#but ends up being in the bathroom for hours and baseball is like “okay what the hell is going on” when he finds him

[mallywarez]

I love my Human AU but also why is Human AU!Nickel like this </3

[mintskiez]

Please Don't Leave

Hi, here's a bittersweet little fanfic based on the aftermath the latest episode. All of them are traumatized but it's going to be okay. This is for all my homies who just need a hug. 

CW: Swearing, brief mention of blood, child abuse, and guns (nothing more dramatic than the canon show) 

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Some days are better than others. Some days you wake up at 9AM to the sound of a painfully off-key four year old singing to an NHK kids program, the distant clatter of cutlery, and the smell of pancakes. Some days the sunlight spills over the peony scented sheets like gold and you let the calm swallow you whole. 

Today is not one of those days.Today is one of those days where you wake up in a cold sweat, heaving on the bathroom floor. The tiles had drained all warmth from your body. The prickly gash in your arm has bled through the tensor bandage and is now staining the sterile white porcelain of the bathtub. You forgot to turn off those sickly greenish lights again. Serves you right for staying up three nights buzzed off of energy drinks with a loaded glock at your side. You wish you had saved more on your energy bill so you wouldn’t have to see your gaunt feverish reflection in the mirror. 

‘Clean it up—“ you hear in your father’s voice. It sounds dangerously close. The tension in those words is so tight it feels like it’s inches from making contact with your skin. Shakily you erase any trace of your stay in this room.

‘Miri.'

You silently pace down the hall. Gentle on the heel and breathe through your mouth slowly so you don’t make a sound. You’ve memorized where the floorboards creek and where they hold your weight without complaint. Gently you push the pads of your fingers into the sticker and crayon covered door before slipping your head in. The cat clock is ticking away methodically. It’s 2:08 AM. You watch the lump of pink pyjamas and messy brown hair with bated breath. Your shoulders ease an inch when your confirm the rise and fall of her chest. She groans and mumbles something before rolling over to face you.

'She’s safe.' You scold yourself mentally. 'Go back to your post.’

That’s when she opens her big brown eyes and screams. You jolt and step backwards. Your footing is lost on a discarded heap of laundry resting on the hardwood floor. Your head makes contact with the threshold. Stars. Suddenly the whimpers hidden behind a quilted shield becomes uncontrollable wailing. 

Within moments you hear sheets being thrown down the hall and the slam of a bedroom door. Kazuki sprints down the hall within seconds with a baseball bat over his shoulder, hair as wild as his bleary stare. You lock eyes. He slowly lowers his weapon, tosses it to the side, and starts hissing exasperated remarks before bursting into Miri’s bedroom and flipping on the light switch. “Papa, there’s a monster—“ Miri chokes.Kazuki sighs and meets her embrace with a firm bear hug. “Miri, there is no monster—"

‘Monster.' You only catch the tail end of what Kazuki says because you’re already halfway down the hall. 

   He finds you an hour later on the balcony. He’s likely lulled her back to sleep and replaced himself with several plushies to get here. The cool air and calming scent of tobacco has reduced rigors to a fine tremor. It’s peaceful for a moment as you watch the flickering lights over the bridge and the faraway sound of the river flowing. Another drag of a cigarette steadies your uneven breathing. Kazuki knows better than to rest a hand on your shoulder right now and you are grateful for it. Instead he joins you at the railing.    

“Kyu-chan called.” Kazuki said softly. “Is this why you gave us these?” He slipped a couple plane tickets, forged passports, and an envelope of cash out from his dressing gown and waved it listlessly over the three story drop.    

“You two don’t deserve this.” You murmur. You don’t deserve to get hurt because of me.    

Kazuki gave a bitter laugh. “Is this why you’ve been so eager on chores and taking Miri to school lately? You’re playing hero?” You turn to him a little shocked. “Miri didn’t deserve the parents she was given. I didn’t deserve to lose my wife and unborn child. You didn’t deserve to be abused and turned into a child soldier.”    

“I—“     

"Do you know what we do deserve, Rei?” He barks. “We deserve this stupid little family. I don’t care how much I suck at our job or how much you suck at being a civilian, I would die to keep it. You are fucking insane if you think I’m going to leave you!”    

You stare, something sadder than a scream trying to escape your paralyzed tongue. A raw, beaten, and longing part of you lamely lifts a hand to reach for him. Within seconds you’re holding onto each other for dear life. Kazuki’s shaky breathing is muffled into your shoulder. You can feel the steadying beat of his heart against your ribs. One hand is woven through your hair and another drawing circles into your back. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Somehow you both make it to the living room. Kazuki pulls two chairs between the sofa and coffee table before reinforcing them with couch cushions. Everything is moving in slow motion, slipping between your fingers like water. It’s only when he returns from the hall with a blanket that you start to question the scene unfolding in front of you.     

“What are you doing?”    

“Making a pillow fort,” he huffs.     

“Why?”    

Kazuki looks at his work with a solemn smile. “When Miri does it she always seems happier.”    

Before you can comment he’s already dragging you by the shirt collar and crawling inside. It’s cramped, dangerously soft, and the little lamp between covers the fleece ceiling with a maple syrup hue. You sink into the cushions a bit before someone draws up your sleeve and starts working on the shoddy dressing. You’re too exhausted to protest.    

“You were bleeding on the floor, dumbass.” He scolds. “How long were you planning to hide this?”    

You shrug halfheartedly. He pours saline over the gash. You clench your jaw. By the time the blood has been dabbed away with gauze, the edges taped together, and a thick pad of cotton is slapped overtop, you’re nodding off. You wonder if there is another reality where you two met as children and sat in a pillow fort together.     

You don’t realize that he left until you hear the ticking on the gas burner and the clunk of the kettle. A needy insecure part of you wants to call him back. Instead of pushing it down as usual, you think of what he said on the balcony and feel a little more at ease. It’s not long before you are both sitting shoulder to shoulder with warm herbal tea in your hands. It’s raspberry, lavender, and camomile, with honey, of course.     

That’s when you hear footsteps.     

The floorboards groan.         

The hair stands on the back of your neck.     

A shadow looms over the fleece roof of the pillow fort.         

That’s when a drowsy Miri appears with a strawberry print blanket trailing behind her. She whines about Kazuki-papa leaving before crawling into your lap. Kazuki appears relieved but a little offended.    

“Rei-papa,” she yawns. “You’re not a monster. I’m sorry.” You gently brush her bangs out of her eyes. “When mama gets sad, she leaves. Please don’t leave.”     

There is that creeping feeling in your throat again. She nuzzles her porcelain cheek into your chest and grips balls up the grey fabric in her tiny hands. Neither you or Kazuki say it aloud but raising Miri has become a kind of healing. For Kazuki, it's moving on. It's becoming the father he was so excited about becoming before it was all taken away. For you it's learning the patience and kindness that you were never entitled to. Suddenly the numbness of blue screens and cigarette smoke falls away with a sober realization: you could lose what you thought were never worthy of. 

You curl into her little fragile body and feel your bones start to shake. You don’t realize how hard you're biting back tears until you taste metal. Kazuki envelopes both of you like the giant space heater he is. Maybe it’s the weight on your mind or Kazuki’s stupid pec crushing your aching arm but years of self loathing, guilt, and anger start to spill out in tears racing down your cheeks. It’s so overwhelming your stomach collapses into itself and all you can do is gasp for air. Startled, Miri starts bawling too. It takes twenty minutes of gentle rocking, whispered words of reassurance, and wiping away tears but the tide of your breath turns slow and littered with hiccups. You forget the feeling that catharsis forced out of you and float in that cotton headspace a bit while smoothing out the cowlicks on your daughter’s head.     

“I’m sorry I made Rei-papa cry…” Miri sobs.    

“No!” You blurt out. The thought of letting her carry that guilt makes you queasy.     

Kazuki sighs and cups her face with one hand. “Miri, sometimes people need to cry but they don’t feel safe enough to do it.” He explains. “Then all that sad and angry makes you sick and you forget how to smile.”    

Miri sniffs and lets out a meek but thoughtful “oh".     

“That’s why we need family,” he announces. Oh god, not another inspirational rant. “So we don’t get emotionally constipated!”    

Miri knocks her head to the side. “What’s a con-stah-pated?"    

Kazuki cackles. You elbow him in the side. He pulls both of you down with a dramatic roar into the cushions in retaliation. Miri squeaks and giggles. She looks up at you with equally red and puffy eyes, slaps her grubby fingers on your cheek, and smiles. It’s incredibly effective.    

“I’m not leaving.”    

“Promise?”    

“Promise.”

   The next day you wake up from a dreamless sleep. Hazy shadows slowly come into focus. You hear the noisy little inhales and exhales of a child pressed into your shoulder. Your forehead is warm against a man’s stubbly jaw. The refrigerator hums and somewhere far away there are sparrows singing. Shards of rose and orange morning light dance across the blanket canvas protecting all of you. All of the tension wound up in your back has come undone. The pain in your arm is dull and distant. Your eyes start to grow heavy again. Next time you wake up it's 9AM, there’s a painfully off-key four year old singing to an NHK kids program, the table is being set, and you smell pancakes.

[farity]

Found, part 2

Pairing:  Aemond Targaryen x OFC Stark - Modern AU

Warnings:  Family bullshit, gun violence, references to smut

Summary: Modern AU set in Silicon Valley.  Aemond is a high-tech security expert, Aegon is an asshole, and Helaena is adorable.

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part 1

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“I want every goddamn detail!”

Margot had been texting Anna all evening, apparently, bored out of her mind at the baseball game.  When Anna didn’t reply until the next morning with a casual, “hey, sorry I missed your texts,” Margot knew there had to be an excellent reason.

“I will meet you at Dumpling Time in an hour and you better tell me everything about that tall drink of premium vodka!”

Anna knew there was no getting out of this conversation, and part of her didn’t want to, not really.  Margot being in town made things seem a little like the old days and as she dried her hair, she knew that it would do her good to chat with an old friend.

She thought back to the previous night and felt her face start to burn.  After that first, almost frantic time, Aemond had seemed determined to take his time with her.  As she’d come down from her high, she found him nipping at her fingertips, one of his long legs intertwined with hers.  He’d moved up to gently rub his lips over her inner wrist, making her shiver, and when she’d started dragging her nails through his short, white blond hair, he’d nearly started purring against her skin.  

He’d moved up to kiss her again, his mouth demanding.  She moaned against him and he pulled away, moving down to begin devouring her neck.  “Tell me,” he whispered in her ear, “tell me what you like.”

“Oh,” Anna breathed out, struggling to think, “I like everything you’re doing.”

* * * * * 

Anna arrived at the restaurant to find Margot already surrounded by a dozen plates.  “Is there an army joining us?”

Margot smiled, raising an eyebrow.  “I thought you might need to regain your energy.”  She enveloped Anna in a hug and let her friend sit next to her.  “I want to know everything.”

“Well, I’m seeing him again, so . . . “

“So you enjoyed his dick and he enjoyed your-”

“Margot!”

“Oh god, let’s stop playing Queen Victoria, shall we?  His place or yours?”

Anna took a deep breath, placing some of the dumplings on her plate.  “His.  Very . . . cozy.  Surprisingly cozy.”

“I wouldn’t have called that,” Margot said in between sips of her sake, “I would have said industrial minimalism, or luxe minimalism.”

“Oh, lots of industrial stuff.”

“Nice.”  Margot sighed, “okay, so enough of the interior design section of our talk.  Tell me.”

* * * * * 

“I’m going to fucking murder you.  I had three of those bitches ready to come home with me.”

“Good morning, Aegon.”

Aemond looked at his brother as he walked past him into his living room.

“Are you still fucking that ballet dancer?”

“What do you want, Aegon?”

“I broke something last night.  The security system.  I don’t know what I did, can you fix it?”

“I can send one of my techs-”

“Oh fuck you and your fucking techs, you can fucking fix it, don’t be a fucking asshole, Aemond, you . . . wait, can you send Ellie?  She’s hot.”

“I have made a mental note to never send Ellie to your place.  I’ll be there after I shower.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Goodbye, Aegon.”

Aemond closed the door behind his brother, and grabbed his phone, adding a reminder under his brother’s file to never, ever, send Ellie to his place.  He opened up his text encryption app, wrote a few words to Anna, sent the message.

He was seeing her again on Saturday, which was two days too long to wait.  Padding over to his bathroom to turn on the shower, he remembered asking her if she wanted to come home with him.  He never asked.  He couldn’t read her as well as he was used to reading women, and between the automatic reluctance to sleep with a client and Anna’s own guarded demeanor, he had felt a strange panic at the thought of dinner being the end for them.  

He had felt her shyness when he’d begun removing her clothes, had been surprised at the embellished, lacy bra and underwear she’d had on, a sharp contrast to the almost shapeless suit she wore.  

He stepped into the blistering hot shower, remembering the feel of her, how her perfume and his cologne had mixed with their sweat and lingered on his skin.  He hadn’t wanted to take her home.  He’d wanted to keep her in his bed for at least a week, and wondered how long the marks he’d left on the back of her neck would last.  

* * * * * 

Anna grabbed her phone at the sound of the notification.  

“Is that him?”

She smiled, rubbed the back of her neck, wrote a few words, hit Send.  “Yup.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What?”

Margot examined the quickly vanishing dumplings before taking another sip of sake.  “You should have seen how he was looking at you when he came into the bar.”

Anna took a bite of her food, raising her eyebrows in question.

“He looked like a fucking predator.  It was like one of those National Geographic shows, he was headed towards his fuckface brother, saw you, and boom, laser focus, that was it.”

“Not that you’re being dramatic or anything.”

“And he just texted you.  Staking his territory.  Securing his prey.  So hot.”

Anna laughed, “you watch too much reality tv.”

“I watch just enough reality tv to know what’s what.  Even Rob, who, let’s face it, is happy to be wrapped around my finger, didn’t text me the morning after,” she sniffed.  “If there are flowers waiting for you at home, girl, you are definitely the prey in this situation.”

* * * * * 

Somehow, Aemond had found out what her favorite flower was.  Either that, or it was one of the luckiest guesses in the history of dating, and Anna didn’t think he would leave such a thing to chance.

Three dozen yellow ranunculus now sat in the priceless crystal vase her mother had given her when graduated from college.

But it was the other, smaller package that had truly surprised her.  

Two bags of the coffee he kept in his office.  The coffee she’d mentioned she loved.

“I’d rather be the only one keeping you up at night, but hopefully it will remind you of our first meeting. A.”

She was definitely the prey.  

* * * * * 

“Did you throw beer at the keypad?”

Aegon had the decency to not deny it, although he merely shrugged his shoulders.  

“This is not under warranty.”

“Oh, fucking blow me, Aemond.”

“I need to source a new wall unit, so you’re going to be without security for a couple of days.  We have the top of the line stuff, it’s not sold anywhere.”

“Can I crash at your place?”

“No.”

Aegon sighed.  “It’s okay, mom will let me crash at hers.  Unless the boys are in town.”  He paced back and forth as Aemond dismantled the ruined keypad.  “So who was the chick at the bar?”

“What?”

“The chick in the shitty suit.  You couldn’t tell the size of her tits in that jacket.  Who was she?”

Aemond held back a curse, knowing well Aegon would pick up on it and start digging.  “Potential client.  Here, don’t touch these wires or I’m not doing this again.”

“You fucking her?”

Goddamn it.

“Fuck off.”

Aegon laughed.  “That’s not a ‘no’, bro-mond.  You’re fucking her.  Seriously?  You went from a fucking ballerina to that chick in a fucking man suit?”

Aemond stared at his older brother.  “Fuck.  Off.”

Aegon raised his hands up in mock surrender.  “Okay, okay.  I won’t tell mom or anything.  Or Helaena.  I mean, maybe I will.  You never know.”

Aemond said nothing as he walked out of Aegon’s place, already dreading the next family dinner.

* * * * * 

Bolton Heir Eyes Stark Inc.

Scrolling through his usual headline feeds, Aemond caught a brief article about Ramsay Bolton, heir to his family’s fortune, and the bid that Stark Inc had recently rejected.  Bolton expressed his disappointment and frustration, arguing that his company was exactly what Stark Inc. needed.

A quick search on Bolton revealed a troubled past, several arrests for disorderly conduct and a one-month stay in a psychiatric hospital.  He made a mental note to ask Anna about him.

Later that day, he made the short walk to his mother’s house on the west side of the compound.  He brought the recent shipments he’d received from his winery futures, and chatted with her and his sister while they waited for Aegon.

“What happened with that ballerina, Aemond?” his mother asked, and Helaena made a face behind Alicent’s back, mouthing sorry.

“It was over a while ago, mom,” he replied, pouring wine for the three of them.  “It ran its course.”

“She was meant for cooler climates,” Helaena said to no one in particular, “but beware of grace under fire.”

Alicent walked past her only daughter and patted Helaena’s white blond locks while she placed the tray with roasted vegetables on the table.  “By the way, Aegon is not going to make it tonight.  He’s up in Tahoe with some college friends.”

Helaena reached out to grab Aemond’s hand, “it’s just the three of us, brother.”

So he’d been granted a reprieve from Aegon spilling the beans about Anna to his family.  “How are you, sweet sister?” he asked Helaena.

‘I am good, they’ve asked to extend my contract,” she smiled, ignoring Alicent’s disapproving huff, “so it looks like I’m staying in the area for a few more semesters.”

“I’m very proud of you, Hel,” he said sincerely, watching his sister’s smile grow.

* * * * * 

He’d called Anna when he got home, got her voicemail, sent her a quick text to let her know he was thinking of her.  She was probably working late, he told himself when, an hour later, he hadn’t heard back from her.

Stop, he thought half an hour after that, don’t call or text again, you’re going to scare her away.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

At midnight, after texting twice more, he decided to screw whatever dating rules people followed nowadays and drive over to her place.  

When he saw the yellow police tape at the gate of Winterfell, his heart sank.  There were two cop cars parked right outside and he parked, leaving his car running while he raced to the first policeman he saw. 

“Anna Stark?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Where’s Anna Stark?”

“Are you family?”

“No, but-”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”

“I’m her boyfriend,” he tried again.

The cop, an older man, looked him up and down, “you’re that Targaryen kid, aren’t you?  Not the shithead, the other one.”

“Aemond.  Aemond Targaryen.  Can you tell me anything, please?”

“UCSF Medical Center.  She’s been shot.”  The cop looked crestfallen.  “I would hurry, kid.”

* * * * * 

[nctsworld]

skateboard love

✩‌ yangyang x reader | skater boy!yangyang | college au | fluff | 2.2k

SUMMARY | yangyang tries to get you to skateboard for the first time and in doing so, you’re taken back to when you first met him. // for @notnctu​’s beginning collab! WARNINGS | slight injury (reader trips over a curb), one swear word, kissing RATING | teen+ TAGLIST | @infnteen​

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, shaking your head in defeat.

The ocean waves clamour nearby as you stare down at the skateboard and concrete pavement beneath your sneakers in frustration.

The weight of your helmet and the wrist guards are blatant in your every movement. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing at your age, but it’d be best to rather be safe than sorry.

Thankfully, they’ve been coming in handy during the times you almost fell and slipped off of your boyfriend’s skateboard. It may have been his idea to try to learn, but you weren’t opposed to it, thinking it’d be easy.

They say things are easier said than done, and now you’re forced to admit skateboarding definitely falls under that list.

“Yes, you can,” Yangyang softly says. Beside you, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, causing you to peer into his gleaming eyes and bright smile.

Despite the recentness of your relationship, your boyfriend’s patience and encouragement feels like routine, like he’s been by your side for your entire life. His words don’t fall on deaf ears; you parrot his smile and muster a small nod, albeit glancing away shyly.

“Just think about all the times you’ve watched me skate past the library and copy what I did.”

Petulantly, you stick your tongue out. “It wasn’t that often.”

Disbelief reflects back at you in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Around mid-September, in the most modern, glass-structured library on campus, you found a studying area that was perfect for you.

Main floor, nearby the entrance doors for an easy exit when class was about to roll around. A high stool chair that was cushioned comfortably for endless hours of equal parts studying and procrastination. Plugs and desk space galore.

Above all, it was perfect because you had the picturesque view of the boy who always skated every other day around 11:50am towards his next class across the wide stoned boulevard in front of the library.

You noticed him the first few times when you initially sat upstairs. Even from afar and above, your interest was piqued over how coolly he skated past all the students. There were only so many students who biked to their next class, and even less who skateboarded.

And after you decided to sit downstairs for once to finally steal a closer glimpse of him, you were completely smitten upon capturing his handsome features.

Thus, your heart constantly raced in anticipation when 11:50am hit, as students scattered all across campus during this transition period. 

With a thumb tucked in his pocket and headphones over his ears to boot, the mystery skater boy often slid past around 11:55am, making your mind wonder where his former class was and where he was going. Was he in Engineering? Arts? Business?

The latter option didn’t seem likely since his style didn’t echo the stereotypical look of the faculty. Dark coloured hoodies and sweaters, bomber jackets, and skinny jeans were his usual choice of fashion, alongside the occasional baseball cap. And on the days he wore his cap backwards, he was truly in his skater element.

No matter, you always swooned with your chin perched atop your fist or resting inside your palm as he passed by. The brief sighting of him easily became the highlight of your day.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t try to look for him in your classes, but to no avail. You had to live with the fact that you’d only get to know him in passing as he skated on by the library.

When the mere hoodies and sweaters were exchanged for heavier, thicker jackets and coats, he still continued to traverse across campus via his unsurprising mode of transportation. You especially admired his dedication on the days filled with rain and wind, wishing there was some way for you to ease his trips to his next class.

All throughout the couple of months, he was consistent in attending that one class.

Except one day.

It was a Friday, about a week or two near finals season. The weather was quite chilly now, but snow wouldn’t be an issue until after winter break and well into the next semester, so there wasn’t any reason for him to not use his skateboard still.

Maybe he was sick at home, you thought. Pouting, you tried not to dwell over the stranger because that’s all what he was. 

Someone you didn’t know, someone you only watched from afar. Someone that filled your daydreams, pondering what he’d be like and what’d you two could talk about... but nevertheless a stranger.

Oddly enough, about an hour past noon, someone dragged you out of your thoughts momentarily as they unusually sat nearby your spot. 

The unspoken library etiquette was to sit as far away from others for more personal space, especially in the area where you frequented. You tried your best to ignore the shuffling of the person placing their laptop and books onto the elongated wall-length table, feigning laser-focus on your notes.  

But a few moments later, you heard a whisper coming from their direction.

“Is this your favourite spot in the library?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dragging your headphones down to your shoulders as you swivelled towards the seated stranger. Air seized in your lungs and your eyebrows shot up.

The gorgeous skater boy glowed with rosy cheeks from the cold air outside, paired with his stunning smile. You realized this was the first time you’ve ever seen him smile—preciously, by the way, with his teeth on full display—and your heart stirred like crazy.

A beat stretched out. Your jaw hung in shock and you blinked blankly. Guess you solved the mystery as to where he was today.

He beamed more intensely at your awe struck and continued to whisper, “I always see you sitting here when I get to my next class.”

