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the-californicationist · 5 months

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Guile & Guilt (Ch. 06)

Johnny texts you while he's deployed, but when he calls you one night, you are forced to face your consequences.

MDNI/18+

Link to AO3

OCTOBER, MONDAY MORNING, TWO WEEKS LATER

Your apartment was bathed in the cold gray light of a foggy morning, and you curled your duvet closer around you trying to stave off the dawn’s chill. You’d been awake for a while, which was very uncharacteristic of you. Usually more of a late riser, the only reason for your early bird behavior was Johnny MacTavish.

He was three hours ahead of you, and every morning, when the sun came up in the Urzikstani hillside, you were sent an image of Johnny’s hand, clutching whatever his breakfast was that day. Sometimes it was a tin cup of black coffee, other times you’d get a banana or a protein bar. But, it was always his giant hand and a sherbet orange sky. This morning, it was cloudy and dark, and his breakfast of choice was a slab of toast, smeared with butter and jam.

MoChroi: sunrise_sand.jpg

You: wow. quite the delicacy today. cant believe you found actual jam out there

Mo Chroi: bit suspicious. when the food gets better the missions get worse

You: uh oh

Mo Chroi: dinnae fash thief xx

Mo Chroi: writing today?

You: yep. and meeting with my prof

Mo Chroi: what ya got on then

Mo Chroi: give us a show bonnie

Mo Chroi: is it naughty?? lol

You: nope

You: rangers_tee.jpg

You sent a photo of your torso, cutting out your head, wearing his own tee shirt. His typing bubbles percolated along the bottom of the screen immediately. Then, an indignant response:

Mo Chroi: thief!! xx

You: youre the one who stole my hair tie

Mo Chroi: hairtie.jpg

Mo Chroi: needed a hostage

Mo Chroi: your bad habits are rubbin off. stole cap’s clothes out of the shower this morning

Mo Chroi: price_hat.jpg

You: you learn quick mo chroi

His typing bubbles appeared, and then they disappeared. You watched them pop up in the chat and then vanish three more times until finally all you got was silence. This was a common occurrence, so you tried not to overthink it. Over the past two weeks of texting with him, you knew he disappeared sometimes. He’d get a call to go into the field, or there would be some crisis. You wondered if his captain had discovered his prank.

The room was still cold, and you were reluctant to leave your cocoon of warmth, but you needed to write. You had promised yourself that you’d go into the office early today before your meeting with your major professor. After a deep sigh and some very challenging mental gymnastics, you stuck a leg out and onto the frigid concrete floor.

Your apartment was very modern. So modern, in fact, that it had been a challenge to make it feel homey. There was very little room inside for anything more than a queen bed, a short futon, and your desk. Your bathroom was sleek and full of brutalist, functional, concrete stylings, but the kitchen was barely big enough for a sink and a toaster oven. You had kept the futon for guests, not that you had many (any) visitors, but aside from the stacks of books in the corners of each room, your entire studio was practical to a fault.

But, it was enough for you and your rescue cat, Marlowe, so you didn’t complain.

On the wall opposite the front door, a huge plexiglass window overlooked the River Kelvin, conveniently situated right across from some student housing so you could access the bus. Not having a car went against your Floridian roots, but you’d fallen in love with the ease of public transportation.

After throwing on an oversized sweater and a pair of fleece-lined leggings, you slipped on your wellies and headed to the bus stop. You’d brought a big thermos of coffee, ready to face the day.

Your phone buzzed again.

Pidge: I’m so excited to see you this weekend!! :D

You: me too! is hammie picking me up after all or no

Pidge: Yes, I told him to be at the platform at 4.

You: cool

Pidge: Have you spoken with my brother?

You paused for a moment, riding the elevator and staring at your phone. You didn’t want to lie to her, but you probably shouldn’t tell her the truth. The truth was that you’d been texting her brother every day since he left for leave. You went with a half-truth instead:

You: yeah a few times why

She did not respond. You waited for the other shoe to drop like a blindfolded prisoner waits for their firing squad. The bus came to your stop, and you climbed on, sitting on the carpeted seat closest to the door, knowing your stop was only three away.

When you got to your office, your phone buzzed again. You set your bag and your coffee down before you even looked at it, avoiding touching your cell as if it had thorns.

You flipped over the screen.

Mo Chroi: make it to the office?

You: office.jpg

Mo Chroi: have a good day today thief

Mo Chroi: helicopter1.jpg

Mo Chroi: going on a wee trip. afk xx

You: promise xx

Mo Chroi: promise xx

Promise. Promise. It was you and Johnny’s little code. You hadn’t liked hearing about his “little trips” in the beginning, especially after he had shown you a photo of his truck, riddled with bullet holes. You used to say “good luck”, but you didn’t like that sound of that. You hoped luck had nothing to do with it. So, you just asked him to promise to text you back or to promise to be safe. And he always replied that he promised he would. Now, it had shortened to your one-word ritual. You always said it and he always said it back.

Another buzz:

Pidge: No reason. He has my phone charge the little nugget.

You: omg lol

You were not laughing out loud. If anything, you were sighing in relief.

It took most of the morning, but you fell into a routine. You had your meeting, came back, and wrote some more. Lunch was a pre-packaged lunch box from the student center and a refill on your coffee. You missed dinner. The sun set on you as you finished a critical section of your thesis, looking it over for flow and mistakes.

Worn out, and finally feeling hungry again, you checked your phone on your way back to the bus stop. No new messages. You waited for the bus, flipping through his photos again as if you would have forgotten them from when you looked at them from last night. Or the night before last.

You stopped looking at them, challenging yourself to have a non-Johnny thought in your head for once.

Maybe you would make a ramen with eggs in it tonight.

Maybe he’ll text you back.

You could watch another episode of that K-drama you liked.

Maybe he’ll send you a picture of him shirtless.

You could go for a run.

Maybe he will run his tongue back over your —

The bus came. You blocked out your thoughts from your mind, desperate to regain some semblance of control.

THURSDAY NIGHT

It had been three days, and you still hadn’t heard from him. You tried not to think about all of the terrible reasons why that might be the case. But, you did. You thought about them all the time. Every time you checked your phone or read an email or scrolled through your feeds; it was the only thing you thought about.

You had his shirt on again, eating leftover Chinese on your futon. You were thinking about all of the things you needed to take care of before tomorrow. It was Pidge’s bridal shower weekend and you were trying to wrangle all the final touches together. You’d rented out Ettrick’s, at Pidge’s request, and you had sent the invites two weeks ago. Almost everyone had RSVP’d yes, so you were looking at nearly 45 people to host. The custom bridal cookies were set for pick up when Hamish took you into town tomorrow afternoon, and the champagne was paid for. And you were dreading it.

You were excited to be there for Brigette. She had always been there for you. When you first moved to Scotland, you were well and truly alone. But, she met you for lunch almost every day after class, claiming to need her caffeine fix. But, as time went on, you realized she wanted to be friends. Having no one and being in a new country was so tough, but she had made it feel so easy. So, even though you hated the prim and proper social situation of a shower, you resolved to tough it out.

You put the half-eaten Chinese back in the fridge and climbed into bed. Your phone buzzed as you went to put it on the charger.

Mo Chroi: you up?

Your heart stopped for a moment, making your breath hitch in your chest. You fumbled with your phone, rushing to open his message.

Mo Chroi: camels.jpg

You: omg! are those REAL

You: shes not a camel but ill trade you one critter pic for a Marlowe pic

You: marlowethecat.jpg

Mo Chroi: her cheeks are brilliant lol so big

You: so your mission went okay?

Mo Chroi: lol yeah. and we got the guy who owned the camels to take a cool pic of us. can you tell which one’s me?

Mo Chroi: group_pic.jpg

You: gotta be number 3

Mo Chroi: how’d you know

You: your wide shoulders. and you always stand like that

Mo Chroi: like my shoulders do you

You: yep

You: you should send me a selfie

There was a long pause. You were a little afraid that you’d overstepped a boundary. Sure, his long, hungry tongue had been buried between your legs three weeks ago, eating you like he was starving, but people were cagey about their online privacy. You backtracked:

You: if you want to. nbd if not

Mo Chroi: selfie.jpg

You checked the image, and your heart sank like a stone. Johnny wore a green and yellow bruise over his eye, and his head had been shaved.

You: you okay? bruise looks nasty

Mo Chroi: you should see the other lad

You: and they shaved you?

Mo Chroi: got a nasty wee cut on the back of my head and doc sheared me like a damn sheep

He sent you a series of frowny faces and sheep emojis, and you felt a wave of calm settle in your chest. The latent fear was still there, and would be until you saw him again, but it was good to know he was alright.

FRIDAY MORNING

You were back on the bus, toting around your overnight bag, planning on heading to the train straight after your colloquium lecture this afternoon. Your phone had been beeping at you all morning. Johnny was begging for you to record your talk, asking you to let him sit in on your “class”.

You: johnny its not a class! its just a lecture. we have to give them every now and then to show what we’ve been doing with our research. its not fun. you’d be bored.

Mo Chroi: meirleach! i dinnae care how fun it is. let me see!!

You: campus.jpg

You: look. its all stuffy and campusy. you wouldnt like it

Mo Chroi: youre breaking my heart lass xx

You smiled. He was so bright, and he made you feel like you were so very special. It was no wonder he was such a danger to single women everywhere. Your confidence was soaring.

When you made it to your office, you sent him another picture of your current work. You were writing a short paper on German poems, not really related to your thesis, for a conference coming up in the spring.

You: look. you dont even speak german! it would be like torture

You: german_poem.jpg

Mo Chroi: so cool. im beggin you. let me watch you. i won’t say a word.

You: maybe if you come back a little early from leave next time, you can sneak into one

Mo Chroi: if i survive this training, i will.

Mo Chroi: thinking about seeing you up there teaching. got me all turned on

You sent him an emoji with a shocked look on its face, feigning coy shyness. He was relentless.

Mo Chroi: think youd let me be teachers pet?

You: more like class clown

Mo Chroi: you did seem fond of all of my tricks. wanna see what else i can do?

You: lecture_hall.jpg

You: i have to prep for this talk. keep your naughty thoughts to yourself soldier

Mo Chroi: yes maam

Mo Chroi: wait!

You: what

Mo Chroi: before you go. what color knickers are you in

Mo Chroi: just trying to imagine your lecture

Mo Chroi: with accuracy

Mo Chroi: cmon lass. for extra credit

You smiled down at your phone again, knowing your answer was going to win this little back and forth game he was playing.

You: im not wearing any this morning. gonna do my washing at your place.

Mo Chroi: jesus mary and joseph

You: and all the saints?

Mo Chroi: every one of them xx

Your lecture went off without a hitch. You earned yourself a few crowd questions and a round of polite applause. Stopping back by your office on the way out, you grabbed your laptop and headed for the bus stop. You’d forgotten your phone was on silent, and it wasn’t until you made it to the train station that you realized it. Two missed calls from Pidge and three texts from her brother.

You checked the texts as you returned her call, unable to hold yourself back from seeing what he wrote to you.

She answered quickly,

“Hey! Are you on your way?”

“Yep,” you replied, “I’ll be there around three forty-five, I think.”

“Okay, perfect. I just wanted to tell you that we’re adding two more to the list. Anjali invited Steph and Tiff. Is that alright, babes?”

You tried not to groan directly into the mouthpiece,

“Yes! The more the merrier.”

What were you going to do about the seating chart? You’d figure it out later.

“Fantastic! You’re amazing, hen. You know that?”

“Anything for you, bestie.”

She kissed you over the phone and hung up. You let out that sigh you’d been holding. As much as you loved her, you were ready for your friend’s wedding to be over with..

You checked the messages from Johnny, looking to escape from your thoughts again. He was the perfect distraction.

Mo Chroi: oh fuck no

Mo Chroi: its dog day for training

Mo Chroi: army_dog.jpg

You: you dont like dogs?

Mo Chroi: not these

Mo Chroi: had a bad time with attack dogs in russia a few tours back

The train arrived and you got settled. You weren’t sure how to respond. It was back again, that funny feeling in your chest about him being in constant danger. You didn’t know how to handle it. It wasn’t like you could ask him to stop. That was his job, and he was one of the best. He’d been enlisted on this elite task force, and even though you barely understood what that meant, you knew it was special. What right did you have to stand in the way of his greatness? The world needed Sergeant Johnny MacTavish, and you were just a distraction.

You waited for him to text again, a distraction for you and you for him. A two-way street. That’s all it was, right? How could it be anything more?

You thought about his sister. She’d been so painfully clear about her boundaries. You imagined telling her you liked him, telling her you wanted to date him. She’d explode. There’d be Scottish yelling, and Scottish fighting, and Scottish siblings rowing at each other all over the house. You couldn’t do that to her, especially not now. So, you just went back to distracting him.

You: did you get bitten?

Mo Chroi: yeah, right on the belly. those bastards. can you see it

Mo Chroi: shirtless.jpg

You gasped audibly, hoping no one had heard you on the train. You’d already seen him naked, but having a picture of his bare, muscled torso on your phone was another thing entirely. You glanced around, checking behind you and clutching your screen to your chest, holding it to you shamefully, praying no one saw it.

You typed a message, then deleted it. You tried again, and then deleted it. You knew he could see your text bubbles popping up, and it embarrassed you to no end. Eventually, you decided to just be honest.

You: youre so damn hot

The wait was going to kill you. Seconds became minutes, which became hours, which became eons. You stared at the bottom of your message like it would disappear if you looked away. You opened the picture of his bare torso again, unable to stop yourself from indulging in his huge body. You knew how those muscles felt, and you wanted to feel them again.

He didn’t respond. Your heart sank like a rock. You felt the train screech to a halt at the station, and it took everything in you to pocket your phone and leave the car.

You marched down to meet Hamish, trying to control the look on your face.

“Hey! Over here!” he called to you from the carpark.

You saw his smiling face and tried to match his energy,

“Hey! Thanks for coming.”

“You bet,” he said as he took your bags.

“Can we stop by the bakery around the corner? They’ve got all the cookies and pastries we ordered for tomorrow.”

“Of course, lass. No problem. Hop in.”

Hamish drove you around, the perfect gentleman, carrying box after box of dessert for his fiance’s shower, storing them carefully in the boot of the car.

“Wow, these smell incredible, don’t they,” he crooned, “Wish I could crash your wee party.”

“No boys allowed,” you said wryly, smiling at him, eliciting a genuine laugh.

The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence. He talked a little about his research, and you shared a bit about yours, mentioning your latest lecture. Otherwise, you checked your phone constantly.

Then, just as you pulled into the driveway of the MacTavish house, you got a text.

Unknown: Hello this is Captain John Price. Sergeant MacTavish’s phone is dead, and he is making me text you the word: promise.

You: oh thank you. can you tell him promise back?

Captain: Roger

Your stomach twisted for a different reason now. He wasn’t upset with you, which was a relief, but he had just shipped out on another mission. It was so sudden, it seemed like an emergency. You saved the captain’s number in your phone, just in case.

After hugging Pidge and helping Hamish with the boxes, you unpacked your bags and started the laundry. You met Pidge in the living room, watching her put the finishing touches on some gift bags.

“These are cute,” you commented, feeling the soft ripple of the ribbons tied around the bags in your fingers.

“Thanks,” she said as she fixed one of the bows, “Hope I made enough.”

“They’ll live,” you smiled.

“Hey, did you hear from Johnny again?”

“Uh…no, why?” You panicked.

“He said he doesn’t have my charger but now that muppet is not answerin’ me. Gonna pop him when he’s down for Christmas, I swear.”

“He’s coming back for the holidays?” You asked, a little too enthusiastically.

Pidge cut her eyes up at you briefly, responding in a measured voice,

“Yeah, just a week. Why?”

You wracked your brain for a reason, pretending to look at the calendar on your phone. Finally, you said,

“Think he’d drive me up from Glasgow? The train is awful at Christmas.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “God, he’s so irresponsible, babes. Not sure I trust him to get you here on time. But, I’ll threaten him. He’ll do it for me. He’s been so accommodating lately. Johnny boy is like a new man.”

“Oh, really?” You weren’t sure where this conversation was going, but you pried anyway.

“Did you know he paid for the rehearsal dinner? The whole damn thing! Having it at the wee distillery and everything. Right proper party we’ll be havin’. Cannae believe it.”

The Auchentoshan Distillery was Old Kilpatrick’s pride and joy. He’d spent a pretty penny if he’d booked it out for her.

“He loves you,” you confessed softly.

“He tries to,” she said a little bitterly.

You watched her pack up the bags, and you began to wonder about their relationship with each other. It was clear to you that there was some immovable object that was being pressed upon by some unstoppable force. They were at a quiet, bubbling impasse, ready to boil over at any moment. Yes, they loved each other. But, Johnny and Pidge had diverged somewhere, and it was a rift that needed to be mended.

The washer buzzed. You went to move over the clothes.

“I’m heading over to grab the girls. Wanna come?” Pidge asked you, her keys in hand.

“No room,” you observed, realizing they wouldn’t all fit in the car.

“Ugh, guess you’re right, hen. No worry, we’ll be right back. I’m excited to have a girls’ night.”

“Me, too,” you lied.

Well, it was a half-lie. You didn’t mind a girls’ night. It was more the fact that you’d have to hide your phone from view as you waited for Johnny to report he was back safe and sound.

After Pidge left, you crawled into his sheets. The memories of you and your soldier came flooding back again, but this time they swirled together with all of the complexities that you were facing. The simplicity of that brief night you shared had become warped by reality, and you realized you needed to come to terms with your emotions before you got hurt.

FRIDAY EVENING

Your phone buzzed in your hand, waking you. It was warm from being on the charger and covered up by your body. You hoped that didn’t break anything. Sleep had taken you over like a surging wave. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were from your week.

Unknown: heyyyyy this is soaps mate kyle. he wanted to let you know we’re back.

You: thanks for letting me know

Kyle: you bet

You were kicking yourself. You should have asked if he was okay. Just when you were about to ask Kyle to check on him, you heard the keys jingle in the door. Swinging your feet to the wooden floor, you got out of bed and met the gaggle of ladies in the foyer.

Cheek kisses, bright hellos and how-are-yous filled the once-quiet house, and you pocketed your phone, trying to distance yourself from the pang of concern.

You tried to keep up with the fast-paced conversation, but you weren’t the social butterfly that Pidge was. Anjali, Bekah, and Cherise were all gushing about their own lives, and you had very little to share. They were polite enough, asking you about your studies and pretending to care when you answered them.

“Oh, cool,” Cherise said, sipping on wine out of one of Pidge’s nicer glasses, “Poems are cool.”

“Yeah, I was Juliet in that one play,” Bekah said, proudly.

“And she’ll never let us forget it either,” Anjali rolled her eyes, and everyone laughed.

They were quick to forget you again, turning back to their recent Tinder date disasters and successes.

“And this bloke - the one with the beard thing - he ask me and this other girl to the same restaurant, on the same night! I thought she was gonna kill him right there in front of the maître de!” Anjali lamented.

Cherise smiled like a Cheshire cat,

“Lachlan is taking me on his boat next weekend.”

“We know! Shut up about the boat, you slag,” Bekah clipped.

Cherise shot back quickly,

“You’re just mad ‘cause Soap hasn’t texted you today.”

You gave the girls your full attention now. You darted your eyes to Pidge who rolled them, but looked otherwise unbothered. Bekah turned her phone around and you saw the image she was eager to display,

“He’s on bloody thin ice. I asked for a pic of him in his uniform, and all he sent me was a picture of some nasty sand!”

Your chest clenched tight enough that you couldnt breathe. It was your picture. Your morning photo from a few days ago. He was holding his breakfast, outstretched, and you could even see your hair tie on his wrist, the rolling dunes of the desert stretching out before him into infinity.

“Men, am I right?” Anjali finished her wine.

Maybe she was right.

SATURDAY MORNING

You’d slept beside Anjali that night, sharing the bed willingly but not enthusiastically. She had snored through most of it, and you’d barely gotten any sleep. It wasn’t just her snoring that kept you up. In fact, you were using her as a scapegoat. You had been thinking about Johnny.

It was like you were having a war in your mind. On one hand, it was just a picture of some sand, but on the other, you had no idea how many texts they had shared before or after that. Your heart broke easily, shattering melodramatically, whining about how you weren’t special and that if you didnt control yourself, you’d be sorry for it. He was just a playboy, just like everyone said.

Your brain, however, begged you to see reason. He sent her a picture of sand, not his naked torso, and he had forced his teammates to text you your passcode when he went on his mission. Surely that was enough proof that he cared about you and not Bekah.

It wasn’t enough, said the heart.

It has to be enough, said the head.

It shouldn’t even be happening, said the soul.

You watched the sun peek through the blinds just as they had when you’d been wrapped in Johnny’s arms, naked and warm against his pink skin.

You sighed and got up to shower.

The party was at two, so you had plenty of time. You made it over to Ettrick’s early to help set up, walking alone since you knew the others would be in heels and wouldn’t all fit in the car. You’d brought flats, sensible but stylish, and a comfortable, albeit sparkly, maxi dress. You felt like shit. Sleep would have been nice, you thought.

Hamish had delivered all of the boxes for you this morning, and the wait staff at Ettrick’s was setting it out for you. You rearranged it as artfully as you could, and you were just about finished when your phone buzzed.

Mo Chroi: phone’s alive! sorry i disappeared on you thief. forgive me?

You: glad youre ok

You: party starts soon

You: cookies.jpg

You: dessert_table.jpg

Mo Chroi: wow! did you do all that? pigeon is gonna be chuffed

Mo Chroi: heading out to the next spot

Mo Chroi: helicopter2.jpg

You: want me to tell Bekah hi? she was waiting on you to text her back last night

Mo Chroi: ?? no

Mo Chroi: why

Mo Chroi: what did she say

Mo Chroi: thief?

You: just that she was hoping you would text her back. idk

You thought about it for a little while before sending a final text.

You: i think she wanted more than just a sunrise.

SATURDAY NIGHT

You had three missed calls from Johnny, but you were too busy trying to deal with gift unwrapping, keeping the peace at the over-crowded tables, and rushing out appetizer trays when the wait staff became too overwhelmed. It was chilly tonight, but you were sweating under your long dress.

You thought about what you’d said to Johnny, and you were mad at yourself for trying to get a rise out of him. You didn’t want to be the one playing games, and you needed to curb your jealousy. He was allowed to text whoever he wanted, just like you were.

You: sorry. cant pick up. busy with your sister

You: champagne.jpg

Mo Chroi: answer my calls thief

Mo Chroi: i have to drive the rig but im calling you as soon as we get to our site

Mo Chroi: trucks.jpg

Mo Chroi: at least tell me when you get back. promise

You: promise

SUNDAY, 0200

You: i made it back to my apartment. hamish drove me. train was down for maintenance.

You: marlowe-in-a-bag.jpg

You: marlowe is mad that i was gone

Mo Chroi: im glad youre alright.

