fact, it only seemed to grow. As he pushed me onto my back, a wicked smirk replaced his grin. Curiosity and anxiety were coursing through me because I had no idea what was about to come. There was still another belt lying there. But Hotch didn’t go for it yet. He stepped away to grab something else from the black box. When he turned back around, I saw that he was holding a hitachi wand—actually, our only one, though Hotch insisted we should get another just so he could torture me even more, to which I told him no in order to spare myself.

The wand started to buzz after he plugged it into the outlet next to the bed and under the bedside table. I tensed at the sound. This wasn’t going to be good. I almost regretted bringing the entire black box with me in the first place, because now that we were there, I could see in hindsight that it was going to be a very long weekend for me. We had only just gotten to the apartment, and Hotch already had me in sub space. Tuesday felt like a millennium away.

“You don’t cum without permission, slut. Understand?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, Sir.”

“You’ll hold it if I tell you to.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl…” he muttered, finally hovering the wand over my left nipple until I could barely feel it. I moaned lightly. “You don’t have to be quiet, baby. We’ve got the whole floor to ourselves.” He leaned over me. “And no one’s going to stop this.” He trailed the wand over to my other nipple, rolling it around until it was hard. I bit back a moan. Hotch grabbed my cheeks roughly in his hand and said, “Don’t hold back. Stop that.” But I didn’t let go of my lip. He squinted at me. “You’re really going to be a brat right now? Of all times? Now?” I didn’t answer him. Hotch growled lightly under his breath, sitting up and pulling the wand away from me entirely. “Fine. I won’t let you cum, then.”

“No—” I immediately tried to apologize, but Hotch stopped me with another glare.

“What did you just say?”

I tried to make myself small, hiding myself as far into the mattress as I could. “Sorry, Sir.”

“It’s too late for that.” He turned off the toy before settling it between my thighs, pressing it up against my bare, soaking wet pussy. I rolled my hips. “Stop moving.” I didn’t stop, though. In response, Hotch slapped my thigh harder than I was anticipating, making me yelp. “I said, stop moving, brat. Don’t make me tell you again.”

With the vibrator sitting between my thighs, he moved my legs so that they were pressed together, keeping the toy there without any work. And then it finally made sense as to why there was another belt. I watched as Hotch took the length of the brown belt in his hands, smoothing it out until he found each end, and he pulled it taught, making me flinch. He smirked. We both knew what he was planning on doing with that, and while the thought was certainly appealing to him, I knew that it wasn’t any good for me.

“Lift your knees,” he ordered.

I bent my knees upward just enough so that he could slide the belt under my thighs, and then he pushed my legs down roughly in order to tie the belt around my legs, completely prohibiting me from spreading my legs. The worst part was, Hotch had tied it just over the wand, which meant that no matter how much I squirmed, no matter what I did in an attempt to make it stop, the wand wasn’t going to budge away from my clit. It was going to stay there until Hotch was through with watching me suffer.

As I suspected, Hotch turned on the toy, making me jolt in response to the sudden overwhelming stimulation that was coursing through me. The worst part was… it was on the highest setting. He wasn’t starting out easy, and he wasn’t giving me a chance to relax or get into it. He knew what I wanted. He knew why we were there. He knew what would destroy me. He wasn’t going to take it easy on me.

“So sensitive,” he whispered to himself, dragging his fingertips up and down my thigh as slowly and lightly as he could.

I gasped as the toy hit a sensitive spot. Without thinking, I rolled around and cursed, “Fuck, Aaron.”

He grabbed my hip, making me settle on my back again. “Manners.”

But that wasn’t the point of having the entire weekend to ourselves, now was it? No. The point was that it was just us, without kids or work for once, and I could do whatever I wanted as long as it got him riled up enough to keep us both in bed until Tuesday. There was one thing that would work. Since getting married and having kids, it was really hard for me to maintain my brattiness because any moment we did get alone had to be fairly quick, because who knew when Scarlet would start fussing up again, or if Jack would need something, or if the office would call with a new case? If we wanted any adult time together, it had to be fairly fast and simple. But now there were three days and four nights ahead of us where I could finally be a tease again, just like old times. Like on the plane to St. Louis… How I missed those days. The tiniest thing I’d do would trigger Hotch, setting him into Dom space, giving him any and every excuse to punish me. I almost wished we could go back in time. Not that I would give Scarlet up for anything… but… those early months of dating were so simple and free. For just this weekend, we could afford to be like that again.

So, I did what any good brat would do. I looked him dead in the eye, and I said, “Make me.”

Hotch’s entire demeanor changed. He was already angry with how quickly I went from being his “good, obedient, eager whore” to the brat that was willing to challenge him on every little thing, just because I could. This anger was different. The look that washed over him reminded me of the good old days. We had just started dating, and I told him all about the black box and what it meant to be a Dom, and he just… There was this look of hunger he had when I got bratty. He used to jump me any chance he got—not that he didn’t anymore; it was just different now. But I saw it just then. I saw it as the words left my mouth, and I was immediately filled with regret.

He shook his head while walking to the black box again. “’Make me’,” he muttered, chortling. “’Make me’. Huh. Sure. Yeah…” He grabbed something from the box. “I thought I wanted to hear you scream for me,” he turned with a ball gag in hand, “but now that I know exactly what I’m going to do with you, I don’t think I want to hear your pathetic cries for me to stop or slow down…” He kneeled on the bed, forcing my jaw open with a rough grip on my cheeks. He shoved the gag into my mouth and quickly fixed together the buckle under my hair. “’Make me.’ You don’t get manners at all now. No, ‘Please, Sir’,” he mimicked my pathetic, pleading voice whenever he was edging me, “and no ‘Stop, Sir’, or ‘Sir, I can’t take it anymore!’ because you’ll take whatever I give to you.” He pressed the vibrator against me as hard as he could, tightening the belt around my thighs to make sure it would stay like that. “And no fucking cumming.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I kept squirming my fingers stretching for the toy that was torturing me. It was brutal. The highest setting was stimulating me to the point that my legs were all ready shaking, and I was a whimpering mess behind the gag. I was going to get close soon. I kept stretching my fingers for the wand, trying to pull it away just to catch a break because I didn’t want him to edge or ruin me. Some part of me wanted this to all be on my terms so that I could just find relief by climaxing, but Hotch wasn’t going to give me that satisfaction.

Hotch intertwined his fingers with mine to stop me from reaching. I squeezed his hands. My hips bucked, my head thrown back into the mattress, and I let out a scream. All he did was snicker. I was so close already—Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He turned it off just as I got to the edge. I thrashed around more violently this time, pissed that the stimulation was gone just when I needed it most, but Hotch and I kept holding hands, refusing to let go. He chuckled and brushed my hair out of my face.

“Is it bad that I want to see you cry?” he asked me.

I whimpered. “Sir—”

He turned the toy back on. “I think we’ll keep edging until you cry. Maybe then you’ll have learned that your place is to use honorifics, and that’s it.”

“Sir—”

“Shhh…”

I wiggled my hips to make the toy flick across my clit, which only made the stimulation 10x better, which was taking to the brink faster. “Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir—” I screamed again when he turned it off.

“You have to go slower, baby girl. The faster you edge, the worse it’ll be.”

“I hate you,” I mumbled behind the gag, drool running down my chin.

