#cop!stuck x reader

[gutsby]

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

[rosenclaws]

Erased || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You are a powerful mutant with powers you hated. They ruined your life and it led you down paths you weren't proud of. Things changed and now you lived happily with Logan. Until your past seems to come back to ruin everything

warnings: angst. traumatic childhood, brief mentions of torture.

wc: 2.7k

Link to part 2

a/n: Hi guys, so this is kind of the you get hurt and he goes feral fic but i've combined it with this other wip i had laying around. I talked a lot about wanting more angst and tw death (my grandmother passed last night) so ive been in this weird state of sadness that i'm repressing. Either way i wrote a fic so there's that lol. I will def have a part 2 btw so don't worry.

Sometimes when you close your eyes you can remember your childhood. What it was like before your, gift, appeared and ruined everything. How your family loved you, how your friends welcomed you, how the world didn’t hate you. Everything was perfect.

Until the day it appeared. All you did was touch her arm. That’s all you did. An argument with your mother, silence, and then you touched her arm to try and apologize and next thing you knew she was asking who you were. Yelling at you to get out of her house. You cried not understanding what was happening.

She looked at you with nothing but confusion. Not even a hint of recognition. Then your father came home and you ran into his arms. Afraid and distraught when he pushed you off him. The same look in his eyes. Who are you? They threw you out, threatened to call the cops. They left you all alone, afraid, and confused.

It didn’t take long for you to understand. A mutant. You had heard of mutants but never thought you could be one. A mutant with a powerful ability. Memory manipulation. You could alter memories, dive into someone's deepest fears, their secrets, and even erase anything from heads. In a single moment their whole lives could be changed. It was a dangerous power and you wanted nothing to do with it.

For years you lived on the road. Keeping yourself moving, stealing when you needed to. Never getting too attached to one place, to anyone. You were alone.

Then one day some people found you. Dressed in stupid costumes. Still they took you in. Gave you a home, fed you, trained you. You grew up there. From teen to adult. Charles was kind and you don't think you could ever repay him for all that he's done. Your powers were strong but he taught you to control your emotions.

Still you tried to stay a safe distance away from people. Not just physically but emotionally. The nightmares of your parents haunt you everyday. They're nice. All of them are. The kids loved you and you enjoyed the mansion.

Still when the team invited you out you declined, when the kids wanted to crowd you during dinner you politely excused yourself to your office. You didn't go to parties, you didn't celebrate the holidays with them. You were just you, a nice, safe distance away from them. Then your world got flipped upside down.

The day Logan rolled into the mansion. He was mean and angry. He had that "I don't like being around people" kind of vibe but he stuck around. Ended up becoming more apart of the team than he wanted. And he liked it.

Logan was the first one to really break down your walls. Just like everyone else you stayed away from him. Smiling and greeting him but never going past that. Maybe that's what drew him to you. You were a mystery who smelled like vanilla. It was your perfume. He would try to flirt but he got nowhere. Eventually he gave up the flirting but his interest stayed. He find ways to talk to you, getting bits and pieces of information from you.

You quickly learned he was just like you in some ways. Guarded, a past life that you don't want to talk about, loners. Somehow in all of it, as he stayed at the mansion and grew to become part of this family, he wormed his way into your heart too. Just too loners who found out that being alone together is better than being lonely.

As time passed, your relationship with Logan evolved into something you never imagined you would experience. Love. You never let yourself feel this way, too afraid that you would do the same thing to them. That you would get close, build this connection, make these memories, only for it all to come crashing down with just a single touch. These memories are precious to you. Every single one of them.

You remember the day your feelings were revealed. Both of you desperate, afraid of what they meant, but neither of you could lose each other. It was the cure. Some company had found a way to suppress the gene. The moment you heard about it you were intrigued. Your mutation wasn't fun. It didn't let you control the weather or turn things to ice. You couldn't touch people. Just like rouge you were at risk for destroying someone's whole life.

Even with the years of lessons you weren't fully in control. You never let yourself try. Logan could see it in your eyes. The confrontation wasn't pretty.

It was anger at first, wondering how you could even consider that. Then it was anger from you, years of pent up feelings releasing all at once. The fighting turned into a deep confession. An intimate moment between the two of you. He cared for you in a way that scared the shit out of him. He couldn't say the words yet but he felt them. You felt the same way but just like Logan. Something was holding you back from saying those three words.

Still you showed your love to each other in other ways. You always let him know how much you cared for him. The words died on your tongue but he knew. You hope he did.

Logan bought you a necklace. Didn't make a big deal of it but you could see the blush on his face. Tossing you the box and mumbling something about him seeing it and thinking of you. It was gorgeous. Just a simple heart necklace with two sparkling stones. One for him and one for you.

Even if you couldn't touch he wanted apart of him to be with you. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You had Logan. You had the team, the mansion. For once you felt like your life was falling into place.

Apparently the universe didn't like that. Charles had called the team in for an important mission. You weren't on the team due to your own choosing so when Logan came back to bed he started to talk.

"Yeah some rogue mutants. Bunch of assholes who enjoy torturing humans." He grumbled as he threw his jacket on. Fixing his hair in the mirror as you sit on the bed. You're doing everything you can to stay calm, to not set off Logan's super senses.

"Some guy named Mack is their leader. Guess he's got some illusion powers or something." Logan says it all like its nothing. To him it is nothing. Just another mission. To you though, it's the beginning of the end.

"Don't know who in their right mind would do shit like that. Just a bunch of low life idiots." He spits. You wince at his harsh tone. He notices your silence and glances over at you. You're practically frozen in place. An unreadable look in your eyes.

"You alright?" Logan moves to touch your arm but you jerk it away.

"Yeah sorry, just had another nightmare last night." You lie. Logan looks at you strangely before sitting on the bed. His hand intertwining with your gloved one.

"Though I told you to wake me up." You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "And I told you the same thing." You counter. He smirks, you have him there. Part of why you go so well together.

"I'll wake you next time, I promise." There's a loud knock at the door and Logan grumbles.

"Promised some dumb kids I'd take them to the mall. Storm promised me a six pack of beer." After saying goodbye you let your smile fall.

This couldn't be happening. You thought you were finally safe, this was years ago. How could they still be around. Before Charles had found you, you were involved with this group. You weren't proud if it but you were hungry and afraid and they found you. Mutants just like you. They weren't afraid of you. In fact they were in awe of you, something you had never felt before.

You fell into their group, participating in the horrible things they'd do. You never did anything yourself. You were clean up crew. Wiping memories of anyone who saw something they weren't supposed to. Still, you enabled it all. When you finally left, it wasn't easy. You had tried to erase their memories but for some reason they could block you. You got away but they swore one day they'd come back for you. You were one of them forever now. No one would understand, no one would forgive you. You were a monster just like them.

Your mind runs a mile a minute. Thinking of everyone in the mansion. The team. Storm, Jean, Scott, Rouge...everyone.

Logan, oh god Logan.

Would he understand? He would have to. He's just like you. He did things in his past. He was violent, angry, a survivor. He never claimed to be a hero. But that doubt swirls in your mind. Fear overtakes any rational thought. You know what you have to do.

This was your fight, not theirs. You could stop them, you needed to finish what you started. Grabbing your wrinkled old backpack you stuff clothes, money, and any essentials inside of it. You had to move quick before any of the mind readers got a hint of what you were thinking.

Especially Charles. You barely had time to think about this but the fear was creeping into your mind. Poisoning it. It's better this way. It's safer this way. They've done so much for you that you owe it to them to help. You're protecting them. All of them. Logan included.

You held on tightly to the necklace he had given you. Tucking it in your shirt as you leave the room. You smiled as you walked through the halls. Saying hello to those who passed by. By the time you were at the front doors you felt a pull to keep you here.

Deep down you didn't want to leave. Of course you didn't. But you overcome the pull and walk through the doors. Refusing to look back as the mansion grows smaller in the distance. You walked for hours. Your feet aching as you finally reached some rinky dink motel. The room is depressing but for now it's home. Curling up on the bed you bury your face in the pillow.

Your heart longing for Logan. You're scared, so scared. A part of you wants to go back and find him. Tell him everything and ask for help. But then you remember what he said. How would he react knowing that you were one of them? Would he forgive you or would he turn his back on you just like Mack always said?

You barely get a moment to think before there's a loud knock at the door. Hand slamming impatiently against it. You quietly get up and look through the peephole. You cover your mouth to hide your shocked gasp. Logan. How the hell did he find you?

"I know you're in there." Oh he's angry. You open the door and Logan steps through.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice booms through the room.

"I come home to a ransacked room, I thought you were in danger. Only to be told that you ran away." He growls. He's clenching his fists tightly. How could you do this to him?

"How did you find me?" You demand as you slowly sink back towards your bag.

"Why did you leave? What's going on!" Logan is confused, lashing out on you because he just doesn't understand. Things were going great. You loved him and he loved you so why would you just run away. Away from the mansion, away from him. Did you not trust him anymore? Why?

"You wouldn't understand." You try to move past him but he grabs your shoulders and pressing you against the wall.

His claws coming out to pin you to it. The sharp adamantium knicks the chain around your neck, breaking it in two. The necklace falls to the ground but neither of you notice.

"Try me." The anger is slowly fading as he silently begs you to talk. To let him in.

"I'm sorry Logan, but I can't."

"Why not? What are you running from? I can help. Let me help." He begs. Please don't leave him. Please. He can do something. He can heal like crazy, he can track, he's fast, he's got fucking metal claws. He can help.

"You can't help me with this Logan. This is for your own good." You try to stay strong but looking into those gorgeous eyes of his was about to make you break.

"This is my fight and mine alone." He scoffs and lets go of you and starts to pace.

"Bullshit. This is our fight now. That's the deal. I lo-" He sighs and pulls you close. "Its you and me. Together." You gently trace his jaw with your gloved hands.

Tears glossing over your eyes as it takes everything in power to stay strong. To not fall into his arms. He's protected himself his whole life and you can't be the one to put him in more danger. He's a hero, he's your hero but tonight he's the love of your life and you need to protect him. Even if it feels like ripping out your own heart.

"Logan..." You say softly. He looks at you with those pretty eyes and you cup his face.

Slowly your lips brush against his. It's just a hint at first. Then it's everything at once. He smashes his lips to yours. Kissing you with a passion and need that you've dreamed off. This is your first kiss after all. It's everything you ever wanted. To feel his lips on yours. Skin to skin. You'll treasure this moment forever.

He's so wrapped up in the kiss that he doesn't notice you take your hand away. Taking off your gloves and move your hands to the side of his head. Hovering over his temples. He pulls away, breathing heavily as he leans in and kisses you again.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." You say with tears falling down your cheeks. He realizes too late, a flash of fear as you press your hands to his face.

"No!" He roars but its too late.

Like he's in a trance he stands there. You cry as you erase every memory he has of you. He won't remember you, he won't know why he's here or how he got here. You know that you won't have long before someone else finds you and you'll erase their memory too. It's for the best. It's for his own good. His eyes flutter close as he falls to the floor. You catch his head, lowering him gently to the ground. A pillow placed under it. You can't stay, he'll wake any moment. But you have a few seconds. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you Logan Howlett." You whisper gently.

You take one last look at him before grabbing your bag and running out the door. Each step apart from him is like a knife in your chest. You tell yourself this what needed to happen. You'd rather lose Logan like this than watching him suffer because of you. This way he can be happy, he can move on.

You did this for him. All of it for him.

-

Logan wakes to a pounding in his head. Confusion washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. Where the fuck is he? He doesn't remember how he got here, why he came here. He stands up and looks around the room.

"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself.

Was this a prank or something? He cracks his neck and looks around. The room is mostly empty but a small glimmer catches his eyes. He walks over and sees six holes in the wall that match his claws.

Leaning down he picks up a necklace. A heart with two stones. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his head. He stands up and slips the necklace in his pocket, something telling him to keep it close. He feels a pain in his chest. Not physical pain but something else. Maybe he finally got drunk. Drank enough to finally fuck him up.

All he knows is that he needs to get back to the mansion. As he leaves stops for a second. He shakes his head and continues on, hopping back on his motorcycle. For a second there he swears he caught a whiff of vanilla.

Must be his imagination.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 15

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6k

warnings: self-esteem issues, feelings

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 15/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

The ride home lasts ten minutes, during which you’re holding back tears the entire time. It’s only when you’re finally inside your own apartment that you let them fall. It doesn’t help to see Fenrir’s collar and leash hanging next to your jackets, or his bowls still on the floor. In a way, it feels like you’re back at square one. 

You know you promised Jeongguk you’d call Jihyo, but you don’t, knowing she’d disapprove of you being on your own probably just as much as he does. Still, realizing that sooner or later you’ll need to either get back to work or find another job, you send her a text, asking if there’s any case for you to work on remotely until you’re ready to return fully.

The first night back is emotional, but you’re relieved to finally be home.

“I don’t think it matters how hard you throw it,” a worried Jimin watches Jeongguk hurl a dart at the dartboard. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you’d see better results if you didn’t throw it like an Olympic javelin thrower.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes and grabs another dart. The music around them is surprisingly quiet, drowned out by the chatter of the bustling bar.

“So, care to tell me what’s up with him?” Jin asks, nodding toward Jeongguk as he sets the three pints of beer on the table and takes a seat. 

“His little lady left him,” Jimin explains sadly, sliding one of the pints closer to Jeongguk.

“Oh. Why? You weren’t a couple, were you?” Jin asks.

“No,” is all Jeongguk mutters before he heads over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. He has three of them, but only one actually hit the board; the other two embarrassingly stuck to the wood-paneled wall. From the marks already there, he’s at least not the first terrible dart-thrower. When he returns to the table with all the darts in hand, he pushes his designated pint back toward Jimin. “Can’t drink.”

Jimin meets his eyes, looking defeated. Jeongguk already explained that when you’re not with him, he can’t risk being drunk in case you need him. If you called, saying Hoseong had found you, Jeongguk would not hesitate to get on his bike or in his car, no matter how much he’s had to drink, and driving under the influence is something he’d rather avoid.

“She’s scared of me,” he repeats what you told him a few nights ago. Hearing the words from his own mouth stings less, but his heart still aches and his blood boils. He throws another dart but misses the board, and it sticks to the wall a few inches left of it. 

“Wait. What do you mean?” Jin asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Yeah. Although I’m pretty sure she hasn’t ruled out that I’ll just snap one day and kill her, she’s mostly scared that I’ll want to hurt her emotionally.”

“But why would you? I thought you two were doing alright? I mean, she’s been living with you for, what, the last month?”

“We were. Or at least, I thought so. She kissed me, and we were… getting closer, but I guess it freaked her out.”

“Why?”

“Remember how I told you I was horrible to her before I found out what Hoseong had done? Yeah, the things I said… they were inhumane.”

“What did you say?”

Jeongguk throws another dart, swinging his arm and using way too much force. “What haven’t I said? I’ve told her that she’s too ugly for me to look at, that she needs to stop eating, that she’s incompetent, and that she basically deserved being trafficked if only the traffickers would take her. That’s the short version.”

“Fuck, man,” Jimin breathes in disbelief. Jeongguk told him what happened ages ago but not explicitly what he’d said to you.

“Yeah. I just… I wanted her to hurt, to pay for what I thought she’d done, but she never seemed affected. I’d call her something, and she’d flip me off or glare at me or call me an idiot or whatever, but she never… I thought she didn’t care, so the next time I saw her, I said something worse. But I wouldn’t have, obviously, if I… If I… knew.”

Jin puts his glass down, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean, I haven’t met her, but isn’t she, like, objectively very pretty? From what I’ve heard?”

“Yeah, she is,” Jeongguk sighs. “Which is also why I didn’t think she’d take it to heart, ‘cause what I said isn’t true in the slightest.” 

“But can’t she see how pathetically in love you are? No offense,” Jimin asks. “I mean, I take it you’ve apologized and probably told her what you really think? She doesn’t trust that?”

Jeongguk falls silent as he retrieves the darts again, shamefully avoiding eye contact with his friends on his way back.

“Wait, you haven’t apologized?”

“Of course I have,” he argues before lowering his voice. “I just kinda… fucked it up.”

He feels the confused stares of his friends. “I’ve apologized many, many times for how I treated her, and she seemed to kinda accept that? But I never explicitly apologized for the things I said. Nor have I told her how I actually feel about her.”

He sees how Jimin is about to tell him exactly what he thinks about that, but Jeongguk cuts him off before he's able to.

“After I somehow convinced her to stay with me, I thought carefully about how to act around her. I thought that it would be better to apologize for… everything. I thought ‘I’m sorry for how I treated you’ would cover it. And I didn’t want her to second-guess my intentions, so I didn’t actually tell her what I really think.”

“You mean ‘second-guess your intentions’ as in…” Jin trails off.

“As in think that I chose to help her because I was interested in her. I didn’t want her to think I had an agenda or to feel like she’d owe me in any way. She hasn’t had the best experience with men—men in law enforcement, especially—so I wanted to be as… safe, I guess, as possible for her. I didn’t realize she was still thinking about it, taking what I said as the truth.”

Jimin sighs. “So she thinks you might still consider her the ugliest creature to walk the earth is what you’re saying?”

“Apparently. I tried to convince her before she left, but of course, it didn’t seem genuine. I don’t blame her.”

A bit more optimistic, Jin tilts his head. “You don’t think she’ll believe you if you just tell her exactly what you just told us?”

But Jeongguk lets his shoulders slump. “I don’t think so. She told me I scare her because I have a desire to hurt anyone who wrongs me, and she doesn’t feel like she can read me. And I believe her. I wanted to hurt her, and during the mission, I had to pretend to love her when I really didn’t, so I kept switching up on her.”

The atmosphere shifts from frustrated and sad to just sad as Jeongguk runs his thumb over the dart in his hand.

“I lose either way. If I tell her that what I said back then was true, then I think she’s ugly, and I wanted to hurt her by saying so. But if I say that I lied and that she’s really the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, then I still wanted to hurt her. And after everything she’s been through, she doesn’t want a man with a desire to hurt.”

“But like you said, you didn’t mean to hurt her to that point, more so to be taken down a notch? And it got out of hand?”

“Is there a difference? I’ve hurt her, probably beyond what is salvageable, and she thinks I’m still capable of that; that if we disagree on something, I might turn on her.”

With a deep breath, you pull open the doors to the police station one chilly Monday morning, the sky outside gray and heavy with the threat of snow. It’s been three weeks since you came home, and though Jihyo put up a fight, she eventually agreed to let you stay.

Since months have passed, and you still haven’t caught Hoseong and his crew, you figure you might as well try to get back to normal. So you started planning your return to work, but then Christmas came, which you spent at your mother’s, two hours away.

Jihyo also agreed not to tell Jeongguk about your living arrangements, per your desperate request. You’d rather not deal with his savior complex, and you know he’d park outside your building if he thought you were in danger. You scoff to yourself, but almost immediately, guilt settles in. A savior complex isn’t why he’s worried about you; he’s just a good guy. You know that. Still, you don’t want him to know.

Walking through the station at nine a.m.—on your way to Jihyo’s office to discuss your new assignment—you almost hold your breath. Some officers glance your way, still not used to seeing you back, and maybe even less used to seeing you without Jeongguk. Or maybe they know you had a “falling out?” Would he tell anyone here? Jihyo, maybe, if she didn’t already know, but you’re not sure if he’d tell anyone else; his closest friends besides Jimin don’t work at this station anyway. And Jimin probably wouldn’t gossip about you either.

Jihyo is waiting for you when you reach the door to her office, calling out for you to come in as soon as you knock.

“Hey,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“Hey. Want a donut?” she asks from behind her desk, happily pointing to the open box, a half-eaten donut in hand and what you assume is part of the other half in her mouth.

“Nah, I’m good,” you grin, sitting down in front of her.

“Alright,” she says, swallowing and wiping some crumbs from her lap. “So, I’ve been looking over your request and proposed methods.”

You watch as she pulls her laptop in front of her, setting the donut down on the table, and starts scrolling.

“And I’d say it’s very reasonable if we’re okay with the risks.”

“I don’t think there are any risks at all, actually,” you argue softly. “We parted on good terms.”

“Yeah, I know. And they played a part in your survival. But I’m still gonna need to have a risk analysis performed. Who would you want to go with you? I could assign Sana, I think, if you want her? She’s on an assignment right now, but we’re hoping they’ll be done by Wednesday, give or take.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad to see you back and wanting to work on what matters to you. I know the chief—ex-chief—did his best to be a pain in the ass for you.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait until the investigation’s finished, honestly. He deserves to rot in jail.”

“Agreed. I haven’t heard anything else from the higher-ups, so they’re probably still elbow-deep in it. Anyway, if you have any details you’d like to show me, I’m all ears.”

Your smile grows, and you reach into your bag for your laptop and notebook.

“Thanks,” you smile, standing up an hour later with your bag in hand. But before you exit her office and close the door behind you, you glance back at Jihyo. “By the way, I’m so glad you got the job. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“Thank you. It’s been… rough, these last couple of months. A lot to do and a lot of stress and pressure, but I think it’s worth it. And I’ve had help, making it easier for me to adjust.”

You know who she’s talking about; you don’t need to hear a name.

“He asks about you, you know.”

Holding onto the door, you look away. You’re well aware of what Jeongguk has done for not only you but also Jihyo, Sana, and the entire police station. 

“Let me avoid him for at least another month. Then you can tell him whatever you want, and I can try to be a better colleague. But now? I can’t… I don’t…”

Jihyo looks at you, seeing the pain well up in your eyes when you think about the reason you left his house that night. If you can just have another month to force the warm, yet invalid and hurt feelings you have for him back into the box they broke out of when you first kissed him, you can try to be more civil with him. Hell, you’ll even work with him if he can keep it professional as well.

Jihyo nods, sad but understanding. After all, she had a front-row seat when he used to tear you bloody.

For another hour, you sit at an empty desk, excitedly looking over the preliminary plan that starts on Thursday. You can’t believe it’s about to actually become reality.  

Step one:

Preliminary timeframe: Thursday. 

Possible obstacles and risks: Low risk of hostility or danger. 

Safety measures: Two detectives, civilian clothes, civilian car, concealed firearms.

Step two: Plan A or B, depending on what you find, if anything.

With your notes full of prepared questions, you rise from the chair, deeming it time to leave the station for the day. As you stand there, organizing your papers, movement catches your eye, and you look up just in time to see Jimin enter the big room. And of course, who does he have in tow if not Jeon Jeongguk, dressed, like so often, in the academy's navy crewneck and uniform pants?

Meeting both of their eyes, you’re saved by your phone’s ringtone, a sound that seems to stop even Jeongguk from taking an impulsive step toward you.

Fishing the phone out from the pocket of your black pants, you swipe your finger across the screen to answer. It’s Sana.

“Hello?”

“Hey! So I talked to Jihyo, and she said that your request got pre-approved? I’m a little busy at the moment and for the next few days, but send me anything you’d like me to look over in preparation.”

“So you’re up for it?” you ask, a wide smile forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Jeongguk reluctantly follow Jimin further into the room, where they start talking to two other officers with their backs turned. If you were more of a hopeless romantic instead of a realistic one, you’d describe the glances he sends your way as… yearning. To avoid his gaze, you focus on the notebook lying on the desk.

“Of course! You and me, just like old times.”

“Old times? It’s only been like a year since we worked on a case together.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, I gotta go. See you.”

“I’ll send the info tonight. See you.”

Discreetly, you end the call and gather your things, quickly but quietly heading for the exit. But in the corridor, you hear a call of your name. You shut your eyes for a second before turning around. It hurts to see him, to walk these halls, avoiding him just like you used to. Only this time, it’s a different kind of pain.

The shame creeps in at the same rate Jeongguk approaches. It’s the same shame for how he sees you, but also for how you’ve reacted. You can barely look at him, yet you’re ashamed for not giving him a chance, even though he’s the one who made the bed he’s now tossing and turning in. He's so handsome, looking so warm and strong as he approaches, his black hair looking soft, shiny and just a little longer than last time. A part of you wishes he’d close his eyes so that you could throw your arms around his neck and breathe him in.

“Can you please leave me alone for a while?” is what you ask instead, clutching your notebook to your chest.

Now standing right before you, he looks down at you with sad, desperate eyes. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Two minutes is all I need.” 

You’re not sure why, because you’re not an immature person, but you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. Noticing the shift in your expression, Jeongguk thinks back to what he said, smiling as well. “I set that one up pretty well, didn’t I?”

You turn your head, trying to stifle the smile, but you find that it fades easier than expected. 

“And you think I’d wanna fuck that?” he snaps, eyeing your body with disgust. 

Your gaze locks on the lower part of the wall. You wish someone would lend you the cloak of invisibility so that you could hide yourself from him and the world.

“Look at me,” he instructs, but you don’t. The more you think about his eyes on your body, the more you want to leave. 

“Look. At me,” he repeats, firmer this time but still without sounding angry. 

So you do.

“I get it if you don’t want anything else to do with me, but I can’t have you walking around, believing what I said is true.”

Although you don’t cry, you reluctantly let him see just how hurt you are.

“You were right. I wanted to hurt you. I said those things because I was angry, and I wanted just… some kind of justice. When you instead seemed so… unfazed, I let it get the best of me, and somewhere along the way, I lost myself. But I was wrong and although I wanted payback, I didn’t mean to hurt you to this degree. I was only looking for a reaction, anything that showed me that you were paying for what I thought you’d done. If I’d known how I really made you feel, regardless of if you were innocent or not, I would’ve stopped.“

“So you’re just a man, after all?” you ask, and maybe it’s uncalled for, maybe it’s not.

Jeongguk takes half a step back, appearing lost for words, and with enough pain in his surprised eyes for you to think he looks hurt.

He blinks and lowers his voice. “Yeah. Just a man. But listen to me—the things I said were. Not. True. Okay? You hear me? I cannot let you go around thinking you’re anything like what I told you.”

“I find that hard to believe. How else would you know exactly where to hit? What to say to cause maximum damage? Talking about my cellulite and my… weight and…”

“I said what I figured any woman would be scared to hear.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss. 

It doesn’t matter what he says now—he did know exactly what to say, which means he must have looked at you, inspected your body and found every single one of your flaws. It makes you nauseous, as if some of those flaws didn’t exist to the world simply because no one other than you had noticed or mentioned them. Then Jeongguk and his friends scrutinized every inch of you, uncovering them all and putting them on display.

“I think you’re gorgeous.”

“You would’ve told me.”

You really think he would have. The Jeongguk who wants you to sleep in his bed, holding you from behind, who asks to hold your hand, and who puts frosting on your lips as an excuse to kiss them—he would have told you if he liked you. If he thought you were beautiful.

“I didn’t. I thought–incredibly dumbly–that if I told you what I really think of you, you’d think I was hitting on you. If things were different, if we ran into each other somewhere without all this… baggage, I would’ve hit on you, but all I wanted at the time was for you to trust me as a friend and to trust that I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want you to think I was looking to get laid or that I would… that I was anything like Hoseong. I didn’t know that you took my bullshit to heart—because again, it’s just not true—and so I chose not to say anything.”

“But we’ve been past that point for a while, haven’t we?” you ask, finding his explanation a little too weak to believe. “I trusted you enough to tell you about the worst moment of my life, I kissed you, and I told you how pretty I think you are, yet you couldn’t even…”

Frustration boils in your veins, mixing with the raw disappointment and hurt which cools you back down. You feel so… small, so defeated. “I don’t need compliments. Just… something. Something that would’ve shown me you weren’t being sweet only because you felt guilty.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say to that. In retrospect, yeah, he should’ve told you, and thinking back to his joke about pretty being for girls makes him cringe with both shame and regret. Especially since he’d used multiple occasions to taunt you with the fact that you’re not a pretty girl. But it had been hard, finding a balance in showing his affection without scaring you off. When you reacted the way you did that night during the power outage, he... didn’t want to risk making you more uncomfortable or afraid. He’d decided to take a step back, let you lead, and he would follow. Of course, that backfired horribly.

You look at him, hurt still brimming in your eyes.

He searches for words, trying to explain himself better. “I should’ve told you, but I… I didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable. I wanted to follow your lead and let you decide everything. You wanted me handcuffed and blindfolded—of course I realized you were nervous. But I thought you were more worried I’d do something to you, rather than what I would think of you. I didn’t want to influence you to do anything you would’ve regretted.”

You’re clearly not convinced, and you shake your head slowly.

“You could’ve just given me a ‘you too.’ That’s all I would’ve needed.”

Jeongguk can only watch as you leave, obviously still very much hurt by him. Ten seconds after your footsteps have disappeared, he heads back to the desk area, his head hung low.

Jimin looks at him, JJ and Min gone. The unasked question hangs in the air, and Jeongguk can see Jimin realize that no, it didn’t go very well.

“You gotta remember that she’s had a hectic few months and maybe wasn’t really able to process everything. You being an ass was probably the least of her worries for a while—until it wasn’t anymore. And healing isn’t always linear. I’m sure she’ll come around one day.”

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t think she will, and I can’t expect that of her. I just… hate myself for what I did to her. I never even realized she was just walking around, bleeding from my words.”

You haven’t fixed your car since the last tampering, but fortunately, Jihyo agreed to lend you one of the station’s unmarked cars. A discreet black thing that you park outside the station at ten a.m. on Thursday to pick up Sana, who needed to retrieve some things and told you to meet her there.

Getting no reply, you lock your phone and step out of the car with a sigh. The ground is powdered white, your shoes leaving tracks as you walk up to the station’s main entrance.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, the doors falling shut behind you.

“Good morning!” Sana rushes over, a coffee in hand. “Sorry, I’ll be done in a minute, I just gotta ask Mark something.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you do, trailing behind her into the sea of desks. The place is unusually crowded with officers, so you decide to wait near the wall, leaving her to weasel her way into the middle on her own.

There usually aren’t this many people here when you’re around, but in your case, the problem isn’t necessarily people; it’s big, strong, law enforcement men. Though they’re not paying you much attention—they must be preparing for something big—you still can’t will your body to fully relax.

By instinct, you tug at your clothes, wishing you hadn’t left your jacket in the car. Since you decided to wear civilian clothes today, you thought you might as well dress somewhat according to your original mission’s dress code. Except adjusted for winter, of course. 

You’re wearing winter boots that reach your upper calves, a pair of those invisibly fleece-lined pantyhose you’ve seen all over social media the last few months, and a cream-colored knitted turtleneck dress. It’s been in your closet forever, but unfortunately, you didn’t try it on before you had to leave.

It feels too tight on your body. Not to wear into a ‘strangely religious neighborhood,’ but too tight to wear here. You pull at the hem where it ends at your mid-thigh, keeping your eyes down when people pass you and hoping no one is looking at you and taking note of how awkwardly shaped your body is.

You stand there for a while, avoiding people’s eyes while you wait for Sana.

However, when you—out of the corner of your eye—notice a uniformed man walking toward you, you look up. Jeongguk’s eyes flicker between you and the people walking past you, as if he’s seen exactly the shameful way you carry yourself around men—these men—nowadays. It’s gotten worse since you left his house; you know that, but when all of your confidence was fueled by anger and then denial, removing those leaves… not much left.

He comes to stand in front of you, looking down at you with frustrated eyes. He’s so broad, so imposing, and it’s very evident when he wears his navy uniform, the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms.

“Listen to me—”

You look away, about to step back, but he grasps your hand—not just to stop you but to guide the two of you a few steps away from the path of officers and behind the tall panels of a cubicle.

“No. Listen to me. I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want, but I need you to know that you are so incredibly beautiful.”

You sigh, looking at him and wordlessly begging him to just give up already. He’s quiet for a few long seconds, his frustration seemingly growing.

When he speaks again, his voice is calm, more earnest. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t recall the very first time you met him.

“I do. It was a rainy day—my fourth at the station—and I ran into you at the main entrance. The rain had wet your hair, and I held the door open for you. You thanked me, but you didn’t really smile much, just politely. I think you also bowed your head slightly. I remember thinking that you must’ve been cold from the rain, but I realize you were wary around the men here, even if you and I didn’t know each other.”

Sounds about right.

“And I thought that you were just so beautiful.”

You look down. It’s humiliating, and you feel like shit, hearing him throw compliments your way just to make you feel better. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not, but what else would he say? You can’t exactly say you expected him to approach you today to call you ugly.