Mo Chroi: gaz took this at our training today

Mo Chroi: group_pic2.jpg

You: yall look tough

You: whos the one in the middle

Mo Chroi: thats the captain and ghost has the dog

Mo Chroi: go to bed thief. its late

Mo Chroi: sunrise2.jpg

Mo Chroi: can i call you later? its important

You: ok

SUNDAY, NOON

You woke to the sound of rain. A loud peal of thunder pulled you from the darkness of your sleep. You would have stayed with Pidge, but you just couldn’t face his bed again. Hamish was happy to be your chauffeur, even after you learned that the train was out of service. You tried to buy him some gas, but he adamantly refused.

A headache stung behind your eyes, drilling into you, punishing you for the champagne. You hadn’t been drunk, but it had been sweet, and now you were paying the price for your sugar rush. You checked your phone.

Pidge: hHad such a great night!!. Thanku for everytingf i lov youuuu!!

Pidge: omg Anji just boked inthe sink

You didn’t reply. She was probably still asleep, along with the rest of the household. There was nothing from Johnny, yet. It wasn’t unusual. He was busy with terrorism, you figured. He would text you if he wanted to text you.

Digging in your freezer, you found some leftover soup and put it on to reheat. Your phone rang.

The selfie of you and Johnny at Glencoe flashed onto your screen. You let it ring again before you picked up.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice still hoarse from sleep.

“You still asleep, thief. I’m sorry to wake you,” he didn’t sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” you sighed, “Just making some soup. Rainy here. Cold.”

You: rainy_window.jpg

He groaned, and you could hear the creak of a mattress in the background,

“Mm. Spent the whole day on my belly doing target practice. I miss home.”

Mo Chroi: sniperpractice.jpg

“Yeah? Looks sandy and hot. Too bad there’s no beach,” you stirred the soup.

“I miss you, mo mèirleach.”

You stopped stirring the soup.

“I miss you, too.”

“Do you? Or are you cross about my texting Beks?”

“Both,” you went back to stirring the soup.

“Sent it to Hamish, too. You cross about tha’?”

You sent back silence.

“And if I told you Bekah’s an old friend from grammar school, and that’s all she’ll ever be, would you believe me, lass?”

Silence was all you had to give, apparently. Finally, you poured the soup into a big bowl and set it down on your coffee table, shoving your papers and books aside, and said,

“This soup looks amazing. Wanna see it?”

You: soup.jpg

“Thief. She’s just a friend.”

“I think there’s a song about this actually…”

“I think I’m fallin’ for you, and I need to know if you’re fallin’ for me, too.”

The bite of soup you were about to take hovered in your spoon, frozen in time. You could hear him breathing in your ear, waiting on your response. You could feel your heart shudder in your chest.

“Johnny. We can’t…”

“Don’t. Don’t start with tha’ mess, thief. Tell me you aren’t fallin’ for me, and I’ll stop. No more texts. I’ll leave it alone.”

“She’ll never forgive me, Johnny. I don’t have anybody else, don’t you get that? I’m not even from here. I’m spending Christmas with her because I don’t have anywhere else to go. You have a whole town who loves you, and she’s your sister. She’ll forgive you in a heartbeat.”

“You have me, don’t you, thief?”

“Do I?”

It was his turn to push silence out through time and space, sending it up to the cellular satellites and mirroring it back down to you. Firing frustrated breathing noises across cables and wires and whatever other stupid fucking technology was happening to you right now.

“Alright, lass.”

The phone beeped at you to inform you that the call had ended, but you kept it pinned on the shell of your ear, desperate for even a moment of that silence again. You regretted your honor the moment you’d held it up, and you were angry at yourself for keeping a promise you’d promised to keep.

The phone clattered to the coffee table. The soup went cold.

MONDAY MORNING

There was no sunrise text for you this time. Your phone didn’t have any notifications at all, in fact. You made it all the way to the bus before you caved.

You: bus.jpg

You waited. Then, you waited some more. Nothing happened. You tried not to cry, and you failed. Luckily, the bus was empty, and the driver didn’t care about you enough to ask what was wrong.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

You: stuck in the library today. office is being cleaned.

You: library.jpg

Again, you were met with the cold emptiness of staring at your own responses at the bottom of your messages. You tried not to feel the sting of it, but you failed at that, too.

THURSDAY MORNING

You: giving a lecture today. kinda nervous about this one.

You: lectureroom2.jpg

You: hope youre okay

FRIDAY MORNING

Your phone buzzed three times, waking you up with a jolt. It was still dark outside. You fumbled with your phone, rushing to see the messages.

Kyle: Hey this is Kyle, Soap’s mate. We’re heading back to the black site, so it’ll be a few weeks until you hear from him.

Kyle: airplane_loading.jpg

You: thanks for telling me

Kyle: Soap asked me to tell you he promises?? I think thats what he said.

You: tell him i promise

You: and can you tell him that i made a mistake? he was right. about everything.

You: and im sorry.

Kyle: Will do!

You stared out of the window until the deep purples of night gave way to a cool pink morning glow, and you watched as the sun stretched its gentle arms up and over the river.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Chapter 07

#guile and guilt #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish smut #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mctavish #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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mclarengf · 3 months

Text

thinking about… max verstappen taking care of you when you’re drunk

note: this blurb came to me as i was taking my makeup off after my bday celebrations yesterday and then i was like ‘good golly, imagine if i had a hot f1 bf here with me rn’ and at first i thought alex but thats soooo obvious so here’s wee maxypoos

---

you’re really drunk. max is well aware of this fact.

the two of you are halfway up the stairs. your arm is slung across max’s back; he is holding your heels in one hand and supporting you with the other.

he’d offered to swap shoes with you properly, eyeing your heels in the club and stating that he could probably fit in them. max is also drunk, of course, but he’s higher-functioning than you, which is why he’s in charge now.

it’s your birthday though, and max isn’t one to prematurely put an end to your celebrations, or let you wake up the next day complaining about your drunken uselessness, so actually, half the blame is on him too.

jimmy meows at you both condescendingly as you pass him, sat in front of your bedroom door. sassy had greeted you when you first came stumbling into the house, then ran off to avoid being trod on accidentally.

when you arrive in the bathroom, max sits you on the edge of the tub, trusting you enough to at least keep your balance here.

he pulls open the drawer under the sink and you hear bottles clink as they’re turned and fiddled with, max trying to read each label.

“here, close your eyes.”

he finally turns around with a wet cotton pad in his hand, pushing his sleeves up as he steps towards you. drunk you still has enough wits to have doubts about max’s capabilities, but you’re so tired, and it’ll probably still be easier for him to fuck up and then fix it, than for you to poke your eye out cause you fell asleep halfway through wiping off your mascara.

when he finally presses the cotton pad to your skin, he’s gentler than you’d expected. his thumb pushes your eyebrow up to pull your eyelid tauter so your makeup remover doesn’t find its way into your eyeball, and he’s quick to catch any drips that do potentially threaten your vision.

once he’s done with that eye, he moves onto the other, repeating each step just as carefully as before, slow movements picking up all the eye makeup he had watched you apply only a couple hours earlier. you don’t know if max realises, but he’s singing something under his breath as he goes. it’s really nice, a comforting tune. you must have heard it before somewhere, but your drunk mind doesn’t entirely care enough to dwell on the question.

you hum at him when he asks if you’re still awake, and tell him not to bother with trying to replicate your whole nighttime routine, because all you want now is sleep.

he finishes your pampering by misting your face lightly and holding your chin up as he applies your lip balm, “all done, schatje.”

“thank you, baby,” you mumble, leaning up towards him for a kiss, “mm, love you so much.”

max decides to leave your shoes in the bathroom to be tomorrow’s problem, and leads you back to your bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot. jimmy’s already slipped in through the crack; turning the ceiling light on reveals he’s found a new hiding spot on top of the dresser.

he’s happy to unzip you and help you step out of your dress, and even happier to see you pull one of his shirts over your head to sleep in. max loves all the small things that show you’re his; wearing his clothes, driving his cars, trusting him to always get you home safely.

“did you have fun today?” he asks, once you’re both in bed and he’s reaching over to turn the light off.

you nod sleepily.

“thank you for surprising me. that was really nice of you, maxie.”

he wraps an arm around you and settles your head on his chest. your legs are twisted together underneath the sheets, as they always are; his free hand starts running through your hair absentmindedly.

“did you see when daniel was dancing on the table? it was very funny. i will show you the video tomorrow,” he promises, “and then we can make fun of him together.”

max’s lisp is more prominent when he’s had a few, all his sibilants bunching up at the front of his mouth. you tell him this, semi-coherently.

he laughs, and then whispers for you to go to sleep.

“happy birthday, liefje.”

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7-wonders · 6 months

Text

It's Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus!

Summary: It's Halloweekend, and you've got a couple of parties to attend! Morpheus, who missed out on the development of Halloween into the holiday it is today, is very curious about what your plans are.

Word count: 1.8k

And now, a note from the author: Ahhh Claire actually managed to write something! I loved coming up with and writing this; I was giggling the entire time. As always, if you enjoyed, likes, comments, and reblogs (but especially the last two!) make my world go round. If you didn't like it, also let me know! I'm always down to hear constructive feedback/criticism—it's how we become better writers.

Though reader is wearing a skirt, the gender of reader is not specified! If you're non-binary or a guy and you wouldn't mind dressing up in a skirt for a group costume, I hope you enjoy this fic too!

It’s not often that Dream of the Endless visits you in your realm, instead of vice versa. While he had met you in the Waking, he had never been entirely comfortable there. That feeling, that wrongness, only increased tenfold after his imprisonment at the hands of Roderick Burgess. No, Morpheus is not overly fond of the Waking.

Tonight, however, he’s here, and you have a pretty good inkling as to why.

Though Morpheus would never admit it, hearing you talk helps to calm him down when he’s feeling stressed (another thing he would never admit to: stress). After a frustrating day of holding court—one of his least favorite things to do, but one that was integral to the functioning of his realm—you decided that telling him about your plans for the week would be a bland enough topic where he would not have to actually listen to your words, but simply your voice. Your plan seemed to be working; you could feel his body relaxing in your arms, and you had never been more relieved to hear the absentminded hums of someone who was only half-listening to a conversation.

At some point, you mentioned that you were excited about the Halloween parties that you would be attending. That got his attention, drawing him out of the reverie that your voice and your fingers carding through his hair had lulled him into. He shifted in your hold, his black pools of stars looking up at you curiously.

“All Hallows’ Eve is not for another week though, yes?” he asked.

“Yeah, but it’s during the week this year, which means everybody celebrates the weekend before.”

“Why not celebrate on the day itself? Traditionally, Samhain is a very important holiday.”

Now the miscommunication made sense in your mind. It was only natural that he still thought of the holiday as what it was before 1916. “Oh! Halloween has evolved a lot, especially in the past hundred years. It doesn’t really resemble the Samhain of old.”

He still looks a little confused but nods. “How interesting. So you will also be participating in these…festivities early?”

“Festivities” was a good way to put it, and you decided to just leave it at that. How the hell else were you supposed to explain to your eons-old, all-powerful boyfriend that the Halloween of today is about wearing a fun/sexy costume, doing spooky activities like haunted houses or watching scary movies, and partying?

“Yep!” you said. “I have plans with friends; we’re going to wear our costumes and go celebrate with others.”

“What will your costume be?”

“I’m not quite sure yet. I have a couple of different ones, so I’ll probably decide the day of.”

That interest in modern Halloween, specifically how you celebrate Halloween, is why you’re not really all that surprised when you hear him call your name from the other side of the bathroom door while you’re taking a shower.

“In here, my love!” You just barely have to raise your voice, knowing that he’ll still hear you above the sound of water raining down. The bathroom door opens, and you stick your head out of the shower curtain. You very happily accept the kiss that he offers you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” His voice, deep and as smooth as dark chocolate, rumbles through your ears in a way that you’ll never tire of. It’s impossible to resist giving him one more kiss (can you be blamed?), so you give in to the temptation.

“Give me five minutes and then I’ll be done, okay?”

Though it’s very reluctant, he does part from you. It takes you a little less than that to finish with your shower, and you open the door again so that you can at least be in the same space as Morpheus while you hurriedly put some makeup on (thankfully your costume doesn’t require anything drastic beyond what you normally wear). He’s sitting patiently on your bed, eyes already trained on you as you move through your getting-ready routine.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “You almost never visit me in the Waking.”

You’re teasing him, since, as previously mentioned, you know exactly why he’s here. Naturally, Morpheus doesn’t catch on. “I wished to see you off before your Hallowe’en celebration.”

“That’s sweet of you!” To the bedroom you go, where your costume sits waiting atop your dresser. “I’m just about ready to go, I only need to finish putting my costume on.”

Morpheus’s face grows flushed at the easy compliment you give him (you don’t think he’s ever been called ‘sweet’) and you laugh quietly before disappearing back through the bathroom with costume in tow.

A couple of months ago, two of your friends decided that being the Powerpuff Girls was the move for this Halloween and roped you into the idea. One of your friends, a natural blonde, claimed Bubbles before the idea could even fully be discussed. Your other friend was very excited to be a bearded Blossom and wear a giant bow on his head. This left Buttercup for you to dress up as, not that you were complaining.

Now, you’re sliding into a green crop top and a matching green skirt, this piece being made out of a shiny material. All three of your skirts are the same fabric (and definitely shorter than what’s considered decent), with the shirts being dealer’s choice. You finish your outfit off with black tights and a black headband—Bubbles is also wearing black tights, while Blossom will be sporting black knee-highs. All in all, it’s a pretty simple costume, but sometimes, that’s what the best costumes are.

You emerge from the bathroom once more and do a little twirl for Morpheus, whose eyes immediately light up. “This is very much a pop culture reference, so I’m not expecting you to understand the costume. Still, I think it turned out pretty good!”

Morpheus is not a man—the anthropomorphic personification of the collective unconscious, the Lord of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm, simply chooses this as his favored form. Still, he is a man-shaped being, and like all man-shaped beings, he goes a little wild for the object of his affection in a short skirt.

“You will be wearing this in public?” he asks, standing up and approaching you.

Morpheus has lived for as long as beings have been able to dream. He quite literally lived through the Beginning when Adam and Eve didn’t know what clothes were, as well as a number of empires for whom clothing was merely a suggestion. The affront he’s showing at the clothes you’re wearing must be some sort of code for “this is my partner wearing something I consider sexy and I’m feeling possessive about other people seeing them.” That he looks at you as though you’re wearing the barest scraps of clothing and not dressing up as a cartoon superhero has you feeling mighty powerful.

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t turn you on a little bit.

“This is tame compared to what a lot of other people wear,” you inform him.

Morpheus does not look as though he’s listening. No, he’s focused on your body rather than your words. One hand rests on your waist to pull you closer to him, and the other hand comes to rest on your upper thigh where the skirt ends. He rubs the skirt between his thumb and index finger as though he’s testing the fabric.

“Am I correct in assuming that costumes are no longer worn to disguise the wearer from errant spirits?”

“Yes, you’re correct.” Right now though, explaining the traditions of Halloween is not important to you. You need some validation, and stat. “But do you like it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you,” you say smugly, smacking his hand as he tries to slip it higher under your skirt. “Not tonight. I have to meet up with the gang soon!”

“Might I make a suggestion?”

You nod. No matter how outlandish the suggestion, you’d listen to him make it, and you’d probably take it into strong consideration.

Morpheus places a delicate kiss on your jaw before he trails his lips to your ear. “Forget about your friends and stay with me for the evening,” he whispers seductively.

Oh, but that is tempting. You can already imagine the way in which Morpheus would remove your costume, the feeling of his hands on your body as he makes you forget about anything outside of you and him and the pleasure you bring each other. From the darkened look he gives you, he’s already picked up on these daydreams, and he’s in total agreement of that order of events.

Unfortunately, your brain, that traitorous organ, reminds you of why you shouldn’t be absconding to the Dreaming with your lover.

You sigh in frustration at the logic and lean your forehead against his. “I would, but I’ve had these plans for a couple of weeks now, and I really am looking forward to them.”

Though it very obviously pains Morpheus to say it, he does agree. “Yes, I suppose it would be…rude to abandon them.”

“I should probably go,” you say begrudgingly, pulling away from him and focusing intently on gathering what you’ll need so that you don’t give in to your desire.

Morpheus watches as you whirl around the room, muttering the name of each item as you grab them. Your phone is annoyingly elusive, and you think you’ll just have to go without it until it’s dangled in front of you by your Dreamlord. Gratefully, you take it from him.

“Thank you,” you say sheepishly. That’s the last of your belongings, but you feel like you can stall just a bit longer. He’s heard about your plans, but you haven’t heard of his. “What will you do while I’m gone?”

“Wait for you to return to my embrace once more,” he teases.

“Please try to do something instead of moping the whole time.”

“I do not mope!”

You give him a look, one that says you see right through this charade. “Yes. You do. I’m sure there’s a new book you’ll want to read. Maybe ask Lucienne what she’s been working on, or start creating a new nightmare?”

“Are you not going to be late?” Morpheus deflects. It makes you laugh, but he is right, so you do a once-over of your room to make sure you’re not missing anything and kiss him briefly.

“Bye. I love you.”

“I love you as well, my starlight. You remember how to call for me should you run into trouble?” Of course you do: write down his name and speak it. It’s cute of him to act like he won’t try to have Matthew follow you, though.

You can’t help but smile at the sweet gesture. “Yes, I remember. I’ll be fine, okay?”

He nods, satisfied. “I shall see you later, then.”

You’re able to sneak in one more kiss before he’s off and you’re heading to your front door, already counting down the hours until your night of partying is over. Who knew dressing up like a Powerpuff Girl could get someone so hot and heavy?

If Morpheus thinks that’s attractive, just wait until he sees the angel costume you’re wearing tomorrow.

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus imagine #dream of the endless imagine #the sandman

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i4bellingham · 1 year

Text

HAPPIER: mason mount x reader

SYNOPSIS: you only appreciate what you have when it's gone. mason feels that certain way about you.

CONTENT: angst, breakups, written from mason's pov, oc named amelia, george russell x reader, kind of rushed ending (?) + not proofread please don’t sue me 🙏🏻

NOTE: i hope everyone's had a good week so far! if not, then i hope this upcoming one will be a lot more bearable for you <3 also not sure about the title like i literally suck at coming up with it but please ignore that if it doesn't match lol

ONE.

Everything felt like shit.

Everything just felt different now that you're finally out of Mason’s life.

It doesn't feel suffocating but it does feel like there's a hollow in his chest every time a reoccurring memory of you flashes by his mind.

It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bother him. But Mason does feel numb. He feels numb to everything around him and feeling certain emotions are lost.

A month after you left, the entire house was merely an imitation of what it used to be before it was bought; bare, soulless and empty. There's no longer any scent of coffee filling the house from your constant brewing. There's no more extra set of skin care supplies on the bathroom sink saved for you. There's no more neatly arranged closet when you hurriedly tucked away your clothes in your luggage before you left, leaving the closet nearly barren of anything to remember you by. The plants had all dried up from the lack of care from its now sole owner. The paintings and photos that used to give your walls a depiction of your character and your love for each other was now left empty, bare gray walls catching Mason’s eyes like the colorless sensation there is to his chest.

Everything wasn't the same.

Everything was never going to be the same.

TWO.

An entire year had passed by, yet there were still no apparent changes in Mason and his way of living.

Christian and Kai suggested for him to see somebody else, venture out and relive his romantic adventures with someone new.

Mason knew he shouldn't, not when he's not in a capable state to even be thinking about starting a new relationship but he simply nods his head. He agrees with their suggestion, just so they don’t bother him about this part of his life that he knows will never function the same.

And so, Mason prepares himself for the blind date prepped by his two friends that will happen in the weekend.

He got three more days left to sort himself out. He doesn't do anything. He dreads for that day to come.

Her name was Amelia.

THREE.

She was a nice lady. She had a kind smile, one that almost threw him off as she sat in front of him, introducing herself and shaking his hands. She wore an outfit he knew you'd be fussing to wear, he knew you'd ask him a plenty of questions and he'd assure you just as many times that you look phenomenal, just like you always do. Amelia was chatty, but not in the overbearing kind. She knew how to carry the conversation that Mason could give zero fucks about. But for the sake of her kindness, he tries to match her energy with his fake smiles, fake laughter, fake enthusiasm, fake everything. He just wants for the night to be over. He just wants to go home.

“I know you haven't healed from your last relationship with...” Amelia starts, and Mason was ready to cut her off, tell her that she doesn't have the right to touch such a sensitive subject with him, not when they barely know each other at all. “And I’m in the same position. The last relationship was what I thought would be my endgame, I was wrong obviously.” She chuckles, but it felt and sound faked in Mason’s ears.

Is that how he sounded all evening? Like he was restrained from something that kept him from showing his real emotions to a girl who showed him nothing but kindness?

Amelia leans back on her seat, a timid smile on her lips as she offers him her hand. “So because of that, I know I'm not in the right condition to be finding someone as of now to be in a relationship with... but I would like for us to be friends, if that's alright with you?”

Amelia waits for Mason to respond, and for a split second he considers declining her offer, tell her he's already got a bunch of them but he sighs and with that sigh he shakes her hand, now with a small genuine smile on his lips.

“Fine. Friends.”

He shouldn't have agreed to being her friend. Not when he knew there was a chance of her falling like in the cliche movies and books where the female friend falls for her male friend.

FOUR.

And as the tears run down from her eyes, Mason bites the insides of his cheeks as he moves his head to divert his gaze elsewhere.

“I don’t know until when do I have to compete with her... she's not here anymore Mase but why are you so keen on holding onto your memories with someone who's already moved on with someone else?” She asks him, weeping softly.

Mason isn't sure why himself. Was it the memories? Was it the way you used to love him so freely? Was it the way you accepted him for all his flaws and stayed by his side despite the time where football grew harsh on him and he wasn't on his best form? Was it because you saw past his flaws but still stayed with him, whispering how much he means to you and how much you love him during the late night evenings when you're both on bed and when you thought he was already fast asleep? Whispering kind and loving words so emotionally that tears ran down your cheeks and onto the bed, probably thinking that he doesn't know that you show him your most vulnerable state of loving when you think he's asleep beside you? Which was it?

“I’m here for you Mase. I’ve been here for you for for nearly a year. She might have loved you differently but I can love you in my own way... just let her go.”

Mason lets her hand go, turning his back on her as he walks back and forth in front of Amelia in the parking lot of the restaurant.

“You know I can't do that-” Mason bites his lips, gnawing on it as he paces. “Ame you know I can't do that-”

Amelia walks over to him, grabbing his hands and she pleads him, tells him that Yes, You can Mase! You can but you just chose not to!

Mason wants to tell her that he can't. That he shouldn't have gone to that blind date in the very first place because now he's hurting the one friend who was there for him, who understood him.

But as another car flashes their headlights to their left as it was being parked and a familiar figure steps out, all thoughts immediately leave Mason’s head.

