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ronearoundblindly · 8 months

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Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve.

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.”

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left.

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America.

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you.

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again.

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real.

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job?

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.”

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes.

“On your six, Cap.”

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out.

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ.

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.”

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet.

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise.

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.”

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

“I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it.

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#shy anon #ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #old dog new tricks #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america smut

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pix3lplays · 16 days

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Okay so I’m hoping that you did the recent quest before I spill but: just imagine that Gallagher is the actual villain behind everything, I mean sure he’s teased as an antagonist but just imagine him doing the dirty work and just comes home to his lover who has no idea and he acts like nothing happens (like I’m in it for evil men who act sweet and genuinely want to protect those they love, for Gallagher imagine him just being all sweet with his lover but behind the scenes he goes stab stab like-) see even though I didn’t know I knew there was more to the reason as to why I am in love with Gallagher

Spoilers for Gallagher~

Cw! Violence and killing, blood

You’re on to something, I love that. Obviously we don’t know entirely what’s going on but clearly he’s Some Sort of antagonist, so…

Your husband, Gallagher, such a sweetheart, who works so hard to make sure you live a comfortable life…

You genuinely think he’s out there working Security…and the nights he has to be away…yeah your husband is also a mixologist, he works nights sometimes…he does his best to make you happy…

He always comes home so tired, but he’ll always, ALWAYS make time for you.

You can’t bear to ask much of him. He already does so much for you. You just want to give him a kiss on the cheek and pour him a drink and rub his shoulders while he tells you about his day.

Why would you suspect anything? Even when he’s gone a little longer than usual you’d never suspect a thing…he just tells you he had to work overtime and you leave it at that. He’s always so apologetic when he has to “work overtime” and his annoyance at being “stuck at work” instead of being able to spend time with you really sells it to you. Your poor, sweet husband…doesn’t he work hard enough?

How would you know that your husband is busy getting himself wrapped up in some serious trouble? Committing literal CRIMES, pursuing his own agenda…not to mention the whole “minion of Enigmata” thing…

“Gallagher” isn’t real. Just a perfect little collage of the Ideal, loyal members of the Family.

Those scars you traced so delicately? Fake. That soft brown hair that you enjoyed playing with? Fake. His enchanting eyes? It’s ALL fake. You’re in love with a lie. And if it was up to him, you would NEVER find out. He would keep you safe forever. From danger, from his true identity, from anything that might separate the two of you…

The reality is, no matter how you feel right now…if you ever found out the truth…you just couldn’t keep trusting him.

So he would just keep lying. Sink deeper and deeper into his own web just to keep you close to him. He really doesn’t want to hurt you. He would never hurt you on purpose. He’d KILL anyone who found out and threatened to tell you.

Who knows what his agenda is. But whatever it is, he wants you with him, by his side. He’ll do what he has to do. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. But you don’t need to know about any of that.

He’s such a good little actor. He comes home after an unusually long shift, you put a hand on his face, and you ask him about his day, and he tells a cute little story about how he was hunting down bad guys all day. That he even had to skip lunch. It’s adorable the way you gasp and drag him to the kitchen so you can make him something.

You don’t suspect a thing.

You have no idea that the path he walks is soaked in blood.

How could you suspect anything?

He holds you so sweetly at night…you love your husband so dearly…he’d never hurt anyone…you know him the best…

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr gallagher x reader #honkai star rail Gallagher x reader #Gallagher x reader

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rggie · 2 years

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things they do during the ‘honeymoon phase’

characters: idia shroud, malleus draconia, vil schoenheit

summary: little things they start to do in the early stages of your relationship.

cw: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, vil does your makeup

idia gets into your interests

“you know that game you like? it’s actually… alright.” idia says out of the blue, last word enunciated slowly as though he had been mulling over his word choice. he actually enjoyed the game very much, but he wasn’t going to tell you that—choosing to feign nonchalance, doing finger pushups against his desk in an attempt to look somewhat occupied.

you can’t help but beam. “you actually played it?!” you’re leaning in so, so close to him, the apples of his cheeks instantly grow rosy and he finds himself looking anywhere but your bright, hopeful eyes. he was the making you this happy? just by playing a game? (he decides this expression was one he wanted to see more often—if he could bring himself to look your way, that is.)

“w-well i didn’t get too far but from where i was, the lore seems interesting and the characters are cute, and…” he pauses, sneaking a glance at you. you’re hanging onto his every word, urging him to keep rambling on. “the graphics are cool too. i guess.” he internally facepalms. he should shut up. why did you care so much about his opinion, anyway?

“just give me your game id so i can add you–” idia’s mid-sentence when his words are cut off by a whisper of thanks and an odd, feverish sensation on his right cheek that ends faster than he can process. he short-circuits.

if his face had been flushed before, he’s certain his hair is now a similar shade, blue ends blossoming into dahlia pink as his breath hitches, heart thrumming against his chest rather suddenly.

“hh… it was nothing really. i mean, i guess it was pretty easy for a pro like me.” you were doing wonders for his ego. he’s baring his teeth, flashing his wide signature smile before his lips ghost over yours apprehensively.

“i-if i played more, would you kiss me again?”

malleus ensures your safety

“you really don’t have to walk me home!” you’re flailing your arms about a little helplessly as he meets your stride with a chuckle.

“but i want to. it’s also night-time.” he reminds you, ignoring the fact that you’re in a boarding school with sufficient security, and also had his retainers trailing after you, currently hiding in the bushes in an attempt to be somewhat inconspicuous. “making sure that you get home safe eases my worries considerably.”

well, when he puts it like that… you don’t have the heart to deny him.

as your shoulders bump, malleus wonders how your hands would feel in his. were you the type to intertwine fingers when holding hands, or did simply having one hand rest on top of another suffice? were your hands smaller, or bigger? his digits brush against your own, but retract themselves just as fast.

the action doesn’t go unnoticed. even after putting a label on your relationship, he’d still be hesitant initiating any sort of skin-ship. it’s as though he expects you to cower and shy away, when all you want to do is revel in his affection. so you stop walking.

malleus, lost in his own thoughts, continues on ahead, and you bite your tongue trying not to snicker when he finally breaks out of his reverie to see you’re no longer by his side. he beckons you over, forehead wrinkling slightly as he huffs and juts his lips out into a pout. cute. “what are you doing?”

“mal, we’re dating. you can hold my hand, you know.” surveying his tentative demeanour, you add: “it’d make me feel more secure if you did.”

“oh.” his pout is replaced by a coy smile as you meet his side once again.

