#*presses temple* hey shai how's it hanging

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise

part 1! - partially in response to a few prompts, partially its own thing. enjoy!

Seamus is almost vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t seen Theo in a month, and tonight is finally going to be the night. He’s been touring, and though Seamus would love to travel with him, he has all his own shit to do in Ireland. Lots of shit. Unfortunately.

But he finally had the time to fly the 7 and a half hours to New York to see Theo perform this week. And Theo has no idea. He's taken every precaution to make sure of that.

The show is just about over, and Seamus is standing in one of the cinderblock and concrete access hallways below the stadium, fidgeting like he’s waiting for his prom date.

Then Theo’s there, swarmed by crew members and production people, gorgeous as ever. He’s still a ways away down the hall, and it doesn’t seem like he’s seen Seamus yet. He gives it a few moments before calling out.

“Theo!” A few heads turn, and Theo looks around, totally confused, so Seamus calls again. “Theo!” His voice echoes in the cavernous space, and finally Theo’s eyes find his. Then he’s sprinting down the hallway toward him, nearly knocking Seamus over as they embrace.

The first thing Seamus notices above all else is how hard he’s trembling. It’s more like shaking. Seamus holds him tight, pulling him flush against him, and feels Theo start to cry, his face buried in Seamus’s neck. He's sobbing, gasping for breath. He’s slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his temples and forehead.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Seamus says gently, and kisses his cheek. “Are you happy to see me?” He asks teasingly, and Theo pulls back, looking half overjoyed and half exhausted. He presses a kiss to Seamus’s lips, then rests his forehead on his, eyes closed. He's out of breath - from the crying or the sprint or the kiss Seamus isn't sure.

“You have no fucking idea,” Theo whispers. His voice sounds totally shot, and he’s still shaking. He’s flushed and warm too, but that can probably be chalked up to the fact he just did a two hour set under stage lights. “Please tell me you’re staying the night. Please, fuck.”

His arms are looped around Seamus's neck.

“As long as you want,” Seamus says, and presses another kiss to his cheek. God, he’s warm. He runs his hand through Theo’s sweat damp hair, pushing some off his face and forehead. “You wanna sit down?” Theo nods, and Seamus guides him to a folding chair. He stumbles, and Seamus catches him by the elbow.

He’s getting more and more concerned with each passing moment. He’s seen Theo after shows before, and it’s never this bad. He almost seems drunk.

Theo practically collapses into the chair, then folds forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. His greasy strands of auburn hair hang down around his face. Seamus lays a hand on his back and squats down.

"Are you ok?" he asks, hushed, and Theo nods, but doesn't say anything. "Are you sure?" He swallows thickly and looks up.

"I'm so happy you're here Shay, I'm just having a terrible fucking day and I-" he stops abruptly as he sees something over Seamus's shoulder and forces a smile.

"Amazing show tonight!" a female voice says, and Seamus looks back to see Emma, the tour manager. Immediately Seamus feels his shoulders tense. He and Emma always seem to be getting into screaming matches. He never intends it to be that way, but that's how it always ends up.

"Thanks," Theo says, voice still hoarse. She keeps walking, and as soon as she's gone, his smile drops again. He lowers his voice and looks back to Seamus. "Can we just go? Please, can we go home?" He sounds on the verge of tears, like he's unsure of what the response will be. Seamus tucks some of his hair behind his ear.

"Teddy, of course." He's beyond worried now. Theo stands, and Seamus is about to make a joke when Theo's eyes roll back. Then he's falling. Seamus is frozen for a second before he makes a desperate grab for his arm. It doesn't help. He's limp, and though Seamus manages to break his fall somewhat, he's on the ground. "Theo!"

A crowd starts to gather almost immediately, and Seamus's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his throat.

Theo's eyes are already fluttering open again, but in contrast to how flushed he was a minute ago, he's gray-pale now. A soft noise escapes his chapped lips.

There's a medic kneeling beside them now, and Seamus lays his hand on Theo's chest. Theo's hand clumsily finds his, fingers still trembling. Seamus's hand is shaking too.

"You with us, Theodore?" the medic asks, and Theo nods, starting to push himself up. Both Seamus and the medic simultaneously ease him back down. "Whoa, take it slow. Just relax for a minute. I'm gonna take your blood pressure, alright?"

Theo nods again, his eyes falling closed.

The crowd is murmuring, and another medic arrives. They exchange a few words before he goes to work too. Taking his temperature, his blood oxygen, his pulse. The whole time, Seamus is sick to his stomach. He just tries to focus on the feeling of Theo's chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

Finally, they sit him up and he opens his eyes and the first thing he does is lean his forehead down onto Seamus's shoulder. He's still holding his hand, and Seamus squeezes it tight. He's also still extremely warm, and Seamus really wants to ask the medic what his temperature was.

"Dehydrated?" he asks instead, and the medic tilts his head as if to say "sort of." He stands and starts to talk to Emma, who looks more stressed out than concerned. Seamus tries to make out what they're saying, but he can't quite. He knows it's more than dehydration. Something is wrong, and Emma knows. The medic knows. Everyone knows but him. And it's making his blood boil.

