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jakescakeislateforourdate · 2 months

Note

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college.

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way.

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars.

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time.

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.”

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson.

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe.

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind.

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest.

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin. Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep.

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains.

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued. The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before.

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags.

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off.

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world.

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.”

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right.

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.”

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.”

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout.

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you. He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too.

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?”

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious.

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do.

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?”

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him.

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away.

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles.

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse.

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it.

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak.

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in.

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat.

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist.

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart.

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

#boys in the boat #Joe rantz #callum turner #joe rantz x reader #callum turner x reader

262 notes · View notes

miintsprigz · 3 months

Note

Hello! I loved your mercs x artist reader! I ran into it when I started a Spy art piece a few days prior. (Spooky!) I wanted to request something! Headcanons about a (g/n) reader fear-punching the mercs out of instinct. Like, what if scout just jumped out at the reader and the reader fucking DECKS him on accident. Preferably all mercs, but if that's too much, then just Scout, Spy, and Medic. Obv feel free to ignore, but thank you for your other written pieces!

Oooh, y’all have such good requests!!!

I’ll be honest, I’m pretty sleepy right now, but Scout, Spy, and Medic are some of my favorite mercs to write for, so I can definitely write those three.

May make a part two with the others when I have a bit more energy!

I hope you enjoy, dear Anon ^^

Characters used: Scout, Spy, Medic (TF2)

Warnings: Bit of blood, stuff relating to anxiety.

Scout:

Finally, the weekend was here. It had not been a good week for you in the slightest, and you were glad that it was done. You could unwind and take it easy now.

Kicking your shoes off as you entered, you closed the door, only to be greeted with a sudden blast of noise.

“Boo!”

Without even thinking, your hand curled into a fist, shot out and struck the figure square in the jaw. About a second later, you recognized the voice as belonging to the Scout.

“Ow!!! What the—?!” He groaned in pain, rubbing the side of his face.

“O-oh my gosh, Scout…I, I’m so sorry…”

He curled his lips inward for a second, biting them. Jeremy wasn’t mad at you—truly, he wasn’t, although it hurt crazy bad.

His first reflex when punched was to punch back…but he wasn’t going to punch you. Never you. So he had to freeze for a second, taking a deep breath, rolling his head to the side.

You kept apologizing, hands starting to shake a bit. Quickly, gently, he reached up and took ahold of one of them, gently squeezing his fingers around the back of it, tapping them almost rhythmically against your skin.

A small smile made its way to his face, shaking his head slightly.

“…ya know, if I was just getting back here, and someone jumped out at me…I think I’d slug ‘em too. You’re okay, (Y/N)… I’m sorry I scared ya.”

You wanted to cry for a second, and he could tell. Pulling you in quick, he brought his other arm up to hug you quickly.

“You okay?”

“I-I’ll be fine, just gotta breathe…did I hurt you too bad—”

“Been hit way worse than that, doll. Ya do got a mean right hook on ya though.”

You laughed, and that helped to catch your breath.

“Let me get you some ice…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine, I’m tough…” Reaching up to gingerly touch the spot he’d been struck resulted in a wince though.

You jerked your head towards the kitchen. “C’mon.”

“Arright, if it makes ya feel better…”

“Oh shush.”

A quiet laugh cued you in that he’d be just fine after some ice.

He was noticeably careful with you as the day went on. You could tell he felt bad, but you’d said it was okay…and if he could take anyone at their word, it was you.

____

Medic:

Good word, you hadn’t been sent through respawn, but with how much your head hurt, you were starting to think that might have been a better deal than what you got.

Immediately, you sought out the Medic. If anyone could help you recover, it was him, of course.

You figured you’d just wait outside his office until he came back…not realizing he was already there. Hearing you outside, the doctor slowly, silently opened the door, and went to tap you on the shoulder.

Obviously, you hadn’t expected to see anyone, let alone feel a hand on you, and the pain had you on autopilot, so you spun around and—

“Ach!”

“Medic??? Crap—you scared me, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, I—I just need—it hurts so bad—!”

Great. So now you were in pain after a long day, and you’d (accidentally) clobbered the only guy who could fix it! This was one of those “last straw” moments though, and Medic could tell.

“Oh (Y/N), no need to explain! Take a breath for a moment, bitte (please)! I promise I am fine…oh no…”

You tried to breathe, but it caught in your throat. His eyes were locked onto you, gently grasping your shoulders. Tears had threatened to spill down your face, and this got them falling. You sniffled, trying to keep composed.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“There there, come, walk with me…”

The two hands on your shoulders became one hand gently grasping yours, leading you to a cot in his office to take a seat.

“Where is the pain? Point. I will fix it.”

Somehow, the compassion and somewhat surprising gentleness only made you cry more, but you pointed to your head.

“Ooh, ja, after what I saw you put through today, I’m not surprised—my head would hurt, too.”

Before you knew it, a light flickered on above you, and as the machinery whirred, your pain waned and disappeared entirely.

“There! Good as new.”

Your voice broke when you tried to speak. “Doc…”

“What is it? Does it still hurt? That shouldn’t be…”

He leaned down a bit so that he was on eye level with you. You shook your head.

“I punched you…I didn’t mean to punch you, I didn’t even want to, I…I’m so sorry…”

You knew you’d calm down in a minute, but right now you couldn’t help yourself, and it seemed like he understood that. Before you knew it, he’d hugged you tightly, holding you close to his chest. Tousling your hair lightly with one hand, he shushed you softly.

“Shh shh shh…it’s alright, Liebling, I know reflexes when I see them. I shouldn’t have done that—I’ll tell you that it’s me next time, that’s all! If I can patch you up, I can do the same to myself, so…it’ll be like it didn’t even happen!”

You laughed a bit, and felt him rest his chin against the top of your head before both of you pulled apart.

Once again, his hand grasped yours, and he quickly took your other one too.

“Feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah…thanks, Medic. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, (Y/N). Of course.”

________

Spy

Being a close companion of the silent killer, it only made sense that he’d scare you by mistake at some point. Without even meaning to.

You’d even imagined the scenario in your head. And yet. When it actually happened, you still weren’t ready.

Waking up after a series of weird dreams, you went to head downstairs to grab some water and hopefully head back to bed.

Standing there, with the only real light source being the tiny bulb in the back of the fridge, you grabbed a cup and filled it up, not even bothering to sit down to drink it.

Feeling someone brush against your shoulder, you flinched hard and felt your fist go up of its own accord.

It made contact, with a yelp following it.

“Ah!”

“…Spy? Oh no…”

The Spy held one hand over his nose, groaning quietly.

“Hello, (Y/N). You’re up rather early.”

“I’m so sorry, you scared me—”

There was a brief flash of realization over his eyes, and you recognized a bit of shame.

“…you know what, fair enough. I did not think that through.”

Pulling his hand back revealed that he was bleeding quite a bit. “…well, that’s not good. Excuse me.”

Spy was so…matter of fact, about this? It almost put you at ease, but not quite enough. You followed him as he briskly walked to the bathroom, having to scramble along a bit to keep up with him.

“Did I break it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Breaks hurt much more than this.”

It wasn’t too surprising to hear that someone who was basically a secret agent had broken his nose before.

He looked over at you with confusion flitting across his face, having finally cleaned up most of the blood. Brows furrowed together, he sounded truly puzzled.

“…(Y/N), you didn’t strike me as being afraid of blood.”

“I-I’m not!” You didn’t like how sharply your voice came out, but you couldn’t seem to change it much.

“Well, what’s the matter then? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Spy, I…I punched you. I hurt you.”

“Hmm, debatable really. Punched me, yes. Hurt me? Only for a moment. The bleeding is already stopping.”

You looked at him, bewildered, and felt your face quickly heating up. His expression softened, sighing quietly as the slightest trace of a smile came to his face.

“…Mon coeur (my heart), I’m alright. Please, don’t get yourself upset over it.”

Without thinking about it, you stumbled forward slightly and hugged him. He stepped back a bit at first, surprised, but quickly followed suit, stroking your hair.

“Takes a lot more than that to hurt me. Besides, I took you completely off-guard. I’d argue you just demonstrated sharp reflexes.”

Once Spy pulled back, you realized he was still in that suit.

“Well, at least there’s no blood on your suit.”

With a chuckle, he smirked at you. “Yes, good point.”

“…Why are you fully dressed at this hour anyway? Do you sleep in it?”

Spy rolled his eyes at you. “Absolutely not. I just got back. Late night mission, you see.”

“Ohhhh…”

Leaning against the bathroom counter, a playful tone warmed his voice. “If it will set you at ease, I can regale you with the tale…”

Yes, Spy loved to talk about himself, but this genuinely did seem like it was an attempt to help you calm down. Eagerly, you scrambled to sit on the edge of the tub, playfully resting your chin in your hands as if ready to hang onto every word.

With a snort, he shook his head. “I don’t think this would be a good place for it.”

“Oh!”

Quickly, you got to your feet again, and he bit back a grin as he slipped his arm around your shoulders, heading over to his smoking room.

#tf2 x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 scout #scout tf2 #scout x reader #tf2 medic #medic tf2 #medic x reader #tf2 spy #spy tf2 #spy x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 spy x reader #mint writes

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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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angelltheninth · 1 year

Text

Shelter in the Rain

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Tags: established relationship, suggestive, awkward boners, seeking shelter, fever, cuddling for warmth, undressing, Reader has a fever, embarrassed Jason Todd, gentleman Jason Todd

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Got this idea while writing the little Al-Haitham blurb.

If there was ever any time Jason wished that he had superpowers this was one, not because he thought he'd be badass, he already was, but because he wanted to stop the damn rain from falling so hard.

"Remind me why I agreed to go into the middle of the woods with you?" Both of you were soaking wet through your clothes, your cape and cowl only wearing you down as Jason continued to grunt while pushing his motorbike up the hill. "And why did you think it was a good idea to go on your bike?"

"Because we got a tip about Killer Crock setting up close to the river. And if hadn't ruined the breaks we'd be out of here with no problem. This was a fresh paint job too." Jason almost slipped on the mud beneath his boots, but it could be raining fire and brimstones and he still wouldn't admit that this was a bad idea. "I'll fix it when we get back."

"Jason... you were the one who literally crashed into him at full speed. What did you expect? He's as tough as a building." You placed one hand on the motorcycle, huffing as you helped Jason push it along the hill.

Even through his helmet you could so clearly imagine the wide-eyed look he was throwing your way, "It was the best approach. I just didn't think he was gonna stay up after that."

Very few would.

You kept pushing along with him, almost up the hill and to one of the little abandoned safehouses, usually used by criminals as hideouts. The more you walked the harder of a time you had with pushing your body forward, keeping your eyes open, keeping your breathing under control. Eventually...

"Hey! Hey! What's wrong? Whoa!" You didn't hear anything after that, your world going black while Jason ran to the other side of the bike and picked you up with one arm, "Fuck. You have a fever. Idiot why didn't you say anything. How am I gonna... Shit!" Jason cursed himself out as he somehow managed to get you on his bike, one hand on your back, keeping you from falling off and the other gripping the handle, his muscles screaming in agony.

It took a little while longer but eventually he did manage to get you both into the safehouse and shut the door behind him. You were going in and out of consciousness when you felt his arms around your body, holding you against his chest and setting you down on a pile of sheets.

There wasn't much to work with here, barely enough for him to light a small fire and no medicine he could give you. "All we can do is wait until Bruce comes for us. I sent a signal so it shouldn't be too long now." He threw another piece of wood into the fire, his helmet now resting next to his guns on the floor.

"Okay. Thank you, for carrying me all the way here." Your thank you was promptly cut short with a cute sneeze and a sniffle.

"You uh... ahem... you should get out of those clothes. You're running a fever and if you stay in them you'll get sick." Weather it was your fever or the warmth of the fire you felt your entire face heat up in a flame from his suggestion.

"Actually, I'm feeling dizzy. Do you think you can help me get some of this stuff off?" Your face was getting hotter with each word and normally you wouldn't ask this of him, your relationship was a little new and while you did have sex before both of you were still in that slightly awkward phase. Well you were, Jason was just being cute and considerate.

Jason gulped and looked you over, seeing how unfocused your eyes seem, "If you want me to." He offered you a small, reassuring smile, slowly getting up and walking next to you. "Okay, here I go." His started with your cowl and your cape, unclasping it and letting it fall behind you, next were your combat booths, slowly taken off your legs, your gloves which he took off finger by finger. Your suit went next, "Lift your hands up." You did so, and even that movement made you dizzy and you fell forward, crashing against Jason's chest, "Sorry. That was a little sudden on my part."

"No, you're fine, please, keep going." You were very aware of how fast your heart was beating when he urged you backwards and started pulling your pants down, exposing your legs. "Jason." You whimpered, "Your hands are cold."

"Y-Yeah. I know Sorry about that." He quickly took off your socks and arranged your clothes close the fire, "Shit. I don't have anything to wrap you up with. Unless... are you okay with me? I should lose the clothes too anyways so I figured, you know, it's the best say to keep each other warm." His voice was shaking now too, he couldn't even look at you directly.

