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pkg4mumtown · 1 year

Text

Burning

Pairing: Bobby Nash x Male!Reader

Rating: Mature

AO3 (highly reccomend reading on AO3 for the iOS workskin): Read Here

Summary: You’re finally cleared by your doctor for normal activities—not by your Captain of course—but Athena thinks you two can bend the rules a little bit. What happens when you finally run into the 118 team that Athena has mentioned?

A/N: My first 9-1-1 fic! It’s been a long time coming! Takes place a few months or more after the tsunami episode, so the timeline might not be all correct but…oh well. As much as I adore Bathena, it’s not established in this fic and for all intents and purposes, they’re just friends. There is art scattered in the fic and there is my interpretation of the main character but in no way is that how he has to look—there are no specific descriptors in the writing for hair, eyes, skin color, etc. By all means, if you’d like to create your own version of him, I’d love to see it!

Warnings: canon typical injuries, male!reader (no y/n), mentions of blood and burns, first kiss, Bi!Bobby, older man/younger man, meet cute

“Sergeant Grant,” I grinned with a sing-songy lilt to my voice, leaning back in my seat as I looked up at her.

Groaning and flexing my forearm for the fourth time that morning, I sighed and closed the file on my desk and pushed it aside. I reached for my coffee mug with my good hand before pulling it back and reaching for it with the arm I could actually use now. I grimaced as lukewarm liquid touched my lips, having half a mind to get up and warm it up when I heard a couple short raps on the doorframe of the office I was inhabiting in the short term.

“How’s the arm doing, Officer?” she grinned with her voice equally as playful while dropping my last name, with her own coffee clasped between her hands.

“Oh you know…” I shrugged, putting it through some motions. “Doc said I didn’t have to wear a sling anymore and I can start working it out again at a hundred percent, so that’s good.”

“If it's any consolation, you don’t look like you lost muscle in that arm,” she pursed her lips and laughed.

“It’s nice to know someone’s looking,” I chuckled, taking another disgusting sip. “So, what can I do for you?”

“It’s more like what I can do for you,” she sauntered in and took a seat across from me. “I spoke to Cap and she might have agreed for me to take you out on patrol with me.”

“No…” I breathed in disbelief, knowing full well the Captain had just told me I wasn’t cleared for leading field work yet or training any new officers.

“Unless you’re too busy, of course,” Athena dismissed, scooting her chair back and standing up, gesturing to the pile of folders on my desk with her eyebrows.

“Not too busy!” I exclaimed quickly, standing before she could leave the room. “It’s just busy work and evaluations anyway…”

“Are you su—“

“—very sure,” I responded before she could finish, grabbing my bag and vest for patrol from the floor next to me.

Athena simply gave me an amused grin and nodded her head for me to follow her out.

“Don’t laugh at me, I was going crazy stuck to a desk, Athena.”

“I’m not surprised, you hyperactive man-baby.”

—

We prepped her patrol car, making sure everything was situated and tossing my bag in the trunk of the Explorer. I hesitated in the back, looking at my body armor secured to my bag. Before the tsunami, I would have had it on as soon as I got to the station, but being on desk duty for the last few months, I hadn’t needed it. It was unlikely I would need it in Athena’s beat, but I knew I would feel less uneasy with it on.

Now, I just had to get it on without completely disrobing or jostling my shirt-stays. As I contemplated my predicament, I undid my uniform shirt all the way down to my belt. I opened the Velcro flaps on my vest and began an awkward shimmy of sliding the back of the vest underneath and behind my collar, sliding my head through the middle, and letting the front flap over my chest. I rolled my shoulders to let it fall in place on its own and tugged my open shirt to get any material stuck underneath the vest out. When I was situated, I closed up the Velcro sides snuggly and buttoned up my shirt.

“Are you lost or—“ Athena asked impatiently—having already checked to make sure the vehicle was in order—coming around to the back of the patrol vehicle while I fussed with my buttons.

“Sorry, one sec,” I offered apologetically.

“I’m not taking you to any high risk calls, so don’t get too excited,” she laughed saying my name like that of an over-eager child. “Cap would have my head.”

“Hey, take it easy on me, Athena. I used to work narcotics and those calls were never chill, so this puts me at ease a little.”

“Alright, alright. Hurry up, before I tell Cap about that very non regulation patch on your body armor,” she gave me a pointed look, glancing down at the terrible sewing job I had done on my body armor that held a small pansexual flag. The Sergeant pushed her sunglasses up to her face but not before winking in my direction to let me know she was joking.

Piling in to the Explorer, Athena immediately got on the radio, “This is 727-A-30, we are 10-8.”

I tuned out the radio conversation after that, knowing Athena would be giving our info to dispatch quickly as we pulled out of the station.

—

We started patrolling her beat, finding it fairly quiet but knowing better than to voice that out loud. Not twenty minutes into our patrol shift, did Athena’s phone start pinging messages in quick succession from where it hung in the dash mount.

“Damn, ‘Thena, you got a hot date or what?” I snorted, trying to sneakily grab her phone but telegraphing my movements purposely so she’d slap me away.

“Oh shut it,” she slapped my arm. “Your doctor cleared you so I won’t feel bad if I have to hit you harder.”

“I expect nothing less, sarge,” I grinned. “But, come on, you know I love me some chisme, cough it up.”

“It’s nothing,” she rolled her eyes, quickly replying as we stopped at a red light.

“Oooh, is it about me?” I waggled my eyebrows, while she gave me a blank stare from behind her sunglasses.

The patrol car was silent for a few moments, the only sound being from outside the car and the radio faintly playing.

“Yes, it was about you,” I finally heard her mumble.

“I knew it! Let me see!” I made grabby hands for her phone.

“I’m gonna regret this,” she sighed and tossed the phone in my lap.

I laughed as I scrolled to the beginning of the conversation, someone by the name of “Maddie” starting off by asking who I was and why I was with Athena when she usually patrolled solo, with the eyes emoji to end the question.

The transfer from Pacific I told you about! - Athena

Ooh! Pics! I remember you talking about him! He sounds hot! -Maddie

Pics! -Hen

Show us! -Eddie

He’s a dork, but he’s cool. - Athena

Oh, he IS hot! -Maddie

Seconded! -Eddie

Hey! -Buck

Sorry… -Eddie

You’re right, though -Buck

I’m NOT asking out a subordinate, stop it -Athena

“Hey, I’m not a dork,” I teased.

“You so are.”

“How did this Maddie person know I was with you so fast anyway…?” I drifted off as another text came in.

“She’s a dispatcher. Everyone else there is from the 118. Her brother and boyfriend are with the 118, too. You’ll probably run into them a lot on patrol, that’s how I met them anyway.”

You definitely withheld the hot part from me, Athena -Bobby

Ooooo, Cap! -Hen

“Ooh, firefighters…mmm,” I sighed dreamily just to annoy her. “And who is Bobby? He looks fine as hell and he just called me hot.” I hurriedly clicked on his contact photo to get a better look.

“The 118 Captain. I knew your gay little heart wouldn’t be able to resist him,” she laughed and took the phone from me.

“I’m not gay, ‘Thena, I’m pansexual. You know this!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just only talk about the guys, so I forget sometimes.”

“That’s because they usually have the most drama,” I snorted. “So, you’re forgiven.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s straight, though. Well, I’ve never heard him talk about going out with any men, so I suppose I’m just assuming.”

“Oh, I will be devastated if he is,” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “What about you?”

“Nah, after Michael…I’ve been taking some time for me. I didn’t want to jump into anyone’s arms, I’m too focused on my kids after the divorce, you know?”

“Aw, yea, I understand. But, you know I’d take you out in a heartbeat if you let me,” I shot her a smile.

“You are too young for me!” She scoffed and shook her head.

“No, you’re just experienced,” I winked. “Also, I take offense to that. I’m in my thirties with two degrees and a career, ma’am.”

“Lord help me.”

—

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“My mother! She’s out of control! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!” wild screaming arises in the background, “Get away from me! YOU’VE OFFICIALLY LOST IT!”

“This is dispatch requesting a unit at 294 Moreno Drive. Reports of a family disturbance and possible assault.”

“Dispatch, this is 727-A-30 handling.”

“10-4, 727-A-30.”

Athena flicked the sirens and lights on and sighed heavily as we sped off to the call, “Oh boy.”

—

“727-A-30, 10-97 on scene,” Athena announced into her radio.

“I’m just saying, thin crust is delicious but my fat ass will eat the whole thing. So, I never allow myself to get it!” I groaned to Athena.

“Or you could have some self control lik—”

I glared at Athena and smirked thinking my glare cut her off but saw her staring past me.

“You’re psychotic! All of you!” a high pitched yell sounded as the front door of the house ripped open.

A middle-aged woman wielding a brightly colored, tissue paper covered stick stormed out of the house followed by a flock of elderly people.

“I told you not to come!” a half dressed older lady shouted back at her.

Oh shit. I immediately averted my eyes at the sight, hearing Athena chuckle behind me.

“It’s your birthday! I was just supposed to ignore that!?” She flailed the stick around.

“Obviously!”

“Mom, did you order strippers!?” the woman screamed, finally noticing Athena and me.

“Honey, you called 911,” an older man, likely her father, spoke up from next to her mother.

“Well, Mom was stripping and doing body shots!”

“I just turned seventy! Let me live a little! Also, you hit me with that stick!”

“Yea, to knock some sen—”

“Okay!” I spoke up, ending the argument. “I’m flattered you think I could pass as a stripper but I’m going to have to ask you to put the piñata stick down, ma’am,” I held my hands out as non-threateningly as possible. When she didn’t immediately put it down, I cocked my head and gave a slower warning, “Ma’am…”

“Yea, yea, fine,” she rolled her eyes and thrust the stick at me.

I jumped but grabbed it tightly and and took it from her hands. Athena took it from me and held it far out of reach.

“Now, are we pressing charges and do you need medical attention?” I looked pointedly at the mother.

“No…no…” the mother waved me off.

“Press charges against me? I called you!”

“You also assaulted someone, so it doesn’t matter who called us,” I sighed, resting my hands on my duty belt. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the property.”

The woman huffed and stomped off, making Athena and me sag with relief.

“I hope you have a nice rest of your party, ma’am,” I smiled and nodded my head to her, her husband, and the rest of the guests who had come out onto the lawn.

I turned back toward Athena, my eyes widening comically and mouthing, “Oh my god,” with an exasperated expression.

“Hey, you said you liked a little experience…” Athena laughed as we got in the car.

“Shut up,” I mumbled with a smirk.

“727-A-30, 10-98.”

“I need some bleach for my eyes,” I sighed heavily.

—

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“I’m trapped! There’s a—a huge pile up on—“ the caller wheezed, “—Wilshire.”

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“The traffic lights! They’re all green! There’s a huge accident on Wilshire and Irolo.”

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“I’m the manager at Bank of Hope on Wilshire and Vermont, we just had a robbery take place. I think they hit Wells Fargo, too!”

“All available units in the vicinity of Wilshire and Irolo, please respond to a pileup in the intersection for traffic control. Firehouse 118 is arriving on scene shortly.”

“727-A-30, responding,” Athena answered immediately and made a u-turn while turning on the lights and sirens.

“10-4, 727-A-30. Please be advised, 211 just took place on Wilshire and Vermont. A unit has already been dispatched but witnesses report the getaway car heading toward the accident intersection. Suspect is 10-29FD possibly carrying a knife. Gun was left at the scene.”

“10-4, Dispatch. Patch me in to Captain Nash.”

There was silence before the radio crackled finally.

“This is Captain Nash.”

“Bobby, I’m on route to the accident, use extreme caution. Suspect is armed.”

“Athena, dispatch notified us that it was a knife. Have a little faith, I think we can take it,” he chuckled over the radio.

“Bobby…”

“We’ll be looking out, don’t worry. Just arrived on scene.”

Bobby cut out leaving us to listen to the sirens as we sped to the scene.

“Responders, please be advised the getaway vehicle was a black sedan.”

“10-4.”

“Dispatch, there’s three black sedans, proceeding with caution,” Bobby interjected.

We pulled up to the scene eight minutes later, seeing a horrific display of mangled cars, smoke, and flames. A couple LAPD units had already arrived on scene and started directing traffic away from the intersection. Firefighters, the 118 I assumed, were split up around the cars to attend to as many people as they could.

“You find one black sedan, I’ll find another. Clear it and head to the last one.”

“Copy that,” I clipped and opened the door, immediately dropping my hand to my taser to pull out if needed.

I jogged over to where one of the cars was, slowing down as I approached to be able to assess the situation better. I rounded other cars cautiously but didn’t immediately see anyone that screamed “robber” at me, nor evidence of a robbery in the car as I approached it.

I jumped as my radio crackled, “Responders, Station 122 is arriving shortly for medical back up.”

“Athena!” I called out in her general direction, “Clear over here!”

“Here, too! Dispatch, suspect has not been located yet.”

“I’m heading to the nex—” I called out, stopping when I saw an unresponsive woman in her car just a few down from the one I had checked.

The car next to hers had caught fire, which had spread near hers. Her car was leaking fluid, making me curse and not want to find out what it was until it was too late.

“I need an extinguisher here!” I shouted.

I saw a couple of the 118’s heads pop up and look in my direction. Captain Nash's distinctive helmet nodded to his other teammates before running toward the fire truck.

“Don’t move the victim!” I heard one of them yell.

“She can’t wait! This whole this is about to go up!”

I tried for the door handle but it was dented and crushed. The front of the car was too close to the flames for comfort, so I hastily pulled out a knife and cut the seat belt off her. Leaning into the window to drag her out, my duty belt caught on the broken glass and twisted metal so I couldn’t fully clutch her. With a growl, I let go and unbuckled my belt, letting it drop to the floor and kicking it away from the flames. The fire had spread to the front of her car, licking and burning at my skin as I reached in again for her. I didn’t register any pain from the adrenaline, not stopping until she was fully out of the car and in my arms as I watched the car fully engulf.

“Officer, put her here,” Captain Nash instructed me, running up with a group of EMTs and heading straight to the fire to put it out.

I placed the woman on the stretcher, making sure they took her to safety as I fetched my belt and strapped it back around my waist. It wasn’t until I cinched it closed that I felt a searing pain in my side just underneath my vest. My breath hitched and a groan of pain escaped my lips, causing Bobby to do a double take as he worked on the flames. I gulped—swaying on my feet as the pain fully registered and threatened to send me into shock—but clenched my teeth as I finished the buckle.

With a nod to Captain Nash, I waited for a responding nod before jogging off to find Athena.

“Sergeant! Nothing…” I slowed my run as I approached her, turning into a slow jog with a limp as it caused more chafing to occur against my wound.

“Nothing at this one either,” she sighed, shaking her head as she took another look in the car. “Either way, this car can’t have been it. It’s too close to the beginning of the pileup. The suspect would have been closer to the outside.”

“You’re right,” I grimaced.

“What’s wrong with you?” She furrowed her brows and stepped over menacingly.

“Nothing. I’m fine, I—,” I paused as her words hit me. “The first one I checked was on the outside…the door was open but it was empty inside I—.”

Shit.

Bobby was over there alone now.

“Captain!” I turned an ran, seeing him speaking with someone near where I left him.

The scene was loud, understandably so, but I slowed as I neared anyway to avoid spooking the potentially dangerous suspect.

“Look, sir, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay. That cut on the side of your head looks pretty bad,” Bobby held his palms out to the man who was clad in all black and clutching a gym bag to his chest. “At least let me make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Bobby stepped closer again.

From where the man’s back was facing me, I saw a glint of metal appearing from his back pocket and felt adrenaline surge through my veins. I took the remaining steps forward and lunged, wrapping my whole hand around his wrist and shoving it up so it was pinned against his lower to mid back.

“Drop it!” I growled. When he didn’t immediately comply, I repeated myself, “Drop it, or I will make you.”

At the lack of movement I bent his wrist inward with my free hand and used the pain of the wrist lock to force him to open his hand. When the knife clattered to the floor, I kicked it away and began slapping cuffs on the man. The bag was cut from his body, since I had trapped it on his body with his arms in cuffs, and Athena took the liberty of guiding him to a free unit to take him in while reading him his rights.

“Come on, I think I could have taken him?” Bobby chuckled as Athena dragged the suspect away. “But thank you.”

I shot him a glare that was soon diluted by a smirk. The smirk soon faded away as my wound throbbed, so I leaned my weight on the car next to me. Whatever the hell I did hurt. A lot.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm, just taking a second,” I groaned as I straightened back up. “I should help…”

“Whoa, there,” Bobby stopped me with a hand gripping my tricep, steadying me as I wobbled. “You’re not fine. And anyway, the 122 is here and helping. It’s under control.”

I slumped, watching the firefighters work, but knew he was right. Athena was going to kill me. Then, Bobby was going to resurrect me. And then, my Captain was going to kill me all over again.

“Let me check it out?” He asked, though it definitely felt like more of a gentle demand than a question.

I nodded and let him guide me to the 118 Paramedic truck.

He sat me on the edge of the truck and jumped into the back to clean his hands and find supplies. When he came back out, his hands were covered in black medical gloves and his arms were full of random items.

“You’re gonna have to uh…” he gestured to my torso with his head as he laid the supplies down in the entry way of the back doors of the truck.

I stood, stepping out of his way as he opened the second door wider for me to place my belt and uniform. The duty belt came off first, making me wince. I watched the firefighter’s eyebrows raise as he saw the slashed front and tattered side of my uniform shirt. The belt fell to the metal flooring with a heavy thud. I paused, willing the pain to subside before moving on to my shirt but to no avail.

“Shirt, too,” Bobby stood with his hands clasped down in front of him. “Or I can cut it off.”

“No need, Captain, just give me a sec,” I grunted and started undoing the buttons.

The hard part came when I had to shrug the shirt off. The movements made me tense up and clench my teeth.

“May I?” Bobby offered with medical shears in hand. “Not like you can wear that shirt again, anyway.”

“Fair enough…”

Bobby made quick work of the uniform shirt, cutting away as much as he could so I wouldn’t have to twist at all. He dropped his hands to where the shirt met my trousers, tugging the material forcefully out of my shirt stays—causing me to wince as the elastic snapped down my legs. He undid the Velcro of my body armor and lifted it over my head. He paused, taking in the slashed material below my patch. Luckily, only the outer covering had been frayed a bit, but no damage to the internal armor.

“Good thing you had this on, could have sliced yourself when you grabbed him,” Bobby indicated to the slice. His thumb ran over the small pink, yellow, and cyan patch, “Nice,” he smirked before setting that aside with my duty belt.

“Yea,” I jumped as he lifted my undershirt, some of my skin catching on the cotton. “You know what that is?”

“‘Course I do,” he stated matter-of-factly and sat on the edge of the truck so he was eye level with my affected side, below where the body armor had covered. “Pansexual flag, right?”

Surprised, I was too shocked to react when he began cleaning the wound, only reacting with a hiss when the delayed sting of antiseptic sunk in.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he laughed, dabbing at the wound to make sure there was nothing foreign in it. “I’m Bi.”

Still speechless, I simply held my shirt up for him as he worked with my mouth slightly open in shock.

“Again, don’t look so surprised,” he chuckled.

“It’s just…sorry. Sorry,” I laughed. “Athena thought you were straight.”

“Talking about me, huh?” He chuckled, making my face heat up before he continued, “Don’t worry, we’ve all discussed you plenty. And, anyway, I mean I’ve never expressly said it. Nor, have I publicly dated a man,” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, of course.”

By now, Bobby had stopped working on the wound and was just staring up at me with an amused expression on his handsome face.

“You should close your mouth before you catch something with it, Officer.”

Without thinking, I blurted out my name and immediately apologized, “Sorry, uh, you can…yea you can just call me…yea.”

“Bobby,” he offered me. “Well,” he sighed my name, causing shivers to go up my spine. “Laceration isn’t too deep, you won’t need stitches, thankfully, but it’s also not going to feel nice because the area gets a lot of movement and creasing. The burn around it is pretty enflamed. You won’t need anything major done but this’ll take some time to heal. I have some burn cream if you want it?”

“Please, thank you,” I cleared my throat, hoping to get rid of the raspy, huskiness that had developed.

Soon, cold, white paste was being gently applied to the burned area and then he was covering it with gauze and tape. I let my under shirt fall back down into place, catching a split second where Bobby’s eyes flicked to the rest of my abdomen before it was covered.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled, pausing briefly to look at his boots. “Would yo—.”

“Cap is going to murder me,” Athena groaned from behind me, startling me out of whatever trance Bobby had pulled me into. “What the hell happened?”

“I—I’m okay…”

“Just a cut and a burn, ‘Thena, he’ll live,” Bobby chuckled, standing and snapping off the gloves now smeared with cream.

“Next time warn your partner before you go gallivanting into a burning car?”

“Sorry,” I smiled.

“Mhmm,” she responded, entirely unconvinced. “I gotta get him out of here, Bobby. Is he good to go?” Athena asked, tearing Bobby’s attention from me to her.

“Oh, uh, yea he’s perf—good, he’s good,” Bobby stumbled, a flush creeping up his neck. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well, Captain Nash,” I smiled, biting the inside of my cheek. I hastily grabbed my duty belt and shredded shirt before following Athena to her patrol car, waving to Bobby with a wince as my skin stretched.

We sat in the silence of the car for a few beats before Athena burst into laughter.

“You damn flirt, I knew it,” she laughed at me.

“Athena, he’s hot,” I whined. “Did you really expect me not to?”

“How about, we don’t tell Captain the extent of your injuries and I won’t tell anyone how shamelessly you flirted with Bobby.”

“To be fair—” I interjected, “—he totally flirted back.”

—

After a stern talking to—in the form of shouting—from our Captain, Athena and I cleaned up, changed, and were confined to the station for the rest of our shift. Athena assured me that we weren’t in actual trouble before we left the station to go home, making me at ease since the last thing I wanted was for her to get in trouble for my stupidity.

Currently, I was too hungry to dwell on it.

I was salivating over a pot of sautéing garlic, crushed red pepper, and oregano for a quick and easy red sauce and stirring loosely so they didn’t burn. Letting out a wild yawn and grunt, wiping my hands on the towel slung over my bare shoulder and turning to open the refrigerator, feeling my side twinge as I did. I yanked out a protein drink and downed it in two gulps, hoping to stave off my hunger while I cooked, before turning toward my designated medicine cabinet in the kitchen and popping a couple pain relievers. I got back to work and was just picking up a tube of tomato paste, ready to squeeze it in when there was a hesitant knock, followed by two firmer ones.

I certainly wasn’t expecting any guests, but grumbled and shut off the flame under my pot just in case and moved it to a cool burner. It would be a tragedy if my garlic burned, after all. I didn’t even think twice about my state of undress, clad in only a pair of sweats and socks—with my kitchen towel over my shoulder—before I was yanking my door open to find the last person I expected to be on the other side of it.

Bobby. Dressed in jeans and a worn button down with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he immediately yanked them out and stood straighter like he had at the scene earlier.

“Hey, uh, hope this isn’t too strange—uh,” he scratched the back of his head. “I—uh—wasn’t sure if you had any burn cream and I forgot to sneak you some earlier.”

I didn’t know what to say, my mouth opening and shutting a couple times, “No—I—I was actually going to Instacart some so you saved me a few dollars.”

“Ours is better anyway,” he chuckled before his smile dropped again. “I—er—got your address from Athena, sorry if that was not…good.”

“It’s fine. I’ll give her a stern talking to about giving my address to strange men,” I smiled at his good natured laugh and opened my door wider. “Do you want to come in? I was just making dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude. You look…busy,” he cleared his throat, clearly avoiding looking at my bare chest.

I looked down at myself and chuckled, “Not busy enough to put a shirt on, clearly. But I could be…” I relished watching his neck flush up to his cheeks, “Come on in, I hear you’re the resident cook at the firehouse. I need a chef’s opinion on this sauce.”

Bobby perked up at the offer, “Well, if it’s a professional opinion you need…” He stepped through the doorway, shoulder brushing my chest as he tugged the towel off my shoulder and promptly slapped it over his own in transit.

“Give me one sec, let me grab a shirt,” I said, jogging over to where I had a black t-shirt thrown over my couch. I did a three-sixty to make sure the rest of the living room wasn’t a complete mess.

“You don’t have to, it’s your apartment,” he mumbled. “Plus, I’m sure that hurts to put on,” Bobby finally looked over at me, his gaze unmistakably on my exposed skin.

“Ah, well,” I shrugged, tugging the shirt on the arm of the injured side, maneuvering my other arm in, and flinging the rest over my head. I smirked to myself when the material clung tightly to my body, probably one size too small for me. “It hurt more taking it off, honestly, and I don’t wanna be too underdressed,” I grinned.

I jogged quickly back over to the kitchen, sliding in my socks near the end and found Bobby gazing at me with an amused upturn of his lips with his arms folded tightly over his chest. Fuck.

“Had to turn the flame off to answer the door, so let me get this warm again,” I hummed. “Alexa! Play my ‘Oldies but Goodies’ playlist on low.” I ignored her response and immediately began humming and swaying to myself as Billy Joel started playing while I brought the ingredients back up to a good temperature.

“Really? Is that because I’m here?” Bobby shoved my shoulder.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I was raised on this!” I pushed back before grabbing the tube of tomato paste off the counter. I was opening the tube when I stopped and just about broke my neck looking at him quickly.

The sudden movement broke him put of whatever trance he was in while watching me cook, eyes widening in surprise, “What?”

“I’m so rude. Can I get you something to drink? I have water, juice, and—er—protein shakes. I think that’s it.”

“Water's fine, I can get it. Fridge?” at my hum of affirmation he opened the refrigerator behind me and looked back at me in the small space, his voice suddenly very close to my back and neck, “Want one?”

I cleared my suddenly dry throat, “Please.”

Licking my lips, I set back to work and squeezed the paste in the pot before stirring it in.

“Here you go,” he set the bottle on the counter before twisting his own open and taking a sip.

I fumbled with closing the tube of paste nearly dropping the cap, “Shit—ah!” I squeaked and snatched the cap as it fell. “Sorry. Thank you,” I finally responded, licking paste off my wrist and grimacing at the acidity.

Bobby smiled for the umpteenth time—and god I hope he never stopped—shaking his head as he took another drink, “Athena was right.”

“About what?” I asked, stirring so the ingredients wouldn’t burn.

“You,” he cocked his head at me. “You are a dork.”

“Rude.”

“Maybe,” he teased. “So, what brought you to that station?”

“Mm,” I hummed while opening the can of tomato sauce, “The tsunami actually. It did a number on my old station, I don’t even think it’s up and running yet, I think they’re still running out of another building. But, anyway, during some of the search and rescue, I broke my arm and I’d been in a cast for a while. They transferred me to this station to do more administrative work in the mean time, that’s how I met Athena.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all part of the job,” I shrugged, pouring in the sauce and throwing the flame higher while I stirred. “It’s funny actually. Today, Athena convinced our Captain to let me out on patrol with her since my doctor cleared me for normal exercise with my arm and then that call happened,” I laughed.

“Luckily, you had a strapping firefighter to rescue you,” Bobby teased.

“Luckily, I had a strapping firefighter to rescue, I think you mean,” I teased back, flicking the burner to simmer.

“Of course, how could I forget my knight in body armor.”

“Damn right,” I winked. “Now, come over here, Chef Nash, and let me know how I did.” I waved my hand in presentation to the simmering pot, “Shit, wait!” I stopped him with a hand between his shoulder and chest—wow, that was firm—to hastily pour some salt in my hand, pinch some, throw it in with a flourish, and toss the rest in the sink. I gave it another stir and stepped back.

