I have a few undiagnosed mental illnesses (but I know I have them) 18+ MINORS DNI OBSESSED WITH: TGM, BBC's Merlin, Dimension 20 (or most of CollegeHumor), Wattpad, Webtoons
Pairing: Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia x Fem!Aviator!Reader (as a part of @roosterforme Rocktober Celebration), based on the song, Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.
Summary: Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia, consumed by his passion for aviation, discovers a new addiction in the captivating Y/N at Top Gun Academy. Their love story soars to new heights as they confess their feelings at the iconic Hard Deck bar, promising romance amidst the thrill of flying.
Warnings: just a lot of fluff
A/N: this is my first fic! Tbh, I don’t think I’m great at writing, so if you have any comments, please tell me if I did something wrong, but be nice about it, especially since I don’t write that often.
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Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia had always been a passionate soul, known throughout the Top Gun Academy for his unwavering enthusiasm and dedication to aviation. However, lately, there was something else that had captured his heart—a melody that played only for one person. As he walked through the bustling corridors of the academy, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift to the one who had managed to steal his attention from the skies.
She was a force to be reckoned with—a brilliant pilot with a fierce determination that matched his own. To the world, she was Y/N, but to Mickey, she was everything.
Their paths had crossed countless times on the tarmac and in the briefing rooms, and every encounter left Mickey craving more. He’d catch her gaze from across the room, her eyes a magnetic force he couldn’t resist. She was confident, strong-willed, and utterly captivating.
But it wasn’t just her skills in the cockpit that drew him in; it was the way she moved, the way she spoke, and the way her laughter could light up even the darkest corners of the academy. It was as if she carried her own gravitational pull, and Mickey found himself orbiting around her, unable to break free.
The first time he heard the song “Addicted to Love” by Robert Palmer on the radio, he couldn’t help but think of her. The lyrics seemed to echo the rhythm of his heart whenever she was near.
They say, “Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”
And in Mickey’s case, it was undeniable. He was addicted to the way her hair tumbled down her back, to the sound of her voice when she shouted orders during drills, to the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about flying.
Mickey had always been a fighter, but this was a battle he had no intention of winning. He wanted to be addicted to love, addicted to her, for as long as she’d have him.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mickey and Y/N found themselves standing on the back porch of the Hard Deck, the soft glow of neon signs casting a warm and intimate ambiance around them. The bar was owned by Penny Benjamin, a place where pilots often sought refuge after a long day of training. Tonight, it served as the backdrop to a pivotal moment in their story.
They leaned against the railing, the hum of conversation and laughter from inside the bar providing a comforting backdrop to their conversation. Mickey’s heart pounded as he gazed into her eyes, the neon lights reflecting in her captivating gaze.
“Y/N, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he began, his voice filled with sincerity, his hands gently cupping her face. The gentle breeze ruffled his flight jacket, but his attention remained solely on her.
She turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “What is it, Mickey?”
Mickey stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I see you, it’s like the world fades away, and all I can think about is how much I want to be with you.”
A soft smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. “You know,” she said, her voice equally hushed, “I’ve been feeling the same way.”
Their breaths mingled in the cool night air, the tension between them palpable. Mickey couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned in, their lips inching closer together, and then he paused, his eyes searching hers for consent.
“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, her heart pounding in sync with his. And with that silent agreement, their lips finally met in a passionate and long-awaited kiss.
Their embrace spoke volumes, but when they finally broke away, Mickey couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t want this to end, Y/N.”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t. What do you say we have dinner tomorrow night, just the two of us?”
Mickey’s grin widened. “I’d love that. How about The Sandbar? It’s not too far from here, and it has an amazing view.”
“That sounds perfect,” she agreed, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining. “I can’t wait.” She said, smiling widely, gazing into his dark chocolate brown eyes.
Mickey brushed a strand of hair away from her face and held her gaze. “And, Y/N, before we go back in there, one more thing.”
“What is it?” she asked, her voice filled with anticipation. He stepped closer, his hands cupping her face, and with a soft, tender look in his eyes, he asked, “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”
Her answer was a smile that spoke of unspoken promises and endless possibilities. As their lips met once more, they knew that their love story had only just begun, and it was bound to be the adventure of a lifetime.
Their lips parted, and as they turned to head back inside the Hard Deck bar, Mickey and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at each other, their hearts dancing to a newfound rhythm. It was then that they noticed the commotion inside.
The Dagger Squad, their fellow pilots and friends, had gathered at a table, raising their glasses and cheering them on. “About damn time, Garcia!” Payback shouted from the inside as he wore a triumphant grin as Coyote, Hangman, and Rooster begrudgingly paid up on a lost bet, their laughter filling the air.
They exchanged a knowing look, realizing that they weren’t just stepping into a bar; they were entering a family that celebrated their love and triumphs as much as their daring flights. As they joined the group, they felt the warmth of camaraderie and the promise of many more adventures together, both in the skies and in each other’s hearts.
when i say “fuck all billionaires” i mean fuck ALL billionaires. i don’t care who they are or what kind of upbringing they’ve had or what they do with their money. i don’t care if it’s jeff bezos or his family. i don’t care if it’s taylor swift. i absolutely don’t care if it’s elon musk. fuck all billionaires. there’s no reason one person should own a BILLION FUCKING DOLLARS while there are parents working minimum wage jobs just so their children can eat, or while there are people without homes barely surviving while these fuckwads have a ten figure net worth. screw every single billionaire on the planet, i don’t give a fuck who they are. they’re all selfish, conniving pricks.
summary: the first time you stay with him until the morning. short fic, smut-implied but mostly fluff. inspired by one of @rebelfell's headcanons, thank you! <3
Logan shifts in his sleep once he feels you trying to slip out the bed.
“Don’t.” He says, voice hoarse from waking up in the middle of the night and arm stretching out to find you. “Don’t move.”
You have been on this same bed before, multiple times. First after one of his team’s winning games, two beers in, both giggling on the stools at Malone’s. Then again the next night, then the next week, always a fun fling before kissing goodbye and each going their own way. You and Logan have never had a talk about how things were moving, but oh, they were moving.
You turn around to face him, his pretty eyes still closed, chest going up and down in a steady rhythm. He looks so… peaceful.
“I think I should go,” you whisper. Logan’s eyes open slightly, eyebrows furrowing before he starts shaking his head, and you giggle, “Before it gets too late.”
“Just stay the night,” he says, like it’s the obvious thing to do, “I’ll take you home in the morning.”
Thing is, John Logan might not reach the same level of whorish fame of his teammates, but you know the guy. Before this all started, you’ve heard through the grapevine of different girls (puckbunnies, if you will) who were once in your position: between his sheets after a good night — but never the morning.
Guys like John Logan don’t do mornings.
Your hands move to his head, fingers fixing his hair off his face. His eyes flutter closed from the tender touch, “Logan…”
“I know. I know, just–” he stops for a yawn, half his face squished on his pillow again while his hand pulls you gently, “Just stay, please?”
You stare at his sleepy face for a second, taking a deep breath before you answer, “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Logan’s mouth splits in a tired smile, “Cool. C’mere then.”
—
He wakes up before you, nose pressed on the corner between your neck and shoulder, the soft reminiscence of perfume you were wearing last night the very first thing he acknowledges. Then, the morning light, and that’s where it hits him.
You stayed the night.
Logan doesn’t want to wake you, but he can’t help himself. He presses his lips to your shoulder, voice muttering so low, “You’re here.”
“I am.” you mutter back, almost refusing to move and disturb the quietness. Actually, all you do is pull the bedsheets — his bedsheets — closer, bundling yourself under the comfiness of his blankets. Logan lets out a small chuckle, despite feeling the cold reaching his legs. He moves an inch closer, following you under the covers.
Logan moves his lips slowly from your shoulder up to your jaw, placing soft kisses. His arms move around your torso, bringing you closer to his chest. “You’re warm,” he says in a low voice, the low stubble on his face slightly tickling you, “And you’re so soft.”
His lips keep moving over to your behind your ear, then back to your neck, kissing and nibbling. Logan shifts, swiftly pining you to bed and astriding you. His arms are on each side of your body and your hands are moving, fingers brushing his forearms like you’re trying to memorize the shivers on his skin, nails scratching the back of his neck as he kisses you deeply.
It’s all so agonizingly slow — the way he moves, the sun peeking through the white curtains casting a glow over the room, his naked back looking golden under the haze. You close your eyes, and all you hear is a soft chuckle leaving Logan’s lips, trailing down your body again. He presses a kiss on your sternum, “So, so pretty.”
There’s no rush to it, and still, you can’t pinpoint when one movement changes to another, your limbs tangled with his, hips moving together and your quiet moans muffled by his lips. It’s different from all the frantic nights you’ve shared together until now.
