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favefandomimagines · 24 hours ago

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I Know Places (r.c)

Summary: Y/N has always been the peacekeeper in JJ’s life. Whereas JJ was the chaos in hers. And they only ever had each other. When Rafe finds himself in a sticky situation after a dangerous encounter, Y/N unexpectedly becomes his lifeline. Drawn to her compassion and strength, Rafe tries to change, but his past mistakes—and JJ’s disdain for him—complicate everything.

AN: I’m starting a Rafe Cameron series!! I’ve been going back and forth between a traditional series or an SMAU series. Let me know what you guys think!

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting the Outer Banks in hues of amber and gold. The Pogues were gathered at the bait shop, wrapping up their day. Y/N Maybank leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she watched her twin brother JJ count the day’s earnings with uncharacteristic focus.

"Seriously, J," she teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "You’ve been staring at that cash like it’s gonna sprout legs and walk off. What’s the holdup?"

JJ glanced up, his blue eyes sparkling with the mischief that seemed to define his existence. "Just making sure we’re not short, sunshine. John B’s not exactly forgiving when it comes to missing cash."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. It was always like this with JJ—him playing the charming troublemaker and her trying to keep him grounded. Being twins meant they shared everything: a very messed up childhood, an unspoken bond, and a deep understanding of each other’s flaws and strengths.

Where JJ was impulsive and wild, Y/N was pragmatic and quick-thinking. She’d spent years trying to be his voice of reason, the one who pulled him back from the edge when his temper or recklessness threatened to get him in trouble. But it wasn’t a one-way street. JJ had long since appointed himself her protector, ready to throw himself into the fire to keep her safe.

"Y/N’s off-limits." That was the unspoken rule on the island, one everyone seemed to understand. Hurt her, and you’d answer to JJ Maybank—and no one wanted that.

But Y/N wasn’t just JJ’s sister. She was her own person, and she had a way of disarming people that JJ envied. Everyone liked her, even Topper Thornton, though he’d never admit it. She had this ability to make anyone feel at ease, but she was no pushover. Y/N could be a firecracker when needed, her sharp tongue and quick wit making her a force to be reckoned with.

And JJ had no issue reminding everyone.

"Remember last summer?" JJ said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. "When Topper called me a loser, and you laid into him in front of the whole dock?"

Y/N smirked, leaning her elbows on the counter. "Someone had to teach him some manners. You were about two seconds from throwing him into the water."

JJ laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "You’re lucky everyone loves you. If it were me, I’d have ended up in cuffs."

"That’s because I use words, J. You use fists."

JJ shrugged, grinning. "Same difference."

Their banter was interrupted by Sarah Cameron strolling into the shop, her blonde hair catching the light of the setting sun.

"Party on the beach tonight," she announced, her voice light but insistent. "Big one. First of the summer. You guys coming?"

The Pogues exchanged glances, the exhaustion from their day already fading.

"Beach party? Hell yeah, we’re going," JJ declared, slamming the cash drawer shut.

Y/N hesitated, her stomach twisting slightly at the thought. She wasn’t a fan of big parties, especially ones where Kooks, Pogues, and Tourons all mingled. The lines blurred too much, and it always felt like trouble was just around the corner.

But she couldn’t say no when the rest of the group looked so excited.

"Fine," she said, feigning nonchalance. "But if this turns into a Kook-Pogue brawl, I’m not breaking it up."

The beach was alive with music and laughter when they arrived, the crowd a mix of sunburned Tourons, smug Kooks, and carefree Pogues. Y/N stuck close to her brother at first, the unfamiliar energy of the party making her skin prickle. This wasn’t the Boneyard, their turf. Here, they were outsiders.

JJ nudged her, his protective instincts on high alert. "Stick close, alright? I don’t trust these Kooks not to pull something."

Y/N rolled her eyes, brushing him off. "I’m not a kid, JJ. I don’t need you babysitting me."

JJ shot her a look that was equal parts exasperation and concern. "I’m serious, Y/N."

"Relax," she said with a smirk. "I’ll be fine."

Hours passed, the party raging on as the sun dipped below the horizon. While the rest of the Pogues were still going strong, Y/N had had enough. The unfamiliar crowd and overwhelming noise wore on her nerves, and she was ready to leave.

She didn’t really drink so she was completely sober, which could have contributed to her not having fun.

"Hey, I’m going to head home," she told JJ, who immediately frowned.

"I’ll walk you," he offered, but she shook her head.

"No need, I’ll be fine. Text me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come back and pick you guys up."

JJ hesitated, his protective instincts warring with his trust in her. Finally, he sighed. "Be careful, alright? And… I love you, sunshine."

Y/N smiled, ruffling his hair. "Love you too, J."

The night was quiet as she walked toward the Twinkie, parked on the street just outside Tannyhill. Sarah had assured them it was safe—Rafe wouldn’t be home, so there was no risk of running into him.

But as Y/N approached the gate, something felt off. It was wide open, swinging slightly in the breeze. She stopped, her instincts screaming at her to turn around. Then she saw them—three shadowy figures dressed in black, bolting from the side gate.

Her heart pounded as she froze, watching them disappear into the night. Curiosity gnawed at her, overriding her better judgment. She should have called the police and left. But she didn’t. She stepped cautiously up the driveway, her eyes scanning the area.

The door was ajar, the faint glow of the interior lights spilling onto the porch. She pushed it open slowly, her breath hitching at the scene inside. Glass littered the floor, furniture was overturned, and an eerie silence hung in the air.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. No response.

As she rounded the corner into the living room, her stomach dropped. Someone was lying on the floor.

Rafe Cameron.

He was unconscious, blood trickling from a gash on his head. Without thinking, Y/N knelt beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly.

"Rafe," she said, her voice shaking. "Rafe, wake up."

A groan escaped his lips, his face scrunching in pain before his eyes fluttered open. "What... Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"I saw the gate open and... I had a feeling something was wrong. Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" he muttered, wincing as he tried to sit up.

"Don’t move," Y/N ordered, her tone firm. "You could have a concussion."

He shook his head, grimacing. "I’m fine.” Y/N looked at him incredulously. “Rafe, you need to go to the hospital.” Y/N rebutted. “No, no hospital. Just... do what you do for JJ." Rafe replied.

Y/N frowned but helped him up. "There’s a first aid kit in my bathroom," he said, leaning heavily on her as they made their way upstairs.

Y/N kept her hands on his arm and his back, the last thing they both needed was him falling down the stairs and hurting himself even further.

“Sit down.” She told him. Rafe sat on the closed toilet and watched as Y/N grabbed the first aid kit. She didn’t have to come inside, she could have left him. But she didn’t.

The tension in the bathroom was palpable as Y/N cleaned his wound, the closeness between them stirring something unspoken.

"How do I know it wasn’t you and your friends who robbed me?" Rafe asked suddenly, his tone accusatory.

Y/N froze, glaring at him. "If I had, I’d be halfway to Mexico with all the expensive shit you have in this house. Maybe next time, I’ll think twice about helping you.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, muttering an apology.

He never got along with JJ or the rest of the Pogues, that much was certain. Rafe and JJ had fought on multiple occasions, almost always over Rafe flirting with Rafe a little too seriously for JJ’s comfort.

But he was never harsh to Y/N like he was to the rest of them. He always thought that she was too perfect for the Pogues but he never had the courage to act on his feelings.

Y/N finished cleaning the cut, placing a butterfly bandage over it to hold the two sides together. She sifted through the first aid kit and found a travel sized bottle of Tylenol. Y/N took off the cap and handed him two pills.

"Take these and you probably shouldn’t fall asleep. You might still have a concussion. You really should see a doctor." Y/N told him.

"Yeah, well, lucky for me I had you," he said, his voice softer now.

Y/N moved to leave, her emotions a mix of frustration and something she couldn’t quite name.”Lucky for you, I’m a good person.”

"Thanks," Rafe called after her. "Seriously."

She paused at the door. "Just... don’t make me regret it."

As she walked away, both of them felt it—that unspoken shift. And Rafe, for the first time in a long while, was determined to explore it.

Y/N made her way down the stairs of Tannyhill, the eerie silence of the house settling around her. Her hands trembled slightly as she replayed the events of the night in her head. She’d just patched up Rafe Cameron—a man who, until now, had been little more than a looming presence in her world. His blood on her hands, the weight of his injury—it was all too surreal.

She stepped outside, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. She glanced back at the house, the faint light from the upstairs bathroom glowing in the dark. Rafe was still up there, sitting in silence with whatever thoughts plagued him.

“Lucky for me, I had you.”

His words echoed in her mind, and for a moment, she felt the weight of them. Rafe wasn’t someone she thought about often. Sure, she’d seen him around—he was hard to miss, with his sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and the quiet intensity that seemed to follow him like a shadow. But this? Being alone with him, patching him up after what had clearly been an attack, had cracked the veneer of distance between them.

Upstairs, Rafe leaned against the edge of his sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, the cut on his head still throbbing. He popped the Tylenol Y/N had given him and ran a hand over his buzzed hair.

He couldn’t get her out of his head—her sharp wit, the way her voice softened when she realized he was hurt, the way she’d scolded him like he was one of her own friends instead of some Kook she barely tolerated.

“Lucky for you, I’m a good person,” she’d said.

He let out a quiet laugh, the memory tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was something else—bright and unflinching, someone who didn’t cower under his sharp edges or the weight of his name.

And then there was the way she’d looked at him. Not like he was the Rafe Cameron, the Kook king of the island. Or the guy who had beaten up her brother countless times. She’d looked at him like he was just a guy who needed help.

That was a first.

Back outside, Y/N stopped halfway down the driveway, glancing over her shoulder at the gate. The memory of the three shadowy figures flashed in her mind, and she frowned. Who would have the audacity to rob Tannyhill? And why?

She pulled her phone out, debating whether she should call JJ. She knew he’d flip if he found out she’d gone into the house alone—or worse, that she’d been the one to find Rafe. JJ and Rafe were like oil and water, and she could already hear the string of colorful curses her brother would throw at her if he found out.

But she also knew JJ would lose his mind if something happened to her.

Sighing, she shot him a quick text:

Y/N: Made a quick pit stop, heading home now. Don’t forget to text me when you’re ready to leave.

She slipped her phone into her pocket and started down the long driveway. Despite herself, she couldn’t shake the image of Rafe’s face—his guarded expression, the vulnerability in his eyes when he muttered, “Thanks.”

#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #kiara carrera #john b routledge #sarah cameron #rudy pankow #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey

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seitmai · 12 hours ago

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Oh man so many thoughts (very late but I'm trying🥲)

"You feeling okay? How's Nugget Part Deux?" "We're exhausted. Rose is the only one with energy right now."

Nugget Part Deux, that's so cute🥹🥰

A sardonic laugh almost burst from his lips. "Baby Girl, I worry about you and Rosie and the new baby constantly. Okay? Nonstop. But we can't go back now. You're already almost in the second trimester. Hey," he said, swallowing hard as you finally turned and looked at him. He held Rose just a little tighter as he whispered, "We're married. We're happy, right? You're not actually thinking about ending your pregnancy, are you?" "No," you replied quickly, shaking your head. Bradley desperately wanted to know if there was some way he could make this easier for you, because he didn't want you to resent what was happening. But you just started crying as you shrugged again. "I just feel like our timing is terrible. And I know I have to start telling people, because I'm already showing a little bit, but I'm just so frustrated, Bradley."

I truly get the frustration...

He never dreamed the two of you would go from trying for months to get pregnant with Rose to being frustrated about a second pregnancy, but here you were. "I realize you've got to do most of the work right now, but when I tell you that I want another baby and that I'm excited about this, I mean it." "I know!" you whispered quickly. "I know." You swiped at your tears before wrapping your arms around him and Rose.

A family group hug is what she needed in that moment 🫶🏻

"Is something else bothering you?" he murmured when your cheek came to rest on his bicep. He couldn't imagine what else could be the matter, but he needed to make sure.

This is your chance!!

Your parents broke out into twin grins. "I'm assuming this was a surprise to the two of you?" your dad asked. When you nodded silently, he added, "A happy surprise at least! Congratulations. You're about to have your hands very full."

Not them being called out on the surprise lmao

"It's a good thing we're moving!" your mom practically shrieked. "Two under two! Two babies! What if you have twins?" "We're not," Bradley replied. Then he froze. "It's not twins. Right, Sweetheart?" Now he was a little scared as you turned to look at him and laugh. His shoulders sagged in relief. "I mean, the more the merrier, but that would be a lot."

Ahaha the panic

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache is working with some high fucking quality goods, huh?" Cam marveled, shaking his head slowly in reverence. "Congratulations."

This cracked me up haha

Your thumb ran along the top of your leggings as you started to cry. You needed to pull yourself together. Did you cry this much with Rose? Did everything make you feel like you looked disgusting? Eventually you dozed for about an hour before the sound of the front door closing jolted you awake. Rose started screaming, probably hungry after being out for so long. You rolled out of bed, avoiding your reflection in the mirror at all costs, and went to meet them in the kitchen.

🥺🥺🥺

The idea of going out and pretending that you were drinking alcohol was too much to handle. Even if you could find someone to watch Rose, it didn't sound like a fun time. He glanced up and said, "I don't want to go without you."

Right answer on Bradley's part

You rolled your eyes as Rose switched to your other side. It was easy to feel better about things when it was just the three of you at home. You looked at your husband as he ate an apple in four bites and convinced yourself he would never do anything to hurt you. Then he drank half a beer and belched while he adjusted his junk, and you thought perhaps nobody else would want to deal with him anyway. "What do you mean where?" he scoffed, tugging again. "To take a shower with me while Rose naps. Where else?" "Right there," you whispered, and he closed his eyes. Your heart beat in your ears, an undeniably excited rhythm. "I can't wait to feel it, too," he murmured, his cheek coming to rest against his hand. "You couldn't feel Rose this early."

🥰🥰🥰

"Sounds good." He kissed you before unbuckling and leaning into the backseat to kiss his daughter. He was still shocked and in a mild daze over the baby moving during the shower. He wanted to feel those kicks against his palm, and now he'd be all over you in the upcoming weeks, looking for his chance.

He is obsessed 🥰

"I have to run," Bradley announced, dropping his cue into Jake's hand. "You're so fucking whipped," Jake drawled. "Get out of here and knock your wife up again.... oh, wait."

🤭🤭🤭

"Oh, sorry," he grunted, nearly plowing over someone in his rush to get to the parking lot. Then Nat burst through the door, movements slowing when she met his eyes. "You left your phone on the pool table." She tossed it to him, coordination pretty good for how much she'd had to drink. She started backing up toward the door as she said, "You better go home with your pregnant wife!" Bradley smiled at his friend, but he could feel Indigo's eyes on him as he stepped off the deck toward the parking lot. And there you were, standing in the first aisle with your back against the red Bronco. Your lips were set in a firm line, and Bradley was about to make it his personal mission to kiss away that expression.

Fucking Indigo

"Baby Girl," he moaned next to your ear. "Let's go home. Maybe we can get in bed and snuggle while I try to feel the baby move? Or you could let me finish what we started in the shower? I'm already so wound up."

Jake is not wrong, he is so whipped

Aim for the Sky Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Everything starts to get very real once you're able to feel the baby move. It's time to share the news of your second pregnancy with family and friends, but it's hard to feel elated when Bradley starts showing attention to one of his pilots after work hours.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, oral sex, pregnancy topics, mentions abortion, lactation kink, jealousy, drinking

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

If you weren't pregnant and exhausted, Bradley would have been concerned by how quiet you were. You seemed to need a nap as soon as you got home from work, and then you wanted to go to bed right after Rose went down in her crib each evening. When he got home quite late on Friday after working on some transfer paperwork for several hours, he was surprised to find that you seemed a little more upbeat than usual.

"Hey, Roo."

You were wearing a pair of his gym shorts while you made dinner. The house smelled delicious, and his stomach started growling as soon as he walked inside. He picked Rose up from her playmat, taking her into the kitchen as he smothered her in kisses before transferring them to you.

"You feeling okay? How's Nugget Part Deux?"

"We're exhausted. Rose is the only one with energy right now."

He supposed that was better than you telling him you couldn't stop throwing up. So far, baby number two seemed to be giving you less grief when it came to eating. "We can nap all weekend," he promised. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good," you told him with a shrug. "How was your day?"

He glanced out the back door at the enormous jungle gym, eyeing it up as an option for him and Rose to play after dinner. "Just busy. Everyone keeps me on my toes all day long. These pilots are really talented."

You seemed to wrinkle your nose at his words, staring at the food cooking on the stove as you muttered, "I'll bet they are."

Rose seemed keen on the idea of the backyard, so he kissed her soft cheek. "Yeah, I can barely keep up with them in the air, but don't tell them that. I've got my head on a swivel the whole time. Indigo and Rex nearly took me out today, and I had to go into a dive. And starting on Monday, I'm going to give myself some extra office hours to stay on top of my paperwork."

Instead of responding about his day, you started to dish out the food onto two plates with your back turned to him. "After we eat, I need to call my parents before it's too late. They're putting their house on the market next week, and I think I'm just going to tell them I'm pregnant and get it over with. I've put it off long enough."

Bradley's brow creased. "They'll be excited though. Right? I mean, maybe not as excited as me, but still excited."

You shrugged again, and he thought he might lose his mind if you kept doing it. "Aren't you at least a little worried there could be some sort of complications from having them so close together?"

"No," you replied quickly, shaking your head. Bradley desperately wanted to know if there was some way he could make this easier for you, because he didn't want you to resent what was happening. But you just started crying as you shrugged again. "I just feel like our timing is terrible. And I know I have to start telling people, because I'm already showing a little bit, but I'm just so frustrated, Bradley."

"I know!" you whispered quickly. "I know." You swiped at your tears before wrapping your arms around him and Rose.

"Is something else bothering you?" he murmured when your cheek came to rest on his bicep. He couldn't imagine what else could be the matter, but he needed to make sure.

You were silent for a few beats before whispering, "I'm fine. Let's facetime my parents."

For how excited your mom was to move to California, she didn't seem to notice that your eyes looked like you'd been crying. She kept talking about selling their furniture and packing everything up. She mentioned how much she wanted to see Rose in person as she fussed over her on the video call. Just as she was starting to discuss their new house in Coronado that would make them his neighbors, Bradley heard you blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

Your parents both looked stunned on the other end of the call. "You're pregnant," your mom said, eyes drifting back to Rose in Bradley's arms. "Already?"

Now both parents were staring at Bradley as he said, "Yeah... due in April."

"April Fool's Day," you said softly.

"It's a good thing we're moving!" your mom practically shrieked. "Two under two! Two babies! What if you have twins?"

"We're not," Bradley replied. Then he froze. "It's not twins. Right, Sweetheart?" Now he was a little scared as you turned to look at him and laugh.

"There was just one heartbeat, Roo. Just one."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "I mean, the more the merrier, but that would be a lot."

He let Rose nap against his chest while he rubbed circles against your lower back, and soon enough, your parents were ending the call with the promise that they would be in Coronado for Christmas. "We'll either be living there by then or we'll fly out for the holiday if our house here hasn't sold yet."

Everything sounded good to Bradley, and five minutes after the call ended, you fell asleep on him, too.

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

When you fell asleep on Cam's shoulder at brunch on Sunday, you figured it was time to tell him and Maria what was going on.

"I'm pregnant. Again."

Maria jumped out of her seat to cram into the opposite of the booth, sandwiching you between her and Cam. "Damn, girl! You've wasted no time!"

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache is working with some high fucking quality goods, huh?" Cam marveled, shaking his head slowly in reverence. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," you whispered, voice harsh and near tears. You had no control over your emotions. This was just like when you were pregnant with Rose, but with less vomiting and more fatigue. Everything made you upset enough that you wanted to cry or angry enough that you wanted to kick down a door. Including your husband.

You answered Cam and Maria's questions as you thought about that woman you'd seen around base with Bradley a few times. They were never alone, always part of a larger group, but you didn't like how she looked at him. And you didn't want to mention it to him, because you knew how ridiculous it was going to sound.

"Hey, I'm really tired," you eventually told your friends. "Do this again in two weeks?" You wanted to go home and nap while Bradley still had Rose out for a walk along the beach. You just wanted to be alone.

"Of course," Maria promised. "I'll text Bob to come pick me up, but you two can go on ahead."

"I'll wait with you," Cam told her, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You made your way out and went home, leaning against the front door in relief when you found the house completely empty. Even Tramp and his yellow leash were gone. You ran to bed, curled up under the covers, and cradled your hand against your belly. It was impossible to tell if you had a baby bump, or if you were still chubby from last time.

Bradley was trying to bounce Rose to keep her quiet, but you yanked your shirt off and reached for her. "Sorry," he muttered as your daughter latched on to eat as soon as she was touching you. "I tried."

"It's okay."

You fed one baby while you considered that her younger sibling was growing inside you, and for once, you couldn't figure out if you wanted to laugh or cry.

While she ate, Bradley looked at his phone and groaned. "Nat wants us to go to the Hard Deck tonight."

The idea of going out and pretending that you were drinking alcohol was too much to handle. Even if you could find someone to watch Rose, it didn't sound like a fun time.

"You go," you told him.

He glanced up and said, "I don't want to go without you."

A smile graced your lips as you told him, "Just go for one drink with your best friend. I'll drop you off and pick you up. You can tell her I'm pregnant if you want to."

"Really?" he asked, perking up like Tramp did when presented with a treat.

"Yeah. I told Maria and Cam earlier. I actually fell asleep on his shoulder in the booth, and when I woke up, they were both gaping at me. I figured I needed to say something."

Bradley snorted. "What did they have to say about Bradshaw Baby number two?"

"Cam is under the impression that you are working with some high quality equipment."

He burst into laughter. "I mean..."

"I'll text Nat back. Then I'll pull the weeds around the playset while I decide what I'm doing about the bar."

You let Rose take a nap, but now that you'd also had one, you felt a little restless. Even after you did a few chores, including looking at items for a second baby nursery online, you wanted to get out of the house again. When Bradley came inside, stripping his sweaty shirt over his head, he said, "One drink. Don't leave me there too long, okay?"

"Is Jake going, too? Maybe I'll see if Cat and Jer are home and want visitors."

"That's a great idea," he replied, taking your hand when he walked past. When he gave you a little tug, you didn't move. "You coming?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

"Where?"

"What do you mean where?" he scoffed, tugging again. "To take a shower with me while Rose naps. Where else?"

It was hard to think about anything when your husband was on his knees in front of you, steamy water swirling around his tattooed bicep while his hands pinned you to the tile wall. But it was especially hard to focus on anything other than the feel of his mouth on your body. The scrape of his mustache. The pull of his lips. Soft and demanding and needy.

"Roo," you gasped, lungs full of the humid air, sucking in deep breaths as he looked up at you.

"God, Baby Girl," he rasped, thumb teasing your dainty rooster tattoo. "I'm so spoiled. Your tits look so pretty, and your belly will be big again soon."

You let your fingers drag through his wet curls, pushing them back from his forehead while he kissed the spot where you felt so tender as the baby grew.

