now playing... OBSESSION [2017 M.O.T.T.E. JAPAN] by G-DRAGON âŁď¸she/her, artist, always in the halloween mood âŁď¸ one piece, the boys, resident evil, rdr, supernatural âŁď¸ writes on ao3, wattpad and tumblr WRITING REQUESTS OPEN!!
resident evil maxxer đৠchronically online đৠthe only person waiting for vought rising đৠyoutube lost media iceberg video enthusiast đৠaesthetic maxxer đৠavid letterboxd and serializd user đৠprobably neck deep in something paranormal, gritty or supernatural
đđđđ đđđ: one piece, resident evil, attack on titan, the boys, the last of us, red dead redemption 2/1, far cry, fnaf, jjk, supernatural, game of thrones, stranger things, arcane, naruto, dark angel, star wars, marvel, dc, hunger games, outlast, devil may cry, the walking dead, peacemaker, twin peaks, yellowjackets, fallout, chainsaw man, the council, mortal kombat 11 and mk1, western movies, and just movies in general
my ask box is always open if anybody has questions, requests or needs a listening ear âĄ
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ONESHOTS;
FREAKNATIION'S ONESHOT MASTERLIST (+drabbles and headcanons)
MULTI-CHAPTER FANFIC PREVIEWS;
PARTY KILLER // slasher!zoro x reader (masterlist and navigation to other chapters (ao3 and wattpad included too)
Prince // Vinsmoke Sanji x reader (full fanfic out on wattpad)
For Old Time's Sake // Soldier Boy (multi-chapter fanfic) CHAPTER ONE
Your Own Secretary // Soldier Boy (multi-chapter fanfic) CHAPTER ONE
NO, I'M NOT A PLAYER ; squid game x no i'm not a human crossover art series [clicking on the link will lead you to the masterlist for this specific art series, where you'll find the specific part for each individual character]
Nami
The Godfather 2 poster (digital art featuring robert de niro's vito corleone)
Egghead arc Sanji
Taz Skylar as Sanji
Shokugeki no Sanji panel redraw in my style
Human version of Foxy from fnaf
Wano Sanji screenshot redraw
Kimiko x Frenchie fanart (the boys)
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[under construction, thank you for your patience!]
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playmate ; soldier boy (18+)
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A LETTER TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN... (update about my recent inactivity)
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last updated: 2026/07/14
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Š freaknatiion 2026. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.
When the young, pretty Reagent Coyle once eyed appears in his trial, he makes it his mission to show who the only person in here worth going back to is.
pairing: leland coyle x fem!reagent!reader
warnings/tags: smut .á pussy inspection .á unprotected piv .á slapping .á choking .á uses of 'sugar', 'sweetheart', 'whore', 'honey' and coyle referring to himself as 'daddy' .á he's a bit mean. á leland coyle is his own warning .á it's a coyle oneshot what can i say
fandom: outlast trials
word count: 3.1k
authorâs note: saw somebody on tiktok say that coyle fans are going to have a field day with the new voice lines and all, sadly they were right... wrote this instead of working on a request so i feel a bit bad but i wanted to get this out of my system... originally planned for this to be a short 600 or so word drabble but it wouldnt be a freaknation oneshot if it wasn't long...not proofread!! anyways enjoy!! xoxo
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There she is. His favourite Reagent.
Pickin' his trial for the second time. Third time's the charm as the saying goes, and he just can't wait for that day to come.
He's seen Reagents come and go, bloodied and battered and broken, but when you stepped into his trial... Oh, he could feel his pants strain just a bit more around his crotch. Pretty enough to be on the runway, but somehow still stuck in this hellhole. He was starting to think it was purely for his entertainment and just that only, a gracious gift from Easterman for his outstanding work.
He knew he just had to have you the moment his eyes set on your grime-soaked form down a dimly lit hall. Too bad he had to let you go when you completed the trial and left in that damned shuttle before his glove-wrapped hands could grip onto your throat.
During that trial, he's had you in his grip, multiple times actually, you just happened to fight your way out of it every. single. time.
The way your eyes glinted with fear when you glanced up at his form towering over you, your weak fingers curling around his wrist, oh, how he missed the thrill of it! And now, here you were, shaking in your boots as you tried to make sense of the maze-like prison system. He was right on your tail, don't you worry about that.
So far so good, you thought to yourself as you pulled another makeshift lever, the mechanism groaning loudly as it activated. That sound alone was enough to give away your location to a specific sergeant lurking nearby.
"Don't string me along, honey!"
Sure enough, the crackling sound of electricity filled the hall, lights flickering as he approached. Fuck. You mentally curse yourself, the mechanism, Coyle, Easterman, and everything and everybody inbetween as you sprint out of the room you were in, heading right to the nearest hiding spot for cover.
But Coyle's fast. Faster than some of the other Prime Assets you've encountered.
Unfortunately for you, he turns the corner just in time to see you pull the storage closet's door on yourself, a smug grin creeping onto his face. His steps deliberately slow down, not to fool you --- because his lightning rod was still hella loud ---, but to play along a little. If you want to play predator and prey, then so be it, he's into that shit anyway.
"Sneaked off just when I was getting kinda worked up... You a little shy, ain't you? Go 'n hide if that's what turns you on!"
He saunters right where you were peeking out from behind the rigid metal, sighing theatrically as he walks right past.
A wave of relief washes over you at the sight, thanking the lords above for letting you avert him just this once. Perhaps too early to thank anybody?
Coyle suddenly turns back, slamming the closet door open, his gloved hand immediately gripping your shirt, and before you could even process what was happening, he plunged his lightning rod right into your stomach.
You feel your legs give in, buckling under you as a hiss leaves your lips. Coyle on the other hand, is seething with a weird mix of pride and joy. You, in front of him, barely breathing, incapacitated.
"Looks like christmas came early this year," he mutters, grinning, as he grips your collar, tugging at it harshly once as he began to drag your body behind himself, your clothes and hair seeping in the blood and dirt that soaked the floor. Your eyelids grew heavy, a pained whimper escaping you before the world turned dark.
When you came to, the setting had changed. It was still the prison, sure, but it looked like a medical room of sorts, if you weren't wrong. You feel as Coyle lets go of your collar, now having tossed you onto the awfully ramshackle reclining chair. He takes a slow step back, his eyes scanning your form as if he was inspecting his masterpiece.
"Somebody's awake," he murmurs, a lit cigarette flashing in orange between his lips, the embers and ash falling to the ground. "Y'know how long I've been waiting for this? You're one slippery whore, I'll give you that, gettin' away from me like that."
He leisurely saunters closer, his hands resting on his belt.
"You been missin' for some weeks now, doin' fuck knows what with them others. Them other Assets good? Fancy them?"
No, you did not. One was worse than the other, all leaving you with wounds that you honestly have no idea how you survived, spiced with five heart attacks per minute. In short, no.
Coyle's line of patience was a thin one. Seeing that you didn't plan on answering, he just let out a sigh, clicking his tounge as he took a step closer to where you sprawled, your body feeling heavy and like you could barely move it.
"I know you met 'em. And you know I need you to speak when spoken to. Last chance, honey," he groans, gloved hands pushing your thighs apart as he took his stance right between your legs. "Been down and dirty with any of 'em?"
Your brows furrow at his question. Knowning him, it wasn't all that surprising, assuming from the obscenities he kept shouting your way when pursuing you before. Still, why's he so up in this business? And why the fuck would he assume that you slept with any of the Assets?
Swallowing hard, you shake your head sideways.
"Use your words, sugar," he warns, tone dangerously low.
"I... haven't, I swear," you press out. The corner of Coyle's mouth curls into a proud smirk. He's glad to see you starting to play by his rules.
"Swear?"
You thought this was getting ridiculous. The question, the way he stared down at you, the way you felt your cunt pulse at how close he was to it. You were scard, you hated the man, so why the hell were you aroused by this shit?
Coyle's still as smug and awful as ever. Now with how weak you are, you really are all his. His to play with, his to mistreat. It's like having a doll, all for himself. Property of Leland Coyle. And hell, none of the other Prime Assets can do anything about it.
When you nod along, saying you totally swear (which is the truth, may I add), he just grins even harder. Why wouldn't he, when everything is going according to plan?
"Y'know, all you Reagents do is fuck me over... Ya think I'd trust a word that comes outta ya pretty lips?"
Fair point. But if he won't listen, then what can heâ
Your breath hitches as he lowers himself, squatting down, his fingers slowly hooking into your pants. What theâ
"Better if I check it myself, ain't I right sweetheart?"
Your eyes widened, and before you could even think of a response, he firmly pulled your dirt-soaked pants right to your ankles. You felt as your breathing became increasingly ragged, watching as his eyes trailed over your exposed skin, landing on your cunt, now only your panties standing between you two. Sure enough, a shit-eating smirk appears on his face as he notices the soaked spot.
"Perverted whore..." he mutters under his breath as he runs his thumb along your clothed cunt. Your muscles contract under his touch, the cold air brushing on your skin. "Let daddy check if you've been a good girl, 'right?"
Without wasting another moment, he hooks his fingers into your underwear, pulling it just as low as he did with your pants.
His eyes set on your already, embarassingly wet cunt, a dark glint appearing in his eyes behind those glasses.
"There⌠Ya see what a good girl you can be when you want to?" he whispered, blowing the choking cigarette smoke straight into your face.
His fingers touched your skin with rough, methodical movements as he examined your cunt inch by inch, thumb sliding over the soft skin first. He was in no rush. He sized you up like a trophy â or a valuable yet neglected possession â that he had finally managed to lock away within his own realm.
The tip of his index and thumb slid between your folds, not deep, just enough to pull you apart for a better view. He leaned closer, as if he really knew what he was doing, and it wasn't just a cruel game of his.
"Youâre clean⌠or at least it seems that way so far," he muttered with satisfaction, applying firm, heavy pressure with his thumb as he examined the pulsating, damp spot. "But ya know as well as I do that I canât trust a single word you say. Reagents all lie to save their own dirty asses."
Your stifled breathing and the involuntary twitches of your body betrayed the tension raging within you, yet the complete lack of resistance gave the man exactly the illusion he desired.
"See? Itâs not that hard to do as youâre told, is it sweetheart?" he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction and a perverse sense of pride. Finally, he dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it slowly, almost theatrically under the heel of his boot. "Seems like ya really didn't go near those filthy bitches⌠You remained mine. My little doll."
His heavy breath â reeking of tobacco smoke and sweat â washed over your face. His hand paused for a moment but didn't pull away as it pressed heavily and possessively against your pubic bone, while his other hand began to slowly stroke your waist and then your hips, as if ritually marking his property once and for all.
He slowly drew his fingers away from your parted folds but kept his hand on your inner thigh, pressing heavily against your skin. He slowly straightened up, his gaze continuing to sweep over your trembling, stripped body.
"You're clean⌠just as you said," he murmured, his voice a blend of satisfaction and menace. He slowly reached for his waist, adjusting his heavy belt and gear, never once taking his eyes off you. "Now that weâve cleared things up and youâve learned the rules, itâs time to decide what happens to you next."
The fear and vulnerability within you were slowly permeated by a disconcerting thrill. No matter how hard you tried to suppress the feeling, your body reacted involuntarily to Coyleâs presence and his rough touch.
So, you didn't move. Coyle sensed the shift immediately. He wasn't a fool. When he noticed your body no longer tensing in terror but instead yielding to his gloved hand, the corner of his mouth curled even higher into a satisfied smirk.
"Well, look at that⌠You're starting to understand your place, ain't you?" he whispered, his voice vibrating deep and raspy over the metal chair.
He slowly pressed closer, his frame almost completely blocking out the light. His fingers â which until now had merely been exploring â now settled upon your inner thigh with far greater confidence and a sense of possession, their tips digging deep into your soft skin.
He relished the fact that you weren't fighting back, that the prey who had once fled so wildly was now quietly enduring, with a racing pulse, what was to come, even, in her own way, anticipating it.
Coyle slowly reached for his own belt, never once tearing his gaze away from your glistening cunt.
Your quiet surrender spoke volumes. You didn't move, didn't protest, you simply watched every single movement of Leland Coyle with wide eyes and bated breath.
"Just like that⌠Exactly how I like it," he murmured, his voice almost purring with suppressed satisfaction. He wasted no time. One hand still pressed firmly against your inner thigh while the other unfastened his heavy police belt.
The metal buckle gave way with a click, and the gear slid aside with a soft clatter. Coyle devoured the sight â your vulnerability and the way the wetness between your legs betrayed your illicit arousal.
Slowly, almost theatrically, he knelt onto the chair, positioning himself right between your parted legs. His heavy, uniformed body loomed over you, shutting out the outside world and the room's chill air. His scent enveloped you completely.
"Youâre mine now, sugar. And no one's going to save you from me⌠though I see you donât really want them to," he whispered right against your lips, while his rough, gloved hand slid slowly up your stomach toward your throat, ready to chain you to him.
You sought the warmth of his body, the weight of him pressing you against the metal, and that dirty advance was the final link Coyle needed.
When he felt your hips rise ever so slightly, as if inviting him in, a satisfied, almost animalistic growl tore from his throat. Behind his glasses, his eyes blazed with triumph.
"Oh, you little pervertâŚ" he groaned as his gloved fingers tightened slightly around your throat. Not enough to choke you, but just enough to make you feel his power. "Youâre panting for me like a starvin' puppy. Well, here. Youâre gonna get it."
He didn't wait any longer. He forced your thighs even wider apart with his own knees, pinning you in place, while his free hand moved decisively to his trousers to free himself.
The sharp sound of the metal zipper echoed through the sterile medical room, and the next moment, you felt the throbbing reality of him pressing directly against your exposed, damp cunt.
Coyle paused for a moment at the entry, savoring the instant as every inch of your body tensed and trembled beneath him, caught between ecstasy and fear. His suffocating closeness and the grip he held on your throat completely shut out the outside world.
"Look at me, sweetheart. I want ya to see who ya belong to," he commanded, slowly thrusting his hips forward.
Your trembling gaze locked directly onto the pair of eyes behind his glasses, exactly as the sergeant demanded. By now, Coyleâs face was contorted with raw lust and the intoxication of victory.
He wanted to see the moment in your eyes when you finally broke, when your sinful desire consumed you completely. He kept you waiting no longer.
Once certain you wouldn't look away for even a second, he thrust his hips forward in one decisive and ruthless motion, forcing his way deep inside you.
At the sudden tension, your body involuntarily tensed against the chair. A stifled, sharp scream was forced from your throat, only to be instantly silenced by his gloved hand upon your neck. Coyle drove deep, reaching the very core of you.
"Oh, fuck⌠youâre tight, sweetheart, tight as a prison cell door," he rasped, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as his body bore down heavily on yours.
For a moment, he remained motionless deep inside you, savoring your tightness and the way your body struggled breathlessly to adjust to his size. His fingers tightened slightly around your throat, a reminder that even your breath was his to grant or withhold.
He saw the tears, the dilated pupils, and that perverse surrender that made this moment entirely his. Then, slowly but ruthlessly, he drove in the first heavy thrust.
With every heavy thrust Coyle delivered, merciless and confident, stifled whimpers escaped your throat. Your hands rose instinctively, digging your fingers into his shoulders and clutching his uniform in a desperate grip.
That reaction drove Coyle wild. The fact that you not only endured his roughness but judging by your sounds and the way your fingers clung to him, clearly craved it, fully unleashed the predator within him.
"Thatâs it⌠make some noise for me, honey... Lemme hear how much you like it," he rasped into your ear as his rhythm grew faster and more demanding.
Coyle held nothing back. With every movement, he sought to make you forget the outside world â Easterman, the other Prime Assets â leaving only him to exist for you.
The pressure on your throat and the heat surging within you made the world blur before your eyes as the climax loomed ever closer.
Coyle jerked your body with increasing intensity, almost like a wild beast, as he reached the peak of his own pleasure.
As waves of pleasure and pain washed over your body, you dug your fingernails even deeper into his shoulders. Overwhelmed, you turned your head aside, breaking eye contact to stare into the dark corner as you struggled to catch your breath.
Coyle noticed the lapse in attention instantly, and his reaction was immediate.
"Don't go shy on me now, didn't say you could look away, sugar!" he snarled angrily.
His hand whipped from your throat to your face with lightning speed, snapping your head back toward him with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow made your head reel and your skin burn instantly from the pain, yet the shock and humiliation only stoked the sinful thrill rising within you.
Before you could even recover, his gloved fingers clamped roughly around your throat and chin, locking your head in a vice-like grip so that your wide, tear-filled eyes were forced to meet his triumphant gaze.
"You look at me⌠You keep your eyes on me the whole time 'til Iâm done with you," he commanded hoarsely, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Fuck... Saw you that day, and knew you were put in this shithole f' me... Divine intervention, they call it."
Your body, trembling violently and racked by intense spasms, surrendered to the explosive orgasm. Your muscles clamped involuntarily around Coyleâs cock.
That overwhelming tension instantly surged through the man as well. A hoarse, almost animalistic roar tore from Coyleâs throat. His body tensed, and his gloved fingers dug hard into your throat one last time as, with a final, deepest thrust, he fully spent himself inside you. Hot, pulsating waves flooded your core, while the sergeantâs heavy, sweat-slicked body collapsed onto you, coming to rest motionless in the chair.
For long seconds, only your ragged breathing broke the silence. Coyle slowly, laboriously lifted his head. His eyes still gleamed darkly behind his glasses, but the manic rage had given way to triumph.
The corner of his mouth curled once more into that proud smirk. After all, he had achieved everything he wanted.
"See, sugarâŚ" he panted, slowly withdrawing from you, letting the cold air touch your damp skin again. "That's what happens when you're a good girl to daddy."
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. (requests open!) ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
'Playmates' are essentially the models of the magazine, featured in the centerfold spread of the mag as "playmate of the month". They differ from playboy bunnies (who are basically hostesses) and have included celebs like marily monroe and pamela anderson. Could one of these ladies be the fix to soldier boy's never-ending loneliness?
đŁ˛â pairing: soldier boy x playboy playmate!fem!reader
đŁ˛â warnings/tags: age gap (reader is 18+) .á older man younger woman .á playmate reader .á straddling/riding .á fingers in mouth .á oral (m!rec) .á fingering .á grinding .á piv .á uses of 'good girl', 'doll', 'sir', 'sweetheaert', 'babydoll', and soldier boy refers to himself as 'daddy' like once .á soldier boy is his own warning
đŁ˛â fandom: the boys
đŁ˛â word count: 5.9k
đŁ˛â authorâs note: i've had this idea lingering for sooo long now, just got a few requests and a few stuff i started writing on a whim so i had to sideline this... soldier boy's one of my all-time favs lmao, i love writing for him although this is my first rodeo doing smut of him so i'm a bit scared... anon's dbf beau arlen oneshot request dropping soon chat, have this for now!! enjoy!! xoxo
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If it wasnât for that damned magazine issue Vought tossed to himâŚ
Everything started with a Playboy magazine. It was up on his list of requests, along with entire bricks of cocaine, and who were the underpaid Vought interns to deny the Soldier Boy this much? Sure enough, he found an entire box of magazines waiting for him at his doorstep, issues ranging from the 60s to modern day prints, just to make sure heâll find something for himself.Â
To this day itâs unsure where the intern managed to snatch this entire collection from so quick â considering that such a massive array of every volume released since 1963 was worth a fortune and insanely hard to come by â, couldâve been an old lady on Ebay selling her late husbandâs treasured collection â for five dollars, because not all people see why someone would sell sex magazines for thousands â, or couldâve been that Vought just tossed an entire two months of income out for this just to keep Soldier Boy at their feet. Frankly, Soldier Boy himself couldnât care less.Â
Soldier Boy had way too much time in his hands. All day, holed up in the Vought Tower, of course he was going to flip through the majority of the mags quickly. He started with the ones he missed out on, finding great joy in inspecting the 80s issues that came after he was taken to Russia. Most of the stuff he was used to seeing, nothing new on that front, same style and same frosty picture quality.Â
He wasnât sure when exactly or why, but after the fifth or so issue, his mind started to wander. How much has changed in the Playboy industry in the forty years while he was gone? Technically, he had some of the latest prints right under his fingertips, so there really wasnât much to stop him. Alright, letâs see what the modern men beat their meat to. Wonder if anythingâs changed since then.
It did. Just not in the way Soldier Boy preferred. He was already on his second modern-day issue, brows furrowed as he frantically flipped through the pages. Itâs got to be a fucking jokeâŚ
Everything seemed so⌠fake?
He couldnât quite place what made him feel that way, yes the models were real, but there was just something⌠off about them, if that makes sense. As much as it hurt Soldier Boyâs soul, the trend of having a bush had disappeared since then, his mouth almost twitching into a frown as he reached the last nude page of the issue, only to be met with a woman in her thirties, shaved from head to toe.Â
Hell, he couldâve sworn her hair was a wig, too, but he wasnât gonna get all that personal right now. Not that wigs were a problem, itâd just be awkward if his super-strength fingers accidentally gripped it too tight during sexâŚ
With a sigh, he decides to try his luck once more, what could he lose after all? He had all the time in the world, and no better way to spend it. So, he tossed this issue to the side, sliding another one in front of himself. His calloused fingers flitted through the laminated pages, eyes scanning all the noteworthy pages in search for something good, this run proving to be just the same as the previous three mags. UntilâŚ
There she is.
Young girl, staring into the camera with the prettiest eyes, plush skin exposed as she posed right in the centerfold. Her hair draped just right over her chest, and Soldier Boy was more than delighted to find that she, for the first time in his run through the modern-day issues, wasnât shaved like a plastic doll.Â
The frustration that had been building in the super-soldierâs chest â the alienating feeling of waking up in a world that felt polished until it looked like plastic â stilled for a moment. He leaned back against the high-end sofa, bringing the magazine closer as a coy smirk played at the edge of his lips.
He looked toward the bottom of the page, curious about the profile. In his time, these features were about personality â hobbies, musical tastes, and life stories. He was more than glad to find that this still remained the same. With every word that he drank in, the more he thanked the intern who brought this magazine to his doorstep.Â
That was when the most stellar idea spawned in his mind. Heâs free all day, and heâs the Soldier Boy⌠anything he wants is just a beck and call away. This issue was relatively recent, published not even a year ago, his dream girl might still be available.Â
Requesting one of the models was something thatâs been around even before he was taken to Russia, and he couldâve sworn that itâs still an option.
Soldier Boy reached for the sleek desk phone Vought had installed, and punched the speed dial for Ashley Barrettâs office. He didn't care about the time, in his mind, the captainâs schedule was the only one that mattered.
âSoldier Boy!â Ashleyâs voice came through the line, immediately hit a pitch of frantic energy. âIs everything alright? Are the... accommodations to your liking? We've been working around the clock to ensure your transition back into the public eye is seamless.â
âThe room is fine. It's the world outside that's the problem,â he said, his voice dropping into a gravelly baritone as he looked down at the profile in the magazine. "I found someone in this collection you sent up.â
There was a pause on the other end. âA person? From the archives?â
âThe issue is from last year. I want to meet her,â he stated, his tone carrying the absolute expectation of compliance that had been his birthright for decades. âBack in the day, Vought made these things happen. Connections, networking, appearances, it was all part of the job. Set up a meeting. Her, here in the tower.â
The silence stretched. On the other end, the sound of rapid typing began, followed by Ashley's breathing turning shallow.
âSoldier Boy, the... the industry and the legal landscape have changed significantly since the early eighties,â Ashley stammered, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. âVought's talent relations don't work that way anymore. We can't just... reach out and summon independent civilians for private meetings. There are contracts, privacy laws, and HR protocols that simply didn't exist back then. She isn't a Vought employee.âÂ
Soldier Boy's brow furrowed. It was the same bureaucratic wall he kept hitting â a maze of "protocols" and "liability" designed to restrain him.
âAshley,â he said softly, a subtle edge of a threat vibrating in his voice. âIâm the foundation this whole company was built on. I donât care about your digital models or your HR handbooks. Use the Vought resources. Find out who represents her, tell them itâs an opportunity for a high-profile appearance, and get her here.â
He could hear a faint whimpering sound before Ashley squeaked out a response, caught between the terror of refusing him and the nightmare of explaining the request to the rest of the board.
âI... I will consult with the PR and legal teams to see what kind of... collaborative opportunity we can propose,â she managed to say. âI'll get back to you.â
âDon't take too long,â Soldier Boy grunted, setting the receiver back in its cradle.
Ashley never got back to him. But somebody else did.
That same night, a series of rhythmic knocks broke the silence of Soldier Boyâs living quarter. His brows furrowed as he let out a groan of frustration, the unannounced visit not really up to his liking.Â
âCome in,â he growls from the comfort of his bed. If somebody wanted to do business with him at ten in the night, then they better be ready for him to refuse to give up his comfort.
The heavy silence returned to the suite, pressing into the room like the humid air before a thunderstorm. Soldier Boy sat on the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched, waiting for the door to open. But nobody walked in. No Homelander, no Ashley, no terrified intern. Just the faint, rhythmic hum of the Vought Towerâs ventilation system.
Then, it came again. Knock. Knock. Knock.It was a softer sound this time, hesitant but persistent.
A low growl vibrated in Soldier Boyâs chest. He didn't like being played with, and he damn sure didn't like standing on ceremony in his own quarters. If Ashley had sent some low-level assistant to deliver an apology note, he was going to throw the kid through the drywall.
He stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the room. He didn't bother fixing his shirt or softening his scowl. In three long, heavy strides, he crossed the plush carpet, his calloused hand gripping the cold metal handle of the door. He yanked it open with enough force to make the frame rattle, ready to bark a threat at whoever was wasting his time.
The words died in his throat. Standing in the bright, sterile light of the hallway was the girl from the centerfold.
She looked smaller in person, stripped of the professional studio lighting and the glossy, laminated sheen of the magazine page. She was dressed in normal clothes and looked almost out of place against the corporate backdrop of Vought HQ.Â
Her eyes, the same pretty, expressive eyes that had caught his attention amidst a sea of plastic perfection, widened slightly as she looked up at him. She looked nervous, her fingers tightly gripping the strap of a small shoulder bag, but there was a quiet resilience in the way she held her ground. Behind her, at the very end of the hall, the shadow of a Vought security guard quickly vanished around the corner, leaving the two of them entirely alone.Â
Soldier Boy stared down at you, his furrowed brow slowly relaxing into a look of genuine, unfiltered surprise. His eyes tracked from your face down to your posture, confirming that this wasn't a trick, a hallucination, or a different girl wrapped in a wig. It was actually you. Ashley, or whoever she had begged to do it, had actually pulled the strings.
The frustrated scowl on his face gradually melted away, replaced by that slow-burning smirk. He leaned one heavy shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at you with the casual, dangerous charm of a man who was used to getting exactly what he asked for.
âWell,â Soldier Boy rumbled, his deep voice carrying a low purr that seemed to vibrate through the quiet hallway. âLook at that. Vought actually knows how to follow an order.â
You suppressed the urge to take a step back. Instead, you offered a gentle smile. It was the sort of professional yet warm and engaging smile you had mastered during photo shoots and events.Â
âGood evening, sir,â you said, voice clear and composed, as you extended a hand toward him with a polite gesture. âVought management reached out to me through my representative. They mentioned that the latest issue of the magazine had caught your eye and that you wanted to arrange a professional meeting in person.âÂ
Although the absurdity of the situation and the late hour urged caution, you held your ground. The Soldier Boy himself, requesting you! Your literal celebrity crush! If this is what your entire career was for, then it was well worth it! Still, you canât just fangirl over him and jump onto him right here and now. Professionalism, professionalism, professionalism, you cited to yourself.
âI have to say, I was surprised by the invitation, but itâs an honor to meet a historical icon like you in person. I hope Iâm not disturbing you too late.âÂ
Soldier Boy sized you up, and the half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth deepened. He liked her bearing.Â
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep and satisfied in his throat. Fuck⌠Heâs even more attractive in real life!Â
He took your outstretched hand, but instead of a standard businesslike shake, he gently lifted it for a moment â almost with the air of a gentleman, even if that was the furthest thing from him â, his eyes glinting with amusement.Â
âSir, huh?â He let go of your hand and stepped back from the doorway with a sweeping motion, clearing the way for you. âDon't tense up, doll. You don't need the protocol spiel.â
As you stepped into the luxury suite, the door clicked shut behind you, instantly sealing out the sterile world of Vought Tower. Soft, warm light filled the room, and heavy blackout curtains blocked out the flickering lights of the skyscrapers outside. The air held a subtle blend of tobacco and an expensive, woody cologne.
Soldier Boy wasted no time. He walked straight to the minibar, took down a crystal glass, and poured himself a fingerâs breadth of neat, amber-colored liquor, then glanced inquiringly at you.Â
âWant anything? Scotch? Or do you people only drink organic vegetable juice these days?â he asked with a casual half-smile, though he didn't even wait for an answer; instead, he jerked his head toward the nightstand beside the bed, where a copy of Playboy lay open to the pages featuring your face and body. With that single gesture, all the polite formalities you had so carefully constructed out in the hallway vanished in an instant.Â
You could feel a wave of burning embarrassment wash over you. Yeah, modelling for them was one thing, but Soldier Boy seeing it too was just⌠different.
âRight, let's get to the point,â Soldier Boy said, turning back to you while slowly swirling the glass in his hand. His gaze swept over your face before settling on the open page of the magazine. âIâve spent all day flipping through these mags they foisted on me. I was starting to think women today were all made of plastic. They all look like they rolled off an assembly line, shaved smooth as a bone, like store-window mannequins.âÂ
He took a slow step toward you, his voice dropping to a deeper, more intimate register, shedding all military detachment.Â
âBut then I saw you in this issue. You don't have that. Thereâs something... about you. Something that reminds me of the days when women were real and weren't afraid to be themselves.â He stopped barely a few inches away, locking his gaze deep into yours. âSo tell me... did they just feed me lies, or can you prove yourself?â
As you stepped closer to him, the air in the room seemed to crackle with heat. You didn't let his rough demeanor intimidate you, as a glint of confidence in your eyes. Fuck the protocol and the image. You knew he didnât invite you for business talk anyway, thereâs no need pretending you want it any other way.
âWanna try, Soldier Boy?â you said softly, all traces of official protocol vanishing from your voice.Â
Satisfaction spread across his face. He couldn't maintain the distance any longer as he carelessly set his drink down on the nearest table and closed the final gap between you in one decisive movement. His heavy, calloused hand found your waist almost instinctively, pulling you against him firmly. When his lips crashed against yours, it was raw, hungry, and overwhelming, just like the man himself.
His body was hot, and the masculine scent radiating from his skin made you feel almost dizzy. As the kiss deepened and grew more passionate, your hands slid up to his broad shoulders, then tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.Â
Slowly, without breaking the kiss, you began to back away, gently guiding him toward the side of the room. Soldier Boy let out a low growl, enjoying the game, and allowed you to lead him. When he felt the edge of your heavy leather armchair against the backs of his knees, the firm pressure you applied to his shoulders gave him the final push. You pulled away from his lips, placed your hands on his chest, and gently pressed him deep into the armchair.
Soldier Boy leaned back, letting his arms rest loosely on the armrests, and took a deep breath. Stepping closer with a slow, deliberately provocative movement, you gracefully settle between his knees. The tight space brought your thighs into near-contact with his, and your proximity caused his pupils to dilate fully. S
Soldier Boy looked up at you from the armchair, that half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth, as his hands began to travel slowly up from your knees, his fingers seeming to burn against your skin through your clothes.
Slowly, almost inch by inch, you sank to your knees on the soft carpet right in front of him, your gaze locked deep into his. Your slender fingers slowly wandered to the waistband of his dark green sweatpants â a shade reminiscent of his legendary military uniform â before you hooked your fingers into the waistband of it, pulling it down right to his ankles.Â
You smoothed your other palm firmly yet gently over his boxers. A deep, hoarse growl tore from Soldier Boyâs throat as he felt the warmth of your hand through the fabric. His body instantly went rigid, hardening with desire beneath your palm. His calloused hands, resting on the armrests, clenched into fists â nearly tearing the expensive leather â while his head tilted back against the chair, yet he never once took his eyes off you.Â
âFuck... dollâŚâ he rasped. âYou sure know how to drive a man mad.â
Your palm began to massage him with slow, circular motions through the fabric, while your fingers gently started to pull down the edge of his underwear.
You didnât want to drag things out any longer, and frankly, seeing the suppressed madness burning in his eyes, Soldier Boy wouldnât have been able to keep up the game much longer either. With a single, smooth motion, you yanked the boxers down from his hips, stripping him completely of the unnecessary layers.Â
As it slid down to his ankles, you could almost hear the air grow taut in the heavy silence of the room. Soldier Boyâs body â perfect, with its marble-like musculature and scattered scars, even after decades of captivity â shuddered at the touch of the cool air and sudden freedom.Â
His thick, pulsing cock instantly broke free from the confines of the fabric, and you didnât hesitate for a second as you immediately pressed your soft, warm palm against his skin.
A deep, guttural groan tore from Soldier Boyâs throat. His head fell back helplessly against the armchair, the veins in his neck bulging like thick cords as the direct skin-to-skin contact shot through his body like an electric current. One of his massive hands lifted from the armrest and tangled in your hair â not to push you away, but to weave his fingers through your locks and anchor you in place, while his hips involuntarily lifted off the seat, moving toward your palm.Â
âGod, doll... yeah, just like that,â he panted, his voice raw and stripped of any trace of his usual nonchalant facade.
Your fingers wrapped around him, firm yet silky, and you began to slide up and down the length of his straining shaft with slow, confident strokes. You could feel every subtle tremor, the pulse beneath the skin, and the realization that the super-soldier feared by the entire world was now completely in your hands.Â
With your thumb, you gently wiped away the first glistening bead of precum appearing at the tip. The manâs hips jerked, and his fingers entwined in your hair tightened with a grip that was gentle yet brooked no refusal.Â
âEnough with the foreplay sweetheart,â he growled, looking down at you, his eyes dark with lust as he tugged at your hair, pulling your face closer to his throbbing cock. âTake it in your mouth.â
A spark of provocation gleamed in your eyes, and you refused to break eye contact with him. You leaned forward slowly, drawing out the movement so that the warmth of your lips merely grazed the taut head at first. Then, with a fluid motion, you parted your lips and took him deep.Â
An inarticulate groan tore from Soldier Boyâs throat. His hips jerked forward â almost involuntarily â in the armchair as the wet, tight warmth of your mouth and the firm play of your tongue completely enveloped him. The grip of his fingers instantly tightened.