“if that’s how you feel,” he squeezes your hand, swinging it back and forth before raising it with childlike awe. he’s brimming with unfathomable tenderness as you lock eyes; you match his expression, teetering between bashfulness and contentment. “then we should’ve done this sooner.”

vil listens your criticisms

“–and so i just told him straight: if that’s the role i’m going to be offered, then i’ll take my leave.” vil finishes his rant as you hum in acknowledgment, eyes closed as you try your best to stay still. he’s putting some sort of powder all over your face, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose at the ticklish sensation of brush hairs flicking across your profile. “i can imagine how you strutted out.” you giggle.

though your eyes are closed, you know he’s rolling his eyes at your remark as he holds your shoulder firmly to stop it from moving with the tremors of your laugh. “well? what would you have done?”

you’re silent for a couple beats, pursing your lips in contemplation. “i suppose i would’ve tried to compromise. i think you should’ve asked about other roles instead of leaving right away when you didn’t get what you wanted.” the room seems to still, and you feel like retracting your words when he doesn’t reply immediately. “vil?”

“you’re right.” other than rook, you were the only one brave enough to talk to him straightforwardly, lacking any semblance of falsity. “i think i needed to hear that.” vil carries on working away, spraying you with something you only recently learned (courtesy of him, of course) was ‘setting spray’. an odd, guttural noise comes from your boyfriend’s throat—you’re not sure if that’s a particularly positive or negative sign. “you can open your eyes.”

adjusting to the sudden brightness, you blink thrice before peering at yourself in the vanity mirror. “so? am i beautiful now?” you tease light-heartedly, posing as he pulls you into taking a quick selfie before pocketing his phone again.

he admires your sanguine features and his hard work, feeling a smile tug against the corners of his lips; he lets it grow wide, because he supposes there’s no need to play pretend. you always see right through him anyway. he presses a kiss to your nose, careful not to smudge the silvery highlight on it’s tip. “you’re already beautiful.”

he likes you so much it’s detestable.

#idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst fic #twst hcs #twst drabble #twst fluff #🐾・/ rggie twst

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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Hi!!! I ADORE the Nesting universe. Can we please have more drabbles? Does Reader come around to Steve's attentions? What's her favorite thing that Steve does as far as spoiling her? Does she do things for Steve too (and what does he like best)? Does she meet the rest of the family and how does she get along with everyone?

It's difficult for the Reader to decide on her opinion of this whole relationship. Aside from being a ruthless mob boss - a side of Steve that really scares her - Steve's very caring and patient with her. Yes, he is overprotective, but he somehow finds reasonable middle ground to meet her needs and desires too (lbh, he does it in a way that gets him what he wants, but is so subtle the Reader thinks her own demands were met). She can't fully accuse him of hiding her from the world, or forbidding her to do things. Which makes being angry with him difficult.

And Steve does a lot of wonderful things, which would make her fall head over heels if only he wasn't a lethal criminal. She especially likes when he brings her fave sweet treats without occasion, or buys romance novels she likes to indulge in (he sometimes reads them to her in bed, aloud, and then snort that he can do it better... and shows her exactly how).

Most of all, she goes weak for how invested in the pregnancy and starting a family he is. Yeah, he's cocky and arrogant about knocking her up, but he's also actively participating in preparations. The fact he's very calm and supportive when Reader has a few meltdowns and scares regarding giving birth, makes her rely on him more and more. Even if sometimes it terrifies her when he speaks of keeping her full of him time after time.

She meets everyone who is important to Steve - which is a small circle of family and close friends. His mother adores her, though they had one tense discussion about how dangerous Steve is.

However, Steve kind of regrets appointing Yelena and Natasha as Reader's security. They're extremely efficient, but also like to indulge in some of whims he rather doesn't approve of. Like the time he had late meetings and got home only to find out his pregnant wife and her bodyguards were partying at a club...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Natasha slides next to him before he even notices. She can move like a shadow and it's one of the reasons he chose her to protect you.

"Safe and sound, only releasing some tension." Romanoff chuckles, pointing at where you and Yelena twirl on the dance floor.

You had zero alcohol in your blood, only the fizzy cherry coke, but you feel a little drunk.

On endorphins.

Your face glows, eyes closed in bliss as you dance. The cobalt blue dress you wear is loose - more comfortable for your slightly rounded belly - but it's so short that more energetic twirls almost expose your ass.

A muscle in Steve's jaw twitches as he stares at you.

You're the hottest sight, but you're also showing off something that is his.

You are full of him and some people here still crave after you, as if they could ever scrape the mark of his ownership off you.

Your moves remind him of the night you met. His eyes set on you that evening and he couldn't look away. Perhaps you weren't the greatest dancer in the world, but the way you moved and how you tilted your head made him think of how you'd look when he fucked you.

You dance like that now, too.

As if you're begging to be fucked.

So maybe it's you who still doesn't fully accept the fact you belong to someone.

Steve undoes a button on his jacket, white beater beneath glowing bright under the strobe lights. He slowly strides towards you, people parting in his wake; a predator zeroed in on a clueless prey.

He gives a nod and Yelena smoothly dances away before you even notice.

Then he presses himself behind you, wrapping an arm around your middle, his hand splayed on your belly.

You jump at the first brush of a big, sturdy body against yours. But the possessive move of his hand and the scent of him (so familiar by now) makes you freeze.

"If you needed to release some tension," Steve murmurs into your ear, "I know better ways to do it."

You gasp out his name and try to turn around, but his hold on you tightens.

He starts moving, and forces you to move along with him, rocking your hips into his as the beat of the music turns more sensual.

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver. Your breath hitches when his other hand slides up your bare thigh and beneath your dress.

"If you wanted to dance," Steve's tone turns darker in the unmistakable sign of sealing your tormented fate.

"-you can give me a show."

Suddenly, he turns you around, so you're facing him. Both of his hands are locked on your hips, the fabric of your dress bunched up indecently.

"I'm taking you home." Steve declares. "You'll dance for me, little wife."

"And you won't get to release your tension until I'm satisfied with your performance."

#Anonymous #Nesting #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Mob boss Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers smut #Chris Evans smut #mafia steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #Steve Rogers x female reader

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judasgot-it · 3 months

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i would like to know what hunting dogs would do when they want reader sits on their lap?👀

I am so late to this request but in honor of learning that Tecchou is 6 foot today.... mwah

Scenario: What they do when they want reader to sit on their lap (Jouno, Tachihara, Tecchou) Also slight NSFW elements but like it's mostly jokes. Thought I'd let y'all know ahead of time.