"Shay, please, I wanna go home," Theo whispers, his lips hot and dry against Seamus's throat. His face is tucked in the crook of Seamus’s neck. His pleading, soft voice brings Seamus back down, and he's able to shift his focus.

"I know," he whispers back. He rubs his back, and Theo hums. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"I'm fine. Please just get me the fuck out of here." He's obviously not fine, but now isn't the time to argue the obvious. The second medic returns with a bottle of Pedialyte and a straw, which Seamus hands to Theo.

"What's - Do you know…?" he asks, and he doesn't miss the way the medic's eyes dart over to Emma before he answers. It relights the fire in his stomach.

"Low blood pressure from dehydration. Once he drinks that he should be good to go," he says, and leaves before Seamus can ask anything else.

"Maybe we could get you an IV?" Seamus asks, and Theo shakes his head.

"Seamus, please just get me home. Please."

"Ok."

He texts the driver to pull around and a flags down a PA to grab them a golf cart. He has to practically hold Theo up as they get into the cart, and as soon as they sit down, he presses his too warm body against Seamus's.

It's the same story for the car, and as soon as the door shuts and they're on their way, Theo lets out a heavy sigh.

"What's going on?" Seamus finally asks, and Theo tucks his head back against his shoulder.

“Tough show,” he mumbles, and when Seamus's silence indicates he isn't satisfied with that explanation, he sighs "I feel like shit.”

"I can tell." He presses his lips to Theo's temple, and is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt he has a fever. "How long?"

"Long time," Theo says. Seamus has so many questions he can't even get one out.

"You've been sick?" He finally asks. Theo nods. "How… What is it?"

"My throat,” he murmurs, and Seamus brings his hand to Theo’s throat, feeling under his jaw. Sure enough, his glands are swollen, and when he brushes his fingertips over them Theo stiffens.

“Baby,” Seamus breathes out, and Theo shakes his head weakly.

“It's not that bad.” Again, Seamus doesn't need to say anything for Theo to get the message. “Ok, well it's better. It's getting better.”

Finally, Seamus asks the question that's been bothering him the most.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Theo takes a breath like he's about to speak, but the sound of his phone ringing cuts him off. Seamus is about to tell him to leave it, but Theo is already pulling it up to his ear.

“Hey,” his weak voice says, and though Seamus can hear someone speaking on the other end, he can't make out who. Eventually, he just hands the phone over to Seamus.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Seamus. You guys are headed back to Brooklyn?” It's Zeke, Theo's manager.

“Yeah, we’re on the bridge.” He pauses, staring out the window.

“Ok, that's fine, we were all just wondering where you guys went. Especially since he passed out, we wouldn't - well… It's just good you're getting him home.”

“Tell me what's been going on,” Seamus says, and Theo makes a small sound of protest beside him.

“Seamus,” he whispers, as if pleading with him to drop it.

“Realistically, we can’t cancel every time-” Zeke starts.

“Zeke!” Seamus snaps, incredulous.

“I care about him just as much as you, but what has to be done has to be done.” Even he doesn’t sound fully convinced.

“Spare me,” Seamus spits back.

“Shay, please,” Theo murmurs, and Seamus takes a deep breath.

“Just tell me everything.”

–

He didn’t have to carry Theo in from the car, but he certainly had to carry him upstairs. He’s exhausted, not even to mention the fever he's running. Someone in perfect health would be exhausted after the tour schedule Theo has.

He’s had some kind of throat infection for at least the last month, and he's been doped up on painkillers and antibiotics nonstop for the last two weeks. In the interest of keeping him on stage they've had a doctor shooting him up with Prednisone before each show. If it wasn't for the steroid shots he likely wouldn't be able to talk, let alone sing.

Seamus always knew deep down the label would do anything to keep their tour rolling. But he never imagined it would come to this. Performing with a throat injury is playing with fire, it’ll be a miracle if his voice doesn’t need serious rehab. For now though, Seamus is just focused on trying to make the best of the situation at hand.

Theo is sitting on the edge of their bed, flushed and shivering, while Seamus slowly helps him out of his sweat damp clothes. As he goes, he presses kisses to Theo’s overheated skin, slowly and reverently. Theo melts under him, pushing himself as close as he can get.

The way he’s pressing closer, the sounds he’s making - it all says he wants things to go further, but Seamus knows that would be ill advised at best, disastrous at worst, so when Theo’s fully undressed he pulls away.

Still, he leaves one hand on Theo’s head, the other on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go make some tea, alright?” Seamus says, and Theo gives him such a miserable look Seamus almost wants to forget it and just lie down with him right now. He runs his thumb over Theo’s temple. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He kisses his forehead before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. He can’t decide whether he’s more livid or worried out of his mind.

A month. He’s been sick for a month, and he didn’t tell Seamus. Seamus imagines him in fancy hotel rooms trying to sleep with a soaring fever. All by himself. Shivering, aching after a two and a half hour show. It’s enough to make Seamus want to punch a hole in the wall.