The door to the restaurant opens before Kai steps out, wanting to fuse down the conversation and get the two back inside before his eyes too lands on the familiar figure standing a mere 10 feet away from them. And all of a sudden, that plan doesn't seem as easy as it sounded in Kai’s head.

Because like some fucked up game the fates conjured, you were there, standing and staring at the situation you were cluelessly partly the cause of.

“Mase? Kai?”

Mason nearly ran to you, beg for you to take him back, tell you that he still loved you despite your relationship ending a year and a half ago. But somethingㅡsomeone kept him from doing so and just ultimately saved his face from the embarrassment it could've caused.

“You know them love?” George fucking Russell places an arm around your waist as he awaits for your answer, patiently and kindly doing so before you're nodding your head with a smile.

“Yeah... they're my, my friends.”

Friends? Ha. Mason wanted to clarify that he wasn't just a friend, that he was but he was your boyfriend once too.

George sends them a head nod and a tight-lipped smile. “Well... it's always nice to meet my girlfriend’s friends. I’m George Russell.”

Kai walks over to offer a hand, one that George immediately shakes before the German hugs you. You wrap an arm around Kai, warily eyeing Mason and only then noticing the girl beside him.

You were about to approach them and introduce yourself when Mason opens his mouth and says something he knew he will regret immensely.

“You should join us... for dinner. Just so we can, catch up and talk properly.” He offers, and Kai sends him a warning look.

“That is if we're not going to be a bother with your night, of course.” Kai adds. “You can joins us at our table.”

“Yeah.” Amelia nods her head beside Mason, and he notices that she's dried her tears, plastering on one of her friendly smiles. “I would love to know Y/N that I have heard so much about from the guys.”

Instead of declining, you turn your head to George. “Can we love?”

George fucking Russell leans down to fucking kiss your head, smiling charmingly as he replies. “Sure love, we can join them for dinner. Would be a nice opportunity to know your friends better I reckon.” He chuckles.

Amelia leads the way, opening the door as she gestures for you and George to follow her in while introducing herself to the both of you.

Mason and Kai were left standing in front of the restaurant, the recent happening weighing heavily on the both of them and embracing them in an uncomfortable silence.

But Kai breaks that after a while, shooting him a stern glare as he points a finger on Mason’s chest. “Don’t do something fucking stupid Mase. I know you, but don't do something that will hurt you and her again.” Kai follows after the three of you inside the restaurant, leaving Mason alone to dwell on his thoughts.

Mason used to think that everything was colourless, dreary and hollow after you left. He still believes in it. He doesn't know how to fix this way of feeling and thinking but after tonight, he's sure that there's no way of retrieving you back with him no matter how much he wants to. Not when there's a ring band on your ring finger. Not when you're already entwined with someone else that you so clearly loved, just awaiting for the time to pronounce your love in front of family and friends.

Mason is so used to think of everything so differently, and he can't help but think that maybe he'll never get over this one anytime soon.

#☆ i4bellingham writes.#☆ mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount x you #mason mount x oc #mason mount imagine #mason mount one shot #mason mount imagines #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount #george russell #george russell x reader #george russell x you #george russell fanfiction

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drivinmeinsane · 5 months

Text

Give Me the Night

※ Holland March x Jackson Healy ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Like most jobs involving stakeouts, the night is going by slowly. That all takes a turn, however, when March finally pushes his fellow Nice Guy too far.

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content

※ Content/Tags: Idiots in Love, Blow Jobs, Tit Jobs, Inappropriate use of a Semi-Public Space, Excessive Cum, Internalized period-typical homophobia, Emotionally Constipated Jackson Healy, Typical Idiot Holland March, Porn with Comedy AND Feelings, Collaboration

※ Word count: 7,759

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: This fic was written in collaboration with @danime25. We worked up the outline together and she kindly took the reins and wrote Holland's POV after our good pal Healy makes a break for it. It was wonderful working with her on this!

Yellow light filters through the windows of Holland’s car. The streetlights have been on for hours now, illuminating the sleepy street just enough to make out the shapes of shrubs and mailboxes. The two detectives inside the car are not concerned with the small details. They are looking out for the comings and goings of a man located in house number 1438. It’s a rather plain ranch style home with new porch railings.

The Nice Guys Detective Agency had been called the day prior by a woman who was concerned that her husband of three years was stepping out on her with another lady. It was the same old story that Holland March had handled his entire career as a PI. He gets a new one about once or twice a month. More over the holidays since the offending partner claims overtime at their place of employment to explain the sudden absences at home. The cases pay well enough, easy work to boot as long as the survailed party stayed none the wiser.

Holland shifts uncomfortably in his seat, drawing Healy’s attention. The bruiser eyes him with a passive curiosity. His back is stiff from being confined in the vehicle for so long, but he knows that his investigation partner must be feeling worse. Instead of breaking Holland’s left arm like he had planned, he had fractured the radius in Holland’s right. As fucked up as it sounds, he hadn’t wanted to risk damaging whatever issue the other man has going under the bandage of his left. The result was that the PI was down to limited functionality in both arms. The left is still full of stitches while the right is weighed down by a palm to elbow length cast. Still, the arm situation does not directly correlate to Holland’s current bout of bizarre behavior in any way that Healy can discern.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, March?” Healy asks, aiming for politeness. He misses by a mile.

“Excuse me? Why the fuck are you looking at me like that for?” Holland retorts with a disgusted tone.

“Because you’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird. You’re the one acting weird.” Holland’s voice is shrill, and a bit defensive.

“I’m not the one squirming around like I gotta take a piss.”

“Fine! You really want to know?”

“No, March,” he throws up his hands, “I asked because I don’t want to know.” His tone is sarcastic.

“Well… it’s been a while since you broke my fucking arm .” He flings the affected limb in a sweeping gesture for dramatic effect, narrowly missing Healy.

“I said I was sorry.”

Holland scoffs and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket along with his lighter. “Well, your apologies are worth shit to me when I can’t crank one out in the bathroom.”

The look on Healy’s face is incredulous. “Seriously? That’s it, asshole?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘that’s it’?” He places a cigarette between his lips and lights it, letting it rest loosely in his mouth.

Healy is almost upset enough to snag the cigarette right out of the other man’s mouth. He has no reason to be this bothered by their conversation. His skin feels too warm, the collar of his shirt too tight.

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it? You want me to give you a little handy between partners?”

“Well, for starters, don’t look at my crotch like you enjoy it,” Holland snarls back, using his more functional hand to block Healy’s view. “I just need something to get myself off with.”

A light turns on in the house closest to them. The porch light follows shortly after. Their shouting must have been loud enough to wake the occupant. The last thing they need is the actual police getting called and thrust into their business.

“Shut up and stop thinking with your dick. We’re on a job,” Jackson responds, irate.

Turning the key in the ignition, Holland starts the car and floors it. They pelt out of the neighborhood in an obnoxious screech of tires on pavement. If their yelling hadn’t woken the entire block, Holland’s maneuver certainly finished the job. He pulls into an empty lot. The only source of light is the vehicle’s headlights.

“Real subtle,” he mutters under his breath, still ruffled.

The other man hits the steering wheel with the palms of both hands. He lets out a gasp at jostling his injured arms unnecessarily. He turns on the man seated beside him once he shakes off the pain. “Great, we’ve lost at least three days on that lead thanks to you.”

“‘Thanks to me’,” Healy repeats, “Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

He fumbles for the door handle and gets out of the car. He slams the door hard enough to rattle the entire machine. The bruiser needs a moment to cool down or he will do something that they will both regret. He is almost shaking. From what? He doesn’t know exactly.

Holland doesn’t leave well enough alone and exits the car in pursuit of his partner. He stops with the door ajar and his hand on the roof. “Yeah, I do hear myself. I have a pretty voice, thank you very much.”

The shorter man shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walks further away from the Benz. He forces himself to accept the PI’s words with equanimity. He’s struggling with it. Does the other man ever stop running his mouth?

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Holland slams the door, shutting his blazer in it without realizing. He tries to set off after him, but comes to an abrupt halt when he gets yanked back by the caught jacket. He struggles out of it, leaving it hanging sadly in the door and gets up in Healy’s face.

“See that? You just cost me my favorite jacket and for what?”

“Get out of my face, March,” Jack says calmly, too calmly. His tone is a warning of an imminent punch to the face if the detective doesn’t comply. He puts a hand on the other man’s chest, cautioning him.

“Or what?” Holland sneers, “You gonna kiss me?”

Healy doesn’t say anything, He drops his hand from Holland’s chest and takes a step back, turns partially away. Nausea rolls through his stomach.

“Hey, hey, Jack, I was just kidding.” Holland sounds a little softer.

He waves a dismissive hand with forced casualness and starts walking back to the car. “Let’s get back to work. Don’t want to waste the time here.”

The detective purses his lips and follows after him only to stop a few feet away from the vehicle. He has a calculating look on his face. It’s the kind of look Holland gets when he is about to make a decision that is going to make whatever partner of his want to tear their hair out. Healy opens his mouth to ask him what he is about to do right as Holland throws the keys. All he can do is watch in speechless horror as they go sailing into the darkness and clatter noisily somewhere onto the ground. He’s damn near blind during the day with his reading glasses on, much less at night without any aid whatsoever.

“What the fuck , March?” He growls once the initial shock has worn off.

Holland gestures at him, equally upset. “Enough of this. Just say you want to fuck me or something.”

The nauseous feeling grows more prominent. It feels like his stomach acid is trying to crawl up his throat. Why the hell was his partner doing this? Healy had tried hard to be normal around the other man. He had not let his eyes wander because that was the kind of shit that got your ass beat in an alley.

“Yeah?” He lets out an unconvincing laugh, “What makes you think I wanna fuck you?”

“I mean, look at you,” the PI scoffs despite having to adjust himself so his erection isn't so obviously tenting the material of his white slacks.

“Me? You’re the one panting over there like a dog. You can’t control yourself, March.”

That spurns Holland into crowding against him. Healy holds his ground, he’s not going to be bullied around by his partner. The other man leans down to speak, but he misjudges the distance in the dark and his lips brush against Jackson’s mouth. They recoil from each other like gunshots had been fired in their direction.

“I knew you wanted to fuck me,” Holland says, laying the blame for his own error onto Healy. He makes a show of looking him up and down.

Impulsively, he grabs the collar of Holland’s shirt. He twists his broad hand into the expensive fabric and jerks the taller man forward until they’re nose to nose. “I never said anything about wanting to fuck you. Sounds like you’re making excuses to fuck me.”

“As if,” is the response he gets, but Jackson does not miss the considering way March eyes his mouth. The detective adjusts the angle of his head, aligning their mouths, mere millimeters between them.

At the feeling of Holland’s mustache brushing over his upper lip, Healy makes a small sound. A whine? A moan? He panics, and his fist swings up without his permission and collides solidly with the face of the man coming onto him. His hand slips off the other man’s shirt, and Holland takes a few staggering steps backwards.

“What the fuck?” March whimpers and looks up at Healy, “The hell was that for?”

Healy refuses to look at him and instead starts fruitlessly scanning the ground. “Shut up and help me look for the keys.”

He hears the other man rub his face with a groan. The bruiser knows his partner has a good chance of sporting a black eye tomorrow. This entire night is turning into a nightmare. He has not felt this unsteady since Joanne had admitted that she was fucking his father. The scuffle of shoes on the ground is the only warning he gets before Holland grabs ahold of him. Before he can protest, the taller man kisses him. It’s an awkward clash of mouths, too much teeth, but Holland is making up for it by sheer enthusiasm.

Healy stiffens, but then he is grasping desperately onto the PI. He kisses him back like a man lost in the desert who has just been given a glass of water. He chases after the other man when he pulls back for air, capturing his mouth once again. His hand rests heavily on the nape of March’s neck, worked in the short hair. They shouldn’t be doing this. They’re old enough to damn well know better than to do this.

That line of questioning does not stop him from wedging a thigh between Holland’s legs, rubbing it against the taller man’s clothed erection in the process. His partner catches on quickly and chases the friction. Healy wraps a hand around March’s narrow hip, encouraging him further until the detective is all but humping his leg like a dog in heat. They’re panting into each other’s open mouths, eyes closed.

Holland moans out a soft little, “Fuck.”. He sounds almost as though he is begging for more, even as his hands grab desperately at the back of Healy’s jacket.

“Yeah, you would like that, March,” he mutters against the side of the PI’s neck. He slides the hand cupping the back of Holland’s neck to his front and works at pulling the other man’s shirt free from his pants. Healy almost feels drunk despite turning down his partner’s offered flask more than once during the stakeout. A shiver courses through him when he feels Holland start to return his interest by putting his hand underneath his jacket, not seeking bare skin yet, but the heat of his touch through the tropical patterned shirt is enough to get Jackson to grind his own hard dick against his partner’s hip.

He feels the wet pressure of Holland’s lips connecting with his cheek and has to swallow. This is more intimate than he had ever dared to imagine in the most repressed corners of his mind. Maybe Holland had bashed him over the head in the car with his cast and this was all some kind of fucked up wet dream. The twitch of the other man’s cock against him feels real enough though.

“Whaddaya want, huh?” Jack dares to ask.

“I want…” Holland trails off, clearly contemplating, but instead of coming up with a response, he shoves his face against Healy’s shoulder. All traces of his bravado are gone.

“You’re never this quiet, March,” he grumbles. He drags his thick fingers down the detective’s stomach to right above his belt. “If I knew this was all it took to get you to shut up… Look, do you want me to give you a handjob or what?”

“No, I want,” Holland makes a gesture with his hands that suggests he’s cupping a pair of invisible breasts, “you know, that .”

The look Healy gives him is flabbergasted. “March, you… you know I’m not a woman, right?”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” Holland looks down at where he and Healy are pressed together like a pair of randy teenagers, “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

Shaking his head, he opens his mouth to say something in response to him, but just shakes his head instead. There’s no use in arguing with him. Healy knows that the other man is a fucking idiot sometimes and that knowledge is enough for him right now. He decides to humor March and strips off his jacket and tosses it onto the ground behind him. He makes short work of the buttons on his shirt and leaves it hanging open to reveal the white wifebeater he wears as an undershirt. Jack fights the instinctive urge to cover himself, knowing that his body is not in as good of shape as his companion’s.

“We’re actually doing this?” Holland asks despite already beginning to work his belt off with the hand not encased in a cast. He’s doing such a poor job of it that it prompts Healy to swat his hand away and undo it for him.

“Whatever ‘this’ is,” he says with a shrug of his good shoulder. He pulls the detective’s belt free of the loops and tosses it in the vague direction of where he threw his jacket just moments before. They’ll have a considerable scavenger hunt on their hands at the end of this.

Holland undoes the zipper on his dress pants and unceremoniously pulls his dick out. “Okay, I’ve never done this before.”

Healy watches as March closes his eyes in preparation. For what? He doesn’t have the faintest damn clue. “Why fuck are you closing your eyes. This isn’t jumping off the diving board,” he says incredulously.

“ Jesus! Just shut up,” Holland snaps back, opening his eyes reproachfully. He puts a hand on Healy’s shoulder and tries to encourage him onto his knees. Jack doesn’t budge. “Just… let me use your chest.”

“For what?” He grumbles. He decides to humor Holland’s cues and lowers himself to the ground. A rock digs uncomfortably into his shin and he mutters a complaint under his breath, shifting his leg into a spot with less gravel. He tries to tune out how hard his dick is in his own pants. The kneeling position has pulled the fabric taut over his crotch, and he has to suppress a groan that’s more arousal than discomfort over this indignity. This is right up near the top of the most asinine things his partner has asked him to do since they met about a month ago. He’s gone along with the other man this far though, and he might as well continue.

Holland moves to get onto his knees, but he pulls up short of actually doing it. “This isn’t going to work, let’s go to my car,” he says, offering a hand to Healy and helping him to his feet without bothering to tuck his dick back into his pants.

“You have to be fucking with me,” he protests but follows the taller man back to the car all the same. He hovers awkwardly next to the rear tire on the passenger side. He’s really starting to be on the verge of regretting this. Holland has to be playing some kind of joke on him. His hands hover over the buttons of his open shirt and he’s about to start doing it up when March pats the top of the trunk.

“Come on,” he says encouragingly. The PI sheds his own over-shirt, stripped down to his undone pants and sleeveless undershirt.

He instantly follows Holland’s lead and lets his own touristy shirt fall from his shoulders and onto the ground. This entire vacant lot is going to look like some type of crime scene by the end of night. He heaves himself onto the trunk, heels briefly making contact with the tire. He’s perched on the edge, tense as though he’s ready to fight. Jack is not given much time to work himself into abandoning this whole ordeal because Holland steps up into his space, forcing a home for himself between his legs. Desperation and arousal is written all over the taller man’s face. Either Holland is a surprisingly good actor or he’s actually not yanking Healy’s chain.

The detective puts his full weight into the kiss. Healy’s breath hitches when March’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. He feels the other man grin in response to his reaction. It’s all Jackson can do to put a calloused hand on the back of his partner’s neck and hold him close. Holland’s facial hair is surprisingly soft against Healy’s stubbled face.

“Fuck,” Holland says softly and drags his pants over the curve of his ass, down far enough to be able to kick them off before crawling onto the car.

The bruiser lays back across the trunk, the metal is cold against his skin, but Holland is blazingly warm against his stomach as he gets into position on top of him. He takes the hem of Healy’s shirt in his hands and encourages it up and over his head to get discarded somewhere on the ground by the driver’s side of the car. Holland shifts so he’s properly straddling him, knees bracketing his sides. The detective’s cock rests in the divot between Healy’s pecs.

“The fuck you doing, March?” It comes out as a near whisper in the darkness.

“What I wanted,” Holland says and spits, slicking the space where his dick rests just enough that it glides smoothly on the first few thrusts as he begins to rub himself off using Healy’s chest.

Suddenly, Holland’s comments about using his chest to get off are crystal clear. Taking a deep breath, Healy pushes his elbows against either side of his chest, forming a tighter passage for his partner to fuck against. It was like something he’d seen women do in pornos sometimes. His chest is quickly made slick by the copious amounts of precum leaking from the man on top of him.

Above him, Holland lets out a broken whine as he chases his release. He’s thrusting against Healy like both their lives depend on it. March’s hands are firmly planted to either side of his shoulders. Jack can’t hold back an answering groan, so uncomfortably hard in his jeans with no relief in sight. His chest hair is going to be a sticky, matted mess. All of this shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. The only thing that could make it better in this moment is if he could just see his partner a little more clearly. He wants to know what Holland’s face looks like when he cums.

“C’mon, March. You wanted this,” he says, spurring him on. He has a good, if a little blurry, visual of the other man’s upper body with their current position. If he were not occupied with holding his amble chest together for Holland to use, his hands might be tempted to wander.

In response, Holland whines and picks up the pace, nearly rubbing them both raw as he brings himself to the finish line. Jack swears he catches a glimpse of tears in Holland’s eyes as the man finally orgasms. He releases the pressure against his pecs and catches his partner as he goes limp on top of him. Healy feels like he is getting sprayed down with a hose. The other man’s cum floods in the valley of his chest, pooling at the base of his throat and trickling down either side of his neck. A stray shot or two catches him in the face. He tastes bitter saltiness on his lips when he reflexively licks them. It’s a lot of cum, way too much really.

“Shit,” the PI sighs and gingerly scoots out of his hold, further down his body. His dick twitches and a few stray droplets of cum fall onto Healy’s stomach. His own dick is throbbing in his pants when Holland unintentionally makes contact with his crotch.

Healy continues to lay back across the trunk, slightly dazed as his partner shimmies off the vehicle and pulls his boxers and pants back on. He had just let another man rub himself off on him and he hadn’t hated it. He’d enjoyed it even. Near his feet, Holland zips his trousers up and Jack feels himself tense at the crisp sound. He braces himself for the punchline now that the other man has had his fun and gotten his rocks off. He did not particularly think March would be cruel enough to mock him, but this… he didn’t have a script for this.

“What do you want?” Holland asks after a moment of awkward silence, cutting right to the chase.

“Surprise me, March. You’ve been doing a real bang up job of it tonight.” Healy responds, a little hoarse. He doesn’t know what the hell he wants.

“Okay… uhh… sit up, I guess,” he replies, getting onto his knees. His eyes are level with Healy’s crotch.

He obliges him, ignoring the pop in his back as he does. Holland’s cum slides coldly down his chest before stopping somewhere on his stomach. He’s too struck dumb by arousal to care. The other man is on his knees for him, how could he have any rational thought? This has gone far beyond Healy’s wet dream hypothesis and the handjob only gay porno he’d dared to sneak a look at once.

Encouraged by Holland’s hands on his knees, he spreads his legs further to make room for him to shuffle in between them. He manages a reassuring nod when his partner checks in on him with a raised eyebrow that he can barely make out in the dark as he feels the kneeling man slide his left hand up his thigh to get at the front of his pants. Holland has no trouble with the zipper and button on Healy’s jeans despite the fumbling of his own belt earlier. There’s no underwear to tug out of the way. Jackson can’t be bothered to do any more laundry than strictly necessary.

“Shit, I thought I was big…” Holland mutters under his breath and puts his mouth over the head of Healy’s cock.

It was a line straight out of a skin flick, but damn if it didn’t send a hot rush of arousal down Jack’s spine all the same. His head falls back and he lets a guttural noise in response to the way his partner is tonguing along his shaft. Shakily, he puts a hand on his shoulder, gripping firmly. His thumb rubs back and forth against the side of Holland’s neck. He can feel the other man’s throat working as he gives him a blowjob.

A Holland-esque whine almost bursts from his lips when the detective pulls off of him with a wet sounding pop. “Good?”

“Yeah, yeah, real good,” Healy admits, breathing heavily. “Now, please shut up and y’know…”

“Keep going?” Holland finishes with a smirk that’s blinding even in the dim light, and then his mouth is back to work doing something other than engaging in his usual vices of smoking, drinking, and talking way too fucking much.

He tightens his fingers on March’s shoulder like he’s a dog gripping onto a squeaky toy. As inexperienced as the PI clearly is at this kind of thing, it’s almost more than Healy can handle. He’s torn between shoving the other man away or pulling him closer. It has been so long since he’s gotten off. He hadn’t even wanted to touch himself after his wife admitted to cheating on him with his own father of all people. There had not been a single pair of pretty legs that had gotten his attention until Holland came along. Hell, if he admits it to himself, even his wife hadn’t really done it for him. There had always been an undercurrent of wrongness to the whole situation. He’d chalked it up to the fact that she was cheating on him during their marriage, but upon reflection, he hadn’t exactly been performing in the bedroom before that whole relationship started.

“Fuck,” he groans, fighting to keep from thrusting up into his mouth. He’s close, too close. He’s about to- “Holland… Holland .”

