#putting this in my back pocket for a rainy day

[jen-with-a-pen]

HOLY SHIT THANK YOU????!!!?!???!??

This made my weekend!!!! AAHHH thank you thank you thank you for the lovely words and review!!! I'm so proud of this one, it means a lot :')

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n-0n-c0-n elements, canon-level vi0-lence, cursing, implied t0r-tur3, bl-00d, b3at-1ngs, f0rc-3d nud-1ty, language, HYDRA-level cru3l-ty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.

[anonspiceart]

Just wanted to say that I love your art it's so cool <3

Thank you!!

[mysindividual]

Unknowingly, hers | Aaron Hotchner

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: A rainy night in a bar, an undercover task, coquetting with your boss — what else could you wish for? After days of trying to catch the murderer, and one stagnant investigation without any solid leads, the team ultimately uncovers how their unsub targets his victims. You could only think of one strategy: set up an ambush. An ambush that put you and your supervisor in an uncomfortable position, leading in the need to engage in flirtatious interactions.

warning: boss x subordinate, age gap, MUTUAL PINING, pre-established rship, mentions of alcohol, rape, killing.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

Aaron Hotchner was not a man who would allow himself to be distracted from a task, much less a man who enjoyed sitting and sipping beer in some smoky bar, flirting with women — even if it was just for show. His work always came first — that was why he agreed on this charade. He was devoted to work more than his own self, always his number one priority, and his now ex-wife could attest. So knowing that fact and knowing himself, there was absolutely nothing that could distract him from work. Or there ought not to be. So what had changed now?

In his line of work distractions were never good. They could be, what one would say, fatal.

Chilly droplets of dew trickled from the glass surface, down into his pocket where he tightly grasped the bottle, giving him the sensation that it was his own cold sweat running down his temples.

He might not have even noticed it was getting overly hot until the moment you sat down beside him. About to ask you for a drink, his what was supposed to be a flitting gaze paused on you and in that agonizing moment he watched as you took off your jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, leaving you in a red t-shirt and jeans that hugged you around your waist and hips.

The taste of his cold beverage was not enough to quench the fire in his throat.

What on earth was the matter with him!

He swallowed, his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Irritated by the mere idea, with a frown on his face as dark as the weather outside, he looked back at the bottle he was holding. Why was he staring? Why was he even thinking about it? He needed to focus. You were embarking on a mission that held importance for the whole team. The case was put on hold due to a lack of information and leads for days, weeks. Until two days ago when you showed up in his office, with newspaper in your hands and sugary crystals glued to your lips — why did he remember that? — and finally provided him with the first solid lead in a long time. Concluding this case meant a sense of relief and a good night's rest for the team.

God, he didn't even notice or hear when the bartender approached. Or when in the midst the cacophony of noise you ordered your drink, then how could he carry out this task?

He stole a side-glance at you, only then wishing he didn’t.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way your fingers tenderly curled around the glass and brought it up, pressing to your lips. Despite the surrounding and background noise that busted around the bar — clink of bottles, soft music playing, the hum of conversation, the men cheering for their football team playing on the TV — Hotch found himself able to discern the sound of that shot sliding down your throat in a slow motion, just momentarily tingling beneath the sensitive skin on your neck.

While you were not paying attention, he allowed his gaze to move from your face, down the skin of your neck and arm, to the glass held in your fingers, then finally settling on your lips.

“Just one." You made two promises there.

You promised the first time, setting your glass down on the bar counter once you felt his glance on you, disapproving your way of handling. However, much to your shock, he remained silent.

Just one. You promised the second time — but this time to yourself — once you caught a glimpse from the corner of your eye that he was giving you one of those looks that initially shook the earth beneath your feet and then stabilised you.

Just one because one was needed to put you in a right mood — the ideal ambiance in a corner of your mind, not as distant as one might assume. Just one because you were scared to risk how’d you behave yourself in his presence in this atmosphere.

And he let you take just one because he knew the two drinks did the charm for you.

One was absolutely harmless.

Two… made you into a fiddler.

2 days ago

"Advertisement?" He paused in the middle of flipping a page in his file, glancing at you skeptically from beneath his dark eyebrows, weighing the possible veracity behind your words. Then, you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips only then being hyper-aware of how you’d left your office.

You found yourself muttering an apology, glancing sideways, your fingertips ever-so-slightly brushing the sticky sugar away. And offered, "Take a look."

Minutes ago, inside the privacy of your office, surrounded by 4 walls, you were enjoying your lunch break.

To be quite frank, it was not how you typically chose to spend your time off. You would be out or in the cafeteria with the rest of your team, but the situation in the last few days was a little different. Venturing outside — past your office — provided a great opportunity to run into your boss, which you’d been attempting to steer clear of recently. And so you were sitting in the comfort of your chair, your legs crossed on the table, a doughnut in one and the newspaper in the other hand.

Rising fuel prices.

California wildfires.

British police find car bombs in London.

You found it impossible to continue reading. The purpose of a lunch break was a time-out from work. So you flipped through a couple of pages to reach the back section of the newspaper where the advertisements were located. You’d been wanting for quite some time now to find yourself another car. And so, you skimmed through some advertisements, while others you carefully read, until one finally caught your attention.

It was one of the less prominent ads, and the yellow letters and caption were the one that allured you every time. Every 4th of a month.

Find love! Find gay friends! Find you! FIND OUT! If you are looking to find more about sex, love, or relationship with other guys — congratulations! You've just found it!

You sat upright in the chair, the heels of your boots echoing off the tile floor. With the doughnut firmly gripped between your teeth, you held the newspaper with both hands now and brought it closer to your eyes.

An ultimate guide on how gay men get guys.

"Oh, God!" You exclaimed, hastily taking the doughnut out of your mouth and putting it back in the box on the desk, grabbing the newspaper and making your way to Hotch’s office.

“That has to be it.” Leaning back deep in his chair, Derek played with the pencil in his hands. "We have already analyzed and investigated into all the rational methods that the unsub could’ve used to reach the victims.”

"Absolutely." Garcia added and hurriedly continued speaking in a barely understandable manner, as if reluctant she might acknowledge her mistake. "I checked everything: their online activities, credit cards, surveillance footage... Nothing."

"We know that none of these victims used online-blind-dating sites, or whatever. We know they've never set foot in a gay bar before. So how did the killer get to them? Their family and friends never suspected, let alone knew, that they were gay." Rossi explained. "The victims themselves weren't aware of their homosexuality.”

“And this ad right here…” You unfolded your arms and leaned forward on the desk, glancing at Hotch briefly before focusing down where your finger tapped the new, textured paper. "It provides exactly that. To find themselves from within. This has to be it.”

“We also know the profile." Hotch finally replied, not taking his eyes off you. "I want you to find all the previous newspapers in which these ads can be found. The meetings’ location, time and place, must be announced somewhere in there. There’s a possibility the messages will be encrypted, so take Reid with you. And Garcia…” You nodded in agreement, and he stared at you for a minute longer before shifting his focus to Garcia, who stood behind you, picking at her nails. “Find everything you can about this ad and how the victims were able to contact the advertiser."

The murder seemed linked to the ad, and Hotch’s instincts were usually accurate because they were not mere guesses, but predictions based on numerous factors, all considered in light of his experience.

Gathering all the needed information, the team agreed on the strategy.

“We need someone inside. Someone who will play a confused young man, curious, eager..." Rossi didn't even get a word out, and everyone's gaze — some sneakily, some more openly — were fixed on Reid who was ready to protest but decided otherwise. Arguing with all of you was pointless. Besides, he was the only young man around — he’d remember this and gladly rub it on Derek’s nose.

On the other side of the table, Derek and Emily quickly agreed on teaming up.

"I agree. But if possible, I would like to avoid this long-awaited undercover mission, and be the one to stay behind with Garcia. My stomach still hurts." Waving his hand at his stomach, Rossi grimaced.

“Do you realize we are discussing a man who managed to overpower four men, rape them, and then kill them?" Reid objected.

"Y/L/N and I will join." Hotch said expressionlessly, interlocking his gaze with you just for a second.

Join how? You wondered, your elbow on the armrest, your chin resting on your fist. Garcia stood up, placing documents atop each other, muttering under her breath. "Nothing easier… just be the two of you, but together."

Hotch's eyebrows snapped together, meeting your eyes briefly once again before he looked to the side at Garcia with barely tamed fire in his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

“I- um- sir…” Garcia stuttered and you seized the opportunity to leave the office before Hotch unleashed that smoldering fire on all of you.

Glancing behind your shoulder, Garcia ran after you with a swift pace you'd never seen her take before. Together you both hurried down the stairs and rushed through the glass door, cursing each other before parting ways in the hallway — each heading to your own den.

And that was how you got here.

“So… A gay man in a straight people’s bars.” You finally spoke, trying to sound casual even though this meeting wasn’t. “Finds his victims who are also gay and kills them the same night. At first glance it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Without knowing what we know — it doesn’t.” Hotch replied, then took a sip from his bottle. The victims had never before crossed the threshold of the bars in which they met with the unsub. The unsub found them the same night, and then killed them. “But it was a smart move to throw the cops off to a wrong path.”

“Definitely.” You agreed. “In this modern digitalized world who’d even bother to check the newspapers.”

When he didn’t say anything in return, you sighed, leaning towards the bar, pushing the empty glass away.

"You two look like a date gone wrong." Even with the music playing, Derek's amused voice could be heard loud and clear through the small earbud piece. You leaned back slightly to catch sight of Derek and Emily dancing lavishly together.

“Like every date Y/N goes to.” Emily added, smirking at you.

That earned them a reproachful look from their boss.

Nice, now your boss knew how lame your dating life was.

But nonetheless, you laughed, and the warmth of your laughter enveloped Hotch's heart. Looking back at you, he softened and watched as you swirled the ice cubes in your fresh Coke with a small red straw. Then bringing the straw up to your lips, you took a sip. Now it was his jaw that clenched.

“Incorrect…” you playfully remarked, your eyes sparkled as you held his gaze determinedly over the rim of your glass, and that victorious grin on your face transitioned into something affectionate, something intimate. “This one takes the cake."

“Sir! I told you gotta act!”

"Garcia." Aaron warned.

“I can multitask, sir.” She quickly added, with a hint of reverence. “I have a reputation I intend to keep. So no, no developments as of now."

"Could he possibly know we've found out?" You asked.

"I doubt it."

While talking, Aaron usually had the tendency to look around the room, examine the faces and look for any signs of trouble. The bar had an overall sense of amusement, with sporadic bursts of loud chatter and individuals savoring drinks such as beer, neat whiskey, or some mixed drinks and sodas with straws. Couples, friends, loners — everyone was busy either drinking, dancing, or... kissing.

His hand trembled, holding onto the beer tightly as he brought it to his mouth and chugged, grimacing. "What happened with Brad?" He finally asked, taking you aback just a little.

It’d been a few days since that conversation with him about Brad, and it had quite bothered you that he hadn’t asked you anything about your final decision.

"Who is Brad?" You chuckled, your head dropping slightly before looking up at him again, a warm smile forming on your lips that... It stole something from him, something he couldn’t express crisply enough. In this very casual manner, you appeared …beautiful while brushing back the hair that skimmed your cheeks.

He frowned, glancing down, collecting his thoughts. At some point along the way you had become a distraction. Pushing that realization aside with a blink, he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He looked at the beer he was holding like it was an escape — a safe haven from your gaze. He had nearly consumed all of his drink. Hotch had been refraining from alcohol for some time, now it was starting to affect him. He did drink stronger drinks alone in his apartment or at Rossi’s after his divorce, and even then he noticed he couldn’t keep up with it the way his younger self used to. Yeah. It had to be it.

“Well, I suppose it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, in fact it was you who helped me realize. Some mistakes aren’t worth repeating twice. So cheers to that, sir.” You swivelled sideways and towards him, holding your glass up before taking a sip.

Sir. There that came again. It was not that he hated being called ‘sir’, damn, Garcia called him that too many times and the thought never appalled him. He was just not used to hear you call him ‘sir’. It was mainly ‘Hotch’, sometimes even ‘Hotchner’, or if you were being a little tease then you referred to him as ‘boss’.

“Sir!” Garcia’s voice came through, cutting his thoughts in half. “He’s here!”

You shared a knowing glance.

And then suddenly, some guy sauntered in, physically placing himself between you and Hotch. The action was unexpected, quite bold. However, you then realized that to most outsiders, the two of you probably didn't appear to be a couple. In this very bar, couples around you were doing…things, and the two of you hardly spoke at all.

“Hey there sunshine.” He drawled, leaning against the bar, looking down at you. The tall man didn’t mind or acknowledge Hotch at all. He had black lush hair, probably devastatingly blue eyes, in his late 20s – early 30s. Closer to your age than Hotch was anyway, he thought to himself. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Finding yourself in this awkward position, before you could even answer, Hotch cleared his throat. The latter turned around peevishly just enough to give Hotch gray glares, and arching an eyebrow, replied disgusted. "I didn't ask you... pal." And he turned to you again, a jolly smirk on his face.

So Hotch was right. The man had devastatingly blue eyes.

Aaron glanced annoyedly at his beer. If he could have, he'd have smashed that bottle on his head. But decided to go with a more rational option and patted the man’s shoulder.

"It's showtime." Derek's voice sang in the bug.

"She's busy... pal." Your boss countered, his voice low and tinged with warning.

"Doesn't seem so..." He now addressed Hotch over his shoulder, choosing not to let your companion bother him or to take his eyes off of you. “…pal.”

The man’s finger made way under your chin and he tilted your head backwards, hovering over you.

“Oh ‘xcuse me…” You scoffed disapprovingly at the boldness of his action, moving your head away from his touch. Bristled.

The crease between Aaron’s eyebrows deepened further, keenly resolute. He felt the bubbles of anger simmer inside him, waiting for the right sign to explode. He smothered a sigh, steeling himself. If he had been on assignment somewhere on the field — any other, or on a real date with you — he'd have handled the situation in a much different way. Instead, he put his hand on the man's shoulder again, but this time firmly, and pushed him away from you.

"I said..." The baleful timbre of Aaron’s voice carried the same threat evident on his face. He reached out and grabbed the stem of your chair. The tiles beneath creaked as he dragged the chair towards himself, closing the gap between the two of you. Your knees accidentally brushed against his leg and the familiar warm sensation returned to your stomach, causing your pulse to quicken. "She's with me." Something ickered in Aaron’s eyes. You were unsure how to interpret it.

"And what could a woman like her want with a grump like you?" You heard the guy say, stepping towards Hotch, his chest puffed out.

You had to stop it before it escalated.

Deliberately, you inched closer, your gaze meeting Aaron’s. Behind your flashing eyes, he could see both — a permission and an apology for what you were bracing yourself to do.

“It’s okay…” You began gently, swallowing as you placed your hands on Aaron’s knees, stroking his legs. You couldn't look away from your boss's eyes, and as you smiled, subtly wrinkling your nose at him, you could have sworn that the muscles under the denim fabric hardened even more than they had just a moment before. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Being in such proximity, it was impossible to ignore all the things Aaron noticed about you — the depth of your bottomless eyes, shiny lips, the peachy scent of your hair was the only scent worthy in this noisome crowd. He was definitely drunk, a bit tempted. Never had he ever been intoxicated solely by the subtle scent of a shampoo.

"Well, if you wanna have real fun, I'll be sitting over there." He winked at you, pointing somewhere behind you.

You both watched as the man walked away, only then ending the charade. An awkward tension set between you two that made you feel every beat of your wilding heart. In a profound quietness, you both swivelled around and towards the bar. In a deafening silence, both of you, reflected on it without acknowledging that you longed for that intimacy.

“I-…”

“Do you see him?” Hotch spoke over you, back to business. You quickly glanced over your shoulder and back to Aaron, nodding.

“Ok. Good.” He pressed the earpiece with his finger. “Morgan?”

“He’s talking to Reid.” Garcia spoke instead.

“It’s definitely him, Aaron.” Rossi confirmed.

“We have a bit of a situation here.” Both of you looked at where you last saw Emily and Derek. You couldn't get the proper view at the two of them sitting in the booth now, but it looked like a group of women stood beside their desk.

Morgan, you rolled your eyes playfully. And then…

"Wait..." You frowned, and Hotch watched as the gears in your head turned before recognition dawned on your face. You looked up at him. “Isn't that Joseph Moetski?"

Hotch glowered, thinking. The newsdealer. He still hadn’t had a chance to look back and see for himself, but it would make perfect sense. After all, Joseph was a newsagent and the team had known about him —you had worked with him in an occasion or two when you first started working for Hotch. He had the access to all the media: magazines, newspapers, television, and so on.

Aaron drew closer towards you, not wanting to blow your cover away, now his whole body facing you. You felt a dangerous flutter in your heart as you looked at him squarely into eyes, never anticipating what he was about to do. He reached forward to move the hair from your face back over your shoulder and then tucked some behind your ear. His gaze was dark and intent — you could see the concentration in there, maybe even slight tenderness, and it sent your mind in wild directions.

Your hair was very silky and soft under his palm, the focus of his vision shifted from the man who was seated beside Reid a few meters behind, to you.

