#mason x reader

Ren (btd2) :3

Primal play, obvi

Chases you around the house, tries to corner you in the basement, because of all the “fun toys” down there (only a few are fun for you lol)

He’s gonna bite, scratch, make you bleed, and cuddle you later, admiring any marks he left

He’s a verse, so it really depends on whether you’re behaving and his mood

Subby him is very cute

Tug on his ears, tail, he doesn’t even try to hide how much he enjoys being your “pet”

I’d like to think he makes lil fox noises when he’s overstimulated; little yips which he toooootally won’t find embarrassing until later

Yes, he has a knot

Yes, you’re getting that every time

Yes, I think he’s got the prettiest dick of all of Gatobob’s characters– WHAT ABOUT IT

Bro WILL put you in a maid's dress

He’ll also wear one for you if you ask ;3

He’s the sweetest and gives the best aftercare, always murmuring praises and apologies, even if injuries are “for your own good.”

Loves when you call him baby boy

Gets pouty if you call him puppy

"I'm a fox! >:3" which is true lol

Ride him until he cums inside a few times, though, and he won't care WHAT you call him

He's a big fan of overstimulation, mostly on him

Especially if you're "punishing him," he wants you to use his dick until he's shooting blanks

His dick gets really flushed when he's excited; towards the tip, this rosy red, glistening with thick precum

Fav position is mating press, it gets him going like nothing else

He will fold you for hours, just hitting your sweet spot over and over until he's "bred" you enough

Lawrence

I don’t see sex with Lawrence being super often, once a week TOPS for this man

I wouldn’t say ace spectrum, just low sex drive vibes

But when he gets down, he’s a FREAK

I think a verse that leans towards dominant, but likes to be on top

Def has a thing for choking; takes it too far half the time

He “likes when you stop breathing”....okay, weirdoooo

Gets a little mean when he’s about to cum, but then whimpers like a bitch :D

“Shit— fuckin…stay still…st–stay still! *puts his hands around your throat, a scowl painted across his face, before leaning down to moan into the pillow next to your head*”

Sometimes he will want you to roleplay as a corpse, which, if you’re down for that yay, if not I don’t think he’d push it too much

He is into somnophilia, though, specifically with you being the one sleeping/pretending

Prefers receiving head to giving; he finds giving anxiety-inducing lol

He's kinda bad at it anyway (both sucking dick and eating cunt), fucking loser...God, I love him for it...

He has cried exactly once during sex...you still don't know why, but he gets mad if you bring it up

Seldom lets you shower with him, scary ass hoe, but if you get in there, he is super shy

You can get away with doing a little reach-around action and jerk him off from behind

His tall ass starts shaking when you pull that

Honestly, in any position where he doesn't make eye contact, he gets a lot more expressive

Strade

Sex all the time, whether you want it or not, you’re lucky he even kept you

Tops almost always

Obviously a sadist, hardcore

You have to beg him not to fuck your wounds half the time

If you shower, you honestly have to prep to wash up twice cuz he’s gonna fuck you against the wall

At least he can’t dunk your head under water

Threesomes with ren all the time mwahaha

Softer in the morning sex, so best to try and drain him then

He’ll often let you ride him at times like those, or he’ll spoon you and fuck you from behind

Likes to watch you and Ren fuck, plain and simple

I think he’s a huge fan of giving and receiving head

To get him in a mood? Suck him off nice and slow, but gag a ton and breathe as little as possible

If he’s in a good mood? He’ll eat/suck the FUCK out of you. Over and over until you’re shaking, and even then, he might end up fucking you roughly

But sometimes he just gives head and admires your reactions

If ur afab...PERIOD AH PERIOD UH (aka period sex, it turns him on so much it's gross)

Probably gonna piss on you at some point, better than in u tho

Derek

Going off of the “Derek took you home” ending mwahaha

You’re getting fucked EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

You’re always gonna be subbing even if he yanks your ass on top and makes you ride him

Raw. Next question

Aka, if you’re afab, he gave you an IUD with that tracker.

“Like I’ll let some useless whore ruin my life with a kid!”

He almost always wants you begging, even if you’re enjoying it, you'd better act like you’re in pain or he’s gonna make it hurt

Sadistic af, you’re almost always bleeding

An upside is he does like to watch you cum, so you’ll finish most of the time

Seeing you lose it gives him an ego boost, like even if you hate him, he’s still making you cum, so boom double fun

Also, he can be really soft from time to time when he’s tired from work

Exhaustion from his dad can either lead to the beating of your life, or Derek's version of love…kinda

When he’s tired and feeling attached to you, he’ll just make you blow him and then cuddle him and order alcohol for you both

He says he loves you a lot when he's wasted, and might even cry to you about how much he needs you while fucking you terribly

He'll beat you if you bring it up, tho, so don't say nothin

Probably has a thing for public sex, too

He'll take you to parties, the casino, anywhere really, and fuck you right in front of everyone

Mason

Two words. Size. Difference.

