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anika-ann · 3 years

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In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.1

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3700

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

This is not a beginning of a steamy story; given the reason you’re hanging out in the dark, even a make-out session is honestly the last thing you want to fantasize about right now.

But that doesn’t mean that the nice stranger cannot make your day much better.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, attempt at humour, language

You were on the verge of screaming – or crying, you honestly weren't sure anymore. But you knew you were done. You had worked your fingers to a bone just to get here; to become a little bee in the most famous hive in Manhattan. Stark Industries. The Stark/Avengers Tower. The beacon of the New York skyline. The dream coming true.

Yeah, not so much.

You hadn't expected super-important assignments – after all, you were just an assistant to the head of one of too many departments – but God, you had not expected to be handling coffee so often. To be running ridiculous errands. Your degree from MIT should actually mean something here! If nothing else than that you were not just some pretty face and that you fucking didn’t deserve the treatment you were receiving.

And that was the root of trouble, really. You could handle making your way up, it would be tiring but not surprising, it was pretty much what you had assigned for.

But you had not assigned for the sexist comments, disgusting innuendo and for the grabby hands of your sleazy boss. Thomas Gregory was a fucking nightmare of a man and you swore that you were quitting if he called you a ‘Dollface’ or slapped your ass one more time.

And that was how you had got here, into this very moment; hiding in a dark supply closet like a creep with two cups of overpriced coffee in a cup holder and a piece of organic carob-nut muffin.

You weren't about to come out any time soon, because you simply knew your boss still would be a pig and give you yet another reason to hand in your notice and you had fucking wanted this job for so long, worked for it so hard and sacrificed too much that you just couldn't make yourself to quit no matter how much your skin cringed and your stomach rolled over every time Thomas Gregory touched you. It was so frustrating you wanted to scream.

Or cry, you still couldn't solve the dilemma. Maybe both.

You barely registered the hurried footsteps – and then the door was yanked open, you glimpsed a tall blond male figure and suddenly there was dark again. Except there was one more body in the very limited room of the closet, making you press your back onto the shelf.

Something rattled with your movement and the newcomer hissed a barely audible ‘Be quiet’ as two columns of muscles that were probably his arms framed your head leaning onto the very same shelf, so you could both fit in here.

The little order leaving his lips broke the last seal inside you. You were tired, frustrated and were receiving enough humiliation as it was, you did not need some random guy invading your hideout, barking orders.

“Look, mister, if you have any problem with me trying to make a little space for you in this tiny-ass closet, I recommend you to-”

“Shh!” he hushed you and you thought you had never heard someone whisper so urgently; at least it sounded less bossy than before. It did not mollify you though, because this guy actually had enough impudence to-

“Don't you dare to shush me-!”

A hand went to cover your mouth and you let out an exasperated mumble of curses, while his voice continued.

“Please, just— I'm sorry, please, don't make a sound, my friend is trying to set me up and-”

Your eyes went wide and he suddenly fell silent. Before you could question his methods of shutting you up, his exclaim or the pause, and ask him to be so kind to find another closet, another male voice sounded somewhere behind the door.

“Come on, Steeeve. Man, don't be such a prude. Lillian is a great chic, okay?”

The man – the friend, you assumed – seemed annoyed and you couldn't believe that Steve had not been kidding you. He was actually hiding for the very reason he had offered you. You nodded as you heard the stranger behind the door move and the hand covering your mouth hesitantly disappeared.

“It's just a lip piercing, don't be such a tight-ass. It can actually be quite fun, you wouldn't believe what a girl can do with such thing…”

“Gross,” you commented soundlessly and you could feel your companion’s eyes burning a hole into your head in silent agreement.

“Goddammit, Steve!”

The voice and the footsteps slowly disappeared in the distance and you… you were face to face with a stranger named Steve in a limited space of a dark supply closet, his breath tickling your scalp, his cologne very much assaulting your nose; at least it was a pleasant assault.

“I'm sorry for being so rude. And thank you,” his voice caressed your hairline gently and hearing his suddenly polite tone and evaluating this whole situation, you could barely hold back a giggle all of sudden.

“You're welcome, Steve. How long has this been going on?”

“Two days-” That didn't sound too bad, he could probably take a lot more- “-at this level. With Lillian. It was Emily before that and Angelina before that. In smaller scale, it's been happening for about four months,” he recited dutifully as if he was reporting a status to his boss and this time you couldn’t help it – you giggled.

When you could feel the wounded gaze he gave you, you obediently made a sympathetic noise.

“Aww, poor you, your friend supplying you with no doubt great relationship material…”

“That’s what he said! But I don't want a relationship material. I don't want any material, not even his… one-night stand material. What does that mean anyway? These are women he's talking about, not a material-”

You let out a tiny pleased sound at his exasperation, which shut him up. You wondered if it was your turn to speak – it was hard to tell, supply-closet conversations weren't exactly your area of expertise.

“Kudos for that thinking,” you noted after short silence and the darker shadow of his figure tilted his head. “Did you try to tell him that you weren't interested…? Of course you did, why am I asking, that was a stupid question…”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, I got a little… carried away. It just… it's like talking to a brick wall.”

You hummed in sympathy again and the room fell into silence once more.

It was ridiculous how much your mind started working over hundred percent, trying to come up with something appropriate to say. The best you could do was:

“Hey, you want a cup of overpriced organic coffee? I happen to have two.”

The needy noise that let his lips was downright pornographic. Or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, the strange environment finally getting to you.

“I knew I smelled coffee here! I thought I went completely insane.”

You couldn't help but smile at that. Yeah, you knew the feeling all too well.

“Nope, your senses were not playing tricks on you. Help yourself. It should be around your left hand.” A rustling of a paper bag. “Oh. That's a carob-nut muffin – with carob instead of cocoa. You can have that too, I won't need that.”

“Alright, I gotta ask. Why are you hiding in a supply closet, with a muffin and two cups of expensive coffee nonetheless? And may I hand you one?”

“Such a gentleman. Thanks,” you murmured and accepted the cup. You weren't lying about not needing it – you wouldn't. Because you were about to quit; it was inevitable.

You sipped the warm liquid, its taste as bitter as the reason behind your actions.

“So?”

“I'm hiding from my boss.”

Your voice must have sounded terrible, because his own softened at the confession.

“And why is that?”

“Because if I bring him his coffee and muffin, he'll probably call me his good girl and— and slap my butt and-”

“I beg your pardon?” he growled, like honest to God growled, the strange sound warming your scalp.

And it was the righteous outrage in the sound he let out, the reaction that you needed, someone agreeing with you – a stranger, who wouldn’t feel obliged to do so just it was a duty of being a good friend to you – that made the levee break. Suddenly tears were streaming down your face, anger and humiliation, and your breath was hitching in embarrassing hiccups and the dark space felt so anonymous and safe at the same time that you didn't even care anymore.

“And if he does that I’ll have to– to quit, because I-I'm so fucking fed up with his dis-disgusting hands and si-sickening voice voicing his lizard thoughts a-and I ca-can't quit goddammit, I worked so fucking hard to-to get a job h-here and-”

You didn't realise your hands started trembling until the cup disappeared from them, placed back on the shelf, and a pair of much bigger and warmer hands gently enveloped yours, his body shifting just a little closer as he lost the support that had been keeping some distance between you.

“Hey, hey, shh, it's gonna be okay…” his voice washed over you soothingly, sounding almost at your ear.

Still, there was space between your bodies, a respectable distance – as respectable as possible in the limited space. It was as if he acknowledged it could make you uncomfortable – which probably wasn't exactly hard to figure out, given what you just told him.

“I'm sorry,” you sobbed and cleared your throat afterwards in attempt to compose yourself. “I didn't mean to load that on you, my problems are none of your concern-”

“Like hell they aren't. Sexual harassment on a workplace is everyone's concern, or it should be,” he grunted. His hands tightened their grip, not uncomfortably – reassuring. “This okay?”

You smiled through your tears. This Steve guy was really sweet to you. You almost forgot what it was like to be treated with respect.

“Y-yeah. Thank you for-- for asking. That was really nice.”

He huffed. “It should be a normal human decency. And I did grab you before that, sorry.”

“Something tells me you would let go if I said no more vehemently.”

“Of course I would.”

You gave him a watery smile he couldn't see and tried to calm your breathing completely. His thumb caressing your wrist helped. You wondered which department he was from; if his skills in comforting came with a job description or if he was a natural.

“Have you… have you tried to fill in a report?” he asked hesitantly, making your heart stop.

Oh yeah, you had. It had ended up in a shredder machine, because Thomas had spotted it. He had made you do it yourself, standing over you and watching, claiming the complaint had been baseless and it would pointless to hand it anyway, because he would explain the HR how it truly was. That you had made a move and he, the good father and husband he had been, politely turned you down, which turned you vengeful.

You whispered the story to Steve, your voice trembling, more tears escaping and you could immediately tell he believed you – because his grip grew steely strong, his teeth grinding.

“This is wrong. You should have never been forced to work for a man like him– objectifying you, touching you, threatening you, that's just--- you should talk to Tony,” he blurted out in the end and you frowned.

“Who's Tony?”

You had checked the whole HR department via their website when doing your research. You couldn't recall any Tony.

There was a short pause, broken by Steve's confused voice. “Stark.”

You blinked, wondering if Steve was joking. He didn't sound like he was joking, which was strange, because so far, he had seemed to be a smart and reasonable man.

“There's no way I'm scoring a meeting with Mr. Stark. And it's not like he’s dealing with things like that.”

“...Talk to Pepper then. I doubt she has bigger than zero tolerance for harassment,” he exclaimed confidently as if talking to Pepper Potts (this time you assumed whom he was talking about – did he call all of the big bosses their first name…?) was an option for a regular human being like you. Realizing that all over again though, that was tough.

“While I believe that’s her policy, it's not like I can just walk into her office.”

Steve seemed to consider that, while his thumb was still drawing patterns on your skin, almost subconsciously.

“I think you could. But if you're worried it might take a while and you’re scared to go back to your office now, let me walk you. I can explain him that every employee deserves to be treated with respect,” he offered finally, deadly serious, yet still sounding kind.

Your heart swelled. A guy you just met (in a supply closet, a good story to be narrated at parties, you supposed), suggested to help you out, no hesitation. God, wasn't he just too pure for this world?

“I… thank you, Steve. But… while you do have an impressive frame, I think it would only get worse. I think I'll just enjoy this extremely hipster coffee, which I'll later have to pay for no doubt and… and go face my boss to hand him my resignation. There are plenty jobs, right? I can as well serve coffee in a café,” you said with a sad smile, letting your hands slip from his comfortable hold.

“That's not right. Especially if you worked hard to– not to mention it's a matter of principle. You run away once and… running is a very hard habit to break,” he whispered, as if a secret, trying to reason with you.

You bit your lip when the truth of his words washed over you, along with the way he spoke; with such a strong believe in principles that should stand a standard. It… he made you forgot your own trouble for a second as you let yourself get lost in him. In the way he treated you, the protector's persona, yet not forced. He had suggested you to ‘let him come with you’, not even a note of command in his approach. This was not a man seeing an opportunity to be a hero when spotting the damsel in distress; this was a man who believed in what was right and wanted to fix things that were apparently broken. You wished there were more men like him, selfishly wanting one of them to be your boss.

“And men like these – they need to be put in line,” he added darkly, snapping you from your daydreaming of a better world. “Let me come with you. I'll—I’ll help you fill in the forms, walk you to HR. You don't have to deal with this alone.”

For all the comfort the dark had offered you so far, you wished for a little bit more light now, enough to see his face, his eyes. You knew they would be burning with honesty, you were sure of it, maybe a little rage aimed at a man who dared to treat another human being the way he did.

The offer was so tempting. But just imagining the security escorting Steve from the building for wanting to help you was enough to put out the fiery need to accept. It was ridiculous to care so much about his well-being after what could be minutes of knowing him, but no one could call you out on it. And if they did, you could always play it cool with ‘matter of principles’; good people only deserved good things.

You carefully reached out, hoping to find his hand again. Your heart skipped a beat when you brushed his thigh instead, but at least his hand was right next to it. He released a surprised breath when you took it into yours, way smaller one. You bit your lip when leaning in a little, blindly trying to meet his gaze.

“You’re a good man, Steve. I’m sorry your friend is giving you a hard time, you don't deserve that – even though I'm sure he means well. If you ever want to get him off your back...” you wavered at the ridiculous idea, but hey, why the hell not, he had offered to help you out first, “you can say you're seeing someone. Give him my card. I'll confirm we're together – he seems like a kind of a guy who would check.”

Shocked breathless laugh erupted from his chest and you assumed you hit the nail on the head. You fished out one of your business cards, handing it to him and releasing his hand then.

It was time to leave and face your fate, but Steve didn't make any attempt at moving out of the closet.

In fact, he seemed to examine the card for a while and then he quietly read out your name. You gasped in surprise. How the hell could he see anything? You could barely make out his silhouette!

“How-”

“I'm used to working in dark spaces,” he muttered absently. “Would you really do that?”

Slightly taken aback he was considering your offer, you nodded, only to realize he couldn't see it--- actually, he probably could.

“I would. Hell, I think I could handle one uncomfortable dinner with your friend vetting me,” you added, slightly amused at the idea. When you could hear his shocked exhale and wanted to take it back. “I didn't mean to-”

“Let me come with you to your office,” he repeated like a broken record and you frowned at the sudden change of topic.

“What-”

“It could throw your boss off your back for long enough for you to deal with the complaint. If you would be comfortable enough to play my girlfriend for a dinner time, why not now?”

Your eyes went wide and you almost choked on air.

“I-what? I told you it would probably only make it worse-”

“It will work.”

“How can you be so-”

The door yanked open and your eyes were hit by an unpleasantly sharp light, making you squint.

“Holy-” a ridiculously familiar voice you couldn’t place breathed out. “Wilson! I found him! You’ve gotta see this!”

You wanted to see the owner of the voice, but your view was completely blocked by the broad chest of your companion.

So you at least raised your head to meet Steve face to face so to speak. You couldn’t see much, your eyes still adjusting; with the light shining from behind him, playing a mysterious game with his blond locks, framing his impressive figure, he looked like a freaking angel, beautiful and righteous, bringing justice, yet wrapped in an aura of peace and serenity. You barely kept your jaw from falling on the floor.

You kept staring, focusing on his face, and slowly started realizing that his features too, were familiar. Mortification was creeping up your back as the puzzle pieces started falling into place, creating a horrifying picture, making you wish for the Earth to swallow you.

The voice from behind Steve’s back resolved the last doubts you had about your temporary mysterious roommate.

“Wouldn’t peg you as a get-freaky-in-a-closet kind of guy, Capsicle.”

You wanted to immediately protest that you had definitely not been getting freaky in the closet, but your brain was still frozen because of the big revelation – that you had just been comforted, hell, that you had just offered to be a fake date to Captain America.

You simply stared at him, unbeing able to hold your jaw from falling anymore. Because– because-- oh god.

Now it made perfect sense that he thought Thomas Gregory would be intimidated… by the idea of harassing Captain America’s girlfriend. You couldn’t really blame Steve for being sure it would work. Also, it kinda explained why he called Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts their first names – they were on the first name basis.

Which really was the least relevant thing right now.

A bashful smile appeared on Steve’s lips, a little guilty perhaps, and you just… giggled at the absurdity. You couldn’t help it. You had just spent minutes in a supply closet with Steve Rogers without having a single clue about it and while you didn’t do anything heated as someone would assume, it was one of the most amazing minutes of your life.

You must have looked like an idiot or something, because he chuckled too, completely ignoring another male voice growing in volume as the newcomer approached.

“Holy hell, man! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”

At those words, Steve tentatively took your hand with an encouraging smile and led you out to the hall. You were met with two pairs of curious eyes examining you from head to toe. You lowered your gaze, now fully aware of the fact they belonged to Tony Stark – the Iron Man – and Samuel Wilson – the Falcon.

Well. Now the ‘party story’ finally got the right juice.

“Then don’t, Sam, because it’s not what it looks like,” Steve replied to his match-maker friend and took a deep breath, squeezing your hand tighter. “Tony, this woman would like to report harassment on her workplace.”

Your head snapped to Steve’s face with panicked gaze. What the hell was he doing?!

Tony Stark made a noise of disapproval.

“Couldn’t you try harder so she wouldn’t complain about you?”

“Tony,” Steve addressed him, his voice solemn just like his expression, which clearly surprised the billionaire. “I’m serious. It’s not about me. Her boss is the reason why she was hiding here.”

Without commenting any further, Steve handed him your business card and Mr. Stark hummed. You weren’t brave enough to look up. Was he going to wave it off? Was he going to fire you?

He said your name, making you gulp in fright. You had to look up now and you really didn’t wanna, too afraid of what you’d see. You were shocked to meet with a searching gaze, but not a mean one.

“It is true? Is your boss giving you trouble? Making sexist comments? Worse?”

You felt tears in your eyes, utterly taken aback by his sensitive tone, the inviting light in his eyes. It was too much to bear and you wanted to escape the kind gaze; and he wouldn’t let you. You only managed to nod when you felt Steve’s thumb caressing the back of your hand.

Mr. Stark sighed, adding a dark ‘goddammit’, and returned Steve the business card.

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

Part 2

I know, I know, Steve is a little bit of Knight-In-Shining-Armour here, but it made sense to me O:-)

Happy weekend!

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #civilian reader #in the strangest place we just might find love #anika ann

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 3 years

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Bet On It | Charlie Gillespie

Requested: I may have already requested this (or I may have dreamed it) - but I would love an imagine with Charlie and the reader having a bet. Charlie loses and has to get the readers name tattooed somewhere and his fans go INSANE. Can be either platonic or romantic, your choice.

A/N: This was too good to pass up. Hope you like it! And special thanks to @calamitykaty for helping me out again on this one! I appreciate your help and love so much! You are the best of the best! Love you! 💖

Pairing: Charlie x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, tattoos

Song(s) used: Show Me How You Burlesque - Christina Aguilera

Words: 3,880

“Wanna bet on it?” was one of the first things he had ever said to you three years ago when you met him after your dance troupe had performed at the annual showcase.

You and Meghan Gillespie had been friends since you started taking dance classes when both of you were five. However, your friendship never expanded from dance classes. Both of you were totally fine with that.

This also meant neither of you had ever met each other's siblings, but that changed when you were seventeen and Charlie tapped your shoulder when you’d come up to greet your own family after the showcase. He’d complimented you on your dancing, and told you a little flustered that you had stolen the show. You didn’t even need to ask his name to know this was Charlie. He had the same bone structure and the same eyes Meghan did. She had told you about her siblings, mostly about Charlie since he was the closest in age and, according to her, the most annoying out of all her brothers.

The two of you talked the whole night, even long after everyone had gone. Most of it was absolute nonsense, but you loved getting to know him a little more aside from the stories you’d heard from Meghan. You enjoyed his presence and the way he carried himself and told his stories. This boy just seemed like the most excitable and passionate person you had ever met in your life. A lot of similarities to his sister, you noticed.

“Can I see you again soon?” he asked when the two of you wrapped up the night when it neared twelve am.

You had raised your eyebrow at his nervosity more than his question. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Charlie’s head snapped up at your question, his eyes wide and jaw tight. “Wha-What? Nah! I wouldn’t date my sister’s friend! Uhm, more like, uh… Like a platonic date!” he exclaimed a little too excitedly. He even added some finger guns to top it all off.

“All right, a platonic date it is,” you said as a teasing grin made its way to your features. “But you have to promise me one thing…” He nodded his head, encouraging you to go on. “You have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.”

A snicker raked through his body before he mimicked your teasing grin, “Wanna bet on it?”

Even though back then there was nothing at stake, he still lost the bet. You both did, technically. Because after that first ‘platonic’ date followed more dates that grew into non-platonic dates until he finally picked up the courage to kiss you on your doorstep.

Now three years later, you were working together on a second season of Julie and The Phantoms, both of you having been on the first season too. You as a background dancer and him as one of the leads of the show.

To say you were proud of him would be an understatement.

However, no one knew you were dating except for the closest people in your life. Meghan knew from the first ‘platonic’ date that this would be more than just a shallow friendship, and all your other friends and family were just happy you found each other. The cast of Julie and The Phantoms, however, were your biggest shippers. They loved to tease you both to the point where fans were suspicious, but you never made anything official. You kept telling them you were just best friends.

After a full day on a corona proof set, the two of you finally settle on the sofa of your shared apartment with Owen. Said third roommate still had to film a couple of scenes with Booboo, which meant the two of you had the space all to yourself.

Cuddled up on the couch, the two of you scroll through your phone, catching up on anything you’d missed on social media. You’d received a few comments on your latest Instagram story with Savannah and Tori, and even more on the ones with Charlie in them. Most of them told you they wanted you to do a live together soon.

“People are asking for a live,” you stated, showing some of the messages in your inbox.

“Then they shall receive,” Charlie replied and got up from the couch, making his way into the bedroom. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering why he just left, but you were given answers when he returned with an acoustic in his hand. “They always love a good jam session,” he explained before handing you his phone so you could set up the live on his account since he had a lot more followers than you.

“Let’s see,” you mumbled as you pressed the button, letting the phone rest against a large candle on the coffee table. Names started popping up at the bottom of the screen while the little number in the right-hand corner raked up quickly. “Hey guys!”

“‘Sup!” Charlie shouted excitedly, a wide smile taking over his features while he tuned his guitar. “What do you guys wanna see from us today? Send us some requests for songs I should play or questions you want us to answer.”

A laugh escaped your mouth as you noticed a lot of the questions were about whether or not you were a couple. “No, we’re not together, we’re just best buddies.” You put your head on Charlie’s shoulder, smiling a toothy smile at the camera.

“Do you pull pranks on Owen or others from the cast?” Charlie read aloud as you pulled yourself up again, nodding your head in response. “Yeah, we pull pranks on each other all the time!”

“Yeah! I love to prank this one whenever I find him somewhere napping,” you chuckled, especially when you noticed his expression on the screen. His mouth ajar as his eyes went from left to right. “I swear, this boy can sleep anywhere!”

“Don’t expose me like that!” he cried out, which made you burst out with laughter to the point where you even let out a snort. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore at how offended he was by all of this, you were practically cackling. “Okay, if we’re exposing each other, you’re always dancing. ALWAYS,” he put emphasis on the last ‘always’. His eyes widened at the word as well as his voice growing louder.

You stopped laughing at this, suddenly turning serious. “That’s my job, Char,” you deadpanned. Charlie wasn’t Charlie if he let it go so quickly.

“Yeah, on set and maybe at practice, but you dance everywhere,” he turned to the camera, “Seriously, she dances in the shower, on the toilet, at catering, in bed,...” he stopped himself upon realizing he’d said a tiny bit too much.

“People are asking how you know all that, Charlie. How do you know all of that?” you teased along, knowing he had dug himself a hole and you loved to see him squirm to get him out.

“Because I… Come on, y/n, we’re best friends, we fall asleep in the same bed all the time,” he quickly saved himself in a very nonchalant, very Charlie way. You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at one corner of your lip, thinking ‘Nice save, Gillespie’.

“But that’s still not as bad as sleeping everywhere,” you countered, your face still overtaken by that smirk. “I bet I could get a whole album of pictures of you sleeping anywhere.”

This claim made Charlie’s head snap up, a feeling of dejavu rushing through his mind. This suddenly felt very familiar since both of you had been in a situation like this before, both pulling the short straw.

“Wanna bet on it?” he declared, his eyebrows nearly reaching up to his hairline.

Your tongue glided across your turned up lips as you replied, “What’s at stake?”

“Let’s see what they think. Guys! Help us out with this bet, please! What should be at stake?”

Dozens of replies came in, but your eyes fell on one in particular. “The loser has to get the winner’s name tattooed in a place of the winner’s choice!” you read aloud, pointing at the screen where the comment used to be. “Yes! Okay! So, let’s say we have to each get ten pictures of videos by -- it’s now Tuesday, so Monday?” Charlie nodded his head in agreement. “First one to get ten wins.”

Charlie held his hand out for you to shake, which you gladly did so, sealing the bet.

“Get ready to get tatted for the first time, baby,” Charlie quipped with a smirk.

“Oh, no, Char. I’m gonna leave this a blank canvas,” you responded, gliding your hands over your ribcage and down to your sides for emphasis. “You better get ready to get ‘y/n’ tattooed in big block letters across your chest!” You patted his pecs before adding with a giggle, “No ragrets.”

He let out a chuckle at the meme reference before turning to the phone again. The two of you spent the next twenty minutes talking to the fans on Instagram live, playing them some songs and teasing one another non-stop. The fans were pretty certain you were a thing by now, but you still insisted all this was just a really close friendship.