Noticing your hesitation, he appears to be searching his mind for something, and you glance at him. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, and he reaches into the pocket of his navy uniform pants. It’s his phone that he pulls out, and he starts to scroll. He scrolls, and he scrolls, until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“Look,” he says, handing you the phone.

Although you’re not too keen on entertaining whatever this is, you can’t help but be a little curious. What could he have on his phone that would convince you?

Accepting the device, you start reading the words on the screen. They’re text messages from an old group chat, dated years back, and though you can’t remember the exact date Jeongguk first showed up at the station, you assume it was right around then. The chat seems to have consisted mostly of him, Ryung, Hoseong, Seunghwan, and Junseo.

Seunghwan: Yeah, we’re excited to have you, just let us know if you need anything.

The next few texts are from the following day.

Jeongguk: So I just met the most gorgeous woman I think I’ve ever seen??

Jeongguk: Quick question, is there a work dating policy here? I can’t remember. 

Jeongguk: And if not, where do I find this woman again? Is she an officer? I’m not even kidding when I say that I’m absolutely head over heels from a three-second interaction, and she didn’t even really say anything. 

Jeongguk: I’d love to ask her out.

Ryung: If it’s who I think it is then you better stay away, man.

You read on, seeing how Ryung goes on to describe a woman’s features, which happen to align with yours. The length, color, and style of your hair, the color of your eyes, and your height. But also a very generous way of describing your face and the shape of your body.

Jeongguk: Yeah! Is she with one of you already? In that case, I apologize!

Ryung: No, but Hoseong did her briefly, and she’s absolutely mental. Pretty, but crazy

The next words are not very nice, the men urging Jeongguk to stay away from the woman who could only ever be you, promising to tell him what happened the day after.

“See,” Jeongguk says, “Even Ryung knew exactly who I meant; I didn’t even have to describe you, just say that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.”

You’re not sure. Yeah, the evidence points to that, and you can’t deny that you’re definitely feeling some form of relief, but… you can still hear his voice in your ears, see the anger and hatred in his dark eyes.

You hand the phone back, and Jeongguk looks around, sighing before turning his attention back to you. “You want me to be completely honest? Tell you exactly what I think of you?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “No? That’s the point? I know that I’m not your type. I’m full of flaws. I don’t have a body fat percentage in the negatives like you, I don’t always have the energy to shave every inch of my body, and I’ve never gotten flowers. No matter what you say now, I’m not someone you want.”

“You think I’m someone who would care about any of that?” he asks, his voice tinged with hurt.

“You look like someone who would.”

Jeongguk looks away, taking a second to gather his thoughts.

“I… wanted to ask you out that day, after I first met you. You looked so pretty out there in the rain, and I think my heart stopped for a while. I think that you’re cute—really fucking adorable—and charming, and you’re smart and kind, and you’re absolutely breath-taking and sexy as hell.

"Which was another reason I was so angry at you; I saw this… stunning woman, who appeared to live a very privileged life, yelling ‘sexism’ whenever something didn’t go your way to… I don’t know, avoid consequences and get ahead, not realizing what sexism truly meant for other women. I didn’t think there was that much harm in what I said because I thought you knew very well how goddamn pretty you are, so I gripped at every straw, trying to get a reaction.”

You listen to every word he says, still unable to decide. You want to believe him, but the deep wounds he carved into your skin are still bleeding.

“I was so conflicted during our mission. On one hand, I had to pretend to like the person who had shot one of my best friends, who got away with it and refused to be held accountable for it. On the other hand… I liked seeing you pretend to like me too. First, out of spite, but then I realized that I liked seeing you smile, and how nice you were to the people around you, except for me, of course, but I guess I always started it. Then you fell asleep in my arms at the barbeque, and I knew I was fucked. I felt like I betrayed my friends for… feeling something other than hatred for you. 

“But this little thing, that hated me so much, let herself be so vulnerable as to sleep in my arms. And I guess I looked at you differently after that. The more I realized that you might actually be a pretty decent detective; a decent person, the harder it was for me to be mean to you. After everything, and after I’d found out what had happened, I wanted to tell you how much I liked you and how pretty I thought you were, but I was scared you wouldn’t come with me if I did. I was scared they’d look for you at your apartment, so I kept quiet.

“Even after you came to stay with me, and it seemed like you started to trust me, even just a little bit, I had to convince myself to wait. And the more I got to know you, the harder it became. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bury you in flowers? Hold you and kiss you silly? And you know why I was always up before you—or at least I tried to be—when you slept in my bed with me?”

You shake your head because you don’t know.

There's something else in his eyes when he holds your gaze, “Because I dream about you, and I wake up hard. But I remembered how I freaked you out when we made out back at the house, when you were on my lap and I got hard. I didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, so I made sure to wake up before you, just in case.

“I wanted to kiss you and hold you and really, it would’ve been my pleasure if you’d wanted to sleep with me. But more than that, I wanted you to be safe and feel safe, never doubting why I was doing what I was.”

He shuts his eyes for a short moment. “I guess that’s all I can say. I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need you to know that all I wanted was revenge; nothing of what I said was true.”

He opens his eyes again, looking into yours with his soft, brown ones and a gentle sincerity. Though it’s overshadowed by something else. “I have many regrets, but you are my biggest. What I did to you.”

Regret.

As if she’s been waiting for the right moment to make her return, you hear Sana call your name. When you turn around, you spot her approaching.

“I gotta go,” you excuse yourself.

Sana looks between you and Jeongguk, but when no one says anything, she shrugs and turns her attention to you. “So, Jihyo said you had a problem with your apartment? The door, was it? Cause I can call my brother, and he’ll fix it for free next week if you want?”

“You’re living in your apartment? On your own?” Jeongguk questions, his voice upset.

You turn back at him, “Yeah. Have been since I left your house. It’s fine.”

Despite the clear worry his eyes display, he makes no effort to follow you and talk you straight, probably realizing that there’s nothing else he can do; that was his last chance.

<previous | next> author's note: so there's that! thanks for waiting for it <3 this was the last puzzle piece of their past, i think, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, but especially him lol <3<3

[pucksandpower]

Blow Out the Candles

Charles Leclerc x birthday girl!Reader

Summary: the many ways that you and Charles celebrate your birthday throughout the years

Warnings: vague depictions of childbirth and labor

It’s my birthday today so this is my gift to you 🫶

You let out a long sigh as you lean back against the cold concrete wall of the holding cell. This is not exactly how you pictured spending your birthday weekend.

The heavy steel door clangs shut behind you, the sound echoing in the cramped space. Looking around, you take in the sparse furnishings — a bench along one wall, a grimy leaking sink in the corner, and a single window so dirty that it barely lets in any light.

Charming.

You hear voices and footsteps approaching. Keys jangle and the door swings open again. A police officer steps aside and another person stumbles into the cell.

He looks to be about your age or a little older, with messy brown hair and a bewildered expression. The officer mumbles something about “sorting this out shortly” before slamming the door closed once more.

The new arrival blinks in confusion before noticing you sitting on the bench. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he says with an accent you can’t quite place. French, maybe? He runs a hand through his tousled hair sheepishly.

You give a wry smile. “Don’t worry about it. I take it you’re joining me for the complimentary holding cell experience?”

He chuckles, leaning back against the wall across from you. “Yeah, something like that. I’m Charles.”

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, cellmate.”

Charles grins, and you can’t help but notice how his nose crinkles up when he smiles. It’s kind of adorable. “The pleasure is mine,” he says gallantly, giving a theatrical little bow that makes you laugh.

“So Charles, what terrible crime did you commit to land yourself in this lovely establishment?” You ask with mock seriousness.

He smirks. “Would you believe me if I said jaywalking?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms. “I was trying to get to the bakery before they sold out of croissants. I may have darted across the street … outside of the crosswalk.” He shakes his head ruefully. “The things I do for pastries.”

You have to laugh. “A real menace to society, you are.”

He grins again. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re in for armed robbery or something.”

“Me? No way,” you scoff. “I was taking the metro downtown and I may have … accidentally used an expired metro card. The transit cops dragged me off at the next stop. I tried to explain it was an honest mistake but they weren’t having it.”

“Ah, a hardened criminal!” Charles exclaims in mock horror, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Clearly. Us lawbreakers need to stick together,” you joke.

You both erupt into laughter, the sound ringing brightly in the dreary holding cell.

As your laughter subsides, Charles regards you curiously. “So do you make a habit of riding the metro with expired cards, Y/N?”

You make a face. “No, I just grabbed the wrong card in my wallet this morning. I was rushing to get downtown and didn’t even think to check.”

“Why were you in such a hurry?”

You hesitate. The real reason seems kind of silly now that you’re stuck in a jail cell. “It’s my birthday today,” you explain with a self-conscious shrug. “I was meeting some friends for brunch downtown to celebrate. Guess I’m going to be late for that.”

“It’s your birthday?” Charles’ eyes widen. “Well, happy birthday!”

You crack a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry you got stuck in here for your birthday,” he says sympathetically. “That really sucks.”

You give another shrug. “Honestly, this will make for a pretty funny story later. Not exactly how I wanted to spend today, but what can you do?”

Charles nods thoughtfully. A moment later his face lights up. “I know what we can do! Since we’re stuck in this lovely cell, we should have our own little birthday celebration. I can sing for you!”

You raise your eyebrows, surprised but charmed by the offer. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s your birthday, of course I do!” He insists.

Clearing his throat theatrically, he launches into an enthusiastic, if not exactly tuneful, rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

His voice echoes off the concrete walls as he gesticulates dramatically, getting really into it by the second verse. You can’t help giggling as he puts his whole heart into hitting the high notes.

By the time he finishes with a flourish, you’re both laughing again.

“That was amazing, thank you,” you tell him, still chuckling.

He gives an exaggerated bow. “My pleasure, birthday girl. Sorry I don’t have a cake to go with the song.”

You grin. “That’s okay. 10 out of 10 performance.”

Charles smiles, looking adorably pleased with himself.

You regard him thoughtfully. “You know, you really didn’t have to do that. Singing for a total stranger in a holding cell.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to. You seemed like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Well, it worked. I definitely feel better.” You study him for a moment. “You’re pretty strange, Charles.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs.

You shake your head amusedly. You have to admit, you’re really enjoying his company. For someone you just met under bizarre circumstances, he’s remarkably easy to talk to.

Charles checks his watch. “I hope they let us out of here soon. Those croissants are calling my name.”

“And I’ve got mimosas waiting for me,” you add.

As if on cue, footsteps sound outside. You both look up expectantly as keys rattle in the lock.

The door swings open and the officer from before steps in. “Alright you two, come with me. We got it all sorted out, you’re free to go.”

You share a relieved look with Charles as you both follow the officer out. After a quick stop to collect your belongings, you step outside into the sunshine.

Charles turns to you with a smile. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Y/N. Happy birthday again!”

“Thanks, Charles.” You smile warmly at your strange but lovely cellmate. “This turned out to be a pretty memorable birthday after all.”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad I could help make it special. Enjoy the rest of your day!”

With a little wave he heads off down the street, presumably in search of those croissants. You watch him go, struck by an impulse.

“Charles, wait up!” You call out, jogging to catch up with him.

He turns, looking at you curiously.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for making a crappy situation fun,” you tell him sincerely. “And, if you want, you’re welcome to come join me and my friends for brunch.”

His eyes light up in surprise. “Really?”

You nod. “It’s the least I can do after you serenaded me in jail,” you joke. “Plus, I’m sure the restaurant will have croissants.”

Charles smiles broadly. “Well in that case, I would love to.”

“Great!” You beam, linking your arm through his. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

You sink back into the plush leather seat, gazing out the jet’s window at the twinkling stars dotting the endless expanse of sky. This is definitely a step up from last year’s jail cell birthday celebration.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You smile up at the flight attendant as she offers you a crystal flute. “Yes please!”

Charles grins at you from across the cabin. “And please keep it coming, my girlfriend deserves to be spoiled on her birthday.”

You still get butterflies every time he calls you his girlfriend. This past year with Charles has been amazing. After that fateful day, he easily slotted himself into your life. What started as an impromptu brunch turned into real dates, which turned into a real relationship. You’ve never clicked with someone so quickly or felt so comfortable so soon.

Now here you are, celebrating your birthday at 11,000 meters aboard a private jet chartered from one of Ferrari’s sponsors. You had balked at the extravagance at first, but Charles insisted. “It’s your special day, we have to do something incredible!”

You take a sip of crisp champagne, the bubbles tickling your nose. “So where exactly are we headed?”

Charles has kept your destination a surprise. “You’ll see soon, birthday girl,” he says with a wink.

You pretend to pout. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

He just laughs. “Trust me, it’s going to be an amazing trip.”

You don’t doubt it. Charles has a knack for making every day feel special and fun. Even just being cooped up in this plane with him feels like an adventure.

As the flight continues, you enjoy a decadent five course dinner complete with even more champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Charles keeps you laughing with silly stories and jokes. By the time you finish eating you have to stifle a yawn behind your hand.

“Someone’s getting sleepy,” Charles teases.

“It’s been a long exciting day!” You say through another yawn.

Charles grins and hits the call button. A flight attendant appears instantly. “Yes sir?”

“I think it’s time to get the birthday girl to bed,” Charles says.

The attendant nods and pulls back a partition, revealing a plush bedroom suite.

Your eyes widen in delighted surprise. “Wha … we can sleep in an actual bed on the plane?”

“Only the best for you,” Charles says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You happily snuggle under the covers in the sumptuous bed, sighing contentedly. “Okay, this is an amazing birthday present.”

Charles chuckles, sliding in beside you and pulling you close. “The fun is only beginning, mon cœur.”

Within minutes you’re sound asleep curled up in his arms.

Sometime later you stir slowly awake, momentarily confused. The bedroom is dark and Charles is shaking your shoulder gently.

“Wake up, chérie. It’s almost midnight!” He says excitedly.

You rub your eyes and peer blearily at the clock. 11:58 pm. “Why, what happens at midnight?”

“Your birthday starts again!”

You look at him blankly, still not fully awake.

He grins. “We just crossed into a new time zone. Which means ...” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I get to be the first to wish you happy birthday again!”

As it clicks you start laughing. Only Charles would come up with something so adorable. You watch the clock count down the last seconds to midnight as he bounces giddily on the bed.

“Happy birthday!” Charles exclaims right on cue, tackling you in a hug.

You hug him back, still laughing. “You’re crazy, but thank you.”

He beams down at you. “I have so much planned, it’s going to take more than one time zone to celebrate properly.”

Over the next few hours, you dip in and out of sleep as Charles wakes you at each new midnight. Every time he sings and wishes you happy birthday again with infectious enthusiasm. By the fifth round you’re both delirious and silly from lack of sleep, belting out drunk duets of “Happy Birthday” and collapsing into giggles.

Finally he lets you sleep through until morning. When you emerge from the bedroom, blinking in the bright daylight, you gasp. Out the window is an ocean of clouds and in the distance, a tiny island just coming into view.

You turn to Charles with wide eyes. “Are we … is that ...”

He grins and wraps his arms around you. “Welcome to St. Barts! I wanted your birthday to be paradise.”

“Every day with you is paradise.” You kiss him soundly. “Thank you, this is the most magical birthday I could’ve imagined.”

Charles trails his fingers over your cheek. “You deserve magic every single day. I’m just doing my part to make sure you get it.”

***

You stir awake to soft kisses trailing down your neck. Opening your eyes, you find Charles gazing down at you, his brown hair endearingly rumpled.

“Happy birthday, mon ange,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

You hum contentedly, running your fingers through his messy locks. “Mmm, now this is a nice way to wake up.”

Charles gives you his signature crinkly-nosed grin. “I have so much planned for your special day.”

Your heart flutters happily. After two amazing years with Charles, the connection between the two of you feels more intense than ever. You can’t wait to celebrate.

But his smile turns apologetic. “Well, so much planned for after the car launch.”

You nod in understanding. Charles has commitments. And today the new Scuderia Ferrari car is being unveiled in a highly anticipated event.

Charles kisses your pouting lip. “I’m so sorry, ma belle. I wish I could get out of it but-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” you assure him, silencing his worries with a kiss. “I know how important the launch is for the team. I’ll just miss you today.”

“I’ll miss you too. But I promise, as soon as it’s over I’m all yours.”

You spend a blissful morning lazing in bed, laughing over crepes Charles attempts to make for your birthday breakfast. Flour ends up more on him than in the pan, but you happily eat the lumpy results.

Too soon it’s time for Charles to leave for the launch. At the door he pulls you into his arms. “I love you. This evening will be perfect, I swear.”

You smile up at him. “Love you too. Go show off that new car.”

After one more lingering kiss he’s off. You distract yourself by meeting local friends for birthday lunch. But your mind keeps drifting to Charles. You hope the event is going well for him.

By mid afternoon you’re back in Charles’ Maranello apartment, curled up on the couch watching silly movies. You’ve just bitten into a slice of birthday cake when your phone rings.

It’s Charles FaceTiming you, his handsome face filling the screen. “Hi, mon amour!”

You grin at your adorable fiancé. “Hey you! How’s the launch going?”

“It’s good!” His eyes drop to your plate. “Are you eating cake without me?” He gasps in mock outrage.

You giggle. “Only a tiny cheat slice. Don’t worry, there’s plenty left for when you’re home.”

Voices sound faintly behind Charles and he glances over his shoulder. “Ah, the program is starting again soon. I just wanted to see your beautiful face.”

You blow him a kiss. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

“I love you!” He says before the call ends.

Snuggling back into the couch, you focus on the movie again. But a notification keeps pinging on your phone. You glance over to see texts flooding in from Charles.

Can you watch the livestream?

The link is all over social media

It’s starting again soon 😘

You go on Instagram and click the link curiously. The livestream shows an auditorium packed with press, Ferrari team members, fans, and VIPs. Cameras flash as Charles takes the stage along with his teammate and team principal. They talk about the new car but you mostly just stare lovingly at Charles’ dimples on the big screen.

After the speeches, they unveil the sleek new car. Your heart swells with pride for Charles. But you can’t wait for all the events and obligations to be over. You miss him.

The hosts invite Charles to say a few words. He steps up to the microphone, smiling. “Thank you all for being here today. I’m so excited to get behind the wheel of this beautiful SF-26 ...”

He continues talking passionately about the team and the season ahead. But then his eyes flick to the camera broadcasting the feed. “Oh, I also have a very special announcement.”

You sit up, intrigued. Charles winks at the camera. “As some of you may know, today is my wonderful girlfriend Y/N’s birthday.”

Your eyes widen. You have no idea what he’s doing but it makes your heart flutter.

“So to celebrate this amazing woman, I thought we could all join together to wish her a very happy birthday.”

Charles starts singing “Happy Birthday,” looking straight at the camera with so much love. The crowd joins in, the whole auditorium singing to you. You stare in overwhelmed wonder as Charles blows you a kiss.

When the song ends, the audience claps wildly. Charles grins. “I hope you enjoyed your serenade, mon cœur. I can’t wait to celebrate you properly tonight. Happy birthday, I love you!”

The livestream switches off and you sit staring at your phone in shock. Trust Charles to orchestrate something so thoughtful and adorable. Only he could turn a huge unrelated event into a birthday present.

A few hours later, the front door finally bursts open. Charles rushes in and sweeps you into his arms.

“Surprise!” He laughs, spinning you in a circle.

You hug him tightly. “Charles, that was the sweetest thing ever!”

He beams. “I wanted you to feel special today even though I couldn’t be with you. Did you like it?”

“Like it? I loved it!” You punctuate each word with a smacking kiss.

Charles looks immensely pleased. “Good, because the celebrations are just beginning. Now, I believe I was promised cake?”

You spend the evening feeding each other cake and laughing over champagne. Charles serenades you again, because one impromptu singalong just wasn’t enough for him.

As you sway together, slow dancing in the kitchen, you whisper, “Best birthday ever.”

Charles smiles and pulls you closer. “We’ll make every birthday together your best one yet. I love you, Y/N. So much.”

Your heart swells with joy. No matter where life takes you both, with Charles every birthday is celebrated to the fullest.

***

A salty ocean breeze ruffles your hair as you gaze out over the glittering turquoise water. The sun is sinking low, painting the sky in dazzling pinks and oranges.

You sigh contentedly, snuggling back against Charles’ chest. His arms tighten around you as you sway together on the yacht’s deck.

“Happy birthday, mon ange,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your shoulder.

You tilt your head back to smile up at him. “I know I say this every year, but this is the best birthday ever.”

Charles grins, his nose crinkling adorably. “Well you deserve the perfect birthday getaway.”

You hum in agreement, perfectly relaxed and blissful here in his arms. Charles always plans the most romantic adventures for your birthdays. But after three amazing years together, just being with your favorite person is celebration enough.

As the sun continues to set you chat and trade soft kisses. The conversation lulls eventually into comfortable silence.

Charles shifts behind you. “Y/N, can you turn around? There’s something I want to ask you.”

You swivel in his arms to face him, curious at his suddenly serious tone. But a radiant smile lights up his face.

Slowly, Charles sinks down to one knee before you. Your breath catches as he takes your hands in his.

“Mon amour, these past three years with you have been the happiest of my life. You are my best friend, my heart, my home. I want to laugh with you, explore the world with you, and grow old with you.” His eyes shine with emotion as he gazes up at you.

“So Y/N, will you make me the luckiest man alive by marrying me?”

Joyful tears fill your eyes. “Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

Charles’ face splits into the most delighted grin. He moves to stand but wobbles slightly, the boat swaying beneath the two of you.

You reach out to steady him. “Careful!”

“Sorry, just excited,” he laughs breathlessly. With exaggerated care he pulls a ring box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

Your smile widens impossibly further. The sunset lights the gems ablaze from within.

Charles takes your left hand gingerly, his own hands trembling. “I hope you lik-”

But his unsteady fingers fumble and the ring slips from his grasp. You both gasp, hands shooting out too late to catch it. The diamonds glint once in the dying sunlight before plopping into the blue water.

“No!” Charles cries in horror. In a flash he’s scrambling to rip off his shoes and shirt. Before you can react, he’s diving in after the lost ring.

“Charles!” You rush to the railing, scanning the rippling surface for him. Bubbles appear where he dove down. The seconds stretch nerve-wrackingly until finally he surfaces, gasping for breath. In his clutched fist, the ring gleams triumphantly.

Relief crashes over you as Charles swims to the ladder. He clambers back aboard the boat, soaked and panting but grinning ear to ear.

“I got it!” He crows, holding up the retrieved ring.

A delighted laugh bursts from you. Only Charles would dive headfirst off a yacht to save an engagement ring. You throw your arms around his dripping shoulders, not caring that you’re getting drenched too.

“My hero,” you kiss him soundly.

Charles wraps you in a soggy hug. “Couldn’t let this ring get away when I still have a very important question to ask you … again.”

He sinks down once more to his knee, water pooling around him. With his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes soaked through, he looks adorably bedraggled but still so breathtakingly handsome.

Grasping your hand again, he asks earnestly, “Y/N, will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?”

“Yes!” You don’t think you’ve ever smiled so wide. “Yes, Charles, yes!”

Charles whoops triumphantly, surging up to kiss you passionately. This time his hands are steady as he finally successfully slips the ring onto your finger.

Admiring the shimmering diamonds you joke, “This ring might need a free cleaning after that swim.”

Charles laughs, pulling you close again. “I’ll get you a new one if you want. Anything for my future wife.”

Wife.

The word sends a thrill through you. You cup Charles’ face in your hands. “This is the only ring I’ll ever want. Because it’s from you.”

His eyes soften. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You lean in for another searing kiss as the last light fades behind the horizon.

When you finally draw back Charles wrinkles his nose. “As romantic as this is, I should probably get into some dry clothes.”

You laugh, plucking at his soaked shirt. “Good call. Then we can continue this celebration in proper style!”

Charles grins and sweeps you up into his arms. “I like the way you think, Future Madame Leclerc.”

***

“One more push, you’re almost there!”

You squeeze Charles’ hand with all your might, face scrunched in exertion, as you bear down to bring your baby into the world.

This is not exactly how you envisioned spending your birthday this year. But as you give one final push and hear your daughter’s first cries, you know this is already the best birthday of your life.

“She’s here! You did amazing, mon amour!” Charles says through joyful tears, kissing your sweat-damp forehead.

The doctor holds up the squalling, wriggling newborn. “Congratulations, it’s a girl!”

Charles cuts the umbilical cord with shaky hands before the nurses whisk your daughter away to be cleaned and checked. He turns back to you, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. She’s perfect.”

You beam tiredly back at him. The child you created together, your little family, is finally here. After long months of waiting, your birthday wish has come true.

Soon the nurse returns, swaddling your baby girl in a soft pink blanket. “Say hello to your daughter,” she says gently, placing the tiny bundle in your arms.

You gaze down at your daughter, tears of joy and wonder sliding down your cheeks. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes — she’s absolute perfection.

“Hello Juliette,” you whisper. “Happy birthday, my beautiful girl.”

Charles perches gingerly on the edge of the bed, staring at you both like you hung the moon and stars. He reaches out a tentative finger to stroke Juliette’s downy head.

“She’s so small,” he marvels. “And so perfect. I can’t believe we made this little human.”

His voice cracks on the last word. Your tough Formula 1 driver melts into a puddle of emotion in the presence of his daughter.

You glance up at Charles, your husband, your soulmate, and now the father of your child. The utter love and joy shining from his eyes in this moment eclipses every birthday and every milestone you’ve shared before.

“I used to think so many birthdays were the best day of my life,” you say softly. “But now … this is it. The real best day.”

Charles smiles through his tears and leans in to kiss you tenderly. “This is just the start of so many best days together.”

You both gaze back down at the baby nestled between you. Juliette blinks up at you tiredly and the sight of her green eyes looking back at you takes your breath away.

Charles lets out an awed little laugh. “She has my eyes.”

He holds out a hand and Juliette instinctively grasps his finger. Charles completely melts.

“Hello, ma petite princesse,” he coos. “I’m your papa. And I’m going to love you forever.”

Juliette seems to study his face intently before giving a big yawn that makes you both chuckle. Your heart feels fit to burst watching Charles bond instantly with your daughter.

The next hours pass in a blissful blur of feeding, diaper changes, and stealing each moment possible to just gaze at the miracle you’ve created. You almost forget it’s even your birthday until Charles speaks up.

“You know, I had something else planned to celebrate today but Juliette decided she simply couldn’t wait,” he laughs.

You just smile. “This is the greatest gift I could have asked for.”

He leans down to brush a feather-light kiss to Juliette’s forehead, then yours.

“I guess we’ll just have to plan an extra special party when you’re both home,” he says with a smile. “Our little princess deserves the biggest birthday bash for entering the world on such a special day.”

You grin up at him. “I have a feeling her daddy will go all out.”

“Only the best for my girls.” Charles winks.

Juliette stirs in your arms, letting out the tiniest of baby sighs that melts you both instantly.

As Juliette drifts to sleep cradled between you, her little fingers curled around yours, you know this birthday marks the start of your greatest adventure yet and many more amazing birthdays still to come.

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 3 (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2

Warnings: no proof reading, stressed out neglect!Bruce, mentions of dead characters, jealousy and all kind of bad feelings, language

This was Hell. It had to be a nightmare, right? It couldn’t be the reality. It couldn’t be the truth. Someone was toying with him, torturing him even. It had to be an illusion of some sort. Or maybe he was stuck in the darkest part of this mind, full of his worst fears.

No child, no wife, no Alfred, no Justice League, no good day, no good night. 

Gotham wasn’t usually funny, but this was pure punishment.

At first, Bruce thought that the worst part was how awful the business was with Wayne Enterprises; there was so much work to take care of, all the time, and no one he felt like he could trust. 

Then he realised how empty his manor was. It was dark and quiet. It was making him want to throw up because of how tight it was making his chest and stomach. He couldn’t stand this utter silence. He couldn’t stand to not be able to play the annoyed mentor with his children and the good husband to you.

Not even having Alfred was a punishment, a torture, a cruel life. How was he supposed to care about everything without Alfred? How was he supposed to stay sane without the man who raised him? How was he supposed to survive without him? 

He so deeply missed the children. He tried to find them, but they were in prison, dead or gone from Gotham: Dick was a police officer who died during a mission, Jason was in prison, Tim died in his parents' accident, Stephanie had left Gotham forever, Cassandra killed herself to not be a killer anymore, Duke died as he looked for the Joker, Damian didn’t exist.

And Barbara looked so happy, Bruce didn’t even dare going to talk to her. And when he passed by her, hoping she would talk to him, she just seemed surprised to see Bruce Wayne in her local library. All the people he knew didn’t know him anymore or weren’t there to know him or to care about him.

In some desperate attempt, he looked for Talia, but the league of assassins simply kicked his ass for having tried and reached for her. They weren’t interested in him, merely wondering how he knew about them. He almost got killed that night, but he found a way out, like he always did.

Except he didn’t seem to be able to find a way out from this Hell.

The worst part was definitely your absence. He was so used to going to bed with a pretty little wife by his side. He was so used to kissing her goodnight. He was so used to her cute little whines for five minutes more of cuddles in the morning. He was so used to having his arm around her waist wherever they went. And he missed that so much. He wanted you so badly. He needed you so badly.

Fuck, he promised himself to not ditch any more dates with you once he would be back to what reality was supposed to be. He would take such good care of you. He would make you forget about the divorce papers and not just by saying to Alfred “She had a good life here and she loves the children, so she’ll stay”. No, he would make sure you actually wanted to stay. With him. With your husband.

He needed to find you in this world. Maybe you could help him, at least to not completely go insane.

He quickly found you, and for a brief instant, he was so relieved that you seemed to know him. You clearly weren’t his wife since you didn’t even live in the manor, but thank god he hoped you were his girlfriend. But your coldness hurt him more than he would ever admit it.

“What do you want, Bruce?” you groaned when you saw him at your door

“Just wanted to check on you” the man tried to smile

“Look, I’ve already told you that I’m not interested. You creep me out, man. And it’s not because the cops won’t do anything if I call them, that you can keep going here. So please, stay away from me and stop sending me gifts that I need to send you back. We’re not a thing, and we’ll never be” you told him before closing your door.

Bruce knew he was going to lose it.

He started to try and recall what happened the night before everything changed so drastically in his life. He slowly remembered this mission with the mad scientist. He remembered the light he saw right after he was going to sleep by your side. He was feeling so weak and strange then. Something happened then.

He needed to find the man. When he did, the scientist was actually a teacher in the University of Gotham, who was talking about the possibilities of parallel universes. It was how Bruce finally understood what happened. It wasn’t his reality. It wasn't an illusion. It was another world.

For a very brief instant, he felt very bad for the version of himself who had to deal with this world and this constant loneliness. But he couldn’t care. He wanted to get back home, surrounded by his people and their attention. He was relieved in a way because now he knew how to escape from this place.

He worked hard for several months. He showed a very dark version of himself, as he was forcing the scientist to find a way to send him back. He was slowly losing himself. He needed to come back home soon, or he would start to actually kill; why would he care about crossing the lines in a world that wasn’t his? In a city that didn’t like him anyway? In a life where no one loved him?

The media were commenting on how ruthless Batman was lately. Bruce couldn’t help it. He was feeling so bad. And there was this nasty little voice inside his head telling him over and over again that “Maybe no one realised you were gone. Maybe no one wants you back. Maybe that’s why you’re still there months after. Another man is fucking your wife, another man is talking to your children and to Alfred, another man is leading WE and the Justice League. And they all don’t care. Worst, they like him better”

The scientist wasn’t obsessed with the idea of getting rid of Batman so he thought about things quite differently. He found a way to send Bruce back to his world but he didn’t switch places. So when Bruce arrived where he was supposed to be, he was quite shocked to see another him.

What was worse was that you were by his side, laughing at something the man murmured to you. His arm was wrapped around your waist. It was then that your husband noticed how round your belly was. You were pregnant. You were heavily pregnant. There was no way it was actually his child. It had to be his. Didn’t you notice it wasn’t your husband who was making love to you? Or did you want it? Him?

The sole idea was driving him crazy with pain and raw jealousy. The jealousy that the Bruce of the other world felt when he first arrived in this world, the “real” Bruce” felt it too. His life has been stolen away from him, and he needed to get it back. 

It drove him even crazier when he saw how his children acted around the stranger. How could they all seem so happy around him? He hoped that no one understood what happened. He hoped that you all thought it was him.