Assuming you’re not the same size as him at least erm sorry for those over 6’5

He’s got a thing for chasing you down and fucking you in the woods, as we’ve seen

Sometimes he’ll switch it up and haul you back to the cabin to fuck the shit out of you; man is proud with the “meat” he brought back

Speaking of meat…HHEHEHEHEHE

He’s average length wise but THICK as fuck

You stretch painfully every time he fucks you because he almost always rushes into it

More “animalistic” if he just puts it in rather than prepping you, he says

Rips clothes like it is nobody's business

Secretly gets off on how his clothes swamp you and make you smell like him

Aftercare is actually pretty good here ("Ooooo this is noiceeee! Gurllllll")

Always gives you hearty food and water after, tea if it's cold outside

The morning after he cooks something especially reguvinating so you have your strength for more hunts ;) and cuz he liiiiikes you hehe

Cockwarms almost always after cumming in you

He has walked back to the cabin, carrying you with his dick inside you, because he didn't wanna pull out

You're still getting hunted in the winter btw, that will not end unfortunately

He will always give you a nice warm bath and cuddles after, though, so you don't get frostbite

He's a strong ass man, so he fucks you standing often

Either that or from behind, he's not the biggest fan of missionary but if you beg enough he'll do it

Ceilia

MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY

Can y’all tell she’s one of my favs…hehe

She is always dominant, even if you’re on top you are in absolutely NO control

Especially if you’re a man/masc presenting, she’s gonna love making you her bitch (WE LOVE OUR CANONICAL MISANGRIST)

Don’t worry, girlies! She will still gonna crush you <3

She’ll step on you in the fiercest pair of stilettos and then coo that you’re her “pretty little pet”

Let’s be honest she’s gonna make you paint her toenails (the color of your eyes if she’s feeling sappy), and after it dries she’ll have you massage and suck each one

Not full-on foot fetish, she just likes feeling above you

If you’re good she’ll let you suck her tits

If you’re bad you aint touchin her for a WEEK

Unless it’s to eat her out but even then maybe not

You're getting the strap no matter your gender

The one she uses will usually be a pristine, clear, 6 inch dildo, but she has MANY others

Same with toys; vibrators, wands/rabbits, butt plugs, etc

Back to my first point, she'll make you call her mommy

Or ma'am, but mostly mommy

If you have a dick, expect CBT

Less likely to have your puss tormented if you have one, but don't push it

Domestic sex is not frequent, but if you're in that ending where you run away together, sometimes, if she wakes up after a good night's rest, coffee and breakfast made, it'll be nice, slow, and loving

Edit : I can’t believe I forgot to add my ending gift but here we go ITS LITTLE RENNNN

Beside you, Aaron clings to your arm, eyes drooping with exhaustion, but still holding out, waiting for Mason. His twin brother, Austin, is doing his best to stay awake too, a smile on his face as he talks about how his daddy will be home soon.

“Mommy,” Aaron mumbles softly, leaning his head against your shoulder, “is Daddy gonna make it?”

You smile at him, brushing his curly hair back. “He’ll be here soon, sweetheart. He promised, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and Daddy never breaks promises,” Austin chimes in, his voice full of certainty. There’s that sparkle in his eyes whenever Mason is mentioned—a reflection of his bond with his dad. Austin has always been Mason’s shadow, a daddy’s boy through and through.

Aaron, on the other hand, is more of your quiet companion. He mirrors your calmness, often content with just snuggling close to you, whereas Austin is always full of energy, ready to play, especially if it involves his father.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening fills the house. Mason’s voice follows, low but full of warmth. “I’m home!”

Before you can blink, Austin is up and running down the stairs, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!”

You scoop Aaron up, cradling his small body against yours as you walk to the door. You both arrive just in time to see Austin launching himself into Mason’s arms. Mason catches him easily, spinning him around as if he’s not exhausted from the match. His eyes meet yours over Austin’s shoulder, and his tired smile makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re home,” you say softly, meeting him halfway. He pulls you into a quick kiss, Aaron still in your arms.

“Told you I’d make it,” he murmurs against your lips before turning his attention back to Austin. “Did you behave for Mommy?”

Austin nods enthusiastically, his arms still tightly wrapped around Mason’s neck. “Yeah, but I missed you, Daddy.”

“I missed you too, buddy,” Mason says, ruffling his hair. “What about you, Aaron?” He reaches out to ruffle Aaron’s hair as well, but Aaron squirms a little closer to you.