"Roo!" you gasped, your hands both flying to your belly. "The baby! I can feel the baby moving!"

"Shit, really?"

His eyes were wide, alert with anticipation as you moved his palm to the spot where you could feel squirming. He eased himself closer on his knees, the shower hitting both of you with warm spray while he let you guide him. You felt it again, just another squirm as you pressed his palm harder to your belly.

"Right there," you whispered, and he closed his eyes. Your heart beat in your ears, an undeniably excited rhythm.

"I can't wait to feel it, too," he murmured, his cheek coming to rest against his hand. "You couldn't feel Rose this early."

"No," you agreed, watching your husband fall even more in love with the unborn baby. "Maybe another week or two and they'll be big enough for you to feel it." You played with his hair, letting him stay put until the water started to get cold.

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

"I'll pick you up in a little while," you informed Bradley when you pulled into the parking lot at the Hard Deck. "Jake is already here, so I'll take Rose to hang out with Cat and Jer for a bit."

"Have fun," you called before pulling away in your Bronco, but going to the bar to hang out without you was not his idea of a great night. He decided he'd just wait and see how the evening progressed before making a decision about telling Nat about the pregnancy. He smiled as he wondered how long it would be until you had to start wearing the maternity tent to work again.

"There you are!" shouted Nat when he walked past the bar, waving to Penny. "We're about to play pairs. You're with Hangman. Rack 'em, Rooster."

Bradley sighed and took the pool cue as she thrust it into his hand. "Can't I get a beer first?"

She turned and shouted, "Hey, Coyote! Get Rooster one!"

Javy saluted him from the bar as Bradley nodded and settled in to start the game. He and Jake wouldn't even have to try too hard to beat Nat and Reuben, but as he got into the groove of things, he realized he was having a pretty good time.

"You want another?" Jake asked him, and soon one beer turned into three. Bradley ended up buying the fourth round for his friends when Mickey arrived. He had enough in his system to not give a shit when Jake started ribbing on him for his new position at work.

"The way your students all jump to attention when they see you has got to be the funniest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life," he drawled, and Bradley nudged his foot, making him miss his shot.

"I'm still in shock that Cat agreed to marry you," Bradley replied before taking a sip of beer.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised Angel let you get her pregnant. Shocked the baby didn't come out with a mustache."

Nat was cackling while Bradley snorted. "She's pregnant again." The words slipped out, but they felt too fucking good on his tongue, just like your body had in the shower.

"What?!"

He was instantly surrounded by his friends while Nat wrapped him up in a hug. "Are you serious? Another one so soon?" she asked with a suspicious looking smirk.

"Yeah," he replied, letting her squeeze him until he thought she might displace a rib. "Apparently I'm working with some high quality equipment."

"Ew!" Nat shrieked, letting go of him while Jake shook his hand.

"Poor Angel," he drawled. "She'll have another little Bradshaw on the loose soon."

"Whiskey shots on me," Reuben said, slapping Bradley hard on the back.

"Thanks, man," he replied while conversation about the baby settled to a normal volume. He drank his shot of whiskey, and that's when he realized he was actually kind of drunk.

The game of pool wore on, but nobody seemed to be keeping track of who won. So he kept going until his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I'm almost there. Rose fell asleep.

"I have to run," Bradley announced, dropping his cue into Jake's hand.

"You're so fucking whipped," Jake drawled. "Get out of here and knock your wife up again.... oh, wait."

Bradley gave him and everyone else double middle fingers behind his back as he walked toward the exit. He was tired and warm and buzzed, and he wanted to curl up next to you in bed and kiss the back of your neck. And maybe you'd let him look at your gorgeous tits. Maybe if he was really good, you'd let him taste you. The evening air hit his body, igniting so much need in him.

"Oh, sorry," he grunted, nearly plowing over someone in his rush to get to the parking lot.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," came a now familiar voice. Blue eyes flashed up at him along with a smile that kept growing.

Indigo was dressed in street clothes, but he tried not to take notice as he nodded. "I knew you'd find The Hard Deck without my help."

She laughed, bright and clear as he tried to step past her. "Don't tell me you're leaving for the night."

A little pout found her lips, and Bradley nodded. "Yeah. It's getting late for a Sunday."

"Come on," she whined, the back of her hand brushing his as he made his way around her. "Let me buy you one drink."

His mind was still gooey with thoughts of taking you to bed as he shook his head. "Thanks, but I really need to go. Enjoy your night."

Then Nat burst through the door, movements slowing when she met his eyes. "You left your phone on the pool table." She tossed it to him, coordination pretty good for how much she'd had to drink. She started backing up toward the door as she said, "You better go home with your pregnant wife!"

Bradley smiled at his friend, but he could feel Indigo's eyes on him as he stepped off the deck toward the parking lot. And there you were, standing in the first aisle with your back against the red Bronco. Your lips were set in a firm line, and Bradley was about to make it his personal mission to kiss away that expression.

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

That younger woman was here with him. You'd seen her around base plenty of times lately, but now she was here. At the Hard Deck. At your favorite bar in your neighborhood. She was with your husband at the bar. They were already standing there together when you drove up and parked.

"Who is that woman?" you snapped at Bradley who was clearly drunk. His hands were all over your waist and hips as soon as he reached you.

"Hey, Sweetheart." His voice was deep and sexy, and you wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but she was still staring you down.

"Who. Is. She?" you hissed, your eyes starting to burn with unshed tears as you stared back. Bradley was kissing your neck now as the woman finally turned and went inside the bar. You already knew who she was. You were sure of it. You'd heard him use her call sign countless times, but you wanted him to say it now. "Bradley!"

"Huh?" he grunted, meeting your eyes.

"Who is that woman you were just with?"

"Natasha?" he asked, and you wanted to scream.

"The other woman, Bradley."

"Oh. That's Indigo."

Your heart sank as soon as he confirmed it for you, but he didn't seem to notice or care that you suddenly felt like your skin was on fire. That woman who was still so fresh out of flight school was already a top pilot, and she was beautiful, and she wanted your husband.

You opened the passenger side door for him, slamming it shut as soon as he was inside. You glared at the entrance to the Hard Deck before heading around the Bronco to drive him home.

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

Either way, it still looks bad, Bradley. We are riding along with all of BG's emotions, and it's a lot to handle. Thanks for reading. More coming soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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little-fairy-forest · 2 days ago

Text

Say that shit again

Bakugo x gn! Reader

Bakugo takes part in the lastest tiktok trend to his dismay, all joked aside once his mother gets the final word

Note : mentions of gaining weight,

"Absolutely not" bakugo grumbles as he cleans the dishes after dinner at his parents house. You sit at the bar table as you try to persuade your boyfriend into partaking in a 'funny' tiktok trend you've seen some couples do

"Whats the worst that could happen, she loves us‐"

"Nuh uh, the old man would be stern with me but..." katsuki looks around to make sure his mom isn't within ear shot "the old hag will hang me if I even mess with you"

You laugh at Katsuki's reasoning, as yes, he is right. Mitsuki has your back even if you're in the wrong, much to Katsuki's annoyance.

"Just once!" You bargain "I'll jump in if things get too heated"

Katsuki finishes washing the dishes and turns to you with a blank stare

"You've one shot and film'n that dumb tiktok–"

You bounce out of your chair in victory, already getting the camera set up, isn't life great when katsuki decides to listen to you?

————

The camera is set up so its facing katsuki, but hidden behind the fruit bowl. You'd be lying if you weren't nervous yourself for Mitsuki's reaction to Katsuki being mean to you in front of her.

Mitsuki is now at the dining room table reading a magazine and having tea whilst you and katsuki are at the kitchen bar table "have a conversation". If only Mitsuki knew what chaos was being plotted right in front of her.

You could smell the smoke off Katsuki's palms due to how nervous he was. Too late to turn back. You send him a reasurring smile as you tap the countdown button on your phone to start recording.

You start off the conversation by asking Katsuki to put the kettle on and you'd go find some treats to have together

"I think theres some mochi in the fridge if you'd like some? Or maybe we could bake something" you calmly.

Katsuki speaks in his usual brash tone " you don't need anymore sugar, theres fruit right there dumbass"

Mitsuki perks up at the sound of Katsuki's harsh voice, ever so slightly missed what he said as she was engrossed in her magazine. That was close.. too close.

"But kats its Friday, so a treat is okay!" You saying trying to convince your boyfriend to comply with your simple reasoning.

"No." He says sternly, "you could bearly manoeuvre around the course earlier, let alone dodge half n halfs attacks earlier..."

Mitsuki has now started to fully listen, carfully settling down her magazine to see where katsuki is going with this conversation.

"Its only one treat i promise!" You plead with the blond, you notice another head turn and speak up.

"Katsuki theres fresh mochi in the fridge, strawberry or lemon, I can make something else if yous like" Mitsuki trys to reason woth her son. She knows herself how strict he is with his own diet, but she never have thought he would be strict with your diet.

"I already told them no, and besides their hero suit was lookin' a little tight earlier"

Silence. Deafening silence.

No one deared to move, all that could be heard was the ticking of the wall clock and Mitsuki clearly her throat before speaking in a deadly voice.

"Say that shit again, I dare you"

Oh no. Katsuki is absolutely dead–

"Ma hold on–" katsuki immediately tries to defuse to argument that hadn't even started yet, but as a hothead himself he knew where his mothers temper would lead to.

"Is that the way you talk to your partner? Huh?" Mitsuki was in full parenting mode. Even though her son stands taller then she, best believe she isn't afraid to stand up to him.

Katsuki stutters over his words, for once he wasn't sure if he should even dare yell back at his mothers face.

"Uh - we, we were just‐"

"Bullshit"

"Ma listen," katsuki looks over to you for help. Katsuki has to decide if he wants his ass beaten or protect his partner.

"I know you love him y/n, but if you mind letting me deal with this child who thinks he can talk to his partner like that–"

Yes you love his family, but you don't love how they commicate.

But you also love adding fuel to the fire

"Mitsuki, he didn't even let me finish my lunch earlier! He said and i quote 'lookin like a sack of potato's in a school uniform'"

*boom*

No Katsuki's were hurt in the making of this fic.

Go check out my masterlist !

Requests are open :)

#little fairy forest #bnha #bnha imagines #mha headcanons #mha fluff #mha x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #mha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x gender neutral reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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biblicallyaccuratemeat · 2 days ago

Text

Velveteen

MDNI!!!

A/N: My bby girl @ethanhoewke asked me to write this, so of course I had to. Beta read by @teaflavoredwitch Bucky Barnes x female reader, online dating, first date, smut!!!, p in v sex, fingering, boob/nipple worship, hickeys and love bites, marking, praise kink, unprotected sex, gentle dom Bucky, pet names, dirty talk, begging, Bucky's metal arm

Word Count: 5.6k

“You have a date tonight. 7 o’clock, don’t be late,” Sam comments off handedly, brushing past Bucky to dig through his fridge, “Oh, and don’t stand up the poor girl either.” Sam casts him a knowing look over his shoulder.

Bucky freezes, staring at his friend incredulously, “Excuse me?” He scoffs, immediately on the defense.

It’s that fucking dating app, he just knows it. Sam pestered him incessantly for months, goading him to set up a profile. Claiming that he needed to “get with the times”. Bucky runs his organic hand over his face tiredly, he feels a migraine coming on. Sam means well, he always does, but his execution is lacking to say the least. Bucky stomps over to his liquor cabinet, making a beeline for his whiskey.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sam huffs, snatching the bottle from his hand. Bucky casts a scowl that could curdle milk. Sam only laughs, immune to the former Winter Soldier’s glowering, “You need to be sober and your usual…charming self for this date.” Sam pats his back, though it feels more patronizing than comforting.

“You set up a profile for me on that goddamn app, didn’t you?” Bucky accuses, nudging Sam away.

“What are you gonna wear?” Sam dances around the question, smiling in a way that’s meant to look innocent but Bucky clocks him immediately. “You should dress up, look nice. Don’t wear those ratty old jeans you love so much. What’d you used to wear back in the day? I bet you were killin’ all the ladies in your uniform, huh?” Sam grins mischievously, waggling his eyebrows.

Bucky finds himself reminiscing for a moment, Sam’s comment taking him back to his youth. Dating was simpler back then, really everything was simpler. His life especially. Women fell over themselves to catch his eye, dressing up to the nines in dress greens, dancing the night away… Fuck he felt old. He wonders if Sam put his real age on his profile, or something safe like thirty-three.

Despite the overwhelming urge to bail, stand up the date, Bucky hesitates. Even all these years later, the good manners and etiquette his mother instilled in him reared its head. Always pull out the chair for a young lady, hold open doors, be punctual… He’d go to the fucking date, but he wasn’t going to be pleased about it. He’d stay the required amount of time, pay for the meal, kiss her cheek, and leave.

Easy.

In retrospect, it should have been easy. But nothing really is, at least not anymore for Bucky.

He arrived at the restaurant early, found a table. His anxiety mounting with each passing second, he must have checked his watch at least twenty times. Dressed in slacks- god when was the last time he wore slacks? He feels ridiculous, he’s sure he looks it too. A quarter past seven, and whoever is supposed to come hasn’t. Fuck, did he get stood up? Probably. Bucky’s sure Sam put the worst pictures of him possible on his profile, he probably thought it was the height of comedy too.

“Are you James?” A soft, shy voice snaps Bucky out of his brooding.

His head whips up, thrown off kilter by the timid question. He freezes, grumpy expression morphing into one of surprise. You’re gorgeous, exactly his type. Fuck, maybe Sam was onto something here…

He blinks, clearing his throat awkwardly. He shoots up out of his seat, bumping into the table and sending silverware clattering to the floor, “Shit!” He crouches down, quickly gathering up the discarded fork and knife. He smacks his head on the corner of the table on his way back up, hissing in pain. Great. So far this is the date from his nightmares.

You giggle softly, immediately enamored by this clumsy, bumbling dork. You cover your smile with your hand, eyes crinkling with mirth. Bucky swears his face is on fire, a nervous chuckle bubbling up in his throat, “Yeah, that’s me. Call me Bucky, though, everyone does.”

Bucky’s anxiety, his wariness melts easily like a popsicle in the summer sun. Your presence, your demeanor, it disarms and renders him pliant in a way that should concern him. Or at the very least, piss him off. But it doesn’t, not in the fucking slightest. He finds himself opening up to you, sharing stories and memories that he wouldn’t even dare to revisit if he was shit faced. He doesn’t even order a drink, sticking to water. The hours wear on, Bucky staying far longer than he originally planned, but he can’t help himself.

This may be the best date of Bucky’s entire miserable existence. He’d have to send Sam a fucking fruit basket or something in the morning. Damn if he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right though.

He finds himself walking you to your front door, lingering on the porch. Your smile, all sunshine and sweetness, disarms him completely. He’s helpless to the onslaught of emotions your mere presence brings about. Emotions he believed were long gone from his psyche. A warmth in his chest, a flutter in his heart, knots in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you want to come inside for a drink?” You offer, tentative and hopeful.

Bucky gazed into those doe eyes, seeing the timid smile and the shy invitation reflected back at him. He felt a stirring in his chest, a warmth that had little to do with the drink you offered. You, with your soft curves and gentle demeanor, had somehow penetrated the walls he’d so carefully constructed around his battered heart. In one evening, you lowered all his defenses. He was mystified.

But even as a part of him yearned to take you up on that offer, to cross the threshold and lose himself in your sweet embrace, Bucky hesitated. He knew he had to tread carefully, to savor this newfound connection. He didn’t want to rush you, frighten you away with the intensity of his long-dormant desires.

Bucky reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of your cheek ever so lightly. He leaned in closer, until mere inches separated you, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you that he hoped would cling to his skin for days after this. When he spoke, his voice was a low, intimate murmur, “I’d love nothing more than to come inside, to steal a few more moments with you,” he began, his sea colored eyes darkened with a mixture of barely restrained hunger and tender affection, “But I don’t want to impose, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

Bucky’s nose brushed against the apple of your cheek, a teasing whisper of contact, as he inhaled once more, “Besides,” he added with a roguish grin, straightening up reluctantly, “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t let a lady retire for the evening?”

He brought your small hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours, “Dream of me?” He murmurs against your skin. With that, Bucky steps back, releasing your hand. He’s ready to turn on his heel, go back to his empty apartment and beat off till his dick is raw. But then, you’re speaking again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Let me rephrase that,” You assert delicately, “Come inside and have a drink with me. I’m not some virtuous debutante. You can come inside, and you should.”

The dulcet timbre of your voice, the clear invitation laden in your words, sends a jolt straight to Bucky’s core. The gentleman in him reeled back, shocked by your boldness. But the man, the one who had seen and done things no decent person should, the one who had been starved of intimate connection for so long, surged forward, an aching hunger awakening inside him.

Bucky’s eyes shone with a sudden intensity, a barely curbed appetite burning in their blue depths. He took another step closer to you, then another, until he stood mere inches from where you lingered in the doorway. His heated gaze raked over your form, drinking in every single detail, committing them to memory, “As you wish,” he all but sighs out, eyes fluttering shut briefly, “I should warn you though, once I get you inside… I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. You’re awakening things in me that I’ve tried my damndest to suppress.”

He followed you in, allowing you to lead him to the heart of your dwelling. As the door clicked shut, Bucky found himself acutely aware of every breath you took, every soft sway of your hips, every silken whisper of fabric against flesh. Turning to face you, Bucky reached out, cupping your face in his remaining hand, his calloused palm a stark contrast to the downy softness of your skin. His thumb brushed over the swell of your lower lip, tracing the delicate curve.

“So, what do you want to drink?” You ask, already breathless and he hasn’t so much as kissed you yet. With an impish smirk, you tug him in the direction of the couch. The anticipation lingers in the air, heady and electric. Like the way everything feels static, hair standing up before lightning strikes. It feels as though you have a wasp’s nest in your belly, far more spirited and dangerous than butterflies.

The impish smile, the way your fingers curled into his as you guided him towards the couch, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through Bucky’s veins. He allowed you to lead him, a willing captive to your whims, as you settled onto the plush cushions. The rational part of him knew he should slow down, rein in the tempest of lust that threatened to consume you both. But, rationality was never his strong suit and he reveled in the knowledge that he had ignited a twin hunger in you.

“Whiskey,” Bucky replied, his gaze locked onto the gentle sway of your hips as you moved to pour his drink, “Neat, please.” His voice a low, anticipatory murmur, the words dripping with double entendre, “But I hope that’s not the only thing you’ll be putting in my mouth tonight.”

He leaned back against the couch, the picture of casual ease, even as his eyes greedily drank in every delectable inch of you. As you handed him the glass of amber liquid, Bucky’s fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent sparks skittering up his arm. He brought the glass to his nose, inhaling deeply, allowing the smoky aroma to mingle with the sweet, heady scent of your perfume.

He takes a long sip, letting the liquid burn his mouth. He holds it there for a moment, savoring the oaky flavor. He swallows slow and unhurried, feeling the heat travel down his throat to join the fire in his stomach. Setting the glass aside, Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding your knee, his vibranium fingertips, tracing idle patterns on the supple skin peeking out from under your dress. His eyes never left yours, his gaze a tangible caress that set your soul alight.

A becoming blush darkens your cheeks, you huff softly, equal parts aroused and disarmed, “You don’t mince words, do you?”

Bucky chuckled softly at your flustered response, the sound a deep, rich rumble that seemed to resonate through his chest. He could feel the subtle tremble of your thigh beneath metal, “Blunt honesty has always been a virtue of mine,” He murmurs, invading the final remnants of your personal space, “You’ll probably find I’m too direct, too forward, too hungry for things I want.” His hand slid a fraction higher up your thigh, the rough smooth metal pads of his fingers causing an eruption of goosebumps in their wake, “But I only say the things I mean, the things I feel…the things I crave.”

Letting out a shaky exhale, you take a long sip from your glass for courage, “That’s okay, I think I like that about you. It’s refreshing.”

The way you trembled, how your breath hitched as you sipped your drink, the blush still painting your cheeks a pretty shade of pink… Bucky was a goner, he knew that much. Your honesty in return, your admission of liking the unfiltered nature of his advances, sent blood rushing downwards. Unable to resist the urge to touch you more, Bucky slid his vibranium hand fully beneath the hem of your dress, kneading the supple fat of your thigh. His other arm snaked around your waist, gently tugging you closer until you were practically on his lap, your bodies aligned in tantalizing proximity.

“I’m glad you do,” He hums, his voice seeming to stroke over your nerves like a physical touch, “Because I have a feeling it’s one of many things you’ll appreciate about me, in due time.”

His gaze flicked down to your lips, to the neat sip you’d taken of your drink, before dragging back up to meet the widening pool of your eyes. A wicked, sinful grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Why don’t you finish your drink, sweetheart?”

You throw back the glass obediently, all but chugging down the liquid. You don’t notice the burn, the swirling inferno of lust outshining the sting.

Bucky’s grin widened as he watched you toss back the remains of your drink, a rush of satisfaction soaring through him at your clear enthusiasm. The way you looked at him then, with those wide, expectant eyes and parted, glistening lips… The remaining whiskey in Bucky’s glass is already long forgotten. His vibranium hand slid from your thigh to your hip, gripping the curve possessively as he surged forward to close the scant distance between you. Your lips met in a crash of heat and desperation, your gasp lost against the sudden, intense pressure as Bucky’s mouth slanted over yours.

He kissed you with a hunger bordering on ferocity, as though he meant to devour you, to make you a part of himself. His tongue delved past your parted lips, stroking over the sharpness of your teeth and tangling with yours in a sensual dance. His organic hand fisted in your silken hair, gripping the locks and tugging your head back to deepen the angle, while the vibranium one wrapped around your waist tightened, crushing you against the hard, muscular length of his body.

Bucky groaned into your mouth, an almost whiny sound torn from the depths of his desire, as he felt you melt against him. Your fingers latched into his shirt, balling the fabric in your fists as you clung to him, to the solid, unyielding strength of his frame. He could feel every lush curve, every gentle swell and dip of your body, could feel the way your heart raced beneath your sternum and your breath grew short and quick.

When Bucky finally broke the kiss, it was only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, to lave your racing pulse with the flat of his tongue. He nipped at the delicate tendon, teeth grazing your flesh and his lips soothing the sting with a lascivious murmur, “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

A soft, keening moan is torn from your throat, lost to the onslaught of the sensations overwhelming you. You tilt your head back, eagerly offering up your throat to him, a gazelle submitting to the ravenous lion.

Bucky growled against your neck, a sound of pure, unbridled lust, as he felt your body shudder and your breathy moan reverberate through you. The salty sweet taste of your skin, the hot slide of your breath against his cheek, it was all driving him to a fever pitch, urged on by the desperate, wanton sounds spilling from your kiss-swollen lips. His hands slid down your back, fingers splaying across the small dip at the base of your spine, holding you flush against him as he explored your throat with lips and teeth and tongue. He could feel the heat of you, the way your body seemed to burn against his touch, and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had explored every inch of your lush form. Bucky’s hands slid lower, cupping the fat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh between his palms. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard, insistent press of his cock, the way it strained against the barrier of his jeans. His mouth returned to yours, claiming your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue joining yours once more, devouring you with single-minded intensity.