He didn’t know what to do though. He couldn’t come back to the manor, he couldn’t show his face, so he hid in the dark for a little while. He kept stalking all of you, getting sick in the stomach each time he saw his children or you or the Justice League with his other self. Everyone seemed to do so much better.

Or maybe it was just his paranoia and the mean voices inside his head that wanted to make him believe that you all loved this other Bruce better than him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the child you were carrying. He had wanted that too, but you never seemed ready.

And now…

Now he needed to find you.

--

Part 4

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3 (you’re my heaven)

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

Thanks for the ideas <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@optimisticmoonunknown

@kazuko-stuff

[writing0305]

All he needed.

Pairing: Homelander x F!Reader.

Summary: After two years of being together, you dissapeared from Homelander's life. Vought had told him you killed yourself but one file left on his desk by someone unknown, told him a different story. And when he sought you out, he was surprised to see you alive and well, with an eight month old son, blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his father.

Warnings: Heavy swearing. Blood and murder. Mentioning of smut. Mention of suicide

You were with Homelander for only a short two years. But it was the best fucking two years of both your and his life. You adored Homelander before you even started working for Vought. You always offered him kind smiles when you saw him. And he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat when he was near.  You were taken with him from the start and he was taken with how much you adored him, how much you loved him.

At first, Homelander would only watch you through the walls of your office. He could watch you for hours, but honestly, you never did anything exciting at work. So then he began watching you at home. He watched through your walls as you danced around in nothing but a shirt and panties while making dinner. He watched you dress, watched you bath, watched you whenever you pleasured yourself, and even watched you sleep.

He couldn’t get enough of it. Of you. And soon he was forcing his way into your life. He forced Stillwell to make you his personal assistant and you were all too happy for the job. He made sure you had to follow him around the whole day, except when he was out fighting crime. He made them move your office next to his own so that he could comfortably watch you through the wall.

And then one day he showed up at your apartment. He invited himself in, made friendly talk and even stayed for dinner. Being with him for your whole workday, made you two close, and then suddenly he was at your apartment every day after work. You got yourself into the habit of cooking for two and always having fresh milk in your fridge. He seemed to quite enjoy the beverage.

One night you admitted to having a crush on him when you were younger and not before long you were laying naked across the bed, being fucked senseless by the supe. Your relationship developed fast and strong after that. Homelander moved you into his penthouse in the Vought building, so you’d truly be around him nearly 24/7. This created a co-dependency for you.

To Homelander, it truly seemed like you enjoyed his company. You didn’t mind having him around all the time. You didn’t mind listening to him rant. You always praised him and agreed with him on everything. You were truly just perfect.

And then you just had to go and fucking kill yourself.

When the cops found your burned car, there was barely anything left to identify you with. That’s what Vought told Homelander. It was believed to be suicide because of the cans of gasoline that were found not so far from your car.

For a whole year and five months, Homelander mourned you. He was confused, heartbroken and angry. He didn’t understand why you had to leave him. Was he not good enough? Were you not happy? He gave you fucking everything and you just ripped his dead and cold heart right out of his chest.

That’s until one faithful day when things changed. He stepped into his office, finding a brown file on his desk. He sighed in irritation, thinking Ashley had dropped it off. He wasn’t even going to bother with it until he saw the red stamp on the file. ‘Highly confidential.’

His eyebrows furrowed and more irritation filled him. Was Ashely that fucking incompetent to leave a highly confidential file on his desk. He sat down and opened the file, eyebrows furrowing when he was met with your gaze. The photo pinned to the inside was not one he had ever seen before. Your hair was shorter than it was when you were still alive.

His eyes scanned over the file, reading only a few words that stuck out to him.  Two simple words struck something inside him. ‘ Witness protection.’ He read it over and over. Nowhere did it say why you were in witness protection, but it gave the exact date you entered the program through Vought. Exactly seventeen months ago.

He was raging by the time he reached Stillwell, who happened to have her infant son in the office with her. He demanded to know why they lied to him, where you were, and why you left. At first, she was reluctant to speak, but with one flick of his red eyes at her son and she began speaking. She told him where you were, but spun a story that you were scared of him and begged her to help you get away.

He didn’t buy it but soon he’d get his answers. Within minutes, he was in front of a cabin, tucked away far away in the middle of the woods. He stared at the house, noting the zinc inside the woods that obstructed his vision.

Inside, you were walking barefoot through the house, still in your pajamas. Your blond-haired blue-eyed  baby was in your arms, dressed in a blue onesie, his blue blanket in one hand and his dark red pacifier between his lips.

“Alright buddy, let’s get breakfast in that belly.” You coeed to Noah and the eight-month-old registered the word ‘food’, and an excited spark slipped into his blue eyes. You carefully placed him in his highchair and he grabbed for your shirt. “You can have milk after you’ve eaten.” You said you pulled his hands off your shirt before walking around the kitchen, serving him a bowl of yogurt with mashed banana.

You smiled at the baby when he grew even more excited when you brought the food over to him. You only got into feeding him a few bites before your front door was slammed open so hard that it ripped from the hinges and fell with a thud to the floor.

A gasp slipped from your lips at the sound and your eyes widened. Noah began wailing and you shushed him softly as you picked him, cradling his head against your chest. Your heart beated painfully in your chest as you heard the slow thuds of footsteps approaching down your hallway.

There was no back exit through your kitchen. There was only one way in and out, and that was through the same hallway the footsteps were approaching from. You slowly backed up as the footsteps grew closer, but you froze in your steps when a familiar tall and blonde supe stepped into your kitchen.

Your chest clenched at the familiar face blankly staring back at you. ”John?” You whispered as your eyebrows furrowed, confusion filling you just as much as it filled him. His gaze darted down to the baby in your arms, and his eyebrows knitted together. “Oh my God…” You let out a soft sigh, a relieved sigh. “You found me.” You said softly as the smallest smile tugged at your lips and tears filled your eyes.

“Y/n…” He whispered as he continued to stare at you with furrowed eyebrows. Stillwell’s story and your reaction to his presence didn’t match up.  “I…I don’t understand.” He muttered softly as his eyebrows furrowed even more. His gaze darted towards Noah when the baby sniffed softly, his blue eyes still full of tears. “Whose that?” He asked as he pointed at the baby.

“Noah.” You replied with a soft smile as you glanced down at your son, wiping his tear-stained cheeks. “Our son.” You informed Homelander as your gaze returned to him.

His eyes slightly widened as his gaze shot towards you. He was silent for a long while as he just stared at you. His head cocked to the side and he opened and closed his mouth for a second, unsure of what the fuck to say. He was silent for another second again. “Our…our son?” He repeated softly as his eyebrows furrowed.

You slowly nodded your head as your gaze diverted down to the floor, tears pooling in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you shook your head, your gaze returning to him. You loved Homelander with all your heart, but at that moment, you felt scared of him. Scared of his reaction.

“We have a son?” He repeated as he raised his eyebrows, slowly and hesitantly taking a small step towards you, his gaze darting down to Noah. “I have a son?” He whispered.

“Yeah.” You replied softly as you nodded your head and slowly approached him. When you stood toe to toe, Homelander hesitantly reached out and to the baby from your arms. He cradled Noah in his arms, staring down at the baby who was a mirrored image of him. The perfect creation of him. “I’m sorry.” You repeated as you lowered your gaze, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Homelander’s gaze returned to you. He silently stared at you for a long time, listening to your heartbeat. It didn’t sound like the heartbeat of a woman so scared she had to fake her death to get away. It sounded like the heartbeat of a woman broken.

“They told me you were dead…and then they told me you ran away because you were scared of me.” He informed you, eyeing your face closely to see your reaction. Homelander was so deeply hurt by everything he had found out in the past few hours. He didn’t know who or what to believe.

You looked shocked at this, your eyebrows furrowing and your lips parting as your gaze darted towards him. “They told you that?” You asked softly as your gaze darted around, slowly shaking your head in denial.

“Why did you leave?” he asked, and you could hear a hint of anger slip into his voice. Anger towards you. Because for what fucking possible reason could you have left him for. “Why did you leave with my son?” He asked as his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze darting down to Noah.

You sighed softly, sitting down at the kitchen island, running a hand through your hair. “I was going to tell you I was pregnant when I found out.” you began speaking. “Somehow Vought found out and found me before I could get to you. They didn’t want you to know because they were scared your priorities wouldn’t be them anymore.” You explained as you turned your head to look over at him. “They gave me three options. They kill me before I get the chance to tell you. They keep me locked up until I give birth and take the baby, raising him like you were, and threatened to kill me if I told you. Or I leave, live in isolation with my baby.” You informed him and his lips twitched into a snarl as his grip gently grew tighter on Noah. “I know how much you suffered…I couldn’t do that to him.” You said softly with a shake of your head as you glanced at Noah.

“Vought…Vought made you do this?” He questioned softly, his voice a low growl and his eyes briefly flicking red as his gaze diverted away from both you and Noah.

You nodded your head and he inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you got up to your feet and slowly approached him, gently placing a hand on his muscular bicep and he slightly relaxed underneath your touch. You didn’t leave because you were scared of him. He just knew that was fucking bullshit.  “I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to be part of it, of everything, my pregnancy, the birth, his life. All of it.” You whispered as your gaze turned to Noah and you ran a hand through his blonde hair. He was quite peaceful in his father’s arms.

“They said…they said you left because you were scared of me,” Homelander muttered in a low voice, and you could still hear the hint of anger. But his anger wasn’t directed at you anymore. Now it was directed at Vaught and every fucked who lied to him. “They said you wanted them to fake your death.”

“No.” You immediately denied it with a shake of your head as you reached out to cup his cheek in one hand. “I loved you…I still love you.” You whispered as he leaned into your touch. You sighed softly and your gaze flicked towards Noah for a brief second again. “I tried to take him and leave when he was a few weeks old, to go and find you.” You inform Homelander in a soft voice. “So many men with guns showed up. They didn’t point their guns at me to get me to come back, they pointed their guns at him.”

Homelander’s lips twitched into a snarl again as he thought of his son being put in danger. He didn’t care if the kid had powers or not, he fucking despised the thought of anyone even thinking of hurting his son. First, they wanted to fucking take him away from his mother, raise him in a fucking lab, then they DID take him away from his father and pointed guns at him. Someone was going to fucking die today.

“Who knew?” He asked in a low voice. You looked at him hesitantly. His voice was trembling with anger and his blue eyes flicked red again, like a broek light flicking on and off, constantly. It was like he had no control, or he was dangerously close to losing it.

You breathed deeply, hesitant to tell him. You knew he was close with Stillwell because he had her pressed nice and firmly underneath his thumb. “Stillwell.” You whispered and he inhaled sharply again. “She gave the orders, made the threats.” You informed him and Noah was immediately shoved into your arms. “John?” You muttered in confusion as he spun on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen. You hastily followed after him as he stormed out through the broken door and flew off. “John!?”

You let out a soft sigh as he disappeared into the sky. You felt confused, wondering where he was heading. Surely he wouldn’t kill Stillwell. Were you and a kid he’d just met a few minutes ago truly more important to him than a woman he’d worked with for years, a woman who gave him whatever he wanted and always had his back?

You waited there by the broken front door for a long time before you went back into the kitchen, calling the men who patrolled around the woods like guards, keeping you and Noah in like caged animals, but no one answered. You were supposed to always call them if you needed something but after five missed calls you figured you'd have to fix the door yourself.

You finished feeding your son and got him dressed in a saige colored green shirt and brown overalls before you dressed yourself in a plain blue t-shirt and some black leggings.  You sat on the steps of your front porch, silently staring at the broken door. Noah sat a few inches away from you, playing with his toys.

He crawled his way toward you, dumping a few pieces of his toys on your lap. He leaned against your thigh as he played, using your legs as a play area. You smiled down at the boy, running a hand through his hair. “It’s okay buddy.” You whispered. “Me and you, we’re gonna be okay no matter what happens.” You assured him.

There was a loud woosh in the air, followed by a thud on the ground, your head shot towards the side, eyes widening at the sight of Homelander, standing a few feet away from you, covered in blood from head to toe. The sight made you gasp.

You slowly got up to your feet and picked Noah up in your arms. “John…” You whispered as you slowly approached him, lips parting as your gaze drifted over the bloody man before you.“Who?” You asked softly, knowing not a drop of the blood that covered him, was his.

“Stillwell.” He muttered in a low voice as he blankly stared ahead of him, his eyes looking dead.

Stillwell was already writing a form of resigning and packing her bags when Hoemalnder found her. He could have made it quick for her, lazering her head in. But he made it as painful as possible. He dragged it out for as long as she could take before she choked on her own blood. When he left her house, Madelyn Stillwell was barely recognizable. She was scorched into almost nothing.

You slowly nodded your head. You shifted Noah onto one hip and with your free hand, you placed a hand on Homelander’s shoulder, almost flinching at the wet and cold patch of blood that stuck to his suit, smearing onto your palm. “Let’s go inside.” You insisted as you let him inside. “You can clean up in the bathroom.”

You washed your hand, scrubbed it until the skin was burning and red then you waited in the living room as Homelander cleaned himself in the bathroom. Noah was sitting on the floor, nibbling on one of his toy cars.

You glanced up when you heard Homelander’s footsteps approaching. He was clean now, his blonde hair damp. His face was blank as he sat down on the couch opposite yours. Noah’s attention was drawn to Homelander and he abandoned all his toys and crawled towards his father.

Homelander stared at the baby who now sat by his feet. He was unsure of what to do when Noah lightly slapped his leg. Hesitantly he reached out and picked up his son, resting Noah on his lap. Noah’s interest immediately went to Homelander’s cape, pulling and biting at the fabric. Homelander didn’t even care about the drool now on his cape. He watched his son in awe.

You slowly got up from the couch you sat on and moved to sit next to Homelander. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you looked at him, a frown tugging at your lips. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t let them do to him what they did to you.” You muttered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re a good mother, Y/n,” Homelander replied as he wrapped one arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. You leaned into his touch like you always used to do. It brought strange emotions forth in Homelander. Having a woman who loved and adored him and a son. A fucking family. HIS family. “He’s lucky to have you.”  He said softly as his gaze turned to Noah.

“Now he has you too.” You whispered as you turned your head to look up at Homelander, his gaze never leaving Noah. Never had you seen the man so much in awe of something or someone. Your gaze also turned to Noah and you pursed your lips. “They ran tests on him when he was born.” You informed him softly and he tensed up for a second until you continued speaking.  “He’s like you, but he hasn’t shown any of his powers yet.” You explained as you looked back at Homelander again. “He’s a real gentle kid actually.” You said as a smile tugged at your lips.

A smile tugged at Homelander’s lips as well. He felt proud knowing his kid was like him. He turned to look back down at Noah again, gently running a hand through the baby’s hair. “He looks so much like me…” He noted softly as he let out a soft, pleased huff.

“He does.” You agreed with a nod of your head. “I took so much comfort in that.” You admitted softly as you smiled sadly. For the past eight months, Noah was all you had of Homelander. Of the man you loved with all your heart.

“Vought’s not going to hurt you or our son.” Homelander assured as his hold on you tightened and he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “And they won’t take either of you away from me ever again.” He promised softly as he leaned his head against yours.

After fixing your front door and informing you that all the guards around the woods were dead, Homelander spent the entire day playing with his son. They played with toy supes, and cars, watched cartoons together, and played a little outside. After eating dinner and getting a bath from his father, Noah was beyond tired. You let Homelander put the baby to bed. It was the least you could give him after he missed eight months of his son’s life.

You sat in the living room, looking up when Homelander returned to you. “He sleeping?” You asked softly as he sat down next to you, shifting to lay his head on your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah.” He replied softly as he slowly nodded his head.

 “You really knocked him out.” You said softly as you let out a soft chuckle, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned your head against his.

“I couldn’t let him go.” He spoke softly as he inhaled slowly. “I just wanted to spend every single second with him.” He said as he turned his head to look up at you, his face barely an inch away from yours.  “I’ve missed so much.” He whispered.

You sighed softly, reaching out to brush your finger across his cheek. “Now, we all have so much time together.” You whispered as you offered him a small smile, cupping his cheek. “I’ve dreamt of this day for so long.” You admitted. “Wondering how it would be if you found us…meet him.” You muttered before sighing again. You silently stared at him for a second before resting your forehead against his. “I love you, John.”

“I love you.” He replied as he reached up to cup your cheek as well before pressing his lips against yours in a yearning kiss. Now he had all he ever wanted. A family. A son. And a woman who loved him. He had it all. All he needed. And fucking pray for anyone trying to take it from him again.

[yanderenightmare]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist

Ranging from my top Bakugou post to posts with notes above 1k.

Boss ! Bakugo going yandere for his helpful assistant:

♡ WANTS & NEEDS

Yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes darling for a crime she didn’t commit and then regrets it:

♡ WRONGLY PUNISHED ♡ FOLLOW-UP ASK

Darling uses sex as a coping mechanism:

♡ DARLING INITIATING SEX

Hero ! Bakugou x Villain ! Deku x childhood friend ! darling:

♡ REUNION

Cock descriptions:

♡ COCK

What BNHA ! yandere is the scariest:

♡ SCARY YANDERE

Bully ! Bakugou creeps on his quirkless study partner:

♡ STUDY-SESSIONS

Bully ! Bakugo is scary and pushy and delusional:

♡ BAD GUY

Fuckfriend ! Bakugou turned yandere:

♡ BORING

Alpha ! Bakugou figures out why he bullies Omega reader:

♡ LESSON ♡ HEAT

Bully ! Bakugo series. He harasses the reader into a relationship:

♡ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL ♡ TRUST ME

Boyfriend ! Bakugou headcanons:

♡ BOYFRIEND ! KATSUKI

Poly ! KiriBaku bullies cute darling:

♡ BAD INFLUENCE

Poly ! BakuDekuTodo x darling thirsts:

♡ BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡ BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡ POLY

Prince ! Bakugou x maid ! dalring:

♡ PRINCE x MAID

Imagines of what happens when the darling tries to deny the BNHA ! yanderes intimacy and sex:

♡ BAKUGOU

Bully ! Bakugo x poor ! darling:

♡ IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM ♡ IN THE TRAILER ♡ FOLLOW-UP ASK

Barbarian King ! Bakugo arranged marriage with princess ! darling:

♡ BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Yandere captor ! Bakugou reacting to pregnant darling:

♡ PREGNANT DARLINGS

Overworked and touch-starved Prohero ! Bakugou x girlfriend ! darling:

♡ ONE MORE TIME?

Yandere captor ! Bakugou with a darling who enjoys being his darling:

♡ DARLING ENJOYS BEING A DARLING

Bakugou and darling's sexual role-play dynamic:

♡ ROLE-PLAY DYNAMICS

Yandere captor ! Bakugo x pet ! darling:

♡ PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡ AFTERMATH OF PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡ BRATTY PET-DARLING

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x darling with early Stockholm syndrome:

♡ EARLY STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

Yandere captor ! Bakugou wants captive darling to be willing:

♡ WILLINGLY OR NOT

Poly Proheroes ! BakuDeku blackmails criminal ! darling:

♡ STREET SCUM

Bully ! Bakugou redemption, being charming with darling and asking her out:

♡ GIRLFRIEND

Sheriff ! Bakugou harasses backpacking tourist:

♡ HIS TOWN, HIS RULES

Yandere captor ! Bakugou's need for intimacy:

♡ INTIMATE ACTIVITIES

Bakugou having a breeding kink for his crush:

♡ BREEDING KINK

Yandere captor ! Bakugou cleaning darling’s cuts after she tries killing herself:

♡ CUTS & BANDAGES

Childhood friend Bakugou and you have been stuck in a toxic relationship forever:

♡ NO ONE ELSE

Pro Hero ! Bakugou regrets not making you his before it was too late:

♡ MISERABLE

Bakugou's type:

♡ SUBMISSIVE DARLING

Alpha ! Bakugou mating his terrified Omega ! darling:

♡ Five Steps for Alphas Mating Omegas

Prohero ! Bakugou going yandere for childhood friend ! spy ! darling:

♡ EMPTY SHELLS

Poly wolf-boys ! BakuDeku with a bunny ! darling in heat:

♡ HEATED

Daddy ! Bakugou punishes his darling for not following her strict schedule:

♡ RULE BREAK

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x clumsy ! darling:

♡ CLUMSY DARLING

How yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes his darling:

♡ PUNISHMENTS

Sadistic yandere Bakugou chases you down after you escape:

♡ BEAR-TRAP

Poly ! KiriBaku are a toxic duo for poor captive ! darling:

♡ BAD COP/GOOD COP

Alpha ! Bakugou finally finding his rebel ! Omega ! mate:

♡ MUD

Prohero ! Bakugou lusting over his equally successful childhood friend:

♡ PROFESSIONAL

Yandere captor Bakugou with a depressive darling:

♡ MELANCHOLIA

Incel ! Bakugou kidnaps reader to be his sex-puppet:

♡ TOUCH

Bakugou smut alphabet:

♡ NSFW ABCs

Bakugo frustrate with his affection over this clueless moron:

♡ SCARY LOVE

Bakugou's darling puts on his hero costume:

♡ PLAYING DRESS-UP

Yandere captor Bakugou's likes cooking with his darling:

♡ HOBBIES

Yandere captor Bakugou's sleeping habits:

♡ SLEEPING HABITS

Bully ! Bakugou being heartbroken and desperately in love with you:

♡ HEARTBROKEN

Yandere captor Bakugou spanking reader:

♡ DADDY'S GIRL

Yandere captor Bakugou with tiny darling:

♡ PUFF

How Bakugou became yandere for his darling:

♡ YANDERE BEGINNINGS

Hermit forest-dweller ! Bakugou takes lost hiker ! darling captive:

♡ HERMIT

BNHA genderbender:

♡ FEM

Bakugou teaches you how to cum:

♡ STRUGGLE

Bully Bakugou kidnaps you during the purge:

♡ THE PURGE

Parole officer Bakugou accepts your bride:

♡ OUR LITTLE SECRET

Yandere captor Bakugou infantilizes darling:

♡ DADDY'S BABY

Captive reader rebels against yandere captor Bakugou:

♡ GONE WRONG

The Torodoki family makes use of their quirkless daughter - with friends:

♡ FAMILY FUN

What type of hybrid he is:

♡ HYBRID

Sad and lonely stalker Bakugou:

♡ DRIVEN MAD

You and Bakugou survive under a collapsed building together:

♡ SHARED TRAUMA

Yandere Bakugou kidnapped quirkless reader:

♡ HYPOCHONDRIA ADJACENT ♡ more thoughts

The Bakusquad discovers Bakugou's Omega Housewife:

♡ SECRET ♡ PREQUEL

Similar posts can be found in the following:

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

WHIPPED

Pairing - Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary - You strain from your husband who will not give you attention. He doesn't like that.

Warnings - NONCON, domestic violence, dub con, manipulative, belt whipping, spanking, tommy is mean, degrading words, breeding kink.

Word count - 3k+

Notes - You voted, you received.

Something in Tommy’s intellect changed overnight. Every once in a while, his mind would travel back in time to the war. But now, when he awoke from his nightmares, he still felt like he was crawling through the tunnels. The hairs on the back of his neck stuck up more frequently, his hand rested on his gun a lot. Feeling too skeptical that he’d need to fire it at any second. 

It had impacted your newly wedded marriage, but you didn’t dare to say anything to him. You showed you cared by holding him a little tighter at night. Whilst he laid on the bed like a stone figure, staring up into the ceiling as he refused to fall asleep. 

The sex had turned emotionless like flowers dying without water. The intimacy was dead. It made you down in the mouth and filled your heart with despair. You only wanted to kiss him, talk to him, be held by him. But he had forgotten who you were. 

Over the weeks, your sadness turned into anger. You refused to be upset by his neglect any longer. So, you found other ways to find pleasure in your life and quickly realized that the only way to get your husband’s attention was jealousy. It frustrated Tommy when you started to ignore his presence, venture out without informing him and associating with his family more than him. Tommy would lecture you, wagging his finger at you. You’d only simply nod your head, awaiting for it to be over. Then it would repeat all over again. But Tommy’s mind was too caught up in his business to find the time to truly teach you a lesson. 

Until now, the surprisingly last straw was Arthur whispering something into your ear, resulting in you playfully slapping his shoulder and giggling like a teenager. Tommy’s head snapped to you two, everyone in the reading room still watching Tommy as he awaited for you to acknowledge him. 

After a pause, you finally looked up to Tommy and the stare off commenced. Your eyebrows were furrowed as Tommy’s eyes twitched, he knew you had never been unfaithful. But his mind was now racing with thoughts of the possibility occurring if he didn’t put a stop to his behavior.  

“Well, we will have a break. It seems that my wife has forgotten her manners and I must reteach them…” Tommy declared confidently as he lit another cigarette between his cold lips. 

All heads snapped towards you and Arthur’s face turned beet red. 

“Thomas” you sighed as you pressed your hand to your forehead, cheeks turning a shade darker from embarrassment. 

Any other time, Tommy adored it when you called him by his full name. But this time, he felt as if you were challenging him, trying to humiliate him in front of his family. Tommy took three large strides towards the door and motioned for you to exit in an exaggerated manner. When you merely continued to stare back at him dully he snapped. 

“Get the fuck up!” Tommy raised his voice, causing everyone in the room to flinch. 

Tommy’s eyes were strained, a vein popped out of his forehead as his hands formed to fists. 

“Tommy” Arthur protested, leaning forward in his seat. 

Arthur was always so loyal to Tommy, but grew to be highly protective of you. He was prepared to cop the fire instead, take a beating if he had to. It was his doings anyways, not yours. 

“It’s alright Arthur” you soothed his guilty look, looking confident even though your heart was pounding in shock at your husband’s outburst. 

Tommy saw red when you reassuringly pressed your hand to his chest. Without waiting any longer he marched towards you. You jumped up from your seat before he could yank you up. But he still latched onto your bicep and pulled you out of the room with no care as you winced from his hold. 

“Tommy… You’re hurting me!” You cried as he pulled you up the stairs. 

There was no answer from him. Only the sounds of grunts through his hard expression as he led you to the bedroom. Shoving you into the room, Tommy slammed the door shut and stomped around in circles, his hand tugging at his roots as he heard the shouts and cries of his fallen fellow soldiers. Your arms crossed over your chest, a frustrated expression set on your face by glue. 

“Thomas you’re being dramatic” you pointed out, shaking your head at his behavior. The embarrassment had drenched you completely, he was too furious to notice how awful he had made the situation. 

Tommy’s head shot towards you and he glared at you. 

“Pardon? You parading yourself around my brother in front of my entire family is nothing more than me being dramatic!” Tommy roared as he marched towards you. “Why don’t you fucking respect me!” Tommy yelled, his pale skin now red as he grabbed onto your shoulders in a warning touch. 

His anger spattered onto you as you felt your chest tighten, you scoffed at his words, not intimidated by his hold on you. “Oh calm down Thomas!” You hissed at your husband. 

You fell to the fall before the pain even shot from your cheek. Before the redness even grew on your timid skin. You choked out in shock as you raised your hand to the burning sensation on your cheek. The back of Tommy's hand was still positioned in the air from where he hit you. Tommy had never hit you before, he had vowed to never do it. 

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down” Tommy growled.

Swiftly, he bent down to yank you back up to your feet. When you struggled against his hold and tried to smack him away he hit you again with the front of his hand this time. Then he hit the other cheek just as hard. You screamed out in fear but his hand was swift to smack over your mouth. 

“Who do you fucking think you are? Huh! You wear my name! You’re in my house!” Tommy lectured, shaking you around like a ragdoll before he shoved you back to the ground. 

Tommy went back to walking around in circles, his hand roughly massaged his chin as he wondered what to do with you. His disobedient wife. You laid on the floor, frozen in fear as you stared at his polished shoes twirling around the room. With your hands pressed against your stinging cheeks, tears shedded from your aching eyes. Your sobs were silent and rough. 

A heavy sigh left his lips as he looked down to you. Slowly, he undid his belt and slipped it out of the loops of his pants and folded it in half. Tommy fell back onto the brown leather armchair in the corner of the room and lightly slapped his belt against his knee. 

“Come here, lay over my knee my darling…” Tommy spoke in a soothing voice, but had a wicked grin on his lips. 

You looked up at him with fearful eyes, then your stare was stuck on his belt slapping against his pants. Knowing his intentions, you whimpered out pathetically and shook your head against the floor. 

“N-no” you objected weakly. 

“It wasn’t an offer” Tommy grunted, he leaned towards you, the grip on the leather tightened. “Do it before I show you how strong my foot is” Tommy warned, tapping his foot impatiently.

It took you a moment to get up, you were too busy having a little silent breakdown as you whined at his response. The smirk on his lips grew larger as he watched you gradually crawl towards him, wincing to yourself as you climbed up onto his lap and laid stiff on top of him. 

Tommy sighed as he pulled up your dress, his hand rubbed your ass briefly before he yanked down your panties to your knees. The leather brushed over your backside and you gripped onto his leg in fear as you sobbed quietly. 

“You seemed to have mistaken my kindness for weakness, my darling. I have no problem with showing you my ruthlessness, the many tales you heard of me before we had even met” Tommy explained as he dragged the belt all over your skin. 

“You’re scaring me Tommy” you sniffled out. 

The inside of your throat felt swollen and your chest ached. A harsh slap with the belt landed on your rear. It caused your panicky yelp to echo throughout the room. When you tried to impulsively wiggle yourself off of him he smacked you again with the leather. 

“You’ve lost your privileges to address me by my first name, correct yourself right now!” Tommy ordered, his hold on his belt tight as his free hand went around your back to keep you trapped. 

“Tom-uh Mr Shelby?” You answered unsurely, your expression wincing as your shoulders raised. 

“Good girl!” Tommy praised as the belt smacked against your rear again. 

You chortled out as he continued on with your punishment. Quickly, you lost count with how many times he hit you as he flicked his wrist in a haphazardly manner. Sometimes he’d focus purely on one cheek. Or do slow and heavy smacks across every inch of your skin. Then he’d do quick stings across your rear. 

“Please stop!” you begged, your voice dry and weak, your mouth pressed against his knee as you tried to muffle out your cries. 

“Aw, my darling can’t take it anymore eh?” Tommy chuckled. 

He dropped the belt onto your back and rubbed your tender backside with his bare hand roughly. 

“Please I love you Tommy!” you exhorted, desperately hoping this would ease his suspicions. 

The screech was piercing when he smacked your bruised skin wickedly with his palm. 

“Correct yourself, whore” Tommy spat. 

‘Ah! I love you Mr Shelby” you sobbed out. 

Your head fell back down to his knee, your teeth bit into his leg to silence yourself but he didn't mind. Surprisingly, the pain felt nice to him. 

“That’s a good girl…” Tommy grinned, rubbing your ass again roughly as if he was praising you. “I’m going to beat your ass beyond breaking point. Then I’ll know you’ve learnt your lesson” Tommy addressed. 

“No Mr Shelby please! I understand!” You protested as you squirmed over him. Tommy was quick to hold you on top of him as you tried to swing your body onto the floor. “Please forgive me! I won’t do it again!” You pleaded as you tried to blink back your tears.   

“Stay still before I hit you with the buckle!” Tommy threatened, his words hissing like a viper. 

You mewled out, but listened to his demand. Tommy picked up his belt again and proceeded to whip you with it. 

When your cries had died down and you laid still on him, Tommy dropped the belt to the ground and rubbed your black and blue rear. When his fingers rubbed against your slit, he grinned to himself as he brought them into his sight. They glistered in your fluid and he sucked his fingers clean, moaning to himself at your sweet taste. 

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one that enjoyed this”' Tommy commented as his fingers returned to your cunt, fondling with your folds and teasing your nerves by randomly pushing in a digit. “Have you learnt your lesson?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow to you. 

As you tried to turn your head back towards him, you nodded to him. “Yes Mr Shelby” you spoke out breathlessly. 

“Which is?” He questioned. 

You choked on your words as you blinked back your tears. “To be a good wife to you!”

“Such a good wife…” Tommy soothed as he caressed your bruised ass. “Stand up and strip for your husband” he instructed as he leaned back into his seat. 

Through gritted teeth, you stood on your two feet and slowly stripped till you were completely nude in front of him. Your body shook like a leaf in the wind as you resisted not to cover yourself with your arms. Tommy sighed to himself as he looked your heated figure up and down, and then he pulled out his length and gradually stroked himself a couple of times. Not failing to express how aroused he was through his groans. 

“Come here and sit on my cock eh?” 