“No, you don’t.” He turned it back on, but this time on a speed that was much slower, making it harder and longer for me to edge. “God, you look so pretty.” He leaned down to take my nipple in his mouth. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, making me moan pleasantly instead of screaming like I had been. I melted into the bed. “So, so pretty for me…” He kissed the other one. And then his phone started ringing, startling the both of us. He groaned and sat up to turn it off, but he froze when he spotted the same. “It’s Sean,” he told me with a confused yet worried tone. “Stay here.”

I whimpered and tugged at the restraints as he started walking out of the room. He answered the call and closed the door behind him. I moaned out as the vibrations hit a sore spot on my clit. Now that he was gone, he wasn’t there to stop me from wriggling around, so I started twisting and turning while trying to find a way to release myself or get the vibrator to move off my clit just to give me a break. But there was no way out. The son of a bitch tied it to my thighs so hard that moving only made it worse. I whimpered around the ball gag again as my orgasm started to build again. At least he wasn’t there to take it away now. He would never know. If I just raced towards my climax, I could finish before he’d come back… Yeah. That was a good idea…

The door burst open just as I thought I could get away with it. I shook my head and cried, knowing that he was going to take it away as soon as possible, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. “I am so sorry, baby,” he apologized sincerely. I looked at him with wide, curious eyes. He wasn’t apologizing in a teasing way. Hell, he wasn’t even in Dom space anymore. Something happened with Sean on the phone. “I have to go.” He stretched over the bed to turn off the vibrator. I moaned as I edged, throwing my head against the mattress. “I’m sorry…” He started unclasping the belt around my hips so that he could pull the toy away. “Sean’s in trouble.”

“Gag,” I tried telling him, though it was muffled and hardly coherent. Hotch somehow understood, because the second the rope was loose enough for me to wiggle out on my own, Hotch reached behind my head to unbuckle the ball gag.

“Don’t talk yet,” he warned worriedly, grabbing onto my jaw to hold it open so that I wouldn’t hurt myself. When the gag was out, Hotch set it on the bed. “Just relax.” He slowly helped my jaw close. “I’m going to make this up to you, I swear—”

I shook my head and sat up. “What’s wrong with Sean?”

Hotch sighed and shifted on the bed so that he could uncuff my hands. “I’m not entirely sure. I just need to meet with him and take care of it—”

“I’ll go with you.”

He shook his head. “No. He’s my burden, and I— I feel bad for leaving you like this—”

“Hotch, this doesn’t matter while Sean’s in trouble. You’ll make it up to me later, just like you said. Your messes are my messes. Remember?”

Hotch threw the belts next to the ball gag. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled lightly at him. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ve edged me worse before.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes falling shut. “I will make this up to you.”

I kissed him quickly. “I’ll clean up and then we’ll go.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” I kissed him again, then wiggled off the bed, hurrying to the bathroom. “Sean Hotchner…” I sighed to myself. If he weren’t my brother-in-law, I would have killed him myself. Acting like this was alright in front of Aaron was easy, but the truth was that I was frustrated… in more than one way.

----

The Edinburg was where we were meeting us with Sean. As we pulled up to the club, we saw the cops, medics, and witnesses all standing around in the cold, trying to wrap up the scene. Sean spotted us right as we got out of the car. We approached the barricade around the club, flashing our credentials to the cops that were trying to keep us out, and they let us pass through without any problems.

“Thank you, guys, so much for coming,” Sean said, dropping his cigarette on the ground and putting it out by grinding the toe of his shoe against it.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to smoke in public in New York,” Hotch said coldly to his brother.

He slowly started sliding his arm around the small of my back, pulling me close. He hadn’t finished dropping yet, I could tell, and he probably wouldn’t for a bit because his mind was still racing with what we had been doing—and I knew that because I was still thinking about it, too. We were supposed to be there for Sean. He called us, asking for help, and that was what we were supposed to be there for, but the endorphins were still coursing through us which was why we hadn’t settled down to completely focus on Sean yet. We just had to give it a few more minutes.

“You’re not even going to warm up to the big brother act?”

“I figured that it would save us time. You called during our anniversary.”

“So, that’s why you guys are up here.”

“Yeah. Care to tell us what we’re doing here now?”

“The girl I told you about, the one who died, her name was Anna. The cops think that she OD’d, but I’m not… I’m not so sure. She was bleeding everywhere, Aaron. I mean, out of her eyes, her nose, her ears. You don’t do that when you’re overdosing.”

“And you would know?”

“Aaron!” I hissed.

That was rude. I knew that Hotch was done with Sean, he had said that much since Haley’s death, and even when Sean showed up to our wedding, they didn’t talk, but he had no right to say that. Sean was his own person. If he was struggling and needed help, we should’ve been a safe space for him to turn to. But if Hotch kept this ‘tude up, Sean wouldn’t have anyone.

Sean shook off the comment to continue telling us what happened. “My manager wouldn’t let me call 911 until I got her outside so that the club wouldn’t be liable; but by then, she was already dead.”

“Is this the first time this has happened here?” I asked.

“No… My girlfriend, Linda Heying, she died last week the same exact way.”

“She didn’t abuse or anything?” Hotch questioned.

“No. She drank, but after—” He stopped himself so that he could tread lightly. “After something that happened a few months ago, the two of us got clean, and we stopped using.”

“Using what?”

“Not the point, Hotch,” I whispered. I looked at Sean again. “Do you know of a third one?” Without a third case, it wasn’t federal, which meant that we couldn’t take it. But Sean nodded, which meant that the case was ours now if we wanted it. I sighed and looked at Hotch. “Rossi’s going to kill us.”

----

While the team was on the plane, Garcia called to let us know that there was a similar situation in another club just after the victim at The Edinburg. Six people died of apparent drug overdoses, but they had been bleeding the same way Anna and Linda had. So, this had turned serial in less than a night. Whatever had been tampered with—drugs or alcohol, probably the latter considering that Sean was adamant that Linda didn’t do drugs at the time of her death—had made its way into both clubs on the same night. The likelihood that it could be found elsewhere was rising. If we didn’t act fast, this was going to get out of control.

The team was discussing the case and the profile on the jet without us, though. Hotch and I were holed up in the Field Office that we hadn’t stepped foot into since the bombing five years ago. It honestly felt as if no time had passed at all. We had shown up at the office, and everyone was taken aback by how much Kate looked like Haley, and everyone was convinced that her and Hotch had a history—and I was sure of it, too, because they didn’t act like friends all. Kate was always hanging around Hotch, hugging him every chance she got, talking privately and intimately with him, only valuing his opinion. Hotch told me that I was crazy, though. He convinced me into thinking that him and Kate had never done anything, and I believed him, and it never even crossed my mind again until he finally fessed up a couple of months back when I asked him to lay out all of the lies. They did have a history together, but it meant nothing to him. They were just friends in his mind. During that very case, he lost his friend. He lost someone who meant a great deal to him, someone who reminded him of Haley, and at the time, we thought about how hard it would have been to see Haley bleeding out like Kate had, thinking that it would never happen. We were so naïve back then.

I held onto Hotch’s hand when he started fidgeting and bouncing his knee. It was hard for him to be back and to not see Kate, to know that both her and Haley were now gone, and that I was all he had left. He brought my knuckles to his lips and placed a ginger kiss against them as a silent thank you for sitting silently with him.