The other man moans around Healy’s cock. He’s doing his best to swallow down what he’s given, but some of it leaks out of his mouth and onto his goatee. They make eye contact as he proceeds to milk Jack dry. He pushes against Holland once the suction becomes too much around his softening dick. The other man lets him slip free and while Healy hastily tucks himself, oversensitive, back into his jeans, he leans against his car.

“That was… good,” Holland offers into the silence between the two of them.

Healy takes a moment to respond, busying himself with zipping up his pants and sliding the button home. The turmoil of feelings that he was experiencing earlier is back in full force. They’d both gotten off but no… there was the aftermath.

“March…” he starts but peters out. He slides off of the car. He’s all too aware that he’s still shirtless and covered in Holland’s semen. It’s slowly drying into his chest and stomach hair, getting clean in the dark with no water and no spare cloth is a lost cause.

“Yeah?” The PI responds the moment he realizes Healy isn’t going to add onto the thought. His tone is hopeful, bordering on needy.

“Why…?” He's not sure how to find the words. Hell, what does someone say in this kind of situation?

“Why what?” Holland asks with a touch of tentativeness, as though Healy is going to lay into him.

“Why’d you… this wasn't some kinda joke was it, March?” He questions, shoving his hands into his pockets and curling inward slightly. What he would give to be fully dressed right now. Not that it would help much, he hasn't felt in control since he and Holland started fighting in the car. He isn’t a feelings kind of guy. That would mean he's weak.

“No!” Holland’s voice peaks and cracks. It settles into a more normal range as he continues. “I don’t know… I don’t know how to explain it. This feels different than the way I felt about my wife.”

Healy mutely nods as the taller man starts feeling himself up for his pack of cigarettes before realizing that they’re still in his jacket pocket. Holland wanders around the other side of the car, out of his field of vision, to go after his suit jacket.

The new addition to the Nice Guys Detective Agency can agree though. Whatever is going on between them feels different than it had with his own, now ex, wife. For him, it had felt… right. He absentmindedly follows March around to the other side of the car and picks up his undershirt. He pulls it back over his head, grimacing as his wet chest makes contact with the fabric. The minute he has a chance, he’s jumping in the shower. In the middle of shrugging on his Hawaiian shirt, he hears what sounds like the door of the Benz being opened followed by the rustling of fabric. Incredulous, he turns to stare at the other man.

“The door was open.” Holland says to him, not looking up from the ground.

He doesn't even have it in him to be mad, just lets out a helpless chuckle. “You have to be fucking joking.”

“No,” he sounds sheepish, “but we still gotta find the keys to get out of here. Unless you’d rather talk about what,” gesturing between the two of them, “ this is first.”

“Let’s find the keys first, then we can talk.” Privately, he wants the option for Holland to just leave his ass here if things go south. He doesn’t want his partner to feel trapped with him.

“Sounds good,” Holland says, closing the door and slipping his jacket back on. He flashes Healy a wide smile and bounds over to the approximate location of where he had thrown the keys a while earlier.

Healy locates his jacket and pulls it on. It’s dusty from the dry soil of the lot. He squints into the darkness, scanning the ground for the keys. He almost feels like he would be better off getting onto his hands and knees like that chick in the orange turtleneck that was always losing her glasses on the show Holly’s been into, the one with the talking dog.

He moves to stand next to Holland, brushing shoulders with him in a friendly way. “Why did you have to throw the keys?” He finally comments when his straining eyes fail to see a glimmer of metal.

“I don’t know,” he admits flatly. “We had to resolve whatever that tension was between us somehow.”

Jackson frowns, shrugs. He takes a few steps forward away from Holland, kicking at the ground fruitlessly. He doesn’t get rewarded by the sound of pebbles hitting metal. “What kinda tension you talking about?”

“Y’know… Where I was up in your face and you were trying to get out of mine. That tension.”

“Right, yeah,” he grumbles. “Look, March. What are you wanting outta this?”

“I dunno. Right now it just feels nice when I’m around you.” He shrugs, “You know what I had on my hand when we met? ‘You’ll never be happy’?”

“Yeah? What about it?” Healy tries to not sound choked up over Holland’s words. Where did all these emotions come from? He was an even tempered man, occasionally angry, but this… There was no word of the day for this.

“When I wake up and see you and Holly on the couch… I’m happy.” Holland shrugs and looks at him.

Healy is silent for a long moment before he speaks, his words slow, measured. “You and the kid… it gives me a reason to get up in the morning. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Jesus.” Holland lets out a sigh, putting a hand over his own chest, “Haven’t been this nervous since I got down on one knee… you know, for Holly’s…” he clears his throat, not finishing the thought.

He teeters on the cusp of saying something sincere, but it’s not the time. He doesn’t want to go down an upsetting path, not tonight. They had enough to think about. “Guess I’ll be the one getting on one knee then,” he jokes. A gleam of metal catches his attention when he shifts in place. Holy shit, it’s the keys. He doesn’t dare move in case he loses sight of them with his crap depth perception. He grabs the air in Holland’s direction with one hand while pointing at the keys with the other. “March! March! Keys! ”

“Yes! Fuck yes!” The detective yelps and dives for the keys. He snatches them off the ground with a flourish and crowds into Healy’s space, heys in hand. He kisses him, an enthusiastic press of his mouth against his. He’s smiling even as he pulls back and a shy look crosses his face. “I mean, thanks.”

Healy can’t help himself and draws the man back in, allowing himself to initiate for the first time tonight. He brushes his mouth gently over Holland’s. He lingers for a moment before breaking away. Perhaps if the spell doesn’t break, he could get used to having this.

“Let’s… go home.” March rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. They stare at each other until Healy raises his eyebrows at him. “Right! Home,” he says with a nod and hoofs it back to the car. Jack follows and settles himself into the passenger seat. He feels more content than he has in years.

The drive back to Holland’s house is free of any drama. Holland spends the time aimlessly chattering. It relaxes Healy. He’s nearly asleep by the time they pull into the driveway.

“Huh,” he hears Holland say, and he opens his eyes to see the light of the television flickering from the living room window.

He gets out of the car with a groan and the two men make their way to the front door. Holland fumbles his house key into the lock. Opening the door reveals Holly and Jessica standing in the living room in front of the tv, clearly surprised at being caught still awake.

“Jessica, what are you doing in my house?”

“Sorry Mr. March. My sister’s busy,” she apologizes.

“Yeah, I bet she is.” Holland scoffs. Jack resists the urge to kick him in the back of the leg.

Jessica looks at the men and blurts out. “Oh! Do you go to the same nighttime baking class as my sister?” Holly makes a noise like a stepped on mouse.

Healy is ready to shrug it off as one of Jessica’s eccentricities and Holly having a hiccup, but a cold knife of cognizance suddenly impales him. He remembers that he and Holland didn’t wipe off their faces. He can feel the mostly dried jizz so clearly on his neck and lower half of his face. Oh fuck.

“What…” Holland starts to say before looking at Healy. His eyes go wide in his own realization. “Yeah. Baking. Baking class.”

“Yeah, cinnamon rolls tonight. The icing is real. Uh… real tricky. Gotta make it from scratch. Gets messy.” Healy manages. Why can’t he shut up? He’s sweating. Holly is staring a hole into his soul. Oh, god, she knows he and her old man were doing the hanky panky like a pair of teenagers while they were supposed to be working. If she looks at them any harder, they are both going to catch on fire and burn into two piles of ash right here in the entryway.

Making things worse, Holland dips a finger into the mostly dried cum on Healy and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on the finger. “Wow. Um, really good icing.”

“March, what the fuck are you doing?” Healy questions as nicely as he can manage given the circumstances. Holly makes a retching sound. Jessica as always is oblivious to anything going on around her.

“Just… getting the last bit off you,” the man says with a shrug. Healy watches in fascinated horror as a bead of sweat rolls down his partner’s face. He can see his own release dried into Holland’s goatee. This is too much.

“Well, uh. I’m going to use your shower. If you will please excuse me,” Jackson says politely, too politely, and tries to pretend he isn’t fleeing the scene of a crime. He leaves Holland to deal with the fallout and ducks into the master bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. What a mess. His undershirt is ruined, but he should have enough clothes to get back to his own apartment after this.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Well then, let’s get you home Jessica.” Holland clasps his hands together and keeps his lips pressed tight to one another to avoid the awkward smile that was creeping across his face. He feels the cold, sharp daggers that his daughter’s eyes are shooting at him and he turns around to pull his coat back off the hanger. Holland is looking for any excuse to avoid the lecture that he knows Holly has in store for him when he gets back. Unfortunately for him, Jessica has one of the first rational thoughts in her life. She digs her heels a bit into the shag carpet as Holland attempts to push her out the door and says,

“Wait, Mr. March. I live just across the street, remember? I can just walk home.”

Holland’s eyes go blank. He didn’t remember, honestly. “Right. That’s right,” he repeats to himself mostly

“Anyway, bye Holly. I’ll see you at school!” Jessica walks out of the house like she’s a member of the Brady Bunch. That’s the show Jessica liked, right? He shakes his head. It doesn't matter now. What matters is how the hell Holland is going to get out of the scolding that Holly has at the ready for him. He puts the poor coat back onto the hook before slowly turning around to face his daughter. What could he say? She already looks more disappointed in him than the first time she had to drive and pick him up from the bar.

“Hi, honey.” He waves slowly at her, hoping to diffuse some of the tension in the air. This does not work. While he was trying to skirt on out of his own house, Holly had stood up from the couch and crossed her arms in front of her.

“Did you and Mister Healy have… sex and stuff?” She gets right to the point

“Don’t say ‘and stuff’...” Holland starts on his usual spiel. He zips his lips back up when he can see the look in Holly’s eyes getting even more venomous.

“Were you and Mister Healy having sex and stuff ?” She doubles down, making sure to punctuate every word as she repeats her question. She is not about to let her father out of this.

“Fine, we were… having sex.” Holland rubs the back of his neck as he says this. He looked like a teenager caught having a house party while his parents were out of town. Holly rolls her eyes at him and sighs, the gesture laced with disapproval for her dad’s carelessness. She sits back down on the couch before looking back at him and telling him,

“At least clean him up next time, Dad.”

“Fine. I will.” Holland huffs a little bit. His chest puffs up defensively before asking, “Why do you care?”

“Parents should treat each other with respect,” she shrugs. “Also maybe you don’t need to soil the eyes of your teenage daughter by bringing him back looking like that.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right.” He looks away. Up, down, anywhere that wasn’t the direct gaze of his daughter’s judging eyes. He begins doubling down on himself, “I just thought you’d be in bed.”

“Whatever. Just go check on him.” She settles in and watches the tv. She’s going to push her bedtime because her dad is the bigger problem right now. He had no room to judge when his own house wasn’t in order.

“Fine.” He walks to the bathroom with his tail tucked between his legs. He holds his ear up to the door for a second before knocking on the wood. “Hey, Healy?”

“Yeah?” Healy calls back over the sound of the water. He had barely set foot in the shower. It had taken him an age to peel himself out of his undershirt, his hair sticking uncomfortably to the cloth. How the hell did Holland cum so much? The other issue at hand was trying to figure out how to use the shower. After a couple of false starts, he managed to switch the water to the shower handle instead of the bath faucet.

“You mind if I come in?” Holland asks, his voice soft again. He doesn’t want to intrude on the other man if he isn’t welcome, but he wouldn’t be upset if he got a full look at Healy. With Healy’s permission, of course.

The other man hesitates for a moment but decides that it’s fine. He replies with a quick, “It’s your bathroom, March.”

“Yeah, but…” Holland lets out a quick sigh before he opens the door and walks in. He manages to undress himself quickly and glances over at the mirror. He uses his hand to run over his facial hair and mentally mark down where he needs to clean himself up. That was a problem for another day, however. He tugs gently on the shower curtain before asking, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” The bruiser moves to the side to make room for the lankier man. It’s become second nature for Healy. As of late, his entire life has somehow molded around being a part of Holly and Holland’s little family. Not that he’d complain about the recent lack of loneliness.

“Hey.” Holland grins. It’s a quirky little half smile where his lips are almost hidden but there’s just enough there for Healy to see just how happy Holland is. He almost looks like a golden retriever. That’s before he asks the other man, “Can I… kiss you again?” He closes his eyes firmly, fully expecting a ‘no’ or ‘that’s too much’ from Healy, but Healy seems to have no problem with this. He leans in, taking the dive yet again. He pulls Holland into his arms by his waist. He kisses the other man in a way his probably shaky voice could never begin to explain. After they break their contact Holland just kind of laughs, “I was just gonna do this…” he explains. His lips meet with the crown of Healy’s head. His arms work their way around his kind of boyfriend and rests his chin atop the other man’s head. They stay still in the water like this for a moment together. It was oddly intimate, even though a mere hour ago the blond was using the other man’s chest to get himself off. Healy lets a soft pleased moan slip from his lips while Holland cleans off his mess from Healy’s chest. He reaches up and gets some shampoo lathered in between his fingers. His fingers work their way through the blond’s hair. This is a moment of intimacy Healy hadn’t had with someone outside of sex before.

A couple minutes later, after the two were clean, Holland reaches behind Healy’s back and switches the water off. He carefully pulls the shower curtain to one side and reaches for a towel, offering it to Healy. He steps out of the tub and starts to rummage through his bathroom closet. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a damn towel. After he finds one he starts drying himself off and looks over at Healy, who offers him a quick, “Thanks” in return for the shower. Jackson picks up his pile of clothes and forces himself back into his jeans. At this point, he’s sure that Holland’s sick of him and is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Before that can happen Holland interrupts his thoughts.

“You wanna… sleep in my bed?” Holland asks, again expecting that it’s at this point Healy’s gone along for the ride for too long, and he’ll finally want to stop. He offers further, “Or if you don’t, you can sleep on the couch. Just kick Holly out and back to her room. She should be asleep anyway.” His sentence continues to trail as he fills in the silence that had settled between the two of them. Healy sighs and runs the palm of his hand across his face before saying,

“I didn’t know staying was an option.” His words are soft, and a bit hesitant. “Where do you want me?”

“I…” Holland starts to stutter. He takes a breath to calm himself down before finally saying, “Honestly? I want you in my bed.” He scoffs to himself. If he hadn’t done it before, Healy was sure to get off now. It was really an outlandish thing for Holland to ask of the other man.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that. Forgot to bring my pajamas though. Wasn’t expecting a sleepover,’ He jokes, using this opportunity to zip up his jeans.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Holland rubs his eyes as he starts getting tired. He walks over to his dresser and scans through his clothes for something to wear. He settles on an undershirt that’s clean enough for Holland’s standards and a fresh pair of boxers. He lies down and sprawls across his bed before making room for the other half of Nice Guys Agency to lie besides him.

Healy uses the blanket on the bed to cover himself up a little, but lets his hands rest on top of his still bare stomach. He’s trying his best not to break some unspoken boundary between the two but he can’t help but feel tempted when he sees the way Holland takes up the space on his bed. Holland’s no better than him, not with him sliding a cautious arm around the other man's back. He lets that hand lean against Healy’s side, fingers running through the other man’s body hair ever so slightly. Healy seems to notice this discrepancy and looks down at Holland’s arm.

“Thought your left hand was too fucked up to stroke anything, March.”

“I… yeah it is.” Holland slides his hand back, doing his best to pretend that it was still screwed up. His face was bright red, not that anyone would be able to tell. He didn’t want to admit it, Healy hadn’t really caught him, had he?

Without a thought, Healy catches Holland’s arm before it gets too far away. He moves it back to its previous spot. “If you wanted attention, you could have just said something. Woulda saved us some trouble.”

“And say what?” Holland snarks back at him, “ ‘Hey, Healy, give me a handy will ya?’ No thanks.” Jack shakes with a silent laugh.

“I did offer you one, y’know. In the car.”

“Yeah. I know.” He rolls his eyes, “I was probably thinking more with my schwantz than I want to admit.”

#the nice guys (2016)#the nice guys #the nice guys fanfiction #ryan gosling #holland march #jackson healy #holland march x jackson healy #healland #holland march fanfic #ryan gosling fanfiction #my work #my posts

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syncast-err0r · 9 months

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during the whole post s2 montage or whatever, it's revealed that gabriel and beelzebub actually live in a cottage in North Downs, being their resident cryptids and functioning in worse ways than crowley and aziraphale could ever manage, and that's just them not trying

their entire house has rooms that are either completely empty or fully thrashed. these two idiots didn't even bother with trying to seem human. the house just spawned out of nowhere and they don't even bother with humans' memories they literally do not give a fuck. there's no bathroom, no bedroom. however there is a dungeon. neither of them ever sleep so they're just walking around at night for funsies. they're awful. their neighbors at least are grateful because flies refuse to enter anywhere else aside from the bureaucracy house (house is a strong word) just bc beelzebub is nearby. fuck it. they have several floors which can only be accessed from the inside, meaning it looks like it only has one floor from the outside. they have a garden and for some reason it's full of the worst smelling plants to attract flies but also they don't smell at all because gabriel was like nah n beelzebub was like fair enough

do u guys see my vision. do u

#I'm thinking of writing a fic. I'm living my best life out here guys #good omens #kiln talks #ineffable bureaucracy #non horror / slasher #ah. by week 5 they're probably like oh we fucked up. whoops lol. reprograms everything n they try to act normal this time #I just adore outsider pov fics n I've never read one that was bureaucracy centered....#so. ya #feel free to steal my idea. the more the merrier

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thewritetofreespeech · 10 months

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May I request Kirishima (Yakuza's guide to babysitting) with a female s/o who comes from a long line of blacksmiths but everyone underestimates her because she's so cute and sweet?

It was a hot one today.

Kirishima hated summer. It was always humid. His clothes stuck to him. There never seemed to be enough fans & air conditioning to go around. His only solace right now was this popsicle he had while waiting for Yaeka to come back from the bathroom.

“Hey Kirishima!”

The yakuza looked up with a dull ‘hn’ at the sound of his name. Frozen treat between his lips. “Oh, hey [Y/N],” he greeted. Voice muffled because he wouldn’t let the treat go. “What are you doing here?”

“Sakuragi-san asked me to come by with his new order.” She jostled her shoulder to signify the wrapped package on her back. “Turned out nice. Wanna see it?”

“I’m sure I’ll see it later.” Kirishima replied. Voice clear now that he finally let the popsicle go.

The soft footsteps of Yaeka could be heard coming down the hall. Her sweet face poking out just moments later. “Kirishima?”

“Yaeka, this is [Y/N]. She works for the family.”

“Sort of,” [Y/N] clarified with a chuckle. “Nice to meet you,” she added as she bent forward to shake Yaeka’s hand, “I’m the Sakuragi family Katana-kaji.”

“Katana-kaji?”

“A person who makes swords.”

Yaeka’s eye lit up a little at the explanation. Seeming excited to learn a new word and something you could go. “Girls can make swords?”

“This one can!” [Y/N] replied with a wink. “My family has been doing it for generations. Our smithing dates back all the way to the Edo period.”

“That’s a really long time.” Kirishima explained as he handed Yaeka back her own popsicle he had been holding for her.

“You should see if your dad will let you watch the show. Part of the presentation ceremony is a demo of its skill. It’s pretty neat.”

“Daddy’s gonna play with a sword?”

“Nope! Me!”

Yaeka seemed skeptical, but [Y/N] just grinned at her. “I should probably go see Sakuragi-san. Kirishima, you’re gonna stop by though right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

[Y/N] then headed off into the house to find it’s master and get ready. “Can she really use a sword Kirishima?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” He told her.

An hour later, they were all gathered in the formal garden for the demonstration. Sakuragi-san, Kirshima, Yaeka, and Sugihara for some reason. Probably his perpetual fear of missing out. It was relatively quiet as they waited for the demonstration to start, then [Y/N] stepped into the garden. They had changed from modern attire into traditional garb. Basic, compared to what Sakuragi wore. Functional. Her hair was up now and her entire demeanor different from the woman seen before. She wasn’t just [Y/N] now. She was [Y/N] the Katana-kaji.”

Stepping out in front of a display of wood logs, [Y/N] bowed once before drawing the swords. The sharp sound of the blade coming out of its sheath echoed in the garden, now dead silent, as she readied her stance before the target. Her stance held there for a long moment until, suddenly, her arms swung, and the log was suddenly in two. If you had blinked, you would have missed it. Only seeing her perfect post-form as an after image.

[Y/N] then resheathed the sword and walked over to Sakuragi. They knelt down and presented the sword to him. He reached out and took it, opening just the hilt to inspect the insignia on the blade near it and closing again. He then bowed slightly, and [Y/N] returned it by bowing low and respectfully on the ground.

“Fhhheew! I’m glad that’s over!” She exclaimed when she raised her head. The sudden turn in demeanor startling Yaeka a little bit. “These old get ups are so hot. How do you do this all-day Sakuragi-san?”

“Determination.” He replied as he sat his new blade down.

“That was so cool [Y/N]-chan!” Sugihara praised. “One of the best yet.”

“You say that every time Kei.” She reminded him. “What did you think Kirishima?”

“Yeah, yeah. It was good.” He told her with a smirk. “What did you think, little lady?”

“It was….it was really cool.”

[Y/N] smiled softly at the little girl’s amazement. Seeming to still try and find the words to explain what she saw. “Well, be sure to keep me in your employee, ok?”

Yaeka nodded enthusiastically, and everyone chuckled a little at how adorable she was. “Would you like some tea before you go [Y/N]-san?”

“In this heat??” [Y/N] replied to Sakuragi request, but then sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose so. Tradition and all. Yaeka, do you want to have tea with us?” The little girl looked to her father with questing eyes, how nodded thoughtfully at her, before she nodded yes. To which [Y/N] giggled. “What about you Kirshima?”

“I suppose I could stick around.” He replied. Nothing better to do on a hot summer day.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#kirishima tooru #toru kirishima scenario #toru kirishima #toru kirishima x reader #sakuragi kazuhiko #yaeka sakuragi #sakuragi yaeka #the yakuza's guide to babysitting scenario #the yakuza's guide to babysitting x reader #the yakuza's guide to babysitting #kumicho musume to sewagakari scenario #kumicho musume to sewagakari x reader #kumichou musume to sewagakari

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bokutizer · 1 year

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➵ BOKUTO KOUTAROU

summary : From fated bike accident to shaving in your shared bathroom. tags : domestic fluff, mention of blood (nothing dramatic, I promise!) a/n : this has been a fic that I once wanted to post but my idiotic ass accidentally deleted it months ago, and I really did not have the enegry to rewrite it until now. also. Bokuto's skin is as soft as a baby's bottom.

Everyone has scars that ornament their skin; small ones, big ones, some of them are nastier than others, some of them might carry dark memories with them while others hide unknown stories behind themselves. Bokuto is not an exception.

The light stretchmarks along his inner thighs and the outer edge of his chest, the small light line on his thumb that's still healing and fading after he had accidentally cut himself while pealing potatoes last week. Don't get me even started on his knees, littered with multiple teeny tiny scars. The latter ones being small childhood keepsakes, every single of them a consequence of his naive curiosity and numerous escapades.