“Garcia?” His spoke coolly, professionally. But there was nothing professional about the way he was watching you. You ducked your head and gently stroked the skin on your neck, a lively red blossom of color rose up your cheeks, a hesitant smile stretched across your face. It was such a small gesture. And then his big hand rested on the side of your neck, using the opportunity to feel your skin — something he’d never admit to himself. Hoping he couldn’t feel your telltale pulse, you had to remind yourself that he was your very professional never-crossing-a-line boss.

It was a dangerous game to even think about something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. For years you’d been harbouring feelings for him — platonic or not, and this was not going to help.

“Bingo! It’s him!”

“Sorry to interrupt you, birdies.” A bartender interrupted and you both turned around, almost jumping from your seats. “The politics around here are: you have to order another drink… or get the hell out of here. And as I can see, you drank all of yours.” Crossing her arms on her chest, she asked. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

As Hotch took the chance to order new drinks, anxiety creeped up your back, and you looked back over your shoulder just in time to see Spence holding the back of his head as well as the unsub running toward and past the two of you.

Gripping your gun close under your clothes, you reached out and tugged on Hotch's shirt. “Hotch!” You promptly got to your feet and chased after the suspect.

You heard a chair fall onto the dark tiles of the floor somewhere behind you, disgruntled and angry shouts and remarks from people who were bumbed or knocked down by the man you were running after.

Fortunately, the unsub cleared a way for you, allowing you to quickly catch up with him, grab him and push him. His face met the ground, and hastily you sat on top of him, pushing his hands and securing them on his upper back. But to say you were struggling would be an understatement. The unsub was a strong man, twice your size, so when he managed to free one hand from your grasp it was a no surprise. He attempted to pull you upwards and you sat unsteadily on his back, swaying like you were at a rodeo, a quick "whoa" slipping out of your mouth. Hotch rushed to help you, kicking the unsub’s feet, and without a second thought, his chest pressed against your back as he leaned closely from behind you, his arms wrapped around you as he assisted in restraining the suspect before Emily approached and put the handcuffs on.

The third party — Reid, watching it all unfold in front of his eyes, couldn’t help but smile at you both even through the throbbing pain in his head. You were just like Mulder and Scully. Tangled and messy, unable to see it, yet still fantastic as a team.

Now the only thing left was, he concluded, for you two to realize it finally.

In all that rush and adrenaline kicking in, neither of you did have time to process or relish the way your bodies melded together.

But this whole night was something that would keep you both up tonight and wouldn’t let you get that well-deserved good night’s sleep.

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Imagine Retired!Price who has nothing to do in his new found free time

His team was finally able to convince him to put down the gun and rest. He's done more than enough for others.

But after years of constant movement and missions he isn't comfortable with sitting in one place.

He starts to go on long walk in the afternoon to fill his time

Mostly people watching or checking out the local businesses.

One night as chilly afternoon turns into a cold evening he finds himself wondering into retro diner all lit up by neon lights.

He finds a booth and takes a look around at the polished but dated looking restaurant.

it brought him a feeling of comfort he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Hello sir, can I get you a drink to start?" A sweet voice chirps

He turn to meet your sunny smile all dressed up in a baby pink button up dress, waist cinched with a mini apron. Hair pulled back with a matching bow.

"Hello..." John looks down to your name tag. "Bunny?"

"Oh" you laugh, "It's just a nickname. The old timers think it's cute"

"What does that say about me, then?"

"You don't look too old to me."

"Let me get a coffee, bunny"

From that point on John made sure to come by the diner every night.

Rain, sleet, or shine you could bet he would be there.

You weren't there every night of course but it thrilled him to think of the possibility of seeing you again.

Always greeting him with a, "Hey stranger" or "You come here often?"

Always dressed in that little faded pink dress.

Your conversation started to take up more of your shift as time went on.

Evolving from cordial to friendly and occasionally flirty.

"Bunny, what does your boyfriend think of you working all the time?"

"I don't have a boyfriend, John"

"Then what do you do all day when you're not here?"

"Waiting for you to ask me on a date"

Then you both laugh but John knows his time will come and he's a patient man.

He was always a generous tipper, even before the flirting

He loved to watch you run around the place, espically when it was busy.

You handled yourself well under pressure. Never letting a difficult customer get under your skin.

He love to way you look after a long shift with your hair slightly tousled with a pen or two stuck somewhere in your hair or behind your ear.

He'll stack his empty plates up nicely to make it easier for you to pick up.

Pushing them to the edge of the table signaling to you he was finished up.

He made sure they were steady too, especially so after one unlucky afternoon that had you sweeping up the shards of glass under his table with an embarassed blush warming your cheeks.

But seeing you on your knees sweeping up your mess made unpure thoughts flood his mind.

He began thinking about what you wear outside of work.

What you wear when you go out.

What you look like when you don't wear anything at all.

Then one rainy afternoon, John blows in to find his usual booth vacant and waits patiently for your typical sweet greeting.

Instead you rush over and drop his coffee on the table with a thud causing tiny brown droplets to splatter over the thick rim of the diner mug.

"What's crawled up your skirt, little rabbit?" John chuckles.

You frown down at him, pulling your notebook and a pen from your apron pocket. "I'm not in the mood today. What do you want to eat?"

"I know I was a little late but, the it's pouring outside. Don't be upset with me, bunny" He says, refusing to drop his joking tone.

"John" You snip.

He likes the way you say his name when you're angry.

"What's wrong?" He looks up at you with sincerity and you finally drop your arms and sigh.

"It's been a hard day. My boss is just being a total tool. The other waitresses are shit and no one is tipping well. Don't say anything but, I think I'm gonna put in my two weeks" You're words tumble from you in a rush.

"You're going to quit?"

"I can't keep working like this. I hardly make enough for rent and I still have no time to myself," You take a breath and shake your head. "Sorry, I shouldn't talk about money stuff with you. You're just here for dinner."

"Let me help you,"

"No, I don't need help. I'm fine, just a little overworked. I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget it."

"Let me take care of you"

You laugh but he does not.

"Come live with me, you'll never have to work again."

"Okay stop now, this isn't funny."

"Do you see me laughing?"

"You don't even know my real name"

"Aren't you tired? You're far too pretty to be so stressed. This job will always be here if you change your mind. I don't think you will though."

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

A/N: This turned out longer than anticipated but hope you enjoy. I just want a Price to sweep me off my feet and make me a house wife :'-)

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— dreaming about… autumns with theo 🍂

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༉‧₊˚. chilly but still sunny september days, when you go out for a walk around the courtyard, your hand intertwined with theo’s and safely tucked into the pocket of his jacket. cozy cashmere sweaters that you start stealing from him as soon as you arrive to hogwarts, before he could even unpack his trunk. spending time at the lake, you cuddled up against theo’s chest on the bench, him pressing soft kisses to the top of your head from time to time. the stereotypical ‘throwing autumn leaves into the air’ scene, except he stands there smoking and suddenly, a pile of leaves is blowing up above him. he’s dumbfounded, but then you giggle and he grumbles about the leaves being dirty and dusty while trying to hide an amused smile.

༉‧₊˚. gloomy and cold october days, when every weekend is a trip to hogsmeade, to hide from the weather in coffee shops (and simply shops, bc theo knows you definitely need a new matching scarf and hat set). sitting on a soft couch next to the window, wrapped up in theo’s arms, sipping coffee and laughing when he kisses off the foam stuck to your lips. sneaking in a flask of firewhiskey to put into your drinks and warm up even further. taking a paper bag worth of pastries back to your dorm, because you absolutely need a stash. theo draping his scarf around your neck at the smallest shiver he notices. he also gives you his coat and doesn’t accept any objections, stubbornly shivering himself while you scold him and urge the both of you to the castle. matching halloween costumes that steal the show during the ball, because you enjoy it, and theo would do anything for his lovely girl.

༉‧₊˚. dark and rainy november days that you mostly spend cuddled up in either his dorm or yours. the endless rain rattles against the window, the raindrops trickling paths down the glass and clouding the view. you’re in bed, your limbs tangled together, hiding under warm blankets. you just spending time in each other’s presence, doing homework or reading, feeling calm and content. theo playing guitar just for you in his dorm while you sit in front of the fireplace, the faint crackling of the wood mixing with guitar strings, pliant under his skillful fingers. theo coming back from quidditch practice, sliding under the sheets and wrapping his ice cold limbs all around you. you squeal when his freezing feet touch your warm ones, but he only chuckles and nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in your comforting scent. taking baths together, testing out new bath bombs and salts that theo got you (he secretly enjoys it and keeps a bottle of your favourite foam in his dorm). you putting up string lights in theo’s dorm and him pretending to be annoyed but turning them on whenever he’s alone, to be reminded of your presence.

bonus: playlist

❥ willow by taylor swift

❥ lost on you by lp

❥ small hands by keaton henson

❥ my love mine all mine by mitski

❥ falling behind by laufey

❥ sono aggrappata a te by angelina mango

❥ golden by zayn

[bahrtofane]

soapy oh soapy

jude looses his lucky charm and looses his mind in the process

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - HAPPY ARPIL FOOLS. the most unserious fic to date ( jk theres one more coming )

p.s. -big shout out to my friends @aloejuicebr for fueling this madness u guys are real ones and even bigger shout to plooki @yayam26 for making soapy missing poster

-----

You end up forcing jude to do skin care with you after begging him for weeks because you just know you can work your magic and make him feel the best he’s ever felt. All you need is a night in. And time. Lots of time 

After some persuasion and begging, pouty lips and puppy eyes, he gives in. 

“Fine.” is all he says while you’re in his living room, legs over his watching a movie that you've long ignored in favor of bothering him. 

But you’re already giggling. Picking out a headband you want him to wear in your head. Pink care bear one it is. The night comes on a rainy day, he has a rare day off the next morning, so you want him to start it on a good note. 

You’re getting ready for bed, in your pjs, jumping about while you get your little baggie full of goodies out. 

“Here,” you hand him the headband,” put this on” pink care bear one just like you envisioned. 

He takes it, feeling the soft material while he hums, “what’s this for?”

“Keeps things out of your hair.” you smile, dragging him to his bathroom. You take about a hundred pictures, and he poses for you for each one. Giggling while you coach him into poses. You think you'll send a few to Jobe for good measure. 

You face the sink and think of a game plan. Eyeing the counter  

It’s here you first lay eyes on soapy. 

“Jude what the hell is that? "You grimace, looking at what looks like a dry stump of white something, sitting on its own little ceramic dish. 

Jude looks away, scratching the back of his neck, mumbling something under his breath. 

You swing your little kit on the sink counter, setting a hand on your hip,”what was that?” 

He sighs dramatically, putting his face in his hands,”it’s my good luck charm. soapy,” he wails. 

You snort, patting his back, “I'm sure he’s very uh lucky,” you give it a small pat. 

“No he is,” Jude brings his head up to face you, “ I know it. I've had him since before dortmund. “ he nods proudly. 

You grimace,”you’ve had a piece of soap for years?”

He only nods harder. 

“Okay jude. Whatever you say. “ 

“I am not getting rid of him,” he points a finger in your face. One that you gently move, pulling his hand into your own. 

“I didn't say get rid of him. Let’s get your skincare started, yeah?”

He nods, following you through the steps like a lost puppy. leaning down while you help him apply the creams and foams just right 

When it’s all set and done, he wiggles into bed happy as can be. Sighing deeply, “that was actually really nice. Thank you. “ 

peck! right on your nose. 

you laugh, “told you it would be nice. “ 

your next plan is to find a way to deal with soapy…

——-

Jude loses soapy. It becomes a whole fiasco. He can’t find him in the usual small little pocket in his duffel bag in the usual ziplock baggie. 

He’s frantic at his hotel, tearing his things apart, looking and relooking at the bottom of his suitcase. His jacket pockets, his pants pockets. 

He tries to think. Did he leave him in his bathroom? No. Can't be it. He remembers putting him inside the familiar zip lock baggie while getting the rest of his things ready. Where in the world did he go. 

His soapy. His poor soapy! How is he supposed to live in these conditions. He’s never. ever missed a single game without soapy. What is he supposed to do now? Loose?? There goes his good luck down the drain. Years of good performance is about to take a nosedive. 

When he’s set to do his routine face time with you pre game, you pick up on his sour mood. But he only brushes it off, blaming it on pre game nerves 

You don’t believe him, but don’t want to press

Jude pends 20 minutes locked inside the bathroom, head in his hands while he scolds himself. It’s a bar of soap he wants to scream, pull yourself together. But he can’t. Soapy has become more than just a silly little joke. He’s become attached to soapy, a part of his routine. He’d rather die than admit it out loud to anyone 

For now he sighs, smoothing his jersey down and getting ready to get on the pitch. 

——-

The only thing that’s been in his mind is getting back home and getting to the bottom of the mystery. Unfortunately for him, soapy is nowhere to be found in the bathroom. Not in the living room. The kitchen. The hallway. He thinks of hiring a cleaning team, but what is he supposed to say ? 

Oh hey guys clean my house and also be on the lookout for a dried out stick of white that looks like a finger haha. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He takes to his own devices and begins to tear apart his house in a desperate search for his beloved soapy. He spends the whole day on his hands and knees looking under places he didn’t even know his house had to begin with, squeezing under and into spaces he’s sure gonna regret tomorrow. 

It’s already dark out when he calls it quits. Nothing but a few bruises to show for it. 

He’s really lost him huh. 

——-

His behavior is soon picked up by teammates, coaches and staff. The usual cheery youthful Jude is replaced by a damp sluggish cranky one.

He’s silent at training, chewing the inside of his cheek while going through the familiar motions of each drill. 

Eduardo comes to him after they hit the showers, squeaky clean and ready to go home. 

“You good?”

Jude gives him a bashful nod, “yeah man. just a little worn out, don't worry.”

He gets a clap on the shoulder in response, and gives a tight lipped smile back. He’s gotta figure this out or it will start to affect more than just his mood. How stupid of him to let an old slice of a soap bar affect him so much. 

A little piece of him can guess why. Soapy is one of the very few stable things in his life. And perhaps the only stable physical thing. something to count on. Something to be able to rely on. Unchanging. 

But now that he’s gone and lost it ? jeez. 

——-

You show up to his house on a cloudy day, his favorite snacks under your arm. He greets you with a kiss, but you see the way his eyes droop and sag. What's wrong with your golden boy? 

He leads you to the living room where you make yourself at home. Plopping down on the couch and handing him his things. 

He takes them gingerly, setting them on the kitchen counter while he takes a seat across from you 

you frown, “Jude. What's wrong? “

He looks away, playing with his hands, knee bouncing. Okay what is going on that’s gotten him so worked up

“Baby…” you try, scooting closer to him. 

He screws his eyes shut, bawling his hands into fists, “I lost soapy,” 

oh. 

Your gaze softens, “You lost him? When?”

He sighs, cracking an eye open, when he sees you aren’t making fun of him he opens both, relaxing. 

“I don't know. when we played villareal away I couldn’t find him. Then i got back and tore this place up and still no luck.” arms falling into his lap. 

You place a hand on his knee. Gentle. Soft. 

“He couldn't have gotten far. I'm sure he’s somewhere obvious. “ 

“I guess,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch. 

You smile, letting him lean against you. He's so cute when he pouts. You like babying him anyway. The rest of the day is spent with his head in your lap while you press occasional kisses to his face, letting keeping up with the kardashians play in the background. 

When it’s time for you to leave, Jude whines, pouting and asking you to stay just a little more.

“It's already late jude, I would if I could you know that. “

He huffs, “I guess. “ 

You forgot about your bags laying on the kitchen counter, might as well put them away before you go. 

Jude gets up to help, sliding against the hardwood and meeting you in the kitchen

He grabs a chair from the island in the middle, bringing it to him and a little baggie falls from it. Is that what he thinks it is ? He picks it up faster than you can turn around and almost screams. He could cry tears of joy 

It’s soapy. 

You were right. It was right in front of him all along 

He holds up the bar for you to see and you smile, “see. told you. “

He nods, “yes you did,” kissing your lips as a thank you 

You hum, patting his head when you pull apart, “glad you found soapy.” 

Maybe soapy isn’t so bad after all. 

[tartppola]

mx tartppola do you read twst fanfics,, and if so do you have any good ace fic recs,,

omg... it shames me to say this but... not as much... bcs these days all i read r google translated fics of crowley & the yuulis fics i commission from my mutuals 😭😭😭 IM SORRY GHGHHGG i will!! also i mostly stick to x reader... rarely do i go for canon/canon fics for twst... but !! i'll still give recomendations! of fics i rlly like ( it's all one shots 😭 )

oomf nepotism + writers i think r rlly cool!