Bobby stepped up, grabbed the spoon and dipped his pinky in it. Then, proceeded to push the spoon toward me to do the same while shoving his pinky in his mouth to suck the sauce off. I barely managed to dip my own finger in the spoon as I imagined his tongue lapping the sauce away. By the way his eyes swirled with playfulness, I knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. I could finally breathe again when he released his pinky, taking the opportunity to lick my finger and suck the end with a quick ‘pop’ and a moan thrown in for good measure.

“It’s really good,” he praised.

“Thank y—”

“—But! We can do better.”

My mouth snapped shut with a pout as Bobby turned and opened my refrigerator with renewed purpose. He hummed to himself quietly before making a noise of success and coming back out with a sprig of leftover basil I had bought for a pesto I made a few days ago.

“You’re a genius!” I groaned, snagging the sprig from him and plucking the leaves off.

I went to throw them haphazardly into the sauce when Bobby’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist before I could let them go, “Woah, there.” He guided my hand toward himself, bringing me deliciously close to him. Close enough to breathe in whatever he had sprayed himself with before coming here, and definitely close enough to see the way his eyes dropped to my parted lips. “We can be a little more sophisticated than that,” he breathed, his voice suddenly huskier than it was a few seconds ago.

“Show me.”

“With pleasure,” he licked his bottom lip and plucked the leaves from my fingers.

I watched as he stepped over to the cutting board where I had chopped the garlic, taking the time to stack the basil leaves on each other before rolling them into a cylinder. He fetched the knife that lay nearby and sliced the leaves with quick, light strokes, leaving green ribbons in his wake. Bobby lifted the cutting board and slid the ribbons into the sauce to simmer, giving me a smug smirk as he turned to face me after. I took the liberty of stirring the sauce while we waited for it to come together.

“It should be good now,” he nodded toward the pot, so I lifted the spoon and dipped my finger right after he did.

He sucked the sauce off his finger with a proud hum and a nod of approval, me not getting as distracted as I did the first time. I stuck my finger my mouth, my eyes immediately falling shut as I tasted the small difference the basil made. Letting my eyes flutter back open as I removed my finger, the air was sucked out of the room as I saw how dark Bobby’s eyes had gotten.

“I concede. You were right.”

Bobby didn’t respond, instead staring at my mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

Snapped out of his stare, Bobby blinked rapidly, “N—nothing, sorry. You have a little sauce…” He mimed the general area with his hand on his own face.

“Oh,” I furrowed my brows and wiped my face with my palm but didn’t feel any. “Did I get it?”

“No, it’s…” he mimed again, stepping closer.

“Whe—” my words were cut off as I felt warm lips on mine.

I sagged into his arms, a sigh escaping my throat as he pressed himself against me. In an attempt to not stretch my side so much, I kept my hands low and framing the sides of Bobby’s torso. It was nice—really nice—and I had to stop myself from deepening the kiss as I felt his hands clutch my upper arms. I let him pull away but kept him close since he didn’t step back.

“Bobby…”

“I’m sorry, that was inappro—”

“No…” I shook my head. I leaned forward again, just enough to feel his nose touch mine, “Can I…?” I felt him nod against me and dipped my head back in to touch my lips to his, letting my hand on my non-injured side come up to the back of his neck. This kiss was just as short as the last and just as nice, not wanting to overwhelm him so quickly.

“That was…” Bobby trailed off as we separated again.

“…Life changing?” I winked.

Bobby scoffed out a laugh, “I was going to say good, but you ruined it so…”

“Shut up,” I scowled playfully, tugging him back by the belt and kissing him sweetly once more. I furrowed my brows as I pulled back, tilting my head to the side in thought, “There wasn’t anything on my face, was there?” I squinted at him.

“Definitely not,” he let out a soft chuckle.

“Mm,” I hummed, “you’re forgiven.”

We pulled apart, somewhat reluctantly, and served two plates after making sure the stove was shut off. While the kisses were brief, I couldn’t stop licking my lips and remembering what Bobby's felt like on mine. Lingering glances and sly smirks permeated our conversation over dinner. I learned more about him than what Athena divulged to me and I’m sure the same went for him. Soon enough our plates were empty and we were idly chatting over the nearly clean plates.

“Do you want more?” Bobby spoke up during a lull in the conversation.

“Yea, but I can—,” I stood to go get more, wincing as the skin pulled.

“Nonsense,” Bobby stood and grabbed my plate, balancing both on one forearm. With his free hand, I felt his fingers brush the nape of my neck before disappearing entirely.

With full bellies, we sat on the couch and picked up the conversation again until it died off into a comfortable silence.

“You shower already?” Bobby muttered as he fished something out of his jean pocket.

“Mm,” I hummed and nodded. “Why? You trying to give me a sponge bath, Nurse Nash?”

“You wish,” he snorted. “Here.”

“Oh, bless,” I sighed, grabbing the burn cream from Bobby. “I’ll switch my gauze out before bed and put it on.”

“I'll do it for you. Bring it out here,” Bobby nodded in the general direction of my bathroom.

“You just want my shirt off again,” I teased.

“I will neither confirm nor deny,” Bobby murmured back with pink cheeks. “But I’m sure it’s easier than twisting.”

“You have a point…” I pursed my lips and headed off to grab my first aid kit from the bathroom.

When I returned with the box, Bobby was fiddling with the cap of the tube absentmindedly. I set the box on the arm of the couch and reached my arm on my good side back to grab the back of my shirt collar. I yanked the material over my head and let it slide off the arm of my burned side and on to the floor. At some point as I took it off, Bobby stared at the skin revealed to him.

“Earth to Captain Nash,” I snickered at the dazed expression on the older man’s face, letting my hand slip to the back of his head to run over the soft hairs while guiding his head up to look at me.

“Sorry…” Bobby gulped, eyes tracing my form as he felt blindly for the first aid box.

When he found it, he placed the box in his lap to distract himself, finding gloves, gauze, and tape with little effort. He snapped the gloves on with practiced ease and leaned forward as I stepped in between his legs and turned my side toward him. I winced as he pulled at one end of the tape, grabbing his shoulder with the hand on my bad side for some kind of support as he continued. When the cut and burn were open to the air, Bobby took a second to look it over to make sure it hadn’t gotten worse since the last time he saw it. Satisfied, Bobby twisted open the tube and applied more burn cream, making me shiver from the cold touch.

I let my fingers curve around the nape of his neck, barely noticing Bobby pressing back against my hand in the slightest of ways. He quickly covered the wound with new gauze and tape and sat back a little to take the gloves off, which he deposited on the closed first aid kit with the other trash. He set the box and trash aside while I deliberated picking up my shirt or not.

Deciding to leave it on the floor, I looked down at where Bobby sat waiting in quiet contemplation, “So, Captain…” I trailed off, stepping back into his space, which he gladly leaned in for. “…in your professional experience, does ‘kissing it better’ usually work?”

A smile lit up his face, followed by an incredulous snort, “No, never.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Though, it might not hurt to try.” Bobby hooked a finger in the waistband of my sweats to pull me closer, glancing up at me once before pressing his lips to the undamaged skin next to the medical tape, “Better?”

“Mmm, no,” I sighed feigning dejection. “Maybe you’re administering it incorrectly.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” I hummed, leaning forward until I had one knee pressed against the outside of his thigh on the couch cushion.

When he didn’t stop me, I closed the distance further and threw my other knee down so I was straddling his hips but not fulling sitting in his lap just yet. Garnering no complaints, if the way his hands squeezed my thighs were anything to go by, I draped my arms over his shoulders and gave him a playful smirk with my tongue running over my lower lip.

“Here?” He raised his eyebrows, and pressed a kiss to where his mouth height was at my sternum.

“Eh…” I teased, letting my fingers play with the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

Bobby hummed dramatically, letting his arm wind around my good side until his hand was splayed over my back. With a sharp tug from Bobby that I hadn’t been expecting, my ass was forced into his lap. A rather embarrassing whine slipped past my lips at the contact.

“Oh, here…?” Bobby murmured, tilting his head to press his lips where my neck met my shoulders.

“A—almost…” I sighed.

Bobby tilted his head up higher to find a new spot, making me lick my lips in anticipation of feeling his once more. He surged up—finally—but my previous anticipation was wasted as my lips met his chin and a soft pressure pressed against my nose.

“Jerk,” I mumbled against his skin.

Bobby gasped softly, “You mean that didn’t work either?”

“You know it didn’t, Bo—” the words died in my throat as Bobby finally pressed his mouth where I wanted it.

His lips meshed easily with mine, pressing just as softly as before but with more urgency just below the surface. I moaned suddenly as his lips parted and sucked my bottom lip between his, tongue laving over the skin and—oh—was he good at that. Taking his cue, I returned the urgency, parting my own lips and tentatively meeting his tongue; retreating with a quick flick to the roof of his mouth. Thick, strong fingers dug into my hips while I searched for any purchase on his head but his hair was far too short for me to do much. I settled for running a thumb across his jaw instead—oh that strong jaw—

Bobby suddenly parted, breathing just the slightest bit elevated with his normally thin lips now spit slick and veering on the side of swollen. His hands refused to move, keeping me close as he caught his breath.

“Better?” He panted, licking over his lips.

I was confused for a moment, so worked up that I had forgotten what he was referring to until his knowing smirk made me remember, “Oh! Oh, yes. Much better, Captain. You were definitely administering it wrong initially.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, “Good to know, I’ll take notes for my next patient.”

My eyes narrowed at his teasing, a small pout forming on my lips, “Next patient?”

“Well, unless you’re going to go getting hurt again…”

“A hot firefighter told me earlier this was going to take some time to heal…” I trailed off, pursing my lips to hold back a laugh while still running my hands over his hair soothingly. “Plus, I’ve been told I can be a danger to myself on the job—and—well, and off the job. I’m a bit of a klutz, okay?”

A brilliant smile spread over his face, eyes sparkling with humor, “Got it, so…you’d like me to continue being your care provider?”

“If you’re amenable, of course.”

“Would you be available for a consultation this Thursday at seven? No charge, of course, my treat.”

“I can definitely do that and—” I brought my lips down for another kiss, “—I think we can agree to split the bill, I’m a big boy.”

“You…” Bobby trailed off, eyes looking down appreciatively and landing on my tented sweatpants, “…you sure are, Officer.”

I felt my face redden at the innuendo and the fact that I was very clearly tenting the sweatpants, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. Because, believe me, if I wasn’t trapped in jeans right now…” Bobby trailed off with a chuckle. “And with that…I think it’s time for me to go before I lose whatever self control I might have right now.”

“Good idea. I suppose there’s a reason you’re a Captain and I’m most definitely not,” I laughed, pushing myself up and sliding off his lap until I was on my own two feet again. I just about giggled under my breath as Bobby stood, readjusting his jeans to a more comfortable position.

He followed me to the front door, stopping short when he saw the mess in my kitchen, “I should probably help you with that.”

“As nice as that would be…” I cut him off from the entryway, “…the longer you stay, the more both of us will be worked up and I kind of want to wait a couple more dates.”

“Good,” Bobby smiled, moving into my space, “me too.” He caged me in against the wall somewhat, not that I minded, “You should swing by the firehouse some time for food. If you—uh—if you give me your number I can let you know when I make something or need a sous-chef.”

“I’d like that,” I chewed on my lip while fishing my phone from my pocket and making a new contact. I preemptively typed his name out with “Bobby” being the beginning, followed by both a flame and a heart emoji.

Soft laughter bubbled up from Bobby’s throat as I handed the phone to him and he noticed the name.

“Let me know when you get home safe?” I murmured when he handed it back with the contact already saved. I shot him a quick text so he would have my number.

“Of course.”

Bobby pressed me firmly against the wall, stealing another kiss that I was all too willing to give. With a press of his hips against mine, my brain was short circuiting and I had to convince myself all over again that picking him up and carrying him to my bed was not what either of us wanted.

“Think about me later?” I winked as we pulled apart.

“I—uh—most likely will, “ Bobby murmured, his flush meeting his ears instantly. “I’ll see you Thursday, then? I’ll text you with the details,” he finally stepped back and grasped the door handle, twisting it as he spoke.

“You’ll see me Thursday,” I confirmed, following him half way out of the door as he opened it and stepped through.

Like a lovesick teenager, I pressed my back against the door after it closed, hoping to hear back from him like he promised. With a final glance at the mess in my kitchen, I sighed and decided to distract myself with cleaning until then.

#bobby nash x reader #male!reader #911 fanfic #911 imagine #911 x reader #Bobby Nash imagine #Meet cute

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copsecore · 8 months

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My Thoughts About Hot Boi Summer ‘23:

CW/TW: i will be non-specifically AND specifically referencing at least semi-nsfw content so please dont read if that doesn’t fly with you in any way, please be responsible!

[PSA: THIS IS MY OWN OPINION OKAY - AND I MEAN NONE OF IT WITH ANY MALICE - TY]

DAVID:

Holy shit what the fuck this was Amazing (im referencing the poll on this post because erik did the results on stream, so yeah). David was in my top three picks for the poll and I was gutted that he didn’t seem to get very high - but i think that’s coz it was the first video, so maybe people had forgotten about it/it wasn’t as much in the forefront of the majority’s minds by the time the poll was released. Pretty much no negative thoughts.

VINCENT:

WE NEED MORE CUTE 7/11 DATES OKAY PLEASE ITS SO SWEET. Ofc the snack puns coming in Clutch ugh i loved those. My only issue (“issue”) was literally the same as why i wasn’t over the moon when sam was voted for the ba (sue me. i liked it anyway) and that was just that we had a vincent one a few months ago, and also a pretty pre-sexual vid after that. Also the fact that lovely literally grabbed his junk in semi-(hah, pun)public, but it’s the anti-PDA in me that disliked that part, so feel free to ignore it!

AVIOR:

Also in my top picks!!! I was a tad gutted when we didn’t get his. Saw a lot of posts begging for people to vote for it because yk him n starlight have been in literal Hell for years and therefore they deserve some smut time. Super cute vid, “A Romantic Night” is totally the right descriptor for it and also AYO WHIMPERY AVIOR??? YES. sorry ahem it’s the demons.

GAVIN:

It was so good. The premise of getting a more subby gavin? chef’s kiss, more please. everything about it was good and i WISH the ba had been how i expected it to go, but we aren’t here for my criticisms of That, so whatever. It links back to an old non-canon Huxley preview vid that was taken from us (RIP) when the channel lost loads of vids, or at least thats what it reminded me of, with the whole BBQ-and-somewhat-sexual-teasing aspect it was amazing and i would like to see more switch-esque gav in the future (*manifesting*)

LASKO:

Not too much to say considering I started this post as a way to lightly complain about the poll results, and Lasky wasn’t on the poll, obviously. Regardless, I’m glad this video went the way it did, I think we’ve seen a lot of lasko being quick to jump the proverbial gun in the last few years, with his non-canon vids, and hooking up with gavin, etc, so it was nice to see him break away from that and ask to move slower coz hell yeah dude, progress and growth!! and i think it shows how much he wants the relationship to be more natural, and not racing ahead, even if he does in part want that - it was sweet as hell.

ELLIOTT (ft. The Dragon):

I gotta say it right off the bat that i just found the video on the more boring end. *POLICE SIRENS BLARING IN THE BACKGROUND* AH FUCK-

I’m just not overly surprised that i think Eli got some of the lowest results on the poll, I enjoyed the video, and i liked it (this will be a recurring statement) but i just didn’t like it As Much. Lots of people (including me, ngl) wanted more of the dragon - but erik’s not about to do weird fantasy not-fully-bestiality-esque stuff guys - and i’m pretty sure I only liked it coz cmon it’s erik doing another hot voice, im gonna be down horrendous BUT NOT FOR AN ACTUAL DRAGON. i am Not donkey from Shrek. And yeah, i know Eli’s powers can be kinda limiting with what they can bring to the (pun not intended) sex-table, but does all of his spicy stuff have to be in a Dreamscape? idk.

ASHER:

My Second Favourite Hands Down. How people picked Sam over riding Ash in the front seat of a rental, i’ll never understand /lh the horn may make me jump every time, but it’s okay, there’s repentance in the tongue kissing, and i stand by that, it was the best bit (or one of the best bits), No Criticisms (except Ash please don’t have sex in a RENTAL. wait until you get to a bedroom at least PLEASE-)

GUY:

Again, i liked it but not as much. I love Guy, he’s one of my favourites, i can’t really say why i didn’t like this video as much as I normally would, maybe the concept just wasn’t rolling with me as well - the whole idea of post-concert seemed vaguely random, but you could argue that about all of these, so it doesn’t count. did anyone else see this or was it just me, coz if it is then i will quietly wave my flag of solidarity from my hole in the ground where nobody can see it.

ANTON:

I voted Anton. It was the sadness with the feelings and the horniness spicyness towards the end, ugh I loved it, Anton come home from war soon please (im terrified he might die because despite everything, nothing Death Related had happened in project meridian yet, and let’s face it, it’s gonna.) - it was nice seeing a different but also soothing take on the “your lover is leaving for an indefinite amount of time” thing, and how it changed in comparison to James’ video on it. Anton deserved the continuation okay. No aggression though.

SAM:

This is where I might get more argumentative because I was so disappointed that Sam won the poll, even though I love sammy. It seemed slightly out of character?? with everything we know about Sam, it just seems so unlikely that he would go to a club, let alone start getting, uh, “busy” n shit while at one. he’s not a big fan of PDA because of his past, in my opinion, and i think overall he’s very private, so the setting and stuff just seemed out of place, it would’ve made more sense for Milo’s or smth to be set there - but hell I can’t tell erik how to write his own characters lmao - and still, the ba was Great. with a capital G.

MILO:

I fell asleep listening to this the first couple of times, which says a lot already. The sensual massage trope has been used as a gateway to presumably spicy off-screen things before (Aaron’s HBW ‘21, Asher’s HBS ‘22) but idky it wasn’t hitting as well as it normally does, maybe it’s wearing thin on my brain. ofc it’s redacted content so i’m gonna eat it up like it’s ass (crude but true) but i listened to it through without falling asleep and was like “yeah it’s good, i like it, but also eh,,,” - like i mentioned, it would’ve made more sense to me if Milo’s and Sam’s were swapped around - anyone agree?

CONCLUSION:

as always, all the videos were really good, and despite whatever came across through this post, overall, i enjoyed all of them, so please don’t take this as a criticism towards erik or any of his work, trust me, i absolutely adore it - i say it every time, but every time it’s worth saying, and also please don’t cancel me. this was a really long post, so a lot of people probably won’t read it, so if you made it this far; well done! have a star 🌟- don’t be afraid to leave any agreements or disagreements in the notes, i love discussing stuff with people! thanks for reading

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #hot boi summer #jed’s food for thought #i can’t tag all the characters okay please it’s too many

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theriverspath · 2 months

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Crowley shows up at the bookshop for lunch with Aziraphale still dressed in the disguise he used on his last assignment. The intriguing change in clothing and accent, along with a mysterious violin case, forces Aziraphale to remind himself that he shouldn't be feeling these sorts of urges toward a demon. Then, Crowley plays an old love song and Aziraphale loses his inner battle.

Two-shot. Eventually explicit in the upcoming chapter 2.

“Oh, I am sorry that we didn’t have what you were looking for today. It really is such a shame.” A. Z. Fell, as the name of the bookshop identified him, ushered a young woman towards the exit. He’d been open for business this morning, and was unpleasantly surprised by the amount of foot traffic that had wandered in. As the noon hour approached, though, he was determined to close. He was running out of excuses to prevent the actual sale of any books. More importantly, he was expecting a certain demon for lunch today.

“But, I think I see…” The woman pointed to a shelf just over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Yes, quite a shame. Perhaps Waterstones would carry something by that particular author? I should check there if I were you.” The angel reached past the would-be customer and placed a hand on the shop’s door. He intended to open it in order to eject her out onto the street. Before he could turn the handle, it swung outward without his help.

“Ma’am.”

Aziraphale froze, his hand resting on the empty spot in space where the handle had been. Crowley stood on the pavement, holding the door open for the confused woman. His free hand was lifted to pinch the brim of a hat, as if he were going to doff it in deference to her presence. However, this was not the suave felt fedora of decades past. Aziraphale felt his mouth fall open in shock as he registered the ratty, black cap. The fabric was faded from the sun, and the single extended bill in the front featured frayed patches along the edge. Aziraphale struggled to identify the style. Wasn’t it what the Americans wore as part of a uniform for their sport? What did they call it? Based-ball?

Below the hat, Crowley wore sunglasses unlike Aziraphale had ever seen on him. The lenses were a red, reflective material. They were shaped like elongated, curved rectangles with rounded corners. The top edges slotted into a single line of black plastic that wrapped around his face from one ear to the next. They perched on his sun-touched nose above a polite, if not somewhat mischievous, smile. Crowley waited patiently while the woman looked from the shocked shopkeeper to the grinning man, decided that she’d had enough weirdness for the day, and simply walked away. Crowley looked pleased with himself, released the hat brim, and turned to enter the bookstore. He stopped short at Aziraphale’s still outstretched hand.

“You gonna invite me in, angel? Or would you rather I stand here with the door open, lettin’ in flies?” The tone of his voice was amused, maybe even dusted with affection. But, Aziraphale’s brain scrambled to catch up with what he was seeing - and hearing. Gone was Crowley’s usual cadence. Instead, his voice was softer and slower. The angel tried to come up with a descriptor for the drawn-out vowels and dropped consonants that peppered through Crowley’s request to enter the bookshop. Ah, yes. The word finally surfaced in Aziraphale’s mind: drawl .

Aziraphale quickly lowered his hand and, embarrassed at being caught staring, stepped back from the doorway. Crowley brushed past him with a courteous nod and walked through to the dimly lit interior of the book shop. When he passed, heat radiated off his body. It felt like Crowley had stepped out of a sauna. There was an unusual scent, too. Pine, perhaps? And damp earth, like a forest just after a summer rain. Then, as the demon moved into the interior, the angel got a better look at the rest of his uncharacteristic outfit.

Crowley was wearing a shirt, but just barely. He had tucked a black cotton tee into the waistband of dark denim trousers. That wasn’t so unusual. But, this particular shirt had its sleeves cut away to reveal Crowley’s lean upper arms. And, for about three-quarters of the remaining length of the garment, several inches of fabric had been removed on either side of the seams that were supposed to hold the shirt together. It did eventually rejoin itself just above the demon’s belt. Before that point, though, Aziraphale had a clear view of the sides of Crowley’s torso. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how the demon’s muscles moved as he sauntered his way across the bookshop.

Aziraphale also couldn’t help but notice a warm flush start to radiate up from his own collar at the view. He felt his face scrunch up in frustration at the reaction. The angel had seen much more of the demon in the past. Roman baths, for instance, left little to the imagination. Why was his corporation reacting this way now?

A violin case was slung over Crowley’s left shoulder by a woven black and red strap. The demon’s left hand was raised to that shoulder and his thumb tucked under the strap to keep it in place. When he reached the counter that held Aziraphale’s cash register, though, he made a shrugging motion to lift the strap. He lowered the case to the ground and leaned it against the hip-high piece of furniture. The slight bend forward caused the not-quite-a-shirt to fall open towards the front. The previous view of side torso broadened to include a shadowed glimpse of Crowley's abs and chest. Aziraphale briefly caught sight of a nipple, and the flush started to creep down from the collar, as well as up.

Aziraphale suddenly needed to be looking anywhere other than Crowley’s bare skin, so his eyes followed the movement of the case to the floor. They stopped at Crowley’s feet. His normal urban-chic, all black boots were replaced with something else. Peeking out from underneath the legs of his jeans were the pointed tips of a different style of boot. These featured a textured pattern of white, gray, and black snakeskin scales. The soles were dark leather, and the blocky heels a bit taller than what Crowley normally wore. And they had, to Aziraphale’s horror, left little clumps of vibrant orange-red mud wherever Crowley stepped. That broke whatever spell Crowley’s scandalously altered shirt held over the angel. He clicked his tongue in disappointment over the mess.

“Crowley, what on earth are you wearing? And why are you tracking dirt all over the shop?” Crowley straightened from setting down the case and turned to face Aziraphale. He tucked both of his thumbs into his belt, framing an oversized silver buckle in the shape of a snake’s head. Aziraphale noticed that the eyes flashed red, as if they were inset with rubies.

“I was finishin’ up a Temptation down in Georgia when I realized I was gonna be late for lunch. I had to take a shortcut through the office to get back in time, and it was just easier to stay in my work clothes. Less likely to get snagged for another assignment if’n I looked like I were still on the clock, ya know?” Aziraphale’s brow crinkled in confusion at the explanation.

“Georgia? Well, I guess local fashions have changed since I was in that area of Europe. And, I certainly don’t remember…” He waved vaguely at the dusty tracks. It was Crowley’s turn to show his confusion before giving a laugh of realization.

“Naw, not that Georgia. Georgia the state. As in the united ones ‘cross the pond?” Aziraphale racked his brain to think of anything he might know about the place.

“You mean the penal colony? That sounds quite dangerous." Aziraphale's eyes widened, as if he'd had an alarming thought. He walked toward Crowley in small, quick steps. The front door closed itself, unnoticed by the angel. "Did you run into any ruffians?” Crowley smiled his amusement at the question.

“It’s been a while since the monarchy shipped debtors off to the New World, but that’s the place. And, nope. No ruffians. It was a solo assignment, mostly. Real traditional-like, too. A one-on-one challenge at the crossroads under a full moon.” Crowley waved his hands in a spooky motion to indicate the mood. Aziraphale refused to believe that the flip-flop he felt in his belly was jealousy. So what if Crowley had been meeting some human alone under the stars. It was purely for work. Right?

“That’s where the red clay came from.” Crowley continued, apparently unaware of Aziraphale’s inner dialogue. “Out in the county, they don’t pave the roads. I forgot that it sticks to shoes like peanut butter to the roof of a dog’s mouth.” He snapped his fingers and the mud disappeared. “There. Better?” The entry rug was no longer stained, and Crowley seemed to be waiting for a response. So, Aziraphale gestured to the black case.

“I didn’t know you played the violin.”

“I ain’t never told you about that?” Aziraphale mentally worked his way through the archaic contraction and double negative while Crowley continued. “Hell’s been using the violin for Temptations since … well, shoot. Since long before Paganini.” The angel rolled his eyes at the mention of the nineteenth century musician.

“I should have known those rumors were about you. I suppose you were in the process of creating another demonically-influenced virtuoso?” To his surprise, Crowley shook his head.

“Some upstart fiddler’s been goin’ around braggin’ about ‘bein’ the best there’s ever been.”Head Office got wind of his pride. Since I done such a bang-up job on ol’ Nicky,'' Crowley grumbled at Aziraphale’s look of disbelief. He corrected himself. “Since I reported doin’ a good job with Niccolò, they sent me to tempt this new Bubba. I showed up with a fiddle made of pure gold, and got him to bet that he could outplay me. He wins, he gets the fiddle. I win, Hell gets his soul.” Crowley half-shrugged. “Standard procedure. That’s why I’m in this get-up.” He glanced down at his outfit and plucked at his shirt. “I had to dress like a local. Sound like one, too. There’d’ve been no way he’d agree to any sort-a deal with some highfalutin city slicker.”

Aziraphale thought he should feel disapproval at the whole idea. Instead, all he could think about was the image of Crowley standing on a rural dirt road, his fair skin aglow with moonlight. He wondered what the music sounded like in the quiet of the night. He wondered if the human appreciated how fluid and graceful Crowley’s movements must have been as he drew his bow across the strings of the golden instrument. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hear Crowley play the violin. In the bookshop. Right now.