By the next day, everyone knew about the bet and was willing to help both of you out. Though, most of them told you afterwards they were on your side all the way.

Savannah skipped over to you when you were waiting at the Hollywood Ghost Club set, getting ready for the last rehearsal before you’d start filming the scene tomorrow. You were going over the steps in your head until she spoke up. “Have you caught Charlie yet today?” she asked with a smirk. You let out a chuckle, shaking your head.

“No, haven’t really stopped today, so I haven’t seen him much either.” This made you realize you kind of missed him and were up for a cuddle right about now. “Why? Have you seen him somewhere?”

The mischievous look in her eyes spoke a thousand words. “Gimme your phone, I’ll go take a picture, so you can stay here.” You mull over the option for a second before deciding against it.

“No, that’s not very fair. I’ll just go and look for him after this rehearsal and hope he’ll still be napping.” Savannah shrugged at your response before tucking a strand of hair of yours behind your ears.

“Suit yourself, he’s in the breakroom.” You made a mental note of that. “You’re so soft for him, it’s adorable,” she uttered as a tender smile found its way to her lips. “I’ll let you get to rehearsal and I’ll make sure no one wakes Charlie before you can get to him, okay?”

You shot her a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks, Sav.” She kissed your cheek before walking away to wherever she needed to go.

Thankfully, Charlie was indeed still asleep by the time you made it to the breakroom. He looked adorable all curled up on the small sofa with his arms wrapped around his own stomach. With an endeared smile, you grabbed your phone from the pocket of your sweater and snapped a picture before making your way over to him and squatting down in front of the couch. Softly, you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead before combing through the luscious mop of brown locks.

He stirred slightly and squeezed his eyes tighter before they fluttered open. When they met yours, a soft, sleepy smile lit up his face. With a beam mirroring his, you said to him, “You look very cuddly up here, mind if I join you?” He scooted over and turned to his side, answering your question without words. You joined him on the small couch and rested your forehead on his chest, shutting your eyes as you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne.

“You took a picture, didn’t you?” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You giggled, which was enough for him to know that you did.

“One point y/n, Charlie zero,” you said and kissed his shirt-covered chest.

“Oh, I’ll get my revenge, Bubba, I promise you!” He poked you in the ribs, making you squirm in his arms. “But let’s nap first until they need us again.”

When Charlie promised something, he stuck to it. So, during lunch that same day, you stood in line with Madison, Jadah, Savannah, Tori and some of the other dancers, chatting a bit while music played from the speakers in the spacious area where everyone was either already eating or queueing to get food.

“You really never know if you--” you cut yourself off once your ears picked up on the song that was playing in the background. “Oh my God! I know the choreo to this one. Tori, you do too, right?!”

You put the plate you were holding on top of Savannah’s while Tori and some of the other dancers gave theirs to the other girls. Tori and Sam, one of the dancers you were closest with, got up on the table. Chuckling, you watched as a few others followed their example, and you quickly give in too.

“Hit it up, get it up, won’t let you rest Hit it up, get it up, this is not a test Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best So get your ass up, show me how you burlesque”

You’ve loved this movie since it came out ten years ago. Your mother showed you some videos of you dancing in front of the tv, trying to imitate the dancers. It was pretty hilarious to see a ten-year-old do this dance.

Right now though, you were ready to show off in front of everyone with some of the greatest dancers on this crew. Moments like these were proof that you were born to be a dancer.

“A little bit of naughty, it's a little bit nice She’s a whole lot of glam, sweat, sugar, sex, spice Shimmy, shimmy, strut, strut Give a little what, what Up on the tables we’ll be dancing all night”

Little did you know that Charlie had walked in with Owen, Jeremy and Booboo just as you’d started to dance. He was quick enough to grab his phone from his pocket and film it. Even though he loved the fact that it was now a tie, he couldn’t help but smile proudly at the girl he’d fallen in love with three years ago.

This was his favorite side of yours. You were in your element on the dance floor -- or table in this case. He just loved how confident you were and how free you seemed. While you’d be kind of shy when around new people, nobody would notice that when you’re dancing. He found it incredibly sexy to see you up there.

You groaned as Charlie held his hand out to help you down the table when you’d finished the impromptu performance. With a smirk, he said, “1-1, Bubba,” and pressed a kiss to your flustered cheek.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t withhold the smile tugging at your lips. He looked so chuffed with his victory, even if it was a small one. You wanted to grant him this one win.

The one win quickly turned into eight more, for the both of you, by Saturday.

Match point.

There was a mutual agreement to pause the bet on Sunday since the two of you had a day off and were going to sleep and dance around the apartment while cleaning up anyway, so that wouldn’t be fair. But on Monday, it was game on.

You were certain you were going to win. All you had to do is find Charlie when you knew he didn’t have to film anything and try to withhold yourself from dancing if it wasn’t a part of the filming or rehearsal progress.

By noon, you had succeeded in one department. The only thing left to do now, was find Charlie. You knew he had an hour off for lunch and that he’d spent twenty minutes of it taking a power nap somewhere on set. The only downside was, that you had no clue where he could possibly be sleeping now.

“Mads! Jer!” you exclaimed when you saw Madison and Jeremy walking up to you with sandwiches in their hands. “Have you guys seen Charlie anywhere?” The two glanced at each other before giving you a look that screamed ‘seriously, y/n?’.

“What’s the best napping spot in the entire studio and isn’t used for anything today?” Jeremy asked as a way of responding to your question.

Your eyes widened as the image of the bed popped into your head. You quickly muttered, “Thank you!” before hurrying your way to the set that holds Julie Molina’s bedroom. And there, smack in the middle of the bed, cuddled up to a pink cushion, lied your boyfriend.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you nervously grabbed your phone and snapped a few pictures to make sure there was at least one that wasn’t blurry. Your hands were shaking way too much from the excitement, but you couldn’t just let this one pass. You had to win. If not just to prove a point.

You rapidly scrolled through the photos and when you saw one that was in focus, you shrieked and leapt onto the bed on top of Charlie. He let out a groan at the sudden weight pressing down on his body as he shook awake.

“I won, bitch!” you screamed out, doing a happy dance as you straddled his lap.

He rubbed his eyes like a toddler whilst giggling like one too before placing his hands on your thighs and saying, “I didn’t think you’d find me here.” He started rubbing up and down your jeans-cladded legs, a pout tugging at his bottom lip.

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Seriously? This is the most infamous napping spot of the entire studio! I immediately came here when I couldn’t find you in your regular spot in the breakroom.” Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you.

“Someone else told you I was here, didn’t they?”

“Yep, definitely.”

He groaned and then flipped you over, so you were lying next to him, and you let out a shriek before it turned into a giggle. “I already know where you’re gonna put my name too,” you mumbled. You pressed your forehead against his while tracing a heart on his chest, right above his heart.

His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed your forehead. Placing it back, he muttered, “Let me guess, on my left pec, so you’re forever in my heart?” You simply hummed in response, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. “Why are you so predictable?”

“Shut up, you love me.”

Butterflies welled up in his belly as you said that. He loved the overconfident way you always said those words. They were true. Very true and he loved that you knew that. But that didn’t take away the fun into actually reminding you too.

“That’s true.”

The following day, you took Charlie to the tattoo parlor to get his tattoo. You had told him a thousand times he didn’t have to do it, that knowing you were the winner sufficed, but he just replied with a, “No, I want that tattoo.”

The tattoo artist asked if you had a design in mind, so you handed her the slip of paper on which you had perfectly written your name in cursive and told her where to put it. She simply stated, “You got great handwriting,” before showing you and Charlie to the back.

“Film this for Insta, babe, so the people know I lost,” Charlie had ordered you sweetly as he tugged his shirt over his body, handing it over to you while he sat down.

You grabbed your phone and started filming when the tattoo artist, whose name was CeCe, she’d said, started on his tattoo. Charlie looked up at you, biting his lip, and then reaching out to you. Without asking him what was wrong, you swung his shirt over your shoulder and took his hand with the one you weren’t filming with. He squeezed hard, nearly bone-crushingly hard, but you let him. After all, it was kind of your fault he was there in the first place.

When CeCe had finished and put a protective band-aid on it, Charlie grabbed his shirt from your shoulder, and kissed you on the lips sweetly. You paid for the work and time CeCe had put into this, said your goodbyes, and headed back home.

Pretty much every single one of the cast was waiting at your place, ready to see the finished product. However, Charlie wasn’t allowed to take the covering off yet. It needed to stay there for two to four hours before he could take it off.

And once he did, you were surprised to not only see your name on his chest, but also your favorite flower worked into it beautifully. Confused and surprised, you looked up at Charlie.

“When did you even tell her to do that?” you asked as everyone started to take pictures of the tattoo and of the interaction between the two of you.

“Called in beforehand,” he simply shrugged. Shaking your head, you leaned up and planted a kiss to his lips. Even though it was bat-shit crazy he even went through with tattooing your name on his chest, the fact he added an element of you made it extra special.

That night, Charlie posted the video of him getting his tattoo on his Instagram stories while you made a compilation post of all ten of the sleeping Charlie pictures you had accumulated in the last week, along with a picture of his tattoo.

@Yourinstahandle: Victory is mine! You are absolutely crazy. I can’t believe you went through with this. At least now I’m forever embedded on your heart and I’ll be yours forever. 💖 @Charles_Gillespie

And with that, you immediately went Instagram official too. Following your example, Charlie shared a picture of his brand new tattoo as well.

@Charles_Gillespie: Wanna bet on it? Forever mine 💖 @Yourinstahandle

When he joined you in bed that night, you went to lie down on his chest, only to receive a painful hiss from him, causing you to shoot up again. “GAH! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” you shouted, and looked at him in shock.

“It’s fine,” he muttered and went to pull you back but you refused to.

“No, Char, I’m not gonna hurt you for an entire night,” you grumble and crawl across his legs to lie down on his other side. “This feels weird.” You rested your head against the non-painful side of his chest. “But better than no cuddles.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have won, so I wouldn’t be in pain right now,” he responded, followed by a small chuckle, letting you know he was just joking.

“You are the most ridiculous person I have ever met,” you muttered. Before closing your eyes, you quickly leaned up and pecked his cheek.

“Wanna bet on it?”

JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost

Charlie/Luke taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie au #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie imagine

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

You’re not my type [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Reader is the new press liaison to the elite Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. A stray comment from her leads to a lot of questions from her teammates, especially her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. When they’re thrown together on a case that hits close to home for Reader, will that comment tear them apart? Or will it bring them closer together?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst then smut, with plenty of fluff sprinkled throughout.

Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warning: This gets pretty angst heavy in places. The team is chasing an Unsub that’s a serial r*pist/mu*derer. Mentions of an attempted a*sault to someone Reader cares about. Providing comfort to victims of the unsub. It’s dark in places, but if you can stick with me, I promise I will mend the angst and take you to the land of smut and fluff. Because there is plenty of smut.

A/n: Have you ever had a story that just grabbed hold of you and refused to let go? This story was supposed to be half this length and pure fluff. Reader and Hotch dug their claws into me and made me tell their own story. I’m not mad at it, and if you give it a chance, I hope you love it as much as I do. masterlist

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text = reader’s thoughts

--“You’re not my type” --

The clock was moving so slowly, I couldn't help but think it was moving backward.

Come on, hurry up. I wanna go home.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be 4:30 pm for the rest of my life. I still had some files to hand out to the team; I usually do that part of my very glamorous job in the mornings, but since I had nothing but time now, I thought why not.

I had been a “sort of” member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for 5 months. Jennifer- wait, JJ, had the job as media liaison before me; she was the last person to officially hold the position. When she left the unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner, and the technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, had split the roll. That is until Chief Strauss had decided that she wanted the BAU to run more efficiently. Meaning that Hotch got less paperwork, Garcia got a break from talking about mutilated bodies, and I got shuffled around from the public relations office.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed working with the team, I really did, but I couldn't help but feel excluded sometimes. They're all practically a family. I didn't really have any sort of family anymore, just a best friend that has always felt more like a sister.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I made my way towards the bullpen, shoving the doors open to see the team sitting on various desks talking to each other. Loudly.

“Shut UP, man!” Derek Morgan’s voice was loud, but amusement was clear on his face. Actually, everyone seemed sort of amused. Rossi and Hotch were leaning on the railing near their respective offices, watching the events unfold with smiles on their faces.

Hotch smiles? Huh. Weird.

I quickly tried to make my way around them, hoping none of them would notice me.

“Okay, I know how we can settle this. Y/n!” Shit. No such luck. I turned to look at Emily Prentiss, with her long dark hair and angular face. Why is everybody here so fucking pretty?

I cleared my throat, trying to compose my face. “Yes?”

“Answer something for us.” Everyone seemed very eager for me to be a part of this now, which I didn’t think was a good sign.

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiled at me like she was sensing her victory. "If Morgan asked you on a date, what would you say?"

Oh, they couldn’t have picked a worse person to play this game.

I chuckled awkwardly, trying to appear calm. “Um…I’d probably say no.” Morgan took a dramatically loud breath before slapping his hand to his chest. “No offense,” I quickly added.

Morgan wasn’t giving up his dramatics that easily. “Damn, girl! You’re gonna cut me down just like that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “You’re just not my type.”

Garcia’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Excuse me? He’s not your type? Tall, dark, and extremely well-muscled isn’t your type?” She scoffed like I was insane; I mean, maybe I was. Jury’s out. “What about that is unappealing to you?”

I couldn’t think of a believable lie, so I went with the truth. “The tall and extremely well-muscled part.” I shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

Emily blinked. “O-okay. Fair enough,” she laughed, looking at me like she’d never seen me before.

I was preparing to turn and make a very quick escape, but JJ had other plans. "Woah, woah, woah," the blonde hopped off the desk, walking a bit closer to me. "If Morgan isn't your type…who is?"

Fuck me running. “Um…” I trailed off. “I don’t think I really have a type, to be honest.”

"Do you like men," Morgan chimed in. "No judgment, little mama."

Not for the first time, I wished I was a lesbian. “I am sadly mostly heterosexual.” I was convinced no one could be completely heterosexual, it just didn’t seem natural.

Emily chuckled at that. “Okay then,” her hand moved up to adjust her dark bangs, something she did when she was thinking. “What if Hotch asked you out?”

“Okay, okay, don’t drag me into this,” the Unit Chef boomed out, much to Rossi’s amusement.

“…Um.” Why couldn’t I just die? “Sorry, boss, but no.”

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. “Is Hotch also too tall and well-muscled.”

“Probably,” I answered without much thought. “I can’t comment on the state of his muscles. But he’s very…big. And he intimidates me.” I didn’t let my eyes stray to my boss; I simply couldn’t.

"Ah-ha. There it is!" Morgan slapped his hands together like he had solved some big puzzle. "You don't like men that intimidate you. So, if pretty boy over here asked you out, you'd say yes."

I didn't know a person's ears could blush until that moment when my eyes drifted over to Dr. Spencer Reid. The tips of his ears were bright pink and he was looking anywhere but at me.

I answered honestly again, I figured they’d know if I lied. Fucking profilers. “Yeah, I would say yes. But only if I didn’t know him.” Spencer’s eyes finally shifted over towards me. “You’re easily one of the most brilliant people in the world. You’d be bored to tears on a date with me,” I said, my gaze meeting his wide eyes.

The boy genius’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side, his lips moving like he muttered something under his breath.

Is it 5 yet?

JJ wasn’t totally prepared to let this go, because she asked, “Okay, so a yes to Spence, a no to Hotch and Morgan.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “What about Will? You’ve met my husband, right?”

I had indeed met her husband with his Princess and The Frog accent. I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I met him the other day when he brought your son by. And…I don’t know, maybe him. He doesn’t give off an air of intimidation.” Which was the nicest way I could say ‘your husband doesn’t scare the shit out of me.’

I glanced down at my watch, seeing it was finally 4:55 pm. “Sorry guys, I need to get these files out before I go home.” With an overly bright smile, I darted away as fast as my uncomfortable shoes would let me.

My final stop was Hotch’s office, and I was so relieved that he wasn’t in it for once. I placed the file on his desk, looking at the pictures of a little boy, his son, I assumed, on his desk.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

I'm not sure what I was more embarrassed by, the tiny yelp that escaped my lips or how I smacked my hand over my chest in such a dramatic fashion that I could have given Derek Morgan a run for his money. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hotch! You scared the shit out of me!"

His lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement, either at my reaction or my swearing at him. “Sorry, y/n. I didn’t know I needed to knock before I entered my office. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Oh, this guy has jokes now too.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his dry humor. “I’m sorry. I startle easily. I didn’t mean to swear at you.”

“Y/n, I’ve been with the bureau for almost 20 years. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”

I bet he has.

“Well,” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Alright then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

“Of course,” he stepped out of the doorway so I could exit. “Y/n?” He said it like it was an afterthought. “Do you really find me intimidating?”

My eyes were wide as I looked all the way up at him. Really, what was the point in being that tall? "Oh, absolutely, sir." Then I hurried out the door, not wanting to see his reaction or lack thereof.

After stopping by my office, I was waiting for the elevator when I felt someone behind me; turning I saw the pretty boy himself standing awkwardly off to my side. I offered him a small smile before shifting my attention back to the bank of elevators in front of me.

The middle one opened first, Spencer waved me in first before he entered and hit the button for the ground floor.

He was clearly working up his nerves to say something, you didn’t have to be a profiler to see that. “Hey, um, y/n?” I turned my head in his direction, waiting for him to continue. “What you said back there…that you’d go on a date with me if I asked, did you mean that?”

There was that blush again, he really was adorable. “Of course, I meant it, Spencer.” He didn’t look convinced. “I mean, why would I lie? I turned Morgan down right away. And Hotch, who is my boss.”

Spencer let out a small laugh at that, unable to argue against my point. “I guess that’s true.” The elevator doors opened, he waved me out first, again, before exiting himself. “Do you really think that I’d be bored on a date with you?”

"I mean, you have 3 Ph.D.'s and a super high IQ." I waved my free hand around, gesturing to myself like it would help me prove my point. "And look at me. I'm smart, but I'm not that smart. I couldn't put you through a date like that."

He didn’t seem to appreciate my self-deprecating humor. I headed for the doors without giving him a chance to respond. “Have a good night, Dr. Reid!” I offered a small wave before I all but sprinted out the doors towards the parking garage.

Why? Just why?

“We have to catch him before this turns into a spree,” Hotch’s voice was grave, his face the same stern mask it always was. “Wheels up in 30.”

Taking that as a dismissal, the team rose from the table, hurrying towards their respective desks to get their go-bags. That was the part of this job that took the longest to get used to. I never traveled much in public relations; now I'm on a plane several times a week. That in itself wouldn't be so bad…if I didn't still get terrible motion sickness. I don’t know why I hadn’t gotten used to it yet, but I had to keep some non-drowsy motion sickness pills in my go-bag at all times. I tried to take them before I boarded the jet; it was probably silly, but I didn’t really want the team to know. They were all superheroes in my eyes; superheroes don’t get motion sickness.

I was the last one to board the jet today. I was usually one of the first onboard, but I got held up on my way here speaking to someone from my old office. When I came through the plane's doors there rest of the team was spread out. Dr. Reid was laying on the couch, book propped open in his lap. Emily and JJ were on one side of the table with Morgan and Rossi on the other. The only seats available were towards the back of the plane; I could have sat by myself…or I could sit in the seat across from Hotch.

I always get anxiety about things other people find silly. I’m a grown woman, I should be more confident; I’m a fucking FBI agent for god’s sake. Yet here I was, nervously trying to decide where to sit. It would be weird to not sit near him, I reasoned. Offering Hotch a tight smile before I stored my go-bag, I sat down across the aisle from him.

I fastened my seatbelt over my lap, taking deep breaths through my nose. I had taken my medicine, but take off always got me a little bit, no matter what. I never took a window seat either, sometimes I’d look out and see how fast the world was passing by underneath us and…I shuddered just thinking about it.

"Hey," the voice beside me called, his voice was so quiet I don't think any of the others could hear it. I opened my eyes and turned to face him. His dark eyes looked oddly soft like he was concerned about me. "Are you alright?"

I offered him a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Hotch.”

"Did you take your medicine?" At my puzzled expression, he clarified. "For motion sickness."

What in the- “How did you know I get motion sickness?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I’m a profiler, y/n, and I’ve been one for a long time.”

A little chuckle left my lips at that, right as the plane started moving forward, gaining speed for takeoff. I closed my eyes, telling myself that it was the impending take off that was causing my stomach to flutter, not the fact that my boss, who I thought was always indifferent to me, noticed me more than I thought he did.

Cases with kids were the hardest, there was no question about it. For me, the second hardest cases were women who were assaulted. It filled my gut with such a heavy, boiling rage whenever I thought about it. These women were just living their lives, unaware of the danger that was hunting them. Some fucking monster decided that being a man in our society didn’t offer him enough power; he had to hurt women, try to take their power so that he could feel more powerful.

I had heard stories about Elle Greenaway, the agent that resigned under suspicion that she shot a rapist in cold blood. I never commented on it, but I can’t say as I blame her. That attitude is probably why I don’t comment on it, I thought dryly.

The unsub the team was hunting in Northern Texas was a serial rapist and murderer. He had claimed 3 victims in the past 2 weeks; the locals were concerned that his pattern and level of violence were escalating too rapidly. The BAU agreed.

They started piecing this monster together through the clues he left behind. A white male, mid 30's, has a high-power job, won't be able to have stable relationships with women. They were tracking his comfort zone, interviewing families, and canvassing for information.

My job was to warn the women of this small town that there was a monster lurking in the shadows.

The team was sitting around in a small room in the center of the police station that was crammed with evidence boards. Emily was leaned back in her chair, JJ's head resting on her shoulder. Dr. Reid was facing the map of the county like if he stared at it long enough and answer would just pop into his head. Morgan's head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Rossi and Hotch were talking in the corner, glancing around the room every so often.

Eventually, our leader cleared his throat. "Okay, lets head back to the hotel." At the groans of a few team members, he pressed on. "I know, I want to find this guy too. But we all need rest. We'll come back tomorrow with fresh eyes."

With that, we all headed to the black SUVs parked outside, ready to head to whatever hotel the bureau put us in for the night. The drive was quick, we all stood in the lobby while Hotch spoke to whoever was at the front desk. The conversation seemed to take longer than I needed to.

He walked back over, looking mildly uncomfortable. “There aren’t enough open rooms,” he said at last. “We’ll have to double up.” He held out his hand which contained 3 key cards.

…Wait a minute. “There are 7 of us.”

Hotch nodded. “Therein lies the problem. One room will have to have 3 people.”

I turned towards Emily and JJ, assuming I’d just room with them when Rossi interrupted. “No offense, guys. But…I’m old,” he laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I need my beauty sleep. I’m not sharing a room. I’ll go get my own.”

"They don't have any rooms, Dave."

Rossi looked at Hotch with a patronizing little smile that would have been extremely offensive coming from anyone else. “They don’t have any rooms for you," he clarified. "Not only am I old, but I'm also rich."

Sure enough, he walked over to the desk and spoke to the clerk for less than a minute before he was handed a keycard.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan said with a laugh.

Rossi turned to us then, his eyes filled with poorly hidden mirth. “Sogni d’oro!” And with that, he walked towards the elevators.

“Huh?” JJ asked, her voice scratchy.

“Sweet dreams,” Reid and Prentiss supplied at the same time.

“Right.” Morgan shook his head. “Come on pretty Ricky.”

It hit me right then. Oh hell.

Hotch seemed to realize it at the same time Prentiss did. “Y/n, you room with JJ, I’ll stay with Hotch.”

Somehow this was more embarrassing than the conversation in the bullpen. “No,” I said quickly. “No, you guys go. I’ll room with Hotch.” I put a smile on my face, hoping I was convincing.

“Y/l/n, you just said that I intimidated you.”

Again, why couldn’t the earth just swallow me up? My laugh was forced, but hopefully, they hadn't heard my real laugh enough to know the difference. "Intimidated to go on a date with, Hotch. This isn't like that." Right? “C’mon! I’m sleepy.”

With that display of false bravado, I grabbed a key and made my way towards the elevators. I felt his presence behind me as we walked down the hall towards our rooms. I tried to control my heartbeat, calm my breathing the closer we got to the room. This is ridiculous, y/n. I had shared a room with Morgan before, no problem. I was comfortable around the team, I really was. Not for the first time, I wish I had the sense to not open my big mouth.

I reached for the door right when Hotch cleared his throat; I busied myself with getting into the room, ignoring him. Was it cowardly? Yes. Did I care? Not at that moment.

Until I walked into the room…and saw that there was one bed. Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me. “What is this, a rom-com?” I apparently didn’t mumble that part as quietly as I thought I had given the soft laugh I heard come from the man behind me.