“Mr Shelby please” you begged weakly, eyes stinging with discomfort. 

Tommy leaned forward and pointed his finger to you. “Shut up before I change my mind, bend you over and fuck your ass” he warned, his pointed finger completely still. 

You nodded your head like a begging dog and practically ran over to Tommy despite the pain that shot through your rear. You straddled your husband, his hands were on your hips as he grinned up to you, his cock pressed against your inner thigh. 

“Who do you belong to?” Tommy asked as his length pushed into your throbbing, soaked entrance. 

“You Mr Shelby!” You answered through a groan as you slid down his shaft. 

“Good… No more talking to anyone, at all, without my permission eh?” Tommy commanded with a resolute nod. All you could do was nod back as he rocked his hips against yours, his fingernails dug into your flesh as your walls squeezed his size. 

“Mr Shelby” you whined out. 

“You’re mine” Tommy growled animalistically as he leant in to bite your neck. “Only fucking mine. You wanted my attention? You fucking got it” he grunted as he rutted himself deep inside of you. 

Your eyes rolled back as you held onto your husband tightly as he drew blood from your neck. The pain dissolved as the pleasure quickly built up inside of your core. Your mouth had fallen open as you were moaning out shamelessly, Tommy slapped your ass and you squealed. 

“You’re clenching around me so tightly darling, you want to milk me empty eh? Get yourself pregnant?” Tommy asked, his own breathing heavy as he pounded himself into you. 

“Yes Mr Shelby!”

“Keep on squeezing me then, just like that” Tommy coached as his hips thrusted at an immaculate speed. “Maybe another baby in this house would keep you tamed. Let’s give Charlie a little brother or sister eh?” He suggested, a proud smirk on his lips.

All you could do was hum in compliance as you clenched around him. It was so slippery you had to hold your body in place. His balls were slapping against you as you felt your climax climbing as high as it could. The scream from your hot lips echoed throughout the room as you held onto Tommy for dear life. He grunted in response, and shortly followed through with his own climax. 

Your body fell dead on top of him as you tried to catch your breath back. Through deep breaths, your chest rose and fell as your eyes remained shut. Tommy breathed out, his hands caressed your lower back as he inhaled your scent. He was still buried inside of you, he could feel your fluids drip out slowly. 

“Fuck, that was something else, wasn’t it my love?” Tommy asked teasingly as he patted your rear. 

You whimpered, tear stained eyes as you looked up to your husband, he smiled softly to you, you smiled softly back. He guided your hips up, his coated cock slipped out of your swollen entrance with a pop and he helped you onto your feet. 

After he slipped his member back into his pants, Tommy guided you to bend over the bed, you winced as you followed through and he examined you. Down on his knees, Tommy pulled your lips apparent with two fingers as he watched your mixed fluids drip out of you. His hands caressed over your abused skin as he stood back up again.

“If only you could see how beautiful you look my dear” Tommy sighed, his voice dark and husky. 

He pulled you back up and held you in his arms, your flustered body caved against him. Your knees buckled as Tommy held your weak stance up, he murmured to you, his face rubbed against yours like a needy cat.  

“You wanna come down for the rest of the meeting?” Tommy hummed in the crook of your neck. 

The thought of you going back down there frightened you, the humiliation of this sudden occurrence felt too overwhelming. Having all eyes on you would cause you to have a breakdown without a doubt, you knew they heard you, your cries had echoed to the fields. 

“No Mr Shelby” you answered timidly, sniffling to yourself as you tried to cry silently. 

“That’s alright, you rest up, you look exhausted. I’ll come check on you later, I have some business to attend to after this, okay?” Tommy spoke innocently as he led you to the bed. 

Tommy helped you in, you winced at the friction of your rear to the sheets but made no comment to your husband’s kindness. The covers were tucked in around you, Tommy petted your hair to the side and smiled at you. 

“Thank you Mr Shelby” your smile shaked, cheeks still a dark shade of red. 

“Sleep well my love” Tommy whispered before he planted a tender kiss on your lips. 

It’s what you missed so badly, instinctively, your arms reached up from under the sheets and tried to snake around his back. But your body felt so weak, you couldn’t bring yourself up. Tommy hummed and pulled your body up, his hold on your lower back as the sheets slipped down your body already, his tongue slipped straight down your throat as your tongue massaged him. As you moaned directly into his mouth, Tommy pressed your faces together as he gently laid you back onto the bed. 

“I love you” you whispered once more as your head fell deep into the pillow, your tired eyes remained shut. A low hum echoed out of Tommy as you quickly fell asleep. 

Tommy walked back down into the reading room. He knew everyone had heard everything, his eyes locked with Arthur’s. As he shot him a glare, Arthur lowered his head submissively as Tommy continued on with his discussions and concerns to his family.

[ssa-dado]

13 - Soulmates

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff Summary: Reid and Morgan attend your lecture, curious about your mysterious connection to Hotch, and are quickly outplayed by your keen instincts. During the lecture, you seamlessly blend psychological concepts with philosophical insights, leaving them impressed. Afterward, Hotch, unaware of your return, is stunned when he finally sees you, the bond between you two immediately apparent. The team watches in awe as you and Hotch exchange playful banter, the deep connection between you two undeniable. Warnings: CM-style graphic case descriptions, Reid and Morgan being oblivious Word Count: 10k Dado's Corner: Try not to say mommy challenge. You will all miserably fail. Y/N is a savage, I love her, the more confident version of her is so fun to write.

previous chapter ; masterlist

Later that day, Morgan and Reid found themselves seated in the middle of a packed lecture hall at the Academy. It wasn’t exactly protocol for the two of them to be there -especially not together - but the team had orchestrated this “mission” carefully: it was a case file day, which meant there was a low chance of being called out, but leaving the bullpen entirely would have raised suspicion. Especially if they wanted to keep their operation secret from Hotch and Gideon, both clueless of what was about to unfold.

The mystery surrounding you - why Hotch never had spoken about you - had quickly become a quiet fascination within the team, escalating over the course of just a few hours. It wasn’t just curiosity about a former colleague; there was an unspoken sense that your departure had left an impact that went far beyond a routine job change. Intrigued by the potential layers to the situation, the team knew they needed to investigate, and they chose Reid and Morgan as the perfect pair for this undercover operation.

Reid’s youth and sharp intellect made him blend in effortlessly with the students, but it was his deep academic curiosity that truly set him apart. In preparation for the lecture, Reid had spent the afternoon poring over all of your published work, and he quickly became captivated by your ability to seamlessly interlace psychology, culture, and philosophy in ways few could manage. The depth of your insights, the connections you drew between human behavior and broader cultural forces, sparked something in him - a rare sense of admiration.

For Reid, this mission wasn’t just about gathering intelligence; it was an opportunity to engage with a mind he respected. Your ideas, complex yet accessible, offered an intellectual challenge he was eager to dive into. He wanted to hear your thoughts firsthand, not just to uncover the truth about your past with Hotch, but because he truly respected the brilliance of your work.

Morgan, on the other hand, had entirely different motivations for being there. His cop’s instinct told him something wasn’t adding up, and that gnawing curiosity wouldn’t let him rest. A particular photo he’d seen back in Garcia’s lair - of you and Hotch, caught in a candid moment of shared laughter - had stuck with him ever since.

Hotch didn’t laugh like that anymore.

There was something about you that had unlocked a side of their otherwise stoic unit chief, a version of Hotch that Morgan had never seen before, and it bothered him. That rare glimpse of joy on his boss’s face hinted at a deeper story, one that Hotch had kept carefully hidden. Morgan was determined to figure out what had really happened between you two, to uncover why Hotch never spoke of you and why your departure still seemed to hang in the air like unfinished business.

Unlike Reid, who could slip into the crowd with his youthful look and scholarly demeanor, Morgan stood out. His broad shoulders and confident stance made him look more like a security detail than a student. His sharp gaze constantly swept the room, not in casual curiosity, but in the way of someone who was trained to assess for threats, even in the seemingly safe confines of a lecture hall. Morgan wasn’t here to blend in; he was here to find answers.

“Man, these kids are young,” Morgan muttered under his breath, taking in the sea of eager, fresh faces around them.

Reid, already scribbling notes, glanced up with a slight smirk. “It’s the Academy. They’re supposed to be young. You’ll survive.”

Morgan rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, his thoughts still caught between the mission at hand and the uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. There was something more in the air, something heavier than just academic interest.

“Just remember,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer to Reid, “we’re not here for the lesson. We’re here to figure out what Hotch isn’t telling us.”

Reid glanced up, clearly torn between his genuine academic excitement and the need to stick to the plan. “I can do both, you know.”

Morgan smirked. “Sure you can, kid. Just don’t get lost in the lecture.”

Just then, the door at the front of the lecture hall swung open, and you walked in with an air of quiet confidence that silenced the room instantly. The soft shuffle of papers and whispered conversations died down as you made your way to the podium, a stack of notes in hand. Reid and Morgan immediately locked onto you, and though Reid had never met you in person, he instantly recognized you from the photo Garcia had shown them earlier.

You looked strikingly similar to how you had in that picture: poised, elegant, with that same calm authority that demanded attention without effort. But now, in this academic environment, there was a subtle difference. Reid noted how much more relaxed you seemed, despite the structured setting. There was a lightness to you, as if shedding the rigid confines of the BAU had allowed you to embrace something more natural, more authentic.

Your hair, worn in its natural texture, was a stark contrast to the sleek, pin-straight style you had sported back when you were chasing down criminals. It made you seem more yourself, more at ease, as though time had allowed you to settle into a version of you that didn’t need to conform to the high-pressure world of profiling. And yet, despite these differences, Reid could see the parts of you that hadn’t changed at all.

You still wore your signature all-black suit, sharply tailored and immaculate. The only splash of color was your light blue shirt, buttoned all the way to the top but hidden beneath a fitted black vest. It was a subtle uniform, one that spoke of your meticulous attention to detail, just as Reid had expected from the person whose work he had admired.

As you set your notes down on the podium, there was no need to ask for the students' attention. Your presence alone commanded it, radiating a quiet authority that both Reid and Morgan could feel from across the room.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying you intently. The way you moved, the way you carried yourself, it was almost uncanny. You had the same presence as Hotch, the same quiet yet commanding energy that made people listen before you even spoke. The way you walked to the podium, the slight tilt of your head as you scanned the room, the controlled yet effortless manner in which you handled your materials, it was all too familiar.

Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t make sense to him how you could still carry such a striking similarity to Hotch after all these years. You had only worked together for three years, and it had been six since you’d last seen each other, yet those brief moments watching you confirmed that there was an unspoken bond, a shared approach to leadership and presence that ran far deeper than the passage of time could diminish.

What stood out to him even more was how mature you seemed, not just in your authority but in the quiet confidence you exuded. You were four years younger than him, only five older than Reid, but there was something about the way you carried yourself that made you feel more seasoned, like you’d lived a life beyond your years. And yet, your warmth was undeniable. Your smile was far more approachable than Hotch’s, inviting curiosity and dialogue, yet it carried the same weight of experience and intellect.

What truly set you apart, though, was the care you showed to the students. Even though this was just a guest lecture, and you had no prior connection to any of them, there was a gentleness in the way you treated them, as if each one mattered individually. Rather than pointing out sections of a textbook or directing them to impersonal reading assignments, you handed out your very own notes. Pages written in your careful, flowing handwriting, offering glimpses into your thought process. The act of giving them your personal materials made everyone in the room feel seen and taken care of, as if they were receiving something more than just information, they were receiving a piece of you.

As you approached Reid and Morgan’s row, handing out the notes, your instincts kicked in almost instantly. Something in their body language - Morgan's guarded posture, the way Reid’s eyes darted over every detail - gave them away. They weren’t students, not with that level of awareness. Your instincts, finely honed from years in the field, told you immediately they were agents, not here for the lecture but for something more. You paused for only a fraction of a second as you handed Reid his copy, then Morgan’s, but in that brief exchange, everything clicked into place.

You knew exactly who they were, they weren’t just agents.

They were Hotch’s agents.

Even without having seen their pictures, Hotch’s letters over the years had painted such vivid portraits of his team that recognition came as naturally as breathing. Reid’s intense curiosity, the way his mind seemed to be running a mile a minute as he absorbed every detail of the room, was exactly as Hotch had described. And Morgan - sharp, ever-watchful, his presence commanding without a word - fit the description perfectly. Hotch had done more than just mention them; he'd crafted a detailed profile of each one, and in that moment, you were impressed by how well his words had aligned with reality.

But despite recognizing them, you gave nothing away. No raised brow, no startled reaction - just a slight, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you handed them their notes with the same care and warmth you extended to the rest of the class. It was as if, in that brief moment, you acknowledged the deeper connection between all of you but chose to let it remain unspoken, just as you had done with so many things in your life.

You decided you would let them continue their undercover game, but in your mind, you were already several steps ahead. You knew their plan. You understood the intrigue. And while you didn’t mind playing along for now, you knew this encounter would unfold on your terms, not theirs.

Reid’s eyes lingered on the notes you handed him, immediately captivated by the intricate, handwritten connections sprawling across the page. The blue ink, fluid and purposeful, revealed a map of your mind - each word carefully placed to weave together psychological phenomena, historical events, and philosophical insights with stunning clarity. The structure, the flow, the careful attention to detail - it was all there.

Morgan’s attention, however, was pulled elsewhere. As you handed him his notes, he caught the glint of something he hadn’t expected. The engagement ring. His eyes locked on it for a moment longer than they should have, the band gleaming on your left hand as you moved past him. There it was, a piece of the puzzle he hadn’t accounted for. Whoever you were now, you weren’t just Hotch’s former partner. You had a life, a future, and someone waiting for you.

Morgan glanced over at Reid, whose eyes were still glued to your notes, clearly fascinated by the web of ideas you had laid out. But when Reid noticed Morgan’s gaze, the flicker of recognition passed between them. The mission just got a lot more complicated.

As you moved back to the podium and began your lecture, Morgan couldn’t help but continue noticing the subtle echoes of Hotch’s body language. The way you paused before speaking, the careful consideration in your words, it was all too familiar. Reid, ever the observer of patterns, was clearly noticing it too. The way you stood at the podium, hands placed just so, the deliberate pacing as you spoke. It was eerily reminiscent of Hotch, and yet there was something different. Where Hotch exuded strict efficiency, you brought warmth, a sense of curiosity that made people lean in, eager to hear more.

“I came here today because they told me to discuss the phenomenon of folie à deux,” you began, your voice calm yet authoritative, “and its implications not just in psychology but in philosophy and culture.”

The room stilled as you spoke, your presence effortlessly commanding attention. Morgan and Reid exchanged a quick glance, fully engaged now in the way you were weaving complex psychological concepts with larger, philosophical questions. There was something magnetic about the way you approached the topic, pulling in the room with every word.

“Folie à deux is a rare psychological phenomenon,” you continued, “where two or more individuals, typically in a close relationship, share the same delusion. It’s often seen in couples, siblings, or very close friends. The dominant partner transmits their delusion to the other, creating a shared reality.”

You paused, letting the weight of the concept settle over the room. “This raises profound philosophical questions. Take Kant’s idea, for instance. He believed that we don’t perceive the world as it truly is, but instead, we experience the world through the lens of our minds. In other words, our reality is shaped by how our minds organize and interpret what we see, hear, and feel.”

You let that thought settle before continuing. “Now, if two people share the same delusion, for them, that becomes their reality. Even though it's false to us, it’s their truth, because their minds are filtering and organizing information to fit that shared belief. In Kant’s terms, it challenges the very idea of ‘objective reality’ - because what we think is real might just be how we’re perceiving it, not how it actually exists outside of our minds.”

You smiled warmly at the class. “So, in a way, our subjective experiences - what we believe, what we feel - shape the world we live in. And when two people share the same distorted view, that shared perception becomes their reality, no matter how far it drifts from the truth.”

Reid leaned forward, his pen flying across the page as he absorbed every word. He was captivated, not just by the subject matter, but by the way you framed it, how you elevated the psychological disorder into a philosophical discussion about the nature of truth and perception. You made complex ideas seem simple yet profound, interconnecting psychology and philosophy into one seamless, thought-provoking narrative.

Morgan, though less academically driven, found himself equally drawn in. The way you spoke made even the most abstract concepts accessible, your words carrying weight not just in their content but in how you delivered them, with a clarity that left no room for misunderstanding, yet a depth that left room for reflection.

You began to explain a specific case you had worked on during your time at the BAU, a case that had stayed with you due to its sheer brutality and the disturbing dynamic between the killers. “I worked on a case a few years ago involving a series of brutal murders. The victims were found hanging from the ceilings of abandoned warehouses, their bodies mutilated in ways that suggested not just violence, but performance.”

The room grew eerily still as you spoke, your voice taking on a darker tone. “The killers were a couple, completely lost in their shared delusion. They believed that by killing their victims in such a specific, ritualistic manner, they were cementing their bond, as if the act of murder itself was an expression of their twisted love.”

You paced slowly across the front of the room, your words heavy with implication, and the students hung on every word. “The crime scenes were brutal, but what stood out most were the patterns - blood splattered in what appeared to be a deliberate, almost choreographed way. It wasn’t random violence; it was as if they were performing a ritual.”

Reid’s pen scratched furiously against his notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to capture every detail. Morgan, meanwhile, glanced around the room, feeling the palpable tension you were building with your story.

“The first victim, a 21-year-old student, was found suspended from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. Her body had been methodically sliced, the cuts precise, deep, but not immediately fatal. The killers had taken their time, savoring each wound, letting her bleed out slowly. The scene was a nightmare: blood splattered everywhere, but not haphazardly. It seemed purposeful, like an abstract painting.”

You paused, gauging the room’s reactions. The students sat frozen, entranced, and even Reid, who had seen his share of brutal cases, seemed visibly affected.

“The second victim, a 36-year-old plumber, was found in a nearly identical state in another warehouse. Another body, another grotesque dance of violence. His blood, like the first victim’s, had been splattered across the room in swirling patterns, as if the killers were moving in deliberate, controlled steps. It was clear this wasn’t about the victims themselves, but about the act. They weren’t just killing, they were performing.”

You nodded at the young woman’s question, already anticipating the curiosity it sparked. “At first glance, the victims appeared unconnected - different ages, different backgrounds. But the killers didn’t choose them at random. The victims were symbolic, representations of the killers’ own internal dynamics. One victim reflected the youth and innocence of one partner, while the other embodied the experience, the world-weariness, of the other. In a twisted sense, they weren’t killing strangers - they were killing versions of themselves, surrogates, to solidify their bond through these acts.”

Reid’s hand shot up, his mind clearly racing with the case details. “Did your team profile them as a couple right away?”

You nodded, already expecting Reid’s instinctive question. “Yes, very early on, we suspected it was a folie à deux. The crime scenes told us as much. The way the blood was deliberately splattered, almost choreographed, was a shared act of performance. The footprints intertwined, moving in tandem, telling a story of two people completely absorbed in their collective delusion. It was clear that this wasn’t just violence, it was ritual, a form of communication between them.”

Here, you paused, adding a layer of deeper reflection. “Philosophically, it raises an interesting point about identity and connection. In cases like this, the delusion becomes more than just shared, it defines them. Think of Hegel’s concept of the dialectic. Two opposing forces interact, shaping and defining each other through their opposition. These killers were engaged in that process, only instead of a philosophical exchange of ideas, their connection was expressed through violence. They became more themselves through their shared acts, solidifying their identities through the bond of their crimes.”

Morgan shifted in his seat, slightly unsettled by the complexity of the killers' psychology and the patience it must have taken to unravel their twisted connection. He didn’t often think of criminals in such philosophical terms, he saw them through the lens of the law, of right and wrong.

“And then,” you said, your voice growing quieter, more deliberate, “there was the dance.”

The air in the room grew heavier, as if everyone collectively held their breath. “Each crime scene had one distinctive feature,” you continued, “the footprints left in the blood. They weren’t random or chaotic - they moved in deliberate loops and turns, forming a grotesque choreography. This was no ordinary crime - it was ritualistic, deeply personal. The killers were reliving a significant moment between them, reenacting their bond through this macabre dance.”

You paused, letting the students absorb the gravity of what you were saying. “And here’s where we dive deeper - into the philosophy of ritual. Durkheim talks about how rituals are essential to the creation of social bonds, how shared rituals bring people closer, giving them a sense of identity and belonging. For these two, the act of murder became their ritual. It was how they maintained their connection, how they affirmed to each other that their shared reality - their delusion - was true. The blood on the floor wasn’t just evidence. It was a testament to their bond, a mark of their unity.”

You let the silence hang, watching as the weight of those words sank in. Reid was furiously scribbling notes, his brows furrowed in concentration, clearly processing the philosophical layers you were laying down. Morgan, on the other hand, glanced around the room, sensing the discomfort among the students, while he himself struggled to imagine how such a deep connection could manifest in something so horrific.

A student’s hand shot up from the middle of the room. “How did you catch them?”

You paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, holding back the laughter threatening to escape at the memory. “It wasn’t easy,” you began, your voice steady and measured. “My partner and I had to go undercover to a dance event where we suspected the unsubs would be. We spent an entire night - and the following day -perfecting a slow dance routine just to blend in, hoping to draw them out.”

There was a ripple of interest across the room, but Morgan and Reid exchanged a glance that held more weight than simple curiosity. Morgan’s brow furrowed, his lips quirking in disbelief. He leaned toward Reid, whispering, “Hotch? Dancing?”

Reid, always serious, blinked in surprise, his pen frozen mid-air. “Hotch? Dancing?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was too far-fetched to be real.

Morgan’s disbelief quickly morphed into amusement. He leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming mischievously as he pulled out his phone, keeping it low under the desk. Without missing a beat, he sent a quick message to Garcia.

To Garcia:

Find footage of Hotch dancing. ASAP.

You caught the exchange from the corner of your eye, and the flash of recognition in your gaze wasn’t lost on either of them. You knew what they were up to. You’d seen it before - agents who thought they could outmaneuver you. It didn’t bother you. In fact, a touch of mischief tugged at your own lips as you pressed on with the story.

“We had to immerse ourselves completely in the role,” you continued smoothly, not missing a beat. “Everything had to be perfect - our interactions with the other dancers, the timing of our steps. We had to give the appearance of just being another couple enjoying the evening.”

You paused, letting your words settle in, and your eyes - sharp and assessing - swept over the room, briefly lingering on Reid and Morgan. They thought they were here undercover, sizing you up, but you were already several steps ahead.

“As you can imagine,” you said, your tone casual but laced with intent, “undercover work is about blending in. It’s about becoming invisible until you’re ready to act. One of the worst things you can do is stand out before you have what you need.”

Morgan’s posture stiffened. He exchanged a subtle glance with Reid, who was still scribbling furiously, caught up in the lesson. But Morgan, with his instincts sharpened by years in the field, noticed the change in your tone. Reid, still oblivious, looked up, blinking in confusion as he tried to catch the thread.

“For example,” you continued, now pacing ever so slightly in front of the room, “if you’re attending a lecture and trying to blend in, you wouldn’t want to sit right in the middle, where everyone can see you. You’d want to sit somewhere unobtrusive - close enough to observe, but not so obvious that you stand out.”

Reid’s pen stilled. He blinked rapidly, glancing down at his notes as if unsure how to respond. Morgan, on the other hand, shifted in his seat, straightening up. He could feel the eyes of the room on them now. This wasn’t just a lecture anymore. You had them in your sights.

“And of course,” you added, with a sly smile barely visible at the corners of your lips, “you’d want to keep steady eye contact with the people you’re observing. Avoiding eye contact is a classic tell that you’re hiding something.”

Reid’s head snapped up, wide-eyed, and he finally caught on. His gaze flicked nervously between you and Morgan, his face flushing a deep shade of red. Morgan, meanwhile, smirked, the game now fully exposed. He chuckled under his breath, turning to Reid with a playful glint in his eye.

“I think we’ve been made,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer.

Reid’s response came in a low mutter, “I think she’s profiling us.”

You didn’t miss the exchange, though you pretended not to hear. The game was laid bare, and now it was time to pull back the curtain. “The key to any good undercover operation,” you continued, eyes still fixed on them even as you addressed the entire class, “is to stay in character, no matter what happens. And when someone mentions having to learn a choreographed number to catch unsubs, you definitely don’t text your technical analyst to hunt down footage because the man in question happens to be your emotionless, overworked Unit Chief.”

Both Morgan and Reid’s jaws dropped, their reactions a perfect mirror of disbelief and embarrassment. Reid blushed furiously, stammering as he attempted to regain his composure. Morgan bit back laughter, his shoulders shaking as he slid his phone into his pocket. You were right, of course. There was no getting around it, they’d been caught red-handed.

Garcia, no doubt, would be on the receiving end of Morgan’s follow-up text telling her to drop the hunt for footage.

You let the silence linger for a beat, allowing the full weight of the moment to sink in. The rest of the class sat transfixed, watching what they believed was just a masterclass in teaching. Little did they know the game of cat-and-mouse unfolding between you and the two agents in the back.

You took a breath, your voice resuming its measured cadence. “Undercover work,” you continued, “is about subtleties. It’s about knowing how to blend in, how to observe without drawing attention. It’s about choosing the right moment to act and making sure you’re invisible until the exact second you need to be seen.”

Your gaze lingered on Reid and Morgan just a moment longer, a soft smile tugging at your lips. They thought they were here to gather information on you, to figure out who you were and why Hotch had never spoken of you. But in reality, they had only gotten a taste of your true skill, the ability to read people long before they ever realized they were being seen.

Reid, his face still flushed with embarrassment, leaned over to Morgan. “She just pulled a Hotch on us.”

Morgan grinned, shaking his head in admiration. “She’s good. Really good. No wonder Hotch never talks about her… he’s probably still recovering.”

The tension in the room eased, but you knew that whatever questions Morgan and Reid had come with were far from answered. They had expected to size you up, maybe catch you off guard, but instead, you’d turned the tables on them.

You continued with your lecture, now fully in control of the room. “And that’s what we did with the case,” you concluded. “We chose the right moment, and when we did, we caught them in their own delusion, wrapped in their performance. They never saw it coming.”

Reid’s pen resumed its frantic scribbling, while Morgan, arms crossed, watched you with a new sense of respect. Whatever answers they sought, they knew now that you wouldn’t be easy to read. And that was exactly how you liked it.

You finished your lecture smoothly, returning to the details of the case and the eventual capture of the unsubs, weaving in philosophical insights about reality, perception, and the power of shared beliefs. But throughout it all, you never lost that air of quiet confidence, knowing you had just outplayed two of the best profilers in the FBI.

As the lecture came to a close and students began to file out of the room, Morgan and Reid remained in their seats, waiting for the others to leave. When the room had finally emptied, you approached them with a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

“Well,” you began, your tone light but teasing, “I hope you two learned something.”

Reid blushed deeply, looking down at his notebook as if it could somehow shield him from the embarrassment. Morgan, on the other hand, held out his hand with a wide grin, unfazed by the fact that they had been caught. “I’ll give it to you - you got us. I haven’t been outplayed like that in a long time.”

You laughed softly, shaking his hand. “I recognized you both the moment I walked in, Hotch talks about his team all the time. But I appreciate the effort, you blended in better than most.”

Reid finally found his voice, still fidgeting with his satchel as if to ground himself. “I-I just wanted to say I’ve read your work on geographical profiling. It’s... groundbreaking.” His voice held genuine admiration, the kind that went beyond the mission they were on.

Your warm smile softened further, and you nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot, especially coming from you.” You could see the boyish pride flash across his face at the compliment.

Morgan, ever the protector, chuckled and nudged Reid with his elbow. “See? You two are cut from the same cloth. A couple of geniuses.”

You turned to Morgan, raising a brow with amusement. “And you’re Derek Morgan, the infamous charmer. Hotch warned me about you.”

Morgan smirked, flashing a look of mock offense. “Warned you, huh? Well, I’m flattered, but he probably undersold me.” His teasing grin was infectious, but beneath the bravado, you could see the respect he held for you.

You shook your head, still laughing. “He’s actually spoken about your loyalty more than anything else. I can see why.”

Morgan, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, gave a small nod of appreciation. Then, ever the flirt, he added with a playful glint in his eye, “Now I get why Hotch never talks about you. You’ve probably got him all figured out.”

The smile faltered for just a moment, a soft wave of nostalgia passing over you. “Hotch is... the best partner I’ve ever had,” you said quietly, your tone laced with something deeper. “And a good friend.”

Before the conversation could turn more personal, the door creaked open, and all three of you turned toward the sound of footsteps. Both Morgan and Reid stiffened, instinctively straightening in their seats. You followed their gaze toward the door, where none other than Jason Gideon appeared. His familiar, warm presence filled the room immediately, his keen eyes scanning the scene before him.

Gideon’s gaze first landed on Reid and Morgan, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before a knowing look settled in. He shook his head slightly, clearly imagining how Hotch would react when he found out his agents had gone rogue for this unsanctioned mission. But then his eyes found you, and his expression softened into something else - pride.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of all the years and experiences you’d shared. “Who would have thought? Not even a decade ago, you were sitting in these very desks, and now you’re traveling the world, revolutionizing our entire approach to behavioral analysis. You’ve become a legend.”

His words, spoken with genuine pride, struck something deep within you. Despite yourself, a wave of emotion surged in your chest, and for a moment, you were the young student again, sitting across from him in that same room. You stepped forward and embraced him, the gesture spontaneous but full of meaning. The hug was brief but genuine, and you pulled back slightly, your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Thank you, Gideon,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion you hadn’t expected. “I owe all of this to you. I still feel like I’m only scratching the surface compared to what you’ve accomplished.”

He stepped back, his hands gently resting on your shoulders as he met your eyes. His gaze was as steady as ever, filled with a deep affection and respect. “You’ve done more than you realize,” he said quietly. “You’ve surpassed every expectation I had, but I always knew you would. From the moment you walked into the BAU, I knew you were going to change everything.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head slightly, trying to brush off the weight of his praise. “Well, I’ve certainly made a few changes.”

Gideon’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia as he looked at you. “You’ve changed too,” he said softly, his voice brimming with fondness. “No more straight hair.” He smiled, clearly remembering the younger version of you who had tried so hard to project confidence. “You used to work so hard to make sure no one underestimated you.”

You laughed, though the sound was a little choked with the emotions you were trying to keep in check. “I stopped worrying about that a long time ago,” you admitted, feeling the gravity of your journey settle in your chest. “Letting people underestimate you can be a real advantage.”

Gideon chuckled, nodding as if he had always known you’d figure that out on your own. “I always knew you would,” he said with quiet pride. “You’ve grown into yourself. More than that, you’ve become someone people look up to.”

You grinned, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the depth of the connection you still felt with him.

Gideon’s smile was soft, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he took in the sight of you. “I have,” he said, his voice gentle but knowing. “But that’s how it’s supposed to be. Time changes us all, but I’m proud of you, Y/N. Truly.”

The moment felt heavy with unspoken words, the bond between you and your mentor palpable. Reid and Morgan, watching from the side, felt the significance of it. Reid, always the observer, took mental note of the exchange, while Morgan could see how deeply you and Gideon were connected.

Gideon looked around the room, then turned back to you with a small, knowing smile. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, his voice softer, full of the warmth that only a mentor could offer. "Why don’t you come with me to the BAU? I know Hotch would want to see you.” His tone softened further, the words deliberate, as if he sensed the emotional weight they carried. “You’re not an ocean away anymore. You’re just a moment away.”

The mention of Hotch’s name sent a wave of emotions crashing over you. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest as the reality of it settled.

Six years.

Six long years since you’d last stood face to face with him, since you’d held his gaze and heard the familiar, steady tone of his voice. The prospect of seeing him again stirred something deep inside you - not just nostalgia, but the weight of everything you’d shared. You’d still felt the connection in every letter exchanged over the years, every small piece of your old selves that you shared across time zones.

But letters were safe, written words couldn’t fully capture the presence Hotch carried, the way he could fill a room with just his silence, how his quiet, intense gaze could ground you when everything else was chaotic. That was what you missed most: the steady, unspoken understanding that had defined your partnership.

You tried to steady yourself, but the memories came rushing back: the late nights in his office, where neither of you needed to speak to understand one another. The silent communication born out of years of working cases together, where you could anticipate his thoughts, his moves, before a word was uttered. He had been more than just a partner in the field - he had been your anchor in the storm of the BAU, a constant presence that you trusted with your life.