“Well, it appears as if Hell now has his soul. He must not have been as skilled as he thought.” Aziraphale gestured at the unopened case, still propped against the counter. “Perhaps you ought to play a sample of your winning piece?” He watched Crowley’s eyebrows rise above his glasses in surprise. “You know, for um, research? So that I might warn future violinists about what they’ll encounter if they engage in similar unwise braggadocio?” An amused huff and a half-smile told Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t believe his excuse.

“Oh, the case? It’s empty. Turns out, the young buck really did have the talent. Even when I summoned the Erics as backup, I couldn’t do better. So I gave him the fiddle, fair and square. I just kept the case so’s folks who spotted me downstairs would think I was still on the job.” The disappointment Aziraphale felt must have shown on his face. Crowley’s amused expression faded. Instead, he seemed to hold a brief inner battle over what he was about to say next.

“Look, I cain’t just give away my best Temptation tunes to an agent of Heaven. If,” Crowley pointed to the floor, “found out I’d be in a heap o’ trouble.”

“Yes. Of course, I quite understa-” Aziraphale didn’t get a chance to finish. When Crowley lifted the hand he’d just used to point, he snapped his fingers. Aziraphale heard the quiet resonance of a miracle, and the case shifted as if its weight had just changed. Crowley retrieved it and set it on top of the books scattered across the surface of the counter. He flipped open the latches and lifted the lid. Resting in a bed of red velvet was a violin of rich, brown wood. A strung bow was also secured within.

“I’ll play you a little somethin’ I picked up the last time I was in that part of the world, though.

Continue reading on ao3.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale/crowley #aziracrow fanfic #aziracrow #good omens ao3

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irish-trash-cash · 2 years

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Higher, Higher

The Batman (2022) Oz Cobblepot x OC/Reader

Word Count: 4,600

Listen, this is just self-indulgent garbage- I’ve read every fic for Oz on this entire site and I love all of them but none really have what I need, so take this I guess. Am I embarrassed that I want to fuck this old man? Yes. But my Daddy Issues are about to become everyone else’s problem because I might start writing more.

This includes an OC named “Nell” because I’m god-awful at writing reader-inserts. However I describe Nell as she/they, and I don’t use any real physical descriptors. I also threw a little surprise Zsasz in. If you like this and want more, feel free to drop a request or leave a comment because I write for a lot of characters and I love sinking time into writing things like this.

Warnings: Sexual content, strong language, alcohol consumption, tobacco use.

“You asleep over there, Hon?”

Nell snaps awake- fuck, they must’ve dozed off. The pounding bass and flashing light from the floors below blurred their thoughts. A glance at the clock told them it was only 11:00- probably five hours until the club will start clearing out. A glance across to Oz confirmed that he was still working on the bi-weekly expenses- a stack of paper the size of a textbook remained. For a moment Nell wondered why he didn’t just hire an accountant. Eight years of being his bodyguard and they never truly got used to the endeavor of sitting in Oz’s office while he juggled fucking finances.

“Sorry, Oz.” Nell replied, and she’s caught off-guard by how evident the exhaustion is in her voice. “Remind me why you haven’t hired a fucking accountant.”

Oz barks out a laugh, and Nell smiles as she catches the glint of his gold incisors in the low light. He looks good. He’d worn a claret velvet jacket, a black bow tie and crisp white shirt beneath.

“Tried to get one a couple years ago, but I seem to recall you throwing him out the door after two weeks. Something about money laundering.” he replies, shaking his head. “Besides, this gives me a chance to relax- and you too.”

Oz’s eyes don’t leave the paper in his hands as he talks, and Nell knows he’s right. She’s meant to stay with him at all times- it’s her job, after all. But he’s more than safe here- she can come and go as she pleases while they’re in the confines of the Club or his office or even the 44 below. Sure, there’s more productive things she could do besides sit around and watch him as he thumbs through stacks of paper. But they’ve grown to enjoy each other’s company, so she stays.

After a moment he reaches to the nearby ashtray for his abandoned cigar and relights it, savoring the sweet smoke before handing it over to her. Nell takes it, fingertips brushing his for a moment before he pulls away, returning to his work. She takes a sip of her untouched and now very warm whisky before taking a hit and fuck, the tip of the cigar is wet from Oz’s mouth, and she wonders why the taste of him is making her head spin more than the actual tobacco.

For a while she just watches him and thinks. It’s been eight years since she was assigned as Oz’s bodyguard- thirteen since she started working for Maroni, and now Falcone. And yet in eight years she never expected her partnership with Oz to get to this point. The low glances and lingering touches over the years surely meant something, right? And for a moment her mind drifts to the early mornings after hours, sharing the loveseat in his office, entertaining him with stories about her time as a boxer while he files reports- a hand on her leg as he reaches to pour her another double of expensive bourbon-

“Nell.” Oz interjects with a swift snap of his fingers, and their gazes meet. He looks tired, warm eyes heavy-lidded with the exhaustion of having to deal with paperwork all night. “We gotta go.” Oz tilts his head toward the flashing light on the side table- Nell recognizes it as a summons to Falcone.

In a moment they’re making their way down the hall, music much more deafening than in Oz’s office. Nell steps into stride beside him- careful to make sure she isn’t moving too fast. Oz follows, giving a smile and a greeting to every person that recognizes him- which was almost everyone. Nell just keeps a straight face and makes sure no one gets too close for his comfort. She’s not sociable like Oz, and it makes her severely uncomfortable when a patron even recognizes her as his bodyguard.

Oz is amused by this, of course. He loves to keep an eye on her whenever they have to weave through the club. One wrong move and Nell’s there, shoulders squared and ready to beat someone half to death because they called him “Penguin.” He liked that about her. Even now as he greets a man who reaches for his hand, he can see Nell watching, shoulders relaxed and ready to strike. Their gazes meet for a moment before they continue on and fuck, he wishes he could catch them in that look more- eyes half-lidded and pupils blown.

Focus, Oz.

He can’t imagine what Falcone needs him for, but he hopes it’s quick- he enjoys getting to spend these nights with Nell in the privacy of his office. He enjoys letting her relax, even for a moment, and he wished there was more he could do to help her loosen up.

“Wait here, Hon, I won’t be long.” He assures Nell, who nods at him and takes a place leaning against the wall, opposite Carmine’s own bodyguard as Oz disappears behind the door.

“So, how’s the bird?” Zsasz asks, raising a brow at Nell. She rolls her eyes in response and says simply-

“Oblivious as ever.”

Nell and Zsasz didn’t see each other often- but often enough to enjoy the other’s company. Was he a friend? No. But he’s the only one she’d trust- besides a few of the showgirls- knowing about her situation with Oz. How over time their partnership grew from one of frustration and resentment, to that of close friends. Nell had told him how she felt about Oz- how she’d begun to feel toward him. How often she thought about his smile and his pet names and having his attention. Just thinking about it was making her feel warm.

Zsasz thought it was charming that they wanted to fuck their boss.

“You want me to talk some sense into him?” Zsasz offered. “Hey Oz! How long do you think it’s been since Nell got laid?” That earned him a hard knock on the shoulder.

“He would be appalled.” Nell states with a sneer, checking the hall to make sure no one could hear them and taking a step closer. Nell isn’t very tall- she and Oz are practically the same height- and yet Zsasz, deadly as he is, stands at easily a few inches shorter than her.

“Why don’t you just fucking talk to him then?” Zsasz asks, voice hushed. “It’s embarrassingly clear that you’re into each other.” he laughs.

Nell contemplates his words for a moment. She couldn’t just tell Oz though. She’d rather die than confess to her boss that she desired him in any way- let alone wanted to fuck his brains out. Her job was to protect him- a job that couldn’t allow distractions- and yet when they were apart, when Nell was in the confines of her own apartment, she thought of Oz. Imagining her hands were his, thinking of the way he speaks to her- the way he looks at her. She wanted so badly to just touch him, kiss him- she could feel herself flush at the thought of his hands on her waist and lips on her neck, tugging her impossibly close-

And Zsasz is right. Oz’s actions spoke volumes- anyone could see it. He wanted her close, even when he knew he was safe in the confines of the Lounge. He’d call her Doll and Sweetheart and Honey. He bought her three-piece suits and jewelry- a car- always saying she just “deserves something nice” for “watching his back.” In turn, he’d learned to pick up on when she was on edge or anxious, placing a hand on the small of her back or on her upper arm, whispering words of reassurance to her with a gold-toothed grin. He listened to her- he respected her. He didn’t treat her like just another member of fucking Security.

But did he think about her though? Did she occupy his thoughts in the early hours of the morning? Did he ever imagine his hands were hers, or sit in his office after sending her home and wonder what would happen if he asked her to stay? Nell wasn’t sure. And the fear of not knowing was enough excuse to keep quiet about it.

“Sounds like someone needs to intervene, Nellie.” Zsasz interrupts her thoughts with a low chuckle, and Nell scrunches her nose at the nickname. That wasn’t like him- and Nell is even more surprised when Zsasz reaches forward and places a hand on her hip. He leans in close and Nell moves quick to shove him away, grabbing him by the collar- but her back hits the wall and-

The door to Falcone’s office opens and Oz is greeted with Nell, face flushed, and Zsasz, clutching the lapels of her jacket as he leans up close to her against the hall.

It wasn’t a problem- he didn’t give a fuck who fraternized with whom, as long as it didn’t affect business. But Nell? Oz feels something pang in his chest at the sight of them in the arms of Zsasz, of all people. He wishes it were him- wishes Nell would dig their fists into his collar and pull him that close.

It’s not his fucking business who Nell decided to spend their time with, though. But maybe he’d been misreading them all these years- maybe they didn’t really feel anything for him outside the life of luxury and a fat paycheck.

“You good?” Oz says nonchalantly, as he gestures for her to join him back downstairs. But there’s venom in his words, and Nell feels absolutely mortified as she shoves Zsasz away, none too kindly. The man just chuckles and offers a near-silent “you’re welcome” as Nell walks away, taking up stride beside Oz.

The walk back to his office is different. Oz is tense. He doesn’t say hello or shake any hands- he just moves along at his usual pace, carving a path through the crowd of people with ease. It’s not hard for Nell to keep up with him, and as she follows she wonders what she’ll even say. She wonders what he must think of her.

Oz relights his cigar as soon as they reach the office, immediately taking a seat and picking up where he left off with his paperwork. Nell stands in the doorway for a moment- she really doesn’t know what to do. Oz loosens his tie, pulling it off after a moment and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, giving Nell a glimpse of the heavy gold chain he wore around his neck

“You gonna sit down? Because you’re more than welcome to go back upstairs and hang out with Zsasz.” Oz asks, and he doesn’t even look up at her. Nell sighs and makes her way around the table, taking a seat next to Oz. The loveseat is barely big enough for the two of them, and her arm brushes his for a moment as she sits back, smoothing her palms over her black suit pants.

“Oz-”

“I don’t need an explanation, Honey.” He says, calm as ever.

Nell doesn’t like this- she doesn’t want this. It’s been ten fucking minutes and he’s already giving her the cold shoulder? She wishes he’d be mad- she knows he wants to be. But he seems perfectly content accepting that she and Zsasz have something going on- and Nell’s heart deflates as she realizes he might just be used to being rejected. The music blasting from downstairs is too loud for her to even think. What should she do- what should she say-

“I’m not- I’m not interested in Zsasz, Oz.” she explains.

“Alright.” Oz brushes her off once again. “He didn’t seem like your type anyways.”

He’s absolutely not

“Oz-” Nell sighs, and he turns to her, relaxing a moment as he tosses down his papers and their eyes meet. He still looks exhausted but there’s something more to it. Nell opens her mouth to say something but quickly closes it again as she tenses her hands. What should she say? A moment of silence and he raises his eyebrows at her, expecting a response that will likely never come.

Oz studies Nell’s face as they think- their eyes practically sparkle with the reflection of the lights from the club downstairs and fuck, did they always have that many freckles? Dotting across their cheekbones and ears, a few disappearing under their open collar. They’re fucking stunning.

“Oz,” Nell’s voice wavers as he searches their face, and they sound nearly breathless. He’s so close they can smell his cologne and the smoke from his forgotten cigar makes their eyes water. She knows he wants this- knows he wants her. Nell isn’t good at talking, especially when it comes to something this personal but-

Fuck it

Ambivalently, Nell leans forward and kisses him. The feeling of Oz’s scar on her lips is unfamiliar but so comfortable, and she closes her eyes as Oz leans into her. He responds almost instantly, like he was waiting for them to make a move- and Nell’s head spins as large hands grab her waist, pulling her closer. She obliges, bringing her hands up to hold his face and deepening the kiss, their noses bumping awkwardly in their eagerness. Oz leans further into her even as she pulls away, and Nell stops him with a hand to his chest- reveling in the feel of his velvet jacket and dragging her hand down to settle on his side.

“Someone could see us-“ Nell warns with a gasp, as Oz leans into her. The lack of a door to his office wasn’t helping her anxiety, but she gave into him still- placing her arms over his shoulders and pulling him in to press a kiss to her neck.

Oz ignores her, continuing his ministrations as he snakes an arm around her waist, the other dipping low to grab at her soft thigh. Nell can’t fucking help herself as she turns, sliding into his lap, straddling his hips, and- fuck, sitting on him is immediately more comfortable. She’s been physically close to Oz before but this was something else. He’s so soft and warm, and Nell moans into his mouth as he kisses her again. They’re completely pressed against one another now, and Nell finds it hard to even breathe as she glides her tongue over Oz’s lower lip, smiling into the kiss as she bites down.

Oz takes that in turn and slides both palms to her hips, tugging her down to fully sit in his lap.

“Fuck, Doll, you feel what you’ve been doin’ to me?” He asks, voice hushed and breath heavy as Nell grinds down onto him. And she sighs as he rubs up right there- but it’s not enough. Nell lets out an embarrassing whine as her hands roam Oz’s chest, grabbing a fistful of his collar, working down a few more buttons.

Oz leans forward, moving Nell with him as he grabs at the back of their suit jacket, his opposite hand trailing up the inside of their leg and rubbing his fingertips hard into the apex of their thighs, gold teeth grazing their collarbone before taking a bite- hand moving up their back, around to palm their chest and-

“Oh fuck me- I forgot you’re strapped.”

Nell lets out a genuine laugh at that- tossing her head back as Oz swiftly pulls his hand away from her side-arm. With a smile on his face, Oz kisses her, hands settling on her waist as she removes her jacket and the holster under her arm. They separate again when she pulls it over her head, pausing for a moment to figure out just where to put it.

“You really wanna do this right now, Sweetheart?” Oz inquires, running a hand down her thigh. Still in his lap, Nell turns to place her side-arm on the nearby table before returning to him. Oz looks like a mess- he’s looking up at her with those warm eyes, half-lidded, breathing heavily as his hands clench at the soft flesh of her hips. Both his hair and collar are mussed, and Nell smiles at the thought of him looking this way just because of her.

“You really wanna wait for everyone to clear out?” Nell asks, looking at the clock. It’s only a little past midnight. As she does so, Oz untucks the back of her shirt and finally, finally, grazes a rough hand over her lower back- and Nell shudders, nearly letting out a moan as she arches into the touch, hips canting over him. Their movements are rushed- they both know someone could walk in at any moment- but the thought doesn’t stop either of their wandering hands moving to undress each other as little as they could.

It takes everything in Oz not to rip Nell’s shirt buttons clean off but he’s patient, he takes his time, and after a moment he’s rewarded with the open skin of her neck and chest as she unclasps the front of her binder- a reminder that she’s supposed to be working right now.

“Fuck-” Nell gasps as Oz sucks a dark mark into the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, tongue running over her skin before moving lower to leave another. All the while Nell reaches down and fumbles with his suspenders, earning a shuddering gasp as she impatiently palms him through his pants. He’s so fucking hard and pushing up into her hand as she pulls away. Oz watches, face flushed as Nell stands, shimmying out of their pants, and Oz focuses on the show of skin- thick thighs just asking for him to take a fucking bite- and for a moment Oz worries because there’s no way he’ll last if they just have their way with him on the couch in his office.

He’s infinitely more concerned for himself when Nell drops to their knees in front of him.

“Come here-” Nell nearly begs as she wraps her hands behind his knees and pulls- sliding his hips forward and letting him relax into the loveseat. Oz can hardly contain himself as she reaches up, working at the buttons of his pants.

“Nellie, I don’t wanna disappoint you Honey, but if you keep doing that I’m-” Oz’s sentence is cut short as she pulls him from his pants and just looks at him for a second, licking their lips and giving him an experimental squeeze before leaning forward and running her tongue up the underside. Oz throws his head back, a hand coming up to grab Nell’s hair as they suck the tip into their mouth, swirling their tongue over it, tasting him-

Fuck.

He stops Nell with a gasp- grabbing her face in both his hands to keep still, waiting a moment before he finally moves to look at her. She’s obedient as ever- looking up at him through thick eyelashes with their soft lips wrapped around him. Their eyes meet and Nell smirks, opening her mouth just enough to let their tongue loll out and lick across the base as she takes him deeper, and Oz gasps, pulling her off him with a pop.

Nell moves up to kiss Oz desperately. He tastes like whisky and vanilla and it’s intoxicating- and it’s Oz’s turn to let out a near-moan when Nell pulls away and spits onto him before reaching down and coating it with a gentle stroke of her hand.

“How long’s it been since someone took care of you, Honey?” Oz practically purrs, hands sliding under Nell’s thighs to move them forward so they’re kneeling over him again. He takes a moment to feel their curves, palms gliding over their thighs and giving a squeeze before moving further. Oz palms the small of her back as his fingers ghost over her, swiping through the slick between her legs.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this? How much I wanna fucking spoil you?” Oz’s voice is barely above a whisper, lips brushing their sternum as he slides a thick finger into them, and Nell lets out a shameless moan as he presses forward until she’s grabbing at his shoulders for support as she hovers over his lap. Oz takes that opportunity to suck a mark into the soft skin of her chest as he pulls out, adding a second finger and fucking growling at how tight she is. He moves to another spot on her chest then, biting her hard as he fucked her slowly, curling his fingers into her. Nell expected to be humiliated by Oz’ enthusiasm but being at the center of his attention was- hot.

“You’re so fucking wet, Sweetheart.” Oz croons, pressing a kiss to her throat. It’s too much- feeling the drag of his tongue and teeth over her pulse as his thick fingers stretch her open. His other hand moves to rub circles into her peak, the feel of the ice-cold chain around his wrist burning her warm thigh. Nell can’t help but whine his name as she comes fast, grabbing the back of the loveseat as she shudders, knees shaking and breath unsteady. And Oz, goddamn him, is smiling up at her, flashing that gold-toothed grin as he uses his fingers to fuck her through it before bringing his hand up and tasting her.

“Fuck, Oz, please-“ Nell chokes out, grinding against him. He’s still so hard- how could he not be- and he can’t possibly say no to them- not when they’re begging to take him for a ride. He doesn’t even bother with his pants- pulling them only halfway down his thighs before guiding Nell’s hips, fingers biting into them as they slide down and fuck. They’re so tight and warm as he pushes in and- Oz can’t find the words to tell Nell to stop as they take him to the fucking hilt- so he just grips their hips tighter, keeping them still while he’s fully inside them.

Nell whines, canting her hips, and Oz’ eyes roll back at the feeling. He knows she’s stronger than him- he knows she could move his hands away and fuck him right if she really wanted, but she’s holding back for him, and Oz finds it so endearing.

Nell can’t hold back for long though, and after a moment he lets her lift her hips, pulling nearly off him before sliding back down- and Oz is seeing stars, hands roaming as she sets a pace before resting on the curve of her back. Nell looks at him and gloats as she takes in his expression, eyes shut and trying desperately to concentrate as she bounces in his fucking lap. He fits her perfectly, and she’s never felt so- so full before. She angles her hips forward, grinding into him, letting out a gasp as he brushes up right there, and Oz moans into her neck, biting down on her once more.

“Jesus, fuck, Oz I’m-“ Nell tries to warn him but she can’t seem to form words as she comes again, thighs squeezing Oz’s hips as she chases the high- his hands grabbing hard enough to bruise as he drags her to meet his hips. She’s hot and wet and gripping him like a vice, and he knows he isn’t going to last much longer with her continuing to ride him through it, unwavering.

Oz doesn’t ask where she wants it- he’s too caught up in the way she’s whining on top of him as she comes, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He loves seeing her like this- his fucking personal guard, all rough and intimidating, falling apart in his arms as they come with his name on their lips.

“Good girl- good fuckin’ girl-“ Oz praises, pulling Nell down onto his hips as he finishes, moaning against their skin as he just fucking fills them, reveling in the feel of his spend leaking out, coating him, dripping onto the couch below. It takes Oz a second to even remember where they are- the loud music and flashing lights now much more evident from downstairs. Nell looks spent, a thin sheen of sweat glossing their skin and a concerned look on their face.

“Was that okay, I-“ she starts, but Oz interrupts her by pulling her toward him, their lips meeting in a surprisingly gentle gesture. Nell hums as he pulls away, hand remaining on their face as the other smooths over the blooming bruises on their thigh.

“Jesus, Nellie, look at you-“ Oz starts, brushing a thumb over an angry, red bite mark on her neck. For a moment they just look at each other before Nell takes a breath, smoothing her hands over his chest and relaxing into his lap.

“I can’t believe you’d think I have something going on with Zsasz.” Nell chastises, earning a chuckle from Oz. She leans in and kisses his cheek, a hand on his face, before sliding off him and tugging on her boxers while Oz straightens himself out. Their silence is awkward- at least to Nell- and she worries about what to do now as she buttons her shirt, pulls her pants on, retrieves her side arm from the table-

“I don’t think I need to tell you this-“ Oz starts, and he’s practically back to normal when Nell turns to him, hair and tie straightened out and shirt only slightly disheveled. He’s reaching for one of the decanters under the table as he talks, and Nell panics about what he might have to say.

“If this isn’t okay we can just-“ She can’t stop herself from interrupting.

“Doll, you have no idea how long I’ve had eyes for ya’.” Oz surprises her with his words. Sure, she’s known for a while that there was attraction between them but the thought of them being serious? She figured Oz could never entertain the idea. “I’d just prefer it if Falcone didn’t find out about us.”

Nell smiles genuinely before looking down to hide their face as they fix their tie, and Oz stands then, retrieving Nell’s jacket from the floor and allowing her to put it on. He reaches forward, straightens out their collar and smooths down their lapels before their eyes meet.

“I’m bad at this, Oz.” Nell whispers, bringing her hands up to grab his jacket- just to hold onto him somehow.

“I don’t care if you’re bad at it, Honey- we’ll just be real quiet about it when Carmine’s around.” and Nell takes a moment to admire the way he smiles at her before leaning in to kiss him. This time there’s no rush to it- no desperation in the way they pull each other close- and Nell smiles against his lips as she wraps her arms around him.

“I can do that, Boss.”

#oz cobblepot x oc #oz cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x oc #oswald cobblepot x reader #the penguin x oc #the penguin x reader #oz cobblepot #oswald cobblepot #just shut up and let me fuck this old man #if you know me in real life no you don't #nan writes #20220 penguin #the batman penguin

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criticalfiics · 2 years

Text

The fighter and the healer

Pairing: Orym X M! Reader Warnings/Disclaimers: Uses masc terms and descriptors, Reader is a paladin devoted to Sehanine, no reader race specified other than you being taller than Orym/a halfling but shorter than Fearne. Rating: Sfw, little angsty Multi part: maybe, idk yet Premise: The group takes on an extra healer to help manage the party better.

Nestled in your rented shop you were busy tidying it before heading out for the evening. You had only been in this town for a few weeks, making your living before you headed off once again to who knows where. For a while you had been a traveling doctor of sorts, taking up residence in various towns for weeks to months at a time. Your skills were somewhat scarce in Jrusar, as well as most of the other places you traveled, so you were able to make plenty of coin this way. This had been your way of life in the years after you took your oaths, avoiding conflict in place of serving by providing aid instead. What made you so appealing to weary travelers or the cities' residents were your reasonable prices. Compared to most career healers you were practically giving away your services. Your potions were top notch and barely five gold, alchemy materials were gathered daily and sold for a fraction of the typical cost. Everything about your business was desirable to a wide variety of folk ranging from single mothers with sick children to thugs who didn’t want to deal with any questions. Of course you used your medical training more than your goddess given powers. You knew better than to flaunt a gift with magic to the broader public, especially healing or resurrection magic, so to most you were just a kind doctor selling their services and wares for far too cheap. The city you were currently stationed in was just a small town on the path to the spires, resting on the edge of Jrusar. They didn’t have many clinics or physicians of their own so you fit in well and had been pulling in ample coin from travelers. Today had been a busy one as many passed through your business to stock up on goods or get advice as they went on their ways. Your healing items were dangerously low with not a single healing potion on your shelf and a scarce amount of bandages elsewhere. It was perfectly fine to be out of stock this late in the day and you were currently in the process of closing so it didn’t really matter, you’d be stocked back up by the next time you opened anyways. As you tucked away some scraps of herbs there was a rapid pounding coming from your front door. It wasn’t unusual for someone to get in a pinch and need your services but you were clearly closed. Before you could call out to whomever was awaiting your help you heard muffled voices laced with panic. “Are you absolutely sure they’ll help?” A thick accent fluttered through your ears that you recognized as that of a farm girl. “They have to,” the other voice was rough, grumbly, annoyed, desperate; all things you were used to hearing from customers.

“They aren’t even open Ashton, why are we here?!” The girl snapped at the other just as you pulled open the door. Six stood before you with a Seventh cradled in a genasi’s arms. The group was diverse but you’d seen crazier however the faun was a bit more unusual but still not too out there. A purple haired woman looked surprised as the genasi stepped past her, their face carrying a silent plea.

“I’m sorry I know you’re closed but you are the only person in town who can help,” you matched the second voice to him, it still carrying its roughness but also a tinge of sadness. “He’s in rough shape we just need him out of the woods and conscious.” “I can do that,” not even taking a moment to think you responded, fully confident in your abilities. “Bring him over to the cot and give me any healing items you have then run me through what happened.” As he obeyed your orders you saw your patient. A halfling in homely armor that was tinged a deep red. He looked rough, his breathing shallow and body splattered with bruises and blood. You were taking vitals the moment he was placed down as well as locating the worse of his wounds. Nothing had been passed your way so you cast a quick look at the group, “You don’t have anything do you?” “No,” The purple haired woman who you could now identify as the farm girl spoke up as the others shared looks of worry. “We used it all to get him here, I’m sorry.” “That’s alright,” Compassion flooded the room as you spook, their frowns softening only slightly. “I have a stashed away first aid kit under the counter, can you grab it for me?” with a nod she sped off, grabbing said kit and running it to you side before taking her place sat there. “So, what happened?” Starting by removing his armor carefully, each motion done with care as to not agitate any wounds. You were focused as she started talking, nodding along to her story. “We were just on our way back, we weren’t doing that great but we thought we could make it without things gettin’ bad again.” She was calmer than most in this situation yet you could tell her hands shook as she fiddled with them in her lap. “Something attacked us, I-i don’t know what it was but it came out of nowhere.” Voice wavering she blinked away tears as she looked away from her injured friend to the others. You had found the worst of the injuries, that being a large set of slashes on his torso. What you had wouldn’t be enough even if you worked carefully. If you had a potion you could at least get him to a workable point but with only a pitiful pile of gauze and some suture martials he was a goner. Cleaning the wound with an attentive eye you did your best to keep the group unaware to you dismay but someone shifting behind filled you with unease. “Orym took most of the hits for us, he kept us from getting hurt too bad.” Motioning to her own arm she showed a few scratches and some bruising, nothing a bit of rest wouldn’t fix, barely a fraction of the damage he had. “Before we knew it he was down and losing a lot of blood. We grabbed him and ran until we got here then we asked around to see if anyone could help and someone pointed us here so Ashton booked it over.” Losing her composure a few drops feel from her eyes onto her shorts. From the corner of your eye you saw the faun eyeing you closely, watching you as you aimlessly cleaned him up in hopes of figuring out a way to manage this without disappointing them.