Jouno

He's not one for physical touch usually since it overstimulates him, but once and a while he likes to be warm and would definitely be some weird cheesy guy to use it as a sort of intimidation tactic. Like mafia men who pet cats.

If it's in any sort of public setting, it's because he is well aware you're hot and sexy (everyone who reads this is, because I said so) and loves to cuck people sometimes. He's probably into some shit like that idk

He probably does it in the most obnoxious way possible too - you'd think you're in some dark romantasy with the way he's acting. It's all a part of some evil scheme to piss off some dude that he's mildly annoyed by

Definitely does it once and a while though whenever you're in fancy af places. Dude likes to be praised and has a lot of money, don't tell me he wouldn't love to have someone pretty in his lap calling him nice things

Especially if you're his partner, he wants to show off that he won - he's blind, not stupid. He knows people are jealous.

Pulls you in by the waist and talks as if it's the first time he ever met you. He'll pull out some poetry and shit while tracing your hipbones, he does know how to make you feel enamored.

At home? In private? He probably likes his space but when he wants to have you in his lap, he just does it.

What are you? Too busy for your boyfriend? Nuh-uh. He just takes you. Are you going to punch a gift horse in the mouth?

Jouno has a big ego sometimes, thinking his mere touch is so special.

Although I think it's less of a physical want for touch and more of a security thing. He needs to know that you're there and aren't going to disappear from him

I think sometimes he is a little insecure and he just needs a hug, but it's hard to ask so he just. Pulls you into his chair and buries his face in your shoulder

I also headcanon that he gets cold easily, so once and a while he gives in and just uses you as his portable heater

Tecchou

Is all up in your space all the time, doesn't even realize how it might look to others.

Touching you, kissing you, practically glued to your side and staring at your face. If he's not on a mission, he is obsessed with you no matter what.

If you can't sit next to each other he'll just have you sit on his lap - he has big thighs, he makes a better seat anyway. Or he'll sit on the bench and let you sit on him if it's too cold for you - he's a gentleman, even if it means freezing his own ass off.

Isn't super handsy like Jouno is, he just wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady and hold you close to him.

Definitely manhandles you though, makes you feel like you weigh nothing when he just casually holds you in one arm like a cat

He's more casual about it, but that's because PDA can be pretty easy for him. As long as he can have one hand on his sword, he's happy and feels safe

At home he can sit like that forever, but that's also because when he's on his time off he becomes the laziest dog around sometimes. If he's allowed, he would just cuddle up with you and do nothing but sleep

Has fallen asleep with you in his lap, which was cute but also you both avoid making it a habit since he is heavy and will hold onto you so tightly as if you're going to drown or something.

The best option he has is to pull you into his lap and spend time with you like that, even if all you're doing is reading a book or mindlessly scrolling through tiktok

He just wants to feel you there, since he spends so much time away from you

Admittedly he is most likely to get carried away from simple cuddling to other things...

Tachihara

He only asks when y'all are alone - like REALLY alone. He is used to his mafia image, and even when he doesn't have to keep it up at headquarters, he's scared of being teased.

Likes to hold you in his lap and just talk about each others day, it's one of his favorite forms of cuddling since he can just hold you with him while you're both in the office

He's a little lanky, he's built but he is shifting around a lot and it's hard for him to have you on his lap for so long. He doesn't have the biggest ass in the world (unlike some other dogs on this list)

Like Jouno, is really touchy though - he kisses you, teases your skin, and plays with your hands

He wants to enjoy the time he is spending with you, and if he could he would memorize your entire body with just his fingertips

It's almost like a massage when he does it, tracing your thighs in little patterns while you quickly fill in forms you both needed to do yesterday. He's enjoying his time, what can he say?

At home?

Dude is having you on his lap while you both play games or do your own thing. Parallel play

He want his time, but he doesn't want to lose time with you

It's a compromise, so he can sit on his computer playing PalWorld while you scroll your phone

It's warm, so y'all have the AC down and a blanket on just to enjoy each others company

Almost like a casual date lol

Idk if these were good tbh, I feel like they're very general? IDK

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #tecchou x reader #bsd x y/n #tecchou bsd #jouno x reader #tachihara x you #tachihara x reader #tachihara michizou x reader #tachihara x y/n #jouno x you #jouno x y/n

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nixoon-again · 2 months

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"I wanna fly high…”

Sonic doesn't remember when was the first time he caught Tails singing this melody or where the kit picked it up from but what he does know is that whenever the hedgehog sung it in a hushed tone — in soft murmurs to match the steady breathing of the fox cub in his arms cuddled close to his chest — it will be enough to put him to sleep.

He can't deny that catching Tails singing it to himself while tinkering alone in his workshop is cute and all, especially when he catches him dancing and the kit gets a little embarrassed afterwards and Sonic has to tell him it's nothing to worry about, but there's just something different about the nights when his baby brother just couldn't sleep, whether it be nightmares or thunderstorms or simply insomnia plaguing his cunning little fox brain, when he shyly tiptoes to Sonic in the dead of the night whenever the hedgehog decides to crash in his place and, with a quiet request, climbs onto his chest as Sonic holds him close. He scritches the back of his ear as his free hand brushes through the golden fur on the kit's back, both of their hushed breathing and soft heartbeats combining to make the melody even more peaceful.

To Tails, it was simply always more peaceful when it was Sonic's voice singing it.

It was never about the melody, about the song, about the lyrics. Just his big brother's voice.

Calm, soothing, safe.

"So I can reach the highest of all the heavens..." Sonic shifts a bit, just to give his sleeping arm some movement before he drapes it over the small of Tails’ back, the kit snuggling into the crook of his neck in return. Tails hums, content with his place atop the hedgehog's chest, listening to his (steady?) heartbeat as he wraps his twin tails around the both of them to provide enough warmth to fight off the cold that isn't necessarily the weather's fault this time.

Just their own bodies failing to generate enough heat for comfort.

"Somebody will be waiting for me,” Sonic tries his very best to ignore the blood on his hands, the blood tainting his baby brother's chest and his own through the contact as well. He doesn't want to open his eyes, he doesn't want to see the red when he can pretend he's simply lulling Tails to sleep on a cold winter night and not to a slumber he might never wake up from. “So I-I have gotta fly higher..."

Tails purrs in his hold, secure and Sonic doesn't want anything else. He can't ask for anything else — well, he can. He can ask for a life that's going to be snatched away from his arms way too soon, for years yet to come, for wanting to see the boy in his arms grow up, for his bright smiles, for the wafting scent of breakfast in workshop he's returning to after a morning run, for a little more time, for home.