While he’s making the tea, he schedules an appointment with Theo’s doctor and his ENT for tomorrow morning. He’ll need to dig through Theo’s bag to find his antibiotics, not that they seem to be doing any good.

The last call he makes is to Emma. While the line rings, his jaw is clenched so hard it hurts.

“Hey there, Seamus,” she says when she picks up.

“Hey there, Emma,” he says, barely holding himself back. “I was just calling to let you know we’ll need to be rescheduling the next week of shows. So that’s…” He squints at his notebook. “The next two nights in Edison, then Boston, Philly, and Pittsburgh.”

There’s a long silence. So long he almost thinks she hung up.

“Ok, Seamus. I understand you’re concerned for him. We’re all concerned for him. We all want what’s best for his health.”

“Emma,” he starts, just barely contained.

“We’ve discussed this in the past, and I’ve explained to you time and time again that he is an adult. He does not need you coming to his rescue, especially when you don’t have the full story. He’s perfectly capable of telling us himself if he’s too unwell to perform. Frankly, I think your behavior -”

“That is such fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

“Please,” she sounds bored more than anything, and that’s only making him angrier. “Can I explain?”

“How he lost 15 pounds in a month? Why he can’t stand up without blacking out? Why I wasn’t told about any of this?”

“You’re his boyfriend. Not his mother, not his husband - his boyfriend. And maybe the question you should be asking is why he didn’t tell you.”

Seamus’s fists are clenched so hard he feels his fingernails digging into his palms. He forces himself to relax. He takes a deep breath before continuing, fighting to keep his voice even.

“The bottom line is he’s not showing up for the next week. So do whatever you need to do, this isn’t a discussion.”

“Maybe you should discuss this with Theo before you break his contracts for him,” she says, her tone more grave. Of course now that her money is on the line it’s suddenly very serious.

“Goodbye, Emma.”

He wants to throw his phone. But the tea is done and Theo is upstairs waiting for him, so he takes another deep breath and heads back up.

When he walks in the doorway to their bedroom his heart nearly breaks in half. Theo's curled under the comforter shivering, breathing like he's trying not to cry.

Seamus doesn't hesitate in getting closer - they've been apart too long. He pulls Theo into his lap and strokes his hair, trying to not let how overheated he feels overwhelm him.

He's on fire with a fever, and it doesn't help that what little Pedialyte he drank has probably burned off already.

“Seamus,” he murmurs, like it's the only word he knows.

“I made you some tea,” Seamus says softly, and Theo makes a soft sound. “I'm gonna grab the thermometer and some ibuprofen and I'll be right back, ok?” He feels Theo nod, so he maneuvers his way out from under him and into their ensuite.

In addition to the thermometer and medication, he soaks a washcloth in some lukewarm water. When he gets back, Theo's half sitting up, taking hesitant sips of the tea, eyebrows furrowed.

Seamus climbs onto the bed next to him and presses the damp cloth to Theo’s forehead.

“I love you so much,” Theo whispers, and his voice sounds even worse than it did an hour ago. Seamus just kisses his cheek. He brings the thermometer up, and doesn't need to say a word for Theo to open his mouth obediently.

They sit there in silence as they wait for the reading, Seamus combing his sweaty hair out with his fingers. He’s terrified to see what his temperature actually is, and tries not to panic when he reads “102.8”

“Why didn't you tell me?” He finally asks.

Theo presses his chapped lips into a line and sighs. Seamus draws the damp washcloth down the side of his throat, then down his sternum.

“You know I would've dropped everything. I would've been on the first flight,” Seamus says, and Theo’s trembling fingers wrap around his wrist. They're so unnaturally warm.

“That's exactly why I didn't tell you, Shay.”

[smile-files]

a song i wrote about my favorite camp counselor. i really like how this one turned out!! it’s super catchy :) 

the audio is a bit glitchy in the beginning, the voice recorder i use isn’t the best... sorry about that :’)

lyrics under the cut!

lyrics:

(verse 1 part 1)

memories manifest in dreams

or so it seems, so it seems

back in the summer of ‘19

was it a dream? just a dream

(verse 1 part 2)

thought i saw you standing there

behind your mask of golden hair

were you ever real at all? i

don’t think i can stand the thought of-

remembering what you have done

for me i knew you’d be the one

am i just talking to the wall? i

don’t think i can stand the thought of-

(chorus)

i need to accept the fact you are gone

or never there

but i’ll still reject, i’ll keep holding on

i’ll never care

that you’re not there

for me

(verse 2 part 1)

memories manifest in dreams

or so it seems, so it seems

back in the summer of 19

was it a dream? just a dream

(verse 2 part 2)

ever since that fateful day

you’ve never really gone away

i tell myself you’re here with me, i

don’t think i can stand the thought of-

talk to you when i’m alone i

press my temples, dial tone

but there’s no valid guarantee, i

don’t think i can stand the thought of-

(chorus)

i need to accept the fact you are gone

or never there

but i’ll still reject, i’ll keep holding on

i’ll never care

that you’re not there

for me~

[duuhrayliegh]

my hero - request

request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder

pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader

warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?

a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

check out my m.list

You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.