Yet you didn't break under the pressure. Your eyes remained wide, boring straight into his even through the veil of tears. That defiant, proud look drove the man absolutely mad. His head tossed helplessly as you began to slide rhythmically up and down him, picking up speed.Â
With every upward thrust, you wrapped your tongue around his straining length while your hand massaged his balls, offering him a pleasure so perfect it was suffocating. Soldier Boyâs breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving violently, while the frame of the expensive furniture groaned beneath the hand he used to grip the armrest.Â
âYeah, so good⌠FuckâŚâ he rasped, his voice hoarse from the pleasure he was barely containing. âYou're driving me crazyâŚâ
Teetering on the edge between suppressed desire and a loss of control, he took charge with a single, sudden movement. His calloused hands dug into your plush skin, andâusing his super-strength â he hoisted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself in his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his solid thighs.Â
You didn't even have a chance to catch your breath while sitting upright before he anchored you against him. One hand clamped firmly onto your waist while the other gripped the back of your neck, and his lips crashed against yours, hungry, almost savage.Â
As your upper bodies pressed against each other, your hips instinctively found their place. With slow, deliberately provocative and heavy movements, you began to grind down, rubbing yourself against the throbbing hardness straining at his crotch. With every slow, circular movement of your hips, you could feel his heat through the fabric, pressing directly against your throbbing cunt.Â
A guttural growl escaped Soldier Boyâs throat amidst the kiss. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer while he lifted his hips slightly in the armchair to intensify the contact.Â
He pulled away from your lips, only to trail his hot kisses along your neck and jawline, while your hips continued to relentlessly, slowly grind away the last of his self-control.
Without the slightest effort, he lifted you from his lap in one smooth motion â as if you weighed nothing at all â and strode toward the massive double bed with heavy steps. Before you could even process the sudden shift in position, he laid you back against the soft, silky covers.Â
The mattress slightly sunk beneath you and your hair fanned out across the pillow, but Soldier Boy didn't let a single second of distance come between you. He moved instantly to follow, his muscular frame looming over you and trapping you within the circle of his arms. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, and you instinctively lifted your upper body from the bed as he pulled the thin material over your head, carelessly tossing it to the ground.
His lips pressed against yours again, and in the heat of the kiss, his rough hand slid up to your chin. Gently but firmly, he parted your lips and slowly slipped two long, hot fingers into your mouth. A soft, stifled moan escaped your throat as you felt his fingers against your tongue and Soldier Boy let out a low, satisfied growl.Â
While his lips continued to bewitch you, his fingers began to play slowly and rhythmically inside your mouth, grazing the wet walls and your tongue.Â
His other, free hand sprang into action immediately. His palm gripped the fabric of your jeans firmly, and with a practiced motion, he yanked them down from your hips to your ankles, leaving you completely exposed amidst the blankets. The sudden touch of cool air was instantly followed by searing heat. His thick thumb pressed against your thin, lacey underwear, tracing slow circles as he began to massage your clit.Â
Even through the sheer fabric, you could feel the heat of his hand â a warmth that seemed to soak the material in moments. Soldier Boy saw the flash of pleasure in your eyes, and a satisfied half-smile played at the corner of his mouth. He didn't prolong the teasing as he slid his fingers gently beneath the edge of your panties and firmly drove two long, hot fingers deep into your tight, throbbing cunt.
A stifled moan tore from your throat, right against the fingers buried in your mouth as the sudden, deep fullness coursed through your body. The silence of the room was instantly shattered by the loud, ragged moan you couldn't hold back.Â
Soldier Boy loved the sound of your voice. Seeing this confident, elegant Playboy girl completely lose control in his hands turned him on to the breaking point. He began moving his fingers rhythmically inside you, deeper and more roughly, while his thumb relentlessly and precisely dictated the pace of pleasure against your clit.Â
Your hips instinctively lifted off the mattress, pressing tight against his hand, as your voice echoed off the walls of the luxury suite. Soldier Boy looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire.
âThatâs it, doll... let me hear it. I told you you were completely real,â he growled hoarsely, as his fingers shifted to an even faster, more demanding rhythm inside you. âGâna cum on daddyâs fingers, yeah?â
Soldier Boy had no intention of slowing down, your uninhibited moans stripped away every last shred of his self-control. The knowledge that you were losing your mind in his hands filled him with a raw satisfaction he hadn't felt in years.Â
âYeah, let go fâ me, just like that... Lemme hear you,â he growled hoarsely, words growing more slurred as he himself was getting lost in the moment.Â
His fingers drove even deeper into your drenched cunt. His pace turned relentless and breathlessly fast, and he gave you no time to rest or catch your breath. With every upward thrust, his thumb rubbed hard and with pinpoint precision against your taut clit, knowing exactly how to drive you over the edge.
Your body went completely rigid beneath the covers. You clung desperately to his broad shoulders, your fingernails nearly digging into his skin, while your hips jerked upward, pressing tight against his heavy palm. The moans breaking the silence of the room grew higher and more ragged as waves of pleasure washed over your mind.Â
âPlease... Soldier Boy... Sir, pleaseâŚâ the broken, audible plea escaped your lips, and the manâs eyes flashed triumphantly in the darkness.Â
âCan't catch your breath, huh?â he whispered with a smirk, his fingers shifting into a final, wild speed.
That was the final blow. Your walls clenched convulsively around his fingers as your first orgasm erupted from your body. A loud, drawn-out scream tore from your throat and your head fell back against the pillow, while your hips shuddered helplessly beneath his touch.Â
Soldier Boy kept his fingers inside, savoring every pulse as your body continued to shudder in the wake of the climax. He gazed down at your panting, exhausted and limp form, his own chest heaving. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, cleaning off his moisture-slicked fingers with his mouth, savoring your taste, before his eyes dropped to the area between your legs â still throbbing â and then to his own fully aroused cock.
âRightâŚâ he panted, using his knees to spread your thighs even wider as he settled over you. âThat warm-up was perfect. My turn to play now.â
A deep growl tore from Soldier Boyâs throat as he gazed at your still-trembling, heaving body on the bed. He wasted no time. With one decisive motion, he gripped his straining, hot cock and slapped it against your most cunt. The wet sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, and you hissed involuntarily at the sudden stimulation.Â
Yet, before you could fully process the move, Soldier Boyâs massive hands clamped around your hips. He seized you with raw force and, in an effortless motion, flipped you onto your stomach amidst the silky blankets. Your hair tumbled into your face from the sudden shift in position, but the man gave you no time to recover.
He moved instantly to follow you, pressing his heavy body against yours and pinning you to the mattress. He firmly forced your thighs apart with his knees, then gripped your hips and lifted them high, putting you into a position of perfect vulnerability before him. You felt the pounding beat of his chest against your back and his hot breath on your neck, while his throbbing cock strained right against your drenched, pulsing entrance.
You buried your face in the pillow, your hands clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, and loud, stifled moans instantly filled the room. Every inch of your body burned with anticipation. Your most sensitive spot was still throbbing from your previous orgasm, and the knowledge that Soldier Boy was hard and ready right behind you turned into an almost unbearable, sweet torment.Â
âPlease... Please, sirâŚâ your voice broke free against the mattress, battering his self-control with urgency. But that was exactly what Soldier Boy wanted. He wanted to hear you beg.Â
A low laugh vibrated in the chest. He prolonged the teasing, slowly dragging the tip of his cock across your slick opening. He grazed it again and again, applying gentle pressure, just enough to drive you mad before pulling away.
Your hips moved instinctively, desperately, against his heavy palms, chasing his touch, but he held your pelvis firmly, refusing to relinquish control.Â
âPatience, doll. I told you, tisâ my game now,â he whispered right into your ear, his breath trailed down your neck as his straining length slid once more across your sensitive cunt, coaxing another loud moan from your throat.Â
His hands dug into the flesh of your hips, anchoring you in place, and with a single deep thrust, he drove himself fully inside you. A sharp, drawn-out scream tore from your throat as the shock of sudden fullness washed over your body in a wave. Soldier Boy thrust to the very hilt, his size and power stretched your tight, throbbing cunt to the limit, practically pinning you to the mattress.Â
He braced his weight beside your head, the veins in his neck bulging like thick cords as your body clamped down around his length. He drew a deep breath, his eyes dark and wild with satisfaction as he looked down at your trembling, fully exposed form.Â
âGod...fuckâs sake, doll... so tight,â he growled, his voice so hoarse it was almost painful; then, without giving you a moment to adjust, he slowly pulled back and began his first thrusts.
You gripped the soft pillows so hard your knuckles turned white. Every time his hips slammed against your backside with a loud smack, loud moans tore from your throat into the pillows. Your tight, hot walls clung convulsively to his throbbing length, yet his rhythm left no time for respite. The pace was relentless, and suffocatingly good.
Your hips instinctively fought back against his force, pressing tight against his body with every thrust, a sensation that only drove him wilder. You felt the hardness of his thighs slamming against yours, his ragged breathing against your back.Â
âThatâs it, dollâŚâ he rasped, his hands digging even deeper into the flesh of your hips as he dictated the pace. âYeah... just like that.âÂ
He could feel you gripping and pulsing around him at every thrust that it pushed his self-control to the absolute limit. He didnât want to finish from behind, he wanted to see your eyes, to see that captivating gaze that had drawn him to summon you in the first place.Â
With a single sudden yet careful movement â taking care that his super-strength didnât harm you â he firmly turned you onto your back amidst the silk of the mattress, holding you by your hair and hips, all without ever withdrawing from you.
By the time you snapped back to reality, Soldier Boy was already towering over you. He braced his massive, muscular arms on either side of your head, while his eyes bored into yours, dark and almost feral.Â
âLook at me, babydoll,â he growled in a tone so deep and raspy it made your chest vibrate. The moment your eyes met, his hips began to move. With every thrust, his full length and weight bore down on you, his gaze locked on yours, piercing straight into your soul.
Your moans echoed rawly through the room as your hands clutched desperately at his broad, muscular shoulders while your hips jerked uncontrollably toward him with every thrust. The walls within you clamped down tightly around his pulsing length as the unbearable waves of a second, all-consuming orgasm began to build in your body.Â
âGod, sir⌠IâmâŚâ you screamed into his mouth, and your insides convulsed with brutal force from the orgasm, tightly trapping his cock.
That was the final stroke for him. Soldier Boyâs eyes widened, and an animalistic growl tore from his throat. His body went rigid as he drove his hips deep into you until the very last moment, his thick cum surging in waves into your pulsing core. His head dropped against your neck as his body surrendered to an overwhelming climax the likes of which he hadn't felt in forty years.Â
For long seconds, the silence of the luxury suite was filled only by the sound of your loud, ragged breathing and the friction of your skin clinging together. Soldier Boy slowly exhaled, keeping his weight pressed against you as if he had no intention of ever letting you go.
Finally, with a deep, satisfied sigh, he slowly pushed himself up, resting on his forearms. He settled comfortably beside you on the bed, tucking one massive arm beneath his head while casually pulling your waist toward him with the other, as if your presence there were the most natural thing in the world.Â
His gaze swept over your disheveled hair and flushed skin before locking directly onto your eyes. The frenzy that had been there before had vanished completely from his blue eyes, replaced by that cocky half-smile, the one so familiar from magazine covers and old TV footage.Â
âWellâŚâ he finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet room as his thumb began lazily tracing circles on the soft skin of your hip. âI have to say, sweetheart... Vought actually managed to make at least one good decision this miserable century.â
He had clearly let off steam; all his earlier tension and frustration with the modern world had evaporated over the past hour.Â
âI mean it,â he continued, leaning closer until the corner of his mouth all but grazed your ear. âIf that poor excuse for a woman, Ashley, handled things this way every time I raised my voice, I might actually come to like this place. Your magazine didn't lie. Youâre the real deal. And believe me, I know quality when I see it.âÂ
He rolled onto his back with a casual air, staring up at the ceiling, yet his hand remained on your waist, a clear sign that he had no intention of letting you go anywhere for the rest of the night.
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. (requests open!) ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who loves making you beg or admit defeat. he will deliberately hold back what you want until you break down, call him "sir," or plead for itâonly then rewarding you with a rough pat or a low "Good girl."
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who likes leaving visible reminders. expect bruises on your hips from where his super-strength fingers gripped you too hard, and deep bite marks on your shoulder to keep you quiet when you scream too loud.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who, because of the V1, doesn't tire out. he will stretch encounters out for hours on purpose, taking brief breaks just to watch you shiver and cry over his lap before dragging you right back under him for another round.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who is an active user of 'doll', 'sweetheart', and even 'good girl' if you work hard enough to earn it.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who as much as he loves watching your mouth wrap around his cock, if he had to choose between that or burying it into your tight cunt, he'd pick your cunt.
âđ Ě. just because it's a preference, it doesn't mean he's against it. in fact, he'll definitely make you suck him off from time to time â considers it your way of "repaying him" for all the hours he spends between your thighs.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who, as much as he favors the bedroom, is totally up to bending you over your office desk, just ramming into you from behind, or in the shower where he pushes you chest-first into the plexi hard enough to make your tits squish against the transparent material. still, the bedroom is his ultimate choice, where he can have you with your face in the pillows as you scream his name, or watch as your pretty mouth makes that O shape as he pushes his cock deep into you with your legs swung over his shoulder.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who doesn't like being interrupted. if you are making too much noise or trying to talk, he will unceremoniously smother your mouth with his bare hand or a pillow to force you to breathe through your nose and take it.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who sets the tempo entirely. if you try to speed things up or ride him, he will lock his hands onto your hips to ground you, forcing you to take his exact, slow, punishing rhythm â unless he wants to go fast.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who rarely keeps his hands still. he will wrap a fist tightly into your hair at the roots, using it to tilt your head back to expose your throat for biting, or to force you to look him in the eyes while he thrusts.
âđ Ě. soldier boy, who prefers positions where he can completely pin you down with his torso, using his mass to keep you entirely immobilized and helpless beneath him.
this is sooo nothingburger but i've been trying to update my multi-chapter fics over on wattpad and ao3 so i had to sideline the oneshots for today... nonetheless i wanted to put a lil something out for yall, so take these headcanons for now!!
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ (requests open!) ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
babe iâve been down bad for jensen ackles content recently and i have THOUGHTS mostly stemming from the beau arlen âhow u wanna do this darlinâ
1. dbf!beau whos pissed you got arrested
2. olderbf!beau youâve been bratty too all day and he gets so pissed off with u while fuckin he just puts his cowboy hat over your face to shut you up
3. youâve been making eyes and inappropriate signs at country music star beau during a gig. you both head to the same bar after the show and he asks how you wanna do this darlin đ
(this could be seen as a request if youâre downđââď¸)
RUN THAT MOUTH ; beau arlen
After a long day of dealing with a particularly bratty girlfriend, Beau decides to do something about it â and perhaps shut your pretty little mouth for a little while.
pairing: older bf!beau arlen x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship , age gap (reader is 18+) , older man younger woman , bratty reader , piv , oral (f!rec) , uses of 'doll' and 'good girl'
fandom: big sky
word count: 3.1k
authorâs note: anon lemme tell you when i saw your request i SQUEALEDDD i lovelovelove these so honored that u asked!! felt spiritually connected to the second prompt, but will defo do the other ones (especially the first one/dbf one) later, i'll link it into this post once its done (or tag u if you share the user? no idea how ppl do these honestly, pls bear with me :') hopefully this turned out as imagined, enjoy!! xoxo
masterlist. đ profile navigation.
Heâs had it up to here with you.Â
An entire day, and somehow, your line of complaints and remarks didnât seem to cease. He expected you to calm down as the day progressed, but no, heâs lost count of how many hours heâd been listening to your comments, and they just kept going.Â
Of course, itâs not like you never complain anyway, but today was like armageddon hit. It felt like almost every word that left your mouth was a personal attack or critique, and neither of you knew why. Perhaps you woke up with the wrong foot or something, but the cause didnât even matter by now.Â
Beau tried to be calm, he really did. He understood that you were younger, more chatty with less of a preference for silence, and knew you were ready to complain instead of keeping things to yourself, but by god, he was starting to lose his calm and composure with every minute.Â
Still, he wanted to be the last person to shout with you or lash out, so he just let out a heavy nasal exhale, staying mute and going back to the book he would be reading if you werenât up at his throat again.Â
âOh, I beg your pardon, did I disturb your royal silence? I can't help it if my vocal cords actually work,â you sighed, sprawling in the armchair on the opposite side of the dark wooden coffee table.Â
Beau slowly lowered the book into his lap but didnât slam it shut. His movements were eerily calm, yet the edges of the pages crumpled slightly beneath his suddenly tightening fingers.Â
He fixed his dark gaze on you, and his silence was far more menacing than if he had been shouting.Â
âThe problem isn't with your vocal cords,â he said in a deep, low voice, enunciating every word slowly. âItâs that not a single word has left your lips today that wasn't aimed at picking a fight with me.âÂ
He rose from the armchair. He didn't rush or lunge at you, but his towering presence instantly dominated the room as he stopped on the other side of the coffee table, looking straight at you.Â
âI tried to give you some space all day. I tried to swallow your remarks âcause I thought you were just having a bad day. But Iâve had enough of the attitude. If youâre bored or have a problem with me, just say it. But cut out the insolent behavior.â
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at you expectantly, waiting to see if â after the provocation â you were capable of speaking seriously or would continue to defy him.
Instead of flinching at his commanding presence, you sank even deeper into the armchair out of sheer defiance. You sprawled ostentatiously, resting your head against the backrest, and looked up at him with a mocking, incredulous half-smile.Â
âInsolent behaviour?â you scoffed, rolling your eyes. âOf course, if I have an opinion, itâs always just a tantrum. Iâm sorry Iâm not stone-faced like you, Beau. Maybe if you let it all out sometimes, you wouldnât be such aâŚâÂ
You couldn't finish the sentence. That was the moment Beau finally snapped. He rounded the coffee table with two decisive steps, and before you could even grasp what was happening, he leaned down and reached for you, sliding his arms beneath your back and knees, scooping you out of the armchair in one effortless motion, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The sudden movement left you speechless, and you instinctively clutched his shoulders. But Beau had no desire to argue or hear any more insolent remarks. Before you could utter a single word, he silenced you with a kiss. It was a suffocatingly serious kiss, charged with the tension that had built up all day and an undeniable desire to finally silence you.Â
Beau pulled away from your lips but didn't let go of you for even a second. Still holding you in his arms, he strode toward the bedroom. He entered the room and laid you down on the soft bed with a touch that was gentle yet firm.Â
Before you could even gather your wits, he was already towering over you. His massive frame all but blocked out the world as he pinned your hips between his knees, cutting off any escape. He didn't wait, and he didn't speak, his kisses returned instantly, but now they wandered lower.Â
They grazed your jawline before settling against the sensitive skin of your neck, hot and demanding. Even though your body had already surrendered completely to the sudden intensity, your defiance broke through at the last moment.Â
âSo... is this how you want to silence me? Because you donât have a better argument?âÂ
Beau paused for a moment. His mouth was still pressed against your neck, his hot breath searing your skin. You felt a low, deep growl rumble in his chest before his gaze slowly shifted back to your face.
Beauâs lips curled into a mocking smile against your neck as he heard your last attempt at defiance. He slowly lifted his head, fixing his triumphant gaze straight into your eyes.Â
âItâs working, isn't it?â he whispered in a deep, husky voice, and without waiting for your reply, he took action to prove his point once and for all.Â
His large, warm palms settled on your waist, then slid firmly down to your hips, his fingers pressing gently into your skin. Before you could say a word, he grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and, in one continuous motion, pulled it over your head and tossed it aside onto the floor.
The cool air of the room hit your skin, but there was no time to feel the chill. Beauâs hands were back on you instantly, slowly tracing a path down your stomach straight toward your most sensitive spot.Â
When his fingers pressed up against your pussy gently yet possessively, every trace of your sass escaped your lips in a soft, stifled sigh. Beau leaned closer, his chest pressing almost flush against yours as he watched your reaction, savoring your momentary silence.
Beauâs fingers began tracing slow, excruciatingly gentle circles over your clit, his eyes never once leaving yours. He saw you tremble with tension as his mouth pressed close to your ear again as his husky whisper seemed to sear your skin.Â
âYou wouldn't stop running your mouth all dayâŚâ he murmured, punctuating his words with fresh, circular strokes of his fingers that made you gasp involuntarily. âAll day long⌠that sassy voice, the quips, the bickering. So now, youâre going to listen to me. Letâs see how long you can keep talking when I do this.âÂ
With that, his lips began their descent. He didn't rush, every single kiss was both a punishment and a reward. He trailed kisses along your chin and neck, then moved lower across your collarbone, while his hands relentlessly set a slow but pleasant rhythm.
With every touch, he drew you deeper into the fever, until he slowly slid down along your body. Beau sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, right between your legs, looming over you. His gaze was dark and hungry as he pressed his palms against your inner thighs, gently but firmly spreading them apart.
With a decisive movement of his hand, Beau pulled down your underwear and tossed it aside next to your t-shirt in a single motion. The touch of the cool air against your heated skin was almost shocking, but Beau gave you no time to recover.Â
As he knelt between your legs, his gaze swept over you. His kisses began along your inner thighs, venturing closer to your entrance with every touch. Yet, just before he could finally give you what you craved, he suddenly paused. He looked up at you â mocking, provocative flames burning in his eyes â and his voice rumbled deep and low in the silence.Â
âWhat now, doll? Do you have a smart remark ready, or will you finally shut up?âÂ
Even in that vulnerable state, you refused to give in so easily. You gritted your teeth, lifted your chin, and â gasping for breath as you summoned your last ounce of defiance â you shot back.
âNo... I donât think thatâs enough to silence me.âÂ
Beauâs mouth curled into a dark, confident smile.Â
âWeâll see,â he whispered. Without a momentâs hesitation, he planted a firm kiss right on your most sensitive spot. The unexpected, intense sensation instantly shattered your defenses, and instead of words, a loud, irrepressible moan of pleasure escaped your throat as your hands involuntarily tangled in his hair.Â
Beau murmured triumphantly against your skin, knowing he had won this battle once and for all.
His deep, satisfied growl seemed to vibrate against your skin the moment he heard the moan escape you. He had no intention of stopping or giving you a chance to compose yourself. His hot lips and wet tongue went to work instantly, pampering your entrance and clit with firm, rhythmic strokes.Â
Pleasure struck with such elemental force that the last vestiges of your pride instantly crumbled away. You instinctively raised your arm to shield your eyes, unwilling to meet Beauâs triumphant gaze as he knelt between your legs. A flush of embarrassment and ecstasy flooded your face, yet your lips could not remain entirely silent.Â
âBeau... you... Oh fuck, stop... don'tâŚâ you gasped breathlessly, even as your hips instinctively arched to meet his tongue â utterly belying your words.
Beau knew exactly what he was doing. While his tongue relentlessly pushed your boundaries, one hand rested on your thigh, and the fingers of the other slowly slid toward your wetness. He didn't rush. At first, he pressed just one finger slowly, inch by inch, into your tight depths, drawing out the moment as he began to stretch you.Â
The dual sensationâhis tongue on your clit and the pressure of his finger insideâwas simply too much. Your body tensed at the sudden feeling of fullness.Â
âWait... Beau, itâs too... too much, pleaseâŚâ you whimpered from behind your arm, your voice breaking with pleasure.Â
Beau didn't slow down for a second, instead, he slid a second finger in beside the first, making gentle, scissoring, stretching movements to prepare you for something much larger. His tongue and fingers worked together in rhythm.
The relentless play of Beauâs fingers and tongue finally shattered all restraint. The stretching, rhythmic motions and the wet strokes built up a tension you could no longer control. Your body suddenly went taut, your heels dug into the bed, and accompanied by a sharp, drawn-out moan, waves of an all-consuming orgasm washed over you.Â
Beauâs fingers caught the final pulses deep inside before slowly, slickly sliding out of you. He could see and feel that your body was completely ready, perfectly open and wet, your entrance still twitching in the wake of your pleasure.
Beau slowly crawled further up the bed. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he knelt over you. He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing his broad shoulders and toned chest. Then he reached for his trousers, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes so nothing would stand between you.Â
The heavy, searing weight of his naked body pressed down on you the moment he moved back between your thighs. He slowly pulled your arm away from your face, forcing you to look straight into his eyes despite your embarrassment.Â
âNot so mouthy now, are you, doll?â he whispered, his hardness already pressing against your entrance.
Even in that moment of vulnerability, you didn't betray your true self. As Beau pulled your arm away from your face and you met his dark gaze, a defiant half-smile played on your disheveled lips.Â
âWhatâre you waiting for, hm?â you breathed, looking straight into his eyes. âMaybe you aren't quite as confident as you make out, old man?â
Beauâs eyes darkened at your insolence, and his jaw tightened. A low laugh escaped his throat.Â
âYouâve still got a big mouth,â he whispered in a low, strained voice.
Instead of immediately giving you what every fiber of your body craved, he began to toy with you, his form of a punishment. He dragged the tip of his throbbing cock slowly â torturously â across your wet entrance, rubbing gently but refusing to penetrate even a millimeter.Â
He grazed your sensitive skin again and again, prolonging the agony until your hips began to lift involuntarily, begging for that fullness. When he saw defiance give way to desire â and your lips part to utter another plea â, Beau abruptly ended the game. Without warning or caution, he slammed into you in one massive, relentless thrust.
The sudden and deep thrust instantly stole the breath from your lungs. The walls of the room seemed to shudder as his pelvis slammed against yours, and a sharp, irrepressible scream â heavy with pleasure â tore from your throat. Your eyes widened in ecstasy, and your fingernails dug deep into his back as Beau, towering over you, watched triumphantly how he silenced even your last cheeky remark.
He paused for a moment, taut deep inside you, and slowly exhaled. He felt your tight, hot walls envelop him completely, and instead of continuing his wild thrusts, he deliberately slowed down. He withdrew inch by inch, then pushed back into you, leisurely and with agonizing depth, forcing you to feel every single inch of him.Â
Yet, even from that suffocating depth, you refused to stay silent.Â
âBeau... this... do you really think... that thisâŚâ you panted, your voice breaking with pleasure. Beau shook his head in disbelief, and a deep, weary sigh escaped his throat.
âYouâre unbelievable. Just canât keep your mouth shut,â he muttered hoarsely. In one swift, decisive motion, he reached for the nightstand. He grabbed his signature cowboy hat and without a second thought, slapped it right over your face, completely blocking your view and silencing your words.Â
Darkness suddenly enveloped you, accompanied by the scent of the hatâs interior. Before you could recover from the shock, Beau pulled you tight against him by the hips and, under that cover, reignited the rhythm with a hard thrust. Your words instantly turned into a muffled, stifled moan beneath the hat, while Beau watched with satisfaction from above as your body jerked wildly with every one of his thrusts.
In the darkness cast by the heavy cowboy hat pulled over your face, the loss of sight caused your other senses to heighten a thousandfold. Your hands let go of Beauâs back and clawed wildly at the sheets, bunching the white fabric in your fists as the mattress creaked rhythmically under the weight of your bodies.Â
Beau continued his punishment with relentless, deep thrusts, but the moment he heard stifled, helpless sounds escaping from beneath the hat â replacing your witty words â his movements grew slightly softer, more possessive. His chest rose and fell heavily as he leaned closer.Â
âThatâs itâŚâ he murmured hoarsely, his voice vibrating deeply. âGood girl. Finally managed to silence that sassy mouth of yours.â
The rhythm grew increasingly tense and intense as you both neared the climax. For a moment, Beau let you work yourself into a frenzy of pleasure, then suddenly slowed down, yet he kept his hardness deep inside you, holding it almost motionless against your most sensitive spot.Â
âSo, what about now?â he whispered, his hot breath brushing against your neck beneath the brim of the hat. âWill you finally stay quiet? Promise me you won't be so difficult and insolent with me anymore?âÂ
Your body was practically begging for him to continue; the suffocating sense of fullness and the throbbing desire had completely broken down your resistance. Amidst the muffled moans and broken sighs escaping, you finally blurted out the agreementÂ
âIâI promise... Beau, please... I'll be quiet... just keep goingâŚâ
Beau grunted with satisfaction at your response, he achieved exactly what he wanted. Gently grasping the brim of the hat with one hand, he slowly lifted it from your face, instantly allowing the bedroomâs dim light and cool air to touch your flushed, disheveled features.Â
Yet, instead of setting it on the nightstand, he placed the cowboy hat back onto his own head with a casual motion. From beneath the hatâs brim, his gaze locked onto your misty eyes. Gripping your hips firmly, he lifted you and, with his deepest thrust, launched the final rush toward a shared climax.
Beau left no more time for thinking. With every thrust, he drove deeper and deeper inside you, striking the exact spot that set every inch of your body ablaze. Your hands instinctively crept up to his broad shoulders glistening with sweat, and dug your nails deep into his skin. Every trace of defiance vanished as clear, ragged moans escaped your throat, and Beau responded to every sound made with even more intense movements.Â
âBeau... God, BeauâŚâ you gasped, eyes clouded with pleasure.
He felt your insides pulsing wildly and tightening around him, signaling that you had reached your limit. His jaw clenched, and his breath turned into a stifled growl in his throat. The final thrusts shook your body with such force that the last barriers finally gave way. You reached the peak together. Waves of orgasm washed over you like blinding light, a scream escaped your throat as your body spasmed, clutching tightly around his hardness again and again.Â
Beau followed suit with a deep, hoarse cry, pressing his hips hard against yours and surrendering to the pleasure as he climaxed deep inside you. His cowboy hat tipped forward slightly as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, completely spent and gasping for breath.
Beau rolled heavily across the bed and collapsed beside you onto the soft mattress. His chest was still heaving, and his skin pressed against yours as he slowly exhaled the last of the tension. You were still gazing up at the ceiling, disheveled, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of an overwhelming orgasm.Â
You turned your head toward him gently, and instead of a sharp glare, a soft smile played upon your lips. You snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder, and whispered.Â
âYou know... I might just start acting like this a lot more often if this is what my punishment is going to be.â
A soft laugh escaped his throat. He shook his head as if to say you were incorrigible. Slowly, he lifted his hand, took the cowboy hat from his head, and gently placed it on yours, pulling the brim down so low it almost completely covered your eyes.Â
Then, he pulled you close with his arm, dragging the warm blanket over both of you until you were completely covered. His mouth brushed against your ear, his voice was deep, a whisper.
âLetâs not, âright? You want me to eat you out, just say it next time.â
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
girl we need an older dean/dbf dean fanfic asapppp
NEED A LITTLE HELP? ; dbf!dean winchester
When a hunt proves to be harder than expected, your father calls for the help of a well-seasoned hunter friend of his.
pairing: dbf!older!dean winchester x fem!reader
warnings/tags: age gap (reader is 18+) .á older man younger woman .á dad's best friend dean .á smut .á uses of 'sweetheart' 'baby' and 'good girl' .á oral (both fem and male rec!) .á piv .á your dad survives the hunt no worries
fandom: supernatural (2005)
word count: 7.8k
authorâs note: unsure how to feel about this, but ive been on such a dbf!jackles characters kick lately, this request was too good to be passed on omg!! i love dean so much, especially later seasons dean, so i decided to hop onto my dbf oneshot streak... enjoy! xoxo
masterlist. âËęŠď˝Ą profile navigation.
When your dad said heâll call a friend, you expected said friend to be⌠different.
His so-called friends or hunter comrades usually looked rugged, balding, and like they havenât showered in the past five years, as if that was some obligation in order to be a true hunter. It wasnât, you and your dad were both that, but still stood into the shower regularly.
It all started with your most recent hunt. Some case you accidentally came across while on the road from one state to another, discovering it when taking a pit-stop at a bar, the locals raving on about some creature stalking and killing the residents, mostly young women, attributing it to some local legend.Â
So, needless to say, your dad saw that as a big neon sign beckoning him to stay.Â
At first, everything went smoothly. Questioning the locals and possible eyewitnesses in disguise, researching, trying to connect the dots, the usual procedure. Until you two got stuck. The leads seemed to go nowhere, the investigation running into a dead end.Â
âWonderful,â your dad muttered under his breath, hunched over stacks of scattered papers and books in a posture that a shrimp would be jealous of, his pen-free hand running through his messy hair. âJust fucking wonderful.â
Of course he was frustrated, heâs been stalling in this nowhere-town for almost a week now, with zero progress. It wouldnât be a problem, if human lives didnât depend on how fast you can solve this.
Calling backup was the last thing he wanted to do. It made him feel weak, pathetic, having to rely on somebody better to solve something for him. Still, if it means the creature can get caught before anybody else gets hurt, then perhaps itâs better to put personal pride aside for a moment.
Pushing himself away and up from the table, the chairâs leg screeching as it slid harshly against the wooden flooring, he saunters away and towards the door, fishing his phone out of his pocket before shutting the door and disappearing into the chilly night breeze.
His call was inaudible to you, still sitting at the table with a laptop and various books under your fingertips, your eyes wandering from the screen to the darkness outside. It took a few good minutes for your dad to return, stepping back inside with a sigh as he shut the door.
âI have somebody coming over to help us out,â he groaned as he took heavy steps back to the table, plopping back into his seat opposite of you. âAn old friend. If anybody can solve this bullshit, itâs him.â
You just nodded along with his words. Trying to guess who this friend was wouldâve lasted an hour or more, considering how many contacts your dad seemed to have. The perks of living on the road and meeting way too many people along the way.
âYou should go rest,â your dad grumbles under his breath, his eyes fixing back onto the book in front of him, diligently hunting for any clues or leads.
As much as you wanted to protest and tell him that you want to be a useful part of the investigation, your heavy eyelids said otherwise, the thought of a few hours of sleep too good to pass on the offer. With a sigh, you make your way over to your bed, falling face-first into the soft white sheets. Even with the dingy, yellowish motel lights on, you managed to fall asleep in minutes.
It was only the next morning that you met the newest addition to your hunter duo.Â
The warm rays of the sun beamed through the curtain-covered windows â the curtains barely providing any barrier from the sun â, and you couldâve sworn it was noon by how bright it was by the time your eyes started to flutter open.Â
Turning in the direction of the motel roomâs kitchen, even with your eyesight blurry, you found your dad still hunched over the desk. You werenât sure whether he went to sleep at all, or just sat there all night. Nonetheless, heâs been keeping himself busy. For a few long moments, you stay huddled under the heavy covers drawn up to your neck, cocooned in the white fabric. Of course after a while a sense of duty overtakes you, and you force yourself out into the bathroom to shower, change clothes, and brush your teeth.Â
Just as you step back out into the main area, the silence is broken by a series of knocks, coming from the door. Your dadâs gaze shoots up, but before he could get up, you dismiss him.
âIâll get it,â you mutter as you make your way over to the door, one of your hands already sliding over to the pistol holstered on your side, undoing the lock with a high-pitched click.Â
The door creaks open, you peeking through it, finding a man standing there. Short hair, stubble, mud-stained boots, flannel with a plain black shirt underneath, topped with a dark jacket. His eyes trail onto you, taking you in from head to toe before a soft smile creeps onto his face.Â
âWinchester,â your dadâs voice cuts through the tense silence, snapping both you and the man out of it all. Sure enough, he appears right behind you, pulling the door fully open before stepping past you, pulling the man into a friendly hug, patting his back once before letting go. âGlad you could come. Hope I didnât bother you much.â
âItâs fine, I was a few hours away. The quicker we get over this case, the better,â he replied, forcing a tight-lipped smile onto his face as he nods. His eyes wander back to you, watchful eyes locking onto your figure. âWhoâs the lady with you?â
His gaze sized you up, standing in the doorway with open curiosity. He knows exactly how to size up the situationâand pretty women.