“He is very very rough,” you spoke honestly, lifting your hands from him to look at them. “I don’t have a lot, there isn’t much I can do.” “But you can do something right?” the faun spoke, her voice young but filled with hope. Her face scrunched up while her hands found themselves balled up on her chest, “yo-you have to, he’s our friend, our best friend, please.” A gnomish man gave her a pat on the leg as she tried to get the words out, choking on them as you looked at them solemnly.

“Please, we will pay or give you anything you want.” The genasi fidgeted as they spoke. “We don’t want to lose him just, fuck, please man.” His volume increased as he threw his arms down to his side, running hands across stone hair not long after. With a nod you breathed in, readying yourself. Using your magic wasn’t ideal. It was incredibly taxing on you and to make it worth it you’d have to push yourself further than you’d like. Saying a silent prayer to your god your hands found his chest, just above his fading heart beat. Casting cure wounds as strongly as you could you closed your eyes, silently focusing. Energy swelled in your body before leaving it, moving into his and leaving you drained. Come on, breath, please breath. You weren’t entirely sure if you were saying it to yourself or him, maybe both were true at this moment. A shaky breath lifted his chest followed by a gasp. Heartbeat stabilizing, he took more shaky breaths, his friends rushing to his side as you sat back and took one of your own. Your body ached and you felt more tired than you’d been in weeks but it was worth it. Smiles covered their faces as they hugged their friend, him passing his own back as he sat up. The faun hugged him tightly to which he winced at, patting her head as she released him. It was a sweet scene and reminded you as to why you did this. Even if it drained you of every drop of power you had you wanted to help, even if it just meant raising someone's odds and that seems to be what you had done. “Thank you thank you thank you,” The faun crashed into you, her hair blinding you as it fell over your face. Despite seeming incredibly dainty she was a force of a woman, nearly taking your off your chair while she squeezed the life out of you. “Easy on him Fearne,” your now fully coherent patient smiled as he watched her pout before letting you go, a hand petting your head as she stood back up. “Thank you friend.” His smile was warm and kind as he looked at you in appreciation. The others followed and gave their own thanks, some mumbled some loud, it was all the same to you. “It’s fine, it’s what I do.” You shrugged before standing, stretching in hopes of working the soreness out of your body. Moving across the room to tuck away the barely used first aid kit you addressed the group, “So, you seven got a place to stay?” Sheepish looks passed across the group before the purple haired woman stood and spoke up.

“No, but we should be able to find something, you’ve already done so much for us,” Waving her hand dismissively she looked back at Orym. “We might need a few minutes to just collect ourselves then we will be out of your hair.” “Its fine,” you lazily looked at her, sleep already creeping its way into you. “I’ve got some spare space and blankets, besides it’s probably best if you stick around until hero here makes it through the night.” Orym flushed at the nickname with some of the group sharing small laughs and poking fun at him. They reluctantly agreed after some nagging from Orym and Fearne then introduced themselves to you before getting set up for bed. Final thank yous were sent your way as you took your own place on a couch in your main shop area, sleeping on and off through the night while checking on Orym.

When morning came you gave the group some look overs while primarily focusing on Orym. Your magic had helped kick start his bodies healing process well enough that he just had some fresh scars covering his chest. To say the group was grateful was an understatement as they tried to shove various forms of payment at you. Each you turned down kindly, not wanting payment for saving someone’s life using your last ditch effort. It was then that their automaton spoke up. “You said you travel a lot right?” He sounded similarly to Imogen but much more upbeat, his quirky little voice filling the shop as he wheeled in front of you. “Well why don’t you travel with us? You’re good with medicine and after the past couple days I think we could use a little more help, right guys?” Turning to his friends they looked between each other before nodding as if they were seeking validation before agreeing. “I don’t know,” You had never traveled with a group before not for lack of trying. A lot of adventures needed a heal machine that could patch them up for fights which, while it fit what you enjoyed doing, was not exactly what you were looking for. You didn’t want to be used for just your skill or magic so people could save a quick buck. “Why would you need another healer? You said you can heal FCG and you said Fearne could as well.” Crossing your arms you looked at them with a raised brow, waiting to see how they responded. “Well you are a lot moooore rational under stress,” Laudna played with her hair as she batted her eyes at you nervously. “And we would pay you of course, after all what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t split the cut?” She spoke as if it was common sense, everyone nodding in agreement. “Friends?” You asked mostly out of confusion. The cut of profits did sound appealing and would probably be a lot more money than what you had been doing a lot faster however you were still cautious. “I mean if we travel together we are friends or at least i'd like to be,” FCG wheeled between his friends as they gathered their things. “We could always not be friends but i don’t think that’d be very nice.” With seven set of eyes placed on you expectantly you could only sigh, “Fine, let me get my things then we can go. It might take a second, i’ve got a lot to sort through.” “We have a hole you can put it in!” Fearne said cheerfully as she reached into her cleavage. “You have a what?” Your alarm was silenced as she pulled out a black piece of fabric before placing it on the ground. As a show Ashton stuck his hammer into the hole before pulling it out, showing it was indeed a sort of pocket dimension for storing things. Despite the strangeness of the situation you complied with your new team, hoping this would not be the start of many more questionable decisions.

#cr orym #orym of the air ashari #orym x reader #critical role #critical role campaign 3 #cr 3 #i hope this finds you well friend

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shitpostingkats · 2 years

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Organization XIII, ranked by their titles

Roxas: The Key of Destiny Nice and epic. The good double meaning that he wields the key, yet also is the key to the organization plans, turned and manipulated to unlock a door with no will of his own. The organization sees him as the key to their destiny, but really, Roxas is the key and the bearer, and through his arc, learns to be the keeper of his own fate. 1000/10

Demyx: The Melodious Nocturne Rolls off the tongue in a pleasant way. You might think, “what the heckity is a nocturne? It sounds cool as heck.” Well, a nocturne is (what a surprise), a musical term. But specifically, it is a word used in both art and music, to describe a piece evocative of night. A cool sounding term for a fantasy character that, when you google it, actually means something interesting and thematically relevant? what a rarity/10

Larxene: The Savage Nymph Now, the usage of ‘nymph’ might take some points off this one, being more befitting a character with nature powers, like Marluxia. Or, she could be using nymph in the more entomological definition, meaning young insect, like a wasp or a hornet, something with a bit more ‘sting’ to it. The real confusion of the second part keeps her from the top slot, but the delicious zeugma of the first half makes up for it. #savage/10

Axel: Fury of the Dancing Flames Ooh. What a wonderful epithet. There’s such a nice prose to it, not found in any other members of the evil squad. On top of that, it covers all the bases that we as the audience need to know about Axel. What is he? Angy. How will he express that? Fire. Like, boring, non-dancing fire? Nope. Sick-as-hell dancing fire. Axel should get to dance too tho/10

Xaldin: The Whirlwind Lancer I’ll say, I tried to keep personal opinions of the characters out of this ranking. It’s pure coincidence that some of my favorites have the dopest names. And nothing proves that more than Xaldin’s placement here. Do I like this man? Nah. But, I have to admit, his bossfight in Two is really artful. Someone had to sit down and ask themselves “How do we make the wind intimidating?” And their core concept started with a whirlwind, lances, and terrible sideburns. The sideburns didn’t make it into the name, and thank the stars for that. But the rest is very nicely menacing. 7/10

Xemnas: Superior of the In-Between Another name that says what it does on the tin. Xemnas is constantly getting referred to as “The Superior” instead of everyone just calling him “boss” like a normal person. It’s got more than a hint of over-dramatic edginess to it. But that is one of the reasons we love Kingdom Hearts. Same thing goes for the audacity Xemans has to call him realm “The In-Between”, which sounds way better than “Our neo-neo-gothic nightmare pocket dimension with Escher-esque skyscraper clipping” drama queen/10

Zexion: The Cloaked Schemer “Cloaked” and “Schemer” describe approximately 90% of the organization. It’s like if your job description at the office was “Guy who has hair and opinions”. Zexion isn’t even the schemer-iest egg in the carton! Fine name in most other evil friendgroups, just not this one. come on Zexion you can do better than this/10

Vexen: The Chilly Academic I really appreciate that, despite roughly 4/13ths of this emo dream team having a background in science, Vexen is the academic. No one else. Nope, not even those three other guys who worked in the same lab as you. Nah Vexen, science is your thing, we’re not gonna step on your gimmick. Like we’ve come to expect, 'Chilly’ here pulls double duty as both a literal descriptor of his powers and a more metaphorical adjective about the villains temperament. Though, I don’t know it you can in good faith call someone who spends so much of his screen time either shrieking or giggling “chilly”. 5/10

Saix: The Luna Diviner You know, I always thought Saix’s title was the lunar diviner, but nope, I’m looking at the wiki right now. It says Luna. Which kinda cuts the pacing of the title right through the gut. I much prefer his japanese title, Demonic Dancing In The Moon, which has the benefit of 1) Matching with Axel, and 2) Being metal as hell. Also, diviner??? When has Saix ever delivered a single prediction in the entirety of the series, other than the usually correct “I am going to go absolutely apeshit now”, which any good scientist will know, is a variable controlled by the tester and thus, suffers greatly from confirmation bias. moon moon/10

Luxord: The Gambler of Fate Most of these epithets follow a very simple pattern; adjective, what-they-bring-to-the-company. Roxas breaks the rules because he’s important, Xemnas does it because he’s the CEO, and Axel does it because he is simply The Best Boy. But nowhere, in any game we have received so far, is there reason to believe Luxord is special enough to similarly defy the mold. We didn’t even know how his regular name was pronounced until kh3!!! Luxord smacks of someone who doesn’t know how much of a background character he really is. I mean, come on, the gambler of fate? Mi amigo, you show up twice and keel over to a child beating you at go-fish. We’re not exactly dealing with the grand machinations of the cosmos here. Nomura, if you give me reason to, I will consider adjusting this rank/10

Xigbar: The Freeshooter Again with shirking conventions! However, I will give credit where credit is due, Xigbar seems to have the narrative weight to deserve it. Which is where my actual complaint comes in: you go out of your way to stand out from the pack, and the best you can come up with is freeshooter? Boring. No pizazzle, no flamboyant adjectives, just blunt as lead and twice as clunky. Man is a hundreds year old ceiling dwelling sniper with an eyepatch and a surfer accent, there’s gotta be something more interesting than freeshooter. Xigbar I had such high hopes for you/10

Marluxia: The Graceful Assassin Graceful, I’ll give you. No one goes harder on the pastel instagram aesthetic than Marluxia. But ‘assassin’ seems a weird choice. Especially for the guy who was put in charge of hiring new assets (Sora) to the Council of Depressed Queers. That is literally the opposite of assassinating. I mean, Axel’s killed like three of his coworkers, and this femme king gets to be called the assassin? I’m sorry my gay, but pink glitter and a weird mech does not instantly make you a bringer of death. let Marluxia commit homicide/10

Lexaeus: The Silent Hero/The Taciturn Stalwart Dude has a completely different title in Remix and no one noticed because he’s just that Boring. 0/10

#kingdom hearts #kh #essays #rankings #rambles #organization xiii #organization 13

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chaos-burst · 4 years

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questions and answers

He had meant to be rude. And it had not worked even a little bit. Eodwulf is sure that anyone else would have been offended. Hell, he’s even sure that the other members of this weird group were absolutely offended on behalf of their friend. But Eodwulf can’t say he has ever met a person like this.

There was no malice, no ill intent, no anger.

When you work with Trent you have to be aware of every little shift in the mood. The slightest twitch of an eyebrow can mean the weather is about to turn foul. Eodwulf knows what to look out for. It had been his intent to rev this weirdo up and it had backfired spectacularly.

Damn.

No meat. No booze. And balls of steel, apparently. Eodwulf had never seen anyone talk to Trent like that. And while Bren‘s—Caleb‘s—words of wanting to kill Trent outright had been more than Eodwulf would ever admit to his mentor, it somehow felt less crazily reckless than to call Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence for the Cerberus Assembly and one of the most powerful mages in the Empire, a fucking fool.

To his face. With a smile. In a complete sincere manner.

Eodwulf doesn’t want to replay the words in his head over and over again but his dumb brain has latched onto them and he can’t stop. Only this time it’s not one of Trent’s lessons that forces him to obsessively repeat something until you have internalized it to the point where you can cite it in your sleep.

No.

“Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people.“

Eodwulf has it on repeat in his head the whole way back to the tower and it is still going when he lies down hours later to sleep.

“What are you“ had not been meant as a serious question when Eodwulf had asked it. But by the time he finally falls asleep he feels like it has become a very vital question indeed, because who or what would dare to speak to Master Trent Ikithon in a way like this with an honest smile on their face.

Because for some reason his thoughts have decided to betray him, Eodwulf’s brain makes his tongue and lips form the words again when they see the Mighty Nein the next time. This time, Astrid and Eodwulf have been invited to dinner—Trent has very specifically not been invited, you could say he was uninvited with quite a few flowery words in a strange accent.

And as soon as Eodwulf sees Caduceus he remembers the weirdly polite scratching of a chair, the wide smile that indicates that this is a person Eodwulf possibly can not force to lose their composure through careful placed rudeness. And his mouth betrays him.

“So. What are you, really?“

Caduceus blinks mildly surprised before his unfamiliar features shift into a warm smile that has Eodwulf feel quite a lot of inappropriate things he didn’t expect to find in a place like this.

“Gardener. Maker of fine tea. A decent cook. Keeper of graves“, Caduceus lists of and he uses his long fingers to count the things that are important to him about himself.

“Very powerful cleric“, Jester chimes in from the right. She has Astrid next to her in a chair and Eodwulf is pretty sure that Jester has started to put flowers in Astrid’s hair. But surely he must be mistaken. Who in the Nine Hells are these crazy people?

“Oh, yeah. Well, that too, I suppose“, Caduceus says, his smile still warm like honeyed wine.

“Huh“, Eodwulf says because he can’t for the life of him think of something else to say. But Caduceus is yet again pulling out a chair for him so Eodwulf straightens his shoulders and sits down next to Caduceus. Across the table from him the angry one throws herself into a chair and stares at him.

There’s no fear there either, but she can be easily angered, something Eodwulf is good at. He gives her a canine smile and she holds up her middle finger.

This group is full of people with an enormous lack of self preservation.

And they are so loud.

Eodwulf almost doesn’t hear it when Caduceus turns to him to ask him a question.

“Huh?“, he says again, like a fool.

“And what are you, was what I wanted to know“, Caduceus says, his lazy grin open and honest. There is no malice in his words. He actually wants to know.

Eodwulf thinks “Murderer, wizard, protégé, spy“ but he doesn’t say any of these things. “Maker of graves“ comes to mind, but it seems like too dark of a joke to make.

“Enthusiastic about both meat and booze“, he says in the end and Caduceus laughs.

“Yeah, as are most of my friends.“

The implication these words bring is probably only in Eodwulf’s mind but it makes him swallow and look away to find Astrid’s eyes. But Astrid now has pink flowers in her hair and a look of absolute confusion on her face as Jester rattles of compliment after compliment about various of Astrid’s features.

Eodwulf can’t help but look at Bre—Caleb. And he sees that there is a soft, barely noticeable smile on his old friend’s face as he watches the scene unfold.

What am I, indeed, he thinks.

Trent’s orders have been clear. Get close to the group called the Mighty Nein to find out what they are working on with Lady Vess DeRogna.

Eodwulf allows himself to think that Caduceus might have been right. Maybe Master Ikithon is indeed a fool.

Because being in the presence of these people is like nothing Eodwulf has ever experienced and it makes him think, wonder, question—

“Here we are again“, Caduceus says after, yet again, Astrid and Eodwulf have been invited for dinner. Eodwulf wonders if this group just wants to make it very easy to spy on them, or if they have an agenda of their own—but it’s hard to believe that there might be any coherent agenda behind anything these people do.

He has watched the buff one called Yasha try and play what looked like a harp made of bone and when the angry one, Beau, told her that she looked hot playing the harp Yasha had torn two of the strings which had led to a whole scene of apologies and various tries to fix the harp.

Jester has drawn dicks on pretty much every surface this magical mansion has and she delights in the fact that Caleb brings the dicks to life in various colors. At some point he made glowing sparkles shoot out of one of the dicks Jester had drawn and Jester had laughed as if this was the best joke she had ever witnessed.

Eodwulf notices Astrid’s eyes on Jester.

Eodwulf also notices that while there seems to be no agenda or efficiency behind anything, they are still being watched.

Beau and Fjord look at them. And Eodwulf is pretty sure Caduceus watches everything as well, but he does it without crossing his arms and glaring so much.

“Looks like it”, he answers. Caduceus offers him tea and Eodwulf’s first instinct is to decline, but then he remembers that “maker of fine tea” had been very high on the list of descriptors so he takes the cup he is offered while somewhere in the background people start screaming something that sounds like “FLUFFERNUTTER”.

Eodwulf tries the tea. He’s not a fan of tea, but this tea is absolutely delicious and he finds himself impressed.

“I believe this one comes from the Hollburns’ graves. Those remains made the tea grow quite fast, it was impressive.”

Eodwulf blinks at his tea and then at Caduceus. For a second his brain wonders if this statement should register as a threat, but it had been delivered with such honest delight and a sense of pride that Eodwulf discards that feeling.

“What?”, he asks. Caduceus points at the tea.

“Oh, well, my family grows tea on those graves we’re keeping. In case you wanted to ask me again what I am. Or—hm, I think I already mentioned that I am a keeper of graves?”

Caduceus trails off and looks thoughtful and Eodwulf stares at him.

“Keeper of Graves. That make you a follower of the Matron?”, he asks.

Caduceus looks at him and smiles.

“Not quite. My family serves Melora. But we are descended from a champion of the Raven Queen.”

Eodwulf can’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird joke. But his goddess usually isn’t one for joking.

Eodwulf considers for a second, then he pulls out the raven feather pendant from under his cloak.

Caduceus nods. “So”, he says and smiles widely. “What are you?”

Eodwulf snorts.

“For real?”, he says.

Caduceus’ smile widens.

“For real.”

It feels like this has become a sort of game.

“What are you?”

“Moral compass. Middle sibling. Eccentric. Amateur flute player.”

Eodwulf finds that through this question he himself posed the first time, he’s been forced to think more about himself than he feels comfortable with.

“What are you?”

“Decent chess player. Dog person. Sportsman. Only child.”, are the things he says out loud.

“Self-made orphan. Patriot. Volstrucker. Torturer.”, are the things he thinks to himself.

Eodwulf has the impression that Caduceus is somehow aware of the things he doesn’t say.

“So. This is the crew you’re running with now?”, Eodwulf asks Bre—Caleb one night before the Mighty Nein will leave with Vess DeRogna to who-knows-where. Neither Astrid nor Eodwulf did get very far with their planned infiltration work. Eodwulf is not even sure how hard they even tried.

It’s very easy to get swept away by the chaos and the weirdness and the complete lack of fear that the group displays when it comes to him and Astrid. They are dangerous people in a lot of ways.

The Mighty Nein are also dangerous people in a very different way. A way that Eodwulf doesn’t know anything about.

“This is my family, ja.”

He says it, just like that, without looking at Eodwulf.

Family.

The word tastes bitter in Eodwulf’s mouth as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“Weird people”, he says. Caleb huffs.

“You can say that, yes. But they grow on you very quickly”, he answers quietly and with a small, fond smile that makes something inside Eodwulf ache. For a long time Eodwulf pitied Bren for breaking, for not making it, for failing, for being locked away and discarded. Now he realizes that maybe, in a very macabre sort of way, Bren becoming Caleb through failure was the better end of the bargain.

It feels blasphemous to think that.

“The pink one is especially weird”, Eodwulf finds himself saying and he takes a big swig of whiskey from his flask before handing it to Caleb.

“Ja, I noticed that you seem to have a... uh... particular kind of interest in him. And, if I may add, he in you.”

Eodwulf takes the flask back after Caleb drinks. He contemplates the different sorts of feelings inside his gut as the words sink in. Then he tucks it all away very carefully, just as he learned through many years of being in Trent’s presence.

“Still don’t know what he is”, Eodwulf says. Caleb snorts and shakes his head.

“His people are called Firbolg”, he provides.

“Not sure that’s what I mean. Not anymore, at least.”

It seems dangerous to admit that. Caleb turns his head and looks at Eodwulf with a shimmer in his eyes that Eodwulf can’t read. Many years ago he was able to read Bren like an open book, but Caleb is another book entirely.

“You deserve to have some nice things, you know. You deserve friends. A chance of—hm. A chance of peace. A chance for redemption, if you want it.”

Eodwulf gets up and tugs away his flask.

“Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people. Pain is inconsequential, it’s love that saves them.”

Eodwulf understands the truth in these words now. Bren was broken, Caleb is being healed. Eodwulf doesn’t think that there’s anything left in him that can be saved. Or should be saved.

“Good luck on your journey tomorrow. Don’t die”, Eodwulf says and he leaves Caleb behind.

What are you, he thinks. A sentimental fool.

Astrid sits next to him on one of the balconies of her house and looks up at the stars above them. The Mighty Nein have been gone for six days and it has been very quiet.

They sit in silence and share a bottle of whiskey, passing it back and forth instead of words. It’s been like this for many many years that they’ve allowed themselves to just be. Today though, Astrid breaks the silence.

“I’m going to be the one who kills him.”

She says it quietly, without remorse, without indicating that this is a scandalous statement. She says it just how other people would say “I’ll go to bed soon.”.

Eodwulf stops breathing for just a moment. Then he inhales the cool night air and turns his head to look at her.

“Could kill you for treason”, he says. She looks at him and cocks her head slightly, the analyzing gaze of a murderous spy meets its equal in silence.

“I’d love to see you try”, she says. Eodwulf grins. It feels reckless.

“Don’t die”, he says, the same thing he’s said to Caleb before. Astrid regards him for a long moment and Eodwulf takes another sip. “Will you help me or try to stop me?”

Eodwulf considers this for a moment. Would he try to stop Astrid should she try to kill Trent? No. Would he help her? He doesn’t know that either.

“Can’t you just wait for Bren to do it for you?”

“I won’t lose to him again.”

Eodwulf snorts.

Always so competitive.

“That’s some fucked up shit, Astrid.”

“Shut up, Arschloch.”

Eodwulf grins before getting up to stretch. He puts his hands on the railing of Astrid’s balcony and wonders what Caleb’s new family is up to.

Making a new family never came to mind before. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale. While he contemplates the question whether he would help Astrid kill Trent Ikithon, a slow, familiar voice pops up in his head.

“Hey. Uh—Jester told me to send you an update. We’re still alive. Hope you’re good. Got a new question for you. What will you become?”

The rustling of Astrid’s clothes as she stands up as well somehow tells him that she received a message in her head as well. She steps beside him and puts her hands on the railing next to his.

“They’re persistent”, she says quietly.

Eodwulf nods and inhales.

He doesn’t know what he will become. He didn’t even know that was a question to be asked. The path is clear. It always was.

Pain doesn’t make people.

“Not going to answer?”, she wants to know.

“Don’t have an answer yet.”

It’s unclear to him whether she means her own question or the message Caduceus just sent him.

He answers the sending spell with a simple “I don’t know.”. It takes a few minutes before another message comes in.

“That’s good. Uncertainty is good. It’s the first step in a better direction. I’m going to kill a dragon now. Wish me luck. Good night.”

“I’ll keep you posted on the answer to that question of yours. I’ll see you tomorrow”, he says and leaves Astrid behind on the balcony. Eodwulf thinks about something he hasn’t thought about in a very long time. A priestess in his Matron’s temple once told him: “Death is the only certainty in life.”.

He thinks that Caduceus would agree.

And Eodwulf hopes that the next time he sees that weird, reckless man, he’ll have an answer for him.

#cadwulf #blumengrove #caduceus clay #critfic #critical role #eodwulf #cr spoilers #fanfiction #caduceus #text #screeching into the void #this got a bit out of hand #but i just wanted to get some stuff out of my system

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nolanell · 3 years

Text

Apartment 9: Writer Wednesday September 8th 2021

Writer Wednesday: @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) x Female Reader

Length: 2.8K

Warnings: Mention of divorce, being a single parent, brief consideration of being a woman alone in a big city. A lot of this takes place in a lift. Allusion to an age gap (not a big one, and reader is of age). Aside from being female and other characters describing her as pretty, there are no other descriptors of the reader. There is one kiss described, but no other physical intimacy.

Author's Note: My first ever Writer Wednesday submission! I hope you enjoy. I have read a few soft and fluffy things for Max Lord recently and he's just been in my head. Inspiration struck me with this week's prompt and I just went with it!

You didn’t know much about the man who lived down the hall. What you did know, you didn’t know if you could fully believe as a lot of it was snippets of lift gossip you had heard as you went to and from your apartment to the ground floor. That didn’t seem reliable, or like it would be particularly kind in the way it painted a picture. But if this gossip was to be believed, he had recently lost everything except his son, who he loved dearly. Essentially, he had made some bad decisions and was now paying for them.

You hadn’t seen him in person yourself until he had been there about six months. It so happened he was running for the lift and you held the door for him. You didn’t know who he was at first.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled softly as he stepped in.

You smiled back.

‘Have you… have you lived here long?’ he asked.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the question, but you couldn’t be too careful, a woman living on your own in the big city.

‘I- I just meant I’ve been here six months and we’ve not met before,’ he explained.

You softened a little bit. Whoever this was, was just trying to be friendly. ‘Two years, nearly,’ you replied.

The lift door dinged as you reached the ground floor. He motioned for you to go first. You paused a second, a little taken aback at his politeness, but walked out of the lift, turning around to face it once you came out. He stepped out after you, not quite sure what to do given you had stopped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

‘You live on the eighth floor too?’ you asked, a little surprised.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘Number 11.’

‘Number 9,’ you pointed toward yourself.

‘Wow, practically neighbours for half a year and we’ve only just met!’ he laughed. He had a genuine smile, but his laugh seemed a bit restrained, a bit guarded.

You couldn’t help but break into a big smile at the absurdity of it. ‘Right? How crazy!’

He seemed to perk up a bit at your smile; seemed to stand a bit straighter, his smile starting to reach his eyes a bit more. He pushed his floppy, blondish-brownish hair out of his eyes and smiled again.

‘I’m Max,’ he offered his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

You offered your hand in return and gave your name. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max.’

‘I’ve got to get going, I’m picking up my son,’ Max said, moving toward the exit.

‘Where from?’ you asked. Couldn’t be school at 10am on a Saturday.

‘From his mum,’ Max explained. ‘I get to see him this weekend.’ The smile on Max’s face showed just how happy he was about it. It was a much more genuine smile this time, and very infectious.

‘I won’t keep you then,’ you smiled back, moving to catch up to him. ‘Have a lovely time together.’