Slower, quieter, lovelier.
Logan’s voice whispers soft words in your ear as your chest finds a rhythm again, “You’re good, honey. You’re perfect.”
You open your eyes and find he’s intently watching you, and you press a quick kiss on his lips, then a couple more over his nose and face. He relaxes his body, arms faltering beside you, whole weight now resting on top of you.
“I’m assuming you’re not taking me home now, are you?”
Logan lets out an amused chuckle, “No, you stay as long as you want.”
You don’t see yourself leaving his bed anytime soon.
notes: thank you for reading! first time writing for off campus <3 requests are open! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated!
a/n: dean di laurentis really said "i'll be the perfect boyfriend except for the part where i'm still in love with someone else" and i had to write about it
I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain
— Prince, “Purple Rain”
(Because nothing says “true love” like handing your whole heart to a guy who’s still mentally fucking his ex while you play dress-up as his emotional rebound.)
The dress weighed on me like a damn sentence. Dark red velvet that fell in heavy cascades all the way to the floor, with gold and blue embroidery that sparkled under the dim lights of the hall. The corset squeezed my ribs, reminding me with every breath that I was here, dressed up like a princess at a party that didn’t feel like mine. The bell sleeves swayed with every step, and the pearl necklace Dean had put on me that afternoon kept brushing against my collarbone like a constant reminder of his warm fingers.
“You look gorgeous. Like you were born to wear that,” he’d told me in front of the mirror, with that crooked smile that always melted me. His blue eyes had lingered on me a second longer than usual, and I, like an idiot, had taken it as a promise.
Dean was dressed as a knight. The deep red wine doublet hugged his broad chest and strong shoulders, with those gold details tracing the lines of his body like they were made for him. The white shirt underneath puffed out at the sleeves, and the leather belt cinched his waist. He looked… imposing. Dangerously hot. The kind of guy that would make anyone lose their mind. And I was. Crazy about him.
He was a good boyfriend. Fuck, he really was. He brought me coffee exactly how I liked it—two sugars and a splash of vanilla. He’d fuck me against the wall of his room when I came back stressed from class, his big hands gripping my hips while he whispered in my ear how tight and hot I was. He’d hug me from behind while we cooked and Tucker bitched about us ruining his kitchen, kissing my neck until I laughed. He listened to me complain about my professors, sent me stupid memes in the middle of the night just to make me smile. Charming. Attentive. Real.
But Allie Hayes was the ghost that never left.
Every time her name came up in conversation, even casually, Dean would shut down. His eyes would go glassy, his jaw would tighten, and he’d get this dark look, like part of him had gone somewhere else. Somewhere I didn’t exist.
And I knew it. I’d seen it a thousand times.
The Drama Department party was in full swing. Warm lights, music with lutes and drums, people in costumes dancing in the middle of the floor. The air smelled like cheap wine, sweat, and sweet perfume. I was standing on the edge with a cup in my hand that I’d barely touched, scanning the room for Dean. He’d walked off about ten minutes ago to “get more drinks.” Ten minutes that felt like forever.
And then the stares started.
I felt the eyes on me. Pity. Straight-up sympathy. A girl dressed as a maiden whispered something to her friend and they both gave me that “poor thing” look. My stomach twisted. The pressure in my chest grew, like an invisible hand squeezing tighter.
I turned my head toward the dance floor.
There they were.
Dean and Allie.
Him in his red knight’s doublet, the dark cape falling down his back. Her… fuck, she was stunning. A fairy dress in burgundy and gold tones that clung to her body like a second skin, translucent shimmering wings that caught the light, her hair loose over her shoulders. Beautiful. Magical. Unreal.
They were dancing.
Dean’s hand was on her waist, firm, possessive. Allie’s rested on his chest, right over his heart. They were looking into each other’s eyes and laughing. That intimate laugh, the kind shared by people with a thousand memories I’d never have. Dean’s eyes were shining in a way that tore me apart inside. Like Allie was the most precious thing in the world, the one he’d lost and finally had back in his arms. He’d never looked at me like that. Not once. He looked at me with affection, with desire, with tenderness… but never with that absolute devotion.
I felt ridiculous. Pathetic. A fake-ass princess standing there in my red dress and pearls while the real queen of his story danced with him.
Allie stepped closer. Their bodies pressed together. They looked at each other for one more second, loaded with everything they used to be. Then she rose onto her tiptoes, grabbed the back of his neck with that familiarity only people who’ve kissed a thousand times have, and kissed him.
Their lips met.
Dean froze… and then kissed her back. Just for a second, but I saw it. His mouth moving against hers, his hand tightening on her waist. The world dropped out from under me. The noise disappeared. All that existed was that kiss, that moment when my heart shattered.
Suddenly Dean pulled away like he’d been electrocuted. He blinked fast, looked around with wild panic in his eyes, searching the crowd… until he found me.
Our eyes met across the dance floor.
I saw the guilt. The horror. The instant regret. But it was already done. He’d already destroyed me.
I took a step back. Tears burned my eyes. People were staring. Someone whispered my name. I didn’t care. I turned around and started shoving through bodies, the dress tangling between my legs, making me stumble, the corset suffocating me. I made it out into the cold hallway, then outside.
The night air hit me like a slap.
With shaking hands, I started ripping off the pearl necklace. The clasp resisted and I yanked hard; the pearls scattered across the ground like white tears. I pulled the pins out of my hair, letting the curls fall wild and messy. I felt suffocated. I wanted to rip off my skin, the dress, everything that reminded me of this night.
“Wait! Please, baby!”
His voice. Desperate. I heard his boots running after me.
He grabbed my arm. Hard. His fingers dug into my skin.
“Let go of me,” I hissed, yanking with everything I had.
I broke free. I kept walking toward the parking lot, tears already falling freely down my cheeks. Dean followed. He didn’t say anything else. Just his heavy, ragged breathing.
We got to the car. He opened the passenger door. I got in. He walked around and sat in the driver’s seat. The silence was a dead weight between us.
He started the engine.
The streetlights blurred past the window. I stared outside, silent tears rolling down one after another. I wasn’t making any noise. I was just crying. Inside, I was dying. My chest hurt so bad I thought it was going to split in half.
I thought about that night a few weeks ago.
We were in his bed, curled up after fucking. His warm body against mine, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The room smelled like sex and his cologne. I felt safe. Loved. And the words slipped out in a whisper against his skin:
“I love you, Dean.”
I felt his body go rigid instantly. His muscles tensed under my cheek. His breathing cut off for a second. He didn’t say anything. Absolutely nothing. He just stayed there, breathing into my hair, his hand still on my back. I pretended to fall asleep. Pretended his silence hadn’t stabbed me in the soul. But that night I knew the truth: he was never going to say it back. Because his heart still belonged to someone else.
And now, in this car, with the silence screaming between us, it all came rushing back.
We got to my dorm. He parked. Turned off the engine.
“I’ll walk you up,” he murmured, his voice broken.
He tried to get out. I raised my hand.
“No.”
I got out. He did too, desperate. He caught up in two strides and grabbed my shoulders, turning me around. His eyes were red, shiny. He looked destroyed. Good. Let him suffer a little.
“Please… let me explain. It was a mistake, I didn’t… she—”
I looked him straight in the eyes. Those eyes I’d loved so much.
“You never loved me, did you?”
The question came out like a croak. My voice was wrecked.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” I continued, the words spilling out in a broken rush. “Because I knew, Dean. I always knew. The way you’d shut down every time someone mentioned her name. The way you looked at her tonight… like she was the fucking air you breathe. Like I never even existed. You never looked at me like that. Not when you were fucking me, not when you held me, not when I told you I loved you and you froze like a damn statue.”
The tears fell faster. I wiped my face angrily, but they wouldn’t stop.
“I’m so fucking pathetic… I dressed up like a princess for you. I thought this time, maybe, you’d choose me. That I could compete. But there was never a competition. She always won. Even when she wasn’t there, she won. She was in your head all the time. In your heart. I was just… the replacement. The one who helped you forget, but never enough.”
Dean had his eyes closed. A tear escaped down his cheek. I’d never seen him cry. Seeing it now only made everything worse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby…”
That was it.
Two empty words.
I looked at him one last time. I saw the guy who made me laugh until my stomach hurt. The one who held me when I had nightmares. The one who kissed my forehead in the mornings. And I also saw the one who was never really mine. The one who always looked at Allie like she was his home.
“Take care, Di Laurentis.”
I turned around. I walked toward the dorm entrance. I heard him shout my name once, twice, his voice cracked and desperate. I didn’t stop. I opened the door and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
The sound of his car door slamming behind me felt like the end of a story that should’ve never started.