“Y/n,” he said, his hand coming to my shoulder. “I didn’t realize there would only be one bed. Come on, let’s go down to Prentiss and JJ’s room.”

I let out a groan. “Hoooootch,” I whined. “All of this is just making me more embarrassed. This wouldn’t even be an issue if I hadn’t been a dumbass and opened my big mouth. This isn’t a big deal but going to talk to them will make it a big deal.”

He didn't look convinced, but I was so tired. I reached out and grabbed his arm before I could think better of it. "Aaron," my voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was like he'd been struck by lightning. His eyes snapped up to mine, his lips parted slightly. It was then I realized I'd never called him by his first name before. "I trust you with my life. You'd intimidate me if I didn't know you. But I do know you, Aaron." My gaze never wavered from his.

“Okay.”

I laid in bed for 30 minutes pretending to be asleep. I listened to his breathing even out and I kept my back to him the entire time. I had tried to keep my bedtime routine brief, taking a quick shower and changing into my sleep shorts and a baggy shirt I’d had since college. My hair was pulled back so I wouldn’t get it wet in the shower.

The weirdest thing was seeing Hotch in normal clothes. In all the months I’d worked with him, I had never seen him not in a suit. He had a pair of flannel pajama pants on, a gray t-shirt stretched over his broad chest. He has really nice arms, I thought.

When I was sure he was asleep, I rolled over onto my back. My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, allowing me to just stare at the ceiling.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

I let out a squeak while my whole body jerked. "Goddamnit, Hotch!” That asshole had the nerve to chuckle. “Stop scaring me!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding even slightly sorry.

“I thought you were asleep.”

He rolled onto his back; I felt his eyes on my face. “I know,” was all he said.

I sighed, wondering how I had gotten myself into such a situation. “You really don’t intimidate me.” He made a noise which caused me to amend my statement. “Alright, alright. You do intimidate me. You’re just so…stern. And you’re so tall. What is the purpose of being that tall? It’s excessive. And I feel like your eyes can see through every single thing about me. I didn’t know you had muscles until today, but I always assumed you did. They’re very nice muscles-“ I cut myself off. Fuck.

That was the first time I ever heard Aaron Hotchner laugh. Not chuckle, not snicker quietly. He actually laughed. His laugh was a higher pitch than his speaking voice; it boomed out of him and transformed the whole mood in the room. That laugh warmed a part of my heart that I wasn’t comfortable thinking about. A huge grin broke out on my face. I made him laugh, and I was oddly proud of it.

“Thanks, y/n,” his voice was still filled with amusement. “I hadn’t known you were curious about the state of my muscles. You should have just said something.”

My head snapped to the side so my eyes could meet his. He was teasing me. SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU unit Chief, was teasing me. I lifted my hand to his arm, giving him a shove. His bicep feels like granite. “Shut up.”

That asshat just kept laughing at me.

“Anyway, you do intimidate me,” my voice was soft again. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

Aaron regarded me thoughtfully. “So, it’s not that you’re not attracted to intimidating men,” he surmised. “You’re afraid of men.”

“Not all men,” I countered. “I’m afraid of men like you. Not you, but ones like you. You overwhelm me.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “Y/n…did someone hurt you?”

It was a natural question, a normal thought process; I should have expected the question. I felt tears prick the corner of my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered, feeling safe in the darkness of the room, safe but still so alone. “But not in the way you think.” I filled my lungs with a deep breath, hoping I would find some courage. It wasn’t until I felt his hand brush over mine, his calloused fingers brushing over the back of my hand, that I finally found it. I flipped my palm up and laced my fingers through his. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve had the same best friend all my life,” I began. “She’s marvelous. We’ve always been together; her mom said we were like peanut butter and jelly. I love her like she’s a part of me, Aaron.” I knew he would understand; I just knew it. “We were in college when it happened. We went to this frat party because I had a crush on some guy.” My voice was filled with venom and bitterness. “He was overwhelming, so tall, and so handsome. There was a darkness in him, but I was too young to see it. She did; my best friend could see he was a monster. I didn’t listen.” My breath was shuddering through me. “I didn’t listen to her, Hotch.”

He didn't say anything. He just shifted in the bed and pulled me to him, nestling me into his side, wrapping his arms around me while I laid my head on his chest. "I was so mad at her. So mad." The shame from all those years ago was still so fresh. "She took my drink and threw it on the floor. I told her she was embarrassing me… So, I went outside to get some air."

His arm tightened around me, his free hand coming up to stroke my hair. “You don’t have to-“

“I do,” I said, refusing to let another sob escape. “I came back inside and couldn’t find either of them. I thought maybe she was going to hook up with some guy…but she isn’t like that. She’s never been like that.” My stomach rolled at the thought; sometimes when I closed my eyes I could still smell the beer in the air, I could still feel the wood of the banister under my fingers. “I found them in a room upstairs. He had her pinned on the bed, he was-he-he was trying to take her pants off.” I didn’t deserve the comfort Aaron offered me in that moment, but I clung to him, grateful for it. “I screamed, and I guess I scared him. She kneed him and was able to push him off. We ran all the way home.”

“You saved her, y/n,” Aaron’s voice was so sure, so reassuring, no matter how hard I shook my head ‘no’. “You did. You could have just left; you were mad at her, but you still went back for her.”

I wiped my eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

His lips pressed softly against my forehead, his hand stroking up and down my back. “That’s because it is.”

Things felt different in the harsh light of the police station than they had last night. Aaron was already in the shower when I woke up this morning. I fell asleep in his arms after I told him one of my darkest secrets. He didn't judge me; he didn't tell me I was a terrible person. He just held me; he offered me comfort and made me feel deserving of that comfort.

I dressed quickly and headed downstairs before he got out of the bathroom. My feelings were already swirling around in my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to be away from him, not at all. I just didn’t think it would help my feelings settle down to be confronted by a wet, hot, well-muscled Aaron Hotchner. It was an act of self-preservation if you think about it, I reasoned.

The next time I saw him was when the team was piling back into the SUVs to head to the police station. He offered me a small smile, and I think his eyes may have twinkled a little bit when I smiled back at him a little too brightly.

Profilers.

The team was as refreshed as they could be. Dr. Reid was looking at access and service roads on the map, trying to determine the route the unsub took to dispose of his victims. JJ and Morgan were out canvassing the women's neighborhoods. Rossi was with Prentiss in the sheriff's office speaking with the family of the most recent victim, Bethany Mooreland.

This was the hardest part of my job. I wasn’t a profiler. I felt like I had nothing to offer. I was fielding calls from the media, trying to organize a targeted strategy. The team thought that if the unsub saw that he was being mocked in the press, or his masculinity was called into question in any way, that he would act out more viciously. While acting out might cause him to make a mistake, we couldn’t risk another woman’s life.

The conference room doors burst open, Hotch storming inside with Morgan and JJ hot on his heels. “There’s been another attack.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Fuck.”

“Y/n, she’s alive.”

“…What?!”

The dark-haired man that held me in his arms last night only nodded. “She’s at the hospital. I want you to come with JJ and me to interview her.”

…Me?

Summer Webb was 25 years old; she was a customer service rep at a call center just outside of town. She lived alone, had a cat named Pringles, and was close with her family.

I held her hand while JJ and Hotch put her through a cognitive interview. I rubbed her back while she recounted how the unsub only left her because he thought she was dead. Tears ran down my cheeks when she described what he did to her.

Steel and ice ran through my veins when I looked her in the eyes and promised that we would get this monster.

I’d kill him myself if I had to.

Once her mother arrived at the hospital, we left, promising to call with any updates; uniformed officers were stationed outside her hospital door. Hotch spoke to Garcia, then to Rossi, then to Reid, then Garcia again on our ride back. JJ read over Summer’s statement, occasionally jotting down notes.

I was quiet.

Almost. Almost there. I walked into the station without really seeing it. I navigated my way down the hall on instinct. I pushed the door to the bathroom open, looked around to confirm I was alone…then I broke. I placed my hands on the countertop that housed 3 separate sinks, my tears ran down my cheeks and splashed on the fake granite.

I don’t know how long I had been there when I thought I heard a knock on the door. That didn’t make any sense, the door didn’t have a lock; there were multiple stalls in this bathroom.

But I had heard a knock. The door swung open and someone walked inside. I heard him whisper my name, the tone of his voice was so soft, so fucking sad, that it only made me cry harder. Aaron put his hands on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, then letting me collapse against him.

He murmured words I couldn’t understand against the top of my head, he wrapped his arms tight around me; I was sure I would have fallen completely apart if he wasn’t holding me together.

“You must think I’m so weak,” I muttered when my tears had finally slowed.

He stiffened, though his hands never stopped moving, stroking my hair and my back. "Just the opposite, y/n." I pulled back to meet his eyes; I saw nothing but honesty swirling in those dark brown pools. His eyes appeared so dark from far away, almost black. From this close, I could see the subtle shift between various shades of brown. They weren't cold like I had always suspected; Aaron Hotchner's eyes were warm and understanding. They were the eyes of a man who had seen far too much evil for one lifetime but refused to yield his fight for even a second.

I could fall in love with those eyes.

“You’re the furthest thing from weak I’ve ever seen,” he continued. “Your heart is so big that it aches for a woman you don’t even know. It’s alright to cry right now, it’s alright to let yourself fall down for a moment. But I know you, y/n,” he was repeating my words from last night back to me. “You’re going to pull yourself back together. And then you’re going to help us find that son of a bitch before he hurts anyone else.”

Maybe I could fall in love with more than just his eyes.

There are certain moments in my life that I will look back on and remember with perfect clarity. That night when I almost lost my best friend, the day I graduated from the academy, the first night I spent in Aaron Hotchner’s arms were just a few.

I would also remember when the call came in from Garcia; how Morgan and Reid ran into the room. How Hotch’s eyes shot to mine when we found out the monster’s name. I didn’t have to ask; he nodded at me, those warm brown eyes were hidden now, hardened by pure ice-cold rage.

I strapped on my vest and road in the back seat in the SUV Morgan drove.

Summer’s monster was named Jeremy Carpenter. Her monster was a white man with brown hair, brown eyes, with a scar on the back of his right hand.

None of us were sure how he knew we were coming, but he had already barricaded himself inside his house. We heard a scream when the first gunshot was fired. I wanted more than anything to bring Summer's monster in alive; I wanted to offer her the chance to face him if she wanted to.

Aaron didn’t ask if I wanted to go to the hospital once everything was over; he really did know me. He took me to see her, he kept his hand on my back while I told Summer and her mother what happened. What I will remember most of all is how her mother hugged me when I told her the monster was gone, that he would never harm anyone ever again. I hit him in his leg; he was in pain before our unit chief put a bullet between his eyes.

We had come to the hospital alone; the rest of the team went back to the station to finish up paperwork. I held his hand on the way back to the hotel; I held his hand while we walked to our room.

I offered him a small smile before I made my way into the bathroom, determined to wash the events of the day off of my skin.

He was gone when I came back out.

It goes without saying that I had doubted most men in my life, especially since that night all those years ago.

I never once doubted Aaron Hotchner.

I was sitting on the bed when he came back, staring at the TV without seeing.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I thought you’d still be in the shower.” He set two bags down on the only table in our room. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast. I thought-“

“Hotch,” he looked at me then, his eyes locking onto mine. “Thank you.” I didn’t need to specify for what. He knows.

He pulled our food out while I made my way to the table. I couldn’t hold in my chuckle. “You know I get motion sickness; you know my favorite foods…just how closely do you pay attention to me, Agent Hotchner?”

He didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “More closely than I should.”

We sat together and ate in comfortable silence. The next time he spoke was to answer a phone call from Jack. I tried to hide my smile while I listened to his conversation. Unlike the rest of his team, I hadn’t gotten to see Aaron Hotchner, the father. What is it about men being good father’s that is so attractive, I mused. Is it biological? I made a note to ask Dr. Reid.

After we ate, he went to shower while I stretched out on our bed, scrolling through my phone. When Hotch emerged from the bathroom he was in another pair of flannel pants paired with a black t-shirt. I pursed my lips in both amusement and disappointment.

“What?” His eyebrow was raised quizzically. Why are his eyebrows hot?

I giggled. "Nothing." At his incredulous look, I amended, "it's nothing interesting."

He sat down beside me on the right side of the bed, his back resting against the headboard. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Hooootch,” I whined, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of you enough for one lifetime.”

His hand came up to grab mine, pulling them down from my face. Any attempts I made to wiggle away from him were in vain. Apparently, those muscles aren’t all show and no go. My body had shifted down the bed during my halfhearted struggles, meaning Aaron was now propped up on his elbow, his body angled over mine. “Embarrassed? I don’t remember any embarrassing times,” he pretended to give this some thought. “Unless you’re referring to last night when you mentioned how much you think about my muscles?”

I tried to jerk my arms out of his hands, but he held fast, laughing openly while my face turned red. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you not talking about that?” He pushed my arms back onto the bed, rising to his knees, positioning his body over me, his face hovering over mine. “Then it must have been when you lied to the whole team a few days ago.”

I squeaked in outrage. “I didn’t lie about anything!”

He was so beautiful when that scowl left his face. “Yes, you did!” he insisted. “You said you wouldn’t say ‘yes’ if I asked you out. And, based on the evidence, I have to say I don’t believe that to be true.”

“Oh, I forgot I was dealing with a former prosecutor.” He nodded gravely, earning another giggle from me. “Okay, counselor. What’s the evidence?”

“The most glaring piece of evidence is you won’t tell me what you were thinking when you were looking at me when I came out of the shower.”

I let out a whine, accepting my fate. He’s literally on top of you, dumbass. Something tells me he’s gonna be receptive. “Okay, okay. I may have…hurried out of the room this morning while you were in the shower.”

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. “I know. Go on.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, delighted when he laughed. Hearing his laugh was one thing, but seeing it too? My insides were basically liquid. “I may have ran as an act of self-preservation. I was…worried that you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel. And you’d be wet, and hot, and I would…make an idiot out of myself, much like I am now.”

Aaron was delighted by how bright red my face turned; he made no attempt to hide his amusement. “So, just now, you were disappointed that I came out fully clothed?”

“Hotch,” I moaned out in embarrassment. He wasn’t making this easy on me.

My eyes were shut tight, my head turned away from him like this would somehow prevent him from seeing me. His left hand lifted from my wrist, his fingers coming to rest on my chin, turning my face towards him. "If you're going to moan my name while we're in bed, y/n, I'd prefer if you called me Aaron." My eyes snapped open. His eyes were still warm, teasing, but there was a certain heat in them I hadn’t seen before that made my lower belly flutter. He leaned closer to my face. “It would be hard for me to focus at work if you every time you said ‘Hotch’ I thought about you like this.”

I waited for a few moments for him to act before I realized Aaron couldn’t cross the line first. He wouldn’t be mean if I rejected him; that wasn’t the type of man he was. But the choice was mine; it had always been mine.

I lifted my free hand up to cup the side of his face, urging him closer to me. The first brush of my lips over his was so soft I wasn't sure it was even happening. It was so hesitant but so pure that it made me ache. Aaron pulled back to look at me; he was breathing hard like he had been running instead of just kissing me.

“Y/n…”

“Don’t profile me, Aaron.” I lifted my head, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “I want this. I want you.”

His posture shifted, he released my left arm to brace himself above me with his arms caging me in; he moved his legs, wedging one of his thighs in between mine. “I’m not profiling you. I can see how much you want this.” No need to sound so arrogant. “But I need to be sure…I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

My hands moved up to touch him, one hand feeling the soft hair at the nape of his neck that was still a little damp from the shower; my other hand gripped his bicep. “Then touch me, Aaron. Please.”

I wasn’t ready for the full force of Aaron Hotchner. He was the most intense man I had ever known, and that intensity didn’t stop in the bedroom. Aaron didn’t kiss me, he tried to consume me. His mouth moved over mine with a carnal hunger that made me throb, shifting against his firm thigh that was rested against me. I was desperate for any friction. I felt his hand move down from where it was cupping my face to rest on my collarbone, his thumb tracing over the base of my throat.

His lips moved off of mine to blaze a path down my jaw, his teeth nipping at the skin there before he moved back to my lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He pushed his thigh against the seam of my body, causing a whimper to escape from my throat. I didn’t even mind the smirk that covered his mouth. “We’ll get there. Just let me make you feel good.”

I opened my mouth to him; his tongue swirled around mine while the hand that wasn’t bracing him up moved to my hip. His fingers ran over the skin of my stomach that was exposed from my shirt riding up. I placed my hand over his, guiding it further up my stomach; how was I supposed to take my mouth away from his to tell him what I wanted?

Of course, Aaron knew what I needed; I was beginning to learn that he always did. His fingers trailed up my body until he got to the underside of my breast; the callouses that roughened his fingertips were heaven on my overly sensitive skin. My mouth broke away from his in a guttural cry when those fingers finally found my nipple. Aaron moved his kisses down to the side of my throat. I felt his breath against my throat when he murmured, “you’re so sexy, y/n.”

Raising up on his knees, he started tugging my shirt up; I lifted my upper body so I could slide my shirt off quickly. I heard Aaron groan when my chest was revealed to him, but I was on a mission of my own. Once I had his shirt pulled up over his abdomen, Aaron reached behind his back and pulled his shirt off at the neck.

My nails raked down the skin that covered his chest, reveling in the groan that left his mouth. He leaned over me again, his lips wasting no time before they covered my nipple. My hands tried to grip the short hair at the back of his head.

“Aaron,” I gasped out. “I need…more. Please.”

He started kissing his way to my other breast. “What do you need, sweetheart? Do you want to grind against my thigh? Do you need to use me to get off?” His tongue flicked over my nipple. “Or do you want me to use my hand? Is that what you need, Angel?” My heart stuttered at the sweet nickname just as much as it did at his filthy words. “Do you need me to put my fingers in your pussy?”

My thighs were shifting restlessly. “Yes, yes, please Aaron.”

When his mouth closed around my nipple, I felt his left-hand slide down into my shorts, then into my panties. He shifted his wrist, allowing his hand to cup me. He groaned against my skin. "I haven't even put a finger inside of you and I can already feel how wet you are. Your little cunt is just dripping for me.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond before he parted my lips, his finger ghosting over my clit, causing my back to arch off the bed. He smirked but didn’t tease me further; he slid his fingers down to my opening before pushing his middle and ring finger inside of me, using the heel of his hand to grind against my clit. I moved my hand to my mouth, having to bite on my skin to silence the scream that his actions brought forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He leaned back, never pausing the movement of his fingers. “Are you trying to be quiet? Do you not want everyone in this hotel to know how wet you are? How desperate you are to have my fingers inside of you?” All I could do was nod. “It’s all right, baby. Once we get home, I’ll hear you scream for me. But for now; be a good girl and try to be quiet. I’m the only one that gets to hear what you sound like when you cum for me.”

I was grinding against him, working my hips desperately, matching his rhythm. I was so close. “Aaron, NO!” was all I could say when he removed his fingers from inside me. The man just smiled at me, looking me straight in my eyes when he put his fingers in his mouth, licking me off of them.

He grabbed my shorts and panties at my hips, roughly jerking them off my body. “When we get home,” he said as he slowly started to push his own pajama pants down. “The first thing I’m going to do is lay on my back and make you put this pussy on my mouth. You taste so good, angel.” His cock sprang free; he was so much thicker than I expected. I was transfixed, just watching his fist pump up and down his hard length. “Will you do that for me? Will you ride my face?”

“Yes,” I was so desperate I would agree to anything in that moment. “I’ll do anything. Just please fuck me, Aaron.”

He used the fingers of his free hand to part my pussy lips again, rubbing over my clit. “I don’t have a condom, sweetheart, but-“

“I’m on the pill,” I reach out to grip his shoulders, pulling him on top of me. “I trust you. I trust you with everything. I need you inside me, Aaron.”

He shoved my thighs open, running the head of his cock up and down my pussy, coating himself in my arousal. He looked up at me again, giving me another moment to back out, before he slowly started to push inside of me. He stroked in and out of me, going a little bit deeper each time until he bottomed out. Aaron’s head fell to the dip of my shoulder. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking tight.” He started moving then. Slowly pulling out before he shoved himself back inside me. My hands were on his back, my nails digging into his skin. I wrapped my legs around his back, trying to draw him deeper inside me.

“You feel so good,” I whisper, biting his shoulder to keep my moans quiet.

Aaron raised up on straight arms, changing the tempo of his thrusts. “You’re not doing a very good job of being quiet, baby.” I whimpered; I couldn’t help it. “I think we might have to do something about that. He quickly pulled out of me; I didn’t have time to complain before he flipped me over, gripping my hips and lifting me up on to my knees. His hand palmed my ass cheek while he leaned over me, his breath hot on my ear. “This is how you need to be fucked.”

Raising up, he lined himself up and slammed inside of me. I bit my lip so hard that I could taste blood; Aaron tangled his hands in the back of my hair, pulling my head up while he set a brutal pace. "Quiet, baby. You don't want everyone to know what a dirty girl you are. Screaming for my cock, so wet that you're dripping down your thighs." His pace didn't slow down; I felt my orgasm rising up inside me. "Touch your clit for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you cum on my cock."

My fingers began circling my clit in a frenzy, causing my pussy to flutter around him. “That’s a good girl. Such a good girl for me. Can you be quiet when you cum? Or do I need to shove your face down in the mattress while I fuck you?” He gave a dark chuckle at my needy whine. “That’s what I thought.”

In the way that he knew everything, Aaron knew when my orgasm was peaking. He pushed my head down, never too hard, but hard enough. I bit the comforter in an attempt to silence my scream. I felt myself clamp down around his thick cock. My orgasm broke inside me so quickly. I screamed his name while I came; the comforter silenced some of it, but he heard it. That scream along with my pussy cumming on him was ultimately his undoing. He gave a few final thrusts before he went all the way, holding himself inside me as deep as he could, filling me with his cum.

I collapsed after that. I had never felt anything like this before. Aaron was there, knowing what I needed even when I didn’t. He held me for a moment until I caught my breath. Then he went into the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth to clean me up. He was so tender with my sensitive flesh; he didn’t say anything, he just focused on his task.

Once he was satisfied, he laid down beside me, drawing me into his side just as he’d done the night before. I couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left my exhausted body. Aaron made a ‘hmm’ noise. “I was just thinking about last night,” I said quietly, my voice raw from the screaming I had just done. “You held me like this last night. It was just 24 hours ago, but the whole world feels different.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat that I took as an agreement. After a beat, he said, "well, maybe you won't run out on me in the morning this time."

I looked into his eyes, raising up to press a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “I’ll never run again.”

And I meant it. I could face any monster, as long as Aaron Hotchner was beside me.

2K notes · View notes

bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

Carabosse et la Fee des Lilas

Prompt: 💋Drag

Pairing: Adam/Male Detective, Bonus Found Family Vibes~

Words: 5,346

Summary: Tina spends some quality time with Arlo and Unit Bravo as they prepare for Wayhaven's first real Pride festival, Tina torments her best friend and his maybe-boyfriend (as is her god-given right), and Arlo has a big think about his favorite role and what that role allowed him to explore~

CW for references to transmisogyny and implications of past trans/homophobia

Sometimes, Tina wonders if Arlo missed his true calling. His hands are surgeon-steady as he pencils delicate patterns onto Felix’s cheeks, outlining with white eyeliner in preparation to fill them in with bold colors and glitter. Tina almost can’t wait for her turn, even though Felix looks like he’s in real, physical pain with the effort of holding as still as possible. She’s no stranger to that struggle herself.

Neither is she a stranger to Arlo’s forceful, if toothless, threats, overcome as she is by fondness when he growls that he's going to draw a mustache on Felix’s face with permanent marker if he doesn’t stop bloody bouncing.

It’s pretty fun to watch from the outside. Sure, when you first sit down when he’s like this—all sharp and snappish and “stop moving or I’ll chuck you out the window”—it’s hard to keep still, but Arlo’s got this sort of quiet intensity to him when he’s focusing on something that’s oddly meditative. He’s just a soothing presence, really. Like a capybara or something. He’s friend-shaped.

Whatever weird magic it is, it’s definitely catching, because Felix looks less like he’s about to burst, like he did when Arlo was putting down the foundation, and more like he’s enjoying the attention. Tina’s not sure how long it’s going to last, seeing as Felix has given her a run for her money in the “manic energy” department, and he’s nowhere near as caffeinated as she is at any given time, but for the time being, he’s (mostly) still and quiet.

There’s music playing, quiet enough that the broody one (she knows his name, but it seems to bug him when she calls him "the broody one," which is funny, so—) only grumbled about it for a few minutes when Arlo turned it on, and even seems to enjoy sitting close enough to Arlo’s stupidly fancy stereo system to, she guesses, feel the rumble of the bass through the floor. Vampires are weird.