You gasped sharply into the fierce, claiming kiss, your body arching upward instinctively to grind your hips in answer to Bucky’s needy friction. Lost in a haze of sensation, you wound your arms around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life. Or perhaps, for the sheer ecstasy of it all.

Bucky shuddered as your nails dug into his shoulders, he could feel your hips rocking against his, seeking friction, aching to be filled, and it took every ounce of his rapidly waning control not to simply tear your clothes from your body and fuck you into the couch.

Instead, with herculean effort, Bucky swept an arm under your knees, lifting you easily as he rose from the couch. He carried you swiftly down the hall, his lips never leaving your throat, until he found your bedroom. Pushing open the door, he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. Bucky laid you down on the bed with a suddenness that stole your breath, his hard body blanketing yours as he claimed your lips once more. As he kissed you, his hands slid beneath your dress, shucking it up to your sternum, bunching the fabric as his fingers sought the bare skin underneath. He stroked over the soft swell of your tits, the pebbled crests of your nipples straining through the bralette you wore. Breaking the kiss with a shaky breath, Bucky pulled back just enough to yank your dress over your head. In a flash of impatient movement, he dispatched your bra, tossing it carelessly across the room to land in a scrap of lace and satin. His gaze drank in the sight of your bare torso, taking in the ripe curves of your breasts, the flushed peaks of your nipples, and he swallowed hard.

“Fuck, babydoll,” He breathed, awe and reverence, an all-consuming desire threading his rough voice, “You look good enough to eat.”

Bucky didn’t delay, attacking your newly exposed tits, his hands cupped the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing the pliant flesh as he dragged the flat of his tongue over the taught peak of your nipple. A quiet gasp escaped your lips at the sudden onslaught of sensation, your fingers fisting in his cropped hair, holding him to the task.

Pleasure spiked through you as Bucky’s teeth closed around your nipple, worrying the sensitive bud before suckling hard at the tender flesh. A moan, raw and needy, tore from your throat as he lavished attention on your breasts, vibranium hand pinching and rolling the neglected peak as his tongue swirled and lapped. Bucky took his time, worshipping your breasts until you writhed beneath him, your body burning and aching for more. The wet, almost pornographic sounds of Bucky’s mouth on your skin fill the room, mingling with your broken moans and the creaking of the bed frame beneath your writhing form. He marked your flesh with a fervor that was almost feral, determined to leave his claim stamped into every inch of your willing skin. Bucky’s hands slid lower, fumbling down the front of your soaked panties. The cotton clings to your cunt, slick and sticky. With a low groan of approval, his finger stroked over the puffy folds. You arch into his touch, craving more, desperate for the relief that only he could award you.

Bucky wastes no time, pushing your panties down your thighs with an urgency. The moment your cunt was bared to him, he plunged two vibranium fingers deep inside your leaking hole, groaning against your breast as your walls clenched around the sudden intrusion. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight heat, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. At the same time, his mouth continued its assault on your tits, sucking dark marks into the supple flesh as he suckled at your nipples. Bucky could feel your slick walls fluttering and clenching around his plunging fingers as he fingered your pussy with a firm, purposeful rhythm. The wet squelching of his digits pumping in and out of you joined the symphony of your needy noises and slurping of Bucky’s mouth.

His thumb circled your sensitive clit with relentless pressure, the coolness of the vibranium only heightening your pleasure. Bucky could feel your body tensing, your hips rocking eagerly into his hand as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. Determined to make you come at least once before shoving his dick in you, he doubled his efforts, plunging deeper, rubbing harder, suckling with greater intensity, until he felt your body shake and seize beneath him.

“Oh, fuck,” You cry out, your voice pitching high and needy as your body sings beneath his touch. Electric, burning pleasure crackled through every nerve ending, your pussy clamping down and throbbing around Bucky’s vibranium fingers as wave after wave of your orgasm drowns you. You thrash and writhe, your back arching sharply off the bed as the stickiness of your orgasm gushes around his invading fingers. Broken, ecstatic moans spilled from your lips, your fingers clawing at his hair, holding him to your heaving chest as you ride out the intense, mind-numbing pleasure.

Through the haziness of your orgasm, you can feel Bucky continue to worship your breasts, licking over the hardened peaks of your nipples, prolonging the bliss radiating through your body. You mewl and quiver, your hips grinding desperately against his hand. As the aftershocks begin to subside, you relax back onto the mattress, panting and trembling. You look up at Bucky with soupy, fucked-out eyes, a weak, satisfied smile on your spit-glossy lips. The sight of you splayed out beneath him, your body trembling weakly in the shadow of your climax, your tits heaving as you gasped for breath… it made Bucky’s cock throb and swell impossibly harder in his pants. Slowly, reluctantly, Bucky withdrew his fingers from your still-fluttering cunt, bringing them to his mouth to suck your slick from his digits. His tongue swirled around each one, laving up every last drop of your wetness, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your flavor with a low, approving groan.

As he finished cleaning your spend from his fingers, Bucky leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. He let you taste yourself on his tongue, the salty-sweet essence of your orgasm mingling with the smoky heat of the whiskey he’d consumed. At the same time, his hands traveled down your body, coasting over the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips, to grip the globes of your ass once more. He squeezed the plush fat, kneading it as he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the thick, rigid outline of his arousal, still hidden in his slacks.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky nuzzled between the valley of your breasts, his lips brushing against the sensitive, marked skin as he murmured, “You look so pretty coming for me, babydoll. The fucking sounds, the faces you make… Fuck, I can’t wait to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock.”

Bucky’s filthy praise sent a fresh surge of liquid heat rushing through your core, a needy whimper escaping your lips as you arched wantonly into his touch. Your fingers fumble with his belt, tugging at the buckle with clumsy desperation. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell the spicy, warm scent of him mingled with the barest trace of whiskey on his breath. It made you dizzy, aching with a desperate need to feel him stretching you open.

Bucky caught your wrist gently as your fingers reached for his belt, halting your desperate attempts to divest him of his clothes. He gazed down at you with a wicked glimmer in his eyes, a lazy, sensual grin curving his lips as he drank in the sight of your flushed face, your kiss-swollen lips parted around a needy whimper, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Leaning in closer, Bucky brushed his lips against yours in a fleeting, teasing caress before murmuring in a low, rough rasp, “Patience, babydoll. As much as I want nothing more than to bury myself in your perfect little cunt, I’m not done playing with you yet.”

One hand slid up your flank, cupping the underside of your breast, his calloused palm scraping deliciously against it. His thumb lightly brushed over your nipple, teasing the abused peak, as his vibranium hand traced the curve of your waist before settling on your hip, squeezing the bone appreciatively. “You’re going to beg for my cock, baby. I want to hear that pretty mouth sobbing my name as I split you open on my dick. I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress so good, you aren’t gonna be able to walk right.”

Bucky rolled his hips, once more grinding the hard heat of his erection against your slick, aching pussy. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent vibrations through your flesh. “Tell me, baby,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, “Is this what you want? Do you want me to fuck this greedy little pussy until you’re gushing for me like a broken faucet?” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his hips, the thick ridge of his cock grinding hard against your sensitive, swollen flesh.

You whimper softly, looking up at Bucky with hazy, hooded eyes shimmering with desperation. Your cheeks flush a pretty shade that matches the rosy hue of your hardened nipples as they pebble in the cool air of your bedroom. You lick your lips, tasting the lingering flavor of his kisses mixed with the salt of your own sweat. “Please, Bucky…” You breathed, your sweet, whiny voice pitched high with arousal, “I’m aching, I need you to fuck me please. I’ll be such a good girl for you. Please?” You flutter your lashes, putting on a sweet, guileless expression, “I’ll do anything, be anything you want me to be. Please just make the ache go away.”

The desperation in your voice, the way you begged so sweetly for his cock, the needy little whimpers spilling from your lips as you rolled your hips against his in wanton invitation… it shredded the last vestiges of Bucky’s control. With a low, feral growl, he surged forward, capturing your mouth in a brutal, sloppy kiss as his hands made quick work of his belt and fly. In a flash, he shed his pants and boxers, freeing his thick, aching cock. It bobbed heavily against his stomach, the girthy shaft pulsing with need, the broad head flushed an angry, almost painful red. Pearly beads of precum leaked from the slit, dripping down the underside of his length, making it glisten erotically in the low light.

Breaking the kiss with a sharp nip to your lower lip, Bucky gripped your thighs, pushing them up and back until your knees were bent and your calves rested on his broad shoulders. The new position left you completely open to him, your dripping, plump cunt exposed and ready for the taking. Gripping the base of his cock, Bucky rubbed the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He groaned at the feel of your stickiness leaking over his sensitive flesh, at the way your body yielded so sweetly to his touch. He notched the broad crown of his dick at the entrance to your core, the thick head stretching you open around him.

“Fuck, babydoll,” Bucky grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of not slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, “I’m going to fill this greedy cunt so fucking full. Gonna fuck you real good, baby, make that ache go away.”

Bucky’s eyes lock on yours, holding your gaze captive. You watch with rapt attention as his pupils dilate, a deep black dwarfing the cool blue his irises, until there’s but a small sliver of color left. Your hands fly up, gripping the fat and muscle of his biceps, nails digging crescent shaped marks into his flesh. Slowly, tortuously Bucky sinks inch by burning inch into your cunt. The air is punched from your lungs, the molten heat of him splitting you in half pushes you to the brink of sanity. Bucky’s muscles flexed beneath your fingers as he sank into your tight, soaked heat with an almost sadistic slowness. Each inch of his thick, pulsing cock stretching you wider, filling you more completely, drew a ragged gasp from your lips. Your inner walls clenched and fluttered around his invading length, trying desperately to adjust to the delicious intrusion. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside you, his heavy balls nestling against the curve of your ass. With a low, ragged groan he remained still, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch of him, letting you savor the way he stretched you so exquisitely. Panting harshly, Bucky leaned down to capture your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue licked into your mouth, tasting you, consuming you, as hips began to move in a slow, relentless rhythm. He withdrew until just the tip remained inside before surging forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

He set a steady, pounding pace, your old bed frame creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. Each drive of his hips rocked you upward, the harsh slap of skin against skin echoing through your bedroom as he fucked into you with ruthless, single-minded intensity.

“Harder, please, fuck me harder,” You whine, your voice pitching high and desperate as you screw your eyes shut and surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. Your nails dig harder into the well-honed muscles of Bucky’s biceps, clinging to him like a lifeline as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion once more.

Each vicious, pounding thrust of his hips drives the air from your lungs, the breathlessness of your panting merging with the slap of his hips into your thighs and the bed frame groaning beneath you. You can feel every throbbing each, every turgid vein, filling you so impossibly full that you swear you can feel him in your throat. You’re drowning in the sheer, mindless bliss of it all, every thought, every shred of coherence stripped away until there’s nothing left but the raw, visceral need to come undone around him. “Harder,” you beg, your voice ragged and desperate, your body yielding utterly to his punishing, driving power.

Bucky snarled in response to your desperate plea, his hips surging forward with renewed vigor. He gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you onto his plundering cock as he slammed into you with brutal force. “Fuck, baby, you feel so goddamned good,” Bucky growled, his voice raw and ragged with pleasure. He could feel your velvety walls clenching around his plunging length, your body welcoming each vicious thrust as if it were made for the sole purpose of milking his dick. Angling his hips, Bucky aimed for the wettest depths of your cunt, wrenching raw, ecstatic cries from your throat. He pounded into it with laser focus, grunting from the effort of his thrusts, his muscles flexing and bunching beneath your grasping fingers.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Take every fucking inch,” he commanded, his gaze burning into yours with fierce, possessive intensity, “Let me hear that sweet voice as I fuck this sloppy little pussy.”

Bucky could feel his release building, coiling tight in his gut as his thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate. He was close, so fucking close, but he wouldn’t let himself come until he’d fucked every last ounce of pleasure from your body. “Gonna fill you up, baby girl,” He promised roughly, “I’m going to pump you so fucking full, gonna be leaking out of this pretty hole for days. You want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” You sigh out, lost to the pleasure, “Please, give me your cum, I’ve been a good girl. Give it to me, Bucky.”

With a harsh groan, Bucky slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. Your cunt flutters and throbs, joining him in the throes of a toe curling orgasm. He captures your mouth in a brutal, devouring kiss, swallowing your needy whines as his cock jerked and pulsed, spurting thick ropes of pearlescent seed deep into your clutching core. Bucky’s body shuddered and quaked above you, his hips rocking shallowly as he rode out the waves of his intense release. His cock throbbed, painting your insides white with his essence, marking you irrevocably as his. He moaned long and low into your mouth, as the last gushes of his orgasm ebbed away. Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing ragged and harsh.He rested his forehead against yours, his blue eyes boring intensely into yours as he ground the base of his shaft against your sensitive sex. His spent cock was still nestled deep inside you, plugging you up. Bucky’s hand crept between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your sensitive, aching clit. He circled the swollen nub with a surprising gentleness, coaxing lazy sparks of pleasure from your overstimulated flesh, “Such a good girl,” he whispered, grinning lazily, “You took that so well, sweetheart. I’m gonna take you out for our second date tomorrow morning, that okay with you?”

You huff softly, rolling your eyes playfully. As if that offer would be anything less than okay.

#fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #smut #mcu #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #callie's masterlist

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wendichester · 3 days ago

Note

Hello Darling

Should I be working? Yes…

Have I instead read almost your entire posts about Dean? Maybe…

Do I regret the overtime I now need to work? Absolutely not!

You are so gifted! And I was wondering if I could request a little something… if it’s not up your street that’s totally fine as well!

Maybe Dean knows the reader from way back like high school or something an now he meets her again in a bar that she owns… maybe feelings resurface that both had tried to keep buried and it gets steamy in baby?

Luv ya 🍄

☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ coming home,

summary. there's nothing like coming back to a place where you once felt like home.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1115

notes. hiya hun! thank you so much for sending this through. honestly had me giggling and kicking my feet with the beginning of this ask. love you! 🩷🍄

Dean pushes the bar's door open, being immediately met by the smell of whiskey and old wood, the low hum of classic rock filling the air. His boots scuffing against the floor as he scans the room. It’s nothing fancy—just a neighborhood joint with a dartboard in the corner and a jukebox that’s probably been there since the 80s—but something about it feels warm. Familiar.

And then he sees you.

You’re behind the bar, hair tied back, moving with easy confidence as you pour a drink. Dean stops in his tracks, the years between high school and now melting away in an instant.

It’s been over a decade since he’s seen you. You’d been the smart, sharp-tongued girl who didn’t take crap from anyone, not even him. And if he’s being honest, he’d had it bad for you back then—your quick wit, your easy laugh, the way you saw through all his bravado. But he’d buried those feelings, just like he buried everything else, and life moved on as his dad forced him into another life; a new start because of yet another hunt.

But now, watching you laugh with a customer, that same spark in your eyes, it’s like no time has passed.

He must’ve been staring too long, because suddenly you glance his way—and freeze.

“Dean Winchester,” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you set down the glass you were polishing.

“Y/N,” he says, a little breathless as he steps closer. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

You lean against the bar, arms crossed, and he tries not to notice how the years have only made you more beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Passing through,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, though his heart is pounding. “Heard this place was good. Didn’t know it was yours.”

You laugh, the sound wrapping around him like a warm blanket. “Yeah, well, someone had to turn this dump into something decent.”

“Looks like you did a hell of a job,” he says, glancing around before meeting your eyes again. “How long’s it been?”

“Too long,” you say, your voice softening. “You want a drink, or are you just here to reminisce?”

“I'll take both,” he says with a grin, sliding onto a barstool.

The conversation flows easily, memories spilling out between sips of whiskey. You tease him about his old leather jacket that somehow still fits, and he reminds you of the time you beat him at pool and made him buy you ice cream.

But there’s a weight to the air now, a tension that wasn’t there before. Every brush of your hand as you pass him a drink, every glance that lingers a little too long—it all feels electric.

When the night winds down and the bar clears out, you lock the door and turn to find him still sitting there, watching you with that look in his eyes. The one that used to make your knees weak in high school.

“You sticking around town for a while?” you ask, leaning against the bar.

“Maybe,” he says, standing and closing the distance between you. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’d wanna go for a drive,” he says, his voice low, his lips quirking into a smirk.

Your heart skips a beat, but you play it cool. “Still using Baby to pick up girls, huh?”

“Only the special ones,” he says, and the way he’s looking at you makes it clear you’re at the top of that list.

Before you know it, you’re sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala, the engine rumbling to life as he pulls out of the parking lot. The night air is cool, the windows cracked, and the hum of the road beneath you feels like old times.

When he pulls off onto a quiet stretch of road and kills the engine, you turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “This where you murder me?”

“Funny,” he says, leaning closer, his hand resting on the back of your seat. “Nah, just figured it’s been too long since we really talked.”

“Talked, huh?” you say, your voice teasing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Missed you, sweetheart. More than I realized.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance, your lips crashing into his.

The kiss is fire, heat, and years of pent-up tension unraveling in one heady moment. His hand slides into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch, while your fingers curl into the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer. The air in the Impala feels stifling, the windows fogging up as his tongue slips past your lips, the taste of whiskey making your head spin.

“Damn,” he breathes when you finally pull back, his forehead resting against yours. His hand slides down to your waist, fingertips tracing the curve of your hip. “Should’ve done that years ago.”

“You’re a little slow on the uptake,” you tease, but your voice is breathless, and your fingers are already trailing down his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah?” he grins, leaning back just enough to take you in, his eyes dark and heated. “Why don’t you catch me up then?”

You shift, climbing over to straddle his lap, the tight space forcing you to press closer, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, the heat of his palms searing through your jeans as his gaze sweeps over you.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice, the way his hands tighten their grip.

“Always have been,” you whisper back, capturing his lips again, this time slower, deeper, your hips rocking against his.

The Impala creaks as you move, your bodies fitting together like a puzzle. Dean groans into your mouth, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay against the small of your back, his calloused fingers drawing shivers as they skim your skin.

“You keep this up, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice rough and low, “we’re not making it back to your bar tonight.”

“Who said we need to?” you counter, your lips brushing the shell of his ear before you nip at his jawline, making him curse softly.

His head falls back against the seat, his eyes blazing as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, his hands sliding up your thighs, pulling you even closer.

And as you lose yourselves in each other, the world outside the Impala fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you and the years of longing finally spilling over.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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babydollslibrary · 2 days ago

Text

SNOW ON THE BEACH — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

published: February 8th, 2023

summary: in which shy, introverted y/n meets extroverted frat boy Luke and he takes a liking to her, even though everyone thinks they’re an odd match.

specific lyrics: “it’s like snow on the beach, weird but fuckin’ beautiful.”

notes: i really wanted frat boy Luke in order to really have them contrast each other, but i also didn’t wanna take away the hockey element or split up the UMich boys, so… Hockey House is a frat now.

GIF by 1-800-iluvhockey

the library is packed. i should’ve expected it, with it being so close to finals week and all, but it still disappointed me nonetheless.

this was my favorite place to escape and read when my obnoxious dorm-mate had her friends over. it was quiet and usually pretty empty. so i could usually sit and read for a few hours until i was sure none of Alex’s friends were still there. none of them knew how to use an inside voice, and with our dorm just being one big room, they constantly thought that meant i would want to join in on their conversations. which were mainly gossip about the hockey team. so, coming in and finding every space in the library full, ruined my plans. i don’t want to go back to my dorm and be subjected to them debating which UMich hockey player has the cutest smile, so i guess that leaves me with one option; find a seat.

i let loose a sigh and scan the room for who seems to be the quietest. i hate small talk. i find a table with only one person sat at it, a guy with one airpod in and a textbook laid out in front of him, and decide that’s the one. i walk over, fully planning on just motioning to ask if i can sit, but when i come to a stop in front of the table and he doesn’t even look up, i know i’ll have to speak up. i take a deep breath before i let out the quietest ‘excuse me’ known to man. the boy still doesn’t look up from the textbook, and i don’t blame him, he probably didn’t even hear me.

“excuse me.” i say slightly louder. this time the boy finally looks up, but i’m struck on what to say. suddenly, all the mentally rehearsed words have left my mind. this may be the cutest boy i have ever seen.

“can i help you?” his voice is soft. not judgmental or rude like what i would’ve expected from him after i came over and interrupted his studying just to end up staring at him. i shake myself out of my thoughts and give a light nod.

“do you mind if i sit here?” i motion towards a chair diagonal from his. “everywhere else is full.”

the boy nods.

“oh, yeah, go ahead.” i give him a small and grateful smile before depositing myself in the chair. pulling my book and a few highlighters out from my tote bag before hanging it up on the back of my chair. i open my book to where i left off, setting the bookmark on the table. but before i can start reading, the boy speaks up again.

“sorry to interrupt but, you’re reading that for a class?” he asks. for some reason, i take a look at the front cover of my romance novel before talking.

“oh. no. i’m reading this for fun.” i tell him. my voice is quite, my tone soft.

“oh okay. i guess i just assumed you were here to study since everyone else is.” he lets out a breathy chuckle as he shrugs.

“no.” i shake my head before explaining- “i’m here to get away from my dorm-mate and her friends. they’re too loud for me to focus and they keep trying to get me to weigh in on their debates.”

“what are they debating?” he asks.

“well, when i left it was which Wolverines hockey player has the cutest smile.” i tell him, rolling my eyes.

“and who did you say?” he seems curious, and almost amused.

“no one.” i shrug. “i don’t know what any of them look like.”

he lets out a quiet laugh.

“well you know what one of them looks like now.” he says. my brows form a v and i’m about to ask him to clarify but then it hits me. oh. he’s a hockey player.

“oh.” is my awkward response.

“i’m Luke Hughes.” he smiles at me. well, i have my answer for the next debate now.

“i’m y/n.” i tell him. “nice to meet you.”

“you too.” he finally looks back down at his textbook, and i’m relieved to be free of any more small talk.

the next hour or so passes by silently, and i manage to finish the last 75 pages of my book without any interruptions. i close my book, and put my stuff back in my tote bag, at the same time that an alarm goes off on Luke’s phone. he turns it off and starts packing his stuff up as well. we stand simultaneously, and he sends me a quick amused expression. my steps to the exit are slow, and Luke falls in line with me, slowing his steps to match mine.

“my frat is having a party on Friday, you should come. collect some more data for the next debate.” he smirks, and i rack my brain for a nice way to say that i don’t do parties.

“i’m not really a party person.” i say.

“then what kind of person are you?” he asks. his eyes fall down my body before he looks back up to my face.

“um, the reading type, i guess? i don’t really like doing the whole people thing.” i confess. he nods in understanding.