I climbed the stairs like a ghost. Every step was agony. The red dress dragging, the pearls lost, my hair a total mess. I got to my room, closed the door, and slid down to the floor, hugging my knees.
And there I cried. I cried like my soul was being ripped out. Gut-wrenching sobs that left me gasping for air, my chest heaving, my face swollen and wet. I rocked back and forth, feeling the huge emptiness where love used to be. An emptiness that hurt more than anything.
Dean Di Laurentis had never loved me.
And I’d been stupid enough to believe he someday would.
✶ you attempt a prank on dean—wiping off his kisses—until his pouting is too much for you to bear.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ really old tiktok trend & a lot of kissing.
word count : 1,4k
gif by @alliecathayes
You had been sprawled across Dean’s bed, lazily scrolling through TikTok while he was downstairs preparing breakfast, courtesy of Tucker’s cooking and Dean’s determination to steal half of it before anyone else could.
You barely paid attention to most of the videos until one caught your eye. It was of a girl wiping off her boyfriend’s kisses. The poor guy got more offended with every attempt, eventually following her around the room demanding affection like a neglected golden retriever.
Which, honestly, reminded you a little too much of Dean.
Especially the pout he got whenever he thought you were ignoring him.
So, much to your unsuspecting boyfriend’s future dismay, you decided you would be wiping off every kiss he tried to give you. It would be fun to see just how long you could keep the prank going.
A few minutes later, Dean came back upstairs, opening the door before quickly closing it behind him again. A habit your previously exhibitionist boyfriend had been forced to learn after his roommates walked in on the two of you in compromising positions one too many times, and you finally refused to endure the embarrassment anymore.
He walked in carrying two cups of coffee carefully balanced on a tray alongside eggs, fruit, and toast.
“Breakfast is served, m’lady,” he announced, setting the tray down on the bed before giving an exaggerated bow afterward.
You let out a snort, grabbing your coffee.
Dean sat down beside you, leaning over to grab a piece of toast and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek in the process. Casually, you scratched at the spot and wiped the kiss away.
For a brief moment, you thought Dean hadn’t noticed. Then he frowned and pressed another kiss to the same spot.
Just like before, you rubbed it off.
He let out an offended gasp, staring at you like you had personally betrayed him, but begrudgingly let it slide. Still, he sighed dramatically while chewing on his toast and eggs, already beginning to pout.
“Are you going to the gym with Garrett later?” You asked after a moment of silence, chewing on a strawberry.
Your boyfriend only hummed in response, quietly eating his breakfast.
“Okay…” you dragged out, an amused smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his puppy eyes, like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Is there something on my face?”
You already knew there was. You could feel the strawberry juice dripping from the corner of your mouth.
It was practically catnip for Dean. He immediately leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the spot, his lips brushing yours for a second before ultimately settling at the corner of your mouth instead.
The moment he leaned away, you rubbed at the spot and simply said, “Oh, thank you.”
You caught the way his lips parted in pure disbelief, and had to fight to keep your laughter from spilling out.
This time, Dean’s response to what he clearly considered a personal betrayal was far more aggressive.
He kissed you properly, lips parting against yours, warm and insistent enough that for a brief moment you considered throwing the prank out the window altogether and spending the rest of the day hidden away in his bedroom.
But instead, you leaned back and aggressively smudged at your lips, watching his entire face twist in horror.
“Did I get all the juice?” You asked innocently, still rubbing at your mouth and the skin around it.
“Why are you doing that?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely baffled.
“Doing what?” You finally stopped rubbing.
“You’re wiping off my kisses,” he whined. “Did I do something?”
“Dean, I’m not doing anything,” you said sweetly, smiling at him. “Just don’t want strawberry all over my face, you know?”
He held your gaze for a few long seconds before standing from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.
For a moment, guilt crept in. If Dean had pulled this prank on you, it would’ve earned him at least a few hours of the silent treatment.
But you were too far in now. You had to see it through.
Or maybe just until he left for the gym.
While your boyfriend sulked in the bathroom, you pulled on a pair, and then headed downstairs, deciding to wash the plates and mugs. Tucker had cooked breakfast, after all. It was the least you could do.
A few minutes later, Dean came downstairs with damp hair and a pair of low-hanging sleep pants slung dangerously low on his hips.
This was undoubtedly payback for your antics.
You kept washing dishes when he walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Done messing around?” He murmured against your ear, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver run through you.
“I didn’t do anything.”
You turned your head to look at him, and his eyes immediately dropped from yours to your mouth. A second later, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
You didn’t react right away.
Only once you turned back toward the sink did you bring up your driest hand and wipe the kiss away.
“There!” Dean grabbed your waist, spinning you around to glare at you. “You did it again!”
“What did she do again?” Logan asked as he strolled into the kitchen, eyes darting between the two of you.
“She’s wiping off my kisses!” Dean accused.
As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face with both hands and planted a firm kiss right on your mouth.
A second later, you leaned forward and rubbed your lips against his bare chest.
“Okay, didn’t need to see all that…” Logan muttered before setting his dirty mug on the counter and immediately leaving the kitchen again.
“Seriously, do I have some disease I don’t know about, or do you just not want me kissing you anymore?” He asked, his voice sounding more genuinely hurt this time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You continued drying off the now clean plates.
“If you say so,” he mumbled with a sigh.
You watched as he leaned forward like he was about to kiss your cheek, only to stop himself at the last second.
That was your final straw. There was no way you were making it all the way until he left for the gym.
“Dean, wait.” You quickly set the towel and plate down on the counter.
“Hm?” He turned around, leaning against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room.
“Come here.”
“Why?” He huffed. “So you can disrespect my kisses again?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, walking over and grabbing his hands to pull him away from the wall.
“Go on,” Dean replied, though there was already a hint of smugness creeping into his tone.
“I saw a prank on TikTok,” you admitted. “I thought it’d be funny to try it on you.”
“I guess I forgive you.” He rolled his eyes, though you could already see the smile tugging at his lips. “But never do it again. I’ll have you know my kisses are a very hot commodity.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yeah, I think half of Briar knows that.”
“Just half?” He joked, though the grin quickly faltered at the murderous look you sent him.
“I’m about to do worse than wipe off your kisses,” you grumbled.
Dean let out a soft laugh before pulling you closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was so featherlight it almost tickled.
Then you slid a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged him back in, kissing him hard enough to make him groan against your mouth.
His hand settled against your lower back before slowly trailing down until he gave your ass a firm squeeze.
You smirked against his lips, slowly lifting a hand toward your mouth again, but Dean immediately caught your wrist before you could do anything.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, pinning both of your hands in one of his before kissing you again.
Then he lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively locking around his waist as he carried you upstairs. After kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, he tossed you onto the bed before crawling over you, pressing hot kisses along your neck until his lips finally brushed against yours again.
And as he tugged your—technically his—shirt over your head, you couldn’t help but think smugly that if all pranks ended like this, you’d definitely be pulling a lot more of them in the future.
NOTE : hope you guys are enjoying the dean content because i sure am enjoying writing it! also, i need hannah’s version of ‘cherry pie’ and ‘the bitch is back’ on spotify ASAP.
A/N: this is a fic i've had written for months but never did anything with, aside from read it myself here and there. but with the series coming out soon, i figured it'd be a good time to bring it to here! i have many things written for both him and garrett, so if anyone is interested, i can continue with those and post them! hope you enjoy <3
summary: while dean deals with the death of his best friend, you take charge to care for him in his time of need
word count: ~1.4k
warnings: talks of death, sad/depressed dean
“Dean, honey, the pizza and wings were delivered,” you quietly inform your boyfriend, stepping into his room a little. The only response you get is a short ‘hmph’ and he doesn’t move an inch from his position of laying on his stomach.
“You need to eat something,” you continued on, hoping he would get up at the concern in your voice. But he doesn’t.
Sighing softly, you step into his room and shut the door behind you, striding over to sit beside him on his bed. His body was still clad in the black formal clothes he wore, the energy to remove them completely diminished the second his body hit the sheets. You wore something similar, a black dress with some tights, the only acceptable type of outfit for a day like today.
Beau’s funeral took place earlier this morning, and while your lover had some time to prepare for it, it didn’t make it any less difficult. You were by his side the whole time, but it didn’t make it any easier hearing from his family and seeing the closed casket, being reminded of the painless yet horrific death he endured.
Now, because the day had drained him so much, he wanted to crash for the rest of the night, but you knew he needed to care for himself. Taking a seat on his bed, the mattress dips slightly with your weight, letting Dean know you’re here for him.