However, there is this one scar that's so small, barely noticeable yet it carries so much importance to the athlete. It's right underneath his chin, barely an inch long, but every time he looks in the mirror, especially when he shaves, he can't help but smile at the sight of the little token of remembrance.

"Shit, shit, shit! Coach Takeyuki's going to kill us." Bokuto breathlessly groaned, his hair being pushed back by the wind as he tried to pedal as fast as possible without hitting any obstacles (people. to be exact).

"Bokuto-san, you are going to kill us." Akaashi corrected, tightening his grip on the rear seat on which he was sitting on, rethinking all his recent life decisions that had led him to this exact situation; praying that his senpai would slow down at least a tiny bit on the next turn.

Thanks to Bokuto's suddenly not-functioning alarm, and sisters who had taken over the bathroom, the second year had gotten out of his house at least twenty minutes later than usual. And of course, Akaashi, being the ever so loyal and reliable kohai, had been waiting the entire time for his friend.

So when the two of them had realized that they'd be way too late for their volleyball practice, Bokuto had the amazing idea to simply take his bike.

And so here the they were, one driving like a mad man while the other one prayed they would not get in trouble. But you know how they say; if it’s meant to be it will be. And in this case, not even prayers were able to stop what was about to happen.

The sound of an all too sweet laugh suddenly caught Bokuto’s attention, followed by a shock of (h/c) hair until he dashed past you, eyes meeting for merely few seconds. Though, it was definitely more than enough for him to tell that you were pretty, gorgeous even. Your hair looked so soft and silky, eyes so beautiful he swore if they’d be the only thing he could stare at, he'd do it.

Your expression was also cute. The way your forehead wrinkled slightly with your furrowed eyebrows before your eyes shut open… oh, were you shouting something? Were you shouting at him? Shit, did he already mess up?! -

"Watch out!"

And when your voice finally pulled him out of his day dream, Bokuto realized that Akaashi was also being quite loud, which was not an all too usual occurrence. As he finally focused his gaze on the road ahead of him, he realized that, in fact, there was no road anymore. It was long gone and replaced by the all too well known walls that surrounded Fukurodani High.

In a matter of seconds, they crashed against the grey brick-wall, the bike and both its passengers flying to the ground. Akaashi groaned as he slowly got up while rubbing his aching rear, his white training jacket stained with mud and dirt.

Bokuto, on the other hand, had accepted the possibility that he had probably died because the way you crouched in front of him, holding a napkin against his bleeding chin, it could only mean that his soul had arisen to paradise and that you were an angel. That could be the only possible explanation, right?

"Are you okay? Feeling nauseous or dizzy?" you asked worriedly, the cloth in your hand slowly but surely getting soaked with his blood. "We should get him to the infirmary." It was only then that you realized that the raven haired boy who had also been involved in this accident, was your classmate.

"Akaashi-kun! Did you get hurt?"

After he had reassured you that he was fine besides the few scratches, you helped Akaashi heave his friend up (who was anything but lightweight).

Bokuto remembers your gentle eyes, and the worried glimmer in them as if it were yesterday. How your expression turned into one of confusion when he asked you if you'd like to swing by during their volleyball practice as soon as the school nurse had patched him up.

"G'morning." you yawn as you step inside the bathroom, tiredly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, and interrupting your boyfriend's little nostalgic moment. "Morning, pretty. Did ya sleep well?"

You hum contently at the short peck against your cheek, and somehow it's only then that you notice Bokuto's black little toilet bag sitting on the countertop, his razor and shaving cream ready to be used. The sleep instantly leaves your body as you gasp enthusiastically and perch yourself on the countertop, Bokuto eyeing you with the same warmth in his gaze. Watching you grab the cream and ushering him to get closer with the same eagerness of a seven year old who's about to do her favorite doll's hair.

"Alright, alright!" his shoulders shake as he chuckles at your antics. You tug at his arms until he's settled between your legs, his hands finding purchase on your thighs, thumbs tenderly rubbing shapes along your skin while you start applying the white foamy substance along his jaws. A squeak sounds through the tiled room once he gives your thighs a tickling squeeze, your whiney and drawn out "Kou!" only spreading his grin further.

"You have to admit, 'm pretty good at this." you speak pridefully, gliding the razor along his skin with gentle and careful strokes with one hand while the other's nestled beneath his chin, guiding his head the way you want it.

"I don't think there's anything you're not good at." Bokuto claims, his smug and still with shaving cream stained face getting too close to your own for your liking. "Beside parallel parking maybe."

"Really funny. Baby, wait. No! You still have some-"

Yet in a blink of an eye, his hand is resting on your nape, his lips doing their work an planting pecks all over your cheeks as well as bits of the shaving cream. You've accepted fate, enduring his sweet yet messy kisses, and your brows scrunching in disgust at the bitter taste of chemicals when the last kiss lands on your lips.

"Happy now?" you chide falsely annoyed, yanking the towel from the towel rail, and wiping your face. "You could've waited until I was done!"

"Nope." Bokuto shakes his head lightly, the self-sufficient grin on his face seeming not wanting to leave for today, as he rests his forehead against yours. You're about to shove him off you. That's until you hear him say, "You know I can't wait when it comes to you."

#bokuto koutarou #koutarou bokuto #hq bokuto #haikyuu bokuto #haikyū!! bokuto #bokuto fluff #bokuto drabble #bokuto x reader #bokuto x gn!reader #bokuto x you #bokuto scenarios #bokuto koutaro fluff #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutaro x y/n #bokuto x y/n

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deepperplexity · 5 months

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Prompt: 12. Giver Of Gifts [D2]

Pairing: Gruber x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Countryside resort near Darlington

Continuation of: RICKMAS2022 prompts 14. Icy roads & 15. Frosty Glass and RICKMAS2023 Prompt 11. Imperfect Holiday

A/N: Hi darlings! I know I’m a day late, well, like 11 hours late, but my daughter needed me a little extra yesterday (nothing bad, she was just very cuddly and wanting to be literally on me) so when I got har to sleep I was so exhausted I couldn’t finish the fic. It’s a long one 😂 But here it is! And I’ll get today’s fic up later as well, don’t worry! I feel super creative and rested today so I’m going at full speed! 😍👏 But, this is the last fic of Hans and Anna-Louise. It’s been one of the hardest serial fics I’ve ever written, it takes so much with the language use and all that but I have had such a good time writing for these two! I really hope you’ll enjoy this one and how it all turns out in the end 🥰❤

Tags/TW’s: Light One Bed Trope, Kissing, Cudlding, Hugging, Being Left Behind, Secret Identity, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Finding One's Own Value, Gift Giving, Being Spoiled/Cared For, Criminality, Unlawful Actions, Falling In Love, Confessions Of Feelings, Indicates Hazardous Situations, Second Hand Revealing Of Secrets, Worrying, Charity, Fluff, Angst, H/C, Reassurance

Word Count: 6.7k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Our lips parted, my first ever good kiss. Fabulous, wonderful, perfect kiss. And it was with him, the man who not only saved my life and held impromptu therapy sessions over muffins but who also saw me and heard me — a man who I deeply felt cared for me, truly. To kiss him was… a trip. A real trip of every sensation my body was able to feel and no sooner had it ended than I wished to do it again.

“Schnuki, don’t doubt my want of you, or how special I think you are,” he whispered, it came out thick and heavy in his dark rumble of a voice. “I will spoil you in any and all ways I see fit, understand me?” he continued. “I— You are something else, Hans…” He chuckled at that and kissed my forehead in that gentle manner of his tightly groomed beard gentle but firm against my skin. That kiss only felt even sweeter now that I knew how urgently and intensely he could kiss my lips.

“Tell me you understand,” he urged. “I-, I think I understand. It’s difficult for me, I can’t really understand why me, and how it became me, but I’m bloody happy about it either way, is that alright?” I asked, my cheeks burning once more, perhaps I’ll evolve second-degree burns with this amount of blushing? Or I’ll need to chug water, all this warmth will leave me dehydrated. “That’s alright, I’ll make you understand in due time.”

There was a knock at the door and Hans slid out of my grasp. “Go put those on,” he said, pointing to the pyjama set of silk still on the bed. I nodded and grabbed them, heading to the bathroom just as he opened the door and I heard the bell boy announce that he was room service.

When I came back, dressed in the fabulous silk that made me feel wrapped in a cloud, Hans sat on the bed with a tray atop the covers with two covered plates, two glasses of orange juice, and a plump-looking blueberry muffin. “Is that for me?” I asked, pointing to the treat. “Yes, thought you could see if this fancy place compares to that little café.” I smiled at him and he patted the bed beside him, I carefully sat down cross-legged and he lifted off the silvery coverings that kept the food warm.

The smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes wafted up my nose — my stomach promptly growled with desperation to have the goodies. “S-sorry…” “My sweet treat, never apologise for any bodily functions with me. If you’re hungry, I’ll give you food. If you’re cold, I’ll offer my coat. If you need a shower, I’ll rent an entire house for one if needed.” I gaped at him while he smiled cheekily at me, it was nearly a smirk yet not quite. “Ooo-kay,” I said, prolonging the word far more than necessary, but what was I to say to that?

Hans pushed a fork toward me. “Eat, then we sleep.” I didn’t hesitate. Is tarted in on the bacon and eggs, cutting the long pieces of meat and mixing it with the eggs before topping it with a healthy dose of salt and shoving it into my mouth. The flavour burst atop my tongue and I groaned in appreciation. “Best, eggs and bacon, ever, had,” I mumbled as I chewed. “So good.” “Glad to hear it,” he said and started in on his pancakes, his knife and fork moving with steady precision while mine flew in an uncoordinated manner all over the plate.

When the plates were cleared I chugged the juice. I was full, but that muffin looked bloody tempting and I didn’t want to be ungrateful so I grabbed it and took a huge bite out of it. It was good, not as good as the ones at home but moist and flavourful. “Good?” Hans asked and I nodded. “Really good.” I took another bite while Hans cleared away the tray from the bed. “But not quite as good?” How did he know? I never even really ate the muffin last time, did I? No, no I don’t think I did. I was too wrapped up in him and how he held my hand and talked about how I was being treated, I mean, it’s not Ferdinand’s fault, but I think he was madder at Dad and Sis, then again I could be wrong. I’m often wrong, I guess, I never thought Mum would leave, or that Martha would become a dear friend, least of all I’d skip town with a rich German—

“Schnuki?” “Huh? Hmm? Yeah?” Hans smiled gently at me, stroking back a strand of hair by my cheek and hooking it behind my ear. “Lost in thought?” he asked. “Oh, umh, suppose so,” I said. “How did you know about the muffin?” “That it’s not as good?” I nodded. “It’s all over your face, little treat.” “What?” “You talk quite a bit, and you think even more I believe, but your face says everything one needs really. Just have to look,” he said and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Sorry…” I mumbled, looking down at my half-finished muffin while fiddling with the striped paper around it. “Don’t be, I quite like how open you are, and willing to share. Not a common thing these days, you know. You’re a rarity.” I scoffed. “That’s for sure. Imagine if everyone blabbers like me? Gosh, blimey, the world would be a headache-inducing verbal madhouse,” I chuckled, yet it made me sad, to be honest. “I’m not talking of others, just you,” Hans said and leaned over to kiss my temple. “Now, time to sleep.”

He went around the room, turning off lights and making sure all doors were locked before he pulled all the curtains while I got comfy in the giant bed — honestly, it was the softest and most comfortable bed I’d ever laid in. Then I bolted upright as the last light went out. There’s only one, just one, he’ll sleep next to me, oh gosh, he’s going to be next to me!

The bed dipped and Hans indeed slipped in under the cover - the single cover that was made for two people. “Schnuki? Aren’t you lying down?” “Oh, umh, yeah, yeah sure am,” I stuttered out and slowly sank down. “I won’t bite,” he whispered right beside me. “Come here.” He pulled me in, his arms securely wrapped around me while my heart galloped in my chest. I’d never shared a bed with anyone, and sharing a bed with Hans was an experience that had me tingly all over.

“My sweet treat,” he hummed and tugged me flush against his front, spooning me. “H-Hans,” I whispered and he hummed a sound of contentment. “I’ve never… Never shared a bed without any bloke,” I continued and he squeezed me even tighter. “What a lucky bloke I am then.” I don’t know, I think maybe I’m the lucky one. Feels like it, feels like I’m getting some Christmas miracle. A man being a miracle, bloody hell that’s a thing I never thought I’d think.

***

I’d fallen asleep way too fast in his arms. I slept all through the night and when morning came I woke up alone. The bed and room were empty. I did what any sane person would, I buried my smiling face in the pillow and kicked my legs under the cover with a giggle erupting from me. Hans, sweet Hans, and he’s with me! Me! Me? Like, what? I swear if I wake up in some snow mound after having slipped and hit my head or whatever nonsense I’ll go straight to whoever runs this show and strangle them.

The door opened, and faint footsteps echoed through the room. Hans probably thought I was asleep still. “Hans?” I asked, peeking out from under the cover, turning my head to not be buried in the pillow. “Scnuki, you’re awake, good,” he said and a second later the curtains were drawn away from the window and balcony door. “Breakfast will be here any minute.” “We really having it out there? It looks bloody cold,” I said while half sitting up. “You’ll be warm with blankets, and I ordered extra coffee. Black.” “Coffee, god, yes please,” I moaned and dragged myself out of bed to go freshen up in the bathroom.

I rummaged around my bag first though, looking for some fresh clothes to wear. “On the chair,” Hans said while pulling away the rest of the curtains while I looked over my shoulder. There were several bags on the chair, so I scurried over only to freeze as I looked into them. Clothes, shoes, gloves, a purse, and all gorgeous and expensive looking if my eyes served me right.

I grabbed a thick white jumper, knitted with little pearls added in a snowfall pattern from the shoulders and over the chest. “Hans-, Hans this is too much, way too much, and expensive. Are you completely bonkers? Gone mad with a Christmas flu or something?” He only chuckled and walked up to me. “You deserve pretty things, nice clothes, warm clothes,” he said and gave my shoulders a squeeze while I looked at the jumper in my hands. It was way, way, way too much.

“Now, get dressed, and we’ll have breakfast.” “But I can’t wear—” “Schnuki, accept my gifts for you.” I looked up at him, his eyes earnest and his features soft as he asked me to simply allow him to spoil me. I’d never been spoiled, or taken cared of, or even cared for . “In silks…” I muttered, remembering his words from yesterday about wanting to come home to me dressed in silk and finery.

I did as he asked, taking the jumper, some really pretty white jeans with a matching belt of cream and gold before nabbing some new underwear and socks as well. I stopped in the bathroom, before closing the door. “How do you know my sizes?” I asked, turning to look at the cheekily smirking man. “I just looked at you,” he said. “You are very easy to look at, my little treat.” I must have blushed scarlet, my skin was on fire once more and a knock at the door saved me from making a fool out of myself.

I felt like a tenner in my new clothes, the full-length mirror in the bathroom gave me the full view and everything fit perfectly, hugging my somewhat straight shape and perfectly complimenting my skin and hair. I’d done it in a side braid to keep it away and not hide the sparkling pearls at the top of the jumper. I didn’t have any make-up, but I never used much more than some powder and mascara anyway.

Hans had set up our breakfast on the balcony when I left the bathroom. He was on the phone again, this time speaking in German and I couldn’t understand a word of it. His voice was perfection in German though, the harsh language only complimenting his deep voice further. Perhaps I should learn German too? Would be neat, not that I need more languages to talk in but it’s nifty to know more than one language.

I sat down on one of the chairs covered in a thick fur and dragged two of the blankets over my legs. “Coat,” Hans said as I was getting comfortable and I looked up. He was indeed looking at me and then nodded toward the room. I grumbled a bit but got up to fetch my jacket, it wouldn’t make much of a difference but it was cold outside.

I stood stock still in the middle of the room. By the door, where his coat had hung before, was a beautiful winter coat. It was wine red with black fur along all hems and a black belt with a golden buckle around the middle. It looked as expensive as his and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he’d managed to get me so many things in a mere few hours — and we had both been asleep. The amount of money he’d spent had my stomach twisting, but it wasn’t all bad. There was a warmth and joy there too, that I was worth something to him meant the world to me. Even if he showed his care in monetary ways far from my own reality I wasn’t going to just dismiss his chosen way of showing he cared.

I grabbed the coat and put it on while walking back to the balcony. It, too, fit perfectly of course and the lining on the inside was silky smooth and I felt toasty in it — and pretty too. Hans was still on his call but he spun his finger around, asking me to twirl and with another blush across my cheeks I did as he asked. It was really the least I could do. His smile made me smile even wider while I mouthed “thank you”. He nodded and said something harshly in German into the phone while I got back to my chair.

“Take care of it, we have four minutes, that’s it,” he finished in English and snapped the phone shut. “I like when you talk in German,” I blurted out while reaching for my coffee cup. “Is that so?” I nodded. “How come?” he continued. “Sounds very brazen and, I dunno, large? Like, the words sound large, and it suits your voice. Your voice is really good, you know. I like it a lot, I mean, it’s not a common voice, but it’s perfect for you, and I like it,” I blabbered while fidgeting with the blanket with my free hand. “I’m glad to hear it.” “But, what do you have four minutes to do? I heard you say that yesterday too,” I continued without a break and the look on Hans' face stopped my flow of words.

He sat down, adjusting his coat and grabbing his coffee. “How much did you hear yesterday?” he asked, almost too calmly. “Oh, not much, sorry, was it banking stuff I shouldn’t know about? Like about the stock market and stuff? I heard you mention stocks and time stuff, and you look like a banker so I just assumed,” I said, worry blooming in my gut I had done something he would be upset with me over. But he smiled at me, instantly taking away the worry. “It’s alright. Don’t fret,” he said and sipped his coffee. “I’ll tell you in due time, not now though. Now, it’s time to get some food in you.” And feed me he did. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, little cucumber sandwiches, and different cheeses on lightly toasted bread along with some fruits and juice. I ended up absolutely stuffed.

***

I turned off the shower, after having walked about the grounds most of the day I’d felt a need to clean up when we returned to the room after a lovely dinner down at the main restaurant of the country resort. It had been a really wonderful day and Hans hadn’t asked me to shut up once, he actually seemed to enjoy my blabbering. But I didn’t blabber as much with him, there was no need as he listened when I chatted. The man had patience, I’d give him that.

He was on his phone again, but lying on the bed this time while talking in German. He sounded very precise, as if he were giving instructions or something when I came out dressed in my silky pyjama set. He looked at me with a sweet smile before lifting the cover so I could have it over my legs as I sat cross-legged beside him. His hand landed atop my thigh, his finger stroking circles on the inside of it and I felt as if I would go mad with having his hand there.

He barked something into the phone before slamming it shut, tossing it to the foot of the bed. “Idiots,” he muttered before falling back on the pillow. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he kept going. “Hey, I know I’m not the brightest star in the sky but that’s a bit mean,” I said, a chuckle to my voice. “Not you, schnuki. Never you,” he murmured without looking at me, keeping his eyes closed while he let out a deep sigh.

I scooted down, laying on my side to watch his beautiful profile. Without thinking I reached up and began stroking the tips of my fingers through his lush beard. He hummed and seemed to relax. But that only lasted a few seconds. “I have to leave,” he said. “Leave?” I asked, alarms blaring in my head like bloody hounds after a fox. “For a few days, I would ask you to come with but the situation requires my undivided attention and you steal it most of the time,” he chuckled, as if he’d made some smart remark. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, fearing and wanting the answer. “Stay here, enjoy every luxury, and wait for me.” “In silk?” I teased and he finally looked up at me, a cheeky smile across his thin lips framed by that gorgeous beard I’d a second ago been touching.

He had me on my back a second later, twisting us so he lay between my legs with the cover between our bodies while he kissed me most deeply. Blimey, he really was a fantastic kisser, and every inch of me felt all tingly. I was turning into the giddy schoolgirl stereotype with him, and it felt good to be able to just relax and be.

“Will you wait for me?” he asked against my lips, only half breaking the kiss. “I’ll always wait for you. I don’t think I’m completely daft by thinking there’s something very special between us?” “My sweet treat,” he whispered, pecking my lips once. “You have no idea how special you are to me. One day, perhaps you’ll see, but until then I’ll do everything in my power to show you.” “Bloody hell,” I murmured. “You’re making it impossible not to fall for you, Hans.” “Good,” he said with a smile. “So you’ll wait here for me?” “Yeah, sure, I’ll wait right here, lavishing in silks and eating the best bacon and eggs.” He laughed at that, a deep and throaty sound I couldn’t ever get enough of. To think, all this became possible ‘cus some bloke knocked me over on the sidewalk, it really is quite the hallmark movie setup. Being the main character for once isn’t so bad.

Hans cuddled me for another hour while he asked how I used to celebrate Christmas, but that conversation took a nose-dive and he ended up pissed at how my family had treated me, so, we switched to talking about our favourite things instead. It was too easy talking with him, just being with him, and I didn’t have to wonder if I’d have to repeat myself, he always listened and remembered.

When he was dressing to leave I felt a knot grow in my stomach. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, where he was going and what he was doing were two of those things. But I didn’t ask, it felt like he didn’t want to share that with me yet. And, if he was a banker, perhaps there were some confidentiality issues with him sharing that stuff with me.

“You’ll be back, right?” “I’ll always come back for you, schnuki.” He kissed my forehead after that, stroked my cheek, and left while I remained staring at the door for a long moment. It felt so empty with him gone but he’d left me a little gift on the bedside table he’d instructed me to open once he’d left.

So, once I got out of my daze, I bolted over and grabbed it. I was as curious as a cat and ripped open the envelope only to find a little note and a wad of cash. Like, a whole wad of it. “Spend it all before I return, I dare you, my sweat treat. Oh, Hans, you’re too bloody much!” I laughed while checking just how much I was supposed to spend, I damn near keeled over at the full two grand he’d left behind. How am I supposed to spend two grand in just a couple of days? Can I give it away as tips? I mean, surely servants don’t earn that much and it’s Christmas time too. Would that count as spending it though?

I went to bed wondering where he was going, and what to do with the money he’d left for me, and how rich the man I was falling in love with really was. Thinking of all the gifts, where he had us staying, and now the cash he’d left behind, golly, it nearly made me uncomfortable to think of. I was a nobody, from a nowhere town, with a less-than-desirable place in life. How was I supposed to be in his life, and be what he wanted and needed? Was I enough for him at the end of it all? I still wasn’t quite sure why he liked me so much, then again, I knew very little of him too yet I was sure he was the one for me — so, was it really so silly to think he felt the same?

***

I’d given half of the money away. I just couldn’t spend it on myself. The concierge had been super helpful in ordering a silly-expensive coat for Hans that I used 800 of the 2,000 on and then I’d used about 200 buying some extra room service, and then some 1,000 as tips for the workers and a Secret Santa fund for the children at the Darlington Hospital which the resort had a little tin for with an information pamphlet about it all.