Aaron gives a small smile. “I missed you too, Daddy.”

Mason’s face softens even more, if that’s possible. He steps closer and gently takes Aaron from your arms, holding both boys now. “I’ve got time for a story. How about it?”

Austin’s eyes light up. “Yes! Can we read The Gruffalo?”

Aaron’s head rests against Mason’s shoulder, his voice quieter but just as eager. “Yeah, I like that one.”

You follow the trio upstairs, your heart swelling with love as you watch Mason carrying both boys toward their bedroom. Austin, as always, is chattering excitedly about the match, asking Mason if he scored a goal, if he tackled anyone. And Aaron, quiet but equally engaged, is listening to every word.

Once in the boys’ room, Mason sets them down gently on the bed and tucks them under their blankets. He grabs the book from the bedside table and settles between the twins, flipping through the well-worn pages. You sit in the armchair by the door, watching as your husband leans back, Austin snuggled up against his side, and Aaron resting his head on Mason’s chest.

Mason begins reading, his voice calm and soothing. He’s always been a natural at this, slipping into the different voices for the characters, making both boys giggle and smile.

“‘A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood…’” Mason’s voice fills the room, and as he reads, you notice the way Austin hangs on every word, his eyes wide with awe. Meanwhile, Aaron’s eyes start to flutter shut, his small hand gripping Mason’s shirt.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you watch them. These moments, when Mason balances being both a football star and a father, always make you fall for him all over again. He’s so dedicated, not just to his career but to your family. The way he makes time, even after the toughest matches, just to ensure he’s there for the boys—it's enough to make your heart ache with love.

As Mason reaches the end of the story, both boys are nearly asleep. He closes the book and softly kisses Austin’s forehead, then Aaron’s. “Goodnight, little man,” he whispers to Austin, who’s already drifting off.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Austin murmurs sleepily, his hand still gripping Mason’s.

Mason then turns to Aaron, gently brushing a strand of hair off his face. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

Aaron, already half-asleep, mumbles, “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too,” Mason whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You stand, walking over to Mason as he slowly eases out of the bed, careful not to wake the boys. He slips his arm around your waist, and the two of you step out of the room quietly, closing the door behind you.

In the hallway, you turn to him, your heart full. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Mason looks at you with that familiar, boyish grin. “Just doing my best.”

You pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest. His arms wrap around you tightly, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. In this moment, it’s just you, Mason, and the beautiful family you’ve built together.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he replies softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You were hunting with him. Hunting past the old trapping line, beyond where the river goes stiff and black beneath its crust of ice.

You saw the buck first, standing in the clearing like a dream, frost dusting his flanks. You held your breath, finger on the trigger. You could see the pulse fluttering in his throat. Could feel his eyes on you—wide and soft and so terribly alive.

Behind you, your father sucks his teeth.

“Do it, girl. Don’t you fuckin’ freeze.”

But you couldn't, you hesitated—that was your sin. The buck turned his head, just slightly, and in that moment, he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. You watched his ribs balloon with breath and imagined what it might sound like—what it might feel like—to be hunted. To feel your chest split open.

Your father's hand closed over yours, rough and impatient, and wrenched the rifle from your grasp. A heartbeat later, a gunshot cracked the quiet, and the buck dropped like a marionette with cut strings, a hollow thud swallowed by snow. Your ears rang.

He didn’t even look at you, just slung the rifle over his shoulder and gestured with a tilt of his head. “Go fetch it,” he said, “earn your dinner.”

So you had. You stepped off the trail and into the thicket, turned your back to him. And then—

Your knees buckled, legs folding wrong. You remember the impact more than the sound, like being struck by lightning from within. You hit the ground with your arms outstretched, the powder cushioning nothing. Your blood steamed in the cold, and the world tilted sideways, the way it does in a fever dream or right before waking up.

The silence after was the worst part—how the forest didn’t react. No birds took flight. No branches snapped. Just the wind curling around your body like it was trying to soothe you.

You lay there for a moment, waiting for your breath to return. Waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t. He let the quiet do it for him.

Now you’re barely a body. Just pain and instinct, dragging yourself like an animal, belly-first, as the wound pulses with each shift of your hips. The snow glows pink beneath you and your father's laugh echoes somewhere in the trees. It was a shot placed so cruelly precise—not the heart, not the head, but the abdomen—where death is a slow, weeping thing.

The buck was just ahead, his grand, branching antlers catching the flake. Dark eyes stared back at you—filmy and distant, but still somehow accusatory. His neck was twisted in a grotesque, ballet-like arc, mouth open, tongue purpled by frost.