Your father smiled and placed his hand on your shoulder, you could instantly feel the immense weight of paternal pride in that touch.Â
âDean, this is my daughter,â your father said, his voice holding that rare warmth he reserved only for you. âShe keeps me going on this cursed road. And, for the record, sheâs got a better eye for tracks than I do.âÂ
Deanâs eyebrows shot up in appreciation. His gaze lingered for a moment on the unfastened holster visible beneath your T-shirt, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, lopsided smile. He seemed to appreciate the caution.
âYour daughter?â Dean repeated, stepping further into the musty motel room and casually tossing his bag onto an empty chair. "Sheâs lucky, then. Looks like she got all the good genes from you, old manânot your buddies.âÂ
Your father just snorted at the teasing but was visibly relieved that help had arrived. Dean turned toward you and looked you straight in the eye. Fatigue from the long nightâs drive lingered in his greenish-brown eyes, yet the charisma radiating from him was almost palpable. He stepped closer and held out his hand.Â
âDean Winchester,â he introduced himself, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble in the morning sunlight. âNice to meet you. Your dad left out the part about having such a pretty partner when we spoke on the phone. If Iâd known, I wouldâve brought decent coffee from the gas station instead of this stuff that tastes like straight-up asphalt.â
Alright, he seemed better than the other men your dad usually brought along on hunts. Certainly more handsome, too. Especially for somebody apparently scratching his forties.
You take his hand, shaking it firmly once, his eyes never leaving yours, before letting go.Â
The greeting is followed by a thorough conversation and discussion back at the table, papers, books and various articles from the news sprawled in one whirlwind on the wooden surface. Your father gives Dean a summary of what you could find so far, and what you couldnât find so far.Â
The three of you go over the documents and books, Deanâs finger brushing against yours for a second too long as he slides one of the papers from under your fingertips towards himself. You could feel yourself shudder a little at his touch, but kept your professional composure.
Dean, after the lore drop, keeps quiet for a few moments, the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out the next step in the investigation, or connect some dots you two couldnât up until now.Â
After some brainstorming, you came up with a plan: visit the scene of the latest victimâs death, then if that leads nowhere, head to a local bar and hunt for a few leads there in case the locals might know a bit more â and in case they fold easier for Deanâs charms.
âI like the way you think,â he said, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and pocketing his car keys. âFirst, weâll check out what the bastard left behind in the mud, and then comes the well-deserved beer and the gossip. Your dad can stay here and comb through the remaining books, maybe heâll find a specific weakness.âÂ
Your dad agreed, albeit with a grumble. Given his back pain and lack of sleep, he probably would have just slowed you down out in the field anyway.Â
Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting in Deanâs pitch-black Chevy Impala. The engineâs soothing rumble filled the cabin as you headed toward the dense stretch of woods on the edge of town where the latest victim had been found. Dean held the steering wheel loosely with one hand and rolled down the window with the other, letting the fresh, cool air fill the car.
When you arrived at the edge of the dense, damp forest â where the yellow police tape still fluttered lazily between the trees â, you immediately set to work. Dean moved with practiced ease, treading almost silently over the soft carpet of fallen leaves, yet he kept a constant eye on you, as if testing your abilities. He wasn't disappointed.Â
As you stepped into the cordoned-off area, you spotted the first significant clue: high up on the tree trunks, deep, parallel claw marks had torn through the bark, and a strange, dark, asphalt-like ooze with a sulfurous stench was seeping from the wounds. Dean crouched down beside you, dipped his hunting knife into the sticky substance, and raised it to his nose.Â
âThatâs no werewolf, thatâs for sure. And itâs not just an ordinary ghost, either,â he muttered, nodding approvingly at you. âYouâve got a sharp eye, sweetheart. Looks like this beast likes climbing trees and ambushing its prey.â
After the scene inspection, you got back into the Impala and headed toward the small townâs only neon-lit bar. As you drove, Dean fished the fake FBI badges out of the glove compartment and casually dropped one into your lap.Â
âSo, Agent Collins,â he grinned at you lopsidedly, turning onto the main street with one hand on the wheel. âI hope you're ready to play good cop, bad cop. Though the local yokels will probably be more willing to talk to you than to me. Tell me, how long have you been doing this hunting gig with your dad? Because for an old bear like him, heâs trained you pretty damn well.â
âPretty damn well,â you shrugged with a half-smile, tucking the fake ID into your blazerâs inner pocket. âThough if it had been up to my dad, Iâd still be learning how to salt a windowsill in five seconds flat. I picked up the finer points on my own, Winchester. So don't worry, I won't ruin your little federal agent image.âÂ
Dean chuckled softly and nodded appreciatively as he brought the rumbling Impala to a halt in front of the shabby, neon-lit bar.Â
âThatâs the spirit, Agent Collins,â he winked, killing the engine. You both stepped out of the car, instantly slipping into the roles of professional agents. Moving in perfect sync and exuding confidence, you walked through the dive barâs heavy wooden door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke as old country music played softly from the jukebox, and the locals immediately turned to look at you. Yeah, that suit gave you two away just fine.
You quickly exchanged glances and agreed on a tactic with a single, subtle nod: you would split up.Â
Dean headed toward the booths a bit further away from the bar. He singled out a young, visibly distressed woman sitting alone with her cocktail, possibly a friend of one of the victims.Â
Meanwhile, you headed straight for the bar. Behind the counter, a tattooed guy in his thirties with a bit of stubble was wiping down glasses, sizing up the patrons with a bored expression. He was the perfect target, bartenders always hear everything in town.
You sat on one of the high stools, shifting your coat back slightly to strike a pose that was assertive yet alluring. Leaning your elbows on the counter and looking the man straight in the eye, you flashed your badge along with your most winning, confident smile.Â
âAgent Collins, FBI,â you said in a low, firm voice. âI hear youâre the man in this town who knows the lay of the land better than the police do. I could use some help with a delicate matterâŚâÂ
The bartender put down his rag, leaned in closer, and let his gaze travel over your face. He smiled, suddenly appearing far more cooperative than before.
Sitting in the booth, Dean kept a constant eye on you while appearing to focus entirely on the words of the tearful girl. He watched as you leaned casually against the bar, smiled at just the right moment, and saw the bartender practically melt under your alluring demeanor. The corner of Deanâs mouth twitched upward involuntarily.Â
Once you had both gleaned everything possible from your respective targets, you wrapped up the conversations almost simultaneously. You said goodbye to the bartender â who would likely be talking about the pretty federal agent for days to come â with a grateful smile, while Dean took his leave of the girl with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
As soon as you stepped out of the barâs heavy door into the fresh evening air, the tense FBI persona instantly dropped away. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at you sideways as you walked toward the Impala.Â
âWell, Agent Collins, hats off to you,â he said, playfully nudging you with his elbow. âI saw how you handled that guy at the bar. The poor sap didn't even know where he was, he would've told you absolutely anything. Seriously, for a moment even I forgot what I was supposed to be asking that girl.âÂ
He opened the passenger-side door for you, then slid behind the wheel and started the Chevy. Amidst the engine's deep rumble, he immediately turned the conversation to business.
âOh, come on, Winchester,â you said, flashing your cheekiest smile as you settled comfortably into the leather seat of the Impala. âI was just doing my job. But if you ever get stuck during an interrogation, feel free to let me know, Iâd be happy to give you a few pointers.âÂ
Dean chuckled softly, the deep, gravelly sound rising from his throat filled the cockpit. He clearly loved it when a woman wasn't fazed by his attitude and actually fired right back.Â
âI'll keep that in mind,â he said, winking at you in the rearview mirror as he turned onto the road leading to the motel strip. âAlright, spill the juicy details,â he said, turning to you as he pulled out of the parking lot. âWhat did you find out from our friend? Because the girl confirmed to us that the latest victim, Chloe, smelled sulfur coming from the trees right before the attack, same kind we encountered. She said that according to local legend, the beast doesn't just climb trees, it has a nest somewhere near the old sawmill.â
âWell, according to the bartender, this thing isnât such a big threat that my dad, or the three of us, couldnât handle it with our bare hands, once we come face-to-face with it. Itâs not some invulnerable demigod. The real problem isnât its strength, but the fact that itâs nearly impossible to track. Itâs like a shadow. The bartender mentioned that locals have seen it flitting through the treetops, but it never leaves a trace on the ground. They even tried hunting dogs, but the creatureâs sulfurous stench drives the animals crazy, and they lose the scent.âÂ
Dean nodded thoughtfully, tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel with his finger.Â
âSo, a real stealthy bastard,â he muttered. âBut that sawmill the girl mentioned is a good starting point. No dirt there, just concrete and rotting wood, a perfect hideout for something that doesnât want to leave footprints.â
A few minutes later, you pulled up in front of the motel. When you walked into the room, your father was sitting under the lamp in the exact same shrimp-like posture as when youâd left him, but the moment he saw you, he snapped his head up.Â
âWell?â he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes practically burning with curiosity. âWhat did you find out?â
You and Dean summed up the crime scene and the bar questionings, while your dad let you in on the lore he could dig up from the leads. Same kind of monster heâd defeated back when he was a beginner, so it proved to be no big threat. Just damn hard to track.
The sawmill was the key. If the local legend held true, the beast ventured out of its nest in the dead of night to stalk its next victim. With a heavy sigh, your father slammed the book shut and turned to Dean.Â
âThen thereâs no point in waiting,â he said, hoisting himself out of the chair and cracking his back. âIf we get there within the next hour, we might just catch it in its nest before it heads out to hunt.âÂ
Before setting off, you ducked into the bathroom.Â
After turning off the tap and drying yourself, you began to pull on your clean hunting clothes. You were just tightening your bootlaces when two hushed yet heated voices reached you through the thin, old motel door. Your father and Dean were arguing. Curiosity instantly outweighed your sense of duty. You froze mid-motion, held your breath, and carefully pressed your ear against the worn wooden door, trying to pick out the words from the noise.Â
ââŚYou shouldn't have dragged her into this, John!â It was Deanâs voiceâdeep and low, yet seething with anger as it filled the room. âThis is no place for a young girl, especially not your daughter. Iâve seen how she moves, sheâs skilled, sure, but one mistake and itâs all over.â
âDon't you dare tell me how to raise my daughter, Winchester!â Your fatherâs voice practically vibrated with rage, though he was trying to keep it low so you wouldn't hear them. âSheâs the only family I have. Sheâs safe with me, where I can see her and protect her. I couldn't just leave her behind in some civilian life, only for some monster to find her one day while I was on the other side of the world!âÂ
âSafe?â Deanâs mocking, incredulous snort carried clearly into the bathroom. âIn a forest crawling with monsters, in a lousy motel room, with fake IDs in her pocket? Thatâs your idea of ââsafety? If something happens to you, what becomes of her? Sheâll be left all alone in this mess. She deserved a normal life, a chance at school, anything... âÂ
The room suddenly fell so silent you could hear your own heartbeat. Your fatherâs heavy, menacing footsteps approached the bathroom door, but stopped just short of it.
âThatâs enough, Dean,â your father said, his voice ice-cold and brooking no argument. âThe conversation is over. Weâre packing up and leaving. And not a word to her about this, clear?â
âYouâre conveniently glossing over the most important detail, John!â Deanâs voice grew even more hushed and tense, he spat the words out, almost hissing. âEvery single victim in this godforsaken town is a young girl. Exactly her age. That thing is hunting them. And your brilliant plan is to walk her right into its nest as bait?! That is the last thing we should be doing.âÂ
A moment of silence followed his words; only your fatherâs heavy, angry breathing could be heard.Â
âNot bait, Dean. A hunter,â your father replied stubbornly.Â
âI donât care!â Dean cut in, and you could hear the rustle of fabric as he swung his arm in a fit of helpless rage. âListen to me. Iâm going out to the sawmill. Alone. You stay here at the motel and watch over her. Secure the room and keep an eye on her. Iâll take care of the thing.â
âOut of the question,â your father shot back immediately, refusing to yield an inch of his pride. âThis is my case. Iâm the one who found it. Iâm not going to sit here in a motel room while you do my job.âÂ
âFine, okay, sureâyour damn pride...â Deanâs voice was laced with biting sarcasm, but then his resolve suddenly hardened. âIf youâre hell-bent on being the one to go to those woods, go ahead. But if you wonât stay with her, I will. Iâll stay here and watch over her, and you can go to the sawmill alone. Iâm not letting that thing get her just because youâre incapable of thinking rationally.âÂ
Leaning against the cold bathroom tiles, you felt your pulse skyrocket. Your father, breathing heavily, snatched his coat and gun bag off the bed. Perhaps a deeply buried paternal guilt had prevailed after Deanâs words.Â
You opened the bathroom door at the exact moment your father reached for the handle. The movement froze in mid-air. Your father looked at you, his weary eyes reflected a strange mix of secrecy and worry. He couldn't be sure how much you had heard through the thin walls, but the tension between you was almost palpable.Â
âStay here with Dean,â your father said, his voice gruff, though he avoided meeting your gaze. âIâm going to check out that sawmill. Secure the door.âÂ
Before you could say a word, he stepped out into the cool night air, and the heavy motel door clicked shut behind him.
A stifling silence suddenly filled the room. Dean stood leaning against the table, his arms crossed. He had already tossed his jacket onto the chair. When you fixed your gaze on him, he didn't look away. He knew perfectly well that you had heard it all.Â
âSo,â he broke the silence, his voice a deep, low rumble in the yellowish lamplight, âI imagine right now youâd love to be angry at me for leaving you out of the action.â
You smiled and sat down casually on the edge of the bed, resting your hands on the mattress.Â
âI don't mind it much,â you said softly, taking a deep breath.
Dean raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, let his arms drop to his sides, and took a step toward you. Surprise reflected in his eyes.Â
âSeriously?â he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. âI thought youâd at least throw a rock-salt shell at me for messing up your operation. Most hunter kids Iâve met are hell-bent on proving themselves, even if it costs them their lives.â
âDad has handled far rougher situations than the sawmill job on his own. I trust he knows what heâs doing. I donât really have any desire for this hunting life anyway.âÂ
Deanâs expression shifted. The tension that had been there earlier vanished completely as he stepped further into the room and sat down across from you in one of the worn armchairs. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turned his full attention toward you.Â
âIâd rather just help him with the research and the investigation,â you continued, glancing at the pile of books lying in the corner of the room. âPiecing things together, finding the clues. But rotting away in the woods at night, shooting at carcasses⌠thatâs just not my world. This oneâs a low-stakes mission by our standards. Heâll get it done without my help too.â
Dean remained silent for several long seconds, simply gazing at you as if he had discovered something rare and precious in that dark, strange motel room. Finally, with a deep, appreciative sigh, he leaned back in his armchair, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, warm smile.Â
âYou have no idea how much I respect you for that,â he said, his voice now surprisingly softâalmost a whisper. "And for having the guts to say it. Johnâs a stubborn, old-school hunter, it canât be easy to hold onto your own mind around him.âÂ
For a moment, a pleasant silence settled between the two of you.Â
âSo,â he broke the silence, his tone dropping to a low, slightly cheeky register as he nodded toward the laptop and books on the table. âIf the investigation is your call, Agent Collins... show me what we missed. While the old man is out there doing the dirty work, letâs get these files sorted. What do you say?â
You pulled the chair up to the table and sat down in front of your laptop, but your concentration vanished the moment you sensed Deanâs presence. He stepped up behind you, standing so close that you could almost smell the blend of cool evening air and the clean scent of the woods and gunpowder clinging to him.Â
As he leaned forward to look at the monitor, his shoulder brushed against yours. His proximity suddenly left you completely flustered as your throat went dry, and the tension youâd felt earlier transformed into something entirely different.Â
Your fingers hovered motionless over the keyboard. Dean noticed your hesitation. He slowly lowered his arm and gently placed his large, warm palm over yours, which was resting on the mouse. The touch of his skin sent an electric jolt racing up your arm. His hand was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the rugged image he projected to the outside world.
âRelax,â he whispered right next to your ear. âWeâre in no rush. Just show me where to look for the sawmill map.âÂ
You didn't pull your hand away. Dean slowly moved the mouse, guiding your hand with his own, but his gaze was no longer on the monitor, instead watching you from the side.
You slowly turned your head and looked straight into his eyes. The movement brought your faces mere centimeters apart, and the roomâs dim light glinted in Deanâs eyes, which flicked to your lips for a moment before returning to yours. His breathing grew heavier, and you felt his palm tighten against your hand.Â
Hesitation hung between you like an invisible wall. Dean knew full well that you were Johnâs daughter, and the hunterâs code â not to mention his respect for the old man â urged him to hold back. And you knew just as well that the man standing so close to you belonged to a dangerous world, one you were consciously trying to stay out of.
Yet, as your gazes locked, every rational thought faded into the background. Dean slowly moved his hand away from yours, but only to gently touch your chin with his fingertips, softly turning your face toward his.Â
âYouâŚâ he began in a whisper, his voice deeper and raspier than ever before. âYou have no idea how hard it is for me to remain professional right now, Agent Collins.âÂ
He didn't pull away, in fact, he leaned just a bit closer, closing his eyes for a moment as if gathering the strength to resist the temptation, or perhaps to finally take the next step.
You didnât want to wait any longer for moral arguments or the perfect moment. You were done hesitating. You slowly rose from your chair â just enough to fully close the height gap between you â and before Dean could say a word, you bridged that final distance, hungry lips crashing onto his.Â
Deanâs body tensed for a split second in surprise, he hadnât expected you to make the move. But his surprise vanished instantly, and the very next moment, he surrendered completely to the kiss. His hand, which had been touching your chin, slid gently up to your cheek, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him firmly yet with care.
When you slowly pulled apart after a few long seconds, Dean didnât let go right away. He rested his forehead gently against yours, his eyes still closed, his heavy breath brushing against your face.Â
One hand still held your waist, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. Finally, he opened his eyes. A completely different kind of fire burned there, yet the corner of his mouth curled up again into that cocky smile.Â
âWellâŚâ he murmured, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your back. âI have to say, Agent, your negotiating technique is truly extraordinary.â
You slid your hand up to the back of his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, and locked your lips with his once more. A deep, satisfied growl escaped Dean right there at the table as every trace of wavering or hesitation had vanished from him.Â
Clasping your waist tightly, he lifted you away from the table in one fluid motion as if you weighed no more than a feather, and without breaking the kiss for a second, he backed toward the darker corner of the room, straight toward the unmade bed. The next moment, you tumbled onto the soft mattress. Dean fell back into the white sheets, and suddenly you were straddling him, your thighs framing his hips as your weight settled onto his chest.
Deanâs hands slid up your back, burning hot against your skin even through the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you close, deeply inhaling your scent and the lingering heat on your lips. His hips moved instinctively beneath you in response to your closeness. Deanâs fingers tangled in your hair, gently tilting your head back to expose your neck. As his lips and stubble grazed your skin, a soft sigh escaped you, instantly silenced by his next, all-consuming kiss.
With a single decisive yet gentle motion, he pulled the thin fabric of your shirt over your head, baring your skin in the yellowish lamplight. Desire flared in his eyes as he gazed at you, but you didnât give him time to stare as you immediately reached for the buttons of his flannel shirt.Â
Your fingers trembled slightly with haste, yet you worked efficiently, and Dean helpfully shrugged his shoulders, letting you strip the plaid fabric from him. As soon as his shirt hit the floor, you smoothed your palms over his broad chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the frantic, pounding rhythm of his heart.Â
You kissed his lips one last time â a long, deep kiss â breathing in his scent, before slowly pulling away. Deanâs head fell back against the pillow and his eyes closed and a deep sigh escaped his throat as your lips left his and you began to trail kisses downward.
You planted tiny, hot kisses on his stubbled chin, then lower, to the sensitive spot on his neck where his pulse raced wildly beneath the skin. Deanâs fingers instantly clenched the sheets, his body tensing with pleasure. You didnât stop, your kisses wandered lower and lower, tracing his collarbone straight toward his chest, while your hand gently stroked the muscles along his side.Â
âFuckâŚâ Dean murmured, beside himself, his voice breaking with suppressed desire. His hand lifted from the sheet and buried itself in your hair, guiding your movements with his fingers.
Slowly, inch by inch, you slid down his body. Your kisses traced the line of his abs, his fingers clenched tightly in your hair â not to push you away, but to anchor you to him â as his breathing grew increasingly ragged and heavy. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, your fingers confidently found the metal button and the zipper. As you freed his straining manhood from the confines of the fabric, a stifled, hoarse plea escaped Deanâs lips.Â
âGodâŚâ he whispered, overcome, his head falling back helplessly against the pillow.
You slowly dragged your tongue teasingly along the length of his straining cock, causing his body to jerk beneath you. When you finally took him fully into your mouth and made that first deep stroke, Deanâs fingers instantly tightened in your hair. His hips began to move in rhythm with your mouth, and raw, deep sounds tore from his throat, sounds you had never heard from him before.
His face was completely contorted by overwhelming ecstasy. As you intensified your movements, his hips lifted involuntarily off the mattress, thrusting more wildly and deeply against your lips. For a moment, you looked up at him through the strands of your hair. Deanâs eyelids were heavy, his gaze clouded with pure, undisguised desire as he fixed his eyes on you. When your eyes met and he saw the triumphant satisfaction in yours, a deep, hoarse growl tore from his throat. That was the final straw.Â
âFuck... sweetheartâŚâ he groaned your name, his voice choking, as his body went completely rigid beneath you.
His hips gave one last, powerful thrust inside your mouth as he finally lost all control. Hot, pulsing waves filled your mouth, and Dean collapsed helplessly back onto the white sheets with a loud, broken sigh. His fingers slowly released your hair and his arms fell limp onto the mattress, while his chest rose and fell violently and raggedly.
You slowly climbed onto his body, wiping your mouth as that triumphant smile played on your lips. Dean was still struggling to catch his breath, but the moment he saw the look in your eyes, that predatory gleam instantly reignited in his own.Â
âYou little witchâŚâ he murmured hoarsely, his voice ringing with adoration.Â
Before you could reply, he reached behind your head and, with one decisive movement, locked his lips onto yours. This kiss held no trace of initial hesitation, deep and sultry, and tasting his own flavor on you only stoked the fire further.Â
Dean didn't stay beneath you for long. He flipped you over on the mattress and loomed over you once more, his broad shoulders almost completely blocking out the room's yellowish light. His eyes roamed over your body as his hands wandered to the insides of your thighs.
âI think I owe you one,â he whispered, the deep vibration of his voice felt right against your skin as he slowly slid down your body. Driven by his own desire, he wanted to drive you mad.Â
He gently parted your thighs and sank to his knees between them. You could see him eyeing your panties, running his thumb over the soaked fabric before hooking his fingers onto the side, pulling it off of you. When his first hot breath touched your most sensitive spot, your back arched involuntarily against the sheets, and your fingers instantly dug into the pillow.Â
He placed one, slow kiss onto your already wet entrance, lips gliding along the flesh before he pulled away with a pop for a second. His pointer and middle finger rise to your entrance, slowly sliding in, drawing a stifled sigh out of you before stretching you out, a content smirk appearing on his face.
His eyes dart up to meet yours, right before he leans closer, his mouth yet again making contact with your pussy, tongue darting out and drawing an upwards line, slick with his saliva and your fluids.
Dean knew exactly what he was doing, his movements were at once gentle and demanding, his stubble sending pleasant shivers across your skin with every small, circular motion of his head. Soft, stifled sighs and moans escaped you in the silence of the motel room as you felt your hips moving involuntarily toward his mouth.
He clearly loved the effect he was having on you, but he had no intention of stopping there. The fingers he used to stretch you moved slowly and confidently inside you, while his thumb began rhythmically rubbing your most sensitive spot.
Your fingers turned white as you gripped the mattress, his fingers and tongue launching a simultaneous, all-out assault on your senses. Deanâs fingers slid in and out of your throbbing core with a scissoring motion, while his thumb tormented your clit with precise, rhythmic strokes.Â
âDean⌠Shit, DeanâŚâ His name dissolved into hoarse, incoherent sighs and loud moans as your hips began to move with a mind of their own. Instinctively, you arched upward toward his mouth, chasing the tension that was building in your gut, ready to explode.Â
Dean loved it. He pinned your thighs down even tighter with his large hands, pressing your hips so firmly into the sheets that not a single millimeter of movement was lost. The pace of his tongue quickened, and his fingers plunged into you even more hungrily and deeply, completely filling your hot, slick inside.
Your body suddenly went taut, your back arched against the white sheet, and the first all-consuming wave of release tore from you in a loud, breathless cry.Â
Dean didn't pull away; he stayed right there, deeply savoring every internal pulse, his tongue and fingers tracing the contours of your climax until the tremors slowly subsided throughout your body.Â
Panting and limp, you sank back into the pillows. Dean slowly slid upward, his gaze boring deep into yours, a signature confident smile playing on his lips.
Dean slid up your body with a low, satisfied growl. He didn't ask questions, he was a man of actions. In one effortless motion, he gripped your hips and turned you over on the mattress. Before you knew it, your face was buried in the soft pillows while he knelt behind you, completely dominating the space â and your body.Â
The heat of his skin was searing as his broad chest pressed against your back. He reached around to gently sweep your hair aside, exposing your neck. Deanâs heavy, ragged breath seared your skin, while his hard, throbbing cock pressed right against your entrance, impatiently demanding entry.
âFuck... God, babyâŚâ he whispered hoarsely, his voice vibrating with need. âI can't hold back anymore.âÂ
His large palms clamped tightly onto your hips, pinning you in place, and with a decisive, deep, and powerful thrust, he slid into you completely. A loud, sharp moan escaped you, torn from your throat by the sudden tension, while your hands clutched convulsively at the rumpled sheets.Â
Dean didn't wait; desire had completely clouded his reason, and he immediately set a wild, relentless pace. Every thrust was deep and possessive, the rhythmic slap of his hips against your body set the tempo for the room's stifling silence.Â
You lay beneath him, your sounds muffled by the pillow your face was buried in, as his strength drove you again and again toward the edge of the precipice. Within the walls of the motel room, nothing existed but his hoarse panting and your continuous, stifled sighs.
You instinctively pressed your hips back against his movements, and a stifled growl tore from Dean as he felt your response. His large hands clamped around your waist like a vise, his fingernails digging deep into your skin as he held you steady.Â
Dean surrendered completely to the rhythm, driving his hips in even wilder, deeper thrusts that forced you down onto the mattress. With every movement, he seemed to penetrate to your very soul as the rhythmic slap of bodies and the rustle of sheets filled the room. Your head sank helplessly into the crumpled pillows while inarticulate moans and ragged gasps escaped your throat.
âSuch a good girl,â Dean muttered under his breath between ragged breath and deep groans.
Pleasure and tension rose to heights that the roomâs yellowish lights blurred before your eyes. Dean felt your insides clamping down hot and tight around his straining cock. Gripping your waist even tighter, he drove forward with those final few thrusts, completely lost in the moment.Â
âFuck, babyâŚâ he rasped into your ear as his body went rock-hard behind you. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely inside you, and hot, pulsing waves of release flooded your body. With a ragged sigh tearing from his throat, he collapsed helplessly against your back. His heavy, muscular chest heaved against your skin as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close in that moment of relief.
âGood girlâŚâ Dean murmured right against your neck, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He slowly withdrew, then with a long, satisfied sigh, flopped down onto the rumpled sheets beside you.Â
He immediately slid one arm beneath your head, pulling you close against his warm body, while his other hand casually tugged the blanket up to cover your bare skin. His chest was still heaving, and a stray bead of sweat rolled from his forehead onto the pillow, yet his face had completely relaxed.Â
âWell,â he broke the silence with a soft chuckle, gently running his finger along your shoulder. âI have to say, Agent Collins⌠This investigation took a much better turn than I expected.âÂ
For a moment, you both smiled at the absurdity of the situation.
âOh, come on, Winchester,â you said, digging your elbow into his muscular side as you turned toward him with a knowing smile. âDon't let the success go to your head. I just made sure you didn't fall asleep over the paperwork while we waited for my father.âÂ
Dean chuckled softly, the gravelly sound rising from his throat filled the warm room. He was just about to fire back with an equally cheeky remark and pull you even closer when a familiar, heavy rumble drifted in from the darkness outside, passing through the thin windowpane.Â
A car rolled into the motelâs gravel parking lot, and sharp, yellowish beams of light swept across the curtains. The laughter vanished from Deanâs face in an instant. It wasn't his Impala â the engine roar of your dadâs old, battered SUV cut through the silence.
âDamn it, itâs your old man,â Dean hissed. The relaxed, satisfied hunter vanished in a split second, replaced by sheer panic, the kind he hadn't felt even in the bloodiest vampire nest.Â
âSays the equally old man,â you retort under your breath, scrambling the sheets in a hurry to avoid getting caught.
With one massive heave, he threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed, scrambling for the clothes scattered across the floor.Â
âFuck, fuckâŚâ he muttered rapidly, trying to yank on his jeans while balancing on one leg and accidentally pulling his T-shirt on inside out.Â
You didn't wait either, your heart was pounding in your throat from the adrenaline as you snatched up your thin shirt from the edge of the bed. You both scrambled into your clothes with lightning speed, almost military precision while outside, you could hear the heavy slam of a car door, followed by the slow, weary sound of your fatherâs footsteps approaching your room along the concrete hallway.
Dean kicked his jacket under the bed at the last moment, and by the time the key turned in the lock, he was already standing at the desk, staring at the laptop screen as if he had spent the last hour studying a satellite map of the sawmill.Â
You had just sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to smooth out your hair with a single quick motion. The wooden door clicked open, and your father stepped into the room. His coat was muddy and his face was haggard with exhaustion, but his eyes immediately swept across the room.
Your father walked wearily into the center of the room with heavy steps and tossed the bloody hunting knife onto the table right next to your laptop. The dark blood, reeking of sulfur, was still fresh on the blade. With a massive sigh, your father slumped into the nearest available chair, rubbing his face. When he finally looked up, his gaze locked instantly onto Dean, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a wide, mocking grin.Â
âWinchester,â your father said, jerking his head toward Dean, his voice laced with weary yet gloating humor. âI didn't know the Winchester boys' latest tactic was wearing their T-shirts inside out. Is that some new camouflage method against the monsters, or did you just get dressed in the dark?âÂ
The air in the room seemed to stand still for a moment. Dean, who was still trying to fully regain his composure, froze for a split second. He quickly glanced down at his chest, where the T-shirtâs seam and inner label were proudly on display.
âOh, thatâŚâ Dean cleared his throat, and within seconds, his confident manner returned to his voice. He gave a quick shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. âI grabbed a quick shower while I was poring over the maps. I must have been in a rush and didn't even notice it.âÂ
Your father just chuckled softly at the excuse, he was too tired to push the issue or give it any deeper thought. Dean glanced at you, then immediately turned serious to shift the focus away from himself.Â
âYou okay, old man?â Dean asked, stepping closer to the table and eyeing the bloody knife with his arms crossed. âWhat happened at the sawmill?âÂ
Your father smiled â a triumphant smile at that â and leaned back in his chair.
âThe hunt is over,â your father replied, relief in his voice. âThe beast was in its nest, exactly where the locals said it would be. It was surprised I came alone, but it wasnât fast enough. I took care of it. The town will wake up to a much safer place tomorrow morning.âÂ
Then your father looked at you before he turned back to Dean, his voice turning serious and grateful.Â
âThanks for staying behind and looking after my daughter, Dean. For keeping her safe while I was away. I mean it.â
Dean tore his gaze away from your father for a moment and looked straight into your eyes. The corner of his mouth curled up again into that cocky smile.Â
âCome on, John, itâs nothing,â Dean replied quietly as he casually slid his hands into his pockets. âYou know Agent Collins and I make a perfect team. Iâve got her back. Anytime.â
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. ⤡ ă buy me a coffee ? ËËË
Summer seems to be passing slow, way too slow for your liking. But to your luck, your dad's friend â who got invited over to your pool for a few beers â is more than willing to make it more interesting.
pairing: dbf! mark meachum x fem!reader
warnings/tags: age gap (reader is 18+) .á dad's best friend .á older man younger woman .á smut .á piv .á oral (f!rec) .á riding .á questionable morals
fandom: countdown (2025)
word count: 4.7k
authorâs note: the only way for me to survive the summer is to try and romanticize it with bullshit like this bro i need it to be autumn already, only good thing about summer is that im on break rn... anyways i looove dilf era jensen and felt the urge to write something, enjoy!! xoxo
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Summer, oh summer. Where do I even beginâŚ
Your love-hate relationship with the season summer never ceased to settle. In a way, you liked summer, you got more time to hang out with your friends, shops stayed open longer, and you didnât have to walk home in complete darkness â which was your biggest drawback during winter, but that was a topic for another day.Â
On the other hand, thoughâŚ
Your friends had other friends, they had families, and not too surprisingly, this led to you being stuck alone while they were on the other side of the world, tanning on the burning sands of a pristine beach. You tried to occupy yourself, watch every single film and show on your watchlist, take walks, windowshop, genuinely anything to escape boredom, with a very low success rate.Â
Today was another boring day. No friend or boyfriend to go over to, just the stillness of your own home. Or at least so you thought, until the sound of a car pulling up right to your driveway broke the monotony of your day. You certainly werenât expecting anybody, so that raised the question of who this could be. Curiosity got the best of you as you pulled the white lace curtains apart, watching through the window as the carâs door flew open, a familiar face stepping out.Â
You recognized him immediately, your heart leaping as Mark Meachum, your dadâs work buddy and long-time friend, got out of his car, wearing jeans even in the scorching heat, a simple black shirt straining over his broad shoulders, a sixpack of beer in his hand.Â
Your dad spawns right in front of him, the two shaking hands before pulling each other closer and patting the shoulder of the other. You watch as the two converse a little before your dad motions towards the house, the two men striding up to the front door.Â
Your first instinct is to run, to hide back into the solace of your room before you publicly drool over a man much older than you, but letâs be real, youâve never been the fastest in PE. Before you could reach your room, the front doorâs handle clicked, rays of sunshine pouring in as Mark and your dad stepped inside.
âBaby, come say hi to Mark!â You hear your dad exclaim, your escape proving to be unsuccessful. Oh, well.Â
With no other choice left, you shuffle back to the living room conjoined with the kitchen. Just as expected, the two stood there, your dad idling away with something in the kitchen â fixing up a drink, knowing him â, while Mark stood patiently waiting, his beer-free hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans.Â
Regardless of how noiseless your footsteps were, Mark slowly turns into your direction, a soft smile crawling onto his face at the sight.
âHi,â he says, in that pleasant, deep tone that always makes you shiver. âI haven't seen you in ages. Youâve really grown up since the last time I was at your place.âÂ
Somewhat a lie, heâs last seen you on your 20th birthday, and around that time he used to hang out here a lot with your dad before work got way too serious and forced them to sideline anything fun-adjacent.
Just then, your dad turns back from the kitchen counter, two glasses in hand, completely oblivious to the tension vibrating in the air.Â
âSee, Mark? I told you this kidâs a real gem â just spends all day holed up in their room. Iâm glad you finally came out! How about you grab a bottle opener from the drawer for Mark while we head out to the pool?â
âOnly if you feel like coming out with us too,â Mark adds quietly, addressing his words directly to you, while your father is already heading toward the back door.