“well, if you change your mind, come. and if you need to escape your dorm again, i’ll be here tomorrow, same time.” he winks before splitting off, walking the opposite direction as me.

my entire walk to my dorm, i rethink every word we shared, wondering if i sounded stupid. i mean, i would assume not because he didn’t seem put off by me, but who knows, maybe he’s just a good actor. he was really cute though, gosh i hope i didn’t unknowingly embarrass myself.

opening the door to my dorm, i’m disappointed to see that Alex and her friends are still here. they don’t usually hang out this long on a wednesday evening. and i have to hold back an eye roll when i realize that it doesn’t sound they’ve changed their topic of conversation at all since i’ve left. logically, i’m sure it has and they just circled back onto this topic, but i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it was all they were talking about the past couple hours.

“y/n! you didn’t answer before you left, so please, settle this for us!” one of them, Jess, says as she spots me. “which UMich hockey player has the best smile? i say Ethan Edwards, Alex says Rutger McGroarty, and Becca says Mark Estapa!”

my mind wanders back to the boy i was conversing with not too long ago and before i can think twice, i blurt out- “Luke Hughes.”

“you think so?” Becca asks “i feel like he rarely ever smiles. it’s so hard to get one out of him.”

“really?” i ask. they must be exaggerating, he smiled at me earlier. although, i think he was just being friendly.

“yeah! i have a class with him this semester and i swear he frowned at me when i tried to introduce myself. i mean, he’s still hot, but still.” Becca replies, shrugging.

“oh.” i say. what does that mean? if he wasn’t friendly to her when they met, then why would he smile and be friendly with me?

“oooh y/n is blushing! i think she likes him!” Alex coos.

“i don’t like him.” i turn away, letting my hair fall in front of me to hide my apparently pink cheeks. i set my tote bag on my desk chair and slip my shoes off before taking a seat on my bed.

“i think she does!” Jess joins in on the teasing, and now i’m regretting having left the solitude of the library. “a bit of an odd match, you two.”

i’m not sure whether i should be offended by her statement or not, but for some reason i am. i don’t plan on dating him, but hearing her say we wouldn’t match together makes me feel insulted.

“what is that supposed to mean?” i retort.

“she didn’t mean anything by it.” Alex defends her friend. “she’s just saying, Luke is an extrovert, he likes to party and let loose, he has a lot of friends. and you’re… the opposite. i don’t think i’ve seen you go out once in the entire school year that we’ve shared a room. you keep to yourself. like, we’ve been trying to include you so that you’re not lonely, but you always say you’re going to the library. you and Luke just don’t seem like you’d fit together.”

“i didn’t ask you to include me. i like being alone. people are draining.” i say. i don’t like their pity on me. it’s not like i don’t have friends. i do. we’re just all introverted and our hangouts between classes is enough social interaction for us. we don’t care for going out partying on weekends or anything. if we do want to hang out on the weekend, we’ll usually do a movie night at Casey and Ellie’s apartment. but the way Alex explains it makes my life sound pitiful, and it makes me defensive, so before i can stop myself, i speak again. “and for your information, i’m going to a party on friday.”

the trio gasps, as though this information is scandalous.

“oh my god, are you going the party at Hockey House?” Becca asks. ‘hockey house’, the nickname for the frat house in which most of the UMich hockey players live. the frat is comprised solely of hockey players, so i guess the nickname makes sense. “for Luke?”

“yes, i’m going to the party. but no, not for Luke.” i tell them. why did i say i was going to that party? i hate parties. i even already told Luke so.

friday evening has come, and i can’t even back out of going to the party because Alex, Becca, and Jess have decided we should carpool together. so now i’m stuck in this commitment.

when Becca and Jess arrive to pick Alex and i up, i become aware that i’m the only one not wearing a dress or skirt of some kind. instead i’m dressed casual, in jeans and a tank top, paired with an oversized cardigan to keep me protected from the evening breeze. but it’s too late to change now.

arriving to the party is a hassle on its own, with the girls fussing over whether they look good enough to bag a hockey player, and having a hard time finding a parking spot. and when we finally walk into the party, i immediately want to leave. music is blasting from multiple speakers, everyone is holding a stereotypical red solo cup, and the house is packed. i’m quickly forgotten about by the other girls, them walking off to get drinks and stop to have conversations with a few of the hockey guys. i still don’t actually know any of the players names, besides Luke.

i scan the room, but i’m not entirely sure what i’m looking for. or who. all my friends are probably laying in bed right now. before i can even figure out who i’m looking for, i hear my name being called.

“y/n!” i turn my head towards the voice and find a guy from my ‘intro to business’ class coming towards me. i think his name is Dylan, but it seems like everyone just calls him Duke. “never seen you at a party before!”

“yeah, it’s not usually my scene.” i tell him with an awkward smile.

“i figured. you give me more of the ‘reading in my room’ vibes.” he laughs.

“am i that obvious?” i joke. he laughs again and nods.

“you look pretty out of place. let me introduce you to some of my friends.” he takes ahold of my wrist and pulls me towards a group of guys in the kitchen. i’m immediately uncomfortable, they all seem intimidating, and i’m not great around boys. we get closer to the group and Duke begins to introduce me. “guys, this is-”

“y/n! you came!” i look over to see Luke, and i can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face when i see his wide grin. he slings an arm around my shoulders, and Duke’s jaw drops.

“THIS is the y/n you’ve been talking about? the one from the library?” Duke asks. i can feel my face heating up. he’s been talking about me? i hope he’s not saying anything bad about me.

“yup. this is my future girlfriend.” Luke exclaims, and i choke on my own spit.

what?! we barely know anything about each other! all i know is his name is Luke, he has the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen, and he plays hockey. pretty sure all he knows about me is my name and that i have an annoying roommate.

“hm. an odd match.” Duke ponders. there’s that phrase again! but now seeing Luke in his natural habitat, partying and joking with friends, and even just him being so confident, i can’t help but wonder if Duke and the girls are right. Luke and i do seem to contrast each other.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” Luke asks defensively.

“hey, i’m not saying that’s a bad thing!” Duke rebuts. “you guys are just kinda… opposites of each other.”

“opposites attract.” Luke shrugs. i’m kind of confused. does my opinion matter? Luke seems pretty confident that i like him back.

“uh, Luke.” i speak up. he looks down at me where i’m still tucked into his side. “we don’t really know anything about each other.”

“when you know, you know.” he shrugs.

**5 YEARS LATER**

i stare up at my now husband from my seat beside him with watery eyes and a soft smile.

“and i told her, ‘when you know, you know.’” he looks back down at me from his standing position. “and i knew. from the first time we met, i knew this would be the girl i spend the rest of my life with.”

everyone in the reception hall claps as Luke ends his speech. he gives me a soft kiss on the cheek before whispering in my ear.

“you got this, baby.” his hand clasps my shaky one and gives it a quick tight squeeze. i take one big deep breath and stand up, i hate public speaking, but i wrote my speech and i will read it.

“i didn’t know. well, at least not as quick as Luke.” a few people chuckle at that. “but what i do know, is that i went to my first party for him. which spoke volumes for me. and i thought he had the most amazing smile to ever exist.”

i look down at Luke and see the grin spread across his face.

“look, there it is!” i point to him as i look back at the reception hall full of our friends and family and everyone laughs. “i still think it’s the best smile, but i might be biased now. when we started dating, we had people calling us an odd match, i even had a friend compare us to ‘snow on the beach.’ she said we were ‘weird but beautiful.’”

“i used to think it was an insult, but now i look back and realize, our friends were right, we are an odd match.” i look back at Luke and now it’s my turn to smile. he takes ahold of my hand, squeezing it as a few tears roll down my cheeks. i finish my speech while maintaining eye contact with him. “but i like our differences, we balance each other out, and i can’t imagine what my life would be like if i hadn’t liked your confidence so much that night. i’m so grateful that i get to spend the rest of my life calling myself your wife.”

Luke stands, winding his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a sweet, slow kiss. i can hear everyone clapping, and someone lets out a loud “WOOO!”

i can distinctly tell that was Jack, and it makes me interrupt the kiss with a giggle. Luke just takes that chance to pull back and pepper my face in pecks. blood rushes to my face at the thought of our family and friends watching him do this, but he doesn’t care. his confidence is a constant, no room for embarrassment.

yeah, maybe my friend was right; Luke and i are like snow on the beach. at first glance, we’re an unlikely duo, different in a lot of ways, but we make a great couple and our love is beautiful.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #umich hockey

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plumeria1 · 3 days ago

Text

A moment of peace

Masterlist

Note : I wrote this all at once and couldn't wait to publish it.

Pairing : Vi x Fem Reader

Warning : None

Content : Fluff

Summary : A soft moment after a long day

The day had seemed endless for Vi, and all she wanted was to come home and snuggle in your arms while watching a movie.

She had been disappointed not to find you when she got home, but she took advantage of your absence to take a nice shower and relax.

She was so tired that after drying herself, she didn’t bother to change and just collapsed like a sack of potatoes onto your bed, eventually falling asleep.

Upon your return, after spending the day with a friend, you were eager to see your girlfriend again. You were greeted by the silence of the apartment, but you guessed that Vi was already home since her shoes were near the door.

Upon opening the bedroom door, you understood why there was no noise. Vi was lying on her stomach, sprawled on the blankets, deeply asleep.

You smiled, realizing she must have had a long day. Seeing her like this made your heart melt; she looked so peaceful when she slept, and you found her adorable.

Seeing her in that position softened you; she looked so vulnerable. It was rare to see her in that state, but you knew you had to wake her up because otherwise, she wouldn’t sleep through the night, and the next day would be worse.

You climbed onto the bed and settled yourself astride Vi’s hips, without putting your weight on her to avoid hurting her, and ran your hands along her bare back.

She was pulled from her sleep by your caresses, as soft as feathers, then let out a small moan as she lifted her head.

-Shh, it’s just me.

There was curiosity, but mostly fatigue in her voice when she asked you what you were doing. You took the opportunity to lean toward her and kiss her gently; she felt your breasts press lightly against her back, which made her smile.

-You look like you’ve had a bad day, so I’m helping you relax.

Vi tried to turn around, but you prevented her by gently pressing your hands on her shoulders. Resigned, she let herself go to your caresses, and after a few minutes, your hands left her back, only to be replaced by the tips of your fingers tracing the tattoo that covered her back.

-It tickles.

You could hear the smile in her voice, but it didn’t make you stop.

This tattoo had always fascinated you. You’d never really taken the time to examine it in detail, but you couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. Vi had told you that she got it in prison, but she had never elaborated on the subject, and you hadn’t sought to know more.

When you finally withdrew your hands, you let out a cry of surprise when you found yourself with your back against the blanket, then burst out laughing. Vi had taken you by surprise by switching places with incredible ease.

She calmed your laughter by kissing you tenderly. You placed your hands behind her neck to deepen the kiss, but she decided to rest her head on your shoulder.

-I missed you.

-Did your day go badly?

-No, it was just long.

You stroked her hair while she ran her fingers along your arm. Vi didn’t often show herself like this; you were one of the few people who could see her like that, and fortunately, you also knew what to do in this situation.

-Here’s my plan for tonight: we’ll have food delivered, watch a movie, and spend the rest of the evening cuddling in bed. What do you think?

-I think it’s a very good plan, but I prefer that we start with cuddles.

You knew she probably said that because she simply didn’t want to get up, but you didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, even if you weren’t doing anything, you loved staying in bed with Vi for hours.

Once the evening plan was set, you stayed in bed for another hour until your stomachs brought you back to reality. Vi grabbed some clothes and went to the living room to choose a movie while you took care of ordering the food.

You spent the rest of the evening watching movies and eventually went to bed, satisfied and tired. Once in bed, Vi took you in her arms, and feeling sleep come, you rested your head on her shoulder, falling asleep after a few minutes. Before you fell completely asleep, you heard Vi’s voice.

-I love you.

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #arcane fluff #vi arcane #violet x reader #arcane vi x reader

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boybandbaby · 3 days ago

Text

Girl Can’t Help It (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

word count: 2994

warnings/tags: established relationship, 18+ only MDNI, inexperienced!spencer and inexperienced!reader, massage, dry humping?, grinding, mattress humping, cum in pants, hand (Spencer’s ) kink, clit stimulation, nipple play

Spencer had been doting on you all day. You’d both had the day off and planned to spend it together. Not only that but it was the first time you’d be spending the night together.

Your relationship had only blossomed within the last few months. You’d both taken everything really slow including flirting, then dates, and then making it official. While you’d been dating for about 7 months, you’d only been official for about 3. Some of this was due to your job with the BAU, but essentially it came down to both of your inexperience.

You both knew there was really no timeline for a relationship and decided to do this at your own pace, whatever made you both comfortable and happy.

Here you were on a Friday morning, slipping a cardigan on, and not so patiently waiting for Spencer to let you know he arrived. You were excited yet nervous about the next step in your relationship. Spencer would be staying over and seeing you first thing in the morning. While initially there was some dread and nerves about that idea, you tried to erase it away.

Just as you were packing the essentials for the day in a small bag, you heard a knock on your door. Checking your phone for any texts from your boyfriend but not finding any, had your brow furrowing. You check the peephole to see his face pressed closely to the door, only one of his eyes visible.

You shake your head and laugh, pulling the door open. “Good morning, baby.” You pucker your lips as he slips inside. He gives your lips a short peck and then one to your forehead before he’s rushing to put a brown paper bag and two drinks down. You help him out by grabbing his duffel off the doormat and bringing it inside.

“What’s all this?” You smile and close the door. “Thought we were going to breakfast?”

“Actually, change of plans. Which I’m sorry for but I think you’ll like our new plans.” He hands you your favorite drink from the cafe where you had your first date. His hands then reach for the brown bag and his face is shoved into it, searching for the pastry he picked out for you.

“Okay, spill.” You take a sip.

“Well, I was thinking. There’s this new exhibit at the museum we were talking about last week. I thought maybe we could go to that and then stop by the bookstore and then try that new Greek restaurant down the street. You know the one with the cool logo? Then I figured we could go to the store and get food and snacks for dinner and a movie and turn in early.” He hadn’t realized but his hand tightened on the bag as he rambled, afraid he had done too much or maybe you wouldn’t want to do any of the things he said.

“Sounds like a plan, baby.” You place your cup down on the coffee table. “Now, I’ll only go with you today if you let me pay for lunch.”

He opens his mouth to protest, “nope. We already talked about this. I said the first time we try it, I pay and if you try to pay while we’re there I’ll revoke your sleepover pass. Sound like a deal?”

“Sounds like a deal.” He smiles, offering your pastry. You take a bite as he’s holding it and lean forward for a kiss. He already has powdered sugar on his lips from taking a bite of his own sweet treat.

Throughout the day, Spencer holds your bag, ties your shoes when they come undone, refills your drink at lunch when it’s just ice. You try to return the favor by carrying his books as he browses the shelves, instant regret when your shoulder aches from how heavy the stack is. You suffer through as he excitedly pulls a brown book from the highest shelf and explains the authors interesting childhood.

Once you hit the grocery store, Spencer takes over with pushing the cart and grabbing all the items. You cling to his side as you rest against him. It makes it harder to walk but he doesn’t mind, he knows you’re beat from the day of activities.

You get home shortly after and both change into pajamas and cook a quick dinner.

Once dinner was over, you had retreated to the bedroom, Spencer only catching a portion of what you said you were doing. Something about needing a moment to let your stomach settle.

Spencer didn’t mind, packing the leftovers of your meal in two containers for you both to have tomorrow on a surprise picnic he’s planned. He washes the dishes, wipes the counters and table, then sweeps the floor before turning the light off. He thinks he’s given you enough alone time and he’s ready to smother you in affection.

You remove the pillow from your face when he enters. He tiptoes into the room with your bag of snacks.

“You feeling okay?” He watches you sit up and wince, he himself crawling over to you on the bed. He rests on his knees and sits on his calves, bringing your face in his hands. He scans your face only to find a pout and closed eyes.

“My body aches. I don’t think I’ve been this exhausted since that case in Florida we did a few weeks ago. I think I was so excited about today I burned through all my energy by the time we got to the grocery store.”

Spencer laughs, closed mouth and shy. His hands slowly slide from your cheeks and jaw down your necks and onto your shoulders. His fingers squeeze and knead at the tension. “It probably didn’t help that you carried all my new books.”

“I offered.” You shrug, eyes still closed and melting into his touch. “Wanted to do something nice for you since you do nice things for me all the time. Like massaging me.”

“You do nice things for me all the time too. Like pay for lunch.” He quips.

“Only after a mild argument.” You open one eye, “stubborn you are.”

“Not stubborn, just a gentleman.”

“You really are. Your hands feel so nice.” You drag out the so.

Spencer has become more comfortable initiating physical touch with you over the last few weeks as you both test your boundaries. While you haven’t had sex yet, you’ve made out some and definitely cuddle most days.

He decides to push the limit a little bit, see where you’re at with moving forward. “Do you want a back massage?” He cringes at the way he blurts it out.

He watches your eyes open up and how you bite your lip while thinking. You don’t want to sound too eager at the idea of his hands on your body. You ponder before nodding.

You shuffle to lay on your stomach, belly full of food and butterflies. Spencer shuffles to stand as you shuffle towards one end of the bed.

“Do you have lotion or something?” He looks around.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you pull a pillow beneath your head, hugging your arms around it.

Spencer jogs over to the bathroom and searches in the cabinet for lotion. Once he gets it he runs back into the room. He’s stunned when he sees that you’ve removed your shirt. Sure your back is the only thing in sight but knowing you’re half naked makes him falter in his movements.

“Babe, I uh, I could only find the vanilla lotion. Is that one okay?” He clears his throat.

“Yeah…” You nearly whisper, sensing his change in energy, not sure if you’ve overstepped. You know taking off your shirt is something you’ve never done around him, it’s new for both of you.

He steps forward and runs lotion in his palms. He tentatively presses his palms, fingers stretched out against your skin.

He starts rubbing in circles, applying slight pressure, watching as the lotion disappears into your skin.

“You’re going to have to massage me after. I’m too tall for this.” He smiles, back aching as he leans over you.

“Well come closer, come sit with me.” You urge. “But don’t stop, it feels too nice.”

“Straighten your legs, I’m going to sit on the back of your thighs.” He pushes your thigh closer to your other leg. He hops onto the bed and throws his pajama clad legs over your thighs.

Your breath hitches at the position and Spencer senses your body tense up. “You’ve gotta relax. Isn’t that the whole point of a massage?”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He smiles before bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His hands rub along the curves of your neck before trailing down the sides of your body. His hands squeeze at the sides just under your armpits where your bra would be.

You bury your face in the pillow, suppressing a moan as best as you can.

“Can you breathe over there?” He laughs.

“Shut up and do your job.” You yell into the pillow. He laughs again and continues his work.

Spencer runs his hands down the curve of your lower back, fingers grazing just above your waistband. Your body reacts on its own. You let out a half moan half squeal as your hips grind into the bed.

Spencer already knew you were getting turned on just by your sounds but actually feeling it beneath him has him hooked. He scoots up, pushing you into the mattress deeper.

You let out a sigh and he sees your fingers grip onto the pillow case. His clothed cock is pressed up against your covered butt.

He decides to experiment and grind his hips against you, his hands kneading small circles to keep him grounded above you.

You’re both glad you can’t see each other’s faces or else you’d feel embarrassed enough to stop. Just as his hips come forward again, you push yours back, back arching slightly.

Spencer whimpers at the contact and finds himself falling forward. He barely catches himself before crushing you.

“Are you okay?” He whispers near your ear. His voice and breath on your ear cause a shiver to run through your entire being. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“No, it’s really good. You’re good at this.” You turn your head to try and look at him.

“Want me to keep going?”

You nod and wiggle your hips. “I think you missed a spot.”

“Did I? Tell me where.” He sits back up and places his hands on the center of your back.

“Lower.” You mumble. His hands move down, pressing and gripping at your skin. He knows he didn’t miss anything, he made sure of that. His hands stop on your hips before he’s slowly grinding into you again.

He’s unbelievably hard, has been since your first suppressed moan. He settles his cock in the crease of your thighs and cheeks. He ruts his hips forward and watches you grind with him.

“Fuck…” he groans out in a low voice. “Feels good.”

“Don’t stop, baby.” You moan. Spencer is most likely leaving bruises with his tight grip but it feels so good to hear him and have him like this. You’re usually composed and respectful boyfriend, falling apart at just the touch of your bodies, not even naked, makes you forget any pain.

“I’ve been wanting this, you, for a while.” He grunts.

“I’ve been wanting you, Spencer. Couldn’t wait much longer.” You whine. The friction of your underwear and pajama bottoms, the bed sheets and mattress against your pussy has you panting.

It’s when his hands caress your sides, moving upwards higher as his fingertips graze the sides of your breasts, you feel him losing control.

“Shit, I’m close already.” He breaths.

“Yeah? Keep going.” You urge. Spencer pins you down into the mattress as his hips sloppily drill into you.

“Feels so fucking good.” He leans forward and drops his forehead to the back of your head. You prop yourself onto your elbows, sitting up only a bit. Spencer wraps his right arm around your shoulders, holding you against his chest as his left hand moves down to hold onto the side of your left thigh.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” You turn your head to meet his. His forehead now rests on your temple as he pants into your ear.

“God yes, I’m-“ He shuts his eyes, hands holding onto you for dear life. He doesn’t finish his sentence as he makes a mess in his boxers and pants. It almost feels never ending with ropes of his liquid painting his plaid boxers. He lets out a low groan. He feels sticky and messy and dirty as his breathing falters. His chest rises and falls against your back.

You smirk as he buries his face in your hair. He chuckles before shaking his head. “That’s just embarrassing.”

“It’s wasn’t.” You assure. “It was hot. Love hearing you like that.”

He feels his entire face, neck and ears turn hot. “Come lay with me.” He murmurs. He sits up and pulls you up with him. Before you can turn around, he’s pulled you back onto his chest. He lays haphazardly against the headboard and pillows.

“You don’t want to clean up?” You laugh as he wiggles you both into a comfortable position.

“No, wanna feel you.” He whispers huskily into your ear as you lay back against his chest. His right arm is wrapped around your chest, both breasts covered by his forearm as his left hand wraps lower, around your belly.

“I wanna feel you too.” You cover his hands with your own.

“I think you already did.” He laughs.

“Not fully!” You protest. “Take off your shirt.”

He doesn’t argue, pushing you forward so he can throw his shirt off. He tosses it onto the floor before yanking you back against him.

“Can I touch you?” He asks. “I want you to cum for me.”

You nod and began pulling your bottoms down. You lift your hips and shimmy the fabric off your legs before balling them up and tossing them somewhere.

Your head rests against his left shoulder as you sit between his open legs. You can feel his semi hard cock against your lower back and you picture how messy he is. The thought has you bending your knees and spreading them open. Your feet lay flat as you wait for him. His left arm wraps under your breast, fingers playing with your nipple.

You moan and arch your back slightly. He stops your movement with his arm in place. His right hand, trails down your stomach and soon dips into your folds. It’s almost humiliating how wet you are. Spencer reassures that’s not the case when he hums at the first touch.

“Wow,” he gasps. “Made you this wet from a little dry humping.” It’s slightly teasing.