Behind you, the rhythm of his boots deepens, closer now—no longer following but descending. A shadow falls over your spine, and then the weight of your father's body presses down, the snow compacting beneath you. You yelp, collapsing near the buck like a second offering.

His knee is in the crook of your back, the stubble of his face scratching against the crown of your head as he breathes in—sharp, delighted.

You try to squirm, try to push your cheek up from the ice, but his hand fists in your coat, peeling it back at the hem, the hole in your abdomen gaping beneath it like a mouth.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, his thick fingers tracing the edges of the wound. He prods gently at first, almost clinical, the way he once dug a splinter out of your palm with a fishhook.

Two fingers, then three, shoved past the torn meat of your belly—pushing through the clotted edge of the exit wound. The pain is white-hot, electric. You sob messily into the snow, a muffled, pathetic sound, your body shuddering under him.

His fingers slip past the dermis, split the subcutaneous fat like overripe fruit, and dig into the slick, ropy tension of your intestines. You feel it all: the wet drag, the obscene pressure, the twitch of peristalsis reacting blindly to intrusion. One of his knuckles brushes your peritoneum and your vision flashes white.

“I didn’t hit anything important. I made sure", he breathes, and the words fog warm against your skin as his hips settle lower. A familiar, swelling heat grinds into your ass through layers of clothing. Something low in you clenches and shame burns hotter than the pain.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he says, and there's a smile in his voice. You shiver, feeling his thigh wedge between yours, pressing your legs apart. His knee bumps against your crotch you gag, a sudden convulsion of nausea hitching your ribs.

You can’t scream. Your throat is raw from the cold, from the blood rising like bile. All that comes out is a strangled gasp as he pulls his hand back slowly, fingers glistening red to the knuckle, the scent of iron blooming between you.

“Hush,” he soothes, dragging the blood-slicked hand up your stomach. “You’re not dying yet.”

His free hand moves to his waist and you hear the soft, deliberate jangle of a belt unfastening.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wonder if you’ll be something else by spring.

Maybe a flower.

Maybe a tree.

Maybe bones under the cabin porch, kept close like all things he loves.

His feet echoed against the marble floor, numbers, and voices clawing at the edges of his vision before he willed them away with a patience he’d been forced to learn.

It felt like it had been years since he’d been here, though he knew it had only been months.

The U.S. Capitol.

“As you know, your assigned staff psychiatrist, Dr. Adrienne Smith, and Chief Analyst, Ryan Jackson, have both determined you to be unfit at this moment to re-enter full service just yet.”

His shrink. Threatening suicide to her just to get his way hadn’t done him a favor.

And Jackson. That wasn’t a new name, he’d heard it before, probably just in emails and mission reports.

Mason was fit for service. He knew he was. He was in shape, mentally sound on a good day, he could hold a gun and he knew how to slit a throat. If Hudson would just send him back out—just for a moment, with Woods, he could—

“We’ve found you a new assignment, to keep you…occupied.”

Hudson’s nearly flat voice had almost a hint of suspicion, maybe even worry, though Mason had personally never seen Jason Hudson worried over anything simple, as it echoed around the large room they passed through, its dome-shaped roof with a painting at the top, the Apotheosis, it’s angels staring down at him with judgment.

Not like it mattered.

He already knew he wasn’t going to Heaven, anyway.

Forcing his mind to refocus, he narrowed in on Hudson, his own legs carrying him after the man, the itchy material of a suit annoying him. Hudson was also clad in a suit, the man having shaved for once, smelling of expensive cologne and aftershave. His head was smooth enough that Mason could probably see his reflection in it if he looked hard enough.

His eyes shifted to their surroundings, the marble carving as they left the rotunda room, shined dress shoes clacking against the floor a bit louder than Alex would’ve preferred.

Marble was everywhere, the white staining his eyes until he blinked, and then suddenly, they were at the door. He’d been here before.

A room. A round table, and as he walked in, he was greeted by John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

The numbers clawed at his mind, static from TVs surrounding a chair, electric shocks worming their way through his mind, secure keys, ascend from darkness, reign fire, unleash hordes, skewer the beast—wield iron—raise hell—freedom—

“Focus, Mason.” A familiar low, rustic voice with a Russian accent murmured.

No, it was George H.W. Bush sitting in that chair in front of him, Hudson gestured for Mason to step into the room, to take a seat after a simple salute, and Alex did.

“Mr. President.”

Hudson said with a nod, and Mason gave a little nod himself, shaking Bush’s hand.

The man looked analytical, watching, surely careful after the recent terrorist attack. The Twin Towers were ruined, and the Pentagon hit, though they were still attempting to cover it up, thousands dead and more injured.

An absolute mess.