âMark, I hope you brought your swim trunks, because the pool water is just perfect!â Your dadâs enthusiastic shout comes from far away by now, the man through the door with one foot already.
Mark chuckles softly, his voice resonating deeply through the kitchen. âI always keep a pair in the car, just in case,â he replies, turning after your father with sluggish steps, his gaze lingering on you for a moment.Â
âGreat!â your dad says, clapping his hands together before turning to you. âGo upstairs, throw on a bikini or whatever you like and come join us. Mark and I will head out to get the beers sorted,don't take too long!âÂ
With that, your dad steps out onto the terrace, reaching for the crate of beer. Mark follows him, but before stepping out into the sunlight, he glances back over his shoulder. His eyes flash, and he gives you a slow, meaningful smile. Oh, he really was looking forward to seeing you in a swimsuit.
As you step out the patio door in your bikini, the hot summer air instantly hits your skin. As you walk toward the pool, you hear the clinking of bottles and your fatherâs laughter in the distance. It eases the tension a little â but only until you get closer.Â
Mark and your father are already in the water, sipping cold beer while leaning on the edge of the pool. When the sound of your steps gives you away, Mark is among the first to turn his head toward you. His gaze sweeps over your bikini-clad figure, and the appreciative flash in his eyes is far hotter than the afternoon sun. He clears his throat and takes a sip, as if suddenly struck by thirst.Â
âWell, finally! I thought youâd fallen asleep inside,â your father teases, splashing a little water your way.
Feeling a bit self-conscious, with your arms crossed in front of you, you step up to the edge of the pool. Although the situation is slightly awkward in the company of two grown men, you try to appear relaxed as you sit on the concrete rim and dangle your legs into the pleasantly cool, shimmering water.Â
Mark steps closer to the corner where youâre sitting almost immediately. He rests his arms on the edge, barely a meter away from your knees. His shoulders and chest glisten with water in the sunlight, and his proximity is almost mesmerizing.Â
âThe waterâs great, you should come all the way in,â Mark says in a deep, low voice, his eyes gazing straight into your soul.Â
âLeave her be, Mark, sheâll get in if she wants to,â your father calls out from the other side of the pool, reaching for his phone as it rings on the sunbed. âGuys, I have to take this, itâs work calling. Iâll be right back.â
Your father climbs out of the water in one fluid motion, throws on a towel, and heads toward the house.
Mark takes a leisurely sip of his beer, then sets the bottle on the edge of the pool.Â
âSoâŚâ he begins thoughtfully, resting his elbows on the rim as he looks up at you. âHow is your summer going? Your dad mentioned youâve been home alone a lot lately.â
His voice is low, calm, and discreet, but his eyes tell a different story. As his gaze traces your shoulders and your neckline before meeting yours again, the truth becomes glaringly obvious to both of you, the man just as attracted to you as you are to him.Â
âIâm just trying to pass the time,â you reply, gently swirling the water with your legs to hide your nervousness. âWatching movies, reading... But most of my friends have gone away. Itâs pretty boring.â
The corner of Markâs mouth curls into a slight, knowing smile. He leans a little closer and lowers his voice even further, as if sharing a secret with you.Â
âWell, if Iâd known you were this lonely, I might have dropped by to âvisit your fatherâ more often. It would have been a shame to miss a sight like this.â
âDeal. You can come over anytime now, the gateâs always open,â you say casually, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Markâs eyes widen a bit at your boldness, and heâs just about to reply when the patio door suddenly flies open. Your dad steps out, now in street clothes, slipping his phone into his pocket with a tense look on his face.Â
âMark, buddy, Iâm sorry, but I have to head into the office,â your dad says irritably, twirling his car keys on his finger. âThereâs some trouble with the servers, and I need to be there. Since youâve driven all this way, donât even think about going home! Just hang out, use the pool, have a beer. Besides, at least the kid will finally have some company.â
Mark switches instantly, the disciplined, friendly mask sliding back over his features.Â
âSure, no problem. Iâll keep an eye on the house... and your daughter,â he adds, shifting the emphasis just enough so your father doesnât notice, yet your own face instantly flushes hot.Â
âGreat, thanks! Iâll be back in a few hours!â your father calls out, then disappears into the house with hurried steps. Moments later, his carâs engine roars to life, tires crunch and squeal on the gravel driveway, the gate closes, and a suffocating silence descends upon the house.
Home Alone, starring you and Mark Meachum. Ouh shit.
He slowly steps closer, then right between your legs in the water while you sit on the edge of the pool, his chest nearly brushing against your knees. Even though the situation is almost unbearably hot, Mark attempts some casual conversation. His voice is low as he asks about everyday things â school or your future plans â but neither of you is really paying attention to the words. You find yourself staring at him, his face, hair, broad shoulders, soaked by the pool water, while he keeps his eyes fixed on your mouth and the straps of your bikini.Â
âSo, tell meâŚâ Mark whispers, his hands drifting to your knees and gently stroking your skin with his thumbs. âAre you always this bold, or is it just today?â
You lean in a little closer, right up to his ear.Â
âOnly if thereâs someone here worth the boldness.â You donât pull away after the whisper, you stay close, your gaze locked defiantly with his, your breath almost brushing against his skin.Â
Mark instantly picks up on the green light. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away should you change your mind. One of his hands slides from your knee to your waist, while the other, his palm hot and damp, gently cups your chin. The distance between you vanishes. Markâs lips press against yours softly, yet with hunger.
You instantly wrap your arms around his neck, run your fingers through the thick, slightly damp hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him closer. The kiss deepens in a heartbeat. A low, satisfied growl escapes Markâs throat as he feels your response. His hand against your waist grows firmer, pulling you tight against him. Markâs lips are soft yet confident, tasting of beer and summer sunlight.Â
When your lips part for a brief moment to catch your breath, Mark doesnât pull away. He rests his forehead against yours â his breathing heavy and ragged, his eyes dark with desire â while his thumb gently caresses your cheek.Â
âGodâŚâ he whispers hoarsely, barely an inch from your lips. âYou have no idea how long Iâve wanted to do this.â
Mark slowly begins to step backward in the pool, pulling you gently but firmly into the depths with his hands gripping your waist tightly. As you slide off the concrete ledge, the cool water instantly envelops your body, yet you barely notice the chill, the heat radiating from Markâs body overpowers everything.Â
Taking advantage of the waterâs buoyancy, you instinctively wrap your legs around his muscular waist, pressing yourself close against him in the middle of the pool. A deep, satisfied sigh escapes Markâs throat at your movement. Wasting not a second, he immediately claims your lips again, resuming the kiss.Â
Beneath the water, you feel his broad chest pressing against your bikini top and his hands sliding beneath your ass and thighs to hold you steady. Mark is lost in your touch as his tongue plays a game that is soft yet possessive, and you surrender yourself completely to his lead.
As he backs you toward the pool wall in the heat of the kiss, your back making a gentle landing against the smooth tiles, Mark breaks the kiss for a moment. His wet hair clings to his face, and his gaze is practically burning as he looks you over.Â
âShit,â he whispers hoarsely, his hand gliding over your wet shoulder, careful not to leave any visible marks on your skin. âIf your father knew what was going through my mindâŚâ
As the kiss deepens again, his hands slowly move upward beneath the water. They travel from your thighs to your hips, then follow the bottom strap of your bikini to grip your waist, pressing his own body almost flush against yours.Â
Then, his mouth breaks away from yours and begins to wander hungrily across your face, along your jawline and down to your neck. As his hot, wet lips and tongue touch the sensitive skin of your neck, a soft gasp escapes your throat. Mark gently bites into your skin, balancing right on the edge of what feels good without risking a bruise your father might notice.
You seize the moment, gently placing your hands on his shoulders and pushing him back slightly so you can look into his eyes.Â
âLet's go insideâŚâ you whisper, your voice still trembling with excitement. âLet's go in before someone sees us out here.âÂ
Markâs eyes gleam darkly, and he nods in agreement.Â
âRight, right,â he replies in a husky voice. He slowly moves with you toward the edge of the pool, then â using the water's buoyancy and his own strength â carefully lifts you up and sets you back onto the concrete rim, right back in the position where it all began. You sit on the edge with your legs still dangling in the water, while he stands before you, waist-deep in the cool water.
Before Mark climbs out to join you, he decides not to let the moment pass. His gaze sweeps over your wet thighs for a moment, and the corner of his mouth curls into a cheeky smile. With a slow, deliberate movement, he steps closer, presses his hot palms against your knees, and gently spreads your legs.
He leans down, and with his wet lips, begins to plant tiny kisses on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Each kiss travels higher, and his hot breath scorches your skin amidst the cool droplets of water. You instinctively grip the edge of the pool as a shiver runs through your body.
You instinctively lean back, resting on your elbows, yielding to Mark, who immediately senses your bodyâs surrender. One of his hands settles firmly on your hip, anchoring you against the rim, while his mouth finds the edge of your bikiniâs bottoms. Mark takes his time: his hot tongue and lips play gently, with torment around your most sensitive spot, wringing a soft, stifled gasp from your throat. With your free hand, you instinctively run your fingers through his hair, weaving them into the thick, wet strands, sometimes pulling him closer, other times clutching him tight as the tension mounts.
He leans down and plants one last, lingering kiss on the wet fabric of your bikini, right where your bodyâs throbbing the hardest. His hot breath seeps through the thin material, making you whimper involuntarily and grip the edge of the pool even tighter. Mark gently catches the edge of your bikini bottoms with his fingers and, in a single careful motion, slides them down your wet thighs, laying you completely bare.Â
The cool summer breeze suddenly brushes against your naked, sensitive skin, creating a sharp contrast to the stifling heat that had just been there. Mark doesn't let you feel self-conscious about your sudden vulnerability for even a second. He tosses the bottoms onto the pool deck, then firmly grips your thighs with both hands, pulling your hips right to the edge of the pool, drawing you flush against him.Â
He leans forward again, his tongue making direct contact with your burning spot. Your back instantly arches against the concrete, your head falls back, and your fingers tangle tightly in Markâs wet hair, while the pool water laps softly with his rhythmic movements.
The biggest challenge is keeping quiet. You try to stifle every single moan and gasp of pleasure â pressing one hand over your mouth and sinking your teeth into your lip â because you know full well that the neighbors in the open courtyard could hear anything.
Yet your stifled, trembling sounds only inflame Mark further. You can feel his hands practically digging into your flesh with tension, while his tongue grows even bolder, even more demanding.
As his tongue and lips tirelessly work on you, his hands don't remain idle either. One hot palm presses firmly against the inner curve of your thigh, while the fingers of his other hand slowly wander toward your fully aroused, wet entrance. He caresses you slowly, teasingly, before gently sliding a single finger inside.Â
You whimper involuntarily at the sudden sensation of fullness, and your hips instinctively lift off the ground, craving more. Mark hears your stifled sound, and the corner of his mouth curls into a satisfied smile against your skin.Â
He doesn't rush a thing. Using that single finger, he begins to pleasure you inside with slow, rhythmic movements, precisely gauging the angle and pace. When he feels your inner muscles tightening around his finger and hears your breathing grow ragged, he ups the ante. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slides another finger in beside the first, stretching you and filling you even more deeply.
The synchronized interplay of his mouth and fingers creates a sensation of almost unbearable intensity. Mark knows exactly how to ramp up the pressure: his thumb stimulates your clit in a circular motion from the outside, while his fingers move inside with an increasingly rapid, confident rhythm.Â
Your fingers dig into his hair as waves of pleasure build within you.
âJust like that... show me how much youâre enjoying it,â Mark whispers hoarsely between movements, his hot breath washing over your skin.
Just as the tension reaches its limit and your legs tremble involuntarily against his shoulders, Mark pushes you over the edge with one final, all-consuming thrust. Waves of pleasure surge through you, hot and convulsive. A deep, stifled, sob-like sound escapes your throat as your body goes completely limp against the edge of the pool.
Mark continues to plant soft, soothing kisses on your wet skin for a few more moments as you try to stifle your ragged breathing. He slowly lifts his head, that infinitely proud smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He reaches up and uses a wet thumb to gently brush strands of hair from your face, his dark, longing gaze sweeping over your exposed lower body.Â
âWell, what did I tell you?â he whispers, his chest still heaving. âAnd that was just the beginning. Now, before someone actually hears us... let's go inside.â
As the trembling in your body begins to subside, Mark wastes no time. With a decisive movement, he pushes himself out of the pool, reaches for your wet bikini bottoms lying by the poolâs edge, presses them into your hand, and then â sliding his arms beneath your thighs and back â effortlessly lifts you up.Â
His wet, toned body instantly presses against your bare skin as he strides firmly from the pool toward the terrace. You canât help yourself. Held in his arms, you wrap your hands around his neck and surrender completely to the fresh wave of desire rising within you. As he carries you across the hot concrete, you press your lips against his jaw. You cover his face with fleeting kisses, then trail down to his neck, where his skin feels almost scorching from the sun and the tension.Â
A deep, stifled growl escapes Markâs throat in response to your touch. He pauses for a moment, burying your head even tighter against his shoulder as his arms tense beneath your body.
âIf you keep this up, we wonât even make it to the living room,â he whispers hoarsely, kicking the heavy glass door open with his foot. The houseâs cool, air-conditioned air instantly hits your wet skin, but you hardly notice it. Mark strides confidently toward the stairs with heavy steps, while you keep kissing his neck, feeling his pulse racing wildly beneath your lips.
Mark enters your bedroom and firmly kicks the door shut behind you. Here, there is no need to worry about neighbors or the outside world. He wastes no time, walking straight to the bed and laying you down on the soft mattress with incredible tenderness, yet with confidence. Your wet body seems to sink into the sheets as Mark immediately towers over you. He leaves no time for hesitation or awkwardness as his gaze sweeps over your naked lower body, and the burning desire in his eyes makes his intentions unmistakable.
His chest rises and falls violently, and his abdominal muscles glisten with sweat and pool water in the semi-darkness of the room, curtains closed but the sun still faintly shining through.
He presses his lips against yours in a long, deep kiss as if trying to drink in the heat radiating from you.Â
The kiss is cool yet hungry, and his ragged breathing mingles with yours. Yet, instead of letting him take full control and pin you beneath him, a sudden surge of confidence and the adrenaline pulsing through you take charge. As you kiss, you place your hands on his chest.Â
Mark is momentarily surprised by your assertive touch, but he doesn't resistâwatching curiously to see what you have in mind. With a gentle yet firm movement, you push him away, compelling him to lie back. A knowing smile plays at the corners of Markâs mouth as he complies: he stretches out on his back on your bed and looks up at you.
You swing your leg over his hips and confidently straddle him. Now with you on top, your bare skin comes in direct contact with his sculpted abs. Markâs gaze sweeps over your body, and his hands rise to settle firmly on your hips, ready to follow your every move.
You smile slowly, and instead of stripping off his clothes right away, you begin to move against him with deliberate slowness. With rhythmic, circular motions of your hips, you rub yourself against the manhood straining beneath his swimming shorts. A deep, hoarse growl escapes Markâs throat, and his abdominal muscles â and dick â go rock-hard beneath you as he struggles to maintain control.Â
While you torment him with your slow pace, he doesn't hold back either as his hands slide up from your hips to your back. His fingers confidently find the strap of your bikini top and undo the knot with a single, decisive movement. The wet fabric slips loosely off your shoulders, leaving your upper body completely bare. Markâs gaze fixes hungrily and darkly on your cleavage as his palms grip your waist.
Then, you decide the moment has come for the next step. You lift yourself up slightly and, using your hands, slowly slide his shorts down, inch by inch, freeing him completely from that final barrier. Markâs throbbing manhood presses directly against your hot, wet entrance. You wait no longer as slowly, deeply, and completely, you sink down onto him.Â
A stifled sound escapes you both at the sudden, stretching sensation of fullness. You arch your head back, digging your fingernails deep into his shoulders, while Markâs hips lift instinctively off the mattress as he takes you fully.Â
You sit astride his hips, moving confidently up and down at your own pace, while Mark savors every moment with intent eyes. He never once tears his eyes away from your face and body as your skin presses together in the dim light. Deep, satisfied growls escape his throat again and again as he feels just how tightly and completely you envelop him. Though he has ceded control to you, his hands do not remain idle as his large, hot palms grip your hips firmly. He gently guides and assists your movements with decisive motions.
As the pace grows increasingly urgent and wild, you dig your fingernails deep into his shoulders, throw your head back, and let your loud moans freely fill the room. Grasping your hips, Mark pulls you even closer, fully supporting your movements from below as the tension building between you rushes unstoppably toward the final explosion.
Just as the tension becomes almost unbearable and you feel you are both teetering on the brink, Markâs self-control finally snaps. He can no longer bear the passive role, his hands, gripping your hips, suddenly tense. With a single decisive motion, he seizes you and turns you over on the bed.Â
The next moment, you are lying on your back amidst the rumpled sheets, and he is instantly towering over you. He gives you no time to catch your breath. He spreads your thighs wide and â casting aside any trace of the earlier slowness â sets a whole new, overwhelming rhythm with deep, powerful thrusts. The mattress springs creak softly from the vigorous movement, and the wet sounds of skin meeting skin fill the silence of the bedroom.
You instinctively dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. Muffled, hoarse growls escape Markâs throat with every thrust, and you lose yourself completely in the overwhelming pace. Waves of pleasure crash over you both in a matter of seconds, and the sudden shift to a wilder rhythm instantly pushes you over the edge.Â
Your body tenses and spasms beneath him as Mark buries himself deep inside you with one final thrust, following you to the peak with a loud, hoarse groan.Â
For long minutes, the only sound in the room is your heavy, ragged breathing. Mark doesnât pull away immediately as he rests his full weight upon you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin, while his heart pounds wildly against your chest.
Slowly, as your heavy breathing begins to subside, Mark lifts his head. Damp strands of hair cling to his forehead, and the wild, dark hunger that had filled his eyes is replaced by a look of utter satisfaction.Â
He leans in closer and presses one last, soft kiss to your swollen lips before letting out a low chuckle.Â
âWellâŚâ he whispers in that signature deep voice, gently tracing your cheek with his thumb. âI have to say, dropping by your dadâs place today was definitely worth it. This is easily the best summer activity Iâve ever done.âÂ
His remark snaps you back to reality, reminding you of the most crucial factor: the time. You push lightly against his broad chest and reach for beside the bed to check your phone. You glance anxiously at the screen, worried you might have been found out, but you breathe a sigh of relief as you unlock it.
A text message from your dad actually arrived right during the scene at the pool.Â
"The server trouble is worse than I thought. Itâll be at least another 2â3 hours before I finish and get home. I hope Mark isn't too bored, put on a movie for him!"Â
You let out an involuntary laugh at the message and show the screen to Mark, who reads the lines while leaning back on one elbow. The corner of his mouth immediately quirks up into that smile that still makes you shiver. He runs his gaze over your naked body, then slides closer, smoothing a hot palm over your hip and gently pulling you against him across the sheets.Â
âSo, he won't be home for hoursâŚâ he murmurs right into your ear as his bearded cheek grazes your neck. âWhat do you think, instead of watching a movie, would you be up for round two? Because Iâm nowhere near finished with you yet.â
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ ; 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
The last thing Mark Meachum expects is a workplace crush. So, needless to say, life blesses him with one. the only problem is, she seems to be way too close with somebody else already â but Mark is willing to go to any length to break them up.
pairing: mark meachum x fem!reader
warnings/tags: age gap (reader is +18) , dilf era jensen , workplace , obsessive mark meachum, older man younger woman , social media stalking , positive ending , questionable morals
inspo credits: soldierboyscoke on tiktok
word count: 6.7k
authorâs note: i keep seeing these jensen scenario videos and oh my god bruh i feel so tempted to write some oneshot based on them its crazy⌠huge shoutout to the people over on tiktok who encouraged me to write this, i love u guys!! title from that one song in the obsession (2025) soundtrack, i love this song sm!! enjoy!! xoxo
masterlist. đŁ˛â profile navigation.
Working as a detective has its perks â at least for Mark Meachum.
Heâs had less field work coming his way lately, spending more time loitering around the office instead, putting more effort into paperwork. Or at least he would be putting more effort into that paperwork, if he could focus on the stack of sheets dumped on his desk. But of course HR just recently hired fresh meat, and of course they had to seat her right where Mark could get glimpses of her every time he glanced up from his desk.Â
Pretty, young clerk who just transferred here, so caught up in whatever work your boss threw at you that never once did you notice the watchful eyes of Mark being glued onto you, or you just did an insanely good job ignoring it.Â
Heâs been eyeing you for a while now, ever since he noticed that the cubicle thatâs been sitting empty for months by now finally got a new inhabitant. When he first saw that somebodyâs bag and papers were resting there, he just nodded to himself, accepting that he just got a new coworker, shuffling over to his own desk â which he barely used, considering that he preferred to be out on the field, and was doing an awfully good job at that.Â
The turn came when he glanced up at the sound of heels clicking, eyes drifting over to the direction of the sound. Sure enough, his eyes lock onto the young, neatly dressed â presumably clerk or secretary â woman, who just so happens to be heading right towards him. She comes to a halt right in front of Markâs table, placing an ashy brown document folder with the utmost care.
âAgent Blythe sent this. He said you should go over this as soon as you can,â she spoke up, tone quiet, as if she was scared that Mark was going to bite. No, that was the last thing he would do â unless she asked him to.Â
Mark nodded along, eyes slowly wandering from the document up to the woman, assessing as much about her as he could. Definitely younger than him, and definitely new here.Â
âThank you,â Mark pressed out after the realization that sheâs been waiting for some kind of response from him dawns on his suddenly lovestruck brain. Shooting him a weak smile, she pivots, and much to Markâs surprise, plops down into the seat he previously eyed.Â
Ever since then, heâs been keeping his eye more on you, the newcomer, than on the assigned paperwork. In a way, he found your constant focus charming, his eyes studying the curves of your face and body as much as he could.Â
Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month. One month of silent admiration, and Mark Meachum hasnât made any moves. It was weird, considering that it was him out of all people. If anybody, he was the one who hesitated the least when it came to picking up women. Perhaps that was the reason why nobody ever really registered that his âspacing outâ had more behind it.Â
His co-workers would sometimes take notice of how his eyes tended to wander over to you, said co-workers just watching with furrowed brows before Markâs attention shifted back onto them and onto the mission, paperwork, or meeting topic at hand. Unbeknownst to them, even on the smaller field missions he was assigned to, his mind was still revolving around the woman in the office.
He woke up, and his first thought was you, which bag charm youâd pick today, how youâd do your hair, which plain white dress shirt youâll wear â because despite his age, his eyes were still good enough to pinpoint that each shirt, despite looking the same at first glance, was a bit different. He had enough time to observe, that was for sure. Mark was, in a way, living his best life at the office.Â
Until he wasnât.
You spent less of your breaks at the coffee machine, and more looming over the desk of some scrawny guy, just two desks away from yours. When you did in fact spend your break at that damned coffee machine, you did it with the same scrawny guy. Mark tried to reassure himself that you two were talking about business, some task you two had to work together on, but the more he watched you two laugh together, the less convincing that alibi sounded to him.
It didnât help that one time, when both him, you, and your alleged friend were on coffee break at the same time, while Mark was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, a coworker of his came up to him, noticing as his eyes were fixed on you, and out of the blue just said âTheyâre so cute together, arenât they?â. He had the audacity to smile while saying this, too, Mark involuntarily frowning, both at the fact that this heavily implied that you and that dude were dating, and that this coworker of his seemingly approved.
No, theyâre not cute, Mark wanted to retort, only to stop himself at the last second, gripping the to-go cup just a bit harder instead.Â
Now, rumors say you two are dating. Does Mark like that? Absolutely not.Â
So, after listening to somebody raving on about how you and this twink are the cutest couple at the office, he pushes himself up from his desk with a sigh, deciding that itâs time to confront you. Not in a âWhat the fuck is going on?â way, but more in a âSmall talk, soft smiles, discreet questionsâ kind of way.
Catching you alone proved to be a harder task than expected, that guy whose guts he despised always lingering just a step away from you.Â
So, when he finally saw you alone at the coffee machine â your regular spot by now, paying it a visit way too often â, he pounced on the chance.Â
The coffee machine emits a low, rumbling sound as it releases hot steam, while the paper cup slowly fills up. The noise from the hallway fades slightly around you, marking your first moment of calm since the morning rush.Â
A shadow falls across the machine, and you sense a presence beside you. It isnât your usual colleague, you would recognize his footsteps from a distance. Shooting a sly glance in that direction youâre surprised to see Mark Meachum, standing next to you with an air of complete ease, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
"I was starting to think youâd bought a season pass for this machine," he says, his voice carrying that familiar deep, slightly husky tone as a faint, small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Whenever I look up from my papers, I either see you here, or..." he pauses for a moment, feigning thought as his eyes sweep over you in a flash, lingering on the shirt youâre wearing today, "...or your companion."
He leans in a little closer, as if about to share a confidential secret, though his body language suggests he is flirting rather than discussing official business.Â
"Iâve heard from the others that youâve been doing some serious teamwork lately. Do you really get along as well as the rumors say, dating, according to them, or did a shared caffeine addiction bring you together?"
âOh, um,â you stammer for a second, taken aback by his question. You could feel your face burning up as he stared you down, a calm smirk plastered across his face as he awaited your response. âNo point in lying to a detective, huh,â you muster up. âI didnât know it was⌠this public. And obvious.â
Of course itâs obvious, that twinkâs following you like a lost puppy, Mark thought, although kept it to himself and kept his facade.
âBut⌠yeah, weâre⌠together,â you finally press out, eyes darting over to your coffee cup in a weak attempt to avoid his piercing gaze.
âAre you happily together, or just... together?â he asks, his voice deliberately playful, as if the question were merely part of typical, teasing office banter. Inside, however, every nerve of his strained.
âIâm⌠really happy with him, actually,â you nervously chuckle, still trying your best to avoid having to look him in the eye.Â
Mark feels as though heâs been punched in the gut. The professional detective, who has always managed to talk his way out of any situation, suddenly feels defenseless before the girl standing by the counter.
âThen... I suppose I should offer my congratulations,â he says finally, and for once, all mockery or flirtatiousness vanishes from his voice, replaced by a quiet, slightly weary note of acknowledgment. âThat sort of thing is rare in this house. I hope he takes good care of you. Because if he doesnât, Iâll be forced to have a word with him... on a strictly professional basis, of course.â
Mark watches in silence as that kind, understanding smile flits across your face. Oh, how it melted his heart. You donât take offense at his remark, nor do you play along, you simply... gently close the subject.Â
As you turn and walk down the hallway, paper cup in hand, the heels of your shoes click rhythmically against the stone â just as they did that very first day you set that folder down in his office.Â
He doesnât move right away. He stays there by the coffee machine, leaning against the wall, his gaze following your figure until you turn behind the partitions and back into your own domain.
The noise of the corridor returns, and colleagues bustle back and forth, yet the image of your eyes lighting up with happiness as you spoke about him â that other guy â still lingers in Markâs mind.Â
Finally, with a deep, stifled sigh, he pushes himself away from the wall and heads toward his own desk. He doesnât look at you as he sits down, but his movements are heavier than usual. The stack of papers is still waiting for him on his desk â the very work he had been using as the perfect excuse to stay close to you.
He makes sure to stalk all your social media that same night.
He feels like a teenage girl for doing so, but desperate times require desperate measures, and tonight just so happened to be a desperate night.
Still, he had an advantage that those teenagers didnât â his career. Of course, it wasnât the most ethical use of his tools as a detective, but something had to be done. It only helped him that you worked right where he did, which put your name in the companyâs files, which he could access. Birthday, phone number, full name, birthplace, every basic thing he couldâve asked for, right under his fingertips.
Mark made sure to check in on your more personal details too, taking over to Instagram â finding it through a software that was able to connect every social media account to a phone number or other personal info youâve given to make the account.
The more he found out about you, the more enamored he felt towards you. You seemed just like he thought youâd be, Mark even cracking a few faint smiles as he went through your posts and stories. They revealed just about anything about you. People youâre friends with, hobbies, interests, places you frequented, everything he needed to get a grasp on you and your habits.
Suddenly, his smile faded. Scrolling through your highlights, the screen flashes to a picture of you and the twink he oh-so-despited. In the picture were you two, with you planting a kiss on his cheek.Â
Oh, how much Mark wouldâve paid just to be in that guyâs spot! That twink looked awful next to you, it was like putting a rat and a supermodel side by side, him being the rat of course. Oddly enough, you seem happy. Keyword, seem.Â
That guy probably doesnât even know how to take you on a date, stifled behind that desk all day, hunched over like a caveman. Heâs the most regular looking regular dude in existence. He probably canât even hold his weight up when heâs above you in bed! He probably makes you do all the work!Â
You deserve better than that, thatâs for sure. Somebody who knows exactly how to work their fingers and mouth on your body, somebody who actually makes you feel good during sex. Somebody who actually pays attention to you, somebody who takes you on proper dates, somebody who actually cares about you. Surprisingly enough, the description seemed to fit somebody called Mark Meachum.
Alright, itâs his dirt for not not doing anything back when he couldâve, but still, this entire situation felt like the universe just majorly fucked him over. Of course the worst guy gets the best girl. It felt like such a joke.Â
What did you see in him anyway? Definitely not his looks, that was for sure. Was he that funny? Mark is funny too, why not choose him? And heâs handsome too, and could totally provide everything you could ever ask for for you! From good meals to gifts to love and comfort to a home to good sex, heâs got it all! One word from you, and heâs yours!
But as long as that dudeâs in the wayâŚ
Mark crafted his masterplan. Heâd do whatever needed to be done, and already had a few ideas. First, he needs the guy to lose his shit. It didnât matter why or over what, he just needed him over the edge, shouting, ready to land a hit on anybody. Women hate abusive men, and the moment this guy snaps, you could have a perfectly good reason to leave his ass. Bonus points if it happens with Mark present, giving him a perfect chance to swoop in, be the hero, and save the day. Chicks dig heroes, no?
The detectiveâs mind, which spends the day unraveling a web of crimes, now begins to weave a very different kind of web at night. Unethical? Who cares about ethics when your happiness is at stake with a man who probably canât even afford to buy you a decent dinner, let alone treat you like a queen? Mark knows exactly what you need: attention, a real man who will protect you, who knows how to touch you, and with whom you never have to shrink away in fear.
If the guy makes a scene, starts screaming in the middle of the office, or â better yet â raises a hand against someone... you leave him immediately. And who will be there to help you up, to calm you down, to form a shield between you and the world with his broad shoulders? Mark Meachum.
The next morning, Mark walks into the office a completely different man. Gone is the weary, disillusioned man of the day before. He looks elegant â well-shaven, his shirt straining against his broad shoulders â and his confidence practically vibrates in the air.Â
As he passes your cubicle, he doesnât stop, but for a split second, he flashes that deep, knowing gaze at you, the kind that stirs something deep inside you. Then, his eyes slowly drift toward the guy sitting two desks away. A faint, predatory smile, almost imperceptible, touches Markâs lips.Â
Throughout the morning, Mark begins to execute the first phase: applying subtle psychological pressure.
When the guy goes out to the photocopier, Mark "accidentally" happens to be right there. He doesn't speak to him but steps up beside him in the narrow corridor, using his physical size to tower over him. When the guy finishes with the papers, Mark blocks his path for a moment before finally stepping aside with a cocky, condescending half-smile.Â
Later, in the communal kitchen, just as the guy is standing by the microwave, Mark walks in chatting with an agent and deliberately remarks loudly.Â
"âŚYeah, some people just aren't cut out for field work. You get those typical desk-bound rodents whoâd crumble if they ever faced a real problem. Itâs a good thing they handle the paperwork for us, at least, right?"
He sees the guyâs shoulders tense up and his neck start to flush with anger, yet he holds his tongue. Mark mentally chalks up a point for himself. The office gossip and subtle teasing have begun.Â
Every time you walk past Mark, he is deliberately kind and attentive, offering a small compliment about your hair or your shirtâjust enough to make your boyfriend, who is watching you from afar, increasingly agitated and jealous. Mark knows exactly what heâs doing: he is slowly, systematically injecting poison into your relationship, waiting for the moment the guy finally snaps from jealousy.
A few days later, the perfect opportunity arises. Thereâs an afternoon office meeting attended by both your department and the detectives. As it happens, your boyfriend is the one giving the presentation. Heâs visibly nervous, his hand trembling slightly as he holds the laser pointer.Â
Mark sits at the far end of the conference table, leaning back comfortably and twirling a pen between his fingers. He looks bored, yet he is watching you out of the corner of his eye, observing the way you smile encouragingly at your friend. That smile is the final straw for him.Â
The moment has come. When the guy finishes his talk and asks if there are any questions, Mark slowly sets down his pen and straightens up.
âI have a question, if you donât mind,â Mark speaks up. His voice is soft, yet it carries an edge. âThe data on the slide looks good. But whatâs the plan if things donât go according to script in the real world? Because this strategy is... cowardly, to put it mildly. Itâs like someone is afraid to get their hands dirty. Are you sure you can handle a real crisis, or when trouble hits, would you rather just hand the job over to the grown-ups?âÂ
The air in the room freezes. Your boyfriendâs face goes stark white, then flushes a fiery red. He grips his notebook so hard his knuckles turn white. He knows perfectly well that Mark isnât criticizing the presentation, but him â as a man â and doing it right in front of you and the entire office.
The guyâs throat is visibly going dry as he swallows hard and practically drives the laser pointer into the tabletop to hide his trembling hand. Markâs mocking, confident gaze is practically burning his skin, yet he doesnât dare lash out with the bosses present.
"The strategy... is based on protocol, Detective Meachum," the guy manages to choke out, his voice an octave higher than it should be. "But thanks for the observation."Â
Mark acknowledges the reply with nothing more than a nonchalant, barely perceptible nod. He doesnât need to do anything else. He successfully castrated the guyâs self-esteem right there in the office.
As you leave the meeting room, your friend practically strides ahead down the hallway, not even waiting for you. When you catch up with him in the small, secluded photocopy room next to your department, itâs immediately apparent that their pent-up anger and humiliation is about to erupt.Â
The moment the door shuts out the outside world, he turns to you, their face still flushed with tension.Â
"What the hell was that?" he demands, trying to keep his voice low but trembling with rage. "Did you see what he did? He made a fool of me in front of the entire management! And you? You just sat there! You didn't say a word in my defense!"Â
"Please, calm down, itâs just work, he had a logical question, andâ" you try to soothe them, but your words only add fuel to the fire.
âDonât tell me itâs just work!â he snaps, brushing off your attempt to get closer with an angry wave of his hand. âMeachumâs been circling you like a vulture for weeks! By the coffee machine, in the hallway... Heâs always right there wherever you are. And you actually encourage him with that sweet little smile of yours! You think I donât see it? You think Iâm blind?! Why donât you just tell him to get lost? Or maybe you like having a ârealâ detective hovering around you, not some âdesk-bound rodent,â which is what he called me?!âÂ
His tone is harsh, accusatory, and unfair. Heâs speaking to you in a way youâve never heard before, and jealousy is completely distorting his behavior. In short, everything is going according to plan.
