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jointherebellion215 · 8 months ago

Text

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

287 notes · View notes

mcflymemes · 5 months ago

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AS SAID BY KASUMI GOTO * assorted dialogue from mass effect 2 and 3, adjust as necessary

i swear to god, i didn't touch anything.

in case i don't see you again, thanks. that was a lot of fun.

and the "boxers or briefs" question is finally answered.

there's a certain aura about you. like you've seen things no one else has.

there's no way you're recruiting me to fight in a galactic war.

i wouldn't bring you here if it wasn't dangerous.

this is our stop.

you say the nicest things.

i'm a thief. stealing? it's who i am.

by the way, are you going to call security?

hey, come on. i never get caught.

ugh, i really need to avoid dairy.

you know, twenty years from now, this could be worth a fortune.

all right. i'm in.

nice working with you again.

this place has more money than it knows what to do with.

well... nobody's perfect.

hey, i'm nostalgic, not dead.

i like the seedier towns. they're prettier.

maybe when we're done with the mayhem thing, i could come back and... recover a thing or two.

now stop bothering me!

this is all i have left.

i imagine with all that's happened, old friends are becoming a luxury.

you know what i haven't had in ages? ramen.

come back later. i'm sure i'll have more to talk about.

i'm not really sure what to do with myself.

i'll stay off the grid. no one will know i exist.

well, that didn't go as expected.

we've never seen each other in person.

no one knows what i look like.

if we're lucky, you won't even have to draw your gun.

i always expect trouble. that's why you're here.

we should probably wrap this up.

see you on the ship.

you'd look really out of place at a society party in armor, don't you think?

i was just thinking about you.

i go through everyone's drawers.

[name] won't be able to keep his eyes off you.

getting it back will be easier with your help.

please tell me your password, [name].

good to finally meet you. i'm a fan.

my grandmother used to make the best ramen.

honestly, i'm shocked they didn't come to see me sooner.

it's my fault for being hard to find.

i'm the best thief in the business, not the most famous. need to watch my step to keep it that way.

i needed to make sure all this was legit.

you're the real deal.

even without knowing what you looked like, i knew it was you.

that's a bit of a story.

they were looking for me, so i trailed them to find out why.

i guess it slipped their minds.

i'm planning to get it back.

you'll get a briefing when the time comes.

i have a way in, and i think you're going to love it.

you'll want to look presentable.

you look great. you should wear this stuff more often.

you have been waiting patiently.

they won't hassle you over a sidearm.

you have excellent taste in underwear.

i thought about living here for a while, but everybody's so tight-ass.

it's all about money to these people.

i do what i do for the love of it. these people do it because they don't know any better.

i'm not a scientist.

this is why i don't put strange liquids in my mouth.

it's a plant!

was i that obvious?

people are talking out there... and i hear it all.

sounds like you two had a nice date.

it's nice to be able to look out a window for a change.

how many bedrooms does this place have?

i'm not really lactose intolerant, i just don't put up with lactose's stupid drama.

there's something about the feel of actual paper in your hands.

94 notes · View notes

abbysbasement · 2 years ago

Note

Abby choking reader with her biceps!

AN; Sorry this took so long, its been killing me for fucking ever and I got stumped. Somehow I found a way to write something I could be a little bit proud of, so I hope ya'll like it!

content tags: Asphyxiation (2 in a combat context, one in an erotic context. r! receiving all three times,) fingering (r!receiving,) cunnilingus (r!receiving,) a normally degrading pet name used in a sexual context, abby is kind of mean in the beginning but warm sup at the end, reader is one of like a billion orphans that live in the tlouverse, sadge. mediocre action scenes. breast play (r!receiving,) abby gives r slurp and she didn't even pull her pants down

wc: 6.4k (woah...)

proofread?: i've rewritten this 4 times and never want to see it again.

The forest was dark and cold, wind whipping around you, through you, as you traversed deeper into darkness. It was getting dark, your radio had died a long time ago, and it had been hours since you had seen a WLF stronghold, or a stationary transceiver to call for help on. Your assignment was entry-level, sweep the grounds in WLF territory for any raider camps or pockets of traveling scars, but you were separated from your squad, and now, without any way to communicate with them, you had to find your own way back to the FOB before nightfall. You were turned around, in scar territory, alone; following the moon, sidearm drawn in your trembling hands. There was a ringing in your ears, cut only by the bumping of your anxious heart; pitifully, you wouldn’t be able to hear the cracking of rustling leaves and snapping twigs underfoot over the sound of your own fear.

There was a great cry as a shadow swung into your vision. You missed the blow narrowly, sliding backward as a body lurched into your vision. It rushed you, taking you by surprise, causing you to stumble as your pistol arm shot up wildly in the tight grip of your attacker. There wasn’t enough time for reaction, and before you knew it, you were carrying their weight. The two of you were thrashing, a bloody tug of war through the bushes and debris, you were fighting, the way that one fights before they die. It was a tornado of bodies, a cacophony of screams the clatter of a gun hitting the floor, and then the blackness of being blind as your head slammed into the trunk of a tree. Thick blood and spit shot from your mouth as you crumpled to the forest floor with a heavy thud, seeing stars.

You fought unconsciousness as you tried to regain your footing, but your assailant was too fast, grabbing by the collar of your jacket and dragging you across the tractionless, muddy ground. You were chest to the ground, pressed down with the full weight of two people as a hand fisted through your hair, holding your face to the dirt as you struggled with the last of your remaining power.

“Fuck– no, get the fuck off of me–!” You screamed, thrashing wildly on the ground, your torso pinned. An arm hooked around your throat. Your hand slapped wildly at the ground, looking for something, anything that could grant you escape. There was nothing; but as your fingers inched out, there was your gun. Before you could sweep it into your grasp, pressure bulged against your eyes, crushing your throat, tightening the skin of your face. Hands flew up, spurred on by true survival instinct to claw at the scar’s flesh, but the leather of your brown utility gloves only pawed weakly at the clothed bicep. Your lips pulled into a grimace, blood rushing to your brain as you fell in and out of consciousness. Like sick irony, there was nothing; but then, pressed to your temple was the cold metal of your sidearm. Your eyes squeezed closed, anticipating the bang.

“This is the part where you’d end up getting your brains blown out with your own pistol, rook.” The arm currently strangling you loosened, freeing you from its grapple. The disembodied voice- no, it was very bodied, actually, and still laying across you- jostled your temple with the dummy gun, exploding in mock recoil as a sardonic ‘–pchew!’ blew against your ear. It lifted away from you and you finally had the space to expand your chest more than a couple of inches. You rolled over onto your back, drawing a deep, reactionary breath, soothing the throbbing skin of your neck with a hand.

The woman towering over you in the darkness grimaced, unimpressed, leaning her weight against the tree trunk she had just used to nearly brain you. Anderson was your training captain; ruthless, built like an ox, and the top soldier out of anyone in the WLF, right hand to the Big Man, and you fucking hated her.

She was an unforgiving mentor; running you on drills long after everyone went home, failing you, hard, and was dedicated to kicking your ass for real every time you had a sparring match. This, in fact, was your third field scenario attempt with Anderson, and they never got better; the first time, throwing dirt into your face and ‘slitting your throat,’ then it was ‘shooting’ you in your abdomen and finishing you off with another to the chest, and now? Taken out after getting ambushed in a dark forest and having your head blasted open. She’d suck her teeth, cracking the vertebrae in her neck with a terse, ‘that’s how it is in the field, kid’’ as you walked behind her, winded.

“That… wasn’t a pass, was it?” You choked out, scooching yourself across the wet mud to sit up, drawing harsh, ragged breaths.

Anderson wrenched up a brow at you, unimpressed. “You really need to be told that wasn’t a pass?”

The matter-of-fact tone she took left you dumbstruck, crushed, burning from the inside out of embarrassment, the heat nesting in your cheeks mingling from the stinging pain from the fight. You were humiliated and more importantly, you knew she was right. That you had shit the bed, going 0 and 3. You wouldn’t be getting promoted to assignments, and if you kept dragging your feet, you’d be reassigned. But you could convince her, you had to convince her. “But everyone else from my class made mistakes, and they– they still passed!” You tried to seem firm and level-headed, but your throat got tight all of a sudden, and your voice was whiny like a child’s.

“Doesn’t really matter to me. I don’t train everyone else from your class.” She blew out flippantly, not even meeting your eyes, barely giving your pleas the time of day. It was her job to push you past your limits, to see how far from your comfort zone you were willing to go. To see how badly you could be beaten before you talked, how long they could torture you with guns or knives or burns before you gave in. But right now? She was more irritated than anything, and the truth she was biting her tongue on was that you were a completely lost cause.

Anderson cut the distance between the two of you and leaned in, closer than ever, towering over you like it was easy, looking at you as if she was seeing you from the inside out. Her smirk faded, falling to her barely-masked anger as she kneaded together her lips. Your eyes brimmed with tears as hers filled with indignation, annoyance, like you were an itch she couldn’t scratch; perpetually pissing her off. “You don’t have a clue in the fucking world, do you? The reality of what they do in the open city you’re in such a rush to get out to? What they’ll do to a wolf, out there?”

You did know, or at least you had heard stories. It was all common; rookies overhearing what deployed soldiers would bring back from their rotation, then telephoning it back in the barracks before lights out. The stories were always the same, scouting duos going out deep into the unclaimed territory, never to come back. It was no man’s land. it was suicide. After some days, they would stop calling into WLF frequencies. After some weeks, a new unit would be sent behind them, stumbling upon the bloated, swinging bodies. it would take another three days for recovery to get them back to the FOB, they would get buried in a large plot of land at the back of the stadium, reserved only for soldiers. It was nothing special, but the ones that were too high up would just stay there. Sometimes, it would keep you up at night, honest. You looked at your feet, almost submissively, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to leak. She was right, you fucked up, you kept fucking up. You forced your tiny voice to speak. “I’m sorry, I ju–”

“This a fucking joke to you, YLN?”

You looked into her eyes, she was tired of you. Tired of your constant excuses, how you never seemed to improve, how everything you did wrong ended up coming down on her shoulders. You had gotten bounced around from training class to training class on account of repeated failures, and at some point, they threw you at Anderson’s feet. She protested, she didn’t do fucking charity work but of course, the task manager gave a bullshit excuse, saying that was the direct orders from the big man himself, that if anyone could “fix” you, it was her. You were always fucking around, lackadaisical, terrible at your job. Always cornering her before the end of evaluations, begging for a good word, begging for extra credit. They called you ’tornado’ because you kept busting your ass during physical drills, which turned into ‘twitch’ because you couldn’t stop your gun hand from shaking during on-field drills. You were picky, even, complaining about the smell of the barracks on your first day in training camp.

Your mouth was open, gobsmacked, tripping on syllables, tongue dry all of the sudden, too dry, and you tried to blink back the wetness in your eyes before it dampened your cheeks. You couldn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. “No, I just– no, this, this is really serious to me. It’s really important to me.”

“But you want me to pass you? So that you can get your whole squad killed? So that they can ship your bagged-up body to the morgue? Fine, then. I’ll pass you. See? ‘You passed,’ easy– since we just like bullshitting each other.” The woman deadpanned, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, muscles bobbing under her skin, eyes dangerous, fed up. The harsh words had you simmering over with a quiet rage; at yourself, for fucking up from the beginning, and at your coach, for always being so hard on you.

“You’re not ready, kid, and I don’t think I can help you, either. Want my advice? There are a lot of other jobs they’ll give you at the stadium, but whatever it is here that you think you’re cut out for– you’re not.” She spoke through a tight jaw, and you could almost imagine sadness in her voice, but that couldn’t be right. She turned on her heels, heading back to the jeep the two of you rode out on, not waiting for you to follow behind her.

–

If she was nothing else, Abigail Anderson was a woman of her word. You had gone to pick up your evaluation records early in the morning, while the stadium was still quiet and everyone in the barracks was still asleep. It had become an odd kind of spectator sport to see how many consecutive fails you could rack up from mentor to mentor. In turn, it had become your ritual to collect your papers and make them disappear before anyone could ask. Your hands were heavy as you cracked open the envelope, opened it, and gazed over the lettering. There was a boxed-in ‘Instructor: A. ANDERSON’ in the top corner, and your face burned remembering the cold lecture that brought you nearly to tears.

whatever it is here that you think you’re cut out for– you’re not.

You hated her for it. For always being on your ass, for making everything so damned difficult. But you were disappointed in yourself for thinking that it would be easy in the first place. Disappointed that years passed by, watching from the sidelines as literal teenagers were deployed before you. Deep down, you knew she was right, that you should give up; but your eyes widened when you saw it.

INTERIM FIELD EVALUATION: PASS.

She did it to spite you but you didn’t fucking care, it was one step closer out of the program. You paced around, giggling to yourself; if anyone was up to see you, they’d think you were fucking insane. But no one was awake, and you’d be back in bed before all rise, so it didn’t matter. so you pressed the paper to your chest, as though you could absorb it through your skin. Fucking pass; you could lay down on the floor and die right here. You had to look at it one more time, just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. So you did, eyes flying all across the paper, your first pass in months; no, years and all you had to do was cry a bit. Wonder if Anderson would let it slide all the way to deployment.

Then you saw it.

CADET TRANSFER REQUEST

CADET #549226

From A. ANDERSON

To V. CHUNG

Fuck.