“Mr. Mason, I understand that you are the best we currently have available for this.”

The door shut behind them, but Mason could still feel Hudson behind them. Not risking anything, not after the JFK incident. He could already see it in his head, Hudson’s hand on his pistol, finger all too ready to pull the trigger.

The door opened. Someone else stepped in, the pat of feet against the carpet reaching his ears, just as he stood and turned, reaching for a gun at his waist that wasn’t there, as he’d been banned from having weapons within the White House years ago.

Hudson was equally as alert, but visibly relaxed, giving Alex a clear motion to sit back down and settle as a woman entered, face hidden under the hood of a long jacket, guards on either side of her, and stood almost expectantly as the doors closed.

Bush stood, shaking hands firmly with the woman, before turning to Alex.

“This is…”

He paused, before shaking his head and continuing.

“You’ll know her as Sydney Harper. She is, at this moment, and for the foreseeable future, under extreme witness protection, as a witness to the killing of someone…important. That’s all you need to know.”

His new assignment. To babysit someone who’d witnessed a murder. If it had been him, he would’ve just put a bullet in your head and been done with it, no witnesses.

Mason had done witness protection only once before, and his assignment had ended up dead after running off on their own, claiming the measures they went to were too extreme.

Alex stood, going to shake your hand, only to be met with possibly the most wet-fish handshake he’d felt in quite a while.

“A pleasure, Mrs. Harper.”

Not your real name, surely, but witness protection meant you had an entirely new identity.

Not just a new identity, you’d need a new job, new interests, new hobbies, new clothes, everything. Witness protection was always a pain in the ass, especially for him.

Hudson cleared his throat, adjusting his dark shades to sit better on the bridge of his nose, giving a pointed glance to Mason.

“Mason, this is your assignment.”

And that was the nail in the coffin. No more missions for him, just this assignment.

Well, if his job was to protect you, then he’d do a damn good job at it, at least.

~

“So you’re…what? My professional babysitter?”

You asked, looking at the man across the table from the house you’d been taken to. Your ‘home’ now.

Files sat on the table, backstory, information, medical history, credit card info, everything about your supposed new life stored away so sterile and impersonally it almost stung.

Your name? Completely changed. Everything was changed, most likely done by a bored CIA department worker.

They’d find you a job in the future, according to Hudson, the bald man you’d talked with, and give you insurance, a salary, and more for you to “blend in” so nobody found who you were. Everything you’d loved about your past life was gone, however, so was the society that had always been suppressing you.

You were still adjusting, as culture shock settled in, to the newer freedoms you were allowed.

Where you’d previously been? It was nothing like now. And though the United States had its problems, its freedoms gradually disappeared as corrupt figures took over, at least you had the bare minimum of rights here.

You at least had the First Amendment, until they took those.

Until you fully adjusted and learned to blend in, your job was simply to stay alive, and unnoticed.

“Essentially, yes.”

The man looked bored, but paying attention, his eyes going around the room, identifying entrances and exits, though you didn’t know it. His hair was slicked back, the faint smell of a cheap gel coming from him.

He stood with his arms crossed, occasionally readjusting the sleeves of his shirt, having changed into some jeans, a loose shirt, and a black leather jacket that looked as if it had been through hell and back. A poor attempt at looking civilian, in your opinion, but god knows the man, “Mr. Mason”, as you’d heard him being called, looked like he wasn’t used to being anywhere other than a battleground.

“And you are…?” Your voice trailed off, looking him up and down, finding him to not be terrible eye candy, despite his shockingly stiff demeanor.

You at least wanted to know the name of your glorified babysitter, especially if he’d be stuck by your side for the next few months, years, or god knows how long.

He seemed a bit surprised by that, glancing up at your eyes, looking for the intent behind that question. He’d expected you to be frazzled, maybe quiet, withdrawn from witnessing a brutal murder, but you seemed quite the opposite.

Snapping at him, demanding, he found that he quite liked it. A woman of your caliber wasn’t one he found often.

“Alex.”

He answered simply, grabbing your new ID from the table, studying it for a moment, and slipping it into one of the many pockets of his pants. Your brows wrinkled as you tried to snatch it out of his hand before it was shoved away, failing.

“What was that for? That’s my ID, you know—“

He waved a hand dismissively, moving to the door of the small apartment the two of you were staying in for now.

“Yeah, yeah, got it, hon. I oughta start charging you for all these questions.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, I don’t even have any money!”

You slid your old shoes on quickly, running after him, his brisk walking pace combined with his long legs not exactly helping you keep up.

“I accept payment in other methods.”

He quipped back, raising a brow at you, the sass in his tone evident.

Maybe he wasn’t as boring as you’d thought.