Feigning boredom but actually on tenterhooks, Mark walks down the corridor past the photocopier room, carrying an empty binder as if he has business there. The door doesn't close quite right, so every word of the heated argument spilling out reaches his ears clearly. Mark stops a few paces from the door, leans back against the wall, and a triumphant gleam lights up his dark eyes. His plan is working perfectly. The guy is digging his own grave right now.
The tension is almost palpable in the cramped air, thick with the smell of photocopier toner. You stand there, stunned, facing your partner, whose eyes are now completely devoid of the gentle, familiar warmth that made you fall for them in the first place.Â
"Thatâs not true!" you say, raising your voice to break through their wall of anger while holding your hands up defensively. "Mark is just a colleague, nothing more!â Ouch, that stings Mark a bit, overhearing this too. âYes, we ran into each other by the coffee machine, but I was polite because I work here and donât want to make enemies. You think Iâm encouraging him? I chose you, Iâm with you!"
Well, not for long, Mark silently smirks to himself.
"Oh, sure, polite!" the guy snaps, a hysterical, bitter half-smile twisting his face. He steps closer, invading your personal space, and jabs his index finger angrily toward your chest, though he doesn't actually touch you. "I saw the way he looked at you in the conference room! And you just take it. Because you like the attention, right? You like having some big, armed macho guy checking you out in the hallway! You turn his head, and then youâre surprised when he comes after me in front of the bosses? Did he do it because of me? Hell no! Because of you! Because he thinks he can have you!"Â
Damn fucking right.
"Stop it, please, youâre being paranoid!" you say, shaking your head. You feel a hot sting in your eyes born of helplessness and disappointment, and the effort to hold back tears makes your throat tighten. "I didn't do anything. Why are you blaming me because a detective was a jerk to you?"
"Because you don't stand up for me!" the guy shouts â now having almost completely lost his self-control â and slams his fist onto the top of the photocopier in a rage. The plastic cracks with a loud snap, and the papers in the tray shudder. "You think Iâm a pathetic coward, just like he does, donât you?! Just because I donât play the tough guy!"Â
Outside, in the dim light of the corridor, Markâs face remains motionless, but his body goes rigid. Hearing the sound of the fist slamming against the plastic machine, his eyes narrow, and he grips the binder in his hand so tightly that the cardboard begins to creak. The guy has crossed a line. The physical aggressionâeven if directed only at an objectâprovides the perfect pretext.
Mark slowly lets go of the wall. His steps are heavy and purposeful as he heads toward the door of the photocopier room, in no rush. He knows the tension is reaching its peak, and that his arrival will be like a lightning strike on a gunpowder barrel.Â
Mark presses down the door handle with a slow movement, and the door swings open quietly. He doesnât burst in or shout, he simply steps into the cramped room, bringing with him that calm. His eyes slowly sweep the room: the papers still fluttering on the photocopier, your friendâs clenched fist, and finally you, standing in the corner and fighting back tears.Â
Markâs face is perfectly impassive, as if he had no idea what was actually going on here â or that he was the one who had triggered this whole avalanche.Â
"Whatâs all this racket in here?" he asks, his voice deep and unhurried. "You can hear the shouting all the way down the hall."
He takes a step forward with his hands in his pockets, a movement so natural it looks as if he had simply come for some copy paper, yet his positioning instantly becomes strategic as he plants himself precisely between the two of you, physically cutting the dude off from you.Â
With his broad shoulders, he almost completely blocks the guy from your view, offering you protection while fixing his dark gaze directly on your friend.Â
Shock quickly gives way to helpless rage on the guyâs face when he realizes Mark walked in at the exact moment he had completely lost his composure. He tries to straighten up so he doesn't look so small next to Mark, forcing a mocking, trembling half-smile onto his face.Â
"What is it, Meachum? Is the noise bothering your detective ears?" he snaps back, his voice tense yet striving for confidence. "Or did you just find another excuse to stick your nose where it doesn't belong? This is a private conversation. So get back to your donuts and stop snooping around."Â
Not a single muscle twitches in Markâs face at the pathetic insult. He doesn't raise his voice or take the bait. Instead, he simply looks the guy up and down slowly â as if studying an irritating but completely harmless insect â before turning his head away with a deep, weary sigh. He acts as though the guyâs attempt at intimidation isn't even worth a word. Probably because yeah, it wasnât.
âGrown adults donât go around slamming office equipment just because they donât get what they want,â Mark remarks coolly, his tone as condescending as if he were speaking to a tantrum-throwing toddler. âIf youâre done with the show, go back to your desk. Youâre safe behind the partitions.âÂ
This total dismissal makes the guy absolutely lose it. A red haze of humiliation clouds his vision.Â
âSay what?!â The guy snaps, stepping forward as his hands clench into fists and his body trembles with rage, ready to do something monumentally stupid right there in the middle of the office.
"I think you should back off, buddy, and calm down," Mark says, his voice suddenly dropping an octave and turning cold as he takes a single, menacing step forward. "Before you hurt someone in here. Someone you... supposedly love."Â
He shoots a quick glance at you out of the corner of his eye, as if his very presence were shielding you from your boyfriend's unpredictable aggression. That gesture is the final spark that sets the situation ablaze.Â
"I don't give a damn!" your boyfriend screams, completely losing his head. "I don't care about you or your stupid rules! You think you're the hero here? I don't give a damn about anything!"
His voice was almost hoarse with helpless rage, his gaze darted wildly between Mark and you. And Mark stands there in your midst, and beneath the surface, every fiber of his being is celebrating. The trap has snapped shut.
Rage completely distorts your boyfriendâs features as the last spark of reason vanishes from his eyes. He can no longer bear the humiliation. With a wild roar, he swings his arm, attempting to land a blind, uncoordinated punch on Markâs face with all his might.Â
You press yourself against the wall in fear, freezing at the sight of the man you once thought kind and peaceful suddenly transforming into an unpredictable, aggressive stranger.Â
Mark doesnât even flinch. He moves with the reflexes of a seasoned detective, effortlessly deflecting the guyâs swinging fist with his left hand while grabbing his clothes with his right and slamming him against the side of the photocopier with such force that the machine cracks loudly under the guy's weight.
"Thatâs enough," Mark hisses. Hearing the commotion, the office security team immediately burst in from the hallway. There is no need to explain the situation: they see your terrified, cornered face, Mark restraining the raging man, and the damaged photocopier.Â
"Escort him out. And don't let him back into the building," Mark orders the security guards as he releases the guy. The guards firmly grab your friend and begin dragging him out of the room. Face flushed red and panting, the guy still tries to turn back toward you, his voice echoes hoarsely down the hallway as he is hauled toward the elevators.
âThis isnât over! Youâll regret this, you hear me? Youâll regret it!â The shouting slowly fades away at the end of the hallway, and the door to the copy room clicks softly shut. A suffocating silence suddenly settles over the room. Itâs just you, trembling with shock and fear, and Mark, who slowly turns around, adjusts his shirt sleeve, and fixes his concerned gaze straight upon you.Â
The first part of his plan has gone perfectly: the ârodentâ has been eliminated, and the hero stands right there before you.
Mark exhales slowly as he assumes his most perfect, concerned expression. Beneath the surface, every fiber of his being is celebrating. The sweet taste of triumph courses through his veins: his plan worked flawlessly, the guy completely ruined his chances with you in a single minute, and Mark is absolutely certain that, after this, you wouldn't dream of taking him back.Â
He takes a cautious, slow step toward you, deliberately avoiding any sudden movements so as not to startle you further. His heavy footsteps are now muffled, soft and reassuring against the floor.Â
"Hey... Itâs okay. Heâs gone, he canât hurt you," he says, his voice suddenly softening into an incredibly gentle, deep baritone that seems to fill the cramped room.
He reaches out cautiously, and his palm rests on your shoulder with a warm, heavy weight. His movement is firm yet gentle. He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze, as if trying to impart some of his own strength to you, while his eyes search your face.Â
Your body is still trembling from the tension, and the sound of your friendâs screaming and the crash of the plastic machine echoes over and over in your ears.Â
Markâs thumb moves gently across your shoulder, lightly smoothing your clothing as he leans closer to you. Inside, he is practically vibrating with pride, seeing how much you need him right now.Â
"He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. No one has the right to raise their voice at you, especially not someone who claims to care about you," Mark murmurs, a subtle note of manipulation in his voice further widening the rift between you and your now ex-boyfriend. "Come, sit down in my office. Iâll get you a glass of water, and then weâll figure out what to do next."
The initial wave of shock is slowly receding, yet the trembling lingers in your limbs. You donât burst into tears, you are too proud to cry in the middle of the office, and your professional composure holds you back, but your voice falters as you finally release the pent-up tension.Â
"I just... I can't believe it," you say, letting Mark guide you into his quieter, private office. "I mean, I just wouldnât have expected him to⌠lose it, you know. I guess it turns out he wasn't who he pretended to be at all."Â
Mark nods silently as he places a glass of water in front of you. His face reflects sympathy, yet deep down, he is drinking in every word you say as if listening to the sweetest victory anthem.
âMany people can only keep up the act as long as things go their way,â Mark replies, sitting on the edge of his desk right across from you. âCrisis situations reveal who the real man is, and whoâs just a child throwing a tantrum when backed into a corner. You deserve someone by your side who protects you, not someone you have to defend yourself against.âÂ
As the minutes pass, the initial heavy atmosphere slowly lifts. The conversation between you becomes surprisingly light and natural. Mark deliberately steers the talk away from the drama. With subtle humor, intelligent questions, and that deep, husky voice of his, he makes you feel completely safe with him in a matter of minutes.
You find yourself sitting in his office, sharing things with him that you wouldn't normally discuss with colleagues â like your work and your hobbies â while Mark hangs on your every word as if you were the only person in the entire building.Â
He somehow knew a thing or two about anything and everything you brought up, much to your surprise. The perks of him thoroughly stalking you, although you didnât know about that part yet.
Days passed, days turning into weeks. It all happened so quickly, but with good company, time passes faster, no? And good company was exactly what you got ever since the twink got fired for that stunt in the photocopy room. With him out of the way, youâve been open to your savior â Mark Meachum.Â
Whenever you went for coffee breaks and he saw it, he made sure to go with you, the two of you chuckling and talking over your little cups before heading back to your desks, stealing glances and soft smiles from across the room whenever your eyes locked. Mark Meachum made going to work somehow⌠enjoyable?
Every day, you strutted in with the hopes that Mark would be there instead of on the field, sorting through his documents before you passed a new stack to his desk, accompanied by his regular coffee order as a gift. He thanked your efforts with that charming smile of his and praises.
Your ex-boyfriend was fired with immediate effect following the scandal, and the tension in your life vanished along with him. In its place, something far more exciting and vibrant entered your daily routine. Mark Meachum was no longer just a distant detective watching you from across the room. He became your refuge, your morning coffee companion, and honestly, the reason youâre much more particular about choosing your shirts and accessories before leaving the house these days.
For Mark, life was booming too. Since the scandal, heâs been living his best life â talking with you, laughing with you, earning your soft smile multiple times a day. It fed him like no food could. Heâs been legitimate ever since the guy got fired, no stalking, no unethical business, just finding out everything about you the way normal people do. Still, he never really went past the casual flirting, not until now â but best believe, he was planning to change that soon enough, not willing to make the same mistake twice.
You walk through the door this morning with your usual rhythm, carrying Markâs favorite black coffee and the latest batch of files Agent Blythe entrusted to you. Your heart beats a little faster when you spot his broad shoulders. He didnât go out into the field today â heâs sitting at his desk, brow furrowed as he pores over the paperwork.Â
He looks up the moment he catches the sound of your footsteps. His weary face instantly softens, and that signature warm half-smile â reserved solely for you â plays at the corner of his mouth.Â
"I was starting to think youâd forgotten your most important client," he says in that trademark deep voice as he takes the steaming cup from you. Your fingers brush against each other for a fleeting moment, and the warmth of his skin sends a subtle shiver down your spine. "Thank you. And for the report, too... though Iâm much happier about the courier than the paperwork itself."
He leans back comfortably in his chair, slowly looking you up and down.Â
"What do you say we swap coffee for something a bit more serious tonight?" he asks suddenly, his voice dropping slightly to make the moment feel more intimate amidst the office bustle. "I know a fantastic place just a few streets away. Great food, great wine... and no risk of Agent Blythe dumping another stack of files on us. Are you in?"
Of course you were! Mark Meachum, your workplace crush, was the one asking!
A few hours later, you find yourself in a completely different world. Soft jazz plays in the restaurant, and the dim light is broken only by the warm glow of candles on the tables. The atmosphere is intimate and elegant, yet welcoming. Mark sits across from you. He has shed his detectiveâs sternness and his professional mask, his white shirt sleeves are casually rolled up to the elbows, revealing his forearms, and he appears far more relaxed than he ever is at work.Â
Yet, his gaze has lost none of its intensity. As he swirls his glass between his fingers, his dark eyes seem to shimmer in the candlelight while he watches you. "I have to admit, the office lights don't do you justice at all," he says in a low, husky voice, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. "You look beautiful tonight."
Mark is the perfect gentleman throughout dinner. He is attentive, and â what surprises you most â he seems to hit the mark perfectly with his choices of food and conversation topics, as if he knows exactly what you like. Of course, he is actually drawing on the knowledge he gathered about you that one particular night, but now he isn't doing it while staring at a screen, he gets to see firsthand how your eyes light up when talking about your favorite things.
When the waiter clears the plates, Mark suddenly reaches across the table, and his warm, heavy palm rests gently over yours. His fingers trace your skin lightly, sending a sudden wave of heat rushing through you.
âYou know...â he murmurs, locking his eyes with yours, his voice suddenly turning much more serious. âFrom the very first day you brought in that folder from Blythe, I knew you were going to turn my life upside down. For months, I just watched you and cursed myself for not making a move sooner. But now that youâre here with me... I donât plan on making that same mistake again.â
When Markâs warm palm settles over your hand, your heart begins to pound wildlyânot with fear this time, but with sheer excitement. You donât pull your hand away, instead, you turn your palm upward and gently interlace your fingers with his, signaling that you want exactly what he does.Â
"Iâm glad you didnât make that mistake again after all," you whisper, your eyes radiating the attraction Mark has been craving for months.Â
The rest of the dinner feels like a hazy, continuous dream. The conversation deepens, and flirtation gives way to a serious, focused attentiveness. Mark hangs on your every wordâand for the first time, he isnât doing it as a tactic, but because you have completely captivated him.
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ ; 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
An undercover mission leads you to stand in as a stripper at a bar, and much to nobody's surprise, a regular guest â who just so happens to be your coworker â is more than glad to assist you in playing your part.
pairing: alec mcdowell x fem!reader
fandom: dark angel (2000 - 2002)
tags: strip club .á undercover mission .á smut .á starts semi-public since it's at the club (but alec refuses to let all the creeps see so it turns private real quick) .á piv .á oral (f!receiving) .á teasing
word count: 5.4k
author's note: first time writing something smut-adjacent... i fear for my life right now... anyways for some reason i fell into the alec mcdowell rabbit hole, and feel like its my honored duty to act on it. what better way for that than writing my third oneshot about him this week, innit right lads? enjoy!! xoxo
masterlist. âŽâË profile navigation.
Max Guevara can go to hell.Â
This one singular thought ran circles in your mind for the past thirty minutes now. When she said that she wants you to help her in a mission â saying that she doesnât want this either, but has no other choice â, you reluctantly agreed, too naive to even ask what it was at first. It was only when she took you to Loganâs house to change into a different attire that you began to realize that perhaps you shouldnât have agreed just because she was your friend.Â
When she threw you the pile of clothes, you made a quick little joke about how youâll look like a hooker in that. Little did you know, you werenât too far off the truth.Â
Because now your ears were throbbing from the deafening music blasting throughout the whole building, watchful and lustful eyes locked onto your every move from every corner, everything discolored in the color-changing lights of the club. Of course the job Max gave to you was that you had to pretend to be a stripper. They call you 007: zero experience, zero confidence, seven panic attacks.Â
Whatever the full plan was, Max didnât let you in on it, simply leaving you with a few faint orders: snatch an item from the dressing room, and wait for her to settle her part of the mission. Your half was done in the first minute of entering, all that was left for you was to wait for Max to show and get you out. Unbeknownst to you, the mission took enough twists and turns to redirect Max far from the club, fighting for her life on an unnamed rooftop miles away.
Still, her orders were orders, best to listen to her instead of going off the track. Or at least that was what you repeatedly told yourself, although the piercing gazes were starting to make you wish you stayed at home, alone, sound asleep by now, taking a mental break in preparations to show up to Jam Pony tomorrow. Not your dream workplace, but they paid â although the said pay barely scratched the limits of minimum wage.Â
No point dwelling on this now that youâre here, grappling in the middle of this mess, sinking yonder and yonder by the minute. Your foot vigorously tapped on the polished â but already drink-spilled â flooring, counting down the nanoseconds passing. It felt as if time had slowed down just to mess with you.Â
âBooth 2 in the talking pit,â the bartenderâs voice suddenly cuts into your thoughts, your head shooting up to meet his eyes. What? Seeing your momentary confusion, he lets out a sigh before speaking up again. âMan at booth 2 down in the talking pit. Go,â he cocked his head in the direction of said booth.Â
Your heartbeat accelerated in no time, the thought that you managed to blend in a little too well not quite calming you. Being here and acting like you belong here was one thing, but actually doing the job? No, you didnât sign up for that.
âNeed a drink for confidence, or what?â the same bartender slides back to you, having already served three different customers while you were overtaken by panic. He doesnât even wait for your response before tossing you some drink he made, perhaps a leftover from somebody ordering and not coming back for it. âGet going, or weâll get another pep talk from the boss âbout how nobodyâs doing their work right.â
For a moment, you stare at the drink, its surface rippling lightly from the bass shaking the countertop, before your eyes dart over to the bartender, his words marinating in your mind for a second. Would it blow your cover if you told him you donât even work here? Of course it would. No matter how you looked at this, there was no escaping.Â
With a sigh, you grip the glass, downing its contents in one go before smashing it back onto the spot-filled countertop. Drink for confidence, ticked off the list.
Drawing in a final, deep breath, you turn on your heels, heading in the direction the bartender had motioned earlier, assuming that youâll find your client one way or another. The men who come here probably like dumb women, they wonât even get mad at you if you tell them that you just didnât know where the booth was. Talking pit, that was your best lead.
Sure enough, it was somewhat easy to see, a few stairsteps leading down to a smaller booth. Just when you were about to make peace with the thought that youâd have to play nice for some dude â calming yourself with the âthey wonât see me after tonight anywayâ mantra â, your eyes lock onto whoâs the one sprawled there. Fuck.
âWell, well,â Alec drawled, leaning casually against the sticky vinyl booth with one elbow, his emerald eyes glinting under the clubâs neon glow. âIf it isn't Jam Pony's fastest messenger and apparent secret superstar of Midnight Velvet,â he feigned a dramatic gasp. âNext thing Iâll find out you deliver hot packages by day and⌠other kinds by night?â
Alec leaned back against the cushioned seat, arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow arched with that trademark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The bass from the music thrummed through the floor, but he didnât seem to notice, his eyes locked on you like a predator whoâd just caught something juicy.
You wanted to run away. To scream, to just pivot and leave this place, get out of its five mile radius and never come back. Your throat went dry, a wave of humiliation washing over you. Out of all the people, of course it was Alec McDowell. Who else, right? Just when you thought destiny was toying with you, the hard truth that it was majorly fucking you over hit you.
âY'know, uniformâs definitely different from Jam Ponyâs,â Alec continues, clearly amused with the little game you two got yourselves into. âLess spandex bike shorts, more... sparkles." A beat of silence passes before he continues. "Relax. Joking. Unless you are up there later? âCause damn, thatâd be one delivery I wouldnât want to miss.â
âWhatâs this, McDowell?â you finally press out, although the words came out more pathetic than you wouldâve wanted them to.Â
"I should be the one asking you. Here I was," he drawled, voice low and smooth over the beat, "thinking my night couldn't get any more interesting. And then BAM, thereâs you. My wonderful coworker, in full gear." He tilted his head slightly. "Not that Iâm complaining. Just⌠surprised is all."
He lowered his voice like you were sharing secrets instead of an awkward standoff in a strip joint.
"So whatâs your act called? 'The Courier Catastrophe'? 'Bombshell Biker Babe'?" His smirk widened into a full-blown grin. "Wait, let me guess: youâre here doing reconnaissance for Jam Pony management? Undercover route survey?"Â Â
He paused dramatically.
"...Or are we gonna pretend you arenât dressed like a stripper in a strip joint? The only women who can enter here are the workers, yâknow⌠Makes one assume youâre here forâ"
âAlright, enough,â you cut him off before anything that could worsen your situation could come out of his mouth. What the hell are you even supposed to do? Of course he ordered you over, the moment he recognized you at the bar it was game over. You knew Alec well enough to know that if he sees an opportunity to fuck you over, heâll be more than glad to take it â and he just so happened to catch you in a moment of vulnerability.
Alecâs grin softened just a fraction, the sharp edge of his mockery rounding off into satisfaction. He slid over, patting the seat right next to him.
"Ouch. Touchy," he murmured, his voice cutting through the heavy bass. "Sit down before you pass out. You're shaking so hard you're rattling the sequins."
You stood frozen for a second, every survival instinct telling you to bolt. But a quick glance over your shoulder showed the bartender watching you from across the room, arms crossed. If you ran, you blew your cover. If you stayed, you had to survive Alec. With a tight jaw, you stepped down into the booth and sank onto the edge of the seat, keeping as much distance between you and him as the small space allowed.
Alec leaned in, the smell of the club and his familiar leather jacket cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He looked you up and down once more, the smirk returning, though his eyes were sharper now, assessing.
"Alright, let's talk strategy," Alec said, crossing his ankles on the table. "Because you look like a deer staring down a semi-truck, and I'm a nice guy who wants to help."
"You're a lot of things, McDowell. Nice isn't on the list," you muttered, glaring at the neon light reflecting off his boots.
"Hey, hurtful," he feigned a wound to the heart, placing a hand over his chest. "I'm keeping your secret, aren't I? For a price, obviously. Nothing in this life is free."
"What do you want?" you asked, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Money? Because if you haven't noticed, I work at Jam Pony too. If anybody, then you know we make pennies."
"Money? Please. I have standards," Alec scoffed, leaning his head back against the cushion. "No, I think we can work out a better deal. For starters, you're going to tell me exactly what you're doing here. Because you clearly don't want to be here, and you've been staring at the emergency exit like it's the holy grail."
He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden intensity that made your breath hitch. The playful banter died down, replaced by a calculating gaze.
"And second," Alec continued, his voice dropping an octave, "you're going to do my morning delivery route for the next two weeks. No complaints. No trading back."
You stared at him, your brain scrambling to find a way out of the corner he had trapped you in. Max was still missing, the staff was still watching, and Alec held every single card.Â
âItâs⌠a mission Max is on,â you press out, as much as it hurt. âMe being hereâs part of her plan.â
Before you could even process the word plan leaving your mouth, Alecâs arm shot out. He grabbed you, and with one swift, effortless tug, he pulled you right across the small space and directly onto his lap.Â
A sharp gasp caught in your throat. Your hands instinctively flew out to brace yourself, landing squarely against the tough leather of his jacket. Your face burned a blinding crimson under the neon lights, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs you were certain he could feel it.
"What the hell are youâ" you hissed, scrambling to sit up, but his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, locking you in place.
"Shh," Alec murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he pulled you just a fraction closer. The cheeky grin on his face was wide and entirely unbothered. "Stop squirming. Look at your bartender friend. Heâs still watching."
Your eyes darted up toward the bar. Sure enough, the bartender was looking right down into Booth 2, his arms no longer crossed, seemingly satisfied that you were finally doing your job.
"See?" Alec drawled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble beneath you. "If you sit on the edge of the seat looking like you're about to vomit, youâre getting thrown out. Or worse, the manager comes over to see why the new girl is broken. Iâm saving your skin here."
"By putting me on your lap?!" you whispered fiercely, your face still hot enough to melt. You tried to shift your weight, but the tight outfit Max gave you offered absolutely zero protection against the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Every point of contact felt magnified by a thousand.
"Hey, it's called method acting," Alec teased, his emerald eyes dancing with absolute delight at your sheer panic. He leaned back against the seat, making himself comfortable while you sat there completely rigid. "If you work here, you've gotta act like you work here. A customer pays for a talk, you give 'em a show. Relax your shoulders. You're stiff as a board."
He reached up with his free hand, casually flicking a stray sequin on your shoulder.
âIf you say a single word about this at Jam Pony, McDowell, I guarantee that every one of your future deliveries will be to the farthest point in the city.â
Alec chuckled softly, his chest trembling gently beneath your palm. Your threat didnât scare him in the slightest; in fact, his voice suddenly lost its mocking edge, shifting into a much deeper, more resonant tone.Â
"Oh, so youâve still got some fight in you? Impressive," he whispered, his face hovering just inches from yours. The eyes that had previously held a mocking glint now studied you in a completely different way. His gaze swept over your face, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes. "But while weâre at it..." he murmured, his hand shifting slightly at your waist as his fingers pressed gently into the soft skin left exposed by your tight dress. "...play the part. You donât want the bartender to spot that youâre just acting. Just go along with the game."
Reluctantly, you took a deep breath and let go of the stiff lapel of his leather jacket. Instead of pushing him away, your hand slid slowly up to his shoulder, your fingers digging into the soft fabric at his neck. Alecâs eyes widened slightly in surprise, but that satisfied half-smile immediately played at the corners of his mouth.Â
Slowly â deliberately slowly â you lowered your shoulders and leaned closer to him, just as a true Midnight Velvet employee would.Â
"Like this, McDowell?" you whispered, your voice drilling into his ear, while to the bartender it might have looked as though you were sharing your most intimate secrets with your guest. In response, Alec drew in a deep breath.
Your fingers raked through his short-cropped hair, gently tilting his head back. Alecâs arm tightened around your waist so sharply that the leather of his jacket creaked under the strain. He didnât push you away, nor did he pull you closer, he simply froze, caught between sheer pleasure and the shock of having fallen into his own trap.Â
âAtta girl,â Alec mutters as he pulls you closer, your shoulder and side flush against his chest.
The denim fabric of Alec's jeans lightly scraped the supple skin of your thighs as you nestled right into his lap, sitting on his left leg, your arms draped over his shoulder and around his neck. His palm slides onto your thigh, calloused fingers brushing over the exposed skin, tinted red and hot pink under the flickering lights of the club.
The heat of his palm against you sends a jolt straight up your spine, a stark contrast to the sticky air of the club. Alecâs chest rumbles against your shoulder as he lets out a low, amused chuckle, clearly tracking the way your breath hitches at his touch. Heâs completely in his element, thriving in the chaos heâs trapped you in.
"Look at you," Alec murmurs, his voice dropping into a smooth, quiet tone that barely carries over the throbbing bass. "A natural. If Jam Pony ever goes under, at least we know you've got a backup career."
"Shut up, McDowell," you snap, though the bite in your voice is ruined by how breathless you sound. You tighten your grip around his neck slightly, less out of affection and more to keep your balance as the room spins from a mix of adrenaline and the cheap alcohol you downed at the bar.
Alec chuckled softly against your neck. His warm breath grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your back. His fingers slid a little higher up your thigh, tracing delicate, almost imperceptible circles on your skin right where your tight dress ended. A cheeky half-smile played on his lips, yet the glint in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn't unaffected by the situation either.Â
"Besides, who said I minded?" Alec murmured, pulling your head a little closer to his as if whispering a secret. "In fact, Iâm starting to think Max has brilliant ideas. Next time, Iâll ask her to send you here before every shift."
His grip on your waist tightened, holding you steady against him as the club floor all but shuddered from the next deep bass note.
"Relax a little," he whispered, his voice now truly devoid of mockery, thick and dark with desire. "Your heart is beating too fast. If some dude comes over, he might think Iâm hurting you."
If Alec wanted you to play the role, he got his wishâbut on your own terms.Â
You smiled slowly, deliberately fixing your gaze on the corner of his mouth. You leaned in even closerâthe tip of your nose nearly brushing his, your warm breath washing over his lips. Alecâs eyes darkened and his body tensed with anticipation as the last sliver of space between you vanished. He was certain you were about to give in. But instead of kissing him, at the last moment you turned your head slightly to the side, just barely missing his lips, and whispered right next to his ear.Â
"Keep dreaming, McDowell..."
That was the moment Alecâs self-control spectacularly shattered.Â
"Oh, not a chance," he murmured hoarsely, and before you could even process what was happening, the hand resting on your waist moved decisively. He gripped your hips and, with a single, commanding motion, pulled you flush against him, his lips crashing onto yours, while his other hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers burying deep into your hair.Â
Alec tilted his head and claimed your lips with hunger. The kiss was sudden, intense, and all-consuming. Although the game had started because of the bartender, in that moment, you both forgot you were even in the Midnight Velvet. Alec held nothing back, his kiss deep, confident, and possessive, yet it held a desperate heat that instantly set your blood on fire.
Your hand instinctively gripped his leather jacket, then slid up to his jaw, your fingers tracing it as you surrendered completely. Alec groaned softly into the kiss, his tongue gliding gently along your lower lip, demanding you open up to himâand you did, pulling him closer as if your life depended on it.
When Alec finally pulled away, he released your lips just enough for both of you to catch your breath, his chest heaving wildly beneath your palm. He had lost his head just as completely as you had.Â
"See?" he whispered breathlessly, his voice deeper and raspier than ever. "I told you you were a natural."
Your gaze drifted to his moist, slightly swollen lips, and your inhibitions, along with the cheap alcohol, vanished completely. You didnât answer, instead, you simply placed your hand over his â which was buried in your hair â and pulled him firmly toward you. That single movement burned away the last shred of reason.Â
Alec reached for you, his kiss was no longer a performance for the bartender. His tongue hungrily sought entry, and you opened yourself fully to him. The surroundings â the blaring music, the flashing pink lights, Maxâs screwed-up mission â ceased to exist entirely.
Alecâs hand slid from your thigh to your hip, his fingers almost digging into your skin as he pulled you even closer, holding you tight against him. He shifted his position, leaning his back fully against the corner of the booth so you could sit comfortably astride his left thigh.Â
The fabric of your daring, sequined dress bunched up silently toward your hips as you pressed every inch of your body against his. Your hand left his jawline, sliding down to slip beneath his leather jacket and right under his thin T-shirt. You pressed your palm against Alecâs taut abdomen, eliciting a deep, hoarse groan from his throat that spilled straight into your mouth.Â
His kiss grew even more aggressive, even hungrier; the pressure made your lips ache, yet neither of you wantedâor was ableâto slow down.Â
You no longer cared who saw you or what the bartender might think. Nothing existed but the heat radiating from his body and that overwhelming desire you had both so carefully concealed during the daily grind at Jam Pony.Â
Slowly, almost instinctively, you shifted in his lap and swung your other leg over his thigh. Now you were straddling him completely, your hips pressed tight against his. A deep, stifled growl escaped Alecâs throat into the kiss as he felt your full weight upon him. There was no trace of his usual cockiness left.
The hands that had been holding your hips suddenly ventured on a much bolder path: one palm slid slowly up your inner thigh, his fingers leaving a burning trail on your soft skin, grazing just shy of your most sensitive spot and making your back arch sharply. His other hand clamped firmly onto your ass, fingers digging deep into your flesh.Â
His tongue entwined with yours, hot and confident, while your hands clung desperately to his shoulders; you practically dug your fingers into his leather jacket to keep from losing your balance. Alec shifted his hips slightly, pressing and rubbing gently against you in the darkness of the cramped booth.
Alec suddenly pulled his mouth away from yours. His breath came in ragged, searing gasps, and his lips glistened, wet and flushed, in the flickering pink neon light. His hands were still gripping you, and his body beneath you was so tense it felt as though it might explode at any moment.Â
"If we don't leave right now... I won't be able to stop myself..." he whispered, his voice so hoarse and dark with desire that it was barely audible over the thumping bass. The fire in his eyes seemed to burn as he waited for your answer, ready to sweep you up and carry you out the nearest exit.Â
You, however, merely offered a slow, cheeky smile, even though your own chest was heaving wildly for air. You leaned in even closer, your lips grazing his earlobe as you parted them to whisper.
"You told me to play the role, McDowell..." you murmured. "So you're getting exactly what you asked for."Â
That retort snapped the last thread of Alecâs self-control. A deep, guttural growl tore from his throat, and the very fact that you were in one of Midnight Velvetâs public booths vanished completely from his mind. Instead of standing up, his hands ventured as his right palm, fingers curled, slid beneath the thin hem of your dress, pressing directly against your bare skin.
A sharp, stifled gasp caught in your throat as his warm fingers finally reached the silky fabric of your underwear, applying a touch that was gentle yet firm. Your back arched, your head instinctively burying itself in Alecâs shoulder, while your fingers dug into his leather jacket so hard your nails nearly pierced the material.Â
You surrendered completely to the pleasure, your body moving in rhythm with his hips as Alec reached beneath your clothes, bolder and deeper, claiming you entirely amidst the dark, pulsating depths of the club.
Waves of pleasure crashed over you so intensely that, eyes closed, you pressed yourself against him in total surrender. But just as the first loud sigh was about to escape your throat, Alecâs fingers suddenly stopped. With a deep, ragged breath, he pulled away from your neck.Â
"Thatâs enough," he growled, his voice so hoarse it seemed to vibrate. "Iâm not going to let the bartender, or anyone else, stare at you while..."
Before you could even answer or fully process his words, Alec firmly reached beneath your waist and thigh. With a single fluid and confident motion, he lifted you from his lap. You let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden shift in height, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and locking your legs around his hips to keep from falling.Â
Alec didn't hesitate, he strode with firm steps toward a darker, more secluded corner of the club.
He stepped behind a burgundy velvet curtain that led into one of the clubâs enclosed private booths. Inside, the clubâs thumping bass grew muffled, and the flashing lights from outside gave way to a single, sultry, deep-red lamp.Â
A soft, plush sofa filled the room, completely isolating you from the outside world. Alec leaned his back against the heavy oak door, which clicked shut behind you. He was still holding you in his arms, his eyes seemed to glow in the red light as he looked down at you.Â
"So," he breathed, his cocky, confident half-smile slowly returning to his lips, though his voice still trembled with desire. "No one can see us here. Now you can continue your role... and Iâll continue mine."
Alec lowered you slowly, almost reverently, onto the soft plush. As your back touched the velvety fabric, your dress rode up even higher, but you didn't mind at all now. Alec immediately loomed over you, bracing his hands against the back of the sofa on either side of your head, ready to pick up exactly where he had left off outside.Â
You, however, refused to let him dictate the pace. Taking advantage of the total privacy afforded by the closed door, you flashed a cheeky smile. Before Alec could lean in closer, you placed your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, and pushed him away firmly but slowly. Alec raised his eyebrows in surprise but complied, staying put, even as his breathing grew even more ragged.