“Uhm,” your jaw snapped up, prior to your dry gulp. “What?”

“Yeah,” his deep chuckling tickled your ear. God, of course a smooth voice matched a face like that. “you stare out the window so cutely whenever I pass by the library.”

A record scratched, then you rewound the moment in your head. Not only did he knew you existed but...

Did he just called you cute?

Catching on with awareness over his own words, the skater boy pouted to one side. His cheek jutted out adorably and red seemed to crawl over them, progressing over to the tips of his ears too.

Light giggling from both parties filled the space, with you tucking your hair behind your ear and him tugging on the ends of his sweater paws.

“So, are you skipping class?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied, gesturing towards his busy study set-up ahead of him. It was a similar scene to yours—notes layered and layered upon each other, a laptop which displayed more notes, and a few textbooks were open too. “When you need to skip a class to study for another class...”

You nodded sympathetically, pointing a finger to your organized mess to imply the same. “Finals season.”

He nodded as well in unity and you two exchanged another round of smiles.

“I’m Yangyang.”

With that, introductions were made and bits of information were shared. Your hunch was right—he was in Engineering, but he also had some elective labs that were being held in the Science side of campus. Made sense why he had to navigate across campus from one end to the other.

Before the conversation began to get carried away, he issued a small apology. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be interrupting your studying. I’ll leave you be.”

Admittedly, it caught you off guard. You wanted to pipe up about how he wasn’t interrupting, that you wanted to dive into getting to know him more. You’ve seen him practically almost every day for the last couple of months and you didn’t want to let this chance slip through your fingers.   

Yet, at the same time, you begrudgingly knew he was right. You had to study for your upcoming in-class final, so you held your thoughts back and unwillingly turned back to your responsibility at hand. 

It was difficult to study with skater boy being in the same vicinity as you—practically an arm’s length away from you—but you eventually tampered down your jitters and honed your attention.

Hours passed. Neither of you really shifted much besides the casual stretching or the much needed break to the bathroom.

Darkness loomed in the winter sky and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him writing, which he hadn’t done during the time he’d been there.

And then, after an ear-piercing slow rip of paper that echoed in the library, he slid that piece of paper in your direction with one simple question that ignited the spark for the beginning of you and him—

I know we just met, but do you want to go out sometime?

“’Cause if I recall...” Yangyang continues, breaking you away from your bout of reminiscing. He absentmindedly tucks away some loose strands of hair sticking out of your helmet. “You watched me at least since the beginning of last semester—”

“Nu-uh,” you cut in, lying in a childish tone.

“Yuh-huh,” he rebuttals.

Under the warm afternoon sunlight, you two begin to have a staring contest, squinting and playfully seething at one another. When your boyfriend squints harder with a ruffle of his nose, you follow suit. Eventually, you give in with a sigh.

“Okay, fine. Even if I did watch you a lot, it doesn’t mean I can just absorb your skateboarding skills through memory.”

Cockiness fades over his joking exterior as he flashes you a shit-eating grin. “It’s cause you were too busy focusing on my handsome face.”

Becoming second nature for you by now as he’s often like this, you roll your eyes and lightly punch him in the arm, but... he isn’t wrong.

And from your lack of an articulate response, Yangyang knows he’s right.

Sparing you from injuring your pride further, he swings the conversation back to what you were doing here in the first place. 

A hand of his steadies you by the bottom of your back. “Balancing feels weird, I know, but you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s try again.”

Releasing a lengthy exhale, your head bounces fervently in hopes that false confidence and your boyfriend’s support can morph into a successful skateboard run.

The careful push he gives you is ample enough to have you ride down the street by yourself. Your body wavers side by side and you fear that you’ll teeter to a stop like all the other times, but somehow, your foot swipes across the pavement, carrying you further down the street.

It’s not fast by any means, but as you persistently execute it, you gain traction and see yourself finally riding without any issues.  

“Yangyang, I got it. I got it!” you shriek as you quickly glance back towards him.

He radiates in response and gets lost in you, equally proud that you finally found your balance and basking in how stunning you look as you coast down the beach side street.

However, his trance breaks when he sees you’re about to hit the edge of a street curb.

“Babe, watch ou—”

The scene happens fast. You’re suddenly laying on a patchy part of the grass, with the skateboard by your feet. Yangyang bolts to you, hunching down as he daintily tugs you to sit upward.

“You okay?” he pants nervously.

At first, you nod without a thought since the helmet and wrist guards have saved you from any potential major injuries. 

However, your boyfriend’s eyes widen when out of nowhere, you draw in air between clenched teeth. Your butt feels as if it’s on fire, since it was actually the body part that mostly broke your fall.  

He suggests to sit here for a while to let the pain dissipate, reassuring you’ll be fine from his own past experiences. 

As you rest awkwardly beside him on the grass, placing weight on your hip rather than your rear end, he aids you in ridding of your safety gear. Once they’re off, he kisses your hand tenderly.

“Maybe we should leave the skateboarding to me, for now,” he mumbles softly into your skin, leaving another kiss upon your hand.

You mope in agreement. “Maybe so...”

Caressed in his arms, you link eyes with him. Your eyes flutter to a close while he delicately eases you into him by the back of your neck.

The intense pressing of his lips against yours feels heavenly, almost entirely sedating your mild pain. He kisses you deeper, disregarding everyone and everything in proximity. You reciprocate it all back eagerly, cupping his cheek and gripping onto his strong frame as you do so.

Peeling away breathlessly, you tip your forehead against his. “Should we go back to the library and have me watch you longingly from our old spot?”

Yangyang hurriedly shakes his head.

“Nope. Never again,” he replies, his thumb stroking your cheek. “If you’re watching me skateboard, you’ll be doing it by my side from now on, beautiful.”

A chuckle trickles from you. You’re about to retort back, but your one and only skater boy diverts your train of thought, dragging you in for another long, blissful kiss. 

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

[jimlingss]

I saw that u were taking requests (yey) I'd want like a soulmate au (there are numerous kinds but I want u to have freedom to write what kind u want!) but it's just pure angst 😳😳 it could be any member n possibly an open or no happy ending :] I'm just a sucker for angst n think u would write this so well!

Anonymous said: Yoongi x reader, soul mate au, angsty but happy ending pls cuz I'm sensitive 🥺 maybe both soul mates get a weird tattoo, or hear each others thoughts or something else

Both these requests are asking for soulmate AUs, so I’m compiling them together. But one wants it to be angst city and the other wants a happy ending LOL. Guess we’ll see what happens.

↳ The Soulmate Gift

3.6k || 70% Angst, 30% Fluff || Min Yoongi || Soulmate!AU

Warning: depiction of child abuse

It happens when you’re ten.

They told you it was different for everyone, that it usually started during puberty and it was perfectly normal. But you’re pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like this.

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

You flinch at the noises, the bathroom door quivering against the frame from the pounding on the other side. Your mom shouts, “Get out!”

“Just give me one second!” You look back into the mirror, staring at yourself with seaweed green hair and streaks of bright purple. You look like a clown and you want to cry. 

You don’t run into your mom on your way out, so you go to school with a tattered baseball cap, stuffing all of your hair in it. During the trudge to school with a grumbling stomach, you hold the cap tight against your skull, not letting a single strand loose. You’re nervous on the playground, your other hand coming to grip at your backpack strap. But luckily, no one asks. 

At least not until you’re inside and getting settled into your desk.

“Good morning, class!” Mrs. An struts into the room, beelining towards the front. “Open your books! Tommy, shush!” You try your best to hide beneath your open textbook that’s propped up, but the moment she looks in your direction, she’s already saying, “Y/N, no hats inside.”

You straighten. “Um, my mom—”

“Rules are rules. Take it off,” she commands without leaving room to argue or explain. “This is the last time I’ll repeat myself unless you want detention.”

So you do.

You slip the cap off your head with tears stinging your eyes.

Mrs. An turns to the whiteboard, beginning to write the title for today’s lesson, but a loud gasp from the classmate sitting behind you captures her attention again. She swivels on her feet and her eyes land straight on your head. Everyone’s eyes do. On your stark, fiery red hair.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

The next thing you know, you’re being dragged by your teacher into the principal's office. From the hall, you can still hear the entire classroom giggling, whispering about you and making a complete ruckus much to Mrs. An’s dismay.

“This is unbelievable!” she howls, hands lifted to the sky. “How could a fifth grader have hair like this?! It’s entirely inappropriate! It’s a complete distraction to the classroom!”

The principal, Mr. Park, hums. His hands are clasped on top of his desk and he calmly asks, “Did your parents dye your hair yesterday, Y/N?”

You slump and mutter, “No.”

He frowns. “Then who did?”

“No one…”

Mrs. An spits, “Then you did it yourself?!”

“No!” Your voice pitches in an attempt to defend yourself and your teeth sink into the bottom of your lip, trying to hold back your tears. You don’t want to get into trouble. “I woke up like this!”

But Mrs. An doesn’t believe you. Her eyes narrow and she scoffs. “How dare you lie to me and the principle?! If you didn’t do it, then who did? It’s against the rules to have anything other than your natural hair colour!” 

Mr. Park sighs lightly. “We’ll just have to contact your mom and speak to her, Y/N.”

Immediately, your eyes widen and you bolt to a stand. “No, please!” you cry out. “Don’t! I’m sorry! I’ll dye it back! I won’t do it ever again!” 

But the man shakes his head. “It’s too late for that.”

Your fist crumples and you deflate. 

Your mom comes in half an hour later, dressed in stained jeans, old boots, and the only clean flannel she has. She’s not happy. You can tell by the look on her face. Even if she smiles and nods her head at the principal, you can see the tick in her eye and the muscle in her cheek twitching.

The moment she looks at you, her eyes become rounded at your crimson hair.

“I had no idea this happened. I’m so sorry for her behaviour. She must’ve gotten her hands onto my dye kits somehow.” She sighs and turns to you. “It won’t happen again. Right, Y/N?”

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Park smiles softly. “Not at all. It’s not that big of a deal. Some...teachers around here just adhere more strongly to the rules, so we want to make sure it’s consistent for everyone. It’s a bit of a distraction to her peers, but as long as Y/N comes in tomorrow with more...appropriate hair, it won’t be a problem.”

Afterwards, you’re sent home early. 

Your mom is silent on the walk home. You trail after her, dreading what will happen when you get back. 

The neighbours’ dog barks against the chain link fence, growling and baring their teeth. You flinch, getting closer to the gutter to avoid them. You’re safe when you get to your yard a few steps away and onto the worn, wooden porch that nearly breaks with your mom’s stomps. She kicks a few cigarette buds to the side and opens the squeaky screen door. You swallow hard and follow after her.

The living room is messy with clothes and old pizza boxes on the floor, and the TV is still on in the corner. 

“Mom….mom….I didn’t do it.” 

You drop your backpack, watching her stride towards the kitchen. She opens a drawer as you plead to her, and your voice becomes louder as the silver reflection of sharp scissors catches your eye. “No! Please! I swear I’m not lying!”

It’s useless.

She’s larger, taller, bigger and stronger than you are. 

She comes over and grabs your long hair, yanking it from your head. You cry as she starts to cut. Jagged lines, quick snips, sawing off the strands. A sob breaks through your chest and trying to get away only makes her grip on your hair tighten and she pulls it to get you back.

Mom grits her teeth. “How dare you go behind my back and cause my trouble, you bitch. You stole my dye, didn’t you?! You thief!”

You scream and cry. “I didn’t! I didn’t!” 

She never once notices how your hair returns to its natural colour as it sheds to your feet. That the moment it’s snipped from your head, the blazing red has faded away and lost the colour.

When it’s over, the scissors are tossed on the floor.

You’re left slumped on the ground, in a pool of your own hair. There are bald spots on your scalp while the other side is longer, uneven. What’s left of your head bleeds bright yellow, the colour of sunshine.

The next day, the shade mellows out, almost into a dirty blonde. You hope it’s good enough.

Your mom’s asleep on the sofa, snoring away with the TV still playing in the background. So you make it past her and trudge to school.

Kids are playing on the playground when you get there and you grip your backpack straps as you look on. But you don’t join them. Your feet turn and you duck out of sight, slipping into the school through the side doors. You’re lucky the janitor hasn’t locked them.

You’re not supposed to be inside the building yet, but you hope no one notices. Unluckily, someone turns the corner down the hall. But you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s just Mrs. Jung.

She’s always been nice. 

“Good morning.”

She’s busy tapping on her phone, yet in a chirpy voice, she still exclaims, “Good morning! How are you—”

Mrs. Jung finally looks up and she suddenly stops. 

You don’t know why her face looks like that. Like she’s seen a ghost. Is your hair really that bad? You tried to fix it and you thought it turned out okay.

Mrs. Jung gets closer and then lowers to a kneel in front of you, matching your height. Her shaking hand lifts and she touches the side of your head. You feel her fingertips against your scalp that still stings. You hiss and when you look at her, you see tears in her eyes. You wonder why.

“Who did this?” Her voice is quiet, gentle. 

“Um….I was playing with scissors.” 

Mrs. Jung looks at you again and says, “You’re allowed to tell me, Y/N.” 

You stay quiet, not sure what to tell her, not sure you want to get into any more trouble. If you do and get sent to the principal's office again, who knows what your mom would do then.

But as you’re thinking about it, Mrs. Jung adds on, “No one will get into trouble, I promise.”

She looks into your eyes. 

Your head droops, downcast vision looking at the floor. A quiet mumble escapes— “My mom.”

You’re not sure what happens after that. You’re sure your mom would be enraged if she knew you were talking about her and if you got her into trouble, that would be the worst. But for some reason, you don’t feel scared. Not when Mrs. Jung takes your hand and brings you to her science classroom. 

You sit behind her desk that’s hidden away from the rest of the class by bookshelves and she gives you an apple juice box. You slurp it up — you haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.

When you peek out, you see Mrs. Jung talking to another teacher in the hall. Soon after, the principle comes to visit you. He has the same expression as Mrs. Jung did and asks you if your mom’s done something like this before. 

That day, your grandma picks you up from school. It’s a pleasant surprise. You’ve always liked your grandma but your mom never let her visit much. She hugs you tight.

The colour of your hair is a warm shade of gray.

...

Mrs. Jung takes you on a one-on-one special field trip on Sunday. She picks you up from Grandma’s house after you’ve had your favourite for breakfast: sunny-side up eggs. She drives you to the clinic and the female doctor hits your knee, making it bounce. The doctor also measures how tall you are, shines a light in your eye and asks if green is your favourite colour.

You see in the wall mirror that your head’s turned into a teal shade. You tell her no.

Half an hour later, you’re put in a machine that flashes lots of colours. They reassure you but you’re not scared. The vivid hues and mosaic of shades that blur past your eyes are pretty.

When it’s done, the doctor holds a clipboard while sitting next to the computer. Your legs swing from the edge of the examination table as you’re situated comfortable on the plush seat. 

“It’s as I initially suspected, the hair is her soulmate gift. It changes colour based on her soulmate’s emotions.”

Mrs. Jung frowns. “I’ve never heard of something like that before.”

“Yes, well, it’s much more rare. Only point zero six experience a hair quirk.” The doctor looks from Mrs. Jung to you then back at her again. “Typically, as you know, soulmate gifts come in the form of names tattooed into skin or even countdowns of when the person would meet their soulmate, but soulmate gifts can take all kinds of different shapes and forms. Luckily, this shouldn’t affect her too much aside from, obviously, her hair changing color. Kids usually receive their gift around puberty, but looks like she’s an early bloomer.”

The doctor briefly smiles at you and then rolls on her chair towards her desk. “She’s also malnourished, but I believe with the proper nutrition, she’ll be able to recover. We should book another appointment in a few months to keep an eye on that and the hair.”

When the trip to the clinic is over, Mrs. Jung brings you to the mall.

You look around with wide eyes at all the clothes in the windows, but she eventually stops in front of a particular store and kneels in front of you. Her eyes lock into yours and she takes your hand.

“Y/N, you understand what the doctor told you, right?”

“Yeah. My hair’s my soulmate gift.” You had guessed it was that anyway. 

Mrs. Jung nods with a smile. “Yes, you’ve always been a smart girl.”

She strokes your head affectionately and says, “I know you might not feel it now, but it really is a gift. Your soulmate is the one meant for you, your other half. They’re the one who can make you even happier. It’s both a blessing and a privilege to have. But it’s also okay if you hate it. You don’t have to like your soulmate gift,” she reassures. “If one day, you’re more comfortable with your hair, then that would be good. But it’s also okay if you’re not. It’s up to you.”

You nod after a moment.

Mrs. Jung smiles. “We’re gonna go into that wig shop, okay? You can pick two that you like and I’ll help you get it.”

Picking out wigs is more fun than you expect. The people there are happy to help and you end up going home with one black, long hair wig and another brown bobbed one that makes you look like Rapunzel after she cut her hair.

...

You only see your mom three times after that.

Once, she comes to your grandma’s house. Your grandma doesn’t let her see you, but you watch them yell at each other on the porch from the upstairs window. The next time is a year later in court. Your mom cries out for you and you tell her you’re sorry. Her hug is so tight, you can barely breathe. 

The last is a visit on your own accord years later. 

The small house you spent your childhood in is falling apart, windows broken, trash in the yard. You find her sitting on the armchair with a hazy expression, TV playing in the corner. She’s in the same exact position as if you never left. You put a blanket over her, but she stirs awake and sees you. She asks to borrow a hundred dollars.

Your mom winds up throwing a dirty plate your way when you give her twenty. It’s all you have on you.

You don’t realize the significance of what Mrs. Jung’s done for you until years later after you’ve long graduated elementary. So you visit her during High School with a thank you card and a bouquet of flowers. She’s gotten old by then, but she still remembers. She cries and hugs you tight. It feels comforting. And her hand brushes against the strands of your baby blue locks.

Grandma helps you grow out your hair again and is one of the people who help you become comfortable in it. By university, you’ve discarded your wigs in favour of your real hair that’s gotten luscious and shiny. Your friends think it's the coolest thing they’ve ever seen and some people approach you to tell you they love it and ask where you got it done. 

You tell them it’s your soulmate gift.

Throughout the years, you pick at the ends of your hair and keep track of its changes in your diary. It becomes a habit to play with your hair, to memorize the shade it morphs to. You find that during the winter seasons, your hair becomes white often. One day, it turns white twenty six times. 

On Valentine’s Day one year, your hair stays solid pink the whole day. And on another, it’s black for an entire week in April. 

You start to hypothesize on the data you collect, noting the frequency of the hair colour changes, of each shade. You suspect hues of yellow signify happiness, reds are anger, blues are sadness, white is when your soulmate is cold. You’re not so sure about the others—

“Y/N.”

Seokjin is leaning on your cubicle as you shut your journal, having recorded your hair turning into a shade of lilac.

“Boss man wants to see you.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble up, pushing your small office chair back. “What for?”

The man shrugs. “Beats me. I wouldn’t worry about it though. It’s not like he’s going to fire you………..right?”

Seokjin grins, but his joke only spurs more nerves on you.

You get to the door, smooth out your pencil skirt and with a deep breath, you knock.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Min?” 

You step inside his office, finding him looking into a small table mirror at his desk. He’s peering at his left eye and bats his lash several times. But then he sets the mirror down and looks at you.

“Yes, please take a seat.”

You clear your throat and sit in the chair across from him. The mirror is propped up in your direction, and you notice how your hair turns into a shade of monotone gray. It starts at the roots, bleeding downwards until all the strands have altered completely.

You pipe up, “If this is about the Jeon files, sir, I already redid them.”

“No, that’s not it.” He rubs his left eye that’s watering and then blinks. “Actually, I wanted to have a conversation about this for a while. Joy was supposed to talk to you about this, but she’s busy at the moment.”

Joy from HR. 

You’re immediately on alert. “Yes, sir.”

 Mr. Min says, “It’s about your hair.”

Oh.

He rubs his eye and then clasps his hands together on top of his desk. “Recently, we received a customer complaint that your hair was unprofessional.”

“It’s my soulmate gift.”

“Yes. I know. You mentioned it during your interview. But it still could be considered a distraction in the workplace.”

The word ‘distraction’ has a muscle by your brow jumping. It makes you practically bristle as déjà vu washes over you. But you aren’t ten anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.

You straighten. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s a requirement for me to have to change my hair. This is out of my control….sir.”

Suddenly, your hair turns a faint hue of red.

Mr. Min’s brow raises as if he didn’t expect you to be so difficult. “It’s part of the rules to have business appropriate attire in the office.”

“Attire yes, but there is nothing referring to hair,” you quietly assert.

His jaw shifts and he leans back into his seat. “Well, we’ll have to confirm if that’s true with HR—”

“I already did,” you interrupt him with a meek smile and as an afterthought, you add, “sir.”

Your hair turns a stronger shade of red. From pastel to a raspberry. Your pupils flicker to the mirror on his desk and your brows furrow as you notice it.

Mr. Min breaks you out of your trance and you redirect your attention to him again. “Is it impossible to make it less of a distraction?” he asks while rubbing his eye that’s tearing up again.

“If it becomes a requirement for me to wear wigs to work every day and not an expectation for others, sir, then the company should pay for it, put it on for me each morning and help me maintain it.” Your hair turns a stronger shade of red — crimson — as Mr. Min rubs his eye more incessantly. You add, “With all due respect, I don’t consider my hair a distraction at all. It is out of my control and it isn’t my fault if others are distracted. It has to do with their attention span.”

He stands. “That’s enough.”

At the same time, from his watered eye, you see something fall out. 

You point. “Umm, sir…”

“Shit,” he mutters underneath his breath and looks to the carpet. You stand there for a delayed second before deciding to help him. You round his desk and descend to the ground where he is. All he says is, “It’s a contact lens.”

It’s a surprise to you considering you didn’t know he wore them.

But you quickly spot the transparent half-sphere. “Oh, it’s over there. By your foot.”

Mr. Min frowns. “Where?”

He looks up to see where you’re pointing. Your faces are inches away and instantly your eyes widen. A quiet gasp leaves your lungs. Not because of your close proximity but because Mr. Min’s iris is a fading red. And as confusion takes you, it morphs into a shade of gray.

Blooming outwards from his pupil, colour swirling into place.

“Your eye…” you murmur.

He mumbles, “It’s a soulmate gift.”

Yoongi grabs the brown colour contact lens, cursing at how it’s gotten dirty. But before he can get up, your hands latch onto his wrist, fingers digging into his skin and you tell him, “Wait.”

“What?”

There’s an unquenchable thirst to test the hypothesis that’s dawned upon you. 

So when your hair starts to turn into gray as well, you surge forward on sheer intuition. And you kiss your boss, Min Yoongi. Your lips press against his, enough to register how soft and velvet his mouth is, long enough to feel his vanilla chapstick transfer onto your lips. But it’s a chaste peck. Shy and hesitant. And you pull away just as quickly.

Yoongi falls back on his butt with eyes nearly falling out of their sockets.

Immediately, you look over to the mirror on his desk. Your hair is turning from gray to red with faint streaks of cotton candy pink. 

You gaze back at Yoongi to find his iris is peony pink.