And in that trust, without even realizing it at the time, you had also given him your heart.

But time had changed things. In the six years since you left, you had found love with Peter, now your fiancé, someone who brought light and stability into your life in ways you hadn’t thought possible after the intensity of working at the BAU. Peter had followed you to Europe, and together you had built a new chapter - one full of love, shared adventures, and a future that felt secure. Meanwhile, Hotch had built his own family, raising Jack and finding his happiness with Haley.

Both of you had moved forward, creating lives apart from each other, but the bond you shared, that deep-rooted partnership, had never faded.

It had evolved. What once might have been an unspoken attraction had transformed into something deeper – the most profound friendship built on mutual respect and care for each other. Hotch had been there for you in ways no one else had, and even though life had taken you on different paths, that connection would always be there. He was still your partner, and you knew that no matter what, you would always have care for each other.

Gideon, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the emotions you were bottling up. He turned toward Morgan and Reid, who were standing awkwardly at the back, clearly feeling guilty for sneaking into your class during work hours.

“I think the two of you owe Y/N a proper introduction to the team,” Gideon said, his voice carrying that familiar mentor-like authority, though there was a teasing note beneath it. He knew exactly what he was doing—giving you a little more time to gather your thoughts.

Morgan, for once, looked slightly unnerved, and Reid fidgeted with his bag, clearly realizing that their undercover mission might get them into more trouble than they had anticipated. The thought of Hotch finding out they’d been snooping on his old partner without permission seemed to hit them both at the same time.

“Yeah, uh… about that,” Morgan began, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Hotch is not gonna be happy when he finds out we snuck out to come here.”

Reid nodded fervently, his fingers tapping nervously against his satchel. “If he finds out,” he muttered, clearly hoping that somehow Hotch wouldn’t discover their little operation.

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them, their dynamic so familiar, reminiscent of how you and Hotch used to move in sync. It was strange, seeing this new generation of agents, people who had become extensions of the world you had left behind. But even in that strangeness, there was a comfort, a sense of continuity.

The BAU had changed, but the bond between partners, the loyalty, was still the same.

The thought of seeing Hotch again made your breath catch in your throat. Six years was a long time, but the way your heart quickened at the idea of hearing his voice, standing in front of him, told you that the connection between you two hadn’t faded. You had built a life with Peter, and Hotch had built his family, yet there was still something between you that transcended time and distance. It wasn’t romantic, not anymore, but it was profound. He was still everything that mattered.

You swallowed hard, pushing aside the rush of emotions as you nodded, a soft, almost tentative smile tugging at your lips. “I’d love to.”

Morgan, catching the momentary hesitation in your voice, smirked, his profiling instincts kicking in immediately. “You didn’t tell Hotch you were coming back, did you?”

You grinned, a flicker of mischief lighting your eyes. “Of course not. I wanted to catch him off guard. I think you know better than I do how much he hates surprises.”

Reid blinked, clearly taken aback by the casual ease with which you spoke about Hotch. “You planned to surprise him… just to annoy him?”

Your smile widened, the playfulness evident. “Exactly. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Man, Hotch is in for a rude awakening. I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Almost,” you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s be honest, you’re just as curious to see his reaction as I am.”

.

The elevator ride up to the BAU felt like an eternity. Every passing floor seemed to stretch time longer, and the soft ding of each level only heightened your anticipation. Gideon stood beside you, calm and composed as always, offering a reassuring presence without a word. Reid and Morgan’s casual chatter about the last case floated around you, but their words didn’t register.

Your mind was consumed by a thousand different thoughts, scenarios of how this reunion might go, and the heart-pounding reality that, in just a few moments, you would see him again.

Would Hotch be angry? Would he be surprised? Or had too much time passed for him to feel anything at all?

When the elevator doors finally slid open onto the familiar floor of the BAU, your breath caught in your throat. The bullpen, once your daily world, hummed with activity. Agents moved briskly between desks, their voices blending with the ringing phones and the hum of printers.

Everything looked so familiar and yet subtly different. More desks, new faces, an expanded workspace. But it wasn’t the changes that struck you - it was the energy, the same sense of family that had always made this place feel like home.

Your eyes wandered, scanning the room until they landed on two desks right in the center of the bullpen, still facing each other after all these years.

Your desk and Hotch’s - just as they’d been before.

A memory stirred, flooding you with images of late nights ande early mornings spent side by side, the sound of rustling papers and quiet conversations exchanged in the dim glow of desk lamps. The thought of those quiet moments made your heart ache with a bittersweet familiarity.

Suddenly, a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my God,” JJ gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she spotted you from across the room. She walked quickly toward you, her excitement barely contained. “You’re the profiler Hotch never talks about, aren’t you?”. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “So I’ve heard.”

Before you could say more, the blur of pink and sparkles that was Penelope Garcia appeared at your side, practically bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. “You’re *real*!” she squealed. “Twenty-six languages, three master’s degrees… you’re like a myth come to life!”

Her joy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth of it spreading through your chest. “It’s twenty-eight now,” you corrected with a grin. “But who’s counting?”

Garcia gasped dramatically, her eyes wide in amazement. “Twenty-eight?! Oh, honey, we have so much to talk about!”

Prentiss approached next, arms crossed but a warm smile on her face. “Well, well,” she said, appraising you with a glint of admiration. “Didn’t think I’d ever meet the one who kept Hotch on his toes all those years. Welcome back.”

You smiled back at her, feeling the weight of the years melt away as these new members of the team welcomed you with such ease. It was as if no time had passed at all, yet everything had changed. Each word, each gesture reminded you of the family you had left behind. And as you stood there, catching up with them, you realized how much you had missed this.

But even as they asked about your time in Europe, about the classes you’d taught and the cases you’d worked on, your gaze kept drifting upward, toward the glass-walled office above the bullpen. And there he was.

Aaron Hotchner, sitting at his desk, oblivious to the commotion below. His head was down, focused intently on the file in front of him, his expression as serious and stoic as ever. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight of him.

He looked the same, almost unchanged from the day you left - strong, composed, but with a heaviness in his posture that hadn’t been there before, as if the weight of the years had settled on his shoulders.

You barely registered the questions from the team as your eyes locked onto him. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the sight of him, and suddenly, all the anticipation, all the nervous energy that had been building inside you, rushed to the surface.

Just then, as if sensing the weight of your stare, Hotch lifted his head. His eyes scanned the bullpen, narrowing slightly as he noticed the entire team gathered in one spot. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stood from his desk, closing the file in front of him. But from where he stood, he couldn’t see you yet. You were still hidden among the team, your presence shielded by the circle of agents eagerly chatting around you.

With his familiar, quiet precision, Hotch began descending the stairs. Each step echoed in your chest, your heartbeat quickening with every moment that brought him closer. The room seemed to fall silent, your attention fixed on the sound of his approaching footsteps. You hadn’t heard his voice in six long years, and now, in just a moment, you would.

“What’s going on here?” Hotch’s deep, steady voice cut through the air, commanding attention as it always had.

Everything inside you stilled.

The team parted slightly, giving Hotch a clear view of the person they’d all been gathered around. And when his gaze finally fell on you, the air seemed to shift - heavy with the weight of unspoken words, shared history, and all the time that had passed.

Hotch’s usually composed expression faltered for just a split second. His eyes widened ever so slightly, the surprise flickering across his face before he quickly regained his composure.

But you saw it, the momentary break, the shock of seeing you standing there, as real and unexpected as a ghost from the past.

He stopped mid-step, his breath catching as his gaze locked with yours.

The bullpen fell silent around you, the rest of the team fading into the background as you stood there, face-to-face with the man you hadn’t seen in six years. The man who had been more than just your partner, the man who had been your anchor, your confidant, your best friend.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was as if time had stopped, and all the years, all the distance, dissolved in that single moment.Then his eyes found you. For a moment, he didn’t move. His expression froze, shock rippling across his normally stoic features. His mouth parted slightly as though he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Hotch stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity, his sharp eyes locked onto yours. The bullpen, the agents, the noise - it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in the heavy silence of six years apart.

Your heart raced as you took him in, noting every detail. He looked the same, and yet different. His hair had a touch more gray, the lines around his eyes slightly deeper, but his presence - strong, steady, and commanding - was unchanged. But there was something else too, something that only you could sense. A heaviness in his eyes, the kind that spoke of burdens carried silently, of long nights and sleepless hours. It hit you like a wave: time hadn’t been kind to him, but it hadn’t eroded that fundamental part of him either.

"Aaron" you finally breathed, breaking the silence between you, your voice softer than you had intended.

His name hung in the air, delicate, almost tentative. The warmth in your tone - familiar, tender - made something flicker in his expression, something that went beyond surprise. His mouth twitched, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a slow step forward, his movements careful, measured.

“Partner...” he said at last, his deep voice rougher than you remembered, as though your name had been lodged somewhere in his chest for too long.

Without thinking, you rushed toward him, your legs moving on instinct alone. And as you closed the distance, he did the same, meeting you halfway. The second your arms wrapped around him, it was like the dam broke. His grip on you was tight, desperate, as if he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. And for the first time in years, you felt truly home.

He buried his face in your shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The years apart, the distance, the longing, it all disappeared in that one embrace. His breath was warm against your hair, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were filled with a depth of emotion that you had never seen in him before.

It was a mixture of disbelief, relief, and something far more profound, an unspoken bond that transcended words. His usually stoic, unreadable face had softened into something vulnerable, raw. He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost, like he was trying to convince himself that you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he might wake from.

“I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Hotch whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The disbelief in his tone almost broke you.

Your own breath trembled as you smiled up at him, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Surprise.”

His hand tightened slightly on your arm as though grounding himself in the moment, ensuring you weren’t about to disappear. He let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard from him in so long. His gaze swept over your face, memorizing every detail as if he was afraid this might be the last time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, full of the weight of the years between you.

You glanced at the team, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I heard there was a class that needed a guest lecturer. Thought I’d pop in, see how the new generation of agents is shaping up.” You took a step closer, your voice growing more serious. “It’s good to see you, Aaron.”

His lips parted, but before he could speak, you caught the flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his gaze searching yours. “You really didn’t warn anyone.”

You shrugged, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I wanted to catch you off guard. Thought I’d remind you what it’s like not to be in control of everything for once.”

A small smile played on Hotch’s lips, and for a brief second, you saw a flash of the old Aaron, the man you had spent countless nights with, the one who could let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

The team, meanwhile, stood frozen in stunned silence. Morgan, who was rarely lost for words, finally found his voice, though it came out as more of a disbelieving mutter. “Did - did Hotch just chuckled? Like, a real laugh?”

Garcia, standing beside him, clutched her chest dramatically. “Not just a laugh, Derek. He’s smiling - with teeth! This is… I mean, someone pinch me, because this is a miracle!”

Reid blinked rapidly, looking as though he had just witnessed a phenomenon that defied all logic. “I’ve never seen him like this,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. “This is… wow.”

Prentiss, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward with a small, teasing grin. “Well, Hotch, it’s nice to see you actually have emotions.”

You chuckled at that, turning to face the team, but Hotch’s hand never left your arm, as if he still wasn’t ready to let go. There was a softness in his expression that lingered, something none of them had ever seen before. His usual composure was cracked, but in a way that made him more human, more real.

Gideon, never one to let anything slide, reported the undercover mission of the two agents to Hotch with a sly smile. “It seems someone else was very eager to see her.”

Hotch's expression instantly shifted back to the familiar frown you remembered all too well, the one that usually followed when he was about to reprimand someone. His stern gaze turned toward Reid and Morgan, and he wasted no time. “Morgan, Reid, we’ll talk about this in my office in ten minutes. What on earth were you thinking?”

Morgan scratched the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin, clearly bracing for the scolding. “She outplayed us, Hotch. We tried to sneak in, but she caught us the moment she walked into the room.”

Before Hotch could dive deeper into his reprimand, you stepped forward, raising a hand to intervene with a teasing smile. “Oh, come on, Unit Chief. Don’t be too hard on them. I just embarrassed them in front of my entire class. Give them a break, would you?”

The team chuckled quietly, sensing the playful tension between you and Hotch. He looked at you, his frown softening just slightly, though he kept his stern tone. “I hope this bravado isn’t something I’ll have to address again.”

You met his gaze, a playful challenge in your eyes as you raised an eyebrow. “It’s always a pleasure keeping up with your humor, Hotch.”

For a split second, the corner of Hotch's mouth twitched as if fighting back a smile, but he quickly composed himself. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice carrying the hint of affection he couldn’t quite hide.

“Hotch, you have a lot of explaining to do,” JJ said, stepping forward with a wide smile. “I mean, Hotch has never said a word about you. It’s like you’re this mystery we’ve all been trying to solve.”

You shook your head with a playful smirk, glancing up at Hotch. “Is that so? You’ve been keeping secrets? Well, don’t be mad if I’m the one pulling surprises, then”

Hotch’s gaze flickered to his team briefly, but then his attention returned to you. His eyes softened at the sight of your playful smirk. “I should’ve known you’d find a way to keep me on my toes. You haven’t changed.”

"Neither have you," you teased, though your eyes reflected something deeper, more sincere. "Except maybe a little grayer around the edges."

Hotch let out a brief soft chuckle, running a hand through his raven hair, and for a second, you caught that familiar crease between his brows - the one that appeared when he was genuinely trying to figure out if you were serious. “Yeah, well… the job does that.”

"Oh, not just your hair," you said, your tone playfully mischievous. His expression was puzzled, and the fact that he wasn’t catching on immediately made it even sweeter to make fun of him. You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes as if studying him closely. Then, with the precision of a detective pointing out evidence, you motioned toward his face. "Partner, you have a white eyelash - here, left eye."

Hotch blinked, genuinely surprised. He clearly hadn’t noticed it before, and his reaction was one of almost childlike disbelief. “A white eyelash? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. "You’re getting older, partner. It happens to the best of us."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the bullpen as Hotch - stoic, serious Hotch -stood there with the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. And then, in the most unexpected twist of events, he actually laughed, the kind of sound that was so rare it felt almost sacred. The sound of it sent a ripple through the bullpen, where agents who were usually laser-focused on their tasks couldn’t help but turn their heads in disbelief.

Garcia, who had been standing nearby, looked like she might faint. Her hands fluttered toward her heart as if she couldn’t physically take much more. “Am I hearing things?” she whispered, her voice barely above a squeak.

Morgan, standing next to Reid, leaned in, eyes wide in astonishment. “Is this actually happening?” he whispered, glancing around as if waiting for the universe to correct itself. "Did she just-"

"Yes," Reid responded before Morgan could finish, his voice full of fascination, almost as if he were observing a rare natural phenomenon. "She did."

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, amused by how easily you’d disarmed him in front of his own team. “A white eyelash, huh? You’ve been away for six years and the first thing you do is point out my aging process?”

You grinned. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, the noise of the bullpen seemed to fade into the background. “I see you haven’t lost your touch either.”

“Neither have you," you said, more seriously now. "You’re still the same Hotch I knew, grayer hair and rogue eyelashes included."

The air between you settled into something familiar and comfortable, the kind of ease that comes with a partnership that ran deeper than time or distance. The team exchanged glances, clearly picking up on the history, the quiet connection between the two of you that they hadn’t been privy to before now.

Garcia looked like she might faint, her hands fluttering toward her heart as if she couldn’t take much more. Morgan leaned in toward Reid, whispering in disbelief, “Is this actually happening?”

Reid nodded slowly, still trying to process it all. “It’s happening,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “It’s really happening.”

Prentiss couldn’t help but laugh at their reactions. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Hotch is human after all.”

Hotch shot her a mock-glare, though there was no real bite to it. He was still too caught up in the moment, the reality of your return sinking in. “Watch it, Prentiss,” he warned, though his tone was light. He glanced back at you, his eyes softening again. “It’s good to have you back.”

Your heart clenched at the warmth in his voice, and for a moment, the years of separation seemed to melt away. “It’s good to be back,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the emotion behind those words.

As you and Hotch stood side by side, the team watched in stunned silence, the banter between you two flowing so naturally, as if no time had passed at all. The bond between you and Hotch was palpable, and though the team had only just met you, they could sense that this was something rare. This was more than friendship, more than partnership, it was a connection forged through years of trust, loyalty, and something even deeper.

JJ, sensing the depth of the moment, exchanged a glance with Morgan and quietly asked, “So… what were they, really?”

Morgan, still in awe of the connection between you and Hotch, could only shrug. “I don’t know, but whatever it is… it’s real.”

Gideon, who had been watching the entire interaction with quiet satisfaction, stepped forward, his gaze flickering between you and Hotch with a knowing smile.

“Soulmates,” he said simply, the word carrying a depth of meaning that everyone felt but couldn’t quite explain.

The bullpen fell silent again, the word hanging in the air like a truth that had finally been spoken aloud.

Soulmates.

Soulmates in the way that two people could understand each other so completely, so thoroughly, that it transcended words. You and Hotch had always been that for each other: partners, confidants, the steady presence in each other’s lives no matter how far apart you were.

You looked up at Hotch, your heart full, and smiled. “I guess we never really lost each other, did we?”

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “No,” he said quietly, the weight of the years in his voice. “We never did.”

And with that, everything felt right again.

The BAU was a family. And now, it felt like it was whole again.

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[aemondsbabe]

Hour of the Owl

summary: there's only one thing you want for your nameday and your sweet husband is more than happy to let you have it

pairing: dom!harwin strong x sub!reader x switch!daemon targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors go away!), afab reader, reader is described as having some targaryen features (white hair, lilac eyes) but no other physical descriptors are mentioned, threesome, oral sex (f & m receiving), handjobs, piv sex, brief spitting, cum play, brief breeding kink, choking, spanking, daemon ignoring the rules, fingering, breast/nipple play, hair pulling, facesitting, very brief mention of miscarriage (world building only, does not directly affect the reader), praise kink, degradation, aftercare included, some fluff, "good cop/bad cop" trope, hair pulling, creampie, bi!daemon and harwin (they're at least experimenting asdfgh), daemon whimpering!!! i repeat, daemon whimpering!!!

word count: 11.8k (genuinely HOW)

a/n: this is dirty, y'all, i won't lie. this is filthy, filthy stuff. there's literally about 7.2k words of just pure smut here. gird your loins, this one is a wild ride. godspeed.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

A soft breeze blows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, filling the room with the scent of the sweet smelling flowers your older sister had planted in the gardens of the Red Keep a few moons prior. You busy yourself with removing the countless delicate golden pins your ladies had stuck in your hair that morning, silvery hair pooling around your shoulders as you undo braid after braid. Finally, you run your fingers through the last one, lost in thought as you walk out onto your balcony, your feet bare against the cool stone floors. 

You sigh as you lean against a stone ledge, looking out over the many fires and torches that light Kings Landing each night, spread out below the Red Keep like a field of stars. You say a quick prayer to the Mother as you gaze at the moon, praying for your sister’s safety during her pregnancy; praying that this one would carry to term and that the Seven would bless your sweet niece Rhaenyra with a little brother or sister. 

You smile as you hear the heavy wooden door to your chamber opening, practically skipping to the door as Harwin slips inside, already unbuckling his leather armor.

“My love!” You call happily, giggling at the exaggerated groan he makes as you thud into him, practically attacking him as you wrap your arms around him, “I missed you!” You whine playfully, breathing in his scent as you bury your face in his chest, your cheek pressed against the tunic he wears. 

“I missed you too,” he laughs, his hands hooking under the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his middle. He walks you over to your large bed and gently sits you down on the plush fabric, “My sweet little wife,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning around and striding over to the mirror leaning against the wall next to your wardrobe. “What meanness did you busy yourself with today, I wonder?” He questions, smiling adoringly at you over his shoulder. 

“No meanness,” you smile, eyes scanning his muscular body as you watch him unbuckle and untie his leathers and tunic; you bite your lip when he finally pulls the tunic over his head, eyes scanning his bare back, lightly tanned with various scars and bruises from his training. You feel a heat building in your belly at the sight of him, which only grows stronger when he turns to face you once more, your eyes roaming over his strong chest and stomach, covered in dark hair that disappears beneath the tops of his trousers. “I simply assisted Aemma in choosing decorations for the princess’s upcoming nameday celebrations,” you start, standing from the bed and making your way over to Harwin, watching for a second as he struggles with the knot at the top of his trousers before you finally push his hands away and begin pulling at the strings yourself, “Then I aided her in welcoming some new maids, worked more on my needlepoint, and responded to the letter from our mother.” You shrug, finally pulling the ties free before returning to the bed. 

“A busy day indeed,” he smirks, running a hand through his curly hair as he stalks toward you, “Mine was much the same; we started training the new recruits today.” 

“My poor husband,” you pout, sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed, “Working so hard.” You coo, aching between your thighs as Harwin places his hands on your waist, feeling his warmth through the thin, nearly translucent Myrish lace of your nightgown. You press a soft kiss to the middle of his chest, the hairs there tickling your lips, before you bring your hands up to his shoulders and begin kneading the skin there, massaging around his neck and shoulders. 

He groans appreciatively, letting his eyes slip closed and his head tilt back as he allows himself to savor the feeling for a moment; your sweet hands, so small and delicate compared to his, still send shivers down his spine. He can’t help but think of the first day he saw you – you had looked so ethereal stepping out of your family’s carriage in the courtyard, draped in a fine silk dress in the sky blue color of House Arryn’s coat of arms. You had arrived the day Princess Rhaenyra was born and had made King’s Landing your home ever since.

He had been fond of you from that moment forward, offering to give you tours of the Keep and personally escorting you anytime you ventured from its walls. He had known you for nearly eight years and in all that time, he had yet to find a single fault with you. Were it up to him alone, the two of you would have been married within a week, although you had always joked with him that those were the exact sorts of thoughts you’d expect from the foolhardy teenage boy he was at the time. Eventually, your families finally came to a marriage agreement, Lord Rodrik Arryn pleased with the promise of you one day inheriting Harrenhal with Hawin. He smiles, thinking back to your wedding day, in disbelief that it was nearly a year ago now. 

Finally, he opens his eyes once more, finding your mesmerizing lilac ones already gazing back at him. “You are so handsome,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you lovingly smile at him, “The most beautiful man in all the kingdoms.”

He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his arms holding you tightly to him, wanting to feel as much of you pressed up against him as possible. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet smells of the oils you use in your baths, “And you are positively divine, my sweet love,” he murmurs, pulling back to gaze at you once more as he twirls a silvery strand of hair between his fingers, “The Seven have truly blessed me with the most heavenly of creatures.” 

You blush, lying back on the bed as he kicks off his trousers, his entire form finally bare to you. Your eyes roam his tanned skin appreciatively as you lean back against your pillows, fingers fiddling with a tie at the front of your dressing gown. 

“Would you do me the honor of joining me in the bath, my lady?” he asks, reaching out a hand to help you up from the bed. 

“Oh, I would be honored, my handsome knight,” you joke back, kissing his cheek before the two of you make your way over to the bath, separated from the rest of your chambers with a decorated screen you’d gotten from a trip to Dorne many years ago.

You quickly undress, draping your gown over the screen, as Harwin steps into the bath with a hiss, “Seven Hells!” He curses, wincing as his skin adjusts to the water, “Did you have your maids retrieve this water from the belly of the Dragonmont itself?” 

You snicker, gently easing yourself into the water at the opposite end of the tub, “After all this time one would think you would know how I take my baths, husband.”

He simply rolls his eyes, finally lowering himself into the rest of the water with a pained groan, much to your amusement, which earns you a splash. The two of you laugh together for a moment and you tell him all about the various decorations you’d chosen for Rhaenyra’s nameday as the two of you quickly wash. Finally, he beckons you over, resting his arms on the rim of the bath as you settle yourself against him, curling into the side of his long, burly body as you lay your head on his chest, creating swirly patterns in the hair on his chest with the point of your finger as you finish describing the decadent flavors you and Aemma had chosen for the cake. 

“Speaking of namedays,” he begins, chuckling as he hears you groan, “A certain someone’s nameday is a mere two days away and she has yet to tell me anything she wishes for.”

“I’ve told you,” you start with a sigh, peering up at him, “How am I meant to wish for anything when you spoil me so?”

“I do not spoil you!” He admonishes, a guilty smile tugging at his lips, “I simply give you all that you deserve for being such a sweet little wife.” he teases, punctuating each word of the pet name with a kiss to your forehead and cheeks, making you giggle – his favorite sound in the world. You lay in a comfortable silence for a moment, still tracing various shapes and patterns onto his chest before he speaks again, his voice soft and questioning, “There must be something you long for, my love. Anything you want, simply name it.” 

You stay silent for a minute longer, pondering exactly how to voice your thoughts. There was something you wanted, or rather someone — Daemon, the king’s younger brother. Like Harwin, he had caught your eye quickly when you’d first arrived at King's Landing. According to Aemma, Viserys had even been considering betrothing the two of you for a time; though your sister had put a quick stop to that, she had never been the Rogue Prince’s biggest fan. 

Yet, still, there was something about him that simply drew you to him, something intriguing in the way he moved, the way he spoke. You loved your husband, more than anything else, but Daemon was…tempting, you couldn’t lie. 

You look up at Harwin, still silent as you stare into his soft brown eyes, before looking away again, unsure of how to even broach the topic. 

As per usual, though, your ever-observant husband was one step ahead of you. His toned arms wrap around you and pull you up, until you’re sitting in his lap, your legs on either side of his muscular thighs as you straddle him, balancing yourself by holding onto the rim of the tub as his hands remain on your waist, “It is the prince, is it not?” He asks slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving your own.

“Husband,” you start, worried he is upset with you, “You must unde–”

“I understand, my little love,” he soothes, pulling you closer to him, relishing the way your breasts press against the firmness of his chest, “You need not explain it to me,” you rest your head on his warm chest, your face buried in his neck, “Lust for him does not do away with your love for me, I know this.” He confirms, gently carding a hand through your hair.

Even with his reassurance, you remain silent for a moment still; this is new territory in your relationship – never before had you seriously considered the possibility of sharing yourself with another, your husband so adoring and protective of you that you never dreamed he would entertain the thought.

“You…wish to share me in this way? Truly?” You question, heart skipping a beat when you feel his cock beginning to harden between your legs.

“I admit I was wholly against the idea at first,” he starts, his calloused hands slowly running up and down your thighs, half-submerged in the warm water, “I am still not thrilled that the object of your desire is Prince Daemon,” he laughs, teasing you, “Of all the knights in all the seven kingdoms, you pick him.” He jokes, his chest vibrating underneath you as he laughs.

“Harwin!” You gasp to hide your own laughter, though you know the cheeky smile tugging at your lips gives you away, “Please, be serious!” You reprimand, playfully slapping at his chest.

“I yield, I yield,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. Eventually, the two of you settle down once more, a quiet calmness descending over you, “But I see the way you look at him,” he smiles, indicating that he isn’t upset when he sees worry cloud your soft features once again, “Very different from the way you look at me…only lust. And I see the way he looks at you,” your head shoots up at this, a soft blush creeping over your cheeks at this knowledge, “Lust, yes, but also a certain softness,” his hands come to rest on your hips once more, gently rocking your slick heat against his length, “Like you are something sacred to behold.”

He finishes finally, taking pleasure in the way you shudder against him, small whimpers and whines escaping your lips as your bud is dragged up and down his cock, his hands gripping your waist so tightly there are sure to be bruises in the morning.

“Husband,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you mewl into his neck, the lavender scent of your bath oils filling your lungs, “Oh, Gods!” You moan, your aching bud catching on the head of his cock.

“He should look at you in that way,” Harwin grunts, thighs bending under the curve of your rear as his knees come up out of the bathwater, giving him more leverage to rut against you, “Like you are, fuck, like you are something divine.” He groans into the hair at the crown of your head, big hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs swirling against your sensitive nipples, “You are, my love,” his words come out in breathless, broken gasps, “Divine, sacred, a gift sent straight from the Seven.”

You nod wordlessly, whines and moans getting caught in your throat as your hands roam over the firm planes of his chest, lips busying themselves against the column of his throat. No further words are needed between the two of you, a common understanding being enough for now as your bodies press closer together, nearly melding into one beneath the warm, sweetly scented water. 

Golden morning light shines in through the sheer curtains of your chambers as you busy yourself with dressing for the day, your maids flitting around you as they button, tie, and lace you into your dress. 

Harwin had left much earlier than you, already strapped into his leathers before the sun rose above the horizon. Just like every other morning, he had gently kissed you awake to let you know he was leaving, telling you he promised to be safe when training and that he would see you at supper. Unlike every other morning, however, he had added, “I imagine I shall see Prince Daemon in the training yard today,” he had softly cooed, a warm hand tenderly caressing your cheek, “If I do, I shall speak with him about our…offer. See what he says.” 

At the time, you had simply mumbled sleepily, head too clouded with sleep to truly process his words. Now, though, you could not keep from wringing your hands with worry, fidgeting uneasily as your hair was pinned up, half your hair braided and wrapped up into a bun at the crown of your head, the rest left to cascade down your shoulders like a pearly waterfall. 

Your maids finally finished, leaving you in your chambers with your still steaming breakfast, which you could only bring yourself to pick at, the nervous knots in your stomach keeping your appetite at bay. 

What if he thinks me perverse? You worry, staring out at the morning sky, watching as puffy clouds blow in from the winds of Blackwater Bay. You know this is nonsensical — if even half the rumors of Daemon’s various appetites were true, he had no justification to call you of all people perverse. What if he tells everyone? You wonder, halfheartedly sipping at your tea, but even this you know was absurd. He was brash, incredibly rude at times, but the prince knew when to be discreet, and if he truly gazed at you in the way your husband claimed, you had no doubt he would keep your secret. 

After exhausting your list of worries, you finally stand up from your small breakfast table, intending to find Aemma and ask for her to accompany you on a walk through the gardens. 

You make your way into the hallway, winding your way through the various passages of the Red Keep in your search for your sister, saying polite thank you's to anyone wishing you a happy early nameday.

“Auntie!” You hear a small voice call behind you as you step out into the Godswood, the stoic face of the weirwood tree there peering at you from under its canopy of red leaves. You turn on your heel, smiling brightly when you see Rhaenyra running at you at full tilt.

You scoop her up at the last second, grunting a small “Oof!” as she barrels into your arms, “If it isn’t my favorite little niece!” You chirp brightly, her small arms hugging around your neck, “What wickedness are you up to?”

“Training!” She answers, excitedly squirming in your grasp, perched atop one of your hips.

“Training?” You question with exaggerated interest, “Whatever for?”

“To ride Syrax!” She giggles, “She’s getting big and the keepers say she is almost ready!”

“How exciting,” you nod, setting her down before crouching before her, “She is growing quickly indeed,” you add, motioning for her to turn around before you begin braiding her hair, the same pale shade as your own, “Are the keeper’s training you as well?” 

“Konir sagon ñuha gaomilaksir,” a deep, smooth voice answers from behind you. You gasp, whipping your head around just in time to see Daemon step into the courtyard, dressed in his familiar dark metal armor, Dark Sister hanging from his belt, “Ñuha riña.” He nods simply. (That would be my job.) (My lady.)

“Ñuha dārilaros,” you nod in return, quickly finishing Rhaenyra’s braid before standing and turning to face him, “I trust the morning has found you in good spirits.” (My prince.)

“Oh, it has indeed,” he says, eyes flashing with mirth as he smirks at you, his head cocking to the side, stands of pale hair contrasting against the dark metal covering his chest, “Eman ryptan mirri udir, ñuha riña.” He drawls. (I have heard some news, my lady.)

This catches Rhaenyra’s attention, her Valyrian lessons clearly paying off as she gasps excitedly as she bounces between the two of you, “What news? What news?” 

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about,” Daemon chides, shaking his head with a small smile, “Just some news from the council, nothing that would be of interest to you,” he continues quickly, waving his hand dismissively before nodding his head to the old stone archway that leads back inside the Keep, “I need to speak with your aunt quickly, run along to the dragonpit. I’m sure Syrax would appreciate a treat before we begin training.” 

Rhaenyra nods happily, twirling a small yellow flower around in her hands as she practically skips from the courtyard, singing, “A treat for Syrax, a treat for Syrax!” as she disappears down the hall.

“Ao jorrāelatan naejot ȳdragon lēda nyke?” You question once Daemon returns his attention to you, politely clasping your hands together. (You needed to speak with me?)