You rest your hand on the back of his head, gently threading through the blond locks that had been styled neatly, now ruined by him running his hands through it on the ride home. No words are said as you comfort your boyfriend, trying your best to soothe his broken soul.
“Keep doing that, please,” Dean’s voice is muffled with his face buried in the pillow, so you barely understand what he says.
“What was that?” Dean shifts his head a little so his mouth is now free, and he repeats what he said.
“Can you keep doing that?” He begs. Your heart aches at the pain in his voice, and all you can do is nod, quietly shushing him in hopes that the movement will ease his mind.
“Of course, baby,” you whisper.
So, the two of you sit there in his silent and dark room, comforting him in the face of his friend’s death, hoping that he won’t close you off and isolate himself like he did only a week ago.
A few minutes go by and there is a knock on the door, followed by Logan entering the room. A somber expression remains on his face, two plates in his hand and two bottles of water balanced in his elbows.
You motion for him to set the items on the desk in the corner, mouthing a genuine ‘thank you’ to him before he quietly walks back out, the door clicking shut ever so gently. After about ten minutes, Dean still has yet to move, but the growl of your stomach is enough for you to speak up and ask him again.
“You wanna eat with me? Logan brought us some food,” you say, not yet removing your hand from his hair. To your surprise, he slowly sits up and wipes his face with his hands, nodding a little, though not quite meeting your eyes.
Standing, you step over to his dresser and grab the plates, bringing them back to the bed. This time, you sit with your legs crossed on the mattress as he sits against the headboard.
The two of you eat in silence, which was beginning to bother you, seeing as you despise mouth and chewing noises, so you try to make light conversation to fill the void.
“I heard Garrett is taking a trip to Maine, are you planning on going with him?” You had heard from Hannah that it was in the early stages of being planned, with no set date or time yet, but the guys were set on making it a couples trip with everyone.
“Dunno,” he mutters, swallowing the bite of pizza he had taken. He says nothing else, moving on to the lemon pepper wings next to the slices.
“Wellsy said they're hoping it to be a big group trip, so I could go with you,” you suggest, hoping that idea would get him more excited. But still, nothing.
You awkwardly sit and finish your food, taking drinks here and there to wash it down. Once both of your plates are empty, aside from the napkins used, you stand up and take both of them in your hands.
“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, trying your best to not show the fact that his closed-off mood is getting to you.
As you step into the kitchen, tears prickling your eyes and threatening to spill over, you keep your head down and look for the trash can. Though you are stopped in your tracks by none other than Logan, his hands grasping your shoulders to keep you from running.
“Come talk to me,” he insists, nodding his head towards his room. Your eyes flit back over to Dean’s room, hating that you were leaving him alone, but knowing you can’t escape John this time.
He shuts the door behind him and the second it closes, you burst into tears and fall into Logan’s arms.
“I don’t know what to do,” you cry into his shoulder. “I feel so helpless.”
“It’s alright to feel that way. Dean’s a hard nut to crack, I’ve known him for years and he’s always been like this. He doesn’t like other people dealing with his problems so he shuts everyone out. He hasn’t spoken to us either, so don’t be too worried about it being personal.”
Part of you feels a little more at ease with this knowledge, but it still hurts.
“I don’t know how to help him, Logan. I want to be there for him, but he won’t talk to me.”
“Give him time, that’s what he needs. He needs time to process this, to go through the stages of grief. All you need to do is reassure him that you’ll be there no matter what. Through thick and thin, through the nights of endless crying, all of it. He needs you more than anything, he’s just scared to admit it.”
You take in Logan’s words and your cries and shaking were finally starting to subside. The sound of the boisterous group outside of his room brings you back down to reality as well.
“Thanks, Logan. I appreciate it a ton. I love Dean more than anything and I hate seeing him so hurt.”
“I know you do, and he’s going to pull through, he’s Dean Di Laurentis for fuck sake.”
You chuckle softly and finally pull away from Logan, wiping your cheeks to rid the tears from your skin.
“Thank you. I should probably get back to him now.” With that, Logan opens the door for you and gives you a gentle and caring pat on the shoulder as you walk out.
You ignore the rest of the group and head straight to Dean’s room, who is finally sitting up in bed, now undressed, staring down at his phone. He locks it and sets it aside to welcome you back into his arms.
“Sorry, I was talking to Logan,” you say as you tuck into his side, hand resting on his warm, bare chest.
He doesn’t respond, only kisses your head softly, resting his cheek in the place afterwards.
“You know you can open up to me,” you whisper after a few minutes of silence. You can feel Dean nod his head in agreement, but still, nothing comes out of his mouth. “I’m gonna be here for you through it all, I promise.”
He snuggles you closer to him, nuzzling his face in your neck and inhaling your scent.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into your skin, eyes fluttering shut and just enjoying the feel of being in your arms.
“I love you, Dean.”
“I love you,” he replies in the same tone of voice.
For the remainder of the night, you and Dean distract yourselves by watching some episodes of a TV show, neither of you moving from your spot, too caught up in the comfort you are providing one another, you more than him.
It’s tough going through losses, but having someone by your side makes it a hell of a lot easier.
I know canonically Darry and Sodapop only called Ponyboy “honey/baby” in private, but I also don’t think the gang would make fun of them or be weird about terms of endearment like one might expect. I mean for one thing Darry and Soda would obviously start breaking jaws if they had anything smart to say about it, but also the gang all remembers how often Mrs. Curtis called them stuff like sweetie, baby, and honey too.
Steve still thinks about the first time he and his dad got into it bad enough that he got thrown out of the house, and when he showed up at the Curtis’s, she asked him “Oh Steve honey what’s wrong?” and he’s sure he hasn’t cried that hard in anyone’s arms before or since.
Or when Twobit’s dad left, Mrs. Curtis dropped off some food to help his mom out, and she squeezed his shoulders and told him “Don’t worry sweetheart, you still have us!”
And of course if Ponyboy was “baby,” so was Johnny. He’d never even heard his own mother say half the terms of endearment Mrs. Curtis called him so freely and easily.
Dally pretends that he didn’t ever notice her using pet names with them, though he still silently clings to the way she would call him “son” when they’d have their little chats on the back step.
So whenever they overhear Darry asking Pony “you want anything from the store, baby?” or Soda calling “c’mere for a sec honey, you missed a belt loop” down the hall, the memory of her overrides any urge to tease the kid about it.
(They’ve also just been around since Pony was an actual baby, so it’s not that odd or surprising to them that his bros would still call him stuff like that bc they also still kinda see him as a baby no matter how grown-up and tuff he gets)
Warnings: 18+ Readers Only, Sexual Situations, Explicit Language, PWP, Unprotected PIV (wrap your willies!), Car Sex, Outdoor Sex, (light) Dirty Talk
About: Ledger lets the bed of his truck down for the two of you. (Word Count: 1.3k)
Ledger’s truck was the stage for many bumbling, unforgettable firsts in your relationship. A nose-bumping first kiss, the taste of tequila and lime juice from Ward’s, sugared sweet from the remnants of shot glasses and the words he breathed in your ear just moments before. The memory of your skin’s scent, saturated in body butter, seemed to seep in the cracks of well-loved leather cushions and into his head, mesmerizing him the very first night he picked you up for a date. That first ‘I love you’ that slipped out amid deep belly laughs, promised between breaths, a confession that would become routine as you entered and exited his passenger side.
Tonight is the first time Ledger takes you to the place he visits to clear his mind. He had parked on one of the hills surrounding his unfinished estate, the two of you arriving minutes shy of sunset. The sky, set ablaze with hues of crimson and maroon lay a backdrop to the trees and mountains that stood tall in the distance.
“I got somethin’ to show you.” He clicks off his seatbelt and yours, almost bolting to the back of the truck. He honored you with a set up that brought you butterflies, you spot a bouquet of peonies and roses as you rounded the car with him.
Layers of sheets and pillows that were detergent-soft and a six pack of hard cider placed in the back of his pickup truck, lie askew from fevered movements. The bright orange painted metal bounced on its hinges, mirroring the sensuous rhythm shared between you.
Your thighs spread wide over his lap, muscles flexing with each languid roll of your hips. Unabashed moans and grunts rang out into the open air around you as you rode him. The evening breeze gave way to heat festering at your center, whispering along your exposed shoulders and wrapping around you.
Your shrug was long discarded in the backseat, flung haphazardly when you and your boyfriend kissed like adolescents discovering the wake of desire. It was surprising to you that you made it to back of his truck, with Ledger’s hands pulling at your clothing before you could catch your breath, the anticipation of what was next leaving your bodies buzzing.