–

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Chung will give you all the passes you want.” You were towering over Anderson, who lay flat on the weight bench, adjusting the bar of weights over her head, angling and curling herself in preparation. She didn’t meet your eyes, only looking over a second in irritation as she saw you burst into the then-empty gym. You had planned to give her a piece of your mind, or at least beg and plead. It wasn’t working. She was flippant in the way that she always was, how she could reduce all of your feelings to petty quips and take the air completely out of your sails at once. She lifted the bar, barely any effort showing up as a kink in her brow, pressing it to her chest and then dropping it back down onto the stand jutting out from either side. Her muscles rippled, a thin mask of sweat dusting over her and twinkling in the light

that was a soldier, and she reminded you of everything that you weren’t.

“It’s not just about the passes. Everyone just–” against your will, a lump formed in your throat, and you turned to the side so that she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry. “Everyone just fucking gives up on me.” You weren’t a stranger to being passed around, but it was something new that hurt; a unique level of disappointment at everything, at yourself, that made the tears pool and run down your face. Trained by the best of the best, and you still couldn’t hack it.

It really was a dead-end for you.

Everyone knew the jokes and the rumours of the cadet that just couldn’t make it, but nobody could pinpoint just why, no matter how hard life kicked you, you wouldn’t give up.

Being a child in a QZ was hard. None of you were happy, or living particularly well, but you had your family, and small joys, Until it all fell down, until FEDRA abandoned one post for another and you were left, a child, at the mercy of the world. You blew around, another fringe society, another QZ. Those fell too, and the only thing you could remember some nights was that everyone was gone now, and it was just you. That was when you joined the WLF. Because you wanted to save the world because it was your only choice.

You tried to work hard, waking up extra early to run drills, trying to build up your form or your reflexes against all odds. You were like a fish, the way you could hold your breath underwater. Your pistol hand still shook from the chronic anxiety of the life you had lived before, but you could take your sidearm apart and put it back together faster than anyone else. But nobody ever noticed those things, just your fuck ups. Nobody saw you, just saw twitch, or tornado, just a compendium of everything you couldn’t be.

If you couldn’t do anything else, then maybe the suffering you went wasn’t worth it. Maybe what happened to you was just common. You *had* to be a hero.

Or die a martyr.

The words rolled out before you could stop them, and you were blubbering, tears rolling down your face, a thick coating of snot and drool coating your lips and chin as you sunk down, crying. Your hands fisted that damned form, crumpling it, and it rippled and burst under your fingers. This really was pathetic of you, groveling and begging at the feet of a woman who didn’t care, and deep down you were still planning your strategy of how to exit this room now that you firmly couldn’t play it off. You couldn’t face her anymore, or anyone, for that matter because Anderson would definitely talk. Your only option was to defect, ride out at dawn with nothing but the clothes on your back, no, dig a hole in the stadium and live there, with nothing but a straw in your mouth for breathing, no, shit idea, maybe you should just swan dive off the high side of the FOB and save yourself all the trouble, no, mayb–

“Kid.”

And you were still talking, like a dumbass. “–and i know i fucked up but– if you could give me one more chance i just need one more chance you don’t understand how much this means to me how important this is to me– please i’ll do anything and i get it if you just want me to get the hell out of your way but i just thought i just thought i could i just really really”

“Kid, stop talking,” Anderson was holding your hands gently in her own. Looking up at you from her now seated position. There was still the ever-so-slight crook of indignation in her brow, but she was speaking to you, gently, leniently. She felt bad, and there was a black spot of shame growing on her back from how she had treated you.

She was remorseful, and there was a dark spot of shame growing on her conscience for how she had treated you. She was hard on you because you were just going through the motions and cutting corners a lot of the time, but there was a determination that hadn’t yet been broken down and you were dogged, like she was once; and deep down, she did have a soft spot for your annoying ass.

“I’ll help you. I’ll help you out” Anderson spit out, watching a spark ignite in your watery eyes. Before you got too excited, she put her hand up, holding all of your hopes in midair for just a moment. “But– fuck, stop crying. Thought I was gonna have to get you on a damn psych watch.”

You nodded jerkily, exposed once again in front of her, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your thermal shirt, a windy inhale passing through your nose and dislodging the mucus in your throat. “Shit– fuck, fuck. Sorry.”

Anderson stood from the bench, barely giving you time to react before she angled into a striking position, feet shoulder-width apart, planted firmly on the rubber floor. Her fists were clenched, muscles working in her arms and making her look ten times bigger as she stalked around you, chin down, scanning for an open. “What are you waiting for,” she chided, cracking her neck to the side. It was weird, like she was trying to… encourage you? “Scenario three, from last week– remember?”

Then she advanced, walking you backwards into an empty space in the room, striking at your head before you had a chance to react. You swooped down, diving under her extended arm to barely miss the shot that probably would’ve knocked you out.

“Put your hands up, rook– they’re not gonna wait for you.” Anderson grunted and slammed down with locked elbows; this was your in– and you charged, albeit off balance to make the first connection, a glancing blow to her chin. The two of you fought around the room, exchanging blows and blocks, kicks and punches. Somehow, you had managed your way into her blindspot and swung to try and land a grapple around her neck with an impassioned “I got you!”

It was then, like a flash of light that your arm was intercepted and you were turned over onto your knees, Anderson crouched beside you squeezing your neck in a submission hold. Her bicep pressed into your throat, that ragged pressure that tightened every muscle in your body and turned on that sheer animal instinct to survive. You clawed above you, nails catching on the flesh of her exposed chest.

“You don’t have to announce it, its not a damn movie.” She spoke, trailing off into a whisper. It was all over, you did it again, miraculously continuing your 0-for-infinity losing streak.

But she let you go, and it was crazy but you swore that her hand lingered in your hair for a second as she stepped away. You laid on the ground, heaving. Anderson looked over you, looking at the rapidly darkening red welts on your throat, bruises on bruises layered from yesterday night. In the back of her mind, she could hear laughter, a conversation over drinks while her team was on recess.

“You’re fuckin’ brutal on the kid, Anderson. Trying to kill her?” Chung laughed, taking a heavy swig from his beer. A hand clapped against her shoulder from behind, swaying her from side to side, sloshing liquid out of her cup and onto the wooden table they were gathered around. Before she could protest Manny’s voice cut through the raucous laughter ringing off the walls.

“Bet you two shift swaps that Abs makes YLN drop out of the program before deployment!” He cried, drunk off his ass, jabbing his finger in any general direction before loosening his spider monkey-like grip. Abby’s back burned, her jaw clenching unconsciously with thinly veiled anger, they were her friends, but fuck these guys, honestly. She forced a coy smile, becoming the face of drunken jest.

“You guys fucking done?” She tried to conceal the sound of her discomfort with a laugh, but it was tight and terse and frankly, after years together anyone at the roundtable could pick up on her unconscious cues.

“What, Abs, going soft on us? Or maybe… you’re tryna�� catch another type of body– huh? huh?”

—

She watched you, fisting your hands together on the floor in a quiet sort of frustration. Tears threatened to pool in your eyes but you blinked them back, cutting your eye at her for a split second and then looking away. It was embarrassing, of course, but at this point, you were defeated. Anderson sat down beside you, hooking her hand under your arm and lifting you to sit upright.

“Anderson I–”

“–just, Abby.” She whispered, palming your knee, trying her best to commit to her insurmountable task: being comforting. The woman watched as your face tensed up and then went slack as you dug teeth into your bottom lip, looking off into nothing. “It’s not going to matter more, just because you die. You know that, right?” You didn’t speak. Nails ran skittishly against your shirt as you ran your hands up and down your arms, trying to self-soothe, unable to hide your grimace.

“Yeah.” You nodded slowly, as though you were trying to stave off your own denial. “Yeah.”

The hand on your knee became firmer, heavier as it stroked over your skin, her thumb rubbing a small circle where it began to meet your thigh. “I was serious– when I was talking about other jobs, you know? You can just live a good life, and that can be enough. There’s nothing waiting for you outside of the wall, kid.”

If it were anyone else, you could’ve been angry, you would’ve lashed out; but it was coming from someplace real, one of the only times you had ever seen Anderson– Abby, be anything more than a cold, stony prick. She had been stern with you because she saw herself in that tiny rage you had, the anger just below the surface that she could see in your eyes right at this moment. Because when you’re that driven about anything, the only certain thing to look forward to is a darkness that keeps on coming. It was the hard realisation, and you swallowed heavy. “Guess not.”

There was a vulnerability in the air, and before you knew it, you were leaning into her touch, pressing your body to hers, side to side. Your superior didn’t move, didn’t keen away or tell you off, just sat there, never stopping the motion of her hand. It was a long silence between the two of you, but then she stopped, began to stand, and like your body wasn’t yours you grabbed her arm, willing her to stay without a single spoken word. There was this weird, small flash on her face that you couldn’t place, until she just nodded, using her strength to lift you to your feet as well.

“Coming?” Was all that she said, and you nodded. Yeah.

–

It was what you had always wanted, the big luxury box in the sky. It was as though you could see everything from your place at the window of Abby’s room, the barracks, where everyone was still sleeping tucked in the corner behind the greenhouse, the sun slowly overtaking the dark sky, the very tops of the skyscraper tucked into the clouds, the FOB, overlooking everything ominously.

“It’s all yours?” you asked, no higher than a murmur as you looked through the parted curtains.

“And Manny’s,” Abby dropped her bag in the corner of the room, using her foot to kick it under her bedframe. “On an overnight, though. So it’s just me. One of the many perks you have to look forward to if you become a top soldier.”

“Fat chance.” You quipped bitterly.

There were footsteps behind you, but you didn’t think much of it as you closed the curtain. You turned away from the window and in a second the two of you were together, the blonde placing a hand on the small of your back and taking your mouth into hers. It was as though you were covered in white light, how everything became so blinding, so warm, extremely surreal in a way you couldn’t place. You’d wake up in your bunk, you were sure of it. Had to wake up in your bunk. But as the wet of her tongue played over your lips, you thought, maybe you didn’t want to wake up. You could dream forever and that would be fine.

“You know, you’re really hard on yourself, rookie.” The taller woman breathed, pulling away to speak. “Wouldn’t be a good mentor if I didn’t give you a morale adjustment.”

You moaned, leaning into it, the thickness of her thigh now ghosting against the spread of your legs. Her hand came up to run fingers gently through your hair, thumbing away the thin layer of sweat that formed on the nape of your neck. Her cockiness did something to you, and it was as though you couldn’t get enough skin to touch as you gripped her bicep deeper, feeling the muscle bulge with her effort. Her tongue disappeared into your mouth, swirling against yours, depositing the slick of her saliva down your throat. It was heavy and wet, built up like her own body, and it dominated yours easily, just like she had done in the gym.

“You with me?” She peppered a soft kiss, groaning as she took a fistful of your thigh, heaving it up to lock against her waist, the seam of your pants unwittingly pressing into your crotch through now-dampened panties. She pulled from you and you wanted to chase her, a deprived whine ringing out of your throat before you could stop it. Unbeknownst to you, the noise sent a shockwave to Abby’s clit, and she could feel her channel begin to slicken. Fuck, you were pretty. Her eyes narrowed, looking over your features. This should be against her ethical code, probably against proper conduct guidelines, but she wanted you so bad it was infuriating. She heard Chung’s voice again.

…tryna’ catch another type of body?

Oh, fuck you, man.

You nodded, and a frown overcame her. “Needa hear you, kid.” You looked down, pressed your face into her chest, kneading fingers into her open grey sweatshirt. It was embarrassing to say, and a part of her wished that she was as bad as you had always said she was, that she would just… do whatever this is and not make you vocalise how much you wanted her. The pit of shame in your stomach got deeper, but she soothed a thumb over your brow and it was like you melted. “We don’t have to do anything if you d–”

“I’m here. I’m with you.”

There it was; the confirmation, the greenlight she needed to lift you up, both legs under her strong hands now, and carry you to the two pushed-together twin mattresses of her bed. She looked down at you, laying on your back, blown-out watery eyes squinted as she lifted your shirt up just a hair to reveal the plush skin beneath. “Fuckin’ hell.” She whispered to nobody specific, running a thumb against your torso.

Abby met your eye, asking, and you nodded. She exposed you easily, lifting your shirt up and leaving you in just a bra from the waist up. Deft fingers locked under the straps and she pulled her hands down, mouth agape as your breasts spilled forward. If she believed, she would’ve compared the sight to viewing the kingdom of heaven for the first time, singing angels and all. A calloused hand trailed up to palm one, a thumb rolling across the pliant bulb of your nipple, the sensation causing it to rapidly harden to a stiff point. She took it, rolling it between two fingers and her thumb as she leaned in, taking the other in her mouth and grazing it between her teeth. A ragged breath was forced through your lips as you tried to regain your spinning consciousness.

“Fuck, nghh– Abby, fuck.” You moaned out, delirious. The double stimulation didn’t stop, and instead, Abby slid her jaw forward, biting one nipple firmly and gripping the other between two knuckles to pull, and you cried out. She sucked as though she was nursing, the slopping popping noises of her mouth filling the air in tandem with your moans and whimpers.

“Goddamned gorgeous, you know that?” She groaned, slapping your free tit with her hand lightly before walking her fingers down to your belt loop. With one hand she slipped down your sweatpants to your ankles, leaving you in nothing but light, stained briefs. Your cunt had soaked pathetically through the fabric, clit standing at attention. You were so wet that the thin cloth was practically see-through, the rouge of your cunt catching Abby’s eye. Through your underwear, a calloused thumb toggled your clit, ripping a half-sob from your body.