“We should talk to Sean since he knows the most about the other victims.” He pushed himself to his feet before he could continue overthinking, and he immediately walked towards the interrogation room where Sean was sitting.

“Hotch—”

He closed the door on me, though, so the only way I could spy on them was by heading into the mirror room. Hotch sat down across from his brother. “Six kids bled out last night, just like the others. How well do you know these people that you’re working with, Sean? I mean, they wanted to avoid a liability by dragging a victim out of the building before deciding to help.”

“Listen, Thane hooked me up with the job a couple of months ago. What comes with that is bartending, cleaning, and looking the other way when something’s going down. Linda and I started dating a few weeks after that.”

“By looking the other way, did you suspect that any of the employees were dealing?”

“No. Just buying.”

“What was it that you were addicted to?”

“Aaron—”

“You need to be honest with me right now, Sean, if I’m going to help you.”

Sean sighed and sat back in his chair, wiping his face clean with his palms. After collecting himself, he dared to look back at Hotch. “Cocaine.”

“And you’ve stopped.”

“Yes?”

“And you’re not involved in anything illegal?”

Sean’s posture changed to something stronger, more adamant, but his eyes kept shifting as he answered, “Yes, but I’m not!” He was lying. Through and through, no doubt about it, he was lying.

Hotch noticed it, too, because he left the interrogation room without another word. When he opened the door, I saw Strauss and Rossi coming in just behind him. They must’ve had a long drive from the jet.

Rossi crossed his arms over his chest. “We just got off the phone with Reid, Morgan, and JJ on our way here. Apparently, they found out that the drugs are made up of PMMA, which is a highly lethal drug with delayed results, so Reid thinks that all of the victims weren’t getting high, which was why they kept taking more and more until they overdosed.”

“This is the first time we’ve found evidence of PMMA in the United States,” Strauss said, “and the Director wants it gone. Did your brother tell you anything?” Strauss asked Hotch. He shook his head. “Well, he has to know something, right? Agent Greenaway said he was lying.”

“About something else—”

“He could be hiding things from us. He might not talk to you because you’re family, so, Dave, I want you to give it a shot.”

Rossi shrugged and immediately reached for the door, seeing no problem with going in. Sean didn’t know Rossi. Whenever he had actually been around to meet the BAU, it was while Gideon was around—and the wedding didn’t count because Sean spent all of his time at the open bar. Rossi was a stranger. Sean probably knew how to get away with lying—or at least thought he did—but with Rossi, he would be thrown off his game, which would potentially give us an edge.

So, we watched from behind the mirror.

“Where’s Aaron?” Sean asked as Rossi sat down across from him.

“In cases where family’s involved, we like to have an unbiased agent perform an interview for another perspective.”

“Am I a suspect?”

That was an interesting question to ask. I mean, if he were innocent, he wouldn’t have asked a question at all, he would have waited for Rossi to proceed so that he could just answer all of the questions as honestly as possible. Asking a question made him seem guilty. The way he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, too, was a red flag.

“Should you be?” Rossi asked, squinting suspiciously. Sean rolled his eyes. “How well did you know the second victim, Linda?”

“We used to date.”

“’Used to’?”

“Yes. Before she died.”

“You know, that’s funny,” Rossi sat back, “because most people would say, ‘We were dating when she died’. But you referred to your relationship as though it had been a past tense situation before her death. Am I right?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah. We broke up after we had a fight.”

“Over?”

Strauss turned to look at Hotch, distracting us from the interrogation. As she asked, “Aaron, do you think you’ll still be able to work this case? I need to know,” Rossi asked another question about the argument when Sean didn’t respond at first. What Sean answered with caught Hotch off guard.

“My using… I stopped, though, because of her.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago.”

“Any relapses?’

Hotch stormed out of the room. I tried chasing after him, but the door slammed on my face slowing me down. I could hear Hotch yelling at Sean from the hallway. “You’d rather not say?! I asked you about this earlier and you said it didn’t matter! People are dying, Sean!” I stumbled into the room, running into Hotch’s back. His stance didn’t waver. “What was it? Heroin? PCP?”

“Jesus, Aaron, who do you think I am?!” Sean exclaimed.

“Clearly, I don’t know!”

“Hotch,” I whispered, grabbing a hold of his bicep, trying to pull him out of the room with me. “Hotch, stop,” I pleaded. “Aaron!” I finally pulled him out of the room and slammed the door behind us again. “Stop this right now! Stop!”

“He’s been lying to us—”

“Which seems to be a running theme in your family.”

Hotch stopped in his tracks. “Y/N—”

“You’re staying out of this until we’re done dealing with Sean—”

“—Y/N—”

“You’re done! Go wait in the boardroom.” I pushed him away, making him stumble towards the room where the team was just walking into. He opened his mouth to say something else. “Go!” I sighed as Hotch officially turned around, his head lowered in shame, and he wandered off. “Sean Hotchner… You motherfucker…” I opened the door again and stepped in. I sat beside Rossi. “Sean, listen to me.” He stared at me. “You need to tell me and Rossi the truth right now before we let Hotch come in and actually deal with you the way he wants. If it were up to him, he would have cut you off years ago and blocked your number. If he comes back into this room, I guarantee you he’s finally going to do it. So, we need the truth. Right now.”

“It was ecstasy!” Sean yelled over me. It was like he was trying to prove something, though I wasn’t sure what. “I got it from Thane.”

“Your boss? The same guy who told you not to call the cops until the dead woman was outside of his bar. You didn’t think to mention that earlier? That’s a lead—”

“Thane may be a dumbass, but he doesn’t kill people.”

“Does it not occur to you that if Thane is the one with access to the drug supply, he might also have access to the person who is doing this, then?”

Sean froze. The entire room was silent as it dawned on him that Linda’s murderer had been under his nose the entire time. “I… I didn’t… How could I…” He fell silent again.

There was a knock on the window to our right, making Rossi and I look over. It was Hotch. I rolled my eyes, thinking that he was asking to come back in, probably after convincing himself that he could be calm about it, which we all knew he couldn’t. But then he held up a case file. There had been another incident. Rossi and I excused ourselves from the conversation with Sean and headed out to the hall, waiting until the door fell shut behind us to ask what happened.

A family was found dead in their house by their daughter who was returning from school. They were on the floor, bleeding from every crevice imaginable, but they were already gone by the time paramedics got there. The thing was, they were a nuclear family in an upper-class neighborhood. They weren’t high risk at all. Why would they take ecstasy in the middle of the day?

“That’s why I’m sending you, Morgan, and Reid,” Hotch said. “The rest of us are going to stay here and keep looking into PMMA and where it’s coming from.”

So, that was how Reid, Morgan, and I ended up in a living room covered in blood and puke, a crying girl sitting in an ambulance outside, covered by a shitty trauma blanket. There wasn’t a single hint of ecstasy anywhere. Morgan and I searched the house while Reid tried profiling the parents, and the family as a whole. According to him they were a happy family. It didn’t seem like they had any problems beyond mild marital issues, which he discovered when he found the bill for couple’s counseling hidden underneath the mother’s journal in her bedside table.