The smacking sound of bare skin atop skin joined the cacophony of mewls rivaling the hum of nature around them. Ledger had removed his jeans and briefs, then yanked apart the panties you wore, snapping them apart beneath your skirt. You could barely protest as his next move was to rut up into your slippery folds, effectively stealing your breath away.
“Fuck,” Ledger’s voice dragged out the vowel in the expletive, blue-green eyes flitting up from where you two connected to your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, lip taut between your teeth until a particular snap of your hips pulled them apart with gasp.
“Ugh, Daddy!” He grunted in response. The nickname stumbled from your mouth before you could realize it, as it only left you once before this night. You remembered how it spurred him to fuck you harder, as if he had to showcase his title. Ledger took pride in taking care of you in all arenas of your relationship, lovemaking no different.
Your nails bit into his shoulders, impromptu handlebars for you as you continue to grind down on him. “So fuckin’ pretty riding this dick,” he gritted from beneath you, his neck cording from the feeling of your walls clenching around around him. Your chest and cheeks warmed underneath the praise, “You feel so good, baby,” you shot back.
“Yeah? How good?” He breathed, his hands kneading the flesh at the junction of your hip and thighs. Ledger lay back against the pallet he created, watching your body curl with each wind of your hips. The sight of your arousal gathering around the base of him, milky white, sheathed his groin generously, making it easier for you to reach that spot.
“So good…” you whined, “M’so full, baby.”
You had to adjust to his size the first time you had sunk down, his size all-consuming as he broke you in inch by tormenting inch.
His eyes—eyes that always found themselves in trouble—glossy and blown so much you could barely see his irises, did not migrate from you. Curves backlit by warm light eclipsed the sun setting from his view, a feast for his sight and touch, taste the next sense he dreams of exploring.
Calloused hands give your waist a squeeze before roaming up your torso to thumb at the bralette marking the barrier between himself and your bare peaks. A wave of pleasure crashed into you as Ledger’s grips tightened, guiding you in an up and down motion over his length. The redirection had your head spinning as the change of pace brought you closer to the brink of your climax.
“Shit…you’re soaking me darlin’…” His mouth nearly watered with instinct the way you wet his lap, reminded of the other times he has tasted you on his leather seats. Your movements faltered as sweet heat began to unfurl from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head.
Your voice broke off into a whine when his tattooed arms wrapped themselves around your middle. He planted his feet to the floor of the truck and thrust his hips upwards. You fall forward at once, clinging to his skin with sweat, some of which he licks off your collar. He wanted to get lost in you, in your scent and how you tasted, disheveled and needy for his dick.
It is with shaky forearms on either side of his head you hold yourself up. He lands an obscenely wet kiss on your lips as you tumble face to face. He nudged up once more, deeper this time, and your body quaked with the intensity of your approaching orgasm.
“You can take it, baby. I know you can,” His voice is gruff in your ears and thick with his own desire. He sets an unrelenting pace beneath you, holding tight to your waist with each stroke. You are unable to move, thighs shaking and body clenching around the source of your torture.
“Y-yes! Yes! Don’t—don’t stop.” You whimper, holding on tight to the sheets below. Ledger has his face inside your neck, sponging the sensitive skin there with kisses. He was deep in your stomach at this angle, the feeling filling you with flutters and dreams too soon for now. Until then, you let him pull you apart at the seams, a gentle cry and your seizing body letting him know you have hit your limits.
“That's it. That's my girl." Ledger moaned with a coaxing smack to your ass cheek.
He eased you through your orgasm, hands massaging your waist as spurts of wetness coat his lap. Another deep, sweltering kiss pulls you back into reality, where tension is bubbling over between you. You hiss through the overstimulation of Ledger’s thrusting, the erratic rhythm letting you know he was close. Looking down and seeing his chiseled face slackened with ecstasy had you clamping down on him.
“You want me to fill you up, hm? I could feel you beggin’ for it.” The familiar pulse of him inside you and his groans growing in volume were signs of his own release. His hands smoothed over your ass, spreading as he pistoned inside you. You could barely answer coherently, babbling what you hoped sounded like, “I want it, Daddy. Make me feel it, please, please.”
“Damn, baby,” White flashed behind Ledger’s eyes as he began to spill inside you in hot spurts. His face returns to your neck, laving along it while his body tightens beneath you with the strength of his orgasm. He holds you as he rides out his high, hips twitching, finishing with a satisfied groan.
You remain in place, leaving soft pants near the other's ear for a minute. When you do raise up, he’s on you again, covering your chest in open-mouthed kisses.
“You just can’t get enough, can you?” You say, squealing when nips at one of your peaks through your lace bralette. He gets ready to peel the layer off and chuckles.
“Never.” Ledger replies, easing you down on the duvet beneath you.
• • •
IDK this was just sumn sweet for the grown folk, ok! Thank you so much for reading. <3
Hey bestie boo's, I know it's been quite a while, but I feel like writing for my birthday, so if you want to, please send requests about any Lewis Pullman character you want to my inbox ❤️
Summary: Your relationship with Oz ends in heartbreak, so you leave the station in an effort to keep the hurt from worsening. Two years later, your old team needs assistance and you come face-to-face with the man you never stopped loving.
Warnings: angst, breakup, Rookie crossover that I didn't plan, fluff and comfort, Morgan stating the obvious and making everyone uncomfortable
Word Count: 2.0k+ words, requested
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Two Years Ago
Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot when you barge into Selena’s office.
“I’m ready to cash in that favor,” you say, forgoing any greeting.
Selena’s eyes widen, but, thankfully, she only asks, “What’s the favor?”
“I put in for a transfer to Mid-Wilshire major crimes,” you explain, tugging your fingers nervously. “I want you to push it through.”
“You’re leaving us?”
Swallowing, you nod. There is an explanation, and you know she’d understand, but if you start talking about last night, the event that brought you to leave your friends and family here, you’ll break down. Again.
“I just need some space,” you admit quietly.
Selena tips her head and sighs disappointedly. “I’ll make a few calls.”
True to her word, you’re packing up your desk and leaving the station for the last time before the rest of your team arrives. You don’t say bye, don’t answer Daphne’s barrage of texts and calls, or Karadec’s singular text. If only you could believe yourself when you say it’ll be easier this way.
Now
“This doesn’t change anything,” Detective Harper says, following you around your desk.
“You’re still expected to come to dinner,” Detective Lopez adds, watching you place a photo frame in a box. “And Jack will still want to see you.”
“Guys,” you interrupt, laughing as you shake your head. “I’m moving stations, not moving to a different continent.”
“We’ve become accustomed to a certain way of life,” Angela argues, “one with you in it. Forgive us for being a little upset to see you go.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” you reply, pushing your box onto your chair. “But, with the changes at my past station… it’s a good opportunity.”
“And we’re happy for you,” Nyla promises. “But if you forget about us, we will find you.”
“You won’t even know I’m gone.”
“So…” Angela begins. “Would now be a good time to ask about the other thing?”
You sigh, then push upward to sit on your desk. Dropping your shoulders, you look at your pants rather than the women you’ve grown to care so deeply for.
“It won’t be easy,” Nyla muses.
“I know,” you reply softly. “But it’s been two years. Maybe he’s moved on.”
“If he hasn’t?” Angela asks.
You don’t get a chance to answer before Celina exits the roll call room, looks around until she finds you, and yells, “Traitor!”
“I have fantastic news,” Selena announces as she enters the major crimes bullpen.
“Great,” Karadec deadpans. “This went well last time.”
“Hey!” Morgan exclaims. “Wasn’t I the last piece of news around here?”
“My point exactly.”
“You’ve been stretched pretty thin,” Selena points out.
Oz smiles when Daphne looks at him, sharing a silent We hadn’t noticed comment.
“You just gained another detective to bear some of the weight,” Selena finishes.
“Well, they have a tough act to follow,” Daphne points out, gesturing toward Morgan.
“Thank you, Daphne,” Morgan replies. She glances at Karadec as she adds, “Nice to see someone appreciates what I do.”
“Uh, Lieutenant?” Oz interjects, raising his hand. “We’ve been working together for a while. Are you sure it’s a good idea to throw a new detective in the mix mid-case?”
“We’re always mid-case,” Karadec argues.
“Oh, I never said new,” Selena answers cryptically. She turns toward the door and raises her arms.
Oz hopes his face doesn’t communicate his thoughts, then presses his fingers to the opposite wrist and gets a little worried about his heart rate.
“Welcome home, detective!” Selena greets you when you step into the bullpen.
It’s bittersweet to be here; it’s like coming home but leaving your new family at the same time. You’ve missed this team, yet your time away was what you needed and more.
Daphne squeals, launching out of her seat to hug you. Karadec smiles and waves when you meet his eyes over her shoulder. When Daphne steps back, your eyes lock with Detective Oz’s.