@traumxrei-archive

@stormgardenscurse

@spadecentral

@ceruleancattail

@fluffle-writes

tumblr fics i rlly like ( mixed so some headcanons, some oneshots, all x reader )

otome isekai au villainess reader ( ft ♠️ )

encouragement from beyond ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

blanket hog ( ft ♠️)

rainy day ( ft ♠️)

ace doing your makeup

ace and deuce having the same crush ( ft ♠️ )

firsties slipping to a sleepover that fem reader is in ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

pomefiore!ace

basketball club w s/o who eeps on their chest ( ft 🦈 🐍 )

and there was ONE bed 😳

undisclosed passion

ace patching you up

adeuce walking with you ( ft ♠️ )

heartslabyul jealousy headcanons ( ft 🌹 ♠️ ♦️ ♣️ )

angel ace

adeuyuu hcs ( ft ♠️ )

cuddling with ace

kissing adeuce when they ask ur lipbalm flavor ( ft ♠️ )

how adeuce fantasize abt their crush ( ft ♠️ )

adeuce bday kisses ( ft ♠️ )

adeuce fighting to confess first ( ft ♠️ )

things you do that make adeuce fall harder ( ft ♠️ )

model ace

aceyuu ramble

another aceyuu ramble

lovestruck ace

ring in orange proposal

adeuce period comfort hcs ( ft ♠️ )

ace jealous of others falling for you

hot things ace does

housewarden ace

streamer ace getting a gf

you're what's missing in my life ( ft 🦈 🐍 )

when you know you know

love beyond words ( ft 🐺 🐙 )

shenanigans ( ft ♠️ 😼 )

sweet sleep ( ft ♠️ )

ace with knight reader

traitor ace ( cw yandere )

good luck kiss before match ( ft ♠️ )

tropes to lovers ( ft all nrc boys )

best friend ace

"someone" decides to ask you for your opinion about "their friend" and you decide to tease them. ( ft ♠️ ⚔️ )

cupid is so dumb

soft mornings

devotion of a contrarian

airheaded s/o ( ft 🌹 ♠️ )

another beautiful day ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

"what outfit should i wear for the date?"

oooo you wanna kiss me so bad ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

it's definitely, absolutely, not love

you wish to kiss me? ( ft 🌹 ♠️ ♦️ ♣️, genderbend )

red and blue ( ft ♠️ ) ( cw yandere )

falling too deep too fast ( ft ♦️ 👑 🐊 🐍 ) ( cw yandere?? )

the joker and the queen ( ft ♠️ )

behind the teacher's back

heart-shaped kisses

tell it to my heart

"i'm losing my appetite" ( cw hurt/comfort )

nightfall ace

ace + sun

movie night

haunted house date with ace

you doing ace's makeup

amuse me ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

what made your friends think you're dating him ( ft 🦁 )

high school romance with ace

how he says i love you

he's absolutely smitten with you ( ft 🍩 )

poly with adeuce ( ft ♠️ )

fooling no one

heartshackle relationship analysis ( ft ♠️ 😼 )

stay by my side ( ft ♠️ ) ( cw yandere )

christmas with poly adeuce ( ft ♠️ )

cuddle pile! ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

^sequel to the cuddle pile ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 )

stars by the pocketful ( ft 🌹 ♠️ ♦️ ♣️ )

poly adeuce with affectionate s/o ( ft ♠️ )

waking ace up in the morning

adeuce yan teamup ( ft ♠️ ) ( cw yandere )

sending your crush a survey form ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 🐊 )

can i go where you go? ( ft ♠️ 🐺 🍎 )

come close, i won't bite

unrealized feelings

foxboy ace

your speckled face

reader confesses and immediately runs away embarrassed ( ft ♦️ 🦈 ☀️ )

competition ( ft ♠️ )

come inside of my heart!

longform fics/series

a reverie until recently ( i commed this! poly oysterjuice post nrc au i put it here bcs it's my list!!!!! u dont have to read it )

hearts held out of harm's way ( same author! reccing the tumblr version instead bcs cool logo :D poly adeuyuu )

three people, who share one soul ( fic series, will they won't day adeuyuu )

how to get the boy : a guide by yuu & ace ( first adeuyuu fic i downloaded on my phone aside from my comms and nath's sebek one shots!!! i love it sm even after all this time GRAHHHHH i liked it even during my malleus phase bcs it was so cute! )

[kimulus0check]

I could ask for headcanons of the sixtuplets (osomatsu san) (separately), what their "make up" sex is like, and what the discussion they had was.

(sorry for My Bad English omgg)

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you!” … “Anything?”

Had fun with this one! Reader is g/n with afab anatomy warning for smeuuut

Osomatsu- took money from your wallet to bet on horses. You knew he stole from his brothers, but you’d never think he would ever steal from you.

——

You weee splayed out on the couch. Osomatsu’s head between your thighs as you count all the money he won from betting on horses with your money. His tongues lapped at your folds desperately as he gripped your thighs as a vice. He won back thrice the amount you originally had, but to teach him a lesson you make him watch as you pocket all the money in your pocket. He finds you clit and nurses on it like a thirsty man in the desert.

Karamatsu- serenading you in public. You thought the intention was good, but he knows how you were with being in the middle of the public eye. And him singing in a restaurant full of people anyway was not the best way of expressing his feelings for you.

——

Kara sat you on the kitchen counter with one leg over his shoulder as he fingers you slowly. His face buried in the crook of your neck as he sang apologies. His leather jacket over your shoulders and your arms perched over the back of his neck. He started hitting deeper and curling his fingers up to hit your core deliciously. He thumbed your clit to send you

Choromatsu-snapped at you like you were one of his brothers. You two were at your place and you got very comfortable with each other in your relationship. Maybe too comfortable.

——

You sat on his face while flicking through the shows on the tv. Choro tounge fucks you fast and wet. He tries to slide his hands to grope your ass before you swatted his fingers away. “No touching, this is a punishment.” You saw sternly as you shot a glare down his direction. “Yes ma’am.” His hot breath sent a shiver down your spine as he lapped up your cunt.

Ichimatsu- infestation. Cats were all over your apartment. And you don’t hate cats, but they were just everywhere. On the balcony, in the bathroom, even in the closets.

——

After he shooed out the cats from your house, he said he was sorry and that he would keep them outside. He nuzzled his face in your neck as you tried to stay mad until he bit at that certain spot he knows sends heat to your core. Sucking on your neck with his sharp teeth and licking and lapping the bite mark he left. His hot breath and low panting in the shell of your ear sent shivers up your spine. “You forgive me?” he asked. His voice gravelly as he makes eye contact with you as he laid on your chest. “Maybe..if you’ll be a good kitty.” Feeling his cock ache from where he sat on you made you excited to hear his apology.

Jyushimatsu-tract mud in the house. He was always outside doing something, which you admire, but today was a rainy day. Mud tracts from the front door all the way to your bedroom.

—

After he had thoroughly mopped your floors clean he quickly came to try to make you feel better. You agitatedly scrubbed the dishes while as he came behind you to hug you at your waist from behind. You stop and look over your shoulder to give him the cold shoulder to see him not smiling, but giving you this look you’ve never seen from him. Suddenly he picked you up and carried you on his shoulder. “Jyushi put me down!” Your yells fell on deaf ears as he carried you out the kitchen and into the bedroom. Safely dropping you on the bed and you look up at him.”What’s gotten into you?!” His smile still gone but eyes were Ernest as he crawled atop of you and reached for your hand to kiss your inner palm. “Let me make it up to you, My home run.” Your face flushed and eyes wide not expecting that from him, but not complaining either.

Todomatsu-ignoring you on a date. You’ve been left on heard by your mother but apparently your boyfriend had more sass than you thought.

—

His cock ached as you gushed and tightened around him. Cock warming him as you scrolled on your phone and ignored his please. His whimpers and groan were so loud you couldn’t even hear your phone. “Pleasee babe it wasn’t on purpose I swear!” He shuddered as he whimpered at the nape of your neck. “Oh what was that? Must have been the wind.” He groans at your mean demeanor as he begged you to move. His hands snaking around to ghost over your navel. You lift up suddenly catching him off guard as he loudly moans embarrassed at how he sounded so desperate, before you sat back down to reposition yourself. He winced thinking how it’s going to be a long night.

[carolmunson]

carol is at the laundromat.

(reader references being formally catholic as a child.)

New guy, you think, when you shuffle through your apartment door and down the hall — spotting him at the end of it. You’d seen him once or twice before in very brief passing. You’re sure he’d never noticed, you barely noticed him. Only that mop of curly brown hair and the clink of his wallet chain.

“Oh here,” he smiles, holding the door open for you that leads into the stairs to the basement.

“I’m actually not going to the laundry room,” you smile politely but tightly.

“You sure?” his brows quirk behind his curly bangs, brown eyes landing on the laundry in your arm.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I’m going up the street.”

“Why?” he asks, lifting his full laundry bag higher up his shoulder, “There’s laundry in the building.”

“Eh, when your panties start going missing you stop wanting to use the amenity,” you shrug, “Plus, you’re not gonna find one washer open down there right now.”

“And you are? It’s Sunday — peak laundry day,” he counters. You chuckle, shaking your head — it only makes him more intrigued.

“Maybe downstairs,” you shrug, “You new to the neighborhood or something?”

“Seven months.”

“Hmm,” you nod, “Well, if you didn’t notice yet - lot of churches over here. And if time serves me right, church starts around 9 and runs until 10; sometimes 11.”

Your head tilts toward the clock on the yellowed walls of the hallway, “So, 9:15 is the perfect time to go.”

“No way,” he grins, “I don’t know if I buy it.”

“Don’t take my word for it. Everyone’s at church and everyone who isn’t is probably hung over,” you explain, “You wanna come and see for yourself? Washers are weirdly better over there anyway.”

He looks at the stairs and then at you, then at the clock, and the rainy weather outside. The elevator dings, two people walking by with laundry bags to head down the stairs.

With a sigh, he accepts the fate, “Alright, you got me.”

You both venture out into the soft mist of a dark gray Sunday morning, your IKEA bag of dirty laundry weighing heavy on your shoulder.

“Seventh months, huh? Welcome.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“Ten years,” you laugh, “Not in this building, this is year three. But I’ve been in the area a while.”

“Cool,” he smiles, “I never see you around.”

“I live on the first floor, so our chances of an elevator meet cute are pretty slim,” you pull at the bag again while you turn the corner, he follows suit.

“Oh true, I’m on four.”

“Jealous. Good sun?”

“Yeah,” he smirks bashfully, “Like, really good.”

“That’s good. Though, it’s a good compromise for sharing a floor with Mrs. Slattery.”

“I really thought I was on her good side,” he turns back when he realizes he’s a few steps ahead, “Three weeks in she saw me in a Dio shirt, came home to a cross on my door.”

“She is…” you roll your eyes, crossing the street to the laundromat on the corner, “Easily the most god fearing Catholic I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot.”

You both make your way through the door, loose on its hinges. It’s a dilapidated place, and there’s a better laundromat two more blocks down, but you’re used to this now. The owner in the corner with her earbuds in, listening to gospel while she works on wash and folds. An older man with four bags of clothing on the other side, bedding for the family.

“You weren’t kidding,” he observes the emptiness, putting his laundry over an unused washing machine. There were plenty available for the taking.

“I know,” you murmur while you load your own machine - your favorite one. Row three, four washers down. Medium sized.

He gets to work too, the hardware on his wallet chain and leather jacket jingle like change in the pockets he pulls out of his jeans and sweatpants before he tosses them in to be washed.

Locked and loaded, he stands next to you, “Do you just go back home and come back to switch?”

“I stay for the wash,” you explain, “And then once I switch, there’s a café another block over that I’ve been going to for a while. Normally get breakfast while I wait for my clothes to dry. They have the best fucking biscuits.”

“Okay, okay, I hear that,” he grins, lower lip tucking into his teeth while he pulls his frizzing curls up into a bun at the back of his head, “Mind if I join you?”

“Nah, I don’t mind,” you take a seat on one of the cracked plastic chairs against the windows walls where he follows suit, “Been here almost a year…have you like, explored the neighborhood at all?”

“Honestly?” he holds his shoulders up by his ears with a hint of embarrassment, “Not really. Hate doing shit like that alone.”

“Do you not have friends?” you ask, realizing how accidentally mean it sounds as it comes out. He laughs anyway, heartily.

“Some, not around this area though,” he finishes out with a chuckle.

“Well, I’ll show you the café, there’s a lot of stuff over there that’s pretty cool,” you assure, checking the clock.

“I believe you. I’m not in a position to be saying no to friends in the neighborhood.”

“Good,” you smile, not even caring that you look exactly how you did when you rolled out of bed this morning.

“But if the biscuits are bad, it’s over,” he teases in faux seriousness. Denim leg crossing over the other, Vans now a grey and black from the weather outside.

“You’re gonna be more mad at me over how good they are,” you cross your legging’d legs to match his posture.

“You better hope so,” he huffs playfully, “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“Eddie,” you repeat back, introducing yourself, “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad we didn’t have our meet cute on the elevator,” Eddie smiles, “This is much more fun.”

“Also,” he turns, “If you ever wanna see how good the sunlight is upstairs, you can come over if you want.”

[choism]

Lost Puppy | j.s

Bulgae Hybrid!Jake x gn!Reader

Genre: Fantasy AU, smut, angst, hurt comfort

Word Count: 4.8k

Synopsis: While waiting out a storm, you find a battered spirit hybrid in need of help

General Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, mentions of forced sexual suppression

Smut Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, impreg (kinda?), hybrid rut, face sitting, blowjob, bottom!jake, sub!jake, mommy kink, top!reader, pet name baby

A/N: Hello everynyan! This is my first ever jake fic finally and I'm proud to say that it's part of a collab hosted by @svngcore! I'm so glad I was apart of this collab and even though it's very late I hope you enjoy <33333

Bulgae are strong and fierce dogs or hairy dogs which are likely to be the indigenous Korean dog breed sasari, which means "ghost chasing dog".

It was a really stormy day in the city. You were on your way home from work once the storm hit, so now not only was it dark, the lights on the sidewalk flickering and only dimly lighting your path, but it was pouring rain. Luckily you always keep your travel umbrella with you, but it can only shield you so much from the fat droplets of water pounding the thin material. 

You decide it's not worth the 4 block walk to your apartment after you make it about halfway there and everything you own is soaked, so you duck into a covered alleyway, expecting to only be there for a maximum of 15 minutes. Was it dangerous to be in an alleyway at night on a rainy day? Yeah probably, but you're a risk taker. You close your umbrella and shake it off a bit, and attempt to dry yourself off as much as you can.

You spot a wooden box and figure you can sit while you wait out the rain, and plop yourself on the surprisingly sturdy wood. You take off your jacket and wring it out, a puddle of rainwater forming beneath it. Slicking back your hair and sighing, you try to take your mind off things by fiddling with your phone but squeal when you realize it was in your back pocket, so now it’s probably soaked. With bated breath you take it out of your pocket and attempt to turn it on, but the screen flickers a few times before displaying ‘WATER HAS ENTERED YOUR DEVICE, PLEASE DRY’ in all caps.

“Well shit,” you mutter under your breath, putting it back into your bag which has dried off a bit and decide to just stare off into the distance at the storm in front of you.

It’s let up a bit but definitely not enough for you to go out just yet. Running your hands through your hair again in frustration, you hear something move behind you. It was a small noise, like paper moving, so you just assume it’s a small rodent and thinking nothing of it, until you hear a louder shuffle.

You don’t dare turn around and decide to stay ignorant, hoping it’s some animal trying to find food and not interested in a human. Then again, it could be a malicious spirit, or worse, a malicious hybrid. No it couldn’t be, There is no way there are just stray spirit hybrids in the city… right? You startle when you hear a small whimper that sounds kind of like… a dog? Oh, that’s right, it could just be a stray dog or cat. Silly you, jumping to conclusions. You hear a small whimper again and you decide to investigate; if it’s an animal maybe you can help. 

You get up from your box and turn around to scan the alleyway. You don’t see anything immediately and just assume it could be hiding, probably to protect itself. 

“Hey… it’s okay I won’t harm you,” you say quietly in an attempt to soothe the potentially hurt animal, but you get no response except a whimper. The animal doesn’t make itself physically known, so you inch yourself further into the alley. It whimpers once more and your eyes track where the sound is coming from. There is a large green dumpster on the left wall of the alley so you approach slowly, thinking it is probably either inside or behind it. “It’s alright sweetie, I promise I just wanna help,” you say again as you reach the front of the dumpster. You peek inside but see nothing. As you are looking around, you see the tips of what look like light brown furry ears, a small cut on the left one, and a fluffy light brown and white tail peeking behind.

You walk to the side of the smelly dumpster, fully expecting to see a dogs body attached to the adorable appendages, but what you find honestly makes you jump. A dog hybrid, it looks like, probably a Bulgae spirit, one of the many friendly spirit hybrids people own as pets, friends, and in some cases, lovers. You have met a few, most of them owned by your friends such as a Gumiho or a Haetae, but you have never seen one be a stray. It’s rare they don’t have owners or don’t live out in their packs on conserved land. The hybrid winces away from you, clearly scared. Upon closer inspection, the hybrid is near soaked in rain, and cuts litter his body, the only thing shielding him from the harsh weather being a thin t shirt, tattered and dirty jeans as well as worn out vans. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I’m just a bit startled to find a hybrid here,” you say honestly, not wanting to scare him further. The Bulgae looks at you and you nearly melt. He is beautiful and his doe eyes are captivating. Who would hurt this poor baby? “Can you speak? What’s your name?” you ask sheepishly. 