You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.

His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.

Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.

Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.

...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.

A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.

“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.

“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.

“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.

“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.

“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.

“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.

“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.

“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.

“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.

“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.

“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.

“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.

“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.

“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.

“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.

*********************

You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.

What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”

“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”

“shailene and seb supremacy”

“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.

Your heart dropped.

There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.

“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.

“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.

“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.

It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.

You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.

“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.

“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.

The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.

“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.

“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.

Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.

“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.

“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.

“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.

“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.

“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.

“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.

“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.

“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.

“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.

“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.

This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.

“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.

“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.

“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Part 10?? Maybe??

He slowly starts to notice more and more people missing limbs. Crutches. Canes. Missing arms.

A small boy runs past with his friends, lipstick across the bridge of his nose. "Form Voltron!" They run laughing and giggling past and Shiro notices the boy is missing arm.

Curtis sees it, too. Sees Shiro's body language change and he knows what's coming. It's a good thing they haven't eaten lunch and are already headed home.

A couple walks past, burn scars down the arms of one, the other on crutches, missing most of a leg.

Curtis thinks about what they pulled from the rubble that day. Those days. What his partner had looked like. He glances at his own hands, both he and Shiro unconsciously picking up their pace.

The second they're through the door Shiro bolts for the bathroom and starts vomiting up his guts.

Curtis presses his back against the door, heart pounding. They're useless to each other right now. Logically he knows Shiro would help him if he could. But that doesn't stop him from feeling like his lungs are full of grit and dust. He's choking on the smell of blood and his hands are bloody and broken from digging in rubble.

Forcing his eyes open, he goes through the steps his doctor told him to try. What can he see? Hear? Smell? Touch?

When he feels calmer he can hear dry heaving still happening. Glancing at his comm device he shoots Keith a message, and Colleen. He knows she'll wrangle her family if possible. Keith might not even be on earth. He's not sure.

Heading into the bathroom, Shiro has yanked his shirt off, the collar was making him feel worse. He can't handle things riding on his neck and the crew neck has to go. In a black tank top and pants, he really wishes his stress reaction wasn't puking. But seeing that kid with the scar drawn on.

Like it was some kind of victory to get cut up and maimed. Some kind of victory to murder people. To execute prisoners. To piss himself when they whipped his back bloody and raw. Or to scream every time, no matter how many times he told himself he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Sobbing, he rubs at his shoulder, at least before he'd had part of an arm. More than just a shoulder. How could that little boy, or any child, ever see him as some kind of hero? He's the Champion, too. A monster. Not a paladin. Never a real paladin.

Curtis makes it in, feeling a little more settled. For all Shiro isn't. Clearly. He sees Shiro squeezing his shoulder and carefully pulls his hand away. "That doesn't look good," he says softly. It looks like weeks of blisters broken open. Months maybe. Looking at it, his concentration distracts Shiro from his own pain and he stops crying.

"What happened? Did you get burned?" He asks, gently touching the edge of a ragged flap of skin. "We gotta remove the bits that're just hanging... And clean this..."

Shiro winces as gentle fingers walk the edge of the wound.

"Is that fluid build up? Is this infected?" He asks, talking more to himself. Getting up he grabs saline solution, gauze, a strong antiseptic and some antibiotic ointment. Setting it all on the edge of the tub, he quickly taps out a message to Colleen while Shiro is brushing his teeth.

She can bring something to debride the nectrotized flesh. And then probably something that will soothe it better than store brand ointment. She makes a lot of medical supplies out of alien flora and fauna. Very effective ones the Garrison is working on mass production of.

Teeth brushed, Shiro looks at all the medical supplies at rubs at his eyes. He hates being poked and prodded at.

Curtis gently kisses his forehead. "Let me clean it up, please. Then we'll just rest some. Okay?"

"Okay," he agrees wearily. "Do I have to try and fake being okay with it?"

"No." Curtis sits him down on the edge of the tub, kissing his temple. He carefully rinses the area with the saline, just making sure everything is flushed out. Nothing trapped in and around the skin to cause further irritation.

Done with that, he pours some antiseptic onto a gauze pad, "I don't know if this'll burn or not, but if it does I'm sorry." Carefully pressing it against Shiro's shoulder, he presses a kiss on his forehead. Stroking Shiro's hair while holding the gauze to his shoulder, he sighs.

"You okay?" Shiro asks, Curtis seems disheveled, too.

"It stressed me out, too. I get it."

"I'm sorry I didn't come help..."

"I'm really glad you puked in the bathroom and not the doorway."

Shiro gives him a weak smile he tiredly returns.

"Don't get mad, but we'll be having company. And you can leave your shirt off."

Shiro stiffens as Curtis throws out the gauze, before opening a new pad and adding some ointment to it and taping it over the mess of skin.

"Who?" He asks, brows pulled together in annoyance.

"Well I'm not sure yet. But they're bringing food."

-

Shiro allows Curtis to wrap a blanket around his shoulders and curl up with him on the couch for all he is most decidedly sulking at the idea of company. Much less anyone seeing him while he's struggling. He's been pulling away from everyone as much as possible other than Curtis.