I also ended up buying a Christmas card from the reception that I sent off to Martha, letting her know I’d left and was doing well with the German gentleman she liked so much. I had reminded her to put her teeth in while eating and not give the fat little dog she loved so much too many treats and then ended it all with well-wishes and a Happy Christmas wish too.

I was lounging in bed two days after Hans had left, flicking through the channels on the TV while sipping some hot cocoa. I watched a commercial for dog's teeth and a treat that supposedly helped keep them clean and then the news came on as I sat myself up, cross-legged with my hands wrapped around the mug tightly.

“Tonight, the unfolding of events at a large Newcastle bank left many shocked. Just an hour ago, four men entered while wearing rifles, and in what must be a record-breaking unfolding of events, in a mere three minutes and fifty-six seconds, the vault had been cracked, emptied, and the men had fled the scene. No civilians were harmed, and no shots were fired. The police were at the scene less than a minute after the alarm was pulled, which was not until after the events had passed.” Gosh, it’s Christmas time, who’d rob people around Christmas? I wondered while sipping my coco, watching the screen. “As the police investigate, we have video footage of the men in question. Four white men, neither of their faces being captured on any of the cameras in the bank, but this is what they look like in the available footage.”

There was hot cocoa all over the bed, it had spurted out of my mouth as a silhouette I’d have known anywhere filled the screen along with three others. “FOUR MINUTES!” I shrieked while looking at the blurry image of Hans’ back, his perfect hair and straight shoulder dressed in that beautiful coat of his seemed to damn near burn my eyes. “The police say these men are extremely dangerous, with witnesses claiming three of the men spoke in German we implore all civilians to be wary and if you should see the men in question do not approach. Call the police straight off,” the news lady said further but I could barely hear it.

My mind ran rampant, spinning with all thoughts possible while the news turned to the next event of the evening. My hands cramped around the mug and I couldn’t stop my bloody lip from trembling or my stomach from filling with the sensation of dread. I’d been a daft muppet. A stupid, blabbering, silly-nilly living in a delulu world where rich German men who cared and listened were honest bankers and no danger to the world at all. Bloody hell! I’m in love with a criminal! I stuttered out a breath, one of my hands covering my mouth. “I’m in love… with a bank robber,” I whispered while I cried silent tears of hurt and worry.

I paced the length of the room for several minutes while trying to shut my mind up. The thoughts were an endless barrage of anxiously hurt and worried words I couldn’t stop. I tried in every manner possible to figure out what the bloody hell to do, how it all had gone to pot, how I wasn’t running toward a better life with an honest man who spoils and pampers me — no, no I was running away from an honest life to be with a bloody bank robber who I knew absolutely nothing about! “God, I’m so fucking stupid!”

The clock struck midnight, and still I paced. Back and forth, back and forth. My mind was in shambles but worse than that, my heart hurt and all my feelings were screwing themselves over to be at the center of attention. Why do I just want to crawl up in his arm, talk it alllll out and have him make it sound sane? Have I lost my marbles? Gone mad? Why am I not legging it right out of here?!

I fell asleep while tossing and turning, trying to make sense of my thoughts, arguing against myself — I mean, I hadn’t exactly seen his face or anything, but I knew it was Hans on that news channel. I knew it. Yet I fell asleep with the final thought of wanting him to hold me and make it all make sense.

***

I was a wreck. Everything was topsy-turvy. I had my bag packed but never left. I’d almost called a cab, yet I never did. I swore myself blue over having spent the money he had left — money I could have used to leave, hide, run away, and never speak a word of any of it ever again. Ha! Sure, as if I could ever keep my mouth shut.

I glared at the fire in the hearth of the room, I wasn’t unfamiliar with keeping a fire going to stay warm so stoking it and lighting it had been no issue. The warmth, that was another thing altogether. I felt cold to my bones, even if I was tingly warm on the outside. My nose was even slightly dusted with sweat from sitting so close to the roaring fire beyond the glass doors. The room was sweltering, the air a bit bad given how much oxygen the fire consumed, and I felt a bit dizzy, to be honest, but I couldn’t make myself move.

It had been three days since I saw the news. I’d gone over every bloody detail of everything since I met Hans several times. Especially the phone calls he’d been on. I could no longer go to delulu land and pretend it wasn’t him, I knew it was, there was no other explanation. How bloody perfect this is. The bank robber and the blabbering missy who can’t keep her mouth shut. He won’t come back to me, will he? How could he ever trust my blabbering mouth? We don’t even know each other! But that thought didn’t sit right with me.

After everything that had happened, I was wholly in love with the annoyingly handsome bloke with his charming smiles and cheeky smirks. No matter how silly that was, how stupid it made me, I couldn’t make myself leave when there was even a small chance he’d return for me. And what then? Hmm? Pretend you don’t know? Keep quiet about his secret so he won’t think you’ll blabber? Come on, Lulu… And why am I calling myself that god-awful name?!

“What the— Schnuki!” Hans' hands were on me the next second, I hadn’t even had time to turn my head when his voice filled the room. “Hans?” I asked, feeling disoriented and half-asleep. “What are you doing?!” His hands left me and he ran through the room in a blur of a grey coat. He threw the balcony doors open wide. Cold, crisp air flooded the room and I blinked rapidly.

He was on me the next second. “Up, up,” he said but then grabbed me and hoisted me up bridal style before carrying me out on the balcony. I inhaled with a gasp, feeling all the drowsiness disappear and my vision cleared while a string of curses (it sounded like) left Hans’ mouth, spoken in German before he sat me down on my feet.

His hands grabbed my warm face, the sweat now chilled by the December air. “Are you insane?” he asked in a rush while his eyes searched mine. “I was cold,” I managed to push out while my head ran away with me — all my thoughts coming back with a rush. “You could have died,” he snarled before tugging me close and wrapping me in his arms. Blimey, he smelled so good. Felt so infuriatingly good to be close to. “So could you,” I whispered. “What?” “Mr Bank Robber,” I only said, feeling too tired to deal with any of it now that he was finally back with me.

He stiffened all around me. “You know,” he hummed darkly, his voice far harsher than ever before. “Hard to miss when you were on the news.” “You recognised me from that ?” he asked, leaning back to look at me with widened eyes. “Pffth, I’d know you anywhere.” “Should I be worried or flattered?” “I don’t know, are you leaving me behind ‘cus I talk too much and you feel like you can’t trust me after everything I’ve trusted you with? Including leaving everything behind after meeting you only twice and knowing absolute piss about you?” My words turned angry, fearful really. “Schnuki, calm down for me,” Hans hushed gently, his features softening once more while he looked down at me as I shook in his arms.

He kissed my forehead. “You shouldn’t tell a woman to calm down, has the opposite bloody effect, ya’ know…” He chuckled at that. “I only said so because you feel very anxious, feel free to go off on me anytime you like, little treat. I don’t mind it.” “Sure, bet you're used to having people screaming at you and around you and blurting out nonsense in the heat of the moment.” “You never speak nonsense, don’t say such a thing,” he admonished. “But I do need to know if my secret is safe with you?” “Pffth, as if I could ever say anything to anyone that wouldn’t be good for the man I... You’re a foul git sometimes, you know that?” “Hmm? How so?” “Leaving me here while going out to rob—” “Inside,” Hans said, interrupting me. Course, right, inside, talking about bank robbing on the balcony where anyone can hear is stupid and dangerous, wow, gosh, I’m fucking this right up from the first minute. Stellar job, Lulu. Stellar job…

Hans closed the door behind us and swiftly grabbed my hand to lead me to the bed. He sat me down before closing the vent to the fire, smothering the flames to near embers, and then sat next to me while taking my hand in his once more. I stared at him, and he looked at me.

After a minute of silence, my tears began to flow. “You’re leaving me behind, aren’t you?” “Tell me why I’m a foul git sometimes,” he countered while squeezing my hand. I snivelled and took a deeper breath. “You just left me here, while going off to rob a giant national bank without a word about it. What if you’d been killed? Or captured? Or just hurt, or whatever? I would have just been bloody sitting her until they would have kicked me out for lack of reservation and money. You just left me behind without a bloody word!”

Hans looked at me, a baffled expression taking over his handsome face. “That’s what I’m a foul git for?” “No. You’re a foul git sometimes ‘cus you don’t talk to me. I talk to you all the time, about everything that pops into my head almost.” I glared at him, but it was hard with the tears and snivelling. “But I know nothing of you, like, not a bloody thing. Are you even German?” I asked, daring him to lie to me with my eyes but he just chuckled. “Schnuki, my sweet treat, my little bean spiller,” he said while tugging me closer. “I’m very much German. And you’re a delightful surprise, know that?” I scrunched up my face, swiping at my cheeks. “What?” “I was going to tell you, in due time. I mean, can’t really continue hoaxing you. You’d want to know about the money, my trips, my never staying in one place for long, and such things, no?” I nodded. “Yet here you are, a snivelling mess bawling about me not telling you from the very first moment I’m an international criminal, a successful one mind you,” he said with cheek to his voice and a smirk I couldn’t help but chuckle at.

Hans turned slightly, making us nearly come face to face on the bed. “I knew you were special the moment I met you. Just something about you,” he said and my shoulders softened at the sweet words. “Didn’t think you’d be quite this sweet and understanding, but I’m glad to have been wrong for once.” “You’re not getting out of this by sweet-talking me, spill the tea. All of it. If I’m going to follow an international criminal all over the bloody globe I’ll be damned if I don’t know everything, ‘kay?” I said, feeling as if the world had turned upside down. “I won’t let you leave me behind like everyone else. You’ve ruined any chance of that with everything you’ve done and said so far, I don’t want to be the abandoned puppy anymore.”

Hans kissed my knuckles, letting his lips stroke over them a bit before he lowered our hands again. It sent a shiver down my spine and I really had gone completely bonkers because of him. Not any worse a life than what I had, better even perhaps. Always wanted to see the world, maybe I’ll get to do just that now, even if it is with a criminal, I’ll be safe. I know it. “A dime for your thoughts?” I smiled at the wrongful expression. “Just thinking about seeing the world and being safe, I think I’ll be more safe with you than anyone else.” “An international criminal?” “Well, yeah, sure, but you’re not just any criminal, are you? I mean, obviously it’ll be harrowing and less than fun at times, I’m sure you’re not always staying in posh settings like these,” I said, waving my hand about the room while Hans nodded reluctantly.

“But still, I think you’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” “Always, my sweet treat.” “And, I haven’t recalled a single lie you’ve told, that I know of at least.” “Never lied to you.” “Yeah, I know, and that makes me feel better about this whole thing. I mean, not your fault I didn’t press on the whole bank man thing, right? And besides, you treat me like… like I mean the world to you and you’re always listening, and talking to me like you’ve really heard what I said and you’re very caring, and sweet, and just, yeah, good, you know? It’s not like—” Hans kissed me at that, interrupting my blabbering that had turned faster with each word as my anxiety and need to explain myself as fully as possible shot through the roof.

He stopped my scrambling thoughts and kissed me until I was relaxed once more. “Didn’t mean to stop you from talking, you’re free to talk as much as you need, but you were getting too anxious, schnuki.” “T-Thank you,” I exhaled. “You’re right, I just… Just need to explain myself. I always feel a need to explain myself.” “I understand.” “Yeah, no, sure, I know you do, I’m just sorry I can’t stop myself, I know you understand, and you don’t mind, and all that, and I’m really grateful for— Oh, right, you know, sorry…” Hans chuckled at my embarrassed smile and stroked my cheek once more with his warm hand.

“Do you want to join me, then?” he asked, no pressure to it, just genuine wondering. “If you don’t mind.” “I want nothing else than have you with me at all times possible.” “Then yes, yes, please. I want to be with you, Hans.” “And I with you, but we’ll have to work on that anxiety of yours. Sometimes you’ll have to be on your own, but I will always come back for you.” “Promise?” “I promise.”

He held me tight, kissing the top of my head while I drew a deep sigh of relief, feeling like an overfilled kettle boiling too wildly, all my emotions spilling over. “You gotta cool it with the whole giver of gifts thing though… I couldn’t spend the money you left behind, I gave half of it away…” “I knew you would… You’re goodness and sweetness, all wrapped up like a delicious treat and that wrapping will be of the finest kind imaginable. I’ll make sure of it.” “Hans!” I scolded with a laugh. “I will always spoil you, schnuki. You deserve nothing less than the best of everything, always.” Then I hope you’ll enjoy the coat I got for you… A gift from you to me, became a gift from me to you, don’t really know how valid that is but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Now, my little treat,” Hans said after a moment, “how would you feel about spending Christmas in Alaska?” “Alaska?!” My eyes were wide with something I could only think to look like unbridled joy. “It’s perfect for the winter holiday, no?” “I’d love to,” I confessed. “Thought you would,” he said with one of those charming smiles and a twinkle in his clear eyes.

Blimey, I was going to Alaska with an international Criminal. What a way to spend my first Christmas away from home. Bloody hell I wanna call Dad and tell him to fucking shove his mints up his arse, I was going to see the whole damn world with the man of my dreams. “I think I made it,” I mumbled into Hans' chest. “Whatever you thought before those words, I agree, sweetie. I feel the same way,” Hans whispered before holding me even tighter while I inhaled the wonderful scent of him.

“I… Hans, I love you…” “Schnuki, my sweet treat, my Christmas miracle,” Hans said in such a deep tone it was difficult to hear him clearly. “I love you too, since the moment you smiled at me for the first time.” I shivered at the sweet words and buried my face in his neck. Life was so perfectly imperfect I couldn’t keep the laughs and tears from spilling over. I was where I was supposed to be, where life would take us I couldn’t even begin to think about but I knew, no matter what, Hans would always come back for me and I would always be his. My gentleman criminal.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I just love this serial fic so much, gosh, feels so good they sorted it out and have mutually agreed they re to stay together and just-, travel the world and care for each other and just-, waaaaaaah! 😍👏 I know I was a day late with this one, I'm really sorry but I hope you feel these nearly 7k makes up for it - and you'll still get today's fic later today as well! I'm gonna write at record speed today - have to, my entire weekend is full of Christmas celebrating (I'll squeeze in some writing as often as possible so you'll get fics daily though).

Gosh, feels a bit sad to say bye-bye to these two, maybe I'll revisit them at some point in the future but I can't make any promises. It's really difficult to write this one for me (the literal language use I mean) so we'll see. I kinda like leaving them here too - it's a sweet ending that's closed but also open 🥰

Q: What's something you really enjoyed/liked/feel good about that happened or you did during 2023? A: for me, it's a few things but publishing my OW writing is probably the biggest thing really 🥰👏

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[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas #hans gruber #gruber x oc #hans gruber fic #christmas fic #alan rickman #rickmaniac

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heartbeatan · 11 months

Text

The Art of Revenge (Chapter 3)

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Chapter 3

For the brief, quiet moments after you stepped into Jungkook’s foyer, your nerves slipped away as you forgot why you were in his home at all. As mentioned, you hadn’t gotten a good look at the inside of the house the one and only time you had been there. You had a tent, and only entered through the mudroom to use the toilet and - if you were lucky - the shower.

But now, walking through the front door, and stepping into the main space bathed in the bright, warming light of the sun, you were awe-struck. The entire interior was made of poplar wood - from the live-edge wall planks, the trunk beams, to the paneled ceiling. The natural orange shade of the wood wasn’t over-bearing or too rustic - perhaps because Jungkook’s furniture and decor was so airy and light. Most rooms opened to each other, yet were divided by a slight change in elevation, with the main hall acting essentially as a catwalk between them all. To the right was the living room, which was about three stair steps below where you stood. Its West-facing wall was nothing but tall glass windows. The North wall, of course, had a large, stone fireplace that looked as if it should have several antlers displayed above it. The back of the living room was lined with some more stairs - two-steps up to the kitchen area, and five-steps up to what you assumed was some sort of dining room nook. There were so many windows. So much natural light.

You peered ahead through the hall, and noticed a few more doors and openings - all also trimmed with stair cases that either took you up or down. Although you couldn’t see much of it, the space at the end of the hall was pure white, and de-elevated a bit deeper than the rest of the rooms. You assumed it was his studio - there was no other reason to cover up such beautiful architecture if it weren't for functionality. Your eyes followed another set of stairs upwards, and you noticed there was a partial second level. Just a straight hallway, leading to what you assumed were two bedrooms and maybe a bathroom. It was lined with wrought iron banisters, which overlooked the many rooms below.

“Victoria’s Secret?” You were suddenly jolted out of your trance, jumping slightly as you were reminded that Jungkook was standing just behind you.

“Sorry?” you twisted around, looking at him confused.

“Your bag,” he nodded to the wide, stiff paper shopping bag you had clutched in your hands. “You did a little shopping?”

“Oh!” you looked down to see the company’s name scrolled across the paper, which at one point only housed your wedding lingerie. “I, um, didn’t really go home after… everything. This is my suitcase for now, I guess,” you shrugged.

“Makes sense. There’s not a lot of those types of fancy stores on the way up here.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, thinking of how difficult it was to find even a discount store. “Sorry to disappoint. If things were different, I would have come... better prepared.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved, and you liked what it implied. He was thinking about you… and lingerie… and you liked how the image it painted reflected in his eyes. He stepped towards you, slowly and casually - not in any way aggressive or threatening. But - it felt threatening as he closed the space between you. Threatening in a thrilling way. You once again became hyper aware of his size, of his tall legs and broad shoulders, feeling like you were being dwarfed by his physicality as well his mere existence. His eyes were on yours, glinting with a touch of mischief as he stepped just too suggestively close to you. Then he bent slightly at the waist, and you felt his fingers brush over yours as he grabbed a hold of the string handles of your bag.

“Lemme help you with your suitcase, then” he said, a wry grin teasing his lips as he curved his tongue around the words, and slipped the bag out of your hands - respectfully leaving your purse with you. He had brains.

You exhaled a smile, realizing he was teasing you - and also realizing that somewhere within the past few seconds, you had been holding your breath. “I didn’t know you were such a gentleman.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, then winked, “not all the time."

You werent entirely sure he meant it as an innuendo, but regardless, his words sent a delicious shiver up your spine.

He then stepped across the hall to a set of french doors next to the foyer and across from the living room. The glass panes were protected from the inside with soft, white door curtains, so you didn’t know what was behind them, until Jungkook opened one, and you caught a glimpse inside.

A king-sized bed. A bedroom. His bedroom.

“This your room?” you pointed into the space beyond him. You were a bit surprised. You had figured his room was on the top level overlooking the sunrise, not right next to the common areas and overlooking the driveway.

“Yup,” he nodded proudly, once again holding the door for you to follow him in. The gesture was simple, but it felt far from simple. This was his room, in his home - and you hadn't realized what a symbol it was until you were invited into it. This was where you were going to let another man touch you; where you were going to put the nail into the coffins of Chris and Stephanie; and, where you were going to be starting anew. Being invited into his bedroom somehow made everything feel so… real. Yet, somehow, you felt… okay.

You followed Jungkook, your body buzzing as you brushed passed his hulking form, as you stepped into yet another impressive space in his house. Much like the living room, the windows were floor to ceiling, and the room was soft and romantic against the orange wood. You looked out over the yard, indeed noticing the driveway, the front lawn, and the party barn near the tree line. Back at home, a front facing bedroom with floor to ceiling windows would be a nightmare. Hell, a back facing bedroom was nightmare enough. If you forgot for even a second that you hadn’t closed your curtains, you were sure to put on a show for at least five households. But out here, in the quiet, with no passers by, you supposed the rules were different. You could easily make love under the silver shine of the moon and stars, without the risk of being seen by a neighbour walking their dog. What an intriguingly pleasant idea.

Looking further beyond the tree line, you understood why this room was built as such. The scenery was remarkable, and promised views of red sunsets and pink skies. In the distance, you could make out a valley following a curvy stream of water, which was lined with what appeared to be orchards and possibly vineyards.

You turned back to Jungkook. He had taken a seat on the corner of his bed, stretching his arms behind him as he leaned back to balance himself over his palms. His long, lean torso and welcoming lap were now on display - and with the twitch of your awakening pelvic muscles, you remembered again why you were here.

The room then became silent, as you stood there, holding your purse like a cross – you avoiding his gaze – and both of you wondering how to move forward. This was the awkwardness that you feared. What was the formality here? Should you talk some more first, or just bite the bullet and get down and dirty? You were the one who propositioned him, did that mean you should be the one to make the first move? Or was it better if the “favour-giver” was the one to first offer themselves? Why was Jungkook doing this for you at all?

You considered crossing the floor, and seductively crawling onto his lap to mount his hips, but the more you thought about it, the more you talked yourself out of it. Instead, you decided to fill the space between you with mindless banter.

“I can’t believe you own this place,” you admired, once again looking out the window. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.” You immediately regretted speaking. You barely knew Jungkook, and even though you were about to have sex with him, it still felt inappropriate to be commenting on his finances. You spun around quickly, looking as apologetic as you could. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

“Nah,” Jungkook shrugged and smiled, like you were being ridiculous for apologizing. “I am lucky. This was my grandparent’s getaway cabin. I inherited it. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

“Nice,” you awed in some pathetic version of a 90s surf dudebro. Once again, you regretted it, and - once again - looked at him with wide, embarrassed eyes. “I mean… not nice that they died. I'm sorry for your loss."

Get it together, you idiot, you chastised yourself.

But Jungkook wasn’t in the least bit phased. He didn’t look offended, in fact, he even laughed through the bemused smile he had already been giving you.

“It is sweet… I don’t have a mortgage, and I’m completely off-grid." Now he was just boasting. “So… yeah… I don’t have any major bills to manage. That’s why I can get by making pennies and doing whatever the fuck I want for a career.”

"I thought your businesses were doing really well?” you furrowed your brows, as you leaned against a heavy wooden dresser. You didn’t know how much a painter and photographer made these days, but as far as you knew, he was in demand on the graphic design front. “Stephanie is always talking like you're some sorta secret billionaire," you laughed.

It was then that his face dropped, and you realized your grace period of stupid, none-of-your-business banter was over. You felt instantly guilty, and perhaps terrified that you had destroyed your refuge.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately sputtered out. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just nervous and trying to make stupid small talk… Just tell me to shut up when I’m being too much.”

“No, no, no” he shook his head regretfully, as he pushed himself to sit upright. “Don't apologize. It’s not you. It’s…” he paused as he thought about his answer, then grimaced just before he continued, "Stephanie says a lot of things. I just worry about you having the wrong impression of me because of her."

You felt relieved. He wasn’t upset at you - at least he said as much. He just didn’t like the mention of Stephanie.

It was strange. She had always venerated him, and talked about him and her as if they were thicker than thieves. And yet, in under a five minute phone conversation, he had agreed to break her heart. And now you were here, and it was clear he had a visceral reaction to just the mention of her name. You put a pin in that thought to be inquired about later.

“Still… feel free to tell me to shut up when I need to… Nicely, of course.”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah, okay."