If he is a Bulgae, then you are still a bit frightened. Spirit hybrids are friendly for the most part, but Bulgae in particular are known for being prideful and a bit rough. Back in the day, Bulgae were kept to ward off evil spirits and malicious spirits, as they are known for their ferocity and loyalty to their owners. Nowadays, they are friendly, a bit more domesticated if you will, but they have been known to be fierce towards strangers and other hybrids.

“J- Jake…” he says shyly, his puppy dog eyes immediately making you forget how dangerous he could potentially be.

“Are you hurt, Jake? Do you need help? You look like you’ve been beat up.” His eyes light up and he nods quickly, inching a bit closer to you now, indicating you have earned a point of his trust. “Okay, let’s just…” You look back at the side of the alleyway you came in, the rain has finally stopped. “My apartment is only two blocks down. Do you want to come with me just for a bit to dry yourself off and maybe get you something to eat?” You reach out your hand as a friendly gesture, and to see if he accepts your offer. Wait. Why the hell did you just offer him your apartment? You don’t even know this guy and you're just helping him? Have you gone insane? Nevermind that, you’re in too deep now.

He takes your hand in acceptance and you lift him up onto his feet. He isn’t very tall, you notice, and it makes him appear cuter. Cute? Wow you really need to set your mind straight. He brushes himself off a bit, “Thank you, for helping me,” he says a bit awkwardly with a small smile. He even has a cute smile. You shake that thought off quickly.

“It’s not far, just follow me,” you say and turn away from him, trying to turn away the strange thoughts in your head. He trails after you as you walk out of the alley and in the direction of your apartment. “So, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened? Why were you in an alleyway all beat up?” You are a bit hesitant to ask but your curiosity gets the best of you. Also, walking in silence for two whole blocks would probably kill you.

“Ah, my old owner kicked me out, he didn’t like me much.” He chuckles a bit but that doesn’t dull the new ache in your heart. What kind of person just throws out their hybrid?

“What? Why? You’re so cu- I mean, you don’t seem like a bad Bulgae?” You cough to cover up your slip up. Embarrassing.

“He didn’t say, but he had multiple hybrids and would frequent the protective service office often because he was...I don’t know how to put it lightly, but he abused us a lot. Both physically and emotionally. It’s why I have all of these cuts.” Jake whines a bit at that last part as his smile fades and his shoulders slouch.

You can feel the rage build in you. What kind of sick person has multiple hybrids and abuses them to the point he kicks them out? You hope he gets caught one day. Hell, maybe when you get the chance, you’ll do something about it yourself. “Well, I’ll take better care of you. I mean, until you find a new home that is.” You quickly correct yourself but you realize you implied you are gonna let him stay longer than a day. Fuck.

Jake’s eyes light up and his smile comes back. “Really? You’ll let me stay until then?” His tail wags behind him furiously. 

“Yeah, of course!” You smile back and continue walking.

After a while of chatting, you walk past a convenience store and stop dead in your tracks, causing Jake to bump into you suddenly.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stop suddenly. It’s just that I saw the convenience store and realized I don’t have much food at home right now. Do you wanna go in and grab some things?” His tail wags once again in interest and he nods his head, so the two of you enter the store. It’s pretty empty, probably because of how late it is. “Go pick out whatever you want, I’m gonna go grab some essentials.” You figured letting him choose his own snacks and food won’t harm your wallet too much.

“Okay! I’ll meet you at the counter when I’m done.” He smiles a full smile this time, and you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks, the heat bearing feelings you don’t need to be feeling.

“Alright I’ll just, erm, be over here.” You try to act cool but it doesn’t work very well. Ever the oblivious he struts over to the sweets section. You are about to head over to the instant food when you spot a rack with various mens clothing. Clothing? In a convenience store? How convenient.

You grab a couple of cheap shirts and shorts, eyeballing the sizes and hoping they fit the hybrid. You also grab some instant noodles and various other groceries and saunter up to the counter. What you don’t expect, however, is the Bulgae to have arms filled with snacks and sweets. 

“Oh wow that’s… a lot,” you say with a giggle. He probably doesn’t have a good concept of money considering how his owner was and after probably have been given nothing a majority of his life, he got excited seeing so much. It’s endearing, so you decide to overlook the price.

“Is it too much? I can put some back!” he says and is about to head back to the aisles when you stop him.

“No it’s fine, I did say get whatever you want after all.” 

The cashier rings up your unusual amount of items for the time of night and the both of you head back on your way to your apartment. 

About 10 minutes later you finally arrive and enter your humble space, groceries in tow. “You don’t have to unload anything, I’ll do it, but here.” You hand him the bag of the clothes you bought. “It’s not much, but I don’t think I have any clothes that will fit you, so I hope these fit.”

His eyes sparkle with appreciation. “Thank you so much for this, and for letting me stay here for a bit, you’re really too kind.” He smiles brighter than ever and without thinking, he bumps his head onto your shoulder with affection. You find it cute and you instinctively pat his head.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you like that I just… did it,” you say.

He quickly says, “No it’s fine I shouldn’t have nudged you in the first place.”

After an awkward pause you guide him to the bathroom.

“Here, you can take a shower, and if you are able to, you can dress your wounds. There is a first aid kit in the cabinet, I don’t want them to leave scars. Also sorry I don’t have any hybrid shampoo, I’ll pick some up tomorrow.” He thanks you briefly again before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door.

You head back into the kitchen and put away your groceries and make a small dinner for the both of you. You cook more than two people would need but if he doesn’t eat it all it can become leftovers. After plating some food and setting it on the coffee table in front of the TV, you hear him exit the bathroom. “Hey Jake I made fo- OH MY GOD.” 

You cover your eyes quickly because when you turn around to face him he is completely naked. No towel. Nothing.

“Why are you naked?! Oh my god, please cover yourself up!” 

Visibly confused, Jake walks a single step closer and tilts his head but you put your hand out. “What? I’m not dirty or wet any more,” he whimpers, He starts to think maybe the reason you’re shunning him is because he still smells bad, or because of all the covered wounds on his body. “Do I still smell? I used your shampoo. I should smell like you.” He, very comedically, sniffs himself and perks his ears up.

“No no that’s not- In a normal household you’re supposed to wear clothes unless- un- just put on some clothes please.” You plead and he retreats back into the bathroom with his new clothes in hand, doing as you say, albeit confused. He comes back out of the bathroom a moment later, this time fully dressed. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, my owner only made us wear clothes when we went out so I thought that’s what was normal.” He pouts sadly and your head wonders out loud.

“He didn’t… do anything inappropriate to you in that state?” you ask with a worried tone. God, you hate this owner guy.

“No! Nothing like that! He never went that far, he just thought that animals are naked, so we have to be naked too, but I guess he realized that people would question him, so we wore clothes only when outside, or when services showed up.” You couldn’t help but take his hand into yours.

“I won’t let anybody treat you like that anymore, okay? You’re safe here.” You smile. You can tell he has the urge to give physical affection, which you assume is alright. “You don’t have to be serious around me, I don’t mind affection.” Almost instantly he rubs his head and ears against your shoulder again, and wags his tail excitedly. 

“Thank you, again.” He says and licks an innocent stripe onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You decide not to say anything.

“It’s okay. Um, anyway, this couch is a pullout so this is where you will sleep but we can eat and watch a movie first to settle in a bit.” You pet his head affectionately. You take his silence as a yes and you settle onto the couch with him as you pull up a movie and he starts to eat his plate of food.

“This is delicious!” he mumbles, his mouth full of food. You giggle at how adorable he is and press play for some random movie you chose. Jake eats his food fairly quick and settles onto your lap, his tail brushing your leg. You try to pay no mind to the new warm body on your lap, but it’s kind of hard. You’ve been alone in your apartment for so long it’s weird to suddenly have an affectionate hybrid occupy your space, but it’s a nice kind of weird.

Jake falls asleep in your lap and after an emotionally draining day, you too find yourself dozing off when you start to hear him… moan? What kind of sound is he making? He is twitching a bit in his sleep and you can’t really tell what he is doing. He moans, this time a bit louder and it shocks you still. Is he… humping your leg? His hips start to twitch almost incessantly and you feel your face get very very hot. Oh my god, you have a hybrid, in your lap, having a wet dream.

What are you supposed to do in this situation? Wake him up? You don’t want to embarrass the poor guy. While contemplating what to do he stirs awake and lifts his head. There is a small pool of drool on your thigh where he was resting his head and all of a sudden, he shoots up.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He starts rambling and panicking and you're about to tell him it’s okay when he runs off the couch and into the bathroom. You follow after him and you hear small sobs from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Jake? It’s okay, you’re okay, it happens!” It in fact, does not happen. But he is a Bulgae and all hybrids have sexual instincts they can’t help, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“I’m so sorry I-” He chokes through a sob, “It won’t happen again, I won’t do it again, never again, I’m sorry.” He sounds so panicked it sends a rush of guilt and worry through you. How much did that owner fuck him up?

“Jake, it’s okay. It’s normal, I promise. Are you okay? Can I come in?” After a few seconds of silence you hear the lock on the door click, and you slowly enter the bathroom to see Jake on the floor in tears. “Hey shhh it’s okay, you’re okay.” You are about to touch him when he backs away.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… your scent is so strong here and my rut wasn’t supposed to happen for a while. Usually I suppress it because it’s a bad thing but-” 

You shop him. “Bad thing? Sexual instincts are not a bad thing, Jake. Did your owner tell you that too?” He nods his head and wipes the snot and tears from his face. “You’re okay, what you're going through is normal, okay?” 

“H-hurts…” he says quietly and you see his hips buck a bit onto the floor. You didn’t notice earlier, trying to focus on his face but you look down and you see his problem, very prominent in his shorts. “I can’t- it hurts,” he says again.

You’re now visibly flustered. How do you help a hybrid in this situation? “What, uh, what can I do?” You ask, feeling like you know the answer but too afraid to say it. You want to help him but you just met him, and don’t want to take advantage of him in any way.

He thrusts his hips onto the ground, chasing the friction. “Please help…me.” He says shyly, his face flushed red and his ears furrowed back in frustration.

“Jake, I don’t know… Are you sure?” You chew on your lip nervously, if he really wants to, you are more than willing to help. You can already feel your arousal building and dampening your underwear. “If you really want me to help you I will baby.” You don’t know where the pet name comes from but he doesn’t seem to mind, the blush on his cheeks deepening to a shade of red. You didn’t even think his face could get any redder.

Morally, you should say no. You should stop where you are but you have honestly felt a deep attraction to him since meeting. You want to help Jake, take care of him, and if that means getting fucked by him literally the first day of meeting then so be it. You grab his hand and lead him to stand up, you see his very visible hard on, straining against his pants, aching to be freed.

“Thank you.” He says a bit sheepishly, obviously he didn’t think this would happen either but he is grateful for you helping him out. You have provided a home, albeit a temporary one, and now you are taking care of his rut. This is the most attention he has ever gotten in his life. He wants to tell you that it’s okay, you aren’t taking advantage of him, that he feels something a bit deeper developing in his heart for your kindness, but his brain is too closed with lust and the need to fill you with his pups.

You gently guide Jake into your bedroom, leading him to the bed and sitting him down. “Okay so… how do you want this?” Jake very cutely tilts his head to the side and perks up his ears in confusion like a real dog and you feel your heart explode with cute aggression. All of a sudden you want to throw him around like a ragdoll, but in a hot, sexual way, not in a ‘I want to hurt you’ way. Jake almost as quickly realizes what you mean and regains his composure,

“I like uh, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on the receiving end…” He trails off, his face and tone clearly showing his embarassment. With the way heat rushes straight to your core, you don’t mind this idea one bit. You want to take care of him, but you don’t want the awkward tension to last any longer so you decide to take charge.

“You want me to make you feel better? Does puppy want to be taken care of?” You very slowly sink to your knees in between his own, placing your hands gently a top his thighs and rubbing soothing circles, letting him know it’s okay, that this is okay. His eyes darken as he tilts his chin down to look at you. Jake can feel his cock throbbing in his pants, straining against the harsh material and aching to be touched.

You lean your head against his knee, just inches away from where he wants you most. It’s not to tease him but to calm his nerves a bit and yet he can feel his cock jump at the closeness. “Want you… mommy…” He says it under his breath, barely even a whisper and yet it sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You have to be dripping by now. “Please mommy, want your mouth on my cock, wanna fill your mouth.” The Bulgae juts his hips a bit, beckoning for your face to come closer, or anything to come closer to where he needs you the most.

You lift one of your hands from his thigh and brush over his sensitive bulge, stroking it softly. You inch a little bit closer, your breath now fanning over his sweatpants and now you see it. He isn’t wearing underwear. You didn’t even realize you had none to give him, but it’s visible he isn’t wearing any at all due to the small stain of precum adorning the spot where his head is. You brush your thumb over the spot and Jake shudders in pleasure. You mouth over the area, suckling lightly over his clothed shaft. “S- stop teasing. Need you please.” The urgency and voice crack causes you to moan and Jake involuntarily bucks his hips against your mouth.

You pull away and wrap your fingertips around his waistband, gently tugging the material down his hips. Jake lifts his pelvis to accommodate you and finally his cock springs free. You honestly gasp. He isn’t very big, but he more than makes up for it in girth. You take his heavy length into your hand and he gasps, his angry red tip leaking precum and doubling as a nice lube. You waste no time, not wanting to prolong his pain any longer so you lick from the bottom of his shaft up to his head, taking it into your mouth. Jake sighs, relieved that the pain from his rut is going away and now turning into pure bliss, your hot tongue gliding through his slit and lapping up his precum nicely.

Taking him in deeper, you start to hollow out your cheeks to enhance his pleasure, bobbing up and down slowly and carefully maneuvering your tongue along his veins. Jake slowly starts bucking his hips into your mouth and a hand reaches to grip your hair. It’s not a harsh tug but it’s enough to send you reeling with arousal. You can tell he is close, his cock is throbbing and his balls are swollen with cum, but he pulls you off of him.

“Wait, can I cum inside of you? Wanna breed Mommy.” Jake pouts and you groan aloud.

“Fuck yes, please fuck me.” You get up from your knees and rid yourself of your clothing, while Jake takes off his top. “How do you want to fuck me, baby?” Sensually you crawl on top of him, his cock is so close to your entrance you can feel its heat near your own. You hadn’t noticed before, probably because you were preoccupied, but Jake was drooling everywhere, his pupils blown out from arousal. His large hands hold either side of your hips to keep you steady atop him.

“Wait, let me prep you. Wanna finger you and taste you first.” You swear this Bulgae will be the death of you.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You expect him to flip you over, but instead he guides your hips forward. He inches you further up his torso until your entrance sits directly above his mouth.

“Sit.” Jake doesn’t command it, but more whines it, like he is begging to eat you out. Instead of responding you decide to slowly lower yourself onto his tongue. You didn’t know until he started to lap at your heat, but it seems like Bulgae have more similar traits to dogs than you initially thought. His mouth is producing an inhuman amount of saliva, as if he is hungry for the taste of you. It’s enough to lube you up easily and it’s lewd the way his mouth sounds, lapping up your juices.

After sufficiently stretching you onto his tongue, he decides it’s time to go further so he brings one of his long digits towards your hole, entering just up to the second knuckle and curling against your pleasure spot. You unexpectedly feel your orgasm approaching and as if sensing it, he adds two more fingers to your now soaked heat. Two more thrusts of his fingers and you’re coming, your orgasm pulsing and probably one of the strongest ones you’ve ever had.

Jake pulls you off his face and flips you onto your back, unexpectedly he kisses you passionately. You are thrown off guard by such an intimate gesture but you say nothing of it, basking in the wet heat of his mouth, and the gentleness of the kiss. He pulls away all too quickly, “Wanna fuck you Mommy, please wanna breed you.” You can feel his throbbing length against the inside of your thigh, not close enough for your liking.

“Fuck me Jake, wanna feel you fill me up.”

Slowly he enters you, stretching you further than his fingers ever could. He groans into your neck before finally bottoming out, a whimper leaving his lips. “Feels so good, I could cum right now.” You don’t have time to respond before he pulls out and slams his hips into you. You don’t get to register anything that’s happened before he starts fucking into your hole relentlessly, the tip of his cock hitting your pleasure spot over and over, sending waves of warm, comforting pleasure throughout your body. You can feel every single thrust of his cock from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It’s like he was made to fuck you.

“Not gonna last, nng!” His thrusts get sloppy as his pleasure heightens, now a whimpering, whiny mess on top of you. Jake lifts one of your legs over his shoulder to go even deeper, if that were even possible. “Wan’ fill you with my pups, Mommy please.” He is barely garbling out real words, all of them slurring together in a lust drunk haze.

Already you feel your second orgasm approaching, this time white hot from the overstimulation and how perfect his thick cock feels inside of you. “Come inside baby, fill me up, go ahead.”

As if he were waiting for your permission, you feel his balls empty into you, endless ropes of hot cum filling you up to the brim and spilling out onto the sheets below. He finishes with loud moans and words you can’t make out and soon you finish, clenching around him and coming with a cry. You look up and he has tears in his eyes. “Feel better baby?” You ask gently as he collapses next to you, clearly exhausted. He grabs your waist and pulls you against him, taking in your scent.

“Yes, I couldn’t say it earlier, but thanks for taking care of me. I know we just met but it means so much to me.” Jake places a gentle kiss against your temple and you feel your heart shatter. 