You nodded, not taking your eyes off him for a second as he shrugged off his jacket, his tight black shirt sticking to his body as he lifted it over his head, as he clenched and unclenched his hands once they were free of his gloves, as he hopped on one foot to the next, taking off his boots, and finally as he unbuckled and pushed his pants down.

"Oh. You uhm... you're kind of..." You looked from his underwear to his green eyes, his cheeks pink and hands clasped at the front of him.

"Well, the girl I like is only in her underwear. This is natural for a man so... I can put my clothes back on if you want me to." Even if he were to catch a cold he'd much rather deal with that then make you uncomfortable, especially while you're the one who's sick right now.

"No, no. It's fine. I'm happy I can make you like that." You smiled at him, "It's cute."

"Cute? I have a hard on and you think it's cute?" Jason threw you a wink as he walked behind you and sat down, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close, "I think I'm more handsome, sexy, but from you I'll take it."

His erection was pushing against your side, making you inhale and gasp, your hands wrapping around his forearms, your legs curling up so you could press as close to him as possible, ignoring all other feelings pooling in your lower belly. "You're a great boyfriend Jason."

"I'm the best boyfriend sweetheart." He pressed a firm kiss against your forehead, holding it for a few seconds, "Try to relax and rest, I'll keep watch."

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nyxiswrites1200 · 2 months

Note

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEEASR more sub Sammmm you write its so well djdjdhbdd

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒙 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚~

Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Mommy kink, Oral sex, P in V, Begging, Edging, Committed Relationship, Lil fluff, Praise kink, Tears, Overstimulation

An: Due to highly popular demand, Sub!Sam is back 🤭 I hope you guys like this one too. I got so many requests for it, so hopefully everyone gets to see it. I'm sorry if everyone isn't fem but I couldn't shake this idea 🙏

----

Sam was a tough person, he took a lot of mental damage from the events in his life. But you, you wanted to take that away even if just for a few minutes.

It was an interesting encounter that brought you to this conclusion. You had caught Sam palming at his cock one day. He thought you were still in the bath but you heard his soft moans and cracked open the door out of interest. Besides, he's your boyfriend anyway! A little peak wouldn't hurt...

Sam had his dick in his hand, rubbing himself as he smeared pre-cum over the tip. Soft and needy moans leaving him along with 'fuck, mommy, please' somewhere in there and then your name slipped too. It didn't take you long for you to put the pieces together.

So now, you had Sam beneath you, grinding your slick pussy against his hard cock.

Sam groaned as he watched the way you covered just the tip and shaft of his dick in your juices, never actually taking him inside you.

"Sweetie- please I-" He pleaded but you cut him off "No no, that's not what you want to call me" you interject, your voice is soft and teasing. Sam seemed confused by your words, his brow scrunched together in confusion. Much similar to when he can't figure out a case. Then his face flushed as he realized what you meant.

The thought goes straight to his already painfully hard erection. His cock twitching as he realizes what you wanted from him, and what he wanted to indulge in.

"M..Mommy, please. I need your pussy" he half stuttered his way through the plea. You gave him a look that showed you were proud.

"That's my good boy" you cup his cheek and kiss his lips briefly before sinking down onto his cock.

"Fuck-" his curse coming out choked and whiny as you began bouncing on his cock.

The sounds that filled the room were absolutely filthy. The slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your heat, every desperate whine that left Sam, and moans from you as well from how his huge cock filled you up.

Sam reached out to grab your hips but you stopped his hands, grabbing him by the wrists. "I didn't say you could touch, baby".

Sam whines "But mommy-" "No, you gotta listen to mommy, I know what's best" you respond sweetly. Sam practically pouts at your denial "Good boy, hands behind your back".

Sam does as you ask despite not getting what he wanted. Now this was a sight...Sam flushed, beneath you, completely naked, his muscular arms behind his back which only further shows off how muscular he is. He could have you any way he wanted, yet he listened and did only as you allowed.

You lean in and kiss him sweetly, he doesn't hesitate to return it. His hands itching to grab at you.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, you knew he was close. You tug at his bottom lip with your teeth as you pull off his cock right before he reaches bliss.

"Ah- Mommy- please, why?" He whines, his words coming out needy and stumbling over one another. You can't help but almost feel bad. He looks so needy, completely at your mercy.

You lean in and caress his cheek, kissing down his jaw "Mm, just wanted to drag this out a little longer baby...you're being such a good boy for me, you know that?" You praise. Sam groans as he nods, tilting his head back as you trail your kisses down.

"Yes mommy..." He responds, breathless. "You wanna eat mommy's pussy? Hm?" You ask softly, kissing him gently. Letting him know you're still all about what he wants, that he's welcome to stop you or deny you.

Sam gave you a knowing dorky smile, one that you knew meant he liked this. "Please, I wanna taste mommy's pussy" he responds softly.

You get Sam to comfortably lay back on the bed, you then carefully sit on his face. If you knew anything, Sam loved to eat you out. He was also damn good at it.

Sam didn't hesitate to lick a stripe across your cunt. He started devouring you. You moaned out loudly as you gripped at his hair.

He sucked at your clit, dragged his tongue along your slit before fucking it inside. You held his hair tight as you grinded into his face. "Fuck yes, baby. Eat mommy's pussy...good boy~" you moan out loudly as you feel him suck on your clit again. Groans would leave him, he fucked his tongue into you. Lapping up your juices, you bit your lip as you saw his hips twitch up into nothing, desperate for friction on his pretty cock.

You sit up for a second, adjusting yourself, Sam immediately whines when he can't taste you anymore. "Shh, just give me a second" you say softly before turning around so your pussy is facing him but you're near his cock.

Sam immediately indulges back into you but you wrap a hand around him, making him let out a whiny gasp of a moan into your pussy.

You can't help but feel a little cocky with how easily Sam reacts to you. You continue to stroke his cock while his tongue dips back between your folds. Both of you, filling the room with moans and whines. You lean forward to kitten lick the tip of Sam's cock, making him whine.

You can feel yourself getting close, you let yourself get pushed to the edge before pulling away. Sam protests but they are quickly cut off when you sit down on his cock in one swift motion.

Sam whimpers as his hands twitch up to hover right above your hips. "Don't cum" you say breathlessly, forgetting how huge Sam is, how his cock kisses right up against the deepest part of you.

You grind down on him, grinding on his cock. You moan as you use him to get yourself off, watching him squirm through your half-lidded gaze.

"Mommy- Mommy, I can't-" he whines, his hands digging into the sheets just to have something to grab. "What? You're gonna cum?" You almost taunt as he whines, tears forming on his lash line. You place your hands on his muscular torso as you lean in, still grinding down on his cock.

"You need to cum, baby?" You speak softly, Sam whines as he nods, his breathing coming out shaky as he feels you purposely tighten around him. Your warm walls flutter against his sensitive cock.

"Please please, mommy...I need it" he begs you, how can you deny that? He looks so pretty beneath you, about to cry because he needs to cum. A thin layer of sweat on his perfectly sculpted figure.

"Since you've been such a good boy...go ahead" she grabs his wrists and guides them to her hips "Fill me up with your cum, pretty boy" you encourage.

Sam looks up at you before firmly gripping onto your hips with his hands. He begins fucking up into you at a relentless pace.

You can't help but moan as you lean into his chest for support. Sam holds you tight as he practically uses you like some toy, just roughly fucking up into your pussy. Groans and whimpers leaving him, small whines of 'Mommy feels so good' and 'fuck's here and there.

You get pushed over the edge easily and clamp down on his cock. You practically scream as you finish. Sam's dick absolutely drenched in your slick, dripping down to his balls. He held you down on his cock as he came to, desperately relieved whines and moans coming from him. He filled you up so much it started dripping back down.

Both of you panted for a moment. You lean forward and start grinding on his cock again, making him whine "Too much-" he stutters "I think you can cum in mommy's pussy again" you tease as you kiss down his jaw "My pretty good boy.." you praise as you lean up and kiss his lips. In which Sam quickly responds, he's drunk off your praise and control. He liked not having to think. He just had to do what you wanted. Either sit there pretty, stuff his face in your pussy, or stuff you with his cock.

"So, how about we try it?"...

#fanfic writer #my writing #reader insert #fem reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #submisive and breedable #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester #dom mommy #sam winchester smut #supernatural fandom

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bitchinfawkseh · 5 months

Note

Hii!! I was wondering if you could do a fic of dean with a coquette reader? Like a super femme reader who is obsessed with bows pink stuff ect? Ps I really like your tt🫶🏻

Pages of Affection

♡~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♥︎~♡

Summary: You and Dean go to the library to investigate a case. While searching through some old papers and clippings, you discover a series of old love letters. Dean thinks they're stupid - you think they are romantic. In an attempt to make you feel special, he writes you a love letter.

W.C: 1288

A/N: ahhhh my first req! ty! Sorry this took so long for me to write. I've been very busy with school and work.

Book after book, page after page, and still nothing. Nothing that would help you with this case or future cases - and Dean's grumbling and complaining was getting annoying. You adjusted the bow that was pinning your hair back away from your face - sometimes it got all slanted and looked weird. And you'd rather not have Dean tease you about it again.

"We should have just made Sammy do the research." Dean started. You rolled your eyes and let out a deep, heavy sigh. "I can't focus when you're whining."

"I'm not whining -"

"You are!" You interrupted, shooting him a mean glare. Dean went silent, and you decided to enjoy it while it lasted. You flipped open an older and more worn heavy book, the edges were frayed, and there were tons of scratches on the cover. Two flimsy pieces of paper fell out, landing in your lap. They looked to be old, too, with how dirty the paper was and how it smelt amazing.

You purse your lips together and carefully pick it up, rubbing the material between your fingers. It felt more like parchment rather than modern-day printer paper. "What's that?" Dean asked, trying to peek at the papers. You shook your head and shrugged, you weren't sure what it was until you unfolded it. Messy scrawl and an easily read "My love," addressed at the top. You slowly smiled as you read through the love letter, it was so sweet… so romantic.

My love,

You've been on my mind for quite some time now, and it's getting harder each day to forget about you. I have known you for close to six years now. And as time passes, I fall deeper in love with you. Sometimes, it's tough for me to express myself. Whenever I talk to you, I get flustered. Whenever I talk to somebody else about you, I get tongue-tied. You make my heart jump every time I see you. It's crazy that you are oblivious to your effect on me. But that is a part of your charm. The moment I laid my eyes upon you, I knew that my heart would forever be yours. Your beauty, both inside and out, is unmatched and your kind and loving spirit only adds to my admiration for you.

You are my heart, my soul, my everything. I cannot imagine a life without you, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I love you now and forever.

Forever yours,

George

"Oh… Dean, look." You said, passing him the letter as you went to read the second one. This might be the sweetest thing you've ever read, this George guy sure had a way with words. Dean watched with raised brows as you scanned the second letter, a soft happy smile on your face. Who knew someone else's love life could make you so happy? He swallowed hard and started to read what you handed him. It was… cheesy to say the least. It sort of made him cringe, to be honest. "You like this stuff?" He snorted.

You frowned. "It's romantic."

"It's cheesy, is what it is."

"He loved whoever he sent this to very much, who cares if it's cheesy?" You asked. Dean cocked a brow and looked you up and down, from your floral dress to your mary-janes. Something you'd only ever wear if it was a "chill day", when you were out in the action, you'd opt for jeans and boots. "You like this stuff?" He asked. You nodded and your eyes briefly met his. "It's sweet."

His lips thinned slightly, "Huh."

And here he was, hours after you and Sam had both gone to bed, trying to write you a love letter. Dean tried to go with a rhyming scheme for a while - until he tried to rhyme your name with something that wasn't completely stupid and couldn't think of anything and scrapped that idea.

He thought about just copying the love letter you found - or something from online but that would be stupid. You could tell, and it wouldn't show he tried to put any effort in at all. Dean glanced over at your curled-up sleeping form, wearing a cute pink vintage nightgown that you nearly flipped your lid over when you saw it in the thrift store. You did love all of that… girly stuff. It was very endearing.

Then, he suddenly got some inspiration. Dean picked up his pen again, scribbling some things down on the paper. He knew what he wanted to write - but he didn't know how to word it. Dean appreciated you too much for it to be half-assed - or something that could be taken the wrong way with how it was worded.

And soon, the words just started to flow.

The next morning, Dean took you out for a coffee and some pastries at the local shop. The letter he wrote for you was snug in his coat pocket - waiting for your eyes and only your eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped one of his clammy palms on the expanse of his jeans as he sat down on the bench next to you. You briefly looked over at him, taking a tiny sip from the herbal tea he had gotten for you. “So, what’s the occasion?” You asked. Dean’s brows furrowed and he chuckled nervously, he swore that his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. “What? No occasion…”

Your eyes narrowed, “Dean.”