You slowly sat up on the sofa, movements deliberately feline and provocative. Your hand moved toward the lapel of his leather jacket, but instead of taking it off, you slowly traced your fingers up his neck to his jawline. You leaned closer, just enough for a strand of your hair to brush against his cheek.Â
"In a rush, McDowell?" you whispered, your voice soft and sultry. "I thought you were the one who liked to strategize."Â
A low, stifled sound escaped Alecâs throat, you could see his last shred of self-control slowly crumbling under your slow torment. His hands wandered to your hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin as if begging you to end the game.Â
"You're driving me crazy..." he growled hoarsely. You didnât answer with words. Instead, you helped him shrug off his jacket before you gently grasped the hem of his T-shirt and slowly pulled it up, revealing his taut abs inch by inch, while planting tiny, searing kisses along his collarbone and down onto his chest.Â
Alecâs head fell back and the veins in his neck stood out as desire all but paralyzed him. When the shirt finally hit the floor, your hand wandered to the waistband of his trousers.
Alec couldn't stand the distance any longer. He grabbed your waist and, with a single motion, pulled you beneath him onto the couch. His kiss was relentless now, leaving you breathless. His hands roamed your body wildly, pushing down the straps of your dress from your shoulders and baring your skin to his hot lips. Your body fell into perfect rhythm with his; you instinctively pressed your hips against his.Â
He still towered over you, his hot breath searing your neck as his hands firmly gripped the fabric of your dress. With a single, decisive motion, he stripped itâalong with your underwearâdown past your hips, leaving your body completely exposed against the velvet of the plush sofa. His eyes were dark, almost pitch-black with desire, as he gazed at you in the dim light.Â
"Alec..." you whispered breathlessly, your voice faltering as the cool air touched your skin, but Alec didn't let you finish.
Slowly, inch by inch, he slid down your body. His hot lips left a burning trail across your stomach and ribs, making your stomach clench involuntarily with pleasure. His hands settled on your inner thighs, his calloused fingers parted your legs firmly yet gently, laying you completely open before him.Â
When Alec sank to his knees in front of the sofa and his gaze fell upon your most intimate spot, your heart pounded so wildly it almost hurt. There was no time to think. Alec leaned closer, and his hot, wet tongue glidedâat first cautiously and softlyâalong the sensitive inner curve of your sex.Â
A sharp, audible gasp escaped your throat as you helplessly buried your head in the plush cushions. That first touch sent an electric jolt racing down your spine. Alec sensed your shudder and gripped your thighs even tighter, holding you steady as his movements grew more confident and intense. His tongue worked rhythmically, deeply, and relentlessly, pinpointing the exact spot that made every fiber of your body go taut.Â
Your hands instinctively buried themselves in his hair, fingers tangling in the short strandsâsometimes pulling him closer, other times helplessly pushing him awayâas waves of pleasure began to crash over you. A low, satisfied growl escaped Alecâs throat against your skin as he felt your hips lift involuntarily from the couch, demanding the rhythm he was setting.Â
Alec teased you with his tongue until your body went taut and you crossed the threshold with a loud, stifled cry. Waves of pleasure were still coursing through your veins when he slowly straightened up. His lips glistened in the red light, his breathing was heavy.
He gave you no time to catch your breath, immediately climbing back onto the sofa over you, his weight gently pressing your body into the plush cushions. His hands tangled in your hair, and he claimed your lips as if he meant to consume you entirely.Â
His kiss was darker and more demanding now, his tongue eagerly entwining with yours. With a single, decisive movement, he shed his trousers, then gripped your hips, gently lifting and pulling your body against his. As he settled between your thighs, you felt the heat of his skin.
"Look at me," he growled hoarsely, right against your lips, as he interlaced his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head. You obeyed. Your eyes widened in the deep crimson gloom, and the next moment, a deep, fading sigh escaped your throat as Alec became one with you in a single, slow, yet ruthlessly decisive movement.Â
It instantly surged into an overwhelming, wild rhythm. Alec held nothing back as his hips moved in a deep cadence, and with every thrust, you felt the raw power straining his body. The plush sofa creaked softly beneath your combined weight, but the noise of the outside world ceased to exist entirely.Â
Your hand broke free from his grasp and clung desperately to his broad, muscular shoulders. You dug your nails into his back as fresh, even more intense waves of pleasure began to flood your mind. Alec buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin gently, while the pace grew faster and more demanding.
The wild rhythm finally culminated in one last, tense moment. A deep, hoarse groan tore from Alecâs throat as his body went rigid above you, his hips driving deep into you one final time. Clawing at his back and with your head thrown helplessly back, you followed him into the deep haze.Â
For long minutes, only your ragged, heavy breathing could be heard in the silence of the private booth. Alec slowly sank down beside you on the sofa, then turned and pulled you close, your bare back pressed against his muscular chest, while his chin rested atop your head, your skin still damp and hot from the storm that had just passed.
"Well..." Alec finally spoke, his voice still incredibly deep and husky, but that familiar, cheeky edge was already creeping back into it. "I have to say... youâve definitely earned that tip."Â
You smiled in the dark and gave him a playful nudge in the ribs with your elbow.Â
"Shut up, McDowell."Â
"Iâm serious," he chuckled softly, his arm wrapping even tighter around your waist, his fingers resting gently on your stomach. "But all jokes aside... I don't think walking into Jam Pony tomorrow morning will feel the same. Although, come to think of it, the morning briefings are going to be a lot more interesting now that Iâll be picturing you in that sequined dress."
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ ; 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
After your fatherâs death, you and his best friend begin to seek comfort in each other.
pairing: dads friend!dilf!jensen ackles x fem!reader
tags: Â age gap (reader is +18) .á dilf era jensen .á talks of death .á mentions of toxic mother .á a creep at a bar .á drinking .á car make-out .á slight smut .á older man younger woman .á non-actor and single jensen ackles .á questionable morals (because making a move on your dead friend's daughter is probably not too right)
inspo credits: Â userz13nefeli2s711 on tiktok
word count: 7.1k
authorâs note: might come back later and change the name to mark to make it a mark meachum oneshot... been wanting to write an old man jensen x reader trope oneshot for sooo long now, sidelined an alec mcdowell oneshot to write this because the urges took over me the more i thought about the video that inspired this⌠anyways a quick little something to scratch the itch. my kryptonite is not spiders or heights but being cared for by an emotionally intelligent older man â specifically a jensen character â so i might be a little self indulgent with this one, making out with a dilf jensen character to pretty when you cry would heal me. enjoy!! xoxo
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When the news about your fatherâs death hit you, your first thought was that itâs just a cruel joke. A really bad one at that. A prank gone too far, somebody hell-bent on ragebaiting you. You wouldâve passed it off as some dare between kids, if it wasnât somebody from the hospital on the other end of the line. So, you listened. You paced around your rented little room restlessly, index finger rhythmically drumming on your phone held to your ear, heartbeat spiking up.
A car accident, the nurse or whoever responsible for making these calls told you, drunk driving. Your number was apparently the one written down as the âin case of emergencyâ call.Â
Every fiber of your being was against believing it, but your mind was shaped well enough throughout the years to know that a drunk driving accident was not out of the cards when it came to your father, and that if they end up calling anybody about his death, theyâd pick you over your emotionally distant mother.Â
With no other choice left, you boarded the first train back to your hometown, suitcase in hand to spend who knows how long in that godforsaken town, long enough to give your father a proper funeral and handle the official documents regarding his passing.Â
Itâs been well over two years since you moved away in hopes of a better life and a start with a clean slate. To some extent, you succeeded. Nobody knew you, you were an invisible presence with no meaningful social life. Your friends? Still in your hometown. The strangers in the big city paid you no mind, a socially awkward and quiet girl was the least of their concerns amidst their bustling lives. Though, by now, you could bet that even your old friends forgot you.
The day of your arrival was the day it all took a turn.Â
The suitcase in your arm weighted like lead as you exited the train station, hopping onto the dusty, rugged asphalt that the town always promised to repair sometime. By the looks of it, they either never did, or did a real shit job.Â
Your destination was a motel, your stubbornness refusing to move back to the smoke-fogged, frowzy and dimly-lit house of your mother. Youâve spent more than enough time there, and you had just enough to rent a room for these oncoming days, even weeks perhaps.
Thatâs when it hit your ears. A male voice, accompanied by the rustling sound of wheels grinding on the road.
âExcuse me,â you hear from your side. Oh, great, a creep. You wanted to tell him to fuck off, to quit trying to pick up younger girls, but then again, what if itâs somebody who means no harm, just asking for maybe directions?Â
With a sigh, you turn to face him, his car â a dark, seemingly older model pickup truck â slowing down just enough to match the pace of your steps. Contrary to what you thought, the face in the car was less disgusting and more familiar â and handsome. Sitting inside was the man you saw mostly on old photographs of your dad, or at drink nights. A friend of his, if you recognized him just right. By the looks of it, he recognized you too.
âYouâre Johnâs girl, right?â He continues, voice deep, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rests in the rolled down window.Â
âYeah,â you nod along, unsure where this was going. The two of you never really talked or met properly, but what did you expect, he was your dadâs friend and not yours after all.
âYour bag seems heavy. Need a ride?â
Your breath hitches for a moment as you consider his offer. It sounded tempting, letâs be real, who would want to walk twenty minutes with their arm about to rip off when they can just toss it onto the backseat and lay back? If thereâs an easy way, you best bet youâre taking it.
âIf itâs not a problem,â you reply after a beat. A soft, barely noticeable smile creeps onto his face as he leans over to the passenger side, calloused fingers pulling up the manual lock and pushing the door open for you. You mutter a quick thank you as you step from the sidewalk to the car, lowering yourself onto the black, cushioned seat before putting your baggage at your feet.Â
âYour motherâs house, right?â He questioned as he fixed his eyes on the rearview mirror to check for oncoming traffic.
âNo, the motel down on Redford Street,â you quietly reply. Luckily, he takes your answer with a nod and no further questions.
You adjust yourself a little as the car begins to roll back onto the main road â having stalled in a parking lane while you two exchanged words â, pieces of gravel softly crunching under the sturdy rubber wheels.
The wheels hummed softly as they devoured the familiar, potholed asphalt. The cabin held the distinctive scent of old cars: cheap pine-scented air freshener and the heavy odor of leather seats. The blend instantly transported you back to your childhood, when everything seemed simpler.Â
Your fatherâs friend steered the car with practiced ease, watching the road in stifling silence charged with unspoken condolences and the awkwardness of the situation.Â
Suddenly, he turned his head toward you and broke the silence.Â
"Iâm sorry about your father,â he began, his tone low. âHe was a good man, even if he did have... difficult times. I never imagined heâd go like this."
You nodded along with his words, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery from the passenger window. His words seemed sincere, but the comment about your dad being a good person threw you a bit off. In a way, he was. Compared to your mother, he was a good enough source of comfort. Still, itâs best if you keep quiet for now.
âYou left about two years ago, right?â He continued, eyes darting to you in hopes of catching an answer before he turned back to the road. âYour dad and I, we⌠we were close. He missed you a lot.â
The remark caught you off guard. Your father was never the sentimental type â he didnât call or send messages â and you, too, had thought it best not to reopen old wounds over the phone. Did you want to believe him, or was this just one of those polite, white lies people tell the bereaved?Â
A lump formed in your throat, and the grey small-town houses flitting past the windshield blurred for a moment. The uneven road made the car jolt rhythmically as you stared at the tips of your shoes, pondering your reply. The man was clearly waiting for your reaction. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, his eyes tracing the curves of the road, yet his shoulder was tense. He sensed he was treading on shaky ground, both in the conversation and with the car.
âYou might not remember me,â he tries to usher the conversation in a slightly different way. âI mean, your dad never really introduced us to each other. Jensen,â he makes the long overdue introduction.
Although you had never spoken in person, you recognized that face from the yellowed photographsâyounger, smiling, a beer bottle in hand during a fishing trip. He was the man your father always mentioned whenever he reminisced about the "good old days."Â
"I remember," you finally said, your voice slightly hoarse from the silence. "My father told me about you. And I saw you with him sometimes."Â
The man smiled faintly, as if relieved that you didn't view him as a stranger. Meanwhile, the car slowed as you entered the small townâs shabby center. The same local faces were still loitering in front of the neon-lit corner shop as they had been two years ago.Â
"Iâm glad somethingâs coming back to you," Jensen nodded as he signaled and turned onto the street leading to the motel â a road in even worse condition than the others. "I know itâs none of my business, but... if you get stuck with the paperwork or the funeral arrangements, let me know. I know the local clerks. Dealing with them isn't exactly a picnic, especially right now."Â
The tires crunched as they rolled into the gravel parking lot of the motel. The building was just as run-down as you remembered: paint peeling from the walls, and insects already circling desperately around the yellow light above the entrance, even in the twilight. Jensen killed the engine. The sudden silence was almost palpable.Â
"Well, here we are," the man said, turning toward you and glancing where your bag lay. "Are you sure you want to stay here? Your motherâs house isn't far."
âIâm not going to my motherâs,â you said firmly, perhaps a bit more coldly than you had intended. Your eyes were fixed on the motelâs worn, yellowish wall. âIâd rather stay here.âÂ
Jensen didnât answer right away. His hands still rested on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the leather. He was visibly searching for the right words as that suffocating silence settled over the car once more.Â
âLook,â he said finally, his voice deep and serious. âYou shouldnât be alone in a place like this. Your dad... your dad wouldnât want you holed up in this run-down dump. If you want, you can stay with me. Iâll sleep on the couch if needed. You can stay until the funeral is over and youâve sorted out the paperwork. You wonât be in the way, I promise.â
The offer caught you off guard and made you pause for a moment. Although Jensen seemed kind and was a friend of your fatherâs, he was still a stranger to you. Besides, you had grown too accustomed to solitude and independence to rely on someone elseâs goodwill now.Â
"Thank you, but... Iâll really be better off at the motel. I need to sort out my thoughts," you said, declining in a quiet but firm voice. Jensen didnât press the issue. He simply nodded, as if he had expected the answer, then reached into his inner coat pocket. He pulled out a torn scrap of checkered paper with a string of numbers hastily scrawled on it in blue ink. He reached out and placed the paper next to the gearshift, right within your reach.
âIf you change your mind, or if you need anything... if you get stuck at the office or run into any trouble, give me a call,â he said, looking into your eyes. âI owe you that much, for your fatherâs sake, too.â
You tucked the slip of paper into your pocket, whispered a quiet thank-you, and stepped out of the car with a soft sigh. The heavy suitcase immediately tugged at your shoulder as you stepped onto the gravel. The cool evening air hit your face as you walked toward the motel entrance but paused at the door to glance back over your shoulder. Jensen was still there with the engine running; the headlights cut a yellowish beam through the twilight.Â
You gave a faint wave of goodbye. He nodded, waved back, and you pressed down on the heavy, worn iron handle and stepped into the reception area as he hit the gas, tires crunching on the gravel, the car slowly disappearing down the street.
After that, you didnât see him for a few days, both of which you spent in the solitude of your musty, rented room. You didnât make yourself at home, your bag unpacked for the most part with the exception of the clothes you changed in those two days. Still, it was time to do something, the weight of the paperwork looming dangerously heavy over your head.Â
When Jensen said that itâs not too easy dealing with the clerks, he wasnât lying, and you got to experience it firsthand. You sat there like an unsure, often stuttering mess, your leg rapidly bouncing and your pulse increasing.
The clerks were even more heartless than you had expected. From behind her thick glasses, the cold female official looked at you as if you were just another tedious file in the stack.Â
"This form is incomplete," she said, sliding the paper back toward you with a dismissive gesture. "I need the original insurance policy alongside the death certificate; without it, I can't close the first stage of the probate proceedings."
You nodded mechanically, without a word. You lacked the courage to argue with that ice-cold woman, especially since, deep down, you knew perfectly well that the document had likely long since been lost somewhere amidst the chaos of the family home.Â
With trembling fingers, you gathered your bag and hurriedly left the officeâs stifling room. Stepping out onto the street, the cool air immediately hit your face. Your throat still felt tight, and your pulse returned to normal only slowly.Â
You sat on the steps of the office building, head in your hands, trying to pull yourself together. Your stubbornness tightened around your throat like a noose: you simply refused to pick up the phone and ask Jensen for help, yet walking into your motherâs house in search of the document was completely out of the question. Instead, you sat on the cold concrete, waiting for your pulse to steady.Â
Then, a pair of heavy, dusty boots stopped right in front of you, breaking the monotony of the grey pavement. You slowly lifted your head, your gaze traveling up his worn jeans until it met his. It was Jensen. He stood looking down at you, hands in his jacket pockets and head tilted slightly to the side; his eyes held a mixture of pity and an "I told you so" expression.
âI thought Iâd find you here,â he said, breaking the silence with his deep, calm voice. âI saw you come out from my car. It looked like you wanted nothing more than to set the building and the bureaucrats inside on fire.âÂ
He took a step forward, then with a tired grunt, lowered down onto the steps beside you without a second thought, unconcerned that the concrete was dirty. Resting his elbows on his knees, he gazed at the street opposite.Â
âSo, tell me,â he said quietly. âWhich piece of paperwork did they take issue with?â
âMore like which one they didnât take an issue with,â you sighed, chin resting in your palm as your eyes were fixed on the passing cars ahead.
He leaned closer, and his voice shifted to a deep, warm tone that instantly began to soothe the throbbing tension in your head.Â
"Hey, itâs okay. Weâll sort it out," he said softly, glancing at you before his eyes drift back to the street across. "Getting hold of one lousy document isn't the end of the world. Weâll handle it easily, youâll see."Â
You fell silent for a moment. Deep down, a wave of relief washed over you; it was an incredible comfort to have someone in this alien-feeling hometown who stood by your side and wouldn't let you sink alone into the quagmire of this. At the same time, however, your stomach instantly knotted at the thought of the next step.
âFor that... I have to go back to my motherâs house,â you finally replied, your voice barely audible. The words were a struggle to get out. âItâs bound to be there, among my fatherâs things.âÂ
Jensen understood immediately. You didnât need to explain or elaborate on how toxic and stifling your relationship was within that house. A faint, sympathetic shadow crossed his face, and then he nodded decisively.Â
âI get it,â he said, standing up and brushing off his trousers. âIâll go with you. If Iâm there, your mother will think twice about making a scene, and weâll get it over with faster. You up for it?â
Jensenâs warm, calloused palm offered a steady anchor amidst the uncertainty as he held it out for you to grab. As you took his hand and stood up, your legs were still trembling slightly from the tension, but his presence gave you strength.Â
"Thank you," you whispered, letting go of his hand and brushing off your coat. Jensen simply nodded and gestured toward his car. You found yourself sitting on that same worn black seat again, yet the atmosphere was vastly different from what it had been at the station.Â
Your stomach knotted at the thought of returning to the house you had fled two years ago. Jensen clearly noticed your tension, he didn't force a conversation â simply turning down the radioâs volume, which was crackling with old rock music â and steered the car confidently toward the suburbs.
The doorbell was the same chime as it was before you left. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you stood there, waiting impatiently for the door to fly open, Jensen just a step behind you like a loyal bodyguard. It took a good five minutes for the lock to shift, the door creaking open to reveal your motherâs rugged face on the other side.Â
She looked even more worn than in your memories. Deep, dark circles sat beneath her eyes, and her gaze was blearyâas if she had just woken up, or as if, despite the early afternoon hour, she had already had her first drink. The stale stench of cigarette smoke hit you instantly as the heavy air of the house wafted out through the ajar door.Â
When her eyes fixed on you, there was no tearful embrace, no sigh of relief, only a mocking sneer flitted across her face.Â
"So, the prodigal daughter has dared to come home after all," she said in a raspy, harsh voice, completely ignoring the mourning or the fact that she hadn't seen you in two years. "I thought your big-city life had made you forget where you came from."
But before she could completely shut down the conversation, her gaze fell upon the figure standing behind you. Jensen stood there with tense shoulders, his expression grim and commanding. Your motherâs expression shifted instantly, and mockery gave way to a tense uncertainty.Â
"Jensen?" she asked, her voice noticeably less steady. "And what are you doing here with her?"Â
Jensen didnât back down. He took a half-step closer to you, shielding you from the womanâs words.
"Hi, Martha. Iâm just helping the girl sort out the paperwork following Johnâs death," Jensen replied in a deep, firm voice. "We need to go into the study to get some documents for the authorities. We wonât get in the way."Â
Your mother sized Jensen up, then looked back at you. Finally, with a stifled snort, she stepped aside and opened the door wider, clearing the way into the dim hallway.
Your fatherâs study remained untouched, as if frozen in time. Stacks of papers were still collecting dust the way they were left, a pen haphazardly left on the edge of the table like it was just about to fall down, chair scrambled away from the desk. Finding a document in here will definitely be a challenge, you thought. To your luck, you had Jensen helping you out.
While you searched through various drawers at the desk, Jensen, with his massive frame, pushed aside the rickety chest of drawers standing in the corner. He crouched down and began to sift carefully yet expertly through the jumbled papers and old odds and ends in the bottom drawer.
Your eyes involuntarily drifted to Jensen. As he crouched there in the semi-darkness, his broad shoulders strained against his jacket, and a beam of light from the window sharply illuminated his profile. There was something incredibly reassuring and steadfast about his presence.Â
He was under no obligation to help you, yet he had come to this hated house without a word, and was now kneeling in the dust, sifting through papersâall just to make things easier for you.Â
For a moment, a wave of warmth washed over your chest, and you found yourself gazing at him, lost in quiet admiration. Suddenly, as if sensing the weight of your stare, Jensenâs fingers paused on the papers. He slowly turned his head toward you, and his eyes locked directly with yours.
Your heart leapt into your throat for a moment. Panic at the thought of being caught washed over you instantly, the tips of your ears burned, and you jerked your head back toward the desk in a hurried, almost convulsive motion. You pretended that the first yellowish envelope within reach was the most important thing in the world and began hurriedly rustling the papers, hoping he hadn't noticed how long you had been staring at him.Â
From the other side of the room came a very faint, barely audible, deep chuckle, after which Jensen turned back to the drawer.Â
"I think I've found something," the manâs deep voice broke the silence as he pulled an official-looking document with a blue header from the bottom of the stack.
"Thatâs the one," you nodded in relief as Jensen handed over the document. Fortunately, the earlier awkward moment faded as you sorted through the papers, and since your mother stayed in the living room, you managed to leave the house without a confrontation.Â
Back at the office, things finally went smoothly. The stern clerk took the insurance policy and stamped it, officially concluding the hardest part of the paperwork.Â
As you stepped out through the officeâs heavy oak doors, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you involuntarily paused at the top of the steps. Your eyes widened in surprise. Jensenâs car was still parked by the roadside, the engine purring softly, and he was waiting patiently, leaning on the steering wheel. You had assumed he would leave immediately after finishing this business, but he had waited for you to come back out.
As soon as he noticed you, he rolled down the window and waved.Â
"So, did it work out?" he asked as you stepped up to the car.Â
"Yeah, Iâve got everything. Thank you," you replied, and for the first time, your voice held genuine, heartfelt gratitude.Â
"You're welcome. Hop in, I'll take you back to the motel," the man nodded, already reaching across to open the door for you from the inside. You didn't hesitate for a second. You immediately accepted the invitation and sank into the seat, which now seemed far more welcoming and secure than your own cold, sterile motel room. As you closed the car door, shutting out the noise of the outside world, a deep, relieved sigh escaped you.
You had been alone for so long. Over the past two years in the big city, you had become almost invisible; you had no friends, no one to ask how your day went or to stand by you when the waves crashed over your head. That suffocating isolation and loneliness had completely consumed you.Â
But now, beside Jensenâin his silent yet all-understanding presenceâsomething had changed. You felt at ease and safe with him. It was good not to have to carry your burdens alone anymore. Jensen slowly accelerated, and the car rolled out of the parking lot.Â
"I imagine a proper meal would hit the spot after all that fast food you probably ate at the motel," Jensen remarked with a faint half-smile, his eyes on the road. "Thereâs a nice little diner on the way. What do you think?"
Over the next weeks, youâve grown closer to Jensen. Heâd call you from time to time, asking if you need anything when heâs out on a grocery run, or if everythingâs going fine with the paperwork and arrangements, always offering to jump in and help if needed. For the most part, you stood on your own legs, declining his kindhearted offers. But when he invited you out somewhere, who were you to say no?Â
That first shared meal at the corner diner was followed by other occasions. Jensen became part of your daily life almost imperceptibly, a steady anchor amidst the chaos of grief and official arrangements. Whenever your phone rang and you heard his deep, soothing voice on the other end, your stomach no longer knotted with stress.Â
You learned to appreciate his care. Although your stubbornness led you to handle the grocery shopping or the coordination with the funeral home on your own, you couldn't bring yourself to give up those shared car rides, coffee breaks, and quiet conversations. With him, even the silence didn't feel stifling.Â
On the eve of the funeral, Jensen appeared once more in the parking lot of the motel youâve been staying at. The setting sun cast a yellowish glow over the car's hood as he stepped out and leaned against the bodywork.
âTomorrow will be the hardest day,â he said quietly as you stepped closer. Sincere concern was reflected in his eyes. âIâll be right behind you at the service. But I was thinking... I could take you somewhere tonight to clear your head. Thereâs a spot at the edge of town, by the lake. Your father and I used to go there a lot.â
The lakeside quiet and the last rays of light shimmering on the waterâs surface finally washed away the tension. After hours of talking about the past, yourself, himself, your father, and the future, Jensen pushed himself up from the bench with a low grunt and looked at you.Â
"Itâs getting chilly," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "How about we head over to my place? We could have a drink, and you wouldn't have to sit out here in the cold."Â
You didn't hesitate long, and your answer was met with a relieved smile. After a short drive, you pulled up at the quieter, wooded edge of town, in front of a cozy trailer surrounded by trees. A small light with a yellowish glow shone above the metal frame, casting a welcoming atmosphere into the darkness.
As you stepped inside, you were immediately greeted by warmth and the scent of wood. Jensenâs trailer was surprisingly clean and tidy: old fishing rods and a few yellowed photographs of your father and old friends adorned the walls, while a comfortable brown leather sofa beckoned from the corner.Â
"Have a seat, Iâll get the drinks," Jensen said, gesturing toward the sofa as he removed his heavy jacket, revealing broad shoulders beneath a thin T-shirt. He walked over to the kitchenette, where glasses clinked as he pulled out two beers from his fridge before plopping down next to you with a grunt, the plush of the sofa sinking a little beneath the weight.
The silence of the trailer was broken only by the soft hum of the television and the whispering of leaves on the trees outside. The glasses sat half-empty on the small table, and as the hours ticked by, your conversation slowed to a hushed murmur. The heavy week, the tense hours spent at the office, and the weight of tomorrowâs funeral finally took their toll: your eyelids grew heavy, and the outside world slowly blurred away.Â
After a while, Jensen noticed a striking silence. Turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder, he saw that you were already fast asleep, your head resting trustingly against his warm shoulder.
A soft, warm smileâone rarely seenâspread across his face. Careful not to wake you, he shifted and slowly wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you closer, gently yet firmly, letting you snuggle right up to him and find perfect peace in the safety of his embrace. He didn't want to move or break the magic of the moment, he simply let you sleep there, watching over you on the first night in a long time that you didn't feel alone.
Morning sunlight cut sharply through the trailerâs small window, shining straight into your eyes. As you stirred, your neck felt a bit stiff from the awkward angle of the sofa. A sudden wave of panic washed over you; your heart pounded as the image of the unfamiliar furniture burned into your retinas.Â
You quickly checked yourself. Fortunately, you were fully dressed, and your clothes were exactly as they had been the night before. As you let out a breath of relief, you noticed the sound of quiet rustling and a metallic clatter coming from the kitchenette, accompanied by the unmistakable, rich aroma of fresh coffee. Jensen was standing at the counter with his back to you, wearing a simple white T-shirt.Â
"Good morning," he said, turning toward you the moment he heard the sofa springs creak. He looked well-rested, and his voice held its usual deep, low rumble. "How did you sleep? You passed out last night like youâd been knocked cold. I didn't want to wake you."
Your voice was still a bit husky from sleep, but you tried to brush it off.Â
"I'm sorry... I didn't plan on falling asleep here. Must be the exhaustion," you mumbled, trying to smooth down your disheveled hair. Jensen set a mug of steaming black coffee on the side table in front of you, then sat down in the armchair opposite you.Â
"Don't apologize," he said with a soft, reassuring half-smile, warmth glinting in his eyes. "You needed the rest. You've been under more stress these past few days than anyone should have to bear alone. I'm glad you felt safe enough here to fall asleep."
You drank your coffee in silence for a few minutes while the branches of the trees outside tapped softly against the roof of the trailer. The quiet was just as intimate now as it had been the night before. Finally, Jensen glanced at his watch and then back at you.Â
"Well, we should probably get going," he said in a lower voice, alluding to the true weight of the day. "Iâll take you to the motel so you can change and get ready for the funeral. Iâll meet you at the cemetery at one oâclock so you wonât have to walk in alone."
Your black dress felt heavy and stifling, and the scent of fresh earth from the cemetery seemed to have seeped right into your skin.Â
You had held it together during the serviceâJensen standing like a rock behind you the whole timeâbut now that it was over, loneliness and the stark realization crashed over you like a wave. Your father was truly gone. He was no more.Â
You didn't want to go back to that bleak motel room, and you needed to escape your own thoughts. That was how you ended up in a dimly lit, neon-bathed tavern on the edge of town. You sat hunched over a high stool at the bar, clutching an ice-cold glass. Dull music played in the background, and the smoky air stung your eyes. You just wanted to be alone with your thoughts.Â
"A pretty girl like you shouldn't be drinking alone in a place like this," a slick, unpleasant voice suddenly spoke up right beside you. Fuck.
You flinched and glanced to the side. A strange man had settled into the seat next to you, brazenly close. He reeked of cheap cologne and beer, his face gleaming with grease in the glow of the bar lights. He raked his eyes over your black outfit, but there was no respect in his gaze, only that predatory boredom typical of small-town creeps.Â
"What's the matter, babe? Did your boyfriend dump you, or are you just looking for Mr. Right?" he asked, leaning even closer as his hand drifted dangerously near the one resting on the counter.
"Leave me alone, please. Iâm not interested," you said in a low, tense voice, trying to remain calm and civilized.Â
The man, however, just grinned; the rejection seemed to embolden him even more. Seeing that he wouldn't back off, you stood up from the counter and headed toward the exit. Your heart was pounding in your throat again. The man immediately stepped after you, following you through the smoky, dimly lit room.Â
"Don't be so cold, baby! I just want to talk," he whispered, and the next moment, he roughly grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him. You tried to break free and shove his hand away, but his grip was too strong, and the noise of the pub drowned out your protests. A sense of helpless panic washed over you.
Just then, a massive, heavy shadow fell over you. With a stifled cry, the creep let go of your wrist as a hand grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall in one swift motion. It was Jensen. His eyes flashed with anger, his shoulders were tense, and his body loomed menacingly over the terrified man.Â
"Back off, or this night isnât going to end well for you," Jensen growled in a voice so cold that it sent a shiver down your spine. The creep took the hint immediately; when Jensen released him, he held up his hands in alarm and hurriedly vanished into the darkness of the pub. Jensen turned slowly, his gaze instantly softening as he looked at you. Genuine concern was etched on his face as he gently placed his large hands on your shoulders, as if checking to make sure you were unharmed.
âYou okay?â he asked quietly as he led you out into the cool, fresh air. He walked over to the parked car, opened the door for you. You silently plopped down on the seat, him too making his way over to the driverâs seat, closing that door behind himself before he glanced at you. âIf you still want a drink, we could go to my place. Itâs quiet and safe there. Or I can take you to the motel, or anywhere else youâd like. Itâs your call.â
The carâs enclosed cabin instantly shut out the muffled sounds of the pub and the outside world. You sat motionless on the black leather seat as the accumulated tension of the past few daysâthe cold rejection from the authorities, your motherâs poisonous words, the scent of fresh earth at the cemetery, and the incident at the pubâcame crashing down on you all at once.Â
Your loneliness and grief grew so heavy that your throat tightened completely. Then, the dam broke. At first, your shoulders merely began to shake rhythmically with suppressed, quiet sobs. You buried your face in your palms, trying to hold back the tears, but they forced their way out between your fingers, unstoppable.Â
Jensen didnât start the engine. He didnât spout trite words of comfort, nor did he pretend nothing had happened. He simply unbuckled his seatbelt quietly and turned toward you. He gently placed his large, calloused hands on the back of your neck and your back, then softly pulled you close.Â
As your forehead met his heavy jacket, your sobbing intensified, and you clutched his clothes with a desperate grip, as if he were the only solid point in a collapsing world. Jensen simply held you, firmly and reassuringly, letting you finally release all the pain you had been carrying.
Your crying slowly subsided into quiet, rhythmic sobs against Jensenâs chest. The steady beat of his heart near your ear and the comforting scent of pine and beer radiating from him finally quelled the storm raging in your mind.Â
As the sobbing eased, instead of pulling away, you found yourself clinging even tighter to him. You slowly lifted your head, releasing your grip on his jacket. Your eyes were red and wet from tears, and your face burned with embarrassment, yet Jensen didnât let go. With his thumb, he gentlyâalmost with unbelievable tendernessâwiped the last remaining tear from your cheek.
Your eyes met in the dark interior of the car, illuminated only by the faint, flickering neon glow of the distant pub. The silence that settled between you wasn't born of grief or tension, instead, the air was thick with something else entirely, a palpable, electric charge.Â
Jensenâs eyes were dark, his gaze drifting slowly from yours to your lips. His breathing grew heavier, and his grip on your waist tightened, pulling your body closer to his. After two years of loneliness, isolation, and a lack of affection, this sudden, raw intimacy felt almost intoxicating. You didn't want to pull away; you craved his warmth. Jensen leaned in slowlyâgiving you time to objectâuntil his warm breath brushed against your skin, then sought your lips with a touch that was gentle yet driven by a hungry determination.
The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but it quickly shifted into something far deeper, an urgent desire. Jensenâs lips were warm, and his stubble grazed your skin, making the moment feel all the more real. Driven by a longing for greater comfort and closer contact, you shifted over the gearshift and settled right onto Jensenâs lap. He greeted the move with a low, satisfied rumble.Â
His large, strong hands immediately settled on your thighs and waist, confidently supporting your weight as he anchored you against him within the cramped confines of the car. Amidst the heated make-out session, Jensen pulled his lips away from yours for a moment, though he didn't move far. He began peppering your face with soft, light kisses, gently brushing away the tears that still lingered beneath your eyes and across your features.
âYouâre so pretty when you cry,â he whispered against the skin of your reddened cheek, his warm breath causing your own to hitch.
Your hands instinctively clung to his neck, your fingers burying themselves in his thick hair, while thoughts of the trailer and the pub faded completely from your mind. Nothing existed but the warmth of his body and his steady, deep breathing.