You didn’t bother to bite back a scoff, looking at him as if he was insane, the both of you moving to the streets.

“Oh, please, I'm not that desperate,”

You retorted, glancing at the front of a store, as Alex led you inside, taking a deliberate step closer to you until you could almost feel his body heat against yours. His hand slipped around your arm, till the two of you were linked together like a middle school couple in the hallways.

Wondering if he was normally this protective over his assignments, you mused to yourself as you watched him immediately find the people in the shop, studying them, ensuring they weren’t a threat.

He must’ve seen your mouth about to open, because he answered what he’d assumed was about to come out of it.

“You’re going to need new clothes. Your old shit ain’t gonna cut it, we need something you’ll look “natural in”.”

The last bit of the sentence was said almost sarcastically by him, in a way that made you let out the slightest snort of amusement.

“I’m guessing that last bit is from Hudson?” You asked, amused, and he threw a small hint of a grin back your way, all the while leading you up to the women’s section.

There were racks upon racks of clothing, all of which seemed nice, the sort of comfortable that you would wear to a laid-back church, but also relax in at home.

Dresses, shirts, jackets, sweaters, pants, skirts, socks, even bras and panties, and a few selections of shoes awaited you. A worker was nearby, wearing a company uniform, tidy and neat.

Her blond hair was curled in beach waves, and she held a cigarette between her fingers, fluttering her lashes at you two—more notably, at Alex, as she let out a small giggle at the sight of you.

You thought she sounded like a squirrel high on cough medicine. Alex didn’t seem any more impressed than you. This time, your hand was the one to possessively slide around his arm, a strained smile filled with poison as you looked at the worker.

“Oh, well aren’t you two a cute couple—need any help..finding anything?”

For some reason, you didn’t want to tell her that you two weren’t a couple. Mason didn’t say anything either, gaze pinning the woman down in a way that didn’t even seem vaguely friendly.

“No thanks.”

He spoke carefully, his words measured with a sharp, precise calm that seemed unnerving even to you. The girl must’ve caught the hint, walking away as her shoes clicked against the floor.

A sound you liked.

Alex glanced down at your grip on his arm, your nails digging into his skin, leaving little crescent half-moons, and cast you a glance, amused and knowing, though a hint of his earlier eeriness remained.

“You’re enjoying this.”

You hissed at him, letting go of his arm and giving his foot a solid stomp on the toes, only for nothing to happen, as he was wearing steel-toed boots. Of course.

“Can you blame me?”

Military men.

Moving away from the living, breathing headache of a man you might’ve grown a bit attached to, you began looking through the clothing, trying to find something at least presentable to wear that was comfortable too.

He stayed by your side, achingly close, as you skimmed through a few of the lighter dresses, appropriate for the hotter weather that would probably be upcoming in this area. If you were going to get new clothes, they would at least fit the weather here.

“That one’s pretty.”

Alex spoke, gesturing to a floral dress, and he wasn’t exactly wrong. Its colors would match you, and it seemed the right fit.

But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

Looking it up and down, you grabbed it, evaluating it, until shrugging.

“It’s alright, I can try it on later.” He stayed nearly stuck to your side for the next thirty minutes, at some point his eyes lingering on that same worker, watching almost too carefully for your liking.

You glanced over at him, finally having picked out all of the clothing you were willing to try on, and potentially buy, only to catch him staring again. This time, he glanced at you, obviously seeing the pissy look in your eyes, and his brows furrowed a bit. Almost confused.

“I’m going to go try these on. Have fun staring at her all day.”

Maybe his neurons finally connected, because he opened his mouth to speak, maybe explain himself, until you stormed off, going to the changing room, hanging the clothes you’d picked out on the hangers.

You decided to try the dress he’d picked out first, maybe just out of spite, the venom churning in your stomach, or the fact that you hoped it looked awful on you just to get back at him.

Slipping your shoes off, you tugged your clothes off, leaving only the underlayer on, and moved to slip on the floral dress. The fabric was soft and a bit stretchy, letting it easily mold over your body, tight in the right places, but there was a pair of buttons on the back you just couldn’t get your hands on.

Sighing, you turned around, brushing your hair out of the way, looking at your back in the mirror to try and help with the buttons, failing miserably even at that.

If you had someone to help—just a bit, even Alex, as double-sided as he was, flirting with you then not keeping his eyes off of another woman, would be useful in this situation.

As if on cue, you heard footsteps entering the rows of stalls of changing rooms. Surely, it was Alex. The store hadn’t been too occupied when the two of you had entered, and it was likely him just trying to follow after you.

“Alex, can you come help me button this?” You called, and only silence rang out in the bathroom. A hint of embarrassment, that maybe it hadn’t been him, rose, but before it got far a knock sounded on your stall.