It was as though you were an overflowing spring of endlessly pure water, how the wet spot grew and grew. You fucked your hips upwards, trying desperately to rock harder into the new assailant, but Abby lifted her thumb away, depriving you of the sensation. It was so much, everything was spinning; your head, the room, your soul out of your body. Your cunt clenched around air as she drew designs on your thigh with a finger absentmindedly.

“Gotta be patient, little.” She didn’t look up, but there was a smirk on her face and a smile in her voice as brought her thumb back down. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.”

Her finger ghosted over the wet spot in your underwear and you twitched unconsciously. The blonde captured a thin sheen of your drip between two fingers, stretching the line back and forth. “So fuckin’ excited for me.” She pressed her nose down into your crotch, and you closed your thighs reflexively. Fine by her. She took a deep inhale of your pussy, and lathed at the wet liquid with her tongue. The rough texture of the fabric dragged over your clit, bringing the little red bulb to a fever pitch, as she sucked and slurped through it, catching salty-sweetness in her mouth. Her tongue pathed its way to your covered clit, flattening roughly over the sensitive bundle. The dual stimulation was driving you mad; the hard abrasion of wet panties slipping between your cuntlips, in and out of your hole as she licked and prodded, and the firm muscle of her tongue kneading at the pliant flesh.

Like she was showing off a party trick, Abby maneuvered her tongue, skillfully weaving it inside of your underwear to taste your ambrosia from the tap. Rough hands grabbed hold of your ass, palming and gripping as she pushed your thighs up and over to situate your feet over your head in the perfect position where your gooey pussy was squished together, oozing directly into her mouth. You kicked the sweatpants the rest of the way gone, and they flew into the corner of the room, never to be seen again. There was a groan like an animal, and you weren’t sure which of the two of you was the source as Abby tore your panties open, the two halves drooping weakly, and pressed your feet next to your ears. She devoured you with newfound vigor, catching a second wind the moment your walls clenched around her tongue, fucking you in and out as hard and deep as possible.

“Abby! Shit, shit, more. Please.” You whimpered, looking down to see where her disappearing nose bumped against your clit over and over again. She wanted you to fuck her face, grinding her head back and forth so that her lips massaged yours, her tongue searched for every spot, and her nose abused your sloppy nub, driving you crazy with sensation over sensation. You were coming over the bend fast, too fast, and everything flashed white and black in spades as your body trembled. Again, her thumb came up to drum against your clit, and your orgasm tore you in two, red hot. Your juices siphoned into the blonde’s waiting mouth, and she drank from you like an oasis.

Her body came over, you, shrouding you in darkness and the rolled over to lay flat on the bed, scooting over to plant her feet on the very edge. You were still trembling, still drooling from the slit in your legs that was happily prepped and used. The throbbing shook your whole body as you tried to catch your breath, and Abby’s arm jutted out, pulling you across the bed and onto her, chest to back. She hooked her knees through yours, and you could feel the force holding you open to give full exposure to your greedy hole. She licked a hot stripe up your neck and you whimpered, biting your lip. She pulled it free with your thumb, replacing it with a finger that she fucked in and out of your hot mouth. “Wonder where this is going, huh?” She angled her knees down, spreading you further, your pussylips slipping apart, cool air running against your clit. “Gotta see if it’s just your hand, or if you have a twitchy pussy too, baby.”

The moniker that usually filled you with red shame was now engulfing you with hot-pink lust, your cunny leaking down onto the bed. You were dumb and fuck-drunk as Abby pushed one of her thick fingers into you, slowly at first in order to get you used to the stretch of the tight ring. She curled her knuckle to press against your g-spot and you saw stars. She sped up her filthy pace, the sloppy sounds of your wet cunt reverberating in the air. Then, it was instant, her strong, rippling arm coming around to clench your neck again, palm rubbing your head gently. Abby added another finger, palm smearing your clit harshly as she fucked you deep, pace quickening. Her fingers scissored back and forth as she closed her elbow tighter, cutting off your breath and inviting the pressure you were by now so used to. You couldn’t tell her you were on the verge of cumming, a red-hot fire in your stomach burning hotter and faster as the plowed through your juices.

You were suctioning her fingers, barely letting them slip from your folds. She pulled them out nearly all the way and drilled back in, tiny splashes of liquid raining down on the mattress. You ground your hips as best you could in the compromising position, chasing your orgasm, so close to your own personal bliss that you started panting like a whore with no concern. Abby pressed open-mouthed kisses to your cheeks, to your lips, the taste of you still on her and mingling with your own saliva. You were dizzy, be it the pleasure, the slowly depleting oxygen in your lungs, or the fact that your mentor was currently palm-deep in your pussy, but you couldn’t keep your composure.

Your walls clenched around her, and you could hear her muttering in your ear. ‘such a tight pussy, Twitch, baby. Such a good pussy.’ And it was like you were summoned, cunt spasming as you came hard and messy, squirt shooting from you and sprinkling loudly through the ground. She fucked you through it, releasing your throat as your vision blurred, not letting you close your legs and bringing her free hand down to rub your clit in tandem. You tried to buck away from her to no avail, your cunt clenching wildly, juices bubbling over, lips red and sore from the sustained abuse. Tears rolled down your face as you took hungry breaths, your deprived lungs fighting for all of the air they could get.

The two of you lay together, panting, hearts beating against the other, and Abby pulled her palm away from the throbbing expanse of your swollen, used cunt. She unhooked your thighs, and the pressure of closing your legs again sent a ripple into your pussy that made you whimper something fierce. There was a long, pregnant silence, and then you spoke up, cheekily.

“So are you going to still swap me?”

“Not sure… it’s, whadotheycallit–? A conflict of interest.” She said, turning over and throwing a heavy arm over your chest, rubbing your bicep absentmindedly.

“But I’ll tell you what, champ; I’ll make sure to put a special training session on my schedule whenever you’re up for it. If you’re up for it.”

#abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby smut #abby tlou smut #abby anderson x you #abby x fem!reader #tlou smut #tiki writes #time to go lay my ass to sleep

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ellethespaceunicorn · 2 years ago

Text

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Fandom: Night Hunter

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: For @enchantedbytomandhenry; You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Warnings: enemies to lovers trope (not sure if I nailed it though), unprotected p-in-v, creampie, Daddy kink, male tackling female to subdue (if that squicks you, maybe skip this one-it is quick but described)

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist

Oh, this is great. No, it’s perfect. Not only were you voluntold to work a weekend-long stakeout, but you’d also be paired with Detective Marshall. Yeah, that Detective Marshall. Walter. The asshole who you’ve been competing with for ‘top dog’ since before joining S.W.A.T. all those years ago.

He was always just ahead of you. Ran a mile half a minute quicker. Got promoted a month sooner. To top it all off, he was tall and drop-dead gorgeous. And he had an ass you could bounce a quarter off.

Wait, hold on. When did that become something you even cared about?

The way he cockily smiles at you as he exits his truck in the parking lot of the motel is enough to have you clench your thighs together. This should be a fun weekend.

Friday night into Saturday morning is spent quietly using the listening devices to monitor our suspect. You both just…sit there, using your ears. Walter is usually quiet, sure. But what human doesn’t even accidentally use small talk to fill a quiet space?

During the day, you try and sleep in your separate room but it proves to be difficult. You toss and turn, grumbling to yourself after a couple of hours. Visions of Marshall’s chiseled jawline, beefy arms, and thick thighs are burned in your mind. You abandon all hope of sleeping, spending the rest of the day disassembling and cleaning your sidearm. It keeps your mind sharp and you genuinely enjoy the process.

It’s nearing seven and you’re just getting your things together to head over to the surveillance room when you get a knock at the door. You peek through the curtains and see Marshall as he leans on the doorframe.

You open the door and look expectantly at him. When he doesn’t answer and barges into the room past you, you pipe up, “Come on in, why don’t you?” You close the door behind you and watch as he looks around the room.

He notices your gun cleaning kit on the small wooden table by the window and looks back at you. “You didn’t sleep today. You look like shit.”

“Awesome. Thank you. What do you want?” you snap, already sick of his annoyingly perfect face.

“Go home and get some sleep,” he crosses his arms, standing in front of you, “Got the B team coming in to take over.”

“So, we’re both leaving? Or are you just dismissing me?” you questioned, crossing your own arms.

“Just you,” he deadpans, not feeling the need to explain himself further.

“Well, fuck that. I’m not leaving, so if you’ll excuse me,” you fumed, moving to reach for your sidearm on the table as he moves over, holding a hand out between the table and yourself.

“I can’t let you take that with so little sleep. It’s dangerous for both of us. Trust me, one slip up, and one of us is down,” he warns, holding his ground.

“Marshall, get out of my way. We have a job to do.”

“No, I have a job to do. You’re off the clock. Go home, kid,” he urged, holding his position.

“You’re gonna have to take me out of this mission by force, Marshall. Otherwise, I’m-”

You did not get to finish that sentence before Walter was taking you down on your stomach. A strong arm fully extended holding your left shoulder, while your right wrist is being restrained, would have been enough. But, this was Marshall after all and if he was anything, he was thorough. He straddles your hips, with just enough pressure to keep you down, but not enough to scratch a certain itch.

“I didn’t wanna have to do that,” Walter breathes, winded slightly from the takedown, “but you gave me no choice.”

“Marshall, get the fuck off of me,” you growl, trying to buck him off.

“Yeah, kid, that’s not happening,” he spits, hooking his ankles over your thighs, “You’re lucky I don’t cuff you to keep you down.”

“So, what? You just looking for a reason to get me to obey you?” you challenge, struggling under his weight.

“As if you needed an excuse,” he laughs, straightening himself above you.

“Please! If you honestly think-”

“Give it a rest, I can smell your arousal from here,” he teased, lowering his hips a fraction and watching your squirm, “And before you say it’s not because of me, why couldn’t I smell it until after I had taken you down?”

“Fuck you, Marshall,” you scoff, trying to hold some semblance of control.

“Yeah, maybe if you did, you could get some fucking sleep,” he offers, his left hand moving from your shoulder down your arm, “But here you are, stubborn as hell.”

You lick your lips, considering his words. You wanted to get some release. You also wanted to sleep.

Fuck it.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” he queries, slowly starting to release your arms.

“I’m exhausted and I’m horny. But you’re doing all of the work, Marshall,” you say, lifting your hips to meet his crotch.

“That’s a good girl,” he hummed, releasing your arms before leaning up and off of you. You start to raise yourself before you are lifted and all but thrown on the bed and told to strip. Watching as his layers are quickly being shed, you all but rip away your clothing.

Once fully naked, you look at Marshall where he stands watching you. Cock in hand, he pumps his massive length slowly while his eyes rake over you. “Tell me what you need,” he coaxed, his voice lower by at least an octave.

“Hurry the fuck up and put me to bed, Marshall, before I change my mind,” you threaten, your body thrumming under his gaze.

“You can change your mind at any time, you just say the word and this is over, yeah?” he informs, eyes connecting with yours.

“Heard,” you chime in, opening your legs for him.

He kneels on the bed between your legs, reaching down to collect some of your wetness that glistens in the low light of the motel room. He lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking your juices off his fingers before plunging them inside you. “Fuck, girl, you are so wet for me. So fucking hot,” he moans, squelching sounds filling the room as he massages your inner bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Daddy!” you squealed, completely out of your control.

“That’s it, girl, cum for me,” he goaded, his thumb moving to play with your swollen button.

It doesn’t take long before you feel that familiar tightening in your core, and Marshall must be the World’s Greatest Detective™ because he is pulling out his fingers and thrusting his cock inside your wet heat. Fucking you through your orgasm, your tight walls fluttering around him causing him to groan loudly.

“That’s one, let’s see if we can’t get you another, yeah?” he teases, melding your chests together as he wraps his arms around your center. From this angle, he can stimulate your clit while stroking deeply. And he does so at a punishing pace, his teeth nipping and kissing your neck. “Fuck, we shoulda done this years ago, girl. This pussy is fucking made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mewl, that time was completely on purpose.

Marshall leans up, leaving one arm around you while the other hand goes to your hair, baring your neck. “Who’s pussy is this, girl?” he challenges, even though he already knows.

“It’s yours, Daddy,” you whine, legs wrapping around his hips.

“That’s fucking right, it’s mine,” he praised, hips pistoning into you, “And I’m gonna ruin you for everyone else. You’re mine, girl.”

His growled claim of you paired with the way he fucks into you has your legs trembling around him instantly, your second orgasm of the night flowing through you.

“Hmmm, that’s my girl, taking Daddy’s cock so well,” he groans, the sound vibrating through the both of you.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you moan, squeezing your thighs around Marshall, “I love your fucking cock.”

“That’s right you love this cock,” he growls, pulling out and manhandling you onto all fours, “Put Daddy’s cock back in, girl.”

You reach back and line him up, pushing back to impale yourself before moaning out at the angle change. Marshall grips your hips, plowing into you, no doubt chasing his own release now.

“Fucking cum inside me, Daddy,” you whimper, loving the sounds coming from your sodden cunt as it is pounded.

“I’m gonna breed this perfect pussy,” he grunts, hips stuttering until he pushes in as deep as can, cock twitching and painting your insides so full that it starts to leak past your entrance. He pulls out slightly before starting to fuck his cum back inside you. The sensation alone has your pussy quivering around him for the third time before you fall forward on your front.

Marshall laughs as he gets up from the bed, going to the en suite bathroom. You can hear him taking a piss and you know that you should as well to combat any chance of a UTI. But your legs aren’t listening yet so fuck that idea.

Your eyes are already closed when you feel a wet warmth between your legs as Marshall is wiping down your swollen sex gently before you snuggle into the comforter being wrapped around you. A kiss is placed on your temple and soon you hear the rustling of clothes being put back on.