But Sonic doesn't ask for it.

He's already using all of his leftover energy to stay awake just long enough for Tails to go first.

He doesn't want Tails to be alone, he doesn't want him to be scared, hurt and terrified in Sonic's arms who won't get up no matter how many times he begs every deity out there — Sonic doesn't want that. So he'll stay. Just long enough for Tails.

"Gotta keep goin'... Everything is a brand new challenge for me," If a tear rolls down Sonic's muzzle, he doesn't regard it. If anything it's hidden from sight when he lowers his head just enough to plant a soft parting kiss on top of Tails’ head.

He continues with his lips still hovering above the boy's soft golden fur, "I will believe in myself..."

He can't feel his hands anymore, he doesn't know if he's still petting Tails. He doesn't want them to stop, his baby brother needs all the comfort he can offer to him right now.

“This is only the start…”

His voice betrays him next.

Within moments, the world goes numb.

Sonic doesn't know which one of them went first.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #was in a mood :)#believe in myself has so much lullaby potential if only people would open their eyes #imagine sonic softly singing it to his lil bro #drabble

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angelltheninth · 11 months

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Bartender Jason Todd Flirts with You

Pairing: Bartender!Jason Todd x Customer!Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, meet cute, flirting, bar au, dancing, alcohol drinks, smooth!Jason Todd

A/N: Not much of a drinker myself but I'd go for Jason.

Bartender!Jason who feels so lucky that you chose his bar to spend the night in. The Crowbar. He's not the boss, the name was just his, the bar is owned by his old man. But if you ask him he could do a much better job. He's the one always making the costumers laugh with his stories and jokes and keeping them there for longer. You included.

Bartender!Jason who always welcomes you in with a smile and even gestures to the chair for you to sit in. Best seat in the house, you have front row seats to talk to him and see him work. Not a bad view, you had to admit. He always has his sleeves rolled up so you see his muscles flex when he shakes the glass for your drink or opens a new bottle.

Bartender!Jason who remembers you favorite drink and starts to make it the moment you step through the door. That's not to say he won't also encourage you to try something new every now and then. If you ask him for recommendations he will offer his personal favorites first, who knows, maybe you're drink compatible.

Bartender!Jason who always has an eye out for bad behavior happening in his bar. There are guards and security of course but he's not the kind of man who's afraid to raise his voice and stand up for his customers by himself. Or throw those who break the rules out.

Bartender!Jason who always does fancy tricks when you're watching from the bar. He doesn't have to but he's always been a bit of a show off, some find it annoying but it only makes him want to do it more. As long as he doesn't break something behind the bar it's all good in his book.

Bartender!Jason who knows he shouldn't flirt with you while he's working. He's gotten friendly with the ladies who visit the bar before and it never ended well because he couldn't focus on his work properly. So he asks to end his shift early when you're there, that way he can take you to the dance floor and show you just how good his moves are.

Bartender!Jason who slides you little messages along with your drink, reneging from his phone number to really dumb pick-up lines that only work because you look up and see his stupid, charming smile right after. He's also started to put little heart shaped fruit slices in your drink but that's after you started dating him.

Bartender!Jason who keeps careful track of how much people drink because he does not want to responsible for the mess they could get into. He gets loving to drink, he does too but he also kind of hates having the responsibility of feeling like a babysitter for the some of the people who come into his bar and don't know their limit.

Bartender!Jason who likes to come up with new drinks to serve and you're always the first one to try them, apart from himself of course. It makes you feel he trusts you to tell him what, if anything, needs fixing plus the fact that he's sharing his creative side with you.

Bartender!Jason who closes up the bar and walks you home after the night, it doesn't matter if you had a lot to drink or very little, he always walks you home to make sure you're safe. He's given you his jacket on many occasions and had you bring it back to him the next day of his shift, earning you both knowing and teasing glances from the other people in there.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x female reader #jason todd fluff #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics headcanons #dc comics x famale reader #dc comics fluff #titans x reader #titans x you #titans imagine #titans headcanons #titans x female reader #titans fluff #x female reader #bartender au #fluffy

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Sugar daddy AU with Simon Riley where he owns a very big, very controversial weapons manufacturing business. He's a bit morally grey, a bit of a hot head, and a bit more than disgustingly wealthy. Keeps his friends close and his enemies closer. Wears the mask because he's infamous and on a dozen hit lists across the planet.

Maybe he meets you at a dinner where you're the catering server, working your second job of that day, feet dragging across the ballroom while you offer up little hors d'oeuvres on silver platters to the snooty ass guests. He watches you, watching them, your eyes cataloging every part and piece, anticipating their every move as you slide left and right to intercept them. He watches men and women slip you cash as you do them favors, bringing extra liquor from the bar, tracking down car keys from the valet, procuring a back up pair of tights. Interesting, he thinks. Intelligent, resourceful... beautiful.

Or he meets you when he's getting his morning coffee, where you're working your usual five to three, so dead on your feet that you make his order wrong, accidentally giving him half and half instead of oat milk. And, shit. What if he's got an allergy? So you YELL across the cafe at him as soon as you realize your mistake and he startles, before assuring you it's alright. He can't help but notice how the light streams in from the front windows and dances just right across your skin, or your hair, or the way it dances in your irises, your eyes wide with worry.

Maybe he meets you on the street, where you're trying to make the last train to get home after an awful day, but he steps in front of you, and you fall face first. Maybe a bunch of things spill out of your bag, and you burst into tears because you're so frustrated, and he tries to apologize but you wave him off. "Let me at least get you a cab." He tries but you tell him not to bother, that you'll just walk to the next station to get the other connector (that will put you on a very late arrival to home). You're stubborn, and independent, and very clearly do not want some weird man in a skull mask's charity. (Why is he wearing that thing anyway?)

Maybe, he starts making running into you a more regular thing. Maybe he starts to become obsessed with you. Maybe he puts a tail on you so he can learn your habits, your routines. So he can find out where you live, where you work out, what you do in your downtime. Maybe he learns you don't have any downtime, you're scraping along, scrapping out a life by any means necessary. Maybe he learns your apartment building isn't secure, doesn't even have a lock on the main entrance or a buzzer system. Maybe he worries. Maybe he becomes consumed with thoughts of you until he's "running into you accidentally" and asking you to lunch.