“Okay! Okay, I… I have something for you - but don’t laugh, okay?” He swallowed hard and started to dig through his pocket. Your face immediately softened and you turned to face him, whatever it was - it was important to him.

Then, he pulled out a folded piece of paper with your name addressed on the front of it. “I tried real hard, okay? So… don’t laugh.” Dean warned - but with the slight waver in his voice, you could tell that he was very nervous. You took the delicate piece of paper from him and carefully unfolded it. The first line was enough to make your heart swell and for butterflies to form in your stomach.

Hey,

I don’t really know what to write… you know I’m not the mushy-gushy kinda guy, but I wanna try for you. I wanna start this off by saying I think you’re the prettiest woman out there, no doubt in my mind (and the bows you like to wear in your hair are damn cute.) You’re my whole goddamn world… you know, I purposefully try to make you laugh all the time too because it honestly sounds better than any Zeppelin song (don’t tell anyone I said that.) All it needs is a good guitar solo… kidding. Anyway, you’re my sweet girl who adores all that cute girly and flowery stuff, hell, I even let ya put that old heart key chain on my keys for Baby - nobody gets to fuck with Baby, except for you. I love you, more than words can say. I know I don’t tell you a lot, but I do.

I love you.

Your bottom lip jutted out and you clutched the piece of paper to your chest, “Dean…” He surveyed your reaction carefully with wide eyes, did you like it? Did you hate it? Finally, you practically threw yourself into his arms and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “This is the sweetest thing ever.” You beamed. Dean let out a relieved chuckle and tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, he (not so) discreetly inhaled the scent of your hair, smiling faintly when the light fragrance of flowers hit him. “Glad ya like it, sweetheart.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spnfandom

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theirnamesarekiklo · 1 year

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could u pleasee write a pt 2 to cold where they just .. grieve :’) and maybe you could weave bits of the reader in the story through flashbacks so we could get to know them? ^^

Empty Space (Cold pt2)

As it sets in, everyone has their own way of coping.

pairing: Sully Family x !Twin Sister! Reader

A/N: I wrote this in like a couple of hours I’m not sure if it’s good but I hope it is! 💔

Sitting on the sandy beach, lo’ak felt the breeze run through and past his hair. After a particularly tough day, the setting sun was his favorite thing to see. Closing his eyes, he breathed through his nose, already feeling the bubbling grief coming back up. Although times like these were pleasant, they left him stuck in his head, stuck in his thoughts. It’s been a week since she left, and it’s been racking the entire family down to sad glances and tight hugs as if the other would disappear just as she did.

¨What are you doing out here so late?”

Her voice was clear as day, a haunting memory. Quiet steps stopped right behind him, waiting for a response. She always knew. She, without fail, consistently saw the sad twinkle in his eye and always felt like the silence in his sentences hung far too long in the air for her liking. If it were up to her, she would have already begun comforting him before returning home, but she can’t force him to speak up, and she knows he certainly always will.

Turning his head, the only thing he saw was not her. Scoffing, he buried his head in his hands. He was going insane as the minutes ticked by, and his mind was suddenly catching up. Letting out a gentle whimper, he bit his lip, stopping it from quivering. He wasn’t sure what was worse—not feeling her soft gaze from across the room as she mouthed little motivations or not feeling her soul in his heart. Scrunching up his eyebrows, keeping the tears at bay, he looked at his family’s Marui pod. Ever since the funeral, he hasn’t spent more than an hour inside his home, fearing that if he took one glance at the places she spent most of her time at, he would break down and possibly do unspeakable acts that even she would frown at.

Slumping down, he succumbed to the feeling and let out tiny cries, mumbling her name between a few.

•~•

Neteyam, pushing past a couple of boys, even bumping shoulders with one, rolled his eyes as some started yelling insults at his back. Wincing at a stab of pain from his hip, he kept walking with the sack of fruits on his back. While the rest of his family either closed themselves off or spent the day growing softer, he grew angrier. He wasn’t sure what he was mad at, but he was confident that most of it was directed toward himself. If only he had run a bit faster, he would have missed it entirely and might’ve saved her.

Deciding that the throbbing wound had been annoying enough, he threw the bag on the ground. Grunting as he sat down, he noticed the eclipse coming faster than he had hoped. He planned to work outside for a while before returning home to help his mother with dinner. Taking a risky glance at his chest, her necklace sat comfortably around his neck. Before the funeral, he managed to keep it as a piece of love, but it only became a constant reminder that he wasn’t there again.

He remembers her weaving this necklace for about two days before she finished it. He had joked about wanting it for himself, and despite it being her favorite piece of jewelry, she only told him that one day it would be his. The only issue was that he expected it to be a while before it was his. Maybe she would have given it to him on his birthday, or maybe after their father had yelled at him quite angrily for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Frowning at how dull it looked now, he puffed out a breath, looking at his destination before he quickly got up and walked a bit faster this time, avoiding the pitiful stares he got from the others.

•~•

Although there had been conversations, silence spoke more than they had in the past hour. Kiri kept her gaze on tuk’s hair, avoiding her mother’s stare. She had been there; she had watched her sister die. She wondered how her brother was holding up. They were always the closest. His twin contained him just like a cup would do with water.

On the other hand, Tuk had barely registered that her sister had died a couple of days ago. Since then, she opted to sleep in the same position her sister had, feeling just a tad bit closer to her even though the truth was that she was very, very far away. She always left places with lingering gazes thinking, ¨She would like this, ¨ before smiling and walking away. Just as she did when she was here, she found comfort in her older sister.

•~•

Dinner had been relatively silent as Neytiri tried getting a couple of responses to her questions about everyone´s day. As night pooled into their home, Jake lay wide awake, eyebags much more prominent now as he desperately wished to fall asleep without waking up to a gut-wrenching nightmare from that day. He felt like something inside him had died, and it lay there clawing for a way out.

Every time he looked at lo´ak, it was like a punch to the gut. He looked so much like her, and now as he wore beads from a necklace she once wore in an armband, it simply became worse. The night she died, he spent almost every moment alone crying. Her voice, laughter, giggles, and even her scoldings replayed in his mind every second of the day despite his angry promises that he would stop thinking about his sweet, sweet girl.

¨Jake.¨

Flinching a bit at her sudden appearance, although she had been there all this time, he only felt like curling more into himself.

¨We need to le-¨

¨Every time I stare at the water, I see how scared she looked on that boat, Neytiri.¨ sharply sucking a breath in between her teeth, she sadly frowned at how she indeed saw the expression on her daughter´s face. As she held that bow with just as much confidence as she always had, her face and quivering hands gave it away, but Quaritch never noticed.

As much as Jake hated seeing how his daughter looked like her opposite, he felt guilty for feeling just a tiny bit terrified of the kid he knew to cry whenever she found a dead insect on her daily trek through the forest. Still, at that moment, he knew her as the girl who had fought three fully grown boys for simply insulting her.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he only saw how much anger she held in her eyes despite her hair covering quite a bit of her face from possibly the worst fight of her life. The snarl coming out of her as Quaritch pressed the knife just a bit deeper into her sister´s skin was engraved into his head.

Neytiri, fighting back a couple of tears at how badly this death affected them all, only took a deep breath and moved closer to her husband, who shook with quiet sobs. Her daughter was gone, and nothing was the same anymore.

#jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #loak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #tuk x sister!reader #avatar twow

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 3 months

Note

Congrats on your 3.000 followers milestone sweets! 🩷👏

So, for your writing challenge I’d like to ask for:

Andy Barber + Grumpy x Sunshine + "I'm so glad you're here to point out my flaws. I would never have noticed them on my own."

Thank you! ☺️

Thank you so much! I absolutely love writing for Andy and thought I'd make this part of the Wildest Dreams Universe

The Other Side Of The Door - Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Tensions boil over when Andy works late on a tough case

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst! Happy Ending!

Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

You knew Andy could be grumpy, you had seen it plenty of times. Mostly with Neil. But he had never been grumpy with you. He called you his sunshine and was never grumpy at you.

Today was different though. You knew he was working on a tough case, one that caused him more stress than you thought was worth it. You really tried to help him through it, you were his assistant and girlfriend after all, it was your job. But today he crossed a line that had you wanting to throw in the towel.

All day he’d been in a foul mood and you were doing your best to make today easier for him. You kept a nice happy smile plastered on your face even when it became difficult to do so because his bad mood was slowly seeping into you.

He’d been short with you, his tone clipped and words sharp. Other times he just completely ignored you and you just had to tell yourself that it was because he was too engrossed in your work and it wasn’t personal.

It was the end of the day and you were just hoping you’d be going home soon. Everyone else in the office had, it was just you and Andy left. It reminded you of all the times you’d stay later before you went public with your relationship, the sneaking around and sexy secret rendezvous in his office. But there would be no rendezvous in his office today, you’d be lucky if you were able to drag him away from his files.

“Hey, I thought you might still be here,” a cop who was assigned to the case said as he walked into the office.

You forced a smile “No rest for the wicked” you sighed.

“I brought that piece of evidence he wanted, sorry it took so long” he apologised as he handed you the file.

“You couldn’t have waited until the morning” you smirked as you took it.

The cop chuckled “I’m sorry, I’ll know for next time, don’t stay too late” he winked before heading back out of the office.

You let out another sigh as he left and wondered whether you should just leave this evidence in your drawer for tomorrow. You could try and convince Andy to head home now and maybe leave his bad mood in the office. You knew he wouldn’t be impressed if he found out though so you stood up from your desk and made your way into his office.

“Here’s that evidence you asked for, the cop said he was sorry it took so long,” you said as you walked over to him “Maybe we can leave this for tomorrow since it’s late” you added when he barely looked up from his work.

“Maybe” he murmured as he took the file from you, without even looking at you. You knew from his tone though that his maybe was a no and you would be staying for at least another hour.

“Okay well I’ll go pack up my things then” you said hoping it would push him to actually leave.

“Fuck sake” he muttered as you walked back towards the door.

“What’s wrong?” you asked pausing by the door.

“This is the wrong evidence, I asked for exhibit 15B not 15C” he huffed as he slapped the file down onto his desk.

“Oh, the cop must have grabbed the wrong one” you sighed, secretly glad since it meant that he would probably go home now “I’ll send an email now and hopefully they can get the right one to us by morning”

“Did you even tell him the right one?” Andy snapped making you baulk.

“Excuse me?” you gaped.

“When you called earlier did you say 15B or 15C?” Andy pressed his expression hard as stone.

“15B! It must have been lost in translation or something” you argued.

“Because I know the cops better than you and they wouldn’t make this kind of fuck up, not on a case as important as this!” Andy shouted as he stood from his desk.

“Are you saying this is all my fault?” you exclaimed, a look of disbelief on your face.

“Yes!” Andy snapped “You’ve been distracted all day I bet you weren’t even listening to what I said when I told you want evidence I needed!”

You looked back at him shocked. He saw everything that you had done for him today as you being distracted. It hit you hard and it hurt. You wanted to scream at him but that voice in your head told you that it wouldn’t help.

You needed to say something though, you couldn't not. So you let out a small scoff and shook your head “Well I'm so glad you're here to point out my flaws. I would never have noticed them on my own, I’ll try to do better boss” you stated forcing a smile that you both knew was fake.

You waited for Andy to say something, apologise but he didn’t say a word. The fury in his eyes dimmed, a hint of regret replacing it but he still said nothing.

“I’m going home,” you said quietly, turning on your heels and leaving his office, slamming the door shut behind you.

You stuffed everything in your bag and shut off your computer, hoping and waiting the entire time for his office door to open and for him to walk out and apologise. But the door remained shut. You even waited a few moments once you were ready to leave, biting your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

It never opened. So you left.

By the time you got home to the apartment you shared with Andy your anger had been replaced with sadness and rain had started to pour. You weren’t sure what to even do when you got home, you just sat kicked off your heels and slumped down on the couch.

You sat staring out at the windows, watching as the raindrops slowly ran down the glass echoing the tears on your cheeks. You weren’t sure how long you just sat there, trapped in your own mind.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move, not even when you heard the apartment door open nor when you heard Andy's footsteps approaching. You didn’t even look over when you felt the couch cushions sink next to you.

“I’m sorry… I acted like an ass” Andy said quietly.

Your fingers shook as you wiped away your tears, still refusing to look over at him.

“I swear I told them the right number” you whispered.

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you” Andy sighed “I went to the station to pick it up myself, the detective showed me the post-it note from when you called them which had the right number on it, the cop who collected it must have heard it wrong”

You let out a watery chuckle as you looked down at your lap “All day all I’ve tried to do is help, remind you to take breaks and not work yourself to death” you said finally looking over at him “I wasn’t distracted, I was looking out for you so to have that thrown back in my face… it hurt Andy, it really hurt”

You watched as Andy’s face crumbled. He shifted closer to you on the couch, putting a hesitant hand on your knee “I know I see that now and I’m so so sorry I just got so involved in the case that I didn’t look around enough to realise it and I’m so sorry”

You took a deep breath, you knew he was sorry, the look of regret on his face told you enough but you knew this couldn’t happen again. You wouldn’t let it.