The sound of your motel room door opening and closing barely registers as you fall asleep.

It is sometime later in the evening and you check your phone on the nightstand as it reads 12:12 AM. No need to make a wish.

You take a quick shower and get dressed before heading over to the surveillance room. You are stopped outside of the room by a uniformed officer. “Detective Marshall asked me to keep you out. And he wanted me to give you this. That’s all I know, Ma’am.” The officer hands over a note and you step away and read it.

Hey,

I was serious about you getting some sleep.

Get that ass back to bed.

Daddy will see you soon, girl.

Sweet dreams xx

A/N: So, like I don’t know how I feel about how I wrote Walter here. This is not MY Walter, but I quite enjoyed this version of him.

**Tag List**

@astheskycries

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

#walter marshall #walter marshall fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall fic #night hunter #night hunter fanfic #night hunter fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall smut #ellethespaceunicorn request fill #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill

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1863-project · 2 years ago

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I’m not so sure the younger players starting out with Scarlet and Violet will appreciate the nuance of a character like Larry, because they haven’t had to fight for their survival in a capitalist society yet - at that age, their guardians are still fighting the fight for them.

But as an adult in my 30s, that shit hits HARD. I remember my time in grad school, where at one point I was simultaneously a full-time student, had an internship, and was working a job on the weekends. I went literal months without seeing my friends that semester. I was lonely and miserable and kept getting sick. I was doing something I loved in grad school and at my internship - archiving - but the job (a gig as a tour guide at a historic site) was sucking the life out of me. When I finally got out of that job and started applying to archival positions, my parents actually commented on how the tour guide work had been slowly killing me.

Spoilers for Scarlet and Violet below the cut.

Larry has a job he absolutely despises, probably because he felt like he had to get one to survive, because being a Pokemon trainer often doesn’t pay the bills - in fact, we do frequently see Gym Leaders in this franchise (and even Champions, in the case of Cynthia - an archaeologist - and Steven - the scion to a business) working actual jobs. It’s not lucrative and it’s not necessarily something you can survive on doing alone. Even my favorite characters in the franchise, Ingo and Emmet, run a public transit system alongside a battle facility. It’s the former that’s likely keeping their rent paid.

Larry has distinct skill as a battler - indeed, he’s both a Gym Leader and a member of the Elite Four, specializing in a different type for each (though with a Staraptor on both teams) - and he also has a distinct Poke Ball throw reminiscent of a sidearm pitcher’s windup (see here and here for more on that). But he also talks about his actual job, which he distinctly hates, and how he hopes the player character doesn’t have to use Facade in real life. Larry’s passions lie elsewhere - perhaps in Pokemon battling, or perhaps even in a potential baseball career cut short, if his throw is anything to go by - but capitalism forced him to take an office job, and he is miserable. It’s a distinct misery you understand once you’ve had a job eat you alive and leave you next to no time for your passions - or if it does leave you that time, it exhausts you so much that you can’t do them anyway.

He hasn’t lost his kindness, though - he treats the player character to dinner, and when you battle Nemona on even footing once you’re both at Champion Rank and all the Gym Leaders come to watch, he’s in the back, but he still takes time out of his schedule to make it. He’s doing his best despite being broken down by his job. And so many of us have been there, especially now that those of us who have played since Red and Blue are now in our 30s and 40s.

The kids whose first game is Scarlet or Violet might not quite get it yet. But for those of us who wrangle with capitalism on a daily basis, Larry hits too close to home, and it makes him a great character.

(I also suspect he might be an allusion to Game Freak’s employees being overworked by TPCi, but that’s a post for another day.)

#Pokemon #Pokemon Scarlet and Violet #Pokemon SV #Gym Leader Larry #Leader Larry

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 7 months ago

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Fallout AU - Brotherhood of Steel

Kara is a vault dweller whose vault falls to raiders. Her parents send her to the surface to escape, but are killed before they can join her. She's left alone and lost in a harsh, cruel world. She's taken in by the brotherhood of steel just on the brink of death.

Kara is raised and trained and punished and made stronger, until one day she's selected to be anointed as a squire. She's seen knights before, and they've all been cruel and abusive with their power, all too willing to grind their heels into the backs of those beneath them.

So when she's assigned to Knight Crixus, she expects nothing different. When Crixus sears her brand into the back of Kara's neck, she braces herself for years of servitude under a cruel master... until she's granted knighthood herself.

After the anointing ceremony, five knights and their brand new squires are assigned the same mission-- locate and seize a fugitive in possession of a certain artifact. An artifact that would give control of the wastelands to whomever possesses it.

Kara hauls her lord's oversized gear bag into their assigned helicopter. Crixus mounts the transport easily in her heavy armor, leaving Kara to kip herself up on her own. Kara's expectations were right-- to a degree. She's assigned menial labor in the form of cooking, cleaning, and repairs. Meanwhile, Crixus never leaves his armor.

While searching a quadrant of their assigned grid, they discover an old hazardous waste site. There's something sinister about it, and Kara has heard enough tales of knights and their ill-fated squires to know she's expected to scout the cave before her master.

To her surprise, however, when Kara draws her sidearm and steps forward, he blocks her with a gauntleted arm.

"Wait here," he orders, the voice modulator turning it into a growl.

He levers his gatling from his back, settling it into his metal hands in a familiar grip. Then he stomps forward, his pneumatic tendons hissing with each step. Kara considers staying put, but her instincts pull her forward after her master.

They stalk into the cave, searching its corners for any sign of a threat. When they find none, Kara lowers her gun. Strange.

Only then does she notice the sudden, deathly stillness in the cave. Something was very, very wrong. She turns just as Crixus lunges for her, and catches sight of the enormous Abomination behind her before Crixus tackles her to one side. The swipe from the abomination catches steel instead of Kara's flesh.

Before Crixus can turn and ready his weapon, the abomination sinks its maw into the back of his neck and tears him away from Kara. Crixus goes flying, smacking into a tree that splinters from the impact. The abomination follows him, tackling Crixus before he can even get to his feet.

Kara scrambles up, but all she can is watch as the abomination paws and scrapes and gnaws at Crixus, as Crixus tries to punch the beast's great snout to release him. It doesn't, not until the armor suit gives a final hiss, Crixus goes still.

Only then does it turn back to Kara, stalking towards her with slow, predatory steps. Kara reaches for her sidearm, but her holster is empty. She doesn't dare cast a glance around for it, doesn't dare take her eyes from the abomination.

Heart pounding, Kara struggles to think, to come up with a plan that doesn't end with her dead. She doesn't have the time. The beast lunges, and Kara yells in panic.

In the next moment, the abomination slides to the cave floor at her feet, dead with the back of its skull missing. She finds it clenched in Crixus' fist, dripping with blood and brain matter. Then Crixus staggers, his armor smoking and whining in distress.

"Don't just stand there," Crixus growls. "Get me out of this fucking thing."

Kara can't quite reach the release, so she has to half help, half drag the knight towards the tree he'd been flung into, until he was able to slump against it. Kara quickly gets to work, all while Crixus mutters and grunts with curses.

The helmet is the first to spring open, but Kara doesn't stop to think until the rest of the suit follows. It's not until she's dragged her master from the suit and props him against the tree that she notices.... Crixus isn't a he.

"Fuck," her master says, bracing a broken arm against what can only be busted ribs. Ribs sitting below a chest that heaves for breath-- a chest that is decidedly not as male as Kara anticipated.

"Holy shit."

"Stim pack," Crixus gasps. He-- she-- nods towards the forgotten gear bag. "Stim pack, stim pack, stim pack..."

Kara shakes herself back into action. "Right! Um..."

She rifles through the gearbag until she finds the medkit, and wastes no further time in plunging the syringe into her master's neck. It takes only a few moments for the drugs to take effect, dulling the pain enough for Crixus to slump in exhaustion against the tree.

"You... you're--"

"No shit." Crixus rolls her eyes.

Kara blinks. "You saved my life."

She doesn't understand. The very concept of a knight risking anything for a squire is anathema to the Brotherhood. Knights were paramount in value-- squires were expendable. Less than expendable. There's always another page to be anointed and take her place.

"Why?"

Crixus glares at her. "You tell me, squire."

Collecting the other items from the medkit, Kara gathers a long branch and breaks it over her knee before kneeling beside the knight. She gingerly takes the woman's broken arm, and begins to fashion a splint around it.

"My name is Kara, Knight Crixus."

Green eyes regard her solemnly. Then she looks away. "Lena."

The revelation shocks Kara, that so soft a name could be ascribed to a knight so tough. She rolls it around in her mind for a short moment before her whole body jolts.

"Wait-- Lena? As in Elder Lex's sister?"

"Surprise."

#supercorp #fallout au #brotherhood of steel au #just one possible au i might run with #its the one thats burrowing in my brain anyway

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ablogofcourage · 1 year ago

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#berretta 92 #stainless #great sidearm

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lilithism1848 · 1 year ago

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What are some advice you give to a young communist?

Hit the gym.

Delete time-waster social media (Facebook, Instagram, etc.) - organize face-to-face with real people. A bit of political discourse online is fine.

Arm yourself. Get guns, and learn how to shoot them. Don't get museum items because "Mosins are cool" or some nonsense, get whatever combat-worthy AR and sidearm is a military standard in your geographic region, depending on where you are that's probably something like an M16, G36, AK-12, or AK-47.

Organize with trustworthy individuals. In case of civil war or anti-socialist genocide, you need people you can rely on (and the reactionaries WILL eventually come for people like us in the West, capitalists never give up without a fight).

Organize a meeting point where you will meet your comrades in case of conflict.

Get good military-grade or better marching/combat boots and always have a full bug-out bag ready. Long-lasting rations for at least a few days, water filter/purification equipment, first aid kit, sleeping equipment, heat blanket, tinder and mechanical lighter, tarp, basic tools like knife, are, rope, etc. (try and stay below 10kg weight without water, add as much water as you can comfortably carry). Do regular training marches with your simulated backpack (10km with 10kg of weight minimum).

Study how to organize at work and build a mutual aid network. Help found unions.

Focus hard on education. The better educated you are the better.

Society is not ready for revolution, yet. So, get a great career that makes money. Yes, participating in capitalism is good, actually. Become as rich and powerful as possible. Make use of all the tools capitalism gives you. Preferably find a collectively owned business but don't be shy about participating in capitalism. Use the power and money you gain along the way to fund and support revolutionaries.

Always remember: It is not your personal responsibility to change the world or jeopardize your own wellbeing by acting according to ideals nobody else shares. As long as you don't personally stand in the way of revolution, your priority should be bettering your own life. Societal change can only be achieved at a societal level, personal responsibility is a liberal myth. Lead the best life you can while promoting socialism.

I know that some of this sounds like paranoid prepper bs and LARPing and will continue to feel like LARPing the entire time until the revolution starts but if you are a revolutionary communist you need to be ready... this is part of any revolution.

Know these "funny" videos where right-wingers stand in a line and make Nazi salutes then "train" by doing 10 push-ups before falling over wheezing, then trying to march in a line completely out of tune with each other while some skinny guy with a swastika tattooed on his face is swinging an SS flag? Yeah, those idiotic-looking guys are more organized more disciplined, and more committed than the overwhelming majority of self-proclaimed Marxist-Leninists in the West.

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month ago

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📖"The Commander's Omega"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: alpha/omega, dystopia, sex slavery, forced breeding, mutilation, rape, corporal punishment, fascism, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, mpreg, age gap (38/23), mentions of abortion, happy ending

Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival where he's forced to serve as a vessel: a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.

Chapter IV. Exit Wounds

Before:

Gunfire pops through the air: loud, sharp, fired in three round bursts. An hour ago it was distant, but now the whizzing sounds of bullets have gotten alarmingly close. Bucky turns his head and listens, trying to gauge proximity by the deep thwack of the bullets hitting the trees.

He’s taken cover inside of an abandoned RV in the woods. He’s wedged the door shut with a chair and is sitting propped up against the wall, in pain, his rifle laid down beside him. Leaves and trash litter the plywood floor. Whoever lived there before is long gone now.

Bucky’s head snaps back to the wall as he begins to hear shouts in the near-distance. He curses under his breath, pulse ticking hard in his veins from all the adrenalin. It could be his men out there, or it could be approaching guardians. He’s got no way of knowing. He’d still be out there fighting with all the others, except for that he’s been shot in the leg. And, well …

His eyes dart to the back of the trailer where Jenny’s stumbled to and dumped herself on the bed. She’s moaning even louder than before and Bucky feels like a royal fuck for sitting there on his ass, thinking of nothing but his own pain.

He grits his teeth and uses the stock of his M4 like a crutch to push himself up from the floor. “Ah!” he yelps, because fuck, does that ever hurt. But he clamps his mouth shut and bites his tongue until he can taste blood. He can’t go screaming and drawing attention to their position. He’s on his feet, leg throbbing terribly. His pants leg is torn and blood soaked from where the bullet went in. There’s no telling what caliber he’s been shot with, but he’s pretty sure there’s no exit wound. That’s not good news, but he tries to put it from his mind as he hobbles to the back of the RV where Jenny is.

She grimaces at him when she sees him. “Sorry!” she hisses. “I know. I know I’m being loud.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re having a fucking baby.”

“God!” she sobs. “Yeah. Yeah I really am, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiles grimly, heart going out to her. “Just try your best to stay quiet, okay?” He knows it’s a shitty thing to say to a woman in labor, but Jenny’s not stupid; she knows what’s going on outside just as well as he does. They’re both omega. Neither one of them wants to be taken.