How are you ever gonna get rid of this puppy?

[hottpinkpenguin]

Nighttime

Tommy Shelby X Fem!Reader WC: 1380 Content warnings: PTSD, drug use, alcohol use, mentions of war Summary: When your brother, Daniel "Danny Whizz-bang" Owens, comes back a broken man from WWI, Tommy Shelby is the only one who seems able to put him back together. And the more Tommy helps your brother, the more you realize he's helping you, too. Author's Note: First time writing for the incomparable Tommy Shelby and the PB boys! Thoughts on a part 2, anyone??

Nights like these made the dark parts of you wish that Daniel hadn’t come home from the War. Nights when he couldn’t remember your face, when he got so lost in the bottom of a bottle or the smoke of his pipe that even you couldn’t find him anymore. The brother Daniel was when he’d left in ‘14 hadn’t come home four years later. Most times, sunlight and a hard day’s work help him hide that fact well enough. Nighttimes were the hardest. Especially starless, rainy nights like this one. Something about the rain reminded Danny of the dark tunnels where his innocence had died. It’s always night in the tunnels, he told you. The sounds of his pathetic whimpering from the room next door fractured the ice you’d been forced to pack around your heart to keep life together. 

Yet, nights like these were the only times you saw Thomas Shelby. So, in some ways, nights like these made the darker parts of you grateful that Daniel was as broken a man as he was. You were certain that, if it weren’t for the destructive acts of “Danny Whizz-bang”, you wouldn’t be fortunate enough to have the second-eldest Shelby brother sitting in your kitchen, sipping tea. 

“You’re good to ‘im, you know.” 

You met Tommy’s eyes over the lip of your teacup as you took a sip of the bitter, bitingly hot liquid. His eyes were strikingly blue and steady. He regarded you evenly from the other side of your table, his expression guarded but not unkind. 

You smiled softly and sadly as you swallowed the hot tea, focusing on the way it seemed to melt through your chest.

“He’s my brother,” you replied matter-of-factly. “I love him. He’s not the same, but I won’t turn him out.”

You knew that’s what Tommy was getting at. You were good to Danny because you hadn’t turned your back on him, despite his broken parts. Most men who’d come back from the War with cases of shell-shock as bad as Danny’s had been turned out by their families. In some cases, it was because of embarrassment. Sometimes it was purely for safety. In your case, you were both ashamed and afraid of Danny’s fits, so you couldn’t say for sure why you hadn’t told him to leave. You wanted to believe that it was because of compassion, as you were happy to let Tommy believe. But there was a gnawing guilt deep in your gut that suggested other, more self-serving motives. 

The sound of Tommy’s teacup clinking into the saucer dragged you out of the downward spiral of your own thoughts. 

“More tea?” you asked, wondering if Tommy could hear the hopeful edge in your voice. He nodded gratefully, and you poured him another serving. He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it, the glow from the match casting his handsome face in sharp shadows. You busied yourself with pouring yourself a second cup as well, if only to distract yourself from staring. 

A particularly sharp yelp of terror from Danny’s bedroom set your nerves clanging. You nearly dropped the kettle on the floor as you stood, reflexively, and hurried towards the barely ajar bedroom door. You heard Tommy’s strong, sure footsteps behind you. 

From the other side of the door, you could hear Danny sobbing in his bed. You’d left all the lamps burning brightly in his room to dispel the darkness that tormented him. He was curled under the covers, laying on his side and rigid. 

“Danny?” you called quietly. He jumped at the sound. You pushed open the door, gently so as not to slam it against the wall. 

“Danny, it’s me. It’s your sister. You’re alright, Danny. You’re home.”

It never mattered what you said. It was the sound of another voice that dragged Danny out of his reveries. Surely, as the words kept flowing, you saw Danny’s tight muscles begin to unwind. 

“It’s OK, Danny. You’re safe. Home in Birmingham. This is your room. And Mr. Shelby is here, too.” 

Tommy was no stranger to the scene before him, and he picked up on your cue easily. He stood behind you, so close you could smell his cigarette and the twang of whiskey on his breath as he spoke. 

“They’re gone, Danny. No more tunnels. No more Germans. The War is over.”

Danny rolled over in his bed, his eyes wide but focused. He honed in on Tommy like a moth to a flame. You could hardly blame him: the deep tone and firm, unhurried cadence of Tommy’s voice reminded you of ocean waves. Undeniable, strong, and magnetic. 

“Mr. Shelby-”

“It’s alright, Danny. Just rest now.” 

Tommy never let Danny talk to him when he was like this. You had never asked him why - you didn’t dare to - but you suspected it was because Thomas Shelby didn’t want to be reminded of the things that haunted Daniel Owen’s nights. In fact, if you’d been a betting woman, you’d have guessed that the same horrors stalked Tommy’s dreams. There were dark pools in the back of Tommy’s eyes sometimes that reminded you of the way Danny looked when he got like this. 

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

Danny nuzzled down under the covers, his eyes darting to you in questioning. Finally convinced of his lucidity, you stepped forward to tuck your brother into bed. You bent over and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, dabbing away the sweat that had beaded there with the hem of your sleeve. 

“Rest now, Danny Boy,” you whispered, using the name your mother had called him. Danny’s eyes drifted shut, and exhaustion took him quickly. He didn’t sleep well these days, and as the clock in your kitchen heralded the arrival of 3am, tonight was quickly shaping up to be a similarly wasted venture. 

With Danny calmed, for the moment at least, you followed Tommy’s retreat out of the bedroom. The lamps still burned merrily, burning through the precious oil you struggled to purchase at a rate comparable to the demand generated by Danny’s nightmares. Once his bedroom door had been pulled almost shut, only a sliver ajar, Tommy spoke again. 

“I should be off, y/n. It’s quite late.” 

You hated nights like these, and most of all this part of the night. The part when Thomas Shelby left. 

You didn’t trust yourself not to beg him to stay, so you bit down on your lip and said nothing. You watched as Tommy gathered his hat and wool coat from the coat rack next to your apartment door. He turned back to you, his eyes shining like pools of clear springwater. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he offered with a gracious, half-bow. So genteel and gallant. 

“Tommy, this bitter excuse for tea is the least I can offer, and you know that. Please stop thanking me for it.” It sounded bitter and outside of convention, but you meant every word. Thomas Shelby had saved your brother’s life in the War, and he continued to save it on a daily basis. The work that Tommy supplied to Danny through the Peaky Blinders gave your brother the only sense of purpose that he’d found after coming home. And Tommy’s steadfast guidance on nights like these was no small feat. You knew Danny loved you, and after almost 3 years, you’d learned how to handle your brother’s shell-shock, but Tommy had an effect on him that even booze and opium couldn’t replicate. Tommy grounded Danny. To say nothing of the effect Tommy had on you. 

As if to underscore the point, Tommy let out as close to a smile as you’d ever seen as he donned his hat. The sight made your heart twirl between your ribs like a little girl around a maypole. 

“It’s never a bad thing to express gratitude, even for humble gifts,” he replied easily. “And I am grateful.” The sincerity with which he delivered these last words silenced any retort you might have had. You could only smile back as he turned and showed himself out your front door into the dingy hallway. You didn’t close the door fully until Thomas Shelby’s footsteps had fully faded in the stairwell and down the cobbled street outside… 

**if I write a p.2 and you want to be tagged, shoot me a message!

[twodogs-twocats]

The Maskmaker and the Masked (Sleep Token’s III x fem reader) 18+, NSFW

You are hired by Sleep Token to design new masks for the band. But you quickly realize your relationship with III is more than professional.

Warnings: SMUT - 18+, MINORS DNI. Oral, penetration

I did my best to maintain members being masked while making this somewhat realistic. This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, so please be kind! I hope you enjoy!

Part II

London was cold and rainy. Your head was steadily throbbing after 10 hours on an airplane, your hair frizzing out from the two buns you had carefully arranged just that morning. You felt sticky and tired.

And yet, you couldn’t help the tingle of excitement that coursed through your body. From the back seat of the taxi, you watched the rain splatter the windows as you twirled your thumbs. Excited, yes, but also incredibly nervous.

You had been hired by one of your favorite bands, Sleep Token, to design new masks for the band members. Apparently, the members of the band had found your Instagram and had fallen in love with your work. After several emails and phone calls with their manager and a couple of signed NDAs, you were emailed plane tickets and and address. And now, in just a matter of hours, you would be meeting the members to take measurements.

It had all happened so quickly, and while you felt confident in your work and thrilled by the opportunity, you were stressed about making a good impression.

A few hours later, feeling a bit more well-rested and certainly much cleaner, you followed the band’s manager through the winding corridors of an old house. It wasn’t quite where you were expecting to meet the members, but you were pleased by the aesthetic as it matched the mysterious vibe of the band itself. You made polite chit-chat with the manager, following them down a dimly lit hallway with red walls and ornate chandeliers.

Soon you heard the low thrum of male voices coming from a room ahead. You fiddled with the large tote bag that held your art supplies. The butterflies in your belly that had been softly fluttering all day long now grew into a frantic swarm.

The band manager stopped just before the door and turned towards you.

“Just remember, the band members will be masked, and you have signed NDAs that prevent you from releasing any sort of information about your time spent here with the band. I just want to reiterate that it is extremely important to the members that their privacy is respected”

You nodded. “Of course, I understand. I’m just honored to be here. I would never want to be disrespectful.” You meant this with all your heart. You appreciated the band’s desire to put their music first. You would never want them to lose that.

The manager offered you a genuine smile, and beckoned you into the room. “Right this way then.”

Taking careful steps and a few swipes at your hair (still frizzy - damn the rain), your eyes were met by the most beautiful sight.

All four members lay sprawled around a small, but gorgeously decorated room. Vessel lay stretched along a red leather couch, his legs so long that his feet (no shoes, just black socks with cat faces on them) dangled off the edge of the armrest. II was seated cross legged on the floor, clad in a thick black hoodie, reading what appeared to be a drummer’s magazine. IV stood by a window, sipping at a beer with his hands shoved in the pockets of his baggy black jeans. It was like staring at a piece of art far more spectacular than anything that lined the walls of this old manor. You weren’t even sure if you were still breathing.

Yet it was III that really caught your eye. He lounged casually in an overstuffed chair at the back corner of the room, long legs pulled up into his chest. His hair hung loosely around his mask. He wore a dark blazer and his trademark checkered socks. In a split second, you felt your body tune into his intense energy. He was incredibly attractive.

You had only a few moments to take them in like this, glorious in their peacefulness, before they realized you were there. Then it was all hugs and handshakes, smiles and questions.

“How was your flight? Not too dreadful, I hope.” Vessel asked you, taking your hands in his, their warmth welcome after the chilly weather. You were caught off guard by his voice at first, as you realized you had never heard any of them speak.

“Lovely to meet you, Y/N. I’ve admired your work for so long,” II offered, gazing at you rather intensely from piercing blue eyes.

“Come, sit.” IV said, clearing pillows off of the couch. You could see his eyes crinkled in a smile behind the fabric of his black mask. “We ordered pizza!”

It was at this very moment that your stomach grumbled loudly. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

This was received with gregarious laughter, but it was a quiet chuckle just behind you that made the hairs stand up on your neck. While you were being fretted over by the other members, III had managed to come up behind you.

“My my, we can’t have our girl so tired and hungry,” he spoke gently into your ear, his voice causing a shiver down your spine. Placing his large hand on the small of your back, he guided you firmly toward the couch. As you made to sit, his hands gently pulled the tote you carried from your shoulders. Everywhere III touched he left a burning imprint on your body.

“What else can I get for you, love?” he asked, kneeling before you and resting a hand on your knee. “You have come such a long way for us. I want to make sure you are well taken care of.”

Hot. He was so stupidly hot.

“I’m alright III, thank you.” You replied, trying to stay professional, even as his hand was burning a hole through your jeans. “Some food sounds lovely.”

“Good,” chimed in Vessel. “No work now. Tonight, we would just like to relax and get to know you.”

Soon the pizza arrived, and you spent the rest of your night immersed in delightful conversation. You talked about everything, from favorite foods to childhood pets, even playing a round of Never Have I Ever that left you laughing until your belly ached. Little by little, you felt yourself ease into their presence, becoming more comfortable and more capable of being yourself.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice the way III continued to look at you, his eyes always focused on you, lingering, assessing. You felt a knot in the deep parts of your gut. Was he checking you out? You felt like it was possible, but you didn’t want to read into it. You had a job to do. So instead, you continued to relax into the joyful company until the late hours of the night.

The next day was measuring day. You had everything you needed ready to go in your tote, and your head was swimming with ideas. The fact that your work was going to be worn by such talented musicians still felt unreal. Even more unreal after the incredible night you had just had. You couldn’t believe how sweet they all were, and they seemed just as in love with your art as you were with their music. The entire opportunity was a dream come true.

You arrived at the same manor as the night before, but this time you were led to a small sitting room flooded with natural light. Starting with Vessel, you met with each member one-by-one, having them sit on a stool in front of you while you gathered the data you needed.

While you worked, you chatted with them. They asked you questions about your art, and you asked similar questions back about their music. You listened intently, knowing that understanding their music on a deeper level would help you create better masks. Each interaction left you joyful and smiling. You still could not believe you were here with them, and how readily they welcomed you into their world.

The final member to measure was III. You could not lie to yourself, you had been the most excited to meet with him. You had spent your nighttime hours thinking about him, wondering what it would feel like to have him hold you, touch you, kiss you…

“Good morning Y/N.” IIIs voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Could he hear how loud your heart was beating?

“Good morning III,” you greeted him, plastering what you hoped was a nonchalant smile on your face. He looked ethereal, wearing a long-sleeve black button-down, and black jeans that perfectly accentuated his long legs. Just be professional, you reminded yourself. “Take a seat please, and we can get started.”

“Yes ma’am,” he quipped. Even as he sat, he still towered over you.

You pulled out your measuring tape and a pen and paper. Starting with his forehead, you drew the tape along the various planes of his face. Your fingers tickled with electricity as they studied the contours of his features under the black fabric of his mask.

The whole time, III gazed up at you with blue-grey eyes.

“Does it make it more difficult that we are masked while you’re doing this?” he asked you.

“Actually, it’s a bit easier,” you replied. “I can use the dimensions of your existing mask, rather than having to create complete new ones.”

He hummed with understanding. “Tell me more about your art. Why do you make masks?”

God, just him talking to you was getting you worked up.

“I’ve always been interested in the idea of losing oneself to one’s appearance. Whether it is a costume, makeup, tattoos, I often wonder if we use these things to hide ourselves, or to express ourselves more truly.” Your hands now measured the strong bridge of his nose. “Masks seem like the penultimate of this question. When we hide our faces, are we really hiding, or does the anonymity allow us to more fully be who we are?”

“How beautifully put.” Now you guided the tape along his jawline, feeling its sharpness under the fabric mask. Your fingers lightly traced the exposed skin of his neck, and you felt him stiffen. “A beautiful mind, beautiful art, a beautiful woman,” he said softly.

Your breath caught at his words and you shifted slightly. As you moved, your foot caught on his and you lost your balance, starting to fall backwards. But before you hit the ground, III’s strong arms wrapped around your waist pulling you towards his chest. His warmth, the strong muscles of his body, the musky smell of his cologne — all of it came crashing into you.

“Woah there love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair as he continued holding you close. “I don’t need you getting hurt now. I’m not sure I could live with myself if you got hurt on my watch.”

You chuckled softly, but made no motion to pull away. “Thank you III. You just caught me off guard I guess.”

“Come now, I’m sure you’re used to such compliments.”

You felt yourself becoming braver now that you knew what he was trying to tell you. Now that his hands were starting to explore your waist, thumbs running small circles just under your breasts. “Ah, but I’ve never received such compliments from someone so…”

“Devilishly handsome?” he pulled back slightly, smirking down at you.

“So incredibly fucking hot.”

Two seconds. You felt him pause for two seconds while he registered what you said. By the third second, he had pulled the fabric of his mask up to his nose, wrapped his hands in your hair, and brought his lips down to meet yours.

The intensity of his kiss was ferocious. His teeth clattered into yours before he spread your lips with his tongue, sliding it in to meet your own. You kissed him back fiercely, as your hands explored his chest, his back, and finally ventured down to his ass.

That touch seemed to light him up even more, as suddenly he was picking you up to carry you towards the couch. He laid you on your back, spread your legs apart with his knee, and then proceeded to kiss you again as he knelt over you. This time, his kiss was more measured, slow and sensual. Your attention drifted to his knee pressing up against your core. He bit your lip gently. “Y/N, my love, you tell me when to stop, alright?”

“Alright,” you replied, gazing up into those stunning eyes, lids now heavy with lust.

You continued to kiss passionately while his hands explored your body, and then traveled up under your shirt. He took your breast in his large hand, thumb circling your nipple. “You are just perfect, aren’t you?”

You bucked to his touch, as your own hands worked to remove the buttons of his shirt. As he poised above you, now shirtless, his hair beginning to shine with sweat, you felt as though you were looking at a god.

“III?” You said softly, tracing a finger down his chest.

“Yes, my love?”

“Let me worship you.”