“D-Did you just kiss me?!”

“Umm, sir, with all due respect, I believe you’re my soulmate.”

The words to dawn upon him. For the first time, your strands of hair morphs into a soft, pastel pink and his irises match the same shade.

[ezrasarm]

Roommates Part 3: KO

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: drunk reader, Santiago is a bad influence, drink responsibly kids! That’s all I think?

A/N: I know it’s been a long wait but the next part is finally here! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

Frankie had been gone for a while. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago and Benny was bound to go on soon. You didn’t want him to miss the fight and get in trouble is what you’d excused the nag in your gut urging you to seek him out as when you were about to go looking for him. You knew he would get an earful if he missed even a second because you were the one in the hot seat last time when you missed a whole fight after being called into work last minute. 

Pope seemed to find you first, shoving a drink in your hand as you peered over his shoulder, expecting Frankie to be close in tow. “You don’t have to sound quite so disappointed you got me instead.” Santiago teased you when you not so subtly asked where he was.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You assured him with a roll of your eyes, giving him a nudge to the shoulder and a thank you for the drink. But if you were being honest, you’d been with Pope all day and had hardly seen Frankie all week. You were beginning to wonder if something was wrong. “He’s right over there. Ran into an old high school classmate and they’re catching up by the bar.” Santiago said with a directed nod of his head and you followed his line of sight over to where you could see the familiar silhouette, corduroy jacket and baseball cap and all, stooped a little with his arms folded over his chest and talking to some woman you’d never seen before. 

You weren’t sure what the feeling that twisted in your stomach was or why it decided to rear its head right now but you found yourself feeling slightly defensive when you turned back to Santiago with eyebrows raised. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting a she and you couldn’t tell why that threw you off so much. Frankie could talk to whoever he pleased, it was none of your business but you still found yourself downing just about half your drink in one go to try and drown whatever feeling it was that had begun growing in your belly.

“That was fast.” Santiago remarked, giving you a skeptical look as he glanced between you and the almost empty cup in your hand, “You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, fine! It’s just been a while since I let loose. Thought I might let myself have some fun tonight.” You shrugged.

He glanced back up in Frankie’s direction and eyed you for a second, taking a moment to consider it, “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded before downing his own drink as though it were a challenge. 

You had lost track of how many beers you and Santiago had snuck behind Will’s back who was too busy to play baby sitter tonight as he usually did. Drinking with him had certainly done its job to distract you. You had almost forgotten all about the fact that your best friend had decided to spend the evening talking to some stranger instead of you. God what had gotten into you? You were not the jealous type and you didn’t like how it felt-

Thud.

You didn’t have time to consider that thought any further before you had run straight into the man of the hour himself on your way back from the bar.

“Shit, sorry- Oh hey!” You exclaimed, having miraculously avoiding throwing your drinks all over both of you with those dumb plastic cups they gave you here.

“Woah, you alright there?” Frankie asks, throwing an arm out to stabilize you. “I swear, I left you alone for ten min- okay an hour and a half and- how many of those have you had?” He asks, noticing the slight wobble to your balance and slur to your speech as you introduced yourself and shook the hand of the woman he had been talking to.

“Uhhh good question,” you ponder for a moment before shrugging “Santi and I found out that if you’re a girl alone at an MMA fight you can get a lot of free drinks so we’ve made it our mission to find out exactly how many.” You explain, shooting a wink and a slight salute over to Pope who was still standing, waiting by your seats.

“And have you gotten an answer yet?” Frankie asks, slightly amused but also positive that he would be making sure this was your last drink of the night when you stumbled slightly over nothing and he had to wrap an arm around you for support.

“It appears there is no limit.” You say proudly, missing the fond look in his eye when he shakes his head with a soft and slightly disbelieving smile.

“Cheryl, this is my uh, roommate.” Frankie says gesturing towards you.

“What, are you embarrassed of me or something’? I’d say we’re a little bit more than that.” You interject. You had meant friends but from the look on her face she appeared to have taken it another way and for some reason or another you felt no need to correct her.

“Oh well uh, it’s nice to meet you.” She says politely although clearly thrown slightly by your quite obvious inebriation. 

“Nice to meet you too, Carol!” You declare happily and you mean it, it’s interesting to see the kinds of people Frankie went to high school with but you really weren’t in much state to be particularly conversational at the moment.

“From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing six foot three, weighing in at a hundred and ninety five pounds, I bring you… Ben Miller!” The announcer blares over the booming speakers, pulling you from your conversation. You and Frankie are quick to give Benny your support, you perhaps a little more enthusiastically in your less inhibited state as he and Will walked into the arena and the crowd roared to life.

“Well we should get back. I’ll never hear the end of it if I miss any of this and I’ve gotta make sure these two don’t get into any more trouble,” Frankie explains, “But it was nice catching up with you.” He says and Carol- Cheryl? One of those- nods.

“Yeah, I hope to see you around again sometime.” She says. She’s hardly turned to walk away before you’re wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Frankie on your way over to Pope and Will.

“You realize she was hitting on you, right?” You asked when Frankie turned back to you, a teasing smile on your lips despite the rising feeling of inadequacy you felt from having stood within a two-meter radius of the gorgeous woman. 

“What? No! She was just-” Frankie cuts himself off after considering it for a moment. “...huh.” He says, eyebrows rising in slight surprise when he looks over his shoulder at the woman who he had already lost in the throngs of people. “I’m sure she was just being polite.”

“You’re too hard on yourself! She was checking you out!” You exclaim defensively, more for his own self esteem than anything else.

“...Me?” He gives you a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, why not you? You’ve got this sort of je ne ce quoi about you. The ladies dig it.” You say with a goofy grin and Frankie can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“That so? What about you?” He asks. For a millisecond your heart stops in your chest. Could he read your mind? Did he know about the thoughts that had just slipped to the forefront? The jealousy? The little bit of longing? It was the alcohol talking you were sure. You would never want to jeopardize your friendship by allowing yourself to picture him as anything more than that but for a flash of a second it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

“Oh, I dig it too.” You say, nudging him in the gut teasingly. What you didn’t see was the way Frankie’s breath had hitched at the slightest inkling of you expressing interest in him, even if he knew you were just joking around. “I bet if you asked you could get her number.” You say and he’s snapped quite violently out of his trance. 

He didn’t want her number. He wanted you.

“Nah, she’s not really my type.” Is the response he settles for, his attention resettling on the fight in an attempt to drown out the feeling of disappointment he wasn’t sure he knew how to hide. He knew it wasn’t fair on you but the slightest hint of jealousy might have been nice to hear and instead you were giving him a rousing endorsement to go after someone he didn’t even like all that much.

“Are you kidding? Pardon the pun, but she was a knockout!” You exclaim just in time to watch Benny take a rather jarring blow to the jaw.

“Meh,” Frankie shrugs and you can’t help the yelp of surprise that escapes you.

“If she’s ‘meh’ then what am I?” You exclaim and Frankie’s jaw just about hits the ground at the fact that you could even think to ask him such a question. You were just about perfect to him in every way imaginable.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell you when the crowd roars to life as Benny finds himself making a comeback and you’re practically jumping out of your seat to bolster your support for your friend.

“You should go get her number.” You suggest when you sit back down, a little confused as to why. Perhaps you were overcompensating for your wave of jealousy earlier but there was still something in you screaming for you to stop acting like you were so okay with it. Because if the way you had reacted earlier and your current state of inebriation was any inclination, you clearly weren’t, but your mind was in no place to put those pieces together at the moment.

“Why is everyone trying to set me up all of a sudden?” Frankie scoffs playfully trying to shrug off your suggestion. “First Pope, now you,” He stops himself hoping you haven’t realized he’s probably said too much.

“Who was Santiago trying to set you up with?” You ask. Just the question he didn’t want to answer, especially not right now, not like this. He’s quite literally saved by the bell announcing the end of the match and when you look up Benny’s opponent is unconscious in front of him. A KO and you’d both missed it. You wouldn’t be getting out of that one too easily. You’re whisked away in post win festivities before you can even think to get an answer from Frankie.

He thinks you’ve forgotten about the conversation completely until he’s gotten you and Pope both wrangled into the car on your way back to the apartment and you pipe up from where he thought you had passed out the moment he had you strapped in. 

“So what’s Francisco Morales’ type?” you ask groggily, clearly not ready to give him a break yet and he laughs as he peers into the rearview to make sure Pope is still asleep before he even considers giving you an answer. 

“What makes you think I have a type?” He counters fruitlessly in hopes that he can at least attempt finding a suitable answer.

“Well you said Carol-”

“Cheryl-”

“-wasn’t your type so I’m assuming that means you have a type.” You prod him, your eyes still shut as you leaned back in the passenger seat.

“Well… I’d say my type would be someone who is smart, funny, supportive, all those wonderful things,” He explains, feeling a little more at ease when he looks over to see your breaths have shallowed slightly and your head has lulled against the window. “Has a good sense of humour, makes me smile, is fiercely loyal to her friends,” he goes on, “can be a complete dork if she wants to be, has no idea how beautiful she is,” he adds “and has me completely and utterly wrapped around her finger.” He mutters to himself when he looks back up at the road with a sigh.

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

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[evermoreweasley]

wait for me (fred weasley x reader)

(all images are from pinterest)

summary: muggle!reader, dad!fred. y/n is the muggle girlfriend of Fred Weasley, a wizard. at the beginning of the second wizard war, you and Fred are kept separated to keep you safe. however, what happens when you find out you’re pregnant?

warnings: angst! mentions of battle of Hogwarts, mentions of death, mentions of injury (knocked unconscious), food, vomiting, pregnancy scare, mentions of period, pregnancy, mentions of sex, kissing, anxiety, separation, cursing, suggestive comments, fluffy ending.

a/n: I love dad!fred :’)

taglist: @theweasleysredhair​ @witchyweasley​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ please message me if you’d like to be added or removed!

word count: 2.2k

---

February 7th, 1998 

You nervously picked at the emerald green nail polish on your fingernails as you looked out the window of your apartment. You watched the headlights of cars as they drove by and people laughing as they crossed the street in groups, going out for the night. 

You were stuck at your apartment, alone in muggle London and you had run out of things to distract yourself with. You drank the last of the tea in the cupboard. You already did not one, not two, but six puzzles. And lastly, you already read not one, not two, but eight books. You were so tired of the small space of your apartment and so anxious about your boyfriend, you needed to find something to do besides stare out the window. 

You had met your boyfriend, Fred Weasley, through Hermione Granger. Hermione’s muggle parents were next door neighbors with your own muggle parents. You had never been more happy than when Fred and Hermione introduced you to their wizarding world so many years ago. 

Sighing, you made your way over to the kitchen sink. You decided to make homemade soup, from a recipe book you had forgotten that you had. It was buried deep inside of your kitchen cabinet, behind your dinnerware. As you cut up the carrots, onions, and celery, you were hit by a sudden wave of extreme nausea. You shook your head as you swallowed hard, convincing yourself it was just nerves for the events that were happening with your boyfriend and friends. But as you placed the vegetables in the pot, you recognized immediately that it wasn’t nerves.

You ran out of the kitchen and down the small hallway of your apartment, in the bathroom you doubled over the toilet as you vomited. Your mouth fell open in shock at your sudden illness as you wiped at the corners of your mouth with a tissue. You quickly washed your mouth out with minty mouthwash. As you opened the cabinet to put the mouthwash away, a small pink and white box caught your attention. It was a box containing pregnancy tests. You had a pregnancy scare all the way back in May, when your period was late. However, you got your period just moments after arriving home from the store with the purchase so you just shoved them to the back of your cabinet. 

Your eyes narrowed away from the box to look at yourself in the mirror. You wondered if you were pregnant. You had barely seen your boyfriend, Fred, since late July, after his twin brother George lost an ear. Fred was so worried about you, especially after what happened to his brother. You had to go into hiding in muggle London at your apartment due to the catastrophic events that were happening in his world. 

You thought back, you had seen him on exactly three occasions since then. The first was in August, second in October, and the last time was in December. 

You remembered Fred visiting right before the holidays. His big, strong hands all over your body as he ripped your jeans off of you urgently. His lips kissing and sucking on the delicate part of your neck, desperate for you as breathy moans filled the room. Your lips only momentarily leaving him, passionate and heated, as your bodies moved seamlessly against each other under the sheets.

In all of the stress, you had missed your period and you didn’t realize it at the time. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached out for the pregnancy test box. You knew you had to take it.

As you waited for the results of the test that rested on the bathroom sink, you paced the small hallway. You checked the wall clock and knew it was time to look. You reached for the test with trembling hands, your heart was pounding out of your chest, your mouth was bone-dry, and your whole body lightly shook for what might come. You turned over the test in your hands and saw a tiny plus sign indicating that you were in fact pregnant. You placed one hand on the sink to steady yourself, while your other hand immediately flew to your wide mouth.

How were you going to tell Fred? When were you even going to see Fred again? Fred would randomly apparate to your apartment when he managed to sneak around and felt he could do so safely, but that was it. How were you supposed to handle being pregnant when you knew your boyfriend was about to go to the second wizarding war?

Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Your hands lightly shook as they fell to your stomach. “You will meet your dad,” you sighed, speaking to the child growing inside of you. “I promise.”

May 3rd, 1998

It was the early morning hours, still dark out, when a loud sound awoke you. A bang from the living room of your apartment. You sat up, now completely awake and terrified. You kept your hand on your now huge bump protectively as you rolled out of bed. You wondered if it was a wizard or witch, and if it was, hopefully it wasn’t an evil one. 

Reaching for a baseball bat near your nightstand, you cursed, knowing it stood no chance to a wand. But if it was a muggle, you could at least try to fight them off.

You heard another crash, followed by a curse word from the intruder’s lips. And then you heard them speak a spell you recognized, “Lumos.” You heard light footsteps walking down the hallway toward you. Your heart was beating rapidly in a panic for who was coming.

“I’ll fight you, asshole!” You yelled out as you gripped the baseball bat tightly, holding it up. You were ready to swing with every ounce of strength you had coursing through your veins, to protect yourself, but more importantly, your and Fred’s growing child.

“Y/n,” The voice calmly spoke as it got nearer to your bedroom. “It’s me,” He opened the door to your bedroom slightly and you dropped your baseball bat hard on the ground as the light from his wand illuminated your room. “George.”

“George?” you spoke out quietly, squinting your eyes at the tall figure that stood in front of you.

Your boyfriend’s twin brother stood in front of you, cautiously. He was covered in rubble and dried dirt. His familiar chocolate brown eyes were kind, as always, but also showed a hint of fear. “I came to tell you, it’s over,” he breathed out. “The war is over.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as a wave of both concern and relief hit you all at once. “What?”

He nodded as he scanned your face. “And Fred,” he breathed out. “He’s alive, but he was knocked unconscious.”

You cursed out as your knees slightly buckled, before quickly steading yourself. You were truly speechless at George’s words. You nervously looked down at your feet, but your vision was becoming obstructed by your growing bump. And in all of the concern and worry, you were suddenly reminded of what was going on inside, a child was growing.

“I’m,” you looked down at your bump, you were nearly five months pregnant and it showed. “I’m-” you tried once more.

George’s curious eyes found yours before he followed them downward, to your bump. “Are you-” he started, his eyes growing wide as his mouth fell open. “Pregnant?” His eyes found yours once more as a small smile spread to his lips, ecstatic that he was going to be an uncle, and his twin a dad.

You nodded at George, tears were now spilling down your cheeks. You were excited to finally tell another person that you were pregnant. But you were also upset that Fred wasn’t the first person you were telling. 

“Oh, George,” you sighed as you wiped the tears that continued to fall down your cheeks. 

George walked over to you, hugging you tightly. “Oh, darling,” George spoke out, as he soothingly stroked your hair. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you sighed. “Can I see Freddie?” you asked into his chest.

“Soon.” He spoke out, continuing to stroke your hair.

“Okay,” you sighed as you loosened your grip around his waist. 

“Y/n,” George breathed out.

“Yes?”

“I may have broken your lamp.”

May 5th, 1998

The day started as you poured George a cup of coffee. It had been three days since the battle of Hogwarts had ended, George told you everything that happened that night and the days leading up to it. Many lives were lost, many were injured. You felt more than grateful at the fact that Fred was alive, albeit injured. One hour into the battle, Fred had been knocked unconscious as he fell backwards against a stone wall, near the room of requirement. Percy and George were quick to move him out of the way and into safety.

George slept on the couch in your living room. You asked him to stay with you until you could see Fred, the anxiety around your pregnancy and your boyfriend’s near death consuming you. 

As George sipped at his coffee, an owl lightly tapped on the window near your kitchen. “Must be mum,” George spoke out as he sprang up from his chair and went to retrieve the letter. He quickly ripped opened the letter and scanned the contents before reading it out loud to you.

“George, Y/n, 

I’m beaming to say that early this morning, Fred woke up. Thank Merlin! He desperately wants to see both of you at once, especially Y/n. Please apparate to the Burrow once you receive this.

Love, Molly.”

The biggest smile took over your features as relief and joy washed over you at the words on the letter. Fred was awake. Your heart began to beat rapidly as you realized that when you saw him, you would finally be able to tell him that you were pregnant.

You looked over at George and as if he knew what plagued your mind, he spoke out. “He will be absolutely overjoyed, Y/n.”

You nodded as you smiled at him. You knew that Fred was going to be the best dad.

“And you’re going to be the best uncle, Georgie.”

He smiled at you as he offered out his hand for you to take. Holding his wand in the other, he looked over at you. “Ready?” He asked you kindly.

“Ready.”

You squeezed George’s hand as you felt the two of you spin and a rush of air blew past you. You never got used to apparating, and you suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you at the quick spinning. 

Much to your relief, your feet suddenly hit the ground of the Burrow and immediately, you self consciously grabbed your belly. You faced the kitchen as you heard Molly’s comforting, familiar voice behind you.

“Y/n! George!” She exclaimed.

You inhaled a deep breath in, looking over at George as he nodded at you, in an encouraging way. You exhaled and turned to face her. You smiled and then rubbed your bump. Molly’s kind eyes followed downward, landing on your bump as her mouth slightly fell open in excitement. Her eyes grew wide. “Y/n!” She cheered, clapping her hands together. “Am I going to be a grandmother?” She whispered.

You nodded as you smiled back at her. “Yes, you are.”

She quickly wiped away her happy tears with the backs of her hands. “So, so good to see you dear,” She suddenly became an emotional mess. “Sorry,” She exhaled, as happy tears continued to fall down her round cheeks as George walked over to hug her. “Freddie’s laying on the couch. He may be sleeping though. Rough last few days, I’m sure George has filled you in.”

Nodding, you quietly walked into the living room. The back of the couch was facing you, you smiled as you saw that familiar head of red hair poking out on the end of the arm rest.

You cautiously walked around the side of it, noticing that Fred was, in fact asleep. Smiling, you took one last deep breath as you reached out to gently wake him up. “Freddie,” you whispered as you kneeled down in front of the couch, your bump hidden. You ran your fingers through his messy red hair. “Freddie, it’s me.”

Fred’s eyes started to flutter open. Once his warm, chocolate brown eyes were open wide enough, a huge smile immediately filled his entire face. “Y/n!” he exclaimed sleepily, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. “I’ve missed you so much, my love.” You stared at him for a moment, his hands cupping both sides of your face as he gently rubbed his fingers lovingly down your cheeks. 

“Freddie,” you started.

“Yes, my love?” He asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,”

His eyes grew wider in curiosity as he scanned your face. “Yeah?”

“I’m,” you started as you slowly got up off of your knees. 

As you got up, Fred’s eyes fell from your face onto your growing bump, his chocolate brown eyes immediately tearing up as a wide grin spread across his face. “Pregnant.” You finished, now fully standing in front of him.

“Y/n!” He exclaimed excitedly as he jumped off of the couch, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. You smiled as you embraced and you could feel a tear or two fall off of his cheek onto you. 

He leaned down to kiss you sweetly and your heart soared out of your chest. “I’m so happy.” He hummed as he lovingly ran his long, slender fingers up and down your back. 

You pulled away to look into his chocolate brown eyes intensely. “I’m due in September.” He grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Is that so?” He asked seriously, before a mischievous smirk fell on his lips a moment later, he pulled his hand up to jokingly count on his fingers. “Yeah, that sounds about right to me,” He spoke out, chuckling.

You giggled as you ran your fingers up and down his arm.

“I’m so sorry I’ve missed out on so much your pregnancy, love, I-”

You shook your head as you gently shushed him. “No, don’t be,” you smiled. “I’m just happy that you’re here now.”

Fred smiled at you first, then at your bump. His large hand reached out and ran it lovingly down your belly. 

“Thank you for waiting, so that I could meet you.” He spoke to your growing child. “Merlin knows you could’ve been born during the war,” He breathed out. “Considering the way your mom and I can’t seem to keep our hands off of each other.” He whispered, before looking at you and smirking.

You giggled once more. “Yes, Freddie,” you hummed. “Our baby did wait for you.”

“And I’m so thankful for that.” He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to your bump.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

Unrestrained Summer Fun - canon-divergent Gil Grissom x Reader

(A/N: Thought I'd get this one out quick since it's the hottest part of the year. This is gonna be in 2 parts again. Sara doesn't exist in this fic {because I personally can't imagine Gil having a deep romantic interest in anyone else if she did}.  Also, this is c-d in the sense that supervisor-subordinate relationships are allowed. And, maybe some ooc.  Warning - this is...probably sickeningly sappy. I'm too deeply in love with him for my own good.

As always, @addictedtostorytelling saved my ass with the meta, and @davesdude80 helped me with Gil's walk :) Thank you.

One more person on the taglist: @stokes-theorem)

It was 3 in the afternoon, the hottest hour of the day, in the hottest season of the year. Gil and you had climbed into bed an hour ago to try and bag eight hours of sleep before having to get up at 10, since your shift started at 11. Unfortunately, the heat had kept the both of you awake. Even Hank had dashed down to the kitchen, emptied the contents of his water bowl onto the floor, and rolled around in it. Neither of you had had the heart to stop him. He was currently sleeping in the puddle.

As for you humans, you were lying on top of the blanket. The air conditioner was on a moderate setting. However, that still was not enough. You groaned, "It's still so hot..."

"Maybe, we should let go of each other," your husband joked.

You looked at him pointedly. "No." That made him laugh. You put a hand on his chest and took a bunch of the cloth of his shirt in your hand. "You should take your shirt off."

He nodded his head to one side, and swept his tongue over his drying lips. "Alright." He scooted a little ways away from you and did what you said.  He tossed his shirt to the foot of the bed.  You moved your eyes up and down his body.  Gil smiled; he appreciated that you found him attractive.  He would never admit it even to himself, but he was self-conscious about the fact that he was not stereotypically attractive.  So it warmed his heart to have you look at him the way you did.

Of course, you knew how he felt.  You put your hands on his chest and, closing your eyes, kissed him.  He let his eyes fall shut too as he returned the kiss, his hands staying on the bed.  You slid your hands down to his abdomen.  "You're beautiful," you whispered.  In return, he put a hand on your cheek.  He gently bumped his forehead against yours.  You instinctively shifted closer to him.