“Hi,” you greet.
“Hey,” he replies, standing. “It’s- uh – you… It’s nice to have you back.”
You accept his offered hand, trying to ignore the sparks you feel at his touch. “Nice to be back.”
“I’m Morgan,” the woman beside Karadec introduces. “Consultant.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you reply. “You’ve done some great work.”
“Oh, I like you.”
Morgan takes your hand and pulls you into a conversation about what you’ve missed in the few months she’s been here. You laugh, and Oz practically feels his heart crack. He didn’t realize just how much he’d missed you. Now that you’re standing before him again, the warmth of your touch lingers on his hand, and your life is crossing paths with his again. He comes to an immediate realization: he still loves you.
There should be a sense of joy in having another chance, a sweetness to your return. Instead, Oz’s stomach turns, and his chest tightens as guilt seeps into him. Every move you make holds his attention, and every moment makes him feel worse for how things ended between you.
“How was your first full day?” Angela asks over her glass.
Stirring your drink with a thin straw and holding your chin in your other hand, you shrug.
“Okay, more direct,” Nyla decides. “How was it seeing Oz again?”
“About as confusing as I expected,” you admit. “I mean, I knew I still had feelings for him, but I was expecting to have butterflies when he shook my hand.”
“Aww,” Celina coos.
“No awws,” you groan against your palm. “It’s so weird. I mean, three years ago, we were together, we did everything together. Now, we- we’re dancing around each other, pretending we’re nothing but coworkers.”
“Has he said anything?” Angela inquires.
“Nothing more than what he has to. Everything’s just… civil.”
“Must be terrible for you,” Nyla jokes. “Whether or not something happens, isn’t it better to be working with him as a friend than as an ex?”
“It should be,” you answer. “But part of me thinks this would be easier if he acted like he hated me or didn’t remember our history. Instead, he avoids eye contact when we encounter that history, talks to me like I’m his barista, never getting deeper than the weather.”
“You should get Tim’s help,” Celina says before she takes a drink, so she can’t elaborate when everyone at the table runs toward her.
“I should get who to what?” you question incredulously.
Celina bites a piece of ice, then smiles awkwardly. “Well, if you want to find out if Oz still cares about the history, make him think you’re moving on. If Tim showed up to take you to lunch or something… could be a good indicator about if there’s anything there.”
“I’m always against ideas from rookies,” Nyla says.
“Sorry,” Celina offers.
“But I don’t hate this one,” Nyla adds, pointing at Celina.
“I do,” you murmur. “If or when we’re ready to discuss us, I won’t manipulate him into telling me how he sees whatever is left between us.”
“Mature,” Angela says. Then, after a moment of silence, she shrugs and admits, “If you change your mind, I can get Tim to do it.”
Oz leans back on his couch with a sigh. You’ve been back with major crimes for less than 48 hours, and he’s already tired. Between keeping you at arm’s length and fighting to keep his own emotions contained, Oz isn’t sure how long he can stay close without telling you everything. He broke up with you, unconsciously pushed you away, and thought you’d gone your separate ways forever. Then, without warning, you walked back into the station and found your place in his heart. If it’s possible – and Oz can tell by the feeling in his chest that it is – he’s more in love with you now than he was two and a half years ago.
“What do I do?” he whispers, his eyes locking on a picture of you smiling, your arms around him on New Year’s Eve. He’s walked past the photo for three years without noticing the sheer joy captured in it. Now, he’s wondering what it would take to get it back.
“Good morning,” you greet when you enter the bullpen. “I brought breakfast.”
“Oh, I missed you so much,” Daphne sighs.
“You remembered,” Karadec muses when he sees everyone’s favorites.
“Of course,” you reply happily, dropping your bag into your bottom desk drawer. “How could I forget my family?”
“Well, you stopped texting us back pretty easily.”
Sobering, your smile drops, and your lips press together.
“I’m sorry,” you offer. “I just… I thought that if I made a clean break, it would be easier.”
“Then why come back?” Daphne inquires.
You look at Oz, realizing too late that his eyes are already on you. When your gazes meet, you both look away quickly.
“How was your time at the other station?” Daphne asks while you blink, trying to clear your mind of memories of late nights with your eyes on Oz.
“Are we ignoring that?” Morgan checks, wagging her finger between you and Oz.
Karadec pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “We were going to.”
“That’s why I left,” you admit. Daphne doesn’t look surprised, but the smile she sends you tells you that she’s disappointed you didn’t trust her enough to tell her.
“Can we talk?” Oz blurts out.
“Need a mediator?” Morgan offers.
“Gillory,” Karadec snaps.
“What?! It was a genuine question!”
Ignoring the argument that ensues beside your desk, you nod and follow Oz out of the bullpen. He opens the door of an interrogation room, then steps inside behind you. Rather than sitting in a chair, you slide onto the table and watch Oz.
“I’m sorry,” he begins.
“It’s okay,” you say, lifting one shoulder. “It was two years ago, and it wasn’t right.”
Oz shakes his head as he argues, “We were right. And I blew it. I’m not going to hide behind some claim that the time wasn’t right or say that I did it to protect you. I don’t know why I broke up with you that night. Maybe I was scared or worried, I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” you whisper.
“I… I wish I could say I regretted it every day, but I didn’t feel anything.”
Licking your lips, you wonder where Oz is going with this. Maybe this is the clean break you thought you needed. If Oz continues on this path, you’re going to need another girls’ night. And maybe you’ll consider Celina’s idea.
“Then,” Oz continues, “you walked back into the bullpen two days ago. And it hit me.”
“It?”
“I love you. I love you more now than I did before, even though I haven’t seen you in years, haven’t heard your voice or felt your touch. And if you don’t feel the same-“
“Whoa, whoa,” you interrupt, pushing one hand against Oz’s chest. “Go back. You didn’t feel anything for me for two years, and then I come back, and you decide you’re still in love with me?”
“I understand that you may not believe I could feel anything after-“
You cut Oz off, using his spotless button-down shirt to pull him between your legs and kiss him. He hums in surprise, then slides his hands along the sides of your thighs and up to your waist. It’s like muscle memory and doing something new simultaneously. You remember how you fit together, but it feels different. Better. New.
“You were saying?” you murmur against his lips.
“Actually, you were saying something,” he replies, smiling.
“I never stopped loving you.”
Oz raises his hands to hold your face. “I finally learned how to love you the way you deserve to be loved,” he replies.
“Oh, shut up,” you request, your cheeks warming as you pull him in again.
“Yeah,” Morgan begins, glancing at her watch. “They’re definitely making out in there.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Karadec says without raising his head. “Them pretending not to feel anything, showing us that they do, or Morgan’s commentary.”
“Hey!” Morgan exclaims as Selena and Daphne answer, “Morgan’s commentary.”
Summary: Oz is having a bad day, but it only takes a moment for the tide to change.
Warnings: brief angst, fluff and comfort, canon typical stuff such as murder and having conversations in the bathroom
Word Count: 1.8k+ words
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“You alright, Oz?” Karadec asks, looking at Oz in the mirror as he washes his hands.
Oz glances down, scowling at the stall’s door handle. He yanks his belt to the right, and his belt loop slips off the handle.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Best day ever.”
Karadec nods, unconvinced, as he dries his hands. He and Oz are close, but not necessarily ‘share what is making today so rough before lunch’ close. Especially when it comes to the little things. Saving each other’s life? No problem. Talking about relationships? If the situation calls for it. Small talk about the mundane moments that make life miserable? It's not Karadec’s preferred topic – or Oz’s, for that matter.
“Good work on the Yu case,” Karadec says instead.
“Thanks,” Oz replies flatly.
“Morgan brought donuts. Just, uh, take it easy today, Oz.”
Oz nods as he hits his fist against the soap dispenser. He’s usually the upbeat, happy one in the group. But today, when every little thing seems to stand between him and a smile, he needs more than a donut.
“Ozzy!” Daphne calls as he returns from the restroom.
Karadec rotates his desk chair to face Daphne and shakes his head twice. That doesn’t come close to stopping Daphne, though, as she drops her smile and looks at Oz.
“Are you okay?” she asks him.
Karadec closes his eyes and releases a sigh. But Oz gives Daphne a different answer than he’d given Karadec: he shrugs as he drops heavily into his seat.
“Would a donut help?” Daphne inquires softly.
Oz straightens his seat and taps his mouse to wake his computer up. “Not today, Daph. Thanks, though.”
Daphne nods, then taps Oz’s desk three times. It’s a reminder that she’s there. It isn’t enough, she knows, so she picks up her cell phone and excuses herself from the bullpen.