He growled at your words. You gently guided him off of you, until he was standing before you. Getting down on your knees, you started to unbutton his pants while his hands circled through your hair.

When he was fully unclothed, his massive length sprung out towards you. You were going to spend every second treating him like the god he was, you thought to yourself, as you took him in your mouth.

“Y/N,” he groaned. “That feels so fucking good.” His fingers in your hair tightened, and you welcome the little bite of sensation. You continued to pleasure him, savoring his taste, enjoying the way his breath sped up at your touch.

After you had taken your time with him, you felt a soft touch at your chin. “My love,” he said, taking your face to look up at him. “It is my turn to worship you.”

III guided you up to stand before him, and began to undress you. He took his time, letting his fingers caress your skin, kissing you along your collarbones, your shoulders, and down your chest. Once you were fully naked, he took a step back to admire you. Your body burned beneath his gaze.

“You, my love, are a work of art.”

And then his hands were everywhere. They wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt his cock, still wet from your spit, pressing into your belly. His hands grabbed your ass, your waist, and then began drifting towards your center until his long fingers landed softly on your clit.

You let out a soft gasp, realizing how much you had needed him to touch you there. He traced lazy circles around your clit as he kissed your neck. You knees began to tremble at his touch.

Seeming to sense your inability to keep yourself upright, he guided you back to the couch and laid you down, fingers never leaving the wetness between your legs.

“I love how wet I’m making you,” he whispered, smirking. “My girl deserves nothing but absolute pleasure.”

You whimpered at his words as your hips arched towards him, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” he breathed into your ear. “Tell me how to pleasure you.”

You looked into his eyes, meeting those cool blue depths. “I want all of you III. I want to feel you in me.”

It was like your words had released the final thread. III kissed you again, claiming your lips in his, as he pushed himself inside you.

It felt like heaven. His body in yours, your lips in his, the heat of your bodies like a fire between you. He rocked his hips in a steady rhythm, hitting you deep in your center every time, filling your eyes with stars.

Eden.

His fingers worked their way into your mouth, flooding you with your own taste. Your eyes met, locked together while III pounded into you, deeper with every stroke.

You came together, your body catapulting into a realm of intense pleasure as his fingers gripped the soft flesh of your hips, his head falling back as he reached his own climax. You relished in the warmth, the sense of fullness within you.

Slowly, your breathing softened. III pulled you close, and you both spent a few quiet moments settled in each other’s presence. The rain had started up again, spattering the windows and softening the daylight.

III’s fingers traced soft circles on your back as he held you. “Y/N, my love, I could do that forever.”

You knew in your heart you felt the same. So you pulled III closer and held on tight.

[pokemonvillainadventures]

💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴

Guzma x Burnt Out Reader

💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴

When Burn Out Strikes, Take a Stroll Why Dontcha?

----------------------------------------------

"Auuuugghhhh"

The loud disgruntled moans soon followed by the antsy shaking of your body indicated one thing. You were bored out of your ass. On days you had missions being a Team Skull Grunt was loads of fun. Well if you consider beating up the locals and running from the law as a means of a good time. However, on any other given day, sitting in your shared room, as the rain continues to pour outside as it always did, boredom would come back to haunt you.

Plenty of other grunts would share the feeling and thus over time the grunts would eventually come up with their own "boredom busters" to help pass the time. "Sleeping" and "eating" were the first ideas to be tact onto this unwritten list. A true testament to the sheer creativity that oozes out of these teens and young adults alike. When those ideas came and went, to no ones surprise, more "adventurous" ideas entered the scene.

Laying on your bed your roommates would soon notice your fidgeting body. And so ideas would be thrown around left and right to try and help you overcome todays trial of restlessness.

A young pink haired female grunt would chime in "You could always spray the far left side of the left wall. There should be enough room for SOME piece if you don't mind gettin' a bit soaked."

It wasn't a bad idea per say. Spraying half of Alola in Team Skull parfaneilia was the only other thing you grunts did but a smack to the back of the pink grunts head would say otherwise.

The grunt who dished out the smack was a much older grunt with green spiked hair "No you dolt! That spot is already claimed by me!"

The pink haired grunt would bite back "Well I don't see your name on it!"

The green haired male would answer back annoyed "That would defeat the point of it being an empty spot! If I put my name on it then there's no room for anything else!"

"Not my problem" the pink haired grunt mumbled back

Well that idea was thrown out the window as the two grunts started to argue. Trying to drown out their pointless bickering some of the other grunts would try to pitch in their own ideas. Each one worse than the last.

Freestyle rapping, freestyle dancing, trying to beat up trainers for fun, stealing, stealing nanu's shit, tagging nanu's building, backfliping off the side of the building, attempted parkor.

No. No! NO!

"Auuuuuuughhhhhhh!"

You appreciated the efforts. You did! You truly did, but was there anything that you could do that didn't either land you in the PokeCenter or the Slammers?

Feeling your frustration boil over you made the decision to throw in the towel and realize that todays boredom had conquered you. Tossing your blankets aside and hoisting yourself off the rickety mattress your footsteps pounded throughout the mansion. Some of the grunts even mistook you for the boss with the sheer force your feet were hitting the floor and quickly got out of the way.

Making your way down the stairs and out the door, light rain washed over your body as you plant your behind on the mansion steps.

Your Partner Pokemon shakes in your pocket before bursting out to try and comfort it's trainer. Your lovely little mareep, a cutie but a fighter as well. She lays across your lap, she was the runt of the litter and was told she would never make it. You hated how little your family saw in her, so much so that she's partially the reason why your currently soaking out in Po Towns rain. Still her floofy warm fur was a nice comfort when days seemed grey and dull and today was no different. Brushing her floof and staring up into the bleak rainy sky the boredom never truly left. Was it always going to be like this? Lagging days after lagging days? Missions being your only means of dopamine that fade in an instant the minute you step back into these empty walls?

Okay . . . so maybe you're being a bit overdramatic.

Okay maybe a LOT overdramtic.

Boredom doesn't mean the end of the world  but . . . auuughhhhhh!!

With mareep in your lap and the cool concrete engulfing your back you hadn't even noticed the hulking figure hovering above you.

"So ya gonna keep sulking like a kid on time out or are ya gonna get off your ass and do something?"

Fixating your gaze you look upon the figure and saw none other than your Boss and Leader, Guzma.

If your eyes could roll to the back of your head. "What's it to ya? Is boredam a crime here?"

Shaking off your blatant attitude Guzma steps down and into the rain, he tries to get a cigarette going with minimal success.

"Tsk . . fine keep pouting like that and looking all miserable and see how far that takes you."

Sitting upright you look at the man currently trying to offer you some "guidance" if you'd call it that. His smoking wasn't something you were going to start picking up to try and pass the time. But sitting in silence to internally curse out the world wasn't all that helpful either.

"You doin' good?"

"Huh?"

"You're lookin' tired there, and I know for damn sure it isn't just about bein' bored."

Well he wasn't entirely off. You are consideried to be one of the better grunts. Always trying to do what your told and stand out from the rest. Maybe it's because a part of you believed that you'd receive some sort of grace instead finding out that your reward was days of boredom if you weren't out there disturbing Alola's peace. Day by day you overworked yourself to the bone and for what? Well old habits die hard. You wished you could feel relaxed knowing you've done the bare minimum. Though, if you weren't working till you burned out then we're working hard enough? Maybe that's why you were so hard on yourself when boredom struck. Sitting on your ass when you could be doing something, anything, was enough to get your heart a racin'!

"*under his breath* ah for fuck's sake. *Outloud* Aight' come walk with me." Guzma's voice broke through, causing you to jump a bit in your spot.

"Huh? Why?"

"That wasn't a question. Now move it or stay soaked."

Following behind the two of you pass through Po Towns walls and into the outside world. The rain leaving itself behind while the sun peaked behind grey clouds. You had no idea where he was taking you until your eyes spotted a familiar red meadow. Your gaze looked upon the sea of flowers and, besides two trainers battling in the distance, Ula'Ula Meadows was practically empty.

The whole scene seemed sureal. You didn't take Guzma as the type to want to stroll around a garden for relaxation.

"Okay Grandpa I see you. I see you. Damn whats next on the list. Bingo with Grandma Plums?"

Feeling the smack of his hand on your neck you still notice the small smile through that tough guy demeanor.

"Knock it off. . I just come here sometimes when I run out of shit to throw at my wall. And what's with the grandma comment. You know imma tell her you said that and let's see how well that turns out for you." Looking at you with a smirk running across his face Guzma starts to sit down onto the wooden walkway as the sunsets in the distance.

You follow suit and allow for your mareep to run free through the folliage. Still in the back of your mind this whole thing felt so . . . so . relaxing, not at all what you were used to back in the shady house.

"Look . . I get it. Sometimes a couple drinks or pounding fists at the wall doesn't give you that instant release you're searching for. . so if you want you can always come out here to cool off."

"Seriously?" You look up at him curiously.

"*Blushing* Well yeah? . .*He rubs the back of his head* . . . not like being a part of this team means your my damn prisoner. *Tsk* but don't take this as an opportunity to ditch out on any of your duties here got that!"

You giggle softly. That's the Guzma you know and look up to. Relaxing a bit in your seat you watch as your Mareep frolics happily with a few wild Oricorio. Everything felt a peace for once.

"Sorry for making fun if you for this. . . It's really nice actually. Thank you."

Guzma turns his attention away. Your kind words can't stop him from blushing harder. Some would tease him for this. This place apparently isn't the only thing that makes Guzma feel comfortable. Guzma only pats your head in return as the two of you watch light of the sun fade into the deep blue in the distance as the moon rises to take it's place as the watcher of the night.

🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢🦴💢

[xoxoavenger]

I Can't Imagine

pairing: Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

summary: Michael and Y/N have a fight, one that seems like the most important thing until the Shelbys are served a black hand.

word count: 4549

warnings: canon typical injuries, canon typical gang violence, major character death (cannon, not michael or reader)

12 Days of Christmas main masterlist

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N said into the telephone, playing with the ring on her left hand. Michael had proposed not even a week ago, she had moved in not even a week ago, and yet he had only been home when she was going to sleep about two times. It made Y/N livid, and she wasn't going to stand for it. It was almost Christmas, for Christ's sake.

"Shelby Company Limited," Michael answered, and Y/N sighed.

"Mr. Gray," Y/N spoke, listening to Michael's quick intake of breath.

"Y/N," He greeted back, his voice static over the phone. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" He asked, obviously pulling out the pocket watch and looking at the time.

"Aren't you supposed to be home?" She shot back, leaning against the desk he had at home.

"I'll be there soon. I promise." His words made Y/N want to scream, because she knew she wouldn't see him until the morning.

"Why don't you tell Tommy Shelby that your wife wants you home." She spoke angrily, closing her eyes in annoyance.

"You aren't my wife." Michael shot back quickly, making Y/N take in a sharp breath. She thought about saying something snarky back, thought about going to the office in Japanese silk - and idea she had overheard Polly and Esme talking about.

Instead she angrily hung up the phone on Michael's quick apologies.

~

She hadn't fallen asleep but when she heard the door downstairs shut, she closed her eyes and pretended. She heard Michael come into the bedroom, heard his sigh as he took off his jacket and shoes, the clink of metal from his cuff links, the ruffle of cotton as he took off his shirt and then pants, leaving him only in his undershirt. He walked to the bed, gently laying down on his side before he put an arm around Y/N and pulling her close. She didn't snuggle closer like she would have normally, but instead stayed rigid and faced away from him.

"I know you're awake." Michael muttered into her shoulder, kissing the bare skin her night gown provided.

"Do you not understand why I would pretend?" She whispered, trying to ignore the flutter in her heart as he moved closer to her body, the hand that was around her waist feeling around to grab her hand.

"No," Michael's voice was soft and quiet, much different than it had been over the phone.

"Liar." She let go of his hand and rolled away slightly, onto her stomach, making it harder for him to cuddle her.

"Y/N," Michael said, leaning up in bed. Y/N closed her eyes, as if she could fool him now. "Y/N, please. I don't want to go to bed while we're fighting." He reached out for her again, and she pushed him off.

"We can stop fighting when you come home at a reasonable time." She told him, still not facing him.

"I'm doing important work." Michael said as he rolled onto his back.

"For Tommy Shelby? The man who put you on a noose?" She finally moved to her side to face him, barely able to see him in the dull light.

"He's the one who got me off the noose." Michael fired back, making her roll her eyes.

"You wouldn't have been on the noose if it weren't for Tommy!" She was yelling now, and Michael sat up. They had fought before, sure, but she never brought up the time he had almost died. It seemed she was saving it for a rainy day.

"We wouldn't have met if I didn't work for him." It was true; Y/N and Lizzie had worked together, so when Thomas had brought Michael around for some fun Y/N was the one who gave it to him. Michael quickly became a regular, and soon she was payed handsomely and told that she wouldn't need to see anyone else - it wasn't long before her and Michael were official and she learned the Shelby ways.

"Well, what would I know? I'm not your wife, after all." She turned over silently, closing her eyes for the final time that night.

~

She woke up when Michael had gotten out of bed, kissing her forehead as he stood up and then again when he left. She wasn't going back to sleep, so after she knew he was gone she got up and got ready herself. She did a couple chores around the house that the maid didn't do, like cleaning Michael's office and their room. It had been quite awhile when she collected the mail. She went through it, not opening much because it was for Michael. She did pause on the last one, which was sent from New York. America.

"What the hell?" Y/N muttered, putting the other mail down and going into Michael's office for the letter cutter. She opened a couple drawers before she found it, rummaging around and almost cutting her finger on it. She opened the envelope to a card, the content of which was a black hand.

What was that supposed to mean?

She shoved the card back into the envelope, heart racing. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

She grabbed the telephone, pressing the small button twice before she was connected.

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N waited to be connected, leaning on the desk and looking at the envelope once more. She didn't fully recognize the name, even if it did seem familiar, but she had never been to America, so she didn't know where it was anyway.

"Hello," Well that was not Michael.

"Tommy Shelby," Y/N said with malice. She hated Tommy for what he did to Michael, to his own flesh and blood. He was a slimy man, and Y/N refused to put up with him.

"Y/N," Tommy greeted her back, and Y/N just sighed.

"Where's Michael?" She asked before he could say anything else. She didn't want to listen to the leader of the Shelby clan; in fact, she would rather never think of the man again.

"He's on his way to Polly's right now. Had to give him a couple pointers on how to get her back to being Poll." Y/N sighed - she knew that Michael's mum wasn't doing well; her time in prison and in the noose had effected her badly, and Y/N and Michael went to visit her at least once a week. She was surprised that Michael went without her this time, especially because he hadn't even told her.

"Did you tell him to go see her? Because you can't fix problems on your own?" She wondered, brows furrowed and her face hurting from it's frown.

"This problem is better suited for Michael." Tommy told her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Well, it is a problem that you created, furthering my point." Y/N shot back, trying to keep herself from crinkling the envelope in her hand.

"Did you need something?" Tommy asked through a sigh. Y/N took a deep breath - they were practically family now, and Michael respected him. Although she would never respect Thomas Shelby, she would try to act civil.

"I just got a letter in the mail. From America." The line was silent, and she thought it was disconnected for a second until she heard Thomas breathing. "It's from an Italian name. The card was just a black hand." She told him. She hadn't even finished talking before Tommy was swearing.

"Pack a bag and bring some stuff for Michael. We all need to be in Small Heath." He told her, which made her even more pissed.

"We got this house so that we wouldn't have to live in Small Heath." She hoped Tommy could hear her annoyance, could hear her wanting to punch him multiple times.

"I know, but this is the Mafia. The Changretta's are coming after us." He told her quickly, and she heard rustling paper on the other line. Y/N's eyes widened. She didn't work for the Shelby Company Limited, but Michael practically told her everything that Polly, Lizzie and Esme didn't. She knew that Arthur had killed Mr. Changretta, the name she now recognized on the envelope, and she knew that the Mafia was bad news.

"Fuck," She whispered, staring at the envelope. The envelope that was addressed to their house. "They know where we live," She thought aloud, everything coming crashing down.

"Yes, which is why we need to get to Small Heath."

"Well then," Y/N sighed, setting the envelope down. "Guess we'll all be together for Christmas after all, Tommy."

~

"I'll be back soon, I promise. I have to go get John." Michael told her as they put their bags into one of the upstairs rooms.

"I'm coming with you," Y/N told him. By now it was early in the morning, the sun rising on Christmas. They hadn't slept, both of them worried about the anvil that seemed to loom over the Shelbys.

"No, Y/N, you aren't. If John was served a black hand they know where he lives too, and I don't want you to get hurt." Michael told her, taking his gun out of the holster, checking it, and putting it back in.

"Well, I don't want you getting hurt." Y/N fired back, raising her chin as they stared down at each other. Michael knew he didn't have time for this, so the best he could do was hope the mafia hadn't gotten to John's yet.

"Fine. But you stay next to me at all times and do exactly as I say alright?" He agreed, opening the door of the room for her before leading her down the stairs and out of the house, right to their car.

"Of course, Michael." She smiled as he helped her in, sliding all the way to the passenger side. "I know you can protect me." She put a hand on his thigh as he started the car and watched as his face heated with blush. He turned to kiss her quickly before pulling out onto the road.