Or, maybe he doesn't do that. Maybe he just thinks about you a lot, thinks about you so much that he starts to drop by the coffee shop more frequently, or walks on that same block every day now, or hires that catering company for some frivolous company party. Maybe he tries really hard not to spook you, but fails and then delivers a spectacular apology where he convinces you to come to dinner, just one dinner, so he can make it up to you.

Maybe he plucks you out of working paycheck to paycheck just to pay the rent on your shitty, paper thin ground level apartment in the worse than bad part of the city you live in. And he doesn't want sex, doesn't want to press your body to his bed, doesn't want you to kiss him just because he pays your bills. Maybe he wants you to trust him. He wants you to feel safe with him, because he knows you've never had a second of security in your life. Maybe you fall for him. Maybe it's a slow burn. Maybe you have trust issues. Maybe he falls in love with you. Maybe he does something fucked up. Maybe you're hiding something. Maybe there's angst. (be real it's me there would be angst) Maybe there's a happy ending.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #peaches writes #I need help #I'm tabling this I think #simon ghost riley #simon riley #sugar daddy au #cod mw22 fanfiction #simon riley x you

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factorialsotherfandoms · 6 months

Text

Philza comes with his evidence backpack, and Cellbit wants the ground to swallow him whole. Too much, its too much, he can't-

"Is now a bad time?" Philza asks, concerned but voice still light. "I can come back Friday?"

"No," Cellbit sighs. "No, I guess... Just..."

He waves a hand in a direction, and hopes Philza can make some sense of it.

"..." Philza doesn't move. "You alright mate? You seem a bit... off?"

"I'm just tired," Cellbit replies. "I just..."

Does he say, does he not? Philza has been one of his few defenders on this island, trusting him even when there's been nothing to trust, thinking on his wavelength and beside him.

He has to, doesn't he?

Cellbit can't make this sort of decision and tell anyone.

"I'm stepping down," Cellbit says. "From investigating. Cucurucho... I'm not working for the Federation, but I can't keep working against them either. Can we just... I'm sorry, I'm sorry I can't be what you need me to be."

"You're not? But-" Philza's brow furrows, and Cellbit fears the yelling he heard in the maze.

He didn't hear the words, but he heard the tone; he knows he is too exhausted to survive that.

"Please, Philza," he says. "Let it rest. The Federation, the Order... I have no part in them any more. Good luck. I hope you find what you're looking for someday."

There is a long pause and Cellbit thinks, maybe, that the silence is worse than the yelling could ever have been.

"Alright," Philza's voice is gentle as he deflates. "Alright... I understand."

Cellbit expects that to be that, watching Philza put the evidence bag away. It stings more than he thought it would, but even that struggles to bring him strength through the haze. He has failed Philza - failed everyone - in giving up. So of course he is now turned away. He knows he's only wanted for what he can give, why did he expect different?

But then the bag is gone, and Philza is still there. He reaches out, takes one of Cellbit's hands, and cradles it in his own. Calloused hands are soft and gentle, and Cellbit understands why so many on the island call him father.

It doesn't feel as teasing any more.

"Are you safe?" Philza asks. "Cucurucho isn't going to come down on your ass, is he?"

He is. Cellbit cannot answer - he just wants to sleep.

But maybe none is needed, because Philza's grip tightens a little, before thumbs start to smooth over Cellbit's knuckles.

"Fuck," Philza says, then he breathes. "Alright. We've got you, King. If anything happens, I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't worry about that dumbass bear, okay? No matter what there are people here who love you, and we will save you."

Cellbit closes his eyes, and nods, and tries to be strong again. He opens his mouth, and-

"None of that," Philza interrupts. "I do it because I want to. Now, when's Roier coming to bed? I don't really want to leave you alone right now, mate."

There's something in Philza's tone, but Cellbit doesn't care to interpret it. Instead he shrugs, "not sure. But really, I'll be fine. I just need to rest."

"I'll bet," Philza looks almost heartbroken as he says it. "Let's get you somewhere safe, then. You good to warp to my place? Phil and Missa?"

"Why?" Cellbit manages to ask as he takes out his warpstone.

"I'm not going to ask you to show me your bedroom, Cellbit. I can make choices about my privacy, not yours."

It sounds so obvious like that, but it's not quite the question he meant. Still, Cellbit just follows along. It's easier, far easier, to just get whatever this is over with so he can get home and to his bed.

He warps and, as soon as he arrives, Philza takes his hand again. He's led to the hatch, and down - "be careful on the ladder" Philza reminds him - to the children's room. Then, not content to leave him there, Philza takes him to the right, through another two security doors - its not hidden, but its certainly protected - to a room all in orange. Around the walls are photographs, and there's an enchantment table in the centre, but Cellbit does not really think of that.

"This is Chayanne's room," Philza smiles sadly as he says it. "But, I'm sure he won't mind. Here, if we just-"

Cellbit tries to make a response, to compliment it, to offer condolences, but instead he is led to the side of the stairs, and then beneath them. Tucked away there, in the dim, behind five security doors and still hidden, is a heap of mattresses, covered in blankets and pillows and even the odd bean bag.

"Get yourself comfortable," Philza pushes him a little towards the pile. "I just need to adjust the doors. Make sure Roier can get in, and Felps. Pretty sure Fit just lets Pac and Mike in anyway. And Forever," Philza's breath hitches very slightly, almost inaudibly. "has access anyway."

Philza hurries off, and Cellbit remains where he was left. He doesn't need the mothering, he is sure, but- But maybe it is nice, to not have to think.

He thinks so much, for everyone, what's wrong with this?

Soon enough Philza is back, carrying two bowls of something.

"I've let Roier know where you are, and Felps as I saw he was awake," Philza says as he passes over a bowl. "I know I ain't your family, but hopefully... Anyway, Chayanne made these before he vanished, always was a better cook than me. Just heated it through - I'm sure he wouldn't have minded it being shared."

"Are you sure?" Cellbit asks. "This is your son's? I'm not-"

"Eat," Philza is a little more pushy this time, even as he sits on the mattresses himself. "You're family, if you want to be. A bit extended, but aren't we all? Forever is my family and he's also yours, and that makes us family too. By some definition, anyway."

"Oh," it's said so simply, and Cellbit has no mind for a puzzle right now. Instead he takes the bowl of soup, and he drinks it.

They eat in silence and, once done, Philza tucks both of the bowls away. Cellbit is nudged again towards the mattresses as Philza cleans up, placing his hat and his coat beside the nest.

Great, ruined wings shudder a little to escape their hole, and despite the feather growth over them Cellbit can see the scars still deep in the flesh, the unevenness where muscle has been ripped away, how they shake with the effort of holding themselves up.