Jensenâs large palm slid slowly up your back, gently tracing the line of your spine through the thin fabric. He pulled away slightlyâjust enough to look into your eyes in the darknessâand caressed your face once more with his thumb.Â
"Letâs go back to my place," he said softly. His voice was even deeper and more gravelly than usual, thick with tension. He didn't phrase it as a question, but rather as a quiet, reassuring suggestion. You simply nodded in silence.Â
The drive to the trailer passed in complete silence, yet that silence was no longer awkward at all. There was nothing to say; you both knew you had crossed a line, but neither of you wanted to back down.Â
When you arrived at the trailer hidden among the trees, Jensen killed the engine, but instead of getting out immediately, he waited for you to make the first move. As soon as you stepped into the warm, wood-scented interior, the outside world ceased to exist entirely. Jensen closed the door behind you, then turned straight toward you.
As the door clicked shut behind you with a metallic sound, everything ceased to exist. There were no more questions, no uncertainty or suffocating grief, only a hunger born of a loneliness that had lasted far too long, erupting within both of you at once.Â
Jensen wasted no time. He closed the distance between you in a single, decisive step and gripped your waist with his large hands, practically lifting you off the ground. Your back struck the hard wall of the trailer, but the pain of the sudden impact was instantly washed away by the raw, all-consuming demand of his lips. His kiss was far more intense and urgent now than it had been in the car; his tongue confidently explored your mouth while you clung tightly to his broad shoulders, digging your fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt.
Stifled sighs and ragged breaths filled the cramped space of the trailer. Jensenâs hands roamed hungrily over your bodyâsliding down to your hips and back up to the hem of your black dressâwhile his stubble grazed the sensitive skin of your neck with a sensation that was rough yet electrifying.Â
Every touch was charged with the tension you had both been trying to suppress all these weeks. Stumbling from the narrow hallway, never once letting go of each other, you made your way toward the comfortable, soft bed. In the dim light, garments fell hurriedly to the floor one by one as desire finally took complete control over reason.
The soft fabric felt cool against your heated skin as Jensen gently eased you back onto the cushions. Though desire burned urgently in both of you, all raw, demanding force suddenly vanished from his movements. The moment he saw the vulnerability in your eyes, that raw hunger gave way to a deep, overwhelming tenderness.Â
He loomed over you with his tall, heavy frame, yet supported his weight on his elbows. His calloused palms rested beside your head, his fingers gently threading through your hair.Â
"You sure sweetheart?" he whispered, his voice vibrating deeply in the darkness. Even in the hazy moonlight, his eyes sought yours clearly, giving you time to answer.
Instead of speaking, you simply pulled him even closer, clinging to his neck. This was the moment you had longed for deep within your soul, the warmth and protection you had never received from anyone before.Â
He began to slowly undress you, unhurried, as if unwrapping something fragile and precious. Each of his movements was accompanied by a soft, soothing kiss. His lips wandered over your shoulders and collarbone, tracing a path down to your chest, while his hands gently mapped the contours of your body. Whenever he sensed you tense up for a moment, he would pause immediately, kissing your face and lips until you relaxed in his arms once more.
When you finally gave yourselves fully to one another, it wasn't about the tension of the pub or raw force. Jensen was incredibly attentive and deliberate, mindful of your every reaction. He never once took his eyes off your face; he watched your breathing and the soft, involuntary sighs that escaped your throat. He interlaced his fingers tightly with yours, pressing your palms against the mattress, while his body rocked you into ecstasy with rhythmic, gentle movements.
After the heated, tender moments, the interior of the trailer slowly settled back into silence. Outside the window, the wind gently stirred the tree branches, but insideânestled in the spacious, soft embrace of the brown leather sofaâtime seemed to stand still. Jensen lay beside you in the semi-darkness, his heavy frame close to yours, the blanket pulled up to your shoulders to shield you from the creeping night chill. One of his arms remained wrapped firmly around your waist. You rested your head on his chest, pressing your ear directly over his heart, listening to its rhythmic beat.
You delicately traced the old scar on one of his shoulders with your fingers. You didnât speak. Words would have been unnecessary tonight, the way he buried his nose in your hair from time to time, or the way his calloused palms stroked your back soothingly, said it all. The loneliness you had carried for two years, the invisibility of the big city, and the suppressed grief all melted away in this thick, stuffy silence.Â
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. ⤡ ă buy me a coffee? ËËË
With his freshly earned money, Alec decides what better way to spend it than on a few good drinks with his girlfriend. Still, something â or someone â seems to be missing.
pairing: alec mcdowell x gn!reader
fandom: dark angel (2000 - 2002)
tags: implied established relationship .á drinking .á alternative universe where ben and alec escaped manticore together .á slight angst
word count: 1.5k
author's note: melancholy washed over me now that a rainstorm broke the heatwave streak, late night meanderings led me here because of course i write based on my personal feelings and vibes. i love alec so much, i like to think there was an alternative universe where alec and ben were good siblings together. enjoy!!
masterlist. ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťâ profile navigation.
"Well, hey there," Alec says, flashing that trademark grin as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The bruise on his cheek darkens just below his eye, but he acts like itâs nothing â like getting clocked in a fight is part of his morning routine. Which... okay, maybe it sort of is now.
Heâs quick to catch your disapproving glare as you eye him from head to toe. Of course he went back to boxing, what did you even expect? Jam Ponyâs salary was barely scraping minimum wage, no wonder he tried to find an alternative.
He leans casually against the lockers, arms folding across his chest.Â
âDonât give me that look. I know what youâre thinkingâ'Alec got into another bar fight,' 'Alec must've insulted someone's mom,' 'Did he at least win this time?' Spoiler alert: I did. And nope, didnât insult anyoneâs mom⌠this time.â
He winks and pushes off the lockers, stepping closer with that easy swagger only he can pull off, even limping slightly under the guise of âjust adjusting my shoe.â Â
âSooo⌠you gonna rat me out to Normal? You sticking around long enough to cover for me if he starts sniffing too close? I told him I got this⌠uh⌠âenthusiastic dogâ on my route. Barked right into my cheek." Eyes twinkling, he slides closer. "Or better yet, got any ice? Or are you just gonna stand there judging me with those big doe eyes?"
âYou know I hate when you go into that ring,â you let out a defeated sigh at your coworkerâs stubbornness. Â
âYeah, but I never lose, remember? One hit is nothing. Though between us? Guy hit like a damp noodle. Mostly this? This is just from tripping over his ego on the way out. Totally worth it. Made enough cash to cover this monthâs rent and upgrade my whiskey brand. Wanna split a bottle later? My treat. Well, your treat technically since itâs paid for with fight winnings.â
âJust like that?â You cut back, practically snorting at his suggestion. âWasting your precious little money on tossing me a few sips?â
He just throws his head back with a laugh, the kind that makes his bruised jaw protest.Â
"Oh please," Alec says, waving a hand like you just insulted royalty. "A few sips? Baby, this ainât some cheap grocery store wine night."Â Â
He steps closer and drops the keys into your palm and leans down so youâre eye-to-eye.Â
"This is top-shelf whiskey. The good stuff that burns going down and makes you forget your exâs face forever." A slow smirk curls across his lips as he adds on âAnd honestly? Wasting money on you is my new favorite hobby.â Â
Then straightening up again, âSo yeah⌠totally worth it.â
âYeah, would be your favourite hobby, if you had something to waste. Don't you get your face wrecked on a daily basis because there's no money?â
His smirk falters for half a second, but he recovers fast, shrugging like itâs nothing.Â
"Yeah, getting my face rearranged is kinda part of the job description now. Fair,â he shrugs. âBut Iâd waste it at Crash if I didnât on you, so⌠you decide whichâs better.â
He taps his temple where there's definitely a fresh bruise peeking under his hairline.Â
âBut hey! It pays better than slinging packs at Jam Pony did, and way better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself." His tone shifts lighter again as he bumps your shoulder playfully. âBesides⌠What's life without a little pain and poor financial decisions? Worth every penny to see you though.â
Alright, that was something. A few valid points, even. All his nights ended with drinks, as depressing as it sounded, there really wasnât much to argue about there. If he wants to sulk in the masses of alcohol with you, so be it.
âIf you really got nothing better for tonight, I'll take the invite. Need me to bring anything?â
His whole face lights up, like someone flipped a switch from broke brawler to golden retriever who just got told yes.
"Hell yes," he blurts out, immediately catching himself and trying â failing â to play it cool. Then because of course Alec McDowell can't help himself, âNope. Nada. You donât gotta bring anything. Well, except yourself. Weâre gonna be horizontal after two glasses of this stuff, trust me."Â Â
He gestures vaguely at himself with a lopsided grin before grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the bike parked crookedly near the curb.Â
âCâmon,â he says over his shoulder as he swings onto it first like usual, always offering to drive first so you could cling if needed â not that he'd admit that.
 âAnd if anyone gives you shit for being with me? Tell âem Alec McDowell owes them twenty bucks.â A wink, grinning so wide it actually hurts this time, but who cares? He pats the seat behind him twice. "Hop on,â he says over his shoulder with a grin wide enough to split open any fresh bruise on command. âIf you really feel like contributing, get ice for the drink. And perhaps my face, too.â
âDon't you have a freezer?â you grunt as you swing your leg over the bike, nestling into the spot behind Alec. âWe'll cook up some ice for you there. Hell, we can freeze some of the whiskey and let that become our ice cube.â
He freezes mid-motion, helmet half-on, and blinks at you like you just proposed the most brilliant crime in history.Â
"Freeze whiskey into ice cubes," he repeats it slowly, tasting each word like itâs liquid gold (which⌠technically). "Self-replenishing alcohol. That's revolutionary. We're basically inventing booze science tonight." Â
Already kicking the bike stand up with one boot while shoving keys back in your direction, he continues.Â
âI gotta mentally prepare to commit whiskey crimes. Best date ever already and we haven't even left.â
The second you're through the door, heâs beelining for the kitchen like a man possessed by two great ideas: One, more booze consumption and two, you being here making dumb plans with him. The freezer door swings open dramatically, because everything is dramatic tonight. Â
Grabbing the bottle from its sacred spot on top of the fridge â he even dusts it off first because respect â and unscrews it one-handed while balancing three glasses in his other arm like some kind of tipsy circus act.Â
âAlright,â he announces proudly, already pouring recklessly into all three glasses despite only having two people presentâŚ
Your attentive little eyes immediately spot the mistake, taking a quick glance around to make sure it really was just the two of you lazing around. Yes, just you two.Â
âWhat's the third glass for? Imaginary friend, or surprise guest?â You pose the question, brows slightly furrowed.
He freezes mid-pour, glass hovering, whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim of Glass #3 and blinks at you like a deer in headlights.Â
"Surprise guest," he says with absolute fabricated confidence. Lies. Placing the third glass down with exaggerated solemnity, "This oneâs for⌠uh," he glances around like inspiration might materialize from thin air before snapping his fingers. â...Ben.â Â
The name drops like an anvil. His tone is lighter than it would usually be when mentioning his long-lost twin brother â no bitterness tonight â but there's something fond underneath it too.Â
âFigured if he ever magically teleported back into existence,â he continues while pushing that glass toward your side of the table as tribute, âheâd wanna drink with us. It's more⌠tradition? Like setting a plate out for Grandma on Christmas even though she's dead?" his voice pitches higher with every word until itâs basically squeaky guilt-laughing now. Â
Then immediately ruins the moment by adding on.
 âAlso if you ditch me later? Third wheel stays.â
He places the glass carefully on the counter like itâs sacred, before turning and dramatically kicking open his bedroom door down the hall. "Ben!" He yells into nothingness for comedic effect â because obviously Ben isn't here. Â
Returning instantly, he flops back onto the couch beside you and raise both your glasses high.Â
âTo imaginary Ben!â Then immediately clinks his against yours with a chuckle before taking a huge swig of whiskey-ice-cube cocktail nonsense. But before you can react or even look at him weirdly about that name drop, he raises Glass #3 in a toast. "To ghosts."Â
And with zero ceremony whatsoever? He chugs half of it down like a shot. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugs innocently as if inviting spectral twins to imaginary dinner parties was totally normal behavior (it isn't).
He shrugs and sets the third glass down anywayâhalf-full because why waste good liquor?âlike it's normal to pour for someone who doesn't exist in this room right now. Â
Then, quieter but with forced lightness, he speaks up again.Â
âOld habits,â a weak smile tugs at his lipsÂ
Manticore escapees donât exactly have family dinners. But old habits die hard, they always poured him one when he was gone on missions or whatever cover story Manticore fed them back then. This time, it was no different.
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ ; 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
Stumbling into the alternate dimension, Adrian Chase is adamant on finding his alternate self of that universe. The biggest difference between him and his counterpart? It's a girl.
pairing: adrian chase meets earth x's fem!adrian chase! (non-romantic)
fandom: peacemaker (2022 - ??)
warnings: none!
word count: 3.8k
authorâs note: yippe first adrian oneshot!! been wanting to get this out of my system ever since i first watched season 2 episode 6, been thinking about what if earth x adrian was a girl instead, so here's a quick drabble in honor of his bday! happy june 30th/adrian chase day to everbody who celebrates!
masterlist. âŽâË profile navigation.
One single thought circled in Adrian's head â finding his alternative self in this newfound universe. Yes, what he told Adebayo and the rest of the team was that he accompanied them in search of Christopher Smith â half truth, actually, he did intend on doing that â, but come on, this is a once in a lifetime chance! How often do you get to meet an alternate version of yourself? Not a regular occurrence, that's for sure. And Adrian was aware of that.Â
So, at the first chance given, he set off to his own home's address, leaving John and Ads to deal with finding Peacemaker, while Harcourt was taken to god knows where at the hands of Peace's brother, who seemed to be alive and well in this universe.Â
Adrian thought about this scenario soooo many times! I mean, if Superman and kaijus are a real thing, there can be alternative universes too, right? So far, it was nothing more to Adrian than fiction, a mere theory, but now, with the device Chris left behind, he was standing here in said alternative universe, flesh and bone, strutting through the streets of Evergreen in his black-coated armor spiced with teal, white and red accents.
His mind was a whirlwind. Does he even exist in this universe? He has to, right? Is this version of him also Vigilante, or somehow just a regular joe? Is his dad still with him here? Does he have his bunker, and if yes, is it filled with stacks of cocaine and blood money snatched from dealers? If he's Vigilante in this universe too â which he has to be, right? â, does he fight for the same values as original Adrian does?
The time for theorizing comes to an end as Adrian spots his house, located precisely where original Adrian's house is back in his World. A hearty chuckle escapes him as his theory proves to be right, sprinting right towards the house across the street's rugged asphalt. Adrian glides through the front lawn as if he lived there â which he did, in a way â, eyes darting from one piece of decoration to another, taking in the sight of the colorful gnomes and animals, varying from metal to ceramics to cast stone. A huge grin spread across his face, muttering to himself about how almost all the things match perfectly with the ones he had. The similarities were uncanny, although only a few small details were off â the color of the squirrel, the number of gnome statues arranged into a circle, just the nitpicky details only the trained eye could spy.Â
Hopping up to the front door, he takes the handle, twisting it as if it was the entryway to his own house, entering with the utmost confidence. If the neighbors see him enter, would they notice that it's original Adrian and not Adrian 2? Right, what should he call his counterpart? Is Adrian 2 alright? To Adrian 2, perhaps original Adrian would be Adrian 2, and... okay, things are getting a bit complicated and fuzzy. Perhaps it's best if he just settles on Adrian 2 for now. If Adrian 2 happens to have a better idea, he's free to put it to use. 'Till then, he's just Adrian 2 to original Adrian.
The wooden door creaks open, a hint giving away the house's age, and Adrian enters through it as quietly as possible. He only wants the attention of his alternate self, not of whoever else might be lurking in the house. The interior, as Adrian began to inspect it, proved to be an almost perfect replica of his home. The walls are the same unattractive orange, flooring still the warm-brown wooden panels, even the same, white lace decor on one of the cupboards near the entryway that his grandmother's mother handed them down, some family heirloom of sorts. So far so good, Adrian thought, still smiling from ear to ear at the miracle of this universe being such a perfect match to his own.Â
Or so he thought.
Cruising past the living room, he makes sure to shoot a quick glance inside. His body almost freezes in surprise as he notices that there's somebody sitting inside, sprawled on the couch as the soft murmur and buzz of the TV echoed.Â
"Dad..?" he mutters to himself, low enough for the man laying on the couch to not notice his presence â much to his luck. Alright, that's one change. Though, his mother seemed to be nowhere around. Is this the change in this universe..?
"My mom's a lesbian in this universe?" Adrian chuckles to himself as he struts past the living room, his presence akin to a ghost's, heading straight towards the basement where his own little empire rests. He has to pass by the kitchen first, though, and lo and behold, it's where he encounters the second major -- and rather upsetting -- difference. Cheeri-ohs. The slight change in spelling messed with his brain so much, he first thought he suddenly developed dyslexia. He can't be reading this right, right? Who the hell would spell it as Cheeri-ohs? This universe must be seriously fucked up if this is the norm here. Cheeri-ohs. He tastes the words, how they roll on his tongue, but can't seem to wrap his head around this unnecessary change.
Still, he snatches the box of Cheeri-ohs up, making a mental note and promise to himself that if he takes anything from this verse, it has to be this. Such a fucking stupid thing, but oh god it got him giddy.
Now, it was time for the main event, the final show, the climax â his hideout. Adrian fishes out his keychain, gloved hands fiddling with the tiny pieces of metal for a moment as he tries to find the right key, inserting the first one into the first lock. With a click, he feels the lock cracking open. Fuck yes! Another click. Lock two done. Third click, three out of three locks unlocked. Seems like even in this universe, he uses the same lock. His grin spreads even wider if it's even possible as he pushes the door open, slow and meticulous, unsure of what could possibly await him on the other side.
He's cautious, steps measured even if his excitement was surging to insane levels, heart almost beating out of his chest. He could've sworn that he could hear his own accelerated heartbeat in his ears as he progressed further into the room.Â
That's when he sees it â Adrian 2. There he was, sitting at a desk original Adrian didn't even have. Perhaps Adrian 2 had a table instead of copious amounts of blood money and heaps of cocaine, considering that those were either missing or better hidden.Â
But of course, Adrian 2 is still Adrian, still Vigilante, and just as original Adrian steps close enough, Adrian 2 turns on his heels in the blink of an eye, quickdrawing a pistol at an insane speed, now facing original Adrian with the gun aimed right at his masked face.Â
Wait a minute...
Adrian's eyes widen as he takes in the sight in front of him. Standing just inches away from him, in full armor is him, yes, with one little difference â it's a girl. A pretty one at that!
This chick can't be him! If he looked this hot, he'd be a chick-magnet!
It was as if he was staring into a mirror, same height, same haircolor â although the hair length was different, hers was longer â, same armor, even the same pair of wired glasses, practically a genderbent version of him posing in front of him. The same face. Well, not exactly the same, because hers was much more delicate, her skin was clearer, and her eyes â which sat behind the exact same prescription glasses as Adrianâs â were somehow much⌠girlier.Â
"Who're you?" she immediately retorted. Of course she did, seeing a perfect replica of yourself just appear in your super secret cocaine storing hideout must've been freaky, especially if you weren't aware that people, including alternate yous can travel between dimensions. "And why are you here?"
"Oh, woah, hold on, hold on!" Adrian wastes no time, pulling his mask off in one single move. He immediately fixes his gaze back on Adrian 2 â is she even called Adrian, or did the gender switch do something with the names too? â, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face. "I'm you! I'm you from another dimension!"
He sees as something clicks just right in Adrian 2's mind, as she slowly lowers the gun before the same smile takes over her too. The same, ear-to-ear smile that perfectly matched Adrian's.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" she exclaims with just as much joy and excitement as original Adrian did. Well, at least this was a constant throughout the multiverse!
"I know, right! My keys worked to get in here!"
"You've got keys to my bunker?"
"Not to yours, to mine! But it works here too, 'cause you know, you're me and I'm you! Wait, and that means you have the same stupid patterned socks under your boots?â Adrian almost jumped with joy and was about to reach for his shoelaces to prove it, but she waved him off with a single, casual gesture.
âThatâs insane! Thatâs just brilliant!â the girl laughed, and took a relieved step back towards the table, exactly where Adrian usually kept his full magazines at home. âWait, if youâre me, then your name is Adrian too?â
"Yes! But I came up with Adrian 2 thinking of you on the way, but now that I see you're a girl... I don't know. Adri? Adriana?"Â
"Adriana. But I hate being called that. So let's stick with Adrian 2, it's much more sci-fi. Oh my god, look at your armor! Just like mine!" She poked Adrian's shoulder guard, and the boy proudly pulled himself up.Â
"Yeah, it's a unique design. But wait, let's get one thing straight." Adrian picked up the box he'd looted from the kitchen and pushed it in front of Adriana's face with a dramatic expression. "What the hell is Cheeri-ohs? Ohs? Seriously? With a hyphen?"Â
"Why, what do you call it? Cheerio-not-ohs? That sounds much lamer!"
âNo way, we have Cheerios! Written in one! Like in a normal, civilized universe!â Adrian shook the box indignantly, as if it were some holy relic. âNever mind, Iâll take this home. Chris will faint if he sees it."Â
"Wait, you're really me from another dimension?! That shit's real?!" Adrian 2 grins, accompanied by a chuckle as she slapped the gun back into its holster resting on her hip. Adrian quickly inspects his counterpart's suit, while Adrian 2 does the exact same. Yeah, a perfect copy of the uniform, from the colors to the materials and padding. Perhaps the only difference was that considering their somewhat different bodybuild â Adrian 2's being more feminine, but just as lean as Adrian's â, the suit aligned with that.
"Yeah! I wasn't sure about it either, until I busted through a portal, and landed here! Oh, I'm so glad you're like the cool type of counterpart, and not the evil kind like Chris'," original Adrian rambles on, carried away by the heat of the moment of meeting himself.
"Chris... Who the hell's Chris?" Adrian 2's brows furrow, a tiny, unsure and not too pleasant thought forming in her mind. If original Adrian means the same Chris Adrian 2's thinking aboutâŚ
"My⌠best friend. Peacemaker. Do you guys not have hiâ"
"Peacemaker?!" she shouts, and original Adrian could bet that dad upstairs heard it. If he's as nosy in this universe as his mom is in his, then with the door now unlocked, they're sure to get busted. "Christopher Smith Peacemaker?!"
âYeah! YeahâŚ?â Original Adrian swallows hard, words stuck in his throat for a moment as he becomes a stuttering mess for a moment. "You, you uh... He's not our bestie in this universe? Or like, do you guys know each other, orâŚ?"
"He's my arch nemesis!" Adrian 2 declares, her hate towards Peacemaker evident from her heaved tone.
"Whaâ Peace's our enemy here? What the fuck?"
"He's the reason why I joined the Sons of Liberty!"
"The Sons of Liberty..?" Adrian's eyes narrow, trying his best to piece together the puzzle pieces of this universe, even if he was missing a shit ton of pieces.
"Yeah! Fighting oppression, the nazis, including Peacemaker! He's the worst of the bunch!" she wildly motions with her hands, lost in the explanation and hate.
"NazisâŚ?"Â
The conversation blooms as Adrian 2 gives a surface level explanation of the workings of her universe, spiced with a little side note of who their favourite PokĂŠmon is â Infernape in both universes of course â, when their hair looks best â 3 in the morning, of course â, realizing that they really were like a carbon copy personality and mentality-wise.Â
Nazis winning World War 2, everything going downhill from there. The beef with Peacemaker? A white, middle aged privileged man, who's been on Adrian 2's ass ever since finding out that a girl was behind the mask, and her fighting because Adrian 2's friend was taken due to her skin color, at the hands of Peacemaker. The concept of an evil Peacemaker, or at least one that isn't Vigilante's bestie, seemed so alien to Adrian. Still, Nazis were basically at the top of his hit list. His Peacemaker might be the most rad person he knows, but in this universe, he was ready to slime him out. If this verseâs Peace hadn't already been murdered by his Chris.
"Whereâs the cocaine?â A random question, but one that's been bugging original Adrian for a while now.
Adrian 2 smiled and gestured towards the wall, where, from behind a camouflaged panel, peeked out the exact same military bags that Adrian had used to keep the loot heâd stolen from the drug dealers.Â
âOh, thank God, I was scared you were a boring model citizen with only a desk,â Adrian sighed in relief, while glancing around and noticing that the weapons rack was lined with almost the same rifles.
âListen,â Adrian 2 stepped closer, studying the boyâs face curiously. âIf youâre me⌠then youâre an absolute, irresistible girl magnet back home, held back only by your sacred duty to law enforcement from constantly flirting, right?âÂ
Adrian paused for a moment, remembering his own somewhat lonely and strange social life, but his Vigilante ego didnât let him down.Â
âDude⌠you have no idea. If I were a girlâlike you, I meanâIâd be looking at myself in the mirror all the time. I swear, youâre really hot.â ââ
âWoah shit, thanks! Youâre not bad either. But youâre me, just different gender, so, you know.âÂ
Before they could delve deeper into the analysis of alternate realities and their own greatness, heavy, shuffling footsteps came from the cellar door. Both Vigilantes froze at the same time, their reflexes working in perfect sync.
"Adri! What the hell is going on down there? Who are you talking to?" a hoarse, unpleasant voice bellowed from the stairs. Adrian 2 immediately reached for her mask, her face darkening.Â
âMyself!â she shouted up. Not entirely a lie, right? âMy dad. Is he still an asshole?" she whispered to Adrian.Â
"The biggest one in the world," Adrian nodded, pulling his own mask back over his head.Â
"Is he a racist at your place, too?"Â
"Yeah. And he hates cats."Â
The threat of Adebayo being captured and killed suddenly struck Adrian like lightning. Needless to say, he and his counterpart immediately jumped, heading straight to the mansion where Adrian hopped through the portal. How will they get there? Key the Honda of Adrian 2's dad, of course.
"Crazy that you got your dad in this universe," original Adrian states as he spectates the scenery they passed by, Adrian 2 seated in the driver's seat. "In mine, he left us under the guise that he was gay."
"Wait, it happened to you too?" Adrian 2 exclaims, eyes shooting over to original Adrian before drifting back to the road. "I mean, for me it was my mom leaving because she was a lesbian, but I guess it's just part of this genderbent thing."
"Yeah, I'm a dude and my dad leaves, you're a chick and your mom leaves. Makes sense," the original Adrian nodded thoughtfully, leaning his head against the window and watching the slightly more depressing streets of Evergreen pass by. "Though when you think about it, your life is much more action-packed. I mean, fighting Nazis? The Sons of Liberty? It's a thousand times more intense than hanging out in weird, run-down motel rooms while Harcourt argues with John about who ate the last donut."
âWait, Harcourt is a cold, scary warrior in your world?â Adrian 2 asked, as she stepped on the gas, the scratched Honda engine roaring angrily. âHere, sheâs an office chick, I only know him because Peacemaker used to go out with her, and it was this big news sensation thing.â
âYeah! Although she went off with Peaceâs younger brother, whoâs dead in my verse, so⌠I have no idea where she is right now.â Adrian suddenly sat up straighter in his seat as the thought crossed his mind. âWait a minute. If in this world Peacemaker is an enemy figure and his younger brother is alive⌠then the two of them are working together?âÂ
Adrian 2âs face tensed behind the wheel, her fingertips almost turning pale into his gloves.Â
âKeith Smith? That aggressive guy? They do. Theyâre the loyal little soldiers of the Blue Dragon. If theyâve got your friend⌠that girl, Adebayo, right? Then sheâs in big trouble. The Smiths donât spare their opponents, not from what I saw."
Adrianâs stomach clenched for a moment. Adebayo might be annoying him at times, but she was still part of the team. And more importantly, she was Chrisâs friend. His Chrisâs friend, I mean.Â
âThen we need to hurry. Because if John and Ads from my world are at danger⌠Fuck.âÂ
âDonât worry. I know the Smith Nest like the back of my hand. Iâve tried to sabotage their base many times,â Adrian 2 shrugged with a deadly serious yet relaxed grin. âPlus, I canât wait to see their faces when they see us. Two Vigilantes? Itâs an oppressorâs nightmare.âÂ
"Now that I think about it, do you⌠have your own 11th Street Kids?" original Adrian spoke up, meandering.
"11th Street what?" Adrian 2's confused voice came from behind the wheel. "Your team? Peacemaker, Harcourt, them, right?"
"Yeah," original Adrian nodded in response.
"Well, my team is the Sons of Liberty. Different universes, different teams I suppose. But you guys seem to be more close-knit than I am with my guys."Â
As the Honda turned the last street, its tires screeching, the fortress-like mansion where the portal had opened loomed in the distance. The two Vigilantes kicked open the car doors at the same time, guns in hand, darting behind the nearest cover in perfect synchronization.
Up on a hill near the house, they found their perfect hiding spot â except, it was already occupied. Much to their surprise, it was Adebayo herself, armed with Judomaster, who Adrian 2 just stared down, trying to decide if the person in front of her was a kid, an illusion, or simply somebody short. Turns out, the person they came here to saw didn't need any saving at all. Chris, on the other handâŚ
Adebayo and Judomaster have already scoped out the area, given that they arrived earlier, their sights set on Peacemaker, his alternate dad and brother and Harcourt in a living room. The plan was simple: eliminate August Smith aka Blue Dragon, and Keith Smith, heroically saving Peacemaker and getting him back to his own verse.Â
Shit hits the fan when original Adrian busts through a window, the glass shattering and flying in all directions, his pocket knife leaving countless holes on the throat of Chris' dad after repeated stabbing. Perhaps somebody should've told the Vigilantes that August Smith was not the villain here, but oh well, what's done is done, and August Smith is dead. Keith, on the other handâŚ
The man was adamant on getting his revenge on the intruders, and he was out for blood. The only viable plan now was if they resorted to getting the fuck out of this verse as fast as possible.
âFuck, this dude really looks like an orbital root!â the original Adrian shouted over the noise of the gunfire, as he immediately opened fire.Â
âI told you so!â Adrian 2 shouted back, as she threw himself over a stone ledge with an acrobatic move and took out the cops standing behind Keith with two accurate shots. John and Ads froze for a moment in the middle of the hail of bullets. John looked from one Vigilante to the other with wide eyes.Â
âWhat the... are there two Adrians?! And one of them has tits?!â
âStop talking nonsense, John, shoot!â Adebayo shouted as she changed cover. The outcome of the fight was ultimately decided by the perfect, almost telepathic cooperation between the two Adrians. They moved side by side as if they had fought together all their lifetimes â which was logical, since they had the same reflexes and thoughts. They were the cover and the murder machine, while the others tried to drag themselves to the portal they entered through.
âThatâs it! Run, you dick!â the original Adrian then shouted after a cop, now an entire unit scattered in the house. The portal that Chrisâ gadget had opened was already starting to vibrate dangerously. The moment to return home had arrived. Adrian 2 â or Adriana â lowered her weapon, that grin on his face as she pressed the box of Cheeri-ohs she had stolen from the kitchen into the original Adrianâs hand, which she had managed to keep during the fight.Â
âTake this with you as a souvenir. So you know what real luxury is,â Adriana laughed.Â
âThank you. Youâre the coolest me Iâve ever met,â Adrian said, and suddenly, in a completely unusual way for him, he hugged her. His counterpart was surprised for a moment, but then she firmly slapped the boy on the back.Â
âI know. And hey... when you get home, tell your Chris to be thankful heâs not a Nazi asshole.âÂ
âIâll do!â Adrian nodded, and before he could've said anything else, Adrian 2 didn't hesitate as she pushed him straight through the door, shutting it with a kick and without a goodbye, the sound of gunfire echoing right before the portal completely closed.
The flash of light faded, and Adrian landed on the ground in the neverending, Backrooms-like storage of Chris' house of his own world. He looked up at Chris Smith â the good one, his best friend â standing next to him, blinking in confusion, and then proudly held up the box of hyphenated cereal.Â
"Dude, you have no idea what I've been on... and I brought you breakfast."
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
The night is young, and none of the bars you visit seem to pose any challenge to you â that is, until you saunter into the one where the pool table is already occupied by a rather smug, young man, who's more than ready for a little competition.
pairing: alec mcdowell x reader
fandom: dark angel
warnings: none!
word count: 3.5k
authorâs note: my first oneshot in a good while haha, i've compiled a list in my notes app about potential oneshot ideas and thought this could be a good starting point. hopefully it won't be too obvious that this was written by somebody who doesn't quite know how to play pool... hope you guys enjoy! :)
masterlist
Eyes flicking up from the felt, pool cue still resting easy in one hand like an extension of his arm, a lazy, dimpled grin spreads as he takes in the new face among the usual crew. Standing tall in the shadows cast by the small, orange-ish lamp hanging above the pool table, was somebody he couldnât quite recognize just yet. Easy prey, thatâs his first thought. And a pretty one at that. The dim corner catches the soft glow of neon from the bar sign outsideâred and blue streaks painting half your face in mystery.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," he straightens up just enough to lean on the cue like a crooked sheriff surveying his town. "You wandered into the lionsâ den at just the right timeâtournament's heating up and everyoneâs suddenly real shy about losing their dignity⌠again."
His smirk softens into something warmer as he gestures toward you with a playful tilt of his chin. The tiny crowd â mostly consisting of middle aged alcoholics and rugged teenage boys â all turn to your direction in almost perfect unison, finding your subtle hiding spot by following Alecâs gaze.Â
"Nameâs Alec McDowellâunofficial pool shark and occasional charmer. You look like someone who either plays to win... or knows how to lose with style."
Without any word, they all shuffle to the sides, opening a clear path between you and the self-titled âpool sharkâ. Your nose subtly scrunches up, mentally cursing yourself for wandering into what proposed to be the worst place you couldâve found â a foulmouthed, ego-filled smug guy as the pool master was the last thing you needed. Â
"So, which is it gonna be?"
"I suppose we'll see," you shrug with an expression he couldn't quite place. After all, if he wants to play it cool, you might as well counter him with his own poison.
The shrug hits Alec like a challenge, quiet, mysterious, the kind that makes him sit up straighter without even realizing it.
"Oho," he breathes out with a low chuckle, circling you slowly like he's sizing up an opponent, or maybe a puzzle. "Mysterious type. I respect it."
He stops in front of you, cue now resting across his shoulders as he studies your face, the unreadable expression on your face doing nothing but fueling his interest. The bar hums with background noise: clinking balls from other tables, laughter from the bar counter, but for Alec? Itâs all faded into static.
"Alright then," he says after a beat, "no name? No telltale tells? Just⌠silence and confidence?" Â
A slow grin crawls back onto his lips. Playing with you proved to be a little different than what it was like with the alcoholic dads and immature dudes wandering to the table.
"I'm gonna enjoy figuring you out," he mutters under his breath, the grin still alive and well on his face, as he leisurely takes a step backwards. Â
Without asking permission â because why would he? â he grabs another cue off the rack and slides it toward you.
"First try figuring out how to win," you take the cue like a perfectly wrapped christmas present, sauntering to the side of the pool table, into the dim area away from the brightly lit table.
"Youâre not gonna talk much⌠are ya?" Alec leans on his side of the table, the bright lights carving sharp shadows across his jaw, and lines up an imaginary shot with exaggerated focus before glancing over at you. "Or do I get all my clues from how you play?"