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Can’t help getting wet at the sounds you were making.” You attempt to make fun of him but it falls short when his fingers find your clit. “Oh..”

Spencer pinches at your nipple as his middle and pointer finger make circles against your clit. Every so often his fingers dip lower to collect your wetness and smear it along your pussy.

“It’s not fair.” You moan. “I didn’t even get to touch you.”

“I thought your body aches, huh?” He kisses the shell of your ear. “I’m supposed to be helping you relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” You whine. Your body betrays you as your chest rapidly rises and falls. “Don’t stop.”

His fingers continue working your clit as his hand cups the whole of your boob. Your head lolls to the right and meets his jaw. You’re somehow relaxed, lazy, and sluggish against him as your insides burn and the intensity increases.

“I fucking love your hands.” You cry out. “Keep going please.”

“Anything for you my sweet girl.” From this angle he can see your face. Your head is thrown back against his chest, eyes closed and mouth in an “O.”

Spencer notices the way your legs twitch and your toes curl against the sheets. Your hands grip his thighs and he hears the soft sound of your voice rambling, “right there, right there, don’t stop, oh fuck, please please please, right there.”

It happens suddenly, your body tensing and spasming against his. You let out a long moan that turns into a sigh as you slump against him. Spencer keeps his arms wrapped around your body as he leans his cheek on top of your head.

“I would say this has been a successful first sleepover so far.” He jokes. You laugh, loudly and unfiltered. He follows suit and laughs with you. When the laughter dies down, he asks, “Should we go shower?”

“Together?” You twist to see him.

“Yeah, if you’re okay with that.” He shrugs.

“You’ve seen me naked, now I get to see you.” You pump your eyebrows twice.

“You will not be seeing me naked. You better keep your eyes focused on my neck, up. No wandering.”

“That’s so unfair, babe.” You push yourself up, grabbing a pillow to cover your body.

“Hey!” He scrambles off the bed. “Don’t cover up now.”

“If I can’t see your goodies, you can’t see mine.” You back away, turning to exit while pulling the pillow to cover your backside.

Spencer runs after you and pulls the pillow away before wrapping his arms around you. “Fine, you can see my goodies.” He rolls his eyes.

You wiggle your brows before pulling back and hooking your fingers into his bottoms. As you pull away from his body, you pull his waistband out. You peek down and see the inside of his pants. He’s still hard and covered in his mess. “Oh wow, I think I’ve found my second favorite body part of yours.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic

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janiehellion · 22 hours ago

Text

Walking The Dog

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You don’t just walk the dog—you make him crave it. And just like a loyal pet, Daryl Dixon will follow your every command—if you keep him on a leash and train him to obey.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: SUB!DARYL DIXON X DOM!FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HUMILIATION / DEGRADATION / LIPSTICK KINK / LEATHER GLOVES FETISH / CUMPLAY / IMPLIED CBT / EDGING & DENIAL / PRAISE / LANGUAGE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.080

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You never did blend in, and that was the whole point. Your style had always been a choice—black and red leather and latex, hugging every inch of your body. Leather jackets, thigh-high boots with heels that announced your arrival before you ever spoke, and even tighter leather pants that hinted at the curves underneath without giving too much away.

A tantalizing kind of restraint.

You'd always chosen black as your base, but red? That was your signature color. It wasn't just in your wardrobe, either. It was the color you put onto your lips, perfectly applied and turning heads.

You weren't shy about it. Not at all. The way you used that lipstick was intentional. You liked how people's eyes looked at your lips when you talked and how they stared at you when you smiled. Even before the world fell apart, you'd been magnetic—someone who drew attention just by existing in the same space.

When the apocalypse hit, you didn't drop the act like so many others did. If anything, the end of the world had given you more reason to keep it up.

While others scavenged for practicality, you hunted for pieces that made you feel powerful.

You wore leather gloves, too. But they weren't just for show—they protected your hands, just like the rest of your outfit was a form of protection. It was all about control in a world that had taken everything else from you. And if that meant walking into every stranger, living or dead, like you owned them, like everyone and everything was already beneath you, so be it.

Later, you met Juanita Sanchez, even though you don't remember the exact day you met Princess. It was one of those moments in the apocalypse where survival felt like the only thing keeping time moving. You'd been scavenging in a half-collapsed building—in your usual style, walking through the halls in a way that made even the living dead seem hesitant to approach. That's where you'd found her.

She was standing in the middle of a store where you watched her for a while, leaning casually against the frame of a broken doorway, a cigarette between your gloved fingers. Your lipstick—a deep, sinful red—was freshly applied, even if finding a mirror that wasn't broken in this world was a luxury. You didn't need one, though. You'd practiced until you could swipe it across your lips perfectly in the reflection of a knife blade.

"Gotta say," you'd called out after some time, "you kinda look like you're auditioning for a circus act."

Princess had turned around, and her eyes had landed on you, then dropped to the outfit you wore that day—a tight catsuit with the zipper pulled down just enough to leave little to the imagination. She didn't even try to hide the fact she was staring.

"Damn, if I wore that outfit, I'd look like a sausage," she joked, eyeing you up and down. "But you? You look like... a femme fatale! Girl, you're like sex on legs! I absolutely love it!"

"Something like that," you'd replied with a smirk, taking a long drag from your cigarette before flicking the ash to the floor. "Too bad I don't share my closet."

That was the start of it. She'd laughed so hard she snorted, and from that moment on, the two of you had been inseparable. Princess was the kind of friend who never asked questions about the things you didn't want to talk about. She didn't ask about your past or push you to explain why you wore leather and latex like armor and why you painted your lips with the boldest and deepest red you could find.

When you both joined up with Eugene, Ezekiel, and Yumiko, it became clear pretty quickly that you were nothing like them. But you didn't care. You didn't owe anyone at the Commonwealth or the Coalition an explanation, and you weren't about to start dressing differently either.

Then there was Daryl Dixon.

He had been the hardest to crack after you got to know your way around the new people. From the moment you met him, you could tell he was different. He didn't look at you the way other men did—at least, not at first. At first, he'd avoided you entirely, keeping his eyes on the ground or somewhere in the distance whenever you were around. Like he was afraid you might catch him looking.

But you did catch him. Over and over again.

And you hadn't made it easy for him because teasing him had become one of your favorite pastimes...

The department store you were now in had seen better days—most of the shelves were broken, the walls covered in dust and blood, and the floor in broken glass. Scavenging wasn't exactly your favorite thing in the world, but it was still necessary, even after all this time.

You, of course, walked through the cosmetics section while Daryl followed a few steps behind, his boots crunching over old plastic, and Princess had wandered off toward clothing racks.

But Daryl? He stuck annoyingly close. Not that he was trying to talk or anything—God forbid. No, he was just there, walking after you like a shadow, grunting whenever you looked his way.

At first, you thought maybe he was just keeping watch, being the silent protector or… whatever. But it didn't take long to notice that every time you moved to a new section, he followed. Close. A little too close.

Soon, you were looking through a shelf of random cosmetics when you saw it—a tube of lipstick, half-buried under some packaging. Your fingers closed around it, pulling it free, and you smirked to yourself.

Red. Not just any red—your red.

"Well, would you look at that," you said, holding it up to take a closer look. "A bit of civilization."

Daryl glanced at you out of the corner of his eye but didn't say anything. You could feel him watching, though, as you popped the cap off and twisted the lipstick out of the tube.

"I should give this to Princess," you laughed, turning the tube over in your hand. "She'd probably lose her shit."

You paused, pretending to think, then shrugged. "Nah. Think I'll keep it for myself."

And just like that, you dragged the lipstick across your mouth, slowly, like you were painting on war paint.

Rubbing your lips together, you admired the color in the cracked little hand mirror you'd found earlier. "Not too bad for something that's been here for years."

Then, out of curiosity, you looked at Daryl again.

He was frozen.

Absolutely frozen.

His hand was halfway to a shelf like he'd been about to grab something, but now it just hung there uselessly. His eyes—those blue eyes—were staring at your mouth, and for a second, he didn't even blink.

"You think it's my color?" You asked casually, pressing your lips together one more time.

He blinked, pulling his gaze away so fast it was somewhat funny. "Dunno," he grumbled, his voice a little too quiet.

"Mhm." You slipped the lipstick into your pocket, walking past him as you moved to the next shelf. "I'll take that as a yes."

You didn't miss the way his breath stopped when your shoulder touched his arm or the way he stumbled a little awkwardly like he didn't know what to do with himself.

For someone who was supposed to be all tough, he was being downright weird.

But somehow, it was charming.

Then there was the fact that he was still following you.

Every time you moved, he was right behind you, just close enough that you could feel his presence like a shadow behind your back. He wasn't even pretending to look for supplies anymore. His eyes kept looking at you—your hands, your lips—and every time you caught him, he looked away as if feeling guilty.

Pausing in front of another shelf, you were bending down slightly to check the lower level. Behind you, Daryl stopped, and you knew his gaze had dropped—staring at your ass for just a second too long before he looked back up.

When you straightened yourself and turned, he was closer than he had any right to be, his face red and his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

"You okay there, Dixon?" You asked curiously, smiling and raising an eyebrow.

"'M fine," he answered, stepping back like he needed to put space between you. His voice sounded strained, and he was fidgeting with his hands like his life depended on it.

"Okay, if you say so." You took a step closer, just to see what he'd do. He didn't move, but his breath hitched again, and his gaze dropped to your lips before looking into your eyes.

"Jus' don't see how that's useful," he continued. "Ain't exactly what we need."

"Oh, really?" You rolled your eyes, closing the space between you until you were chest to chest, making his breath stutter. "And what is it that you need, Dixon?"

His eyes widened just slightly in an instant, his mouth opening and closing itself as he tried—and failed—to form believable words.

"Hey, c'mon now, Daryl," you said, leaning a bit closer. "A little lipstick never hurt anyone. And I don't do sloppy… in any sense."

You were about to push him further—tease him, maybe wet your red lips just to see if his eyes would follow—when Princess's voice was to be heard from somewhere nearby.

"Hey! Did you find anything good? I found a mannequin missing an arm!"

Daryl practically jumped at the sound of her voice, stepping back so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. His face was red—so red it almost matched the lipstick you'd just found.

"Over here!" You called back, not even bothering to hide your amusement.

Princess came into view as she waved a mannequin arm in the air. "I mean, come on! Look at this thing! Who broke it? And why? Were they mad? Was it for art? The questions are endless!"

"Who knows?" You answered dryly, but still with a little grin on your face.

"Right?" Princess threw the mannequin arm aside. "Anyway, I'm gonna check out the upstairs. Think there might be some supplies up there—maybe even some cool clothes!"

Without waiting for a response, she disappeared around the corner, leaving the two of you alone again. Turning back to Daryl, your grin was widening as you watched him.

Poor man was blushing hard.

His fingers were now tapping his leg like he needed something—anything—to focus on other than you.

You tilted your head, watching him closely and observing every little reaction. "You know," you said, stepping even closer, your voice dropping to a whisper, "red's always been my color. But I think it might look even better on you."

He huffed in response, his shoulders tense as he kept looking to the floor before he stepped away completely.

Oh, this was too much fun.

So you followed Daryl through the aisles, the clicking of your heels almost too loud in the otherwise silent building, but now and then, you'd lean into his space, just close enough. Your clothing creaked with every movement, a sound he could hear and not ignore, no doubt.

A sound that made him nervous.

You didn't even have to try hard. You just had to be you.

But then, as if you weren't satisfied with just that, you turned into the next aisle, stopping in front of something familiar.

A pair of leather gloves. Black, shiny, perfect. You slipped them on with ease, letting the smooth leather slide over your fingers, loving the feeling of it.

Daryl was silent, but you could feel the way his eyes stayed on you from behind.

"Tell me, Daryl," you then started, "what's so interesting about me?"

His eyes didn't leave you, though his lips parted slightly as if to say something. But then he just shook his head, a little breathless. "Nothin'," he responded, looking around.

His hands twitched at his sides as he swallowed hard. He was so close to losing it.

"Well, if you say so." You held your hands up, wiggling your gloved fingers with a smirk. "I think I like the way they feel on me. Makes me want to... touch everything."

Brushing past him accidentally, you moved toward a door with the sign Employees Only, pushing it open with your hip. The room inside was small—only a storage room, judging by the shelves stacked with boxes and random chaos in every corner.

Daryl stopped in the doorway, clearly torn between following you and staying put like a good little watchdog. You didn't give him a choice.

Grabbing his arm, you pulled him inside and kicked the door shut behind him. He stumbled slightly, his wide-eyed expression confused as you turned to face him.

"You know what? I think I missed a spot," you suddenly said, pulling the lipstick from your pocket and holding it up like a weapon.

His brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"My lips," you clarified, pointing at your mouth. "Missed a spot. Hold this for me, would you?"

You grabbed the small mirror again and shoved it into his hands before he could argue. He looked at it like it might bite him, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it up. "Ain't there a mirror right behind—"

You stepped closer—too close—until there was barely a bit of space between you. His breath stopped as you leaned in, looking at your reflection in the little mirror.

"Wait," you said, twisting the lipstick and carefully swiping it over your lips. "Tricky angle. Maybe if I…"

You leaned in closer, your face stopping just inches from his while his chest was rising and falling with quicker breaths by now.

Then, without warning, you pressed your mouth to his cheek, leaving a lipstick kiss on his skin. Daryl stiffened, a quiet, fast groan escaping his throat.

Oh... Oh, that was interesting.

"My bad," you said, not sounding sorry at all. "Must've slipped."

You leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his jaw. He made that same noise—quiet and desperate—and you felt the tiniest shiver run through him.

So you kept going.

One kiss turned into two. Then three. Each one was slower as you worked your way along his jaw and his throat. His breathing grew heavier, and when you reached his neck, he let out a broken little whine.

"Something wrong, Dixon?" You asked innocently against his skin.

"N-nah," he stammered, but his voice cracked, and the way his hand gripped the mirror told a very different story.

"Okay." You trailed your lips back up to his ear, letting your tongue move along his neck just enough to make him squirm. "You sure about that?"

He whimpered—actually fucking whimpered—and you had to hold back a loud laugh. God, he was pathetic. And it was absolutely adorable.

"Hold still," you commanded, taking his chin between your fingers and tilting his head back slightly. "Haven't reached the spot yet."

Daryl's knees wobbled, and for a moment, you thought he might actually fall.

"Please," he whispered, his voice so soft and quiet it made you growl slightly.

"Please what?" You teased, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, smudging the faintest bit of lipstick.

"I… I…"

Daryl trailed off as he noticed your smirk, with your lips only a breath away from his. "Use your words, Dixon."

But he didn't.

He just let out another whimper, his body trembling as you leaned in and kissed him again—this time on the lips.

And that was when he completely fell apart.

Daryl didn't say anything—hell, you hadn't expected him to, and in this moment, words weren't needed anyway, because his body said everything for him. The way his shoulders stiffened and his hands shook as he let the broken mirror fall to the floor, the way his eyes looked everywhere but at you, as if looking at you for even a second longer might break him in half.

He didn't even resist when you pushed him back on a dusty old chair in the corner of the room. The thing looked like it hadn't been sat on since before the world ended, but you didn't care. You shoved him down into it, straddling his lap before he had a chance to protest against it, trapping him under you like the helpless little thing he was.

His breath hitched again—barely, but enough to make you smirk, as his hands hovered awkwardly near your thighs, not daring to touch you unless you told him to. You tilted your head, studying his face, and watching the way he was trying to hold himself together.

"Don't worry, Dixon," you said, holding up the lipstick. "Gonna make you look pretty."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn't argue. Not verbally, anyway.

You leaned in, swiping the lipstick across your lips, making sure it was freshly applied. Then, you turned your attention back to him. You put a soft red dot right next to his mouth, just a tiny spot, and he squirmed under your touch. His lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him as you dragged your thumb over the mark, smearing it across his cheek. The leather of your glove against his skin made him flinch—only a little bit—and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Look at you," you continued. "What a pretty boy you are."

Daryl's only response was a soft whine, so soft it got almost lost. Almost.

You leaned closer, pressing your lips to his neck again, leaving another kiss and mark against his skin. Then another, just below it, and another still, moving down to the collar of his shirt. His breathing was uneven now, shallow and fast, and you could feel the way his heart was beating faster and faster.

When you reached his chest, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged, opening a few of the buttons with ease. "Don't need this in the way, do we?"

You kissed him there, leaving another red mark against his skin and another below it, just like before. You worked your way down as you slid off his legs, slowly, marking him in your color, inch by inch.

By the time you reached his waistband, you didn't even need to look up to know he was gone. His body was trembling in front of you, his hands gripping his thighs like they were the only thing keeping him sane. You then glanced down at the obvious bulge straining against his pants and back up at his face. He looked done—blushing, panting, eyes almost closed and glazed over with need.

"You're so cute," you smirked, dragging your gloved hand over and down his abs. He let out a choked groan when you stopped just above his waistband, teasing the skin with the leather. "Getting this turned on from lipstick? That's all it takes?"

"Shut up," Daryl grumbled, his voice all shaky, but there was no anger behind his words. His eyes dropped to your hands again—those goddamn gloves.

He hated how they looked on you, hated how perfect they fit, how they moved so roughly against his skin. It wasn't right how much it got to him. He was embarrassing, wasn't he? Letting a pair of gloves own him like this.

Letting you own him.

And yet, he couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop imagining what it would feel like if you wrapped those gloved fingers around his throat instead, squeezing just enough to make him feel dizzy, to make him beg for air. The thought alone made his cock twitch, and he hated himself for it. Hated how much he wanted it.

"How sweet, did I embarrass you?" You asked, tilting your head. Your fingers moved lower, brushing over the bulge in his pants again, and he tensed up, a whimper escaping his lips before he could stop it.

You laughed softly, grabbing his bulge a little bit rougher. "You're so hard, poor thing... Bet it hurts, doesn't it?"

Daryl didn't answer, just let out another broken little moan, hips bucking up into your touch like he couldn't help himself.

"Pathetic," you said, shaking your head. "But I guess I'll take pity on you. Only this once."

You undid his belt and yanked his pants down just enough to free him, his cock springing up against his abs, hard and leaking.

Not even giving him time to adjust, you positioned yourself more comfortably onto your knees in front of him and holding the lipstick up again, you twisted it and painted a slow, messy line along the length of his shaft, leaving behind a perfect mark of red against his skin. He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a whine, his head falling back against the chair.

"Look at you," you teased, putting the lipstick aside. "So fucking pretty, don't you think?"

You slipped one gloved hand around his cock in an instant before he could respond, gripping him just tight enough to make him squirm, and started stroking slowly up and down, letting the leather glide over him. His reaction was immediate—hips bucking, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent groan.

"P-please," he choked out, voice barely more than a broken whisper.

You smiled as you continued to stroke him, slow and merciless. "Please what, Dixon? Gotta use your words."

"Please," he whined again, louder this time, hips bucking into your hand. "Please, I—fuck—jus'—"

But you didn't let him finish. You tightened your grip, cutting him off with a rough squeeze, and he cried out, a loud, desperate sound that had you grinning from ear to ear.

"Good boy," you whispered, dragging your thumb along the tip of his cock. "Come on, Daryl. Let me hear you."

And oh, he obeyed.

"Haven't even done anything yet, and you're already that close? What a shame."

Daryl sobbed—an actual, honest-to-god sob—and you could feel the way his thighs tensed beneath you. His hands were gripping the sides of his legs so hard his knuckles had gone white like he needed something to hold onto or he'd completely come undone.

"Gonna give you what you need, don't worry," you told him, pulling back just enough to look up into his face, "but only 'cause you're looking so damn pretty like this. All red and so needy. Now… Sit still."

Kneeling between his spread legs, you were tugging his pants down further to get them out of the way. His cock was so slick at the tip, leaking pre-cum over and over, and when you wrapped your fingers around him once more to keep it steady, he gasped, and his hips jerked involuntarily, making you give him a warning look that froze him instantly.

"Don't move," you said. "You wanna be a good boy for me, don't you?"

He nodded several times, lips parted and panting wildly. "Y-yeah…"

"That's what I wanna hear from you, Daryl," you smirked, grabbing the lipstick and moving it underneath the tip of his cock, painting a small, messy red heart under it next.

Daryl gasped, his head falling forward, his whole body trembling as you worked. "F-fuck," he stammered, voice shaking. "What—what're ya—"

"Be quiet," you said, still smirking as you painted the tiny heart. "Told you I'd make you look all pretty, didn't I?"

You put the lipstick aside when you were satisfied, leaning in close to press your lips right onto the tip of his cock, leaving another faint smudge behind. He let out a broken groan, his thighs now quivering under your touch, his hips bucking up once more before he caught himself.

"Stay still," you warned again, gripping his cock harder. "Don't make me tell you again."

"'M sorry," he whimpered, but you weren't interested in apologies. His lungs were fighting for air as he tried—and failed—to keep quiet. But your voice, that lovely, mocking tone, went straight through every bit of his self-control like it wasn't even there. You didn't need to say much. Just the way you looked at him… it wrecked him.

"Sorry doesn't cut it," you said, running your gloved thumb over the lipstick-smeared tip of his cock. He whimpered again, loud and desperate as you teased him further. "You're lucky I'm even touching you after that. You're so fucking pathetic, Daryl. All this just from a little lipstick. You like being my toy that much, huh?"

He nodded, his head tilting back, not wanting to look you in the eyes, but you had other plans.

"Look at me," you snapped, and his eyes flew open. "You're gonna watch," you continued, leaning in to kiss the side of his cock softly, leaving more smudged marks in your wake. "You're gonna watch, Dixon. And you're gonna thank me for it."

"Please," he whimpered, his voice cracking more with every word, and you felt almost satisfied with how wrecked he sounded. "Please, I—Shit, shit, I can't—"

"Can't what?" You interrupted, pressing your other hand to his abs to keep him from moving as you kissed your way along the length of his cock. "Can't handle it? Can't stop yourself from being a whiny little boy for me?"

He let out a choked cry, his hands moving to the sides of the chair this time, gripping them so hard it looked like he might rip it apart.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," you grumbled against his throbbing shaft, kissing him just above his base before dragging your tongue back up to the tip to smear the line of red all along it.

"God, you're so fucking needy," you said. "You should thank me for making you look this pretty. Go on, baby—say thank you. Thank me for making you look this pretty."

"Th-thanks," he choked out, just before he apologized. "'M sorry!"

"You're not sorry," you laughed, shaking your head in disapproval. "You'd let me do this to you forever, wouldn't you? Tell me, do you even wanna be a good boy for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, the word barely more than a breath. "Yes, please, I—fuck, I do! I—"

Indeed, he wanted to be good for you. Wanted to do what you told him, no matter what it was, no matter how much it made his face burn. Because when you praised him—when you called him a good boy, even in that mocking tone—it felt like salvation.

And when you didn't, when you laughed and shook your head like he'd disappointed you… That was worse than the end of the world. Literally. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand not being enough for you. So he'd do anything—anything—if it meant you'd look at him like he was worthy of your time. Even if it was just for a moment.