The small feeling that something was wrong hit, but you pushed it down, holding the back of the dress together with your hand as you slid the lock of the stall open.

It wasn’t Alex.

The sting in your face registered before the man before you, the one that you definitely knew was not Alex Mason, did in your mind. Then, you came to the realization that he’d hit you, and everything seemed to move in a blur, time slowing as you watched him move into the small stall-like room, pushing the door closed as he slipped a small, black gun out of his jacket.

Panic kicked in, your sympathetic nervous system kicked in as fight or flight took over, and common sense flew out of the window.

You tried knocking the gun out of the man’s hands, all the while moving forward and kneeing him in the crotch, his face blurring as you focused on the gun, hell, you’d later find you would barely be able to recall what he’d looked like at all, panic overriding everything else.

He let out a grunt, the gun being knocked loose, clattering to the floor, and you both lunged for it, him elbowing you as pain sparked through your nerves, and you biting the elbow that made contact with your face as hard as you could.

Your hand was close—just a few more inches—

He struggled to his feet, forgoing his earlier goal of grabbing the gun as he instead wrapped a burly arm around you in a headlock, squeezing your Carotid arteries and cutting off the flow of blood from your brain.

You tried yelling for help, finding no sound would come out at all. Your nails clawed at his arms, trying to pull them off to no avail.

Attempting to reach for the gun with your foot, you managed to get the tip of your sock on it, before the man grunted and kicked it behind him.

The dark spots in your vision grew bigger, the world turning to dizzy blotches of color as you tried to breathe, lungs burning, head throbbing. You couldn’t last much longer.

Just before you nearly succumbed to the lack of oxygen, you heard the smallest sound, though everything sounded as if you had cotton balls shoved in your ears, and it was of a gun cocking.

Your arms went limp, and the silenced weapon fired.

“Jesus—“

A familiar voice—Alex’s voice—spoke, shoving the man off of you. You took a gasp of air, throat aching and sore, as your lungs burned with each intake of air.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed ahold of Alex, vision coming back in little spurts as you nearly hyperventilated, looking at the body of the man on the floor, now registering the full details of his appearance.

He’d been tall, taller than you at least, with dark hair and an unkempt beard, now with a bullet hole lying between his furry brows.

A little trickle of blood slid down his nose in horrifying detail, before Mason forcefully turned your head away, and you heard a shuffling noise, another stall opening and closing, and when you looked back the body was gone, and Alex stood before you with his arms crossed.

“You don’t get to run off like that—not when things like this can happen,”

He began, not even bothering to avert his gaze from your body, seeming to rather enjoy the look of the dress that hadn’t even yet been buttoned on you.

“Oh, right, as if you weren’t distracted by the employee, if I hadn’t known better I’d think she was your assignment.”

You snapped, hand going to pull the back of the dress together again as you gave him a look. His eyes narrowed as he took a step toward you, though not threatening, he knew better than to try and threaten you after such a close call.

His head tilted slowly to the side, in almost mocking curiosity.

“You thought I was trying to flirt with her?”

The words made that hint of embarrassment flare up again, the fact that you already felt a claim of ownership over a man you’d only met a day ago.

“Am I wrong?”

A step closer. You were up against the wall, swallowing thickly. He was mere inches away from you, breath fanning against you.

“You’re my assignment. She wasn’t.”

Wasn’t. Not isn’t.

He was closer, so so close, until you could smell the subtle hint of pine and snowy wilderness surrounding him, an intensity in his eyes.

You leaned forward, hands timidly going out to touch him, one landing on his shoulder. He stiffened as you slid your hand up his neck, all the way until cupping his cheek, hesitancy danced in his eyes as he tried to hold back, faltering when you leaned in just a bit more.

He reciprocated, gently pressing his lips against yours, before pulling back again.

For a moment, the air seemed still, and both of you simply stared in something like shock, until he reached forward, his calloused hand sliding to the back of your head as his lips collided with yours again, this time not gentle, a fierce kiss.

You leaned in, head spinning as your hands pawed at his jacket, sliding down his chest as his tongue shoved between your lips, being met by your own until your fingers caught on his belt.

Both of you pulled away only a moment to take a gasp for air, you being breathless for a different reason than a few moments ago. A much better reason, now.

“We shouldn’t..”

You breathed out as his hands went to his belt, yanking the metal clasp open and off, tugging the belt off and the front of his pants down. His brows furrowed as he palmed the bulge in his boxers, his hands soon moving to the back of the dress.

“But you want to. I want to.”

He murmured, leaning his body a bit into yours as his hands slowly tugged the clothing off of you, hand slipping into your drenched panties, running thick, calloused fingers through your folds.