“Nothing here suggests that these two would ever try any drugs, even marijuana,” Morgan said. We were standing in the kitchen now, looking around. “So, why would they suddenly use ecstasy and know how to properly dispose of it before anyone could find it?”

“Maybe they didn’t do X,” I said, shrugging.

“They had been drinking…” Spencer muttered to himself, grabbing a napkin to pick up a wine bottle that was sitting on the counter. I opened the dishwasher to see two wine glasses in there. He was right. “They probably just got home from work, decided to unwind before their daughter would come home.” Spencer carefully set down the bottle, then raced to go find Gina for a drug testing vial. When he returned, he used the dropper to suck up a bit of the wine, then squeezed it into the vial. It immediately turned blue, letting us know that it had been dosed with PMMA. Spencer stood up straight. “The Unsub wants to increase his body count. He doesn’t care who he hurts. There’s probably dozens to hundreds of spiked bottles still out there.”

“Should we put out a warning?” I asked.

“And create mass hysteria?” Morgan scoffed. “We have no concrete proof that there’s more of these bottles out there. We should start by tracking this bottle, then go from there.”

I nodded an agreement. “I’ll call Hotch to let the team know that we’re looking into wine now.” I grabbed my phone and stepped away while dialing him. He answered with his name. “Hey, we’re just finishing up here,” I told him. “Their wine had been spiked, so you guys might want to start looking into where they got the bottle and whatnot.” Hotch hummed and agreement. He didn’t really sound like he was listening. “Baby?”

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell the team.”

“Your brain’s scattered, I can tell. Talk to me.”

“I’m still worried that Sean knows more than he’s letting on.”

“You just need to give him a break for now, I think. He might loosen up.”

“That’s not the problem. He’s already tense, but it’s because he’s worried about protecting himself from the law and the big brother act.”

“Just take it easy on him, my love. Please.”

“I told you I was done with him after Haley’s death. Why—”

“Because he’s family.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. Listen, I’ve gotta call you back. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye.”

Just as he hung up, I whispered, “Bye.”

“Is he okay?” Morgan asked from behind me, scaring the absolute shit out of me, making me physically jump with shock. He chuckled. “Sorry.” I caught my breath and turned to face him. “Seriously… Do you think he’s okay?”

I shrugged. “I think he will be. I think that right now he’s just sick and tired of cleaning up Sean’s messes, but without Sean, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe the two of you shouldn’t be here. Maybe that’s why Hotch is annoyed.”

“You think he’s mad because I’ve been pushing him to work the case when we were supposed to take the weekend off?”

“I think that he’s mad that he loves his brother enough to give up a weekend alone with you just to get dragged back into all of this when you were supposed to be focusing on each other.”

“When did Derek Morgan get all wise about relationships?”

“I’ve always been wise about relationships. You just always forget it.”

Hotch was already calling back, so I abandoned the personal conversation with Morgan to answer what was hopefully going to be a work call. Thankfully, it was. Hotch called again to let us know that Sean wanted to go back to the club to talk to Thane while wired up, potentially giving us information on the Unsub, or at least enough to take down Thane and everyone else responsible for what happened to the victims at The Edinburg.

“Are you sure about this?” I inquired.

“I already tried arguing with him, but he’s stubborn.”

“Sounds like that runs in the family, too.”

“Ha. Ha,” he laughed sarcastically. “Can the three of you meet us at The Edinburg? We’ll have an undercover van to wait in.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.”

----

When we jumped into the van, Hotch was listening to the live audio feed coming from Sean’s wire under his shirt, but he stopped somewhat to catch us up on everything. Sean had mentioned that he was talking to the cops. Because Thane was on edge, he demanded to know everything that happened at the precinct and how much the cops knew. Sean played it smart. He said exactly what Thane wanted to hear, and it gained his trust and got the heat off his back. Hotch was actually impressed.

Morgan handed me a vest to put on. As I did so, Hotch continued to explain that Sean was bringing up the spiked wine right now to see if he could get a reaction out of Thane, now we were just playing the waiting game. If Thane said anything incriminating, we were going to move in. If Sean was in danger in any way, we were going to move in.

“Maybe you should dump that wine, just to be safe,” someone in the background said. We all stopped to listen.

“Right,” Thane agreed. “Sean, I need your help with something.” It suddenly sounded like they were on the move. “I need you to dump these.” He was getting Sean involved with a crime to make sure he wouldn’t tell the cops anything, which was smart on his behalf.

“You don’t want me to dump the whole case?”

“No, just those two for now.” Thane sounded really freaked out and on edge.

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah… I, uh… I could’ve sworn there was another case of that stuff.”

Sean hesitated for a second. “I don’t think so.” He sounded nervous now, too. “Nothing’s gone missing since I last did inventory. Everything’s here. Besides, if it really is gone, it’s probably for the best. Just means it’s one less thing to dump.”

“It’s not here… No, no, no, no, no. It’s not here!” Thane smashed something on the ground out of anger. “Fuck!”

“What did you do, Thane?”

“I spiked the wine, you idiot. Three other bottles were in that case.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I thought it was just X! I thought it was going to loosen the girls up!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, Thane!” Sean yelled angrily. “Linda’s dead because of you. Where did you get it? You son of a bitch! She was sober and you drugged her!” The sound of punches being thrown echoed through the speaker, making all of us jump into action.

Just as Hotch made the call over the comms to move in, SWAT raced in to arrest the employees that had been sitting around with Thane beforehand, but Hotch and I rushed straight to the back room to help Sean. Thank had a box cutter out, lunging at Sean. I stopped him by kicking the back of his knee forward, making him fall to the ground. Without hesitation, I knelt down, grabbing my handcuffs from the back of my waistband, and I started arresting Thane.

“You okay?” Hotch asked his brother.

Sean, still upset about the whole situation, silently pushed past his brother and headed outside. I pulled Thane to his feet. Hotch and I glanced at each other for a moment, but I silently shook my head, letting him know that he shouldn’t go chasing after Sean unless he wanted to make things worse, which I knew he didn’t. So, I took Thane outside while Hotch stood still.

As Morgan and I loaded Thane and the other employees into the SWAT van that would take them into custody, Hotch came running out, fear and panic washed across his face. I raised a brow at him. He was running back and forth on the sidewalk, looking high and low. Did we miss something? Was there another bottle somewhere? Someone hiding?

“Hotch, what’s wrong?” I asked him, closing the doors of the SWAT van. Morgan patted it, letting them know they were free to go. “Hotch, what is it?”

Hotch didn’t say anything. He only turned his phone around to show me the screen and the text message from Sean that said: “I’m sorry.” Sean ran for some reason, and Hotch was left worried about his little brother again. Fucking Sean. He did this every time, and there were only so many times that I could keep defending him and continue convincing Hotch to stay in contact with him. He was making my job really fucking difficult.

“Sir, we found the club owner, Jim Peters,” a SWAT agent said after jogging over to us.

“Where?” I asked.

He looked at me, shocked that I was taking the lead and not Hotch. He cleared his throat. “Couple of blocks from here. His car was wrecked with him inside.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s dead. The M.E.’s there now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Morgan mumbled under his breath.