"Oh, I know you do," you said, smirking as you tightened your grip. "But you're not good enough. Not yet, at least. You're gonna sit there and listen to my every command. Understand? Just sit still and be quiet."

Daryl nodded frantically, his breath hitching as you started to stroke him again, slow and torturous, dragging your gloved hand up and down his shaft. He was a mess—whimpering, gasping, his head thrown back, his body so stiff, and his muscles flexing.

The rough feeling of the leather against his sensitive cock was driving him insane, his hips jerking up into your hand despite himself. It throbbed painfully, aching with a need that made him want to scream.

He hated how much it turned him on, how much he craved it, but fuck, there was no escaping it. The feeling of your leather gloves, the smirk on your lips, the way you tilted your head and insulted him like he was just some toy for you to play with… it made him feel small and weak, and somehow, that only made him harder. He hated how much he loved it, how much he needed it.

You were training him, and he was letting you.

No—he was begging for it.

"I told you to keep still," you suddenly said, pulling your hand away. He whimpered, his cock twitching, and you swore his entire body tensed. "You really don't know how to behave, do you? You want to be good for me, but you're only acting all pathetic instead."

"I—I can be good," he stammered, his voice shaking as his hands gripped the chair tighter, desperate to keep himself quiet. "Please, I can—"

"Shut up," you snapped, cutting him off. "If you could behave, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

You didn't give him a chance to respond before wrapping your hand around him again, tighter this time, stroking him slowly from base to tip. He groaned, his hips twitching again, but he stopped himself before he bucked up fully.

"There you go," you praised mockingly, your gloved thumb brushing over his leaking tip once more. "Knew you could listen if I kept you desperate enough. Such a good little thing when you wanna be, huh?"

Daryl whined, his lips parted. "Fuck," he choked out, his voice all desperate. "Please, I—fuck, I can't—"

"Again?" You asked, jerking him faster now, watching as the muscles of his arms flexed. "Can't handle how good this feels? Can't stop yourself from being such a greedy, slutty boy for me? You can't what?"

He made a sound you could only describe as a wail as you decided to slap his cock with your gloved hand out of nowhere. His head shot up, eyes wide, his lips quivering as he stared down at you.

"Did I say you could move?" You asked, your voice cold. He shook his head quickly, a tiny tear rolling down his cheek as he whimpered out another apology.

"Good," you said quietly, smirking as you slapped his cock again, just a little harder this time. It twitched in your hand, and he let out a strangled moan as he tried to brace himself for whatever you'd do next.

"Would you look at that," you laughed, pumping his cock again. "Getting even harder from me slapping your dick. You're so damn ridiculous, Daryl."

"N-no," he whispered. "I—I love… I—I, fuck, please, I need—"

"You need?" You repeated with a grin, laughing as you pressed another kiss to the underside of his cock. The lipstick smeared against his skin as you kissed it some more, this time so fast he could barely feel it. "Go on. Tell me what you need, baby. Use your words."

"Need ya," he choked out, his voice breaking further. "Need ya to—to finish me, please. I'll be good, I swear—"

"You'll be good? That's what you keep saying," you said before you slapped his cock again, hard enough to make him flinch. Daryl just whimpered, and you shook your head. "You don't even know how to be good, Dixon. You're just a desperate, whiny little brat."

"Please," he begged and cried, some more tiny tears rolling down his cheek. "Please, I'll do anythin', jus'—jus' don't stop!"

You laughed louder, stroking his cock a little quicker now, watching as his eyes rolled back, his chest rising up and down with each breath. "So adorable," you said, leaning in to press one more lipstick kiss to the tip of his cock, making sure the red was looking messy. "Keep begging for me, baby. Let me hear and see just how desperate you can get."

Your pace turned ruthless soon, stroking him hard and fast, watching as Daryl lost himself more and more. His breath came out in quick gasps, his body trembling so violently you thought he might come on the spot. He was close already—so damn close—and you could feel it in the way his cock throbbed wildly in your grip, could hear it in the way he moaned for more like it was the only thing he could do.

"Gonna come soon for me?" You teased as your gloved hand moved in unforgiving pumps up and down his shaft. "That's why you're so fucking ridiculous, Daryl. You're literally trembling! Bet you're imagining me riding you, huh? Bet you'd come in seconds if I even tried. Poor little baby boy can't handle anything, can you? Pathetic."

"Please," he whined out over and over again as a sob tore from his throat. "Please, I—I'm so close—fuck, I—"

Then you suddenly stopped, removing your hand from his cock.

His eyes flew open immediately, wide and glassy, his lips parted in shock as he stared at you like you'd just ripped his soul out of his body.

"Wha—no, no, no," he whimpered, his voice a broken plea as his hands gripped his thighs so tightly again that his knuckles turned white once more. "Please, don't stop—please, I'll do anythin'! I'll—"

"Quiet," you interrupted, pressing a gloved finger to his lips after you stood up. His voice died immediately, though he let out a pitiful little sob as his eyes dropped to your hand, noticing his pre-cum smeared on the leather.

"You really are adorable," you laughed, smirking as you tilted your head, watching the way his eyes looked frantically from your glove to your face. "So fucking needy you can't even obey. Do you even know how greedy you are right now?"

He whimpered again, nodding and squirming beneath you, his hips jerking up involuntarily as if he thought you might touch him again. But you didn't. Instead, you dragged your gloved finger slowly across his bottom lip, smearing a mix of pre-cum and lipstick along his mouth.

"Go on," you said, your tone sounding commanding as you pressed the tip of your finger harder against his mouth. "Lick it off. Be a good boy for me, Daryl."

His eyes widened even further, his hands trembling as he stared at you, another blush immediately rising to his cheeks. "Wh—what?" He stammered, his voice barely audible.

"You heard me," you shot back, arching an eyebrow. "Lick it off. Or do you want me to stop entirely? Maybe I should just go away. Maybe I'll leave you alone here like this—so hard and desperate… with no one to help you."

"N-no," he stuttered quickly, shaking his head as another tear rolled down his cheek. "I—I'll do it, jus'—don't leave, please, I'll do it! I—"

"That's what I wanna hear," you smiled as you pressed your finger more roughly against his lips. "Now, be a good boy and show me how much you want it. How much you want me to finish you."

With a shaky breath, Daryl opened his mouth, slowly at first, his tongue brushing against the leather. You could see his hesitation, the way his body quivered beneath you, but he didn't stop. He licked up his own pre-cum, his face flushed red and his eyes now closed as if that might somehow help him.

"Licking up your disgusting mess like the desperate little thing you are. You really have no shame, do you, Daryl?"

The word 'shame' hit him with every little sound he'd made so far. And yet, somehow, it was addicting. The pain of your words, the way you handled him like he was not worth your time. It hurt, and he wanted more of it. Needed more of it. It was sick, wasn't it? Letting you tear him down, scold him, mock him… and feeling like he'd die without it. You were breaking him, and he didn't want you to stop.

Daryl's tongue was still moving over your glove, cleaning it like his life depended on it. When he was done, he pulled back slightly, opening his eyes a little to look up into yours.

He'd worship you if you told him to. He'd beg and plead at your feet if it meant you'd touch him again, even if it was just to insult him. The thought of it—of being that desperate for you—made him feel even more shame.

But shame had never felt so good.

"Good boy," you praised him, cupping his cheek with your free hand, smirking as you watched the way he leaned into your touch when you stroked his cheek lovingly. "See? You can behave when you really want to."

"Please," he then whispered, his voice broken, his cock still throbbing and twitching against his abs. "Please—'M good; I promise... I'll—"

"Oh, I know, I know," you interrupted, your smirk widening as you wrapped your gloved hand around him again, giving him one slow, light stroke. His moans came out in cries now, pitiful and still needy, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he begged for the friction he so desperately needed. You leaned in close, stopping right next to his ear as you whispered, "You want to come now, don't you?"

"Y-yeah," he begged, his voice shaking, his breath hitching with every stroke of your hand. "Please, I—I need it—please, jus' let me—"

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, almost tenderly, before you slid down between his legs again, and his eyes were glued to you as he panted like he'd been running for miles.

Then, without any warning, you moved your mouth to his cock again—but this time, instead of just teasing the tip with kisses, you took him fully past your lips, wrapping your mouth around him. The sudden feeling of it all hit him at once.

"Oh—fuck, fuck!" He let out a strangled cry as his hips bucked uncontrollably, trying to fuck deeper into your mouth. "Please… please, 'M gonna… please, don't stop—"

You sucked hard at the tip of his cock as you bobbed your head just once—slowly—before pulling back with a wet sound, holding it tightly in your grip. "Go on now, be a good boy, and come for me."

It pushed him right over the edge—he couldn't hold back, not when you had him so suddenly, so fast, in your mouth, only to leave him hanging once more as if he didn't deserve the feeling of your lips around him.

Daryl's eyes were shocked, his expression wild with panic, but you didn't give him a chance to protest. His orgasm hit him hard and much too fast, his body shaking uncontrollably, his cock throbbing in your grip as his cum shot over your glove and himself.

"Fuck, fuck, I—I'm sorry!" He sobbed. "'M sorry, I—I didn't mean to!"

You didn't soften your grip, holding his shaft through the last of it, watching as he whimpered and squirmed, his cock twitching helplessly in your hand.

"Still pathetic," you answered as you leaned back on your heels, looking at the mess he'd made of himself. "Can't even come properly, can you?"

"I—I'm sorry," he whispered again, his eyes now squeezed shut as if he didn't know whether to keep them open or not. "Didn't mean to—please, I'm sorry—"

"Shut up," you responded before you reached out to scoop up some of his cum with your gloved fingers. "Look at this nasty shit... Open your mouth and clean it up. Again."

His eyes shot open at that, full of embarrassment once more. But he didn't argue. Not now.

"Lick and swallow, baby," you teased as you watched him suck his cum off your glove, his breath still coming in short, ragged bursts.

By the time he was finished, he was trembling so badly you thought he might collapse all over. And as you stood up, taking a step back and straightening your gloves, you knew you'd left your mark on him.

But Daryl couldn't think. Hell, he could barely even react.

His chest was still heaving as he slumped back in the chair, every muscle in his body flexing from his orgasm. His cock was still half-hard, but he hadn't even thought to tuck himself away, too wrecked to do anything but sit there and take it. His lips were bitten bloody, swollen from how he'd chewed them trying not to embarrass himself even further, but it hadn't worked.

Not when you had gotten every sob, every whimper, out of him like you'd planned it that way.

His half-lidded eyes followed you as you picked up your lipstick and moved away from him in your thigh-high boots. Daryl didn't know where to look—your thighs, your ass, your lips. All of it was overwhelming, and shit, how he loved it. He felt completely done in your presence and at your mercy, and for some reason, that only made the ever-present need in himself worse.

Suddenly turning around, you didn't say a word as you approached him again. His heart was pounding in his chest as you stepped closer, every click of your heels on the floor shooting straight through him, making his head spin.

When you stopped in front of him, he thought—prayed—you were done with him. But you didn't back away. No, you leaned in, close enough that your warm breath touched his neck, and lifted one of your boots, pressing it between his knees.

Daryl's breath caught in his throat as it slid along his inner thighs, just barely brushing against the skin there. His hips bucked involuntarily, the movement pitiful even to him, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt it—you—your boot moving higher, pressing hard enough between his thighs and down onto his still-sensitive cock.

Shit…

The feeling was maddening. The pressure on his balls made him whine, and his hands didn't know what to do as he fought the urge to grind against the feeling of your boot like a desperate brat.

He sure as hell felt it all.

He felt how you owned every inch of his body. And he knew it.

Your boot pressed down harder, forcing a choked groan from his lips, but you didn't care.

"Speak up," you then demanded out of nowhere. "Tell me what you are, Daryl."

"I—I'm…" He stammered, his voice sounding weak.

"You're what?" Your boot pressed some more, grinding just enough to send a bit of pain through his cock, and his body flinched. "Say it. Say how pathetic you are."

"'M pathetic," he whispered without any kind of hesitation, his face still burning red, and his hips bucked slightly again.

He shouldn't want this—not after the mess he'd already made of himself—but his body didn't seem to care as his cock gave another faint twitch.

You leaned in further, and the extra weight against him made him whine. Your breasts were practically in his face now, the sight of your tits teasing him as you adjusted the pressure of your boot just enough to make his head spin.

Goddamn it.

Without another word, you tilted your head up and began reapplying your lipstick after having it pulled out of your pocket again, your eyes never leaving your reflection in the mirror.

Daryl tried to look away, embarrassed by the way his heart raced at something so simple, but your free hand shot out, grabbing his chin roughly and forcing his gaze up to look at you.

You used the opportunity to put the lipstick onto your lips slowly—intentionally—making him watch, making him wait. And the kiss you then put on his cheek felt like fire before you were pulling your boot away slowly like you wanted him to miss it.

When you were done and finally spoke, your voice sounded lovingly, praising him.

"My adorable little boy," you whispered, smirking at him before you turned around without another word and walked toward the door.

Daryl could still only sit there as he watched you leave. The sight of your ass in those tight clothes would haunt him as well; he was sure of it.

He let out a deep, shaky breath, his head dropping back against the chair as he tried to pull himself together. But the red stains on his skin and the faint ache in his muscles reminded him that he was anything but together.

And maybe he never would be, no, not when it came to you.

Daryl stared at the door long after you'd left, his heart pounding in his ears.

As soon as he tried to stand up, his eyes looked at the mirror mounted on the wall behind him, and he gulped at the sight staring back at him. He was covered in red stains, the smudges of your lipstick marking him like a trophy.

He reached up, touching the marks as if it would make them disappear, but they didn't. The color clung to his skin, and it wasn't just there. His body felt raw and wrecked. And lower—Jesus Christ…

He finally looked down at his still-open pants. The red smudges on his cock were obvious, every print of your mouth burned onto him like a brand. He didn't bother cleaning it off. Hell, the thought of wiping your lipstick away felt wrong, like getting rid of a memory he wasn't ready to lose. Instead, he tucked himself back into his pants, the marks hidden but not forgotten.

Daryl tried to focus, to get his head straight, but his hands shook as he buttoned up.

His reflection stared back at him, lips parted, eyes wide, and that look on his face—the one that screamed for more—made him groan softly.

Get it t'gether. C'mon.

But he couldn't. Not when his legs felt like jelly… until the door creaked open behind him, and his whole body tensed.

"C'mon, Dixon," your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "We're leaving."

Daryl turned slowly, watching you lean against the frame. You didn't even look at the mess you'd made of him, your eyes already looking away like you expected him to follow without a second thought.

Of course, he did. He walked after you, his head ducked low as if scolded.

Princess's voice was to be heard somewhere ahead, but Daryl barely listened to it, too focused on you as you led the way.

You stopped all of a sudden, and he almost bumped into you, too distracted by everything to notice you'd turned again. Before he could step back, your hand shot out, grabbing his cock roughly through his pants with a hard squeeze.

Daryl froze, choking out a strangled groan, his face burning as you pressed just enough to make him feel it.

"Still following me like a good boy, huh? What? Gonna bark if there's a walker around and getting too close?"

Daryl didn't answer. No, he couldn't. He swallowed hard, his hips twitching against your touch.

"Should I get you a leash? Maybe you wanna be all dolled up? Is that what you wanna be, Dixon? My pretty little pet? Say it."

His head spun before he stammered something like, "Y-yes, 'm yer pet," but you couldn't quite make it out as your other hand tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

You looked him up and down, your eyes dropping to his neck, where one of the red stains remained.

"Good," you said, releasing him with a few pats to his cheek. "Next time," you whispered, "we'll see if you look as pretty in a collar."

Daryl's legs trembled as you stepped away, but he didn't have time to steady himself before Princess appeared out of nowhere, searching for the both of you.

"Y'all find anything good?"

You didn't even hesitate, grinning at her as you patted Daryl's head and then his chest—right where one of the lipstick marks was smeared beneath his shirt.

"Oh, I haven't found anything worthy of my time just yet," you responded. "I'm just walking the dog."

Princess stopped, tilting her head to the side with a slight frown. "The dog? Wait, we got no—"

But you were already stepping away, leaving Daryl and Princess standing there, his face red as he struggled to keep up.

He followed you, of course. Just like you knew he would. And God help him, he wanted to follow you anywhere.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Thanks for reading! I've got a couple of ideas for a possible follow-up—maybe next time we'll see what happens when he gets a little treat, or what happens when he misbehaves just a bit too much. Just saying, there’s plenty more I could do with this. So... If you enjoyed this, drop a comment, reblog, or leave some kudos. Even if you hated it, I wouldn’t mind knowing—feedback always helps!

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crowsofdarkness · 3 days ago

Text

Soldat: Chapter Four

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Female Agent! Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: Agent Y/N has worked alongside Steve Rogers at SHIELD for some time all while keeping a dark secret from everyone. Until one day that darkness faces her head on and she's forced to make a choice. Continue fighting along side Captain America? Or find her home once again with Soldat?

Authors Note: This was originally published on my old blog as a trilogy so I will be in the slow process of adding it to this blog. This is the first of the trilogy and will take place during The Winter Soldier. If anyone is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox

Soldat Masterlist

“Steve told me you were a pilot,” I scoffed towards Sam.

We were sitting at a table outside of a restaurant, waiting for our target to walk out. Steve and Nat were a few blocks over, waiting for word from us when we would be moving.

Sam laughed, “I never said pilot.”

“Is it hard to fly?” I questioned with curiosity.

“You get the hang of it after a while. And no, I will not teach you how to fly it,” Sam said.

I faked pouted while I crossed my arms. “You’re no fun.”

He went silent only for a moment before he spoke, all jokes aside. “I know we just met and my opinions don’t matter but we’re bound to see him again. I just want to make sure you’re one hundred percent on taking him down. Like Steve said, he killed someone you all looked up to.”

I nodded. “Can I be honest with you?”

When Sam nodded, I continued. “I don’t know if it was because of how dark it was on the roof but when we saw each other, he acted like he didn’t even know me.”

“How long has it been?”

“Uh-a few years. Maybe I look different or something?” I muttered.

Our attention snapped towards the restaurant as our target walked out, Sam immediately dialing a number on his phone. I sat in silence, placing my sunglasses over my eyes and sat back in the chair.

Maybe that was the reason why he didn’t recognize me that night. It was dark and had been a few years since we saw each other but yet, my heart still dropped when the realization hit that he didn’t recognize me. Was I that easy to forget?

“Let’s move,” Sam said while standing up.

“Steve, do we actually have a plan here or are we just kidnapping this guy?” I questioned from a spot in the middle of the back seat.

We were driving along the highway, trying to make it to Shield Headquarters in time to stop the helicarriers. We had learned from Jasper Sitwell that Project Insight would be launching in less than twenty four hours and we suddenly found ourselves with a change of plans.

Hydra’s plan for the helicarriers was to use them to eliminate millions of people who were any sort of threat to them. All thanks to Zola’s algorithm.

“I’m thinking,” Steve said, not turning his attention towards me.

His eyes were trained to the road ahead of us as Sam continued to drive.

I had tried talking to Steve but he had ignored me; only saying that we would talk about this later.

“Hydra doesn’t like leaks,” Sitwell informed us.

“Then why don’t you try sticking a cork in it,” Sam snapped before changing lanes.

“Insight is launching in sixteen hours,” Natasha pointed out leaning towards Steve, “We’re cutting it a little close here.”

“I know. We’ll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the helicarriers directly,” Steve directed to us.

He finally looked over his shoulder to me, only briefly, and I gave him a small smile. The thought of my past with Soldat was still bothering him, I could tell by the way his jaw was clenched tight as he returned the smile.

We'll talk later, I mouthed, promising that I would indulge more about my past to him.

All he did was nod before looking out the front windshield again and I leaned against my seat noticing that Sitwell had an exasperated look on his face.

“Are you crazy? That is a terrible, terrible idea.”

Suddenly, a loud thud from the top of the car sounded and I couldn’t help the small scream that left my throat as I watched Sitwell being pulled from the car window and tossed to the other side of the highway, immediately being hit by a semi.

My eyes grew with horror as the quick flash of metal glimmered in front of me causing Natasha and I to jump towards the front of the car, her landing on Sam’s lap while I landed on Steve’s. Gunshots echoed through the small car and Steve wrapped his arms around my waist in a tight grip as he hastily put the car in park, causing the man to roll off the car. His metal fingers dragged along the pavement before coming to a stop a few feet away from us.

“That’s him?” Steve whispered in my ear.

My throat went dry, no words being able to come out so all I did was nod.

A car slammed into the back of ours, pushing it towards him. The Winter Soldier jumped over the hood of our car landing on top with a thud. Sam slammed on the brakes as my hand reached around for my gun and smiled in victory when I pulled it free. Aiming it to the roof of the car, I shot a few rounds.

“Shit!” Sam screamed when the metal arm busted through the front windshield and ripped the wheel off with ease.

It was Natasha’s turn to fire a few rounds and I looked over Steve’s shoulder as the soldier was riding on the hood of the car behind us. They slammed into us a few more times before Steve busted open the door, pulling us to safety as the car hit the median, rolling a few times and coming to a stop.

“Nat!” I bellowed as I watched her and Sam roll away from us while Steve and I were safely sitting on his shield that protected our fall.

She gave me a small wave, indicating that they were alright, and Steve helped me to my feet and I watched his face distort in pain.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“I’m fine. You’re bleeding, though,” His fingers gently grazed over my forehead before showing me the blood that covered his hand.

“I’ll live,” I shrugged and turned towards Sam and Nat who had caught up to us.

We all watched as someone handed the soldier a grenade launcher and without a second thought, Steve pushed me out of the way, blocking the shot with his shield.

“STEVE!” I screamed as I watched him fly off the bridge and straight through a bus.

Suddenly, hundreds of bullets cascaded around us, Sam and Nat taking cover behind a van while I hid on the side of another car across the median. The bullets ricochet against the metal of cars and my body shivered when one flew past my face, my hair flowing with the wind.

My eyes scanned my surroundings, trying to avoid any of the flying bullets, and after fighting with my consciousness, I ran out from behind the car and jumped over the median to the opposite way of traffic. Thankfully with everything going on, cars had decided to exit the freeway long before reaching us.

Weaving my way in and out of the cars that were there, I dared to glance over my shoulder and watched in fear as he launched a grenade at the car in front of me. The heat of the fire engulfed me as the power of the blast sent me flying over the bridge, me landing somewhat safely on an abandoned car.

“Fuck,” I groaned, feeling the wind get knocked out of me.

I laid there for a split second as the pain slowly subsided, wondering why he still couldn’t recognize me. My heart was breaking, realizing that the memories of us might have meant nothing to him.

“Now’s not the time to be a little bitch, Y/N.” I cursed to myself before rolling off of the car.

I ran with a small limp, knife clenched tight in my hand, as I waved people away from the scene.

“Get away! Get back!” I ordered. “It’s not safe!”

Seeing his shadow from the bridge above me, I came to a halt, aiming my gun towards him. I breathed as the bullet hit exactly where I wanted; his goggles.