Feeling your shirt on his bare skin reminded him of something.  He gently gave a few tugs on your collar.  "You should take this off."  You smiled at his imitation.  You rolled back and took your shirt off, pulling it by the collar.  You lobbed it next to his.  "You look good."

It was your turn to smile.  "Thank you."  You snuggled back into him.

"Let's hope we can sleep now..." he sighed, closing his eyes as he held you.

"Yeah..." you huffed as well.

However, try as you might, the both of you tossed and turned all afternoon. Adjusting the air conditioner to a lower temperature made it too cold, and yet when you moved under the blankets it was too hot.

At one of the many points when you were looking at him, you ran your hand up his beard then through his hair. "It's not fair..." you mused.

"What?" he enquired with a raised eyebrow, a little humoured.

"Your hair is white. You don't retain as much heat."

That made him chuckle. "That doesn't make much of a difference."

Several hours later, you lay flat on your back on top of the blanket, away from your husband.  You groaned and put your forearm over your eyes.  "We are never gonna sleep..."

"I'm sorry."  He said this because he was much more used to foregoing sleep than you were.

You turned over to your front with a grunt.  "What time is it?"

He checked the digital clock on his nightstand (you had an analog clock on yours, but you did not want to move anymore).  "It's seven."

You sighed heavily; he observed your back heaving.  "Great..."

"We might as well eat our dinner; make the most of it and take our time to get ready."

You sighed through your nose.  "Yeah..." you nodded, "...you're right..."

"You can lie down a little longer while I shower."

You turned over to face him.  "Thanks..."

He was sitting up as you said that.  "You're welcome."  He stood up and, knowing what you would want, walked to the foot of the bed and threw his shirt into your waiting hands.  You grinned at him.  He set out clothes for himself, and did so for you too.  You squeezed his hand in thanks.  With that done, he went to shower, while you put his shirt over your nose and mouth.  You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes, then let out a long sigh.  His smell relaxed you.  You just lay like that, taking deep, calming breaths.

You did not even hear the water stop running, or the door opening several minutes after that.  The cold air from his shower mixed with the air conditioning of the room, so you did not notice the humidity. It was only when he tapped your shoulder that you were brought back to consciousness and looked at him. "O-oh!" you exclaimed softly, pivoting up into a sitting position and turning out of bed, darting past him into the bathroom; the image of him with the towel hanging on his shoulder, his arm still down and out towards you, and his eyebrow raised and mouth ajar as you cut off his necessity to speak to you, registered only when you were some ways into your shower. You stopped and let yourself smile at that picture.

When you came out of the shower, he was not in the room. You got dressed and went down to the kitchen. Gil was eating a slice of watermelon from the refrigerator, and there was a plate with more on it for you to share; the both of you consumed a lot of cold fruits during the summer. Hank had been given moist pellets, as well as some watermelon of his own. Your man had also placed your kits at the front door, along with his straw hat, sunglasses, and your satchel, which contained your sunglasses. While he preferred his straw hat to the department-issue baseball cap in hot weather, you were content to use the cap in whatever situation.

Even when you joined your husband, neither of you spoke, not wanting to exert energy unnecessarily. You cleaned up when all three parties were finished eating. You told Gil, "I'm driving." You had to state it first; he would have driven your car so as to let the engine run, but it would still have been him driving for the fourth time in a row, and that would not have been fair. Well, to you at least - he insisted that he loved doing things for you. It was how he showed his love, whereas you did so to him via physical affection. But still, you wanted to do things in return.

Thus, Gil placed his hat on his head, put his sunglasses in his breast pocket, took Hank and his kit to your car, and sat in the backseat with the dog. You followed soon after, taking your kit and bag, locking the front door, and getting behind the wheel. Gil tossed you the keys, and you started the drive to the dogs' daycare.  You took as many detours as you pleased, not being in any particular hurry.  Since you were the one driving, Gil brought Hank inside the building, then came back and sat in the front passenger's seat.  You drove to the laboratory, taking some more detours.

At the laboratory, you and your husband hung out idly in his office, sipping on the contents of mineral water bottles which the team took turns to stock the refrigerator with.  At 10:55, the both of you strolled to the front desk to check in.  Then the journey was made back to Gil's office, while he waited for any calls from Jim. At 2:30 am, a case did come up, and so it was handed to Catherine, Warrick and Nick, leaving Greg, your husband and yourself.  The three of you decided to get breakfast for the team.

Upon returning from your errand, you tried to nap on Gil's couch (while he read A Midsummer Night's Dream at his desk), but the leather made you sweat even more. You grumbled and slogged your way to the break room, where you sat on a chair and attempted to sleep sitting up. But it was not really comfortable, and you could not even doze off for five minutes. The whole time, you were dreading something: that Gil would get another call just as shift was about to end.

6 o' clock rolled around. Greg headed into the break room, reading a book on Vegas history while walking.  He had intended to take an apple out of the refrigerator, but upon noticing your misery, he helped heat up the omelette you had ordered in the microwave.  You had your head down and were drifting in and out of consciousness, so just barely noticed it, but you did not process it.  Even when he set the plate and your mug of chocolate from the fridge in front of you, you remained in a discount coma.  He tentatively tapped your shoulder with one finger.  That made you interject and snap your head up, your back slamming against that of the chair.  So only physical contact could stimulate you.

"Hey..." he said softy, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You sighed and buried your head in your hands, elbows on the table.  "Thank you..." you murmured, the vague registrations of stimuli having been solidified when you woke up.

"Don't mention it. Eat up." He rubbed your upper back, and continued to do so as you ate, knowing that you loved the contact.

On your third bite however, the shift supervisor came into the break room. "Hey guys, we got a four-nineteen..." he looked at you sympathetically, "it's out in the desert."

"Nooooo," you groaned, tilting your head back. Greg could not help but laugh. "Nooooooooo..."

Gil was used to your antics, so he calmly asked, "Okay...what's your specific complaint?"

"It's gonna be so hot! It's not dark anymore! And I don't have a water bottle!"  Plastic water bottles degraded in ultraviolet light, secreting toxins.

"Well...you can always share mine," he reminded you.

You quietened when he said that.  Then, you sprung up from your seat and darted over to him.  You threw your arms around his neck and put your face in his chest, making him grip your waist reflexively, but his cheeks turned red when you let out a, "Yes, hubby."

Greg laughed even harder.  " 'Hubby' ?" he questioned through his chortling.

"During times of physical or emotional discomfort, she is not very...restrained," he attempted to explain.  With how smoothly he spoke, the only reason his blush could not be passed off as sunburn was that he had not actually been out in the sun.

Greg pressed a fist to his mouth to try to stifle his laughter, looking away and waving his other hand in dismissal.  "It's alright.  It's cute, actually.  It's just surprising to have someone call you that."

"I know.  But," he shrugged, "I've come to like it."  You had remained docile, but now you smiled to yourself and turned your head up to kiss his neck.

Greg's smile turned sweet.  "That's good."

Your husband guided you to sit down again.  "Finish your food, then we'll go."  You gave a nod, then got back to eating.  Grissom looked at the other CSI, "You wanna grab something to eat as well?"

"Yeah," he replied, turning around to the refrigerator, "I came for an apple, actually."  He took his fruit out at last.  Gil got his pancakes out of the fridge too, and had orange juice to drink.

The three of you finished eating and drinking in under four minutes.  But the drive out to the crime scenes took about an hour, and by the time you got there, the sun was high in the sky.  "Dayshift should be handling this," you grumbled.  You did not mean it of course, but you felt like grumbling.

"Yeah?  Don't worry, it'll all be over soon," your husband joked lamely.  Greg, who was ahead and trying not to slide down a sand hill, gave him a dirty look (he dared to do so because he was wearing sunglasses).

For this case, it was necessary to stay for a considerable length time at the scene, because there were footprints to be moulded, little cufflinks and keys and such which had been buried and had to be dug up, and so on.  Not so ironically, your unpleasant mood made it best for you to spend more time processing the scene while Grissom and Greg did the talking to people.  Unfortunately but predictably, the extended period of time spent in the heat you hated made you feel worse than ever.

Several shifts later, the case was solved.  You were sitting on the guest's chair in Gil's office, waiting for him (and Greg) to return from the police station.  You had your upper torso on the table, arms stretched out all the way to the opposite edge.  You heard footsteps enter the room, but they were not Gil's. You did not know whose they were, but they were definitely not those of the man you loved. "I thought I'd find you here," Greg's voice said, making you turn around.

"Where's Gil?" You sounded a bit sad; you missed him.

"He's talking to Catherine, presumably about work," he dutifully told you, raising a fist and sticking his thumb in their general direction. He put his hand down. "How're you doing?" You plopped back down, exactly as you had been. That gave Greg all the answer he needed. "Grissom will be here soon," he reassured you. You nodded, your cheek rubbing against the desk. "You want my company til he comes?" You shook your head. "Okay. I hope you feel better soon." You gave a nod of thanks.

A little earlier:

Grissom and Greg walked through the doors of the laboratory, coming upon Catherine in the foyer; she was just heading out. Grissom called out, "Hey Catherine."

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you?"

Greg spoke up, "I'll go on ahead first. Bye Catherine."

"See ya." Greg made his way to his boss' office. "So, what do ya wanna talk about?" Gil looked around, then took Catherine's elbow and guided her to somewhere more secluded. He looked Catherine in the eyes, but still hesitated, nervously fidgeting his fingers against each other. "What is it, Gil? C'mon, you can tell me," she encouraged.

He swallowed, then finally said, "I need a favour."

Catherine raised an eyebrow; was that it? "S-ure," she said casually, shrugging.

"It involves Sam."

Mugs chuckled. "That's why you're so nervous; you're always on about me accepting favours from Sam, and now you want me to do it." She smiled and shrugged. "I don't mind. What d'you need?"

Grissom smiled a small smile of relief. "During our next shift, could Sam keep one of his pools open at three? Just for (y/n) and me. And uh," he looked away out of shyness, "no surveillance. There can be guards on the premises but...I'd prefer to be left alone." Catherine was impressed, to say the least; it was heartwarming that he was doing this for his wife. However, he was still saying, "Meaning no cameras, and the guards-"

Catherine laughed softly and raised her hands to stop him. "Gil, Gil, I get it." He closed his mouth. Knowing that he was still doubtful, she stated, "No humans or cameras on within viewing distance of the pool."

Finally, Gil gave a long, slow nod. "You'll have to cover that shift for me too."

"You're letting Sam do something for me and I get to play boss girl? You're sure you're not the one doing me a favour?"  she chirped.  Grissom gave a small smile and slightly dipped his head in thanks, then walked off.

Back to you:

The sound you were waiting for was heard. Soft, shy treads which you found endearing padded their way over to you. "Hey," he said lovingly, and you felt his hand on the part of your back that was flat immediately after that. You remained silent. "We'll take the next shift off, okay?"

That made you perk up - literally. Your head snapped up so you could look at him. " 'We' ? You'll be taking a shift off with me?"

He smiled fondly at you. "Yes. We can spend some time together."

You returned his smile. You stood up and hugged him, arms around his neck and face in his chest. This time, he fastened his arms around your waist. "Thank you," you whispered. His heart flipped, because that reminded him of his conversation with Catherine.

"Let's go home," he whispered, but before he let go of you, he quickly kissed you, knowing that you wanted it. The way you pressed your flushed face into his chest to hide it only made that clearer. He moved one hand to cradle your head, letting you calm down. He found it curious how you could still be bashful when he showed you affection in particular ways. But perhaps...he was similar. The both of you picked Hank up from the daycare, went home, ate, walked Hank, showered, and fell into a deep sleep.

[jalapeno-princess]

Kiss Me More

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word count: 6.1K

Genre: Very fluffy smut

Warning: Some sexy time in there nothing too extreme (hehehe...or is there?)

Summary: You were confident in the fact that your sex life with Mark was very exciting, wild and fun to say the least. In more or less words, it was perfect. Just your relationship in general was the kind that many people around you would be the envy of. It’s been four years since you began dating and you could honestly say it has been the best four years of your life so far because of him. He was the best boyfriend you could possibly ask for; kind, funny, gentle, considerate, soft-spoken, generous and extremely handsome. He took really good care of you and it was obvious by both his actions and his words that he was madly in love with you. As the two of you are coming down from your sex highs, you grow curious as to why once your love making sessions were over, so is the intimacy. Surely, your boyfriend has his reasons for not kissing you for too much longer as you’re about to go to bed. Right?

A/N: Based on the song “Kiss Me More” by Doja Cat and Sza. I am obsessed with this song and I knew I had to write something based on it so I hope you all enjoy! (I don’t really care for how the ending turned out but whatever).

We hug and yes, we make love And always just say "Goodnight" (la-la-la-la-la) And we cuddle, sure I do love it But I need your lips on mine

Can you kiss me more? We're so young, boy We ain't got nothin' to lose, oh, oh It's just principle Baby, hold me 'Cause I like the way you groove, oh, oh

Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it (la-la-la-la) Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it

“Ah—shit, shit—baby, I’m going to need you to slow down. Please—we have the whole night, I just—y/n—fuck. You’re so fucking sexy—“ Against your boyfriend’s pleas, you only sped up your pace to rile him more than he already was. 

“The whole night? We’ve been at this for three hours baby. I think I’m gonna tap out here soon. Aren’t you tired?” 

The devilish grin that immediately rose on his face at your confession confirmed that no—he was not tired or if he was, he still had enough energy to keep pumping in to you. You were currently bouncing on his cock; sinking up and down on him like it was your life duty to do so. 

Your walls were clenched around him deliciously; his hardened length filled you up to the hilt with every thrust. The tip grazed along your nub; flicking it with every pump and it was quickly driving you to the brink of insanity. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d find yourself in this position tonight. 

The two of you were exhausted beyond belief; you were at school since six in the morning up until four in the afternoon earlier today. You had finished two midterms and one very important exam you’ve been studying almost an entire month for. Tired wasn’t even a good enough word to describe your current state. 

Your boyfriend was just as much in bad shape as you were. His boss had him doing multiple errands today on top of completing his own assigned work. He only arrived home a little over an hour ago. When you heard the front door of your shared apartment gently open, you had to prevent yourself from running towards him and embracing him with all the power you had in your tiny body. 

You were confident that he was probably worn out and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. From previous experiences, sometimes your boyfriend would go straight to bed upon arrival—being too fatigued to care about eating or taking a shower even. 

Although you were just as tired and in more or less words; overworked to the bone, seeing your boyfriend slumped while his dark circles grew more and more prominent every day, you mustered up enough energy to iron his clothes for the next day, prepare the clothes he’d wear to sleep, pack him a lunch and even get some of his toiletries ready if he felt like wanting to rinse off just a bit. 

To your surprise, as soon as he made his way towards you—before you could even open your mouth to ask your boyfriend how his day was, his pretty, heart-shaped lips that you loved so much were fervently smashed against yours. He gave you no time in preparing yourself for what was to come next before he roughly grabbed you at your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

His mouth never left yours as he led the two of you to your shared bedroom. It boggled your mind that he was giving you his full attention; gnawing and sucking on your lips while he carried you to the room without bumping in to anything or tripping on the rug. Maybe he’s gotten used to doing so since the two of you have been in this exact same scenario more times than you can count on both hands. 

There were so many thoughts running through your mind and questions on the tip of your tongue—concerning the sudden affection and lust he was currently showing you, but whatever you wanted to ask him no longer mattered the second he shoved his tongue down your throat and squeezed both your ass cheeks before slapping them hard. 

“Mark—babe is everything okay—“

“Work was shit—complete and utter shit. I missed you so fucking much like I do every single day I’m at that shithole and so I logged on to Snapchat and to my surprise—and delight, my beautiful girlfriend sent me a few snaps of her pretty outfit today. Don’t play innocent baby, you knew exactly what you were doing as soon as you hit send. You are well aware of the fact that I was seconds away from calling in sick this morning and fucking you in to oblivion right against the kitchen counter when you walked out in to the living room. Ah—there was so many things I wanted to say. Don’t get me wrong, you look breathtakingly beautiful in every single thing that you wear, but my dress shirt and that pencil skirt that hugs you in all the right places and leaves little to the imagination? Tsk tsk—it’s like you wanted me to rearrange your guts tonight.” 

You looked at him in curiosity; it took you a few moments to pin point exactly what photos he was referring to. Since you were so busy today, you completely forgot about sneaking to the bathroom and taking a few pictures of yourself. This last week has been extremely busy for both you and your boyfriend—and so the thought of being intimate with him felt like a fever dream. 

Sex with Mark had to be one of your favorite activities not only as a couple, but just in general. One thing about the older boy that you admired was the fact that he was very talented in each and every single thing he put his mind in to. Baseball, volleyball, football, golf, tennis, soccer, martial arts—it wasn’t even only sports. 

Mark was exceptionally intelligent; he was one of the only people you knew that was good at both reading and math. He also could finish a Rubik’s cube in under two minutes which was quite the impossible task. Every single thing your boyfriend did never failed to impress you. However, you felt as though he was the best at blowing your mind in more ways than one. 

The older boy was extremely generous; he always bought you cute little gifts that reminded him of you, he’d pay for every single date against your pleas no matter where the two of you would go, he’d sacrifice his time and work his schedule around yours so he could pick you up and drop you off wherever you needed to go. When it came to the bedroom, he always put you and your needs first. Mark always made it his main priority to make sure you came first, that you were genuinely having a good time and overall he wanted to do whatever he possibly could to make you comfortable. 

Some days, he’d be so focused on eating you out that he found pleasure and got his full strictly by sucking on your pussy. If you were having a rough day, he’d prepare you a bath and get you all your favorite snacks in attempts of cheering you up but not before finding his place in between your thighs and dragging his tongue along your slit faster than you could actually handle. Mark was the king of overstimulation; one of his kinks was driving you crazy and not giving you a chance to do anything about it. 

He was extremely good at sex— and his body was handcrafted by God. Every single thing about him was annoyingly perfect; he wasn’t the most muscular man but he wasn’t exactly skinny either. He had just the right amount of muscle, a six pack and he was well endowed. Although you considered penises very unattractive before you met Mark, something about his was so pretty and it always made your mouth water. 

You weren’t sure if you preferred having it buried deep inside of your cunt, or filling up your throat—both felt so phenomenal. Out of all the positions you and Mark experimented in during your four year relationship, your favorites had to be doggy, missionary and the one you were currently in right now. In most of your love making sessions, Mark took the lead and dominated you—not that you ever objected. 

A dominant Mark—degrading, rough, animalistic was the sexiest Mark—well, next to jealous and overprotective which usually led to the passionate and extremely freaky sex the two of you’d have. But there were times where you would take control because Mark was the definition of a switch; and something about him submitting to you and whatever you told him to always sent your mind in a frenzy.

Mark was very vocal about how he came faster whenever you would find yourself riding him specifically because watching your breasts bounce, getting to see your gorgeous face and observing your pussy swallow his cock whole—your juices coating his entire length, the sensation was lethal. His hands gripped on your waist all but gently; you might have been the one on top but your boyfriend was a powerbottom. He never allowed you to do things on your own, especially during sex. 

“Nope. I’m like the energizer bunny whenever we make love. In fact, I could probably fuck you for a solid four more hours. I know sex isn’t everything in a relationship and there are so many other things I love to do with you—but damn, you’re a fucking dream y/n. We have sex almost every single day and it always feels like the first time. If you’re exhausted baby, you can get off. As much as I particularly enjoy and get off on the feeling of your ass clapping against my balls, I’m sure it’s pretty tiring.” 

You had to stifle back a laugh at his choice of words; when the two of you first became intimate with one another, there was a lot of laughter and playful banter in the duration of your sexy time to which you didn’t think was normal. Then again, your relationship with Mark was never normal from the start. Your relationship was the envy of a lot of the people around you. 

It’s been over four years yet somehow—maybe it was the deep, passionate love you held for one another, but you were still surprisingly in the honeymoon stage. Neither you or Mark could get enough of each other. Sometimes, whenever the two of you would tumble in to bed together, some jokes, corny pickup lines and even riddles would be thrown in while Mark would be railing you and on some occasions, he’d say things at the wrong time, but you still had so much fun nonetheless. 

“I’m not too tired, I just don’t want to be immobile for the next week. My thighs are jelly and I have work in the morning. I’ve called out three times already in the last month because you fulfill your promises of wrecking me and I’m sure my boss is aware of the fact that it’s not possible for me to get food poisoning that many times within days of each other—“

“I mean, I have no regrets honestly and if I remember correctly, you’re always the one telling me to “go faster” and to “fuck me harder daddy”—ow! What? I’m just stating the facts—“

“I know, but it sounds weird when you say it.” 

He playfully rolled his eyes before stealing a sloppy kiss from the corner of your mouth and motioned for you to get off of him. As much as you were reveling in his many wanton noises and lustful facial expressions, you could feel your legs giving out and you were in no position to be calling out sick again. At least not for another week or two. You let out a whine at the feeling of him slowly pulling out of you; you weren’t ashamed to say you were a huge fan of how it felt to be full of your boyfriend’s cock. 

Cock warming was another favorite kink of yours. Mark on the other hand, would have to mentally prepare a few minutes prior to staying inside of you. It was hard for him to stay idle—he’s told you this many times. As much as he wanted to do whatever you asked of him and wanted to please you no matter what it was you desired, the feeling of your tight, wet and warm walls clenching around him was too much. He allowed it to happen, but not for too long. He could be the one to tap out, but a couple minutes of cockwarming could lead to another round of sex and in many cases; it did.

“What a baby, can’t even go a couple of seconds without my dick inside of her—“

“Shut up, I can go in to the bathroom and finish myself off if I wanted to—“

“We all know your fingers aren’t enough to get you seeing stars princess. And that stupid dildo you bought when I was away in Taiwan last year can’t do shit for you either.” 

Thankfully, he didn’t take too long in throwing you against the bed and lining himself back at your entrance. You were seeping of your essence at this point and he swiped himself along your folds so that it would be easier for him to slip back inside. He brought his face up to your ear and his breath was hot against your jaw as he leaned in to whisper naughty words that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. 

“Only I can bring you to sheer ecstasy. Only I can get you to see white—only I can get your head spinning. My fingers; we both know how much my fingers are one of your favorite body parts of mine.” He wrapped one hand around your neck gently, making sure to glide his thumb along your pressure point while swiping some of your juices with his index finger and bringing it up to your mouth. 

“Taste yourself baby. I want you to experience the euphoria I go through whenever I eat out this pretty cunt of yours. Well—back to what I was saying, my tongue, I know exactly how to use it as we make out, when I suck on this pretty little neck of yours or when I suck the life out of your pussy—so even if you were to finger yourself like the dirty girl you are, you’ll never reach the mind blowing orgasm only I can give to you. Now, I think it’s time I teach you a lesson for speaking out against me.” 

You bit your lip in anticipation for the excitement that was to come; whenever Mark would get jealous or whenever you were bratty and went against whatever he commanded you to do, that’s when he would fuck your brains out. How the two of you were still going at it with such a rapid and forceful pace had yet to really process completely in your mind, but you didn’t question it. A muttered groan fell from both your lips and his as soon as he found his place back inside of you. 