The four of us started walking there, taking the SWAT agent’s lead, and Spencer caught up to us, following along my side. When we got there, he immediately parted from us to talk to the M.E. What a fucking shit show. Peters must have been trying to run away from us when the Unsub caught up to him. First, Linda, then he tried going for Thane but fucked up and drugged Anna, and now Peters was dead. Was he going for employees of the club? That had to be the answer, unless someone else fucked up the car and it was just a random hit and run—but considering that we were standing in a dark, quiet, abandoned alley, I highly doubted that this wasn’t motivated.

Reid came to tell us what he knew. The car crash had trapped Peters’ legs, preventing him from running away, but it was the PMMA that had been poured down his throat that actually killed him. So, it was definitely motivated. This was premeditated, the violence indicated a personal grudge because of the overkill, and the fact that this was more personal than any of the other murders.

“It’s too much of a coincidence,” Hotch said. “Sean ran, then this happened… I’m going to have Garcia run a background on Sean.”

“Come on, Hotch,” Morgan said, “you can’t think that it’s him.”

“I don’t, but I can’t eliminate him as a possibility now until I know what he’s hiding.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Absolutely not.” Hotch looked at me, bewildered. “You’re obviously not thinking straight, Aaron. Listen to yourself.” I shook my head again. “Go take a walk.”

“Y/N—”

It was like déjà vu when I insisted again that he leave and he reluctantly and angrily turned to leave the alley. Morgan and Reid were staring at me. They couldn’t believe that I had the audacity to bench Hotch, and that he actually fucking listened to me; but I think some part of Hotch knew that I was right, which was exactly why he listened and left.

“So, what do we know now that this guy is dead?”

“The Unsub doesn’t care about who dies now,” Reid explained. “The innocents were just a distraction, but the real targets, it seems, based on the brutality, are the employees of The Edinburg.”

“So, it’s personal.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan’s phone started ringing, probably with a call from Garcia because he smiled and answered with, “Hey, baby girl.” And then he put the call on speaker.

“Oh, you guys are going to love me,” Garcia said excitedly.

“We already do.”

“Yes, but even more now. I just found out that our first victim at The Edinburg that Sean knew about, Erik Sullivan, and our recently and dearly departed Hatchitt parents, all withdrew money on the days of their deaths from the same ATM. Where is said ATM, you might be asking yourself, well, it’s located in a bodega two blocks from The Edinburg.”

“You’re right, we do love you, Garcia, thank you,” I said. I looked at the boys. “You wanna go check it out while I talk to Hotch?” They nodded and started walking towards one of the black SUVs. I spun around on my heels once they were gone, looking far and wide for Hotch, only to find that he was relaxing against a brick wall on the opposite end of the alley, hiding in the shadows. I headed over to him. “Okay, Batman, what gives?”

“I’m still worried about Sean,” he admitted. “I hate that I am, though, because I’m honestly sick of this. I keep saying it again and again, but I really mean it this time, Y/N, and I need your support on this.” He looked up at me. “I told you that I was done playing his games after he didn’t show up to Haley’s funeral. I found out that you had invited him to the wedding anyhow—”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I did. You suck at lying to me.”

I smirked. “Or so you think.”

He grinned, too, but after a moment, it faded again. “Once I know that Sean’s safe, this is over. I don’t want our family getting dragged into anymore of my brother’s messes. My job is to protect you, love of my life,” he put his hands on my cheeks, “and our children back at home. Being raised by a distant relative who’s prone to bad habits isn’t a good role model to have around. We’ve worked too hard to protect Jack and Scar to have Sean keep coming back and fucking it all up.”

“I get that, Aaron, I really do…” I put my hands on his shoulders. “But Sean is our family the same way Jessica and Elle are. Therefore, his messes are always going to be our messes. We can’t forget that.”

“I can, and I’m choosing to after this.”

“Hotch, he’s your brother.”

“I know, which is why I want to protect him right now.” He groaned when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. “Hotchner.” His attention suddenly snapped up to me. “Sean, I need you to come in. I think that the Unsub might be targeting Edindurg employees. You’re safer with us at the precinct.” Silence for a bit. “I know that you didn’t kill him, Sean. I also know why you ran.” A beat as I raised a curious brow. “Just come in so that we can protect you. No, wait, Sean—” Hotch pulled the phone away from his ear after his brother hung up on him. “Shit.”

My phone buzzed this time, and I almost expected that it was Sean, for some reason. My hopes dropped somewhat, though, when I saw that it was just JJ, letting me know that Thane cracked without much pressure, giving us everything he knew. We knew about the entire distribution line now because we offered him protection against the Unsub. He told them that the PMMA was coming through a private airport outside of the city. Garcia was already looking into employees who could’ve had a stressor recently to convince them to smuggle the drug and distribute it as a means of murder.

I told Hotch as we headed back to the SUV so that we could race back to the office to catch up with everyone. When we got there, JJ, Rossi, and Strauss were on a video call with Garcia as she looked something up. They asked where Morgan and Reid were. I told them that they were going to take a look at the ATM and the bodega where the victims had supposedly bought the wine, just to see if we could make a connection there. Hotch and I took a seat when no one said anything else.

“Uh oh,” Garcia muttered, typing faster.

“Uh oh?” Strauss questioned.

“I ran financial records for all the people who work at the Franklin Airport, just like I said I would, and I found this one baggage handler, Mike Spiers, who’s been making ridiculously large cash deposits to his checking account on a weekly basis.”

“That could mean he’s the Unsub.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but then I found the ‘uh oh’ part. He’s been dead for four weeks.”

“Someone’s taken his place. Whoever is making those deposits is our Unsub,” Hotch said. “It’s probably another baggage handler who knew about Spiers’ death and was paid to look the other way, just like Sean was at the club.”

“Garcia, do any of the baggage handlers show a history of drug abuse?” I asked her up on the screen.

“None. They’re surprisingly squeaky clean.”

“What about drug-related deaths in the family recently?” Hotch questioned. I thought about how great minds thought alike.

“I saw something earlier…” She trailed off while researching. “Larry Feretich—Right, yes, okay, I got it. Larry Feretich’s daughter died two months ago of a suspected ecstasy overdose—I’m so sorry I didn’t spot it earlier, Hotch.”

“You weren’t looking for family; it’s okay.”

“Where did she die?” Rossi asked.

“The Obsidian, which is the other club that Jim Peters owned.”

“There’s the stressor and the personal vendetta for you.”

“Where is he now?” Strauss spoke up.

“He’s scheduled to be working right now.”

Hotch pulled out his phone and started texting someone. “Morgan and Reid are already half way there, we’ll send them to meet up with SWAT and arrest him.”

“Seems like Sean can come back now since we’ve exonerated him,” I said. I stood up and passed my hand over his, knowing that I couldn’t plainly touch him while Strauss was around.

Hotch nodded. “I’ll let him know to meet us at the penthouse, I suppose, since our weekend isn’t technically over yet.”

“You’re damn right it’s not. I meant what I said about a godson,” Rossi joked.

We smiled politely at him before waving goodbye to everyone and heading out of the Field Office to go back to the penthouse. In the car, while I was driving, Hotch texted Sean. I took his had in mine and squeezed. We were okay. Our weekend wasn’t completely ruined yet. Everything was going to be fine.

When we got there, Hotch stayed in the entryway, waiting impatiently. I asked him what was wrong. He looked at me and shook his head, insisting that it was nothing.