“Andy, you need to stop doing this,” you said taking his hand “I admire how much of yourself you give to these cases but you need to stop giving all of yourself otherwise there’s nothing left” you sighed shaking your head “you need to take breaks, need to be able to switch off, not act like an ass”

Andy nodded as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to your knuckles “I will I promise” he whispered “I don’t ever want to mess this up”

You gave him a sympathetic smile as you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head “You won’t, it’ll take a lot more to scare me off”

Andy let out a watery chuckle sitting back up “Thank you” he whispered as he cupped your cheek and kissed you softly “thank you”

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helionpegasus · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can you please write a story where reader is pregnant and Azriel helps her take a bath. Thank you!

lilies and pine

Azriel x Reader

summary: based on the req :)

warnings: a bit suggestive? otherwise none. pure fluff

words count: 936

author's note: i love pre-dad azriel <3 this was a bit short but i hope you like it.

Your back was sore for the last week, the end of the pregnancy getting the best of you. Ankles swollen and hurting due all the weight from the fast baby growth. Nyx said that you were walking like a puppet in the street theater, which took out a loud laugh from the Inner Circle.

You went to the kitchen to have the snack you've been craving the most lately. The plan was to make the snack, go back to the bedroom and continue reading your book. But the thought of going upstairs again made you already tired.

The weather was good, the transition from summer to autumn were giving sunny fresh afternoons to the whole Velaris. And you hope the baby wasn't planning to arrive when the weather will be in full autumn with the cold winds.

Your mate made his presence known with the sound of the front door closing. It didn’t take long for you to feel the little shadow roll itself around your right ankle, it was always the same one. Azriel laughed at you when you said you should give it a name.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Azriel says, bending down to give a kiss in the side of your head. His arm going around the chair to caress the big belly.

“How was your day?” You asked when he took a seat right in front of you. Hands not leaving yours.

“You know…” He sighed. “The days in Windhaven are always tough ones.”

“But how is this little one doing? Made their mama tired today?” His hand goes back to your belly again, moving your sweater up so he could kiss the bare baby bump.

“Ugh. It’s starting to be so heavy.” You complained. The Shadowsinger’s eyes soften in concern, sending love pulls through the bond. “They’re moving a lot lately. I think that’s why.”

“Your back must be sore, love. Why aren’t you in bed?”

Your cheeks tinted red thinking about the reason you decided to stay at the kitchen table. Azriel would never laugh at you for this, obviously. But he would definitely be mad that you didn’t ask for help.

“The stairs are killing me.” You confessed with a sigh.

Your mate only rubs the back of your hand once more and then gets up on his feet.

“Let’s take a relaxing bath. I’ll carry you.” He pulls your hand gently. A silent ask for you to stand up.

“I think I might be too heavy now.” You laughed, but Azriel looks at you like you called him the most offensive name he ever heard.

“You’re saying that I can’t take you? Do I have to remind you of the training I’ve been doing for more than five hundred years?” He lowers himself ‘till he’s eye to eye with you.

“I’m not doubting your strength, Az!” You laugh, arms finding their place around his neck.

“Then let’s go to the bathroom.” He says with a smile plastered on his face.

One of his arms goes to your lower back, the other around the back of your knees, and in an instant he gets you up in a bridal style. Like you weigh nothing more than a piece of paper.

“See, that was easy!” He gives you a proud smile. “And it would still be no problem for me even if you were weighing three times more than this.”

The way to the bathroom was short. And when you both arrived, the shadows had already prepared everything. The tub was full with steam coming out of it, the smell of lilies and pine entering your nostrils and immediately calming your nerves.

Azriel put you down and started to get rid of his own clothes first before helping you with yours. His hands were so gentle when he got to your leggings, the only thing that was fitting you. Your hand finding his shoulders for stability when you took one leg off at a time.

Getting inside the hot water of the tub was a blessing for your sore muscles. Your whole body was relaxing so much, you were scared that it would make way for the baby that moment.

Once Az placed himself behind you, his hands started to work. Your calves, ankles and thighs receive so much attention from him. Then the sponge with vanilla soap went to your sides, caressing your waist, and doing magic on that sore spot in your lower back. He traded all the way up to your shoulders and collarbone, lastly going to your breasts.

“I’m so excited for this baby to be born and get rid of all this milk. My breasts are feeling like two melons.” You said with your eyes closed, head resting on his shoulder.

“Babe, if you wanted someone to suck your breasts, you could just say-”

You didn’t give him time to finish the sentence. Giving him a weak slap on his forearm. The Shadowsinger only laughed at you.

“Come on, it’s nothing I’ve never done before.” He kisses your jaw, next pressing his lips on yours.

“Azriel, no! You want to drink your child’s milk?” You turn a little to see his face. Only finding a smiley batbaby.

“I would do a lot of things to stop you being uncomfortable, sweetheart.”

Your laugh stops when you feel a thud in your belly, feeling a liquid come out of you.

“I think I peed.”

“It’s okay. They kicked your bladder again?” Az asked.

“No, it was other-” You cut your sentence when the first pain shot arrived. “Az, we need Madja.”

“The baby is coming?”

“The baby is coming.”

#acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel x you #acotar

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junosmindpalace · 4 days

Text

FOR YOU, FOREVER AGO

🎧 take a piece of my heart and make it all your own.

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: arthur, and the notes he leaves in the books he gifts you. who could have figured love can transcend time?

content: established relationship, reading, reading and some more reading (together), soft and playful love, fluff with some angst at the end (arthur's death mentioned). reader is briefly said to be wearing a chemise.

a/n: i said i wouldn't write him again and here i am. writing him again. because this game has taken up so much of my writing headspace...

There’s an old saying that Arthur has heard retold in various different ways, and it went along the lines of “an idle mind is the devil’s playground.”

It derived from Proverbs 16:27: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” something he later found out upon overhearing the phrase from the Reverend’s mouth during one of his rare sermons. Arthur doesn’t believe much in any sort of sacred text, but he could, to an extent, believe in that phrase.

It’s a belief Dutch and Miss Grimshaw hold in especially high regard, and their incessant nagging to do away with him loitering about in the camp proved that. And while he agrees that it is necessary for everybody to do their part, Arthur spends much of his time out involving himself in all kinds of tough and weary business, and like anyone else, sometimes the enforcer needed a break.

Though it seemed so to quite many people, Arthur’s mind was not solely fixated on his life of crime. Like many other people he was a man of love, who enjoyed reveling in Mother Nature’s beauty, and memorializing its likeness in his journal in gorgeous detail, too. He enjoyed lingering in on conversations that took place around him; mundane things like about rumors and town happenings, though they weren’t always pleasant. And above all else, he enjoyed being around you.

Scare was the time to enjoy such leisure with your responsibilities, however. Often, he would return to camp well into the dead of night or during wind down time you had permitted for yourself (because Lord knows Grimshaw wouldn’t) to entertain your mind. Borrowing from the collections of books around camp was one of few forms of amusement you relied upon for some sort of satisfying stimulation.

Arthur couldn’t help but sometimes be jealous of this. To enjoy the leather cover of a book against his fingertips and the patches of sweetgrass and lavender enclosed around him like a makeshift bed was a luxury he could rarely afford. Yet still, he found ways to incorporate his own amusement to look forward to when he did have the off time to enjoy it.

The habit, at first, was a means of compensating for his long absences. It was almost his way of giving you a piece of his heart to hold to your chest, fill your mind, make your own with your wild imagination while he was away for sometimes frightening days at a time.

Arthur provided you with literature of all sorts, from dime novels to hardcover books, when he encountered them on his travels. Mythology retellings, exaggerated tales of the fictionalized Wild West, dramatic historical fiction with royalty, castles, and dragons, and the sort of philosophy books Dutch enjoys reading passages aloud from that critique civilization. Each one, though unique in content, held a message with consistent love that made your heart swell and your lips stretch into a pleasant smile at the intent behind them.

Couldn’t resist.

Thought you’d like this one.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy when I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

It's late when Arthur finds time to enjoy the stories with you, propped up on his side in the while his other arm is draped loosely around your waist as you lay in the same position, holding the book the two of you were enamored with in one hand. The firelight illuminates the pages for him to read from over your shoulder, his fingers brushing over your stomach and arms absentmindedly as he immerses himself in the world along with you.

“This gentleman sure is a character.”

“Ain’t he?” you snicker, taking the comment as an indicator to turn to the next page. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he raises a brow at you, observing your expression with a tilt of his head.

“Nothin’ at all.” you hum innocently, pretending to fix your attention back onto the pages. He catches your bluff when he teasingly curls his arm around your waist and presses you closer against his chest, invoking a squeal of laughter from you as he ruffles your chemise.

“Just turn the page.” he chuckles with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, but when you meet his playful gaze with one of your own, any further teasing dies on his tongue as his breath becomes lodged at the sight of your glow in the firelight.

“Okay.” you tut with a raise of your brows, resituating yourself and leaning further into his grasp, to which he responds by hugging you closer.

When your time wasn't spent under the stars, it was in your tent. Accompanied in your shared bedroll was a book from a marketplace stand you had picked out together when scouting around town. One of Arthur’s hands holds it on his stomach with his fingers at the bottom, while his other holds your shoulder soothingly. You lay your head over his heart, listening to its steady pulsing, and following the small text with tired eyes to lull you to sleep.

Sometimes he read to you, when your eyes grew too heavy to look up at him, and your brain was too exhausted to form coherent enough thoughts, let alone conversation. He'd read with his free hand, voice gradually becoming husky with thick exhaustion of his own the more he read on.

“Why’d you stop?” you murmured to him as you lulled you head up to look at him, briefly slipping into fuller consciousness when taking note of the absence of his voice amidst the evening chill.

“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down the side of your arm before planting a kiss on your forehead. You only shook your head.

“A little more?”

Arthur peered outside through a crevice in his tent to the pitch black, redirecting his attention back to you with a sigh. “Alright. But only a little.”

Sometimes you read to him, when he returns to the campsite with his brain scrambled from the hat and madness of his travels, and longs, almost on autopilot, for your presence and an extended period of rest. With his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, legs tangled on your sides and head snug against your stomach, you propped up one of the books you had borrowed from Mary-Beth, a romance that you could always rely on to knock Arthur out, with one hand, while the other carefully threads through his locks of brown hair.

“That sounds like a nice place to live, don’t it? In a house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden.” You had asked him quietly one of those nights, looking down at his still figure, who merely hummed in response against your stomach. “Maybe outta the country.”

“And go where?” he replied drowsily, peering up at you through small eyes.

“I don’t know…surprise me.” you teased, and Arthur chuckled.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on the fabric of your night wear, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself against you again. “Maybe someday we’ll go somewhere real nice.”

Amidst ever changing lives—periods of transition and transformation and hard feelings and new hopes and dreams—you made sure to often revisit his little notes kept in between the first few pages of a book picked out with you in mind and written with all the care you had to offer to one another. Nights apart we’re spent tracing the loving words with your eyes, running a nail through the loopy font. It reminds you that you lay under the same stars, the both of you wishing to reunite sooner than later upon one of the billions that twinkled in the sky.

When Arthur had passed under the dying night sky, the menial, but important, declarations of love became lost to you.

Focusing on anything outside of survival seemed impossible afterward, and the grief was all too fresh and thought consuming. Most of the time was spent rebuilding your life to the best of your ability, something not quite what you had envisioned in hopeful late night conversations with Arthur, but more bare minimum. No beautiful porch with a nice garden, no homey furnishings. Only a simple bungalow with a creaky bed and a bag of few possessions you managed to snag in your abrupt departure.

At the bottom of the bag one day, you find something, no, many things, you had not laid your eyes upon since before the hope of a new dawn was extinguished within you.

It had been the first time you had felt an urge to be productive. For most of your days were spent in melancholy and anxious paralyzing thought that kept asking, what’s next?

You held them in your hands carefully, turning them over before opening them curiously, only to have your breath hitched when your eyes landed on the front.

Couldn’t resist.

You scrambled for another.

Thought you’d like this one.

Another, and then another. All of them until the reminders brought you to tears.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy while I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

The rest of the night became dedicated to remembering all that you once had, and that you were once determined to have. Reading stories that always seemed as fantastical as your dreams of a sweeter life, perhaps where they even derived from. The inspiration and hope they fuelled gradually returned with each memory you recounted of your shared dream with Arthur.

He had given it to you in the end. Taken you some place nice, even if he wasn’t there himself to enjoy it with you. He’d given you a piece of his heart all those years ago, and you made it your own. Given you the resources—just enough money and a whole lot of love—to help you realize a life you always wanted. He was there; in the blooming flowers, in the magnificent dawn and dusk, in the pages of books you held carefully between your fingers. And you’d remind yourself of it every night with a trace of your fingers over his scrawled messages of adoration.

return to masterlist.