You shrug, circling the table until coming to a halt where your eyes spy a perfectly right spot to spectate â and perhaps score well â from.
Alec just leans against the rail at his end of the table, arms crossed now over his chest, and lets out a quiet âHuh.â
"Playing it cool and picking tactical real estate," he mutters to himself with approval. "Smart move. Alright then. No warm-up? Just straight into war?"
Alec grabs a piece of chalk from his pocket and rubs it slowly along his cue tip, the scrape loud in contrast to everything else.
â'Tis the second bar I'm hitting up tonight. I've already had my warmup elsewhere. Although you should be worried about yourself and not about me,â you bluntly reply, just waiting for him, as the pool master of this bar, to start the round.
""Ooooh," he drawls, "someoneâs got a bite. First barâs warm-up? Second stopâs warzone? So youâre not some rookie stumbling in for funsies, youâve got game already,â a slow smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. Not cocky this time.Â
Without breaking eye contact or looking away even once, Alec leans forward slightly, braces one hand on the table edge near your side of it â not too close⌠but close enough â, and speaks up.
"Last guy who told me I should be worried? Ended up buying my drinks for a week after losing three games straight."
He grabs a cue ball with his other hand⌠rolls it gently toward center table⌠then picks up chalk again.
"But sure," he adds softly, "let's see if tonight's any different."
The cue ball glides smoothly into position. Alecâs stance is relaxed but precise, one knee bent slightly, weight balanced forward like a coiled spring, by the looks of it, effortless â loose but precise, like heâs been doing this since birth. His eyes donât flicker, just lock onto the 8-ball tucked neatly behind a cluster of stripes.
Silence falls over your little corner of the pool hall. Even the background noise seems to hush as Alec takes his breath.
Then â snap â the cue moves in one fluid motion: smooth draw back, sharp follow-through. Â
Thwack.
Without waiting for an answer (because let's be realâAlec McDowell doesn't wait), he racks âem fast: click-clack-whirrâthe balls scatter.
The shot lands clean, a perfect strike that sends the cue ball arcing around two solids before kissing gently off another rail⌠and smacking right into the pocket with a quiet knock, the soft noise almost echoing in the space.
Silence for half a second⌠then Alec exhales sharply through his noseâa quiet âYeah.â Not gloating, just pleased. Like an artist seeing their first stroke land exactly right. Alec exhales slowly through his nose, but doesn't smile just yet, he just straightens up calmly and picks up chalk again.Â
He didnât say anything cocky. Didnât need to. That shot spoke for itself.
The game rolls on. Alecâs rhythm is smooth, almost hypnotic: chalk, stance, breath⌠crack. Another ball drops.
But even the kings of the table stumble. And tonight? He just so happened to be the victim.
It happens when he lines up a tricky angle shot, the 4-ball wedged between two stripes near the corner pocket. A risky play. High risk, high reward.
Alec bends into it, eyes narrowing with focus, but somethingâs off just slightly in his alignment⌠maybe an inch too far leftâŚ
Thwack.
The cue ball hits hard, but instead of sliding clean through to knock the 4 into the pocket, it clips it awkwardly and sends it skittering sideways... no kiss⌠no fall.
Dead silence for half a second. Alec doesnât flinch outwardly, but inside? Oh yeah. That one stings. Â
He straightens slowly and exhales through his nose like he's resetting himself before turning those eyes toward you.
In return, you shoot him a soft, friendly grin as you shift from your position at the table, sauntering over to where you saw an opportunity at.Â
The softness of your grin hits Alec like a surprise. Gentle, almost kind, in contrast to the competitive fire thatâs been burning between you two. And for a guy who thrives on confidence and control, that small act disarms him just slightly. It throws him.
Not because heâs embarrassed â no way â, but because most people either gloat or stay stone-faced when you miss. But you, youâre smiling like this is all part of the fun.
As you saunter over to your chosen position on the tableâs opposite side, Alec watches every step, the sway of your movement under those dim lights making his pulse jump just slightly.
He watches you move across the floor, right toward where he left his missed shot wide open. The 4-ball sits alone now, vulnerable.
He clears his throat quietly and racks his cue against the table again, not out of frustration, but to keep busy while he watches you get ready for your shot.
Alec crosses his arms again, not defensively this time. He doesnât say anything yet, just studies how you position yourself at the table: how far back from it you stand before leaning in, how naturally your fingers settle around the cue handle.
Your eyes lock onto the table ahead â specifically on the scrambled bunch of a 2-ball and 4-ball lined perfectly for a shot. You let out an elongated, nasal breath as if that was your countdown for the strike. You slide the pool cue straight into the white ball with an echoing knock, and straighten up as you intently keep your eyes on the pool balls as they scatter on the ivory surface, thrashing against each other. The outcome? The white ball ricochets off two rails, bouncing with precision, and as the balls push against each other, the 2-ball slides just right in, landing with a wooden thump. A soft but satisfying sound as it drops neatly into the corner pocket.
Alec doesnât blink until after it settles into place. Then slowly, a real smile spreads across his face, not smug this time, not competitive, just⌠impressed.
"Damn," he mutters under his breath, "that was pretty good."
He uncrosses his arms and leans forward slightly over the rail again, not to critique or challenge you, but because he can't help being drawn closer by how smoothly you played that shot.
Now he's actually curious what else you've got.
"I got the shot," you begin with a huff, thumb smoothing over the cue's tip as if cleaning it. "Means I get another round, no?"
"Oh, absolutely," he says, voice warm and easy now, "rules are rules. You made it? You get another shot."
He gestures toward the table with an open hand, eyes bright, shoulders relaxed but attentive.
The scattered balls lie across the felt, clusters forming new opportunities, angles opening up.
Alec grabs a fresh piece of chalk from his pocket â not for himself â, and holds it out to you silently on offer. A small gesture, but a meaningful one. Chalk is tradition, respect between players. And right now, he's treating you like someone worth passing it to.
Your lips twitch into a soft, half-hearted smile, falling into a small pause as your eyes fall onto the piece of chalk.Â
"Thank you, good sir," you click your tongue as you carefully snatch the piece, eyes drifting onto Alec before going back to the cue's tip. As you brush the chalk over it, you saunter to where you've already surveyed your next best position, circling the pool table like a hawk does with its prey â finally halting in the exact spot you've found for yourself.Â
Spot secured, but the chalk was still with you. The piece rests in your palm, eyes falling onto it, before your gaze lifts back onto Alec's face. For a moment, you stand still as if waiting for the man himself to ask for the chalk back, but seeing that it's not too likely, you hold the chalk forward, hand extended over the pool table under the bright, almost yellowing lighting cast over the table for him to take.Â
The lights catch the edges of your outstretched hand, the chalk resting small and pale in your palm, glinting under that harsh glow.
And for a second? He just⌠looks at you. Not at the chalk. At you.
He doesnât reach right away. Instead, he walks slowly around to his side of the table â cue still tucked under one arm â and as he passes where youâre standing, your shoulders almost brush with silent proximity.
Then Alec reaches out. Long fingers curl gently over yours, not grabbing sharply, but meeting them with soft pressure as he takes back what was his. His fingertips graze yours for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.
You shoot him a quick smile â not a grin, not a flaunting one â, before your eyes drift back onto the dark green felt, the scrambled balls still laying motionless on it. Stepping just an inch back, you lean forward, hands poised to support the cue resting on your skin. A moment of silence passes by before you draw your hands back and smash the cue forward â with controlled power, not a reckless kind â, into the white ball, which rockets forward like a bullet fired from point-blank range, watching as the previously eyed 4-ball rolls over the table, first kissing the dark railing before its roll beings to slow down.
And there it lingers. A tense pause. The whole pool hall seems to hold its breath as that little black-and-white numbered four wobbles... slowly... agonizingly slow... at just that angle over an open pocket.
ThenâŚ
Plink.
A soft drop into destiny. Â
Alec exhales sharply through his nose, a sound between awe and amusement, as he watches another clean make fall right in front of him. The breath you release â long, slow, almost entirely unnoticeable â is quiet enough for the group of others lingering around to ignore, but that wasnât the case for the man standing on the other side of the table.
Alec hears it. And damn if that doesnât do things to him.
Heâs still watching the pocket where the 4-ball disappeared, but now his gaze drifts up to you. The way your shoulders relax slightly after holding tension for that shot. The faint curve at one corner of your mouth before you even smile fully.
Something in Alec shifts. That competitive spark? Still there, but now mixed with something warmer.
Without saying anything yet, he simply picks up his cue again and walks around to reset position. This time, his steps are slower than usual.
The clatter of the 4-ball settling into the bottom of the pocket fades. Alec stops at the head of the table, resting the butt of his cue against the floorboards. He doesn't immediately look down at the remaining balls. Instead, his eyes stay anchored on yours.
"Two for two," he says, his voice dropping an octave, slipping easily beneath the ambient roar of the bar's jukebox and the clinking glasses nearby. "And here I thought you were just trying to survive the night. You're actively trying to ruin my reputation, aren't you?"
His voice didnât carry anger, just amusement. And perhaps some admiration, wrapped in flirting.
He takes a slow step to the left, his eyes finally drifting down to inspect the new layout of the table. The cue ball has rolled into the center of the green felt, leaving a slightly awkward angle on the remaining solids. Itâs a shooter's layoutâhardly easy, but a clear invitation for someone who obviously knows how to manipulate a cue stick.
Alec tilts his head, studying the angles, then looks back up at you through his eyelashes. The orange glow of the hanging lamp somehow makes his usual smug demeanor look entirely different. Less like a cocky bar regular, and more like someone who has completely forgotten thereâs anyone else in the room.
"You've got that look again," Alec murmurs, stepping just a fraction closer to the table's edge, his fingers loosely gripping his cue. "Like youâve got a plan. Go on then. Don't let me keep you from a hat-trick."
He gestures with a subtle nod toward the cue ball, his lips curving into a quiet, expectant smile.
For once, you don't overthink it, you don't let the magic of the moment or Alec's slow, telling steps throw you off. The momentum is on your side, and in pool, a hot streak can't be allowed to cool. With one decisive step, you're right behind the cue ball before Alec can even get comfortable on the edge of the table. You don't even wait for his comment to die down completely.
You lean low over the table, the bridge formed by your left hand presses firmly against the dark green felt. Alec falls silent abruptly, sensing your focus. The cue slides smoothly between your fingers three times â one, two, three, just by the book â and then, on the final stroke, the cue tip bites precisely into the center of the white ball. Clack.
The cue ball starts in a sharp line, almost gliding across the table, and hits the next ball at a perfect angle. No need to worry as the ball goes straight, clean, and without any hesitation into the designated side pocket. Another dull, echoing thud signals success. Three out of three.Â
Alec exhales softly and shakes his head in approval.Â
"You're not wasting much time," he says, leaning on his cue and taking a step closer.
You stiffen for a second after the shot, but instead of immediately looking for the next ball with your eyes, you slowly straighten up. You let the cue fall loosely to your side, put your weight on one leg, and turn towards Alec. You donât look at the pockets. You just watch him.
A small, almost cheekily generous smile appears on your lips. You pick up your cue and, as if you were just giving up your place on the dance floor to a gentleman, you point towards the table with an elegant gesture. You offer him the next shot. Voluntarily, breaking the rules.
For a second, Alec freezes. Youâre looking at him. Not the table. Not the balls, just him. And that smile? Yeah. It hits Alec like a warm punch to the chest.
Your offer hangs in the air as an unspoken "Your turn."
For half a second, he almost doesn't know what to do with himself. He was about to watch you clear the table completely, but this gesture knocks him out of his confidence. He stands leaning on his cue, then laughs softly.Â
"Really?" he asks, taking a half step towards you, his eyes almost sparkling in the yellowish light. "You're giving the host alms? Dangerous game youâre playing here," he says more quietly, his voice almost droning over the background noise as his eyes scan your face. "What if I take the opportunity, and don't let you have any more words? You sure you want to hand over the cue?"
"Your call," you shrug casually, and instead of waiting for Alec to actually take your seat, you turn back to the table. You slide closer to the table and with another confident stroke, you send the next ball clean into the corner pocket. Another point, another perfect hit.Â
But pool is an unpredictable game. In the next round, you choose a particularly tricky shot, bouncing off the wall. Your cue moves, the white ball starts, but it ends up missing the pocket by inches and bouncing off the rubber wall with a loud bang, leaving Alec in a wide open position. Shit.
Alec doesnât move immediately. He just stares at the balls that have settled for a moment, then slowly raises his gaze to you. He doesnât rush to the table, instead, he walks slowly around it until heâs standing across from you, leaning on his cue, right at the edge of the lampâs light.Â
âListen,â he narrows his eyes with a faint smile. âThat shot⌠wasnât that hard for someone whoâd pocketed the balls against the wall before. You didnât make a mistake on purpose, right?â He deliberately lowers his voice so that the teenagers and regulars around you canât hear him. "Do you want to even the odds so the match doesn't get too boring?" he asks cheekily, though the tremor in his voice betrays just how much heâs enjoying this cat-and-mouse game. "Or did you just feel sorry for me?"
"Perhaps both," you answer, words almost floating in the smoky pub air. "Or neither. Either way, you're up. Care to pull off a runout?"Â
With one last, faint smile, you step back from the light, straight into the dim corner where you stood at the beginning of the match. You blend into the red and blue shadows of the neon lights, arms folded, leaning on your cue, watching, completely surrendering to the terrain.Â
Alec is still there for a moment, under the influence of your words. A soft, appreciative laugh breaks out of him as he shakes his head.Â
"Ainât I glad you decided to show up," he gestures in front of him, finally taking a firm stand at the table. His positionâs the same as before. Stable, yet looking so relaxed.
Alec, completely fired up by your challenge, makes no more mistakes. He takes your word for it and, with the utmost professionalism, pockets the remaining balls one after the other, down to the black 8, until he finally ties the game.Â
When the last ball is pocketed, the small crowd watching in the background murmurs softly, a few thumping at their table in approval. Alec straightens up, spins his cue in his hand, and looks straight at you.
âI think youâre my guest for a drink,â Alec says, replacing his cue in the holder on the wall and nodding toward the bar. âWe need to talk about where you learned to play like that⌠and when weâre having the rematch.â
A quick navigation to each and every oneshot I've crafted and posted on here, organized by fandoms. You'll be redirected to the desired oneshot by clicking on the title! :)
THE BOYS
cure for boredom ; frenchie x reader
playmate ; soldier boy (18+)
soldier boy nsfw headcanons (18+)
ONE PIECE
wine and die ; shanks x reader
house of blood and death ; vinsmoke sanji x reader
guns n' roses ; trafalgar law x reader
party killer ; roronoa zoro x reader
the circus ; buggy d. clown x reader
family dinner ; ace/sabo/luffy x reader
hanahaki disease ; vinsmoke sanji x reader
officer friendly ; shanks x reader
DARK ANGEL (2000 â 2002)
pool nights ; alec mcdowell x reader
dog day afternoon ; alec mcdowell x reader
drink for confidence ; alec mcdowell x fem!reader (18+)
blue light ; alec mcdowell x reader
SUPERNATURAL
need a little help? ; dbf!dean winchester (18+)
karaoke ; demon!dean (18+)
THE WALKING DEAD
save a horse ; cowboy au!rick grimes x reader
wicked games ; negan smith (18+)
COUNTDOWN (2025)
love is in the air ; obsessive!mark meachum
poolside ; dbf!mark meachum x fem!reader (18+)
PEACEMAKER (2022 â ??)
what the hell are cheeri-ohs? ; adrian chase meets earth x's fem!adrian
VARIOUS FILMS AND TV SHOWS/MOVIES
The Godfather (1972)
casanova ; sonny corleone x reader
Jensen Ackles
pretty when you cry ; dads friend!dilf!jensen x fem!reader (slight 18+)
Big Sky (2020â2023)
run that mouth ; older bf!beau arlen (18+)
mondays ; dbf!beau arlen (+18)
country roads, take me home ; country singer!beau arlen (+18)
Outlast (games)
assume the position ; leland coyle (18+)
Fallout (games & tv show)
match my freak ; john hancock x reader
Š đđĽđđđđĄđđ§đđđ˘đĄ ; 2026. ⤡ ăbuy me a coffee? ËËË
pairing: soldier boy / ben monroe X personal assistant fem!reader
chapter 1 out of ?
word count: 4k
warnings: none yet!
FASTER UPDATES AND MORE CHAPTERS OUT ON WATTPAD AND AO3!
001. new work, new rules
Iâm so fucked.
The same thought raced through your head over and over again, like a racecar spinning its laps on a circuit, except for you, there was seemingly no finish line, just this endless looping thought. You havenât even officially clocked in yet, but you seemingly already regretted every single life choice that brought you this way.Â
The advertisement that crossed you a literal day ago didnât feel so tempting now that you actually had to show up. But hey, time to face what you signed up for, right? Even if your hands were shaking so badly that your best attempt at suppressing it â at least so that the other employees strutting through the building and past you donât notice the tremors â being just you pushing your hands between your knees, as if trying to cut off circulation. By now, you were convinced that you wonât even last a week here â that is, if Vought doesnât fire you before you could quit.Â
Did you think much when accepting the job? To be honest, no.Â
Youâve been suffering in the depths of unemployment, scared of the word j*b, for only God knows how long. The bills, food, and other desires you had werenât going to pay for themselves, right?Â
Even if the thought of an OnlyFans account â even if just to sell feet pics â popped up in your mind at one point, your unexplainable fears successfully threw that idea out of the window. So, you had to revert back to the basics, that being an actual, legitimate job.Â
You were smart enough to think rationally though, deciding that if you were really going to leech off of a company, at least choose a big, wealthy one, not the gyros stand on the street corner that canât pay you more than a dollar per shift. The best target? Vought.Â
If there was any company that was in your preferred salary range and that you actually had a chance getting a job at, it was Vought. They were everywhere, every industry, every city, every partnership you could think of, the company quite literally swimming in stacks of cash â some of which you decided to earn for yourself.Â
Initially, the plan was to just apply to be a janitor. Yeah, itâs probably not the job most people dream about, but Vought had enough money to spare to let even their janitors get a huge sum of money on their monthly check. Hell, if youâre gonna do a shitty job, let it be the one where you lose less of your dignity and pride â looking at you, OnlyFans.Â
So, last morning, in a sudden fit of motivation â that faded away five crisp seconds after sending in your CV and application â, you decided to give your overnight idea a try, opening your browser and typing in Voughtâs site. Sure enough, you found the subsite of their open jobs, all for you to take.Â
Regional Sales Representative⌠No. In-house Systems Engineer⌠Not qualified. Legal Department⌠Probably not qualified. Patent work for amusement machines (e.g. Pachinko slots⌠What? Corporate governance officer⌠NopeâŚ
Despite all the open positions, you just couldnât find anything to match up with your skills. You either didnât meet the qualifications, or couldnât even register what the job exactly was, letting out a sigh as you notice that youâve reached the end of the list. All these blue hyperlinks, and none of them are there for you.
Still, you needed money, although you were starting to feel embarrassed of your own helplessness. If you keep this up, youâll end up standing behind the gyros stand all day, right next to the sewer system. Desperation washed over you, deciding to refresh the page the same way you always kept opening the fridge when you couldnât find any good snacks, as if something would spawn in there by itself.Â
Except with this site, something did spawn in.
Your eyes narrowed, mind trying to process if what youâre seeing is actually real, or if itâs just desperation playing tricks on your mind. No, it was definitely there. A fresh, crisp, real and new job offering. It didnât take any convincing to get you to click on it, eyes speeding through the letters on the screen to check if you were actually qualified for something.
And lo and behold⌠you were.Â
Well, technically, anybody was. By the looks of it, you werenât the only desperate person around, Vought seemingly in just as much trouble as you were, their newest ad for an open position so haphazardly written, without basically any requirements.Â
Personal Assistant/Secretary, now hiring!
Our office at Vought is looking for a skilled personal assistant/secretary to join the team! Applicants should have previous experience in a similar role and an enthusiastic demeanor. As our secretary, you will be asked to handle some of one of our staff members' tasks. This can include copying and pasting, PR management, occasional field work, personal bartending, and pretty much whatever is requested of you on the scene! If your qualifications match what we're looking for, we'd love to see your application.
Okay, there were requirements, but all pretty⌠loose. All the others required knowledge of something specific, a set degree, something you lacked. This one, on the other hand, barely stated anything. It was something anybody could wing, including you too.
Excel? You were taught that in school! You forgot basically everything about it, but a VoughTube tutorial on the spot will surely be enough to refresh all the memories locked in the depths of your mind. Making coffee? Oh come on, amateur work. Typing out documents and whatnot? Easy work. Field work interested you, because what the fuck can field work mean for a secretary? PR was likely just lying on Twitter, and bartending couldnât have been that hard either.Â
Without much thinking, you clicked on the apply button glowing blue on your screen, filled out whatever needed to be filled out, attached a CV in hopes that it would miraculously land you the job, and hit send.Â
The silence that followed afterwards was deafening. You, alone in your crammed apartment, slumped in front of your laptop in a pose that would make even a shrimp jealous. Overall, pretty depressing. But hey, you took that necessary step in entering the great corporate world, so props to you! Even if you were convinced that theyâd reject your application the moment they see itâŚ
Fate works in mysterious ways, or so they say, because not even ten minutes later, you got a fresh email. Ashley Barrett, Vought International.
Is this a fucking joke..?
Although a bit skeptical, you click on the mail, realizing that even if itâs some kind of scam, reading through it canât hurt you. Your eyes scanned through it â it was short, written in a hurry, and ended with the job somehow yours. Your first emotion? Disbelief. When you previously tried to land a job somewhere, it took them five hundred years to reply, let alone accept you into their circles. Meanwhile, the busiest company replies and accepts your application in the span of ten minutes.Â
As unbelievable as it sounded, it was real. You got it. A job at Vought. Personal Assistant, slash secretary, for whoever. I guess they just forgot to disclose whose assistant youâd end up being. Perhaps it hasnât been decided yet or something?
Much to your luck â and dismay â, they didnât waste any time, letting you know that youâd be put into work the next day.
And now, it was the next day. You sat there awkwardly, hunched, in one of the white faux leather seats in the lobby, waiting for the person who was supposed to give you a quick run-down of the place and officially integrate you into the company. The only thing you could see around you was Homelander.Â
Not the actual supe, but rather a shit ton of posters, banners, and ads, all with that blondeâs face plastered over them. You werenât that into Vought, but you knew Homelander perfectly well. Letâs be fair, who didnât? Kids today were more likely to recognize Homelander than Jesus, and thatâs gotta mean something, no?
You were somewhat aware of the other supes in Voughtâs line-up, A-Train, Queen Maeve, hell, even Mr. Marathon from The Sevenâs older days. There were so many supes nowadays that it was impossible to keep track of all of them, you considered it a great success that you managed to keep as much as the members of The Seven in your mind. Them, and the supes from back when there were perhaps five in total. Bombsight, Private Angel, Torpedo, and the worst of all, Soldier Boy.Â
Most of your knowledge about them came from your time at a retirement home, a summer job one of your friends â what friends â suggested. Quick money, not much struggle, and at least youâre useful. What she forgot to mention was that the elderly staying there were all supes. Old people, you can take. But old people with superpowers? Now thatâs an entirely different topic, and something you didnât sign up for. Officially, you did, they had your signature on the papers â which also forgot to mention that the people residing there were armed with deadly superpowers.
Seemingly, a recurring theme with Vought jobs was that their job descriptions had way too many omissions, barely any specifics.
Still, those two weeks you spent there were accompanied by the television on in basically every single room, all practically programmed to only play these old Hollywood films, ninety percent starring the same supes. Midnight at Midway and Merchant Mariner both starring Torpedo, Moonshine Thunder, The Bombsight Brigade, and Air Raid at 08 Hundred starring Bombsight, and Savior of Saipan starring Private Angel. You knew all of these films just from your time spent at that retirement home, and you couldâve sworn that you could identify each of these films by a single shot or line from them.Â
Why didn't they play anything about Soldier Boy, you may ask? Well, after the explosion at Vought Tower around two years ago, Vought just passed him off as a Russian spy and called it a day. Needless to say they pulled everything about him off the air as soon as his act of terrorism took place and made it to all the major news stations.
But the short-lived job at the retirement home was now a thing of the past, a â hopefully â brighter future ahead of you.Â
At the end of the day, you seemingly had to crawl back to Vought â the retirement home also operated by them â just to get some crisp cash into your wallet.Â
âPersonal Assistant slash secretary, right?âÂ
The sudden voice breaks you out of your thoughts immediately, your eyes darting up to face the man standing in front of you. Well dressed, sporting a suit, his hair neatly combed â exactly the kind of guy youâd imagine in a corporate office setting.Â
Youâre quick to push yourself up from your seat, smoothing out your white dress shirt in one quick motion before straightening up, taking the manâs extended hand and giving it a firm shake.Â
âNice to meet you, sir,â you try to put on your most charming smile, letting go of his hand.Â
âNice meeting you too, Miss. Weâre glad you were able to come right away,â he said with a smile you couldâve sworn was forced, yet somehow still looked natural on him. Perhaps the effect of all the years he spent under Vought. Not like you had to worry about ending up like this, already convinced that you wonât even last here long enough to get your first monthly paycheck. The man pivots, his elegant black suitâs back now facing you, before speaking up again. âFollow me, weâll run through the necessities.â
Without much hesitation, you act on his orders, catching up to him in a split second, the two of you strutting right into an elevator. The man â Mark, as you found out from his keycard â fishes out a keycard from one of his pantsâ pockets, pressing it to the sensor located under the elevator buttons before pushing the one with the number 70 engraved into it. The elevator doors slide shut with a mechanical click before it ascends to the chosen level.Â
âSo Miss,â Mark begins, a weak attempt at breaking the awkward silence that settled on the two of you. âYouâre a big fan of Voughtâs heroes?â
His question took you by surprise. To be fair, there was no interview for this job, which did surprise you, but also made the hairs on your neck stand up, because if he was really going to hold the interview in this elevator, you were sure youâd collapse right here and now from the panic. Still, you try to think rationally, hoping your brain wonât short-circuit.
âYes, sir,â you reply after a moment of hesitation. Even if you werenât invested in them enough to call yourself a fan, you werenât going to risk losing this job just as youâre in the finish line of securing it. If it meant that you had to lie a bit, then let it be, letâs lie.
âGreat,â Mark exclaimed quietly, that fake-real smile gracing his lips again. âMost of our workers end up here because of their love for Vought. I just got curious if that was your case too, since, you know, we couldnât quite get you on an interview when you applied.â
Joining the company because of your love for Vought⌠Well, you never wouldâve thought youâd hear that, considering that youâve been browsing through practically every Reddit thread discussing conspiracy theories about Vought. Testimonies and personal experiences written down by past workers, people claiming that Vought called the death of entire families âcollateral damageâ, basically everything that brought Vought onto the dissecting table. How much of these claims was true you didnât know, but guessing by the fact that Mark didnât seem to be held hostage or anything, you supposed that you could survive in this skyscraper too. Â
âAgain, Iâm sorry that we gave you little to no time to prepare,â Mark sighs, successfully breaking you out of your little meandering thoughts. âItâs just⌠things have been really, how do I say this, chaotic and tumultuous as of late. Weâre trying our best to get things back on track again, and sadly that involves us having to act quick. But Iâm sure youâll fit in quickly and just fine.â
With a high-pitched chime, the elevator comes to a halt, the red number on the pixelated screen morphing into a 70 right as the thick metal doors slowly slide apart. Mark is the first to step through it and onto the hallway, heroically leading the way amidst the other employees running around with papers, folders, or paper cups of coffee in their hands. You followed right behind him, not too keen on getting lost in the mess of people already.Â
Mark comes to a halt, pushing open a black door located near the end of the hallway, stepping through it with you. Turning in, you were greeted with an office space, blindingly white personal cubicles all around the sides of the room, a couch with a wooden coffee table near where you entered, and a few spare desks, although most were empty.Â
âThe cube in the far right end is yours, weâll pick up your ID card from Martha at the front desk, after that Iâll lead you to your boss and you can try settling in,â Mark panted as he strutted over to what seemed to be a small reception nearby the door you entered through. Behind the countertop sat a middle aged woman, her dark brown hair neatly arranged into a ponytail.
By the time you caught up to Mark â who moved around the space with ease and routine movements, compared to you barely able to keep up with his pace â, he was already turning away from the counter, handing you a tiny plastic card.
âYou access card, Miss,â he grins as you take the card, before he also extends some kind of marker towards you. âThereâs a tiny free spot on the bottom, sign that and put the pen back there. Other employees keep stealing them damn pens⌠all the timeâŚâ
Unsure how to take his comment on the stealing part â knowing that at the first opportunity youâll do the same â, you keep silent, nodding along with what he said instead, fingers wrapping around the pen too. You crouch down to the coffee table, scribbling a signo onto the card. You wanted to slide the pen into your pocket so badly, but Markâs piercing gaze that followed all your movements made the task impossible, ending with you handing the pen back to him. But tomorrowâs another day, a day where he wonât be keeping such a close eye on you. Hopefully.
âGreat,â Mark exclaims as he struts over to the reception, tossing the pen back into its holder, ânow youâre officially a proud Vought employee!â
The word âproudâ was a wild exaggeration, but it didnât take long for you to remember that Mark was still living with the daydream-like thought that you applied due to your overflowing love for Vought and its heroes, likely his reason for expecting you to be proud of securing the job. In a way, you were proud of yourself, but purely because you finally managed to pull yourself out of the slump called unemployment. Nonetheless, you didnât want to get fired on your first day, settling on the option to smile, nod, and play along for now.
âYour cubeâs still pretty empty, youâll have to get your decorations yourself if you want some, weâll put your name on the door as soon as we can,â Mark, who you still didnât quite know who he was, pointed at the cubicle on the other side of the room, before turning away. Just because he moved routinely in the building didnât mean you did too, trying your best to catch up to the man as soon as you noticed that heâs already about to turn into the next hall.
The two of you successfully ended up at another elevator, Mark stepping into it with just as much confidence as before, waiting a second for you to follow him inside before he hit the number 99 on the keypad of the elevator, its doors slowly sliding shut.
Your eyes drifted onto the pixelated screen above the doors, the floor numbers flickering on it, changing as you went higher and higher, your ears clogging at the sudden change in height. With a forced yawn, you pop the invisible tension in your ears, your hearing back to normal.
âJust to give you a heads up,â Mark spoke, although his voice carried a gentleness that he seemed to be devoid of until now, âyou should be careful. He doesnât exactly like to be bossed around, so whatever you suggest or ask of him, try to make it sound⌠less like an order. He really didnât want anybody to be assigned to him, but itâs been less than a day, and weâre⌠well, letâs just say heâs doing more damage than good so far. Heâs capable, your job is mostly supervising him and helping out when heâs just about to smash in a computer screen.â
âThatâs⌠allowed? Smashing in company property?â You question, a hint of panic playing in your voice. Whoever they decided to put you with didnât sound like a person youâd normally want to deal with. From what you could filter out from Markâs words, the person youâve been assigned to was short-tempered, hot-headed, aggressive, and likely sporting a big ego, guessing from the comment about him insisting on not wanting anybody assigned to him.Â
Was it a supe? A high-ranking person from Vought? An executive? A trainee? A supe trainee? Perhaps a new member of the Seven? This was yet another thing they forgot to mention in the ad, along with seemingly many, many other things you wouldâve liked to know about beforehand.Â
Whoever it was, they got the top floor of the tower, 99 seemingly being the highest number in the elevator. By now, you were regretting every single choice that led you into this elevator, into the 99th floor, into a mile radius of the tower. You signed to this job expecting to sit at a desk all day, receive some calls from time to time, fill out a few papers in the name of whoever youâve been partnered under, not⌠babysitting. The ad asked for a secretary, for fuckâs sake, not somebody to babysit who you assumed to be a grown man with anger issues. The pay better be worth itâŚ
The elevator comes to a halt with a chime accompanying it, the doors sliding open. Mark steps out, swallowing hard, as if he felt the same way about meeting your boss as you. With your heart thudding out of your chest, you follow him, steps uneven and your legs a bit wobbly. You were already cursing yourself, Vought, your boss, and that damned ad about this job offering.Â
You and Mark strut down the circular hallway, your eyes darting from one room door to another, all decorated with name plates and a proper logo. Sister Sage, Firecracker, Homelander, The Deep, Black Noir⌠The Seven?Â
Your eyes widen as realization slowly dawns on you. It didnât take a genius to figure out that Mark just brought you to the private quarters of The Seven â although they were far from having seven members â, the two of you stopping at the door on the opposite side of the hallway compared to where you got out of the elevator. Your eyes scan the door, only to find it devoid of any name or logo.
No hints of who could be behind it⌠wonderful.
âRemember what I told you,â Mark whispered, his tone so low it was barely audible to you. âTry to keep calm, donât try bossing him around.â
With that, before you couldâve replied anything, Mark knocks on the door, loud enough for basically the entire floor to hear it. A moment of silence passed by, the two of you waiting for anything to come from the other side.Â
To be honest, you saw it as a win. More time for you to prepare a few words in advance and dig around for more info.
âMaybe we should try it later, andââ
âSir, Iâm coming in,â Mark cuts you off, entirely dismissing your idea of coming back later, the door already creaking open right as he utters the last word. Drawing in a deep breath, you hurry after him.
The two of you walked into the room as if it was some haunted house, waiting for something, anything to jump out of the shadows and scare the living shit out of you. Mark didnât seem to be all that calm either, but by the looks of it, was in a seemingly better headspace than you.
The room inside was like a blank canvas, missing basically everything that couldâve given it any personality. It was mostly white, some marble decorations, dark green curtains already installed on the massive glass panel windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan below.
The sound of slow, lazy footsteps alerts the both of you. Mark wastes no time, gently patting your shoulder as he turns around.Â
âYou got this,â he muttered under his breath. âGood luck, have fun, donât die!â
Donât⌠die?Â
Before you couldâve voiced your concerns, he had already disappeared, you only finding the door closing behind him with a click. Why the fuck did he leave me here?! Did they hire me to send me to certain death?!
Before your thoughts couldâve spiraled further, a deep voice cut in, coming from right behind you.
âWell, would you look at that? Didnât know Iâd get complementary eye candy too.â
THE SALESMAN as MORBID ROMANTIC/CONDUCTOR GUY (art request by @wanna-plan-world-domination )
The Salesman is a reoccuring character for the player --- he never asks to be let inside. He just comes to talk. The face of a visitor, grinning through the peephole with pearly whites and ddakji pieces in his hand. He's under a higher power, one that he never reveals anything about --- all that the player knows is that this higher power is something stronger than any of the casual visitors stepping to the doorstep.
part 4 of the No, I'm Not a Human x Squid Game crossover art series (full masterlist linked here)
[previously... Player 230/Choi Subong/Thanos as Stoner Guy]
[next up... Player 149/Jang Geum-ja as Kindergarten Teacher]
if you have any requests, feel free to check the masterlist (linked) and if your idea isn't on there yet, then comment it if you want!! :)