Your breath caught, eyelids flickering shut just a bit as you felt his finger slip into your cunt, only testing the waters, as he soon scissored one more in—then another—and everything was a blur of motion and movement.

All of a sudden, you were up against the wall of the dressing room, a certain Alex Mason holding you up with mesmerizing ease, fingers all of a sudden slipping out of you as quick as they’d come.

A pathetic whining sound left you, something you’d surely be embarrassed about later, or not, at the sudden loss of sensation.

“Easy, hon,” Alex cooed to you, his gentle voice a direct opposite of the way he harshly tugged his cock out of his boxers, and glancing down through hazy vision, you swallowed thickly.

Thick, not bad length-wise either, the tip weeping with pre-cum that he swiped away with his thumb before shifting, lining it up with your entrance.

His eyes met yours, looking for confirmation, and approval from you, and the little nod you gave was enough for him as he began slowly pushing in, a groan slipping from between his lips.

“Christ,” Mason cursed, brows furrowing as he slipped a finger to rub quick circles on your clit, eager to bring you the same pleasure he was feeling.

The warm intrusion of his dick in your cunt had you squirming, breathing out shaky breaths as your legs shook, pleasure lighting your nerves up as you threw your head back.

He began shallow little thrusts, the way his thighs shook telling you he wouldn’t last long either. You could’ve sworn he was letting out the tiniest little whimpers, his eyes shutting tightly, finger rubbing harder, faster on your clit, not giving you any mercy.

“Too much, I can’t—“

Too much too fast, the floodwaters built until the levees broke, and your orgasm came all too rapidly for you, your cunt clamping down around Alex as he let out a sharp, “Fuck!”, and then both of you were shaking.

His mouth was on yours, whether out of desire or the simple need to keep the both of you quiet, you weren’t sure but didn’t find the energy to care anyway.

After a few minutes, finally, he separated from you, gently pulling out and setting you down on the floor. You had to lean against the wall, gathering your clothes off of the changing room’s floor, and slipping your shirt on.

Your pants, however, were a different ordeal. After struggling to move your nearly numb legs into the holes, Alex cleared his throat, already having gotten himself back in order, and helped you into them.

After you’d gotten dressed, both of you just looked at each other for a moment and must’ve had the same thought, because you simply readjusted your hair, and he motioned to the door.

The walk back home was silent. You didn’t ask about who would handle the body, didn’t want to know more than you had to, and he seemed to prefer it that way.

Once you both got home, you took a shower, savoring the way the hot water burned away the sweat of the day, and soothed your aching throat from being constricted. You couldn’t help but wonder if the thing with Mason, the quick fuck, if it had been a mistake or not.

You had spend the whole weekend with Mason's family and saying you're having a great time wasn't even close to how you felt every time you were near them.

You've been with Mason for two years and each day that passes you think you couldn't be happier, yet he proves you wrong.

He's always there every time you need him, he genuinely cares about you, whenever you have a problem and tell him about, he really tries his best to help you come up with a solution. Whenever you two have a confrontation and it seems like it's getting nowhere he's the one calming down both of you until you both can think clearer and resolve it the best way possible. Every time you're having a bad day and break into hundreds of pieces, who's always there picking them up for you? That's right, Mason.

He is your rock, your comfort person, he's your safe place and forever will be and you know there's nothing you wouldn't do for him.

A pair of arms around your waist brought you out of your trance.

"You're having fun with Summer?" he asked kissing your cheek.

"Yeah, I think I'm having more fun than her," you chuckled.

"She loves spending time with you, you know? She's always asking for you when you're gone. I'm starting to get jealous," he joked.

"It seems like uncle Masey was left in the past," you teased.

"Hey!" he pinched you slightly.

"Don't!" you giggled, "I'm kidding, love, you know you're her favourite," you said facing him while stroking his cheeks.

He hummed kissing your palm "When we have ours, then I'll be their favourite,"

"Ours? You wanna have kids with me?"

"Yeah baby, of course I do, don't you?" he said pulling you by the waist and resting his forehead against yours.

"Y-yeah, I do, I just never heard you saying out loud," you blushed.

"I want it all with you, you're my person, my home, there's not a moment in my day that I'm not thinking about you, you're the only one I wanna run back to when I'm away, I wanna spend the rest of my days right beside you because you are my zing," he grabbed your cheeks and pulled you softly to his lips, kissing you slowly pouring all the love he has for you in it.

You pulled back with glassy eyes and pouting "I love you so much, Masey, you mean everything to me, I'm so lucky I have you in my life," you pecked his lips.

"Less smoochies more sliding," said Summer pulling the both of you.