Immediately, he placed his face in the crook of your neck for what you were accustomed to him trying his best not to moan loudly. He dragged his teeth along the juncture of your nape before sinking his teeth in and leaving a dark love bite in its wake. 

“Mark!” 

You swatted his arm once you felt the spot begin to throb. Sure, you found it extremely sexy whenever he’d mark his territory because it proved just how possessive and overprotective he was over you but at the same time, hickeys were difficult to cover up and you were confident the purple mark would be on display for your professors, classmates, coworkers, boss and clients to see. 

“Sorry baby, I couldn’t help myself—I’ll help you put some makeup on it tomorrow. It’s just that—ugh, how the fuck are you always so damn tight? We have sex on a daily basis, you should be stretched out by now.”

“You men obviously don’t understand the anatomy of a woman. You’re lucky you’re attractive and very sweet, you’re lacking intelligence—“

“Hey—“

“Just fuck me already asshole.” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He went straight in to ramming his cock in and out of you. There was no time to be soft or gentle; the two of you were just moments away from your releases. You preferred the softness and romanticism that came with making love, but right now all you could think about was how amazing it felt when the tip of his cock reached your cervix. 

“Feels—“

“So fucking good.” 

Your breasts were bouncing up and down with every thrust and to your delight, your boyfriend cupped one of your mounds in his hand; flicking your nipple all but gently and earning himself the sexiest growl he’s ever heard in his life. He wrapped his lips around your other breast and swirled his tongue around your nipple—bringing the nub in between his teeth and nibbling on it. 

“Such pretty titties—so soft, so big—your body belongs in an art museum. You’re a masterpiece. Everything about you—I can’t even wrap my head around your beauty. You’re really a sight for sore eyes you know that?” 

Slowly, you shaking my brought your palm up to his face and cupped his cheek feather lightly. You brought your free hand in to his hair and softly tugged at his curly, brown locks. 

“I—I love you Mark—“

“Mmm—I love you more baby girl. So much more. Every time you say those three words, I feel like a little kid who’s crush complimented his outfit. You do wonders on my heart. What did I do to deserve you?” 

Out of no where, he lifted up one of your legs and placed it on his shoulder. This position allowed him to reach deeper inside of you which you didn’t even know there was more of you for him to reach. 

“Shit—shit, just like that Mark—“

“You like that baby?” 

You nodded in agreement fervently; he needed to know the effect that this position was having on you. Something about having him on top of you, even if missionary was a position that most people considered boring and ordinary—you felt like you were going to burst in to flames at any moment. The sound of his pelvis clapping against your ass cheeks sounded off throughout the room. It only heightened the sexual desire that already filled up the atmosphere. His grip on your lower waist tightened as the two of you grew closer and closer to your ends. 

“So tight—so wet—so perfect and all mine.” 

He brought your other leg up on to his shoulder and you could fill your orgasm right at the edge. A loud moan fell from his lips and he tried to conceal it by smashing his mouth against yours, but you only felt the vibration on your tongue as he hummed in contentment. 

“Mark—I can’t—it’s too much—“

“I know baby, I know. I’m almost there too. Can you hold on for just a little longer?” 

With all the energy you could muster, you nodded against his chest and allowed him to reconnect your lips together; his speed was relentless and with the way the bed was creaking, you knew that there was a huge chance it would break soon and you would get yet another noise complaint. Probably the seventh one in the last month. You were secretly hoping that he was closer than you were and that he was only holding on as long as possible so you both could continue your late night romp. 

Your boyfriend was a nymphomaniac; sex might not have been the most important part of your relationship, but after a long, stressful day at work, he found relief in releasing his anger and frustration on your body. Making love was even better—but it didn’t matter how the two of you were intimate, just having your skin against his and your tongue battling for dominance with his, the sensation never failed to turn his sour mood in to a much happier and lighter one. 

He was happiest being one with you. Just by the way he let go of your hips to intertwine your hands together, you were confident that he was about to cum. Whenever he was at his end, he’d stop whatever he was doing to hold your hands and leaned back so that he could get a better look at you. Seeing your fucked out state; sweat dripping down your neck and chest, cheeks flushed with warmth, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth gasping for air—knowing that he was the cause behind your beautiful glow, it brought him confidence and glee. 

Soon, you were being filled with his warm creamy liquid in spurts—the sensation of being full of his sperm was one that you still haven’t gotten used to. It was just that mind blowing. Your orgasm followed in suit just seconds after. It felt like a tidal wave swallowing you whole, you were drowning but in the best way. It was hard to describe; but it was a high you never wanted to come down from. You were speechless; there were no words to describe just how on top of the world you were currently feeling. 

Mark called it a sex high. Whenever you and your boyfriend would find yourselves tangled in the sheets, you felt like you were in another world. Maybe it was just a high off of Mark himself. He was hot; there was no doubt about it and honestly you could stare at him all day if time permitted you to. For a couple of minutes, there was a peaceful silence.

All you wanted to do was calm your rapid heartbeat and to get your breathing under control. Mark’s heart pounded against your chest and his dick that was once hard as a rock was now soft and limp inside of your cavern—neither of you moved; he was pressed up against your breasts and his head was smashed up along your collarbone. Your mind was too hazy to really feel the stickiness of his sweaty body, but if this were under different circumstances you probably would’ve pushed him off. 

Less than five minutes later, Mark leaned back enough so that he had a better view to look at you. He gently brushed back some of your hair and glided his thumb along your cheek—bringing it down to your bottom lip. The soft smile he was giving you as you placed a kiss amongst the calloused digit sent electricity through your veins. In times like these; where you were bare, not just physically but spiritually and mentally and in the comfort of your boyfriends arms, you always felt so safe—so at ease, so serene, so loved. 

You might have just did something so naughty, yet you couldn’t help but blush timidly. No matter how many times the two of you relished in your love for one another, you always felt so shy with his wandering eyes gazing all along your body. Even if he’s seen you naked at least a hundred times, you still found yourself turning red under his stare. 

A few sweet kisses were placed against your mouth as what you assumed was a distraction because as he began to nibble on your bottom lip, he slowly pulled himself out from your slick walls. The two of you groaned at the feeling of emptiness; you gave him a glare—upset that he pulled out so soon especially since you told him earlier that you were in the mood for cockwarming. 

“Mark—“

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I just want to clean you up and get us ready for bed. I think your pussy puts me to sleep a lot more often now. But if you want to take a bath, I can go prepare one for you—“ 

Something about the thought of fucking Mark to exhaustion made you giggle. Especially because moments ago, he was wanting to continue having sex for much longer. “No, I don’t think I can walk you asshole. I’ll just take one in the morning before my shift. But thank you. Am I wearing you out Tuan?”

“Yes and I’m not afraid to admit it. I think five orgasms in less than two hours would do that to someone. You’re so fucking sexy and so damn good to me there’s no point in trying to conceal my feelings for the sake of my pride. I’d shout it at the top of my lungs if I had to—I’m completely whipped for you and I have every intention on keeping it that way for the rest of our lives. Now, I’ll be right back okay?” 

With a couple of kisses against the corner of your mouth, he disappeared in to your bathroom. It was only natural for you to snicker to yourself at the sight of his cute little butt as he quickly walked over to get a warm wash cloth and a bottle of water. You decided to take that time to reminisce on tonight’s escapade. 

Every time you thought about your love making sessions with Mark, your stomach would swarm with butterflies. In the beginning of your relationship when you were just beginning to learn more and more about each other, the sex the two of you would experiment in was exciting, fun and intoxicating—not that it wasn’t like that anymore. 

But now that you were both so madly in love with one another, it was more passionate, more meaningful and a lot more desirable. You always had to be touching him and without even having to ask him, he’d always have his hands on you too. The bed sank and before you could even comprehend what was going on, a wet towel was gently being brushed along your lower body. 

He first got in between your thighs, making sure to wipe up any excess cum that might have dripped from your entrance. Then he brought it up to your navel, making sure to rid visible sweat—then finally he cleaned your folds and with the way a tingling sensation began to develop, you knew he was purposely taking his time to mess around with and to get a rise out of you. 

Right as you were about to whine in attempts to get him to stop, he got another washcloth and wiped your face. Mark was well aware of how your skincare was very important to you. He’d watch you take the time to put on moisturizer, toner and sunscreen on in the mornings and right before bed. 

It was the little things that he recognized that made your heart swell; no matter how many times a day he’d tell you that he loved you, he professed his love just a little bit more through his actions. Once he was done, he helped you put on a clean pair of underwear and one of his t-shirts—a reoccurring act of affection he did not too long after you came down from your highs. 

With a sweet kiss on your forehead, he went back in to the bathroom to prepare for bed; brushing his teeth and putting on a pair of sweatpants before taking his spot next to you under the covers. By instinct, you were pulled up against his chest and his arms snaked around your hips. He left wet kisses all along your face; making sure to steal a few pecks from your lips as he smiled against your mouth. 

“That was mind blowing as always. My pretty—pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect. What did I do to deserve you? God, I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve made love—“

“It’s been three days Mark—“

“Exactly. That’s a long time baby. Especially because I crave you every second of the day. I can’t get over how wonderful you are. Literally flawless. Rest up baby, once you come home tomorrow I’m having you again and again and again—“

“Oh God, how I’m not pregnant at this point is still a mystery to me. Horndog.” 

He let out the most adorable little giggle while turning your body so that he was spooning you. He’s told you many times that as much as he loved being able to see your face, he was more comfortable in this position. You were confident it was because he’d get to feel your ass pressed up against his length, but you didn’t want him feeling embarrassed if that was the real reason behind. Besides, you felt so safe and protected in this position. 

However, you’ve been contemplating on voicing your feelings about how nights would end right after you and your boyfriend would tap out from either exhaustion or overstimulation. Sure, you loved the cuddling and being held by him, but that was pretty much it. He’d kiss you a couple of times and then he’d say good night. If you both had even the tiniest amount of energy, you’d stay up and talk about whatever it was that your hearts desired. 

You wanted to kiss him for much longer than the fleeting kisses—you fantasized about spending a little more time with his soft lips on yours. Maybe he saved the makeout sessions for the bedroom. But even during sex, the kisses were hot and wild—in the heat of the moment, but you were too busy focusing on being penetrated to really enjoy kissing him. 

“Well, I mean my pullout game is the best—“

“You literally just came inside of me that’s a joke right?” 

He let out a scoff of disbelief and although you couldn’t see him, he playfully rolled his eyes. “I mean, well, you know—yeah whatever. The thought of impregnating you is a huge kink of mine. You’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives. You’re going to be the best mother one day and the cutest little pregnant lady. I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby and I’m even more impatient in finally starting a family with you. You really are the love of my life. Look at how sappy you’ve made me. Mmm, I love you, I love you, I love you. Sweet dreams my love.” 

Hearing him confess all that he did about his love for you and the future the two of you had together—you couldn’t stop the smile from taking over the entirety of your face. Almost every single thing Mark said—no matter how naughty or straight up cheesy it was never failed to make your heartbeat increase. You were soon feeling silly for worrying about such a minuscule thing and you wished it could have been enough for you. Yet, the question was on the tip of your tongue; you were mentally battling with yourself. 

There had to be a reason why the kissing stopped once you both reached your fill. You didn’t want to seem too clingy or overdramatic—maybe you were overthinking things. Your mind kept telling you to leave it alone and that he had his reasons, yet you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in your head that begged you to continue to pry at him. Mark looked down at you in curiosity when you turned around to face him. He lifted up your chin and furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“Everything alright y/n?”

“Why don’t you kiss me more?” Your question was muffled since you were too shy to ask him out right and hid your face in the crook of his neck. 

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you—“

“I want you to kiss me more.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Where is this coming from baby?” 

An exasperated sigh fell from your lips and you were soon regretting actually asking him the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for months now. It was extremely silly now that the question was actually out there but the reason why your relationship with your boyfriend had been so healthy all these years is because conversation was one of the most important keys to making sure you were both on the same page. 

The last thing Mark wanted was for you to be uncomfortable or to feel as though you had to hide your feelings for his sake. Which is why you weren’t surprised to see him looking at you worriedly, waiting patently for you to go in to further detail. 

“Right before we go to bed, whether it’s after sex or just once we’re done doing whatever it is after we both come home from work, you give me a few kisses and then we cuddle and fall asleep. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy doing those things. I just—I want more. I love kissing you if you didn’t already know that by now. Kissing you is one of my favorite activities that we do because your lips are so addicting. But we only ever passionately kiss during sex and when we make out it usually leads to love making and theres really nothing wrong with that. I just wish we could kiss without having it end up or only be during sex.” 

Although the lights were off and you could barely see him, you could tell he was wearing a blank expression on his face. He continued his ministrations of gliding his fingers along your sides but he stayed silent for a few moments. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole; you were so embarrassed but this was your boyfriend. 

He needed to know how you felt if your relationship was going to continue as beautifully as it currently was. To your surprise, he lifted up your chin and reconnected your lips together in a very passionate kiss. His hands cupped either sides of your face and he roughly nipped and sucked on your lips; leaving you breathless as he deepened the kiss further.

It was only natural for you to smile against his mouth; you were hoping you didn’t upset him and that he was only kissing you like this to please you. You were hoping he too was finding some enjoyment in kissing you right now. As his lips continued to attack yours, he took that chance to flip you on top of your back and stole a couple more kisses before sucking on your sweet spot right below your ear. This was what you wanted; it felt so wonderful and you felt even more closer to him than you felt a little over half an hour ago with his cock buried deep inside of you. 

“How was that? By that gorgeous smile of yours and the way your lips are swollen I’m assuming you quite liked that.” You nodded in agreement and stole a few kisses from the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel as though I’m not interested in continuing our intimacy once we’re about to go to bed. Trust me, kissing you is my favorite thing to do with you too. You drive me fucking crazy. I’ve actually questioned myself about this numerous times too but I just assumed you were tired and I didn’t want to press you in to doing something just because I wanted to do it. Plus—“ 

He led your hand down to his sweatpants and your cheeks grew warm at the feeling of his hardened cock. It never failed to make you laugh seeing as how easy it was for him to grow horny at just the simplest touch. “This is why our make out sessions lead to sex and why I was hesitant about telling you that I wanted to be more intimate with you rather than the small pecks and holding you before falling asleep myself. It’s just going to lead in to another round. God, I sound like such a nymphomaniac but I’m proud to say that I am. I got a very sexy girlfriend, who could blame me for wanting to relish in our love at least once a day? Well, now that I know how you feel y/n, I would love to kiss you more. A lot more. why don’t we experiment a little tonight and see where it leads tomorrow?” You beamed up with him and with all the energy you still had left inside of you, flipped your bodies so you were on top. It obviously riled him up and the cheeky grin he was giving you sent warmth to your core. 

“That sounds like a plan. Now kiss me.”

“With pleasure.”

[six-sanctuary]

Homecoming (Will Miller x Reader)

Author’s note: I’ve never written a fic before but was HEAVILY inspired by all the amazing content @lucrezia-thoughts and @charnelhouse generate (Super hope that's okay!) and wanted to try my hand at it and contribute to Triple Frontier Fr-saturday. (I know I'm a day late whoops)

Also I suck at proofreading I’m so sorry for any errors and hope someone enjoys this. Lowkey proud of myself for not being obnoxiously shy and just saving this to my desktop somewhere for eternity.

Anyways here we go no more rambling this is the fic. If I still dig it later on I might write some more in this lil universe either with Will/Reader or throw in some Benny/reader. Maybe even Santiago/reader if I can get his voice right.

Below the cut is 18+ only please and thanks!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’d always been there, and you always would. It was the sort of realization that crept up slowly on Will. Looking back he wishes he could count the times he counted on you. He wishes he could put it into something concrete like numbers, something that he could wrap his head around, but you were there even before the numbers.

You were there before he was shipped off to war, before he had to learn to count as he breathed, in… two… three… four… five… hold… two… three… four… five…. out… two… three… four… five…. You were there before he broke and crumbled, falling into a million little pieces he didn’t know how to put back together again.

He wished he knew the number of warm smiles you’d given him. He wished he knew what number it took for him to fall in love, whether it was the hundredth or hundredth thousandth soft smile. All he knows now is that so much time was wasted, and he didn’t want to lose a second more.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’d moved to Colorado a few months ago. It had always been part of the plan but that timeline got moved up when Will’s parents announced they were selling the house in favor of something smaller now that they were empty nesters. For a solid week, Will hummed and hawed about it, flip flopping back and forth. The thought of giving up something that was so integral to his childhood, something that had always meant home for him, was hard.

After weeks of his thinly veiled discontent, you came to a solution. After one of his talks, you sat him down in the dining room table of your apartment together and laid out the documents one by one. Rather than explain right away, you let Will take them all in, grabbing each one and skimming it before moving on to the next piece of paper.

“This is…. To buy the house?” Will’s thumbs smoothed over the paper as if in need of a reminder that they were real, that this was real. “My parent’s place?” His voice was thick with emotion, which never failed to bring it out of you. Rather than answer in words and risk your voice failing you, you nodded.

From there it was a lot of packing, a lot of hard work, but with the Delta Force boys help you two managed to get everything packed up in a hauler, ready to make the trek halfway across the country. The thought of being holed up in the car for hours on end with Benny made you the slightest bit nervous. The younger Miller was a bundle of energy and while you appreciated that most of the time, you were wary about being stuck in cramped quarters with the lightning bolt of a man. In the end the cars were split with you and Santiago taking Will’s Ford and Will and Benny driving the Uhaul.

You had a week of the gang’s help, well the gang minus Frankie. He had to head back a few days early to his wife and daughter. The others stayed, even Tom, though he was quick to point out several “serious”problems with the house that you’d need to look into. Despite that, it already felt like home. Sure it needed your and Will’s touch on the place, and a number of things had gone into disrepair as the Millers got older. At some point it had become too much for them, but it was the perfect project for a newlywed couple.

Not once did you regret it. Not when you were lugging heavy boxes up the stairs nor when you learned the roof needed to be replaced. No, each problem was taken in stride because you knew with Will by your side, you’d get through it. There was nothing the two of you could not conquer.

Soon the novelty of the new house wore off and with Benny back at his apartment down the street and Santiago and Frankie back home, you and Will fell into a quiet domesticity. You lived in pieces, your life wrapped up in boxes while you made repairs to the house.

Will, though he meant well, was not as handy as he claimed to be. After the shower incident that required a late-night call to an emergency plumber, your big Delta Force husband was relegated to the simpler tasks, or the ones that required his muscle. If a dresser had to be moved, he was your man, rolling up his sleeves and making it look easy. The same went for anything that required reaching high places (the uppermost cabinets in the kitchen were a real bitch). In the end, Will ended up spending more time turning the side yard into a garden while you turned this old house into your home.

After a month, Will had to go back to work. He’d been requested to give a speech in D.C., back to the other side of the country. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew that this was important to him. You knew how much it mattered to him to feel useful, to feel good about what he did and so with a kiss to the cheek, you promised him that you’d have the kitchen cabinets all painted by the time he came back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Classic rock was softly playing out of the radio you had set up on the counter. Painting was boring work, even more so all by yourself. The radio made you feel less alone and so you hummed along as you worked. Stroke after stroke of paint was rolled onto the cabinets, breathing new life into the space. It was really mindless work and so your thoughts wandered as you painted. You thought about the home, what other projects you had in mind. If you finished the cabinets quickly enough you wanted to tackle the downstairs bathroom too before Will got back.

He'd called every night but it wasn’t the same as him being here. If you were lucky, you got him on FaceTime and got to see his face light up when you appeared on his screen. Even with the small image of him on your phone he was so handsome, golden and bright. You’d called him your Apollo once, god of the sun, and he’d found that funny. Ben was picking him up from the airport tomorrow and driving him home and then you’d have your sun again.

The opening of the front door snapped you out of your thoughts, your head whipping around. “Honey?” His gruff voice was unmistakable to you. Without a second thought your paintbrush was set down, dripping slightly off the drop cloth though that was a problem for later. Your feet carried you to him, flinging yourself into his arms when you saw him standing there in the foyer. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.” You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the smell of him as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “We finished early and I wanted to surprise you.” It was definitely a surprise.

His hand moved from the small of your back to your chin, gently lifting it to place a soft kiss on your lips. “I missed you,” you breathed before stealing another. “I know.” He always knew. He knew every time he left you would miss him and he would miss you. You’d play this game and then he’d come home and reclaim you. One kiss turned into two, which then turned into three and four. Your hands moved to his short blonde hair, moving to the back of his neck to pull him closer, ever closer.

Leaving his bags at the door, you two tangled, desperate for contact, desperate for two to become one again. He picked you up, something you’d normally protest as your feet worked just fine, but instead you let him carry you up the stairs, deeper into your home, to your bedroom.

With a playful grin he tossed you onto the bed, nearly chuckling at the way you almost bounced. His amusement only lasted a moment before lust and his need to have you took over. He descended on you on the bed, lips crashing into yours for a heated kiss as his tongue grazed against your lower lip. He was everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses as his name repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Will… Will… Will…

His large hands held your wrists above your head, somehow managing the dichotomy of being gentle but firm, while his lips retraced every curve of your skin. Every time he came back the routine was the same. Will wanted, no needed to learn you again, to cover every soft spot that made you sigh to ensure you were the same as when he had left. He needed to know and so he kissed you, his trimmed beard tickling as he slowly made his way down your body earning soft moans along the way.

He only left your wrists when he got to your legs, separating them and placing one over his shoulder as you laid back on the bed. There he paused, looking down at you so bare and exposed and wet beneath him. It was hard not to move under his gaze. “God you’re so beautiful.” You felt heat rise in your cheeks as you whined out his name. He placed a less-than-chaste kiss on your inner thigh before moving closer, breathing in your heady scent. Licking your folds, he let his tongue circle your clit, smirking at the sounds leaving your lips.

He knew your body like the back of his hand and it took no time at all for him to bring you to that peak of pleasure. Closer and closer, more and more you felt your body respond to him, your hips rolling up against his tongue, hands fisting in the sheets or his hair whichever was closer. “C’mon baby,” he coaxed, slipping a finger into your slick heat, curling it to stroke the soft spot that made you cry out and shudder around him.

“That’s one.”

And you knew your husband would follow through with another. He collected your orgasms like some collected baseball cards, counting each and every one. No night ended with just one, leaving you spent exhausted and so satisfied at the end.

Wiping the wetness from his face, he kneeled next to you, watching as your breathing rate came back down, waiting for the sign that he could have you again. As you blinked the haze away, his hands trailed up and down your side, drawing absent patterns against your soft skin. The look in his eyes of restrained hunger made your mouth go momentarily dry, reigniting the flames of passion within you. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you used your other hand to reach for him, pulling him over you.

It was all the encouragement he needed. After tossing his shirt away, his calloused hands move to your thigh, hiking it up over his hip. You had only a moment to take in the sight of him, the well-toned muscle, the scar on the left side of his stomach, before you two crashed together once more. Your hips ground against the hard bulge in his pants, leaving a dark patch in the denim. You needed more, more friction, more him.