"So," Michael started as he began driving out of the small town. Y/N turned to look at him. "I didn't mean what I said on the phone the other night." Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned against her door, sighing. Part of her wanted to forget about their fight.

"I don't believe that." She said quietly, waiting for him to either shut up or lash out.

"I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't feel that way." He told her sincerely, turning out into the country roads. "I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't want you to be my wife."

"It still hurts! I was just asking for you to be home and you decided to use my feelings against me." She shot back, heart racing. She didn't like fighting with Michael, but she also didn't like when he treated her like that.

"Your feelings? I was speaking the truth." Michael told her, and she shook her head, looking out the window.

"You clearly do not understand, so let's talk about it later." She told him, effectively ending the fight. They were almost to John's house anyway. They were even on his road when a slow horse pulling hay practically stopped them.

"Come on!" Michael shouted, hitting the steering wheel. It was obvious he was stressed, and Y/N hoped she was hiding her own emotions. John had kids and a wife, he had a family. She hoped he was fine. "Move!" Michael shouted, causing her to jump slightly as he hit the horn. The man with the hay eventually did move, and Michael quickly swerved around the trailer, making his way all the way to John's.

Once they pulled in behind John's car, Y/N went to open her door. "Stay in the car." Michael told her, hopping out.

"No! I'm not leaving your side, remember," She was still pissed, so even if she had made an opposite promise she wouldn't have stayed in the car. She practically had to jog to keep up with Michael, resisting the urge to grab his arm as they walked through the driveway. The two walked around the side, going through the gate before they heard a shotgun reloading.

"Oh, fuck, it's you two." John said as he came out of his small hiding hole, putting down his gun. "Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning?" John asked, looking down at them. Michael grabbed Y/N's hand, holding it tightly. She let it happen, because she needed some strength to get back to Small Heath.

"Tommy wants everybody at Charlie's yard now. Come on," Michael dipped his head toward the cars, speaking quickly to show his urgency.

"Get in. Get in!" John yelled at the dogs, who walked back through the door right as John shut it. He jumped down from the ledge, leading Y/N and Michael to the front of the house. "Nice to see you, Y/N." John tipped his head to her as they walked, and Y/N just smiled. She hadn't seen the Shelby brothers since Thomas had sent them to the gallows, and she had to say that she regretted it. John had always been nice to her, even if they didn't talk much.

"Is Esme here?" Y/N asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Even if Esme hadn't been one of Y/N's closest friends, it was Christmas Day. Of course Esme was at home.

"Of course she is. It's fucking Christmas Day. What does Tommy want, a fucking family reunion?" John asked, turning onto the patio.

"Look, John, we don't have time for this." Michael said, clearly getting more and more stressed just by being there.

"Alright, come into the house," John spoke just as Michael was finishing, "Just come to the meeting."

"Come on, John," Y/N begged as they walked up to the door.

"Have some food." John continued to ignore them, opening the door. Just as he did, Esme came running out. Instead of going toward Y/N like they all thought she would, she walked straight up to Michael.

"Tell Tommy Shelby we can look after ourselves." She seethed, making Y/N sigh.

"Tommy says they could come for us today." Michael spoke, but Esme was taunting him before he had even finished.

"'Tommy says, Tommy says'. Are you his fucking parrot?" She yelled. Y/N grabbed her arm, turning her toward herself.

"It's the Mafia, Esme! The New York fucking Mafia!" She watched Esme just shake her head, and Y/N's heart sunk. She had to get through to them.

"And we're the Peaky fucking Blinders." John said, gun still slung over his shoulder.

"No, we're not, John. We're not the Peaky fucking Blinders unless we're together." Michael told them, obviously losing his patience.

"You were together on the gallows, with one man missing." Esme turned back to Michael, getting into his face in rage.

"Esme, I know you're upset because trust me, I am too. But in the city we have more protection, more people. We can't risk death just because of a stupid man like Tommy." Y/N tried, but Esme wasn't listening. "Just come to the meeting, at least. Think about the kids." Y/N took her hand from Michael and put it on Esme's shoulder now, and everyone turned slightly at a slight noiseto see the hay horse that Michael had passed on the way passing by the house.

"If you want to leave after, that's fine. Just come with us." Michael begged, and Esme turned her head back.

"No. It's Christmas Day. We're the family now. We're staying at home." She got closer to Michael and Y/N pushed her back slightly, not wanting a fight to break out.

"Get in the fucking house!" John shouted as he loaded his gun. Y/N looked over to see men jumping out of the hay, guns firing. Esme began to run, grabbing Y/N and forcing her to follow into the house. She heard the deafening gunshots, and her heart began to pump faster.

"Michael!" She yelled, reaching out for him. He pushed her away, and Y/N stumbled as Esme dragged her. She couldn't catch herself in time, her knees hitting the concrete just before her her head smacked. She hit hard, jarring her. She could hear the guns and screaming and she knew Esme was now yelling at her, pulling her further toward the house by her under arms. She blinked quickly, trying to regain her senses. Her jaw, cheekbone and eye socket screamed in pain, and she groaned as Esme let her fall. She turned to sit up, head rolling as she took in the scene in front of her. Esme was screaming, holding John close to her. She felt her heart race as she realized there was blood staining John's white shirt. She looked over to see Michael, on the ground.

Y/N's heart plummeted.

"Michael," She groaned, pushing herself to stand. Esme's screams were piercing, and Y/N could barely focus. Everything was blurry, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her head or the fact that she was sobbing uncontrollably. She could barely see as she stumbled around, falling to her knees when she was close enough to Michael. The pain shot all the way up her legs and down to her toes, and she felt bile rise in her throat as a surge of pain when through her head.

"Call someone! John!" Esme screamed as Y/N reached for Michael. She used her might to pull him over, trying to figure out how much he was shot.

"Oh God," Y/N retched, turning her head to throw up. Blackness was consuming her, and her head become fuzzy as she fell right next to Michael, still trying to grab him. He shakily grabbed her hand as she dropped her head to his shoulder, feeling him move around in pain.

"Y/N," He groaned. She lifted her head, realizing her face was now wet from tears.

"Michael, oh my," Y/N's throat was tight, her breath was heaving in and out. More bile was rising to her throat from the pain and the horror of seeing the Shelbys being shot. She turned again, letting go of his hand and throwing up. It felt like her heart had just stopped beating, that her insides had knotted together and her throat was swelling. The right side of her face throbbed, and she just wanted to go home.

One of the kids must have heard Esme, because soon enough an ambulance was pulling into the front yard.

"Help!" Esme screamed, and Y/N turned her head to see four men get out of the ambulance. Two went to John, and two came to Michael.

"Please move so we can help him, miss." A man said, gently pushing her back. When she looked up at him, his eyes widened. Y/N wasn't sure why he was looking at her like that, so she moved back to Michael's side. He was breathing still, but it was pained and his eyes were closed.

"He's gone," Another man said as he came up to Y/N and Michael. Esme's screams were louder, and Y/N felt her heart sink; John was dead.

"We need to get these two to a hospital." The first man said, nodding toward the car. The two men who had been looking at John first left, and Y/N turned to see them going to the car to grab out a stretcher.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Y/N asked, tears in her eyes. She didn't want to lose Michael. She didn't want to be left alone.

Oh God, and they had just fought, too.

"We'll try our best." The man nodded. Y/N tried to calm her breathing, because it was hurting her face, but she couldn't.

The men came out with a stretcher, helping Michael onto it. He groaned out, and Y/N winced they picked him up and took him into the car.

"Why don't you come with us, miss? We need to check out your head." A man held his arm out to her. Y/N looked over to see the other man talking to Esme, who was still screaming and crying.

"My head?" She asked as she grabbed the man's arm. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion - she could only see flashes, like one second she was on the patio and the next she was in the front of the ambulance. The man was asking questions, but Y/N wasn't answering. She could barely hear his words. When she went to lay against the door, her head so fuzzy her eyes were closing, she was instantly brought back to the present. Pain surged all the way across her face, practically rattling her teeth. She jarred awake, blinking quickly.

"Are you alright?" The man driving asked, and Y/N sat up, looking around. They were at the hospital in Small Heath, and she jumped out when they stopped. She stumbled, however, falling to the ground and scraping her hands, her knees crying out. She let out a gasp in pain, about to get up when someone grabbed her and helped her up.

Thomas Shelby.

"You," Y/N seethed, seeing red as he looked at her.

"Y/N, what happened?" Tommy asked. This was one of the only times Y/N had ever seen Tommy afraid, and it made her even more mad.

"What happened?" She repeated, grabbing his biceps as he pulled her up. "What happened was you, Thomas Shelby! What happened was you can never inflate your own ego enough!" She screamed, tears falling out of her eyes as she hit him. She clawed at his face, smacking his chest with open hands and fists. She was angry and upset and tired and hurt and she was taking it all out on him.

"Y/N, please," He begged, grabbing her arms. They were locked like that when the men pulled Michael out, who was groaning in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Michael," Y/N muttered going to her fiancé. Tommy grabbed her however, which caused her to hit his arm in an attempt to make him let go. His grip was unwavering, and when he pulled her into him she realized she was screaming, face pressed against his suit. When she finally stopped screaming, her head pressed against Tommy's chest as he cradled her head, she heard Esme's horrified cries.

"No," Tommy said, his grip tightening on Y/N as he realized why Esme was screaming. "No, please," He was begging, and all Y/N could do was cry and lash out.

"He's dead!" She cried as she pushed Tommy away, her head spinning as he let go of her, numb. "And now Michael," Her voice was breathy and she was stumbling, not able to hold herself up.

"They're going to take care of Michael," Tommy promised, shooting a hand out to steady her as she began to fall to the ground. "Are you alright?" He asked, but then she began to lose her balance even more, bringing him down on the muddy ground with her.

"I need to see Michael." She said her breathing getting more labored. Tommy helped her lean against him so her head didn't hit the mud, using the opportunity to examine her bruise.

"He's going to be okay. We need to get you in, your face," He trailed off, not sure how to describe it. Her jaw and cheekbone were swollen, and although she probably hadn't noticed her eye was also almost swollen shut.

"Michael," She breathed, and Tommy's thoughts jumped to the fact that if he were to marry again, this would be the kind of girl he didn't want; one who didn't even care that half her face was smashed in because he was shot.

"Y/N, come on," Tommy tried to pull her up, but she was practically dead weight.

"Fuck you, Tommy." She muttered out, grabbing his jacket. She was shaking, and Tommy was worried about her. "Fuck you." Her eyes were closing, her grip loosening.

"I need help!" Tommy yelled, watching a couple men come out of the building.

"I hate you, Thomas!" Her voice croaked. It wasn't louder than her breathing, and her voice was cracking.

"How did you hit your head?" He asked, moving her hair out of her face and using the hand on the back of her neck to move her head and see the extent of her bruise.

"Get the fuck off me!" She hit him, but it was more of a tap. "Let go of me," She rolled over and onto the mud, coughing as if she were going to throw up. It took Tommy a couple seconds too long to realize she really was dry heaving. The two men had come over to her, grabbing her arms and picking her up to take her into the hospital.

"Make sure she gets the bed next to Michael Gray." Tommy said as he got up, pretending like he hadn't noticed the mud caked into his pants.

"Thomas Shelby is a coward!" Y/N yelled weakly as she was carried in. "He's a coward and he will do anything for his own gain. Even kill his own family!" And he hated to admit to himself that it was true.

~

"Why aren't you laying with me?" Y/N woke up to Michael's voice behind her. She had been laying towards the wall, because she didn't like sleeping on her back and she couldn't put pressure on the right side of her face. She sat up to turn, and she knew when Michael as realized the bruise. She realized belatedly that she couldn't open her eye all the way, and that her head was throbbing in pain.

"You were shot," She muttered, sitting up all the way and pushing off her bed. Her dressing gown fell short,  much before her knees, her feet completely bare. Her cheeks heated as she realized someone would have had to undress her, and she hoped it was Ada or - more likely - Polly.

"Yes," His voice was gravelly, but he seemed awake, and she wondered how long he had been awake. "My mum came by, she said to tell you she was the one who undressed you. That she fought with physicians to get them away from you." Michael was reaching for her now, and she moved to grab his hand, letting him pull her close and arrange her so that they could lay together.

"When I saw you on the ground - oh God, Michael." Her breaths were short, and although his eyes were closed he was rubbing her back. "I was so afraid you were dead. Before we even got married." He let out a small breath of laughter, still not opening his eyes.

"I can't imagine how Esme feels." He muttered, making Y/N's heart drop.

"I'm sure Tommy is getting a good picture." She said, thinking back to when she had gone crazy as Michael was taken into the hospital.

"He told me about your episode." Michael said softly, and she just closed her eyes. It was embarrassing to think about the way she had screamed at him the way she had thrown a fit outside the hospital and completely collapsed.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered, eyes closed for fear of what he would say.

"If I were you, I probably would have given Tommy a new scar." Michael rubbed her back a couple more times before they settled into bed to sleep.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[leclercsluvs]

MV1 | Echoes of Sorrow

(part 1)

an: this is sorta loosely based on a song from 2006 that i used to listen to all the time. considering it's not an english song, i'm not going too much after it, just kinda the "plot" of the song. it's danish by the duo nik & jay and its called 'når et lys slukkes' so if you're up for it you can take a listen. pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader warning: kidnapping, swearing, death, drunk driving, murder, car crash, google translated french word count: 2.8k

Max knew bringing you into his life was dangerous, but it wasn't until he got the call that he realized just how dangerous it had been. You hadn’t been in danger in the four years you’d been dating. But then again, Max didn’t quite know the dangers of what he had gotten himself into in the beginning. He thought it was just an innocent way to get a ton of money. Boy, was he wrong. Now he was sitting in a bar at 12 PM because he didn’t know what to do. It had been raining all week, and right now, it certainly wasn't helping his mood.

“Can I have a refill?” Max mumbled to the bartender, pushing his glass forward. He hadn't been here for that long, but he had definitely had more than he should have. But he needed to clear his head a little, and he couldn’t do that sober. At least, that was his excuse for ending up at the bar.

“I think you’ve had enough,” the bartender walked over to him, putting a hand in front of Max. “Can I have your keys? You’re not driving anywhere like this.”

“I didn’t bring my keys,” Max lied effortlessly. “Someone drove me here. I’ll just call a cab.” He got up and walked towards the door. He could feel the tears stinging in his eyes, but he wasn’t interested in crying in front of anyone. Not right now. He just needed a bit more liquor, and he’d be set. He could find you. You were counting on him.

In fact, you knew Max was coming. He had been telling you ever since you started dating that if anything were to happen to you, he’d be the first to start looking for you. And right now, that hope was all you needed. You needed the knowledge that someone was coming, someone was looking for you. You didn’t exactly know how you ended up tied together in the trunk of a car, but you knew this was not on your to-do list for today. You weren’t even sure who was driving the car you were in, and you couldn’t feel your phone in your pocket, so you had no way to call Max.

Max stumbled into the small convenience store and picked up a bottle of vodka. “This will probably do,” he mumbled and walked to the cash register to pay.

“Mr. Verstappen! What are you doing here so early? I didn't think you’d be back today. I don't have it here,” the owner of the store looked almost terrified to see him back. Well, to be fair, he was here collecting a big sum of money just a few days ago, and let’s just say, it didn’t quite go as everyone had wanted. They still had some cleaning up to do.

“I’m not here for business today,” Max said as he placed the bottle on the counter. “Just had to pick up this.” He looked up at the man across from him, eyes blank, on the brink of tears. He wouldn't do it yet, though. Not around people. He might be liked and respected as of right now, but all that could change oh so quickly, especially if he broke down over this. So many people in this business had suffered worse, and he was on the brink of crying because his girlfriend had been kidnapped? And he didn’t even fully know if it was true yet.

“Oh, well, that will be 20 dollars,” the store owner barely finished before the money was on the counter, bottle in Max’s hand, and he was walking towards the door. He needed time alone. Now. He needed to process.

As the car came to a stop, you couldn’t do anything but hold your breath. Would you know the person who had taken you, or would he be a total stranger? The trunk opened, and the rain disappointed you. Was it really on a rainy day you got kidnapped? A man’s face appeared, and you couldn’t help the fear creeping in.

“So, you are Max’s girl now?” he spoke with a French accent. If he wasn’t a kidnapper, you would have found it kinda hot. But under the circumstances, it was anything BUT hot.

“What do you want us to do with her?” a different voice asked. You sort of recognized it, but only faintly. Was he the one who had technically kidnapped you? Most likely.

“Get her inside. I have to call Max. He needs to know for sure that we have her. I want him in the most panicked state possible before I send the body to him.” The body? Was he talking about yours? God, you were going to die on a rainy day. How awesome. The Frenchman walked away, and his friend came into view, picking you up as easily as if you were a bag of flour. You tried everything to get out, not really interested in this new fate of yours.

Max barely made it to the car before his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was an unknown number. He hesitated for a second, then realized it could be someone with news about you, so he quickly accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of vodka and took a quick sip as he waited for a reply from the unknown caller.

“Is this Max Verstappen?” he sighed, doubting it was about you if they had to ask if it was him.

“Yes, this is Max,” he replied while screwing the cap back on the bottle. “Who am I speaking with?”