He feels like he needs to do something, to have some response to seeing such fantastic wings laid low - or perhaps to the trust shown to him in their display - but he's just...

He's just tired.

Philza is a little unsteady as he, too, comes into the nest. He shifts the pillows and the blankets and opens his arms and Cellbit- Cellbit can't.

He can't be being offered this, he barely knows Philza, he can't be trusted this much, not when people so much closer to him don't. It feels like a lie, a kind one at that.

"Come on Cellbit," Philza says. "I don't have all night; some of us sleep at reasonable hours, you know?"

"It's not unreasonable," Cellbit manages to retort, even as he gives in.

Stone crumbles to the wave, in time; Cellbit pulls off his outer layers, and slowly climbs into the nest.

Crawls into Philza's arms.

The arms close around him, and ruined wings hide him from sight.

"There we go," Philza whispers. "You've done well, more than enough. Just rest now, mate; I'll keep things ticking over in the meantime."

Cellbit doesn't want things to stay 'ticking over', he just wants them to end. Part of him knows he doesn't really, that he'll want those things later, if only because Cucurucho /will/ betray him, and Forever still isn't home, and its only with them carrying on that anyone he loves will be safe.

Philza runs a hand through his hair; Cellbit's thoughts still.

It's a little while before either of them speaks. To his own surprise Cellbit is the one to do so, with another childish feeling question, another "why?"

"Because I trust you," Philza replies. "And if I trust you, I care about you. If I trust you, you are my flock, and it fucking sucks right now, but we take care of each other. You're alive? That's /all/ I need from you, mate, just for you to stay alive."

Cellbit wishes it was that simple, he really does.

"If I'm here, your house isn't safe," he tries to reason, unsure why he's even fighting it now.

Philza holds him a little tighter, "if my flock safe, what's the point of a house? I'd take you to the real nest, but human lungs don't like being that high for long."

Real nest? Cellbit didn't think Philza had a secret base. It's a better kept secret than most on the server, it seems. To even know it exists, and presumably in the sky...

The idea is crushed by exhaustion, and apathy, and a desperate, desperate need to sleep.

Fingers brush in his hair once more.

"I've got you," Philza says. "Get some rest, mate; nobody will hurt you here."

And if they do, Cellbit has no doubt Philza's scythe will find its way into their eyes.

He curls up, presses his head to Philza's chest, and desperately tries to sleep.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp cellbit #qsmp philza #so about the transcripts I read from last night huh #mental health issues #qsmp archivists #they're both coping so hard bless them #scenes that will never happen but I can dream about anyway #alternate universe where schedules don't suck and so they were a little closer already

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bigoltrashpile · 11 months

Note

Yan Skeles with a darling whose an escape artist? No matter what the man does---chaining them down, locking the room, around the hour surveillance, etc---their object of affection always somehow escapes.

That's a hilarious idea bro I love it asfjkl

Mafiatale Sans: Sans finds it more funny than anything. He's honestly impressed when you keep escaping in more and more complex ways. He'll definitely make some stupid jokes about you being his little Houdini. It's not like you can escape him for long, though. He practically owns the city, after all, everywhere you go, he'll have eyes there. Don't worry, you'll be back with him soon.

Mafiatale Papyrus: You're going to give him a heart attack! Don't you know how dangerous it is out there? He panics every time he leaves and you're suddenly not there. He almost feels like he can't take his eyes off of you for half a second, or you'll be gone! Oh well, if he has to hold you at all times to make sure you stay by his side, he's more than happy to!

Mafiaswap Sans (Lucky): Lucky is more than a bit angry. Not at you, of course! He's just mad that he can't make a cage that's nice enough, and secure enough to keep you inside! Your skills are very impressive, he can't lie, but can you PLEASE just stay here for longer than a day?

Mafiaswap Papyrus (Slim): Honestly, he thinks it's all super impressive. He might just ask you to teach him! That's good bonding, right? Not to mention, if he knows how you do it, he might be able to stop you. Until then, he enjoys the chase. Not anything upfront, but he'll stalk you for weeks, just letting you see him out of the corner of your eye. Then, just when you think you've escaped for good, that you can go back to your normal life...that's right when he appears to take you back home.

Mafiafell Sans (Butch): He likes this game of cat and mouse a lot more than he should. Butch gets almost too excited when he seems you're gone for the umpteenth time. That just means that he gets to go and hunt you down again~ He gets a huge thrill from the chase, from getting to track you, tease you, let you think you've escaped...just before bringing you right back.

Mafiafell Papyrus (Noir): Noir is...SO frustrated. He knows, logically, that you want to leave, you want to get out, but can you just sit still for FIVE MINUTES??? Even though he wants you to love him, he's going to have to use threats and fear to get you to stay with him. At least, until the Stockholm syndrome kicks in.

Mafiaswapfell Sans (Scar): When you manage to get out, Scar gets...really scary. He gets really quiet, like he's seething under the surface, about to explode. When he gets you back, which will usually take less than a few hours, he won't talk to you for a while. He'll just...stare. His deadly eyes will bore into you while he sits in the corner. It's almost worse than if he were to yell at you, or punish you somehow. It's just...a promise of something worse.

Mafiaswapfell Papyrus (Hound): He just doesn't understand! Why don't you want to stay with him? Why do you keep running away? Don't you love him? True to his name, Hound is extremely good at tracking, so he'll be able to find you pretty quickly every time. When you're safely back in his arms, he'll ask you what you're doing. He's very good at guilt tripping, even if it's unintentional. Hopefully, soon, you'll never want to leave!

#my garbage #writing #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #sans #papyrus #mafiatale #mafiaswap #mafiafell #mafiaswapfell #undertale #undertale imagines #yandere

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futureman · 1 year

Text

living in a state of dreaming

summary: it’s been a year since you, joel, and ellie returned to jackson, and you’re finally starting to feel a sense of security. but when the sun goes down and joel closes his eyes, the horrors beyond the walls still hunt him, out to take back the family he’s worked so hard to protect.

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), nightmares, sleepwalker!joel, language, minor injury, mention of panic attacks, ellie struggles, post-season one

word count: 1.5k

a/n: inspired by my own sleepwalking adventures :') i've loved tlou since the first game came out, but the hbo show really made me wanna start writing again, so this is my first fic here! thoughts and feedback are super welcome and appreciated! 💕

“You still mumble in your sleep,” she says, worry lines marring her face as Joel shoots up and off the couch. His eyes are much too alert for someone who was dead asleep moments before.