“Ser Harwin approached me earlier this morning in the yard,” he starts, eyes sweeping over your body like a predator eyeing its prey, “Vēttan nyke iā jiōragon.” He smirks, watching you blush under his gaze. (He made me an offer.)

“Gōntan ziry?” (He did?)

“Konir sagon paktot,” he continues, voice nearly patronizing as he slowly paces around you, circling you like a shark in the water, “He says you want me to fuck you.” He finishes, coming to stand before you once more, a proud smile on his face once he sees the shock on yours. (That’s right.)

“Iksis bisa drēje?” He asks once it becomes clear you don’t know how to respond. (Is this true?)

“Kessa.” You say simply, inwardly wincing at the wobble in your voice, though you try your hardest to appear confident. (Yes.)

Daemon snickers, “Naughty, naughty girl,” he tsks, shaking his head teasingly, one hand casually perched on the hilt of his sword, “He tells me I’m meant to be your nameday present; quite the honor, I must say.” 

“Mērī lo ao agree naejot se jiōragon, ñuha dārilaros.” (Only if you agree to the offer, my prince.)

“Consider this my agreement,” he says proudly, gaze straying to the neckline of your gown, “I’ve been asked to arrive at your chambers at the hour of the owl,” his lilac eyes meet yours once again, “Is this acceptable, naughty girl?”

You flush deeply at his nickname, only used to sweet praises from Harwin, “That is most acceptable, my prince.” You nod.

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he chides, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, “Certainly not with the way we’ll be so intimately acquainted later this evening,” he steps back again, still smirking, “You may call me Daemon…or sir.” He adds, noting the way it makes you squirm. 

“Very well…Daemon.” You tease, feeling proud when you see his eyes widen just the slightest bit. 

“Perhaps this sweet little kitten has claws after all,” he smirks, eyes looking you up and down once more, “Very well,” he says with a nod, “I’m needed at the dragonpit, but I shall be seeing you and your husband later this evening.”

“Hen rhinka.” You nod as you watch him leave, your entire body relaxing, releasing unrealized tension, as soon as his back disappears from view. You allow yourself to breathe for a few moments, standing in the silent courtyard as your heartbeat returns to normal, before you leave, once again going to try and find Aemma, or really anything else to keep yourself occupied until the evening. (Of course.)

“I promise, sweet girl,” Harwin says, watching from the small sitting area in your chambers as you pace back and forth across the stone floor, “I told him all he would need to know. About you, about what you like, all of it.”

You nod, half listening, as you walk back and forth, feet bare on the large, plush fur rugs that cover the floor in front of the fireplace. The warmth of it on your skin was usually a welcome feeling, although tonight you only felt overheated. Outside, the sky was dark, the sun having set quite a while ago. King’s Landing once again sprawled out like a sea of stars beneath the Keep, mirroring the stars in the black sky overhead, the bright light of the moon reflecting off of the waters of the bay – the hour of the owl was drawing close. 

“We do not have to do this if you’re having second thoughts, my love,” he says, standing and striding over to you, “If you wish, I will simply tell Daemon to fuck off.” He jokes, chuckling as you relax in his arms.

“I do want to!” You sigh, tilting your chin up to peer up at him through your lashes, “I’m simply nervous, I suppose. We’ve never done anything like this before,” you bite your lip, looking away from him as you resume speaking, “Honestly, I’m still shocked you agreed to it at all.”

“I want to share you,” he shrugs, pressing a comforting kiss to the top of your head, “Show off what’s mine.” He says lowly, chuckling when he feels you shiver against him – he knows very well that his possessiveness gets to you.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on the thick wooden door of your chambers, making you jump, which makes Harwin chuckle as he stands to open it; he had dismissed the guard that normally stood at your door in the evening, insisting that he take the night off. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you merely stand in front of the fire, nervously fidgeting. 

Your husband gives you one last look, his eyes questioning; you nod to him, signaling that it was okay, that this was truly what you wanted, and he opened the door. 

“Ser Harwin,” Daemon drawls, looking your husband up and down as he strides into the room, cocky as usual. Finally, his eyes land on you and you can’t help the small fizzle that takes hold in your belly at the way he stops suddenly in his tracks, his eyes glazing over as he looks you over, “My lady,” he says softly, nodding at you as he stalks closer to where you stand, feet still planted firmly in the carpet, “Ȳdra daor ao jurnegon gevie.” (Don’t you look beautiful.)

“He says I am beautiful,” you tell your husband, translating the Valyrian for him, an act that is second nature for you now. “Kirimvose.” you say, trying your hardest to keep your voice from trembling. (Thank you.)

Daemon comes to stand in front of you, his eyes searching yours for a second, looking for any hesitation you suppose. When he finds none, he hooks a finger into the delicate ribbon tied around your waist, the one keeping your silk dressing gown shut; again, he catches your eyes, and again you suppose he must find what he’s searching for because suddenly he’s pulling the bow there undone. 

“She looks ravishing all the time,” your husband said, his breath fanning over the back of your neck as he seems to materialize behind you, rough hands skirting up your arms before coming to rest at your shoulders, “The most beautiful creature.”

“A beautiful creature,” Daemon agrees, his hands, not as rough as Harwin’s though still battle-worn, settling on your hips as he looks at your body appreciatively, his light eyes growing darker by the minute, “And a naughty thing.” He finishes, smirking when he hears a small, barely there whimper escape your lips. 

“Is she?” your husband asks, gathering all your hair over one shoulder, exposing one side of your neck before he kisses you there, relishing the sigh he gets in return. You gasp as one of his hands comes up to cup your breast, warming your skin through the thin lace of your nightgown, “She’s such a good, obedient girl.”

You lean back into Harwin, your back against his firm chest as he kneads your breast, sending sparks flying down between your thighs. “Only bad little things fantasize about being taken by two men.” Daemon practically growls. Your eyes are only half open but you still don’t miss the look he gives your husband over your shoulder, nor do you miss the way the brunette subtly nods against the column of your neck. You moan when Daemon’s lips finally press against your own, his mouth soft and warm, tongue already licking into your mouth. 

The motion presses you further back against Harwin, pressing his half-hard cock into the small of your back, the feeling making you near dizzy with lust as you realize that he truly wanted this just as much as you. Daemon’s tongue eventually wins its battle for dominance and the two of you kiss for a moment longer, the only sounds in your chambers being being yours and the prince’s lips moving together as your husband kisses, licks, and bites along your neck, causing you to mewl softly into Daemon’s waiting mouth like a puppy. 

“Are you a bad girl, sweet little thing?” The prince growls against your jaw as he finally separates his lips from yours, trailing kisses down the opposite side of your neck. 

When you neglect to answer, too caught up in the men’s attention, Harwin suddenly palms at the plump flesh of your rear, roughly grabbing and squeezing it enough to have you whining, “I believe Daemon asked you a question, my love,” he chucked, his other hand pulling down the neckline of your nightgown, nearly ripping the delicate lace, to reveal your breast, “It would be rude not to answer.”

“Gods!” You moan, sucking in a breath when you feel the blond’s lips wrap around your exposed nipple, his teeth teasing at the sensitive, peaked skin, “I-I’m a good girl!” You gasp, your fingers carding through silky hair, the same silvery shade as your own, “Harwin says I-“ You start, only to be brutally cut off as one of Daemon’s large hands wraps around your throat. 

“Harwin may claim what he wishes,” he sneers, nose touching yours as he speaks, “But to me, you’re nothing but a lovely whore.” 

You gasp, having never been called such a thing before. A part of you knows you should be offended, yet you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at his harsh treatment, knees nearly buckling beneath you. 

Your husband tenses behind you, his kisses freezing on your neck before he lifts his head. Narrowing his eyes at Daemon over your shoulder, he grabs his forearm and pushes his hand off of you, “You are not to speak to her in that manner,” he growls, jaw squared, “Nor handle her so harshly. We discussed this earlier.” 

“Oh, hush,” the prince dismisses, prying his hand from Harwin’s grasp with a tsk, “She’s enjoying it, naughty little thing.” He nods his chin at you, noting the blush on your cheeks and the way your chest is heaving. 

Harwin’s eyes shift to yours, his hand tilting your chin up as he peers at you. Before he can speak, though, the large bells at the top of the Keep begin to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Finally, the hour of the owl had arrived, and with it your true nameday. 

“Well, well,” Daemon drawls, abandoning you and Harwin to perch at the edge of your bed, helping himself go to the pitcher of wine sitting at your bedside, “You know, the girls in Flea Bottom have quite the… interesting nameday tradition.” He smirks, studying you and Harwin with amusement as he takes a sip of wine. 

“What is it?” You ask, pulling your husband behind you as you approach the bed, accepting a glass of wine from Daemon. Beside you, Harwin shakes his head, glaring at the other man.

“We talked about this. I told you that I would be taking the lead–”

“You told me, yes,” Daemon interrupts, giving your husband a pointed look before shifting his gaze back to you, “However, it is her nameday. I believe she should get to decide.”

“Decide what?” You inquire, looking between the two men.

“Who will be giving you your birthday spanks, naughty girl.” The blond smirks, gazing at you appreciatively, “One for each year you’ve graced the realm with your presence.”

You looked back and forth between the two men again, Daemon looking at you as if you were a piece of prey, a prize to be won, and Harwin looking at you concerned, as if you were a precious treasure in need of protection. You deliberate for what feels like a long while in your mind – on one hand, Daemon was new and exciting, but you also knew of his unpredictable nature; on the other hand, Harwin was comfortable and safe to you, but wasn’t the entire point of this endeavor to branch out?

“Can…” you begin hesitantly, looking back and forth between the two men, “Can both of you do it?”

“I think that can be arranged, my sweet girl,” your husband says huskily, excited at the promise of exploring this particular act with you once more, “Why don’t you be a good little girl and kneel on the bed for us, hm? On all fours, as you normally do.”

At that remark, Daemon looks at you with great interest, making your cheeks heat up as Harwin helps you remove your robe, draping it over a nearby chair. He turns around quickly when he hears you gasp, only to see the prince laving his tongue over your nipple again, mouthing at it through the paper thin lace of your nightgown, as one of his hands busies itself with your other breast, palming at it desperately; his other hand visible through the thin material of your gown as his fingers tease at your center, brushing through the slick folds with practiced ease. 

He can’t help but admire you for a short moment, cock hardening at the soft blush that settles across your cheeks, the way your chest heaves as you gasp with pleasure, tits bouncing as you writhe against the other man’s hand. Finally, he comes out of his reverie and strides to where you and Daemon stand, taking his place on the other side of your body. 

He begins toying with you once more, guiding your mouth to his while his hands roam over your curves before one finally settles on your breast, the one unoccupied by Daemon’s tongue. His tongue battles with yours as his palm gently squeezes your breast, fingers teasingly pinching at your nipple, causing him to groan in satisfaction once you start mewling in the way he loves. His other hand joins the prince’s at your core, two of this thick fingers teasing at your opening, “Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth, “So wet, my love.” His fingers slide into you with a practiced ease, knowing exactly what you like after having spent nearly a year taking you apart on a practically daily basis. 

They crook up perfectly, rubbing against that spot within you with the perfect pressure and accuracy. If there was one thing Harwin was determined to perfect from the moment you were officially declared his in the eyes of gods and men, it was bringing you pleasure in greater amounts than you’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread across his bearded face as the sounds of your whimpers and whines grew more and more desperate, telling him once more that he was successful in his mission. 

Just as your husband's fingers speed up within you, Daemon traces tighter and tighter circles around your eager bud, his mouth growing more insistent on your breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth, sucking it harshly into the warmth of his mouth. 

“Getting close, naughty thing?” the blond asks teasingly, lilac eyes peering up at yours as he continued stimulating you. 

You nod frantically, whining as Harwin begins tracing his lips down your jaw, right to that spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. “Let go, princess,” he husks, the tips of his fingers zeroing in on that small rough patch within you, “Give us your pleasure.”

You can’t help the noise that leaves you, a loud, desperate, whining moan that would leave you horribly embarrassed at any other time, but right now you don’t have the ability to care. The ministrations from the two men, along with the utterance of the one pet name Harwin only dared utter in private, send you tumbling over the edge. You feel your knees buckle, although you aren’t worried about falling, too dumb with pleasure to think but still reassured that two pairs of strong arms will surely hold you steady. 

Fireworks explode behind your eyelids as you feel your center contract around your husbands fingers; the two men groan when they hear the slick sounds pouring out from between your thighs multiply nearly tenfold as your peak takes you, soaking Harwin’s fingers and wetting Daemon’s hand. 

“What a naughty, dirty girl,” the prince teases, fingers only leaving your bud once your legs had started to twitch from the overstimulation, “Peaking over the fingers of two men,” you whimper as your husband carefully removes his fingers from you, face flushing when he immediately takes them into his mouth, licking off the evidence of your arousal, “No better than a common Flea Bottom whore.”

Again, Daemon’s words send a shiver up your spine, the knot that had just come unraveled in your stomach tightening once more. “She is a good girl,” Harwin corrects him, hands lovingly stroking over your body, “For peaking exactly when I commanded her to. Such a good, obedient girl.”

Your head spins at their words, head swimming as one man degrades you, clearly gaining pleasure from the way his teases and rude remarks affect you, while the other praises you so lovingly, proud at way his tender words affect you so after months of perfecting them, learning exactly which phrases drive you to madness and fully exploiting them. 

“Are you ready for your sweet spanks, my good girl?” Harwin asks, brown eyes shining with love.

You nod breathlessly, still leaning on both men for support. Beside you Daemon chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ask for it properly, naughty girl.”

“Ask us, sweetling.” Harwin nods encouragingly. 

“Please…” you start softly, finally finding your voice, “Please, husband, sir, please may I have my nameday spankings?”

Daemon growls lowly in his chest, satisfied at you finally learning your place and addressing him the way he feels he deserves, “Get on the bed.” He commands easily, leaving no room for backtalk or questioning.

Blessedly, your sweet husband still sees fit to help you arrange yourself on the edge of the bed, taking your shaky legs into account as he helps you move. You’re indeed kneeling on all fours, your legs tucked up under you as your feet dangle off the bed, your ass in the air, though still covered by the lace of your gown.

You feel the air shift behind you as they move, both standing behind you still but Harwin to the left and Daemon to the right. The one of Daemon’s hands strokes down your back, you can feel him leaning over you as he trails his hand down from the very top of your shoulder blades all the way down to the small of your back, right where the curve of your ass starts; you can hear him hum appreciatively. His other hand drags up the back of one of your thighs and slowly, he slips his fingers under the hem of your gown. He pulls it up over your ass, letting the soft, silky fabric pool in the dip of your spine; your walls clench around nothing when you hear both men groan behind you.

“Gods,” Harwin breathes, rough fingers lightly tracing over your skin, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Pretty little cunt,” Daemon quips, smirking when he hears you whimper as he spreads your cheeks apart, hands gripping you hard enough that there are sure to be fingerprint sized bruises, “Wetter than the Narrow Sea.” He remarks, chuckling as he runs a thumb over the slit of your heat, marveling at the way your slick remains connected to his thumb by a thin thread for a second as he pulls his hands away. 

“Ready, princess?” Harwin murmurs behind you, hands soothing where Daemon had grabbed you.

“Please!” You nod, hands gripping the furs spread across the bed. 

Suddenly, a hand comes down on the left side of your ass, harsh but not overly painful; you whimper at the impact, walls clenching from the pleasant sting left behind. Harwin. You were sure of it – the two of you had only experimented in this way a scant few times but enough that you knew the feel of his blows. 

Again, a hand comes down, this time making you jerk as a palm strikes the right globe of your rear. A sharp cry leaves your lips, back bowing for a second before the same hand is pressing harshly at the small of your back, “Keep that back arched, naughty little thing.” Daemon hums. 

Harwin gives you a moment to breathe, a gesture you appreciate very much, before striking you once again. Again, you mewl as you feel the welcome heat spread across your skin. You turn your head, burying your face into the soft furs beneath you, only to practically inhale the wolf pelt there as Daemon brings his hand down again, making you gasp. Another cry leaves your lips, louder and harsher than the last as tears pool in the corner of your eyes, some already leaking onto the coat. The right side of your ass practically feels as if it’s on fire, the sting so harsh it makes your ears ring. 

“That’s two,” Daemon taunts, smiling wickedly as he sees an outline of his handprint already blooming on your ass, “So many more left to go.”

Harwin leans over you, brushing the hair from your face, brows furrowing with concern when he sees your tears, “Are you alright, my love?” He asks, smoothing a hand down your back, “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to continue.” He reassures you, smiling lovingly.

You shake your head, determined to see it through – determined to impress Daemon, really. “N-no,” you say tearfully, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, “I want to, please.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Daemon cuts in, gripping your cheeks harshly once again as he spreads them, tugging them somehow further apart than before as he clicks his tongue, pleased, “You love this,” his hand wetly smacks against your slit, making you whine as Harwin further soothes you, glaring daggers at the prince, “Little cunt’s soaking the bed.”

Your husband knocks his hands away, the ferocity of it making you gasp and peer over your shoulder, “We’ve discussed this,” the brunette hisses through his teeth, knuckles white as he grips Daemon’s wrist, “You will not handle her in such a manner, we agreed on this.”

“Oh, please,” the prince huffs, rolling his lilac eyes as he jerks his arm from Harwin’s grip, “She’s enjoying it, see?” You don’t have any time to react before his palm is once again smacking against your flesh, harder than the previous two hits combined. Your vision swirls, eyes stinging as tears blur your sight, a scream ripping its way from your throat as his hit shoves you further up the bed. You feel as if your entire lower half is radiating with pain, ears ringing once again.

There’s some commotion behind you, though it takes you a few seconds to get your whits about you enough to turn over, grimacing as the tender skin of your rear brushes against the pelts, ones that normally feel so soft now digging into your skin like dozens of little thorns. When you do finally clear your eyes, rubbing the tears away, your mouth practically falls open at the sight before you.

Harwin has Daemon pushed against the wall next to the bed, one of his forearms pinned down across his chest to hold him back; Daemon looks enraged, his teeth bared as he stares down your husband, “Unhand me, Strong.” He growls. 

Harwin presses him down harder, chest heaving with anger, “You dare harm her,” he mutters, his other fist clenched at his side, “We trusted you for this and you harm her!” 

“She fucking liked it!” Daemon retorts, struggling against your husbands strength — although strong in his own right, he had nothing on Harwin, “Go look at her fucking cunt, it’s soaked! She loves being hit!” He positively seethes, nodding his head toward you. 

The brunette sneers, lip curling up in disgust as the other man continues to squirm in his grasp. You watch, worried, as the hand not pinning the prince to the wall shoots up and roughly grips Daemon by his throat, forcing his head back. 

Daemon whimpers.

The world seems to stop in a single breath, the three of you staying quiet and still. Your eyes are wide, not believing the small sound you heard, but there was no mistaking it. Harwin seems just as shocked as you, taking a half step back from Daemon as soon as he hears the noise.

He’s quiet for a second more before a teasing, nearly sinister smile slowly spreads across his face, “She likes being spanked, you say,” he starts, putting more pressure on Daemon’s throat, “And you, your grace, like being choked, don’t you? Nothing more than a common Flea Bottom whore, right?”

You’ve never heard your husband use that tone before, so deep and threatening, it makes your thighs clench, a soft breath escaping your lips. 

The small sound seems to remind both Harwin and Daemon that you’re still there and their heads whip toward you. They remain silent for a moment but then your husband smiles, looking between you and the prince with a mischievous smirk. 

Harwin leads Daemon over to where you sit on the bed until both men are standing in front of you once again, the blond in the front with the brunette behind him, one hand holding his arms behind his back while the other remains wrapped around his neck. There is still a fire in Daemon’s eyes, though it’s merely a simmer now instead of a blazing inferno; you can’t help but be reminded of a tamed animal, of the dragons in the dragonpit — so much wildness choosing to be contained. 

“I think you need to apologize,” Harwin starts, pushing Daemon forward until his legs hit the side of the bed, the two of them towering over you, “For hurting our lady, hm?”

Your breath catches at his choice of words, our lady. You watch as Daemon nods, his eyes half closed, glazed over by some kind of fog, his breathing slow and calm, as if he’s in a trance. 

“Come now,” Harwin shoves him a little, just enough to make him jump, “Answer properly.” 

“Yes….” Daemon whispers, hardly able to get words out around the grip Harwin has on his throat. 

“Yes what?” Your husband asks slowly, words spoken through clenched teeth, his lips right next to the prince’s ear. 

Daemon sighs, his shoulders sagging as any fight that remained in him seemed to vanish, “Yes, ser.” 

“See?” Harwin teases, patronizingly tapping him on the cheek, “You can be good.” You see Daemon shiver at that. 

Leaving Daemon to stand at the side of the bed, your husband bends down and kisses you softly, “You still desire this?”

You nod, looking deeply into his eyes as one of your hands cards through his curly hair, “Yes husband,” you whisper, “More than anything.” 

“Stand.” Harwin commands simply, and you obey, coming to stand beside Daemon. “You,” your husband snaps, motioning at the man standing next to you, “Strip and lie down.” 

Daemon does as he says, with no fuss for once. You can’t help but admire the way he moves as he removes his tunic and pants, his movements still so fluid and graceful despite the haze he seems to be in. After a moment, his clothes lie in a pile on the floor as he takes his place on your bed, laying on his back, half hard cock lying on his stomach, already leaking and flushed. 

“Good.” Harwin praises simply, though you see Daemon’s brows flutter with pleasure. “My love,” he addresses you, giving you a gentle kiss, “Let me?” He asks, gesturing to your nightgown. You nod with a smile, letting him undress you. “Perfection,” he groans once you’re bare before him, dark eyes roaming your body. 

“I want you to do something for me, princess,” he says, leading over to the bed, motioning for you to kneel on your knees next to Daemon. 

“What’s that?” You ask, looking from your husband to the prince. 

Harwin grabs your waist, much gentler than Daemon had ever touched you, and you can’t help but whimper, loving the way he manhandles you into position. Before you know it, he has you hovering over Daemon’s face, your entire body flushing as you realize what he wants. 

“Sit.” He says lowly, letting you drop onto the prince’s waiting mouth. 

“Oh!” You say in surprise, your thighs clenching around Daemon’s head. Immediately, you feel a rumble beneath you, making you whine as you realize he’s groaning with contentment as his tongue meets your aching heat. “Gods!” You gasp, hips moving of their own accord over his lips as your fingers tangle in his pale hair, causing him to groan more underneath you. 

You pant, humping against his face like nothing more than the wanton whore he claimed you to be, mewls and whines escaping your lips constantly as your eyes squeeze shut. 

You hear Harwin shuffling next to the bed and open your eyes, peering over your shoulder and shivering at the sight of your husband undressing, his muscular body on full display for you. Finally undressed, he turns to you, stroking his cock as he stalks toward the bed, eyes scanning over your body. 

“Is he making you feel good, my little love?” 

“Yes, sir!” You pant, nodding frantically. The bed dips under his weight as Harwin kneels on the bed next to you, his free hand coming up to palm at your breasts, thumb teasing over your nipples before he pinches them, humming appreciatively at the way you squirm atop Daemon. 

“Good,” Harwin chuckles, leaning over to mouth at one breast while his hand continues teasing the other, “He must atone for earlier.” He finishes, letting go of his stiff cock to slap at Daemon’s thigh, making the man below you jerk and moan, his hands gripping at your rear tighter as his cock twitches against his abdomen.

You gasp, surprised by both the slap and the way Daemon’s lips seal around your bud in response, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it with his hot tongue as your hips grind down harder, “Oh, Gods, fuck!” 

Beside you, Harwin stands on the bed, bending to kiss the top of your head, chuckling at the way you cling to him for support. “Shh, little sweetling,” he soothes, standing up straight, the sight of his cock making your mouth water as he fists it in front of your lips, “I have something you can occupy yourself with.” He teases, moving closer to you. 

Smiling up at him, you softly lick the tip, pride swelling in your stomach at how much the slit is already leaking. You wrap your lips around the head, suckling softly as one of your hands untangles itself from Daemon’s hair to stroke the rest of Harwin’s length. You mewl around him as the prince continues feasting on your slit, plunging his tongue inside of you, deep groans vibrating through you every time he feels your walls clench around the muscle as he fucks it into you. 

Slowly but surely, you take more of your husband into your mouth, eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat. He groans above you, half lidded eyes keeping contact with yours as he gently strokes his hands through your hair. 

“Such a lovely, precious girl,” he grunts, his eyes nearly black but still shining with adoration, “Gods, princess, you’re perfect like this.” 

Your husband’s sweet praise pushes you closer to the edge, the knot in your stomach growing dangerously tight as you rut against Daemon’s mouth, his tongue zeroing in your bud as he feels you moving more and more determinedly against him, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you taste. 

“Are you getting close, sweet girl?” Harwin asks, gently fucking his hips into your mouth. 

You nod around his length, eyebrows furrowing together as you stare up at him pleadingly. Blessedly, your sweet husband can never bear to make you wait very long. 

“Find your peak, my love,” Harwin huffs as he strokes his length, “Cover him with it.” 

As always, you do as he commands. The knot in your belly finally snaps once more and you moan above Daemon, practically crying at the way each wave of your orgasm crashes over you, sending shivers down your spine. The prince slurps noisily below you, savoring your release as his cock twitches, leaking heavily onto his stomach. 

“Ah!” You cry, hips twitching as Daemon’s tongue persists against you, only stopping when you lift yourself off of him and settle back onto his chest, “Seven Hells.” You breathe, your wet slit pressed tightly against the center of Daemon’s chest. 

Harwin once again kneels on the bed and you peer over your shoulder, eyes widening as you see him swipe a finger through the pool of of arousal leaking from the flushed head of the prince’s cock, where it rests against his stomach, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which makes the man below you groan. 

“Seems he wants something,” Harwin teases, “Shall we let him have it?”

“Please, sir,” you whine, nodding pathetically at the chance to finally sink onto Daemon’s cock, “Let him, please!”

“Aww, sweet thing,” Harwin coos, tenderly caressing your cheek, “Thank you, although you are not who I wish to hear from.” 

At that, you can feel Daemon squirm beneath you, a determined set to his eyes, “Forget it.” He shakes his head, hands tracing over your curves. 

“Really?” Harwin asks, reaching behind you and grabbing Daemon’s aching length, stroking him slowly, making the prince’s body go rigid as he practically whines beneath you, “You don’t want to feel our lady’s sweet little cunt on your cock?” 

“Seven—“ Daemon chokes, hands gripping your waist enough to bruise. You can’t help but ruck your hips against him, your bud dragging deliciously against the barely there hair on his chest, “Fuck you, Strong.” He grunts, legs twitching as Harwin meanly squeezes at his length. 

“I don’t think it’s me you want to fuck,” your husband taunts, shaking his head, “I know you want it, know you want to have your way with my little wife,” you can tell when Harwin begins stroking Daemon’s length again as the man underneath you tenses, his muscles pulling taut, “Simply ask nicely and you may have her.” 

You watch Daemon for a moment, studying the pained look on his face, his jaw still clenched and determined. You know he won’t do as your husband commands, still too proud no matter how true Harwin’s taunts are. So, you take pity on him, unable to reign in your own desire either. Bracing your hands on his chest, you move yourself back along the length of his torso, coming to hover over his stomach just above where your husband continues teasing at his length. 

Leaning down, you gently kiss along Daemon’s jaw until your lips are positioned just under his ear, “Tell him what he wants to hear,” you implore, your breath tickling his pale skin, “I want it as badly as you, please my prince, please just do as he asks.” You beg, rutting your hips against his firm stomach. 

Daemon opens his eyes finally, dark with desire as he looks at you, watching as you nod encouragingly, your own brows set in a pleading furrow. Again, the prince sighs, his body deflating, “Please,” he starts, his voice barely a whisper at first, growing louder once you dip your head down and begin teasing his neck, “Please let me fuck her, let me please her.” 

“Let you fuck who?” Harwin teases, finally releasing Daemon’s cock. 

“Please, let me fuck your pretty wife,” Daemon sighs, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, making you gasp and rut your hips against his stomach again, “Please, ser.” 

“That wasn’t so difficult, hm?” Your husband chuckles, making himself comfortable at the head of the bed, his back against the plush pillows. He fixes you in his dark gaze, muscular arms folded over his chest, “Ride him. Tame our dragon, sweetling.” 

Our dragon. Again, his words make you shiver and you nod wordlessly, sliding further down Daemon’s lithe body before your center, dripping and aching, is finally positioned over his length. Once more, you look down at the prince’s face, his silvery hair spread in a halo around his head; he’s breathing harshly, his cock twitching against your center as he gazes at you, the animalistic lust in his eyes replaced with a glimmer that makes your heart twist — you’ve seen the same one in Harwin’s dark eyes time and time again. 

Before you have time to dwell on it, Daemon’s hands grip your hips, pushing you down slowly. Both of you groan, his length stretching you deliciously. You brace your hands on his chest, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink lower and lower, cursing as he’s finally pressed inside you completely, his cock filling every inch of you as your walls pulse around him. 

“Fuck,” Daemon grunts, his hands gripping at your waist and hips as his eyes roll back, “Tight little cunt, so good.” His hands suddenly grip your ass, making you whimper and grind yourself against him at the feel of his rough hands against your still tender skin. 

You can’t help the moans and whimpers that escape your lips as you begin rocking in Daemon’s lap, angling your hips in a way that causes his head to brush against that spot deep within you, the one that makes your head spin. “Gods, shit!” You can’t help but gasp at the way he feels inside you, his cock stretching you nicely — not as wide as Harwin’s but just a hair longer, filling you to the brim. 

“Does he feel good, my love?” Your husband asks, causing you to open your eyes and look over at him. You nod as you meet his eyes, the brown almost totally taken over by blackness as he relaxes against the pillows, eyes sweeping up and down your body as he watches you grind yourself atop the prince, “How does she feel, your grace?” He addresses Daemon. 

The man below you groans, the wild look returning to his eyes as you start bouncing more frantically, “Fucking perfect,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around the small of your back and pulling you down to him, your chests pressing together, “Perfect, wet, fuck, wet little cunt.” He groans into your neck, hands gripping at your ass again. 

You whine at the feel of his lips and teeth on your neck, your hands tangling in his hair. You whimper when you feel him bend his legs behind you, his thighs pressing against your bum; your whimpers turn to sharp cries as he begins thrusting up into you, spearing you down onto his cock over and over, the head nearly kissing your cervix as he does. 

Your cries rise in volume the closer you get, your thighs tensed against his movements as the knot in your stomach tightens, your walls clutching at his length. You gasp as one of his hands comes up, abandoning your ass to wrap lightly around your throat, only holding it instead of squeezing. His movements make your bud rub against the small thatch of hair at the base of his cock, sending sparks throughout your body.

“Ooh, she’s getting close,” Harwin observes, lightly tugging at his length as he watches you come undone atop Daemon, “Don’t you want her to soak your cock?”

“Gods,” Daemon groans, feeling the way your walls keep getting somehow tighter around his cock. He pants as he moves his hips faster, punching his length into you relentlessly, savoring the way you gasp and moan into his mouth, “Yes, yes want it.” He groans brokenly, spiraling toward his own release as well. 

“Aren’t you going to ask my permission?” Harwin teases, smirk spreading across his face at the frustrated groan that leaves Daemon. “You need my permission to make her peak,” your husband says, his gravelly tone making you shiver as you lose yourself, “Beg for it.” 

This time, thankfully, Daemon does not protest, both of you too desperate. “Fucking hell,” he hisses, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, “Please, fuck, please I need to make her peak, please!” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own, staring deeply into your eyes as he grabs at any flesh of yours he can reach. 

“Very good,” you do not miss the way Daemon shivers at Harwin’s praises, “Make her come undone.” Your husband commands. 

At this, one of Daemon’s hands buries itself between your two bodies, fingers frantically seeking out your bud and rubbing tight, wet circles into the sensitive flesh. Within seconds, you unravel, light bursting behind your eyelids as you cry out, fire igniting in your veins. Your walls pulse around Daemon’s cock as you cry out, your whole body shaking as your release flows over you in waves. 

Even through the blinding pleasure you can tell Daemon is teetering on the edge, savoring your orgasm before he allows himself his own. Harwin can tell too and his smirk grows, a devious idea coming to mind, “You cannot finish inside her,” he growls, shaking his head at Daemon, “That is mine and mine alone.”