Not that anyone checks in much. If he says he's fine they believe him. He has pleasant contact with everyone. He knows how they're all doing. But he's gotten things to the point no one even asks him personal questions anymore he's so good at keeping them talking about themselves.

Like Hunk is doing great and Shay and Romelle are helping spread his empire and skills with Vrepit Sal.

Lance is okay farming. Finding some peace and enjoying his family.

Keith and the Blade have been well. When Keith bothers to answer.

Pidge and the Holts are close by and Shiro has gotten good at excusing himself from invites to eat with them. They've given up on asking him without realizing. And if Shiro asks Pidge about anything she's working on she'll talk for hours and he won't have to say a word.

Matt is just like his sister. So he's easy to distract and deflect and Shiro has always been a good actor.

Shiro groans when there's a knock on the door, snuggling deeper into the blanket and shooting Curtis a glare.

Curtis rolls his eyes. He loves that Shiro feels okay dropping his facade of perfection. And that he doesn't mind giving up control once in a while. He thinks Shiro probably secretly loves not having to be the adult all the time.

Ruffling Shiro's hair on his way to the door, he presses the pad and it opens on the entire Holt family along with Keith, Krolia, and Lance.

Shiro peers over the back of the couch and sees a large amount of people and blanches a little. Especially with Colleen and Sam carting two bags in of equipment. Tempted to see if he can sneak out a window he stands up and plasters a smile on.

"Hey!" He holds out his arm to hug Lance who mobs him first, then Keith. The blanket drops and Keith looks right at his shoulder. Krolia comes over to gently clap Shiro on the shoulder and he does his best to ignore her nostrils flaring as she takes in his scent.

"You been sick?" Keith asks him, concerned.

"I'm fine," Shiro laughs. "I've got Curtis to take care of me, if I was."

"You look thin," Krolia comments, and leans in to say something to Keith.

Before they can say more Sam is giving Shiro a hug and they're making pleasant small talk as Matt and Pidge line up to hug him, too.

"Guess we're just missing Hunk, huh?" Shiro asks with a big grin. "I've missed you guys. But I haven't heard from him in a bit, anyone know what planet he's on now?"

"As much as we'd love to talk about Hunk, we came to see you," Keith says. He's not going to let Shiro get out of this. His mother is right, Shiro reeks of vomit and infection. He has circles under his eyes that look like bruises. He's thin, tired. There's a little tremor to his hand.

Colleen bustles into the bathroom and sets up some supplies. She'll need to swoop Shiro away in a minute or two.

Lance dumps some pizza on the counter, Krolia adding a large paper bag of sushi rolls to the pile as Pidge dumps a container of home made soup beside the pizza.

Enough food for a small army now rests on the counters. Matt has added some containers of soda and juice to the mess of food.

Krolia and Keith talk quietly, heads together as Shiro gets Sam talking about his latest project.

Lance starts setting out plates and silverware, figuring they'll need those. He pulls Pidge aside for a second to ask, "Does Shiro look okay?"

She frowns and really looks. "I guess not." Ladling up some soup into a bowl, she brings it over to Shiro. Lance encourages him to sit so he can set the bowl in his lap and eat.

Keith swoops in to take up the rest of the space on the couch as Curtis slips away to go talk to Colleen.

Keith lightly squeezes Shiro's knee, ignoring the general chatter around them.

He works on the soup for a bit. But honestly he doesn't want to eat. His throat is still raw. "Do you want some water?" Keith asks. He knows Shiro better than anyone. Other than maybe Curtis.

"Oh I'm okay," Shiro smiles brightly. "The soup is liquid, so it's not like I need a drink."

"I can tell when you're lying," Keith informs him carefully. "And you really don't need to do that." Holding out his hands for the bowl, he gives his brother a soft look when he passes it over.

He passes the bowl to Krolia who takes it and sets it on the counter before coming back with water.

Pidge and Lance are catching up and Sam is looking around at Curtis' decorations. Matt has finished setting up food for people and has taken some pizza.

Finishing his water, he glances back when he sees Keith's attention shift behind him.

"I'm ready to look at your shoulder," Colleen smiles.

Sam frowns and comes closer. "You never said anything about the arm bothering you," he points out.

Keith bristles a little, for all there's nothing unkind in Sam's tone. "We were kind of busy fighting a war. It's not like he had time to worry about something like a little discomfort." For all now that things are over Keith wishes Shiro had said something.

"That's true," Sam says calmly.

Shiro reaches out to lightly squeeze Keith's shoulder. He gets up with a soft groan.

Colleen lightly pats his back encouragingly as she walks him into the bathroom.

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Curtis leaning against the counter.

(Comments ? Anyone here? Is it shit? Please feed the writer.)

[noelacciari]

Mission: Climb The Ranks

guess what I added on to that Castle AU like a year later so yeah

Relationship: Nursey/Dex

Tags: Castle AU, author nursey, detective dex,K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Read Nurse Series on AO3 | Part 1 On Tumblr 

6 Months Earlier

“Let me get this straight.”