You meet Ellie’s gaze from across the room, her concern mirrored in your own. Joel had always suffered from nightmares, for as long as you’d known him, but it was so much worse now. Of course, Ellie notices. She may have moved into her own space out back, but she still watches Joel like a hawk, a side-effect of traveling together, of looking out for each other for as long as they had.

You can’t even begin to pinpoint the cause. Sure, he hadn’t loosened up much since your little group arrived in Jackson—he was still Joel, after all—but it had been a year. Ellie was safe, you were safe, and the delusion that nothing could ever harm you again was almost believable.

But still, there he was every night, tossing and turning, mumbling evolving into screaming as he reached out for you in the dark.

You do what you can, but your presence alone isn’t enough. You hold him in your arms, the warmth of his back against your chest a reminder that he's still here with you. "Joeljoeljoel," you murmur into his hair. He smells like suede and wood oil, and you squeeze him a little tighter. "I'm here, see? Go back to sleep, we're safe. Nothing here but you and me."

He’s still trembling, but you can feel his heart rate calming. Just a brief respite until the monsters come for him again.

For a while, Joel tried not sleeping at all. He occupied his nights woodworking, your home slowly filling up with small statues of animals and cowboys, neatly sanded and coated in a fresh stain. He’d let the bite of guitar strings on his calloused fingertips distract him from the burning behind his eyes, the headache blooming in his temples.

This isn’t sustainable and you both know it. But he’ll keep going, excuses falling from his lips that you and Ellie pretend to believe.

There’s not enough time in the day, he’d say. How do you expect me to finish fixin’ Ellie’s guitar, I made her a promise.

Ellie smiles for him, treads lightly as if she’s dealing with a child, and you think it’s probably a habit she picked up from the little time she had with Tess. It’s okay, Joel, there’s plenty of time for you to teach me. We’ve got forever, and she means it.

Ellie catches you before your shift one morning, her small hand circling your wrist.

“We should probably talk about Joel,” she lets go and wraps her arms around herself like she always does when she’s upset. You let out a sigh and it feels like you’ve been holding it in for days. She shouldn’t have to worry about things like this. Joel would be furious with himself if he knew.

“Something’s freaking him out. I dunno, maybe you should ask him about it?” She sounds frantic now. “I mean, what if he starts getting those panic-things again and can’t breathe, or he has a fuckin’ heart attack and dies?” You do your best to reassure her.

“Kiddo, I promise he’s not going to die,” your thumb smooths the wrinkle in her brow. “I think he’s just been through a lot. We all have.” Ellie doesn’t look like she believes you; she wants a better answer than that.

“...Do you still get nightmares?”

Your mouth tips down and you glance away. The front door is open and the chill of the air makes you shiver.

“Yeah, I do. But when I wake up, I know they can’t hurt me anymore,” you reply. She must still have them too, after the horrors she’s seen and lived. So much and yet so little time has passed, but Ellie’s scars are healing.

The friends she’s made here make her smile and she laughs more. Her cheeks are fuller and her eyes are less clouded. But scars never fade completely.

She nods stiffly.

“I’ll talk to him, see if something happened.” You hug her and she thaws just a little. Ellie hasn’t really warmed up to physical affection, and you won’t push it. But sometimes she welcomes it when she needs the comfort.

“It wasn’t like this out there, I-...I don’t know,” you continue. “I don’t know what changed, but we’ll figure it out.”

You don’t, and it escalates.

Sunday is the first day Joel sleepwalks. He wakes up halfway out of bed, his foot catching on the sharp, wooden bed frame—the one he built himself, close to the ground just like you wanted—and he can feel the skin of his ankle twisting and tearing.

He catches himself before he can crash to the ground and you’re on him in an instant. “Christ, Joel, are you okay?”

“S’nothin’,” he grumbles, bleary-eyed and dazed. You move to check the damage to his foot and he swats your hands away, which doesn’t surprise you at all, but hurts nonetheless.

The few times he let you patch him up were less a choice than a necessity, to say the least. A memory of Ellie with a syringe of penicillin, and you with a roll of duct tape and the cleanest rag you could find comes to mind, and so you let him go. “I got it, jus’ go back to sleep. Sorry for wakin’ you.”

The door to the bathroom closes and you follow behind, resting your head softly on the door. It’ll get better soon, you tell yourself. It’s getting colder, winter’s on its way, and Joel’s just stressed about sorting out patrol duties; infected are more unpredictable this time of year. Once Tommy and his crew are back from the dam, it’ll be better.

On Wednesday, his eyes are vacant as he grabs for the doorknob leading out of your bedroom, but it's gone, stolen away in the dark. He pounds his fists against the wood, desperately fitting his fingers in the gap between the door and the frame in a futile attempt to pry it open.

You don’t fully comprehend what’s happening until the yelling starts, low grunts becoming frantic pleas. He’s calling out for you, for Ellie.

The lights flicker on, enough to make him aware of his surroundings, of reality. Joel’s chest is heaving, eyes sad as your hands take his, leading him back to bed.

It's Saturday when the front door slams open, startling you awake too early in the morning. The other side of the bed is still warm, frighteningly so, as your hand slams down on the sweat-dampened sheets where Joel should be.

You’re too late to stop him from running out of the house into the cold, barefoot in the snow, as if something was chasing after him.

Joel can feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear the blood rushing in his ears like white noise, and he can’t seem to draw in enough air. He can't remember what he was running from, but its eyes in the shadows still haunt him. It’s all too much and his body finally reaches its breaking point.

It’s a terrifying sight, Joel dropping to his knees. His eyes are blank and he’s gone so, so quiet.

“Joel, please. You have to tell me what to do, tell me how to help you.” Resisting the urge to shake him feels so hard, but you have no idea how else you’re supposed to bring him back from this. He’s sinking into himself, hands tensing and untensing as he battles the urge to fight.

You wonder if he can even hear you.

The commotion hasn’t woken Ellie up, and you’re grateful. You don’t want her to see him like this.

“I let my guard down,” his gravelly voice catches you off guard. “This place is makin’ me weak.” Joel’s eyes are wet and your heart shatters. “Once you stop moving, it hits you all at once. The adrenaline’s gone, there’s no gettin’ it back.” His eyes find yours, and you’re frozen. “The fuck am I supposed to protect you like this?”

You sink to the ground to wrap your arms around him and the snow burns as it seeps through your threadbare pajama pants.