He pulled away only long enough to unbutton his pants, kick off his boots and rid himself of the rest of his clothing. Standing at the edge of the bed, he stroked his impressive length a few times as he admired your naked form. Then the wait was too long and crawled over you, lining himself up and so agonizingly slowly pushing himself into you. You tried to be still but it seemed your body had something else in mind as your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him ever closer.

“Someone’s eager,” he breathed, both of you knowing full well that neither of you had the patience to wait much longer. Pressing his lips firmly against yours, he moved, hips snapping into you at a quick pace, his size stretching you in ways no one else ever could. Your body molded to fit around him, your leg wrapping around him once more in an effort to guide him ever deeper. He bottomed out in you before pulling out and pressing into you again and again and again. Each motion put stars behind your eyes, the fireworks building to another crescendo.

You felt him get closer, the rhythm of his hips losing itself as he continued to thrust into you, hips stuttering as the pleasure overwhelmed. “One more honey, I know you have one more.” His low throaty growl in your ear was enough to push you over the brink, your hands clamoring for purchase on his back and shoulders as you cried out once more. Your core clenched down on him and it took only a few more hurried thrusts before you felt his hot seed shooting into you as he let out a low grunt.

His forehead rested against yours as he remained where he was, not wanting to pull out of you just yet. A thin sheen of sweat covered the both of your bodies and despite that you didn’t think either of you were finished quite yet. You had a full week of time apart to make up for. Will pulled his head back from your forehead to give you another soft kiss, this one lacking the passion and lust but more than making up for that with the love and affection he poured into it. “It’s good to be home.”

[bunnysuit-femboy]

The Worst Wingman - Dust and a Goddess

(Chapter 1 / 3)

Jean x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: mentions of homophobia

Summary:  Jean knew you better than anybody else, so why was he so good at picking the worst people on the planet for you to go on dates with. You were persistent to find a boyfriend this year and you thought Jean could help you find the perfect man, but apparently he loves to watch you suffer. If only you knew the perfect man for you was the one setting you up on all of these dates.

Notes: I posted this on my Ao3 first, but I thought I’d post it here too. So, please enjoy!

First Saturday

Another Saturday night meant another shitty date with another uninteresting and weird guy. You knew Jean hand-picked these dates that he sent you off with, but it seemed he didn’t know you or them at all. Every single date was just another bust, undeniably and irrefutably.

And, this date was just another on the already long list of bad dates.

“So,” Your date said with a smile, “You’re good friends with him, aren’t you?”

You nodded with the wine glass close to your lips. He had asked you the same question nearly fifteen times in the last fifteen minutes. It was as if he couldn’t believe it himself. As if he were surprised, or maybe even a little bit jealous.

“Yeah,” You said with a fake smile, “We’re in the same friend group. I met him freshman year, when I became close friends with Mikasa and she introduced us-”

“How is he?”

“Huh?”

The redhead smiled wide, “How is Eren? What’s he like as a friend?”

You raised your eyebrows and placed your glass back on the table, “Eren?”

The redhead nodded excitedly. He was nearly on the edge of his seat, leaning towards you like a child about to hear a war story from his grandfather. It was odd that the boy had gotten caught on the idea of Eren being friends with you when you had just explained how Jean was the one who set you up on the date.

“Eren is- um,” You looked around the small restaurant, trying to find inspiration for a way out of this conversation from the other diners, “He’s cool.”

The boy is physically upset about your discretion, “And?”

“And,” You involuntarily continued, “He’s- uh, he’s very nice. He-uh he helps me with my homework, and helps me study quite a bit.”

It was all a lie, but only partially. Sure, somebody in the friend group was really nice and helped you with homework and helped you study, but it wasn’t Eren. It was Armin who was the nice one, but you didn’t know Eren well enough not to switch the two names when talking with the boy in front of you.

“That’s awesome,” The redhead said with an admirational sigh, “I bet he’s super helpful. He’s definitely the type to not give up until you know everything, for sure.”

“Oh.” You grinned at your empty dinner plate. “For sure. He’s the best. He’s super dedicated, and he always makes the harder information easier for me to understand. He’ll word it in ways that he knows I’m more comfortable with.”

“I’ll have to join you two, sometime.”

You looked at the boy with furrowed eyebrows, “You want to join me and Eren while we study?”

Boy, is he going to be upset when he finds out Eren is actually an adorable blonde boy with big ocean eyes who’s not nearly as blatantly mean. Also, it’s a bit strange the redhead wants to go on a study date with you and somebody else. Isn’t he at this date for you? But, all he’s asked you about all night is Eren.

“Of course,” The boy said with a smile, “I would just love to see him again.”

You giggled lightly to yourself, “Do you want me to get his number for you?”

Though the comment was purely a joke, the boy didn’t flinch nor smile. He just stared at you with a look of defeat in his eyes and he almost looked angry. His eyes never left your face, his mind not finding an ounce of humor in your question.

His reaction caused your smile to quickly falter, “Do you actually have a crush on him?”

The redhead rose from his seat, “I have to use the bathroom.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Right now?”

“Yes,” The boy’s voice came out harsh, “Right now.”

“Oh, okay.” You watched as the boy walked off towards the bathroom. And, once he was out of earshot, you pulled your phone from your purse sitting on the back of the chair and phoned Jean.

The phone only rang once before the call was picked up. He spoke a half-assed greeting above the sound of yelling in the background. You knew he was with Connie and Sasha tonight and you knew they were playing video games from the noise coming from behind his voice.

“Don’t hey me,” You spat angrily through the phone, “This guy is insane, Jean, he’s fucking weird.”

Jean was now laughing, “How is he weird?”

“He keeps asking about Eren.” You took a quick peek at the male’s bathroom door. “He offered to go on a study date with me-”

“That’s nice of him.”

“-And Eren.”

“Oh,” Jean said, “That’s weird. Eren doesn’t even study with you, he’d have to be smarter than you to be of any help.”

“I may have lied to him.” You took a quick swig of wine from the glass and then turned back to the bathroom doors.

“Aw,” Jean said with a smirk, “Poor Floch.”

“Floch,” You said excitedly, nearly knocking the discarded fork from your plate, “That’s his name! I forgot it about two hours ago, but didn’t have the heart to ask him.”

Jean was uncontrollably laughing on the other side of the phone. It wasn’t like these types of calls were foriegn to him. You normally called Jean in the middle of a crisis, and most of your crises these days happened mid-date when the boy did something weird and left to go to the bathroom.

“You’re a horrible date,” Jean said between his giggles.

“It’s not a normal name.” You held the wine glass to your lips. “I wouldn’t have forgotten his name if it were Brian or Nick. It’s his mom’s fault I forgot his name.”

Jean smiled into the phone, “Now, you’re blaming his mom for your ignorance, how cruel.”

You couldn’t help but grin as well, “Also, I think he has a thing for Eren.”

“Really?” Jean takes a moment to remember something. “That actually makes a lot of sense. I met him through Eren because they were in the same chemistry class last semester. He seemed reluctant to go on the date with you until Eren told him he should, then he was all for it. I thought it was weird, but not weird enough to be concerning.”

“It’s not weird nor concerning,” You said sweetly, “He just has a crush and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, it’s endearing.”

“He’s actively homophobic.”

“What?” You peek at the bathrooms and notice nothing has changed. “You set me on a date with an active homophobe?”

Jean shrugged, “I didn’t think about it.”

You shook your head angrily, “After this date, I am coming straight to your apartment and I am giving you a piece of my mind, Jean Kirstein.”

“Oh no,” Jean said with a smile, “I’m really scared, she used my last name.”

“You should be really scared. I’m bringing my baseball bat and everything.”

You took another peek at the bathroom and then checked the timer on the call. Seven minutes and fourteen seconds was how long you had been on the phone with Jean and how long Floch had been in the bathroom. Sure, it could be reasonable, but you still got a weird feeling from the whole thing.

“‘You okay?” Jean asked endearingly once the silence between you two had settled.

“He’s coming back,” You lied, “I gotta’ go.”

“Okay, just-”

The call ended quickly with one press of your finger. You put your phone back in your purse and let the bag fall to the side of the chair. You looked around the beautiful restaurant and tapped your fingers impatiently against the clothed table.

You leaned to your side in order to get closer to the couple beside you. At the table sat two people: one with long brown hair and wide glasses dressed in a tux and the other with short dirty blonde hair also dressed in a tux.

“Hi,” You said to the brown haired person to your immediate right, “Could I ask a favor of either of you? It’ll only take a minute, I swear.”

The brown haired person smiled widely, “Of course!”

“My date, a redhead, went to the bathroom nearly twenty minutes ago, and I can’t go into the boy’s bathroom-”

“You want me to go?” The brown haired person’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I can go see if he’s still in there, or if he’s sick, or if he’s dead - God forbid, but how interesting, right?”

You nodded with a smile, “Yes, thank you, please. I’m sure he’s not dead, but I’m just worried.”

“Don’t worry until I come back with news.” The brown haired person stood up and left, heading towards the bathroom.

You watched the nice brown haired person go off towards the restrooms. You watched them weave around tables, even stopping now and then to peek over diners’ shoulders, looking at what they had decided to eat for the night. They were strange, but in an endearing way - something you weren’t entirely used to seeing on these dates.

“You know,” The blonde guy spoke up suddenly, snapping you back to reality, “They’ve done that a few times on our dates before, as well.”

“Hm?” You turned to the brown haired person’s date.

The blonde guy smiled, “My date, they get interested in something in the bathroom and don’t bother coming back out for half an hour. The first time is scary, but you’ll get used to their curious mind.”

You grinned weakly at the nice man, “Yeah, I have a feeling there won’t be anything to get used to because there won’t be another date.”

The blonde boy furrowed his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“He wasn’t the best date I’ve been on, nor the best person I’ve been on a date with.” You turned towards the bathroom in time to catch the blonde man’s date making their way back across the restaurant with a frown. “In fact, he’s the first date to ever crawl out of a bathroom window to get away from me.”

“I’m sure that’s not what happened,” The blonde man said with a worried glance at his date. You weren’t sure how you knew it, but you were entirely sure of the redhead’s escape.

“He’s gone, dear.” The brown haired person placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as they sat back in their seat. “The window was pried open, I assume he crawled out of it.”

You nodded with a fake smile, “Thank you, for checking. I can pay-”

You reached for your purse, but the brown haired person shook their head, “No, no. Don’t even try to pay me. In fact, let us pay for your meals, it’s the least we can do.”

You shook your head quickly, “No, I can pay for them, but thank you.”

“No, he left you high and dry and-”

“You’ve already done enough for me tonight.”

“-You don’t deserve to pay for a meal you didn’t even enjoy.”

While the brown haired person was distracting you with a back and forth battle of who would pay for what, the blonde man waved down a passing waiter. He mumbled something to the waiter, pointing at your table over his shoulder. The blonde man pushed a small plastic card into the waiter’s hand. The waiter nodded pityingly, running off quickly towards the hostess’s table at the entrance.

“No,” You said with another shake of your head, “You don’t have to pay for a taxi, I don’t need one-”

But, you did need one considering Floch was your ride here.

“No,” The brown haired person continued, “Let me pay for your wine. In fact, have our wine. It’s the least we can do.”

“No, I don’t need more wine-”

The waiter was back and the blonde man finally spoke up over the argument between you and his date. He held two slips of paper in his hand and looked at you both with a small smile.

“Hange,” He said to make his date stop debating with you, “It’s okay, she doesn’t need your insurance card. And, ma’am, don’t worry about the bill, it’s already been paid for, and you don’t owe me anything in return. I’ve been in your shoes before, and I wish somebody would have done this for me.”

“Sir,” You said quickly, “It’s really not that big of a deal-”

“Not anymore,” The blonde man said with a smile, “Next time you come to this restaurant, just bring somebody you trust. I promise, not everybody is as awful as that boy.”

You bit your lip to keep the newly created tears from falling. You couldn’t help the overload of emotions happening in your throat and eyes. You didn’t normally cry so easily in front of strangers, but these strangers were overly generous. And suddenly, you were remembering the last ten dates that all ended just as horribly. It seemed like nothing was working out in your favor anymore.

“Thank you,” You said with a large smile contradictory to the tears that now fell down your cheeks, “I-I don’t know where to find those not awful people, but I really hope I will someday.”

“Oh no!” Hange said as they quickly wrapped you in a tight hug. “Moblit, look, you broke her.”

Moblit giggled with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry I broke you, dear.”

You shook your head into Hange’s shoulder, accidentally wiping the tears on the shoulder of their black tux. You couldn’t express to Moblit how badly you wanted to find not awful people, and how badly you wanted a date that didn’t end horribly. It was just more complicated than that, and it seemed awful people were the only ones Jean could offer you dates with and the only ones he thought deserved dates with you. So, what did that say about how he viewed you as a person?

You spent a few minutes crying into Hange’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently about boys and school and your pot-smoking next door neighbors who are way too loud when they have sex. They listened to your tangent intently, nodding along, as if they could understand any of your words.

Once you had wiped the tears from your face and thanked the couple profusely some more, you made your way from the restaurant. You knew you could call a taxi to Jean’s apartment, but the weather was nice and his apartment wasn’t too far away. So, walking seemed like a convenient money-saving way of getting the whole date out of your mind.

You walked down the street of town, but once you got to campus, you slid the heels from your feet and into your hands. You walked across campus with your shoes balancing on your fingers like the morning after a horrible one-night stand.

Eventually you made it to Jean’s apartment building and found your way to his front door within a few minutes. You knocked on the wood with your heel and weren’t too surprised when the door opened almost immediately. Jean stood in the doorway, still shouting at the other two over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Jean said once he finally turned his attention to you, “How was the-” You swung the heel swiftly into his stomach, earning a surprised grunt from the boy.

“Don’t mention this date ever again.” You said the threatening words with a glint of anger to your voice, but your face was pressed into a sweet smile.

Jean nodded slowly, “Will you at least tell us what happened?”

You sighed, “Later, I’ll tell you, but I know Connie will bully me for it.”

Jean nodded some more, “Later?”

“The least you can do is let me stay the night.” You raised your eyebrows at the boy. “Since you made me go on the worst date of my life with a homophobic jerk.”

“Okay,” Jean said with a grin, “But only because you’re practically begging for me.”

You swung the heel into his stomach a second time, but he grabbed it before it could give any damage. You both looked intently at each other, your eyes glaring annoyedly and his eyes admiring the sight in front of him. This was exactly what you expected from him, this is exactly how he acts after these dates. He’s always the one to pick up and put back the broken pieces once the doll breaks, even if he’s the reason the doll fell in the first place.

Once you walked into the apartment, you left your shoes and purse by the door, right beside Jean’s shoes. You waved a quick hello to Connie and Sasha - who were too distracted shooting zombies to see you - as you walked past them in the living room and found your way straight to Jean’s room. You knew the apartment like the back of your hand, you had been here a million times.

You walked across the small room to your drawer that Jean keeps all of your clothes in for when you stay. You pulled it open and picked out a pair of cheetah print pajama shorts and an old t-shirt from an now irrelevant ex boyfriend. You threw the clothes on his bed, getting ready to change just when the door suddenly opened.

You turned to the door with tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows as Jean joined you in the room. He leaned against the now closed door, physically keeping the others from joining as well. He crossed his arms against his chest, taking in the sight of him - you in your satin black dress you wore on nearly every date.

“So,” Jean said finally, “What happened?”

You sighed, “He crawled through a window.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrowed, “He crawled through a window?”

“Yes, when he went to the bathroom and I called you. He crawled through a window to get away from me.” You looked anywhere around the room but the boy. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey,” Jean moved from the door, coming across the room to you, “Nothing’s wrong with you. Something’s wrong with him.” Jean held you at arm’s length, his hands on your shoulders. “Not only did he leave you, but he has a crush on Eren of all people. I’ve seen birds at the park who are more attractive than he is.”

You grinned sadly, “I bet people don’t crawl through windows to get away from Eren on dates.”

Jean ran his hand down the side of your head, “Eren doesn’t give them the chance, I don’t think he’s ever been on a date.”

“But, people would go on one with him.” You finally looked up at the boy in front of you, trying to keep the tears from spilling the second time today. “He’s not undateable. I’m undateable. I’ve scared guys away every Saturday night for the last two months.”

“You’re not undateable,” Jean said sternly, “You just haven’t found the right one. And, you won’t find the right one if you don’t keep going on these dates. Every horrible date means you’re one more Saturday closer to your soulmate.”

“And, what if I don’t have a soulmate? What if I’m damned to die alone?”

“Then, I’ll die with you.” Jean brought you in for a tight hug, your face snuggling into his firm chest. Jean whispered his words, mostly to himself, “I’d give up 200 soulmates if it only meant I could die with you.”

You closed your eyes against the soft fabric of Jean’s shirt. It was hard to trust his words when there seemed to be so many contradicting factors. Maybe tonight was a total bust, but next Saturday was a new day. You could try again next Saturday, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that. And, every Saturday for the rest of your life until you found your soulmate, even if that seemed like a pointless mission.

You’d do it for both you and Jean, it was the least you could do.

First Sunday

You woke up in Jean’s bed with his body close to yours. It was a standard cuddling position for your friendship: face-to-face, his arms wrapped around your side, your arms cradled against your chest, and your legs intertwined. Despite the normalcy associated with the position, you still woke up with a dorky smile and butterflies floating around your stomach when you saw him sleeping in front of you.

Today was no exception.

You grinned ear to ear as you watched the peaceful rise and fall of Jean’s tanned chest under the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. You watched as his lips parted against the pressure of the pillow under his cheek, a small stream of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth and onto the fabric of the pillowcase below. Every Saturday night ended with tears and regrets, but every Sunday morning began with sweet dreams and a special sleepy boy.

You turned away from Jean, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The only way to successfully grab the phone was to also pull yourself from Jean’s grasp and from between his legs. It was a horrible price to be paid, but it had to be paid nonetheless.

You checked your lock screen, reading over playful messages from your roommate asking about how good Floch was in bed - assuming you had stayed at his house since you hadn’t come home. And, a few confused messages from Eren asking you who Floch was, why he was texting him, and how he was connected to you.

You locked the phone and turned back to Jean. You were expecting the boy to still be napping peacefully, but he instead stared sleepily at you. Your face had been in a grimace from the mentions of your date last night, but Jean’s honey brown eyes quickly dissipated any negative feelings.

“Good morning,” You whispered, “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning,” Jean said as he shifted his head and wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. He was hoping you hadn’t noticed the wetness and that you weren’t questioning the wiping motion he made at his cheek. “And I-”

You smiled, “From the drool spot on the pillowcase, I’ll have to assume you slept well.”

Jean’s cheeks turned rosy, you could see the physical embarrassment on his face. He wasn’t the type to accept humiliation so easily, he was always one to fight back. Just his humiliation isn’t enough, if he’s going down, he’s taking as many people he can take with him. So, you weren’t sure why you were surprised when he swiftly sat up, grabbed the pillow, and attempted to shove the wet spot into your face.

You yelped, rolled, and sprung from the bed only a second before the pillow could land on your cheek, right where it was heading. You were up on your feet quicker than you ever thought you could be, your body still feeling the aftereffects of sleep. You looked down at the boy in front of you, the pillow still tightly gripped in his hands and a mischievous smile smacked across his face.

“You little bastard,” You said with a shocked smile.

Jean smiled back, “I’m actually quite big.” The words were meant as a joke about his body’s size, but both of your dirty minds immediately jumped to the size of something else on his body. “In more ways than one.”

You shouted at the boy between the giggles escaping from your throat, “Jean! Seriously!”

Jean shrugged, laughing along at his own joke, “I’m sorry, I had to!”

“You didn’t have to do shit!” You made your way to the bedroom door. “I’m going home!”

“One bad joke and now you’re leaving.” Jean leaped from the bed, following you to the door. “At least let me make you breakfast first.”

You turned to him with an intrigued glint in your eyes, “Will you make me waffles?”

“Sure,” Jean said as he playfully shoved your shoulder, “I’ll make you waffles.”

“With chocolate chips?” He walked in front of you, leaving the room with you following behind him like a child.

“Yes, I can add chocolate chips.” Jean tried to hide the grin spreading across his cheeks. “Do you want bacon and sausage as well?”

“Shut up,” You said from behind his back, “You know that I don’t.”

His voice sounded sweet, “Yeah, I do know.”

You stood against the counter, only a foot away from where he stirred the waffle mix. You watched as he eyed the waffle box intently, then poured the four other ingredients into the bowl after the dry mix. He looked a bit confused as he moved the spoon around the bowl, as if he was deathly afraid of missing something but not wanting to give the impression that he’d be stupid enough to miss something.

You knew where the coffee was kept and how to work his coffee machine and while you waited for it to brew, you watched Jean with a weak smile across your face. He could feel your eyes on him. Jean tried to ignore the weight of your eyes, not wanting his cheeks to go red though his chest was already inflating from the action.

Jean spared a glance in your direction, only a few seconds before the coffee finished brewing with a loud splash. For those few seconds when both of your eyes were held on each other, time seemed to slow. You could read the admirational glint in his brown eyes and he could read the appreciative glint in your eyes. Before the moment could go much further, you turned away and grabbed the coffee pot and mugs.

You not only knew which coffee beans Jean preferred, but you also knew how he liked his coffee. You poured a little bit of his roommate’s creamer into his mug, and then the tiniest bit of sugar as well. After the coffee was finished, you handed him the mug with a quick smile.

Waffles eventually found themselves on plates and forks eventually found themselves in between fingers. You both ate breakfast against the kitchen counter, Jean leaning down farther than you had to. You moved your fork against the softness of the slightly underdone waffles - he didn’t know just how much batter was supposed to go into the waffle maker at once.

Jean suddenly spoke up by your side, “Are you free this Saturday?”

You turned to the boy, “I normally am. Who’s next?”

“I have a friend on the football team.” Jean ignored your initial grimace to the statement. “He’s nice and desperate, the way you like ‘em.”

You turned back to your waffle with a small pout, “Maybe I should give guys a break for a little.” Jean raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll just become a nun and write off men altogether.”

“You can’t do that!”

Your head snapped back to Jean, “I can’t?”

“No,” Jean said, “You can’t.”

“And, why can’t I?”

“You just can’t.”

A thick silence had settled in the room, the only sound being the scraping of forks against the porcelain plates. You wondered why Jean was against you becoming a nun. You assumed it was because he was the type to fight persistently, so possibly the idea of giving up on something indefinitely was foreign and upsetting to him. You knew he indirectly reflected onto other people, yourself included.

After a few more moments of silence, Jean started walking away. You watched him as he moved across the living room, heading straight towards his bedroom. Right before the boy could get to the door, he turned to you with a single raised eyebrow and a cocky grin.

“Hey,” Jean said from across the room, “Do you wanna go to the bathroom before I do?”

You looked around the kitchen with a confused look on your face, as if the apartment could give you any clue as to what he was implying with his words. You didn’t have to use the bathroom, nor did you ever insinuate within the last twenty minutes that you did.

You tilted your head curiously, “Why would I need to go to the bathroom before you?”