Anyway, it’s Arlo’s usual sad goth boy nonsense, but as quiet as it is, and with its intense instrumentals and rumbling vocals, it’s pleasant background noise more than anything.

Nate (the handsome and charming one, because of course all Arlo’s vampire friends are handsome, so she has to differentiate between them somehow) is rifling through Arlo’s bookshelf like it’s his job, and visibly struggling to pick something to read, because Arlo’s sitting room bookshelf (the one she found at a yard sale three hours away and lashed to the top of her sedan with every single bungee cord she could find at the local hardware store because it was coffin-shaped, for god's sake) is where he keeps all his weirdo occult stuff to, quote, “make people who pop by unannounced leave faster.”

And then there’s the big, handsome, stupidly fit blonde Arlo still won’t call his boyfriend, even though they’re so obvious it’s sickening, and she means that with all the love in her heart. He’s sitting in the armchair by the bookshelf, positioned so he can look like he’s reading one of Arlo’s old music magazines and totally isn’t taking advantage of the perfect line of sight of Arlo perched on the end of his coffee table so he’s not too tall to work on Felix, sitting in a chair from the kitchen. Tina sure hopes he doesn’t think he’s subtle, being a super special vampire secret agent and all.

He seems to notice her eyeing him, at least, and keeps his attention pinned firmly on the magazine, though he is definitely not reading a single word. Nate keeps browsing, the Broody One keeps brooding, Arlo keeps working, and Felix starts to hum. Arlo gives him a sharp look, but it doesn’t seem to be moving his face in any major way, so he just rolls his eyes and keeps tracing pretty patterns onto that unfairly smooth, dark skin. Do vampires do skin care? They probably don’t even need to, and that’s probably one of the reasons people like to villainize them. It always comes down to jealousy, doesn’t it?

She sighs, loudly enough that every eye in the room turns to her, and while she did not expect the sudden attention, she knows she can at least use it to entertain herself. She homes in on Adam, and smiles when she finally looks at the magazine he’s still valiantly pretending to read. There’s a familiar man on the cover, and while she can’t be bothered to remember his name, she grins. “Oh, hey! Arlo, he’s reading the one with the guy who looks like you!”

Arlo doesn’t even look up, but he huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes again. He’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps that up.

The comment does exactly what she wants it to, which is draw the attention of all the other vampires. Arlo even begrudgingly pulls the pencil away from Felix’s cheek so he can take a look, and he immediately bursts out laughing.

“Arlo!” he exclaims, slapping at Arlo’s knee. “You didn’t tell us you had a twin!”

Nate chuckles (warm and rich and handsome, if a sound can be called handsome) and turns from the shelf to study the magazine curiously himself. Even the Broody One peers over to see, a little smirk curling his permanently-scowling mouth.

“Considering he was born in the sixties, I definitely don’t,” Arlo drawls. “Tina’s been making that joke since we were kids. She’s just happy she’s got an audience who hasn’t heard it twelve times a week since she first saw my old Type O Negative poster.”

“Some jokes just get better with time,” Tina says archly. “Like a fine wine.”

“And some jokes age like milk,” Arlo fires back.

Adam tilts the magazine so he can look for himself, and his dour expression clouds over even more, brows furrowing and mouth twisting. He peers up at Arlo, studying him, then down again.

Got you. “Yeah, you’re right,” Tina says, nodding sagely at him. “Arlo’s much prettier.”

It has exactly the reaction she was hoping for. Arlo drops his eyeliner pencil and makes a strangled noise, glowering at her with his cute freckly cheeks going all red, and Adam, who is a good bit paler than Arlo, goes pink from the crewneck of his just-this-side-of-too-tight tee shirt to his hairline. Tina wants to punch the air as the other vampires snicker at them. Well, except for Nate. Nate’s not a snickerer. He chortles. It’s adorable.

“Speaking of pretty!” Felix crows once they’ve all had a laugh at their fearless leader’s expense. He points to his own face with both hands, dancing in his chair, and Arlo sighs and rolls his eyes again, bending to pick up the dropped pencil. Luckily, the tip isn’t broken, so he can get right back to work, once he’s given the young vampire a moment to get his wiggles out. He settles, sitting on his hands and pursing his lips when Arlo gives him a dry look. He hovers back in with the pencil, and then Felix blurts out, “How’d you get so good at this anyway? Well, I assume you’re good at it. I haven’t seen it yet.”

Arlo doesn’t say anything. He just looks at him, pencil poised, until Felix pinches his mouth shut with a quick little apology. Once Arlo’s satisfied his canvas is actually going to hold still and keep quiet, he gets back to it. “My school was pretty small, especially compared to the bigger-name performing arts schools out there,” he says after a moment of quiet focus, tracing the outline of a heart around one of Felix’s eyes. “Our department didn’t really have a huge budget, and workspace was at a premium too. We didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for performances before someone else had to use the theatre, so we all did our own makeup at once, for the most part. Sometimes we’d help each other out, because we all had our strengths and weaknesses.”

He pulls back the pencil, squinting critically at the heart like it’s not completely perfect. “Demi was the best at laying the groundwork, and at matching colors to our costumes and complexions. Viv was the best at coming up with concepts and making sure we looked like a matching set. Wendi could do insane prosthetics, and was the best at bullying our department head into giving us the money for them. I had the steadiest hands, so I always did the eyes and the details.”

“Was Wendi the one who did your Dracula look?” Tina gasps. “That one was so cool!”

“Dracula?” Felix blurts. Tina doesn’t miss how the others perk up with interest too.

Arlo glares at him, and he shrinks back with a sheepish little grin. “Yeah, we did Dracula, uh… second year, I think? That was when Tilly transferred in and started doing our choreography. She’s the one who got Professor Dacey to let us do less classical stuff and start branching out a bit.” He glances briefly at Tina, staunchly ignoring the way Felix pouts at him for dividing his attention. “And, yeah, Wendi did the prosthetics for that one.”

“She’s got to be magic,” Tina asserts. “She managed to make your sweet, mopey face look so scary.”

Felix and Mason both snicker at that, and Arlo’s mouth goes all lemon-sour pinchy, like it always does when she calls him a sad puppy man, or any variation thereof.

“Take a lap,” Arlo says to Felix. “Don’t touch your face.” He jerks his head at Tina when Felix bolts to his feet and starts zooming around the flat to get out some of his energy. “Your turn, if you’re done being a comedian.”

“I’m never done,” she says with a sunny smile, but she bounces over to take Felix’s place in the chair and closes her eyes serenely so he can start on her makeup.

“And, God, do I know it,” he grumbles under his breath, knowing full well she can hear him, and so can everyone else in the room, too.

“Do you have pictures?” Felix hollers. He’s dipped into Arlo’s studio, and he’s making no secret of rifling through the desk in there, drawers slamming and paper rustling.

Arlo tips his head back so when he sighs, loud and dramatically long-suffering, he’s not blowing his breath right in Tina’s face. She appreciates the gesture. “Bottom right drawer,” he calls back, resignation thick in his voice. Given how long he’s been putting up with Tina—and Felix might just be Tina’s second platonic soulmate (Arlo, of course, being the first)—he already knows that keeping quiet is just prolonging the inevitable. Tina opens her eyes briefly to see Felix come sailing out of the studio with a thick leather-bound album held triumphantly over his head.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that in years!” she coos happily.

Arlo bops her on the forehead pointedly with a sponge covered in foundation, and she closes her eyes obediently.

She hears Arlo’s antique sofa creak as Felix plops down onto it, rifling through the plastic pages. “Aw,” he whines, “no baby pictures?”

“I can’t imagine him ever being a baby,” Mason snorts, and he sounds closer than he was before. Tina knows better than to open her eyes while Arlo’s in the zone, though. He’ll bop her with something less soft than a sponge next time. “I figured he’s just always been a giant.”

Felix laughs, high and chiming. “No wonder Agent Priestley’s always so sour, then,” he says. Tina giggles, and it becomes an inelegant snort when Arlo bops her again on the nose.

“Ask Rebecca if you want to see my baby pictures,” Arlo mutters blandly, and Tina can feel the weight of his attention. “I doubt she has many after age two, and the ones before I’ve barely seen.”

Tina’s not a super-special supernatural secret agent, but she tries with all her might to will someone to change the subject before things get weird. Now’s as good a time as any to learn telepathy.

Felix, heart of her heart, interrupts what’s shaping up to be a real prize winner of an awkward silence with a loud gasp. “Woah!” he exclaims, and pages crinkle as he presumably holds up the book for Arlo to see. “Who’s this? Did you do her makeup too?”

Arlo’s hair rustles as he turns his head away from her, and then the hand on her cheek freezes. Tension radiates through every inch of his body, practically leaching into hers. She cautiously opens one eye, and sees Arlo sitting up impeccably straight, stiff as a board and staring at Felix like a deer in the headlights. He swallows so hard she can see his throat move. “Um,” he says, stilted and strange. “Yeah. I did.”

Tina opens both eyes and squints at the photo album. Oh.

Felix looks at the sudden strain in the way Arlo is sitting, the tightness of his posture, and looks quizzically down at the picture again.

Tina remembers that performance. She remembers Arlo dancing (ha) around the subject when she asked him teasingly if he was going to be playing the prince, who was the lead, was he excited to kiss a pretty girl?

She can’t remember the character’s name, not so many years after the fact, especially since they were all weird classical nonsense, either Latin or French or some mishmash of the two. But she remembers the costume. She remembers waiting with bated breath to see Arlo onstage, to stand and scream and cheer obnoxiously loud in support of her best friend. She shot to her feet the second she saw his obvious silhouette rise from a feather-bedecked black chariot, head and shoulders taller than anyone else onstage. The music swelled, lightning flashed, and then when the spotlight hit him, she was so stunned she plopped right back into her seat with her jaw on the floor.

Arlo’s always been one of those guys that straddled the line between pretty and handsome. Long, lustrous hair and eyelashes she would kill for, cheekbones that could kill, a defined jaw, a proud nose, and intense eyes she could only call sultry—if she hadn’t known him since they were both weird, gawky brats, she’d probably be half in love with him before figuring out she wasn’t his cup of tea. But seeing him onstage was always an adventure. He threw himself into whatever character he played, put his everything into them, from the costume to the makeup to the performance. He just became the character, and in a way that was so very Arlo, all that intensity and focus channeled into an act that completely stole the show, in Tina’s humble and completely unbiased opinion.

Carabosse! That was her name!

Carabosse was no different.

Arlo’s makeup was flawless, ghost-white foundation giving him intense Morticia Addams vibes, contouring that made his cheekbones look absolutely unreal, bold black (or maybe really dark purple?) lipstick and shiny, smoky eyeshadow that made him look ethereal and wicked, with a daggerpoint cat-eye that she spent an hour begging him to teach her after the show. When he turned his head in a sharp, birdlike motion to look down his nose at the dancers playing the King and Queen, she gasped at the way his hair rippled down his back, shiny-black and woven with actual feathers that trailed back from the ornate metal circlet resting on his brow like a bird’s crest. The costume was breathtaking, too, a tightly corseted bodice and a high collar, a dramatically billowing skirt and trailing, feathered sleeves that flared like wings whenever he moved.

And the way he moved! Arlo’s dancing changed with every role, whatever he felt would suit the character. One of her favorites was always his Hans-Peter (she had a soft spot for that one, and had ever since she was little—one of the first Christmas gifts her stepmom had ever given her was little storybook version of The Nutcracker that came with a CD) because his dancing was so stiff and stridently mechanical, he looked like a real toy soldier come to life. But his villains moved with a slinking, predatory prowl she’d only ever seen in monster movies, and never in something like a ballet. His Carabosse was as beautiful as she was terrifying, and it was incredible to watch. She wanted to fling herself at him after the show and babble at him endlessly like she always did, but she spent a solid minute staring at him slack-jawed, until he shifted awkwardly and looked down, and the confident intimidation of the Wicked Fairy sloughed away to reveal Arlo underneath.

He almost melted into the floor with relief when she finally startled to babble.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, and he takes a slow, deep breath, offering Felix a strained smile. “Take a closer look, mate,” he says quietly.

Felix does. He looks up and squints at Arlo, and then back down at the photo. Tina has to bite her lip so she doesn’t laugh when he looks over at Adam, still holding the magazine with that metal singer that kind of looks like Arlo on it, and then back at Arlo. His mouth drops open into a little o, and he shoots to his feet and shouts, “No way!”

Mason was allowed his name back briefly, but he goes right back to Broody One when he grimaces at Felix and slinks pettishly back to his corner.

Arlo’s shoulders are practically around his ears, but he tries to keep smiling. “Yeah. Sleeping Beauty. Fourth year. I was the Wicked Fairy.”

“He was amazing,” Tina declares, shoulders back and chin tipped up challengingly. “The costume was insane, but the way he played her was absolutely, ridiculously badass.”

“You look awesome!” Felix blurts, still gawking down at the photo. He flips to the next page, and squeaks happily when he finds more pictures, from different angles, showing off the costume, the way Arlo loomed over the other dancers, the way he commanded the stage. Tina should really find out who took the pictures and send them her thanks, because they really put in the work. “Your makeup, your dress, your hair! How’d you even do that?”

Arlo laughs, and it sounds so utterly relieved, Tina’s heart breaks a little. Arlo’s always been sensitive, and for someone who dresses and holds himself the way he does, he worries more than he lets on what people think of him. Especially people he cares about. She squeezes his shoulder again, and he bites his lip when he glances back at her and smiles hesitantly.

“A lot of wire, and enough hairspray to choke a bloody cow,” he says, twisting around and slinging his long legs over the coffee table so he can face the sofa. “I think we bought every bag of black feathers the craft store had, and then spent an entire weekend painting them with this stupidly expensive embossing powder. We had to get, like, ten pots of the stuff, because the craft store only had pots the size of a quarter.”

“I admire your dedication,” Nate says pleasantly, strolling over to peer over Arlo’s shoulder. They tighten just a bit before relaxing slowly. “That costuming is superb. I’ve seen professional productions that weren’t half so detailed.”

“That would be Viv’s work,” Arlo laughs, looking down at the pictures fondly. “She took whatever cheap garbage the department had for us, raided the nearest clearance fabric rack, and worked her magic. The employees at that little craft store loved and hated us in equal measure.”

Arlo is still tense, but he’s loosening up little by little, and with him Tina does too. The easy camaraderie is soothing, and she knows how much Arlo cares about his vampire friends, so it’s got to be a huge weight off his shoulders to be able to let his guard down around them. He deserves that. He deserves to be able to be himself.

Adam standing up draws Arlo’s attention like nothing else could, and he freezes like a startled rabbit again looking up at the burly blonde vampire as he approaches the sofa. He looks a split second from bolting. Tina sits up straighter and gives Adam her most daring look, squaring her shoulders to make it perfectly clear she's ready to fight the second he opens his mouth. She’ll definitely lose, sure, but she’ll make as much trouble as she can before she goes down.

He reaches out, his hand hesitating before it touches the album’s glossy page, and he looks up at Arlo with a questioning tilt to his brows. Arlo looks like he’s barely breathing, but he nods, and Adam slips one of the pictures from its sleeve. He straightens his spine, shoulders back, holding the photo and studying it carefully. His face is impossible to read, about as expressive as a bloody brick wall. Tina’s vibrating with nervous energy. She’ll fight a vampire, though. She will.

When Adam does finally speak, his voice comes out so softly Tina almost doesn’t hear it over the adrenaline rushing through her. “You look… striking.”

Striking. Oh my god.

She wants to laugh. They’re ridiculous.

“Thanks,” Arlo chokes out, his cheeks and ears going red this time.

Oh my god. Tina covers her mouth with both hands. Arlo glowers at her. It’s a lot less threatening when he’s blushing like that. “I didn’t say anything,” she mumbles against her palms.

“Your face,” he hisses, and she yelps.

“Oh! Shit!” She pulls her hands away, and he grabs her by the chin to check the damage with a click of his tongue.

Tina thought things would get better once Arlo actually kissed the man (and maybe got a leg over, but that’s only her business when she can finally get Arlo to actually talk about if the big, beefy Adonis is as missionary-with-the-lights-off as he looks) but at least they’re not just staring longingly at each other from across the room and then getting all sad about it anymore . Thankfully, Felix seems to be an old hand at clearing up the weird tension between the two of them, chiming in a delighted, “I’ve never seen you look so scary!” as he rifles through all the pictures from the Sleeping Beauty show. “I mean, you’re pretty scary when you go all furry, but also, you sort of just look like a big lanky puppy, because it’s just you, you know? This is someone else! Who is she! She's so cool!”

Arlo sighs and turns around to fix whatever Tina’s ruined with her foundation, and throws himself back into dolling her up. Thankfully, the actual festival’s not for a while yet. She complained about the unnecessarily early start when Arlo suggested the time, but now she’s glad he’s such a persnickety prick about scheduling. “I had a lot of fun with it,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders. “The original script notes said to get, y’know, sort of silly with it, but I wasn’t a big fan of that angle for a character like her. Yeah, I wanted to be campy, but not in the way…” He purses his lips. “Okay, well, Nate probably knows this, but a lot of classical ballets that have a female villains do this thing with them that I hate.” He frowns deeply, patting at Tina’s chin with gentle ferocity. “ An evil female character is supposed to be sort of… sort of a cautionary tale, I guess? Like your typical bitter spinster crone, the old hag, or the wicked stepsisters, things like that. So they’ll specifically cast a male dancer and put them in bright, gaudy facepaint and garish costumes that are supposed to be cartoonish and ugly, that you're supposed to find funny, to show you that this character is bad because she’s indelicate and mannish, and that’s why she’s evil.”

His mouth twists around the words, and he looks up, back at the vampires, leaving Tina a moment to really appreciate that Arlo’s comfortable enough with them to do what he’s only ever really done with her—which is ramble about something he’s passionate about. It’s always fun to watch. He turns back to her, and she just wishes his hands weren’t occupied, because he’s a big hand-talker otherwise. “I got the role because the professor thought it would be funny to stick me in a role like that, being so tall and, y’know,” he gestures vaguely to his faded old band tee and dark jeans, the thick leather cuff around his wrist. Tina doesn’t see what he really means, seeing as he looks cozy and content right now, but she gets what he’s going for. “He was expecting me to be awkward about it. The big, tough guy doing drag as the creepy crone caricature.” He huffs. “I talked with Demi about it, and we decided to say fuck that.” He sits up straighter, tilts up his chin, and looks down his nose at Tina.

She peers up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly wonders if this is how Demi felt, playing Aurora when Carabosse looked down her nose at her like an insect under her heel.

“I thought Carabosse deserved better,” Arlo says fiercely. “If I was going to be a villain, I was going to be a damned good villain. I was going to tower over all the delicate, dainty little princesses and fairies, and I was going to be fierce. Professor Dacey wanted Aurora, and Candide, and Florine to be the epitome of sweet, delicate femininity, the ideal damsel in any classical show. Carabosse is supposed to be the complete opposite. You’re supposed to root against her, not want to be her. She’s a threat to the idea of womanhood, of the ideal feminine. She’s bold and selfish and she takes what she wants. I leaned into that. I even danced en pointe for parts of it, even though Carabosse isn't supposed to, and between the rehearsals and the actual performance, I thought my feet were gonna fall off, but it was worth it.”

Arlo smiles, and Tina is thrilled by the wickedness of it. She thinks she even sees just a hint of fang. Arlo’s been so careful about showing his teeth, ever since he told her what happened to him, why he disappeared for so long, so it's somehow special for him to feel like he can show her even a hint of what he’s become.

“Professor Dacey was pissed, afterwards, of course,” Arlo laughs, but there’s an edge to it. He seems to shrink. From Arlo to Carabosse to Arlo again. He looks down at his hands as they work on Tina more than at her face. “He didn’t, y’know, say anything he could have gotten fired over, but he did rail about being left out of planning and the budget and all that rot. Got even madder when Demi pointed out we’d spent our own money on the costumes. I think if he was tall enough to look down on me, he would have.” He snorts, a bitter curl to his mouth. Tina thinks of it painted bold, dark purple, thinks of how it would look with those teeth behind it. She wonders if he’d let her do his makeup for the festival. She’s not nearly as good at details as he is, but she’s no slouch either.

“You should have let me put raw fish in his hubcaps,” Tina mutters, just to make Arlo laugh. It works, and she beams at him.

“Would have been a waste of fish,” he mumbles, sucking his teeth. He finally picks up a bright eyeshadow palette and starts waffling over colors. He’s quiet while he deliberates, but after a while, he sighs. “I liked being Carabosse,” he says, like it’s a secret. Like he’s trying very hard not to be ashamed.

“I wish I could have seen it,” Adam says, almost dreamily. Tina could scream. “I— We could have, I mean. All of us. In solidarity.”

“Smooth,” Felix whispers.

“I’m sure it was a phenomenal performance,” Nate adds helpfully. He’s taken the album from Felix to flip through to some of Arlo’s other shows. “The passion you have for your characters shines through in just photos. It’s quite impressive.”

“You should have gone pro,” Tina mutters. “You’d be a household name by now.”

Arlo snorts and bops her with the brush. How many bops is that now? She’s certainly on a roll today. “And who’d keep you in line back here?” he teases.

Tina squints up at him and sticks out her tongue. “Like you’ve ever even tried to keep me in line, you big softie. You love the chaos, just admit it.”

“I’ll admit you to the hospital when you do something stupid and get yourself hurt again, how about that?”

They bicker like children back and forth while Arlo finishes her makeup, a wash of pink, purple, and blue eyeshadow and matching lipstick, overlaid with a lustrous sparkle to her cheekbones and a cute little black heart-shaped beauty mark under one eye. Felix gets a bi flag heart to match her eyeshadow around one eye, and then the rest is a sort of confetti splash of sparkly stars and hearts in every color. Even Nate goes for the bi eyeshadow (Bi-shadow? She should have been saying that this whole time!), making him, Tina, and Felix a matching set, and Mason consents to a very simple pan flag on his cheek. Tina suspects Adam only allows the eyeshadow treatment so he can have Arlo cup his face all tenderly, but she keeps the thought (mostly) to herself. He looks good in pastels, she thinks when she sees the finished blue, pink, and white.

Arlo draws a little heart under his eye too. The heart in Tina's chest almost explodes with warmth.

And then Arlo disappears into the bathroom, leaving the rest of them to entertain themselves while he gets ready on his own. They go through the album some more, and Tina tells them all about her favorite shows, because she went to every single one she could manage, and got Arlo’s school friends to send her videos of the ones she couldn’t. Tina Poname is Arlo Priestley’s number one fan, and that will never change. Not even now that she's got some competition.

When Arlo comes out of the bathroom, they all look up in sync, and he stands there, shifting anxiously from foot to foot under the attention, and lifts his hands in a stilted shrug. “So?” he asks, smiling nervously. He’s changed clothes, too. Tight pants, big boots, a mesh-sleeved black shirt underneath his patch-and-pin-covered denim vest. His wrists jingle with chunky bracelets, and his hair is braided neatly over one shoulder. But his makeup is what really steals the show. That insanely sharp cat-eye, of course, but one eye is done up in blue, pink, and white, and the other in yellow, white, purple, and black. He smiles timidly. “I, uh, I couldn’t really decide on just one,” he says, sticking his gloved hands into the pockets of his vest. “I’m, um, I’m not sure which one’s really right for me yet, I guess?” He shrugs again, and Tina watches delightedly as Adam stands up slowly, his eyes on Arlo with such an awed intensity she wonders if he even remembers there’s other people in the room. Arlo keeps babbling as he approaches, the words tumbling nervously from his black-painted lips. “I sort of like matching with you, Adam, and I know they’re both fine, but I—”

Adam grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, yanks him down to his level, and silences him with a kiss. Tina throws her arms up in the air with an impulsive shriek of “WOO!” that Felix echoes even louder. They high-five over Mason’s head, and he looks like he wants to throw them both out the window. Nate sits by with a pleasant little smile, which only fades when he takes note of the clock.

Adam and Arlo are still kissing, Arlo’s hands cupped around the vampire’s cheeks and Adam clinging to his vest like he'll drown if he lets go. Tina thinks she might see a hint of tongue when Nate loudly clears his throat.

They break apart with an indecent smacking noise, and Tina yelps out a sharp laugh when she sees Arlo’s black lipstick smeared all around Adam’s mouth.

Nate crosses his arms and smiles dryly at them. “Why don’t you two go fix your faces,” he suggests. “The rest of us will make sure the car is packed for the festival.”

“Um, yes. You— We—” Arlo fumbles for a bit, touching his smeared lips, his eyes just a bit dazed. He and Adam look at each other, and then flee for the bathroom together.