Not daring to stay back, I scurried over to a fallen bus as I fired a few more rounds behind me, not sure if it was a direct hit this time. I continued to run as fast as I could, hoping I would find Steve soon.

“Fuck!” I screamed out in pain when I felt a bullet rip through my thigh, sending me plummeting to the hard ground.

Biting back the tears, I slowly but hurriedly dragged my limp body over to the car in front of me. I leaned back against it, allowing the coldness of it to cool down my warm body. Glancing down to the wound in my leg, I let out a few large breaths before a guttural scream scratched its way out of my throat as I plunged my finger in the wound, fishing out the bullet with little to no ease.

“Damn it, Steve. Where are you?!” I sobbed, tears brimming my eyes.

If anyone saw me crying right now they would be appalled. Big, tough, Shield Agent, former FBI special ops, former swat member, was crying over a man? I wasn’t crying over a man, per say. I was crying at the thought that Steve was in fact right. If this truly was him, what I had known about Soldat was just a lie.

Without warning, more rapid gunfire sounded in front of me and I watched almost in defeat as someone jumped out of the bus, my spirits lifting only a tad.

“Steve!” I gasped slowly rising to my feet.

He looked over his shoulder after blocking the shots with his shield and ran over towards me, immediately throwing my arm over his broad shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He cooed.

“For now,” I admitted.

The bullets continued to bounce off the shield as Steve and I tried to find safety.

“Stay close,” Steve ordered.

Obeying, I gripped his shirt as we started making our way towards the men that were shooting at us. One of the men to my right fell to the ground, gun clattering away from him. Looking up to the overpass, I gave a small wave of thanks to Sam who had clearly been watching our backs. Steve knocked the last shooter to his feet before coming to my side again. We both looked up to Sam.

“Go! I got this!” He yelled.

Nodding, Steve wrapped an arm around my waist while mine snacked its way around his neck and I tried my best to hold the majority of my weight as we tried to gain our surroundings, looking for Natasha.

“Over there!” I pointed when I saw the soldier had his gun aim at Natasha and was about to pull the trigger.

Steve ran towards him and I watched as the two fought. Shield vs knife. My leg dragged behind me while I used the last bit of my strength to help Natasha off of the ground.

“You’re shot,” she observed.

“No shit,” I groaned, feeling the sudden rush of blood run down my leg.

We both watched Steve as he tried to land punch after punch to the soldier, always coming up empty. We watched in fear as they continued to fight, Steve throwing the soldier over his shoulder, the mask rolling a few yards away.

My body went rigid as he slowly turned around, his unmasked face meeting ours. Blood flooded in my ears while my mouth ran dry, trying to find the right words to say.

He stood a few feet in front of me and he looked exactly the same. Those eyes that haunted my dream for months were suddenly in front of me and everything around me vanished. I wanted nothing more than to walk into his arms.

“Soldat?” I breathed.

“Bucky?” Steve questioned at the same time.

I snapped my eyes over to him, my heart getting caught in my throat at the mention of that name. “Bucky? As in best friend who you thought fell off a train seventy years ago, Bucky?”

“Y/N, this is Soldat?” Steve croaked, realizing that the man who had saved my life years ago was his best friend.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Soldat questioned Steve before his gaze softened on me. “How do you know me?”

“You don’t remember me?” I blinked, surprised. “Russia. 2009. Zola.”

Soldat’s eyes bounced back and forth between Steve and I.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “I know that name.”

I nodded, hoping he would remember, however, The Winter Soldier returned as fast as he had disappeared and raised his gun to shoot but Sam came flying in, literally, and knocked Bucky a few feet away from me.

He quickly stood and stared at Steve, something unreadable coming across his features. He lifted the gun again but was stopped when Nat got a hold of the grenade launcher, sending one off in our direction.

We all jumped out of the way in different directions, me rolling far away from Steve.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Hearing Steve’s voice, I looked behind me, my scream being muffled by a pair of leather gloves while my body was being dragged away from my friends. My wounded leg dragged along the ground as I tried to kick my captor with my good leg.

My efforts were useless as my body was spun around, eyes locked with one of the gunmen working with Soldat.

“Get in the van. Now.”

I continued to fight against him. “Let me go!”

“He wants you,” the gunmen struggled against my punches and kicks.

My fighting seized when I felt a blow to the back of my head causing my body to go limp against his chest.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes

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storiesfromafan · 3 days ago

Text

Missing Him/Her Was Dark Grey

A/N: I know I'm late to post, on day 3 of a migraine but it's moving on slowly. I bring you the last part of whatever this is 😅 I couldn't find the names of Johnny and Betty's girls, so I gave them names. Pls correct me if they do have names.

Previously: part one, part two

There will be a note at the end, it's a little important.

Warning/s: possible spelling/grammers mistakes

Tag list: @charmingballoon @strayrockette

Being gone for almost three months – open road, his bike and no responsibilities – gave Benny a lot of time to think. Thinking and weighing up the pro's and con's of his relationship with you, which he fully admits was left the worst way. Never had any relationship of his had a moment remotely as bad as that. Yet, no relationship was ever like what he had with you. Sure, there were women before you, but they never lasted or effected him like you did.

You were the light in a dim time. The calm to his storm. Yet that calm did bring on the storm too. If there wasn’t passion there wouldn’t be intense fights. Benny could see that. When you fought he would be passionate about it, about you, but that voice in his head. It was hard to tune out. But from years of being not good enough, it was always there loud and clear. Even when he knew better with you, that it wasn’t like that with you. It was different this time.

You had seen him before he saw you, but Benny was the first to fall. Flirting with you and putting himself out there, while you tip toed around him, doing everything to avoid getting close to the Vandal. But he got you on the back of his bike, and that was it. Sure, slow to start, but slow turned to a moderate pace before fast. A speed Benny was use too.

That was why he came back, he was back for you. No matter how much he tried to turn it off, he couldn’t stop thinking about you or loving you. So he had put on his grownup pants – metaphorically of course – and was back in town for you. Benny was ready to do anything and everything to get you back.

Unfortunately it didn’t look that way for you. As he rolls into town, passing the movie theatre, there you were. And not alone. It was brief but the man beside you looked like a complete square, the ideal man to bring home to your family. First there was anger that some guy was out with you. And secondly that turned to utter anguish that you were out on a date with someone else.

Unable to approach you without loosing it, Benny chose to ride on. And right to Grand and Division. Sure, he’d thought about heading to your house. But it would only be the same, or worse if you were planning to take the guy back to your place. That thought truly gutted him. The idea of another man touching you, kissing you and in your bed. He was close to just not even stopping, just riding back out of town. But Benny had been on the road for hours. He needed to stop, not to mention a beer or three.

Before he even entered the bar, just parked his bike, Johnny and a few other familiar faces came rushing out of the building. Benny had just gotten off his bike when Johnny patted him on the back, laughing and saying how it had been a while. Ushering him into the bar, Benny remained silent while the men around him fussed over him. They were truly happy to see him after being gone. Benny had hoped this was the reception he’d have gotten from you. Instead he was greeted to you and your new beau.

It was a blur of men and drinks, and yet he hardly spoke, unless he had too. Moving around the room to different groups. Even a quick game of pool, which he had no real interest in. Finally stepping out into the night, Benny pulled out a cigarette and lit it while standing in the semi dark street. Other than the muffled noise of the bar, it was quiet. Just what he needed after the night he’d had.

The doors behind him opened, but Benny didn’t turn to see whoever it was. He didn’t really care, so long as he was left alone. Unfortunately Johnny didn’t get that memo. Stepping up next to Benny, he too lit up a cigarette and enjoyed the first inhale. Both men stood there in silence. For Benny it was perfect, he was happy to not speak. Yet Johnny was fidgety, uneasy even. For he’d kept an eye on the young Vandal all night, and could see he wasn’t himself, coming to the conclusion something was up.

“So...” Johnny started, “what’s goin' on? Ya more quiet then usual...”

Benny sighed. Knowing this was coming. “Rough ride...” he offered, hoping that would the end of it.

Johnny studied Benny's profile, knowing that wasn’t it. “Nuh, it’s somethin' else. Talk to me kid...”

Johnny was trying to remain calm, voice soft. Not to spook or anger Benny. He truly wanted to know if the younger man was alright. Because whatever was going on, it showed that it was weighing him down. Diming the light that Benny always had. To Johnny, Benny was like a brother, and he worried about him all the time.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Benny released it was a long sigh. “I saw her, with a...date”. The word date almost being spat, like it was poison.

Johnny slowly nodded his head, the man’s words sinking in. “Oh...I see".

“I saw ‘em as I rode back into town...” Benny paused, taking another drag of his cigarette. “They were by her car. It was a brief moment, but it was her...” He dropped the cigarette and proceeded to stomp it out, like how his heart was feeling.

The older Vandal watched the younger beside him. Seeing how this was really affecting him. That was when Johnny realised Benny had come back for you. All this time away and riding around, he’d made up his mind, and chose you. That he wanted and needed you. But now, having seen you with another guy, the man before him looked crushed and defeated. Though Benny only had himself to blame. Taking off in the first place hadn’t helped, or for so long. If he’d stayed around or came back sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have moved on like you have.

“Well kid...what did ya expect?” He questioned, knowing this was going to be a hard pill for Benny to swallow. That the truth would hurt. “Ya left, and she went through the break up process. It would only be a matter of time before she started seeing someone...”

Benny swallowed hard, trying to accept what the man was saying. Though he didn’t like it, or that he was right. “Yeah, I know...” he paused for a moment. “I-I just didn’t expect it to be so soon...”

Yet again Johnny patted him on the back, but this one was full of sympathy. “Yeah, I know kid...”

Silence rolled in after that. Neither having anything to say, or that there was really any more to be said. Johnny had kept an eye on you, seen you go through the motions and process Benny's absence and the breakup. Yet he didn’t think you’d be dating yet. To him there had to be more to it, but didn’t voice these thoughts. Not wanting to fire Benny back up, for he had finally settled.

The following days Benny had kept to sticking around Grand and Division. Playing pool as a way to distract himself, as well as keeping his hands busy. For Benny feared if he wasn’t kept busy, he just might do something he’d regret. Be it tracking down the man he’d seen with you, or confronting you and that going down in a blaze of heated words, with many he’d come to truly regret.

This was on him. He knew that, and could see it. He was to blame. Benny had done his soul searching while away, finally ready to take ownership for his part in your final fight, and breakup. He was ready to admit to all his short comings, manning up to carry the weight and do what was required of him to fix the relationship. But now he wasn’t sure about it. And with his doubts that voice began to surface, getting louder and louder. Sowing the seed of doubt deeper in him, wanting it to take root for good. So that doubt and that voice would never leave him.

And Johnny could see it. Watching the young Vandal, he could see the doubt taking root. Shutting himself off more to the world around him. This wasn’t the Benny he knew. Nor did he want too. Johnny wanted to see the laid back, care free and madly in love with you Benny. The one who would enjoy being around his club, with a passion for riding. Not this shell of a man that was playing pool with Corky.

Johnny knew he had to do something, anything, to help his friend. Now he just had to figure out what to do to help Benny...

After the blind date incident, you had been keeping your distance from those friends. If you could really call them that. They were barely friends anymore, when you were younger and in school together, you were more alike. But after school, years of working and then Benny, you weren’t like them anymore, not entirely at least. Of course Sally phoned the next day, wanting to know how it went after they left. You told her exactly how it went, and that you weren’t interested in being set up with any other men.

“Oh come on (Y/N/N)!” Sally sighed on the other end of the phone. “You have to put yourself out there, you aren’t getting any younger, Hun”.

Hun. How you detested that word. It was Sally's affectionate word to use when she was pissed off. Looking back on your friendship, you noted every time she used it when frustrated, angry or not getting her way. And that’s when you realised how entitled she was. How she was the one to influence those around her so everything was what she wanted or expected. This time she was not getting her way.

“I am serious Sally. I don’t want to be set up or blindsided into dates" you stated firmly. “I am not ready to move on, I am still processing my breakup with Benny. So I kindly ask that you don’t put me in that position again".

You wish you could see her face, as you just know she would be mad. And her tone told you that she was. “Look Hun, I was just trying to be a good friend. I am sorry that you weren’t happy. But I truly had your best interest in mind”.

You smirked, just feeling her holding herself back. “I understand, I just hope you’ll be more considerate from here on out, yeah?”

There was a knock at your front door. “Sorry Sally, I have to go. Someone’s at the front door".

Before Sally could respond to you, you hung up the phone. That being the best feeling so far of the day. There came a knock again, so you quickly moved from the kitchen and across the lounge room to the front door. Upon opening it you were greeted to Betty, soft smile upon her face and some beers.

“Had a bad day?” You asked her with a laugh.

“I thought you might be havin’ the bad day” Betty replied, moving to sit on your porch.

You followed her out, taking a seat next to her on the bench. “Oh it wasn’t too bad" – you took the beer she offered you – “but hanging up on one of the girls from the movies the other night, the high and mighty one, just perked me up".

Betty laughed as she cracked open her can. “You didn’t!” – you nodded your head – “oh she’d love that. She was the one we ran into a few weeks ago, right? Blonde and wears those high-end dresses? Husband has a cushy office job?”

You nodded. “That’s the one, Sally" you took a sip from the can. “She tried to act like she was helping me by setting me up on that blind date. Said you’re not getting any younger, like I don’t know that. I see myself in the mirror every day!”

“You ain’t old" retorted Betty. “You are young, and look young! Have kids and you’ll be old".

You both laughed, not taking the jest seriously. You continued to moan and groan about Sally and Ann, along with how you were keeping clear of them. You were different, better than who they are. You’re a person who is kind and caring, not a harpy that is mean and manipulating.

You enjoyed sitting there, having a few beers and just bitching about life. This was what Betty and you had been doing since Benny left. At first, she did it to check on you, make sure you were alright. But as you got yourself together it became more of bonding time for you both. And now you’d consider the older woman a dear friend, maybe an older sister. You even spent time with her and her young girls.

Before Betty left, she had invited you out shopping tomorrow with the girls. Which you accepted. Retail therapy was just as good as a beer and a chin wag. With plans made, you sat and finished your beer, before heading in for the night. Yet once alone, you found yourself thinking of Benny. Question after question running through your mind. Along with this longing for him. But you knew he didn’t want you, or else he’d have shown up by now. Those two harpies, that you had called friends, and their blind date had to be the reason for him not coming around.

Or he really was done with me... you thought, feeling the weight of those words on your heart.

The following day, you met up with Betty – and her girls – outside a clothing store. Lori, the oldest girl, hugged you first, then her sister Mary, while you greeted Betty. The girls both took a hand of yours and dragged you into the store, while Betty trailed behind you three laughing. Seeing the happy faces of the two girls warmed your heart, it was nice to be wanted by someone, even if it’s from two young girls, who were just the sweetest.

You and Betty chatted while looking around at dresses. She was trying to find a decent dress to wear for a school function. I have to look like those damn prissy witches, of course watching her language around her girls, who still giggled. As did you. You showed her options, and she did the same. Eventually finding a few for her to try. While she did that, you were looking at clothes with Mary. Being funny picking clothes two sizes too small. Which made the girl laugh, and correct you. To that you acted surprised and told her to stop growing.

“How does this look?” Asked Betty stepping out onto the shop floor. “It’s the better of the two, believe me".

You smiled looking her over. The dress was nothing glamorous but suited the older woman nicely. The red colour suited her fiery nature. The shirtwaist dress really gave that house wife look, and that was what Betty wanted.

“It’s perfect, screams house wife” you said with a small laugh, which both young girls giggled at.

Betty roller her eyes. “Good, I’ll fit in then".

The older woman then went back into the change room to get back into her clothes. You continued to entertain the two young girls. But the sound and sight of motorbikes caught your attention, along with the two girls with you. Mary was saying dad over and over again, moving to the change room to tell her mother.

You felt this coldness wash over you, if Johnny and a bunch of Vandals were nearby, so was Benny. The look Betty gave you, as she was pulled from the dressing room by Mary, told you she was thinking along the same lines as you. Mary of course kept pestering her mother about seeing Johnny, her father.

“You alright with it?” Betty asked you softly as you both headed for the registers.

You sighed but gave a short nod. “Yeah...best way to get a band aid off is to rip it off, right?”

“That’s not the best way! It hurts too much!” Mary cut in. Making you and Betty laugh.

With the mood lightened just a smidge, Betty proceeded to pay for the dress. Once it was bagged up and in Lori's hands, the lot of you left the shop. Moving down the street, further down you could see the cluster of motorbikes, and their riders. With every step towards them you felt your stomach sinking. A touch of fear rising from the thought of seeing Benny. Would he look to you? Or speak to you? Or would he act like you didn’t exist?

Reaching the corner, which was adjacent from the Vandals group, Mary spotted Johnny and called out to him. He of course looked around before spotting his daughter, his face lighting up at the sight of his girls, Johnny even returned the young girls wave. It was a sweet moment, you thought.

But when you looked upon the group of men again, that was when you saw him; Benny. He was standing with Cal, cigarette between his fingers as he took a drag. They were in conversation, Cal fuelling the conversation with lit up face and hand movements. But Benny, he looked as good as always. Just adding to the ache in your chest. That listening but aloof look and air to him. It gave him that mysterious but sexy appeal.

Then those stormy blues of his were looking at you. Your step faltered for a second under his gaze. Even from this distance you could see the anger and hurt in his eyes, his face just showing it slightly by the subtle changes. Such as his jaw clenching, eyebrows drawing together. Finally you looked away from him, unable to take it anymore.

Reaching Johnny, Mary launched herself at her father. Who didn’t hesitate to pick her up and hold her close. Betty leaned up to kiss Johnny's cheek, and Lori moved to stand beside her parents. They were the kind of family you had hoped to have one day with Benny. The thought now seeming like a silly dream.

“Hey (Y/N)” greeted Johnny, an awkward smile on his face – possibly due to you and Benny being in close proximity. “How are ya doin’?”

“Hi Johnny" you smiled softly, a little uneasy. “I-I'm alright. How are you?”

The older Vandal softly chuckled, possibly nervous. “Yeah, can’t complain...got my girls here, which is good".

Johnny then jostled Mary, who was still in his arms and laughed from her father’s movements. Your smile turned warm from the sight. “That’s good...they are very lucky...”

Johnny beamed at your words but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need too. The pride and joy on his face said everything. Even with the club, the man tried to maintain a balance of both worlds. He loved Betty and his girls dearly. The way he cared for both his family and bike, and club. It was something you wished Benny understood. But it never took root in him.

Eventually the girls took to running around the park, that the Vandals were parked at. Lori forced to chase her sister, as you continued to talk to Betty and Johnny. Different Vandals joined you all at different times, before moving on to another group. Before you knew it Cal and Benny stepped up to you all.

You tensed when Benny stood across from you. But he didn’t look to you, if he could help it. He was treating you like you weren’t there. And that saddened you, but also angered you more. He just listened as Cal or Johnny spoke. Maybe saying a word or two. His voice – a sound you hadn’t heard for so long – cutting deeply, missing how he would speak to you. All you got now was nothing.

“Where have ya been (Y/N)?” Cal asked, casually sparking up a joint.

You tensed, swallowing before answering. “J-just working...nothing special...”

Cal nodded as he took a drag of his joint. “But ya haven’t even been too Grand and Division for about three months...”

You shrugged trying to not cast a look to Benny. As he’d been the reason you hadn’t gone back to the bar, he’d left town after all. “I didn’t feel like going to the bar...”

Benny scoffed, but didn’t say a word.

Betty shot him a look, before she looked to you in sympathy. “Things change Cal" was her sharp words, telling him to drop it.

Said man held up his hands, starting to catch on that this was not a road to go down currently. “A-alright...” Cal sputtered, choosing to leave it at that.

You felt lighter, knowing it was being dropped. Unfortunately Benny wasn’t done. His gaze drew in on you. Hearing you speak so airy got under his skin. How you didn’t disclose that you had been busy with another man, or men, and going on dates. That had to be what filled up your time, right? It’s what Benny had concluded on. The last month or more, you were out and about, trying to replace him.

Dropping his cigarette to the ground, Benny stomped it out. The aggression and sound caught everyone’s attention. And when looking to him, yourself included, his dark gaze was set on you. A chill ran down your spine, telling you this was not good. He had been so calm, but here was the storm. And you were in its path.

“Why don’t ya tell the truth" Benny’s voice boomed, the gravelly tone deeper and off putting. “Ya didn’t go to the bar because ya were getting around town with different guys".

The tone and the accusation he made left you dumbstruck. Benny had seen you with one man. Where did he get the idea, it was more than that one? Betty was sputtering, coming to your defence but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. The sounds around you turned fuzzy, almost like static, as you stood there in shock. You hadn’t been running around town with Tom, Dick or Harry. You’d been heartbroken and trying to get yourself back together.

Slowly the anger in you rose, with it the fire clearing the fog in your brain, bringing you back to the present. Grasping what Benny was saying, accusing you of not caring, you found that backbone. It was like that night all over again. His lack of seeing or understanding, jumping the gun. You stood tall, shoulders lowering as you drew your gaze in on him. And when Betty quieted down, you knew she could see what was to come.

“For your information, which I really don’t have to give you, the other night was the first date I’d had in forever" you stated eerily calm, but with a touch of sass. “I was blindsided into it. So maybe, in future, get your facts straight Benny”.

There was more you could say, wanted to say, but the way he looked at you like you were lying kept you from airing it all out. He wasn’t listening to you, like usual. He had made his mind up for good. So it wasn’t worth your time or energy to make him see or believe you. This was the Benny you knew all too well. If you continued to fight it would be a loosing battle, as he had made his mind up.

Taking a step back you turned from him, casting a look to Betty and Johnny, who looked like deer in headlights. But there was sadness there in their eyes. Betty knew the truth, she knew what you’d been through. She was there for you, seeing how hard you took his absence. Johnny might have known, for Betty could have kept him in the loop, but he also checked on you. But you never went into depth of it all like you did with his wife.

“Betty, I'm going home. I’ll talk to you later, tell the girls my goodbyes and I’ll see them soon" and with that you turned around and headed the way you came.

You held your head high, striding away like you were on a mission, which was one to keep it together. No crumbling in front of Benny, or Betty or Johnny, no one would see you fold. As you walked away you could hear Betty fire up at Benny. If you couldn’t do it, she was. You know she would give him a good dose of reality. Yet didn’t care. There was no coming back from this now. Right?

A/N: yes, I lied. Sorry, not sorry 😅 but the next part will be the last, I promise. And it will be steamy/smutty. Who doesn't enjoy a heated argument leading to make up sex?

Till the next, final part...

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders

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honeypiehotchner · 1 day ago

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The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part eight

More lore! Work and life have kept me busy busy busy but trust I am still here for this fic and will be finishing it! (Also if you can't tell I started writing this fic after I first watched the Seaver episodes and thought I can write this so much better and with so much more angst)

Warnings: Rossi being Rossi, Hotch doing something he really shouldn't be doing but he thinks it's justified and maybe it is so who's to say if he's in the wrong!