In the hallway, she dials a phone number from memory and waits for someone to answer. The line connects, and she skips her usual friendly greeting to say, “I’m calling in the cavalry.”
“Ullson is here,” Soto announces as she exits her office. “Says she has information about her fiancé’s murder.”
Karadec nods and presses his hands against his knees, preparing to stand.
Soto raises her hand toward him and adds, “She said she’ll only talk to Oz.”
“Why me?” Oz asks. “Sorry,” he murmurs when he realizes how his tone sounded.
Daphne sends Soto a single look, and she immediately understands that Oz is having an off day. For a detective in a high-stress, high-stakes job, he doesn’t have many, so Soto is willing to give him the space to work this one out without consequences. Yet, a woman is waiting to give what could be vital information.
“I’ll talk to her,” Oz agrees.
“Want me to sit in?” Daphne offers.
Oz shakes his head and thanks Daphne anyway, then exits the bullpen. Karadec leans back in his chair, inviting someone else to comment on his friend and partner’s new attitude.
“He’ll be fine,” Daphne assures him.
“He didn’t even accept a donut, Daph,” Karadec points out.
“He will.”
“What does that mean?” Soto inquires.
“I called in a favor.”
Karadec smiles then, and Soto tips her head in understanding.
“Knock, knock!” Morgan calls. “Which doesn’t make any sense when the door is standing open: a universal sign of ‘hey, come on in, even if you weren’t invited!’ Why do people say that?”
“Morgan,” Karadec begins, raising a finger toward her. “Tone it down.”
“Tone myself down?”
“Oz is having a bad- no, a not great day,” Daphne explains.
“Give him a donut, he’ll be fine.”
“He’s a grown man, Morgan,” Karadec argues.
“Who likes donuts.” She raises her hands before her chest and adds, “I’m getting a lot of hostility here. Did I cause his not great day?”
“No,” Soto replies. “But we’re treading lightly for now. Let’s not make it any worse.”
“You guys love him so much,” Morgan muses before she sobers and says, “It’s a little concerning.”
“Why are you here, Morgan?” Karadec asks.
“Oh, right! Ms. Ullson killed her fiancé.”
Oz drops his notepad onto the metal table, and the woman across from him flinches as it thuds. She looks up with a smile and apologizes.
“Ms. Ullson, I’m going to be straight with you,” Oz begins. “It’s been a long morning, and I am not in the mood to run in circles or waste any time.”
“I completely understand,” she answers.
“Alright, then.” He flips to a blank page in his notepad and readies his pen. “What information do you have for me?”
“I think that my future brother-in-law, Dexter, killed Jake,” she explains softly.
Oz writes Dexter’s name, but he watches his new informant, who has been a suspect since the case landed in their laps. She wipes her face as if crying, but there’s no sign of tears.
“Why do you say that?” he asks.
“He was so jealous of his brother, of our relationship. I mean, it makes sense that it was someone close to him, right? Because of the injuries to his face. That wasn’t random, I’d assume.”
Oz sits back in the chair and taps his pen against his other hand. She shouldn't know about those injuries, he remembers.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he agrees. “It indicates a killer who knew Jake, attacked him for a personal reason.”
She nods, then drops her hands toward her lap. Shifting uncomfortably, she moves her right elbow back away from her side.
“Is that the only reason you suspect Dexter?” Oz asks. “His jealousy?”
“I mean, I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all I’ve seen.”
Oz nods and flips his notepad closed.
“Is that enough to arrest him?”
“Unfortunately, no. Why? Has he made some sort of threat to you?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Oz nods, standing. “Let me pass this on to the rest of my team, and I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks, detective.”
Exiting the interview room, Oz waves to the officer who escorted Ms. Ullson into the station.
“Yes, sir?” he asks.
“Did she drive herself; do you know?” Oz inquires.
“No, sir, there’s a man in a BMW waiting outside for her.”
That’s all the information Oz needed. He thanks the officer and then returns to the interview room.
“Jealousy is a powerful motive,” he says. “It falls under love, one of the most common reasons for murder.”
Ms. Ullson nods.
“Just like pregnancy.”
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Ullson murmurs. “I’m not following.”
“It’s too late to play dumb,” Oz snaps. “You’re pregnant, right? By Dexter, I’m guessing, and either you or he wanted Jake out of the picture. So, are you going to take the blame or tell me again that Dexter did it? Officers are waiting for my command to bring him in and book him.”
“I- I- we never…” she stutters.
“Was it you or him, or both of you together?” Oz demands, leaning his hands on the table.
“It was me,” she admits, crying without faking it. “I didn’t love him, not after Dexter. I… I didn’t mean to kill him, though, I just wanted him to leave before I started showing.”
“You attacked him, hoping that he’d break up with you?”
She nods, then wraps her arms around her waist as she begins to sob. Oz shakes his head as he returns to the door, and two officers take his place inside to arrest Ms. Ullson for the murder of her fiancé.
“It’s like a soap opera,” Oz grumbles as he walks toward his desk.
You trace your finger over the ridges of a seashell. The whirlpool design eroded into it is beautiful and holds your attention.
Your attention shifts, however, when someone whispers, “Incoming.”
Standing from the desk chair, you smile. Oz stops in the doorway when he sees you, and you breathe in time with one another. He tosses his notepad onto his desk before he pulls you into his arms.
With Oz’s arms wrapped firmly around you, you smile and circle your arms around his waist as you return the hug. He pushes his hand up your spine to cradle your head, and you whisper against his shirt that you’re here.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, smiling as he pulls back to look at you.
“I was hoping for that,” you answer, brushing your thumb across his cheek beside his pretty smile.
Oz looks over your shoulder and says, “Thanks, Daph.”
“Oh, it was selfish. I don’t like mopey Oz,” she jokes.
“Thank you for coming,” he tells you. “I… thank you.”
“Well, I brought you something,” you say.
You lift the seashell from his desk and pass it to him. He moves one hand from your waist to accept the gift, and his smile widens as he looks at the shell.
“The lines were etched by changing tides,” you explain. “It’s just a little reminder that things change. Bad days can always turn around and make something beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you promise.
“Oh, thank you, Daphne,” Karadec exclaims as he returns from somewhere else in the station.
“You didn’t even try to cheer me up, you don’t get to act relieved,” Oz says.
“I told you to take it easy!” Karadec defends. “I’m just not one to get emotional in the men’s room.”
“That’s true,” Morgan agrees.
“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Oz tells her.
Morgan shrugs, then waves to you. You’ve talked a few times while you waited for Oz, but you’re not here for her today. You’re here for Oz.
“Murder was just reported on a sidewalk off Pico,” Soto calls from her office.
“I’ll see you tonight?” you ask Oz.
“Can we-“
“Have a quiet night in?” you finish for him. “Absolutely.”
Oz hugs you once more, presses a kiss to your forehead, then tells you to be safe and text him when you get home safe. He slides the seashell into his desk drawer for safekeeping, then follows Daphne and Karadec out of the station.
“I should give you a badge for that,” Soto muses.
“He’s easy to love,” you say, shrugging.
“Thank you. I’ll get him home to you as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Selena.”
“You call her Selena?” Morgan asks as you walk out together.
“You don’t know everything about me, Ms. Gillory.”
Oz’s phone buzzes as he prepares to leave the crime scene. Unlocking it, he smiles just as he had when you hugged him.
“I wonder who that’s from,” Daphne jokes.
Oz doesn’t listen to her or Karadec teasing him; he focuses on the picture you sent him. Your living room has been transformed into a perfect movie night setup, and Oz isn’t sure that today could get any better.
Summary: After a run in with your violent ex, you turn to the only person that makes you feel safe.
Companion piece to:
Lilacs In The Nighttime - A near death experiance brings Oz and you together again after a year spent apart.
The problem with your ex is he has no boundaries, he never has.
You remember that late in the evening as your sitting at your desk, filling out DD5s in a hope to get a jump on them before the weekend. The squad room has emptied out, everyone rushing out for happy hour at McQueen’s around the corner. It’s just you left, earbuds in as you work by the light of your desk lamp because the fluorescents give you a headache this late in the day.
You don’t hear him approach your desk; you don’t see him. You’re too involved in the little check boxes you’re clicking away on. It isn’t until his hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb trailing over the scars etched into your skin that you even register his presence.
You bolt away as if something’s scalded you, whirling around to face him. Paul holds his hands up as if in surrender, that ridiculous smug expression on his face.
“What the fuck?” You practically spit.
Your heart is hammering in your chest, each thud feels like a blow to your intercostal muscles as you stare at Detective Paul Russo, man of the hour, hero of the week. Your ex-boyfriend and apparently ex-addict.
“You looked tense.” He says by way of explanation. “You always you used to like it.”