“There’s nothing coming for us, the Fireflies are gone. We got her back, okay? She’s ours now,” you murmur, words gentle even as you grip him tight, tethering him to right now. “And sometimes you have to let me protect you. Even from yourself, especially from yourself. That’s what we do, we keep each other going.”

Joel slumps, exhausted. His forehead drops to yours and his nose is cold as it bumps your own, breath warm and humid in contrast.

“Trust us,” you hum against his lips, and the remaining tension leaves his body.

It’s not enough to stop the nightmares; they’ll never stop. But it’s enough for tonight. And when the monsters come again, you’ll be there to turn on the light.

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

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campingwiththecharmings · 2 months

Note

Thoughts on Driver!Jake and RichGirl!Reader, when she goes clubbing with her friends, Jake drops them off, and he waits outside until he can either drive the girls to the next club or home, but later one of reader's friends runs outside, knocking on the car's window. She's panicked and when Jake asks her what's wrong she tells him a huge fight broke out in the club and the girls' group are split up, and some of them are missing, including reader.

Jake's reaction? 👀

(The fight is so huge, it divides the club and reader and some of the girls are on the other side, trying to hide / find a safe place until the police comes or the fight ends.)

Please satisfy my protection kink 🫠

as you wish, milady 😌❤️

(this is not at all beta read, please forgive any typos lol)

WARNINGS: references to violence, drinking, and unwanted advances (allusions to SA).

---

The knock on the window startled him, pulling him from his thoughts and back to the present. He turned his head toward the passenger window where the knock had originated, brow furrowing when he sees one of the girls he'd dropped off only an hour or so ago. The look of panic on her face makes Jake's heart jolt in his chest. Without a second thought, he exits the car, meeting the girl's eyes over the top.

"What's wrong?" he asks, calmly making his way over to the girl.

She's terrified, shaking like a leaf in her little black dress and stiletto heels, her hair mussed, eye makeup smudged due to the tears running down her cheeks.

"There's a fight," she pants, trying to catch her breath. "Inside the club. I've never seen anything like it, it was crazy--"

"Where's everyone else," Jake demands, his tone gentle yet firm.

She swallows, still trying to control her breathing. Sympathy rushes through him and he puts a comforting hand on her arm. She smiles tremulously, seemingly appreciating this gesture and takes a deep breath.

"We got separated," she rasps, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Jake nods in understanding, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around her shaking form. He deposits her in the back seat with instructions to stay there and open the door for no one but them. Then he's jogging up the sidewalk to the door of the club, his only thought of you---he had to find you.

It's chaos when he makes it inside, the girl hadn't been kidding. There are small pockets of people fighting in almost every corner of the room, but in the center, he sees a mass---at least 15 people (mostly men, as far as he can tell in the dim light) are crowded on the small dance floor. The cacophony of shouts and screams and breaking glass make him wince as his eyes scan the room, searching for any sign of you. He tries not to panic when he finds none, instead choosing to focus on how to get across the fray keeping him from you.

Hugging the wall, he pushes his way into the mass of bodies, doing his best to keep himself out of the way (though, he does end up having to break up one of the smaller fights on the way). He runs into a few of your friends once he makes it to the other side of the club. They don't know where you are and he tries not to give into the panic tightening in his chest. After instructing them to lay low, he resumes his trek, making his way through the sea of writhing bodies.

It's so dark, he wishes someone would turn on the lights. Where was security anyway? Where was the manager? The owner even? How could they sit back and do nothing to stop what was happening under their own roof. Anger overtakes his worry, and he uses it, pushing the riffraff out of the way as he slowly moves across the dance floor.

He finally finds you near the back hallway, cornered by a ratty-looking man who towered over you, basically pinning you against the wall. Rage roared through him at the sight, at the way you pushed yourself against the wall, at the way your eyes darted around, looking for any routes of escape, at the way the man's hands reached for you.

He makes it to you just as the man is leaning in, dragging his nose up your exposed neck and breathing deeply. Your eyes meet his over the man's head and the fear in them ignites a wildfire in his gut.

Jake wastes no time, grabbing the back the of the man's jacket and pulling him off of you. He pushes him against a neighboring wall, pinning him to it much like he had done to you.

"Not so fun when you're on the receiving end, eh, pendejo?" he growls, his forearm braced against the man's chest.

The man stutters, bravado all but gone as he tries to extricate himself from Jake's grasp.

"Look, man, I was just trying to help her," he tries to explain, eyes flicking to where you're now slumped against the wall.

Jake's jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he exhales slowly.

"Oh yeah?" He counters, his eyes wild as he leans in even closer. "How was shoving your face in her neck helping her exactly?"

"She--she wanted me to, she told me," he sputters, the lie obvious.

"You think I'm stupid, hermano?" Jake snarls, pushing the man against the wall even more, his arm against his neck.

The man's eyes fill with terror Jake pushes against his windpipe, his breaths wheezing. "I---"

"I should kill you right here, right now for even thinking about touching her," Jake interrupts, his voice a low growl.

The sound of your voice pulls him back, back from his blinding rage, back to the larger situation at hand.

"Please," the man gasps, his eyes turning hazy with the lack of air.

Jake watches the man struggle then pass out, his eyes rolling back in his head. He releases him, shooting him one last glare as his body drops to the floor before he turns back to where you're still leaning against the wall. He wraps you in his arms without hesitation, pulling you against his chest, his arms strong. The solidity of his body is comforting and you can't help but melt into him, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt. Jake's words are swallowed by the noise around you, but the familiarity of his voice, the rumble of it in his chest, is comforting all the same.

Just as you make it outside to safety, a squadron of police cars pulls into the lot.

Better late than never, you guessed.

Knowing your friends are still inside, you wait, Jake's arm over your shoulders keeping you steady, from falling apart completely. Hours later, once everyone is safe and any questioning is done, you turn to him, exhausted, and ask him to take you home.

He obliges, of course, making sure to drop your friends off along the way.

By the time you make it back to your penthouse, it's after 5 a.m., the rays of the morning sun just starting to peek over the horizon. Jake walks you upstairs, his hand clasped in yours so tightly, like you're afraid he'll disappear if you let him go.

"Stay with me?" you ask him as you both step into the foyer, your voice soft, vulnerable even.

He nods, his gaze is gentle as he steps toward you and wraps you in his arms again.

"Of course, princesa," he whispers, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down your back. "Whatever you need."

#my fic #jake lockely x reader #dolli tag #my brain took this in a direction you did not ask me to go so #sorry about that lmao #there's protectiveness in there still tho so i hope it's okay lol 😆❤️

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