#i am slowly transitioning to writing more character fics #which you can find on my ao3 #so feel free to follow me there :)#im currently working on two (2) very lengthy rdr fics #one being centred around the women of rdr2 and another basically inserting adult jack into my own fictional 1910s world #with tati helping me a lot with #so look forward to that!#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 angst #rdr2 oneshot

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promptthebear · 5 months

Note

I love your writing so much - can I request 🐰 Arron Hotchner for number 13? I hope you are having a good day :)

Aaron Hotchner x Reader- Special kind of honey

Prompt: This is stupid...and kind of fun

Summary: Hotch just got back from a tough case. You've got a nice little homecoming surprise for him. Unfortunately things don't go as planned.

CW: A little bit spicy but not explicit. Some mild swearing. Established relationship between reader and Hotch. Reader has low self esteem. I can't think of anything else that needs to be tagged but please let me know if it does.

A/N: I am so very sorry this took so long and also that it kind of stinks. I really struggled with this prompt but what the hey, I tried.

Aaron wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, coming home from a case well past midnight but it certainly hadn’t been this. Standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom, gun holster still attached to his belt and briefcase still in hand, it was all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open as he stared at the display in front of him.

“Babe? What do you think?”

You were spread out on the bed, waiting for Hotch like an all you could eat buffet. The lingerie ensemble you’d chosen was one of his personal favourites, a royal blue chemise and thong set made almost completely out of lace that showed off the very best of your assets while still leaving something to the imagination.

This alone would’ve been a treat, but it was the swirls of golden pigment that decorated your arms, legs and collarbones that caught his attention. You’d seemed to have paid special attention to your inner thighs and breasts, with those two areas sporting the highest concentrations of gold. Each time you moved, the light from the bedside lamp made your skin glitter with an almost magical lustre. You looked inhumanly beautiful, like a piece of living art.

“Babe?”

Hotch opened his mouth to answer you, only to close it again seconds after. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was making it difficult to think, let alone speak, and the fact that all the blood in his brain was now rushing straight to his cock wasn’t helping matters.

“Sorry, this was a bad idea. Let me get cleaned up and then we can just forget about the whole thing”

Not waiting for a response, you started gathering up pillows and blankets off the bed in a frantic attempt to cover yourself up. It was only when Hotch’s line of sight to your bare skin was interrupted that his few remaining neurons sparked to life.

Cursing softly under his breath, he dropped his briefcase and rushed over, hoping to catch you before you could flee into the bathroom. His fingers missed your wrist by inches, closing around thin air as you scrambled across the bed and slid off on the other side.

“Honey, wait!”

The sound of Hotch’s voice made you pause long enough to allow him time to catch up with you. As soon as you were within reach, he anchored one hand on either side of your hips and pulled your body flush against his. You offered no resistance, coming willingly into Hotch’s familiar embrace even though you kept your gaze trained firmly on the floor.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, save for the sound of your laboured breaths and fluttering hearts. Hotch wondered if you were waiting for him to speak, to offer some kind of explanation for the reaction you’d misread as a rebuff.

Though you worked for the FBI, you weren’t a profiler. You wouldn’t have been looking for micro-expressions or subtle shifts in body language the way he did almost on instinct. At best you’d probably assumed he was too tired after his case for sex and just wanted to go to bed. At worst, you were now thinking he was a complete asshole who no longer found you attractive. Either way he’d dug him self a pretty deep hole and the only way to get out of it was to explain himself , but once again Aaron Hotchner was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that you were upset, he cared so much it almost hurt, but that didn’t change the fact that pulling you up against him like this had been a mistake. Because now, instead of coming up with an apology, his brain had become entirely too focused on the subtle brush of your hips against his to think about much else.

“Are you going to let me go, Aaron?” you asked, finally breaking the silence

“That depends,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse “Do you want me to? Or are you just asking because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

You sighed, the sound coming deep from the pit of your stomach, and blew a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Hotch watched it flutter in the air for a moment, before reaching up with one hand to tuck it behind your ear. You leaned against his palm, some of the tension leaving your expression as you did.

“I missed you.”

A smile played about Aaron’s lips, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and he had no doubt you were intentionally avoiding giving him one, but he was too intoxicated by the scent of your shampoo to care. He’d only been gone for a week, and yet he’d spent every day yearning for you like some lovesick teenager. Now that he finally had you in his arms again, he wasn’t about to let that be ruined by a foolish misunderstanding.

“I missed you too, honey. Now, are you going to be honest with me or are you going to make me chase you around the house a little first?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, as Aaron’s comment brought up memories of wonderful nights past. It would be a lot of fun to squirm free and play the brat for a few hours before finally giving in, but your ego was still too bruised for that. All too quickly the smile fell from your face, and you began to bite anxiously at your bottom lip, a sign that Hotch knew meant you were far more upset than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart? Talk to me, please”

“I just-”

Your voice cracked slightly, and Aaron’s heart almost broke along with it. There was hardly ever a good moment to be a horny idiot, but this one was probably worst than most. You had gone out on a limb for him here, done something spontaneous and outside your comfort zone so he’d have a memorable homecoming. You’d been vulnerable with him and even though he hadn’t intended to, he’d all but thrown it back in your face.

“I…do you think this is stupid?” you continued, pulling back so you could look down at the golden sheen that adorned your skin.

“Well no, considering I’m not entirely sure what this even really is yet.”

“It’s…it’s edible body powder,” you blurted, your cheeks starting to turn pink “Honey dust, to be more specific. Penelope gave it to me. I wanted to…mix things up a bit. Make them exciting for you. I should’ve known you’d think it was dumb and-and vapid and-”

Any further self depreciation vanished the instant Hotch’s tongue touched your skin. It was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling as he licked a stripe up the column of your throat. His mouth was blazingly hot, and if the noises he made were anything to go by, he approved much more than you initially realized. The sensible thing to do now was to let him keep going until he’d licked every inch of you clean and fucked you six ways to Sunday, but unfortunately your brain wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

“Aaron hold on- Aaron, baby- could you please just-”

You had to grab a handful of Hotch’s hair and tug before he finally extracted himself from your neck, grumbling softly under his breath as he did. The way the heady sweetness of the paint combined with the salty tang of your skin was potent. He’d barely gotten a taste, and yet Aaron knew he was ready to get down on his knees and beg if it meant he could have more.

“You’re not stupid”

“I never said-”

Aaron brought a finger up against your lips, gently but effectively silencing you so he could continue. Biting back your annoyance, you let him, your sense of curiosity overcoming your wounded pride.

“Look, you’re welcome to spend all night arguing with me about it if you want, but I also know there’s plenty of other things we’d both rather be doing so I’ll make sure I’m clear about this. You’re. Not. Stupid. You’re brilliant, and gorgeous, and I am so incredibly lucky to have someone like you to come back to every night. ”

You thought about protesting again, putting Hotch in his place and demanding to know why he’d been able to walk in, find you waiting for him as you were and not crack so much as a smile. He was smiling now though, looking like the cat who got the cream while his eyes roamed freely over the golden shimmer that decorated your cleavage and neck. His hands were also doing their fair share of roaming, trailing across the lace of your chemise and slowly working their way lower. It was only when you felt him cup your ass that you relented slightly, letting out a small moan and dropping your forehead against his shoulder.

“Besides,” Aaron’s voice was soft and low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin “You worked so hard to set this all up. The least you could do is let me thank you properly.”

“I like the sound of that,” you replied, offering Hotch a warm smile as you brought your hands up to rest against his chest “Only…”

“Damn it, sweetheart, you’re going to kill me. What is it now?”

You laughed quietly, not even bothering to hide how much you enjoyed working big, mean Aaron Hotchner into a tizzy. If only the other agents at work could see him now.

“You still haven’t told me what you really think.” you said, as one of your fingers started to twirl around the end of his tie “About the honey dust, I mean.”

Aaron groaned, and affectionately rolled his eyes. The fact that you were being stubborn really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

“You’re still on that? I thought it would be obvious by now. I love it, though I’d love it if you were wearing a brown paper bag.”

At the sight of your furrowed brows and the hard line of your pursed lips, Aaron let out a sigh and gently grabbed hold of one of your wrists.

“Still don’t believe me? Look.”

With that, he pulled your hand down and brought it firmly to rest against his crotch. You gasped softly, feeling what was very clearly a massive hard on straining against the zipper.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, your eyes going so adorably wide Aaron had to fight the urge to smother you with kisses then and there. You’d been together for almost three years now, and somehow you were still oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“See? The reason I didn’t say anything before is because honestly, you had me too turned on to think. If I had been able to come up with anything besides “guh” and some drool, believe me I would’ve.”

For a moment you stood there, stunned and trying to process what Hotch had just said. Then, the laughter came. It bubbled up out of you like a freshly popped bottle of champagne and there just seemed to be no stopping it. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were clutching Aaron’s shoulders, trying to stay upright as your body shook with mirth.

He held you through it, his own laughter, rich and warm, soon joining your own. When the two of you were finally able to settle down, you found yourselves sitting on the floor, still holding each other for dear life. Your tears had carved a path through the honey dust on your cheeks, creating dull stripes in between the swaths of gold. Aaron was also covered in the stuff, with most of it on his lips and nose from when he’d had his mouth on you earlier. The sight set you off in a fit of giggles again.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry,” you said, breathlessly between suppressed laughter “What a mess, and the bed’s probably a whole lot worse. This really was a stupid idea.”

You reached up and tried to wipe some of the gold powder off Aaron’s face, but only succeeded in dusting it down onto the lapels of his suit jacket. That didn’t seem to bother him too much though, and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He pressed a kiss against your palm, deep and reverent, before licking up the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. You shivered with pleasure in response, and let out a soft moan.

“This is stupid,” Aaron agreed, moving to stand and gently tugging you to your feet as he did “And also kind of fun. Besides, we can always do laundry later and after the week I just had, frankly I could use a little fun.”

You gave Hotch a sympathetic smile, and allowed yourself to be lead towards the bed without any further resistance. Sure enough, you could see gold dust coating your navy sheets and comforter, most of it concentrated in an outline of where you’d been laying. Aaron shook his head fondly at the sight, before scooping you up in his arms and laying you out like you’d been when he’d walked in earlier.

As soon as your back hit the bed, you reached for Hotch, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. He lent into it eagerly, letting out a hum of appreciation as he felt your tongue brush against his lips. This was your first taste of the honey dust, and right away you understood the appeal. It was sweet. but not over powering, a nice little addition to Aaron’s already delectable kisses. With any luck, you’d be able to talk him into letting you cover him with it later on. The bottle said it could be put anywhere on the body, which had given you more than a few ideas you wanted to try out.

Despite the rough start, it seemed like the evening was heading towards a much more pleasant end. However, instead of climbing into bed and straddling you like you’d expected, Aaron suddenly broke off the kiss. Your eyes flew open and you propped yourself up on one elbow, watching has he turned away to walk back towards the bedroom door. His absence was already felt, your lips and body now caressed by the cold air instead.

“Aaron? Sweetheart?” you called out after him, trying to keep your voice calm “What are you doing?”

“Call it a do over,” he replied, flashing you a wide grin over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob “An enthusiastic welcome deserves an enthusiastic reception.”

#easter event 2023 #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagines #if you can tell me what the title of this is a spin on I will love you forever and ever

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mqybanks · 2 years

Text

HARD TO GET

-pairing; cedric diggory x gn! reader

-tw: none

-genre: fluff

-word count; 1.3k+

-bio: cedric has liked you for a while now, and you knew all too well that he did, so to make things a bit more interesting, you played hard to get

-notes; omg, its been so long since i’ve written for the hp fandom and its been so long since i’ve written on this acc, but im back! (and will try to post fics!) i suddenly have this obsession with cedric now lmao?? reader is a Hufflepuff btw!

Cedric didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at you. His grey eyes followed you as you strode past him, without batting an eye. He opened his mouth to say something, but by the time he could string a sentence together, you were long gone.

You couldn’t help but to stiffle a laugh as you turned a corner, towards your next class, Potions.

Tough luck Diggory” You heard one of his friends snicker, but Cedric just shrugs, shoving his bag further up his shoulder, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was annoyed. But, being the gentleman he was, he didn’t say anything.

Entering Snape’s classroom, you sat down next to your friend, who had got here before you, saving you a seat. “Took you long enough to get here”

You roll your eyes, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Diggory was staring at me again” You say, deciding to ignore her words.

Sighing, she replies, “He is so obsessed with you” Pausing for a moment, before continuing, “Why can’t you just like, not ignore him? He’s hot, and this schools heartthrob, and he’s like, so in love with you”

You snort at her words, “Yeah, whatever, he’s not that hot, and he’s not my type” Every word you just spat from your mouth were lies. Cedric is hot, and he is your type, and you were, indeed, in love with him. But you just couldn’t admit that to yourself.

Cedric walks in the class, seeming to have gotten over from what happened in the hall just moments ago. Your eyes avert towards him, watching as he sits down a few rows next to you. Real smooth.

“He’s not my type my ass” Your friend mutters under her breath, “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You bring your eyes back towards the front of the classroom, where written on the chalk board is “ Amortentia Potions” You inwardly groan. Great way to set the mood.