‘Thank you,’ Max was still smiling and this one had reached his eyes fully; he looked genuinely pleased at your remark. ‘Have a good rest of the day yourself.’

You parted ways as your came out of the apartment building. He seemed pleasant enough. Just a single dad, clearly loved his son, trying to get by, as far as you could tell. And after all, wasn’t everyone in the building just trying to get by? And if the lift gossip was true, was that really your business, or anyone else’s, for that matter? Max seemed nice enough to want to say hello to, and hold the lift door for again.

You didn’t see him again for a couple of days, and this time you were both waiting for the lift to arrive. After exchanging the standard ‘hello’, the silence was a little difficult; you weren’t one for inane small talk. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Max stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet. He looked… nervous?

Come on, you must be able to think of something.

‘How was your time with your son?’ you asked, glancing over at Max.

He looked relieved that you had said something. ‘It was great, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘How have you been?’

‘Not too bad,’ you gave what you hoped was not a tired smile. ‘Just trying to get by.’

Max nodded. ‘I hear that,’ he agreed. ‘Just one foot in front of the other, it feels like some days.’

The lift dinged and the doors opened. Max motioned for you to go first again. ‘To the ground?’ he asked as he went to hit the floor button.

You nodded. ‘Are you seeing your son again today?’

‘No,’ Max said, more than a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Just out for a walk and a coffee.’

‘There’s a great place round the corner from here, if you haven’t already been. Maria’s?’ you furrowed your brow trying to remember the name.

‘I think I’ve walked past it,’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll check it out. Anything exciting planned for you today?’

You shook your head and laughed. ‘I wish. Just errands.’

‘Never ends, does it?’ Max agreed.

The lift doors opened and again Max motioned for you to go first. As you left the building, Max wished you a nice rest of the day and that he would see you later. You smiled and nodded. You only had two interactions lasting less than five minutes, but Max seemed much nicer than the lift gossip suggested. Which is exactly why you tended not to not give it any credit. At least next time you had something to ask about; whether he tried the coffee at Maria’s, and what did he think of it. You found yourself hoping you saw him again fairly soon; it was nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t just want to gossip about the building residents. Or was it that he was kind of cute? Sure, he was a little older than you, but the way his hair flopped forward when he looked down was adorable. He had a nice smile too. But, you reminded yourself, he was just trying to get by, one foot in front of the other.

But weren’t you, too?

You didn’t see Max for a few days after that and even then, only very briefly. You were coming out of the lift having come up, as he was waiting for it to go down. There was a boy with him you assumed was his son; there wasn’t a huge resemblance, so you assumed he must look more like his mum.

‘Hello Max,’ you greeted him as you stepped out.

‘Hello,’ he smiled at you. ‘I’m so sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll hold the lift for you soon,’ you smirked over your shoulder as you walked to your door. You heard the lift doors close behind you, but not before you heard a chuckle from Max and a young voice ask ‘Dad, who is that?’. So you’d finally met Max’s son, sort of.

You did in fact hold the lift for Max a couple of days later, but on the way up this time. He was carrying a couple of grocery bags and smiled at you over the top of them.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he tried to hold the bags without anything slipping out.

‘Told you I would hold the door for you soon,’ you laughed softly. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Would you mind?’ Max looked relieved. ‘Only if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want to impose.’ You motioned with your hands to pass you one and took the one in his left arm from him.

‘How was the coffee at Maria’s? Did you go in the end?’ you asked, once you were sure the grocery bag was secure.

‘I did, it was lovely,’ Max smiled. ‘Definitely one of the best I’ve had since I got here.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ you agreed. ‘Oooh, and it’s nice to see your son has your curiosity.’

Max blinked at you and looked genuinely confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A few days ago, you were in a hurry as I was coming out the lift? He asked who was that as you got in?’ you explained.

‘Oh! Sorry, yes, I’d almost forgotten,’ he said as recognition crawled across his face. ‘I keep telling him to use his indoor voice. He does keep me on my toes.’

The lift doors dinged, and before stepping out you asked Max if he’d like some help carrying them to his apartment.

‘If you’d hold on to it while I get the door open, that would be wonderful,’ he said, motioning for you to leave the lift first. He followed you as you stepped out and nodded in the direction of his apartment door.

As you got to Max’s door, you were standing either side of the door itself, facing each other as Max fumbled in his pockets for his keys. This was the first time you’d properly looked at him, and you found yourself picking up details you’d not noticed before. His floppy blondish-brownish hair flicked down toward his eyes, that you’d seen before, but you hadn’t noticed how beautiful his deep brown eyes were, and you hadn’t taken in his gorgeous golden skin, and the size of his hands on the grocery bag…

Girl, get it together. This poor guy is probably reeling from who knows what, given he is a dad not living with his son he very clearly loves, and describes living as one foot in front of the other. He does not need you looking at him like that.

You heard Max say something.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ you ask.

‘I… I said thank you so much for helping,’ Max said, his skin a little pink.

His front door was open. He’d found his keys and opened the door while you’d been gawking at him. Your cheeks burned slightly at the thought he might have noticed.

‘Oh! It’s no trouble,’ you smile. ‘Want me to bring this in?’ You raised the bag you were still holding.

‘No, don’t worry, I’ve got it from here,’ Max chuckled. He seemed to be avoiding your gaze.

You straightened up and smiled again as you passed the bag over. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Max!’

‘See you later,’ Max replied, as you were already walking back to your own door.

Later turned out to be a couple of days later, and again you met Max going up in the lift. He had his son with him again.

‘This is Alistair,’ Max beamed proudly, after introducing you to his son.

You knelt down, and smiled at Max’s son. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alistair,’ you hold your hand out.

‘You too!’ he smiles in that adorable, excited way most children do, and shakes your hand.

You stand back up again as the lift dings and you all get in, Max holding Alistair back as he lets you go first again. In the lift, Alistair presses the button for the eighth floor, and looks up at you.

‘Can I press the button for you?’ he asks.

‘You already have,’ you smile down at him. ‘I live on the same floor as your dad.’

Alistair smiles. He gets this expression on his face you can’t place. You don’t dwell on it as you hurriedly try to think of small talk; what can you ask that doesn’t ignore one or the other? Then it hits you.

‘Alistair, has your dad taken you to Maria’s?’ you ask him, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth.

‘The coffee shop?’ Alistair looks at you, confused, as you nod. ‘No, he says coffee is for grown ups,’ Alistair rolls his eyes.

‘That’s true, but you know what? Maria’s also does amazing milkshakes,’ you grin as you look at Max. He smiles at you.

‘Ooooh,’ Alistair gasps.

The lift dings. Max motions for you to go first. You step out and kneel down to Alistair again. ‘It was nice meeting you, Alistair. See you soon?’

Alistair nods with a smile. You stand up and smile at Max ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you say as you walk toward your door.

‘Dad, is that the pretty lady from number 9?’ you hear Alistair’s voice, and you’re glad you’re walking away as your face flushes red.

‘Indoor voice, please, Alistair,’ you hear Max sigh, as their footsteps move away from you.

You’re beginning to think Max is avoiding you. It’s been almost a week since you met Alistair and you’ve not seen him. You’re standing in the lift waiting for it to start moving, staring at your shoes, as you hear someone get in. Your eyes flick up for a second and you see Max standing in the lift with you.

The lift doors close and it begins descending.

For the first time, you actually feel like there is an awkward silence between you two. You dare another glance at Max and he is doing the same as you, staring at his shoes. That gorgeous hair has flipped forward again, hands stuffed into his pockets…

You clear your throat. ‘Do you normally tell Alistair about all the pretty ladies you see?’

Max’s head whips round to you, so fast your surprised he’s not given himself whiplash. ‘I’m… I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’

You smile kindly at Max. ‘Not at all,’ you reply. ‘But that’s not what I asked,’ your expression turns into something of a mischievous grin.

Max blushes. Those stunning eyes meet yours. ‘I… I told him… well, you’re the only one I’ve ever mentioned.’

It was your turn to flush red. ‘Really?’

Max nods as the lift dings for the ground floor, and gestures for you to go first. ‘And even then, it was his idea.’

‘What?’ you ask, confused.

Max looks at the floor, smiling nervously. ‘Remember when we were on our way down, when we were in a rush? Well, he asked who you were, as you heard, and I explained you lived at number 9 and we got the lift together sometimes.’

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

‘And Alistair really does keep me on my toes because he said you were really pretty, and I agreed. And of course he decides to remember that at the point it would cause the most embarrassment,’ Max sighs, risking a glance over to you.

‘I think it was more the lack of indoor voice that was the problem,’ you giggle.

Max laughs, another genuine one that reaches his eyes, and he nods in agreement. ‘It certainly was,’ he smiles, a sweet little dimple emerging on one side of his face. He was so cute, and you were starting to think he had absolutely no idea.

You both stood there for a few seconds in silence, not really knowing what to do next but also not really wanting to end the encounter.

‘Where are you off to?’ Max asks you.

‘Nothing too exciting, just a walk and then coffee at Maria’s,’ you reply.

‘What a coincidence,’ Max smiles. ‘Would you mind if I join you?’

‘Of course,’ you nod. ‘Who would turn down the gorgeous guy from number 11?’

Max flushes red. ‘I don’t know about that. But I’m glad the pretty lady from number 9 wouldn’t.’

Damn, he really had no idea how cute he was, did he?

As you step out of the building, Max offers you his arm, and you loop yours through it as you walk down the steps from the entrance. You pause at the bottom, smile and gaze into those incredible dark brown eyes. Before you know where you are, your lips are on his and you’re running your hands through his hair, curling your fingers at the back of his neck. His lips are impossibly soft, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you close to him. His tongue gently brushes against your lips, seeking permission, and you are all too happy to grant it. He’s gentle, almost hesitant at first, but his kiss deepens into something so passionate you’re glad he’s holding your waist, as he’s making you weak at the knees.

Eventually you pull back, breathless, giddy, smiling. ‘Wow,’ is all you can offer.

Max smiles and blushes for about the third time in five minutes. ‘Wow indeed,’ he agrees. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a coffee and you can tell me about this gorgeous guy at number 11.’

You roll your eyes, loop your arm in his and start walking. ‘Sure thing, but only if there’s more of those kisses in it for me,’ you tease.

#writer wednesday #max lord fanfic #max lord x you #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

We Both Know

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer Reid is a virgin. Which he is totally fine with! The problem? He still hasn't told his girlfriend, Y/N, for fear of being teased. When he tells her, her reaction is ... surprising, to say the least.

A/N: Season two Spencer. Season two team. Prepare your self for all-knowing Gideon. Fulfilling this request. for @gublergirls. “~” indicates a POV shift.

tags: Dom/sub, unprotected sex, choking, first time, Virgin!Spencer

RATING: EXPLICIT

Words: 7,014

MASTERLIST

Spencer Reid had never done anything remotely sexual before.

Okay, he’d kissed before. Once. In Highschool. On a dare. For half a second.

Okay … so he was pretty inexperienced. Which he didn’t mind at all! The one downside was he was now going steady with a wonderful, amazing girl who he was definitely falling head over heels for, and he had no idea how to tell her.

Luckily, they’d already been working together for about a year before they started dating, which made the shift to a relationship much easier. And them being together didn’t affect their job performance at all. For the most part…. So all Spencer had to do was avoid bringing up his … lack of experience, around her. Things were pretty good.

But things, in Spencer’s experience, had a way of turning sour.

“Hey, Spencer!” she found him standing outside of the elevator after work one Friday, standing up on her tiptoes and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Y/N! We’re at work!” he muttered, glancing around as a light blush formed on his cheeks.

“Nobody’s here! It’s fineeee,” she whined, pulling off his glasses and bringing him down into a real kiss.

Woah. She’d never kissed him like this before. They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks now - though their relationship felt much older— and she’d pretty much only given him chaste kisses with very little tongue.

Not because she didn’t want to! In fact, she had said multiple times that she did, but Reid wanted to take things slow and he’d expressed this to her once they’d started dating. She had told him she respected his boundaries no matter what and she was ready to wait for as long as he needed.

Clearly, though, she was starting to get a little impatient.

“Let’s go home,” she said quietly, pulling him into the elevator, Spencer staying silent the whole way back to her apartment.

He was trying to think of another excuse that was reasonable. She had told him over and over again that they could take things as slowly as he needed. But still, there were scary thoughts lurking deep in his mind that kept telling him to hold back, to keep distance between them.

If he told her he was a … if he told her he’d never had sex before, surely she’d make fun of him. That’s what everyone always did. Would she be any different?

“Spencer?” she took his hand as they entered, very carefully leading him back to her bedroom.

“I, um … I have to finish some paperwork for-”

“Spencer,” she sat on the bed, slowly removing her blouse, revealing a dark red brassiere with a beautiful lace pattern. He unconsciously licked his lips. “I know you wanted to take things slowly, but … maybe we can try something … new tonight? If you want?”

She reached to the front of her bra where the clasp was, snapping it open and letting it fall down her shoulders, Spencer’s eyes feasting on her full breasts.

His shock must have been very apparent on his face because she stood, slowly pulling down her work pants and moving to stand right in front of Spencer, her hands dancing down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this okay?” she asked, watching him carefully.

His eyes were blown wide and his mouth slightly open. The words froze in his throat, terrified to say anything.

But he hadn’t said yes, so she stopped, waiting for him to answer.

“Spencer?”

“I … I can’t, Y/N.”

“Okay. Can I ask why? You don’t have to answer.”

He backed away, feeling idiotic and ashamed. She’d never want to be with him once she knew….

“I’m…. I’ve never….”

A look of realization glanced over her face, sending a spark of sadness through Spencer’s heart.

“I should go. I’ll see you at work.”

“What?!”

She had reached out, grabbing his arm and holding him back. Spencer sighed.

“You want to end things between us, I understand.”

Surprisingly, she chuckled very softly, pulling him down to sit with her on the bed, sliding her blouse back on.

“Spencer, why would you think I … Do you really think I’d want to end things just because of that?”

“Well… yeah,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing. You deserve someone who can actually make you feel good. I’ve never…. I can’t-I can’t do that.”

“Oh, honey,” she tilted his face up to hers, smiled warmly, and planted a tender kiss right on his lips.

What was she doing? Why wasn’t she laughing and kicking him out?

“Spencer, I don’t care that you’ve never had sex before. I mean, I kind of thought maybe, anyway. You can tell me this kind of stuff, I’m not going to judge you. But, I understand if you aren’t ready. Spencer, I’d wait years for you. And don’t you dare think for a second that you don’t make me feel good!”

The neurons in his brain were firing at a million miles a minute. She really didn’t care? She still wanted to be with him?

“Really?”

“Yeah!” her smile could power every lamp in Washington D.C. “Plus, it’s not like there’s either having sex or not having sex. There’s a lot of in-betweens I’d be happy to work with, if you wanted to, of course.”

“What-um-what do you mean ‘in-betweens’?”

“Well, um … there’s-there’s oral-” Spencer jumped slightly at the word, bouncing the bed, “Or we can just touch each other? There’s so much between kissing and actual penetrative sex. Maybe, tonight, we can just kiss for a while, and if you wanna take things further, let me know, okay?”

Spencer nodded, following her as she pulled him further up the bed so they were lying side by side.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nodded his head and the moment he did, she surged forward, their lips meeting yet again.

God, she tasted so good. Spencer could do this for hours and hours and not go any further. She was intoxicating and he was addicted.

However, his hands moved under her blouse of their own accord, gently sliding up her stomach and hovering over her breast.

“Can I. . . ?”

“Yes,” she whispered in his ear, the sound sending a shock down his body to his groin and he moved his hand to cup her, moaning into her mouth at the feeling.

Unconsciously, his hips jolted forward, making contact with the top of her thigh. A low grunt left his mouth between them and he thrust again, gently grinding against her.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, baby,” she whispered, “Actually, just put … there,” she sighed as she adjusted so that his leg was between hers, now grinding up against her thin panties.

To Spencer’s surprise, and delight, she began moaning and writhing, pushing herself closer to him, throwing a leg around his hips and yanking him against her so their clothed crotches finally met. Simultaneously, they gasped, forming a steady pace of gently grinding against each other.

Emboldened by her sounds, Spencer dipped his head down to the crook of her neck and lightly kissed. At her insistence, he deepened the kisses, starting to suck on the skin, leaving little red patches behind as he went lower.

When he reached right where her stomach stopped, he looked up, asking for permission to continue. She simply nodded, lacing her fingers through his hair and pushing him lower. A plethora of curses and moans left her as he gently licked a stripe up over her panties, thighs tightening around his head.

“Fuck, Spencer,” she groaned, trying to pull him closer and closer with each swipe of his tongue. “Wait, you’ve gotta stop!”

He snapped away, terrified he’d done something wrong but was quickly met with her tongue meandering around his mouth, coaxing moans and gasps from him.

He gently pulled back and moved to the side of her.

“Did I hurt you?”

She laughed, not meanly, not teasingly, but warmly, like he’d said something endearing.

“No, baby. Actually, you made me feel really good. I, um, If you’d have kept going I’m not sure I would have been able to stop.”

“Oh… Well, um, we can-”

“Spencer,” she spoke sternly but with a wide smile on her face. “As much as I’d love to do some horrible, amazing things to you, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to do that tonight, okay?”

Clearly that was the right call, judging by the wave of relief that washed over him when she said it.

“Okay,” and they cuddled up to go to sleep, peacefully slipping into dreams of future possibilities.

Sure, you were surprised when he’d told you, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. Countless times on cases, he’d freeze up at the word sex, or opt for a more clinical descriptor such as coitus or intercourse. At first, you assumed it was just to do with his innocent nature. It made sense; he wasn’t the type to go bragging about various conquests after a late night.

But, surely, he must’ve done something before.

I mean, he was twenty-four. The statistics spoke for themselves; for god’s sake, Spencer probably had them memorized.

And even stranger, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. He’d been twelve when he’d graduated high-school. Went to college at fourteen. Probably never really had the opportunity to … befriend … people his own age.

Of course, he didn’t need to worry at all. You weren’t going to judge him one bit. In fact, you were ashamed to admit the prospect might have gotten you the tiniest bit excited.

All the men you’d been with had done it before with countless women, including your very first time. The only serious boyfriend you’d had was the one you hadn’t gotten the chance to sleep with yet. Spencer.

The thing was, if he hadn’t told you, you probably wouldn’t have known. There wouldn’t be any reason to believe the way he’d touched you last weekend wasn’t the millionth time he’d done it. He had moved with such tenacity, such nimbleness. Though there was a sureness, a confidence that was missing from his movements. He wasn’t lying. He’d never had sex.

Actually, that wasn’t what he’d said. He said: I’ve never… and then trailed off.

At work on Monday, as the elevator doors opened, you found yourself wondering to what extent that ‘never’ went.

“Hey, Y/L/N,” Morgan called from the bullpen, holding up a coffee and nodding his head. “It’s got your name on it.”

Thankful for the caffeine, you took the cup and gulped down as much as you could stand. The hot liquid went down your throat smoothly and produced a wonderful placebo effect of instant energy.

“Thanks, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Morgan slapped you on the back and said, “My woman! Who’s the lucky guy?”

Right. Neither you nor Spencer had told the team about the two of you yet. Hotch, of course, was aware, making sure you signed the necessary papers and had you assure him it wouldn’t affect your job performance were things to go south.

But the rest of the team was blissfully ignorant as to the true nature of your close relationship with the good doctor.

“It’s not like that, Morgan. A damn car alarm was going off until two a.m.”

At that moment, Reid walked in gulping down his own beverage, an extra one in his hand, dark circles under his own eyes which remained partially closed as he sat and yawned.

“Woah, looks like Pretty Boy, here, also had something keeping him up all night, though I’m hoping he got a little more action than a car alarm.”

Spencer and you exchanged a worried look. Because, in fact, he had also been kept up by a car alarm, the very same one you had. So he needed to think of another excuse before it became apparent that the two of you had very similar reasons for insomnia.

“No, sadly. Just a bit late because the bus was slow and the fatigue is due to noisy neighbors who were probably getting considerably more quote-unquote action than I. Prentiss,” he handed her the extra coffee cup which she took gratefully. “Got you a latte.”

Suddenly, you felt someone’s eye boring into you. Looking to your left, you saw Gideon looking at you strangely.

Shit. Reid didn’t take the bus anymore, a fact he’d let slip a couple of days ago, prompting lots of questions from Morgan. Surely the Gideon wouldn’t miss a detail like that, being the seasoned profile he was.

Luckily, J.J. was there to save the day.

“We’ve got a case.”

And you were off before Morgan could question why you were able to hear a car alarm from your seventh-floor apartment uptown.

Once in a while, the team got a pretty open and shut case. A rare unsub would come along who was sloppy and left enough clues to have you home within a couple of days.

This wasn’t one of those times.

Spencer, as always, was working hard on the geological profile, mapping out the areas where the unsub had been killing. Normally, the work would have come easy to him; he could work the case like he always did, narrowing it down to a science, a pattern, a formula.

Which would have been easy if not for the fact that his secret girlfriend and partner was wearing the lowest cut tanktop on the planet.

“Hey, can you hand me a pen?”

And as she spoke, he made the mistake of taking his eyes off the map, coming face to face with Y/N, her chest far too on display.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah,” he muttered, handing her the closest pen and gluing his eyes back down to the chart under the guise of inspecting the distance between crime scenes.

“Spence, are you seeing this?”

He looked up again reluctantly, trying to prepare himself for the sight of her.

“Look at the victim’s shoes,” she pointed to the drawing board where the mangled corpses of the first four women.

“Red Adidas, converse all-stars, yellow sandals, and pink Gucci pumps. I don’t understand, those are all very different shoes.”

He turned to her and was surprised to find a shocked smile on her face.

“What?”

Smirking, she said, “Okay, you are explaining why you know so much about women’s shoes later but now,” she yanked the pictures of the shoes off of the board, placing them on the map and leaning over it, her cleavage so exposed Spencer could have looked straight down her top … if he was a creep, which he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t!

“Spence! Look at this. Each of the shoes matches the crime scenes, right?”

“Sure, pumps outside a nightclub, Adidas on a hiking trail—”

“Right! But the thing is, they don’t match! The woman found outside the club was wearing sandals. The woman found on the hiking trail had on, guess what—”

“—pumps.”

“He’s switching their shoes!”

He smiled brightly at her, happy they’d finally got a new lead. Sadly, the tight red tank top drew his eyes towards the curve of her breast far too enticingly. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what she’d look like splayed out underneath him, writhing like she had last weekend, begging him to fuck her. He wondered why that thought was so enticing.

Oh god, she was looking at him.

“Nice solve, Doctor.”

He glanced away, warmth flooding his cheeks and busying himself with dialing Garcia’s number, quickly spouting off what they’d found and asking her to relay it to the team. When he turned back, Y/N was smirking at his, arms crossed, pressing her breasts together every so subtly.

“Hey, Spence?”

He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Yeah?”

She stepped so closely to him, their lips almost touching and Spencer silently thanked the local cops for the private room. When she spoke, her breath ghosted over his neck and her whispers in his ear were enough to cause an uncomfortable growth in his trousers.

“Hand me a pen?”

Motherfucker.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew the effect the tight red top would have on Spencer. What you hadn’t expected, though, was how much he’d let it show.

Every now and then, you’d wear a slightly more … form-fitting … outfit for the sole purpose of messing with him. He’d never really shown much indication that he noticed before…. Until now.

He had ogled you like a teenage boy seeing cleavage for the first time. You swore he licked his lips twice the usual amount.

Had something changed? Was your top too low cut? Oh god, had you gone too far? But he didn’t seem to mind the teasing before. Something had changed.

Oh.

Oh!

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Gideon shooting you a look from where he sat across from you. The plane was dead silent but for the soft whirring of the engine. Most of the team was asleep, Spencer included. You and Gideon were the only ones still awake.

“Sorry,” you muttered, attempting to hide your face in the book you’d been pretending to read.

Gideon didn’t respond but you could feel the intensity of his gaze from behind the hardcover.

Setting your book down, you shot him a very accusing look, shrugging your shoulders.

“What?”

It was the most incriminating word you’d spoken to him in the past ten minutes. You could tell just from the way his eyes narrowed that he was putting two and two together, although you didn’t know what the twos were.

When he finally spoke, it was to say something you’d seen coming from a mile away, though that didn’t make it any less surprising.

“Reid doesn’t take the bus anymore.”

You glanced away, damning yourself even further.

“Oh, yeah, he mentioned that a few days ago. Why?”

For an FBI profiler, you were a shit liar. You knew it and Gideon knew you knew.

There was a very long silence where he simply analyzed you, not in an intrusive way, but as though he was a faraway observer who could read your smallest movements like they were words on a page. His whole birdwatching thing made so much more sense now that you were the one under his gaze.

Gideon was a man of little words, making the ones he chose to speak all the more impactful.

“He’s a gentle soul. Be careful.”

After a moment of floundering, the reality hit you that this wasn’t a man worth trying to fool. Gideon knew. And when Gideon knew, there was no trying to convince him otherwise.

The case had ended amicably, the unsub captured after the fifth casualty but before he could kill the sixth. There was a strange sense of relief, pride, and guilt coursing through Spencer on the way back home.

Falling asleep on the jet helped, but only temporarily. The moment he got home, he jumped in the shower, hoping to wash away any memory of the horrible murders he saw on a daily basis.

The water pressure at Y/N’s place was heavenly. He hoped she didn’t think he just stayed the night so often because of that. Although, her apartment was much nicer than his. She was so nice to let him crash whenever he wanted, and he was always happy to return the favor.

He wondered what other favors she’d return. About this same time last week, he had his head buried between her thighs, licking up her—

Fuck. Now he was hard and he couldn’t bring himself to masturbate in her shower. The irony was too much, even for him. So, like a very sexually repressed gentleman, he turned off the shower and dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out into her bedroom.

He really should have jerked off.

Because Y/N was sitting on the far side of the bed, letting her hair fall loose from the bun it had been in for the past few days, kicking off her shoes, and slowly pulling the tight red tank top up and off of her torso, revealing an equally red lace bralette.

He really should have jerked off.

She turned toward him, a smile lighting up her face at his appearance.

“Hey, Spencer. You okay? You look a little … red.” She narrowed her eyes and the word and puffed out her chest ever so slightly. A less experienced profiler may have missed it.

Finally realizing he hadn’t answered her, he grunted, “Yep. I’m okey-dokey. A hundred percent. I’m great!”

He cringed, knowing she’d pick up on the overcompensation.

She, being the awesome profiler and friend she was, did.

“C’mere,” she pat the space on the bed next to her, and Spencer was drawn to it like a magnet. He was a bit worried about the lack of clothes shared between them and the fact that he was sporting a rather persistent half-chub, well hidden under the fluffy white towel. Y/N had the best towels.

“What’s up, Spence?”

She was so perfect. Not perfect as in like, no flaws. But perfect as in, if her flaws could be personified, Spencer would hug and caress each and every one of them. To him, she was a treasure. She was perfectly imperfect.

“I’m okay, really, just … got a lot on my mind.”

She broke eye-contact at that, making Spencer start to think that she understood how he was feeling a lot better than he’d assumed.

“What about you? Are you … okay?”

“Yes. Yeah, I am. Just thinking about something Gideon … well, it wasn’t quite said, you know?”

Spencer chuckled. He knew all too well how a simple look from their mentor could speak volumes.

“Yeah, I know, but … it seems like there’s something more to it?”