Jenny groans as another contraction comes on. Outside, the bullets and the shouts are getting louder, closer. “Shit,” Bucky hisses. He reaches down and unholsters his sidearm, sliding it on the bed towards Jenny’s hand. “Safety’s on,” he warns. “Ten rounds.” She’s straining and grimacing with her eyes closed as she works through the contraction, but Bucky catches the small nod she gives him. “Okay,” he says. Good.”

He limps back out to the front of the RV and positions himself by the window over the kitchen sink. It’s a decent line of sight, if the fighting gets close enough, but he can’t do anything about the fact that he’s exposed from the position. Oh well, he thinks. He’ll just have to make sure he shoots the fastest. He’s had great luck so far.

The fighting draws nearer, and before he knows it Bucky’s taking out enemy fighters left and right. At least the guardians wear uniforms. It makes them easily distinguishable from the rebels, easier to pick off. Bucky gets maybe fifteen, twenty guardians on the ground before the trailer door busts open, the chair propped behind it splintering like a bunch of toothpicks. Three guardians burst in, and Bucky’s only able to shoot one of them before they wrestle his rifle away and punch him square in the face, knocking him out cold.

After:

The bathwater sloshes gently against the sides of the tub as Bucky shifts to grab the bar of soap from its ledge by the windowsill. He soaps up his shoulders and rubs the suds around absentmindedly. He’s been finding himself daydreaming a lot lately. Not that it’s unusual for him. Daydreaming is one of the only things he has left to fill his time, and he’s been remembering his days with the resistance, in particular.

He’d fought with them for almost a year. It’d felt like five. Bucky knows that his mom and sisters are out of the country now, and that thought is one of the few that bring him comfort. He knows they’re safe. He knows that. By some small miracle, he’d been able to receive a letter from them a few months after they’d crossed the border into Canada. In it, his mother had written that they’d received official refugee status and were being hospitably housed in an elderly man’s townhome in Toronto, and she’d urged Bucky to give up the fighting and come be safe with them.

He hadn’t, of course. He’d been so naïve back then, with such a hero complex. So of course he’d chosen to stay and fight. It’d gotten him fuck all. But even now, sitting in lukewarm bathwater in Commander Rogers’ house, Bucky can’t bring himself to regret having fought. It’d been the right thing to do. If he hadn’t been captured he’d still be fighting today. He knows it.

He glances down at his body, brings his left leg up out of the sudsy water to thumb at the skin of his thigh. The scar tissue is pale now, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. He runs his fingers over the smooth and bumpy texture of where the bullet had gone (and where it’d been none-too-professionally dug back out), thinking about that last fight. It’d been a shame, he thinks. He could’ve killed a lot more of the bastards if he’d only had a spot up in the trees. But instead he’d been stuffed inside that old tin can of a trailer, only slightly less of a sitting duck than the woman giving birth in the back.

He lets his leg slip back under the water with a sigh.

He never did find out what happened to Jenny or her baby.

“—o’clock today! Attendance is mandatory for all vessels!”

Bucky’s in the supermarket when the announcement rings out, pumped through the speakers out on the street. He can’t hear it clearly from inside the store, so he waits for the cashier to ring up his apples and other produce items. He pays with the appropriate tokens and then goes outside to listen to the announcement.

It’s a particicution they’re announcing, and Bucky’s blood goes cold. Oh god. Not again.

“Ugh, I wanted to go home and take a nap,” Bucky’s assigned walking partner complains as he rejoins him on the sidewalk, his own netted shopping bag filled with fish and ham from the deli next door. “Why can’t they just do this on their own?” he bemoans. “What do they really need us for anyway?”

“It’s to keep us afraid,” Bucky mutters. He still isn’t too sure what Ofjohn’s persuasion is. The entire point of having walking partners is so that they’ll report on each other. Ratting out the misbehaviors and thoughtcrimes of others has become something of a national sport under Gilead, so Bucky can’t be too forward with what he says around Ofjohn. “It’s to remind us what happens to criminals.”

Ofjohn glances at Bucky’s left sleeve that he’s got pinned up. “Like we could forget.”

Bucky’s lips thin but he doesn’t say anything. It’s true. He is a walking reminder for all the other vessels, a glaring billboard that screams: “Fuck up badly enough, and you could wind up like this guy.”

“Better get a move on,” Ofjohn says. He gestures with his shopping basket. “Gotta get this stuff home before it spoils.”

“Right,” Bucky says distractedly. He follows along after the other man, still not sure what to think of his new walking partner.

That afternoon’s particicution is like all the others Bucky’s attended in the past. It takes place in what was once a high school football stadium. With so few children being born since the advent of the fertility crisis, most of the schools have long since been repurposed. Nobody ever said the faithful weren’t resourceful.

Guardians holding the same guns that Bucky used to fight with tell them where to sit, and they all take their places, kneeling in neat lines in front of the stage that’s been erected for the occasion. The stadium’s speakers are blaring Gilead’s national anthem overhead (Bucky’s never learned the words) as if they’re assembled for a celebration, rather than the somber occasion it really is.

A caretaker ascends the stage, a handful of other caretakers at her back. They all smile down at the kneeling vessels like they’re glad to see them there—and hey, Bucky thinks, maybe they actually are. It’s hard to figure out how the minds of the faithful work sometimes.

“Good afternoon!” The lead caretaker says, speaking into the microphone that’s been placed on the stage. “I’m so glad to see you all here. Blessed day!”

“Blessed day!” they all echo back to her. Even Bucky says it, the response rote at this point.

“Good, good.” The caretaker sobers. “Now, we all know why we’re here today. We are one nation, under God. Each and every one of us has a duty in this new, blessed society. Sometimes duty is joyous, but sometimes it is also hard. When we’re confronted with sinners among us, we must remember our duty.” She looks behind the stage and nods to someone unseen. A moment later, two guardians come into view with a handcuffed man between them. They haul the man up onto the stage, and Bucky tenses up at the sight of him.

“Ohmygod,” he breathes, speaking in that quiet, motionless way that all vessels eventually master. He can sense several pairs of eyes sliding his way.

“What?” someone breathes back.

Bucky swallows heavily. “I know him. We went to school together.” He’d been in Bucky’s grade from the time they were kids and all the way through high school: Bradley Barnett. An alpha. Kinda shy. Nice kid, as far as Bucky was ever able to tell. He’d always come directly after Bucky, in alphabetical roll calls.

He looks older now. And drained, as if he’s fought and fought hard, but now all the fight’s gone out of him. He’s got bruises from being beaten already, and his face is all blotchy and tear-stained from crying. But he isn’t crying now. Now, he just looks resigned. Bucky swallows, recognizing that look more than he’d like to admit. He can remember feeling that way, right after they’d pulled the bag off his head and dragged him out of the van and into the red center four years ago. Defeat. That’s the look.

“This man, right here,” the caretaker at the microphone is saying, pointing her finger at Bradley like he’s the scum of the earth. “This man has been convicted of the crime of kidnapping.”

All around, the other vessels start murmuring. There’s shifting and stirring in the neat rows that they’ve formed.

“Quiet please! That’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

Bucky’s eyes drift fearfully back up to the stage, to the guardians holding Bradley’s arms. Oh no, he thinks, dread welling up in his stomach. What are they going to say? What are they going to say he did?

“This man is a rapist.”

The murmuring intensifies.

“He raped a vessel.”

Louder, with a few people crying out, upset. Bucky is holding stock still and feeling sick to his stomach as Bradley hangs limply in the guardians’ hold.

“The vessel was pregnant!”

Louder.

“The baby died!”

Everyone erupts, all the other vessels yelling and crying out in rage. The only thing that keeps them where they sit, Bucky knows, is the multitude of guardians with rifles pointed their way. But they’re all shifting and stirring like caged, furious animals. The woman directly in front of Bucky is so distressed that she’s pulling viciously at her hair.

God, Bucky thinks, wanting to reach out and stop her. Everyone’s gone batty. His eyes shoot back up to the stage. Bradley is trembling now. Bucky wonders if he knows what’s about to happen to him, but decides that the answer is: probably not. He’d be peeing his pants by now, if he knew.

Well, he’ll be finding out soon enough.

“All right everyone. All of you, up up up, quick and orderly!” the caretaker chirps down at them. Bucky rises with the rest of the group and goes to join the large circle in the grass that they always form at events like this. The guardians drag Bradley down from the stage and into the center of the circle, then leave him there. Bucky doesn’t look at Bradley any more. There’s no point. Instead, he taps his fingers together in a staccato against his palm, running his old serial number through his mind on a loop – 32557038, 32557038 – hoping to be sunken deep in his head by the time they have to start this terrible thing they’re about to do.

“You know the rules of a particicution,” the caretaker at the microphone says. “Once I blow my whistle, you may begin. When I blow the whistle again, everyone stops.”

He keeps tapping, keeps cycling through the numbers: 32557038, 32557038, 325570—

The whistle blows, sharp and shrill, and everyone screams and rushes forward.

Bucky doesn’t remember the walk back from the particicution. The first thing that registers is the front door, which he stumbles through, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. He pushes it shut weakly behind himself, shutting the house back up into its usual dimness. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks rhythmically, back and forth. Bucky’s fingers twitch where they hang by his side.

He trails slowly down the hall, head buzzing. He’s got a faint intention of going up to his room, but it’s nascent, only half-formed. He’s just outside of Commander Rogers’ study when the door to the room opens and he steps out. He startles at the sight of Bucky, features quickly melting into a frown. “Bucky? What’s wron—” he breaks off, seeing Bucky’s distressed state, his rumpled clothes, his bloodied hand. “Bucky what happened?” He grabs Bucky’s shoulders and stares at him imploringly. “Bucky? Are you hurt?”

“… No,” Bucky breathes. “M’not.”

“Whose blood is this?” Steve asks, voice urgent. Bucky’s eyes flick up. The look of worry and confusion on Steve’s face is such an oddity. And for some reason, Bucky starts to giggle—only a little at first, and then a lot. Steve’s frown deepens. “What happened?”

Bucky giggles some more. When he’s finally able to stop, he just says, “Particicution,” and then starts giggling again. And it gets really bad as Steve’s face bleeds into understanding, and then pity. The giggles somehow morph into sobs, until Steve’s pulling him forward against his body and Bucky’s crying into his shoulder, the air leaving him in great, heaving gasps. “No, no no,” he hyperventilates. “I had to. We had to.”

“Come on,” Steve says quietly, and pulls Bucky into his office.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, after they’ve been sitting on the office’s opposing couches for some time. Steve’s got a fire roaring in the hearth between them. Its warmth replaces some of the body heat Bucky feels like he’s lost from the shock of the day. Steve’s also placed a blanket around his shoulders, and Bucky grips it tighter about himself as best he can with his one hand. There are still flecks of blood crusted under his fingernails.

“Nothing to say,” Bucky murmurs. “We ripped him apart.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. It’s obvious he’s trying to think of what to say. “It’s not your fault.”

“I tried to kick him in the face,” Bucky says dully, only peripherally aware of how Steve freezes. “It’s what I always do. If you do it hard enough, you can knock ‘em out right away. Before …” He stops and sucks in a trembling breath, determined not to start crying again now that he’s finally gotten himself under control. “Before … the rest.”

Steve sighs. “You tried to spare him, Buck. That's good. You tried to do a good thing.”

“Didn’t work this time,” Bucky mutters. “He was screaming for a while.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but the tension in the air between them feels heavy and oppressive. Silently, he gets up and goes over to the room’s sideboard, uncaps the whiskey and pours from the crystal decanter into one of the matching glasses. He comes back over and sits next to Bucky on the couch. “Here,” he says gently. “If you want.”

Bucky looks at the glass Steve’s offering him and considers it. Any other time he’d probably be shocked and on-guard, wary that this could be another trick, a test. But not now. Now he’s exhausted and the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat sounds like an excellent idea. He releases the blanket from his hand and takes the proffered glass, downing a large sip with a grimace. “Ugh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve knows as well as he does that vessels aren’t allowed to drink alcohol. But Bucky can tell that, much like the reading, this is another little infraction that his Commander is going to allow him. Beside him, Steve sinks back into the couch cushions. “You going to be okay?”

Bucky scoffs quietly. “Gonna have to be, aren’t I?” When Steve doesn’t say anything back, he just shakes his head. “It’s weird. I used to fight in the resistance, you know?” He shrugs his left shoulder, indicating his missing arm. “S’why I lost this.”

“Bucky you don’t have to explain yourself to—”

“I killed a lot of people back then. Dozens and dozens. Shot people from hundreds of yards away, watched their skulls collapse through my scope.” He takes another big, rueful sip of the whiskey. “So you’d think I’d be used to this stuff by now.”

Steve makes a noise of protest. “It’s not the same, Bucky. What they make you all do at those things …” He shakes his head. “It’s traumatic. There’s no way it couldn’t be.”

“Hm.” Bucky nods. “They taught us some things in the resistance. Some simple techniques, for resisting torture.” He glances at Steve. “I tried using them today, to sink into my head.” He stares at the whiskey, swirls what’s left in the glass around a few times, admires the color, and then tilts it back and downs it in a long series of gulps.

“Jesus Bucky.”

He slams the glass down on the coffee table, exhaling harshly and licking his lips. “It didn’t fucking work.”

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swifty-fox · 4 months ago

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WIP TAG GAME: Halloween Fic?