Derek bites back the ‘good luck with that’ that’s on the tip of his tongue, forcing himself to remember that Lardo isn’t a free spirited art major anymore. No, she’s a sergeant in the NYPD who carries a gun and probably would not hesitate to shoot his toe or something to prove a point.

“You are working on a new series, and instead of just doing research like a normal fucking person, you want to shadow one of my detectives?” Lardo rubs at her temple, giving Derek a look like she’s totally over his bull shit.

“This detective,” Derek clarifies, tapping the newspaper article sitting between them on Lardo’s desk. “He’s the one.”

“Derek…” Lardo squints at him, her mouth tilting up in a sideways smirk. “I’m not going to burden my best detective with your distracting ass if this is just about your thing for gingers in uniform.”

Derek lets out an undignified squawk of protest. “This is serious Lards!” He yelps, throwing his hands up in the air. “I want this series to have that grit to them, that real life feel, and I can’t do that without being immersed in a case!”

They stare at each other for a tense moment, Lardo’s dark brown eyes undoubtedly trying to set him on fire or something terrible. He’s not being dramatic okay, Larissa Duan can be fucking scary when she wants to be.

“Fine.” Lardo reaches for her desk phone, pressing a few buttons and cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. Derek can hear the tinny sound of a greeting on the other end. “Poindexter,” Lardo snaps in her I’m In Charge voice. “Can you come on in to my office, I have an assignment for you.” She hangs up before the voice on the other end can even respond.

A silence descends over the office, and Derek can’t help but start to get jittery. Because the thing is… the thing is that he was being truthful with Lardo, he definitely needs this, and Poindexter’s the best detective in the City, but like also… he’s hot as fuck. So like, Derek might be a little bit nervous about this, is all. After another moment he jumps up out of his chair, pacing around for a few seconds before settling awkwardly on the corner of Lardo’s desk.

“What the fuck, Nursey?” She whispers, but Derek isn’t about to look at her. He’s focusing deeply on maintaining that cool, collected, charming exterior he’s perfected over the years, ever since his publisher insisted on putting his photo on the book jacket for Blood on the Beach. Luckily a knock on the door interrupts any further harassment from Lardo. And then the door swings open, and Derek realizes that this was a terrible, terrible idea.

Present Day

Derek sighs and rolls over for what feels like the hundredth time in half an hour. This was probably all part of Shay’s plan to make his life miserable. Or well, she’s not doing it in a malicious way, she undoubtedly thinks it’s for his own good, but god dammit this is fucking torture.

He can still see it clearly in his mind, the first time he saw Dex in the flesh. It was like some kind of wet dream, Dex’s hair slightly damp, his stiff blue button up shirt hanging open to reveal a thin white undershirt beneath. That white fabric was tight and translucent and Derek swore he could see the outline of Dex’s pecs from across the room. Dex had darted a glance at him, eyes widening just barely, a slight flush rising on his cheeks, and Derek had kind of wanted to die. Dex said something about coming back from the gym to Lardo, but all Derek could think about was how he wanted to get his mouth all over that.

And now, thanks to his evil ex-wife, he has gotten his mouth all up on that. Or well, they’ve kissed, twice. And the second kiss was definitely not something he would be forgetting about soon. He knew the fake boyfriends thing was a terrible idea, but Derek has never claimed to have good ideas, especially when it comes to pretty boys.

Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply, starting to count down from one hundred. He makes it all the way to seventy five before the numbers in his head are replaced with the image of Angela pouncing on Dex, giggling as Dex fakes his own death with over the top dramatics. Dex is laughing too, his chin tilted back and his eyes sparkling, and Derek’s stomach hurts with how much he wants. From there it’s only natural to replay the kiss, starting with Dex’s big hands curled around his forearms. He can almost taste Dex’s lips, warm and soft and sweet with wine. He can still hear Dex calling him Buttercup, can still see the way Dex’s pupils were blown wide when they broke the kiss, can still feel the tingle from Dex’s stubble dragging against his own.

Derek sighs and starts counting again. It’s going to be a long night.  

The next morning, he considers not going in to the station. It’s not his actual job or anything, and like, he could always claim that he needed to take a day to work on some actual writing instead of following Poindexter around like lost puppy. (And yes, in the daylight it’s Poindexter, not Dex). But he knows what that will look like to Poindexter, and he doesn’t have it in him to leave Poindexter to deal with Birkholtz and Chow’s harassment all by himself. It’ll be fine, he reasons. He can act like last night was all a great and amazing joke, like he can’t still feel the ghost of Poindexter’s lips against his own.

“Not fucking cool,” Derek whispers to himself as he pushes apart the elevator doors, eyes going immediately to Poindexter. Over the past six months, Derek had gotten fairly used to Poindexter and all of his ridiculousness. He doesn’t laugh awkwardly at Poindexter’s jokes anymore, didn’t stare too long at his biceps or anything weird. But Poindexter had the nerve to wear a god damn sweater today, and for some reason all Derek can think about is getting his hands all over it. Which is just… not fucking cool.