“Silence!” Snapes voice drawls out, the classroom chatter dying down. He stares at us all for a moment, “Today we will be learning about Amortentia potion, you all learned this in your 5th year so I expect this to be a less... infuriating lesson”

He continues on, rambling on and on, sending glares towards students that weren’t writing his points down. You weren’t even half-listening to what Snape was saying until- “We will be making these potions in pairs, in hope that you won’t mess this up”

The chatter comes back, but is silenced almost immediately again when Snape says “I Will be picking partners” Groans and quite complains are heard across the room. Snape, who seemed to be unbothered by this, continues to read a list lazily.

Some kids groan when they hear who they’re partnered with, others quickly run towards their partners with smiles on their faces. You didn’t particularly care who you were with, as long as they didn’t make you do all the work.

“Y/n L/n and Cedric Diggory”

Shit. The odds weren’t in your favor today.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Cedric grin. You didn’t know how to exactly feel.

“Guess we’re partners, huh?” Cedric pulls the chair next to you and sits down. Avoiding eve contact you reply “Yeah, guess so”

Why am I... nervous?

Why am I sweating?

Oh Merlin, he's staring at me

Oh Merlin, his eyes are pretty

"Hello? Earth to Y/n?"

You snap your head toward him, “Are you like in another world or something?” he asks jokingly, giving you a smile. You took the time to notice the little crinkle in his eyes when he did that.

You scoff silently, "Shouldn't we be like working?" You ask, changing the subject "If I'm correct it says here that we need to gather... Ashwinder Eggs, Rose thorns, Peppermint, Powdered Moonstone, Pear dust and... rose petals?"

“Nope, Snape’s handing it out” He stops momentarily to Snape who was a few tables ahead of us, “Don’t think he trusts us with those ‘precious’ ingredients”

You raise an eyebrow, “I wonder why” Cedric lets out a short laugh.

“So...” He leans onto the table, tilting his head a bit, “So like, the Hogsmeade weekend is coming up, and I was wondering if yo-”

CLUNK

“Less talking, More working” Snape hisses, “If any of you spill this, you’re getting detention for a week” He continues, specifically looking at you, before heading towards the pair behind you two.

“As I was saying, I was wondering if you’d maybe want to.. uh... go to Hogsmeade with me?” He asks, he gives a shy smile, “But uh its ok if you don’t wanna, I can go with someone else...”

You pondered it for a moment. On one hand, you wanted to go with him, I mean, after all, you did have a... TINY crush on him, but on the contrary, you couldn’t let him know that you liked him! He was basically asking you out! And, you were curious about what would happen if you rejected him.

“Hmm..” You pretended to be deep in thought, “Sorry, I already promised my friend I’d go with him” You didn’t promise anyone you’d go to Hogsmeade- in fact, you were planning on staying back, but you wanted to see how this would play out.

“Oh?” He seemed disappointed, “Well, what about getting Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks? Unless you’re already going with your... friend” His voice narrows at the end of the sentence.

“Maybe if I have the time, he said he wants to tell me something... special” You smirk, as you stir the cauldron 3 times clockwise, steam starting the pour out of it. A strong aroma surrounds you.

“Really? Well, I also have something special to tell you” He says back, a mix of annoyance in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

You snort, “Jealous much, Diggory?”

His face suddenly turns red, his eyes dropping to towards the table, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound...”

“Jealous? Angry?”

He groans, “Yeah, Jealous... I suppose”

"Really? Thats new" You say, teasingly, adding the final ingredient, rose petals, into the potion. Due to it not looking nor smelling horrible, you considered it somewhat a success.

“What does it smell like to you?” he asks, looking genuinely curious. You sniff it, giving it a moment to settle in. It smells good... an intoxicating kind of good, something that you can’t get enough of.

“Old books.. A hint of Vanilla, and uhm... butterscotch?”

“Really? Mine smells like... you”

Oh.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” He asks, a teasing smile plastered across his face.

“What?! Y- No! Why would I- you’re hopeless Diggory!” You groan in frustration, you looked away, trying to hide your face, Merlin, it was probably as red as a tomatoe.

Snape stops the class, examining the potions, finding a flaw in every potion that he came across. Th eespecially quote on quote “atrocious” ones, he gave a sharp look too, growled a “see me after class” and moved on.

When he gets to your table, his eyes move from you- then to Cedric- then to the potion, gave a half-satisfied grunt, and left. That went better then you expected.

“Hopefully next class will be... better then this one” Snape says coldly, as he moves to the front, “Write 3 parchments of why Amortentia is highly dangerous and should not be used, that’ll be due by... lets see, on Monday. Class is dismissed”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly grab your books, shoving them into your bag. You hadn’t even realized how long had passed, Cedric was too busy flirting with you.

“So... ” Cedric stops you before you’re able to get away, “Hogsmeade this weekend? Unless you’re...”

“I was kidding about that”

“Oh? Oh really? So... is that a yes?” he asks, almost timidly.

“Yeah, I guess” As you entered into the crowded hallway, his grin bigger then before “I’ll see you soon, Diggory”

“Yeah, see you later Y/n”

tagging some moots ! @lex-the-flex @clarrissanewt @remuslupininskirts @curseofaphrodite @artqueenjames @i-do-random-things-do-not-ask

#dilfdieqo #wil actually writing fics omg?#cedric diggory #cedric x reader #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter #hp #cedric #reader x cedric #reader x cedric diggory #harry potter x reader #harry potter goblet of fire #fanfic #harry potter boys x reader #harry potter films

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empresskylo · 2 years

Text

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 – 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 「 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 」 r.h. masterlist

━━━━━‧₊˚➛ hopper regrets his building feelings for you, deciding it's best to cut this fling off before you learn to regret it.

pairing ‧₊˚➛ jim hopper x afab!reader

tags ‧₊˚➛18+ content, smut || unprotected sex, age gap, blood, angst, reader described as small and having hair that can be tucked behind ear. reader refers to self as a 'girl'.

w.c.‧₊˚➛ 7434

a.n. ‧₊˚➛ sorry for the wait, but here is the final part to ride home. as you can see, it's longer than usual which is why it took so long. i hope you enjoy! (and yes, this is the final part)

masterlist. navi.

A few weeks had passed since that night Jim Hopper touched you under the dining room table.

Things with Hopper had been going… good. And if by good you meant that you were having sex any time you saw one another and blatantly ignoring the rising feelings stirring inside each of your chests. Then, yeah, things were going good.

Just tell him! A voice rose in the back of your throat like hot bile. You shoved it down. Nope, you weren’t going to bring it up. Isn’t that how things were always ruined? The woman catches feelings and makes things incredibly awkward to the point where the relationship is cut off entirely. You didn’t want to lose Hopper, so you were just going to have to tough it out and accept the fact that he only wanted you for sex.

But what you didn’t know was that Hopper was fighting the exact same feeling. It’s maddening how blind the two of you were. For God’s sake, Jim almost moaned out an ‘I love you’ while he was balls deep inside of you the other day. You convinced yourself that you just misheard him.

Jim pushed you down further into his mattress, his cock hitting you so hard that you had to muffle your cries afraid they would break his eardrum. His hand was locked in your hair and your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. Your soft whines underneath him were sending him over the edge. Your eyes fluttered up at him as he kept rolling his hips into you. “Jim…” You mumbled, completely entranced. You looked like an angel under him, glowing in ecstasy as you mewled into his chest. He felt himself begin to spill into you, your head shook side to side as you tried to contain your moans but they slid off your tongue like honey. Jim groaned in your ear, “Fucking hell. You’re so good. So—perfect. Shit, I lov—“ He masked his mistake with a loud moan as you tightened around him at his praise.

Why were you both torturing one another?

Jim fiddled with his pen as he stared down at the same paragraph he had been rereading for the past five minutes. He was busy contemplating a way to get to see you again.

That’s where the stupidity started kicking in. The two of you each decided—without talking to the other person—that this was solely about lust and sex. So your meetings only ever revolved around that. Both of you would have been happy simply talking most of the time (Jim wanted to take you out to dinner so badly and get to see you all dressed up for him.) But you both also thought the other was in this unconventional coupling for a different reason. So, alas, your rendezvous only ever resulted in sex. (Granted, you both craved each other desperately that it wasn’t much of an issue.)

You came up behind Hopper and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to face you, surprised by your appearance. “I was writing a piece for the school paper.” You shrugged the notepad in your hand towards him. “Can I ask you some questions?” Jim tried to look annoyed, but you were so fucking cute as you innocently requested his time.

“You know I can’t give out information…” You looked up at him with the most pathetically sweet doll eyes, your lips pouting. He took a deep breath in, closing his eyes.

Hopper was the only one at the scene so he decided it wouldn’t be too risky (i.e. he wasn’t very good at hiding his desire for you and it would be blatantly obvious to anyone who witnessed your interactions.)

He walked around to the back of his truck and pulled down the tailgate so you could sit. His hands slid around your waist and he helped you jump up. You felt your cheeks warm, the feeling of his fingers lingering long after he pulled them away. You tried to focus and began writing in your notepad while Hopper leaned his hip against his truck. After a few minutes of questioning, you had gotten what you needed. You both wanted to continue talking to one another, but you’d never admit that. You both thought the other would be irritated. This was clearly only about lust.

“S’that it?” Jim asked. You set your notepad down and reached out and grabbed his hand. “What’re—“ You yanked him towards you so he stood between your legs. His eyes darkened as he tentatively watched your moves. “Just one more thing,” you whispered. Jim’s eyelids fell heavy, your hands slid up to the collar of his shirt and you pulled him in towards you until your lips were connected. His mustache tickled as he kissed you. It made you giggle. That sound almost made Hopper collapse. He was falling for you at an alarming speed. And he knew he could never have you like that. So this would have to be enough.

He grabbed your butt and heaved you towards him, your clothed core pressing against Jim’s rough jeans. He quickly fiddled with his pants, already hard beyond belief, and you did the same with your own. When he finally slid himself into you, bottoming out completely, you both exhaled in relief. He felt so right inside you. You stared up at him, wanting to savor every moment you had with him. He traced your face, you were so perfect. Your lips were parted and he could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He took a moment to take you in entirely before he gave you what you wanted and thrusted in and out of you so that you moaned out his name.

You were sat in your living room, spacing out at the television as you laid horizontally along your couch. Your hand raised to change the channel then lazily collapsed and hung off the couch and onto the floor. You looked up at the ceiling. If only you had an excuse to go visit Hopper at the station. You knew he was working late tonight. Usually, your dad was a good excuse, dropping off his lunch or just checking in with him. But your dad was currently rummaging through a box of old paperwork on the living room floor, huffing to himself as he struggled to find whatever ancient archive he was looking for.

Wait. Your dad didn’t have to be at the station in order for him to act as your wingman. You could simply go pick something up that he ‘forgot’. You stumbled to your feet and ran up the stairs, gaining a curious glance from your father.

You changed and ran out the door, telling your dad you were going to a friend’s house. If you wasted any more time than that, you might have talked yourself out of going.

It was pathetic, really. But you didn’t care, you just wanted to see Jim. The way his grumpy face would slightly soften when you appeared. You loved when he tried to be annoyed with you and would call you silly names. Or the way he would call you kid–like your parent’s friends would– while he was standing before you, rock hard. Your heart fluttered just thinking about it.

Hopper huffed and sat back in his chair, the silent station driving him mad. And just as he thought that, the loud noise of fumbling footsteps sounded outside his office.

Then the footsteps were coming closer, and closer until they were right outside his door. Hopper felt his heart rush. The door creaked open and Flo stepped in, a clutch of paperwork in her arms.

Hopper sighed for the millionth time that night (but what’s new?) His heart resumed to its normal pace and he grumbled something to Flo. “Just received these,” she said, gesturing to the papers in her hands. “Said it was urgent.”

Hopper stood up and sulked over to the door. “Yeah, thanks, Flo. I’ll get right on that.” Hopper took the work from her and she rolled her eyes. “Sure you will.” That gained a smirk from Jim.

She went to turn around but stopped, then spoke over her shoulder. “Oh, and you have a visitor.”

Jim turned back to his office door and saw Flo slip away down the hall and your frame appear where hers just was.

You meekly waved at him. Hopper set the folder down on his desk and turned to you, leaning on the edge of his desk.

“Are you stalking me?” He teased.

“I can leave if you want.”

Hopper shook his head, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “No. It’s fine. You can come in.”

You shyly slipped into his office, closing the door as you did.

When you turned to face Hopper again, he saw the look of worry spread across your face. But it wasn’t his place to ask.

“My dad had left some stuff in his desk he needed. Thought I’d stop in and say ‘hello’.”

Hopper grinned. “Oh, yeah? You just wanted to say hi? Nothing more?”

You felt a chill run up your spine. Shit. Did you really sound that desperate?

You stuttered, “No-no, I just—I—“

“I’m just messin’ with ya, kid.”