You’re speechless, absolutely fucking speechless because of the audacity of this man. He takes your silence as an invitation, stepping into your personal space and it’s too much, far too much. Your natural response to a threat is usually to fight but with Paul you freeze, you freeze because you remember the last time you tried to fight. You remember the agony of smashing through the patio window, the glass tearing through your flesh, ripping through the fabric of your vest top. It’s raw, the pain that rushes through you, it intermingles with the anguish of seeing Paul walk out the door with your cash in his hand, as he leaves you bleeding in the hallway.
“Give me a chance.” He requests, his fingertips come to rest on your desk as he cages you in. “Let me explain myself.”
His voice has taken on that tone, it’s low, overfamiliar. You can smell the beer on his breath but as promised he’s sobered; alcohol never was his poison. That had always been coke. His fingertips trail over the thin gold chain around your throat before he grips the tiny etched tree of life pendent resting below your collarbone.
“This is new.”
It’s this gesture that fuels the fire inside of you, because moments like this are why Lev gave you the necklace in the first place. The moments where you doubt yourself, where you feel trapped, where you can’t see a way forward or in this case a way out.
So, you’ll always have the strength to find your way, he had said.
It reminds you of nights wrapped up in his arms, that tender smile on his handsome features as he brushes the hair out of your eyes with gentle fingertips. He touches you with care, with a delicacy that makes you feel revered.
“You know what I love about you,” he’d whispered into the corner of your mouth. “Your ferocity, that fire inside of you, it burns so bright. It’s beautiful, it’s deadly and it’s all you baby. No one can ever take that away from you.”
Your fingers grip the necklace, detangling it carefully from his grasp.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
It’s cold and it’s vehement, a timbre he’s not used to hearing from you but it’s enough to make him withdraw with a wounded look in his eyes. It gives you the space to breath, he’s still too close but you can think again.
“Darlin’…” he implores as you slip away from him, getting some distance.
“Don’t.” You say holding your hand up to silence him.
You use your Sergeant’s voice, that authoritative tone snapping through the air and stopping Paul in his tracks as he approaches you once more. Despite his lack of personal boundaries, something inside of him still reacts to the chain of command and he hates it, you can see it from the tension in his jaw as his eyes fix on you.
“This isn’t going to happen.” You inform him gesturing between the two of you. “Not again. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been sober for over a year, that you think you’ve changed, that you’re now working Homicide instead of Narcotics…”
“I did it for you.” He says abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I got sober for you.”
“If that’s meant to guilt me…”
He shakes his head, his lips pursed together before he exhales.
“When you left, I hit rock bottom.” Paul tells you. “I saw what I did to that window…”
“What you did to the window?!” You laugh and it sounds sharp, even in your own ears. “What about what you did to me?”
He gives you that look, the one he gives suspects in the interrogation room when they’re telling a tall tale.
“Come on, we both know you started that.” He reminds you.
“You…” The words died in your throat.
There was nothing left to say. You couldn’t argue with that skewed reality, you’d drive yourself crazy. You want to scream, to cry, to break something but you don’t because to do that would show weakness and that’s something you’d promised yourself you would never do in front of Paul again.
Instead, you brush past him, jamming your laptop into your satchel before snatching your coat up from the back of the chair and leaving him standing there alone in the squad room. You’d walked away once; you had no problem doing it again.
***
It’s late when you knock on Lev’s door, later than you intended. You’d gone back to your apartment initially, but you were restless, pacing your way through the carpet. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like home. Your stuff was here, at least most of it but you couldn’t settle. There’s an anxiety vibrating through you, an urgency, it spikes through your system leaving you reactive.
Hyper-vigilance.
You’ve felt it before. Your nerves flayed raw in the aftermath of the adrenaline. It usually happened when things got dicey in the field but right now you understood there was an emotional component and you couldn’t shake it.
You clasp the tree of life pendent, your fingertips rubbing over the gold etchings.
So, you’ll always have the strength to find your way.
Those words had echoed in your head because right now you realise you’d headed in the wrong direction. You weren’t meant to be in your apartment at all, you should have gone home.
Home was where Lev was, it has been for a long time now.
It’s raining when you take the Metro. Your car is in the shop, and truthfully you could do with the walk, you think it might diffuse some of the excess energy that’s pulsing through your veins.
Lev isn’t expecting you, he has a beer in his hand when he opens the door. The game’s playing in the background on his T.V, you can hear the cheers as his eyes fixate on you. You’re soaked through, water running off you in rivets, trailing from your hair and dripping down your face.
“I thought you were staying at your place tonight.” He says, setting his beer bottle down on the dark wood end table. “Get in here, you’re gonna catch your death.”
The next few minutes are a whirl wind, Lev drawing you into the bedroom where he helps you strip out of your wet clothes, taking his time drying you. There’s a tenderness in his touch, a domesticity and for a moment you find yourself falling even more in love with this man as he takes care of you. He removes his worn Lakers t-shirt from the drawer and drapes it over your naked form before he helps you into a pair of boxer shorts.
“Whatever’s happening right now. Whatever’s put you in this state I’m here ok?” He tells you, his hands cupping your face. “When you’re ready to talk I’m here.”
***
It takes a while for you to thaw out. Lev tucks you into a blanket on the couch, makes you tea, it’s hot and sweet and just what you need as you listen to the rain patter on the windows outside. His leans back against the cushions, his arm resting on the back of the couch, his thumb trailing over the curve of your shoulder soothing over it. It’s a light touch but it’s everything you need because Lev, he gets you, he knows when you need space and he knows when you need something more.
“I have to tell you something.” You break into the no man’s land between you.
He reaches for the remote and flicks the sound onto mute. The game still plays in the background but his eyes aren’t on it, they’re on you as he angles his body so that you have his full attention.
“I’m not really sure where to start.” You tell him, fingers toying with the hem of the Laker’s shirt.
“Why don’t you tell me how we got here tonight?” He says gently. “How you turned up here in the rain, soaked through?”
“It’s Paul, my ex.” You begin with a sigh before you gesture to your head. “He’s consulting on a case of mine, it’s got me all messed up.”
“Alright.” Lev says shifting from side to side. “If you still have feelings…”
You can see the hurt in his eyes, the fact he’s starting to shut down but you reach out, your hand grasping his arm as you reinforce your words.
“No.” You say it so venomously you can see the surprise on his features at your tone. Your fingers reach up to the back of your neck, trailing over the tiny patchwork of scars that reside there. “He was an addict.”
“Oh…” Lev says, his thumb trailing over the indentation of your wrist. “That must have been tough to live with.”
He’s starting to get it now. You’ve talked about your ex, skirting around the details. He knows you’d lived with him for six months, that it had ended badly but he hadn’t expected an addiction, it raises a lot of questions and Lev, he has theory, he just hopes he’s wrong. “Those scars, the ones on your back, your neck and shoulders. He did them, didn’t he?”
Your eyes sting and you can’t stand to look him in the face. You focus on the game instead, on the green of the pitch as your vision blurs. “He put me through a patio window when I threatened to tell his Captain.”
“Did he...” Lev trails off because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Was there more?”
You shake your head.
“That was the first time, the only time. But you know my history. Once was enough.”
Your father used to drink, you’d seen violence from an early age. You survived it, didn’t let it colour you, but sometimes there were cases that hit too hard, the ones where a husband kills their wife. Those were the nights you don’t come home for hours, that you head to the gym. You beat the hell out of something until you can’t function, until you crawl into bed exhausted. Afterwards Lev would always cradle you close because even though you hadn’t said anything Lev knew, he always knew.
“Did he hurt you again?” Lev asks quietly.
You shake your head.
“He wanted to get back together, he’s been sober over a year but…” You meet Lev’s eyes. “He’s not even sorry about this…” You gesture at the scars that pucker the skin at the base of your neck.
You remembered the hours you’d spent in the hospital as a doctor removed glass from your back and neck, the stretch of the skin as they stitched together the flesh. It could have been worse you told yourself, it almost was, the doctor had told you. You were lucky you hadn’t suffered nerve damage; that it’s all just superficial.
“What do you want to do about this?” Lev asks, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind your ear.
“I am going to suck it up, and wait it out, he won’t be there for long and I think he got the message tonight.” You tell him, leaning into his palm as his thumb caresses the blush of your cheek.
“I don’t like it but I respect your decision.” Lev presses his forehead against yours as yours as he speaks. “If you say you can handle it, then I trust you can handle it but I’m here alright? As a cop, as your life partner. I’m here for whatever you need.”
“I know.” You whisper, your nose chasing over his until your lips are barely brushing. “That’s why I came here Lev, because you, you’re everything I need.”
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