“We don’t lie to each other, remember?” I interrogated.

“I’m not lying, baby, I’m just protecting you from the truth. They’re different.” He looked at me. “Can you accept that this one time? For me?”

I nodded, then continued to wait with him silently until there was a knock at the door, encouraging Hotch to quickly open the door and invite Sean in. He waved politely at me and I returned the favor. Hotch was staring at me, though, trying to tell me something that I didn’t recognize this time around. I knew all of his looks, but not this one.

“Can you give us some privacy, baby?” he whispered.

“Sure. I love you,” I whispered back, leaning in to kiss him quickly.

He grabbed my hips. “I love you, too. I’ll meet you in there soon.”

We kissed again before letting go of each other, giving me the freedom to wave goodbye to Sean over my shoulder, then make my way to the bedroom.

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel @Braxdix

[babbushka]

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.  

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.  

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run. 

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.  

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.  

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.  

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.  

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

Tagging pals!  @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos  @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler  @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware  @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker  @goodboybensolo  @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca​ @1-800-choke-that-snoke​ @ktellmeastory​ @anongirl007 @zimmerxman​ @okk--maaan​ @flapjacques​ @aweirdlookingtree​ @callmemania-pls​ @theold-ultraviolence​ @og-selene​ @pinkmoontribe-blog​ @schopenhauerdeathsquad​ @nekonaomitard​ @feminine-machinegun​

[flyboytracy]

It’s easter! It’s the final day of Earth and Sky week! It’s Scott Tracy’s birthday! and this lil fic is about none of the above because Scott wouldn’t shut up 👌 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

It’s three in the morning when Thunderbird One begins her final approach to Tracy Island. She always lands a lot more quietly than when she launches but her pilot takes extra care to settle her back onto her launchpad beneath the pool with as little noise as possible when the world outside is dark and most of the bedroom lights are out.

Of course he knows which bedroom light belongs to whom. One room in particular is almost always dark because its occupant lives in space and Scott has to tilt his head back to say goodnight to a tiny little pinprick of light as it blinks in the skies above instead...

Another room is glowing brightly but Scott’s not too concerned because the middle of the night for them is the afternoon for a certain agent of International Rescue and he’s got no desire to walk into another conversation between the lovebirds. He’d stuck his head ‘round the door the last time he’d landed to find Gordon awake at two am and really, really wished he hadn’t. Tonight he’ll brush his fingers over that door on his way past and wonder again what happened to the little kid he used to take to the pool every weekend when dad wasn’t home. When did that tiny brown-eyed boy turn into a man ready to be a family with the woman he loves?

It was probably around the time that their dad went missing, only Scott was too occupied with trying to fill in that bottomless hole that dad left behind to notice all the tiny little cracks and crevasses that opened up too.

Thankfully Virg had always been Scott’s man on the ground since the moment Scott’s feet first left it, and he’d been there to stabilise and fill in those little fractures when Scott was too deep in his own hole to notice that others had opened up. Then he’d toss down a rope and haul Scott out before the sides could cave in and bury him forever like their m…

It’s been a long, long day. Scott’s glad to see that dad’s bedroom light is out, as is grandma’s. It hasn’t been easy for dad to readjust to life on a full sized planet but he’s making excellent progress because he wishes to be the one to walk a Lady down an aisle – if they have an aisle and either of them actually ask the other because the whole marriage and babies thing isn’t something everyone wants these days. Either way, Scott had accidentally overheard a snatch of conversation by the pool last month that’d made his eyes weirdly hot and he’d had to retreat to Thunderbird Two’s hangar to get a grip on himself.

Virg had been there but he hadn’t said a word because he hadn’t needed to. He’d drawn his big brother into a one-armed hug before pushing him in the direction of the giant vats of grease and they’d had a very calming afternoon oiling anything that squeaked on Thunderbird Two.

Scott’s surprised to see his brother’s still awake because Thunderbird Two had her own mission today which Scott wasn’t involved in but kept an eye on nonetheless. Virg was in the exo-suit for hours thus Scott’s surprised to see his room’s still aglow despite the late hour. He’ll check on his best friend after making one other stop first. Alan’s lights are on and if he’s old enough to pilot a rocket then he’s too old for a bedtime, but Scott worries anyway. Troubles weigh more in the dark and his youngest brother carries more than most teenagers his age. Dad coming back into their lives has rocked Alan’s world more than most because the rest of them are old enough to remember Kansas and the man their dad used to be before International Rescue took him from them twice.

Scott can remember when dad was just dad; that giant fella who gave him a ride to Rescue Scouts every weekend and took him to GDF airbases even when it wasn’t a bring your kids to work day. He knew the person dad was before they lost mom, whereas Alan’s far too young to remember their dad as anyone other than the Commander of International Rescue and it shows. Alan never got to lay on the roof of the jet with him as stars wheeled overhead and they talked about anything his boy had on his chest.

Instead Alan spent his formative years hearing about the legend of Jeff Tracy and Scott knows he’s kinda to blame for some of that. He built their dad up to be this unstoppable, undefeatable force inside his own mind and Alan picked up on it, as kids do. Scott didn’t even realise how tall he’d built that statue of their dad until the day after they brought him home and the reality of the situation kicked in. Scott wasn’t even sure what he’d expected; part of him had expected to be too late because who the hell could survive eight years in deep space on a ship vastly understocked for such a voyage?

Of course Jeff Tracy had survived, but the reality of that was a father who’d left his children behind and returned to find they’d grown up with Scott instead of him. It made things awkward sometimes, like when Al’ went to his oldest brother instead of their dad for advice. Whatever advice Scott gave him wouldn’t be the same advice dad gave him because Scott’s advice was based on the young man he’d raised but dad’s advice was for the little blue-eyed boy he’d left asleep in his bed on the fateful day he disappeared. Then there was the issue that his advice was based on his experiences with his four oldest boys, but out of the five of them, Alan had the most freedom to follow his own dreams and didn’t need to be told what to do with his future. He just needed to know that he’d got the support of his family behind him no matter what.

Scott might not be a fan of all of his little brother’s decisions. His friendship with a certain Mr Berrenger gives him hives, not to mention the way Alan’s newest desire to race cars across unfriendly terrain littered with hazards makes his eye twitch. However he’ll defend Alan’s right to make those decisions, and then go bother Virgil until the big guy installs VTOLs or something in Alan’s car that’ll keep him out of danger.

In the mean time, Scott treads heavily down the corridor, smiling to himself when Gordon’s light briefly flickers out. Alan’s light remains on, which surprises big brother until he looks round the door to find a couple of bodies on the floor. Virgil’s sprawled on a throne of blankets with a little brother asleep on top of him just like the old days when Al’ refused to go to sleep in case one of them went away again and never came back. For a moment he thought they’d both fallen asleep in front of the TV, but then Virgil yawned like a bear and a little figure dressed in green armour went sideways off a cliff and died in Alan’s game. Big brother couldn’t help chuckling at the bewildered “Ah,” and the slightly later “….oh.” when the game over screen appeared.