Jean smiled at the idea of his next words, already proud of himself, “Just to make sure I can’t crawl out through the window.”

Jean laughed as you pretended to throw your fork across the spacious apartment. He was proud of his joke, and you had to admit that you weren’t as upset as you should have been. Last night, the idea of your date crawling through a window in order to get away from you was the worst thing that had ever happened. But with Jean, it was just a funny memory.

Jean came back to the kitchen after a few moments, still giggling lightly about his joke he made nearly two whole minutes ago. You ignored his cockiness by trying to fight the smile forming on your face.

Jean leaned towards you, wrapping a muscled arm around your shoulders. Being pressed against his body in this way made you now realize how he smelled. He smelled of a rich cologne of rose and mahogany. You hadn’t noticed the cologne before he left for the bathroom, but it could have very well slipped past you.

Jean spoke from above you, “I’m glad you aren’t still upset about last night.”

“I never said that.” You looked up at the boy, his arm still around you. “But, I am starting to see the humor in the situation.”

“Good,” Jean said with a smile, “It’s not nearly as bad as that guy who asked if his mom could join you for the date.”

You cringed at the thought, “And, I said yes.”

“And, the one who asked for a vial of your blood.”

You shrugged at the taller boy, “At least he asked, there was the one guy who stole my hair scrunchie without asking first. I think he used it so he could clone me.”

“Yeah.” Jean quickly remembered another awful date. “And, the one who gave you a yarn doll of yourself as a first date gift.”

You smiled widely, “I’m nearly a hundred percent sure that it was actually a Voodoo doll. I’m glad I accepted it before I told him no to a second date.”

Jean grinned down at you, only an inch or two from your face. It was hard not to smile when looking at the boy. He was beautiful and reminded you of an ancient sun god. From his tanned skin, to his lively brown eyes, and his deeply inviting smile. It was hard to look at Jean and not feel your heart skip a beat, especially when you were so close to him.

“They’re all funny stories now,” Jean said, “So, that’s good.”

You moved deeper into his arm, “Funny stories that I don’t need.”

“But, funny stories nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled sarcastically, “Thanks to you.”

“Hey!” Jean was pulling you into a quick bear hug as you laughed against his chest. “I try to find the University’s best guys for you! They are truly the school’s finest.”

“Then, why do they all suck?”

He didn’t answer your question because he wasn’t sure he knew why. He didn’t know why he threw these horrible guys onto you, under the impression of them being good matches. But, in his defense, it was hard to find somebody of your quality.

You were a goddess amongst mortals and these men could never be enough for you. And, if these men were mortals compared to you, then Jean felt he wasn’t even a mortal. He was the dirt hiding in the crevices of somebody’s shoe, he was the dust somebody breathed in before they yawned. Jean felt he could never equal up to you, but maybe these other guys could get close. And, maybe - just maybe - if he helps you get a boyfriend, then he wouldn’t think about you being a goddess so much.

Next Chapter

[nugnthopkns]

take the sadness out of saturday night

word count: 2.8k 

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a couple of curse words, alcohol consumption, vaguely described feelings of inadequacy 

recommended listening: chinatown | bleachers featuring bruce springsteen

a/n: will i ever write anything more than 3k? probs not. also this baby is completely self indulgent but i don’t even care

All you want to do is sleep. Or drink an entire bottle of wine. Maybe both. 

Graduate school is a lot harder than you expected it to be. You obviously weren’t naïve enough to think it be as easy as your undergrad, but you didn’t think it would be like this. It’s competitive; with people doing whatever it takes to get ahead. You’ve almost had your thesis topic stolen twice. The workload is also incredibly different. Gone are the days of small tests and assignments: everything relies on your thesis paper being of the utmost quality. You feel like you’re drowning in the middle of the ocean.

Today was the worst in a succession of terrible days. On the way to campus you dropped your coffee but didn’t have enough time to get another one. The conditions didn’t get any better once you reached school. Your lunch got left behind on the kitchen island and your advisor didn’t show up for your meeting, putting you another two weeks behind schedule. To top it off, you left campus later than usual and caught in the horrendous Philadelphia traffic. By the time you reach your apartment complex you’re thoroughly exhausted and two seconds away from crying. 

How you can afford your current lodging is beyond you. Tuition is waived by the university, which certainly helps, but you’re mostly relying on loans. It will be a bitch to pay off in a few years, but you don’t have any other option. The building isn’t ridiculously flashy, with semi-outdated furnishing, but it’s in a central location that anyone in Philly would kill for. Every day you wake up grateful there isn’t an eviction notice on your door; though you’re very careful to pay rent on time. Only the small lamp in the entryway is on when you unlock the door, but you keep it that way. Kicking off your sneakers and haphazardly hanging up your jacket, you shuffle into the bedroom portion of the studio. The pyjamas tucked under the pillow are calling your name, and it feels so good to free yourself of business casual clothing. 

The next stop on your mad-dash around in order to plant yourself on the couch as quickly as possible is the bathroom. You scrub your face vigorously, knowing you’ll pay for it in a few days when a breakout appears, but you can’t find it within you to care. It feels so good to be clean and in control of a situation. The kitchen is where you meander to next, filling the largest glass you can find with rosé. A bag of candy is grabbed as well, and then you’re tucking yourself into the corner of the couch and piling on the blankets. You open Netflix and briefly debate what to watch before deciding on something you’ve seen a million times before that won’t require your full attention.

Half an hour into the film you get hungry, but with no ambition to cook for yourself. Take out it is. You place an order at your favourite sushi joint and lazily return your gaze to the T.V. The scene on the screen no longer appeals to you, so you dig around the cushions to find your phone. It’s been a while since you’ve called your mom and you know she’s been missing you; truth be told you miss her a resounding amount. Philadelphia is a long ways from home and you can’t afford to travel often. Not being near your pillar of support is definitely wearing on you. She picks up on the fifth ring. 

“Hello?”

A tear slips out at the sound of her voice. Yours catches in your throat slightly, and your response is garbled. “Mom,” it breaks at the end, and the tears quickly turn into a waterfall. 

“Oh honey,” she sighs, chest filling with pain at your apparent despair. “What’s the matter?”

You sob for a minute or two before it subsides enough for you to actually speak. Through hiccups and sniffles you detail your horrible week, and the one before that for good measure. Your mom stays silent, listening with intent, and the one sided conversation eventually turns into you fretting about how you feel inadequate in your academic community and how you can’t picture a future. Only once you’ve ran out of words does she speak, negating the argument put in place by your imposter syndrome and doing her best to inflate your ego. 

“You’ve earned your seat at the table Y/N,” she says with conviction. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you deserve to be there. You’re cut out for this; no one is more passionate about their work than you.”

Another hiccup slips past your lips as you respond. “Thanks Mom.”

You don’t have to see her to know she’s sporting a smile. “We’re so proud of you honey, and always will be. No matter what you decide to do. Hell, you could move to Peru to become an alpaca farmer and your dad and I would be the happiest parents on Earth.”

The comment is meant to make you laugh, citing the time you called her during your undergrad to inform her you were dropping out and moving to the Andes. It works. You can’t help it, and have to admit it feels good after days of negative feelings. She distracts you further, recounting a story about your youngest brother’s recent baseball game that ended with a trip to the hospital after an unfortunate sliding incident. You wince at the mention of the basemen’s cleat colliding with his ankle, and chuckle when she talks about Connor singing showtunes in the recovery room. The story swapping continues, and it brings comfort. If you close your eyes you can envision yourself sitting on your mom’s bed, hiding your face in a pillow when anything embarrassing happens. 

A knock at your door ends your conversation, and the sadness slowly trickles back into your bones. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. The delivery person is here.”

“Okay sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Having lost track of time, you’re wildly unprepared to pay for your food. “One minute,” you yell in the direction of the front door, praying the person on the other side heard you. You root around your wallet for the appropriate amount of cash before sliding across the floor and unlocking the door handle. The person standing there is not in fact a food delivery service worker, but your neighbour from across the hall, holding what you presume to be your dinner. 

“Nolan?” 

To say you’re shocked is an understatement. Though you’d go as far to say the two of you are casual acquaintances, he’s never shown up unannounced on your doorstep. Most of your interactions take place in the elevator or hallway, and you’ve only been inside his apartment once when you left your keys in your advisor’s office. Being a professional hockey player means he typically isn’t around a lot, but you had learned from a friend he’s spending the season sidelined by an injury. He still hasn’t been around a lot from what you could tell. 

His low rumble catches you off guard for a millisecond but it doesn’t take long to adjust. “They, uh, sent it to the wrong door,” he mumbles, holding out the bag to illustrate his point. 

“Fuck,” you swear. “Sorry. How much do I owe you?” A ballpark figure is in your brain, but you aren’t above throwing in a few extra dollars for the inconvenience. No one wants to receive their neighbour’s food. 

Nolan shakes his head profusely and shoves his hands in his pockets when you try to slip the money into them. “It’s on the house,” he shrugs. “Think of it as an apology for being a shit neighbour these past couple of months.”

“You’re a great neighbour Nolan. I have no complaints.” He returns your smile but doesn’t speak. An awkward tension fills the air between you, almost as if each of you is waiting for the other to talk. 

“Well I’ll let you –”

“Would you like some company?”

The question stops you dead in your tracks. A look of bewilderment must appear on your face because Nolan starts blabbering. “It’s just that you looked upset when you came to the door, like you’ve been crying. I can also see the nearly empty bottle of wine on the counter and that’s never a good sign.” He pauses for a second to take a breath before blurting out a final sentence. “And there’s a game tonight and if I don’t distract myself from it I think I might die.” Ragged breathing punctuates the sudden stoppage, and when you look up to meet his eyes you feel a sense of desperation. 

Without saying anything you open the door wider and retreat into the unit, hoping he gets the hint. It takes him all of two seconds to follow you, quickly darting across the hall to lock his door. You’re at the fridge when he returns, and turn around to ask him what he’d like to drink. 

“It seems like an alcohol kind of night,” you chuckle. “What are you having?”

He looks at you sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Could I have a glass of that rosé?” 

You nod and gesture for him to pass you the bottle. “Never pegged you as a wine drinker,” you comment as you fill his cup. 

“Travis teases me relentlessly so I don’t keep it at the house anymore. Can only drink it in private.”

At the mention of his teammate’s name you understand. It’s exhausting to fit into someone’s mould of you. “Your secret is safe with me.”

The two of you migrate to the couch and once again become shrouded in silence. It’s comfortable this time, as you nurse your glasses and watch the skyline. Just having someone by your side is enough to quell the upset you’ve felt all day. You wonder why you hadn’t sought Nolan out sooner. It seems he’s been in a similar situation; having terrible days and feeling alone. Conversation only comes once he realizes both your drinks are empty. Nolan opens the fridge to find one more bottle of wine; a cheap, fruity one that’s meant to taste like a cooler. It’s strawberry flavoured, which equal parts thrills and disgusts him. He’s thrown back to his first high school party, when this was the only alcohol he could get his friends’ older sisters to buy him.

“I feel like I’m sixteen again,” he laughs, not bothering to fill his glass. Instead, he swigs from the bottle before reaching over the back of the couch and placing in your lap. You follow his lead, drinking directly from the vessel.

“Don’t judge me,” you huff. “I like the way it tastes.”

Nolan gazes sideways at you before dropping his voice to a near whisper. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

In a streak of boldness that came from god knows where, you place a hand on top of his. He doesn’t retract but doesn’t push forward either. You’re too scared to do anything else, and soon retract your hand and place it in your lap. “So,” you cough. “You need a distraction?”

☀☀☀☀

One comedy special turned into three, and it’s safe to say both you and Nolan are feeling exponentially better than when he knocked on your door. The alcohol flowed until you ran out, but neither of you are drunk. Perhaps tipsy; most definitely content. It’s so nice to enjoy someone’s company without the pressure of maintaining a perfect appearance. Nolan must feel it too, because he slowly begins to open up, talking about his career and ambitions for a life after hockey. You sit quietly, much like your mother had done hours before, as he describes his frustration with the migraines and how he yearns to bond with his teammates.

“I’m just so scared this is it, that I’m done,” he hiccups. 

You tentatively shuffle closer to him, looking for signs that he’s uncomfortable. Once you’re squished beside him, shoulder to shoulder, you take yet another page from your mother’s book. “If tonight is a good indicator of who you are, then you, Nolan Patrick, are going to be just fine. Seems to me that this is nothing but a bump in the road. You’re destined for greatness.”

He smiles, possibly the first completely real one he’s given you all night, and it reaches his eyes. “You really think that?”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it to be true. You see, in my line of work, truth is of the utmost importance.”

At Nolan’s incessant prodding you talk about school, your thesis, and what you hope to achieve. It doesn’t sting the way you thought it would, possibly because you’re speaking to someone who’s completely enamored with the topic. Academia clearly fascinates Nolan, though he makes it clear he has no interest in joining the community. The only way you can describe the feeling of explaining everything to him is refreshing; he asks insightful questions about your research and isn’t bogged down by the technicalities like so many of your fellow scholars. When you’ve exhausted all you can say and Nolan’s ‘poked’ holes in all of your theories, he gets a serious look and turns so your body is framed by his. 

In this position there’s no denying how attractive he is. Of course you’ve always found him easy to look at when you passed in the halls, but knowing him as intimately as you now do makes you realize how much you like him. “Come to a game with me?” he asks. 

Your rhythm is once again thrown off by the man in front of you. “A game?”

Nolan nods enthusiastically. “A game. I’ve been meaning to go to one for a while, but I can’t find the courage to go alone. The next home game is on Tuesday, but we can obviously go to another one when it fits your schedule. If you want to come, that is.”

He’s yet to be this excited about hockey all night, and who are you to deny your newfound friend something he wants so badly? “Tuesday’s perfect Nolan.” He pumps his fist in happiness and you giggle at his antics. 

“I’m so happy I could kiss you.” It slips out before he realizes, and the shock on his face lets you know it was an accident. 

“You can if you want.”

You’re surprised at your own boldness, but don’t have much time to read into what the statement could mean because Nolan’s leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment his lips touch yours it feels like a homecoming. He’s gentle but firm, letting you know he doesn’t want this to be a one time thing without saying anything at all. Nolan brings to you a sort of warmth that settles in your chest that makes you truly content with how life is going. You lose yourself in him, letting your heart steer the ship. He never waivers from you, only pulling back slightly to card his fingers through your hair. They settle at the nape of your neck and make shivers tingle your spine. You’re impossibly close, but you wish it would never end. After what feels like a millennia you break apart, chests heaving slightly from the lack of oxygen. 

You can’t find the words, but you know you never want to be without Nolan again. All the anguish you experienced earlier feels light years away after a few short hours of truly knowing him. It seems that he’s on the same page, because Nolan makes no effort to remove himself from the situation. In fact, he seems perfect content to never move again: arm comfortably around your shoulder as he places a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

“So is Tuesday a date now?” You squeak, voice small. You’re worried you’ve ruined the moment, but he cuts off your overthinking with a squeeze your bicep. 

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he replies, and you know he means it. 

You can’t help yourself and slot your lips against his once again. “I’d like that a lot. There’s one condition though: I want to meet Gritty.”

Nolan’s laugh echoes off the walls and sounds like the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. “Think I can manage to pencil you in to the schedule. It has a soft spot for me.”

As he reaches for the remote to put on highlights of the game that’s well over, you shuffle to rest your head comfortably in his lap. Your fingers find his and lazily combine. Nolan mumbles something you don’t quite catch, something about a play Travis made, but you hum in agreement anyways. He’s most likely right. Your eyes begin to droop, and as you fall asleep you forget why you were even sad in the first place. 

☀☀☀☀

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[sisterspooky1013]

Good Pitches

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3179

Read it on AO3

@today-in-fic

Summary: post-ep for Milagro/The Unnatural

April 1999

Something had shifted after Padgett. She’d been afraid that this would end like it had with Jerse, Mulder angry at her indiscretion and further than ever from understanding her. Maybe this was different because they were different, closer than they were when she met Jerse. Maybe it was what Padgett had said, about her being in love. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to refute that statement, but she also hadn’t been able to meet Mulder’s eye. Did he know? She could admit to herself that she wanted him to. Maybe if he knew, he’d be brave enough to take the leap that they were both too chickenshit to take, each of them too fearful of learning that they were wrong, of being rejected. How could they carry on after that? If Mulder knew how she felt about him, maybe that would be all it took.

The way he treated her after he found her blood-soaked on his apartment floor was nothing like the derisive cut of his words after Jerse. He was so incredibly tender with her, holding her like a glass vase, soothing her like a brittle plant. Even in her abject terror, she had noted the feel of his fingers against her sternum while he unbuttoned her blouse, and the gentle flutter of his touch as he explored her torso for wounds. If not for the state of shock she was in, she may have caught his eye, and told him without words that Padgett was right, she was in love. Instead she folded her tiny body into his, tucked safely against his chest. Even as the crime scene investigators wandered in and out, even as Skinner came by and eyed them suspiciously, she never let go of him. She was unashamed, for once, of needing him. And he was unashamed, as always, of wanting to be needed by her.

That night, after her bloody clothes had been collected as evidence, he drove her back to her apartment wearing his t shirt and basketball shorts, which fit her like capri pants. He’d packed himself a bag under the excuse of his apartment being tended to by the crime scene cleanup crew, but really he just didn’t want her to leave her alone. He’d stood by her side in the bathroom and chivalrously turned his back so she could step into the shower, standing guard nearby in case she needed him. Watching blood swirl around the drain as it sloughed off her skin, still unsure of it’s origin, she’d wished desperately he were right beside her under the water, something sturdy to lean against. Her touchstone. Knowing that he would be here in a heartbeat, if only she’d ask him, somehow made it even worse. When she shut off the water, he stood just outside the curtain with a towel held open wide, protecting her privacy until he wrapped it around her shivering frame, and she steadied herself against him, breathing in the smell of his skin through his t shirt. They stood there like that for a long time, until finally he wordlessly scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, seeming to sense that she didn’t have the strength to get herself there. Seeming to know that she would allow and even welcome this particular show of intimacy and care. She’d had the overwhelming urge to tell him she loved him, but she didn’t. Sitting on the edge of her bed he’d dressed her, first pulling her t shirt over her neck and then allowing her to pull her arms free from the towel one at a time and thread them through the sleeves. She was relatively sure that he could see her breasts, but it didn’t seem to matter. What was a breast when he had seen her broken open in grief, in pain, in fear? Her nakedness hardly seemed as private as all that. Next he’d held her pajama pants at her feet so that she could slip each leg in before standing to pull them over her hips, discarding the towel. He didn’t give her underwear and she didn’t question it, knowing him well enough to predict that he thought it would be an invasion of privacy to open her underwear drawer, and seeing that she was too distraught to care about underwear.

“You should eat something” he told her as she crawled under the covers, his voice laden with concern.

She shook her head; food was a foreign object right now. All she needed was sleep. When he went to leave the room, she sat up, her eyes full of fear. She didn’t need to voice the question.

“I’m going to take a shower, is that okay? I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

She nodded solemnly.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to sleep on the couch…” his voice trailed off as her face answered him. She wanted him close. Needed him there. He nodded. “I’ll be right here, just give me a few minutes.”

She lay there, listening to the rush of the water, waiting for him to return to her side. She was so incredibly exhausted, but unable to sleep. Each shadow seemed to take the form of the psychic surgeon, each creak of the floorboards was Padgett here to look into her soul. Within 5 minutes, Mulder slipped into the bed beside her in a t shirt and his boxer shorts, his skin warm and welcoming, his hair wet and spiked. She went to him, without regard for personal space, professionalism, boundaries or logic. Tucking her head just under his chin, she pressed the length of her body to his and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her somehow even closer than she had gotten herself. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and dampened his shirt, and his hand gently rubbed her back, his lips planting soft kisses to her hair.

“You’re okay, I’m here” he told her, and she wished she could somehow crawl inside his body, needing him even closer than this, wanting him in more ways than she had previously understood.

She fell asleep to the sound of his heart beating, the metronome to which she kept the time of her life. A rhythm unwritten but that she knew by memory. The sweet song of Mulder.

Since that night, something was different, but delightfully so. She felt less guarded with him, more free to laugh and be silly. Unafraid of incidental flirting or mixed messages. When he’d asked her to meet him at the office on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she’d had the girlish idea that he had ulterior motives and that this would be something like a date. She was disappointed to find that he just wanted her help digging through the archives, but the playful way he interacted with her, culminating in him stealing a bite of her ice cream, set off butterflies in her belly in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. She’d spent the rest of that day in a dreamy stupor, smiling idiotically at nothing, garnering friendly hellos from passers by and her neighbors. Had love made her more approachable? Returning from the grocery store to his message, she’d talked herself out of changing her clothes or freshening her makeup, not wanting to read into this something that wasn’t there. The case he was researching was baseball related, after all, so in all likelihood he was asking her to join him there for help with the case.

She was able to keep her demeanor cool and unaffected right up until he put the baseball bat in her hands and curled his long body around hers. His breath hot on her neck and his fingertips on her hip bone made her heart race; this definitely wasn’t work related. When the kid running the pitching machine told Mulder that his mother was expecting him home and took off, she’d felt the words rising in her throat to bid him a good night and go home herself; that’s what she would typically do, after all. Instead she swallowed and waited to see what would happen if she didn’t leave. What would have happened so many nights if she’d simply stuck around?

Mulder walked into the small dugout, sized for little leaguers so that he had to duck a little to fit. He was putting the bat, glove and baseballs into a large duffel bag, perhaps also preparing himself for the night to end. Ignoring the nervous flutter in her gut, she followed him into the dugout and sat down on the little bench that ran along the back wall. How was it that after as many dangerous situations as she’d been in, as many times her life was at risk, that this felt scarier than any of them? How could she know exactly what to do with a gun pointed at her, but be completely lost when it came to something as simple as telling him how she felt? When the choice was possible death or possible rejection, she only knew how to risk her life, not her heart.

Mulder sat down beside her, an open bag of sunflower seeds in his hand, and propped his feet up on the half-wall that faced the field. He held out the bag and she took a handful, which was a rare occurrence. He always offered them to her, though 98% of the time she declined. The few times she had accepted, the delighted smiled on his face was worth the unpleasantness of picking shards of shell out of her teeth for hours (she wasn’t nearly as skilled as he was at cracking them). She felt like now was a good time to make that sacrifice and see that smile, and he delivered. She held his gaze for a moment as he beamed at her, the doubled joy of her sharing his interest in baseball and sunflower seeds apparent on his face.

“How do you open these things without destroying the shell, Mulder? What’s the secret?” For every time she’d rolled her eyes at the things that excited him, she was going to make up for it now.