Halloween fic is exactly what it sounds like! It's a Western Faerie Tale Horror with Clegan where John is a cattle rancher and Gale is....something. They fall in love, though it takes a while for them to realize its that and not Gale wanting to eat John. It's going to be coming out in October so I'm plucking away at it now and then

He sets off back towards Clovis and hopes he either dies under the stars or the being loses interest by the time he reaches home.

“What do you want from me?” He asks it that night, watching it prowl along the line of firelight, human knobby knuckled hands on all fours with a too-long canine body. Laughing sharp-toothed grin.

Hungry.

A chill goes through John, icier than any desert night. “Not sure I taste too good,” he drawls, hand on his holster, “Pickled by cheap whiskey and skinny from travels. Perhaps there’s some succulent fat corrupt sheriff you might enjoy more.”

Hungry, the not-coyote not-man insists.

“Well, you can’t eat me, I’ve still got too many barmaids across the state to chase.”

It hurts, sweet-blood.

“Yeah,” John drawls, “You tried that one already.”

Teeth snap, eyes flashing red blue yellow dizzingly and John feels hot blood dribble down his lip as a sudden pain spikes through his head. He stands furiously, kicking sand at that horrifying specter.

“Get out of here! Git goin y’aint fuckin welcome!”

There’s an angry screech, a furred muzzle too bony and long to be anything natural darting into the light out to suckle John’s fallen blood from the dust. It reddens and blisters rapidly, great sores opening up to reveal yellow bone. He draws his sidearm, firing blindly at the shadow and a ear-piercing screech cuts through the desert. It’s enough to drive John to his knees, clapping his hands over his bleeding ears and he roars right back until the horror vanishes. Only him and the stars and living things left.

Morning light reveals a splatter of uncongealed blood trailing off into the wasteland. John doesn’t dare follow it.

He makes it back to Clovis without another sighting of that horrible Fell creature and by mid-winter he can almost forget he’s a man marked for death. Were it not for the finger marks on his wrist he still kept hidden, were it not for the way every coyote howl had him jumping and reaching for his rifle. Were it not for the blue eyes and fish-bone white teeth that stalked the outskirts of his dreams same as they stalked his fire.

#swiftywrites #halloween fic #clegan #mota #buck x bucky

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emberfrostlovesloki · 1 year ago

Text

A for Effort [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (Google) (Center (@hotch-girl) Right (@archaic-stranger)

Prompt: A meet-cute of how Aaron met the non-BAU reader at Penelope’s theater improv group show. And how Aaron accompanies the reader to host her Halloween extra-credit horror movie watch and discussion for her students.

Pairing: Hotch x fem presenting reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns.

Category: Angst/fluff/comfort

Word Count: 8.2K

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence (unsub drugs and beats teenagers, Hotch takes a beating, awkwardness, mention of being cheated on (reader’s boyfriend cheats on her with a best friend), mention of separation, light drinking, unwanted touch (a guy is handsy with the reader), vomit is mentioned (in the context of the film The Exorcist), religious themes, mention of intimacy (sexual touch over the clothes) If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: This one is just me having fun. I did give my students extra credit where we watched a horror movie and discussed the elements of the film. I couldn’t help but picture Aaron there with me, so I wrote this. I teach English but I’ve made this story that there could be a plethora of subjects. I really like the meet-cute element of this story. It was fun to write. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Below I have included some cultural definitions for my international readers. If you’re from the States, especially the South and you know what dance halls and cotilion are, then feel free to skip this. I just want to make sure my readers feel included. Please know I am not good at line dancing or swing dancing - I do ballet to this is not my personal dance style. Lastly, before I sign off, you can vote for the next Aaron story you want from me at this post (linked). I hope you have a great night - Love Levi

Definitions

Dance Hall: An enclosed space with a dance floor, a stage for live music, and a bar (normally). The space is pretty age-inclusive and most music is country. Couples and singles come and often mix and match partners. Some people go to show off their skills here. The dances are normally line dances or swing dancing which relies a lot on improv. The lighting is normally dimmed, though not as much as at a nightclub.

Cotillion: Essentially manners class. These can be after school or on the weekends. It’s associated with the debutant circle and court.

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/l/g/s_ = your local grocery store

_y/e/c_ = your eye color.

_y/f/a(s)/s_ = your favorite art (or science) subject - aka English, film, art, psychology, etc.

_y/u_ = your university

_y/s’s/d’s/b_ = your subject’s department’s building

Aaron sat down in the second to last folding chair with a very small grunt. The sound was so quiet that Spencer, who was on his right side, didn’t even notice that he had made it. The last case had seen Hotch tracking down a stalker who was preying on teenage girls, drugging and beating them severely before dumping their bodies on the steps of their parent's houses to be found the next morning. Aaron had experienced the strength of the forty-seven-year-old unsub as they had sprinted down an alleyway. The team had gotten to the fifth victim just in time. With Rossi, Spencer, and Emily taking care of the teen, Aaron and Morgan gave chase on foot. When both met a crossroads, each took a path. Aaron took the sidewalk to the left. Using all of his strength, Hotch had been able to catch up to the unsub. When they reached a dead end, the power balance changed. The unsub, Kevin Leery, realized his only means of escape was fighting his way out. The man quickly turned before Aaron, who was now pretty winded from all the running, could pull his sidearm. Hotch had been victorious, though, by the state of his aching body, he might not say so. Rossi had called the paramedics for him. The medics assured Rossi and the team, more than himself, that he would be fine in a few days. That there were no broken bones, just some bruised ribs, and a pretty battered left hand. Aaron’s attention shifted as there seemed to be movement behind the small curtain that was waiting to be raised. Hotch was glad for this distraction. He needed his mind on other things than his body. When Garcia had taken up improv as a hobby, the whole team was on board. Especially Morgan. Derek, at least twice a week would say, “Now Babygirl, when do we get to see a performance?” Penelope would blush and say, “When we’re ready. You can’t rush talent, and the whole troupe is still getting everyone else's vibe.” Aaron would give a small smile that he tried to hide when he overheard these conversations. Improv felt like the perfect art for his technical analyst. When the first performance was announced, Garcia printed fliers and invited the whole team to come and watch the show and then grab dinner afterward. Everyone had joyfully agreed. Aaron had marked the date on his personal calendar over a month out. He ensured that Jack could be at Hailey’s that day. The anticipation grew as the one-night performance loomed. Garcia had said a few things about breaking the fourth wall and audience participation. Hotch was sure that whoever was picked wouldn’t be him. Garcia knew him too well to let that happen. Part of him wanted whoever was making that choice pick to Derek. He thought it would be fun to see his friend on stage attempting to play an act. And Aaron knew that Morgan was easy-going enough to play along with whatever the group had him do.

Aaron’s thoughts were pulled from the curtain and any movement that may or may not be going on behind it as someone tapped his shoulder and asked, “Sorry is this seat taken?” Hotch’s eyes snapped to the woman who was standing in the small aisle of the tiny theater the improv group had rented out for the evening. Aaron’s gaze looked into the inquisitive face of the stranger, and he said, “Yes, I mean no, No it’s not. Feel free to sit here. Sorry.” Hotch wasn’t sure why he was being stuttery all of a sudden. Most of it was probably because the woman who was now settling into the chair very close to his was incredibly beautiful. However, what Hotch told himself was that this mystery woman was holding flowers and he wasn’t. Hotch stopped himself from face-palming. He had forgotten to bring flowers for Penelope. He would profusely apologize after and then pay whatever amount he needed to get a florist to drop off an arraignment when he got back home. The woman next to him with some trepidation given his recent slip. She made one final shift, as she set her purse and the flowers on the ground in front of her and pulled out the program for the two-act play. While doing this, she inadvertently brushed her thigh up against his. Aaron felt a rush through his body at the contact. Very quietly the woman said, “Sorry.” Hotch looked over, and she was looking at him as if she was making sure he was alright for the unintended contact. Hotch gave a small nod and said, “Don’t worry about it.” After the contact, the person sitting next to him seemed to be the only thing he could focus on. She had pulled her legs and body tight into the chair, to not touch him again. The light scent of her perfume washed over him with her body heat. They were just an inch or two apart, and Hotch couldn’t help but observe her as she flipped through the program with an interest. To not seem weird or be caught staring, Aaron looked to his right at the team. If Spencer had noticed his odd behavior, the boy-wonder wasn’t letting on. But when Hotch’s eyes moved one chair over, Rossi looked at him with eyebrows raised. This time Aaron couldn't stifle the sigh that he let out at seeing Dave’s expression. His best friend on the team was always on to him about lighting up. About living a little. Aaron always rebuffed these comments. He thought he lived plenty -- and nearly died in the field more than that. All of these conversations, stated or unstated, had started a respectful time after Hailey had left him. Hotch was sure Rossi, and the whole team had seen that his marriage had been crumbling as much as he did. Maybe they saw it before he did. If they had, they didn’t say anything about it apart from Dave, and one very kind comment from Emily. Prentiss had asked him one day late in the office, “Are you alright, Aaron?” It was a hypothetical question, and he replied, “I think I am. Thank you for asking, Em.” They had left it at that. Aaron still thought about that comment sometimes. There was a small movement from the companion to his left like they had heard his sigh and stilled their movements because of it. Aaron willed himself to not look back at the woman. Thankfully the lights dimmed and the curtain raised.

The play was about a man who worked at an office and was slowly losing his mind. The program said the idea was loosely based on the short story, “Bartleby the Scrivener” by Melville. Garcia played the perky secretary who was always badgering the lead about this private life. The play was funny. The dynamic between the actors was natural as they riffed off each other and the confines of the small narrative being built between them. As the first act ramped to conflict with the lead, a youthful-looking man with a mustache broke the fourth wall and said, “But Maddison," which was Penelope’s character’s name, "there’s something I haven’t told you. I have a fiance! And they’re in the room with us” The small crowd in the room all took an intake of breath at the revelation. Suddenly everyone in the small assembled crowd looked at each other. Penelope said, “Well get her up here this instant! I’ve got to meet her. She must be mental if she’s in love with you.” There was a second that with bated horror, that Aaron thought the lead was going to point at him. But the man’s pointer finger pointed at the woman sitting next to him. All eyes turned to her. Aaron could see her deflate a tiny bit. As the man on stage said, “Come up here, beloved. Come and meet the source of my madness.” The woman got up and as she moved toward the stage, he guessed that the protagonist hadn’t informed her beforehand that this would be happening. In the back of his mind, Aaron thought, “What a dick move.” The man helped the woman up onto the stage. She was wearing a skirt, and she was more careful that she didn’t flash anyone as she was hoisted up on the stage than the man helping her upward. At seeing this, something small in Aaron twitched up comfortably. When the woman was on stage, Penelope rushed forward and hugged the woman. Aaron could see that Pen had also seen what he had. Hotch could see in Garcia’s embrace both an act and a real gesture of comfort. Garcia pulled back and asked, “So, you’re cooped up with this old bat all hours of the day and night? How are you coping with that?” There was a tense silence while the audience waited for the woman to respond. The lead moved toward the woman, and his right hand found purchase on her lower back. The woman seemed to lean into the touch. Aaron immediately assumed that the two were a couple. It would make sense if the mustache man had picked her. The silence persisted. It lay heavy over the crowd. It became awkward as the woman looked at the man and the audience. Her eyes shone with anxiety. Finally, the man said, “Have nothing to say about me, darling?” At this, finally, the woman said, looking directly, intently at the man, “Oh sweetness, I could go on and on, and on about you. I just don’t think your friend would like what I have to say.” As soon as that line was uttered, the curtain fell, signaling the short intermission.

The crowd cheered and applauded as the cast and the woman were veiled. Aaron could hear Emily and JJ, and Derek and Rossi’s conversations about the show so far. They sounded so happy. As Hotch offered a comment to Spencer about the intricacies of Melville’s writing and how it related to the performance, he couldn’t help but think how the woman, when giving her one line had been acting as well. But some small part of her tone had indicated that it wasn’t all an act. That fact gnawed at Aaron like a dog on a bone. The intermission was short, only about fifteen minutes long. As the minutes ticked by, Hotch waited for the woman to return to her seat. After what felt like an eternally long ten minutes, she reappeared and moved down the row to her seat. Hotch offered her a hand as she steeped with high heels around her purse, program, and flowers to take her seat. Aaron looked at her closely as she sat. It was clear to Aaron that she was less joyful than she had been before the show had started. The woman’s makeup was smudged a bit, and he wondered if she had been crying during the brief break. When she was seated, Hotch removed his hand and the woman, very quietly said, ‘Thank you.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Of course.” The man had mentioned engagement on stage, and he couldn’t help himself from looking for a ring on her left hand. He found none. His wedding ring sat heavy in a box on his bedside table, reminding him of his personal shortcomings. For one tiny moment, his heart ached for his woman. Whatever it was she was going through. Aaron rarely allowed himself to have these extraneous emotions, but in the here and now, he couldn’t seem to stop them. The repetition of the lights dimming and the curtain raising once more stopped any further thoughts on the matter. The second half of the play was as funny as the first as the lead slowly lost his sanity and refused to leave the office, even under the direct order of his boss. Subliminally, Aaron felt called out at that element of the storyline. When the play ended there was thunderous applause and a standing ovation was given to the cast. Everyone slowly filtered out of the room and Hotch noticed as the woman moved to the front of the stage and kissed the lead on the mouth, handing her flowers over to him. Aaron turned his head away at the moment of intimacy between the couple. Something about what had happened during the play didn’t sit right with him, but who was he to comment on relationships?