Tina’s never been more excited for a festival in her life.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavensummer #pride in wayhaven #tina poname #adam du mortain #a du mortain #felix hauville #f hauville #specialist agent mason #specialist agent m #nate sewell #n sewell #oc: arlo priestley #pidge writes #HELLO I AM FINISHING THIS AT 3:30 AM #I HAVE MY FIRST DAY OF MY NEW JOB TOMORROW #WISH ME LUCK #this turned out WAY longer than i meant it to but god was it fun #i hope you guys like it as much as i liked writing it #arlo playin w gender expression via ballet is my everything #the costume designs for carabosse can be SO GOOD #but some of them are SO BAD #ballet is like that #its very uuuuh traditional wrt its aesthetics and gender roles #and arlo and his friends were all like 'but what if not'#anyway title is v last minute bc *shrug*#tina gets to be the lilac fairy #i did so much reserach into this ballet y'all #the only thing i didnt do was watch the whole thing #tho i DID find it on yt so i could later....

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yoonsshadow · 4 years

Text

Strawberry Kisses ⎯ kth

➺ summary ; He’s the love of your life, especially when he tastes like strawberries.

➺ pairing ; kim taehyung x fem!reader

➺ genres ; romance, slice of life, non idol!au

➺ themes ; fluff

➺ warnings ; seriously this is just tooth-rotting fluff

➺ word count ; 1.2k

➺ note ; this is written for and dedicated to the lovely, the beautiful, the precious Bela, aka @alilbihh. She has brought so much happiness and comfort into my life just from her writing alone, and she’s also so sweet and kind and ugh. Read every single one of her works, you won’t regret it, I promise.

Dawn slowly melts away; drizzles into a hazy morning of cool air and warm skies. The sun isn’t yet fully risen, its light only barely kissing the overhanging clouds and casting soft shadows, yet it’s enough for your sleepy eyes to be able to trace the silhouettes of the trees from where you stand at your kitchen window.

Skin still warm from the sheets you’ve just left⎯⎯the body you’ve just untangled yourself from⎯⎯you feel the nip of cool air on your bare limbs, draped only in a thin button-down. It belongs to him, soaked in his scent, and falls off your shoulder as you lean closer to the glass to watch as a bird flutters by. It begins to sing, somewhere in the distance, a melody meant only for your ears.

You aren’t startled when arms wrap around your waist, a warm breath ghosting over your bare shoulder as lips hum into your skin. A rough and slow sound, his voice melts into you until you’re shivering within his embrace, and he only holds you tighter.

“You’re up early.” He kisses just behind your ear, sways you softly to a silent tune. “Missed you.”

“Didn’t want to wake you,” you mumble, fingers tracing patterns into his arms and eyes tracing the patterns of the clouds.

“What’s on your mind?” He still sounds half-asleep, but you know that his question is genuine. He’s told you that one of his favourite places to be is in your mind, no matter how often you assure him that he’s never left it.

“I had a dream about you.” You can recall the bright snippets with ease, feel the way they warm you from the inside out. “Well. More of a memory. I dreamt of the day we met. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget?” The words vibrate through your neck where he’s buried his face, featherlight kisses punctuating every syllable. “That was the best day of my life.”

You want to scoff at the sappiness, but he has showered you with so many similar compliments, sweet and sugary without effort, that you believe him. He has complimented your glow so often that you’ve begun to believe yourself a star.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he says, soft and deep and enticing. You can only hum in response, because the thought of being in your warm bed with your warm boy and a warm heart is enough to have your eyelids drooping again.

Early morning sunlight seeps through your knitted sweater, kissing a warm glow upon your cheeks as you slowly make your way through the bustling markets. You are only new to this town, boxes still unpacked in your tiny apartment, dust collecting on the to-do list that you have yet to touch, but even you know that these weekly markets are filled with life. With love.

Basket hanging loosely in the crook of your elbow, you are unhurried in your wandering, simply taking in the different stalls of foods and treats, the different characters who weave in and out amongst them. This is the third time you have been here, and you are still finding things that you have not noticed before.

And some things that are magnetic in their familiarity.

Never with a list upon arrival, you always leave these markets with a vast array of produce and ingredients to try throughout the week. Mostly, you try to acquire something new each trip, but there is one stall that you always visit without fail, if not for the product, then for the smiling face behind it.

‘Grandma Kim’s Strawberries’ is a hand-painted sign that you gravitate towards without thinking, and by the time you are there, your own smile is stretched across your face.

“Good morning, halmeoni.”

“Oh, Y/N-ssi! So lovely to see you again, beautiful!” Grandma Kim’s smile is so wide and genuine that you find yourself giggling, overcome with happiness simply from seeing her face. “How are you? Are you settling in well?”

“Yes, thank you! I am doing well, but I still have so much to see in this town, but I don’t know where to begin.”

Something sly shadows over Grandma Kim’s smile, and soon she is clapping excitedly. “Oh, well you should have somebody guide you around! In fact, my grandson is very familiar with the town, and I’m sure that he would be able to help you.”

“Oh, thank you, but that isn’t ne-”

“Taehyung-ah! Come here, I want to introduce you to somebody!”

You hadn’t even noticed the person behind Grandma Kim when you had approached, lifting crates of berries and sorting through the boxes. But now, as he turns to face you with a polite smile, you wonder how you could ever ignore such a person.

Goodness gracious, he is handsome.

Grandma Kim waves him forward, smile never leaving. “Y/N, this is Taehyung, my grandson. He doesn’t usually accompany me to the markets, but I needed some extra muscle today. Taehyung-ah, this is Y/N. She just moved here a few weeks ago and is very lovely. She needs somebody to guide her around town.”

Your cheeks grow hot, unable to meet the eyes of the insanely attractive man before you. “Ah, no, halmeoni, it’s okay, I don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure I can find my way around.”

“I don’t mind,” Taehyung says, and you grow briefly light-headed at the depth in his voice. “I’ve lived here my whole life, so I would be honoured to show you around.”

You finally look up, into those dark, brown eyes, and find yourself smiling despite yourself. “Oh, well, okay then. Thank you very much, Taehyung-ssi.”

His smile is broad and boxy, and gosh you love it already.

All the while, Grandma Kim is looking between the two of you, eye filled with stars and a little bit of hope.

You wake up later in the morning, still entangled in the sheets. There is warmth beside you, beneath you, all around you, and you smile into a bare chest when you hear a hum from above.

“Good morning, my love.”

You don’t want to open your eyes⎯⎯don’t want to part with your nostalgic dreams just yet⎯⎯but there’s a hand tracing lines over your back, lips leaving soft kisses against your hairline. So you open your eyes, kiss the chest you’re leaning on, and look up at the man who has consumed your heart whole.

“Morning, baby.” Taehyung smiles sleepily at your reply.

“I brought breakfast.” Without letting you out of his arms, he reaches to the nightstand and reveals a box of fresh strawberries, shiny and red and oh so appealing. “My favourite fruit for my favourite girl.”

“Mm, my favourite too.”

“The fruit, or the boy?”

“Both.”

You eat strawberries this morning, your legs tangled with his as you press the berries to each other’s lips. If you were to squeeze just a little, just a bit, the juices would drool onto your fingers, into your palm. He’d kiss each fingertip before tracing the liquid lines with his tongue.

And as you bring the stems away from between his teeth, he looks at you with those eyes. The ones that say ‘I love you even when you’re sticky with strawberry juice’. So you press another to his smile, squeeze it just a little, just a bit, and kiss the juice from his lips yourself.

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts reader insert #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung oneshot #bts oneshot #kim taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fic #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts #bts v #strawberry kisses #bro this is short af #but it's sweet as hell

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas In July: Closure

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~3950

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Wakes & Funerals, Angst, fluff, smut, blow jobs, hand jobs, moving in together

A/N: BUT LIKE THIS IS JUST P0RN WITH *~*FEELINGS*~*

Conclusion, Starting from "Sleep"

Read After “Hope”

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

Kakashi sits on the edge of the bed and watches Iruka dress. Black on black on black formalwear; he’s dressed similarly. Iruka is fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, watching himself in the mirror that hangs on the closet door. His hair is still loose, slightly damp at the ends from his shower and curling at his shoulders. It’ll straighten as it dries, Kakashi knows.

“Love.”

Iruka drops his hands. He’s been fumbling the same button for a few seconds.

Kakashi stands and crosses the room. He reaches around Iruka, drawing his back to his chest, and finishes the line of the shirt. With gentle coaxing, he turns Iruka around and then pulls him back into a tight hug.

“We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

Iruka rests his forehead on Kakashi’s shoulder, his hands light on his waist. “No one else will,” he says quietly.

“That doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just let his spirit float aimlessly?”

Kakashi doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how. He just holds Iruka tighter.

“I need this,” Iruka murmurs. “I need to do this.”

“Alright,” Kakashi kisses his hairline. “Alright.”

He stays at the edge of the cemetery, watching Iruka and the priest speak. He’s too far away to hear. He doesn’t care.

The fuck died a traitor to the village, a rapist and an abuser to the end.

All around this cemetery are the ancestors of civilian families who have lived in Konoha and the Land of Fire for decades, centuries. This… he doesn’t deserve to share the same space as them.

But.

Iruka fought for it. He petitioned Tsunade, and spoke to the priests, and arranged for as many of the funeral rites as he could reasonably be allowed. Mizuki’s name won’t go on the Stone, nor was he allowed to be enshrined in the cemetery with other fallen shinobi. And Iruka was… he accepted the terms.

So this morning they picked up Mizuki’s ashes and bones.

And now they’re here, with incense and candles and one lone white chrysanthemum in Iruka’s fingers. When they’d gotten here, the priest had asked if they wanted to wait for anyone else, but Iruka had sadly murmured to just get it over with. No one else was coming. Iruka had sent out notices to their classmates, old coworkers, the woman that Mizuki had after Iruka; no one had responded.

Kakashi had held Iruka through the disappointment last night. Iruka had hoped that the woman, Tsubaki, would at least show. But yesterday was just like today; nothing and no one else.

So he watches. The incense is lit and prayers are said, the bones and ashes are laid before the gravestone, covered with the wooden marker and one of the few photographs Iruka still has of Mizuki, one taken back when they both had finally completed their first year of teaching.

“This one,” he had said, picking it out of the album. He had put his fingertip lovingly over Mizuki’s face and held back tears, continuing, “We. We were happy, then… I think. Maybe it wasn’t real, but it felt—right.”

Finally the priest finishes the prayers and rites, and the ashes and bones are buried, the marker placed. The priest seems to offer Iruka their condolences one last time, and then leaves. Kakashi holds up a hand to stop them as they approach, and takes out a heavy envelope from his inner jacket pocket. With a slight bow he offers the envelope to the priest, and they accept it silently.

Iruka had told him he could cover the expenses for the service.

Kakashi needs to do this for him, though. It’s all he can do now, really.

Because he’s trying. He’s trying to be objective at least. But this dick abused his lover for years, conditioned him into acting certain ways under stress; and now Iruka takes a small cocktail of medication everyday to keep himself stable. And he can’t forget that, let alone forgive. He won’t.

He’s glad Mizuki’s dead. And also, he’s of the opinion that Mizuki doesn’t deserve the same rites that the dead typically receive. He doesn’t deserve to be treated with the same dignity that everyone else is—Minato-sensei, Obito, Rin.

(Not his father. He. He never did this for Sakumo. He was too young, in too much pain, and the village was all too pleased to see Sakumo gone. He regrets that now, but he can’t… well. The bones and ashes are still in the family shrine. Maybe…)

So instead he pays for the service, and for the cremation, and for the burial, and includes a significant donation to inspire the priests to come by and pray over Mizuki’s grave for the next year or so. Because that’s what Iruka would want. He would want someone to help this poor fuck, even if it couldn’t be himself.

Kakashi wonders if Mizuki knew how lucky he was, to have the devotion of the one person in the entire village—likely the entire world—who knows only how to see the good in people. He wonders if Mizuki knows now how lucky he is, that even though Iruka killed him, even though Mizuki raped him and beat him and brutalized him… Iruka is here, when no one else would step up, praying over his ashes for his soul to find peace.

Because—and it hurts to admit it—Iruka loved him.

Iruka smiles and the sun comes out; Iruka leans on Kakashi and the south winds warm him from the inside out; Iruka kisses him and it’s a revelation. And it’s his capacity to love, and especially to love broken people, that’s given Kakashi the chance to have this. Not his humanity—though that is such a bonus—but this unending fount of love Iruka seems to be made of; that’s his strength.

It’s also his most dire weakness. And Mizuki took advantage of that. He took all the love Iruka gave him and twisted it into something dark and bitter. But instead of running or fighting like any other shinobi should have, Iruka’s response was simply to love Mizuki harder. Maybe they drove each other to the heights of insanity they eventually reached.

Kakashi will never know. And after today he won’t care.

He enters the cemetery to go and stand silently beside Iruka, still praying. Eventually, Iruka picks up his head and leans against Kakashi’s thigh.

“It wasn’t all bad, y’know,” Iruka mutters.

Kakashi doesn’t respond, only carefully places his hand on Iruka’s hair and petting gently.

“After the Kyūbi attack, we roomed together until we graduated from the Academy,” Iruka says. “Sometimes the heat would go out and he would come and huddle with me with all the extra blankets we had.”

He was probably just cold too.

“He stayed up all night with me to practice the clone jutsu before our final test, so we could graduate together.”

He was using your natural ability to teach to learn a last-minute technique.

“He taught Naruto how to roll omelets. That was. That was a nice morning.”

He… hmm.

“He wasn’t always a monster,” Iruka sniffles. “I… He was there, Kakashi.”

“I know, Love.”

“I never wanted this.”

“I know.”

“I thought… For so long, I thought we would be together forever. He was everything. And it was… it was okay. I didn’t know it could be any different.” Iruka looks up at him, tears stuck in his eyes. “He had it easy, didn’t he? I forgave everything he did to me.”

“But he took you for granted.”

“What he did was underestimate my protectiveness,” Iruka sighs. “Both times. It ended our relationship, and then it ended his life.”

They stay in the cemetery for a long time. Kakashi listens to Iruka tell him stories about Mizuki the boyfriend and tries to meld that with his own memories of Mizuki the abuser. When they leave, Iruka drops the chrysanthemum on top of the marker with a finality that screams where the rest of the cemetery is silent.

They go home later, and Iruka stops on the sidewalk looking at his house while Kakashi pushes the fence open and starts down the path to the front door. His black jacket is slung over his shoulder, and the sunset warms his skin and casts a reddish-orange glow onto his pale skin. He stops and turns, one foot propped on the second step up to the porch, and smiles back at Iruka.

That Iruka can tell he’s smiling with three-quarters of his face covered and three meters of space between them… Iruka realizes he’s so far gone on this man. He has been for months.

But Kakashi looks so perfect, waiting for him outside the house.

“Coming, Love?”

Iruka flushes, scratches at his scar, and walks up the path. When he’s close enough to Kakashi, he murmurs, “Hopefully later,” and passes on to the door to unlock it and release the wards. He leads the way inside and looks back over his shoulder to see Kakashi looking at his ass hungrily, still standing in the same spot and position he’d been when Iruka had passed him.

He grins. “Coming, Love?”

Kakashi looks up at him and whines, “Don’t tease.”

Iruka laughs. He turns and goes inside, leaving the door open for Kakashi to follow him. He tosses his keys onto the table in the genkan and begins toeing off his shoes.

Kakashi comes and stands behind him, putting his nose right in Iruka’s hair behind his ear. “Love you,” he mutters.

“Love you too,” Iruka responds. He twists and kisses Kakashi on the cheek, still masked.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Iruka says. He finishes getting his shoes off and steps out of the genkan. He holds out his hands for Kakashi to take, and grins when he has Kakashi close again, now in the living room. “Though, if you’re on the menu…”

Kakashi takes down his mask, groaning deep in his chest. “I thought you said no Icha Icha lines.” He slips his arms around Iruka’s neck while Iruka’s hands go to Kakashi’s hips.

Iruka leans in slowly. “Are you really complaining?”

“No. No, gods, no. Please kiss me.”

Iruka deliberately kisses Kakashi on the corner of his mouth. And when Kakashi tries to turn into the kiss, he trails kisses away from Kakashi’s lips, across his jaw and down his neck.

“Iruka—!” Kakashi whines.

He walks them back to the couch, licking at Kakashi’s neck the whole while. He sits down and Kakashi falls after him, straddling his lap and cupping his face.

“It’s okay? Can I—?”

“Kakashi, please keep kissing m—”

He does. He dives in and coaxes Iruka’s lips apart so their tongues can glide together. All the while his hips are slowly rocking against Iruka’s; he grabs Kakashi low on his hips and urges him to grind faster.

“You and your—oh, gods—fucking suit,” Kakashi pants into his mouth. “Gorgeous. Godsdamned gorgeous in this.”

Iruka tips his head back and lets Kakashi kiss and lick down his neck. Fingers grapple at his tie and collar, fumble with his shirt. Iruka’s own hands squeeze Kakashi’s ass, full and warm in his palms.

“Want you,” Kakashi murmurs against his throat. “Want. I want to see you come. Can I do that for you tonight? Please, please let me make you come.”

Iruka pushes Kakashi’s head up with two fingers under his chin and kisses him. Kakashi’s hands stop their pursuit of stripping him out of his shirt and instead cup Iruka’s face, still muttering please, please, please, all the while rocking and grinding in Iruka’s lap and—

And—

Oh, how’s he supposed to say no to that?

“Okay,” Iruka kisses him. “Um. Okay. Just. I don’t…”

And then Kakashi says, "I want you to fuck me."

And something in Iruka stops.

“Want to—hmm—feel you move in me,” Kakashi rambles. He continues unbuttoning Iruka’s shirt, exposing more and more bronze skin. Iruka's chest is broad and muscled and perfect, just like the rest of him, and Kakashi slips off of his lap to settle on his knees between Iruka’s thighs; he leans in and laps at Iruka’s clavicle, down his sternum, drifts aside to catch a nipple in his teeth. Iruka’s soft hum and fingers in his hair tell him he’s doing good so he flicks his tongue against the bud between his teeth. His own eye rolls back to hear Iruka’s cry of pleasure.

Down further, he keeps undoing buttons and parting fabric. He lays kisses all over Iruka’s belly, cups his erection through his pants, and glances up at Iruka before he goes for his belt and trousers.

“Please.”

“What—um—what are you…?” Iruka can’t seem to get the words out, but his chest is heaving with his breath and the flush on his cheeks is staining his flesh all the way down his neck. He’s-he’s beautiful.

“I. I really want to suck you off,” Kakashi says. “And then, if you’re up for round two, I want you inside me.”

Iruka takes his cheek in hand and smiles and says, “We can. We can definitely try that.”

“I love you.”

Iruka kisses him again, soft and sweet. “Love you too. But let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Kakashi can agree with that. He stands up and pulls Iruka along by the hands. He’s giddy and excited—almost as much as when Iruka lets him eat him out, but this excitement has the twinge of newness to it. He’s wanted to get Iruka’s cock in his mouth since the first time they had gone to bed together, and now, finally, he’s getting it.

He’s a bit lightheaded by the prospect, if he’s honest.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Iruka begins unbuttoning Kakashi’s shirt, while Kakashi plays with Iruka’s buckle. Iruka moves to the cuff buttons at each wrist, and then returns to Kakashi’s chest to part the fabric and slide his palms over his undershirt and up to his shoulders. He pushes the shirt off and pulls it down his arms, dragging his palms and fingertips along his pale skin and raised scars. The shirt is tossed and Iruka returns to the undershirt, lifting slowly from the bottom and smirking at how Kakashi’s abs jump at his touch.

The undershirt and mask join the shirt on the floor, and Iruka goes for Kakashi’s belt, but is halted by his own belt and trousers being undone. Kakashi let Iruka have his bit of fun; but he’s really got to get that cock in his mouth.

“I love you,” he murmurs again. He leans in and kisses Iruka’s cheek, down to his jaw and back to his lips; traces his ribs with his fingers and groans at the dips of muscle definition on his abdomen. “You’re perfect, and I love you.”

Iruka’s panting lightly, his eyes closed and his lips shiny with spit—his or Kakashi’s, who’s keeping track anymore? Kakashi swallows the whimpering moan he pulls from Iruka’s throat as he finishes stripping both of them, their clothing a pile of fabric on the floor.

He urges Iruka to lay down on the bed, takes hold of his underwear once he’s prone, and asks again, “Is this alright?”

Iruka’s response is to raise his hips and tip his head to the side. He has a wet, red mark on his neck that may bruise by morning if Kakashi’s not careful.

He slips the last bit of fabric off and throws it aside. Iruka’s cock, hard and reddened, bobs onto his belly and smears precome across his skin. He blushes furiously, and it’s perfect.

Kakashi crawls onto the bed, spreading Iruka’s legs and settling himself between thick muscular thighs. First he kisses the soft, darker skin of his inner thighs, then trails his nose up through the thatch of hair around the base of his cock. He darts out his tongue to taste and relishes the whimper he receives. One hand joins his mouth in worship, gently cradling the thick cock while his tongue licks all around the base.

“K’shi. Love.”

The most subtle of shifts has him positioned above the head of Iruka’s cock. He licks up a bead of precome at the tip, closing his eyes to savor it. Continuing to cradle this precious member in one hand, he begins to press open-mouth kisses all along the shaft. His thumb caresses the tip and spreads the precome that keeps leaking.

Then Kakashi licks a wide stripe up the underside, base to tip, and sucks the head into his mouth—

And Iruka sobs.

Kakashi lifts his head, letting Iruka slip from his mouth but still holding him in one hand, and checks in—”Iruka?”

“Don’t stop,” Iruka whimpers. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Relieved, Kakashi kisses his navel, his hips; strokes his cock with a slow, steady palm; and only when he hears Iruka cry out again—

“Gods among us, Kakashi, please!”

—does he slip his lips back over his head and take Iruka as far into his mouth as he can. He’s not long, but he’s thick and Kakashi’s jaw aches to hold him on his tongue; a slow breath out has Kakashi sliding the very tip of Iruka’s cock down his throat and relishing the fresh, louder cry he receives for the motion. He can hold Iruka in his throat for twenty-four seconds before needing to pull back. He’s not like Iruka, with no gag reflex and a penchant for swallowing long cocks and holding them in his throat. He bobs his head, drooling over the thick shaft and moaning at the taste of more precome in the back of his mouth.

Kakashi had been braced on his elbow, holding Iruka’s hip with a careful grip. But now he shifts, settles his weight more on his knees, places his forearms on Iruka’s spread thighs. He continues holding Iruka’s cock with one hand, stroking where his mouth can’t reach and keeping him from jerking up into Kakashi’s throat. With his newly freed hand, though, he cups Iruka’s balls and presses his thumb just barely against Iruka’s hole.

“Love you, love you, oh-oh-ahh, so g-good, K’shi, fuck.”

That’s it. That’s it, Love.

He lets Iruka thrust into his mouth just the barest amount, knowing unfortunately that he’ll choke if he lets Iruka take what he wants but also. Also, gods, Iruka is panting and moaning and it’s driving Kakashi higher and higher.

“Want. Oh. Kakashi, Love, wanna come with you,” Iruka taps at his shoulder, “Please, please come up here and kiss me.”

He lets Iruka go, swallows the last bitter traces of precome on his tongue, and crawls up Iruka’s body. Iruka takes him by the face and pulls him the rest of the way to his mouth, kissing and nipping at his lips and groaning all the while.

“Why,” Iruka mutters into his mouth,”are you still wearing your underwear?”

“Good question.” Kakashi licks into his mouth and continues kissing him, fingers his nipples, rocks their hips together—

“Off. Get them off,” Iruka whines.

“But then I’d have to stop touching you.”

“You can take three seconds to strip.”

Kakashi sits back and shoves his underwear down his thighs. The cool air on his dick is a shock, but not as much as watching Iruka reach for his own cock and begin to touch himself.

Kakashi stops to watch.

His fingertips glide along the underside, up and down and up and—they stop and Iruka takes himself in a light grip, swirling his thumb against the tip while his other hand drifts to his chest to pinch and tweak at his own nipple.

Iruka licks his lips, moans brokenly, and says, “Are you going to make me do this myself, or are we doing this together?”

He fumbles the rest of the way out of his underwear, saying, “I. Well.” He settles back, kneeling between Iruka’s thighs and watching his hand move and his chest heave. “Gods, Iruka, I could come from this.”

“Watching me?”

“You have no idea. How godsdamn sexy you are right now.”

Iruka’s blush is sweet and gorgeous.

“Want us,” he pants. “Want you.”

Kakashi leans back down and kisses him, deep and lovingly, pressing their bodies together, hips to navel to chest. Iruka’s arms encircle his neck and keep him close, keep them kissing. He reaches between them for Iruka’s cock and takes him in hand again, pumping his hand carefully.