Silence befell you both once more, only this time, you decided to avoid useless conversation and your potential fourth strike – and instead, cut right to the chase.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’m sorry, I’ve only been with Chris for the last... ever… I don’t… I don’t know what to do next.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, but didn’t answer. Your gaze followed his face as he stood up from the bed, and as he began to stroll across the floor towards you. Your skin instantly felt on alert, buzzing more fervently with each inch closed. You didn’t consciously decide too, but at some point you were off the dresser and standing to attention. When he reached you, he wrapped a large hand gently around your hip, pulling himself close enough to tease you with the faint brush of his hips against yours. He took your purse from your hands, setting it aside. Your palms reached up to rest over his chest, and his other hand smoothed itself along the length of your arm in a touch that felt too intimate to have been had with a near stranger. But it felt so good…

You looked up at him, not able to meet his eyes for long since they wanted to fixate on his beautiful mouth, and the freckle that adorned his lower lip.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, soothing, but also low, with a hint of a gravel, " I was thinking maybe you and I should just dive right in and break this ice first?” His hand caressing your arm now dropped and slid around your waist.”

Fuck, yes, your mind screamed, as your lips curled and eyes narrowed into a gracious and seductive display of agreement.

“I think you’re right,” you said, with all the uninhibited confidence you possessed - until it diminished. “I mean… if you really want to.”

“I do,” he nodded, his hand once more brushing up your arm and towards your neck, while his grip on your hip tightened.

“Seriously,” you continued, as your desire began to collide with your apprehension. “Because I know you said you would, but you’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I haven’t,” he assured you, pulling your bodies tighter together as his fingers snaked their way into your hairline and his thumb cradled your jaw. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No, not at all!” you nearly shrieked. You definitely hadn’t changed your mind - especially now that you could feel the stiffness behind his pants pressing into your belly. “I just, want you to know that you don’t–”

“Y/N,” Jungkook interrupted you with a stern, yet flirty whisper of your name. “I'm going to kiss you. So, unless you have some sort of objection, I’m telling you nicely to shut up.”

You accepted his light scolding with a sheepish smile and nod. “Okay. I’m mean, no, I have no objections.”

“Good,” he returned a faint smile of his own, his lips widening and curving gently - until he dipped his face forward, and tilted your head high so those lips of his could gently curve against yours.

The kiss was soft… not in the way that it was unsure and timid - it was tender in a way that was meant to be reassuring and soothing.

You liked it, but you weren't quite sure what to make of your liking it. You had made a promise to never kiss another man other than Chris, and now you were kissing Jungkook - and you felt nothing but good about it.

Jungkook broke the kiss, angled his head to the other side, then brought your mouths together once again. The kiss was still gentle, but firmer than before. You felt yourself melting into him. Knowing he had begun to caress your caution away, he dropped his hand at your face and brought it down to the small of your back. You slid your arms over his shoulders, then braided them behind his neck – you now the one encouraging further contact.

You felt your ass press against the dresser behind you, as Jungkook had managed to walk you against it, and wave his bulge tight against your groin. Your lips parted in a small, silent gasp – and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The flavour of him was foreign – shocking at first, since you were so use to the taste of Chris – but it was also delicious, hot, and exciting. His tongue moved against yours with languid precision, and for some reason, it ignited something delicious, hot, and exciting deep in your gut.

Your kiss soon became more, then more. His hands began to roam the expanse of your body – his fingers leaving a wake of goosebumps over the skin just above your jeans and just barely under the hem of your shirt.

It was happening…

He was getting ready to fuck you, and damn, were you ever ready to be fucked by him. His hands crept higher under your shirt, smoothing around the curves of your waist to the hollows of your back as he pulled you in closer. You wanted more, and you wanted it faster. You wanted more of your skin exposed, more of your flesh kneaded in his hands, more of his body pressed against yours… more of his hot, wet mouth kissing you.

In a quick decisive moment, you chose to initiate the “more.” You had propositioned Jungkook, and he had made first contact – now it was back to you to take you both to the next level.

You untangled your arms from behind his shoulders, and dragged your palms firmly over his chest – now elated at the idea of seeing everything you felt beneath his t-shirt. You raked your nails over his abdomen, until they caught the hem. You then pulled the cotton gently north, and Jungkook got the memo. He released his hold on you, reached behind his head to grab his collar, helping you strip him of the garment in one, smooth motion. His hands were immediately back on your waist, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he moved to start kissing you again – but your gaze was trained elsewhere.

You splayed your palm across the solid planes of his chest, sweeping appreciatively over them as you admire just how fucking beautiful his body was. You should have known… rock climbing and hiking among other outdoor activities were hobbies he was known for.

“My God,” you whispered outloud, unaware you had said anything at all.

He chuckled a soft smile, “You see something you like?”

“Ha!” you grinned, completely not embarrassed by how you were so obviously drooling over him. He was gorgeous, and it was a crime to not let him know that. You looked up at him, showing him every ounce of desire you felt that your eyes could convey. “I always liked what I saw.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head, his ego lacing with a touch of disbelief.

“Of course,” you said more seductively than you intended to – but it worked as you leaned forward, pressing your lips over a muscular plank, your tongue taking a few liberties with his dark, peaked nipple.

“Good to know,” he took the compliment, and you were delighted to hear a bit more arousal in his tone. His hands dropped to the hem of your tank top. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled your shirt off your body, and discarded it to some unknown corner on the floor. He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you cautiously as if you might try to escape, while the index finger of his free hand began to trace a line over the hills and valleys of your now expose torso. There was so much praise and worship and need in the way his eyes drank you in. You hated that it made you think about Chris , but you couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time you felt so damn desired.

Jungkook hummed some throaty growl of appreciation, as his fingers began to dance with the lace lining your bra. Your nipples tingled and puckered at the prospect of being worshipped as well.

His three fingers then dropped into the front of your cup, and he pulled downward and released your breast from its confines. In a short instant, Jungkook dropped his head, and you stretched your neck as you felt the heat of his mouth engulf the sensitive bud. He hummed as he sucked you into his mouth, and the vibration rippled through you, making you hum along with it.

He moved to your other breast, only instead of springing your wanton nipple free, he teased over its lace covering. He laved at the fabric with a long, firm swipe of his tongue, leaving your bra hot and dampened, and then cool and tantalizing as the drafty house air swept over it. He licked at it again, sucking the lace and your nipple gently between his teeth, and releasing them to snap back into place. You yelped a little - like you had been shocked by static.

Jungkook grinned triumphantly against the mound of your breast, then caressed the flesh with a kiss that more resembled a bite. His lips made their way up your chest, your neck, your jaw – each inch breached mimicking an inch his body pressed tighter against yours. You graciously reveled in the contact, scooping your arms under his shoulders, and digging your fingers into the solid, muscular columns that lined his back. You wanted to wrap your legs around him, and feel every twitch and stretch of his movements against you. You wanted his pants gone - and yours - to feel more of his erection rubbed over your core. You wanted his skin and his weight to smother you, and to feel your breasts flattened against that sculpted chest of his.

As Jungkook’s hands found their way into the back of your pants, and as he began to knead at the generous flesh of your backside, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, feeling stimulated by their liberation. But they weren’t free for long – not if Jungkook had anything to do with it. His face, which had been focused on nibbling at your ear, pulled from your neck so he could peer down at your chest, and he deftly helped you pull the straps off your shoulders.

You found yourself in a familiar position, his one arm holding you near him, your hips swaying in tandem against each other, while his other hand now squeezed its way over your now completely naked torso. With his lower lip tucked tightly between his teeth, his dark, hooded eyes raked gluttonously over your various silhouettes – admiring every shadow and freckle.

You felt a blush stirring behind your cheeks as you watched him inspect you with such raw appreciation. “See something you like?” you volleyed Jungkook’s question back at him.

“I’ve always liked what I saw,” he retorted with a roughly spoken volley of his own.

God… you thought. If this was only the foreplay to the foreplay, you were in for a very erotic ride. Speaking of foreplay…

He released the tension he had on your body, and his hands dropped to the button of your pants. He didn’t rush to undo it, nor did he take his sweet-ass time. You felt the rumble of your zipper as it passed over your mound, and he caught your lips again just as his palming of your denim-clad junction made you gasp.

You took the opportunity to press your breasts against him, moaning into his mouth as you took pleasure in what you had been wanting for these past few minutes. His skin was warm and smooth against yours; his body felt strong and solid, like you were pulling yourself against a brick wall and not a man. You could feel the faint beat of his heart thumping behind his ribs, and you could sense how each of his muscles tensed and relaxed as he found pleasure and intrigue in your kiss.

He dug his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, and began pulling them south off over your hips. In that moment, you wished you hadn’t worn such skin tight pants. You wished they would just puddle to the floor so you wouldn’t have to let him go. He reluctantly broke your kiss, but made up for it as he trailed a path of licks and nips down the length of your body, peeling your pants off your limbs. He helped you step out of the legs, and your jeans too became lost somewhere in his room.

Kneeling before you, face-to-face with your panties guarding your dampened pussy, he began to gingerly rub the length of your thighs. That was when you noticed, and he noticed, that you were trembling.

“Are you okay?” he looked up at you without judgment.

“Yeah,” you replied. You were okay – you didn’t know why your body was reacting this way when your soul felt completely on board. “I want to. I think I’m just… overwhelmed… I don’t know. I never thought I’d be with anyone else. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” his palms ran soothing circles over your skin. “We’re here on your terms. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep going,” you said assuredly, punctuating with a rapid nod. “It feels good. I feel good. I’m having a good time.”

He smiled, “Me too.”

Then, something shifted behind his gaze. With a blink, it had gone from empathetic and concerned, to heated and filthy. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you felt like they had a mystic power to prevent you from looking anywhere else but at him. You felt his fingers squeeze tighter into your flesh as he pulled his face toward your pussy. You held your breath, like you were watching the scene below you in slow-motion. You shifted your weight as you braced yourself for contact. His lips parted, and you saw his tongue relax and drop, just before he latched his mouth wide, and firm over the cotton guarding your clit.

“Oh!” a noise trembled off your tongue, as heat engulfed your centre, and as you felt his wet muscle wave strongly into the bud. He detached himself, tilted his head, and repeated the action, wetting your panties with his saliva to compliment the way his prior ministrations had already dampened them. He detached again, tilted again, and licked you again from a new angle – several times over. It was a stunning sensation of moving between the heat of his mouth when he covered you, to feeling the wet coolness when he exposed you. Perhaps Chris had once been like this – back in your early days together, but you couldn’t recall. With Chris, sex was a clinical and familiar race to climax. Not that it wasn't good sex – it was great to have a partner who knew how to get you off. But you couldn’t remember ever being teased by him, or making time to make sex an erotic adventure. But with Jungkook, and the way he handled you – not worried about needing to get to work in an hour, or back to the household chores, or whatever your busy, domestic lives demanded of you – with Jungkook, it felt like you had all the time in the world.

Moments ago, you felt a rush to have more of him – but now, you felt beyond contented to just let him devote whatever he wanted to you.

You watched adoringly, your lip twisted between your teeth as you absorb the tiny but mounting bouts of pleasure. You braced yourself with one hand over the edge of the dresser, but then let the other drop and smooth over his hand clutching around your thigh. He appreciated your gesture, twisting his wrist so he too could tug gently on your forearm.

He then pulled his face tight and firm into your panties, and your breath hitched as you felt his teeth and lips nibbling around your labia. He pulled back, the fabric of your panties stretching as he pulled them roughly with his teeth. He released them with a snap, and your hips jolted, and you yelped as you felt the cotton-poly-blend slap back against you.

He grinned impishly again – and you began to realise that teasing and shocking his partners was apart of his sex repertoire. The notion thrilled you.

You expected him to resume eating you out – albeit you were hoping that he would strip you of your soiled panties first. But he didn’t. Instead, he began to rise from the floor, until he was once again looming over you, and caging you between himself and the dresser.

“How you feeling?” he asked, and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

How were you feeling? The space between your legs was practically a splash pad. He could have easily sunk his bare cock into you minutes ago without any remorse. So, how were you feeling: You were feeling nothing but respect and appreciation for his commitment to detail.

“I, uh,” you nearly laughed as you tried to answer him. “Yeah, I think I’m feeling pretty damn good.”

He laughed as he caught your meaning. You scraped your hands down his torso, then let your fingertips dance around the waistband of his pants. “Can I help make you feel good?” you asked suggestively.

“Mm,” he craned his neck as he thought about it. He definitely wanted you to, but something was holding him back.

“Maybe later. I promised you a good time - I intend to make good on it.”

"Well,” you drawled as you grazed and teased the underside of his waistband, and felt his abs jolt in excitement. “You're off to a good start. But, I like to pull my weight." You then slipped your palm over his pants, and gave his bulge a light squeeze. He rewarded your action by choking slightly on the air. "Lemme suck your dick, Jungkook."

He definitely liked that idea. It was written all over his face, and taut all over his body. He was perhaps a bit taken aback by your forwardness. But he didn't budge on his resolve.

"Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to come down your throat."

A thrilling tingle sparked through your groin as he said it. You liked that idea, so much so that you could practically taste him already. You also liked how the temperature between you was heating up and dirtying down. Perhaps your face didn't show your excitement, however, because Jungkook tilted his head in a slight grimace.

"Too much dirty talk?" he questioned.

“No,” you chuckled, respectfully abandoning his protected hard-on, and opting to slip your hands down the back of his pants to explore his impressive glutes. "Not dirty enough."

"Yeah?" He liked the sound of that too. His fingers then began to trace down your belly, lower, and lower, and lower - and your breathing became shorter and shorter. "What kinda words you like?"

His palm then dipped beneath your panties, and you felt a long set of fingers slip their way through your folds, and the heel of his hand press firm over your clit. Your jaw slackened, and your back arched to buck your hips into his hand. He looked pleased at how you reacted to his touch.

He drew his fingers north, slithering them through your folds, brushing the length of your labia, until they flattened and tugged hard on your clit. Your fingers instead curved, shaping into talons seeking purchase over any bit of his flesh they could find.

"What can I say to turn you on, Y/N?" he prompted you again. You weren't sure you were expected to answer - it was clear on his wolfish grin that he enjoyed how wordless he was making you.

"Um… I don't know... everything?" you panted an answered, although you weren’t sure if it was the right answer… you weren’t really sure of anything right now.

"Mm," he hummed as he thought, dipping his fingers low and pulling them north again. "Cock?"

"Of course," you laughed. But you supposed it was possible some people didn't care for the term.

His index finger slid south again, and teased itself around your entrance. Your kegels clenched as they prepared for him to invade you - but he didn’t. Not yet. He languidly split his way through your slick slip, and parted your folds to expose your clit to the elements. "Pussy?"

"Yes," you swallowed.

"Cunt?" he said as you bucked against him again. He began to swirl a finger in delicate circles around your clit, and you began to burn from the inside out.

"Sparingly," you conceded. He increased his pressure and speed, now assaulting the nub of nerves with a clear intent. This was no longer teasing, this was no longer a quest to make you wet and ready for him… this was the first click of the route to a proper orgasm. “Oh, shit!” you keened, biting your lip as you bowed your head against his chest. You panted a few audible whines as you got used to his ministrations. When you found balance, you lifted your chin to look up at him, only to find yourself off-balanced again. God, the way he looked at you was intoxicating. He was so focused on his task, and so concentrated on reading your every micro-reaction to his touch. He enjoyed it all - he was getting off on how you looked, how you sounded, and he was high on the idea that he was the one making you feel this way.

He licked his lips, and you immediately wanted to kiss them again. But you couldn’t. A microgasm caught hold of your system, and all you could do was ride it out until it relinquished its control. But then another dirty word slipped from his kissable lips…

"Slut?" he asked somewhat cautiously. Truth was, you hadn't ever had that term brought into your sex life vocabulary - but the way it rolled off his fucking tongue, you knew you'd love to hear him say it again.

"Yes," you near whined, as the word and his fingers heightened your pleasure. You clamped your one hand firm around the back of his neck, while the other gripped tightly around his flexing bicep. "Oh... my God," you breathed, letting him know how good he was making you feel.

You were discovering just how much of an artist Jungkook was. Those long, slender fingers of his weren't only adept at painting beautiful pictures, or strumming an electric guitar. They knew exactly how to mold a woman's centre into a motherboard of primal, unrestricted pleasure. He played with your clit, finding just the right places to push, and just the right angles to rub. Then he'd zero in - raise the tempo, deepen the pressure, until your body began to convulse with the onset of an orgasm. Then he'd release you from it all, and palm your pussy with long, calming strokes to bring you back down - until he was ready to attack your senses again, bringing you just a bit higher than the last time.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." you sobbed after the umpteenth rise and fall. "Fuck... I want more.”

You weren’t sure what more it was you wanted - but you just needed more. More of his lips, more of his fingers… more of him… “I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you, Y/N,” he said with a menacing tease. That wasn’t what you meant, and he damn well knew it. So… he was the kind who liked a girl to beg.

“I want you inside me."

Once again, the corner of his mouth pulled in a look of delicious and devious satisfaction - there was something about it that you didn’t trust.

He dipped his hand deep into your panties and in a quick move, he returned his fingers to your entrance; and, in an even quicker moment, he stuffed two of his digits deep inside you - nearly lifting you off his floor with their swiftness and strength.

“Ugh!” you mewled, as the action made you feel heady with vertigo. His fingers flapped rapidly inside you, and every ounce of air you had in your lungs became caught in your throat, as your body began to vibrate in time with his flicks.

"Like this?" he asked arrogantly. "You want me inside you like this?"

It also wasn't what you exactly had in mind, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"Jungg–" your vocal chords restricted and your body heaved against him. He squeezed you closer to him with his free arm around your waist, and brought your faces so close together, you could kiss him deep and fervent if you had the ability to do so. He slipped his fingers down your chamber, then shoved them hard and fast back into you - tapping madly against the now discovered pleasure points inside you.

He let the tip of his nose trace softly over your nose, and his lips brush lightly over your lips as he teased you with a kiss. But a tease was all it was - you didn’t have the power to take it further - not when your body was seizing and sputtering without any control.

"Or you, want something bigger?" he asked, tilting his chin as he peered down his nose at you. “You want my dick?”

"Yes," you managed to sputter out.

“Yeah? You wanna take this cock like a good little slut?”

Holy fuck. Your mind and body reacted immediately, and he knew it all too well. Your pussy muscles immediately constricted around his fingers - clamping down on them so hard that he struggled to jostle them through your chamber.

“Oh, fuck, you like that, eh?” he derided, and you never felt so… corrupt.

“Yes,” you cried out your command. “I want your cock inside me, baby.”

“Hm, baby,” he tested the word out. “I like the sound of that.”

“Fuck me and I’ll call you whatever you want,” you said, surprising both yourself and him with how controlled and demanding your tone was.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jungkook smiled as he withdrew his fingers from you. You immediately jumped into action, stripping yourself of your panties and kicking them aside while Jungkook worked away at his own pants. You were done before he had managed to even undo his belt buckle. You swatted his hands away from the metal, and deftly worked to unfasten it, his button, and his zipper in under four seconds.

You half expected him to laugh and tease you about your urgency, but instead he too was overcome with the need to take you right there. He crushed his lips to yours, roughly pulled your bodies together, and violently kicked his pants off his ankles. Within milliseconds, he had you hoisted onto the dresser, his body nestled between your thighs. At the same time, you both reached down between your bodies, to take a hold of his throbbing, dripping cock.

“Oh, shit,” Jungkook suddenly exclaimed - although not in the sexy way, but in the we-have-a-problem kind of way.

“What?” you looked at him, your voice sounding more annoyed than alarmed. What the fuck could possibly be the problem?

“We didn’t talk about protection and shit.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, now feeling silly and a touch irresponsible. “Yeah, um, okay. What are you comfortable with? I’m on birth control and I got a rapid STD test after I found out about… them.”

“So…” he looked at you cautiously. “You… wanna… bare back it?”

Yes, was your reckless reaction. Frankly, you had a deep and twisted desire to let Jungkook inside you without any barriers. You hadn’t allowed Chris that privilege until you were at least six months into your relationship. It was a sign of intimacy, of trust, and of devotion - things he threw away with no regard. So, the idea of letting Jungkook shift your kidneys with his raw, unguarded cock felt like a stab to Chris… even if you were the only one who knew about it. Regardless, you still had a sensible side, and your sensible side had one more question. “Are you clean?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded. “Saw the Doc last month. Clean bill of health. But I got condoms in my drawer,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and you followed where it led, noticing the bedside table which was maybe five strides across the room.

“It’s too far,” you grinned.

“You’re right,” his nose scrunched as he grinned back.

Although the interruption was minor, it was still enough to slow what had become a chaotic rush to bring yourselves together. Slowed… but not cooled.

Your lips met again, your tongues began to tangle once more - but this time, you were sure to savour it. To savour him… his taste, his tact, the small sounds that rumbled in the back of his throat, and echoing noises of your moving lips and hands.

You broke the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock pushing against your folds. You looked down, wanting to see his dick hard and erect before it disappeared inside you. Jungkook looked down too, and together you admired the scene. He held his member stiff in his hands as he guided the shaft along the length of your pussy, soaking it in your juices. He brought his tip to your clit, circling the bud several times, then tapping it a few times more - making you squirm and jolt with need and longing.

Then finally - fucking finally - he dragged the thick, pulsing head downward, and pressed it over the folds guarding your entrance. You shuffled over the dresser, spreading your legs a bit wider to allow him complete, unrestricted access. You reached downward, covering his cock holding hand with yours, and together you positioned him right where he needed to be - then he began his ascent.

You felt his tip breach past your folds, and watched as the first inch disappeared inside you. Your mouth fell open, as did his - and together you exhaled as he conquered another inch, and then another. The eroticism of it all caused your walls to quiver around him; quivering around him made your pussy tingle with pleasure; and pleasure forced your chamber to clamp down around his cock, unsure if it wanted to suck him into you or push him back out.

“Fuuuuck, Y/N,” Jungkook exhaled a groan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your pussy fluttered again, and his cock slipped further into you, meeting resistance, but persevering as he slid his way through you, until finally he was balls deep and bottomed out.

He pressed his forehead against your temple, kissing that sweet spot below your ear. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, and how it complimented the delicious burn of your insides adjusting to his size. He reveled in the feeling of your silky walls around him, and snaked his hands around your hips to shuffle you and him into perfect alignment.

You began to burn with the need for him to move. You slid your one hand up his neck, then into his hair, pulling his face to yours so you could kiss him once more. You tightened your limbs around his waist, encouraging him in that way as well - but it was your words that inspired him the most.

“Fuck me, Jungkook,” you said as you tugged his head backwards, ensuring he could see how serious you were. His eyes flared with salacious desire, both loving the control and demand you had over him, but also challenged by it.

He drew his hips backwards in one long, slick drag of his cock, then pressed them forward - again, long, slick and filling. He did it again, testing his angles and adjusting himself accordingly, then again, and again… until he found a steady rhythm.