At the dinner after the show, Pen was showered with the praise she deserved. When things had quieted down, Aaron had over-apologized about not bringing flowers, and Garcia had wholly forgiven him. He asked in a more subdued voice, “So the lead, Richard, he chose who in the audience got called up on stage?” Hotch tried to sound nonchalant but wasn’t sure if he was being convincing. Garcia didn’t seem to notice, and replied, “Yeah. He called his girlfriend, obviously. I’ve had a few conversations with _y/n_ before and after rehearsals. She’s really sweet, and too good for Rich if I’m being honest. I don’t think she appreciated being called out like that.” Aaron nodded as a few more pieces seemed to click into place in his mind. The night wound down, and Hotch managed to get some flowers to Penelope around midnight. It might have cost him $83.75, but it was worth it to get Pen’s text, with a picture attached of the bouquet thanking him profusely. Pen included every flower emoji available in the message. As Aaron got ready to sleep, his thoughts shifted to the woman. He thought back to Garcia’s comments and remembered her name: _y/n_. As he drifted into sleep, he hoped that she was alright. She was happy.

Neither _y/n_or Aaron expected to see the other ever again. But they did a month later. Hotch was doing his weekly grocery shopping at _y/l/g/s_. The person in front of him in line for the check-out had a scant four items on the conveyor belt. The items were a bottle of wine, some strawberries, a bar of 75% dark chocolate, and a dozen pink roses. Hotch sighed softly and thought, ‘At least someone’s having a good time tonight.’ As the woman who looked oddly familiar to him got to the cashier, they rifled through her purse to find their credit card. She softly said, “Shit.” The cashier told her her total of $25.47. The woman said, “I’m sorry I forgot my wallet in my office. Please just put everything back. Sorry for the inconvenience.” At hearing the woman speak, Aaron recognized the voice of the woman who had sat next to him at Penelope’s performance. The woman seemed to be ready to leave, but Aaron stopped her and said, “I’ve got it.” The woman looked over at him and recognized him immediately. _y/n_, “Oh, No. You don’t have to do that.” Hotch gave her a reassuring smile and replied, “Really, it’s no problem.” He added, “You did very good while onstage by the way. You handled it with grace.” The woman flushed. She said a soft, “Thanks.” After a second, she extended her hand and said, “y/n_, _l/n_.” Aaron took her hand and replied, “Aaron, Hotchner.” _y/n_’s palm was warm in his hand. Lost in the moment, and the woman’s eyes. Hotch asked, “Date night?” At hearing this, _y/n_ seemed to cringe a little bit, and he wondered what he had said wrong. From the small assortment of things _y/n_ was attempting to buy, date night seemed to check out. Date night with Rich, as Pen had said last month. Hotch stopped from sighing at the idea. The woman replied a beat later, “It’s a pity party, actually.” Hearing this, Aaron’s eyes furrowed. _y/n_ quickly clarified, “Let me reframe that in a more positive light. I am taking myself on a date.” There was an awkward silence after that statement and a more awkward cough from the cashier. Aaron stepped up and pulled his card from his wallet in the back left pocket of his jeans. Once he had paid for _y/n_’s groceries, the cashier started scanning his items. The young employee had started to put his groceries in the same bag as _y/n_’s items. Aaron thought about saying something, but he stopped himself. The young man working the till seemed flustered, and he didn’t want to add to the man’s distress. It would be okay if he paid for both groceries and their groceries, and then he could separate _y/n_’s items from his own. _y/n_ stood nearby, tentatively. Once Aaron had paid for his things he grabbed another plastic bag. He shifted through his own items to find _y/n_’s. As he put the four products into the new bag, he had to ask, “‘Pity party?’” Hotch missed the large flush and look of shame on _y/n_’s face as she said candidly, “My boyfriend, ex-boyfriend.. Rich. He kinda cheated on me with my best friend. It’s a whole thing.” Hotch couldn’t help himself from cringing at her honesty. At how painful that must have been for _y/n_. All that Aaron’s brain could supply was a soft, “I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.” _y/n_ shrugged her shoulders and said, “I mean, all of my friends and colleagues know. I don’t know why it would be much worse with you in the loop too. Plus you bought me my stuff and I appreciate that.” Aaron flushed again saying, “It’s really nothing given the circumstances.” He held his tongue after that. He had already said too much. Hotch couldn’t figure out where his brain went when he was near _y/n_, but it wasn’t his normal calm and composed self, that’s for sure.

Aaron let _y/n_ go to her car to not hold her up from her ‘date night.’ The recesses of Hotch’s brain wished he could get in the car with _y/n_ and join her in whatever activities she had planned for herself that evening. Hotch reprimanded himself for the thought. _y/n_ had just experienced a real pain, a hurt to the soul, and here he was longing after her like a puppy looking for some attention. For a pat on the back. Using more effort than he wished he had to, Aaron let the moment, the feelings for _y/n_ go. He had to for his well-being. He was certain that it was just fate that he and _y/n_ had bumped into each other twice. As Aaron drove back to his place and unloaded his groceries into his fridge, he found the receipt from the store. The four items from _y/n_ stood out at the top of the waxy paper. Again, he let all of those emotions, which he refused to address, go. Aaron fiddled with the buttons on his shirt and then took off his pants, as he moved into his bedroom. He decided to take a shower to clear his thoughts. Maybe to get another kind of relief that he had been missing since Hailey’s departure. Under the cascade of warm water, Aaron let go with his body and, as he began to dry his form with a warm towel, he cleansed his mind of impure thoughts. He wanted to sleep with an empty mind. One that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As he drifted off, Hotch hoped _y/n_ had also found some kind of release that night.

Another month and a half passed before they had their third meeting. It had been the worst team bonding training of all time. The presenter had cheery slides and made high-school-level references to trust and honesty between team members and cohorts. JJ, Rossi, and Morgan had all looked at him with clear disbelief at what they were being subjected to in the hour-long training. When the presenter mentioned something about a trust fall, Aaron almost lost his cool. He could deal with many things, the long hours, the gore he saw weekly, the stress of leading the team, and his eyestrain, but he drew the line at being forced to endure this. He looked over his team with eyebrows drawn taught. When he looked at Garcia she was laughing unabashedly. The presenter was looking at Penelope unsure of himself. Aaron shot Garcia a look that said, “Please, stop now,” even though he wanted to join in on the hilarity of the situation. Once the team had been released from the presenter’s lecture, Hotch gathered the team and said, “Well I promise you all, that…” He gesticulated with his hands, demonstrating, that training, “will never happen again. If you want some real team bonding let's go to that dance hall Emily keeps trying to get us to go to tonight.” Hearing this Prentiss flushed, but she had been saying that it was a really good time and it was. Emily had had a few great evenings at the new dance hall. After a moment of silence, Rossi said, “Here, here. I for one need a stiff drink after whatever that was.” The whole team seemed to relax after this. At eight-thirty, the team arrived at the venue. The space was large and the lot was full for a Tuesday evening. Everyone had changed except Aaron, who had come straight from the office. He had ditched his jacket in the trunk of his car. His suggestion had been an attempt to take Rossi’s advice to lighten up. As soon as he entered the crowded space, he realized that he had miscalculated. Everyone on the floor, those seated at the benches and tables on the sidelines, and those getting drinks at the bar were dressed very casually. His slacks and loafers didn’t belong here. As a way to deflect from making him the odd man out, Aaron offered to get the first round of drinks. As he got the orders from the team, he moved to the bar, and some of the BAU members, Emily, JJ, and Morgan, found partners and moved to the wooden dance floor. With a slew of drinks in tow. Hotch moved back to his friends and colleagues. Rossi, Penelope, and Spencer took a few sips, as they watched the dancers move to the country music. Aaron knew that this was mostly a Southern culture thing, but he understood that dancing was a universal pleasure, even if he wasn’t particularly good at it. His mother had signed him up for cotillion classes in high school and he reluctantly went every week for a month. His mom had wanted him to grow up the perfect gentleman, and even though he maybe hadn’t picked up all the dance moves, he thought he succeeded pretty well at the rest of it.

As the songs changed there seemed to be some excitement at the center of the floor. A couple was dancing with skill and the other dancers gave them room to improvise their steps and tricks. It was showing off for showing off’s sake. As Aaron looked over the pair on the floor he recognized the woman as _y/n_ from the play and the store. His eyes widened and Hotch looked at Penelope who was also watching _y/n_ with rapt wonder. Aaron turned his eyes back to the floor and the woman was pushed, pulled, dipped, and raised in a multitude of ways and speeds. As _y/n_ was raised in the air, supported by strong arms on her hips, a few cheers came from the crowd and fellow dancers. The woman even waved her hand in acknowledgment of the praise. Uplifted and in the spinning lights, she looked so happy, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Unlike her time on stage, she looked like she belonged up there, floating on air. Hotch felt himself flush all over and he looked away for a second. Rossi watched Aaron’s reaction with more than a little interest. After the song was over there was a small bit of applause at the skill put on display for the crowd. The talented man that had been dancing with _y/n_ kissed her on the cheek chastely. From what Aaron could see, the two were just friends or maybe dance partners, but not much more. Of course, he couldn’t hear what _y/n_ said to him, but as she turned toward Hotch’s group, there were no signs of arousal in her face or body, just unabated joy. Aaron hadn’t seen her this happy before, and he flushed again. Aaron internally told himself to ‘get a grip.' _y/n_ walked toward their table, not noticing them yet.

As she got closer Penelope called out for her saying, “Hey _y/n_, what a surprise to see you here!” The woman looked up and spotted Garcia and beamed. _y/n_ quickly moved over to the huddle of FBI agents and said, “Heya, Pen. What are you doing here?” _y/n_ looked over Rossi, Spencer, and then at Hotch. Her eyes grew a bit wider at seeing him and she said, “And you…” It took her a moment to remember Aaron’s name. When it came to her, she continued, “Aaron.” _y/n_ looked between Garcia and Hotch and asked, “Y’all know each other?” Penelope, ever the enthusiastic conversationalist said, “We all work together. This is my team.” Garica pointed to each of them saying their names. Spencer smiled at _y/n_ when his name was mentioned and Rossi shook her hand warmly. As Aaron’s name came up, _y/n_ gave a soft smile and she said, “It’s nice to see you again, Aaron.” He swallowed and said, “It’s nice to see you too.” And it was nice. To see her so radiant made him feel good. _y/n_, Garcia, and Rossi talked a bit about her dancing abilities and she seemed to shy away from her talent. Garcia couldn’t help herself and asked, “Did you ever take Richard here?” Hotch froze for a moment, unsure if Garcia was aware of the breakup. _y/n_’s soft snort made him feel better as she said, “Are you kidding me? He refused to come because I was better than him at dancing and other people wanted to interact with me. All four pairs of eyes were on her as _y/n_ shared some of her personal life with them. For a team of highly skilled profilers, having someone be so open was a bit strange. Penelope helped cut the feeling and said, “Of course he wouldn’t. The man really needs to get over his own ego. He complained about you and whined for a mouth at least during practice. He still talks about it. Honestly, he’s pathetic.” Garcia saying this had _y/n_ laughing and replied, “Tell me about it. I wished I’d seen it sooner, but c’est la vie I guess.” Penelope nodded along, and after a moment _y/n_ said, “Well I’m going to grab a drink at the bar, but I’ll swing by later if you’re still around. It was nice to see some of you again, and to meet you, Dr. Reid and Dave.” The team all said some form of “see you later,” as she moved away from them. As she passed Hotch, he gave her one of his rare smiles, or more like she had drawn the smile from him. Again Rossi noticed.

Three songs later _y/n_ was back on the dance floor with a much less skilled dancer. The man had his hands all over _y/n_ after the first minute of music and _y/n_ was constantly moving his hands up, or stopping them from moving lower. She had said twice and to “cut it out” but the man was not listening to her. Hotch and Rossi watched as it happened. Both men felt uncomfortable with what was happening. After another minute, _y/n_ pulled back and away from the man, telling him off. Her face was set in a more sour look as she moved to the sidelines and away from her temporary partner. The man sought to follow her, but Hotch was out of his seat as he watched the situation unfold before him. Rossi breathed a sigh of relief as his friend did this because he was about to do the same and he felt that _y/n_ might be a bit more comfortable with Aaron than himself. Hotch cut the man off from moving any closer to _y/n_ and said with a clear, firm, and determined voice, “Out. Now.” The man didn’t argue and Aaron wasn’t sure if it was his fancy dress or the look on his face, but either way, the man left. Hotch followed him with a searing glare until he left the establishment. Once the guy was gone, he turned to _y/n_ she looked at him with half awe half admiration. He couldn’t pinpoint the second emotion, but it wasn’t negative and that’s what mattered to him. He took two steps closer, getting close to her. He leaned down a bit and asked, “_y/n_, are you alright?” When he looked at her this closely he could see a warmth in her _y/e/c_ eyes. She nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. Unfortunately, that kind of behavior can be par for the course here. Asking total strangers for a dance means not all of them are fantastic people.” Hotch nodded, saying, “Well it still doesn’t make it right.” _y/n_ felt her breath hitch a bit as he said this. He said it with sincerity like he really meant it. _y/n_ had seen plenty of guys try to defend her honor or other cliches like that just to go and disrespect her themselves. She didn’t sense that at all in the tall man standing in front of her. _y/n_ was also impressed with his commanding presence. It had only taken two words to make the man flee the scene. Two. Words. She wondered what else he could do with his voice alone. _y/n_ flushed and looked to the floor for a second. The fact didn’t pass Aaron by. After a second, _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “Can I pay you back for your help with a drink or a dance? I haven’t seen you out on the floor yet. I’d be happy to partner with you if you like?” Hotch shifted a little, suddenly a bit embarrassed. He didn’t feel like another drink. He normally stuck to one or two, and he’d already had a second beer. He wanted to dance with _y/n_ but his two left feet didn’t seem too convinced that he could cut it with someone as skilled as _y/n_. _y/n_ could see his hesitation and said, “I can lead if you like. We can do just real easy steps.” Aaron looked at her and saw that she wouldn’t be embarrassed with him. She genuinely wanted to be with him like that. Hotch flushed again, more lightly this time, and he said, “Alright, I’ll do my best to not trip over my own feet.” _y/n_ chuckled as they took his hand and led him to a quieter part of the floor. A bit away from the team, which Hotch was grateful for; though he was sure the team was probably watching him. He didn’t blame them, he’d watch too if he could.