“You should come see for yourself, if you want to see your girlfriend again,” the voice stated and gave an address. Max wasted no time getting there, tears running down his cheeks. He was silent, though; he just had to get to you, had to get you back. He couldn’t let anything happen to you. He couldn’t lose you.

Against your will, you were placed on a chair in the middle of a nicely decorated room on the second floor of a huge house. You started losing hope. They weren't going to wait long, not if their plan to send your body to Max was going to be successful. Panic and fear started to mix as you were left alone in the room with your thoughts, thoughts about how this stranger was going to murder you and then send your body to Max. You couldn’t stop imagining his face. If he knew about you by now, he would be looking for you. You knew it. It had to be like that, right? He had told you so many times. He would get to you. You needed him. Your only hope was him.

Max walked up to the front door, feeling 100% sober; however, the bottle was still in his hand. Could it be useful? Maybe if it was empty. He had to get you out alive and safe, though, so anything was helpful. The front door was slightly open, so he pushed it further open, hoping no one was there. He would like for this to be a bit of a surprise. He left his phone in the car, so it wouldn’t suddenly ring or vibrate and expose him.

The first room he stepped into was a living room, nicely decorated with a lot of expensive furniture. “This asshole sure loves spending money,” Max muttered to himself as he moved further into the house, looking behind every door he passed.

He made it into the kitchen. He hadn't run into anyone yet, but he knew it wouldn't be long, and he didn't have any way to defend himself except for the bottle. But how useful was that really? He looked around the room, and his gaze landed on a set of kitchen knives, almost glinting on the table, asking him to take one with him. So he did and moved further until he got to a staircase. He could hear faint voices coming from upstairs, but he couldn't hear who they belonged to or what the topic was. He quietly made his way up the stairs, knife ready in his right hand, bottle in his left hand. He was prepared for any surprise this might throw at him.

Before reaching the very top, he stopped and wiped his eyes before taking the last step up. He looked around, making sure they weren't right there waiting for him. He moved towards the voices, and his entire body stiffened as he heard your voice. “Don't hurt him! Please! I’ll do anything to keep him safe.” Max took a couple more steps and stopped. The voices were much louder now.

“Everything, huh?” Max heard the French accent and immediately knew who it was. Pierre. Pierre fucking Gasly. Max was seething with rage. He could feel it in every fiber of his being. “How about…” The voice trailed off, and Max heard you let out a whimper. His mind was suddenly full of all the things Pierre could be doing to you. When Max heard the second whimper, it was clear Pierre was doing something to inflict pain on you, and it was almost as if something changed inside Max. He barely had enough self-control to stay put and put together a plan, but any plan he made wouldn’t be good enough if he didn't do something now.

Just as he was about to jump in and do god knows what, he heard your voice. “Va te faire foutre,” (fuck you - google translate please lmk if it's wrong <3) you spat out, and Max couldn’t help but feel proud, even if he had no clue what you said. He stood like that for a few seconds until he heard your muffled cry, and he sprung into action, not even thinking about what he was about to do, right in front of you.

Both you and Pierre, who didn’t hear Max arrive, were startled, and rightfully so. Who wouldn't be startled if a man came at you with a knife, rage in his eyes? Max wouldn’t let anything happen, even if that meant he had to kill. He tackled Pierre in less than 2 seconds simply because Pierre wasn’t prepared. Max quickly positioned himself so Pierre had no way of moving and then brought out the knife, taunting Pierre a bit before he made his first cut. No one would be able to identify Pierre when Max was done with him. However, he hadn't noticed that you were tied to the chair, forced to watch as Max dug the knife into Pierre's skin, slowly dragging out the pain. As Pierre thought the first part was over, Max quickly placed the knife in his abdomen, making Pierre cough up a bit of blood and just look at the knife with pure shock and horror in his eyes. Max locked their eyes and kept eye contact as he twisted the knife, making Pierre groan in pain. Funnily enough, Max quite enjoyed this. He slowly pulled out the knife, but not for long; he had a lot of work ahead of him. He didn’t plan to let Pierre off the hook easily.

The red blood seemed to never stop seeping out of the many wounds inflicted by Max. It felt like it was everywhere: the carpet, the walls, Max’s hands, Pierre — a mess, not recognizable at all. Max got up and looked around to see where you might have gone, only to see you strapped to the chair, tears never stopping from falling down your cheeks as you just stared at the mess in front of you. “What did you do? What the hell did you do?!” you almost screamed, pain radiating from your voice, not only from what you had just witnessed, but also from the wound above your knee, blood trickling down your leg. He should have noticed, he should have known. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! How could he have missed this?

He rushed to your side, putting pressure on your wound, looking around for something he could use instead of his hands, but he couldn’t see anything useful. “Please tell me you’re going to be okay,” Max said, looking at your leg; the blood didn’t stop, his hands weren’t enough.

Your face was still full of tears, your skin looking a little pale. Sweat started to cover your skin. It almost looked like you had just taken a shower in your clothes. “OMG Max,” you mumbled, barely able to get the sentence out, “did you just kill him?” You looked at him with wide eyes as a sudden headache hit you, your vision became blurry. “What’s that ringing sound?” you asked, confused, barely able to focus, anxiety creeping into your brain, consuming all your thoughts.

Max was just confused. There was no ringing. It was completely quiet, except for Pierre’s ragged breaths. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Schat. There is no ringing.”

“The pain stopped,” Max looked up at you, horrified at what you had just said. You couldn’t not be in pain. He couldn’t leave the scene like this, though, so he unscrewed the cap on the bottle he brought with him and poured it around Pierre. He wasn’t sure this was going to look like an accidental fire, but did he really care about that right now? No. He only cared about you, and he needed to get you to a hospital now. He quickly got you free from the chair, took a lighter out of his pocket, ripped off a small piece of fabric from his shirt, and lit it on fire. He let go of it and let it drop to the floor, where a ring of fire quickly spread around Pierre.

He had to move quickly now. He picked you up; your body already felt lifeless. He got you to the car, luckily without running into any of Pierre’s men. It was only a matter of time before they noticed the fire.

He had to get to the hospital as quickly as he could. He floored the accelerator. Getting you to the hospital was the only thing on his mind this second, and he did make it. However, your body was limp, lifeless, and he was afraid it was too late. But he still had to try; he didn't have time to feel for a pulse, just had to get you in quickly.

“Help! Please!” he walked through the doors with you in his arms, multiple doctors running towards him.

“What happened?” a nurse asked while someone else asked for a gurney.

“I’m not sure. I was told to go to a location, and I found her inside, strapped to a chair with a wound above her knee,” Max basically told the truth, except for the part about Pierre. No one had to know about that. No one would know about that.

“Put her here, and we'll do our best to save her,” the nurse gestured to the gurney being pushed towards them in a hurry. They all disappeared in a hurry, doing everything they could. Max didn’t see much, but he did see that no one gave you CPR, which must mean you had a pulse. He looked down and noticed his hands, covered in blood, which must mean his car was covered in blood too, which meant he needed to clean it.

He rushed out, rushing to his car. He had to get home, get it cleaned up. He couldn't seem to stop crying, and the fact it was raining didn’t help his vision at all. He pushed on the accelerator a bit more, his head full of thoughts: thoughts of you dying, it being his fault. He never had to get into this business. He decided to put on some music, and the song currently being played was one of the new ones from Taylor Swift. Max didn’t mind it. He actually related a little to the song. He turned up the volume and listened to the chorus of “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”

A tear fell down his left cheek as the roads got a bit narrower. This didn't make him slow down; quite the opposite, actually. He sped up more. He liked the thrill of it. His alcohol level was way too high for him to be driving this quickly, in a part of town with a lot of traffic lights and pedestrians.

He didn't see the red light until it was too late. The woman crossing the road to reach her friend didn't notice either. Her boyfriend did, though, and he leaped out in front to try and push her out of the way. However, he didn't manage to do it in time. Max’s foot slammed down on the brake, but it was too late. Max closed his eyes; he knew how this would end. He heard a bang, and all light disappeared.

~

i haven't made a written fic since my wattpad days back in 2020 so i'm not sure how good this is. sorry about the cliffhanger hehe also very sorry i haven't posted in many days, i lowkey forgot about all of these, and then i got a tiny bit busy so when i did remember i didn't have time to write. anyway enjoy this while i work on something more

[tokkiheart]

2025 Year of Fluff

I got inspired to make this after a friend shared with me the 2023 Year of Whump made by @soheavyaburden and I wanted to make something like it, but for individuals like me who prefer fluff and can’t (for one reason or another) do a month long challenge. I’ve had this sitting in drafts for 2 years and I’m finally going to publish it this year.

This is my first time ever doing something like this, but I did my best to have a nice mix of prompts that can work for romantic fluff, platonic fluff, family fluff, etc. so that no matter what kind of fluff you want to do, there’s prompts for you!

I also themed some weeks around big holidays for those who celebrate them while keeping the prompts vague or open to interpretation and aren’t really holiday specific. For example, the week of Easter there’s “scavenger hunt” and the week of Christmas there’s “gift exchange” and “home for the holidays.”

For any prompts where there’s an “X” in it, just substitute the X out for whatever word you want that fits in the context of the prompt. Any prompts marked with “(any)” really means any interpretation of the word/prompt. For example: “Game Day (any)” can be anything from actual sports to video games, board games, card games, RPGs, etc.

You can choose to do this event monthly, weekly, or wild card and change up which you do! Wild Card is basically doing whatever prompt strikes your fancy from any month/week!

This is completely at your leisure! No stress, no pressure, just fun and fluff! Feel free to mix & match prompts or pair with other challenges to your heart’s desire (the only exception is whump, hurt/comfort is fine but there needs to be comfort).

This is open to all fandoms, relationships, forms of media creation (except AI), etc.!

I don’t have a place on AO3 you can submit to, but if someone else wants to make one, contact me and I’ll add the link in this post!

Anyway, without further ado, here are the prompts!

2025 Year of Fluff Prompts

January 1: New Year’s Resolutions/Trying New Things Together/New Year’s Kiss/“This is all so new to me”

January 5: Reassurances/Moral Support/Promises Made, Promises Kept/Massages/“Guess who?”

January 12: Emotional Support/Holding Hands In Pockets/Warm Bubble Bath/Blankets/“I’ve got your back”

January 19: Walk In The Park/Handwritten Notes/Piggyback Rides/First Kiss/“This made me think of you”

January 26: Stargazing/Pillow Fort or Blanket Fort/Candles, Lanterns, Fairy Lights/Compliments & Praise/“You too?”

February 2: Trust/First ‘I Love You’/Blushing/Walking Together/“Let me get that for you”

February 9: Sweet Treat/Valentine’s Day/Love Letters/Love Language/“Shut up and kiss me”

February 16: Love Confessions/Throwing Coins Into A Wishing Well Or Fountain/Weekend Trip/Sleepover/“Show me”

February 23: Bridal Carry/Soothing Touch/Cuddles/Sweet Notes or Texts/Acts of Devotion/“Can I help?”

March 2: Drive-In Theater/Helping With Chores/Sympathetic Ear/Caught In The Rain/“Make a wish”

March 9: Kiss For Good Luck/Tokens of Affection/Sweet Dreams/Wish Granting (or Wish Fulfillment)/“You’re in luck”

March 16: Spring Cleaning/Flower Crowns/Snuggles/Picnic/“You still have this?”

March 23: BBQ/Bouquets/Boating Day Trip/Besotted/“Be mine?”

March 30: Being Silly/Pleasant Surprise/Supporting Silly Quirks or Hobbies/Happy Accidents/“Is this a dream?”

April 6: Nose Kiss or Nose Rub/Parallel Play or Work/Scavenger Hunt/Rainy Day In/“You know you’re really adorable when you…”

April 13: Dandelion Wishes/Sharing Food/Photoshoot/Bookstore/“Oh no, you’re a morning person!”

April 20: Stolen Kisses or Stolen Moments Together/Amusement Park/Meaningful Gift/Uniquely You/“Wanna try?”

April 27: Winning A Plushie Or Prize For The Other/Spooning/Mutual Pining/Shopping Together/“Guess what… I love you”

May 4: Bedtime Stories/Domestic Intimacy/Long Conversations/Putting Flowers In Their Hair/“Could you stay just a little longer?”

May 11: Wearing Or Stealing Each Other’s Clothes/Romantic Dinner/Long Walks/Established ‘I Love You’/“May I have this dance?”

May 18: Heart-to-Heart/Napping or Falling Asleep Together/Adopting A Pet Or Plant/Holding Hands/“Could you stay on the line? I want to fall asleep to your voice”

May 25: Family Time/Game Day (any)/Home Cooked Meal/Surprise Visit/“I’m with you”

June 1: Passing The Time Together/Parade/Making Or Getting The Other’s Favorite Food/Nature Walk/“I’m so proud of you”

June 8: Breakfast In Bed/Fireworks/Pet Names/Rainbows and Butterflies/“Oh no! You’re a night owl!”

June 15: Bearhugs/Lifting Them Up/Pillow Fight/Ruffling Hair/“Did you bring snacks?”

June 22: Accidents Don’t Just Happen Accidentally/Tugging At The Other’s Clothes To Keep Them Close/Listening/Photo Booth Antics/“Want a taste?”

June 29: Flirting/Running Into The Other’s Arms/Summer Vacation/Secret Hideout/“Sorry, I got lost in your eyes”

July 6: Heart Eyes/Running Fingers Through The Other’s Hair/Forehead Touches/Road Trip/“Do you like it?”

July 13: Day At The Beach/Sharing Ice Cream/Swimming Pool Or Hot Tub/Date Night/“I don’t need X to have a good time, I just need you”

July 20: Truth Or Dare Or 20 Questions/Reading Together/Back Hugs/Outsider POV/“Follow me”

July 27: Caretaking/Meeting The Family/Public Displays of Affection/Finishing Each Other’s Sentences/“You read my mind”

August 3: Adoption/Swing Set/Under The Moonlight/Tickling/“Can we do that again?”

August 10: Carrying Things For The Other/Playful Banter/Comforting Actions/Spontaneous Trip/“May I…?”

August 17: Study Buddy/School AU/Passing Notes/Conversations Without Words/“You’ve told your parents/family/friends?”

August 24: Public Library/Sharing Earbuds To Listen To Music Together/Leaving Notes With Food Or Drinks Packed Or Given/Meeting Up During Breaks/“Anything interesting happen today?”

August 31: Loving Gaze/Soft Kisses/Making Playlists Or Mixtapes For The Other/Doing The Other’s Hair/“You’ve been saving this for a special occasion” - “This is it”

September 7: Angel Kiss (Kissing Eyelids)/Power Outage/Resting Their Head On The Other’s Lap While They Do Something/Doing Chores Together/“Let me know what you need, alright?”

September 14: Awkward, But Cute/Good-Natured Teasing/Taking Pictures Of The Other Smiling Or In Their Element/Marathon (any)/“Practice makes perfect”

September 21: Good Morning & Good Night Texts or Written Messages/Sitting On Or Being Pulled Onto The Other’s Lap/Sharing A Book Or Reading A Series Together/Pick Up & Drop Off/“Come here”

September 28: Laughing Together/Pinky Swear/Tracing The Lines Or Writing On The Other’s Hand With Fingers/Watching The Other Sleep/“I’ll take care of it, go rest.”

October 5: Good Morning & Good Night Kisses/Helping The Other Put Something On/Comforting Presence/Running A Bath For The Other/“Feeling better?”

October 12: Play Fight/Carrying To Bed/Whispering Sweet Nothings/Holding Or Touching The Other While They Work/“Tell me about your day”

October 19: Sharing An Umbrella/Fixing The Other’s Clothes or Hair/Making Time To Be With The Other/Weekend In The Countryside/“Oh, I haven’t done this since I was X!”

October 26: Leaves/Kissing In The Rain/Comfort After A Rough Day/Sharing A Bed/“You are my home”

November 2: Soulmate AU/Pillow Talk/Inside Jokes/Tying The Other’s Shoe When It’s Untied/“I’m always here for you”

November 9: Wall Kiss/First Dance/Head Pets/Art, Craft, Poetry, Music/“Have fun?”

November 16: Reunion/Cooking Together/Secret Family Recipe/Photo Album Sharing/“I’m thankful for you”

November 23: Starting A New Tradition/Leading By The Hand/Swapping Favorite Playlists/Getting To Know You/“You’ll get X all over you” - “I don’t care”

November 30: First Snow/Matching Sweaters/Playing In Snow/Baking/“You’re not dressed warmly enough”

December 7: Hot Drinks/Snow Day/Huddled Together/Building A Snowperson/“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”

December 14: Snowed In/Giving A Coat Or Scarf To The Other/Wrapped/Hand Warmer/“I’m comfortable where I am, right here with you”

December 21: Gift Exchange/Home For The Holidays/All The Hugs/Head On The Other’s Shoulder/“It smells like you”

December 28: Cozy By The Fireplace/Doing Their Favorite Things Together/Cute Nicknames/Twirling/“Seeing your face makes me smile”

Place Where You Want Prompts:

• Birthday Party

• Anniversary/Friendiversary

• Celebrating A Holiday Together

• Fluff & Stuff (writer’s choice!)