The prince curses, his eyes squeeze shut as he manages to lift you up, pushing you back to sit atop his thighs as one of his hands comes up to strip at his cock a scant few times before a low, rumbling growl settles in his chest. A second later, he jerks suddenly, abdomen contracting as he finishes over his fist, pearly cum dripping onto his stomach, some of it shooting onto your chest and torso as well, making you gasp. 

The two of you breathe heavily as you collapse forward onto his chest, your tired muscles unable to hold you up; you whimper softly at the feel of his seed on your stomach, one of his hands stroking over your hair. “Thank you.” You sigh. 

He laughs, kissing the top of your head, “You need not thank me, princess,” he says tiredly, his choice of pet name making your heart skip a beat, “The pleasure was mine.” 

You feel the bed shift beside you before a pair of lips descend upon your back, kissing up to your shoulder. Your husband pushes your hair back and you smile up at him shyly. “You are truly perfection, my little love,” he smiles, “Has our dragon tired you out?” 

You shake your head, reaching out for Harwin, “I want you,” you breathe, letting him flip you onto your back until you’re lying next to Daemon, “Please, take me, my love.” You beg, grabbing onto every part of Harwin you can as he positions himself between your legs. 

“Fuck her,” Daemon says suddenly, his eyes scanning over Harwin, “I wish to see her break.” 

You shudder at his words, your core clenching at nothing, making you whine. Harwin shushes you lovingly, running his length through the slick still dripping from your center. “Shh, I will give you what you want, sweet one,” he says as he pushes his head into you, already deliciously stretching you, “As I always do, always will.” He grunts, sinking into you. 

Your eyes flutter, his cock still stretching your walls, causing your center to ache beautifully, your back arching on the furs. “Gods,” you breathe, moaning as Harwin bends down to lick into your mouth, your hands grabbing at his thick shoulders, “You feel so good inside me.”

He chuckles into your mouth before leaning back up, brown eyes gazing down at you adoringly, watching your chest bounce with every frantic breath you take as his hips finally press against yours. Groaning, he grabs at the backs of your knees, your legs bending as he pins them back, nearly folding you in half. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, rutting into you as you squirm beneath him, “I swear to the Seven you feel better every time.” He praises, looking down at where his cock disappears into you, marveling at the way your cunt shines in the light of the many candles placed around your chambers. 

The two of you move together for many moments, slick sounds from your center making you blush as you lose yourself in Harwin’s strong thrusts. He knows exactly how to unwind you after this much time together, and he wastes no time in doing so, a proud smile on his face as he feels your muscles tensing underneath him. 

“Close already, pretty girl?” He asks, his curls tumbling wildly as he moves. You nod, words catching in your throat as you clench around his thick cock. 

Beside you, Daemon, who has been watching with dark eyes all the while, slowly strokes his length, his other hand resting on your throat once more, his own breath growing more ragged each minute. 

Harwin’s gaze shifts to him, his thrusts speeding up as he looks over the prince’s lean figure, “Up,” he commands, motioning for Daemon to stand next to him, “Watch as I claim her, see her in the way I do.” 

Again, Daemon listens without a fight, rising from his place next to you as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Harwin as he continues pumping at his cock, breathing heavily as he stares at the place where you and your husband connect. 

Harwin bends down suddenly, the motion pulling his length from you and causing you to whine — though that quickly turns to a sharp gasp when you feel his tongue lick at your stomach. Tilting your head up, you look down in just enough time to see his tongue sweep through the pool of Daemon’s seed, still splattered on you. “Oh!” You exclaim, surprised as you watch your husband gather the other man’s spend on his tongue. 

Leaning up, Harwin once again spears you on length before hovering his face over yours, his eyes searching your gaze. Knowing what he wants, you open your mouth, smiling through moans at the familiar sight of him gathering spit in his mouth. A second later, he is leaning down again, his lips  nearly connecting with yours as he spits into your waiting mouth, sharing Daemon’s seed with you. 

Your eyes roll back as you swallow, savoring the unfamiliar, heady taste of the prince as your cunt flutters. Above you, Daemon lets out a groan so loud he almost sounds as if he’s in pain. 

“Good girl,” Harwin praises, smoothing a hand through your hair as he resumes his harsh thrusts, his other hand bracing itself against your lower stomach, thumb toying with your bud, “My good girl.” 

“Seven Hells.” Daemon groans, fisting his cock harder and faster as he nears his own release. 

“I’m close, my love,” Harwin pants, his thumb pressing against your bud harder, making your hips twitch under him, “With me?” He asks, half lidded eyes watching your own. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” You moan in time with each of his thrusts, nodding your head wildly as you thrash within his grasp, pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. 

“Watch as I claim her,” he commands Daemon, tangling a hand into his silvery hair, pointing his gaze exactly where he wants it — where the two of you connect, “Watch as I breed our princess.” 

His words send you over the edge, your walls milking his length as you feel the heat of the two men’s gazes fixed on your cunt. You gasp as your peak washes over you once more, the strongest of the night, causing your entire body to spasm uncontrollably in Harwin’s strong grasp. 

Above you, Harwin grunts as his cock spasms within you, painting your walls with his seed. As he tips over the edge, he turns his head to Daemon, pulling the dragon to him, their mouths crashing together. Hearing their twin groans, you manage to open your eyes, the sight before you nearly making you peak again. Their lips battling for dominance, neither relenting as their tongues tangle together, grunts and growls filling each other's mouths. 

Daemon finishes at nearly the same second your husband does, his seed splattering onto the furs beside you as his chest heaves. 

Harwin comes to a stop within you, his hand softening in Daemon’s hair though he does not pull away. You watch them kiss for a moment more, surprised at the heat building within you at the sight. Your walls clench around your husband's spent cock, making him jump and finally pull away from the other man, facing you with a knowing smile as you blush, your eyes flitting between four others. 

“Vaogenka riña,” Daemon drawls, his hands grasping one of your legs, massaging the muscle of your calf as your foot rests delicately on the center of his chest, “Taking pleasure from watching your husband with another.” (Dirty girl.)

“Watching him with you.” You clarify with a grin. 

Happily groaning, Harwin withdraws his length from you, shushing you as you whine. You feel your husband's seed dripping from you a moment later and both men hum appreciatively at the sight. 

“Shall I draw us a bath, sweetling?” Harwin asks, brushing sweat from your forehead, “I know you do not like to go to sleep so dirty, though if you are too spent…” 

You shake your head, giggling as both men help you stand on shaky legs, “I would gladly take a bath, husband,” you look between the two of them before your gaze settles on Daemon, “With both of you?” 

Daemon kisses you, much sweeter than he had before, “Hen rhinka, dārilaros.” He smiles, picking you up by the backs of your legs, making you squeal with laughter as he carries you over to the tub, sitting on the edge with you on his lap as Harwin prepares the bath, just the way you like. (Of course, princess.)

A few moments, and kisses, later your husband confirms it’s ready. He steps into the bath first with a curse, “I do not know how you find pleasure in this heat,” he jokes, gritting his teeth as his skin grows accustomed to the hot water, “Caraxes may as well be burning me where I stand.” 

Daemon laughs at that, the two men helping you into the bath, settling you against Harwin, a position you’d taken many times before. You sigh gratefully as the water warms your tired skin, the sweet smelling oils relaxing you, “Hush,” you chuckle, watching as the prince lowers himself into the water as well, on the opposite end of the large tub, “It feels perfect.” 

Daemon sighs in agreement, long arms resting on the lip of the tub as he tilts his head back, the steam making silvery strands of his hair cling to his shoulders and chest. “Perfection indeed.” He says contentedly, making Harwin’s chest shake with laughter against your back. 

Your eyes droop closed after a moment, Daemon massaging your feet and legs as Harwin busies himself with washing your shoulders, neck, and chest.

A gentle breeze billows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, the cool air feeling delicious on your heated skin, the smell of Aemma’s sweet blossoms in the palace gardens making your lips quirk up into a tired smile. 

“Sleep, princess.” Harwin commands gently, whispering against your neck. 

“Ēdrugon.” Daemon echos. (Sleep.)

You obey.

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[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 14

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 9.7k

warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 14/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”

“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”

It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”

He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”

Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.

It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.

“Are you still scared of me?”

You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.

“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.

“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”

Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”

“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”

“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”

You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”

Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.

“I did. It was a good kiss.”

“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”

“You’re sure? Even from me?”

You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.

“Absolutely.”

You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away. 

Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.

So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.

“There.”

You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.

For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.

When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.

Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?

Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.

“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.

“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”

A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.

“What are you looking for?”

He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”

You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until… 

“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”

“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.

You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”

Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”

“Jeongguk?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Come here for a second.”

Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.

You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”

He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”

“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”

“Oh. Will do.”

For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.

“I’ll see you later.”

With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.

When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.

You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.

“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”

Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.

“I’m alright.”

But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.

“You’re doing what you can.”

“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”

He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?

“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”

He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.

“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.

“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

‘Right now’ as in alive.

“But I–”

“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”

“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.

“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”

At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.

Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.

Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower. 

“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think. 

“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.

“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”

“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”

“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”

“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.

He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.

You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.

Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.

By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.

“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”

“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily. 

“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”

“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face. 

 “Jeongguk!”

Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.

“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.

Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.

While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work. 

“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.

“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.

“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.

He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.

“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”

Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”

Wow, way to flex.

“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.

“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.” 

You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.

Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours. 

In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body. 

Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.

When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you. 

So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.

Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.

The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest. 

You could kiss him. You could.

He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly. 

He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.

This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.

So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.

In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “

“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.

“I’m not really your type.”

He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.

Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you. 

A sweet girl.

Right?

A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere. 

But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.

He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.

So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.” 

It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.

And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.

When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.

“No, I–”

“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.

“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”

You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.

The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”

You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.

“Yeah,” you answer regardless.

When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.

“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”

Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.

“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”

“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.

After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.

“Morning.”

You stop, hands mid eye-rub. 

“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.

“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”

He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.

“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”

It smells good because he smells good.

He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”

“Okay, uh, thank you.”

“No problem.”

At least the awkwardness was for another reason.

You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside. 

“Making any progress?”

He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand. 

“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”

“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”

“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”

You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”

“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.

“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”

“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”

“Yeah.”

For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps. 

“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him. 

You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”

He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“Mhm, you were already in here.”

“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”

“It’s alright; go ahead.”

He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.

For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.

Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.

You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.

“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.

And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own. 

When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.

But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.

Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?

Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return. 

An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.

The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”

“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?” 

He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you. 

You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.

“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”

Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.

“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.

You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”

He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.

Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.

“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”

His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.

“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”

Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.

He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive. 

The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.

Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm. 

You give in.

“Kiss me?”

He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.  

“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”

You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.

“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.

“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.” 

You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?

“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”

Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.

“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”

You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.

You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”

“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.

“Okay. Close your eyes?”

Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.

Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.

“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.

“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”

You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.

Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”

“Blindfold.”

Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.

“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Okay then.”

With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?

Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.

“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.

You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”

But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.

“You scare me.”

He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”

You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.

“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”

“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.

So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”

“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”

For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”

It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”

It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “

“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “

“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”

“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of. 

“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”

Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.

Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.

“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”

The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face. 

He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.

“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles. 

“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?

“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.

“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’

"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.

"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”

Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.

“No.”

“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”

“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”

“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”

You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant. 

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already packed my stuff.”

“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”

Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”

Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”

You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.

“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”

You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.

“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”

Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.

A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”

It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to. 

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.

Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.

“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”

But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.

<previous | next>

author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333

[messylxve]

old flame | aaron hotchner x reader

part two

content warning: angst, yearning, sad hotch, tension is THICC, mentions of abduction, guns, pregnant character, angry cops

pt1 pt3

Aaron still thinks about you most days. There was not much he clung onto from his years before, but you were one of the few he couldn’t let go of.

He supposed it was because you were one of the few things he never got closure for. You had just disappeared one day, completely untraceable as if you never wanted to be seen by him again.

And he didn’t know why.

It was a rather quiet day in the BAU. Morgan and Prentiss goofed off while Reid rambled on about…something. Aaron stuck it out in his office per usual.

He should have been doing paperwork, but his mind wandered elsewhere. It wandered to the picture in his wallet. He gazed at it sadly, wondering when it all went wrong.

The picture was of you and him: a selfie taken on a camera from when the two of you went to a store late at night and decided to cart each other around in the shopping carts.

Strange how some of the happy memories he had left, were of you.

“Hotch.”

He flipped his wallet shut, his attention now on JJ as she stood at the doorway of his office. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “What do you have?”

“Multiple abductions in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Two girls, a woman, and a boy. All ranging in ages, but all related to officers under the police force.”

“What’s the time difference between each?”

JJ shook her head, flipping through one of the folders. “Three days.”

Hotch quickly pocketed his wallet and stood from his desk. “We’ll do the debriefing on the jet, alert the others. Wheels up in 10.”

To say it was chaos in Harrisburg Police precinct was an understatement. Phones rang endlessly, people rushed around and the sound of arguing echoed from the chief’s office.

“It's not usually like this,” one officer greeted. “This has become personal for a few of us and they aren't taking it lightly.”

Hotch scanned over the precinct, the uneasiness in the air radiating out to his team. “I suggest you take those officers off the case. We can't afford any distractions from anyone to interfere with this.”

“That's what were working on,” he nodded over to the office where four uniformed individuals crowded around a desk. “They aren't making it easy.”

Hotch’s frown deepened before looking around. “Do you have a space for my team to set up?”

“Yes, right this way,” he motioned for the group to follow him before turning back to Hotch. “Chief wants you in her office before we begin breaking things down.”

“Thank you.”

Hotch didn't know why he didn’t suspect something when he heard the shouting the first time. Walking closer, he realized he knew that voice. It was the voice that had haunted him for years.

“Do not question my authority again. The four of you are suspended from this case. If I hear another complaint, argument or so much of a whisper about my decision your guns will be confiscated until the case is closed. Am I clear?”

Aaron’s heart stuttered. His hand found the doorframe to grip as he watched in awe.

A small chorus of ‘yes chief’ followed your reprimand from all but one officer.

“Am. I. Clear. Smith?”

The man grit his teeth, staring you dead in the eye. “Yes chief.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Each officer left the room, leaving the two of you alone and suddenly you felt like kids all over again.

“Aaron.”

“y/n,” he breathed out. “I didn’t know—,”

“Neither did I,” you interrupted, knowing exactly what he was talking about. You felt your defenses slip away for the first time in a long time in his presence. You hated to admit it but it felt good. Seeing him again despite all of the years away.

But that look in his eyes, the pain and heartbreak. It took you right back to the day you fucked up.

It was almost as a spell was casted, Aaron saw your walls form again.

You cleared your throat and folded your arms. “There are only so many officers I can have on the field for this, so I thank you and your team for being here.”

“I- of course.”

Aaron had never felt so unsure during a case.

“Agent Smith says he was on the phone with her right before it happened and she hung up quickly,” you mused, standing in the front entryway of the Smith home with Hotch and Morgan. “Jessica Smith was 8 months pregnant when taken…”

“Which means she couldn’t have put up much of a fight,” Hotch finished your thoughts. Your eyes found his for just a moment and your heart stuttered in its chest. Had it been so many years ago, the two of you would have laughed about it, or shouted jinx, but not anymore.

“But she still would have put up some semblance of a struggle. She didn’t fight at all.” You cleared your throat.

Morgan looked oddly between the two of you, crossing his arms. “Right, so is it possible the unsub had a weapon. Threatened her to let him in.”

Hotch shook his head. “I don’t think so, the unsub had to be someone she trusted.”

“But didn’t want around the kids,” you muttered, eyes staring down the entryway.

Morgan furrowed his brows. “What makes you say that.”

Your eyes flickered up to Hotch, that’s where they wanted to go, but you trained them on Morgan instead. “The other kids were home, would’ve ran to the door to see who might be there.”

Hotch watches you carefully as you walk over to the door, your gloved hand closing it. “Mom makes it to the door first, sees the unsub through the peephole and recognizes him, but thinks it might not be a good idea for the husband to know he was there.”

You turn away from the door, facing the men. “She hangs up the phone abruptly, tells the kids to go play and leaves her phone right here on the table before opening up the door.”

You open the door slowly and step outside, noting the mud on the welcome mat leading to the the first few feet of the house.

“The mud from the prints match the ones at the other scenes, but they don’t run through the house…they stop here.”

“She didnt want him far into the house at all,” Hotch finished off again.

“So that means the unsub is someone each family knows and Jessica recognizes, but is a sore subject, not wanting her husband to know he was there,” Morgan theorizes.

“Someone who was fired or discharged,” you realized.

Hotch furrowed his brows. “Have you recently let go of officers.”

You nodded your head. “A few. But there’s no way to go through files like that without getting unneeded attention from other officers.”

Hotch turned to Morgan. “Call Garcia, tell her—,”

“No need,” you interrupted. “I have direct files saved to my personal computer. It’ll be faster.”

Hotch eyes stayed on you, contemplating his choices.

“Morgan, get back to the precinct, update the others. l/n and I will retrieve the files.”

The car ride was…awkward to say the least.

Hotch had a million things he wanted to say, he needed to say. But somewhere between his heart and his voice, it died upon delivery.

“Spit it out,” you blurted out suddenly, forcing his attention to you.

“What?”

“You’re twiddling your thumbs and biting the inside of your cheek. Every time you look at me you take this gasp of air. What do you want to tell me?”

So many years had passed and yet you could still read him like the back of your hand.

“That was impressive back there…” he swallowed hard. “You’d make a good profil—,”

“Please don’t tell me you cooked up all of your guts just to tell me I’d be a good profiler,” you laughed.

It sounded harsh, but there was something in your tone that eased Aaron’s heart. He laughed too for the first time in a long time.

“No I guess not.”

However just as easily as the moment eased up, it easily tensed back into that painful silence.

“Why did you leave,” he blurted out finally.

Your smile dissolved so quickly, it pained Aaron to be the reason it was even there.

“I got an offer from UPenn. Full ride.”

Aaron frowned. “Congratulations.” It was genuine, despite how hollow his voice sounded. “But that’s not the real reason is it.”

Your voice suddenly felt very raw as you attempted to swallow back your emotions, but just as quickly as they left, it came back. “No…”

“Why—,”

“Because,” you burst out. “After that night, when you begged me to…” you couldn’t bear to finish that sentence. “…what we did…I couldn’t go back to what we were. It hurt too much to. I was ready to tell you everything when I saw you again but…you and Haley. She… I couldn’t do that to her.”

You were bearing your emotions out, on the verge of tears releasing every pent up emotion since that night and Aaron never felt more stupid in his life.

They had finally come at a red light when Aaron spoke up. “What night? What did I…what did I ask you to do?”

He was terrified of your answer.

But you. Everything in you stopped. Your heart, your brain, even your breath. Everything was so silent when you turned your head and finally looked him in the eye for the first time in ages.

“You really don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “No.”

No

No

No

His single word reverberated through your bones, sinking deep into your soul. What do you mean no?

You turned to the road, a humorless chuckle falling from your lips. “You don’t even remember.”

“y/n,” Aaron called your name with such desperation. “Please.”

You looked back at him, hearing that tone in his voice. Suddenly you were taken back to that night. Between the pleas in his voice and that depressingly sad look in his eyes, he looked just the way he did all those nights ago.

God how long is this light?

“You were drunk. Haley accused you of being in love with me. You begged me to kiss you to prove it was a lie.”

His heart squeezed in his chest and his lungs felt as if it was wrapped in barbed wire. It hurt.

“Did I?”

Your eyes flickered over to him for just a millisecond.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

part three out now!!

taglist: @mackannkees @gghostwriter

[sebscore]

PUT IT INTO SPEED DRIVE

pairings: charles leclerc x driver!reader // lando norris x driver!reader // george russell x driver!reader // alex albon x driver!reader

warnings: theft. swearing. talks about sexuality and a sexual reference. cops.

author’s note: the idea comes from this ask that someone send my lovely wife! 🥹 I changed it from a car to a camera, because I don’t want my poor baby to have her car stolen :((

masterlist

•••••••

“Now that you’ve won Monaco two times in a row, you’re too good to play with us?” Alex teased the younger one as she stood on the side of the public padel court.

Y/N stuck out her tongue at him. “Not the guy in a Williams trying to come for me.”

“Auwch.” Lando said to Alex, impressed by his friend’s comeback.

“We can only play with 4 people, and I’m sure Miss Monaco would love to be umpire.” George argued, giving the young woman an expectant look.

She quickly nodded at the tall Brit, holding her hand up to her head as if she were a soldier. “Yes, sir!”

“No! She can’t be umpire! She’s gonna call all my shots out.” Lando complained, pointing at her.

“She’s not, Lando.” Charles defended her, although there was a doubtful tone to his voice.

Y/N smirked at the McLaren driver. “Well, now I will.”

“See, Charles? We’re gonna lose now.” He told his doubles partner.

“I mean- you were gonna lose anyway.” George started the healthy competitive trash talk.

“OH!” Charles and Lando loudly chorused, pretending to be hurt by his words.

“Warm-up first, or do we just get straight into it?” Alex asked the three guys after everyone calmed down.

Charles, George and Lando glanced at one another. “Just get straight into it? It’s not like we’re gonna take this too seriously anyway.” George suggested, already knowing it would turn into a shit show soon.

Everyone agreed with a small chuckle, and started taking their own respective places on the court.

“Alright, who’s gonna serve?” Charles loudly asked.

“Wait! We should do it like they do in tennis! Deciding with a coin toss!” Y/N suggested.

“You have a coin?”

“I think I have one in my bag! Oh, I also have my camera with me, should we do like a before and after picture?” She snickered.

“That sounds good.” Alex stemmed in, the others nodding as well. “Yeah, I like it when I’m all sweaty and people take pictures of me.” Lando sarcastically joked.

“Basically our job.” Charles grinned.

“They should calm down on all the can-“

“HEY! THAT’S MY CAMERA!” Y/N’s shouting interrupted their small talk, their heads swiftly turning to where she was standing.

They were just about to ask for a clarification when they saw the young woman run after, what seemed, an unrecognizable man that was holding her camera.

“Y/N don’t do that!” George yelled to no avail, not wanting her to get hurt by the thief.

The quartet didn’t hesitate in grabbing their own stuff before running after their unhinged colleague- Lando also quickly took Y/N’s bag in his hands, figuring none of her other stuff should be stolen too.

The five of them watched in frustration as the mysterious man climbed into a car that drove away at high speed.

“We have to go after him!” Y/N yelled, agony on her face at the potential loss of the device. “Did someone come by car?”

Alex, Charles and George shook their heads, while Lando nervously glanced at his friend. “Uh, I did.”

“Norris, please?” She begged, growing more impatient by the second.

“Can’t you just by a new one? It’s really dang-“

“It’s the camera that you bought for me!” Y/N admitted, hoping it would convince the Brit to chase them down.

Fortunately, it worked. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Do all of us go or…?” Alex hesitated following the two youngest ones.

“Yes, Albono! The more, the better! We can ambush them!” Y/N loudly answered, resulting in the whole group following Lando to his car.

There was a collective disappointment as they made it to his car, not expecting his blue Jolly Fiat to be parked there.

Lando spoke up before anyone else could. “Look, if I had known we would be doing a Fast & The Furious, I would have come with another car. Get the fuck in.”

Lando got in the driver’s seat with Y/N taking taking the seat next to him as she knew where they had sped off to.

The three others were about to step in, but quickly found out that there were only 2 seats in the back. “Uh, someone is gonna have to stay behind.” George noted.

“Oh, no, someone can just sit on someone else, it’s fine, I’ve done it before.” Lando assured them.

Alex, Charles and George gave each other a nervous glance. “Uh, so who-“

“Come on, ladies! Get it before those assholes see all the ugly pictures I’ve taken of you guys.” Y/N’s words shut them up and they cramped into the backseats, Alex somehow ending on George’s lap.

“Let’s catch some thieves!” Lando shouted out, although the speed of his Jolly made the moment anti-climactic.

Meanwhile Y/N instructed Lando on where to go, Alex suggested someone call the police- which Charles decided to do since he had the best knowledge of the French language amongst the three of them.

“Why does this thing go so slow?” George criticized the car, a judging look on his face.

“They took inspiration from the Mercedes.” Lando bit back, not appreciating the slander of his car.

Alex, and Y/N snickered at the comment. “More like from Williams.” The youngest corrected.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Alex defended his team.

The attention went from Alex to Charles as he hung up the phone. “They’re gonna dispatch a team, and advised us to respect the rules of the road.”

“Fuck the rules, I want my camera back.” Y/N said, yelling at Lando as he almost went the wrong way.

“You’re not being a good navigator right now!” He screamed back.

She groaned at him. “I’m literally pointing at where you’re supposed to go!”

“You’re not pointing good enough!” The two 23 year-olds start bickering back-and-forth with one another, much to the dismay of the other three men in the small car.

“Why are they always like this?” Alex whispered to George and Charles.

The both of them shrugged their shoulders. “Unresolved sexual frustrations is my guess,” he mumbled, “at least on Lando’s part, I’m still not sure what Y/N is.”

The Williams and Ferrari driver snickered at George’s answer, somehow understanding what he was referring to.

“Are you gossiping about me, Russell?” Y/N suddenly turned around in her seat, catching the Brit off-guard.

He merely shook his head, his eyes widened.

“Good, you wouldn’t want the others to know what you’ve been up to.” Despite the sweet smile on her face, the threatening tone to her words made the Mercedes driver feel uneasy.

“THERE!” Y/N’s loud voice made the entire car flinch, Lando momentarily letting go of his steering wheel.

“Y/N ARE YOU CRAZY? WE COULD HAVE CRASHED!” Alex scolded the young woman, almost falling out of the car as he was still seated on George’s lap.

“I’m sorry, Albono,” she smiled sheepishly, “but look, the police stopped them.”

The four men in the car let out a collective sigh of relief, glad their adventure was over.

Lando parked the car on the side of the road, behind the thieves’ getaway car. They could see a cop walking over to them.

“You called?” He asked in French, glancing at the five of them.

The drivers shamelessly looked at Charles, the man internally rolled his eyes at them, but he answered his questions.

After some questions back-and-forth, Charles pointed at the woman in the passenger’s seat.

“Y-your camera?” The cop asked in a heavy French accent.

Y/N nodded her head, a polite smile present. “Yes.”

“Would you, uh, mind filling out a little paperwork in the combi? You’ll get your camera back as well and can check if there’s any damage.”

“Sure, no problem.” She gave her colleagues a smile, and made her way towards the large cop car.

The four drivers remained quiet as the cop didn’t follow Y/N, instead lingering around Lando’s car. “It’s a Jolly?” He asked.

“Yes!” Lando answered, cringing at his over-polite voice.

“Aren’t those for just four people…” The man gave the four of them a stern glance, raising an eyebrow.

They awkwardly chuckled, not knowing what to properly answer. “Uh, well, you know, our friend, she, uh-“

“I’ll let it slide, this one time only!” The cop raised his index finger, indicating this would be the one and only time he’ll let them get away with it. “And don’t speed around. I know you guys are Formula One drivers, but you also have to respect the rules.”

“Yeah, we will. Thank you so much.” George thanked him in name of everyone.

Y/N came walking back to the car, a happy look on her face as she had her camera back. “It’s not damaged!” She excitedly told them.

“That’s great, Y/N.” Lando was relieved his present for her hadn’t been broken.

“You guys are free to leave, but next time I’ll have to give you a fine, alright?” The cop reminded them one more time.

“It won’t happen again, thank you so much.” The group of five chorused several sayings of gratitude, before driving back to the sports center.

“Well, that’s going to be a fun story.” Charles snickered, dimples on display.

The others laughed, only then realizing how bizarre this whole situation was. “I don’t think people are even going to believe this.” George noted.

“Oh my god…” Y/N mumbled.

The heads of her four friends turned towards her. “What is it? Is something wrong with the camera?” Lando asked, concerned about the device.

“Those fuckers took a selfie with it!” She exclaimed, disbelief written all over her face.

“What?!”

“Look at this,” she handed it to the three guys in the back, the small screen showing the two men in their getaway car, “who fucking does that?”

“Well, at least we have proof now…”

[newobsessionweekly]

Matchmaking

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Ever since you've known Tim, you turned everything into a competition, including hiding your feelings. More than a decade later, you finally let your feelings loose with a bit of help.

Warnings: don't think so, pure fluff if u can believe that

Flufff Requested: Yes Words: 3.2k

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

When you and Tim arrive at the station in the early morning, almost simultaneously, the air tingles with excitement.

Your arms are loaded with coffee cups, and as you struggle with the door, Tim effortlessly steps forward, his hand finding its place on the small of your back as he holds the door open, guiding you inside and allowing you to score another point.

A rush of warmth floods through you at his touch, but you quickly push the feeling aside, burying it beneath layers of familiarity and friendship. With a proud smile, you stride inside, leading the way.

You and Tim go way back—to those academy days when the competition between you two was as fierce as it was playful. That bond has stuck like glue through all the twists and turns of life, making you each other's ride-or-die. But to everyone else, it's crystal clear there's more brewing between you two than just a regular friendship.

Angela, Lucy, and Nolan greeted you with warm smiles as you approached, carefully balancing the steaming morning fuel. Tim lingered close behind, his grumpiness belying the playful twinkle in his eyes.

You handed out the coffees, your smile widening as Tim stepped forward to claim his cup. But before he could reach for it, you pulled it back with a mischievous grin.

"You're late, Bradford," you teased.

Tim's lips quirked into a half-smile as he reached for the cup, his fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"62 to 58, you're getting lazy," you added.

"I'm not lazy," he retorted, his tone playful but firm. "I got stuck in traffic."

You rolled your eyes at his excuse, but the warmth in your chest told you that you wouldn't have it any other way.

Tim's got this tough-guy act going on, but deep down, he's got a soft spot for your sunshine personality, that smile of yours that could light up a room, and how you're always there for everyone. He won't come out and say it, claiming he's a man and men don't have BFFs, but deep down, you mean the world to him. He'd take a bullet for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Whenever you're around, Tim's whole attitude changes. That grumpy exterior melts away, replaced by this warmth in his eyes that's just for you. You bring out a side of him that most people never see, and he treasures every moment he gets to spend with you. He might not say it out loud, but his actions scream it - you're not just his friend or colleague; you're everything to him.

When Tim glanced at his coffee cup and spotted the name Loser,he couldn't help but suppress a chuckle behind a façade of annoyance. "Seriously?" he grumbled, holding the cup up for you to see.

You just flashed him an innocent smile, grabbing his arm and guiding him towards the locker room to get ready for the shift.

"You and I, Bradford, we'll have so much fun together at the spa," you teased.

"Don't get your hopes up, Bug," Tim retorted, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone.

As you both walked away, Angela watched with a knowing smile. She had seen firsthand how your friendship with Tim had evolved over the years, and she knew there was something more between you two. She had watched as you both danced around your feelings, too afraid and too proud to admit the truth.

Angela turned to Lucy and Nolan, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What's the score?" she inquired, eager to know the latest update on the ongoing competition.

Lucy shrugged, "I'm not sure. Lost count at 45 to 53."

"It's not that bad in 12 years," he remarked, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Angela's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Try 4 days," she enjoyed the shock that spread across John's face at her revelation.

"What could possibly be the prize?" Lucy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Tickets to the season end game for Tim and a spa day at Four Seasons for Y/N."

Lucy's jaw dropped, "That's pretty expensive."

"Yeah, they had 10 years to level up the game. Five more and the loser is gonna pay for the wedding," Angela teased, nodding in agreement.

Lucy's mind started to race, a hint of speculation in her voice. "Wait, their wedding?" she paused, her expression thoughtful. "You don't think...?"

Angela rolled her eyes, dismissing Lucy's suggestion with a sarcastic tone. "That they're both stupid and love each other? No," she retorted, making it clear that the reality was far simpler. "They are going together either to the game or spa."

Lucy nodded in understanding, piecing together the situation. "Obviously it's a date but can't decide where to go."

As the day stretches on, the radio comes to life once again, dispatcher's voice cutting through the quiet of the shop.

"Attention all units in the area, we have a report of a stolen vehicle in progress. Last seen heading east on 5th Street. Suspect described as male wearing a red hoodie, driving a black sedan. License plate 7-Mike-India-John-2-5-9."

Nolan's eyes meet yours, both of you immediately springing into action. "You heard the lady," you say, already reaching for the radio to confirm your response. "Let's go, Nolan. We've got a car to find."

 With Nolan at the wheel, you scan the streets, eyes darting from one alley to the next, searching for any sign of the stolen car. Tim's shop trails closely behind, the tension palpable as you both race against the clock.