“Hey, short stuff.” Scott kept his voice down low to avoid disturbing their youngest brother as he crouched, sliding an arm beneath Alan’s bony knees and the other went around his ribs before scooping him up effortlessly. Virgil could’ve done the same anytime he wanted but he’d chosen to remain on the floor. It reminded Scott of someone perching on the very edge of their bed to avoid disturbing a kitten fast asleep in the middle of it. “I think it’s bedtime for both of you. Need a hand?”

“No. Maybe.” Virg conceded when he tried to get off the floor only to find his tired muscles wouldn’t bend far enough, “Just leave me here, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Scott just smiled and dealt with his youngest brother first, pulling off his socks and t-shirt so he wouldn’t overheat before tucking him into his actual bed. He pressed a quick kiss to that golden hair just because Alan was asleep enough for him to get away with it, and then turned his attention to the rather bigger little brother on the floor.

“C’mon, HeavyLifter2, I gotcha. Up you get.” Scott reached down for those big hands and hauled him up, not quite as easily as he could move Alan out of the way, but he’d had a lot of practise at shifting brothers over the years. Giving Gordon piggy-backs home from school when it’d been a long day and they weren’t gonna make it back before dad got in. Lifting Al’ up onto his shoulders so he could get a good view of the air displays they used to go to before International Rescue made regular things feel mundane. He’d even carried Virg home one time after he’d taken a tumble climbing down from their tree house and it’d damn near killed him to carry his not-so-little brother all the way back to the farmhouse, but there was no way he’d have ever left Virg behind, even if it was just to get help.

He’ll never leave a brother behind. Dad left them behind and it wasn’t exactly intentional but they’ll be dealing with the repercussions of that for the rest of their lives. He might be home now but it’s not easy to let go of the past eight years. It’s not easy to step back from his brothers to let their dad back in. It’s not easy to just stop worrying when it’s all Scott’s ever known.

“Hey.” Virg rumbles sleepily, all slow and soft like thunder in the distance as they trudge to his bedroom, “Stand down, Scotty. Everything’s okay.”

And Scott believes him.

[wkemeup]

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too)

summary: Bucky waits at the end of the aisle for the love of his life (heavily inspired by that scene in Crazy Rich Asians) pairing: bucky x reader warnings: a ridiculous amount of fluff  a/n: This was written for @mermaidxatxheart​​‘s 500 follower challenge! I had the song prompt of Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, though I was really drawing off the cover by Kina Grannis in the link in the summary. Congrats on 500(+) Jamie!! 🌸

Bucky’s hands were stuffed into his pockets, pulling at the seams of expensive threads as if the unraveling string could release a piece of tension in his chest, let him breathe a little easier, let his head feel a little less numb. Leather wingtips of his shoes were tight around his toes, the tie draped around his neck a little too snug, sweat beading at his temples. His breaths were heavy in his chest, thick like anvils on his lungs as he swayed from one foot to the other.

It smelled faintly of lavender and incense as he managed to take in a shallow breath; memories of Sunday mornings with his Ma and sister traveling into the city adorned in baggy suits and frilly dresses, a pout on his face through his teenage years. Stained glass windows to his left, marble statues to his right; colorful light filtered through the room and touched against the faces of stone, sun kissed, heaven sent.

His hands gripped to fists in his pockets and Bucky gazed out to the rows of old, wooden pews. It was filling up quickly with women dressed in beautiful gowns and men in black ties, talking quietly amongst themselves, stealing looks to the back of the room and then up to Bucky. Nervous excitement, joyful smiles he wasn’t used to be on the receiving end of.

“You alright there, man?” Steve asked to his left, nudging his shoulder teasingly. Bucky nodded quickly, maybe a little too quickly, because Steve started to chuckle under his breath. “There’s still time to run for it if you want? I can get the car started.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky replied without hesitation, his voice rough and raw like stone, unused all morning. He nodded to himself, pulling in a deep breath as he stared down at the double doors at the end of the aisle. “I’m marrying the love of my life today.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve nodded, smiling to himself as Bucky kept his gaze focused on the wooden doors. He patted Bucky gently on the shoulder. “Take in all in, buddy. You deserve it. After everything you’ve been through, to come out of all of it and find this? Love and happiness and all those things you never thought you’d see again? Who would’ve thought, huh?”

Certainly not Bucky.

But Steve nudged Bucky’s side because he believed from the very start, from the moment he’d introduced the two of you the day you moved into the tower nearly a year prior and he saw the slight part of Buckt’s lips, the rendered shock on his face as he stood frozen, staring at you as you extended your hand to him. Something had changed in him that day, like a spark igniting a flame, a drop to a desert, the cry in a first breath. 

Your hand slipped into his, a shy smile on your face as you met his eye, and Bucky didn’t know what to say. His voice was sandpaper in his throat and Steve was the one who told you his name, though Bucky was almost certain you already knew. Your eyes only flashed to the reflective panels of his left arm once upon walking up to him and even then, it had been in admiration, never fear, never disgust.

Your name was honey on his tongue and he repeated it a few times after you left, as he held his hand close to his chest where you’d touched him, like velvet and silk, and he wondered how something so tender and kind could stand to touch the flesh of a monster.

You turned over your shoulder as Steve guided you around the floor, introducing you to the team, and your eyes kept returning to Bucky from the distance, even as you met Sam and Wanda, then Tony and Natasha.

He’d met your eye from across the room and for the first time in years, he felt the corner of his lips push to his cheeks; aching in their disuse, a little worn for wear, but it made you smile even wider, crinkling up by your eyes, chewing on the edge of your lip. It warmed like the heat of a gentle fire to his chest, a relief sweeping through the tension he carried. It was your smile that started to pull him from the darkest parts of himself.

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, how you managed to start peeling away at the wall he kept built carefully around himself, fortified under brick and stone and standing so tall he no longer could see sunlight around him.

Brick by brick, they started to disappear with the smell of coffee filtering through the kitchen as the sun rose and he’d stumble out of his room after a night of restless sleep to find you waiting at the table with two cups of freshly brewed coffee, tapping your fingers against the wood anxiously, a bounce of your knee underneath. So sweetly nervous until the moment you saw him and everything in your body seemed to relax.

He lost a brick from the walls around him as he sat down beside you each morning, first under comfortable silence, until enough mornings passed and soon, the kitchen was filled with laughter before the sky had filtered to an even blue. 

The bricks disappeared every time you laughed, every time you smiled at him from across the room when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, every time a flush would touch your skin as he’d catch you staring and you’d look away bashfully, only to return home to ocean blue and he’d smile back for you.

They disappeared as your hip pressed up close to his on the couch and you fell asleep against his shoulder on movie nights, a bowl of popcorn slipping from your fingers. They crumbled with every soft snore, every time you curled against him, finding comfort in the cool embrace of his left arm as he brushed the hairs from your eyes.

Brick by brick, you managed to dig through the cement under brittle nails and calloused hands, tearing away another piece of the protective guard he’d mounted in his decades under Hydra until suddenly, steady streams of light started to peak their way into the darkness, until the touch of it warmed his skin, stung a little in his eyes, until the shadows no longer had a home around him.

The first time you’d kissed him had been an accident.

Something so innocent, so familiar as you pulled back from the warm hold of his embrace under fuzzy blankets and movie marathons, and touched the sides of his face. Lost in the way he was watching you, caught up in the dim lighting of the kitchen, the haze of sleepiness, you’d kissed him. 