“Hey Poindexter, your boyfriend’s here!” Birkholtz bellows, his chuckle bordering on obnoxious. Derek considers hitting him, because the dude can be annoying as fuck, but he gets distracted by the bright flush spreading from Poindexter’s oversized ears to his cheeks. A grown ass man blushing shouldn’t do anything for Derek, but it has his chest feeling tight and an urge to press kisses all across that pink skin rising up inside him regardless.

“Hey babe,” Derek says, shooting finger guns at Poindexter for good measure. It makes Chow laugh, and Poindexter rolls his eyes, but Derek can’t stop staring at Poindexter’s mouth. He doesn’t even have good lips, is the fucking thing. They’re thin and always grimacing or frowning, and really, not ideal for kissing. But last night… last night Derek just wanted those stupid lips all over his entire body.

“Fingerprints came back on our vic,” Poindexter starts as Derek half falls into his chair, setting the tray of coffees down beside him. “Ryanne Combs, nineteen, worked as a go-go dancer at a nightclub, lives at home with her mother in Queens.” Poindexter is all business, though it doesn’t really go with that indecently soft looking blue sweater or the faint blush still covering his cheeks. Derek is staring, and he knows it, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop. “You two,” Poindexter continues, pointing at Chow and Birkholtz, “Go visit the mother. She’s already been notified of her daughter’s death. See if she knows what Ryanne was doing in Greenwich Village. Nurse and I are going to take her place of employment.”

“Spending some more quality time together, huh?” Birkholtz adds, waggling his eyebrows. Nurse would flip him off, but Poindexter’s already glaring, so he figures he should try not to add more fuel to the fire.

“As if you and Chow want to be split up,” Poindexter shoots back easily, standing up in one smooth motion. Derek can’t help but watch as Poindexter holsters his gun and pins on his badge, his NYPD jacket pulling tight across his broad shoulders. It’s a powerful image, something full of serious responsibility and just a tinge of raw sexuality that Derek has been trying to capture in writing Detective Wilder for months now. Grabbing his pen, he hastily scribbles down as few sentences in his notepad, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he can trick his readers into falling in love with Wilder, the same way he accidently fell in love with Poindexter.

It takes Derek a moment to realize he just thought the love word to himself, about Poindexter, and he kind of wants to bleach out his brain. This was not part of the plan, this cannot be happening, there is a big difference between lust and love and Derek did not realize he was so close to that dangerous line.

“Coming Nurse? Or you gonna hang out and write weird metaphors all day?” Poindexter smirks at him, that smug little grin that shows off his teeth and makes Derek’s skin feel too hot.

“I must follow the detective with hair the color of a taco bell hot sauce packet – mild, of course,” Derek half sings. Poindexter laughs, and not for the first time, Derek thanks his parents for skin that doesn’t easily flush. He is so, so, fucked.

The Grind is exactly the kind of place Derek would have as a backdrop for one of his more cheesy mystery novels. In the light of day the place is almost eerie, all those blank walls and velvet couches lit up with sunlight. In the dark with colored lights and fog machines going, it probably seems more… sensual, but for now, it’s just kind of strange. Of course it doesn’t help that Poindexter would be out of place here no matter the time of day, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere judging by the stiffness of his movements. It would probably be comical, if Derek could stop thinking about the good time he’d show Poindexter at one of the clubs he likes to frequent. He can just imagine Poindexter with glitter sticking to his sweaty skin, smiling easier with a beer in his hand, pupils blown wide as he watches Derek dance.

“Yeah I know Ryanne,” the club manager huffs, wiping a cloth across the sticky top of one of the VIP tables. “She’s missed three shifts now, what kind of trouble has she gotten into this time?” The manager seems tired, her violet braids tied up in a big bun on top of her head. She looks like what Derek imagines Aphrodite to be, with her deep brown eyes and darker skin, her body full of soft curves, from her lips to her hips and waist. He knows instantly that he’ll be writing a character around her at some point, almost captivated with the way her lips part in shock when Poindexter breaks the news to her.

“Well now that I think of it,” she’s saying as Derek brings himself back to reality. “There was a guy, he showed up here several times, always on Ryanne’s nights… he’d just stand there and stare at her while she danced. It was creepy as hell. I don’t think he was here during the shifts she missed either.”

Poindexter nods seriously, scribbling something down in his notebook. “Could you help us identify this man? We need to track him down.”

“He was here just a few days ago, I can have someone in security pull the footage from the front door and send it over.”

“That would be great, thanks Olivia.” Poindexter hands her his card, shoving his notebook back in his pocket. “Give me a call when you find the footage, or if you think of anything else.”

Derek follows Poindexter out of the club in a haze, mind working overtime as he thinks about how he will add Olivia to his book. Perhaps as Detective Wilder’s best friend, who he has unmistakable UST with. Or maybe as a rival FBI agent, always showing up to take over Wilder’s cases before he can solve them. There’s so many possibilities here, and it feels good to add a character that’s outside of Wilder’s core group of fellow detectives that the story is built around.  