The dance went well. _y/n_ turned out to be a skilled instructor for him. He did try very hard to follow the steps and let _y/n_ improv off his lacking moves. At one point _y/n_ even let him do a little spin, which was very awkward given how much taller he was than her. He had to let go of her hand to make the 360-degree rotation. They had both laughed good-naturedly at how silly it was. When he was being treated like this, Aaron didn’t mind not having control. After another song, the music took a sudden change from country and swing to slow sensual music. _y/n_ let his hands go and took a step back. Aaron looked around, not sure why there had been such a dramatic change. People were slow dancing now and he looked to _y/n_ for clarity. _y/n_ gave him a gentle smile and said, “The last hour is always slow music so those who don’t like swing dancing or line dancing get a turn. I think it’s nice. Inclusive in a way. Aaron nodded and said, “Oh.” He stood still for a moment. He looked to the ground for an instant wondering how he was going to ask if she wanted to continue to dance. Because he did want to keep dancing with her. When he looked up, she was looking at him. _y/n_ was biting down lightly on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t see that her pupils were blown wide with desire. Her fingers were tapping against her leg lightly. _y/n_ wanted Aaron’s hands back in hers. Or behind her back while her arms rested on his shoulders. She wanted to be inexplicably close to him at that moment. Hotch didn’t say anything, didn’t need to say anything as he bridged the gap between them. His hands found purchase on her hips and _y/n_’s hand moved up to his shoulders. His hands glided over his chest softly. Aaron closed his eyes, and they both moved on instinct. With what was comfortable for them. _y/n_ melted into his touch, and his large hands gently landed on her body. They were warm and held her firmly like he was afraid that she might slip away if he let go. _y/n_ would be happy to reassure him that she would likely follow him to the ends of the earth even though she had only met him three times before. Aaron’s cologne smelled of rye and spruce, but it wasn’t the overpowering stuff teens and insecure men used with a heavy hand. This was refined. Elevated. It took a lot of what she had in her to not rest her head on his chest and take a deep breath. After two more songs, Aaron looked down at her and she seemed so at peace with him holding her close. And for the first time in a very long time, he leaped before he looked, as he leaned down further. He was slow, giving _y/n_ time to stop him, but she didn’t. Instead, she tipped her head up to meet his lips. The kiss was soft, respectful of how new and potentially strange this was, but neither could deny that the feeling was blissful. Hotch didn’t even care that JJ, Garcia, and Emily all had their mouths open in pure shock at his actions.

_y/n_ and Aaron’s relationship moved at a normal pace. As much as they had both been drawn to each other the night they had first kissed, both parties wanted to give the other space. To make sure things were comfortable and natural. _y/n_ wasn’t the type to commit to anything without fulling thinking and feeling it out. Aaron was the same for obvious reasons. But they had found a love and care between them, along with a passion that _y/n_ and Hotch had pretty much expected given the events the night at the dance hall. They both learned about each other, their jobs, and the intricacies of their lives. And after all that _y/n_ still wanted him, and Aaron was amazed at how nice it was to have someone steady to lean on. To care for while he wasn’t working. Someone had loved him back as intensely. As it turned out _y/n_ lectured _y/f/a(s)/s_ at _y/u_. And because of this, he was driving toward the university campus in _y/n_’s car with her in the passenger seat. They were chatting about his day in the office. Aaron was recounting some stories of Reid’s and _y/n_ listened with rapt attention. Hotch was being careful with his driving as it was near the college, which meant freshman with cars they hardly needed, and those partying a little too hard on Halloween night. They got onto campus proper and _y/n_ directed him to the parking lot. He had asked her if she wanted to take his car and she had reminded him that she had the faculty sticker on her windshield and he didn’t. She teased, “I don’t even think your FBI ID would persuade parking services. They are relentless in their mission.” Hotch had laughed at this and she warmed at hearing it. Aaron’s laugh sounded like a river running over smooth stones to her. It was gentle and mellow. Once they had parked, the pair moved to the _y/s’s/d’s/b_. The doors were still open given that some grad classes were still being held.

Three weeks ago Aaron had asked her if she was doing anything on Halloween and if she wanted to spend the evening with him. As _y/n_ listened to his question, she sighed and said, “I’m holding an extra credit opportunity for my students. We’re watching The Exorcist and then discussing it, but being with you sounds so nice. You could sit with me while we watch it and then hang out at my place after? That is if you don’t have Jack of course. Let’s not terrorize him so early on.” Hotch let out a breathy laugh and said, “Jack’s going to be with Hailey at some school trunk or treat event and he’s staying at her place to sleep off the sugar high. You’d let me sit in with you? In front of your students?” _y/n_ let out a little breath. She hadn’t expected him to say yes. She replied quickly, happily, “Of course I would! I mean most of my students know I have a partner, they might as well see you. And you can tell off students trying to canoodle while Regan gets possessed as have my eyes tightly shut.” Hotch chuckled and said, “Well I’ll leave the disciplining up to you, but I’m happy to be moral support and to calm your fear.” So they made the plans now they were walking the mostly empty hallways and up to the third floor. _y/n_ beeped into the faculty work room to print out the sign-in sheet and a guide for the most scary parts of the film for those who were like her; a scardey cat. As she moved into the small space and logged in to the computer, Aaron leaned against the door frame, filling the space. As the copies printed, she looked up at him and said, “I wish you’d follow me around all the time when I work. You could be a ghost haunting me.” Aaron smiled and said, “If I followed you around you’d soon learn that I’d fail your class. And we can’t have that, now can we?” The copies finished and _y/n_ grabbed them saying, “I’ve seen your writing, Aaron you are more than competent.” Hotch moved out of the way and his hand found hers as they moved to the lecture hall. _y/n_ had reserved the space because she expected a good turnout, the screen was large, and the audio system was reliable. _y/n_ asked Hotch to prop open the door with a chair. While he did this, she moved to the technology at the front of the room to the left of the lectern. _y/n_ signed into her Amazon and pulled up the film, checking the audio levels and turning on the closed captions for those who might need them. Aaron moved to _y/n_ and offered to take her purse for her. She smiled and nodded and he moved to the back of the room. He sat down near the center of the row. He called out across the space, “This good?” _y/n_ nodded and said back in a clear voice that carried in the space, “Perfect sweetheart.”

_y/n_ continued to stand at the front of the room and after another minute or so some students started to ramble in. _y/n_ instructed them to sign in on the sheet near the door. Many of the students had brought friends, roommates, boyfriends, or girlfriends along for moral support, or to laugh at the scary bits. _y/n_ had some casual conversations with some of the students and Aaron watched on with admiration. It was clear to him that _y/n_ had a connection with these young adults trying to figure life out for the first time. A few of the students noticed Aaron sitting at the back of the room, but none of them said anything to him or sat near him. It finally hit 7:30 p.m., and _y/n_ said, “Alright everyone, thanks for coming out. Let’s get going with the movie so you can all go out to the square or you’re older friends’s parties I’m not going to hear about on Thursday. Remember we’re paying attention so we can answer questions after.” Hearing this, the kids let out some laughs and chuckles. _y/n_ nearly forgot about the guides and said quickly, “Does anyone want a sheet with timestamps for the scares? Any other wimps out there like me?” There was silence and _y/n_ laughed at herself and said, “Alright guys, but don’t blame me when you have bad dreams tonight.” With that, _y/n_ started the film and moved to the door. She removed the chair and switched off the lights so the only light remaining was the two glowing exit signs on either side of the room. _y/n_ moved back to him and took a seat on his left side. It was dark and they were in the back, so she slipped her hand into his He gave it a gentle squeeze. True to her word, _y/n_ did close her eyes during some of the more difficult points of the movie. Now and then there would be some quiet chatter from the students. Some got up and opened the door to use the restroom. One student made it back to them to say they wanted to leave early to “go to their dorm.” _y/n_ smiled at the girl and said, “Okay, just make sure you’re signed in.” The teen nodded and said, “Thanks. See you Thursday.” At the end of the film, as Father Karras passes away, Hotch looks over _y/n_’s face. Her eyes were a bit misty. She had warned him that she got emotional at the end. She had looped him in because she didn’t want him to worry that she was so scared that she was crying, or crying for some other unknown reasons. As the credit started rolling, _y/n_ wiped her eyes and she moved to the front of the room.

She paused the movie and said, “Alright everyone, shield your eyes, the lights are coming back on.” Once the lights were on and everyone could see again, _y/n_ moved to the side of the lectern and leaned against it. She started by saying, “I’m going to make this quick because I’m sure there are places you want to be that aren’t here, and because I’m tired.” Hotch half knew that she wanted to be with him too, and it made him smile. _y/n_ asked, “So, what’s the tone of the film?” There was a brief silence, but then a young man said, “It’s camp.” That got a laugh from everyone and then opened the door for the class to bounce some ideas off each other. They spoke about theme and religion, and whether Regan or Chris acted as the final girl. They talked about Father Karra’s characterization and story arc. _y/n_ helped lead the conversation, but let her students talk and express their views. She asked, “So we’ve read the novel and seen the film and talked about the religious symbolism and overtones. So tell me what in the film is transubstantiated?” At this, there was a lingering silence. One girl offered, “Regan’s vomit?” _y/n_ chuckled and said, “Close, anyone else?” Aaron couldn’t help himself, because he also wanted to know the answer, so he said, “Is it Regan herself?” His comment reverberated to the front and twenty-one pairs of eyes turned to him. Hotch felt called out, but _y/n_ pulled the the student’s attention back to her by saying, “Yes very good. Now I can’t claim anything about authorial intent, but in my opinion, Regan is transubstantiation a literal transformation of her body and blood.”

_y/n_ quickly wrapped up the extra credit after that. A few minutes later Hotch and _y/n_ were back outside and headed to her car. They had stopped her her office for her to pick up a stack of papers that needed to be graded. Aaron smiled when he saw a picture of him and Jack pinned to the wall next to her degree. He leaned down and kissed her gently. As they pulled back, he said, “I love you, _y/n_.” _y/n_ hummed happily back at him. In the cold night, they moved across the campus grounds. It was dark and Aaron wrapped an arm around _y/n_’s waist, pulling her close to him. They passed by one of the emergency stations which looked to be broken. He looked down to _y/n_ and asked, “You keep a taser on you when you’re here at night, right?” _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “I carry pepper spray. I haven’t gotten a taser yet, but I will.” Hotch nodded as they walked into the parking garage. Aaron had done loads of research about the safety of the university once _y/n_ had told him where they worked. He had seen too many cases on college campuses to not be concerned for _y/n_’s safety. When they got back to the car, Aaron opened the door for _y/n_. She settled in and he moved to his seat. He turned on the heater and they cruised out onto the street. They talked a bit about the film, and Aaron asked why she cried at the end. What it meant to her. _y/n_ did her best to explain the real love and sacrifice Karras made to save Regan. How seeing Pazuzu restored his faith. _y/n_ made sure to clarify, “Even if a person doesn’t have faith, or that type of faith, I think pretty much anyone can see that he was finally at peace at the end.” Aaron nodded along, listening to her intently. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Hotch asked, “So, how did I do Prof? Was my answer to your question actually right?” _y/n_ chuckled and said “I think you were right. Regan’s transformation was literal and it was the answer I was hoping for.” She looked over Aaron, his face lit by the streetlamps and dashboard. He was so beautiful to her and she added, “I give you an A for effort.” Hotch smiled at her comments, saying, “I’m happy to help. And hey, an A. You’ll make a good student of me yet.”

When they got to her place, they moved to the front door and _y/n_ pulled her keys from her purse and let them in. The bowl she had left out that had been filled with candy was now running low, and even though it was late, there weren’t going to be many more kids. _y/n_ moved to the counter and dumped more candy into the container. With that done, she locked the door behind her. Aaron and _y/n_ moved to her room and kicked off their shoes and socks. They changed into comfy clothes before crawling into bed. Three months into their relationship, they both kept a few pairs of clothes in the other’s space. In the bed, they were next to each other, the back of _y/n_’s head resting on his chest, her body positioned between his opened legs. Hotch’s hands moved over her chest and torso before moving lower slowly. He watched _y/n_ in the soft light of her lamps. Seeing her like this, seeing her care for her students, and for him made him nuzzle his face in her hair. It smelled of vanilla. As Aaron’s hand moved to a more intimate place, _y/n_’s intake of breath told him that she enjoyed what he was doing. She had told him many, many times that he was skilled in that area. The thought of her praise had him excited in his pants. Hotch asked in a low voice, full of desire, “Do you think I can get something more for my insightful comments than a hypothetic A?” _y/n_ squirmed a bit with pleasure before moving out between his legs. She moved to face him and kneeled in front of him. As her hand started moving over him and he let out a groan, she said, “For you Aaron, I’d do anything.”

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