Short and gone in an instant once you realized what you’d done and you raced off to your room with frantic apologies under your breath. He tried to go after you, tell you how badly he wanted you to kiss him again like that, but there wasn’t time. He had a mission in the morning and you’d boarded yourself up behind the walls of your room.

By the time he returned a week later, the line bordering between friendship and something more was all but shattered as he stumbled off the quinjet with a limp on his right side, a nasty scar over his forehead and an exhaustion dragging him under after four days of no contact, no reassurance, and complete radio silence. 

You had raced into his arms in tears and threw yourself to his embrace, holding onto him like he was your only lifeline. He had stumbled back a bit at the impact of it, surprised, and you didn’t give him a chance to question it before your lips were on his.  

The start of it all, the tailspin into the unknown.

It all happened so quickly after that. The nervous dates with pretty red dresses and disheveled ties, the hands intertwining as you walked together for hours through Brooklyn under starlit skies, the kisses outside your bedroom, the cozy embrace on the couches.

The ‘I love you’s. The falling between sheets, bare and desperate for one another. The question that scared him more than any mission ever could. The ‘yes’ that changed his life forever.  

He fell in love with you faster than he knew how to catch himself.

It was a freefall through the heart of an open abyss. It was stepping off the ledge knowing there was nothing securing you to the surface. It was a leap of faith, an instinct of trust, a determination of love. When he fell for you, there was no fear, no panic. There was only absolute certainty.

He loved you. You loved him.

There was nothing else. No amount of time that could make his love for you more real, more acceptable to what others deemed appropriate for this level of commitment. He spent too much of his life not being able to make decisions for himself, too much of his life without the autonomy to say ‘no’ or ‘yes’, his freewill stripped from him like a piece of his soul.

So, this was his choice, every day. Every morning, every night, every hour. He chose you.

“Anyone check on Y/n yet?” Sam quipped up from beside Steve, tugging at the neck of his tie.  “We sure she didn’t make a run for it?”

“Sam,” Steve warned, but Bucky started to laugh, feeling the tension slip away.

“I’m just saying,” Sam shrugged with that teasing grin of his, “I’m pretty sure we were all shocked she agreed to a lifetime with this nutjob. I wouldn���t blame the girl for jumping ship.”

“She’s coming,” Bucky replied evenly, a soft smile on his face as he kept his eyes on the back doors. “She’ll be here.”

There was no doubt, not a single trace of it running through his bloodstream. The tension faded from his shoulders and he realized with a quick look in Sam’s direction, that he’d done it on purpose, reminded Bucky exactly why he was standing where he was to begin with, reminded him of the unbreakable trust he had in you.

A moment of peace, of ease, and then—

The soft strumming of a guitar began to filter through the church, high up into the arches as a hush fell over the crowd. Bucky’s stomach fell, like at the highest peak of a free fall, and he straightened his back, tried to fix his already perfectly straightened tie, hands shaking just a little. The guests all turned to the doors as wooden archways slowly parted and Bucky exhaled a shaky breath.

“You’ve got this,” Steve whispered beside him. “Best day of your life, right?”

Bucky nodded, turning to find Steve smiling at him, Sam giving him a short thumbs up with that cheeky grin of his. His brothers, his family. He exhaled again, this time more even, like a weight of release on his chest, and turned to the parted doors.

A gentle voice carried over the hushed whispers of the crowd, light and breathy, heavenly, as Peter took his first step into the church.

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you

Awkward smile as he tried to make eye contact with every phone in the crowd, a slight flush of pink in his cheeks as he walked a little too quickly down the aisle. He wore a tie that matched the color of the flowers pinned to Bucky’s suit jacket and he paused for a moment by Tony and Pepper’s aisle as she begged him for a picture.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you

Wanda stepped out into the open doors. Long, flowing brunette hair over her shoulders, braided in a crown from her face, she carried light pink roses and white dahlias in her hands. Dressed in a beautiful shade that reminded Bucky of cherry blossoms, she gave a soft glance to the crowd before she took her place beside Peter leading up to the alter.

Like a river flows surely to the sea Darling, so it goes some things are meant to be

Then, Natasha. Lethal and cunning, dressed in soft pinks and a subtle smile on plump lips, an enigma within herself. She looked up to the woman sitting on the edge of a stool at the corner of the room, the one singing the beautiful song that had Bucky’s heart stammering so fast in his chest, he wasn’t quite sure how he was still on his feet.

She began to make her way down the aisle, a subtle glance to Steve from the corner of her eye before she found her place beside Wanda, leaving him to cough back a blush rising on his cheeks.

Then, a silence came over the crowd, the music lingering up into the highest peaks of the church as Bucky held his breath. A soft echo of the guitar nestling into his chest and falling into a pristine silence, Bucky watched as the crowd stood from their pews, turning to the back door, his heart pounding like thunder, loud enough that even the furthest row could hear it.

You stepped out into the opening and everything just... stopped. Time dissolving around him, the gasps of the crowd numb to his ears, and you paused under elaborate archways, framing you like a portrait to be admired amongst masterpieces. Dressed in a gown that touched your skin, floated along your curves, your body, the way his hands had; with a carefulness, a tenderness, unlike he’d ever seen.

Then, you smiled at him; something soft, subtle, filled with every rush of emotion swimming in his own chest. Stunning. Magical. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

A calmness swept over him, the nervous stuttering of his heart falling back into a gentle rhythm, his breaths even and full in his lungs. This was where he was meant to be.

You took your first step into the aisle.

So take my hand

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes, blurry as he tried to take in as much of this moment as he could. You chewed on the edge of rouge stained lips, disregarding the room full of people, of family and friends, as you kept your focus on Bucky in every step. He was the one you always ran to, his arms you sought out in a crowded room, his watchful smile to calm your nerves, and he was waiting for you. He was always there waiting for you.

Take my whole life, too

In every step, he saw the days he spent curled up on the couch beside you, the nights pressed against you under sweat damped sheets from the demons in his sleep. He saw the dates at the sub shop in Queens and the coffee joint in Brooklyn. He saw the trust he put in you, the instant devotion, the internal instinct to give every piece of himself to you. He saw the free fall.

He saw the bricks you dismantled from the walls around his heart, the way you so carefully nurtured the most vulnerable pieces of him to something stronger, something protected and adored until he believed it himself.

For I can't help falling in love with you

You were within reach now and he extended a hand to you. Your fingers slipped into his palm, warm and soft and everything that every grounded him to this earth by a tether, and he guided you up the stairs to the alter beside him.

He let out a heavy breath, smiling through the tears in his eyes as he chuckled quietly, still unable to process how quickly you’d fallen into his life, how easily you turned him upside down and brought forth the pieces of himself he’d lost over the years.

Your hand touched the side of his face, gently wiping away his tears with a smile that must have ached from how constant it was, how all-encompassing and infectious, full of unbridled joy and love. This was where he was supposed to be, where everything in his life led to – this moment – where you mouthed ‘I love you’ because you couldn’t stand to hold it back another second.

He kissed the palm of your hand, an intimate gesture shared between you witnessed by friends and family in the crowd, and he whispered, “I love you, too.”

His home. His sweet girl who reminded him who he was under years of fortified walls caging him from sunlight. His whole heart.

A new start. A new life.

For I can't help falling in love with you

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