“So,” Poindexter says, his voice catching in his throat. Derek blinks and forces himself to the present, only to realize that they’re in Poindexter’s SUV, and have been driving for a few minutes at least. “About last night…” Derek swallows hard. He has no idea where Poindexter is going with this, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to like it. “When we… um… kissed… I just uh, wanted to make sure that I didn’t like over step or anything… you know, we didn’t really talk about it.”

Derek can’t help but grin. Poindexter’s actually being almost chivalrous. It’s ridiculous, is what it is, but god dammit, it’s kind of cute. “Dude, you’re all good, don’t worry about it,” Derek pats absently at Poindexter’s arm. “That was like, top five material anyways bro, so thanks for that.”

Poindexter lets out a choking sound, and when Derek looks at him, his entire face has gone bright red. Derek replays that last sentence in his head.

“Uh…” he starts, wracking his brain for some sort of explanation that isn’t totally humiliating but also doesn’t totally wreck his chances of getting to kiss Poindexter again.

“Top five material,” Poindexter asks, his voice jumping an octave. “Only top five, seriously?”

And that isn’t exactly where Derek thought this was going. He shifts sideways in his seat so that he can smirk at Poindexter head on. “Where do you rank our kiss, Poindexter?”

“This isn’t about my experiences,” Poindexter scowls, full flush returning to his ears and neck. “It’s just not acceptable to me to be any lower than third place.” He sets his jaw, defiant, as they pull into the precinct lot, and Derek has to tamp down on the sudden urge to set his teeth on the sharp edge of Poindexter’s jawbone.

“Well you’re sitting solidly in fifth place,” Derek lies, purposefully not moving from his seat as Poindexter parks the SUV. He can feel his heart pounding in his fingertips, blood racing hot through his veins. “Moving up in the ranks is all up to you, dude.”

The tension in the car is palpable, like electricity zipping back and forth between Derek and Poindexter as they stare at each other across the center console. Poindexter’s eyes flick down to Derek’s lips and back up again, and Derek feels like he’s suddenly back at sixteen and kissing Tiffany Brown for the very first time. “Yeah, okay,” Poindexter breathes, his voice low and thick and full of determination. Derek’s not ready for Poindexter to reach for him, one big, calloused hand curling around the back of his neck, dragging him gently forward. He’s not ready for the slow drag of Poindexter’s upturned nose up the length of his throat, the shivery heat of his breath against his ear. He is ready by the time their eyes lock though, ready for Dex’s lips on his, ready for anything Dex could throw at him.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Dex asks, and it’s cliché and annoying, and the answer is obviously yes, and Derek clearly shouldn’t be swooning, but he is. Oh he is.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, already starting to close the distance between them. This kiss is different than the last, rougher, hotter. Their lips slot together for only a moment before Dex’s teeth are involved, nipping and tugging, soothing the sting with his tongue. Derek thinks he might be dying, possibly, when he pushes his fingers into Dex’s hair and Dex straight up whines. He’s uncomfortably aware of how hard his dick is all of a sudden, but he can’t really bring himself to care, when Dex’s teeth tug gently at his ear. “Jesus Dex,” he sighs, tilting his head to the side in an effort to offer up more skin.

Dex hums, pressing chaste kisses all along Derek’s jaw as he works his way back to his mouth. When their lips meet again it’s clearly with the distinct purpose of reducing Derek to a puddle in the passenger seat of this SUV. It’s the perfect combination of tongue and teeth and lips, like Dex somehow got his hands on a Kissing Derek Nurse: For Dummies book and memorized it word for word. Derek wants to take off Dex’s shirt, wants to take off his own shirt, wants to move this to the backseat and take Dex apart piece by piece. He wants to take Dex home, wants him in his bed and in his kitchen and wants to watch him read Harry Potter to Angela at bed time.

And that… that is scary as fuck, but he’s pretty sure he’s passed the point of no return on this one.

“So,” Dex whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Derek’s lips. “Where do I rank now?” Derek blinks at him, for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to play this.

“Solid third,” he says finally, watching a smirk lift Dex’s lips. “Can’t give you any higher than that though.” Dex’s eyes narrow momentarily, before a smug (insanely hot) grin takes over his face.

“We’ll see about that.” Dex has the audacity to wink at him before turning and climbing out of the SUV, an irritating swagger evident as he heads towards the precinct. Derek hurries after him, praying that he doesn’t look freshly ravaged and beyond annoyed that it’s still daylight and he’s reverted to referring to him as Dex in his head instead of Poindexter.

Dex holds the door for him, which is completely out of character, but Derek isn’t going to complain about getting to enjoy a tension filled elevator ride with the guy he apparently wants to get all domestic with. “You know,” Dex says, as the elevator passes the second floor. “You’re probably like, a solid fifth for me.” It’s a lie, Derek thinks, judging by the vaguely guilty look on Dex’s face.

Derek can’t help but grin as the elevator opens on the third floor, more than happy to watch the flex of Dex’s shoulders as he shoves the doors all the way open. “We’ll see about that.”

Dex flips him the bird over his shoulder, but it’s totally worth it.