She sighed, laying back and resting against the overstuffed pillows, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Uh oh. Usually, she only did that when she was really troubled.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something. I feel awful because I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear it and I don’t even know if it’s ready to be said. God knows how the hell I’ve waited this long. I’m sorry if this is too much but …”

He froze, heartbeat quickening, and preparing himself for the inevitable bad news-slash-heartbreak. Y/N sat up and stared at him intensely, sending a jolt through him.

“... I love you, Spencer.”

You weren’t sure exactly how he’d take it, but this is pretty much what you’d imagined.

“W-what?”

“Spencer….” you took his hand, lightly stroking the back of it and trying not to pull away at his tension. “I love you.”

Before you could go into a long rant about your feelings, his lips were on yours, followed soon by his body, pinning you down and kissing you with a passion you’d never felt from him before.

But he was off of you just as quick as he’d come, a terrified expression on his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You pulled him back towards you to shut him up, shoving your tongue in his mouth, impatiently deepening the kiss. This time, he didn’t hesitate to let his hands roam your body, lightly trailing up your sides causing you to gasp breathily.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you chuckled softly, “although,” you gently moved his hands down his bare torso, resting on the top of the towel, “you can if you want to.”

His eyes widened and you reached around your back to unclasp your bra, tossing it to the abyss next to the bed.

“W-what?”

“I saw the way you looked at me this week.”

Spencer twitched, breaking eye contact but staying close, unsure of what to say.

“How-how was I looking at you?”

His eyes were glazed over and you could feel his hardness against your thigh, pressing against you with only the towel between you.

“Like you wanted me,” you whispered into his ear, moving a hand under the towel and snaking around his length, slowly moving it back and forth. It was the first time you’d touched him there. At the movement, he dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder, cursing lightly.

You wanted to keep going so badly. You wanted to yank the towel off, flip him over and show him how you could make him feel. But you didn’t want to put any pressure whatsoever onto him.

“Listen, Spencer, I meant what I said, okay? We never have to do anything you aren’t a hundred percent sure that you wanna do. We can stop right here if you want. But….” You gently shifted underneath him, slowly sliding your panties down your legs, moving Spencer’s hand to rest right above your entrance. There was a sharp intake of breath above you and you looked up to see his eyes the size of the moon.

“If you want to do this,” you leaned in, gently nibbling his earlobe and whispering as quietly as you could, “I need you to fuck me right now.”

All resolve left in Spencer left him the moment the words escaped her perfectly full lips. His hands flew to hers, lifting them up above her head and pinning them there, delighting in the grunt that left her as their mouths collided yet again. This time, however, Spencer did not pull back.

“Fuck, Spencer!” she yelped, hands running through his hair, pulling him tight against her.

When he finally ran out of breath, he pulled back, leaving just enough space between them to say, “I want to. I’m-I’m ready.”

Her eyes shone with the love she’d declared moment earlier and Spencer’s heart swelled.

“Are you sure?”

Of course she wanted to make sure. She was only the best girlfriend ever. And that’s why Spencer knew he wanted to share himself with her. Spencer wanted her to know how special she was to him. He wanted to feel how special he was to her.

“I’m sure.” Then, not sure what had come over him, he leaned into her ear, voice dropping an octave, and muttered, “I’m ready to fuck you.”

He could have sworn he heard her growl under her breath as she shot right back, “Do it then. Doctor.”

God, something about that title got to him like nothing else. The implied authority that came with it was just too delicious when it rolled off her tongue.

Emboldened by the honorary, he quickly kissed a trail down her chest to her stomach, lightly stroking his tongue everywhere but where she wanted it.

“Mmf—Spencer…. Pleeease!”

His hand snapped over her mouth and she gasped at the sudden silence.

Okay, trust in the fact that Spencer had nooooo idea where what he said next came from.

“You want me to fuck you so bad? Huh? You think begging for it like a cheap fucking whore will make me wanna fuck you? You only get fucked when I say so. Understand me?”

Whatever she said was muffled under his hand which he kindly removed.

“What was that?”

“Yes,” she breathed, hands still where they had been pinned down, staying there only of her own accord. Beautiful.

Reaching one hand up to her breast to lightly play with her nipple, the other went low, gently circling the area around her clit.

“Yes, what?” he said with the most authority in his tone that he could muster.

For a moment it seemed she wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but when it hit her, Spencer swore he saw her … you know … twitch.

“Yes, Sir,” she said with a filthy moan, finally moving her hands into his hair, pulling toward her center, begging him to do something— anything.

And, oh, boy did he oblige.

Now, Spencer had never really been anywhere near a woman’s … parts … before. But! He’d read up on this subject plenty in the recent weeks in preparation. In theory, he knew just what to do. In practice ….

“FUCK! Yes, Oh my goooddddd, Spencerrrrr!”

Well, he must’ve been doing something right.

Holy motherfucking jesus fucking fucking christ!

How the fuck was he doing this?

Jolts of pleasure burst through your body with each stroke of his tongue against your clit. Before you could enjoy the small circles he was rubbing there for too long, he slipped a finger inside of you, lightly curling it upward and thrusting in and out, searching for the spot to drive you wild.

Again, how the fuck was he doing this?

The only possible explanation was that he’s secretly had sex a million and ten times, becoming so aware of what exactly drove a woman crazy that he knew exactly how to move between your legs.

But this was Spencer. He didn’t lie to you. So all of … this … was coming naturally to him.

And soon, you’d be too.

“Ah! Spencer, w-where is this c-coming from?”

His lips left you, pulling back just enough to give you a dazzling smile, his chin glistening gloriously.

“I’ve read over ten thousand pages of articles on pleasing a woman in the past week. Studies show that small circular motions of the tongue on the clitoris combined with one or two—”

“Spencer,” you panted, tightly grasping the wrist that was inches from your core, “I love you so much but if you don’t shut up right now—”

“—Hey, you asked.”

And he dove back down, continuing his ministrations, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of pure ecstasy. His tongue was flicking so quickly that you swore you saw stars. Every three or so seconds, a low moan left your throat, along with several curses and deep breaths.

The tension in your stomach was tightening, signifying the oncoming orgasm that was soon to come.

But all too quickly, and all too suddenly, Spencer withdrew, bringing his head back up to kiss you deeply, running his tongue along your lips and moaning onto your mouth as he continued to pump his fingers into you.

“You like this? You like feeling my fingers filling you up?”

“Yes,” you squeaked out, nails dragging down his back as you hoped and prayed he’d give you more. “Yes, please, Spencer….”

A sharp yank of your hair made your head fall back against the pillow, Spencer forcing you to meet his eyes. They were so dark. There was such desire behind them like you’d never seen from him before.

“Yes, what? Huh? Say it.”

You didn’t even need to think about what you were saying; the words sprang from your mouth with no effort at all, attempting any buzzwords that would set him off.

“I want you to fuck me, Spencer. I want to feel you fill me up and fuck me like I’m your little whore. I want you to hold me down while you do it, make me yours. I wanna be yours.”

He grunted, absentmindedly thrusting against your thigh as he listened to your words. When he spoke, you expected him to speak with the same commanding tone he’d been using, but were surprised to hear the familiar soft voice of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” he met your eyes, slightly frowning, “Is this okay? I mean … do you really want that?”

You didn’t even need to attempt to give him a reassuring smile; one came naturally.

“Of course, Spence. I want you. I’ll always want you.” Then, at his hesitation: “Do you want to take things slower? We can take a step back, just say the word.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, softly bringing his mind back to the present moment from where it had no doubt been drifting in waves of worry.

“I’m ready. I am ready. I want you,” he said, so gently, so sweetly that you knew with all of your being that he meant it.

More importantly, you know what else he meant. He wasn’t ready to say it yet, and you were fine with that. Besides, he probably knew that you knew. And if you both knew, why would he need to say it?

“Okay. Let’s go slow, okay?”

He nodded, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. It must’ve finally dawned on him that this was really happening.

“Now, I got tested a few weeks ago and everything came back negative. I’m on hormonal birth control and have been for a while now. There are condoms in the drawer there, but it’s totally up to you. I’m comfortable with whatever you are.”

You could see the gears in his mind turning. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he was weighing the risks and rewards. You expected him to want to use a condom, which was totally fine and made sense with how responsible he was. But you selfishly wanted to know what he felt like skin to skin inside of you.

Which is why it was such a surprise when he said—

“Let’s do it without.”

“Wait, really?”

He nodded, drawing small patterns on your stomach absentmindedly with one hand, the other stroking your hair.

“We’re both clean, little to no pregnancy risk. Plus I … I’d like to know how … um.”

“How it feels?” you offered.

He sighed, relieved to not have to say it.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Yes! Yes, Spencer. That’s kind of what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Really?”

You nodded this time, bringing him in for a soft kiss, keeping it rather chaste as you slowly slipped a hand down, guiding his member to your entrance, delighting in the gasp he let slip as you positioned him.

Slowly, keeping your mouth against his, you used his cock to gently spread you open, pressing the head just against your core. Above you, he was practically vibrating with the effort of holding back.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

Hooking your legs around his back, you withdrew your hand and clenched your legs, slowly pulling him into you.

Both of you moaned simultaneously at the feeling, Spencer’s face falling into an open expression of pure ecstasy.

“Oh my god,” he groaned once he was completely sheathed within you. The feeling of him, bare, inside of you was so much to comprehend. You could tell he was probably thinking the same thing. Actually, it looked like all his effort was going into staying still, waiting for you to get accustomed to his size.

You’d told him that you’d never been with someone who was nearly as … well-endowed as he. He must have really taken those words to heart.

“Can I-can I move now?” he muttered, clearly straining to stay still.

“Yes.”

The moment you said it, he pulled back, grunting in your ear at the feeling and slowly slid back in, gasping when he bottomed out.

“Oh god, Y/N….”

“Please, Spencer.” You yanked him back by the hair so he could see your eyes, see how seriously you meant what you were about to say. “Fuck me.”

One of the many things you loved about Spencer: he always listened to you. Sometimes, to a fault.

Because the instant you asked, he delivered, pounding into you so hard that stars exploded in your eyes with each thrust. His hands dug so hard into your legs you were sure they’d leave bruises. With each thrust, his hipbones made sharp contact with your inner thighs and you grunted at the pain.

He started to hesitate, clearly clocking the pained expression on your face.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No! Please— oh god— don’t fucking stop, Spencer.”

His hands were everywhere all at once, pulling your hair, grasping your neck, your chest, your legs. Every time he pulled out of you, he would hesitate for a half-second, just enough to make you think he was done, then he’d fuck back into you, driving you further up the bed with each thrust.

You would have been moaning louder if you weren’t so scared of missing a single word he was saying.

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good. It’s really-it’s really tight.”

Laughing breathily in his ear, you said, “Yeah, well. That happens when it’s been a while.” Small moans broke through as he increased pace, hands slipping around your waist, pulling you down roughly onto him with each thrust. Your hips bumped together roughly every time, connecting painfully, wonderfully.

“Oh yeah?” Spencer lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, driving much deeper now. “Maybe your tight little cunt just isn’t used to getting fucked properly. Tell me, did the guys you were with before fuck you like this?”

Not able to bring yourself to speak, he pulled out completely and placed a solid hand around your throat, barely cutting off the circulation.

“Answer me, now!”

“No! Uhn— Spencer…. No, I’ve never been fucked like this. You’re so … mmm…. so big!”

He reentered you sharply at the last word, continuing the hard pounding only this time, moving a hand to roughly circle your clit unrelentingly.

“Fuck!”

His other hand was digging into your ass and his thrusts were starting to falter.

“Y/N … I’m not sure how much … how much longer I can …”

So lost in the pure bliss he was giving you, you barely were able to process what he’d said. When you did, you made sure to reassure him.

“Do it, come with me.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I-I lo—”

You placed a finger on his mouth, such a gentle gesture compared to the way he was pounding into you below that his eyes snapped open, locking with yours.

All you did was smile at him, an expression filled with as much energy as you could spare right now. A slight nod told him all he needed to know and he let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t need to say it right now. You knew and he knew, anyway.

He stroked you twice more before you burst, suddenly so overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside you as your insides clenched around him. He felt so much bigger as you came and after a few more thrusts, you felt a warm sensation fill you up as he yelped softly above you.

You both came down from the high so slowly, eyes locked and breathing heavily.

Surprisingly, he didn’t collapse onto you as had happened with so many other men. He was using all his remaining strength to stay perfectly still above you, staring into your eyes with a shocked expression on his face.

Finally, he shook out of it, pupils contracting and gently pulling out, both of you groaning at the feeling.

Laying down next to you, it was a full minute before either of you spoke.

“Wow.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

You turned to him and he did the same, an adorable smile gracing his face.

“So? How was it? Everything you expected?”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes momentarily before answering.

“Words aren’t usually lost on me. I always seem to know what to say even in the most ineffable of times. That…. That was indescribable.”

You weren’t sure how much more praise you could take; your heart was already so full and the more he filled it, the more you felt like you were about to burst.

“You can say that again. I must say I’m rather ... surprised. No offense! I promise! But, well, for a virgin you sure as hell don’t fuck like one.”

He smiled doofily, placing a hand on your cheek and stroking the skin under your eye, his expression shifting to one of worry.

“You’re crying….”

You pulled away, quickly wiping your eyes.

“Sorry…. That… that happens sometimes.”

“Hey,” he pulled you back to him, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever apologize. It actually means that there are very strong feelings between us. In fact, it’s referred to as postcoital dysphoria and is normally caused by a particularly powerful orgasm. It’s a way of your body releasing the pent up feelings.”

Spencer Reid somehow found a way to be adorable while talking scientifically about orgasms and crying. What the hell did you do to deserve this man? You loved him so much and you’d spend the rest of your life proving it to him without hesitation. He didn’t even need to say it back.

But, as always, Spencer couldn’t seem to stop surprising you.

“Y/N … I love you.”

The tears came quicker now and soft sobs left your chest. He pulled you against him, you tucking your head under his chin and smiling at the speed his arms found their way around you.

“I know,” you muttered into his chest, feeling him smile above you.

“We just had sex, I told you I loved you, and you’re quoting Star Wars?”

You pulled back to beam up at him.

“Is that not the reason you love me?”

He smiled down at you, his nose scrunching up ever so slightly as it always did when he was happy.

“One of the many. Another very new one being added to the memory banks after tonight,” he grinned, tapping the side of his head.

“Oh yeah? You love me ‘cause of the way I let you fuck me like a little whore?” you muttered in a low voice, wiggling your eyebrows as his face fell.

“Y-yeah….” he was breathless again, watching you intently.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, you said the very thing you knew that he knew he wanted you to.

“Wanna do it again?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

And he climbed back on top of you, attaching his lips to yours and kissing you with a whole new passion.

Because he loved you and you loved him. And you both knew it. And that made it all worth it.

TAGLIST

@whollytaciturn @101donuts @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid @brokenanxiety @thatsonezesty13 @psychedellic-phase @beautifulalmondstudentduck @awhollandx @baddreamsandbrokenhearts @simp-for-mgg @swagdaddycam @gejatume @url-under-construction @radkryptonitepeanut @idontneedalltheseemotions @krymson182

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #matthew gray gubler

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thezombieprostitute · 8 months

Text

Alphas & Algorithms - Part 5 - Second date

A/N: Continued from Part 4. Reader is female and is described as "tall". No other descriptors.

Warnings: It is a Dystopian AU. Food scarcity, hunger, mentions of families being separated. Please let me know if I missed any!

--Part 1-- --Part 6--

--Series Masterlist--

“Hello Curtis,” Y/N calls from the kitchen as he walks through the door to her apartment. “Come on in and have a seat. I’ve cooked something a little less rich this time that should help keep your body from crashing. Again, I’m very sorry about that.”

Curtis walks towards the little dining table and sits, “you don’t need to apologize. You had no idea. And we got our rations delivered this morning. Thank you for keeping your promise.”

“Well no one should have to go without a full complement of nutrients,” Y/N brings over a couple plates of spaghetti with meatballs and sits with him. “Would you like some shredded cheese to go with?”

“Umm,” Curtis hesitates, “whichever option you’re going with. We’re already out of my depth here.”

“Oh,” Y/N stops, “I’m so…” “Please,” Curtis interrupts. “Please don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t know, now you do.”

“Thank you, again, for your patience with me,” Y/N smiles. Curtis’s inner Alpha has started to like making her smile. It’s something he knows he’s going to have to be careful with.

“Do you mind if we talk while we eat,” he asks.

“Not at all! I’m happy to listen. You just might need to wait for responses until I’ve finished my bite of food,” Y/N chuckles.

Curtis can’t help but smile back, “thank you.” Y/N’s inner Omega practically preens at being able to make the Alpha smile. She knows it’s genuine and she’s delightfully surprised.

The two talk over dinner about the kinds of benefits his Pack could receive. Curtis’s priority was clearly the health and well-being of the pups. Y/N promised to look more into the matter but she was sure that one of the benefits the Pack would receive was that none of the pups would ever be recruited to be Emotional Support Betas. She was able to confirm they would receive better education, better access to food, supplies and housing.

When dinner was finished Curtis insisted on helping with the dishes. He wasn’t used to being taken care of and couldn’t just sit at the table while she cleaned, especially when she’d also cooked. He got a good whiff of her kitchen and almost coughed at the myriad of herbs and spices he’d never smelled before. They stood next to each other at the sink, her washing, him rinsing, and he found himself drawn to the calmness of her scent. Warm vanilla was quite comforting amongst the strange, almost overpowering smells of the kitchen.

“So, what other questions do you have,” Y/N asked, hands busy with the dishes to distract herself from how close she was to him, how good he smelled.

“Do you think I can meet Jake? He’s a big part of your life, practically your Pack. It’d feel wrong to not meet him.”

“Yes, of course,” Y/N replied excitedly. “Just not today. He’s using our date as an excuse to go on a date with another Beta. She’s really sweet and I hope it goes well.”

Curtis nodded, trying to focus on the dishes, trying to figure out how to proceed safely.

“Are you okay,” Y/N asked. “Is something agitating you?”

“Um,” Curtis panicked. “I think it’s the herbs and spices you’ve got in here. It’s a lot of smells I’ve never smelled before. How do you not get overwhelmed? You’re super sensitive to scents.”

“It’s two-fold, really. The first part is that I’m used to them. I spend a lot of time in here, so I’ve developed a kind of tolerance. If we were out in the hallways and there were a bunch of these scents out there it would certainly throw me for a loop. The second part is that I can identify the individual scents. From the spicy cinnamon to the bittersweet dong quai and even the sharp peppermint. Knowing what they are is a significant help to not letting them overwhelm me.”

“You may want to swap them out a bit. One of them is smelling like it’s going bad.”

“Oh that’s probably the black kohosh. It smells pretty bad in herb form but the taste when used in tea is actually pretty calming and earthy.”

“Huh. Next time I visit, would you be willing to make some tea? Help me learn about this plethora of smells?”

“You…you actually want to meet up again?”

“Yeah. You’re surprised?”

“Heh, I was certain you were going to come back and tell me, at some point tonight, that you weren’t interested,” Y/N gives a soft smile. “It’s nice to be wrong about something and have it be a good thing. Thank you.”

“Well, nothing’s set in stone,” Curtis quickly rebuts. “But I’m interested in learning more about what kind of life I’d have here.”

“True. Very true,” Y/N nods her head. “I could give you a tour of places in the building you’d be allowed to visit but…but there is a catch.”

Curtis notes the nervousness in her scent and asks her what she means. She hesitates as she passes him another dish to rinse and he gently presses her to tell him.

“I…for safety, I…I have to give you a temporary mark,” she rushes out the last part. “I will absolutely understand if you’re not up for that. It’s a lot to ask of you. But it would be for your safety. You’d be an unknown, unclaimed Alpha and it just wouldn’t be safe or responsible of me to put you in potential danger. Or cause potential danger. Some of the other Alphas and Omegas might get territorial. I’m so sorry. Like I said, I’ll understand if it’s a step too far for you.”

Curtis holds her hand, “it’s also just a temporary mark, right? Those things fade after just a day or two and it doesn’t permanently seal me to you, right?”

“Right,” Y/N confirms. “But it can still be quite the show of trust and I don’t know if you’re ready for that.”

“Y/N,” Curtis sighs, “there’s not much in life that I’m certain of. But I am absolutely certain that you would never purposefully hurt me.” Y/N tears up and hugs Curtis tightly, whispering a thank you, as he cautiously, gently, returns the hug. He’s a little nervous because her height gives her access to the mating gland on his neck but he hopes all she smells is the sincerity of his words. He knows. His inner Alpha knows she would never hurt him.

Y/N breaks the hug and comments that she’ll give him a tour after they finish the dishes.

Tagging @every-username-is-taken-damnit, per request.

--Part 6--

#alpha!curtis everett #alpha!curtis everett x omega!reader #curtis everett x reader #tall!reader #curtis everett x tall!reader #dystopia au #dystopian au

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men (pt. 1)

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier travel to a small seaside village after being hired to take care of a monster that has been terrorizing the villagers for months. However when they arrive, Geralt finds that the monster in question isn’t so easy to kill.

A/N: This was getting to be quite lengthy, so I decided to split it into parts. This is the story I wanted to write when I first started watching the Witcher on Netflix and I am nervous and excited to finally be sharing it here!! Like with all my fics, I try to keep my Y/N has physically non-descript as possible, she/her and vibe are the only descriptors. I’ve also not proof-read but will edit errors as I see them post post lol. I hope y’all enjoy this!! Your feedback is always welcome :’)

this is approx. 2200 words and is largely setting the scene. I expect this to story to be told in no more than 3 parts.

_________________________

When Geralt and Jaskier rode up to the quiet coastal village, they were struck by how calm and peaceful it was. The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline, the rhythmic bumping of boats against the docks, and the soft clatter of driftwood windchimes melted together to create an atmosphere that soothed Jaskier to his core. He found himself gaping at the sights that surrounded him in wonder; truly taken by the way setting sun cast a golden glow on everything and painted the cloud-laced sky in rich hues of pink and orange.

“This place…” he sighed theatrically, waving his arms around, “is wonderful! Geralt are you not moved by the sight of it all? Does your soul not sing out! Oh, Geralt! Wow!”

The witcher only rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Jaskier was always so blown away by the simplest things and it both amused and annoyed Geralt. Yes, the sky and the sea were beautiful sights, but more importantly, they were merciless vehicles of danger, death, and destruction; and Geralt knew better than to romanticize things that were, at their core, dangerous.

Sensing the bard’s eyes on him, Geralt gave him a hum of acknowledgement hoping it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier’s need for collective appreciation. It was, as he dreaded, insufficient.

“Come now, Geralt!” he enthused, “take that stick out your arse for a moment and appreciate the sights and sounds of this charming inlet! Listen to the sea! The chimes, Geralt! Listen to how the wind tickles the –”

“For fucks sake, Jaskier! It’s a fucking port city just like any other. This place is one bad storm away from being wiped out by that scenic sea of yours!”

“Yeesh,” Jaskier said letting out a low whistle. “Was it the stick in the arse bit? Too far?”

“Jask-”

“- because look, you are very stoic but – and I mean this as a compliment Geralt, so don’t get your leather in a –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted gruffly as he dismounted Roach with a huff. “Will you please shut up! Let’s just find the stables and the inn and get this over with.” Without waiting for Jaskier to catch up to him, he led his mare deeper into town.

Jaskier, refusing to let Geralt’s gruff exterior get him down, dismounted gracefully and lightly jogged to meet up with him, his lute clacking loudly against his back as he ran.

“Remind me again what dreadful little creature brings us out to this enchanting harbor?” he asked, still jogging a little to keep up with the witcher’s long strides.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh, ho-ho! A mystery? Always makes for a good song. What do we know so far?”

Geralt stopped and turned slightly towards the bard before speaking.

“Apparently a creature has been killing and dismembering men in town. They are being killed at all hours, bodies found in town, at sea, or out in the surrounding forests. Seems nowhere is safe.” Geralt let his cat-like eyes linger on the bard’s horrified expression for a moment before turning back and keeping on the path into town, shaking his head at Jaskier’s queasiness.

“Yeesh – Geralt! You’re not serious! Why would you bring me with you!?” Jaskier picked up the pace, suddenly wanting to be closer to his friend.

“You invited yourself,” Geralt said, trying to contain his smile, “as always.”

“Of course, I invited myself! You’re far to proud to admit you’d miss me.” Jaskier retorted. “Let’s get these horses to the stables, get rooms, and find food so that you can sort this out as quickly as inhumanly possible,” he said, speaking quickly and with a light waver, trying to pretend the quaint seaside village around him didn’t now leave him chilled to the bone.

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, happy to have managed to scare the bard into silence, at least for the time being.

The local pub was busier than Jaskier had expected when they rode into town. Seems the reason the village was so peaceful upon arrival was because everyone had already made their way to the bar. Fortunately, he’d managed to nab them a table by the stone fireplace; after a day of riding alongside the sea, Jaskier was desperate for a cold ale and a warm fire.

“Alrighty then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, holding his hands up to the hearth, “what have we got so far?”

“Not much,” he replied, tearing apart the loaf of bread a barmaid had brought over moments prior, “a couple people stopped me at the inn to ask me if I was here to kill the beast, but they didn’t have any information to offer besides the fact that it was a constant threat.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck here – I mean look around, you’d think the whole town’s come to drink!”

“Port cities, Jask,” Geralt said, letting his gaze scan the room slowly, “the people here either spend their days at the mercy of the sea or waiting for their loved ones to come home. You drink for sorrow and for hope of a bright tomorrow.”

“That was poetic as fuck, Geralt! My influence?” he teased, shooting the witcher a cheeky grin, who merely grunted distractedly in reply.

Now ignoring his still-talking friend, Geralt’s eyes had landed on the two women working behind the bar. One was talking excitedly and kept casting quick glances toward the bard, blushing brightly when she caught his eye, while the other was watching Geralt with inquisitive eyes.

“… I tell you Geralt the more you allow yourself to – oh! Speaking of which, here come a few now!” Jaskier flourished, winking enthusiastically at the blushing barmaid who was making her way towards them sheepishly.

Geralt sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, already tired of the flirting he was about to witness. To his surprise and great pleasure, Jaskier got up and met her halfway, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.

Having brought his attention back down to the bread before him, Geralt didn’t notice that he had company until she was right in front of him. Sensing her presence, he shot his gaze up quickly, and found her staring at his wolf medallion with a quirked brow.

“Forgive me,” she started, her deep, velvet-like voice washing over Geralt like morning sun after a cold night, “but you’re… a witcher?”

“I am,” he replied, giving her a crooked smile, his own voice, low and gravely and smooth, not going unnoticed by the woman before him. “Geralt, of Rivia.”

“Oh fuck,” she said, with a breathy sort of laugh, “so you’re not a witcher, you’re the Witcher then, aren’t you?”

Geralt let out a low and modest grunt, shaking his head at the comment. He thought himself immune to the scrutiny and awe that came with being the White Wolf, having carried the title for so long, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that left him shy.

“I’m,” he faltered needing to stop to clear his throat, having made the mistake to look her in the eyes, “just a witcher. Really.”

“Well, they don’t send you out for just anything, do they? For you to be out here in our little hamlet…” she squinted at him with a small tilt of her head, “we must be under some kind of threat. Should I be worried?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, –” he stopped, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Y/N,” she replied quickly, offering Geralt a warm smile despite the fact that she’d just crossed her arms, “and I mean we do get the odd ruffian coming through town. They always make a mess of things, don’t they? Beyond that, well, I suppose alcohol does breed violence in some,” she gave a light, one shouldered shrug, “but that’s not the kind of crime that would reach your ears.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to consider Y/N’s words. She seemed almost too friendly, and there was something about her that both drew him in and had him putting up his guard.