Iruka shakes his head. “Together, Kakashi, please.”

He shivers. “I won’t last,” he murmurs.

“Don’t care. Wanna feel you.”

So Kakashi leans up on his elbow, adjusts his hips and pushes his own cock alongside Iruka’s into the circle of his hand and they both sigh and moan and Iruka begs him to move—

“K’shi, please, please, I’m so close, just—little more, please!”

Kakashi ruts, smoothing precome along their cocks with his palm and easing the friction. Iruka’s leaking steadily but Kakashi’s pulsing, damp squirts from his tip with each thrust. His eyes are shut tight and his lips are parted and kiss-bruised.

“You. You’re so beautiful,” Kakashi whispers.

And Iruka comes. Splashes of come slip over his hand, pooling on his stomach and chest. Kakashi stills his hand to feel the pulse of Iruka’s cock against his own and it’s glorious. His jaw drops in an almost silent cry, interrupted only by soft Ah-ah-ahh as he pants. And when he starts to come down, Iruka moans and gasps, “So good K’shi,” and then.

And then he opens his eyes, just the barest amount, and says, “You too. Come for me, Love.”

Like he could resist. Kakashi’s hand doesn’t even move again, still gently holding them both; he comes on command, adding to the mess on Iruka’s belly as his hips rut against Iruka’s.

His mouth is dry and his throat aches when he comes back to himself. Iruka is holding him against his chest, the mess mostly wiped away by a corner of the blanket. Kakashi nuzzles into Iruka’s neck, breathes him in, and relishes the soft touches to his back and arms.

“Move in with me.”

Kakashi opens his eye and picks up his head. Iruka is staring at the ceiling, like he’s not sure how Kakashi's going to respond.

As if there’s any other response he could give.

“Alright.”

“I just thought, y’know, you’re here all the time anyway, and I miss you when—” Iruka looks down at Kakashi and furrows his brow, saying, “Wait. Alright?”

Kakashi smiles. “Alright.”

“You. You’ll live here. With me.”

“I would love to.”

Iruka frowns, turning his gaze away from him and instead to the wall. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I’m realizing that,” Kakashi chuckles.

“I expected to have to convince you.”

“Convince me? To live with the love of my life? To live with the man who makes me bad omelettes but perfect pancakes? To live with you, who makes sure my weapons are sharp and designs seals and tags specifically for my use?”

“Kakashi…”

“I’d get to live with the same man who opened up his heart and his home to my sensei’s son, who the rest of the village had turned their back on, and showed him what love is with no desire for reciprocation or payment. You just. Did.”

“Gods, love, stop.”

Kakashi does. Because that word is important and he won’t tarnish it by disrespecting it. But he could go on. And on. And on.

But Iruka smiles and kisses him again and says, “Okay. We’ll get you moved in tomorrow?”

Because it’s getting late.

And he’s home.

#whumpmasinjuly #final prompt #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

12 notes · View notes

vampcubus · 4 years

Note

Ashi I got another idea! How about the gf watching and directing Izuku touching himself. 😈

A/N: Umm? Yes please!? Sorry I couldn’t get to this one last Thursday, but I really got carried away with this one~

Warnings: nsfw!! Not proofread

Words: 1600+

. . .

“You mean to tell me you’ve never…?” You trailed off, eyes wide and brows raised into a look of disbelief.

Izuku’s face reddened considerably and he flailed his arms around as he sputtered out nonsense, trying to hide his face as his tongue stumbled over his teeth.

“W-well yes! I m-mean no! I haven’t I'm… I mean I have… t-touched myself before b-but-but not—I mean only when I h-have to and I d-don’t really try to—ah this is embarrassing!” Izuku babbled, shrinking in on himself and moving his knees to his chest to conceal his arising problem that brought on this awkward conversation.

Granted you’d been mid-makeout and didn’t even react when you felt him getting hard against your thigh until he started freaking out. And you’ve gone much further than the heavy petting and heated kisses you’d shared just a minute ago, but Izuku was still incredibly easy to fluster. You sighed and offered a soft smile to the hyperventilating boy in front of you, crawling over to press against his side, pressing a kiss to the palm covering his flushed cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay really, I’m just surprised is all. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” You soothed and he peeked his pink face out from one of his forearms. “I assume you only do it when you have to, right?”

He nods and allows you to pry at one of his elbows to tuck yourself closer to his body. He opens his mouth a few times as if to add to it, but can’t quite get the words out, so instead, he looks like a fish out of water. Perhaps you had underestimated his innocence. But just then an idea crosses your mind. You start with a question.

“Can you show me?” You suddenly ask, a smooth edge to your alluring voice that has Izuku both twitching in his pants and sputtering gibberish.

“W-what?!” Izuku squeaks.

“Oh c’mon, you can’t be getting shy now, Izuku! We’ve already seen so much of each other.” You giggled.

“Well… yeah b-but—” You cut him off with a kiss, swinging a leg over his lap and hoisting yourself to sit on his thighs, cradling his chubby cheeks in your palms as you devoured his lips. The green-haired hero melted under your touch, moaning into your mouth and inching his fingers to splay over your thighs. You moved your hands to rest over his, lingering briefly to lovingly caress his scarred fingers before prying them from your body. You broke the kiss and leaned back with a teasing smile.

“You’re only allowed to touch yourself tonight unless I say otherwise.” You purred and marveled as Izuku’s flustered expression morphed into one of horror, and judging the way his lips were shaking you didn’t doubt he had a stream of protests just on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t give me that look, I’m going to teach you the true meaning of self-care.”

Your hands move to his belt and he lifts his hips to help you slid his pants down to his knees after it’s undone. Your thumbs, having hooked into the waistband, tugged his boxers down with them causing him to gasp as his erection springs out and taps his stomach. Wide green eyes follow you as you slide off his lap and move to sit behind him on the bed, pressing his back to your front and resting your chin on his shoulder.

You take one of his hands into your own and guide it to his stiff cock, and Izuku gasps when you wrap his own fingers around the shaft. You notice that he’s trembling as you move your hand away from his.

“Hm? You’re shaking, I’ve barely touched you—or rather, you’ve barely touched you.” You chuckled, and he shivers as your warm breath brushed against his ear. “Stroke yourself.”

Izuku made a startled noise mixed with a wheeze, clearly caught off guard by your sudden instruction. His face gets impossibly redder, and he starts to stutter. You smile and press a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“Move your hand up and down that pretty little cock of yours, baby boy. Nice and slow.” You ordered gently, and you felt his entire body erupt in a violent shudder. His length throbbed in his hand, and a whine forced itself from between his lips as he did as he was told Izuku gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as he slowly pumped himself from base to tip. “Good boy.”

Izuku bit down on his lip, eyelids fluttering at the pleasure of your praise. You watched with gleaming half-lidded eyes and dilated pupils, licking your lips at the sight of his shaky hand moving up and down his hard length, pre starting to leak from his tip and coat his fingers in slick. His breathing becomes labored and quick, and sweat pearls at his hairline.

“Stroke it a bit faster now, and move your other hand down to your balls, mmkay?”

Izuku nodded, pumping himself faster and sliding a hand down to fondle his balls and whimpered at the increased stimulation. “Ah… m-mm…”

You notice the way he starts to rub his pre-cum off with the increased speed and lean in to mutter another order into his ear.

“Spit on it.” You purred, pressing your warm lips to the side of his sensitive neck, instantly going for the sweet spot just below his jaw. Izuku leans forward and lets a bit of drool drip from between his lips onto his cock, spreading the makeshift lube over his heated flesh like he’s done it a thousand times before. “Now squeeze harder as your hand meets the base and move your thumb up and over the head to brush over the head when you go up.”

Izuku moans loudly and does as he is told, struggling to keep in his noises tas the pleasure only increases. He doesn’t care to know why you know all of this stuff, only that it felt good, really fucking good. The friction of his hand around his dick now slick with his own spit makes a soft squelching sound, and you grin when you notice his hips starting to squirm and lift off the sheets, pressing his cock into the small tunnel his hand provided.

“Y/-Ah! Y/N, p-please…” Izuku whines, and you highly doubt he even knows what he’s asking for but you take a wild guess and assume he wants to jerk himself much faster than the pace you’d set. “C-can I…? Go faster?”

“Yes, of course, honey go as fast as you like now. And thrust your hips into your palm, it’s cute when you buck and squirm~” Izuku’s head falls back onto your shoulder as a mewl passes through his lips, his hand moving at lightning speed around his swollen cock and his hips bucking into his hand. His volume only continued to rise, and you recognized the familiar signs of his orgasm approaching. He was starting to tremble uncontrollably, his noises become strangled and high-pitched, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he teetered on the edge.

“Stop.” Izuku lets out a confused noise but forces himself to rip his hand away from his length. His hips buck into the air a few more times, his body still mindlessly chasing the release he’d been so agonizingly close too.

“Y/N!” He exclaims with a frustrated sigh, obviously pouting when you catch his wrist when he tries to reach for his cock again. “Y/N, That’s n-not fair…” He whined and you couldn’t help but giggle at his neediness.

“Shh, It’ll feel rea~lly good if you wait, I promise!” You assured, sucking dark marks into the heated flesh of his throat, marking up the expanse of his neck.

“Now start stroking yourself again, same speed as before, but don’t cum yet.” You directed, and he hand shot back to his cock, pumping himself at a rapid pace. He looks so lost in pleasure right now, ahead resting on your shoulder, face flushed a bright crimson red, and mouth hanging open as moans and mewls poured from it. “You’re doing such a good job, doesn’ it feel good?”

“Ahn—ohh! It feels so… so good, so good, baby!” Izuku groans, eyes squeezing themselves shut and his hips twitching sporadically into his hand. “I’m—I’m cu…” He clamps his mouth shut tight, realizing that he might be able to get away with it if he keeps his lips sealed but you’re already one step ahead of him.

“Stop.”

Izuku lets out a frustrated whimper, hand clutching the fabric of your sweatpants and digging into the flesh of your thigh as he squirms in your arms. He needed to cum or he was going to go insane, there was no way around it, he couldn’t take much more. He’d lose it if you denied him again. Deep down, a part of him was drowning in ecstasy, loving the way you ordered him around and directed his every fluid movement. In his flurry of desperate thoughts, he hadn’t realized his hand had returned to his cock and was pumping him again, sending his head flinging back onto your shoulder. His entire body writhed as the pleasure skyrocketed.

And then he realized that he still had his fingers clawing at your clothed thighs and that he was thrusting into your hand, not his. Upon seeing the blurry shape of your soft hand dancing up and down his length, through his tear-filled eyes, he found himself unable to hold it in any longer.

“I… c… I’m… mhh, oh fu—I-I… !” He attempted to warn you but nothing coherent escaped, only choppy syllables.

“Cum for me, baby.” You whispered, and his breathing stopped short for a moment before a blissed-out wail of ecstasy was torn from his throat. You watched, enamored by the pornographic display of Izuku writhing and bucking into your hand, high-pitched moans leaking out from between his teeth as he paints your fist white with hot spurts of his cum.

#thirsty thursday #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #smut #n/sfw #deku smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #midoriya #deku #izuku x reader #bnha #mha #bnha scenario #ashi rambles

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gohyuck · 4 years

Note

prompt 4, lee jeno, streetracer au

prompt: “Everyone told me I’m crazy picking up a boy that drives a Camry.”

extra: streetracer au

note: suggestive (mild mentions of sex), jeno + cars which might be emotionally overwhelming for y’all because PHEW is it overwhelming for me omfg, this one’s a little long for a drabble but overall it isn’t super long (it’s like... 1.4k?)... i lowkey wanna write a racer jeno fic but idk lmk if that’s something the people want lmfao

july 5th, 2020.

it’s the first race of his you’ve ever seen.

you’ve memorized the course, a consequence of hours spent staring at the map until it’s been imprinted beneath your eyelids. the route ends where it starts, and the rest of the roads will be closed off - you’re sure renjun, one of the officiants, has bribed the city’s construction sector to ensure this - so no bystanders are hurt, but you don’t particularly care about unlucky pedestrians or drivers that could be potential collateral damage. still, it’s on the outskirts of the city, so there wasn’t as much risk as there could’ve been to start with.

it sounds bad when you think of it, but you can’t bring yourself to be repentant of what you worry about and what you don’t. after all, your focus is exactly where it should be:

jeno lee.

your boyfriend hasn’t been shy in letting you know about his pastimes: he’d told you about his penchant for speeding through the city in his toyota camry after the fifth date, had murmured it into the skin of your bare shoulder as his fingers skimmed your bare waist. it was the first night you’d stayed over, waking up to the sunrise, coffee, and round two. his apartment was - is - tiny compared to yours, a studio apartment just big enough to live in versus your penthouse suite uptown. still, from that night on, his place feels more like home than yours ever will.

you hadn’t really talked about how worried you are for him then, instead allowing him to give and take to and from you as he pleased. you still haven’t talked about how worried you are for him, although instead of being in his bed at 2 am you’re on the sidelines of one of his street races, 2 way radio in one hand and phone open to a police scanner app in the other.

it’s insane, you think to yourself, that you’re an active participant in a highly illegal race. if any of your friends - who all believe jeno to be a terrible influence, in his tattooed glory and always shrouded in cigarette smoke - could see you now, they might have simultaneous aneurysms. they’re all far too enveloped in the socialite life you’re trying desperately to shed.

none of that matters to you now, though - what matters is the cars you can see emerging from a turn far, far off in the distance. there’s only two - a bright red civic and a sleek black camry, the latter carrying your boyfriend and his best friend jaemin - and they’re neck and neck, tire to tire. it’s a short race, a quick couple of loops around the track that’s been laid out for the night. there’s prize money, yes, but it’s only a couple hundred bucks - if jeno wins, he’ll put his half towards paying his rent.

you watch with bated breath as the cars get closer and closer, your eyes trained on their front bumpers. renjun makes his way to the center of the starting line, his faith in the two drivers astounding you as he waits patiently for them to near him. mark jogs across to set up a slow motion camera on the other side, and, on your right, jisung sets one up as well. renjun stands still, gaze piercing the night as he stares straight ahead. before anyone can process the end of the race, both cars race past. your hair flies up from the wind generated by the cars’ speeds, and you hear the distinct sounds of two sets of brakes squealing as both cars finally, finally come to a rest.

you hold your breath as mark and jisung analyze their films. donghyuck pushes open the drivers’ door of the civic, with chenle walking out of the passengers’ side. jaemin leaves the camry first, and jeno follows, running his hands through his hair as he gets out. you’re too focused on mark and jisung to notice your boyfriend until his cologne engulfs you, just moments before he pulls you into his side by your waist.

“how was your first race?” he whispers, lips right by your ear as he leans towards you. you relax against his hold as you mumble a ‘good’, and he presses his lips to your hairline as the two of you wait. yes, winning the race is, at most, rent money and a mild sense of pride, but jeno’s arms are tense around you.

he loves cars, and he loves racing them for enjoyment, yes, but you know that he’d rather be racing them to win and only to win. his dreams are lofty, but if he can win another streetrace, who’s to say he can’t keep winning his way up until he’s good enough for the big leagues? he’s beaten every racer in the city except for donghyuck, and whoever wins this race will hold the unofficial title of truly being the best of the best.

tonight has been jeno’s toughest race to date. he wants to live off the adrenaline just a little longer... that, and rent is due next week.

after eons, mark raises his head.

“i’ve got jeno,” he calls out, and jeno’s arms pull even tighter around you as he awaits the final verdict.

“so do i.” jisung responds, only just loudly enough to be heard by everyone. without meaning to, you let out a laugh of pure, unadulterated joy, and jeno spins you around to hug you properly. you hear donghyuck and chenle congratulate him, feel jeno get handed $100 by renjun while the other $100 goes to jaemin. you’re basking in your pride, face against jeno’s jacket.

it’s the first victory of his that you witness, but it certainly isn’t the last.

♕ ♕ ♕

september 12th, 2024.

“you know,” you start, words coming out in a satiated sigh as you shift to lay on your side. the silk sheets of the hotel suite’s bed tangle between your legs as you begin to trace random patterns on jeno’s skin.

“hm?” your fiancé prompts, smiling down gently at you as you lay your hand flat on his chest.

“way back when, everyone - all of my ‘friends’ - told me that i was crazy for picking up a boy who rode around in a camry and, quote unquote, looked like trouble. i wonder if they’re watching you now.” you glance up to meet his gaze, and the corner of his eyes crinkle as he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“don’t know if i ever stopped looking like trouble, to be honest, even if i don’t drive my camry anymore. haven’t changed much in these past four years.” jeno’s voice is husky at this time of night, just a little gravelly and soft enough to where you strain a little to listen. he never fails to make your heart do somersaults, even after five years of knowing him.

“you literally just won the italian grand prix, and you say you haven’t changed much?” your tone is still soft, though not without an edge of incredulity. jeno traces a finger down your naked side, moving so he’s pillowing his head with his forearm, all just to see you properly.

“i’m still the same guy, just with money and a better job. my morals are the same, fundamentals are the same - my love for you, what defines me, it’s still the same. just because i’ve got a couple of pro racing trophies under my belt -”

“- eight -” you interrupt, brow furrowed at jeno short-selling himself. he sees this, raising his hand to tease against your scalp.

“- under my belt,” he continues. “it doesn’t mean anything truly important has changed.”

“... i guess.” you finally acquiesce, and jeno fondly tugs you close so that you’re lying on top of him. the new position has something stirring in his chest, and he brings his hand up to your face, cupping your jaw before pulling you gently towards him.

“wanna know what i’m putting my prize money towards?” he asks, words sounding harder than they should. you squirm slightly, still just a little fucked out from earlier, but jeno’s always had a way of making you want more.

“what?” you ask, shifting so you’re straddling him. he lets you plant your hands on his chest before he responds, the beginning of a smirk evident against his plush lips.

“our honeymoon,” he whispers, leaning up so his lips are brushing yours. “wanna put all that cash towards a room with enough surfaces for me to bend you over to last us a whole week.”

jeno closes the space between the two of you with a bruising kiss, and you find that he’s right - nothing really has changed in the past four years. he still fits you perfectly, body made for your own.

some things never change at all.

#raya4k #anonymous #jeno #nct dream #nct #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno scenario #jeno scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream smut #nct dream scenario #nct dream scenarios

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Inmate Intimacy pt. 2 (Nessian)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

~Cassian~

The morning after practically being jumped by his favorite nurse, Cassian smirked like a cat as he strolled into her office, beyond ready for a repeat. He felt happier than he had in weeks, their moment in that cell playing on repeat in his head.

“Good morning,” she said casually, motioning for him to sit on the table. “Raise your sleeve, please.”

She sounded... different. Cold. And she wasn’t looking in his eyes.

“What?” His eyebrows couldn’t leave his hairline.

“Problems hearing this morning? Raise your sleeve, please,” she repeated.

“What’s going on?” Was she seriously... “You’re trying to act like yesterday never happened, aren’t you?”

“I think we should keep our relationship professional,” she murmured, looking up at the ceiling.

He smirked. Like hell they would. “Alright, then. Fine. We’ll keep our relationship completely professional. That in mind, I was wondering. Did you become a nurse so you could wear sweatpants all the time?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “No, the scrubs are just a plus.”

“And comfortable, too, I bet.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I mean, I remember how nice they were when my hands were down the back of them-”

She slapped a hand over his mouth and gasped, eyes going wide. “Cassian!” she whisper-shouted.

He kissed one of her fingers, then sucked on it a little, and she made a strangled-sounding noise that made him laugh.

“Cassian-”

“Listen. I get it. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself. Maybe. If I have to only dream about you naked for a while, that’s fine.”

“Cassian-” she tried again.

“But, I should warn you,” he murmured, his voice dropping a few octaves as he slid off the table. He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, whispering by her ear, “The moment I’m out of this hellhole, I’ll be stopping by to ask for a live show.” He softly bit her earlobe, and she jumped in surprise.

He chuckled as he avoided her incoming palm.

She’s do damn cute when she’s angry.

But there was something missing.

“Tell me your name,” he said, still ducking her attacks.

It was insane to him that he’d had his tongue down her throat but still called her Nurse.

She finally stopped trying to assault him and smiled. “Nesta. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment. One of our poor inmates is complaining of excruciating pain from a broken knee.”

He gave her a dramatic frown. “How sad. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nurse Nesta,” he said happily, loving the way her name rolled off his tongue.

~Nesta~

Four days after the incident which shall never be spoken about again, Nesta was sitting at her desk, rolling an apple back and forth and demanding her mind to think about something other than Inmate #9356.

As usual, the stupid organ didn’t listen.

And as usual, it was showing her a montage of Cassian-related moments. His smile, the playful glint in his eyes every time he teased her, the way his mouth had felt against hers.

She chucked the apple in the trash and rolled her shoulders out. She hadn’t been this torn up over a guy in... well, ever.

She had to do something to get herself under control. Now.

As if her thoughts had manifested him, she suddenly heard a deep, “Good morning, Nurse Nesta.”

Turning around, she saw he was leaning against the door frame, somehow managing to make the light grey jumpsuit required of prisoners look like something out of a fashion magazine.

Without her permission, her eyes ran appreciatively over the sight before her, taking in his shoulders that seemed impossibly wide and she bit her lip to keep any stupid words she was tempted to say in there.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to have a problem with this whole me-keeping-my-hands-to-myself thing.”

Shit.

Her eyes snapped back up to his, only to notice he was giving her the same heated stare.

Oh, no. This was bad.

“Sit on the table and extend your arm, please,” she said, voice way too shaky for her liking.

A small smile on his face, he did as he was told. Nesta wrote the dosage down and came forward with the shot, avoiding his gaze the entire time.

When she was done and pressing a cotton ball to his tan skin, he murmured, “Look at me.”

“No.”

She could tell he was smiling. “Please.”

Her eyes acted on their own once again, and then she was staring into his golden gaze, her entire body coming alive under his stare.

He reached forward slowly, using a thumb to pull the lip she hadn’t realized she’d been biting free.

“Cassian.”

He shook his head, silently demanding her to not ruin the moment, and she cupped his cheek, loving how he instantly leaned into her touch.

No, you don’t! What’s happening! Stop this!

She ignored the rational, boring part of her mind completely as she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. It was the lightest, most innocent kiss she’d ever had, but it still made her shiver.

He noticed.

Cassian’s eyes darkened, then he reached up, grabbed the front of her shirt, and pulled her back to him. Their mouth collided, and everything she’d told herself about staying away from him went out the barred window.

Especially when his teeth closed around her lower lip and tugged.

She made a small sound, then wound her arms around his neck, hands going to his hair and pulling it loose. Nesta noticed she was standing between his legs and pressed herself against him.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat, then pulled back. Before she could protest, he swung the chain holding his wrists together over her head, caging her in the circle of his arms.

And the strange thing?

Nesta didn’t even care.

Not about the chain, the fact he was incarcerated, or that they were in a small, dingy office doing something that would probably get her fired.

She only cared about this. About him.

His hands slid down her back, over her ass, to the back of her thighs, and before she knew what was happening, he’d scooped her up and put her on his lap. Then he leaned down, and she realized with a delighted thrill she was laying on top of him, legs straddling his waist.

Her hair was falling all over his face, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. Hell, he didn’t seem to even notice. Even though he was under her, he took control of the kiss, mouth molding hers in the way he wanted.

And little miss control freak Nesta just let him.

His hips pressed up into hers, and she moaned into his mouth, making him smile.

It dropped away when she dragged herself forward, right across the now very-present bulge in his pants.

She was about to do it again when a knock sounded on the other side of the door. “Nesta? Everything alright? Your ten o’clock is here,” her assistant called out.

“Yes! Everything’s fine!” she yelled back, scrambling off the table and the inmate laying on it. Except she’d forgotten about the chain around her, which resulted in her sliding down his body, making both of them groan.

Once she was away, she straightened her scrubs and hissed, “Get out! Move!”

“I can’t,” he hissed back, still laying down, a wide hand covering his face.

“Oh, you most definitely can. Get up!”

He shot her a look. “Nesta, if I get up right now, everyone in this place is going to know what’s been going on.”

A blush crept over her cheeks. “Oh.”

He pressed his eyes closed, mumbling something she couldn’t hear. After a few minutes of that pained-looking expression, he finally sat up and slid off the table.

Hand on the door, he turned around and said, “Bet you regret not just giving me that insulin pack now.”

That’s the understatement of the fucking century.

~Cassian~

You know in movies, when there’s a bomb in the White House, and someone has three seconds to figure out how to turn it off and save the world? The red wire, blue wire debate?

That’s how Cassian felt.

Like he was literally three seconds from exploding, and Nesta was the only person in the world who knew which fucking wire to cut.