“It’s all about breaking the shell at the right angle, watch.” He held a seed between his front teeth with his lips pulled back so she could see how he applied pressure until it split evenly along the seam, then deftly used his tongue to pull the seed into his mouth, flicking the shell away with his breath. She mimicked him and he laughed when the shell and the seed splintered, an inseparable mess. They shifted their bodies so that they were turned towards each other, one leg bent against the back wall of the dugout. He showed her several more times and she was an eager student, studying the position of the seed, but also taking the opportunity to admire the fullness of his bottom lip and the shadow of his stubble sprouting so late in the evening. When she finally got it, the seed emerging intact, she smiled at him so broadly her gums showed, a rare sight. He gave her a high-five and their fingers instinctively threaded together upon contact, dropping down to rest between on the bench them still interlaced. Her heart started to race, recognizing the tension in the moment and the desire that flickered in his hazel eyes. She knew he wanted to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to, so why was this so hard? She was afraid the moment would pass, but she couldn’t figure out how to capture it. Should she lean forward to signal him? If she did and he didn’t reciprocate, she’d die of embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice startled her, and she was suddenly afraid he could hear her thoughts.

She gave him a shy smile and chuckled, averting her gaze.

“I was thinking about” he started, “being up to bat, playing baseball.”

She gave him an incredulous look. Maybe she had misread his signals after all. Their hands were still wrapped together between them.

“Hear me out, Scully.” He responded to her expression. “I was thinking about being up to bat and looking for the good pitches. You only want to swing on the good ones, or you’ll strike out, right?”

She nodded, indicating that she was following him.

“But sometimes, you’re so afraid of swinging on the bad pitches that you miss the good ones too. And I was thinking that….sometimes I feel like that with you. I’m not sure if it’s a good pitch, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to strike out, so I don’t swing at all.”

She met his eye and smiled coyly at him, understanding. Feeling a surge of bravery.

“You could always ask, Mulder.”

“No, that’s definitely against the rules, Scully. You’re not allowed to ask.” He was being glib, a typical response to his own discomfort.

“Different game, different rules” she offered, shifting slightly towards him, almost imperceptibly, but he picked up on it.

“So, if I were to ask you.” He paused to take a breath. “If I were to ask you if it would be okay if I kissed you right now, would that be a strike or a run?”

“The baseball metaphor lost me, Mulder” she answered, the lean of her torso increasing towards him steadily, the hand that wasn’t holding his floating up to meet with his jaw, her thumb brushing his cheek.

He slowly closed the remaining space between them, his lips meeting hers in a gentle brush, then sighing as she slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him into her and pressing the full pout of her mouth against his. His free hand found her waist as their lips separated briefly and then met again, this time slightly parted, and she darted her tongue out to slide against his lower lip before she pulled it into her mouth and sucked it gently. He made a little sound in the back of his throat that sent a rush through her pelvis and she had an overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap. Mulder must have intuited that urge because he let go of her hand and slipped both palms under her thighs, pulling her on to him. Pivoting his body so that he was again facing forward, towards the ball field, she steadied herself with a knee on the bench on either side of his hips and sat on the tops of his thighs, the suggestive nature of the position sending a thrill through her. Her hands on his neck and his on her hips, they explored each other’s mouths, licking, tasting and nipping each surface, recognizing something familiar and yet entirely new. When his hands pushed down to cup her ass, a little moan escaped her lips and he growled in response. Breaking the kiss, she pulled back a little, breathless and flushed.

“We should probably go” she heard herself say. The reasonable side of her brain was taking back over.

“Probably should. Go where?” He asked, unsure if this proposition was a conclusion or a location change. His hands were still on her ass.

She laughed “It occurs to me that we’re in a children’s baseball dugout. I’m not sure it’s the most appropriate venue.”

He nodded, agreeing begrudgingly. “I just need a minute, if you don’t mind.”

She laughed again, ignoring the new wave of desire that sent through her, and stood up, moving to sit on the half-wall opposite him.

He took a deep breath, blowing it out hard through puffed cheeks, then looked at her with adoring eyes. She felt so beautiful when he looked at her, especially like that. She resisted the urge to go back to him and and pick up where they’d left off. After a moment, he slowly stood and picked up his duffel bag, and she followed him out of the dugout and towards the parking lot. He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked, neither of them speaking. What was there to say? This moment, a culmination of years of tiny brushes of intimacy, didn’t need explanation or discussion. They both knew, intuitively, that it was the start of a new chapter, perhaps even the opening of a new book, and that they’d discover where the plot took them as they went along, just as they always did. They reached her car and he set the bag on the ground as she opened the door, leaning against the body of the car instead of getting inside. They stood there facing each other for a moment, awkwardness again taking root, both knowing what they wanted but unsure of how, or who, to initiate. Finally Mulder spoke.

“Thanks for coming. I had fun.”

She dipped her chin with a smirk and a blush, the implication of his statement both exciting and embarrassing.

“Likewise” she forced out, meeting his eyes only momentarily. She wished they had driven together so there would be a reason for them both to end up at one of their apartments, and at the same time she was grateful that wasn’t the case because it would probably be too much, too quickly. He stepped toward her, but the lack of height in her shoes meant he towered over her, a full foot between their faces.

“I’ve always known you were short, but it’s suddenly much more noticeable” he cracked, and she turned her face up to his, smiling softly.

“You’re a smart guy, Mulder. I’m sure you can problem-solve your way out of that conundrum.”

He stooped a little and lifted her by the hips, eliciting a delighted squeal, and pinned her against the car with the weight of his body so that they were face to face, his hips planted firmly between her thighs. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders for stability and her breath caught at the feel of his groin pressed firmly between her legs.

“See, I knew you’d figure it out” she teased as his hands danced under the hem of her shirt, lightly grazing the skin of her sides. Her pulse was quickening again, but there was even less privacy here than in the dugout.

He shook his head at her as if to chastise. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, G-woman.”

“I’ve never known you to avoid trouble, Mulder.”

He laughed then, and kissed her, softly, twice on the lips before dropping her back down to the ground. She was surprised that she felt disappointed that it hadn’t continued, but given the venue she knew it was for the best. She climbed in to the driver’s seat of her car and buckled her seat belt, leaving the door open. Mulder leaned in as she turned the key in the ignition and kissed her again, three times, before pulling back.

“To be continued” he said, then closed the door and walked towards his own car several spaces away.

[thomotomo]

“Oh shit”

Pairing: Zach Dempsey x Trans Male Reader

Summary: You get caught by your crush in your binder in the changing room.

Words: 2.3k

You walked inside the changing room, having waited for everyone to leave it. Luckily for you after PE class you had a hour hole where you didn’t had class allowing you to wait until you were sure that everyone had left the room until you could change in peace.

You walked inside and went straight to your locker, the faster you did it, the faster you could go do something else. You took off your clothes and reached for the one you usually wore. You heard a bang echoing through the room along with footsteps going quickly.

You tried to put your shirt above your naked torso but the stress along your internal prayer for that person not being Bryce had made you end up in a tangled mess with nearly nothing covered, especially not the one you wanted to hide. The person stopped in front of you and you barely kept a sigh of relief when you noticed it was only Zach, your crush. Great.

You then remembered that you still didn’t put your shirt on and you turned your back to him to change quickly, face burning with shame. He had hidden his face in his hands, it was

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t knew there was s-someone else!”, he spoke up first and you could feel that he was at least as ashamed as you were.

“I-It’s nothing.”

“No no! I’m really sorry. Erm I-I just forgot something in my locker..”

He quickly went over his locker as you finished to put all your clothes on.

“Are you decent?”, he asked, still not facing you and you were glad he respected your boundaries.

“It’s… It’s okay. Erm thanks for not… looking.”

“O-Of course! It’s normal! It’s your privacy after all!”

You smiled at him shyly before remembering that you could do anything and you were craving a hot chocolate from Monet’s. You opened your mouth just as he did and you looked at each other and smiled awkwardly .

“Maybe we should go outside first?”

He agreed and you left the room, Zach right behind you. You walked in the corridor and went outside the building in silence, which was quite awkward in your opinion. You stopped once you were far enough from the school building.

“I didn’t knew you were hum…” he stopped himself when you dead panned at him and he flushed a bright red.

“I- No I didn’t mean like that because of course you don’t want anyone to know about it but… Okay I’m going to shut up.”

“Yeah.”

Both of you stood there awkwardly and you were shuffling your feet but as it seemed he wasn’t about to say something more.  You took a step backward and smiled at him.

“I’ve gotta go… See you later.”

“See you later!”

You left him there and went to Monet, ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on the top. You sat at a table hidden in a corner as you thought about the strange interaction you just had with Zach. You really hoped he wouldn’t say anything about it because if he did you were in deep shit.

At least he had seemed a bit flustered and pretty with what he saw so maybe it was a good sign? You really didn’t knew but hoped nothing wrong was going to happen following that.

You decided to bury these bad thoughts by drinking and listening to music allowing yourself to relax a bit before your last period. You sat here, comforted by the coffee’s atmosphere, really this was your favourite place in the whole town. Your phone rang, indicating that it was time for you to leave for class.

You took your backpack, leaving a small tip for the waitress and went back to the school meeting up with Alex at your locker. Both of you discussed heartily about the last exams you had to take in that class which was AP Biology. You sat inside the classroom next to each other, hoping that you won’t get a bad grade. You tried to ignore the feeling of someone watching you as you were pretty sure it was Zach. You never hated more the fact that he was in your class than right now.

The teacher walked inside and you shut up as she started talking about the exams you passed few weeks back. She pulled them out and went to distribute them around the class. You grinned at Alex as you see your mark, it was above what you had hoped for: 96!

He looked a bit disappointed as he got “only” 78 but you offered to help him to work on the points he might not have fully understood. Right after that the teacher decided you had to do an assignment in duo. You waited until he told more, hoping that maybe you could do it with Alex but sadly she was going to partner you with someone. You listened as Ms. Honecker paired people together and sadly/luckily for you, you ended up with Zach. From one side you were happy because you knew he was working well on the other side you knew it was going to be awkward.

You heard that Alex was paired up with Monty you smirked at him and watched Alex turn a bright shade of red until he swatted you on the arm.

“Shut up. You’re no better!”

“Firstly, I didn’t say anything and second, that’s true. But I’m not the red one!”

“You were thinking so loud it’s practically the same! Of course, you teased me first!”

“Now please go with your partners! This work has to be returned to me for the first week of next month! Good luck everyone.”

You took your backpack and went to meet Zach where he was seated and you nodded at him feeling a bit awkward (just as you predicted, congrats you can now open a fortune teller salon!). You sat next to him and took out your textbook.

“Do you want to come to my house after class? We could start writing a bit more about the subject.”

“Yeah good idea… So… What do you want to start the searches on?”

Both of you worked for the two hours, searching through the textbook interesting info about genes and evolution, sometimes discussing about what particular species you wanted to concentrate on to talk about their evolution and genes that had been kept or not through their evolution.

It was quite interesting and Zach seemed really into Biology and you liked that he was as much a fan of this subject as you were. You were clearly going to have fun for this assignment with him. The two hours went quickly and you packed up your things.

“I…Have to go to my locker and talk to Alex. Do you mind if we meet each other in say… 10 minutes?”

“Good for me!”

You left the classroom, meeting with Alex in the corridor. He grinned smugly at you and you sticked out your tongue at him.

“So? You seemed quite cosy with Zach back there huh?”

“Shut the fuck up Alex! You seemed quite at ease yourself if you want to know!”

“Mmh yeah. And fuck his arms are huge if you want to know!”, he recalled, licking his lips.

“Nope! I don’t want to know more! Especially if you want to describe me some kind of fantasies about him!”, he laughed at you as you reached the lockers.

“I won’t be able to walk with you. Zach and I are going to work on the project.”

“Yeah sure thing “work” I know what kind of work you want to do!”, he did quotation marks with his hands as your face was feeling quite hot at the thoughts of it. You swatted his arm with your hand.

“You’re not better! So, I’m going to go, see you tomorrow Alex and you better tell me that you got that dick instead of harassing me.”

He flipped you off as you walked away to meet Zach. He was scrolling on his phone and straighten out when he noticed you walking toward him.

“You good?”

“Yep we can go!”

He grinned at you and oh my god that was such a beautiful smile. You stood there stunned for a few seconds before following him to his car. You went in and he drove you to his house in a comfortable silence.

When you reached his house, you were quite in awe, it was quite big and pretty fancy (at least on the outside but you were betting that inside it looked quite as beautiful). You walked inside and woaw the inside looked fancy as fuck too, more in a modern way but you were sure that this sofa costed as much as you manga collection. There was a girl seated on said sofa and Zach ruffled her hair.

“This is May, my little sister! May this is Y/N he’s my partner for an assignment.”

“’Sup! So, you’re Y/N? Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise.”, you smiled at her, wondering if Zach talked about you seeing as she seemed to “recognize” you.

You followed Zach to his room and both of you sat on the ground and took out your things. He put on some music in the background and both of you started working on the evolution of the whale and you had fun debating on what interesting part to chose to speak about and more generally discussing about biology.

At a moment you were quite close from each other as you showed him something on your phone. You felt your face burning, trying to ignore this proximity as he read the article on your phone. You had worked for an hour when you decided to take a break from the work.

As Zach was to the bathroom you sent a message to your dad, telling him you won’t be back before 7pm because you were working with Zach. You closed your phone as he walked back in the room with cookies.

“I took some cookies if you want to eat.”

“That’s awesome thanks Zach!”

You took one and ate it as you looked at the room. It was big and a lot of basketball and baseball stars, a classic jock room in your opinion. You felt Zach’s curious gaze on your face and you looked up at him.

“You want to ask something right?”

“Ah! Erm yes… I mean only if that doesn’t bother you…”

“It depends if it’s invasive or not.”, you shrugged, trying to play it cool.

“I was wondering… Does anyone else know?”

“Apart from Alex and my parents nope. I mean that’s kinda the point?”, the question seemed a bit weird because that was obviously the point for nobody to know about that except people with whom you felt wouldn’t do anything to you because of this. But you “let it slide” because it was probably the first time he was faced with this situation.

“Yes… Sorry I… I’m curious but yeah I should shut up.”

You laughed quietly and went back to your cookie you noticed on a shelve the Attack on Titan manga. You quickly finished to eat the cookie and pointed at the shelve, deciding it would be a good way to change the conversation and make it less awkward.

“You like manga?”

“Ah yes! My mom bought me the 1st tome for me to try and at first I was sceptic but I really enjoyed it! Did you read it?”

“Obviously! It’s like in my top 10 favourite manga!”

You grinned as you found another common interest apparently. You discussed about manga for a good ten minutes before you continued to work on the assignment. You had found maybe like 2 pages of sources when the time came for you to go back home. You started to gather your things and Zach did the same, putting everything on his computer.

You took your backpack and Zach accompanied you downstairs and to the front of his house.

“Hey, I can bring you back to your house if you want?”

“Oh, that would be awesome, really thanks a lot.”

He nodded and took his car keys and you sat next to him in the passenger seat, giving him your address so he could drive you. The ride was spent in discussing contrary to the earlier ride.

Once you arrived in front of your house you took your backpack and got out of the car, Zach doing the same. You looked at him curiously as he fiddled with his car keys.

“So… Y’know I wanted to say that erm… I don’t mind who are…”

“Zach what the fuck does this-“, you frowned at him, clearly he was acting weird and this sentence’s formulation was definitely a bit offensive. You weren’t being yourself for people to mind it.”

“I-I’m sorry. Shit I didn’t mean it like that! What I meant is like… I- fuck that.”

“Wha-?”

He took your face between his hands and kissed you. Your eyes widened comically, you didn’t knew he arbored those kind of feelings toward you. After a few seconds he freed you and was visibly blushing, just like you were feeling your face burning.

“I didn’t knew how to say that so… I really like you and-”

“Me too!”, you blurted and put your hand in front of your mouth as you saw him laugh gently at you.

“I’m really sorry if I hurt you earlier… I really didn’t want to say things like that…”

“I understand.. But be careful next time…”

“Yep I’ll do my searches to avoid any mishaps ever again! Can… I have your number maybe?”

“Of course!”

You took out your phone and exchanged numbers, you were biting your lower lips, happy with the ending of the day. His phone vibrated with what seemed with a message of his mother and he looked sadly at you.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow Zach;”

You smiled at him and he took you once again by surprise by giving you a peck on the lips before getting back in his car, leaving you here with a giddy smile and a fast-paced beating heart.

________________

A/N: Thanks for reading it! I hope you enjoyed my fic don’t hesitate to like and reblog!  And if you want to support my writing please think about leaving me a tip on my Kofi

[ifmywishescametrue]

hnnng, could you please do either “you’re sick and you need to rest” or “you could’ve died” for stevetony? Worrying about an SO is a soft spot for me🥺

thank you for sending me this prompt! hope you like it :) (warning for mentions of torture, btw, but nothing graphic)

In that cave in Afghanistan, Tony keeps seeing flashes of things. Moments from life before all of this come to him in between the shocks of electricity when his head is forced underwater, while he’s sputtering and gasping for breath and can’t understand the words being screamed at him. 

He sees Steve more than anything. Sees blue eyes and a bright smile and if he tries hard enough he can almost hear the laugh that comes with it. Sometimes it’s that first day again, with roaming hands and a rush to get off in the bathroom of some party he didn’t want to be at, followed by an easy grin and the promise to do that again sometime. He sees Steve on his couch surrounded by take out containers and the reassurance that absolutely none of it counted as a date. Morning pancakes that supposedly meant nothing, and Steve sneaking under the desk in his office. Pencil scratches on sketch pads that used to wake him up, cold feet pressed against his calves, his favorite muffins from that bakery downtown that used to just appear out of nowhere when he was having a bad day, and the way that Steve would never admit that it was him doing it. 

It’s that last night he remembers the most. He can almost hear the words whispered in the dead of night and remembers the ones he held back, because Tony has never known how to be completely honest. He didn’t know how to say that this casual friends with benefits things was starting to feel less like friends and more like love, but when he lays down with his aching chest and bleeding fingers on the poor excuse for a cot at night, he wishes more than anything that he could have found the words before. 

So he builds the suit and practices the right thing to say for when he makes it out. If he makes it out. If this ridiculous plan of his doesn’t result in him dying somewhere in the middle of the desert, just another body added to the pile of deaths he’s caused. 

He almost doesn’t believe it when he lives. His knees hit the scorching sand, and Rhodey’s arms are right there, and still all he can think about is whether or not Steve mourned at all when they all thought he was dead. 

In the plane, after the hospital at the army base and all the IV lines to fix the three months of dehydration and malnutrition, he works up the nerve to ask about it. 

“Steve,” he starts, voice hoarse enough that he pauses to clear his throat, unwilling to sound so affected. “Is he - did he -” He stops, settling for asking, “Have you talked to him?”

Rhodey leans forward on his elbows, closing some of the distance that the aisle between them created. He pulls out his phone and taps for a moment before turning the screen to face Tony. Steve’s name is at the top, and Rhodey scrolls through the string of messages with enough speed that Tony can’t actually read any of them, but he gets the point anyway.

“This is just the last couple of weeks,” Rhodey says. “Never stopped asking for updates, especially when we found you. Called so much I told him I was going to put a virus on his phone to redirect him to random strangers if he kept it up. He didn’t listen.”

Tony swallows around the lump in his throat and looks away towards the window. 

“We weren’t supposed to be anything,” Tony murmurs, watching the way the sky is fading from orange into blue, clouds obscuring the ocean below them. It’s still a few more hours until California, where he hopes that Steve is still waiting for him. “We said it was nothing.”

Rhodey hums, both noncommittal and suggestive at the same time, and Tony turns his head back to look at him. “What?”

Rhodey shrugs, “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t spill secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’ll be there when we land, and if you try to pretend that it’s still nothing, I’m putting your ass back on the plane until you find your common sense somewhere.”

Tony bites his lip and shakes his head, staring down at his hands, “I wasn’t going to pretend. I just - I didn’t know if he cared anymore. It’s been a few months, and we weren’t… There was never a promise for commitment. He could’ve found somebody else. Anyone else.”

Rhodey gives him a look, that fondly exasperated one he does so well. “Nice to know you’re still a dumbass.”

It startles a laugh from and makes his abused lungs twinge, but it feels good to laugh again. “Takes more than a few months to knock the dumbass out of me.”

The topic falls away after that, because Tony can’t say what he feels, and Rhodey knows anyway. He switches the conversation over to the start of the baseball season that Tony missed, complaining about the Phillies like Tony’s heard every year since he was fifteen. It’s easy and passes the time until Tony ends up falling asleep for the rest of the flight.

His muscles are stiff and uncomfortable when he wakes with a start a couple of hours later, heart racing and on edge when he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. Rhodey puts a hand on his knee, and Tony jumps initially before calming. It makes Rhodey’s eyes turn sad for a moment, then it’s hidden away again. 

“Come on,” Rhodey says softly, gripping Tony by the elbow of his good arm to help him up. “We’re here.”

There’s still a slight limp in his step when he walks off the plane from bruises and scars that are still healing. He sees Pepper first, with her red hair shining in the sun, but his gaze gets stuck on the person next to her. 

Steve straightens from where he’s leaning against the black car, and Tony wishes he was in better condition so he could run to him. It would have been romantic, he thinks, like something out of one of those movies he’d never even seen before Steve came into his life. There would have been some grand, sweep-him-off-his-feet moment with declarations and pretty words and violins coming from somewhere. 

Instead Steve meets him halfway, with a quivering chin like he might start to cry. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is too long, and his five o’clock shadow is almost an actual beard now. 

He’s the best thing Tony’s ever seen. 

“Hey,” Tony says, because he can’t remember a single one of those things he planned before. 

Steve smiles, and it’s only a little shaky, “Hey yourself.”

Rhodey and Pepper disappear with the shutting of the car door, leaving the two of them standing there in the middle of the empty runway. Steve takes the first step, but Tony takes the second, and then Steve’s chest is beneath his cheek, and his arms are around his shoulders. 

Tony holds on to him like a lifeline, fingers clutched in his t-shirt, and he can feel the warmth of him seeping into his skin. Steve’s hands are all over, as if checking to make sure he’s all actually there and in one piece. 

Steve steps back a little, a small frown on his face. He reaches his hand up to Tony’s chest, and Tony tenses at the first light press against the reactor case.

“What…” Steve trails off, eyes flickering between Tony’s chest and his face, and Tony undoes two of the buttons on his shirt to show him. 

The scars around it are marred and red, with raised edges that serve to make it look even worse than it is. Steve makes a sound like a choked back sob, and Tony grabs his wrist to put his hand on the reactor. It’s a little terrifying to let him touch it, but if there’s anyone he knows would never hurt him, it’s Steve. 

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs. “It keeps me alive.”

“You could’ve died,” Steve whispers, fingers spreading out over the light of the reactor. “I thought you - I didn’t want to think it, but it was hard not to. Rhodey kept saying that you wouldn’t let yourself go out like that. You’d be all or nothing, and it wasn’t big enough. And Pepper, well, she basically said exactly what did happen. That you’d find a way out. I tried to believe it, too, but I just kept thinking that you could be gone, and we’d never - I’d never get the chance to make this real.”

Tony looks up at him, breath catching in his throat. “I thought about you every day, you know. I almost told you how I felt about you on that last night. Came so close to saying it, but I just -”

“I know,” Steve says, and with his other hand he cups Tony’s cheek. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning in closer, and his lips brush against Tony’s when he says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I know.”