“A monster has been picking the men of the village off one by one.” Leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be aware, considering,” he nodded towards the bar, “your job here.”

“Meaning what?” she retorted, wearing a playful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Only that you must hear a lot,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd surrounding them, “and see a lot, doing what you do. I would have expected that the disappearance and dismemberment of men in town would be something of note.”

“Well,” Y’N tsked, “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been brought out here on something of a fool’s errand. There’s no monster here; the tale of disappearing men has been told here for months. It started with a woman, too embarrassed to admit that the man who impregnated her left her overnight, telling everyone that a creature from the forest killed him. From there the story grew wilder with every retelling.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, watching Y/N carefully with narrow eyes, “I was told dismembered body parts were turning up, consistently, after each disappearance, and that they were being identified as belonging to the latest victim. Besides, I was hired to come here. Why would someone pay me coin to rid a town of ghost?”

“People struck by tragedy will claim to see many things, Sir Geralt,” she replied softly, “not all of them will be true. A dead fish floating at sea, a creature mauled by wolves by the roads, rotten meats abandoned by vendors…” she shrugged, “the mind will twist the truth in order to bring comfort. Who hired you?”

She added that last question quickly, and Geralt could tell it was calculated. Sensing this, he only replied with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head.

Y/N betrayed no sense of frustration when she realized the Witcher wasn’t going to elaborate. Instead, her eyes softened, and she smiled at Geralt with what he perceived as pity.

“Look, the truth is that there is no monster here. Isn’t that right Thalia?”

“Sorry, what?” Thalia, who had just walked back over the Geralt’s table with a tray of ales in her hands, was breathlessly giggling at something Jaskier had whispered in her ear. As she and Jaskier placed four ales on the table, Y/N took a seat across from the Witcher and quickly explained got the two up to speed.

“Oh goodness, that! I can not believe our town’s little lore made it to your ears, Sir Geralt!” She said with wide eyes as she snuggled up next to Jaskier, clinking her tankard with his before taking a generous sip.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier coughed on his ale, “you’re telling me there’s no monster here? That we might actually be able to enjoy a little rest and relaxation here without any horrible monster-killing business? Geralt this is good news!” he exclaimed, smacking his free hand on the table for emphasis.

Geralt only growled out a hum in response, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

“I’ll admit,” Thalia continued, seemingly unaware of the tension between the Witcher and her friend, “it’s scary to think about – you know, murder – but when you actually think about who disappears, it’s not difficult to see the truth.”

At this, Geralt turned his fierce gaze away from Y/N. “What do you mean, ‘who disappears’?”

“O-only that the men who leave aren’t really the type that anyone would miss.” She replied, stuttering a little against her best efforts to not recoil at Geralt’s inhuman eye-contact. “They were mean, violent types. The kind of man that would get crueler the more he drank. Just, awful, evil men, right Y/N?”

Y/N nodded quickly in agreement, taking a slow sip of her ale. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly!” Thalia agreed, clinking her glass to Y/N’s.

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier laughed, before picking his lute up off the floor. “What do you say ladies, a song?”

Thalia cheered loudly and encouraged the rest of the patrons to listen to the bard, letting them all know that he was in fact, the one who traveled with the great White Wolf. Jaskier was positively floating from the adoration as he danced around the pub, pulling cheers and applause after every song.

All the while, Geralt never took his eyes off of Y/N, who had retreated back to the bar after finishing her drink.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a strange feeling about this place from the moment he and the bard arrived, and it frustrated him to no end that even after hours in town, he was no closer to understanding the source of his discomfort. One thing was for certain, something about the story he heard here tonight did not add up, and he definitely didn’t trust its source.

Y/N was standing behind the bar washing glasses, but she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Instead, her eyes were trained on the crowd before her. Geralt watched her as she scanned the pub with calm, slow-moving eyes that jumped from patron to patron.

The witcher was distracted for a moment when Jaskier sauntered into his sightline, singing a loud chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Despite himself, Geralt couldn’t help but smile at the bard, whose face was flushed from the ales and the exertion.

However, as Geralt watched Jaskier twirl across the crowded pub, something in his peripheral vision made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Y/N had turned he head and was staring right at him with a pair of pitch-black eyes.

Like a shot, Geralt turned his gaze to the woman behind the bar – his heart beating loudly in his ears – only to find her smiling warmly at him, her eyes their normal shade.

Instinctively, Geralt brought his hand up to his wolf-head medallion, hoping it would signal the presence of some supernatural evil. But he felt nothing.

He didn’t know what she was, but she was not human.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher netflix #the witcher fandom #fanfiction requests #fanfiction #fanfic #the witcher series #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher x reader #toss a coin to your witcher #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x reader #Jaskier

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silkling · 3 years

Text

Falsely Accused: Begin Anew

Primus had it out for him, it seemed. Prowl must have done something truly terrible in a past life to deserve everything that had happened to him in this one. Pits, he wasn’t even considered an adult by Cybertronian standards. He was no longer a youngling, that much was true. He had aged out of that descriptor in Trypticon. He was, however, what most bots would consider a mechling. Not quite underage anymore, but still not yet a fully fledged adult. Had he still been on Cybertron and a free mech, he would be legally old enough to work but not yet old enough to consume engex. In some city-states, he would not even be old enough to consume high-grade, which was considerably weaker and not as intoxicating as engex.

All that was to say, was that he had experienced a significant degree of pain, suffering, and general bad luck for a bot was was still so young by his species standards. Sometimes, Prowl couldn’t help but question why. He had been happy, when he’d been training under Master Yoketron. His life before the Dojo had been hard, and much of it had been spent in the Praxian Youth Center, and then he’d escaped and lived as a street rat. It had been difficult, but at least he’d not been forced into any sort of role or job; at least he had been free. Then he’d been taken in by Yoketron, and everything had looked up. But even that hadn’t lasted, and he’d lost the last of his youth to Trypticon and the wardens who had so despised him.

And then, not even a full deca-cycle since he had been freed from his prison and escaped Cybertron, he had been discovered on what he hoped would be a refuge by Neutral Cybertronians. Not just any Neutrals, either. A cyber-ninja master and his student, of all things. Prowl knew that here could be multiple cyber-ninja masters at one time, though there was only ever one Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps at a time. What caused him so much distress with this new revelation was that he distinctly remembered Master Yoketron telling him that none of his students, graduated or otherwise, had yet reached the necessary skill level to be called a cyber-ninja master. Which meant either the strange bot, Wing, was either lying, or he wasn’t one of Master Yoketron’s students. But if he wasn’t one of his Master’s former students, Prowl couldn’t think of where else he could have come from.

Unless…?

Wing looked young. Much younger than Master Yoketron had. But…he knew it was possible for mechs who were millions upon millions of stellar cycles old to look like they’d only just been freshly upgraded to their final frames. So was is possible that Wing was Master Yoketron’s age, or perhaps older? It was all he could think of. It would also explain how Wing could be a jet, yet not be a Decepticon.

Prowl shook his head roughly to clear his processor of the spiraling train of thought, immediately regretting the action when it caused his processor to shriek in agonized protest. He winced, pressing his hand to his forehelm, his thumb brushing over his broken chevron. After a klik, he lowered his head and dropped his shoulders. He had to put that aside. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He had left Wing and Drift behind at the cliff where they’d found him. He refused to take any chances with Cybertronians. Unfortunately, now that he knew they were here, he had to get off this planet. He had enough shanix to buy himself another trip on a cargo ship. He didn’t care where it took him, he just needed to get away.

He forced his processor back on track. Prowl was in the cave now, and he had gotten away from the odd pair, so he would be safe. It had been a few couple solar cycles since he’d encountered them. He would need to go out for energon, soon. But he was fairly sure that as long as he was careful, he wouldn’t be found. First though, he needed rest. He was exhausted, and he wouldn’t be able to track down fuel if he was too tired to function. So, he curled up in the back corner of the cave, facing the entrance, and let his optics slip shut. He would worry about fuel – and the two cyber-ninjas – later.

As he slipped into recharge, his processor replayed his encounter with Wing and Drift, and for once he blessedly wasn’t plagued by nightmares in the form of memories.

——————————

“Ah, but how rude of me! I should introduce myself and my companion before I ask so many questions!” The jet gave him another warm grin, gesturing first at himself, then at the racer beside him. “I’m a cyber-ninja master. My name is Wing, and this is my student, Drift.”

Prowl froze, his optics going wide behind his visor. “…what?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Wing’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Are you okay, little one?” He asked.

Prowl flinched back from the hand that reached for him. “I’m fine.” he said roughly. “But what did you say?” He had to have misheard.

Wing shared a worried look with Drift. Then he looked back at the frightened mechling. “My name is Wing. I’m a cyber-ninja master.” he nodded at the racer beside him. “This is my student. Drift.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, spark pulsing frantically. So he hadn’t misheard. But how was that possible? He had thought Master Yoketron was the only surviving cyber-ninja master. But this Wing claimed to be one as well? It didn’t make sense. He was a jet, a flyer. Weren’t most flyers Decepticons? Yet, Prowl saw no faction markings on the mechs in front of him.

“And you, little one?”

“What?” Prowl was jerked out of his panic by the older mech’s voice.

“Your name?” Wing asked, tone gentle.

“…Prowl.”

“Well met, Prowl.” Wing greeted, his expression warm.

“Well met.” Drift offered up, dipping his helm in a friendly nod.

Prowl hesitated, then ducked his own helm quickly. “Well met, Wing. Well met, Drift.” he said in return. He paused for another moment, but then he had to ask. “You…you are truly a cyber-ninja master? Like Master Yoketron was?”

Wing’s optics lit up. “Indeed!” he said brightly. His grin widened. “You know Yoketron, then? It’s been a long time since I saw him last.” he mused.

Prowl flinched. “Master Yoketron-“ his vocalizer cut off into static, and he had to reset it before he could finish. “Master Yoketron has joined the Well of All Sparks. He was offlined many mega-cycles ago.” he said haltingly.

At that, Wing visibly saddened, his wings dipping with his drop in mood. Drift lifted a hand to his Master’s shoulder, his field pulsing a beat of comfort.

“I know.” the jet said softly. “We may not be affiliated with any Cybertronian faction, nor have we returned to Cybertron for many mega-cycles, but I did hear about Yoketron’s fate. Every Cybertronian, both those on planet and those not, know he was offlined. The loss of the Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps is a grave blow.” he murmured.

Prowl swallowed. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing. It wasn’t his fault. He supposed he had gotten used to apologizing to bots who were angry or upset with him, even when he had done nothing wrong. It had often been the only way to avoid the ire of the guards at Trypticon, though it didn’t always work.

“You have nothing to apologize for, it was not your fault.” Wing said, sounding confused.

Prowl winced, wanting to change the topic. “You said you have no affiliation to any Cybertronian faction. You are Neutrals, then?” he said suddenly.

Both mechs looked at each other, clearly catching on to the very unsubtle attempt to shift the conversation. Blessedly, neither said anything about it.

“Yes.” Wing answered smoothly.

“Then what is it you do?” Despite himself, Prowl was curious.

“Exploration, mostly.” Wing hummed. “Though we occasionally take jobs as bounty hunters, of a sort, in order to earn credits.”

Prowl tensed, his vents hitching and his armor clamping tight to his frame. Bounty hunters. Oh Primus, he’d made a mistake. They were here for him after all. Why else would Cybertronian bounty hunters be so interested in him? He knew this hadn’t been a coincidence. Pits, but he shouldn’t have let his guard down.

Wing seemed to notice his fear, because the large mech stepped forward. “Prowl? Are you well?”

The two-wheeler jolted as if he’d been shocked, and then he dived forward and down, folding into his alt mode despite the painful protest his frame made, and as soon as his wheels hit the ground he was speeding off. He heard noises of alarm from both mechs still on the cliff, but he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get away. He wouldn’t go back to Cybertron, he refused to.

And so, spark pulsing at a painful rate, panic overriding his thoughts, he drove until he couldn’t hear them anymore, and then he continued to drive some more. The cave he’d found earlier was well hidden and far away. He’d be safe there.

He had to be.

——————————

Prowl wasn’t sure what woke him, at first. He just knew he hadn’t come out of recharge on his own. He onlined his optics, and was about to sit up when he saw the white form sitting a few paces away from him. Immediately, he froze, fear swamping his EM field before both it and his armor clamped tight. Wing. Somehow, the jet had found him. He flicked his gaze up to see that the older mech was staring at him, expression unreadable. For a long moment, the two bots simply stared at each other in silence.

The groaning of Prowl’s tanks broke it.

Wing frowned, then slipped a hand into his subspace and pulled out an energon cube. Prowl fought the urge to whimper at the sight of the clean, obviously good-quality fuel. He was immensely surprised when, instead of drinking it, Wing set it down and leaned forward to push it towards him. He lay still for several sparkbeats, unable to understand what was happening. He still didn’t sit up, remaining curled up and pressed tightly into his corner.

“Drink, Prowl.” Wing’s voice was gentle, when he finally spoke. “That cube is yours. You need it.”

Prowl hesitated, but in the end he knew he couldn’t deny it. Not with how starved he was, and with how Wing was blocking the exit. He sat up slowly, his damaged and neglected limbs aching, and reached out for the cube. When Wing didn’t make to snatch it back, he curled his fingers around it and pulled it close. He peeled back the seal, distantly noting that if it was still sealed it was not as likely to have been tampered with, and lifted the cube to his lips. At the first slide of proper energon over his glossa, he almost gagged. The energon that the prisoners at Trypticon had been given was low quality, just the bare minimum of what was needed to survive without negative consequences, health-wise. Even this energon, compared to what he knew energon could be, was of fairly average make. But it was far, far better than anything he’d had in a very long time.

As soon as that initial moment passed, and he adjusted to the more intense taste and better fuel, he started gulping it down almost frantically. In the back of his processor, he knew that wasn’t right. He needed to take it slow, after so long without proper fuel, but his frame and his systems were starved and desperate. He flinched back against the cave wall almost violently when a white hand was laid over his wrist, gently pushing it, and the cube, down and away from his mouth. He didn’t notice that some of the energon splashed out and over his armor at his sudden jerk. He was too worried over how Wing had gotten so close without him noticing.

“Easy.” he admonished the terrified Praxian gently. “Slowly, Prowl. I know a starved mech when I see one. You need to take it slow.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, visor locked onto Wing’s optics. When the pressure on his wrist eased up, he slowly brought the cube back up to his lips and sipped at the fuel within. He still wanted to gulp it all down, but the hand still on his wrist served as a good reminder fo take it easy. He drank in little sips, stopping whenever Wing pushed his wrist down to let his tanks settle and adjust, until he’d finished the contents of the cube.

Wing took the empty cube back, then. He released Prowl’s wrist, subspacing the cube and then leaning back from the uncomfortable mechling’s space. The jet was silent for a moment, his amber optics boring into the smaller Cybertronian’s visored ones with a sort of piercing intensity. Prowl stared back, remaining silent. Already, he could feel his systems processing the fuel, his frame feeling leagues better than it had even a breem ago.

“Why are you here?”

Wing tilted his helm, staring at him for another beat before he answered. “Because you’re very young, Prowl. Far too young to be on your own when you’re so damaged and starved.” he said firmly. “You’re hurt, and I won’t pry into how you got into this state but the fact that a cyber-ninja mechling is so damaged and so far from Cybertron worries me.”

Prowl flinched, processor turning over those words. “You said you are bounty hunters. Cybertron did not send you for me?”

“No. We don’t take jobs from Cybertron. The universal currency is credits, not shanix, though they do accept shanix on planets with Cybertronian connections.” Wing explained. “Drift and I do a lot of traveling. We take jobs from other planets we visit, like finding rare resources, defending against threats, bringing in escaped convicts, and in return we get paid in credits. So it’s not really bounty hunting.” He shrugged. “That was simply the easiest way to explain it, at the time. I don’t realize that doing so would scare you, and for that I apologize.”

Prowl reset his vocalizer, relaxing a little. Wing could still be lying, he supposed. But he didn’t think he was. If the jet truly was a proper bounty hunter, he would have dragged Prowl to his ship as soon as he found him, not waited for him to wake. He also wouldn’t have given him fuel. All of Wing’s actions up till now supported what he was saying.

“I see.” Prowl said after a moment. He still had one question, though. “How do you know I am a cyber-ninja? And why do you care?” Two questions., he supposed.

Wing chuckled. “You referred to Yoketron as “Master”. That tells me you were his student, once.” he explained. “And I care because cyber-ninjas are meant to be a fairly close knit bunch. There aren’t many of us, so we need to look out for each other.” he smiled, warm. “Besides, like I said. You’re very young. That’s worry enough as well, for me.”

Prowl didn’t know how to answer that. “I’m am no cyber-ninja. I never completed my training before Master Yoketron was offlined.” he said, thinking it would get the mech to leave.

It did not. “Wait, that was a while ago. None of the other graduated students took over your training?”

“None of the other students had achieved the rank of master.”

“Even so, the old traditions of the Corps dictate that if a master falls before they can complete their student’s training, then that master’s already graduated students should complete it themselves in the absence of another master.” Wing said, clearly displeased.

The Praxian went still, unsure how to feel about that. He knew why that had never happened to him. He’d been accused of being his Master’s killer. He doubted he was even considered a cyber-ninja, even one in training, by the others. Still, it stung to know that he’d lost even more to the false conviction.

“That never happened.” he said dully.

“So I see. That makes it even worse. What is a cyber-ninja student doing wandering so damaged and so far from home?” At Prowl’s stiffening frame, Wing winced. “Ah, yes. I promised not to pry. Apologies, little one.”

Prowl shook his head, feeling wrong-footed. He didn’t understand why Wing was being so kind. “I doubt I would be considered a student still. Much happened after….” he trailed off. Wing would know what he meant. “After Master Yoketron fell, I doubt the others consider me as a part of the Corps.”

The jet was clearly even more displeased, but as promised, he didn’t pry. “That’s slag.” he said blandly. Prowl almost gaped at the curse. “Even so, I won’t ask for details. But do you need a ride back to Cybertron? If you got stranded, I would be more than happy to return you there. We have a ship.”

“No!” Prowl blurted, then flinched back and curled into his corner again. “No. I don’t ever want to go back.” he said, tone haunted.

“Okay.” Wing agreed easily. “Then would you like a ride to another planet? One were you can get repairs and energon and a way to earn shanix? I know a few small colonies that would welcome you.”

“No.” Prowl shook his helm. “I want nothing to do with Cybertron or it’s colonies.”

“In that case, I know planets that have no affiliation to Cybertron whatsoever, where you can get repair, fuel, and anything else you might need.” Wing said.

He frowned. “Why are you insisting? Do you want shanix? I don’t have much left.”

Wing shook his helm. “No, and I’d refuse payment if you offered, I just want to see you brought someplace where you’ll be safer. That’s all. I knew Yoketron. He was…very dear to me. I want to see his student safe and well.” He paused. “And also, for the reasons I explained before.”

Prowl stared for a long time, unable to wrap his processor around someone offering so much for so little in return. He glanced down at his frame, knowing he probably did need repair, and winced at the energon staining his dull and dented armor. But, that brought up another thought in his processor.

“Do you have more energon?” To his horror, he’d asked the question before he could stop himself. He was just so hungry, even after the cube he’d had.

Wing stilled, then laughed lightly. “Yes. We have plenty aboard the ship. You can get cleaned up and have as much fuel as you need. I won’t ask for payment, either. It wouldn’t be right to ask that when you clearly need food.” he smiled.

Prowl ducked his helm, turning it over in his processor. He was terrified, and still didn’t trust Wing. But this might also be his best chance at getting someplace he could actually, properly start a new life for himself. He did risk Wing turning out to be lying and taking him back to Cybertron, but everything he’d seen and heard from the mech suggested he truly wouldn’t do that. Given his state, this really might be his best chance.

“Alright.” he agreed. “I…would very much appreciate if you could bring me to one of those planets you mentioned.”

Wing beamed, nodding and standing up. He held out a hand to Prowl to help him to his pedes. The Praxian ignored it, using the wall instead to push himself up and leaning against it for support at the wave of dizziness that assaulted him. Once it passed, he looked up to see that Wing had dropped his hand. The jet was still smiling, though the expression had relaxed and softened.

“Come on, then. The ship is this way. Drift went to get it and land it nearby.” He said.

Prowl pushed himself off the wall, then followed Wing out of the cave as the jet took the lead. They walked in silence for a few breems when Prowl suddenly sensed a presence on his right. He jerked his helm wildly, gaze landing on the white racer from before. Drift. He ignored the concern from both the bigger mech’s at his sudden, panicked movement, armor plating flared slightly as he shifted around until he had both the other two on his left. He saw the look they shared, but was infinitely grateful that neither mech made a comment on his behavior.

“Master Wing.” Drift spoke up. “I did as you asked. The spare room on the ship has been emptied and cleaned, and everything in it was transferred the the storage bay. Also, I put him in the ship’s system so he can use the energon dispenser, washracks, and anything else he might need.”

Prowl stopped walking. He knew Drift had been talking about putting him into the ship’s system. But that wasn’t right. If he was just a temporary passenger, then why would he be put into the system? Why would a berthroom be cleared for him? If he wasn’t staying on the ship permanently, then they wouldn’t have cleared out another room for him. Cleaned it up, perhaps, but cleared it out completely? No, this wasn’t making sense. Had Wing lied after all? But then, why do all that if he was just going to be turned in? None of this made sense to him, and as his panic grew it bled into his field.

Wing winced, turning a look onto his student. “I hadn’t actually gotten to that part yet, Drift.” he sighed. “Prowl is too skittish. But thank you, now I have to calm him down again.” he said wryly.

Drift had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, Master. I didn’t realize. I’ll go ahead to the ship and get it ready to go.” At Wing’s nod, he folded into his alt mode and drove ahead.

Wing turned back to the frightened Praxian, stepping closer. He expanded his EM field to wrap it around the smaller bot, pushing soothing comfort and easy calm into it to try and help Prowl relax. He didn’t get closer than that, though, remembering how scared he’d been of touch and close proximity.

Prowl looked up once he’d calmed enough, his hands curled into fists. “What was he talking about? Why would you do that on your ship if I’m just a temporary passenger?” he demanded.

Wing chuckled, shaking his helm. “Because I would like to have you as more than just a temporary passenger.” he sighed. “I had hoped to make this offer when you were fueled and rested and felt better, but it seems Drift inadvertently pushed things along.” he said, tone dry.

“What offer?” Prowl asked, fear warring with confusion in his processor.

Wing clasped his hands behind his back, smiling soft and warm. “If you would be willing then learn, then I would very much like to take you as a student.”

———————————————————————————————————

So, what did y’all think? Things are starting to pick up now! Let me know your thoughts, if you’re so obliged! Feedback is a huge motivator for me to keep writing, as I am a writer who craves to know what my readers think about my stuff.

Also, poor Prowl. He’s starving and injured and terrified and has no idea what’s going on. Wing just wants to help! Maybe now things’ll turn around for him, eh?

Until next time, folks!

#falsely accused au #transformersanimated #tfa #transformers animated #prowl #tfa prowl #wing #tfa wing #drift #tfa drift #tfa au #transformers au #wing takes in strays #prowl is his newest one #and there is still the question of prowl’s optics!#what’s wrong you ask?#it shall be revealed next time!#transformers #maccadam

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agentwhiskeypussyindulgence · 3 years

Text

Whiskey Kisses (Agent Whiskey x plus sized Reader)

Authors Note: Hello!!!! If this looks familiar it’s because it is! This was written in the middle of my covid sickness back in January and I have not touched it since lmao. I figure it might be better to edit it a bit, and post it all as one rather than two separate entities since the second part was only separate bc I hadn’t written it yet at the time I posted the first one. I’m hoping that I’ve gone through and removed any glaring descriptors that will exclude folks but the one thing that remains is that this is a plus sized reader (gotta leave a little bit of me in there lmao!) This was/still is my first attempt at smut so I'm hoping I've read enough to get somewhat of a grasp on it ✌ Plot is the same, wildly incredibly self indulgent, Whiskey is as charming as ever and hopefully the new post will get some fresh eyes on it! Hope everyone enjoys~~

Word count: ~7000

Warnings: NSFW 18+ fem plus sized reader (a bit of body insecurity that is Very Brief), Daddy Kink, Loss of Virginity (including insecurity about being a virgin), Praise Kink, no y/n used, excessive use of pet names bc Whiskey is a menace,If I’ve missed anything please don’t hesitate to let me know!

The place smelt like smoke. That was first scent that hit you as you moved through the crowdto the bar, claiming a seat on the side nearest to the exit. This was your first time out and about in your new city and you weren’t exactly sure what you were here for. At the least you would get a good night of entertainment from people watching from your position at the bar. Maybe you would make a friend. That’s how it worked for people your age right?

It had been so long since you had to put yourself out into social situations that weren’t engineered to create bonds--this wasn’t school and it wasn’t work, the two places where you felt confident about your social skills. You feared you might be a little behind on friend making procedures. This was only your second week in town. You’ve moved from home because you knew you couldn’t stand one more day in your hometown. Moving back after college had been a great way to save up money, but you were tired of living with your parents and tired of the same small town views. It hurt leaving your folks and it hurt to leave your friends even more. But you knew that sooner rather than later they would be moving out into the world. That’s what was expected and you were terrified but immensely excited to be the first one in your group to make the leap.

Now you’ve found yourself here alone in a bar nursing some sugary drink that had been listed in chalk on the special board outside the bar. You didn’t mind being alone. In the past you’d learned to enjoy your own company —going thrifting on your own or heading to see a movie when everyone else was busy. That being said, you found being alone in a bar a much more harrowing experience. You didn’t usually spend much time alone in places where the drunken masses gathered. Parties, clubs, and bars weren’t usually your scene and let alone without your group of friends there as backup.

You were out to be social yet still hoped that your phone would serve as a good enough reason for no one to come up and ask for a dance. Sure, there were some attractive people in the bar tonight, but you were only on your first drink and didn’t have enough in your system to get yourself out on the dancefloor with someone you didn’t know. Not yet at least.

Your attention was pulled from your phone by a movement in your periphery, a silhouette passing behind you. It was a…cowboy?

That wasn’t who you were expecting to see. This wasn’t a country bar by any means and he stood out amongst the other patrons in their casual clothes. He kept a respectful distance leaving a seat between the one he chose and yours as if to not block you in. You stared, taking in his outfit, he seemed like the real deal. Cowboy boots with spurs, well-fitting denim jeans, and a Stetson seated on top of dark hair. Only thing out of place was his shirt. You weren’t a hundred percent sure what kind of shirts cowboys wore, but you weren’t betting on a nicely pressed dress shirt.

He looked young upon first glance, then you noticed the smile lines around the corner of his eyes and mouth. That and the way he carried himself, his essence, revealed that he probably had some years on you though that didn’t lessen the attraction any. He turned suddenly and you couldn’t look away; embarrassed as you were to be caught staring. Not when those gorgeous brown eyes met with yours. He raised a hand to the brim of his hat and honest to god tipped it in your direction with a smile and a quiet “Evenin” on his lips.

You cleared your throat and cradled your glass in your hands, fingers working to twist and turn it. “Evening…didn’t expect to see a cowboy in here tonight.” You take a small sip. “Doesn’t really seem like your scene” you finish, looking around at the crowd, all dressed differently but certainly no cowboys among them.