So as he marched into her office, there was only one thing on his mind.

I mean, when you think about it, it was actually considerate of him to be this desperate for her. He was saving the world, and all.

But it had gotten to the point where even thinking about that damned woman caused him to get an instant response in his very beautiful prison uniform.

Honestly, Cassian didn’t even care if he got his insulin shot today.

He just wanted to get this chain off of him, get Nesta under him, and make it a morning neither of them would forget.

He could die of diabetic ketoacidosis a happy man afterward.

“Good morning,” the star of his nightly dreams said smoothly, giving him a small smile that woke up every part of him. “Sit on the table, please.”

He didn’t listen.

She didn’t noticed he was right behind her until he leaned down, brushed his lips over her ear, and said, “No.”

Nesta jumped about a mile high, and he chuckled. Then she twirled around and looked at him with bright, wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

He just leaned forward and kissed her, his favorite way of shutting her up. For a blissful moment, she just stood there and let him.

Then she pulled back, and he felt the right side of his face start to sting like crazy.

She’d slapped him! Right in the face!

Hell if he didn’t marry this woman.

He was about to step back and apologize, but he never got the chance because Nesta gave an adorable little growl, grabbed his face, and pulled him back down to kiss him again.

Did his face hurt like hell? Yes.

Was it worth it to know she was just as affected by this? Also yes.

He kissed her like he’d been dying to all morning, loving the little sounds that escaped her every now and then.

All too soon, she pulled away. Cassian braced himself for another slap, but it never came.

What did come, however, shocked the hell out of him.

A cold, metal handcuff closed over his wrist. Which was strange, considering there already was one on each of his wrists.

He looked down and honestly couldn’t help the strangled laugh that escaped him as he saw that Nesta, the woman he was fucking crazy about, had handcuffed him to the metal handle of a drawer.

She jumped away, safely well out of arms reach, and said, “Gah! This has to stop. This is my job we’re talking about! I can’t just go around kissing inmates!”

Cassian was still laughing about her handcuffing him. “You really think this-” he shook his wrist, “is going to keep me away from you?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied cooly, “It seems to be serving its purpose just fine.”

He rolled his eyes, then reached and grabbed the shot he was supposed to be getting right now. Her eyes went wide, probably thinking he was about to stab himself or something, but he ignored them as he went to work on his cuff.

A moment later, it swung open and off his wrist, colliding with the drawer.

Her mouth dropped open, making him laugh yet again. “You frequently like to remind me I’m a criminal, yet you thought I couldn’t pick a cuff? Baby, that’s so adorable.”

Cassian strolled over to her, still chuckling at the look on her face.

He stopped just in front of her, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “It’s okay. I’ll be good.”

“Promise?” She didn’t sound very believing.

“I’ll let you spank me if I misbehave.”

Her mouth popped open again, perfect lips forming a little O, and he looked at the ceiling to keep himself from breaking his promise already.

“Now give me this stupid shot so I can get out of here and take a cold shower.”

Nesta shook her head and smiled, and he thought about how much he loved it when she did. It made her look younger, happier. As soon as her getting fired wasn’t hanging over their heads, he’d find a way to keep her like that.

She sighed again when she looked at the mangled needle. “Asshole.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he told her, smiling at the blush across her face.

It’d be hard as hell to keep himself in check with her blushing like that, but he had to. She was right, after all. He didn’t want to cost her her job just because he was acting like a horny little teenager.

It was about time he called Rhys and got the hell out of this place.

______________________________________________________________

Part 3 is right here :)

@sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @perseusannabeth @studyliketate @cursebreaker29 @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @awesomelena555 @nessiantho @wickedqueenoffantasy @candice-dick-fit-in-your-mouth @strangeenemy @ships-and-saints @magikfanatic @jjellybean @carbconnoisseur @jlinez @verypaleninja @yumna402 @spyofthenightcourt @empress-ofbloodshed @keshavomit @rhyswhitethorn @acourtofmarauders @ladywitchling @shyvioletcat @anunforseeablereader @sjmships @bookstantrash @sleep-deprived-things @booksstorm @superspiritfestival @my-fan-side @greerlunna @arwenbk3

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acoc spoilers #acomaf #acofas #cassian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian x nesta #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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ghostxofxartemis · 3 years

Note

John x Ashley: hugging for too long?

Thank you for submitting this amazing prompt! Not only did I manage to get a birthday fic done for John, I also managed to fit this in! From this prompt list! Fic also available on AO3.

A huge thank you to @bardofheartdive for beta reading for me! You are simply amazing!

Happy Birthday, Shepard!

Shepard is sitting at his desk in his cabin in the Normandy SR1. His chair is hard, uncomfortable, his back is sore, though that’s the least of his concerns; he feels like it should be Anderson in here and not him. His mind is unfocused, his thoughts keep going back to their mission on Feros a few days ago. The Thorian still churns his stomach as he remembers how it was controlling the colonist. It’s not the only thing keeping him distracted, there is an awful lot of commotion coming from the mess hall just outside his cabin, making it difficult to finish his report from their mission on Elatania this morning; those space monkeys were just a pain in the ass to deal with. Having Ashley and Liara giggle away at him while on all fours didn’t exactly help with his mood either. He’s certainly not feeling like someone who spent months and months on end through a grueling program to achieve N7, but more like a serviceman grunt at this moment.

"What in the devil's work is going on?!"

Frustrated, he flicks his stylus onto his desk, then stands up, makes his way to his door and steps into the mess hall. He’s not one to usually lose his temper, but the persistent migraine he’s had the last past two days after receiving the cypher on Feros has been driving him insane. The commotion was just making it worse, souring his mood that much more.

There is an unusually large crowd, most of whom should be working, gathered around the tables. Plates, cups, bottles of varied drinks, beer, and bowls full of different snacks were set on the tables.

Ashley and Kaidan are at the kitchen counter, their backs facing him. They are in the middle of sniggering at something Shepard clearly missed out on.

He walks up behind them very quietly, his head peering over their shoulders.

"What are you two doing?"

Ashley yelps, dropping her spatula. Kaidan jumps slightly at the unexpected visitor, face turning red from embarrassment, his expression resembling that of a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar, knowing very well they aren't supposed to do that. Looks like two squadmates forgot they have an infiltrator among them.

Ashley turns to face Shepard, a guilty look on her face, icing splattered on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

Shepard's breath hitches, his heart skips a beat or several for that matter, and his lips twitch upwards into a half-smile. Just when he thinks she couldn't get any more adorable, she somehow manages to prove him wrong at every turn. His mind races, thinks about all the things he would very much love to do to her, then forces them back down just as quickly, out of mind. He's not that guy anymore, if he's to be with Ashley, he is going to do it right this time. Though… something tells him she wouldn't mind too much. First, they have to get rid of a little problem, a Rogue Spectre problem.

Shepard looks at her sheepishly.

"Chief… you got….er," Shepard clears his throat, "you've got icing on your face." He points in the general vicinity of her face.

“Oh!”

Ashley wipes the back of her hands, also covered in icing, against her cheeks, resulting in an even worse smear than she had just moments ago.

“Did I get it?” She asks him, her eyebrows furrowed together.

His grin widens just a fraction more, breath caught in his chest. He can feel his cheeks turning a little pink. He reaches for a napkin on the counter, then lifts it up to her, raising an eyebrow.

“May I?”

Ashley’s cheeks turn a bright pink, her eyes take on a look of utter embarrassment as she nods at him.

“Where did you learn how to bake, Ash? Normally you put the icing on the cake, not bury your face in the container,” he teases as he wipes the icing with the napkin off her face.

“My mom and I would bake cakes together for every special occasion. Birthdays, holidays...you know.”

Shepard throws the dirty napkin in the trash, “Question still remains...why are you and Alenko baking a cake?”

He looks around, still confused. He certainly doesn’t remember giving everyone permission to gather around. He isn’t opposed to down time, but there have to be at least a few people manning stations. Was there a special occasion he was unaware of?

“Shepard, it’s your birthday…” Kaidan says incredulously. Wondering how someone could possibly forget it’s their birthday.

“Wha…?” John squawks, now he’s the one with the incredulous look on his face. He checks his omni-tool, hoping this is somehow all a big joke. When he notices the date his eyes widen, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds along the lines of “you’re shitting me.”

“It’s April 11th… your birthday…” Alenko drags the last two words like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole galaxy.

John crosses his arms across his chest, and shifts his weight onto his hip. His M.O. that he’s about to be stubborn and stand his ground.

“That’s nice. But I don’t celebrate my birthday. So clean this mess up, and get back to work. That goes for everybody,” he says as he uncrosses his arms, turns on heels to make his way back to his cabin. Instead, he comes face to face with a seven feet tall wall...a krogan wall to be exact. Wrex had come up behind him, blocking his way.

“Out of my way, Wrex.”

Wrex growls, Shepard’s scowls.

If there’s one thing that puts a sour taste in his mouth, it is people wanting to celebrate his birthday. He hasn’t celebrated since he was five and that’s simply because his mother was still alive that year. After that the birthday celebration ceased to exist, other than occasional shots he’d share with fellow soldiers, and wasn’t going to start now.

“Anderson told us you might object so... Wrex here volunteered to be your personal bodyguard for tonight,” Alenko smirks and John balls his hands into fists, nails digging in his skin because he’d rather feel that pain than punch his friend in his smug-faced expression.

John inhales loudly, he’s about to argue until he thinks better of it. He really isn’t in the mood to go head to toe with a Krogan at the moment. He uncurls his fists, exhales while throwing his arms up in the year in exasperation.

“Fine!”

Engineer Adams cracks a beer bottle open, and hands it to Shepard with a sheepish look on his face. Shepard growls slightly before muttering a barely audible “thanks.”

“Chief, just one request… no candles”

“I make any promises, sir.” Ashley gives him mischievous smiles. Shepard shakes his head before turning away to make his way to the table and sits next to Tali who seemed to be overjoyed by seeing human customs for the first time.

~~~~~~~

Ashley waits until Shepard finds a seat next to Tali at the tables before she turns around and picks up the spatula.

“Great, the icing is ruined now’” she grumbles.

She feels Kaidan elbowing her just a bit. She looks to see him with a coy smile on his face.

“What?” She demands, one eyebrow raising to her hairline.

“Nothing,” he shrugs and takes the spatula from her hand.

“You’re withholding something.” She sneers at him.

“Me?!” Kaidan feigns innocence. “I would never!”

Ashley rolls her eyes and snatches the spatula from Kaidan and washes it. It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for, she thinks to herself.

“I think the icing is fine, chief.”

“It really isn’t. Has to be perfect and there’s a spot missing icing and since someone sneaked up behind us, it’s going to be tricky to get it right without messing the rest of the icing.” She sighs as she dries the spatula with a dishcloth.

“I didn’t take you for someone who demands perfection.”

“Really?! Have you seen your pistol, LT? Has it ever been in any better condition until I started taking care of it?” She scowls him.

“Good point.”

Ashley sighs.

“Why don’t you let me give it a try.” Kaidan offers her a hand.

“I...oh alrighty.” With resignation, she sighs louder as she hands him the spatula and takes a couple of steps to the side to give him room.

Kaidan eyes the cake for a moment before scooping up more icing from the container. He feels Ashley’s hot breath down his neck.

“Chief. I can’t focus while you’re breathing down my neck.” Kaidan looks down at her with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry! Okay. I won’t watch.” She sucks in her breath as she puts her hands over her eyes, though peaks through her fingers. She rolls her bottom lips between her lips, a nervous tell.

Kaidan chuckles, shaking his head, slaps on the icing, and follows the trajectory that Ashley was doing earlier, somehow even making the icing look smoother than it had when she had done it.

“Is it done?!”

“It’s all good.”

Dropping her hands, she inspects the cake, a sly smiling making its way at the corner of her mouth.

“Not all heroes wear capes! Now, where’s that candle I had brought up earlier?” Before she can even look for it, Kaidan lifts up the candle to her eyes. She snatches it and places it next to Shepard’s name on the cake.

“I hope he doesn’t kill us. I am pinning this on you if he gets even more in a soured mood. Everyone should get to celebrate their birthday. You know what Anderson told me, last time we were on the Citadel?” She looks up to Kaidan, her eyes now distant deep in thought.

“No. What did he say?” Kaidan asks her, curious.

“The Skipper skipped out on his own birthday dinner with Anderson last year. Just no show. Anderson asked him about it later and the skipper just simply said ‘he didn’t feel like celebrating another year of making it out alive’.”

Kaidan’s mouth gapes open, and he closes it just as quickly. No words come out. Ashley couldn’t blame him. She had had the same reaction when Anderson had told him.

“Anyways. Let’s go give him his cake.” Carefully, Ashley lights the candle with a lighter and picks it up while Kaidan picks up the cake they made for the dextro-amino crew mates and they make their way to the table while singing ‘Happy Birthday Shepard.’

Ashley’s gaze locks in with Shepard’s, his cheeks turn red and she feels hers heat up, forcing her to look away embarrassed. By some miracle, she manages to get the cake in front of him and chuckles when he covers his face with both his hands and mutters “for the love of God” at it.

“I told you I made no promises.”

“I know!” He grunts behind his hands before rubbing his face and blows out the candle.

“Now you get the honors of cutting, commander.” Kaidan smirks as he puts down the cake for the dextro.

“Yeah, no thanks. You know what,” Shepard picks up the cutting knife and hands it over to Dr. Chawkas, handle first, “why don’t you do me the honors, good doctor.”

“Oh, Commander. I couldn’t.” She lifts her hands and shakes her head.

“Please. I insist. This is already too much.” Shepard levels the knife in his hand, giving her a sly smile.

“Well, in that case,” she sighs.

While Dr. Chawkas cuts the cake, Shepard hands her the plates and she lays them on the table for anyone to grab until both cakes have been symmetrically cut.

“So, Tali, I’m curious,” Ashley says as she slides in the seat next to Shepard and takes a bite from her cake in hand, “how do Quarians celebrate birthdays?”

“Well. Quarians are only allowed one toy as personal possession while we’re children, and on our birthdays we part with them for us to get a new one.”

“Wait? You only get one toy?! Do you get to choose what it is at least?” Ashley asks Tali, perplexed.

“Oh yes! We do get to choose among what is available, but we don’t always get what we like. We just have to make do. With limited space, we can’t get too choosy. That’s why on our birthdays we get to choose who gets our old toy, and we get to pick another one from what’s available in the storage.”

“Like a hand-me-down.” Ashley says as she licks her fork. She catches Shepard shuffling in his seat next to her in her peripheral vision, his hands grab hold of fabric from his trousers and he adjusts them slightly, pulling down on them. It took everything she got to resist looking down at him to see if she had managed to get a reaction out of him. She smirks. She reaches for an opened beer bottle on the table and opens it, gulping a good draft from it.

Ashley puts her bottle down on the table. “My parents couldn’t afford much on my father’s salary, so often, whatever I didn’t use anymore would get passed down to my sisters. But my parents always made sure we got something new for our birthdays. Something we wanted.”

“Right. Something like that. But it wasn’t new.” Tali agreed.

“Heh! You humans and Quarians are soft. On our birthdays we drink ryncol and blow things up.” Wrex’s booming laugh shook the table.

“Remind not to give you ryncol while on my ship,” Shepard shakes his head.

The thought of the ship blowing up while they were in space was not a comforting one. How would he explain that one to the Alliance? Ashley could only imagine how the conversation would go for the Skipper’s side. Yeah, my krogan passenger decided to light the Mako on fire and send it off through the cargo door while it was still down, is probably what he would say.

“Relax Shepard! After a few hundred years you don’t really care about celebrating anymore.”

Ashley feels a shift beside her. Skipper. She gets a whiff of his musky scent mixed with cedar as he stands up and moves behind her to make his way to the counter. Her heart skips a beat, his signature scent always seemed to get her all warm inside. How can people not smell him coming? He just smells so good. She locks eyes with Kaidan who sits in front of her and feels herself starting to blush. Kaidan's eyes tell her he is on to her. Is she that obvious of her feelings for the Commander? Oh Gosh, what if Kaidan reports her? No. She tries to put those thoughts out of mind.

Kaidan clears his throat, and he pulls her back to the present. Maybe she was panicking for no reason after all.

“Now’s probably the time to give him what you got him, while he isn’t at the table,” he whispers. The others are too immersed in conversations to pay attention to the two of them.

Ashley exhales deeply. “Right. Well here we go.” Standing up, she picks up the gift bag she had tucked under the table, and somehow Shepard had completely missed, at least, she thought he did and made her way to the skipper.

Shepard’s back faces her and she inhales before she taps him gently on the shoulder. He looks back to her while washing his hands.

“Williams.”

Ashley lifts the bag to him. “I...er… I got you a little something. Picked it up last time we were at the Citadel.”

He turns his head away from her, hiding his expression, and for a moment she thinks she has overstepped and maybe made a grave error. He dries his hands on a dishcloth before he turns completely to face her.

“Ash. You really didn’t have to do this. All this.” He looks back to the table where his crew conversed with one another. She could hear them laughing.

“Skipper. Really. It’s no big deal. In my family, we always celebrate everyone's birthday. It’s important.” She reaches her arm out towards him more, insisting he takes it.

Reluctantly, he does. Slowly, he opens it up and takes a peek inside. He reaches inside with one hand and pulls out a weapon upgrade. An eyebrow reaches his hairline as he inspects it.

“How on Earth did you manage to get your hands on a Scram Rail X?! I thought only the Spectre Requisition officer had time in stock?”

“A girl needs to keep some secrets, now. Doesn’t she?” Ashley gave him a coy smile.

“Fine. Keep your secrets then Williams.” He returns her a smile. “Thank you.”

Ashley rocks on her toes and points to the bag. “That’s not all. There’s more inside”

“Ash…” Shepard rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. A tell-tale sign he was feeling a tad uncomfortable. He places the Scram Rail X onto the counter and looks back down to the bag. Ashley’s heart sinks a little when she remembers he’d been orphaned so young. Has he never celebrated his birthday before?

She waves him off. “Come on. Open it,” she urges him while bouncing on her toes.

Sighing, he reaches down again and this time pulls out a box. He places the bag onto the counter and inspects the contents in his hand.

“How-” His eyes widen, “how did you manage to get your hands on a WWII A-26 Douglas Invader aircraft model?!”

Ashley shrugged her shoulders.

“A girl has her secrets.” Shepard chuckles as he repeats her words and gently puts down the model box onto the counter.

Ashley suddenly gets pulled into a hug. She hadn’t expected this. For a moment she’s shocked, but it doesn’t take her long to return the hug and they hold onto each other tightly. She feels him bury his face in her hair. She feels him shake against her slightly.

“Is it that bad?” She chuckles nervously as she rubs his back. She knows she should pull away, that this is against protocol, but she doesn’t care. There is just something about being in his arms that makes her feel at home and her heart sinks a little. She can’t imagine not celebrating the birthday of someone in her family. Every year, she and her sisters would always send vidmails to her father who was posted somewhere, eventually her sisters did the same for her when she joined the Alliance. In fact, she knew she would find one in her messages in a few days for her birthday. Shepard… Shepard has no one. He spent most of his life alone on his birthday.

She rubs her face against his chest to wipe the tears that escaped her eye and trails down her cheek.

“No. Thank you, Ash. No one’s ever given me a gift quite like this one before.” He mumbles against her head.

She hears footsteps coming up from behind her. She can’t tell who it is as her face is still buried up against Shepard. All she can smell is Shepard’s musky scent mixed with cedar, and she lets herself get lost in it. No care in the world, just the two of them at this moment, and she can count on her fingers how many times she has wished for this since he had shown interest in her and admitted he had feelings for her.

Someone clears their throat behind her, bringing both her and Shepard back to the present and they separate. Shepard looks away, wiping his face with the back of his thumb.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this moment, but I don’t want anyone making any fraternization complaints, Commander.” Ashley turns to face the owner of the voice and sees Kaidan cleaning some of the dishes. She rubs her forehead with a hand.

“We weren’t...there’s nothing between us, I mean.” She starts to panic.

“Don’t worry chief. I didn’t see anything. It’s a birthday after all.” Kaidan reassures her as he picks up the dishcloth and dries the dishes.

Shepard picks up the mod and hands it over to Ashley. “I trust you’ll take good care of this.”

“You bet, Skipper. The targeting system will be ready for our next mission. Sir.” She says as she picks it up and places it in her pockets.

Shepard gives her a wink before heading back to sit down next to Liara who sat with the others, yet still managed to be distant from them, this time.

Ashley feels a hard elbow to her ribs, and grunts. “What?!” She looks hard at Kaidan, trying to read his mind.

Kaidan gives her a coy smile, his eyes twinkle with mischievousness Ashley didn’t think was possible for the goody two shoes Kaidan. He brings both his index fingers together and moves them around against each other, “Williams and Shepard sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Horror struck, her eyes widen and her cheeks turn red, but what horrifies her most is that her eyes meet with Shepard’s and his eyebrows are raised quizzically at them’ his head slightly tilted to the side. He definitely saw something.

“You’re blushing, Chief. I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re the same colour of beets right now.” Kaidan chuckles as he crosses his arms and leans up against the counter.

Groaning, she buries her face into her hands. “Oh dear, God. Shoot me now! This is your fault!”

“Hmm. I did no such thing.” Kaidan shuffles away and Ashley scurries to grab a plate of cake and a couple more beer bottles to bring up to Joker up in the cockpit to get away from everyone for a moment. She just barely manages to see someone placing a party hat on Shepard and immediately thinks who did that is a dead man or woman.

~~~~~~

Shepard currently finds himself alone in the mess. Everyone has either gone back to their post to work or gone to bed. Shepard sits against the cupboards, he is holding his model box in hand, inspecting the box and reading the description. A couple of empty beer bottles are at his feet, a freshly opened one beside him.

“It’s not going to bite you know.”

He looks up to find Ashley standing in front of him.

“I know’” is all he says. He tilts his head slightly to his left, an invitation for her to sit next to him. She does.

“You ran off pretty quickly there earlier. Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” She shuffles a little and gets comfortable. She leans her head against the cupboards. “So who’s the dead one?” she asks him.

“Huh?”

She points at the party hat. His eyes follow her fingers.

“Oh! Crosby.”

“Is he cleaning head?”

“Oh, definitely on latrine duty for two weeks. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Shepard chuckles.

Ashley snorts.

They fall into companionable silence for a while.

“So. Whose idea was this anyway?” Shepard finally asks her after a few moments.

“LT’s and mine. Ander-”

“Anderson told you guys about last year, didn’t he?” He finishes her sentence for her.

Ashley chews on her bottom lip before nodding.

Shepard sighs and gently puts down his box between his legs and reaches for his beer. He is just a little upset with Anderson now, but he knows the man only had good intentions in mind. He always does when it comes to Shepard, and Shepard knows this very well. Ever since they’ve known each other, Anderson always has his back. He is the closest thing to a father Shepard would ever have.

“He said you haven’t celebrated your birthday long before he even met you…” She stops there. Shepard knows she is holding back what she wants to say.

He takes a good draft from his beer. He isn’t sure if it’s because he wants a drink or needs to calm his nerves for what he is about to say.

“I haven’t celebrated since the year my mother was -” He hesitates.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

Shepard feels a sudden weight on his shoulders and something tickling his cheek.

His eyes dart to his shoulder and he sees Ashley had let her head fall onto his shoulder. He brushes the free strand of her hair away from his cheek and tucks it behind her ear, brushing her cheekbone with his fingertips as he does so.

“She was brutally murdered, you know. I was five. Watched the whole thing happen. He didn’t even know I was watching. Hidden inside my closet.”

“Skipper, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Ashley wraps her arms around his closest to her and holds him close, tightly. She intertwines their fingers together. He doesn’t protest.

“That was the last year we celebrated my birthday together. Wasn’t anything big, we didn’t have very much, but it was her and me and that was all that had mattered to me. Once you’re in a gang, you’re just a number to them. A tool. Birthdays don’t matter then.”

“But they matter to me. And you matter to me- us. So from now on we celebrate your birthday. Whether you like it or not.” She jams a finger against his bicep then goes back to hugging his arm.

“Hah! I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter?” Shepard chuckles.

“Nope. Not this time.”

“That’s okay. I believe I have a few days left to plot my revenge?”

“You wouldn’t?!” She gasps slightly.

“You’re probably right.” Shepard shrugs nonchalantly as he takes his party hat off and slides it on Ashley’s head. He stares down at her plump lips and leans down toward her slightly. She tilts her head backwards, reaching out slightly, closing in on the distance. The smell of alcohol permeates the space between them as they inch closer and closer to each other.

At the last second Ashley’s eyes widen just a fraction and she pulls away, red in the face.