Hopper hated to see this anguish plastered blankly across your face. You barely even smiled at him. Maybe you were finally regretting wasting your time with him and realized you made a mistake sleeping with this mean, old grump.

Hopper paused before pushing himself off of his desk, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He sat down in his chair, his legs spread wide as he leaned on his thighs.

You approached him, leaning your hip on the edge of his desk.

His eyes scanned yours and he felt himself try to hold back what he wanted to say. He couldn’t keep being selfish. You were clearly ruining your life being with Hopper. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that dramatic, but still. You were obviously going through something that was making you rebel. What better way than to sleep with your dad’s boss? (Well, technically Hopper wasn’t his boss. But that’s beside the point.) This was never going to sit well on your conscience once you grew up and had an epiphany about all your poor choices. And Hopper didn’t want to be remembered as one of your mistakes.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” He gestured between the two of you. “Actually, it’s an awful idea and I’m sorry for keeping it going for so long.”

You rolled your eyes. “God, not this again. I’ll admit, it was kinda hot when you saw the ambivalence of the situation, but it’s getting old, Hop.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying. Even you realize that this is wrong.”

“That’s not what I—“

He said your name breathlessly, his fingers coming up to pinch between his brows in annoyance. “It’s just… What are we gonna do?” His voice was raising in tempo and it made you feel small. “Just keep fucking around, until what? How long are we gonna drag this shit out?”

“Hopper, I—“

“Listen, I know you probably thought it was cool to rebel or whatever and seduce the chief of police, but this isn’t going anywhere. And I can’t keep sleeping around with a high schooler. Fuck.”

You felt tears well in your eyes. “I graduate in a month.”

Jim sighed. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”

“So, you’re just done? Just like that? Because… Because you’re worried about my choices? Because of what everyone in town would think about you if they found out?” Your words were laced with fire.

“Yeah. Pretty much,” he said coolly, but his heart was hurting as he watched your eyes puddle with tears. It was all a facade.

A tear betrayed you and rolled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away. Jim’s eyes flickered, breaking his mask for a moment, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around you. “Why can’t you just admit you don’t like me instead of making up such dumb excuses!” Your hands balled up in fists. Jim didn’t say anything. “Fine. Whatever.” You spun around and stormed out. And by the time you made it to the end of the hall, you knew Jim wasn’t chasing after you. He wasn’t going to stop you from leaving. No, he wanted you to leave.

That was not how you thought the night was going to go.

A few weeks had passed and unlike before when you tried to jump Jim’s bones every chance you got, you spent your time avoiding him at all costs.

You felt like you might burst into tears just seeing his face.

You sat on the bleachers, watching the Hawkin’s High basketball team race up and down the court. Your best friend grabbed your arm, whispering something about how cute one of the guys on the other team was. You nodded your head feigning agreement.

You watched, bored beyond belief. This wasn’t usually your thing. You only came because your friend dragged you here. On the far side of the gym, you spotted a burly man in a tan hat step in through the doors. Hopper.

You tried to sink down into your seat. Your eyes shifted to focus on the game but they kept darting to Hopper’s figure in the corner of the gymnasium. You watched as Jim was saying something to your principal, it seemed important based on the way they were speaking and gesturing.

You shook your head and looked back at the players on the court. You instinctively started to pick at your nails, the skin around them beginning to bleed.

The crowd began to roar–Jason Carver just scored. The people around you stood up and cheered, you think you heard Steve Harrington yelling something behind you but all you could make out was something about ‘Sinclair’ and ‘kicking ass’. Your friend looked down at you and nudged your arm, confused as to why you seemed to be so disinterested.

As the crowd settled down again and slowly fell back into their seats, your gaze wandered to the far side of the court once more. Your eyes widened, Jim was looking directly at you. You both held each other’s line of vision for a moment, his pupils narrowing in on you. You quickly looked away, your cheeks feeling abnormally warm.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like watching the game anymore. “I’m gonna go get some air,” you said in your friend's ear.

“Want me to come?” She asked.

You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, her eyes still suspicious as she watched you push past classmates to get down to the gym floor.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, feeling small, as you pushed open the doors and stepped out into the night air. The rumble of the game became soft, locked within the school’s brick walls.

You jumped down the stairs and walked over into the parking lot. You didn’t know where you were going, but you had to clear your head.

A few voices carried in the wind off in the distance; some students were trying to be subtle about the fact that they were smoking. You went in the opposite direction until you were on the grass lawn, hidden from the street lamps.

You sat down on the single, lonely bench, sighing as you tried to shake Hopper from your mind. You were so fucking stupid. How could you possibly think Jim Hopper, the fucking chief of police, would be interested in you? Like really interested in you. You were young and had teased him hopelessly for months, of course, he was going to act. Why wouldn’t he? But you wanted more than that.

So stupid, you told yourself as you buried your head in your hands. You tried to hold back sobs, you were already pathetic enough as it was.

A ruffling in the trees past the school’s lawn startled you. Your head shot up. “Hello?” You said quietly. You paused and listened for a moment thinking it might have been those students you saw earlier. You were just being silly, nothing was there.

You pulled your legs up on the bench and into your chest. Maybe you should go back, your friend would be wondering where you went.

The sound of crunching, like a dog devouring a meal, made you jump. Okay, now you were freaking out a little bit. You sat up on the bench, fully alert. Your heart was racing in your chest making it hard to hear anything apart from your pounding heartbeat. Branches breaking got closer and closer to you. You were on your feet and backing up.

That's when you saw it. It was like a person wearing a Halloween mask, but it wasn’t a costume. The bloody skin of the creature reflected in the moonlight, its stature a good three feet taller than you. Your eyes were pried wide open as you backed away, gulping. The creature slowly approached you. You backed away and tripped on a rock, falling to your butt. You made a frightened gasp. The creature came darting toward you. You turned and began crawling away, trying to stand up as you did. You were too scared to even scream out.

Red hot pain flared on your ankle, the claws from the monster were tearing into your flesh.

You groaned, yelling for help now. You tried to kick it off of you, your foot stomping on its large mangled hands making it shriek. “What the fuck,” you said breathlessly.

You managed to get to your feet but you could hear the monster following right behind you, its hand grabbed your shoulder, making you scream.

Bang.

You fell to your knees, the claw slacking its hold and then disappearing altogether.

Bang.

You couldn’t hear anything but the ringing of gunshots bouncing around your skull. You turned, looking at the creature struggling in pain. It had already been wounded and now it had two bullet holes burning through its skin. It looked at you, though you couldn’t spot any eyes, then it turned and ran back off into the forest.

You collapsed on the grass, your hand coming to rest on your head in exhaustion and confusion.

Jim’s frame hovered above you, directly in your line of view. He leaned down and pulled you up, scooping you into his arms bridal style. You could see his mouth moving but you couldn’t make anything out; the ringing washing over everything.

“What was that… thing?” You asked. You were sat atop Jim’s dining table as he rummaged in his bathroom for a first aid kit. You had only been to his place once before and you didn’t get a good look. You glanced around, taking in all his things.

“I have no fucking idea,” he called out to you.

Your legs swung underneath you as you anxiously fidgeted. Your nails came up to your mouth, this was not good. You were stuck in Hopper’s home, in such close proximity. Nothing good could come from this.

Hopper came stomping out of the bathroom with his arms full of an array of random medical supplies. You raised your brow, eyeing him as he set it down on the table beside you. He noticed your glare. “S’all I got,” he shrugged.

He grabbed some spray and a cloth and grabbed your foot. You jumped, his warm fingers grazing your skin. You tried not to think about his hands on your leg as he attempted to clean the wound.

You cleared your throat. “Hop, it’s barely a scratch, I think I’m fine.”

Jim felt his gut lurch when you said his name. “Don’t know where that freaky fuck came from, better safe than sorry and clean it out.”

You slouched back on your hands as you reluctantly let him clean the wound, holding back a smile at his word choice. His fingers tickled as he held your ankle, grabbing a roll of medical bandage wrap, and winding it around the cut. When it was fully dressed, he held your foot still in his hand, his finger pads lingering on your exposed ankle. He slowly looked up at you and immediately released your leg, standing up awkwardly. He grunted and scooped up all the shit he laid out moments earlier and brought it back into the bathroom.

You slid off the table and aimlessly circled his kitchen, hoping he would take you home now. Jim appeared behind you and said your name, reaching out and touching your shoulder. “Ow!” You jumped.

His hand reclined and you both looked to where his fingers just were. Blood was beginning to seep through your shirt. “Shit,” you muttered.

“Fuck, he got you there too?”

“I guess. I think it grabbed my shoulder.” You went to move your shirt and hissed as it clung against the sticky blood.

Jim went to the sink and wrung out a warm cloth, handing it to you. You walked over to him and took it, giving him a passive look. He leaned back against the sink as you tried to move your shirt to the side. You winced and looked up at him.

“Come here,” he mumbled.

You stepped a bit closer and he took the cloth from you, dabbing it on the area to loosen the shirt. He slowly pulled the clothing away from the cut and placed the warm cloth on top of it as a compress. He held it there, his eyes flickering to yours. You gulped. Your cheeks were on fire.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you another shirt.”

He turned and went to his bedroom. “No, Jim. It’s fine. I can just change at home.”

Of course, Hopper being Hopper, he walked back out with one of his shirts anyways. He wasn’t going to make you sit in a bloody–and now wet–shirt. He stuck his hand out to you to give you the clothing. His eyes shifted between you and the fabric uncomfortably. Your fingers tentatively reached up and you paused for a moment, your chest racing. “Thank you,” you said meekly.

You grabbed the shirt and Hopper rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ll go put the stuff away…” Hopper said awkwardly.

You nodded and he slowly turned around to go put away the stuff he left on the bathroom sink.

Once Hopper was in the bathroom again you slowly tore your shirt from your body. You winced slightly but once the shirt was off the cut, you felt much better. You looked over at your shoulder. “Shit, it’s not even that bad,” you mumbled, annoyed for acting like such a baby. You grabbed the cloth and started to dab up the stained blood.

“Oh, shit, sorry. I—“

You jumped and looked up at Hopper who was standing wide-eyed in the doorway. You felt a heat rise to your chest and face.

You stared at him, expecting him to shy away and let you finish changing, but he didn’t. He just watched you. You cleared your throat, your arms coming up to lay across your chest (but it’s not like Hopper hadn’t seen it all before.) “Uh. Hop…” You said, shaking your head a bit.

He still didn’t say anything. He stepped closer towards you so he was only inches from your exposed body. “Hop…” You said breathlessly again.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You took in a sharp breath. You looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. “You can’t…” you stuttered. “Don’t say that to me.”

His fingers surprised you as they touched your jaw and tilted your head up towards him. Your words got lost in your throat. Hopper couldn’t help himself. He slowly leaned in, watching your eyes flutter under him. Your lips parted, you couldn’t seem to stop either. Hopper’s nose rested against yours and his lips teased your own. He breathed your name softly then closed the gap. You felt your body immediately cave into his touch, your knees buckling and your head sinking lower. Jim’s arms wrapped around you to hold you up, moving his lips in rhythm with yours.

Jim’s hands slid around your back, gently pulling your hips into him. He grunted as your body collided with his, your skin incredibly soft under his touch. You pulled away, shaking your head slightly. Hopper looked at you with such certainty, his fingers coming up to trace your unharmed shoulder and then sliding into your hair.

You wouldn’t look up at him, you were too embarrassed. Instead, you focused on his chest as you spoke. Hopper’s fingers continued to play with your hair, lost in thought. “I can’t…”

Jim softly said your name.

You felt hot tears well in your eyes. You shied away, afraid of him seeing you like this. Pathetic. “I’m sorry I ruined things.” Your voice was small.

Hopper’s hands fell to his side.

“You didn’t ruin-“

“I did!” The tears began running down your hot cheeks. “I was getting attached. I was being stupid. So fucking stupid,” your voice got quiet. “I shouldn’t have tricked you like that.”

Jim’s eyes stayed focused on you. “Tricked me?”

“Yeah. It was all just a fun hook-up to you. But I had… I have liked you for a while now.” Jim raised a brow at you. You paused before continuing, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s stupid, but I had a crush on you.” You tried to laugh but it sounded more like a struggling snort as tears kept falling.

Jim closed his eyes, thoughts racing around his head. You gulped as you peered up at him. You just ruined your chances of this ever working out. He might have been a grump, but he wasn’t mean. Once he realized you liked him like that, he wouldn’t lead you on. He’d cut things off for good.

You jumped slightly when you felt Jim’s warm fingers brush along the side of your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breathing hitched in the back of your throat, his eyes were dark, but not like how they usually looked. They were filled with something other than lust.

He whispered your name and you felt your heart flutter.

“That’s not what it was to me.” His words were soft. You wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he spoke any quieter. Your lips parted. He leaned down towards you, your lips drawing closer and closer to one another. “I fell in love with you.” His thumb came up and wiped away your wet cheeks.

You made a noise in the back of your throat. “Y-You did?”