The stranger lets out a laugh and a smile lights up his face as the bartender works his way to your side of the bar. “Maybe not darlin but this cowboy is home anywhere he can find a beautiful lady and a whiskey, neat.” He says this last part to the bartender who you find standing in front of the two of you. He gives a nod at the cowboy and glances over at you and you notice your drink is almost empty. “Put this sweet thing’s next drink on my tab” he says with a wink in your direction and you can’t help but feel heat flood your face. This is the first time you’ve ever been bought a drink by a stranger at a bar.

You realize the bartender is waiting patiently on you and you panic. You had wanted to switch drinks after finishing this one off, tired of the sugar, worried over the hangover it might bring. “Oh! Uhm, whiskey neat also. Thank you.”

The stranger sitting close to you raises his eyebrows at your order, his eyes glancing between your own and the remnants of your sugary cocktail. You smile and give him a shrug “Buyers choice I suppose.”

He lets out a chuckle and holds his hand out across the empty seat between you. “Jack Daniels. Nice to meet you.” You give him your hand and your name and you watch as his eyes trail over you.

He smiles, as if he’s seen something he likes once his eyes have finished their exploration. You can’t blame him as you had just done the same thing. But you couldn’t help but be a little puzzled. You hadn’t really dressed with the goal of attracting attention to yourself tonight. You chose your favorite pair of light-wash jeans (you were told they hugged your curves nicely) and a band t-shirt with a light flannel on top. It was comfortable and you looked nice, but you hadn’t dressed to impress.

The drinks arrive and Jack raises his glass in the air and tips it in your direction. You hurriedly grip yours and do the same, smiling at the clink of meeting glasses.

The whiskey stings your lips, chapped from your habit of nervously biting at the soft skin in new situations. You don’t often drink whiskey and you attempt to school your face into something neutral, trying not to cough, as the smoky alcohol burns its way down your throat. A burn that you find yourself enjoying mere moments after it passes. You over at Jack who doesn’t avert his eyes when you catch him staring at you, an amused expression on his face. If he noticed your brief grimace that came with your first sip of the whiskey, he was a true gentleman and kept it to himself.

“Is Jack Daniels really your name?” Taking him in with an incredulous look. Who the hell is named after a whiskey brand? Or who uses it as a fake name and then orders it at the bar? Sighing with a smile, he nods. “It was a name before a brand, sugar. Plus, now all my friends can call me Whiskey. You can too if you’d prefer.” He finishes with a wink.

Setting his glass down he doesn’t give you time to react beyond your surprised stare. “So. What’s a beauty like you doing all alone, stuck here talking to an old man like me?” You let out a laugh and look at him incredulously. Confirmation that he was older but you wouldn’t have thought to call him an old man. He’s really laying on the charm thick though. You can’t say you’re mad at it.

“I’m new to town.” You reply. “Figured after a week of unpacking and organizing I deserved a night out on.” He gives a grin. “I don’t know about the other fellas in this joint, but I for one love an independent woman.” Grinning you take another sip from your glass, the burn still there but less aggressive. “Well we all have to learn to be independent one way or another right?”

Humming in agreement he meets your eyes with a smile and doesn’t look away. Cheeks continuing to burn away, you give a smile back. This much undivided attention on you is new territory. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t reveling in it.

“So what do you do when you’re not out wooing the ladies at the bar? You a real cowboy?” You ask, giving him another once over. As a general piece of knowledge from living in a town with some farming areas you knew that genuine Stetsons and real leather boots didn’t come without a hefty price tag. And he certainly didn’t look cheap.

“I’m an agent for a secret independent intelligence agency.” He says this with no hesitation or humor in his voice. Simply a flat reply. You raise your brow at him and snort into your glass. “And now that you’ve told me you’ll have to kill me right?” Jack takes your joke in stride “I don’t think I would ever deny the world a beauty like yours by killing ya darlin”

He swirls his whiskey in his glass as you blush. “Really though I work on the board for Statesmen Distillery. We’re based in Kentucky.” You smile with a nod, taking another sip from your glass “Well that certainly explains- well just about everything about you. How’d you find yourself here then? Need a vacation?”

This line of questioning leads you and Jack chatting back and forth about nothing and everything. He asks about your family, the move, how you found yourself moving from your hometown all by your lonesome. He tells you about his job, the boring meetings, how he really enjoys spending time on his ranch, watching the sunset. (He pulls out his phone at one point, showing you a picture of a calf that you can’t help but coo at, directing baby noises at the phone in his hand. He seems endeared by this.)

You had always had a hard time talking to people you didn’t know, keeping to your same group of friends because of this reason. With Jack though you didn’t feel any lulls in the conversations, no awkward silences. You couldn’t remember the last time it had been so easy to have a conversation with someone.

As the two of you finish off your second round of whiskeys, a slow country song begins to play from the speakers. Most of the crowd looks confused at the shift in vibes from the DJ booth. The DJ in question points towards the corner where you and Jack have been sitting and winks; odd to pander to the one cowboy in the crowd. You’re not going to complain though, and it seems, neither is Jack. “Tennessee Whiskey. Just like my namesake.”

He hums in appreciation before he stands, holding a hand out to you. “Would you like to dance darlin?” You’ve never been much for slow dancing, but you knew you’d be kicking yourself with regret if you said no. You place your hand in his as he leads you out onto the dancefloor. The music swirls around the two of you and you feel your nerves spike, hoping your hands aren’t sweaty, that you don’t step on his feet and praying to whatever god is out there that you can keep the rhythm. But as he gently tugs you closer into his embrace you feel any apprehension disappearing you’re your mind.

You find yourself looking up at him, dark and beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. You take a risk and lean your head against his shoulder as you sway, taking in a deep inhale of his scent. It’s beautiful, not too strong. You can smell the whiskey on his breath and you wonder what cologne he uses. It’s something oaky and fresh and the combination is enough to intoxicate you even further.

“Sugar…” the pet name comes out as a whisper from above.“I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t ask if I could kiss ya right now.” You pull back looking up into those eyes that you could get lost in. He’s leaned in close to you now, his breath dancing across your lips. You part them to respond and you knew you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t say yes.

Wordlessly you nod and can’t help the sigh that escapes you as he tilts his head and his lips meet yours.

It’s not your first kiss, but you can count all the previous ones on a singular hand. He’s gentle, his hawkish nose that you’ve found yourself enamored with brushes softly against your cheek as your lips dance together. You hum in contentment, bringing your arms up and around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and it may sound juvenile but you hadn’t had much experience with tongue kissing. You part your lips anyways, following intuition, allowing his tongue access. The sensation is foreign but not unwelcome and you can’t help moaning, and his hold on your waist tightens as you’re pulled even closer against him. You spend a few moments in the middle of the dance floor in his embrace, tongues dancing together and thoroughly getting lost in him.

He pulls back for a moment and you’re thankful he made the decision because you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you still needed air. You cringe at the whimper you let out as your lips detach, you hate at how pathetic you sound, hate that you instinctually go to chase them. It doesn’t seem like Jack cares though, he’s gazing down at you, bringing up a hand to rest on the side of your face, a thumb coming to sweep across your bottom lip before swooping down for a second kiss. This one is much more brief. “How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” he murmurs against your lips.

You freeze up at his question knowing exactly what he’s asking. Your eyes going wide as you try to stammer out excuses that won’t reveal your true hesitation. This particular insecurity doesn’t come up a lot but you’re never sure how to breach the topic of your virginity whenever scenarios like this pop up.

Jack pulls back, a concerned look growing on his face at your muttering. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, doll. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to do anything other than sit around here all night. I’d enjoy any time spent with you.” His eyes met yours and they were so kind and soft and you felt your heart melt a little at his crooked smile. You had just met him but you made up your mind to tell him the truth so he wouldn’t walk away from the night feeling terrible.

You always make up something else and run before you can embarrass yourself further. Your younger years are supposed to be your “prime” and you know in your mind that it’s completely normal for you to still be a virgin. That being said you have always felt like it was some kind of barrier blocking you from ever truly being comfortable with romantic entanglements.

You sigh as another song picks up. You’re both still holding onto each other and swaying to the beat and you open your mouth to give this man some peace. “Jack I… listen you’re incredibly attractive and I love a cowboy, I really do. And you didn’t make me uncomfortable! I just-” you chew on your lip again, thinking if there was a better way to say this before deciding on just getting it over with so you can stop wasting his time.

“I’ve never…been with anyone like that before and I as much as I wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, I know a lot of people don’t want the virgin burden on them so I completely understand if you want to find someone else for the night so you’re not wasting your time.” It comes out rushed and in one breath, you’re avoiding his eyes not wanting to see the disappointment that might radiate from them. When you finally looked up, he was still staring at you with those gentle eyes, it was too much for you and you cast your eyes back down.

In an instant you found his hand gently holding your chin, lifting your gaze to meet him once more. “Hey. Look at me. You ain’t got anything to be embarrassed about darlin’. And you’re certainly not a waste of my time. Far from it. Ain’t nothing wrong with being inexperienced.” His eyes crinkle with a smile directed at you and you grin back feeling relief wash over you. This is honestly the best one of these conversations.

“Now listen,” he continues “if you just wanna dance and drink the night away, I’m thrilled to get to know you more.” You nod waiting for the ‘but’ you knew was coming. “But if this is something you want to try and I’m the fella you wanna try it with, well then-” He leans down, voice dropping and breath dancing along your ear “-daddy will take care of you.”

He studies you then, gauging your reaction at his phrasing. He knew it was a bold move but hoped that it would pay off. And lucky for both of you it does. Your eyes widen and you let out a short gasp as you bite at your bottom lip. The term he used sent a spark of arousal directly through you and in that moment you know that Jack is exactly who you need to come home with you tonight.

You give Jack a nod and he caresses your face with his large calloused hand. “I need to hear you say it, sugar.” And fuck it if that doesn’t get you feeling all warm inside. “Y-yeah” it comes out shaky not purely from nerves but also through the adrenaline you can feel coursing through your body. “Take me home Jack.” He practically beams at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and tugging you back over to the bar so he can pay the tab. You didn’t walk in here expecting to leave with someone tonight but you’re the furthest thing from disappointed as the two of you rush out the doors.

You both make your way through the bar's exit and you find yourself standing in front of a vintage Ford Bronco, Whiskey holding the passenger door open for you. You smile and slide into the seat. “Such a gentleman. But you know, this isn’t the car I was expecting a fancy distillery man to own. But it does feel quite fitting.” You muse as he takes his own seat and starts the engine, the radio on low crackling to life. “It’s my pride and joy” he hums, gently patting the dash. “Anything could happen to me as long as my baby here is safe.”

You laugh at the man’s love for his car until the chuckle is cut off by Jack’s hand coming to rest on your leg. His touch is gentle, and he drags his palm up from your knee to your upper thigh and back down again. He glances at you from his periphery “This alright darlin?” You nod as he resumes his movements, tracing inscrutable patterns with his fingers whenever his hand pauses in its path.

You feel the telltale heat of arousal begin to pool in your stomach. You’re not unused to that. The new and exhilarating part of the scenario tonight is that you have someone else to take care of it. Someone other than your hands and your well-used vibrator. You’re thankful that the drive back from the bar to your apartment is short. If it was any longer than the ten minutes it took you might actually explode.

Jack pulls up and you direct him to park in the spot next to your own car. One that looks far worse than you usually find it when compared to the well taken care of Bronco next to it. Jack, continuing to be the gentleman he’s been all night, opens your door for you once more, grabbing your hand as you sling your purse over your shoulder and make your way towards the front door. The elevator ride up to the 5th floor is rife with palpable tension and you almost melt at the gentle circles Jack makes with his thumb on the back of your hand as it sits entwined with his.

The moment the two of you cross the threshold of your doorway you expect everything to begin at once, all passion and clashing lips. You find yourself surprised when you’re not immediately pressed against the door and ravaged like in the movies, and you see Jack take in your living room.

Luckily everything had gotten sorted in your first week and the only thing to indicate a new occupant were the stack of boxes in the corner that you needed to take to the recycling bin behind the building.

His eyes trail along your bookshelf, scanning the titles bookended by little trinkets and tiny figurines you had gathered from gifts and mall vending machines. He admires the paintings on your wall, all excellent purchases from the local Goodwill you thought.

You shift from foot to foot not entirely knowing how to start things off. This is your first time and Jack is the one showing you the ropes so you hover next to your couch as he finishes his scan of the room, turning to you with a soft smile. “You’ve made this place feel homey already, sugar. I love it.” You beam back at him happy to explain your interior design choices but in a moment he’s taking two large strides in your direction. “Now, mind if we pick up where we left off in the bar?” He brushes his knuckles gently across your cheek as he waits for your response and in an instant you’re already reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck once more.

It’s cliché and you know it but when his lips connect with yours once more you feel fireworks. An explosion of arousal deep in the pit of your stomach as you grant his tongue entrance. The kiss isn’t rough but it is passionate. You had always had the inkling that you would find a tongue in your mouth invasive and gross and you are thrilled to learn that isn’t true. Or maybe it’s just because of the man you’re with. Jack seems like the type of guy who can make anything feel good and you can’t wait to see what he has to offer you.

Detaching his lips from yours you find yourself unintentionally pouting. He laughs at his before leaning down to latch his lips onto your neck and the pout disappears as a moan rips through your body as he begins to suck and bite up your neck. Jack is savoring every moment he spends kissing you, you can feel the restraint lurking behind every kiss. You can feel your legs turn into jelly and you’re grateful for the hands around your waist and the couch back behind you for all the support you certainly need right now.

As Jack soothes a bite with his tongue he moves his hands from your waist and places them under your ass instead. He tugs you forward, your balance unstable without the couch behind you. You feel his muscles get to work and suddenly you’re off the ground letting out a startled gasp. “Don’t worry, sugar. Daddy’s got ya.” Instinct kicks in and you’re wrapping your legs around his middle, groaning at the contact between your clothed core and his waist. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for some friction until now and it hits you like a freight train. Dropping your head against Jack’s shoulder you hear his laugh from above you. “Hmm, someone’s impatient ain’t she?”

Lightheadedness consumes you, astonishment at his strength combined with his teasing giving you an incredible heady feeling. “Jack please…” you rub circles into the nape of his neck and you feel his breath huff into your hair as he groans in response to your begging.

Wasting no time he carries you to your bedroom and gently sets you down on the bed. He stands above you as you stare up with wide eyes. He kneels in front of you at the edge of your bed and reaches a hand up to begin to slip the flannel from your shoulders. The gentle touch of his hands sends a shiver up your spine, even through the layer of clothing.

Soon your shirt is off and he’s tracing lazy patterns on the swell of your breasts. He gently palms your boobs through the lacy fabric of your bra and drags a thumb across the raised material where your nipples are hardening underneath. You’re not sure how much longer you can handle the touches, gentle and tantalizing and just enough to leave you wanting more. You move your arms up and back to unclasp your bra, throwing off the side of the bed to be dealt with in the morning.

Jack’s eyes are trained on your breasts now, even more so than before. There’s a hunger there, a desire that you’re not used to seeing directed at you. He leans forward and cups one breast with his hand and secures his mouth over your peaked nipple. You groan in pleasure and press your chest further into him, despite there being not much more space to fill.

He drags his tongue across your nipple before sucking, repeating the process every few seconds. You’re pleasantly shocked at the little nibbles that are peppered across your chest once he’s had his fill of licking. You move your hand down to gently grip at the back of his head, pressing him closer. “Daddy please, keep doing that it’s so good!” He eases his mouth off, a pleased smile on his face. “Anything you want sweetness.” And promptly moves to the opposite breast, continuing his work.

Soon you’re left panting and hungry for his same talented touch in a much more sensitive place. You tell him as much through panting breaths and he wastes no time to start shimmying your pants and underwear off with your help. He stands for a moment, beginning to remove his own clothes, a pile of his country wear being left in the corner of your room. You admire his broad shoulders, the hair on his chest, slim waist with just a hint of a belly that you’d love to kiss. You follow his happy trail down eyeing the prominent bulge in his jeans begging to be freed.

As you lay on the bed spread before him, you’re overcome with the urge to curl up into a ball to cover yourself. You wouldn’t say that you’re unhappy with your body. You love your curves and your tummy. No you’re not insecure…not entirely.

Jack is a handsome man and you’re lying here wondering if this is what he wants to see. You curse yourself for letting your insecurities try and ruin your night with this handsome man who clearly wants what you want. You fold inwards on yourself only slightly, bringing your legs closed and positioning yourself more on your side than on your back.

Jack finally back at you from where he’s been stripping and glances over at you with a furrowed brow, noticing the change in position. “Sweetness what’s wrong? We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.” You shake your head so quickly that you almost make yourself lightheaded. “It’s not that. I just-” you pause trying to think of the right way to explain yourself without sounding incredibly pathetic.

But it seems like Jack can read your mind. Before you can even continue to draft your thoughts, his brow straightens and an incredibly soft look crosses his features. He stands from his spot and kneels in front of you on the bed. “Doll, you are one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. I just wanna make you feel good. Will you let Daddy take care of you?”

You can feel the heat bloom in your body and you nod as you release a shaky breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jack smirks at your reaction, pleased that you’re less in your head.

He stands and holds you by your hip, urging you to rotate onto your back. Once you’ve done so, he grabs your ankles pulling them apart and down so your legs are dangling off the bed. He kneels on the ground in front of you once more and you see that his eyes are dark with lust. You feel dizzy, knowing that you’re the one having this effect on him. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, and then the other; finishing by sliding his hands under your ass and tugging you closer.

Any potential embarrassment is immediately banished from your mind as you feel his breath against your wetness. He wastes no time, flattening his tongue and licking a broad strip up from your slit to your clit. Your eyes widen at the sensation and you let out a loud gasp as he does it a second time. His tongue licks at your folds before his lips settle on your clit.

Immediately, as if they had a mind of their own, your hips try to buck into his mouth. Desperate for more pleasure, more of that tongue on you. You feel Jack grin against you and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep them still. “Woah now sugar, calm down.” He’s only removed his mouth a few inches, the hot breath teasing you with its closeness makes you want to writhe on the bed. Jack must feel the tension in your hips because he chuckles. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.”

His mouth is on you again, alternating between swirling patterns on your clit and filling you with his tongue. The noises coming from his mouth as he works you closer to pleasure are filthy and you’re about to comment when he pulls back for a moment. You let out a ragged breath and sit up a bit, wondering why he stopped. He takes a thick finger and drags it up through the combined wetness of you and his spit. It teases near your opening and you groan as your want for more sparks once again.

He chuckles at your expression. It’s not a mocking one, you can tell with the way he’s looking at you, the softness in his eyes like he’s the lucky one for sharing this with you. He’s not away from you long. That same finger is entering you now and nothing has ever felt this good. You didn’t realize how different it would feel with fingers that weren’t your own. Yours always felt too methodical, his felt magical.

“You’re sweeter than honey. Did ya know that?” you’re glad you managed to open your eyes as you look down at him popping that same finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. You know you must look ridiculous, your eyes blown wide with lust and jaw hanging slack and open in shock.

You feel yourself clench tightly as Jack moves to slide a second finger in. His free hand reaches up to hold your hip, his thumb moving in calming circles along the skin there. “You gotta relax sugar.” He moves his head back to your clit, speaking directly into you. “I want ya to feel good. Just relax.”

You do your best to follow his instructions, taking a breath and focusing on his hand on your hip and his mouth on your most sensitive area. Feeling your muscles relax, Jack grins into you. “That’s a good girl.” And the praise makes you shudder. He moves a second finger through your folds gathering the pooling slick and slides them into your entrance. You can feel his fingers thrusting inside you, taking breaks to scissor outwards stretching you out in the most delicious way. The fingers curl, finding a spot you’ve never managed to find in your years of exploring your own body.

You throw your head back against the covers as you let out a wanton moan, eyes clenched shut in pleasure as he continues to stroke that sweet spot. You’re so lost that you don’t take notice of a third finger slipping in as he picks up the pace. You’re panting now, breath coming out rapid and hot as your chest heaves with the labor of trying to keep some semblance of calm as the man between your legs wrecks you. Between his fingers thrusting into you and his lips sucking at your clit you can feel your orgasm rushing up on you like a speeding train. You reach a hand down, hoping Jack doesn’t mind as you grab onto his hair letting out a breathless “Jack I’m gonna-” you can feel him nod slightly, groaning at the pressure of your fingers gripping onto his hair and the vibrations finally do you in.

You feel yourself clenching again, this time due to the amount of pleasure running through your body and your legs close gently around Jack who works you through your orgasam, only letting his fingers slide from you once you go limp against the sheets. He gives you another broad lick for good measure and you whimper from the overstimulation, not being able to form words yet.

He rises from his kneeling position and crawls onto the bed, one knee between yours, the other bracketing your leg. You stare up at him with glossy eyes, tracing over his slick mustache and chin. Reaching up, you circle your arms around his neck and bring him down for a kiss, slow and passionate and you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, sweet and tangy, on his tongue. “You ready for more sugar? We can stop here if you need you.”

You know it’s the bare minimum, really, but you can’t help but be moved by the constant check-ins from Jack. It means a lot to you that he’s looking out for you every step of the way.

Not much for words for fear of getting to emotional, you reach over to your bedside table and pull the drawer open, fishing out a bottle of lube and a condom. You hand both to Jack and correctly reads this as an answer to his question. Looking down, he raises a brow in amusement. “A pink condom huh? That’s new.” Biting down on your tongue to hold back a laugh, you shrug under him. “They were free at the last pride I went to. Gotta stick with the thematic rainbow colors right?” He laughs with you ripping the foil open and rolling the condom onto his cock and you’re glad the two of you can laugh in the moment.

“Now sweetness, I’m gonna need you to relax again, alright? Daddy prepared you with his fingers but as you can see sugar, his cock is much bigger.”

Your eyes trail down his body and he was right. His cock was much bigger than his fingers and much bigger than the dildo you had made yourself comfortable with. But Jack has been patient and gentle all night and you’d be lying to yourself if the thought of him inside of you didn’t set a fire coursing through you.

His words sent heat right through you down to your core, you might have been overeager but his tone had you spreading your legs for him with a wink, a bold feeling suddenly overcoming you since your first orgasm. “I’ll relax daddy. I’ll be good.” His smile is blinding as he grabs one of your pillows and helps you settle it under you, lifting your legs to bracket his own hips.

He notches his cock at your entrance and your breath catches in your throat. He was right, it’s much different than his fingers. More filling, more intense, but just as pleasurable. The pain and pleasure intertwine and set your nerves alight. He inches in slowly, giving your body time to adjust to his size, the entire time he’s praising you, pressing kisses to your face, neck, and chest. “That’s a good girl. Taking me so well. That’s it sugar, keep breathing. You look gorgeous under me like this.”

His praise pulls you into his orbit further. Sooner than you expected you feel his hips make contact with your ass and you realize with a moan that he’s fully in you now. He remains still and bent over you, kissing you deeply, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stillness is agonizing, you need him to move and move now.

“Daddy!” you whimper, and you’d be embarrassed at the tone of your voice if you hadn’t felt him twitch inside of you. “Please move! Please, I'm ready for you to move.” He groans into your neck and obliges. He moves back, pulling out at a torturously slow pace and you feel his cock drag along your walls letting out a breathy moan. He pushes back in slowly too, continuing with this pace until you’re pulling at his hair again, whimpering and begging him to go faster.

“Alright darlin, you let me know if we need to stop now.” You eyes are trained on him as you nod, internally mesmerized at how much care he’s been taking tonight. You can’t say one way or another but you think it’d be hard to find someone to come into a bar hookup with this much gentleness.

“You’d be wonderful to tease darlin. You know that? I could listen to those noises all night, keeping you on edge. You think you’re begging now?” You clench at his words knowing that you were at his mercy, that at this point you’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he kept cooing praise in your ear. “But tonight is about you, no teasin. Your wish is my command sugar.” He picks up pace and you can’t believe what you had been missing.

Your legs lock around his back bringing him in closer and you find yourself holding on, arms linked around his neck as he takes you on a ride.

What started off as a careful pace on Jack’s end, wound up pushing you to your limits. You didn’t think it would feel this good your first time. Maybe that’s what had kept you away for so long. But any fears had no place here as Jack rocked into you picking up speed with each thrust.

With one hand on your hip holding you steady, Jack leans down to start sucking a mark on your neck, pulling back to admire his handiwork in the form of a red mark that he knows will last a few days. In response your hands in his hair tighten their grip as you both let out simultaneous moans.

“Such a good girl for me.” Jack’s grunting into your neck at this point, his breath coming out hot and heavy, fanning across your skin. “Making me feel so good.” His thrusts are getting erratic now, losing rhythm. His hand dances across your skin, skimming across your chest before finding its way between your legs, thumb working small and quick circles on your bundle of nerves.

“You got another one in ya don’tcha sugar? I wanna see your face when daddy makes you cum.” You’re past words at this point only able to nod your head and moan in response.

With a few more powerful thrusts in tandem with the pressure on your clit you’re coming around Jack’s cock, head thrown back against the pillows with eyes rolling back in pleasure chanting his name.

Jack groans at the tightness around him and the expression on your face. He fucks you through your orgasm, removing his hand from your clit as he grips tightly onto your hips.

When Jack finishes, its with a shaky breath and a drawn out moan right next to your ear. And though you were on the verge of overstimulation so close to your last orgasm, the sound sent another pang of arousal through your body. You were definitely gonna store that away for later.

The two of you remain entangled for a bit. He’s softening inside of you as he gently peppers kisses to your forehead, nose and cheeks. You’re thoroughly exhausted, reveling in the attention and when he dips down you find yourself nuzzling into the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You worry for a moment that it’s too intimate for a bar hookup but immediately chase that thought off with a deep inhale, taking in the smell of sweat and sex and remnants of his cologne. It’s intoxicating.

Eventually he must tire of holding his body up so as to not crush you and he slides out of you slowly. You have to admit that you miss the fullness and only pout slightly as he stands from the bed, making his way into the bathroom.

When he returns the condom is gone and he has a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels on the bed and begins gently wiping away the sweat on your brow, trailing the warm rag down your chest and between your legs. You can’t help but hum in contentment, not having expected this level of care after a one night stand. He balls up the rag and tosses it with expert aim back into the bathroom and you couldn’t care less where it lands. All you want is him back in your bed and pressed against you.

Words aren’t needed. Jack seems to read your mind and smiles down at you before crawling into bed behind you. You inch your body closer to his until you find his arms wrapping around your middle, tugging you close and eliminating the gap.

“Thanks for that Jack….that was-” you pause trying to find your words. “-that was fucking phenomenal.” You feel a huff of laughter against the back of your neck before feeling him shift positions allowing him to press another kiss to your temple. “I aim to please darlin.”

You close your eyes briefly before a pang of anxiety worms its way into your mind. “Will you still be here in the morning?” The question is quiet, whispered. Half of you wanting an answer and the other half hoping he didn’t hear as to not reveal yourself to be as vulnerable as you feel.

“Course I will sugar. I reckon–if you’re amiable–that there’s a few more things I can show ya.”

You’re giddy at the thought and can’t help but giggle. “I’d love that.”

You’re not sure where this thing between you two will go, but even if you only have him for one night, you know that it’s an experience you’re never going to forget.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey fanfic #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfic #how do tags work #can anyone tell i dont know what i'm doing and i Have Not Learned #dfhsdfh #one day i will apologize for this incredibly self indulgent personal fantasy fic #today is not the day #i haven't like actually re-read my own work but i am Going Through It right now and it actually made me feel better #:')#my writing

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