"Two points for the first one to get the suspect in custody," Tim challenges through the radio.

You can't help but fire back, a smirk evident in your tone. "Afraid you're gonna lose the football game, Bradford?"

Suddenly, you spot the stolen car ahead, "There it is!" you exclaim, urgency lacing your voice as you urge Nolan to step on the gas.

"Go, go, go! We've got 'em!" you exclaim, your heart pounding with adrenaline as Nolan accelerates, closing the distance between you and the suspect.

"Take the next left. We can cut them off at the intersection!" you shout, your voice filled with adrenaline-fueled excitement.

Nolan follows your instructions without hesitation, the shop skidding around the corner with precision as you close in on the stolen vehicle. With a burst of speed, you pull up alongside the suspect's car, effectively blocking their path and forcing them to come to a halt.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you swiftly exit the shop as Tim parks his car behind the stolen vehicle and sprints towards the suspect, but you're already a step ahead.

You draw your gun and level it at the suspect. "LAPD! Hands where I can see them!"

But then, you turn to Nolan with a knowing smile. "Officer Nolan, you have the honor," you declare, your tone proud as you watch him take charge.

Your rookie approaches the stolen car, his gun held steady as he orders the suspect out of the vehicle. "Get out. Put your hands on the hood."

With Nolan taking control of the situation, you turn your attention back to Tim, who's watching you from a few feet away. As your eyes meet, a sense of satisfaction washes over you, knowing that you've once again proven yourself in front of Tim.

"64, Bradford," you call out, "Start to think you really want that spa day."

Tim chuckles, a grin spreading across his face as he closes the distance between you.

"Don't get too cocky, Bug," he replies, "Day's not over yet."

You hold your head up high, meeting Tim's gaze with a determined look of your own as you watch Nolan take the suspect in custody.

"You're slipping, Bradford," you tease, your voice laced with amusement. "Better step up your game if you want to win those tickets."

Tim chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in closer. "Careful, Bug." he murmurs, "Wouldn't want to get too comfortable in first place."

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh, I don't know," you shoot back, "I'm starting to think you enjoy being one step behind."

Tim's grin widens, his gaze never leaving yours as he leans against the patrol car. "Maybe I just like the view from back here."

You can feel your cheeks flush at his words, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Smooth, Bradford."

Sergeant Grey lays down the rules at the Shadow Hills Shooting Range and you can feel the tension crackling in the air, mingling with the smell of gunpowder and sweat. Tim's presence beside you only adds to the intensity, his handsome, serious face and confident attitude drawing your attention like a magnet. You silently scold yourself for those thoughts. The earlier banter and Tim's remark about liking the view from behind made you question — again, after a long time of pushing down the feelings that blossomed for him — whether it can be something more between the two of you.

As Officer Dixon explains the rules, your eyes meet Tim's, a silent challenge passing between you. The competition is on, and neither of you is willing to back down.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you take aim at the target, your fingers steady on the trigger. But as you line up your shot, you can't help but steal a glance at Tim, his muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his uniform, his eyes focused and intense.

For a moment, you're distracted by the sight of him, the raw power and masculinity emanating from his every move. But then, you shake off the momentary lapse in focus, reminding yourself of the task at hand.

As the shots ring out, you and Tim fire with precision, each round hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. The tension between you is palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out on the firing range.

And when the last shot is fired and the smoke clears, you can't help but smirk triumphantly at Tim, your cocky grin mirroring his own. Despite the intensity of the competition, there's an undeniable attraction simmering beneath the surface—a spark of something more that threatens to ignite with every passing moment.

"Not bad, Bradford," you tease, "But I think I've got you beat this time."

But as Tim catches your gaze, his eyes lingering on you for a moment too long, you quickly compose yourself, the thrill of the competition still coursing through your veins.

"Care to make it interesting?" he murmurs, "20 bucks and 6 points if your Boot makes it out on top?"

Sergeant Grey calls the rookies to the firing line and Tim leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers teasingly. A shiver runs down your spine at the intimate contact, but you push it aside one more time. You can't resist the challenge, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you accept.

"I'll take that bet."

"Me too," Angela chimes in.

With the bet made, the three rookies take their positions and prepare to fire. Officer Dixon gives the signal, and they begin shooting at the targets.

But just as the competition heats up, Nolan's attention wavers, distracted by something in his peripheral vision. He stops shooting, his gaze fixed on whatever has caught his eye, and Grey barks at him to focus.

"Nolan!"

You shake your head in disbelief, frustration bubbling up as you realize your chance of winning the bet slipping away because of your rookie's distraction. Glancing over at Tim, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment, knowing that this time, luck might not be on your side.

As Grey announces the results, everyone is waiting with bated breath to hear who will come out on top.

"So, finishing first with the most hits, fastest time, and tightest grouping... Officer Chen. Congrats. You are the new Mid-Wilshire champ," Grey declares, the sound of cheers and applause filling the air as Lucy accepts her victory.

Tim smirks as he collects his winnings from you and Angela, a playful glint in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours and you can't help but hold your breath, aware of the eyes watching your every move.

"Looks like we're going to the game," Tim murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

You meet his gaze, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Uh-huh, Bradford. We're tied. Spa still has a chance," you retort, your tone teasing despite the flutter of anticipation in your chest.

Grey's voice cuts through the air, bringing your attention back to the present. "Bradford, Y/L/N, you both tied for second," he announces, his words punctuating the moment with a sense of finality.

You can't help but groan in mock frustration, shooting Tim a playful glare. "I don't know what I hate more—tying for second with you or losing to a rookie."

As the weekend arrives, you and Tim find yourselves honoring the bet. With the score tied, you decide to indulge in both activities—starting with a relaxing day at the spa and ending with watching the big end-season game at Tim's place.

The scent of lavender filled the air as you and Tim relaxed in plush robes, sipping on refreshing cucumber water and enjoying the soothing ambiance of the spa. With each gentle stroke of the masseuse's hands, you found yourself drifting into a state of bliss, the worries of the week melting away.

After the spa, you and Tim retreated to his apartment, settling in for a cozy evening. Beers in hand, you lounged on the couch, the warmth of Tim's presence beside you sending a pleasant tingle down your spine.

But just as you start to enjoy the easy rhythm of the evening, there's a knock on the door, interrupting the peace.

Tim's expression darkens as he goes to answer it, clearly not pleased by the unexpected visitor. To his surprise—and evident displeasure—it's Lucy.

But despite his less-than-enthusiastic reaction, you quickly stand up, putting on a welcoming smile as you greet Lucy and invite her in. "Hey, Lucy! Come on in," you say, motioning for her to join you on the couch. "Want a beer?"

Tim's annoyance is palpable as he glances between you and Lucy, clearly not pleased by her unexpected visit. But you ignore his displeasure, focusing instead on making Lucy feel welcome and enjoy the football game.

“Hey, did you see—?”

Tim turns his head to make a comment about the play, but Lucy suddenly moves beside you, forcing you to shift quickly. Unaware of the short distance between you and Tim, you find yourself turning your head towards him, trying to give him your undivided attention.

Your faces are mere inches apart—lips almost touching, gazes locked in a heated exchange. Time seems to stand still as you linger in the charged silence, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken desire.

In that fleeting moment, every nerve in your body is alive, your heart pounding in your chest as you drown in the intensity of Tim's gaze.

His eyes seem to search yours, as if seeking permission to bridge the small gap that separates you. And for a heartbeat, you entertain the possibility—allowing yourself to imagine what it would feel like to lean in and capture his lips with your own.

But just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, reality comes crashing back, and you pull away, retreating into the safety of your own space.

“More beer?”

Lucy makes her way to fetch more drinks, handing the popcorn to Tim. You seize the opportunity to lean back on the couch as you inch closer to the bowl in Tim's lap.

His hand instinctively wraps around you, pulling you close and your head finds its way to his shoulder, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Tim's gaze falls upon you, his eyes softening as he takes in your closeness.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to revel in the intimacy of the gesture, the world falling away as you lose yourself in the warmth of Tim's embrace. But as quickly as the moment began, it shatters, broken by the sound of Tim clearing his throat and shifting away, placing the popcorn bowl between you. creating a physical barrier.

When the final buzzer sounds, signaling the victory of your favorite team, you and Tim shoot up from the couch in excitement. Turning to each other, your eyes meet in a silent exchange, the unspoken tension between you crackling in the air. And then, without a word, Tim pulls you into his arms, the heat of his body searing against your own as you melt into his embrace.

In that moment, nothing else matters—not the game, not the world outside—only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms. For a split second, you allow yourself to surrender to the intoxicating rush of desire, the walls around your heart crumbling in the face of the overwhelming connection between you.

But as quickly as it began, the moment passes, and you find yourselves pulling away, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Lucy watched with growing frustration, unable to bear witness to your dance of denial any longer. With a determined glint in her eye, she finally snaps, her frustration boiling over into a burst of blunt honesty.

"Okay, I'm sick of this," she begins, "You're so blind and stubborn."

You and Tim both turn to her with confusion, unsure of what she's getting at. But before either of you can respond, Lucy cuts through the tension.

"Just kiss already, you stupid," she exclaims, her frustration bubbling over into exasperation.

And in that moment, something shifts. Tim's resolve crumbles, his feelings finally breaking free from the confines of his heart. Without hesitation, he leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

It's everything you've ever imagined—and more. His lips are warm and soft against yours, fitting perfectly as if they were always meant to be there. Every touch, every caress sends sparks flying, igniting a firestorm of passion that threatens to consume you both.

You pull away quickly when you realized the kiss was evolving into something that shouldn't be happening in front of Lucy. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you tease Tim.

"Was about time, Bradford," you quip, "Took you more than a decade to kiss me."

Tim, caught off guard by your boldness, can only manage a sheepish grin in response.

"Didn't know you wanted me to do that," he admits, his eyebrows rising with surprise.

"Yes! Mom and dad are finally together," she cheers, her eyes shining with excitement and a proud smile spreading across her face as she revels in the success of her matchmaking efforts.

But Tim's grumpiness returned in an instant as he realizes Lucy was watching their intimate moment.

"Chen, get out," he grumbles as he gestured toward the door.

Undeterred, Lucy flashes a teasing smile at both of you before opening the front door of Tim's house. "Yes, sir," she teases, her playful tone undercutting the seriousness of Tim's command. Before disappearing behind the closed door, she offers one last remark.

"Be safe," Lucy calls out.

"Fifty pushups before every call tomorrow!" Tim declares, his attempt to regain control of the situation falling flat in the wake of Lucy's teasing.

With a pleading look, Lucy turns to you, her eyes silently begging for your intervention. "Mom?"

You meet her gaze with a reassuring smile, knowing that you can't save her from Tim's grumpiness but offering a comforting presence nonetheless. "Good night, Lucy," you say gently.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | raymond leon x reader

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 | since you've managed to outsmart (or, more accurately, seduce) your last four bodyguards, your wealthy father decides it's time to take a new approach: hire a timekeeper to watch you. after all, a man who dedicates his life to the law can withstand the wiles of a spoiled, lonely girl... right?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 | 4.7k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | dubcon smut (rough sex, daddy kink, choking, slapping, creampie, breeding kink, glove kink, degradation), age gap (raymond is ????, reader is early 20s), slight dd/lg undertones, reader is a bit dark and manipulative hehe

You were rolling your stockings up your legs, one of the final stages in dressing for the party tonight, when your bedroom door opened.  “Hey, Ray,” you greeted with a purr as he stepped inside.

“Officer Leon,” he corrected you.

“Right,” you smiled, tilting your head.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

He scoffed, looking away, and you bit your lip— he was getting frustrated, in more than one sense of the word, and you were going to get what you wanted (like always). Boys are simply too easy.

This whole cat-and-mouse thing was starting to drive you a little crazy— none of the other bodyguards had taken this long to crack.  But really, the anticipation just added to the fun.

You stood up and turned your back to him, hoping he was eyeing the V-shaped portion of your back he could see with your gown still open.

“Will you help me zip up my dress?” you asked sweetly, making sure your hair was out of the way and looking back over your shoulder at him sweetly.  He sighed but stepped closer to you, but tugging on the zipper only lifted the bottom of your dress a bit— so he had to put his other hand on your hip to hold it in place as he pulled the zipper up, and you were thankful he couldn’t see your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.  His hands were so strong, you could feel it even through the gloves— and those fucking gloves, shiny black leather, he knew damn well what he was doing to you.  He just didn't seem to care.

"There," he said when he'd tugged it up to the top, stepping back, and you turned around to face him.  The dress was more elegant than you usually went for: you traded in your lace and bows in pastel shades for a dark purple silk that fell to the floor.

"What do you think?" you asked, biting your lip.  "Daddy picked it out for me."

"He has expensive taste," Raymond noticed, though he conspicuously didn't comment on your appearance.  He was very uptight, especially about professionalism.  You sort of got the feeling that if you could just pull one of his strings hard enough, he'd totally unravel: which is why you kept trying.

As he tried not to look at you, you gave him a slow look up and down.  "Is that what you're wearing tonight?" you asked incredulously, pointing to his high-neck black sweater and long leather trench.

"I'm working tonight, so yes," he answered.

Everyone thought Raymond stuck out like a sore thumb in your room— his angular, dark form against the soft baby pinks and white laces around your bed, a hardened cop amongst the porcelain baby dolls and fluffy stuffed animals and gold-edged tea sets: but you thought he fit right in, standing there amongst all your playthings.

~

The party was a bit dull— you were having more fun toying with your bodyguard than anything else.  “Try this,” you’d insist as you held up an hors d'oeuvre to feed him; he had to give in, he had to do whatever you said in front of all these people, but he glared at you as he leaned forward and took a bite out of the mini-tart.

You bragged to your father’s guests about your new bodyguard— or toy, as you called him more often.  “Daddy bought him for me,” you’d say, “and he has to do whatever I want.  Show them your gun, Mr. Leon!”

He only looked at you sternly again, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s sort of grouchy,” you explained to the amused dinner attendees.  He didn’t react much, still standing there with his gloved hands held in front of him, but you saw a little tightness in his jaw.

Best of all, you flirted with as many suitors as you could get away with in a night, just to bother him.  The tricky thing about a world without aging is men who’ve been around quite some time were still just as eligible for your hand as men closer to your age— you wondered if it would bother him more knowing that one of your father’s wealthy friends who had been alive at least 80 years was doting on you.  Didn’t matter either way: you let them all stand a bit too close, put their hand on your lower back— you laughed too hard at their shitty jokes.  All to make Ray jealous, but when you glanced over your shoulder at him, you could never catch a reaction.

After the guests had left and the staff had begun cleaning, you went back to your room to change.  You’d coyly asked Raymond if he would watch over you during that, too, but he didn’t answer because he knew you were joking.  It’s not like you were ever really serious… but you did want him.  Not just for fun, and not just to prove to your father that there was no use hiring these bodyguards— he was fucking sexy, obviously.  Definitely your favorite so far, and exactly your type… for how much he thought you were trying to tease and tempt him, he was the one driving you a little crazy.

Still, you kept your cool as best you could; you needed to keep control over him, and thankfully with him working for you, that was pretty easy to exert.  (Well, technically he worked for your father, but it was close enough.)

“Oh, Mister Officer,” you called out to him through the door as you sat on your bed, hearing him step closer.

“Yes?” he asked, voice slightly muffled.

“I just need your help with something,” you explained, but he still hesitated.

“Are you decent?”

Damn, he wasn’t that gullible anymore.  “Enough,” you replied, and he sighed before opening your bedroom door.

You were in your bra and panties now— but with your heels and stockings still on, of course; he lost track of his step for a second when he saw you, then frowned at you.  “That’s not what I would consider decent,” he said.

“Well, I need your help and I wasn’t going to put on a turtleneck just for that,” you replied.  “You’ve seen me in my bikini by the pool, anyways…”

And you’d made him apply sunscreen on your back as well; you smirked to yourself at the memory.  “What do you need my help with?” he reminded you of the original topic.

“Well, these shoes are too small for me now,” you said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d grown since I wore them last…”

You hoped he’d find that a little intriguing, as someone who himself hadn’t grown in… you didn’t even know how long.  He obviously never talked about it— for all you knew he could have been alive a hundred years, though he certainly didn’t act like it.  

You lifted a stiletto-clad foot forward towards him.  “Now they’re stuck.  Will you help me take them off?”

He sighed that trademark, frustrated sigh of his, and you fought off a smile.  “You can’t do that yourself?” 

You shook your head.  “I’m not strong enough,” you explained with a shrug.

Clearly not buying it but in no position to accuse you of lying, he knelt down in front of you.  Taking the shoe in his hand, he looked at you with annoyance in his eyes as it slipped off easily.  

“You’re so strong,” you cooed, wiggling your toes inside the pantyhose, then putting your foot down to hold out the other in front of him.  “Now the other one,” you demanded.

He took the shoe off of you, tossing it aside, and you let your foot brush against his thigh as you lowered it down— just long enough to make it not quite believable as an accident.

“Now my stockings,” you continued, and he got up and started to walk away.

“You’ll have to do the rest on your own,” he insisted.

“But who’s gonna help me undress?” you pouted, and he stopped walking halfway to the door, dropping his shoulders a bit.

“I don’t know, how about you ask one of those boys that was sniffing around you all night?” he suggested, and you smiled proudly.  Oh, you noticed that?  

“I can’t,” you sighed, “you know Daddy doesn’t let me have any boys in my room— except you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “because I’m the one who keeps the boys out of your room.”

“It’s no fair,” you whined.  “It’s so boring up here by myself…”

“Please,” he groaned, finally turning around, “with all these things you have?  You shouldn’t have any trouble being entertained.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, “I shouldn’t— but I do.  There’s only one thing I really wanna do right now…”

You started to slowly and delicately run your fingers up your legs, spreading them a bit.

“But I don’t wanna have to do it alone…” you continued, blinking up at him as you saw his nostril twitch— could this finally be the moment you caught him?

In an instant, he stormed towards you and grabbed you by the neck.  “So fucking spoiled,” he growled, his black leather gloves crinkling softly as you whimpered and held his wrist.  “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?  You think your father didn’t tell me what happened to the last four bodyguards?”

“I— I didn’t fuck them all,” you defended, voice a little thin from the pressure on your throat, “the third quit on his own—”

“Because he knew what would happen if he gave in to you,” Raymond sneered.  “And so do I.  You think I’ll give up on a job like this that easily?”

That was one thing that made Ray different than the others before— they were all professional bodyguards, used to working for the elite class.  Most of them probably already had plenty of time, or could at least keep getting jobs of this caliber to earn a similar keep.  But Timekeepers weren’t especially well compensated, paid daily but only paid just enough to keep going until the next per diem.  He’d probably never had more than a couple days on his clock, and now he was earning a month a week just to babysit you.  That was why your father hired him for this, you finally realized: he’d said before that he simply hoped a lawman would have a little more integrity and not give in to temptation with you, but it was far more than just that.

Raymond let go of your neck and tossed you back onto the bed, but just when you hoped he’d climb on top of you and pin you down, he scoffed and turned away.  “You’re too young, anyways,” he said as he crossed his arms.

“Am not,” you denied.

“Your clock hasn’t even started yet,” he noticed.

“I’ve only got a few more years left,” you frowned, “but I’m still an adult.”

“Then fucking act like one,” he suggested sharply, and left the room with slam of your door.

You sighed, once again left frustrated with another unsuccessful attempt to get him into bed.  But, you smiled, too; because you knew this was a step in the right direction.

~

Your father tried not to travel much, since it was one of the few things that exposed him to the risk of death.  Wouldn't it be absurdly ironic, dying in a plane crash after living for hundreds of years and with nearly a millennium left on his clock?

Still, he didn't get all these years by sitting around in his house, he was a busy professional.  And his work sometimes required him to leave for as long as a few weeks.

He had you come and see him off at the hangar, Officer Leon not far behind as you kissed your father on the cheek and bid him safe travels.  

You loved when he left, it gave you a lot more freedom.  But Raymond didn't know that, he just knew you were a billionaire's youngest daughter left alone in a massive mansion, and you'd already had planned for weeks how you could use that to your advantage.

You knew he was outside your door, you could see the shadow of his boots through the crack between the wood and the plush rug.  Fighting off a little smile, you whimpered softly— but not too soft, he needed to hear it.  The first one didn't seem to work, so you dropped your head and did it again.

He swung open the door a second later, and though he seemed relieved to find you alone and not being kidnapped or something, he still had to ask: "Are you alright?"

You sniffled and wiped at your eye, acting like you were trying to hide your tears as if it all wasn’t a performance in the first place.  “Daddy’s gone away,” you pouted, “and left me all by myself… m’so lonely, Mr. Leon.”

“Officer,” he corrected, but his voice faltered when you looked up at him with big, needy eyes.

“I don’t wanna be all alone,” you whimpered, “I need somebody to take care of me… protect me…”

You rubbed your thighs together as you sat on the bed, toying with the lacy hem of your nightgown.

“Somebody big and strong,” you continued as he crossed his arms, “like you.”

His stare was icier than ever, yet those eyes still could’ve melted you if you let them.

“Will you be my new daddy while he’s gone?” you asked sweetly, biting your lip, and he tensed his jaw as he looked away.

“What do you get out of toying with me?” he asked sharply.

“Fucked, hopefully,” you smiled.  

“You know, I’ve known a lot of women,” he informed you; you had no idea where he was going with this, but you liked how it started.  “Rich, poor— prostitutes, politicians— young, or just young-looking.  But I don’t think I’ve ever met such a brainless, insatiable little whore as you.”

You stood up from the bed, stepping closer to him carefully.  “Really?” you smiled, taking it as a compliment, and that only angered him further.

“What is it that makes you think you can get whatever you want?” he wondered, his blue eyes like daggers as he glared at you. 

“Experience,” you shrugged, reaching up to trace a finger over his lapel, but he batted it away harshly.  “Ooh,” you breathed, “you’re a mean daddy, hm?  The type that believes in lots of discipline?”

He didn’t respond, even when you stepped so close that your body was nearly touching his.

“I can be a good girl,” you promised sweetly, “for you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he snapped.

“Let me prove it, daddy,” you purred, “just give me a chance…”

You leaned in, wondering if he’d let you kiss him— he hadn’t backed away, but he hadn’t relaxed out of his bodyguard posture, either.

“Just make me yours,” you pleaded under your breath, lips nearly brushing against his.

Before you even realized he’d given in, he slammed you back against the wall with a hand around your neck, the other instantly grabbing you between the legs, and you mewled joyfully.  “Fuck,” he snarled, like he was just as frustrated with himself as with you; his gloved hand roughly navigated up under your nightgown and into your panties.  

Two leather-covered fingers slid inside you, and you arched your back up off the wall.  

“Needy whore,” he grunted as he shoved his fingers deeper into you, making you whimper as your knees almost buckled.  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned happily, though he slapped you across the face hard with his other hand right after you said it, and you yelped as you clutched your cheek.

“I’m not your fucking daddy,” he spat at you.  “Such a goddamn brat— if I was your daddy, you’d have some fucking manners.”

“Teach me,” you begged, “fuck, please— I need to learn.  Teach me right now.”

He let go of you, and pulled his fingers out of you, and stepped back slightly as he shed the gloves and his long coat.  “Get on your fucking knees,” he growled, watching you slide along the wall onto the floor.  

You didn’t need to be told what to do after that, you simply smiled as you reached up to rub the bulge in his pants.  Unbuckling his belt for him, you had to catch your breath when you realized how big he was.  

He smirked when you whimpered slightly while taking it out, stroking him as he got harder in your grip.  “More than you bargained for?” he wondered smugly.

“Nothing a brainless, insatiable little whore can’t handle,” you promised just before leaning forward and taking him into your mouth.  He gasped a little before humming in satisfaction, and you suckled as you swirled your tongue around his head, fitting what you could in your mouth and trying to coat the skin with your spit.

His hand suddenly held onto your hair when you started to bob your head, and he groaned when you choked slightly on the tip of him.  “Fuck,” he whispered, “yeah— like that, baby…”

You moaned around him, not just for show but a reaction to the satisfying weight of him on your tongue— and the slightly salty taste of leaking precum.  Your fingers brushed gently over his balls as you blinked up at him: you were pulling out all the stops, you wanted him to lose his mind over you even more than he already had.

He pushed your hair back, tilting your head further to meet your gaze.  You thought he might speak when he opened his mouth, but you gagged on him again and he just sighed.

Your hand wrapped around the rest of his length that you couldn't reach with your lips, stroking him in time with the way you bobbed your head; and your other hand couldn't help but reach down between your bent legs, pressing against your core— bare, as you'd already thought ahead and forgone panties— and making you hum at the smallest hint of friction.

You were just starting to set a rhythm with it, the bobbing of your head and the stroking of your hand and the way you swirled your tongue… but of course he had to throw you off and shove your head down, making you choke again unexpectedly, as he groaned at the feeling.  “S’what you wanted,” he reminded you, starting to roughly fuck your mouth.  “What you fucking wanted, right, little whore?”

You could only barely nod with him holding your head, and your clit throbbed just from the way he looked down at you with his teeth bared.

“Fuck, just need a cock to choke on,” he growled.  “Only way to shut you up, huh?”

He gave your throat a few more aggressive thrusts before pulling back, and you coughed and wiped your chin as you looked up at him.  “It’s not all I wanted,” you reminded him when you caught your breath, and he smiled at you in a condescending sort of way.

“Right,” he recalled, tilting his head, “you wanted to be fucked.  Poor thing.”

“Please, daddy?” you batted your eyelashes up at him, and he just laughed thinly.

“Nothing’s stopping you, princess,” he replied, holding his hands out, as if to suggest you come and take it.  You couldn’t resist an offer like that.

Standing up and grinning at him, you pushed him back by the shoulders and down onto the bed, straddling his lap.

He smirked up at you; “Really need it that bad, huh?” he mocked as you pulled your nightgown up over your head and tossed it aside quickly.

“Uh huh,” you agreed with a nod, “need you so bad— you’ll let me ride your big cock, right, daddy?  Please?”

But you were already lining him up to your entrance and sinking down, and you both groaned loudly as he filled you.  “God, it’s so wet,” he hissed, watching you gasp as you lowered yourself further.  “You get that wet just from sucking cock?  Fuckin’ slut.”

Your eyes rolled back as the tip of his cock pressed further than you thought possible.  “Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, “you’re so deep…”

“Yeah,” he panted in agreement, “can’t believe that little pussy’s taking all of me…”

You started to grind on him right away, holding onto his shoulders as you rocked your hips desperately.  “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chanted, “it’s s-so good, it feels so good—”

He bit his lip as he watched you, and you loved how it felt to have those steely eyes looking up and down your body as you moved.

You'd been sort of on edge the whole time, sucking him off and all— not to mention that the foreplay with you and Raymond had started, in your mind, months ago when he was first hired.  The satisfaction of finally having him exactly where you wanted him was nearly as good as the physical sensation… but it did feel incredible, the curve of his cock rubbing up against your spot with so much pressure that you shuddered all over.

His hands ran over your body, the strength of them more than apparent even when he was touching you somewhat delicately, and you moaned as his rough fingers punched your nipples.

You shifted from grinding down on him to properly bouncing up and down, arching your back to get the perfect angle as you both groaned.  "Fucking tight," he mumbled his praise.

You held on tighter to his shirt, really wishing you could see him without it, but there was something hot about him still being in his uniform… especially when you were totally naked.  It probably made him think he had more power over you, which was exactly what you wanted him to think.

Moving faster, you felt the pressure building inside you already, pulsing and swelling as you let your head drop forward to look down at him looking jus perfect underneath you.

He grabbed you by the neck, only to be unexpectedly sweet and pull you down into a kiss— but it was still a hungry, dominating kiss, one that made you whine and tense up inside as he tasted all over your tongue and mouth.  And he didn’t let go of your neck, either, in fact he tightened his grip just enough to make you choke out a raspy moan against his lips, which you felt smirk a moment later.  

“So good, daddy,” you mumbled into the last moments of the kiss.  His hands moved down to your body, following your movements, and you pulled back enough to look at his face closely.  “You’re so fucking good, daddy,” you praised again.

He groaned and held your waist tighter, making you hum and smile.  "Little slut," he scolded through his teeth as you moved faster.  “Show daddy how you make yourself come.”

You beamed as he really accepted the title for the first time.  Sitting up higher and bouncing faster, you moaned loudly as you chased your high: shocks of sensation hit inside you, faster and faster the longer you continued.

You grabbed his hands off your hips and pinned them down beside his head, riding him harder while he smirked up at you.  "So desperate," he cooed— but you could hear in his voice that he was close, too.

Whimpering at the feeling, you felt your walls bearing down on him as it nearly hit you— it was sort of difficult to come like this, since you could only move so fast, but the way it was drawn out just made you sure it would build up even stronger and hit you harder.

“Fuck, get off,” he warned, “gonna come.”

You grinned, biting your lip, and kept grinding your hips.

“Get up,” he demanded, but you just tightened your grip on his wrists.  “Fuck, are you—?”

“Shh, m’close,” you scolded, feeling him try to struggle under you— but he was flexing inside you, too, and you knew he couldn’t hold back forever.  He was obviously more than strong enough to fight you off if he really wanted, but it wasn’t about your body overpowering his— it was about you forcing him to give in to his instincts… to temptation.

“I swear to fucking god,” he groaned through his teeth, “if you don’t fucking get off me right now—”

“I’m coming, daddy!” you announced suddenly as you bounced on him even more fervently.  “Oh my god, daddy, m’coming on your big cock!  Yes!”

It felt great, don’t get me wrong, but you were definitely playing it up and giving him a real show as you tossed your head back, screamed out his name, dug your nails into his wrists— you wanted him to be totally helpless to you for just that moment.  “Fuck!” he groaned, and you laughed excitedly as his cock pulsed inside you, heat flooding between your legs and his head falling back onto the mattress with the most gorgeous fucked-out look on his face.  

“Oh fuck, come in me, daddy,” you demanded, rocking your hips and squeezing him tight for every drop, “wanna be so fucking full—”

He groaned through his teeth as it all started to die down a bit, scrunching his face up for a second before relaxing under you again; you felt his cock pump just a few more times, weaker than before, and you hummed proudly.

“God— oh my god—” he panted out, opening his eyes wide as he started to catch his breath, looking at you like you were crazy.  You just laughed and bit your lip as you finally stopped moving.  “What the fuck did you just do?” he snapped, but he still whimpered a bit when you deliberately clenched your walls around him.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “I just really needed some come inside me— been really in the mood to get bred lately—”

You giggled as he grabbed you and threw you down onto the bed, turning you both over as he held your arms tight and pulled out— he blinked quickly, his lips slack and still a little stained from your pink gloss, as he watched his come leak out of your pussy.  “Fuck,” he snarled, clearly trying to use his anger and panic to hide how much it turned him on.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  Do you realize what fucking happens if you get—?”

“Pregnant?” you finished for him, licking your lips excitedly.  “Doesn’t it sound so hot though?  You knocking me up, getting me all nice and full with your baby, ‘cause I’m so young and fertile— and then you can be a real daddy—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spat, sitting back at little on the bed and running his hands over his face in dismay.  “You’re— oh god— I can’t believe this is happening—”

“Calm down, grumpypants,” you scolded with a smile as you sat up and looked at him closer.  “I’m on the pill, haven’t missed one in years.”

Ray’s terrified expression fell into relief and frustration simultaneously.  “Fucking— you could’ve told me that before,” he frowned, dropping his hands to his sides.

“But then I would’ve missed out on your little meltdown,” you laughed proudly.  “You looked cute like that, panicking and thinking you really got me pregnant.”

He watched you get up out of the bed and snag your silk robe from off of a hook on the wall, slipping it on as you walked to the bathroom.  You looked over your shoulder at him as you turned the door’s golden handle, smirking when you saw the dumbfounded look on his face.

“I think I could use a bath,” you explained, “care to join me, big boy?”

The look on his face was that sort of incredulous denial— like he couldn’t believe that you’d ask him that, expecting him to ever want to be near you again after pulling that stunt.  “Are you serious?!” he choked.

“Of course,” you laughed, “I’m not in a joking mood anymore.  Are you coming or not?”

He laughed in bewilderment and looked around for a moment, before sighing in relent.  “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, sliding off the bed to come join you.  You smirked to yourself; these boys are simply too easy.