Jim’s mouth ever so slightly turned up before he connected his lips with yours. You felt your body go loose as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him. His hand came up to rest on your cheek as he kissed you deeper. Breathlessly, he pulled away. “I thought if I pushed you away, I could prevent you from getting ruined.”

“Ruined?”

“Yeah. What good could come from a big grump falling for a sweet thing like you? You got your whole life ahead of you, kid. I didn’t want you wasting it hooking up with me. So you could get back at your parents? To prove you were mature? I don’t know, but I didn’t want you to regret this,” he motioned between your two bodies.

You felt a smile form on your lips. “And I thought I was the one foolishly-in-love-when-it-was-only-meant-to-be-a-fling.”

He pushed your hair back as he admired you. “Still don’t want you to regret this.” You could hear the worry laced in his words.

Your hands grabbed the hem of his shirt. “No. I…” You paused. “I want you, Hopper. For more than just sex.” His eyes dropped, his hands falling on top of yours as you clung to him. “I know what you’re thinking.” He eyed you. “That your feelings for me are wrong. How you can’t possibly fall for someone like me, let alone hook up with. You’re the chief of police. And I’m just some dumb girl who likes older men apparently. It would never—“ Jim cut you off, smiling as he kissed you.

You were right. That’s exactly what he was thinking. But fuck it. He wasn’t sure how he could manage knowing you liked him the way he liked you if he just pushed you away again. Screw what everyone else thought. You could both worry about that when you got to it. But right now, Jim desperately needed you.

You fervently kissed him back, both of your breathing increasing. “Jim-” you mumbled between kisses.

“Mhm?”

“You’re not gonna–push me away–again after–are you?” you managed to get out as Hopper attacked your face.

He paused. “Not if you want me. I can worry about what Hawkins thinks later. I don’t give a fuck what they have to say–” it was your turn to cut him off. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into you. His mustache tickled your nose as he kissed you. His hands found their way to your exposed hips, sliding up and brushing the back of your bra.

Jim pushed you back so you wobbled to the couch. Your legs hit the side and you sat on the arm of his couch. Jim was quickly between your knees, his hand behind your head as he pulled you into him. When he pulled back to get a breath, his eyes couldn’t tear away from you. Your face was stained with tears, but that only made your eyes stand out more. Your hair had been ruffled by Jim’s large hands, and your lips were swollen.

“What?” you asked, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Jim pushed your hair behind your ear and placed a kiss on your exposed shoulder. His fingers traced along your bra strap and down to your back where he unclipped it. You felt goosebumps rise in his trail. His fingers gently lifted your straps off, making sure not to touch the cut along your shoulder, and threw your bra to the floor. His eyes ravaged you. You were about to speak, feeling shy, but Jim was faster. His lips grazed your nipple, making you gasp. He drew it into his mouth, sucking and nipping you softly. You felt your eyes flutter and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Jesus,” you breathed.

Jim felt himself grin, loving getting a reaction out of you. His hands rested on your hips as he kissed your chest. He hooked your jeans in his fingers and began to wiggle them. You lifted your hips up so he could yank them down. His hands grabbed your thighs immediately, squeezing them and letting his thumb rub small circles along them. His head came up to kiss your neck and jaw, his stubble leaving tingles in their wake.

You grabbed his biceps, holding on to him as he nuzzled the side of your neck. A small moan left your lips and that was enough to send Jim into overdrive. His hips came slamming into your own, the roughness of his jeans gliding against your clothed clit. His hands were around your jaw, both of them pulling you in for a hard kiss, his tongue sliding along your lips and into your mouth. He grunted when he felt your hips roll into him, your legs wrapping around his thighs and pulling him into you.

Hopper couldn’t handle it anymore, he needed you.

He scooped you up into his arms gaining a squeal from you. He moved you to the couch cushions and laid you down before him. He tore his shirt and pants off in one quick motion, then placed himself on top of you, kissing you into the couch. Your fingers ran through his tawny hair, your legs struggled to wrap back around Jim’s waist. His hand slipped between your bodies and into your underwear. You gasped when you felt him touch you. He began to rub small circles across your core, your body already wet and ready for him.

One of his fingers slid to your entrance and rubbed between your lips, feeling the way you were overflowing. “All this for me?” His voice was far deeper than earlier.

You looked up at him, your eyes big and sweet. “Mhm,” you cooed.

Jim removed his hand and slid it up your side then squeezed one of your breasts. You felt sad at the loss of his touch between your thighs. “I want you inside me, Jim.”

His eyes darted to yours, his pupils blown. You swallowed hard as he stared at you. You felt his hard length press against your thigh and you rolled into him.

“Fuck,” he cursed. You reached down and wiggled your underwear off before grabbing the hem of Jim’s and urging it down. Jim followed your lead and tore his boxers off before nestling himself back between your legs. You could feel his cock pressing against your clit as he put his weight onto you. He kissed your jaw again while his hands grabbed himself and began to rub his tip against you. You moaned, your face heating up and he teased you.

“God, Jim. Please!” You begged pathetically.

Jim used his hands to push your hips down and prevent you from jutting your hips up towards him. You pouted. “I’m right here, baby.” He said softly. “No need to rush. I wanna savor you.”

Your chest thumped loudly. Hopper kissed your cheek and then ground his hips against you, his cock dragging along your core. You both moaned as he continued to do it. One of your legs were buried in the couch cushions and unable to wrap around Jim, so only one of your legs came up to rest on him. Jim’s hand instinctively went to your thigh as you lifted your leg to drape around him. He used that as leverage to rub against your harder. You bit your lip as you held back a yelp.

Without warning, Jim thrusted himself into you. You gasped in shock as he filled you up. Jim grunted above you, his head falling into the crook of your neck. You clenched around him, making him grumble into your hair, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He let you adjust to him as you squirmed beneath his weight. “Jim. Move,” you said in a breathless tone, desperate to feel him pump inside you.

His hands wrapped around you and he began to thrust in and out. Your head arched backward as he hit you deep. Jim growled as he felt your walls spasm around his cock. You mewled in response, your vision dizzy as Jim rutted into your hips.

You felt all your sadness from earlier sink away and you were filled with warmth instead. Both of you forgot all about the monster you encountered. You were pretty sure you both would keep fucking even if that thing had burst through the window. You couldn’t stop now. You wouldn’t let him.

You bucked your hips up each time Jim bottomed out, forcing him to hit you as deep as possible. You cried out in pleasure. “Fuck, baby,” he grunted.

Hopper was already so close, and you desperately thrusting against him wasn’t going to help things. He wasn’t going to last. (So much for savoring it.) His hands found your hair and he fisted it, his voice growing deep as he growled. He began to hit you long and hard as he pumped his length in and out of you. He felt his fist squeeze tightly in your hair when he felt your walls clench around him. And just like that, he was done for. Jim groaned so lowly that you could feel the vibrations tickle your stomach.

Jim let out a long, dragged-out ‘fuck’ as he began to come inside of you. Your own orgasm followed suit, your legs shaking as Jim filled you up. His hot seed seeped out around his cock as he thrusted through his high, obscene noises filling Jim’s quiet place.

You arched your back into Jim’s chest, bucking your hips up against him over and over as he kept spilling himself into you. Jim moaned as you sucked every last drop from his cock, draining him completely.

He began to slow his thrusts, your nails digging into Jim’s back as your high faded to a pleasant sense of ecstasy. Jim collapsed on top of you, his weight pushing you into the couch. He gently pulled himself from between your legs and a pool of his seed rushed out of you.

He kissed your cheek before scooping you up and rolling over so you laid on top of his chest.

His breathing was deep and his hand wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

You rested your head against him, your hand coming up to rub small circles on his chest, catching your own breath. “I love you,” he whispered.

You looked up at him, your cheek still pressed against him. “You do?”

He chuckled and you felt it rumble through your body. “Mhm.” He grinned at you, brushing his fingers against your jaw.

You kissed his chest. Then kissed him again. And again. Leaving a trail of kisses up to his lips. You had to crawl and shift your body so you were in line with his face as you placed a warm kiss on his lips. His arm squeezed around you.

You straddled him as you deepened the kiss, a small groan building in the back of your throat. You gently rolled your hips into him, your wet pussy dragging against him as you did.

Jim grumbled something into the kiss and you felt him grow hard beneath you again.

You giggled. “Round two?”

His hands came down to squeeze your ass and pulled your waist harder against him. You took that as a yes.

You squirmed on top of him, placing delicate kisses along his jaw and to his collarbone as he did to you earlier. Jim felt his cheeks blush at your touch, your soft lips like heaven against his rough skin.

You slowly slid down so your hips were in line with Jim’s. Then you took his cock in your hand, earning a grunt from Jim, and lined him up with you again. You could already feel yourself pulsing with anticipation, wanting him to fill you like before. You slowly sank down on him, his hands resting against your soft waist. You both gasped, looking at one another with parted lips.

He stretched you out slowly, your body needing time to adjust to him again. It was almost painful how well he filled you. You finally sank down on him completely, letting your full weight lay against him. You felt Jim’s hips buck slightly beneath you, his hands eagerly rubbing against your hips and thighs. You lifted off of him gently, letting his cock slide out of you painfully slow.

Jim’s breath got caught in his throat, his cock already dripping in precum. You lazily took him all in again, sitting flesh against him. He growled, his head pressing up against your cervix. You felt his fingers dig into your skin. You began to lightly bounce on top of him, making his fingers press harder and harder into you. Your hands rested against his chest as you rode him, your mouth letting little whimpers escape.

You felt every ridge of his cock glide against you, your clit bumping against Jim as you sank down on him. You couldn’t help but let little cries weep out of your mouth as you took him in.

Your bounces stayed at the same pace and Jim couldn’t take it any longer. He grunted as he gripped your hips and began bucking his hips up into you and pulling you down to meet his thrusts. You moaned, his body slapping against yours. Jim began bucking up consistently, pulling you into him each time. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as Jim took control, wanting to hit you as hard as he could. Your fingers curled into Jim’s chest, your body trembling as Jim thrusted against you.

“Jim, I–” your words barely made it out before you were moaning again. You were so close. Your cries came out staggered as Jim jerked into you, making your voice waver. You cursed and mumbled under your breath, your eyes lazily looking down at Hopper. His own met yours, both of your eyelids feeling heavy.

Jim shifted beneath you slightly and began to hit you at just the right spot. It made you cry out in pure pleasure. You have never felt this good before. You felt your walls clench around him, your legs wanting to squeeze together as they pressed against Jim.

You felt your high approaching, your body going limp as Jim kept his pace. You mewled, another orgasm flowing through you. Your walls clamped down on Jim’s cock, squeezing against him and making him growl. He began squirting inside you, giving you what little he had left.

You both were a mess as you groaned and muttered swears under your breath. Your eyes stayed locked with Jim’s, even if they were both laced with exhaustion. You helped him as he slowed and bounced on top of him, dragging out your highs. You both cried out, his seed spilling out around his cock and onto both of your thighs.

You hindered your speed as you felt your body cave with warmth. You finally stopped and leaned over, collapsing on top of Jim. His arms pulled you into him, his chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths.

You mewled as the aftershock hit you, making you shake on top of him. Jim let you ride out your high with his cock still buried deep inside you.

After a few long moments, you paused, your hands wrapped tightly around Hopper. “I love you too,” you breathed.

You felt Hopper chuckle against you, his hands rubbing small patterns along your back as he held you.

You both wanted to stay like this and forget the rest of the world, bodies pressed flesh with one another, and Hopper’s cock buried inside you with his seed filling you up. You felt your eyes flutter shut as Jim’s fingers danced across your back. Sleep began to overtake the both of you as you snuggled up into Jim. You felt him harden inside you again and he groaned in pain.

You muffled noises into his chest, your hands clenching into fists as you felt him inside of you. You huffed as you began to rub up and down, your body flat against Jim’s. His cock slowly slid in and out of you as you lazily rolled your hips up and down. Your clit dragged along Hopper’s stomach making you whine. Both of your eyes remained shut and Hopper’s arms held you in a hug. You whined again, feeling tired as you rocked against Jim. You picked up your speed slightly, your chest never raising from Jim’s.

Jim’s arms, wrapped around you, pulled you up to help you up as you rolled your hips against him. Your both groaned, your pussy painfully aroused as Jim’s cock began squirting his seed into you again. You let out a vocal cry as you began to shake on top of him, coming for the third time that night.

Jim held you close and helped you gently roll on his cock, his chest vibrating as he overflowed your cunt with his seed. It pooled out around your bodies, creating a sticky mess on both of your thighs. You mewled, your walls clenching Jim as you came with him.

After a few more tired thrusts, you stopped and sighed into Jim’s chest, letting him drip out around you. He slowly pulled out of you and his cock sprang out, rubbing up against your ass as he did. You groaned, your legs trembling beneath you as the last of your high rode through your body.

Jim leaned forward and placed a kiss on your head, soft snores sounding from your small frame. He smiled, feeling like he didn’t deserve this kind of contentment. He hugged you tighter, hoping you’d never leave him. And he fell asleep shortly after.

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