He pumped himself into you, and - God damn - did he ever feel fantastic. The way he moved through you, making you moan as he stuffed you full, and whine as he left you feeling empty. He rocked his hips in smooth, consistent waves - and you keened each time his mound pressed against your sensitive clit.

You dropped both your hands behind you, pressing them into the surface of the dresser and leaning back to let him fuck you deeper and harder. He did, and soon enough the squelch of his cock slipping in and out of you, and the claps of your hips colliding could be heard throughout the house.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you threw your head back, as a microburst of pleasure pulled your limbs tight with electric shock. “Oh, fuck.”

When you were able to look at him again, your heart began to beat with dangerous aggression. You couldn’t get over the way this man saw you, admired you. He bit his lip as he studied your face, and as his eyes drank in and appreciated every about your pleasure flushed body. He thrusted in and out of you, fixated on how your tits bounced, how the flesh of your thighs rippled with each impact, and how your belly restricted and relaxed between pumps. He seemed so damn controlled, like he was hours away from coming, whereas you were mere moments. But then, a deep, long, guttural groan rumbled up from within him, and you keened a high pitched noise at the way it turned you on.

“Ugh,” he exhaled again. “Ugh… uh…” each sound a touch deeper, signaling his rising climax.

“I’m–” you tried to warn him of the orgasm barreling towards you, but the moment you spoke, he grabbed you roughly under your ass - and before you knew it, you found yourself facing the wall, palms pressed into wood, and body bent over the dresser.

“Baby,” you keened as Jungkook re-entered you from behind. He somehow felt thicker, hotter, and longer as his cock once more filled your channel. He fucked into you once in a hard and fast pulse of his hips, and your hands skidded down the surface of the dresser. You then felt his fingers card their way through the hair on the back of your head and, with a light pull, he bent you backwards - making you stare yourself and him down in the mirror before you.

You wanted to call out to fucking God. The image before you was so hot and nasty. You could see clearly his sweat-dampened skin and how it pulled tight over his muscles, which contracted and flexed with each and every buck of his hips.

He began to fuck you mercilessly, and your calls to the heavens became primal roars for release. He was so thick and hot inside you. So rough and ruthless. He was no longer breaking the ice – he was breaking you apart.

Your eyes threatened to roll back in your skull, but you wanted so badly to see the images presented before you. You wished Chris could see this image. You wished Stephanie could see it too.

You didn’t know why… but that thought made you hornier than hell. You felt a fresh wave of arousal drip between your thighs and soak Jungkook’s dick. The thought of them watching you get fucked by this man. The way their faces would twist in jealousy and regret. The way Jungkook would threaten Chris with a possessive stare, and taunt Stephanie with the knowledge that you possessed him.

You reached between your legs, and began circling your clit with your fingers - wanting to capitalize on the feeling of Jungkook’s cock and the mess of your debasing thoughts. But he was having none of it…

He scooped an arm around your waist, and in another quick moment, you were off the dresser and weighted against his hard body. He grabbed a hold of your one tit in his palm, kneading and twisting your nipple with his fingers, while his other hand dipped down to replace your fingers which were pleasuring yourself. He wanted to be the one to make you come, all on his own.

You bent your neck backwards and over his shoulder, reaching behind his neck to cling again to the hair at his nape - needing something to tether you to the earth. He nibbled on your ear, bit into your shoulder, pinched your nipple, rubbed your clit, all while continuing to fuck you into oblivion.

You didn’t have a chance to warn him you were about to come - then again, it seemed as if he didn’t have a warning of his own. The moment his deep voice shot high in his throat and started to come out in short, pitched moans, was the moment you began to tumble off the edge.

“Ohhh!,” your orgasm squealed into the room, and your muscles pulled tight, bending your spine and curving your body into his. Your vision went dark, then burst with millions of technicoloured stars. Your hearing muffled, and you lost the ability to breathe. A pure, radiant tingle sparkled through your every vein, like your blood had been replaced with warm, bubbling champagne.

You felt Jungkook’s body begin to convulse against you, as his hand motions and waving hips became sloppy and erratic. He was coming too, and his hot, whining breaths on your shoulder ended in a heavy roar as he crescendoed, and long spurts of cum were released inside you.

You both fell forward - your hands finding the wood surface of the dresser again, and Jungkook finding your shaking and fragile body a sufficient place to rest his head.

You panted yourself out of the stars and back into reality, and Jungkook did the same. His hands were around the hollows of your hips, like he was holding you there, unwilling to let you move. You felt his lips then press warm over your spine, as he took a few moments to appreciate the taste of your post-coital skin.

“What’s this,” you heard his disheveled voice behind you, then you felt a heavy finger trace the small of your back - and you realized what he was referring to.

“That’s my tramp stamp,” you announced, laughing at the 16 year old that shamed you with the decision. “I don’t really like it.”

It was a fucking dolphin. Not a dolphin fucking, just a stupid dolphin you had zero attachment to. There were other reasons you didn’t like it - Stephanie was with you when you got your tattoo. She got one herself. They weren’t friendship tattoos or anything, but the memory of getting them together made it feel like it tethered her to you. You had big fish to fry these past few days, but now that you thought about it, it might be a good time to have it removed.

“It’s sexy. I love a good tramp stamp.”

“Thanks,” you said, as you moved to press yourself off the dresser. Jungkook pulled himself out of you, then guided you to turn around so he could hold you sweetly in his arms. “She was with me when I got it,” you gave him a comical shrug.

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding now. “I can cover it for you.”

“Right,” you mused, remembering that “Tattooist” was one of his alleged work-for-pennies jobs.

“I mean… maybe not right now. It's not a lot of fun fucking right after a back tattoo. The rubbing and all,” he winked. You chuckled.

“Okay, well… thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jungkook stretched his arms a little further around you, pulling you tight against him. You wrapped your arms around him as well, and you pulled yourselves together for a sweet, but simple post-sex ceremonial kiss. When the kiss broke, he still held you there, smoothing his palm softly over the length of your back.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” he asked. “You hungry?”

“Um,” you looked around the room as you thought for a moment, unsure what you were supposed to do. With Chris, you’d either cuddle up in bed, or you’d run off to do something written in your day planner. But being up here, in Jungkook’s house, it was like you were trapped in a vacation. You didn’t have any commitments or responsibilities or expectations. You could just… be…

You looked up at him when you had an answer. “Do you think I could take a shower? I was in the car all night and all.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You want company?”

You bit your lip to suppress your grin. You might like company… just not right now. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind a few moments to myself… if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. I’ll get you a towel.”

With that, he took you by the hand, and he walked you across his bedroom and towards a partially opened door. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but it was fair to assume it led to an ensuite bathroom. A luxury cabin like this had to have an ensuite bathroom.

You were close… the door led to a bathroom, but it first took you through a stupidly large walk-in closet.

“Oh my God,” you shrieked like a fanboy seeing his celebrity crush for the first time, and Jungkook snorted at your reaction.

“I didn’t know you had such a hard on for closet space,” he teased. "I'll fuck you in here if you'd like."

“Shut up, you don’t understand,” you slapped him gently with the back of your hand. He really didn’t understand. The closet was basically barren. He only used one measly section, and it was essentially nothing but t-shirts, sweat-shirts and jeans. He also didn’t understand because your house back home didn’t actually have any closets at all. It was a stupid oversight from the 20th century designer who built it, and it’s subsequent owners who did bare minimum reparations to it.

Jungkook gave your hand a tug, and you let him guide your drooling self through the closet and into the ensuite, where once again you gasped.

A tub.

A bathtub.

A real bathtub.

It was everything you looked for in a tub. It was long, and wide, and deep (like a great dick,) had jets, and no shower head was above it. You could easily soak in it and submerge your tits and knees under the water at the same time… and wasn’t that the dream?

It was also just incredibly romantic: flanked by riverstone tile, and installed next to a breezy window with soft views of a garden outside. You could instantly imagine yourself in it, surrounded by candles and bubbles, sipping a glass of wine as you enjoyed the warm breeze wafting into the space with the sounds of the forest. You could imagine Jungkook in there too - sitting at the other end of the tub, or perhaps you would be resting against his chest.

You shook the thought away. It was a nice fantasy, and if you were lucky, one you could explore… later. For now, you two had only fucked once, and this was a fucking arrangement. You didn’t need to start adding intimacy to the mix.

“You can use it if you want,” Jungkook shook you from your imagination. “I never do.”

“You don’t deserve this house, Jungkook,” you ridiculed him. “Unused walk-in closet, unused bathtub. Tsk.”

“Well,” he scooped you against him again, and you wrapped your arms around him... again. This act was beginning to feel as natural as it did with Chris. “Maybe you can show me how to live in it right.”

“Maybe,” you winked.

“Go ahead. Take a bath. Enjoy it.”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep in there and drown. I think I’m starting to feel the effects of my all-nighter.”

It was true. After your climax, you thought your muscles were feeling tired and drained from sex. But as the minutes passed since, you recognized that you were indeed just tired.

“Well, why don’t after you shower you take a nap? I’ll go make myself busy.”

“No, I don’t want…” you trailed off. It felt strange to kick Jungkook out of his own room when you had asked so much of him. “I don’t wanna sleep all afternoon and then be up all night.”

Jungkook’s gaze darken into something sadistic, and you were sure you could hear his thoughts. “I thought the plan was to be up all night, Y/N,” he said. Your nether regions agreed with him. “Do it. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” you nodded reluctantly. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“I won’t,” he promised with a final kiss before he let you go, then rummaged the cupboard for a towel.

You weren’t sure how long you had showered, but the water had felt so good over your skin and muscles that you just couldn’t pull yourself out of there. You were afraid you had nearly drained his tank. When you returned to his room, you discovered Jungkook’s windows had electric blinds, and that Jungkook had darkened the room for you. You also found an oversized t-shirt sprawled across his bed. It was a shirt from his band’s tour three years ago, and it was obvious he had laid it out for you to wear as pajamas. You took it in your hands, and brought it to your face, taking in a deep sniff of its scent. It smelt like him, like the soap you had just used in his shower. You were a touched pleased it didn’t smell like some other girl - although you wouldn’t be surprised if this shirt hadn’t already been worn by a groupie or two.

You pulled it on, then crawled under the sheets, groaning and stretching as your body recognized it was time to power down. You curled your body around a pillow, and within moments, you were fast asleep.

Go to Chapter 4.

#bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jjk

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youngbloodtg109 · 9 months

Text

An Accidental Possession Pt. 4

Sam and Marie had sent each other naughty pictures whenever they could. Dylan was always blissfully unaware when Marie would go to the bathroom to take a nude pic of herself to his bully. Sam would reply with a picture of his buff chocolate body and his long dark member that Marie had gotten to meet in the broom closet. It made her wet thinking about that encounter, and she had masturbated to it many times while in the shower.

Dylan would take time to check up on his father, who was still in bed. Jack hadn’t moved out of his bed in a week. His son didn’t know what was going on and Marie didn’t either. Marie assumed that, without Jack’s original soul, it was an empty husk that wasn’t able to move on its own. She was conflicted. She didn’t want to go back yet but she wanted her original body to be somewhat functional.

As a result of this, Dylan was starting to grow more cold around his girlfriend. Whenever Marie would ask for sex, he would just grumble to himself and keep playing his video games. Arguments started to occur, which had never happened when Jack was still in his body. On sleepless nights, Marie found herself sexting with Sam until he finally gave her his address.

Marie told Dylan that she was hanging out with friends. She didn’t hear a response, assuming that he was still too busy with his video games to pay attention, and she left wearing, her sexiest dress. A 2019 Sedan, with Sam inside, was waiting in the drive way. Marie gave Sam a quick kiss before they drove away and headed to Sam’s place.

As Sam drove, he wrapped his arm around the blonde. “What’s on your mind, doll?” Sam asked. “It’s Dylan. He’s been so distant lately. I swear, he’s such a loser sometimes,” Marie replied. She was clearly frustrated with how her boyfriend had been acting and she had had enough with it. “Well maybe you two need to spend some time apart. I’ll let you sleep in my room if you want,” Sam replied, giving Marie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Sam. That’s really sweet,” Marie said, blushing. A few moments later and they had arrived at Sam’s house. It was a three bedroom, two bathroom house that Sam had saved all of his money on, along with the Sedan.

The basement was a fully decorated gym, with different types of equipment laid around the place. They then made their way to the living room. It was a lavish place, with a seventy-inch television set and a PlayStation Five standing next to it.

Sam had moved him and Marie to the couch. They stared into each others eyes for about ten seconds before their lips were on each others again. Maries hands had moved to Sams chest while his hands moved to Maries ass. They closed their eyes as they melted into the kiss, a warm embrace between two soon-to-be lovers.

It didn’t take long before they found themselves in Sam’s bedroom. They were fully naked before they realized and Marie stared up to see Sam. Their lips were still on each other as Marie wrapped her legs around Sams waist.

Unlike their sexual encounter in the broom closet, this was pure lovemaking, and it was the best that Marie had ever experienced. Sam knew when to be soft as he made sure Marie was given the most amount of pleasure. Their lips never escaped from the others the entire time. This was all that Sam had waited for. He wanted to make love to this perfect woman that he had his eyes on since College. It was true that all the girls in his school wanted him but he was always saving himself for Marie.

“God, I love you, Marie,” Sam whispered as he moved to Marie’s neck. “Fuck…I…I love you too, Sam,” Marie replied in between moans. They consummated their love that night. Marie must’ve had her fifth orgasm before Sam finally came inside Maries soft pussy. They soon fell asleep in each others arms.

Marie was the first one to wake up. As she picked up her phone, the first thing she noticed was a text from Dylan.

DYLAN [Where are you babe?]

Marie almost replied with a picture of her under Sam but she just replied with a text.

MARIE [At a friends house. I told you yesterday but you didn’t listen.]

Sam soon woke up and gave his lover a quick kiss. “Guess we should go take a shower, huh?” He asked, chuckling afterwards. “Mind if I join you?” Marie replied, a grin forming on her face. They made love once more while in the shower.

They were inseperable for the rest of the day. A few of Sam’s friends stopped by, with Marie always with Sam as they talked and played a few games. She soon felt a vibration on her phone. It was Dylan again.

DYLAN [Are you coming home soon babe?]

Marie rolled her eyes.

MARIE [No. You’ve been so cold around me lately and I don’t like it. I think we need to start seeing other people for right now.]

#m2f #father2f #tgcaptions

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punks-never-die205 · 9 months

Text

Souled Out

Fem Reader x Demon!Eustass Kid

CW: Blood, religious tones, original creation myth, ritual, violence, dubious consent, 18+

Summary: Ever since your 25th birthday you've stopped getting sick, and your hair has stopped growing. It's harder and harder to connect with your emotions, and while you're flourishing at your job, you realize something is deeply wrong. You're almost 50 now, and still in the body of your 25 year old self. Something has to give, because you can't just write things off as looking young for your age.

Chapter 1: Soul Research

Your furniture was in another room, piled on top of your bed, leaving the living room completely devoid of items. You weren’t worried about how it might look to someone if they came in, that mess was going to be the last thing they noticed. You had pulled up the carpet as well, square by square, and tossed it into the spare bathroom you rarely used. Except for a concrete floor and bare painted walls, there was nothing else except for you in the living room.

Well, you, blood, and animal fat, but functionally it was empty.

You had no need for a two-bedroom apartment, but it had the floor space you needed and was cheaper than renting an entire house. If this worked or failed completely, you’d replace the carpet yourself, and if this only mostly worked, you probably wouldn’t have to worry about things like security deposits anyway.

Or your job. You had cashed in all your time off so you wouldn’t have to go back for a couple months, but expecting this to be resolved by then wasn’t part of your plan. You just wanted to survive the next month well enough to return to work at some point after that.

Markings were painted all over the walls, floor, and ceiling in blood. Sigils and scriptures you had found and done your best to verify over the last decade. The culmination of your research and the trials and errors of others. The blood stank, but not enough to bother you, and honestly the smell was less offensive than the sharp acrid stench of paint, so you managed to ignore it easily enough.

You placed the tallow candles you had made in the locations you needed, lighting them after they were set. You had considered beeswax candles, but the trials that had succeeded were clear - everything had to come from something that didn’t survive the harvest. It had to be a proper sacrifice, and not a symbolic one, and you weren’t going to try and eradicate an entire hive of angry bees when you could just buy tallow.

You sat in the middle of the smaller empty circle meant for you and focused on the larger circle in the center of the room. The markings were two-fold, they included your offer and built a barrier between you and what would appear.

Assuming anything wanted to accept.

Assuming anything existed to help.

Shaking your head, you tossed your doubt away, focusing on ritual. You had pointedly decided to cast away your doubts about whether demons actually existed and give yourself to the belief. After all, the reason you were even doing this was because the impossible had happened to you already.

Learning demons were real at this point would simply make for yet another thing you wanted nothing to do with, and yet still had to deal with anyway. Beggars and choosers walked different paths, and you were beyond being able to be choosy. Besides, the blood had been easy enough to get, but you really wanted this to work so you didn’t have to make another set of tallow candles. The consistency was weird, and you didn’t like how it felt on your fingers.

All you needed to do was focus on the words of the offer, sending them through the channels the sigils had connected you to. This was the only part that worried you, not only were all the instructions frustratingly subjective, but you weren’t sure if you could do it. The reason you were even trying this was because you were missing an important part of yourself, and you needed help in retrieving it.

If that missing piece was imperative to “reaching out” or “putting your intent into it”, then you were functionally fucked. You twinged with the faintest frustration and anger, trying to at least hold onto the energy of those emotions and throw them into supposed aether. You wondered if it would make your request sound rude or not and found a small smirk pulling at your usually blank expression at the idea of being rude to a demon.

You might have dust in place of emotions at this point, but time, at least, was something you had in excess. So you didn’t get impatient when nothing happened right away.

After a few long moments, you felt the floor shiver. That, or your legs had twitched from sitting so still for so long. Another shiver and then indisputable proof of the effectiveness of your research. The scripts and sigils of blood were glowing. Enough to overpower the candles in the room, but not so much that you were forced or compelled to look away from the center circle.

A hand broke through the floor, or more accurately it broke through the light reflected off the floor, for the foundation of your apartment room remained unblemished. You had successfully created a door of light using tallow candlelight and blood to summon a demon. You had found a successful recipe in your research and now you were going to learn if it was a good one.

It was like cooking for the desperate and depraved. Step one, preheat your living space to bloody, and once the sun goes down light your animal fat candles and pray to faceless gods. Summoning times may vary, you can use a toothpick to see if it’s done correctly.

The clawed hand was attached to a massive arm, and you were a little concerned that whatever had answered your call would be too big to fit in the living room. But, if the research was right, it shouldn’t be bigger than the circle you provided, and so far, the research had been correct. Even the parts of it that were painfully subjective.

A second hand showed up and both arms descended until they were touching the rim of the circle, bracing against it. There was a strong shudder as something pulled itself through the portal and into your living room. It reminded you of a city worker popping out from a manhole, only this creature was neither a man, nor coming up from a sewer.

Easily almost seven feet tall, and nearly as thick, a human-shaped creature stood in the circle. Dark golden eyes glimmer in the candlelight, and wild red hair, almost like fire crowns the head. Smooth marble white skin, flawless and enticing, flushed pink in places from the blood that rushed under the surface, shimmering as the tallowed flames flickered against it.

If not for the curved horns coming from its head, and the whip-like tail coming off the curve of its chiseled ass, you could have easily mistaken it for a model covered in pale makeup. The creature’s humanity came into question again as those predatory golden eyes settled on you, after it was done taking in the rest of the room. A shiver of dark scales rolls over its skin, settling over its hands and feet and staining the marble look such a deep crimson as to be almost black.

It gives you a toothy grin, dripping in approval, curiosity, and hunger. You look from the eyes to the floor as it crouches down in the circle and practically caresses you with its gaze. Human or not, the height and width weren’t the only thick things on that body.

You were a little concerned this beast had only answered your call for a singular reason, and the anticipation of that reason was rock hard between its thighs.

“You did this right, I’m impressed.” The voice is like rough sex and heavy metal music. It’s like hearing the personification of anger whisper words of love into your ear. It would be intoxicating if you could still be intoxicated, but even objectively it was a good voice.

It puts a claw near the edge of the circle and there’s a hiss as a line of smoke sizzles the tip of its claw. “You didn’t even make a rookie mistake like using your own blood.”

“Pig’s blood,” you answer and see its eyes flicker. “Mixed with sanctified water.”

There’s a low whistle. “You really did it right. I could’ve broken plain blood - human or not - but consecrating it was a wise move.” It takes a moment to admire the work. “Good penmanship too.”

“… Thanks.” You weren’t entirely sure where this conversation was going, but you didn’t want to speak unless spoken to. If you piss it off, it can leave back to where it had come from easily. Nothing in the ritual was designed to imprison it - just to protect you.

A hairless brow arches up and the creature regards you closer. “You know, I’m not complaining, not yet anyway, but you’re seriously calm.” It muses, its eyes taking you in with apt appraisal.

“I’m not a fan of the ones who are ready to piss themselves before I’ve even said boo, but you’re something else. I thought it was shock at first, but your heart rate is steady, and you’re not sweating. You're dressed - another smart move - so maybe you did enough research that you’re truly not surprised, but no amount of books would be enough.”

It leans forward, pushing against the limits of the circle it’s in. There’s no smoke coming from its face, and instead it looks like the circle is trying to stretch to accommodate it. “You’re the first one to do this right in centuries, so no one taught you, and it means you hadn’t seen it before.” The eyes narrow. “Why are you so calm?”

The words didn’t make sense. “Plenty of people have done this successfully. That’s how I was able to research-.”

“Not the right way though. They always make mistakes. If you had made mistakes, little morsel, I’d be taking what I wanted and leaving you without a deal.” It says, shifting its hips suggestively. “You could’ve tried begging me at that point, but all human bodies give out before I’ve been satisfied, and none of you so far are any good at begging properly.”

“I would like to make a deal.” You say evenly, returning the gaze. “In exchange for my body and my soul, I need your help.”

The wicked grin splits its face, and it laughs. “To the point then! Go on little mouse, tell me what it is you want of me, and I’ll decide if your body and soul are payment enough! If it’s entertaining, I may even devour you sweetly at the end of it.” It promises, long twisty tongue licking lasciviously along painted lips. “I don’t have to make it hurt, and if you’re lucky maybe you’ll cry my name with those pretty lips in a way that please me, and then I’ll let you warm my cock sweetly for eternity.”

You hadn’t felt emotions for a long time, but the energy rolling off the beast in front of you was enough to twist your core. Heat and desire pooled in you, but almost as soon as they had burned the feeling was gone. Nothing lingered anymore.

Nothing except anger, and a desire to get what was taken from you.

“Someone - something - stole my soul.” You say, and the barest memories of anger bubble up in you.

“I want it back.”

#Souled Out #eustass kid #x reader #eustass kid x reader #supernatural au #one piece fanfiction #reader insert

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