You first knew something was different about your dad when you were ten.

There were the usual, obvious things that confused you as a kid. Like when he’d go away for long stretches of time, only to return like nothing had happened and act like he was never gone at all. Or when he’d return with these extravagant gifts, as if that made up for the birthday party he missed, or the big recital. Or when you heard your parents arguing, your mom tearfully asking if there was someone else, and screaming “I don’t believe you!” when your dad insisted there was no one.

There are the less obvious things that confuse you now, things you look back on when you want to analyze his behavior. Why he traveled so far to find his victims, why he tried to live a double life, why he did any of it at all. You dip your hands into the memories day after day and each time you come up empty handed. Why did he let you get kidnapped, only to help them find you? Was he ever behind your kidnapping at all? You don’t know. You’ll never know.

Even if you could ask him, you don’t know that you would. Your mom picked you up, changed your name, and moved you away for a reason. She gave you a fresh start. She’s the reason you are where you are, and you’re not going to throw that away.

You had no idea Rossi worked on your father’s case all those years ago. You knew the BAU had gotten involved briefly at one point, but not who.

What are the odds and what kind of bad luck streak do you have to have to be working with one of the investigators who helped catch your father?

The ceiling offers you no answers. You left the precinct as quickly as you could, wanting to take a hot shower and crawl in bed and pretend to be asleep when Hotch or Rossi inevitably knocks on your door later.

Rossi knows. He must. Why else would he look at you like that? And if he does, how long has he known? Has he told Hotch? Would he tell Hotch, or would he keep it quiet? Does he know that part of your file is sealed? Does he know you discussed it with Strauss, keeping that part of your life sealed because it isn’t relevant, not after all the work you did to create a separate life?

You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep asking this many questions, but how are you supposed to stop?

You’ve worked too hard to create a life completely separate from your father to let it all unravel like this. You knew it was risky going into this line of work, let alone the BAU, but with a name change and two decades worth of distance, you thought it was deep enough in the past. You thought you had buried it far enough below the surface.

You cannot afford to have it haunt you like this, to interfere with your work so badly that you flee. You have to figure this out. And you have to get yourself under control.

+++

Hotch and Rossi are, like most nights, the last two at the precinct, trying to squeeze out some final leads before calling it a night. They don’t get far, and it’s Rossi who caves, saying they should get some rest for once. Hotch is quicker than usual to agree.

“What was that about earlier? About The Strangler?” Hotch asks. “Since you worked it, do you think we have a copycat on our hands?”

It’s a poor excuse for a subject change, and Rossi is onto him in a second.

He shakes his head. “No, we don’t.”

Hotch grabs his cup and heads for the door. “And…Y/N? She seemed shaken up.”

Rossi raises an eyebrow, changing the subject slightly. “You two seemed to be getting along today.”

Hotch lets out a laugh as they exit the precinct. “We’ll be back to our usual selves tomorrow, probably, don’t worry.”

“I hope not,” Rossi says, rounding the car to hop in the passenger side. “You’re the only people who like to hear you two bickering, you know.”

Hotch rolls his eyes, sticking the keys in the ignition. “I don’t like arguing with her. She just insists on it.”

“And you push her buttons.”

“I don’t try to.”

Rossi only smiles to himself, always happy to rile Hotch up in whatever way he can, especially when it comes to you. It’s too easy to do it.

Rossi is able to convince Hotch to head back to the hotel, but not to grab a drink at the bar.

“I think I’m just gonna head to bed,” Hotch says, pausing outside the elevator. “You should too.”

“I will,” Rossi smirks, though he turns toward the bar anyway, nodding to Hotch as he presses the up arrow for the elevator.

Rounding the corner, Rossi finds a familiar face perched on a bar stool, nursing a glass of red wine.

He watches you briefly, gauging whether you’d like to be left alone. He can’t tell. He decides to slide onto the stool next to you, waving the bartender down to order two fingers of whiskey.

You won’t look at him. You won’t look anywhere other than your wine, but you knew Rossi and Hotch had come back. You could hear Hotch’s voice from the lobby, your body tense as you prepared for them both to make their way here and see you not at all asleep like you said you’d be.

You meant to sleep. But your mind was wide awake, and before you knew it, you were dragging yourself downstairs for a glass of wine, hoping the alcohol would tire you out.

And now, apparently, the price you’ll pay is a conversation with Rossi.

Seeing as he’s here alone, you figure there’s no sense in hiding behind cryptic sentences and silence. Better to rip the band-aid off now, while no one else is around.

“How long have you known?” you ask, studying the stem of your glass instead of looking him in the eye.

The bartender sets Rossi’s whiskey down in front of him. Rossi nods to him, and hands a black card over. “Another glass of red for her, please. On me.”

You swirl the remaining swallow of wine in your glass before downing it. The bartender replaces it with a silent smile before leaving you both alone.

Rossi takes a sip of his whiskey, studying the array of liqueurs along the wall across from him. “Do you remember meeting me?”

It’s not an answer to your question and it confuses you. “Yeah? You told me ‘good luck’ with Hotch because I was late.”

“No,” Rossi shakes his head with a fond smile, turning his head to look at you. “You were young.”

You wrack your brain, trying to remember when you might’ve met him. You come up empty, but you’re not surprised that you don’t remember. Your memories are hazy at best from those times, but the few you do remember are vivid. Just none of them include David Rossi.

“It was brief,” Rossi says, taking your silence for the answer it is. “After we had found you, and we needed to talk to your mom about some of what your dad admitted to while we had him in custody while we searched for you.”

That day comes back to you in fits and starts, flashes here and there. A much younger David Rossi floats into your mind, but with no words to accompany him, except—

“Didn’t you offer me a cup of coffee?”

He laughs quietly. “I did. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“It worked,” you say, remembering with a smile. You pause. “So you’ve known the whole time?”

He shakes his head. “I thought I recognized you the first day, but I ignored it. It wasn’t until tonight that it clicked all together. You are twenty years older, you know.”

“Hey,” you feign hurt, punching him lightly in the arm. “You too, old man.”

“Don’t remind me,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Have you told Hotch?”

You practically snort into your wine glass. “God, no.” You pause to take a long sip, needing it to steel your nerves. “Only Strauss knows, because she saw my background check before I asked to have some of it sealed. My father and original name were part of what I decided to have redacted.” You take a deep breath. “My mom moved us away and changed our last names for a reason. A fresh start. A new life without being haunted by what my father did.”

Rossi nods slowly. “Well you’ve got everyone suspicious after how you acted earlier.”

You grimace. “I know.” Not your finest moment.

“Why not get it over with and tell everyone?” Rossi asks. “Or at least Hotch?”

You roll your eyes. “He’ll look at me differently.”

“Will he?” Rossi argues gently. “How do you know?”

You give Rossi a look. “Because I know him.”

Rossi hums. He doesn’t need to say anything to prompt you to continue.

“He already hates that I’m here — as if working with him is any better — and I’m sure he’s looking for any reason he can to tell Strauss to get rid of me,” you scoff. “The last thing I need is him saying I’m unfit for the job just because I’m a little shaken up at a random mention of the man who nearly killed me and my mother.”

Rossi goes still beside you, turning his head slowly.

You sigh, finishing off your second glass of wine. “You’re telling me none of you suspected he had tried anything with my mom and me?”

Rossi shakes his head. “We were never told otherwise, and your mom—”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “She loved him.”

Rossi frowns at your dismissal, resting his hand on the bar, but not touching you. “No one will fault you if you need time.”

“I’ve had two decades of time, Rossi,” you cry, placing your forehead in your hand. “I thought that was long enough.”

This time, he does reach for you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. He’s never seen you this broken up, not even when you were thirteen, after they found you, when they all expected you to be upset. You were put together back then, your brain having not had any time to process it all. Now, you’ve had the time to process, you’ve lived your life in between, and it still haunts you. Because it always will. Because these things don’t just go away, no matter how badly you want them to.

“It’ll always be hard,” Rossi says. “I’m sorry I can’t say it goes away.”

You snort, burying your face further into your hand. “I wish it would. He’s dead, I wish he’d stop following me around.”

“You couldn’t have chosen a different career?” Rossi teases, shaking your shoulder a bit before letting go.

It does make you laugh, because he’s right. “I know. What was I thinking?” Your mother tried talking you out of it, but you never listened. She eventually came around to the idea after she heard you talk about how much you loved helping people, but it always worried her somewhat.

“I have no idea,” Rossi says, smiling around his whiskey as he finishes it off. “I’m having another, would you like one?”

You shake your head, sitting up. “No, no…I should actually go to bed now, I think, but thank you. For the wine and the uh, conversation.”

“Anytime,” Rossi says, squeezing your shoulder one more time. “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you give him a pointed look, eyeing the new whiskey the bartender sets down.

“I’ll sleep good after this,” he picks up the glass, raising it toward you.

You roll your eyes as you head back toward the elevator, strangely feeling lighter — and not because of the alcohol. You’ll begrudgingly admit, talking it out with Rossi helped.

But that doesn’t mean talking to Hotch about it will have the same effect.

+++

Back in his hotel room, Hotch takes a shower and crawls into bed. He tosses and turns for an hour, staring a hole into his eyelids. He gets up to take a walk around the room, hoping it’ll help. All it does is make him pause when he spots his briefcase, knowing what lies inside.

The files he asked Garcia to pull weren’t unusual. Just your background check, with one condition. To unseal whatever was hidden.

Because he had thought it was odd for you to have parts of it sealed, let alone that Strauss agreed to let you. But it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to argue with Strauss about.

After seeing you stop breathing entirely at the mention of The Strangler — an obscure case, one truly infamous only to Reid and his eidetic memory — Hotch is worried. That’s the only name he can think of to give the feeling swarming in his chest.

He’s worried about one of his agents, and dammit, he feels like that is a justifiable enough reason to do some digging. If it concerns the well-being of one of the agents he oversees, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to get to the bottom of it. Even if they seem hellbent on keeping it hidden.

That’s all the convincing he needs to do for himself before he walks over and snatches his briefcase off the desk, opening it with a click.

Your file lies right where he left it, along with Penelope’s sticky note. Her gel writing makes him pause.

Should he be reading this?

What’s his alternative, though? Asking you outright? That will only start a fight, or worse, you’ll quit on the spot. You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to tell him what’s going on, and if he pushes too far, you’re both liable to say things you can’t take back.

This is better. It’s going behind your back, but it’s better. Is it really betraying your trust if it’s clear you don’t trust him? You don’t even like him, which you have made abundantly clear.

You seemed to open up a little to him today, but that doesn’t mean tomorrow you won’t be right back to the way you were yesterday. There’s no way to know for sure.

So, Hotch stops the back and forth, and pulls the file out, flipping to the second page. Then the third. Then to what was sealed.

The words jump out at him too fast for him to understand them, his heart thundering in his ears as he reads.

Your name — the one he knows you by — is not what you were born with. Well, your first name is, but your middle and surname are changed entirely. Your original surname was Adkins.

Adkins. Like—

His eyes scan further, finding the inevitable on your birth certificate. Your father. Carson Adkins.

You were fourteen when your names changed. Fourteen when you moved to Washington state. Fourteen when your mother changed her surname, too, back to her maiden name — the one you now have. Fourteen when your life started over.

Because when you were thirteen, Carson Adkins, The Strangler, threatened to end it.

#aaron hotchner #The Gambit #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #angst angst angst

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kiwriteswords · 19 hours ago

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Cosmic Rollercoaster [Aaron Hotchner x Mystical!Reader]

Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2k|| AN: This is so incredibly self-indulgent, but I thought this could be a fun one to write. I have a few others written/started/planned for Mystical!Reader, so I hope you guys like it!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, mention of clairvoyance, reader is spiritual (crystals, sage, intuition, etc.), established relationship. banter, Hotch and Reader fight like an old married couple, team dynamics, skeptic Hotch

Summary: Your intuition is never wrong, but when you decide to bring it up in front of the local PD on a case, Hotch is not too happy with you.

Aaron Hotchner never thought he'd find himself in a relationship that could only be described as a cosmic rollercoaster.The world he inhabited was black and white, full of procedure and protocol, whereas you lived in a vivid spectrum of colors, thriving on intuition and the energy of the universe.

In the quiet hum of the local police department’s briefing room, Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he briefed the officers on the latest serial case.

You, draped in a flowy, ethereal dress that seemed more suited to a forest nymph than an FBI agent, leaned back in your chair, your fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. He’d seen your closet first-hand. A stark contrast to the greys and blues he hung in his own. Textured furs, lace, and embroidered fabrics hung in your closet.

"Based on the evidence we've gathered," Hotch began, his voice steady and commanding, "the unsub is likely to strike again within the next 48 hours."

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you felt a pull in your gut--a whisper of intuition that often guided your insights. "I think he's going to move faster than that," you interjected softly, yet firmly. "The energy around this case...it's urgent, like a storm coming."

A murmur of curiosity rose from the local officers, their attention shifting between the stoic Unit Chief and the whimsical agent who often solved cases with a blend of hard evidence and gut feelings.

Hotch's jaw clenched momentarily at your words. Dealing with your unorthodox methods publicly was always a delicate dance of frustration and admiration. While deep down he knew this was a part of you--a part of you he loved and admired--there was another part of him that wondered how heavily you relied on this so-called intuition over black-and-white facts.

"While we appreciate Agent Y/L/N's...unique insights," he said, his tone strained with the effort of diplomacy, "our strategies must be rooted in tangible evidence."

"But isn’t it tangible if it leads to the right conclusions?" you countered, just for him to hear, your voice lilting as if challenging him was a type of playful dance you both performed too often.

The team watched, the corners of their mouths twitching in amusement. Rossi leaned over to Morgan, whispering loud enough for nearby ears, "Ten bucks says they'll be arguing about this all the way back to the hotel."

Morgan laughed, “It’s like Denver all over again,” he reminisced about a previous case where you were feeling more than inclined to share your bewitched musings.

Hotch’s feelings were a tumultuous mix of professional irritation and deep, unwavering affection. Each time you spoke, your voice pulled at something within him--a desire to loosen the reins of control he so tightly held. Your free-spirited nature both challenged and complemented his by-the-book demeanor. It was an ongoing battle between logic and feeling, one that neither of you could ever truly win.

He wanted to snap, he wanted to tell you there was a time and place for this sort of…nonsense, he wanted to call it, but his mind flashed back to all of the times you made the hairs stick on the back of his neck with your certain mystical charm.

Hotch's eyes flickered with a mixture of annoyance and adoration as he addressed the room. "Let's continue to focus on the behavioral analysis.” Hotch looked to you, then toward the door, “Agent Y/L/N, a word outside, please."

As you followed him out, the smirks on your teammates' faces were clear. "Mom and Dad are fighting again," Prentiss teased, earning a chuckle from the others.

Outside, with the door firmly closed behind them, Hotch turned to you, his expression firm, every inch the Unit Chief that he was.

"You can't base case predictions on 'energy,'" he admonished, his voice low to keep the conversation private. He was always conscious of maintaining the professional integrity of the team, and your unorthodox methods, though effective, often pushed the boundaries of his comfort zone.

You stepped closer, your presence unyielding yet somehow soothing--a contradiction that Hotch found both infuriating and comforting. "Aaron, when have my instincts not aided our cases? You know I integrate the evidence thoroughly before I speak. My intuition has always been an asset. I’m not claiming to ignore the facts or think I can see the future in some crystal ball. You think I would have graduated the academy if I didn’t use the logical side of my brain?"

Hotch's gaze softened slightly, though his stance remained as rigid as ever. There was no denying the effectiveness of your methods on paper, but the ongoing challenge was reconciling them with his ingrained need for hard, tangible evidence.

"It’s not about doubting you--I’m not doubting you…" he said, struggling to convey the dual tides of professional concern and personal admiration he felt. "It's about how it’s perceived. We need the locals to trust our methods, conventional or not."

Your hand reached out, brushing against his--a touch that threatened to dismantle the barriers he worked so hard to maintain in public.

"I know, Aaron. I do. But trust me too, okay? My 'woo-woo' hasn’t failed us yet."

Hotch looked at your hand on his, the simple contact sending a jolt through him that he wasn’t fully prepared to analyze in the moment. He took a deep breath, the ever-present conflict between his role as a leader and his feelings for you sharper in that instance than many others. “I do trust you,” he finally said, his voice a mixture of concession and caution. “More than you might realize. It’s just...hard. Balancing that trust with the need to lead a team in a way that everyone respects, including those who might not understand your...unique approach.”

Aaron Hotchner couldn't deny the spark of mischief in your eyes, a clear signal that you were about to challenge his all-too-serious world yet again. "Maybe you need a bit of my 'woo-woo' to rub off on you," you suggested playfully, your voice light but edged with a challenge that intrigued and exasperated him in equal measure.

The corner of Hotch's mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile--an admission of your effect on him that he rarely allowed others to see. "Maybe," he conceded, his tone laced with amusement and a touch of irony. "Just don’t expect me to start wearing crystals or chanting at dawn."

Your laughter, bright and unguarded, cut through the crisp air, momentarily lightening the weight of his responsibilities. It was these moments--your laughter, your relentless optimism--that reminded him of the stark contrasts between you. Here he was, a man who lived by the rules, and there you were, turning every rule on its head with a wink and a nudge.

Watching you laugh, Hotch acknowledged internally that your presence, though sometimes a whirlwind of unpredictability, brought a vital balance to his life. It wasn't just about solving cases; it was about understanding the interplay of different perspectives. Yours was a perspective that danced around the edges of intuition and energy, often leading to surprising yet effective conclusions.

As you both walked back inside, your side-by-side steps became a silent testament to your evolving partnership. It was a partnership that stretched beyond the confines of FBI protocols, reaching into the realms of personal growth and mutual respect.

As the evening wore on and the team dispersed to follow up on leads, you pulled out maps and spread them across the table, your fingers tracing the possible routes the unsub might take. "He’s feeling cornered, anxious. It’s like a high-pitched sound only I can hear," you murmured to JJ, who watched you with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue.

Hotch, overhearing this as he approached, folded his arms and leaned against the table, his gaze intent on you. "And you're sure it's not just the coffee talking?" he quipped, a rare tease that drew a small, delighted smile from you.

"It’s never just the coffee, Hotch," you replied, your voice light but your eyes serious. "He’s moving fast. Faster than we thought."

Despite his reservations, Hotch nodded, signaling to the team to prepare for a possible early engagement. "Alright, let’s tighten the timeline. Everyone, let’s move," he commanded, the team jumping into action with practiced urgency.

Hours later, as darkness bled into the early shades of dawn, your intuition was vindicated spectacularly. The unsub was apprehended at a location you had insisted be surveilled, far ahead of the projected timeline. Hotch watched the operation unfold, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration simmering within him. As the team regrouped, tired but exhilarated by the swift capture, Hotch found his gaze seeking yours across the room, his eyes heavy with a silent acknowledgment of your contribution.

"You were right," Hotch admitted as he approached you, his voice low, intimate even amidst the lingering chaos of their successful operation. "About the unsub’s timing."

You shrugged, your expression a blend of satisfaction and mischief. "I usually am. But don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head."

A rare grin flickered across Hotch's face, softening the hard lines that duty and responsibility had etched there. "Maybe just this once, you can gloat. You earned it," he conceded, his voice carrying an undertone of warmth that belied his usual reserve.

Laughing softly, you nudged him with your shoulder, your proximity a reminder of the chemistry that often sparked between you, igniting a blend of professional respect and personal tension. "So, does this mean you’ll start carrying a crystal in your pocket?"

Hotch chuckled--a sound so rare and disarming that it amplified the flush of victory on your face. "Let’s not push it," he teased back, the crinkles by his eyes betraying his amusement. Yet, there was an edge to his voice, a hint of challenge that suggested the battle of wits between you was far from over.

As you stood there, the adrenaline of the capture mingling with the electric charge between you, Hotch couldn't help but think how infuriatingly unpredictable you were--and how much he secretly relished it.

The way you challenged him, pushed him, it didn't just spark frustration; it stirred something deeper, more primal. In another place, another time, he might have acted on the impulse to pull you close and explore the tension that danced like sparks between you.

Instead, he offered you a final, pointed look--a silent truce mixed with a promise of more battles to come. "Maybe one day I'll surprise you, and you’ll find sage in my desk drawer," he suggested, his tone playful yet laden with an undercurrent of something more, something neither of you was quite ready to define yet.

As you both turned to join the others, the shared smile between you was more than just triumph over a case well closed--it was a recognition of the complex, dynamic connection that continued to evolve, challenging both your limits and your desires.

On the jet back to the BAU, the atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and relief, the gentle hum of the engines a backdrop to the team’s low conversations. You were sprawled across a couple of seats, your colorful scarf serving as a makeshift blanket, while Hotch was seated across the aisle, paperwork spread meticulously before him.

Morgan, sitting nearby, nudged Rossi with a grin. "Watch this," he whispered, loud enough for you and Hotch to hear. "Hey Hotch, Y/N was spot on today, huh? We should have her do all the profiling with her energy readings."

Hotch looked up from his files, his eyes narrowing playfully at Morgan before shifting to you. "Let’s not give her any more ideas," he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

You sat up, folding your legs beneath you. "Oh, come on, Aaron, admit it. You love that I keep things interesting. You’d be bored without me," you retorted, your tone light but pointed, the familiar dance of your banter drawing smiles from around the cabin.

Hotch’s eyes softened, and he set his paperwork aside, giving you his full attention—a rarity that didn’t go unnoticed by the team. "That, I can’t deny," he conceded. "Though 'interesting' is a mild way of putting it."

Prentiss, joining in from a seat behind you, chimed in with a laugh. "You mean terrifying and effective? Because that was some wild guesswork today, Y/N. Even if it was right."

"It’s not guesswork," you protested, feigning indignation. "It’s a highly refined skill set."

Rossi raised his eyebrows, joining the conversation. "Refined, huh? So, what does the energy tell you about Hotch here?" he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You glanced at Hotch, who was watching you with an expression of amused curiosity. "Oh, his energy? Perpetually exasperated...but there’s a lot of love there too. Mostly for me, of course," you said, winking at Hotch.

Hotch shook his head, a genuine smile breaking through his usual reserve. "You’re impossible," he murmured, though the affection in his voice was clear.

The team erupted in light laughter, the ease between you and Hotch evident to all. Morgan leaned back, his smile wide. "Seriously, you guys are like an old married couple. All you need is to start finishing each other’s sentences."

"And sentences should be finished with proper grammar and punctuation," Hotch added, playing into Morgan’s joke, his gaze still locked with yours in a silent conversation that spoke volumes about the depth of your relationship.

As the laughter died down, you moved to sit closer to Hotch, your presence by his side natural and fitting. "How about we finish this case report together?" you suggested, your voice softer now, away from the team’s ears.

Hotch nodded, his hand briefly touching yours under the cover of the table. "Together sounds perfect," he agreed, his voice low.

The rest of the flight passed with the team gently ribbing each other, the camaraderie a testament to the long hours and shared dangers. But amidst it all, you and Hotch shared quiet moments of connection.

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