She clears her throat while she jumps to her feet. She rubs her hands on her fatigues as if to dust them off. Shepard notices the bit of nervousness coming from her. “I...er… I have some weapons to check out. I should get back to work. Wouldn’t want them to malfunction while on a mission. Sir.” She starts to walk away and takes the party hat off, holding it close to her chest.

“Ash?” Shepard calls out and she stops dead in her tracks. She turns around to look at him.

“Sir?”

“Thanks, and... er… sleep well, Williams” His lips curl up into a shy grin.

“Happy birthday, sir.” She turns on her heels and makes her way toward the lift.

“Goodnight Williams.” He says more to himself than to her for she had already rounded the corner and no doubt was already in the lift making her way down to the cargo hold.

From this prompt list! Fic also available on AO3.

#Commander Shepard #John Shepard #Ashley Williams #JohnxAshley #Pre-Virmire #Birthday Party #Birthday Cake #beginning of romance.#dr-ladybird #urdnot wrex #tali'zorah #kaidan alenko

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thefactsofthematter · 4 years

Note

spravey office romance but like... they're not cops and theyre nice to each other

ask and you shall recieve!! (two months after you asked... oops)

here is some good ol spavey, vaguely inspired by the office, where they are in fact nice to each other!!! its like 2.8k, modern au, and fuck it disabled!spot rights he’s in a wheelchair because i said so. here you go anon!!

"David... Davey. My office, now. Get in here."

Davey can't roll his eyes quite hard enough to express just how annoyed he is in this moment. Race shoots him a sympathetic look from across the office.

"Coming, Mr. Wiesel!" He's thankful his desk faces away from his boss's office, so he has time to school his expression into something happier before he turns around. "Can I help you with something?"

Now... Mr. Wiesel isn't the worst boss in the world. He really isn't. But he most certainly isn't the best either, despite what his favourite mug (that he probably bought for himself) might tell you. He's nice enough most of the time, and he seems to try his best... but god is he ever incompetent.

Like right now, he's probably going to task Davey with something that could've been handled by literally anyone else. Davey has actual work to do— he's not sure what Wiesel even does all day in that office of his, because he seems to delegate everything off to his unfortunate employees. He's a regional manager, in charge of sales and finances for the Manhattan branch of a major New York City newspaper, and yet he seems to have the brain of an actual goldfish.

"Secret meeting," Wiesel says, as Davey walks in. "Close the door behind you and sit down."

"It's not exactly a secret, sir," Davey replies, though he does as he's told anyways, settling into a chair once the door is closed. "You yelled across the office to tell me about it."

Also, he's immediately going to disclose every detail of the meeting to Race and Jack as soon as they're done in here, but Wiesel doesn't need to know that.

"Details, shmetails," scoffs Wiesel. "I have an important job for you."

This can't possibly be good.

"I have a lot of other work to do," Davey sighs. He truly does— he's the head of accounting for their office, and they're in the middle of a company audit. "Jack didn't look that busy, I'm sure you could give him something to entertain himself with."

Jack works in sales— which basically just means he has to convince distributors that newspapers totally aren't a dying medium, and they should definitely keep buying their copies to sell. He's remarkably good at selling newspapers, but he's also easily distracted and seems to have far too much time to plan stupid office pranks.

"I don't trust Jack. Salesmen... they're too charming. You never know what they're up to."

Okay, so Wiesel is batshit fucking insane. This is, unfortunately, par for the course that is trying to hold any kind of conversation with him.

"What is it you need me to do, sir?" Davey is beyond exasperated. Why he of all people had to become Wiesel's favourite employee, he'll never understand. "Again, I'm already very busy."

"It won't take long, don't worry." Wiesel smiles wide. "I want you to be our official welcoming committee. We're getting a new employee."

Davey can't physically stop his eyebrows from shooting up, practically to his hairline. What?

"Look, boss, the audit isn't finished yet, but I can tell you that it makes absolutely no financial sense to hire someone new right now." He knows he's talking to a stubborn brick wall, but he continues anyways. "We're barely turning a profit, and some of our numbers don't make any sense. Why do we have two janitors?"

"I wanted to give my nephews a head start in the industry!"

"The... custodian industry?"

"Morris and Oscar are smart boys, they'll make something out of it." Wiesel shakes his head. "Anyways, we're just getting a transfer from the Brooklyn office. He won't even be on our payroll. Corporate is sending him in because they think our office is... unproductive."

It's like it physically pains him to say that last word, though Davey knows it to be true. He wouldn't be surprised if they get downsized in the near future.

"Okay..." Davey sighs. "You just want me to say hi to him, then?"

"More than that, David. Show him around. Give him the good ol' World Welcome."

"Is that a thing? Am I hazing him?"

"Oh my god, yeah—"

"No." Davey cuts him off before that idea can escalate, regretting that he even brought it up. "Okay, I'm going back to work. I'll say hi to him when he gets here."

Rather than go back to his own corner of the office, Davey makes a beeline for Race's desk.

"Did you know we're getting a new guy?"

Race, being the receptionist and all, generally keeps track of anyone who comes and goes from the office. However, he's either hungover or high a good fifty percent of the time, so he's not the most reliable source.

"I think I was probably supposed to know that," Race says, frowning at his computer. "I skip the emails that don't look important. Lemme go check."

"A new guy, huh?" Jack asks, sauntering over from his desk, which is only like ten feet away. "I need to start planning a welcome prank."

"No, you absolutely do not."

Before Jack can go off on some prank-related tangent, Race interrupts.

"Found it! Weasel emailed me this morning. He said: New guy is called Sean Conlon. Transferring in from Brooklyn for a week. I heard a rumour that he doesn't have legs."

The three of them share a moment of confused silence.

"Maybe he'll get along with Crutchie," Jack offers. "You know... since he only has one leg, and this guy has no legs. They could, like, bond."

Davey chokes on a laugh— he definitely feels like he shouldn't be laughing, but he can never help it when Jack says shit like that.

"Okay, I'm glad you got that out now. You know how badly Weasel handles sensitivity training, so let's avoid it if we can."

Their last round of sensitivity training was due to Wiesel's running gag of only speaking to Jack in broken Spanish. Jack is originally from New Mexico, he's Navajo, and he doesn't even speak Spanish. Jack thought it was hilarious (while ridiculously offensive), but it was making the entire office uncomfortable, so someone must have anonymously called it in to corporate.

"You mean we can spend a whole day listening to Weasel tell us he's not racist again? Sounds like a party." Jack laughs. "But yeah, I'm not stupid. I'm not gonna make fun of a guy with no legs."

"We don't even know that he doesn't have legs," Race interjects. "At this point I don't believe anything Weasel says, especially if he's willing to admit it's a rumour. Where did he even hear that?"

Davey shrugs.

"Who knows. Legs or not, we're gonna be nice to the new guy. Weasel made me the designated welcoming committee, so I'm officially adding you two to my team."

"Extra work?" asks Race. "Not happening."

"You've been playing the Sims all morning. You haven't been doing any work," Jack points out. "Can we go on a donut run at lunch and have a staff party for him?"

Davey can do nothing more than sigh. There's no reasoning with Jack when it comes to his obsession with throwing pointless staff parties.

"Sure. Whatever. No balloons, though."

And that's that— they head back to their own desks and wait for the new guy to show up.

The elevator dings about twenty minutes later.

The guy does, in fact, have legs— though he's using a wheelchair, so they must not work very well. That's probably where Wiesel got the rumour from. He's got a grumpy look on his face, like he's not particularly thrilled to be here, and a messenger bag on his lap. Above all, Davey notices, the new guy is really fucking hot.

He makes his way over to Race's desk to check in, and Davey decides to wait a moment before going over to introduce himself, so as to seem like he hasn't been obsessively watching the elevator for his arrival. He needs to compose himself— his tie is feeling a little too tight. Holy shit, that man is so beautiful.

Race, ever the professional, pulls out one AirPod to greet the new guy, and they have a short conversation that Davey can't quite overhear. It ends with Race shouting Davey, come here! because apparently no one in this office knows how to use the paging system built into the phones on everyone's desks.

"You called?" Davey sighs, as he approaches the reception desk. "I don't sit that far away, you really don't need to yell."

"Yelling gets things done," says Race with a shrug. He gestures to the new guy. "This is Sean, he's the assistant manager from the Brooklyn branch. Sean, this is Davey. He's the manager's assistant at our branch."

"I'm not Weasel's assistant," hisses Davey, glaring at Race. "I'm just bad at saying no to him." He turns to Sean and extends a hand to shake. "David Jacobs, head of accounting. Sorry about Anthony— I swear we're not all like this."

Race scoffs.

"Please, I'm hilarious and everyone loves me."

Davey and Sean both pointedly ignore him.

"It's nice to meet you," Sean says, with a handshake so firm that Davey nearly goes weak in the knees. "I'm looking forward to getting to know this location."

God, he's a sucker for a professional. This is either going to be the best or the worst week ever, and Davey has no clue which way it'll go.

He shows Sean to his desk, manages to stop Jack and Crutchie from setting off a party popper behind his head as a welcome prank, and then finally tries to get back to what's he's actually supposed to be doing.

It doesn't last long— he gets a text from Race just a few minutes after sitting down.

Racer: new guy is fiiiiine as hell ain't he Racer: i mean just look at that smoulder while he works

Davey: he's too old for you, don't even think about it.

Racer: heyyy i'm 19 now >:(

Davey: and he's gotta be at least 25 Davey: not happening, kiddo

Racer: look at me

Davey looks up from his phone, only to see Race flipping him off. Okay then.

Race somehow got hired here straight out of high school, while everyone else in the office has at least some college education— making him the baby of the bunch. While hilariously incompetent at his job, he is fun to be around, so Wiesel has kept him on. He's become Davey and Jack's pseudo-little-brother, much to his annoyance.

Anyways... back to the audit. Davey can hardly focus. Sean is sitting right across from him, and he feels like a stupid teenager with a crush on someone in his class because he just can't draw his eyes away. The morning goes smoothly, though, apart from Davey's heart fluttering a little every time he looks at Sean. In fact, it almost feels too good to be true... until Wiesel finally emerges from his office.

"A wheelchair!" is the first thing he shouts, which makes Davey want to smash his head through his computer screen and then throw himself out the window. So much for his hopes of avoiding sensitivity training. "Isn't that neat! You must be our new friend from Brooklyn."

Sean looks almost stunned, which is the most emotion he's shown since he got here.

"Sean Conlon," he says, slowly and confused, definitely offended, but still sticking out a hand to shake. "Um... I take it you're the branch manager. Is the wheelchair going to be a problem?"

"Oh, god no!" Wiesel replies, shaking Sean's hand far too enthusiastically. "We love disabled people here. I mean, hell, David over here is gay!"

Davey very nearly spontaneously combusts with the heat that immediately rises to his cheeks. He ducks his head a little to hide the blush and avoid eye contact with anyone. He's certainly not the only queer in the office, but he's somehow the only one Wiesel has picked up on, and he loves to make stupid comments about it. Davey is simply far too awkward to stand up for himself when it happens.

"That's... not a disability." When Davey looks up, Sean is staring Wiesel down with a look that screams you're getting fired if there's anything I can do about it. "Frankly, that's incredibly rude to both David and myself. Is this the standard of conduct you set for your employees?"

"Woah," Wiesel immediately starts to backpedal. "Calm down Mr. Professional! It's just a joke between friends."

Sean's expression doesn't change.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny."

From a few desks away, Jack and Crutchie burst into silent, muffled laughter, while Davey shoots them a desperate look. What the fuck does he say? The entire office has gone quiet, watching the standoff go down.

"Davey!" Wiesel says, frantically. "You thought it was funny, right?"

Davey swallows nervously.

"Actually, it's really hurtful when you say stuff like that." He's shaking a little— standing up for himself is not something he typically does. "My identity isn't a joke. It's part of who I am."

Wiesel doesn't seem to know what to say, and Davey can do nothing but wait for some kind of response. His face is burning and his palms are sweaty— it's humiliating.

"Period! You tell him, Davey!" Jack shouts, from his desk, which instantly breaks some of the tension. "Get his ass!"

"I think I'll be taking this up with HR," Sean says, once Wiesel has been quiet a little too long. He's so smooth with it that Davey's heart flutters a little. "I'm getting a sense that this is a running issue— I'd like them to have a look into your position here at the company. It was nice to meet you, though."

And then he turns back to his computer to work on whatever he was doing. Holy shit. There's a general rustling of papers and clicking of mouses around the room as everyone follows his lead, and Davey has to bite back a smile. It felt kind of good to stick it to Weasel.

The work day is pretty much over, Davey is packing up, and he really wants to figure out a way to make conversation with Sean.

He's so cool. He's so damn cool, and he's hot, and he's well-spoken and professional... Davey is desperate to at least be his friend. It's a Monday, not typically a night he'd go out for happy hour after work, but he's considering making plans anyways. He is the welcoming committee after all.

He shoots off a group text to Race, Jack and Crutchie, suggesting a little welcoming party at their usual bar down the block, and everyone drops a like on it within moments. Perfect.

"Hey," he leans over the little gap between their desks and can't stop himself from smiling. "A few of us are gonna go for drinks once we clock out, and you're more than welcome to join us."

Sean finally cracks a real smile, and Davey nearly passes out. He's gorgeous.

"Really?" He looks so happy just to be included. "That sounds fun, I'd love to."

"I'm really sorry about earlier."

Davey and Sean sit at a table, while Jack and Race play pool, and Crutchie tries his best to make a move on the bartender that he's been crushing on for ages. It never quite goes his way, but his commitment to the cause is admirable.

"What?" Davey asks. "Why? It was so nice of you to stick up for me!"

"I just feel bad that you got dragged into it," Sean sighs. "I mean, um... I'm gay too. So I kinda know how it feels when people say stuff like that, and sometimes it really is easier to brush it off. I didn't mean for you to get put on the spot like that."

Davey shrugs, trying to play off the way his heart has begun to flutter with the knowledge that he might have a chance— Sean is gay! This is too good to be true.

"It felt good to finally say something," Davey chuckles. "It was about time someone put him in his place. He's old and out-of-touch."

"And an asshole."

Davey laughs, loud and abruptly.

"Yeah, you're right. He's an asshole." He pauses, unable to stop smiling. "I'm gonna go grab another beer, can I buy you one?"

Sean, once again, looks surprised that Davey is being so nice to him, and his face breaks into that incredible grin from before.

"Sure, yeah! That'd be nice! Thank you so much."

And if the evening ends with a folded up napkin with a messily scribbled phone number and a note about the stupid nickname all my friends usually call me being casually slipped into Davey's back pocket... well, that's no one's business but Davey and Spot's.

#spavey #davey jacobs #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #newsies #newsies fic #my writing #my tag list hasn’t been updated in a very long time so i’m gonna scrap it and make a new one if there’s interest #let me know if you wanna be tagged in the future

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hailbop1701 · 3 years

Text

25 Days of FicMas

December 15th prompt: Lost on Christmas and it starts to snow

Word Count: 1,986

Christmas Crash

Hi, my loves! I honestly don't know where I went with this. 😅 It literally ran away from me. But it's done and I think it's sweet in some areas. I hope y'all like it!

-H ❤🖖

You felt like you were drowning; the cold pierced your skin like a thousand needles. Your head pounded and your ribs ached. Swallowing back the bile creeping up your throat you let your eyes flutter open. The first thing you saw were the stars glittering above you; the next was the massive trees surrounding you. Groaning you placed some weight on your forearms in hopes of getting off the hard snowy ground. A wave of pain and dizziness hit you like a ton of bricks; lying back down in the snow panting you blinked a few times to get rid of black spots dancing across your eyes. “Okay, that was a bad idea,” you mumbled closing your eyes as a shiver rocked your body. ‘What happened?’

“Enterprise this is Galileo 7, we are going down! I repeat this is Galileo 7 we are going down! Transmitting coordinates to approximate crash site.” you spoke calmly into the shuttles comms and glanced over at your co-pilot. ‘You got it?” you asked and the young man nodded hitting buttons and switches trying to stabilize before planet reentry. A scream of fear erupted from behind you, looking back you saw that an ensign was panicking trying to get her harness on. Doctor McCoy was a few seats down trying to calm the girl but it clearly wasn’t working. Growling you unbuckled your own harness and stumbled into the back, your co-pilot Henry shouted after you but you ignored him. Grabbing onto the seating you gripped the Ensign by her shoulder making her sit back, pulling the harness up and around her you buckled her in and tightened the straps. She tearfully thanked you, “It’ll be okay,” you whispered to her reassuringly. “(Y/N)!” Henry shouted from the cockpit making you fly from beside the girl back to your seat. “Galileo this - please- ion-” the comms faded in and out, cursing you held the shuttle steady for as long as possible. Twisting the joystick Galileo just barely avoided the side of a mountain, “I can’t freaking see!” Henry called out to you over the sound of the engines failing. Glancing over your shoulder you see the people you’re supposed to look after, Ensign Talli, Ensign Kambry, Lieutenant Jalicy, and of course Doctor McCoy. He looked right at you eyes wide jaw clenched and almost pleading with you. “Brace yourselves!” you shouted before turning back to the controls. “Send the coordinates,” you said through gritted teeth.

The shuttle crashed through a vine thick forest with a sickening crunch and boom. The world spun sending you into the air and back down into your chair. The shuttle skidded to a halt just before a cliff making you take a shuddering breath. Looking over at Henry you saw that he was doing okay; just scared out of his mind. “Check on everyone and make sure they get out of this tin can,” you jerked your head towards the away team. Henry nodded shakily taking off his harness, he practically fell from his seat. He scrambled to the back and helped Kambry open up the sealed shuttle doors; you keyed in the distress beacon and watched as the black box sprung from the shuttle into the glistening snow a few feet away. Turning your attention to the crew you saw that they were donning the survival gear. Doctor McCoy helped the tearful ensign Talli into her coat and out now open shuttle doors. Seeing that everyone was out you pulled your gear box from under the seat and started to pull things on as quickly as possible. Slipping on the thick coat you suddenly froze; the shuttle groaned and shifted forwards. “Oh shit!” you yelped stumbling over to the exit, “Lieutenant!” McCoy shouted going pale. The shuttle shifted forwards violently causing you to fall back away from the opening. “(Y/N)!” a voice screamed as both you and the shuttle fell from the cliff into a mass of trees. Gravity lifted you for the briefest moment and time slowed down; within seconds it all came crashing down. You knocked into the hull causing all the air to vacate your lungs another hit to a tree caused everything to tilt again sending you careening out the open doors. You crashed into a thick tree branch with a shriek of pain, your ribs cracking on impact. Your gloved hands tried to hang on but the bark was so slippery with ice you easily slipped. Falling you looked up the cliff face seeing the faces of the away team, they shouted for you but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. You landed with a crack barely even feeling the blood trickle into the snow you let the black take you.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“I’m insane,” was all that Doctor Leonard McCoy could say to himself as he carefully scaled down the cliff face to the closest tree. “I am fucking insane!” he yelped falling two feet down onto a thick branch. Getting on his hands and knees he crawled towards the trunk of the tree, he looked down and gritted his teeth. Taking a shaky breath Leonard quickly but cautiously climbed down the tree until he hung precariously from the last branch. “Don’t worry Darlin’ I’m almost there,” he whispered looking down at your still form. Letting go McCoy fell a small distance before landing in a snowbank, “Son of a-” the man scrambled to his feet hoping to shake out the snow that went down the back of his coat. He snatched his medkit from the ground and rushed over to you, pulling off his gloves with his teeth he quickly checked your pulse. He let out a surprised laugh when he felt a fluttering heartbeat, he brushed the strands of hair from your face and grabbed his tricorder. Scanning you, he grimaced, “Cracked ribs two, five, and six on the left side. Broken three, seven, and five to the right side. Severe concussion, lacerations to the hands and legs. Sweetheart you are lucky,” he murmured with a shake of his head. Turning your head so he could see the deep cut on your hairline he couldn’t help but notice how pretty you truly were. Pulling out the portable dermal regen unit he ran it over your head, “I have to get you to the meetup point before you get hypothermia,” Leonard whispered looking around. The regen unit beeped declaring that it was done making Leonard look at your wound in the double moonlight with scrutiny, “I have to talk to Scotty about making the kit regen units better,” he scowled. Pulling a couple of heat packs from his kit McCoy cracked them and placed them in your pockets. He froze when you groaned from contact, “Lieutenant? (Y/N) can you hear me?” he asked leaning over you; he cupped your cheeks with his hands and lifted your eyelids a fraction. Hissing you batted at the hand with a scrunched-up nose, Leonard chuckled “There you go. Come on wake up darlin’; if you wake up I’ll buy you dinner,’” he urged. “Doc-” you said barely above a whisper, Leonard nodded a smile gracing his lips. “We need to go, do you understand?” he asked and you nodded once. “Good girl,” Leonard whisper helping you sit up, once you were in a sitting position he helped you to your feet. With the sudden change of altitude, you coughed and gagged, expecting this McCoy held you up and kept your hair back as retched into the bloody snow. He rubbed your back gently whispering encouragingly in your ear, “Ugh Merry fucking Christmas,” you groaned clutching onto the CMO. The man holding you chuckled humorously, “I feel you there sweetheart,”

“Where are the others?” you asked after another bout of nausea. Leonard pulled a water cask from his belt and offered it to you, “they’re going the secondary LZ. We’ll be meeting them there,” he said taking the water back after you were done. With a hiss, you pulled your tricorder from your belt, astonished that it was still in one piece you plugged in the coordinates. “The secondary LZ is twelve klicks due north,” you pointed in the right direction. McCoy helped you along a couple of feet before your legs gave out beneath you, “sorry,” you panted struggling. Leonard grunted holding you steady, “It’s alright. Honestly, I’m amazed that you’re conscious and lucid,” he said with a smirk. You snorted “I never really followed the rules, though I’ve never really broken them either,”

Leonard laughed bending down slightly he gently scooped you up into his arms. Yipping in surprise you flailed for a second before wrapping your arms around his neck. You glared at him annoyed; Leonard smiled and proceeded due north. “Why did you climb down to get me?” you asked quietly after thirty minutes of silence. McCoy contemplated his words, “you managed to fly us through an ion storm, through a tough reentry, in heavy cloud cover, with failing engines, and without losing a single person of the away team. It’s the least I could do,” he whispered. You gave a little shrug, “It’s my job doctor. I was just doing what I was supposed to do, get you all to the planet’s surface safety,” this made Leonard scoff. “It was damn impressive is what it was. Sulu would be jealous,” he muttered trudging through the snow. The statement made you laugh lightly, “Sulu is the best,” you chuckled. “I’m impressed that you’re carrying me the way you are, I’m not exactly light,” you added with a smirk. McCoy huffed “darlin’ I’ve been a doctor for some time and that means I’ve been haulin’ people around. Not to mention I played basketball and football in both high school and college,” he drawled his accent thick. You choked on a laugh the air coming out in white puffs, “and the Captain makes me train with him,” he shook his head. The smile fell from your face and your head bobbed, “I’m so tired,” you murmured. Leonard looked up at you with concern in his dark hazel eyes. “(Y/N) I need you to stay awake for me,”

Your head grew heavier and heavier until it fell onto his shoulder, “adrenaline is gone,” you mumbled eyes drooping. Leonard shifted pulling you closer, “We’re almost there. Hang on,” his pleading fell on deaf ears. Picking up his pace he hardly noticed it started to snow’ what he did notice was the large searchlights from a Starfleet shuttle. Enterprise had finally sent help, “Merry Christmas sweetheart,”

You felt so warm; like someone had wrapped you up in a hug. Resurfacing you heard the beeps and dings of monitors with the distinct smell of disinfectant. ‘Sickbay’ you concluded dreamily; opening your eyes you saw that the lights were dimmed and the ship had a sleepy atmosphere to it. “Bout time you woke up,” a southern drawl broke the sleepy silence, you looked over to see Leonard McCoy sitting on a stool at your bedside PADD resting on a knee. “How long-” you coughed; Leonard elevated your bed and helped you slip some ice chips into your mouth. “Three days. We all were pretty worried about you for a while,” he said with a tired smile. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you said gratefully. Leonard nodded almost embarrassed, “Yeah well that’s my job,” he parroted your earlier sentiments; it made you laugh weakly. “He’s been here three days too,” Christine Chapel announced walking by holding a tray of hyposprays. Leonard turned red, “thank you Chris!” he snapped. You barked out a laugh tilting your head back, noticing Leonard wilt a little you leaned over and took his hand, “I believe you owe me, dinner doctor,” you reminded with a wink. McCoy squeezed your hand gently, “darlin’ I owe you more than just dinner,”

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@lauraaan182

@writerdee1701

@dw-writes

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#star trek aos #reader insert #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #25 days of ficmas #hailey the queen of typos

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