#i had an idea jotted down and this prompt gave me an excuse to add to it

[cycat4077]

U with Rafael or Sonny 🥰

U = university au/college au

fanfiction theme alphabet

Might be more of cannon divergent than an AU...

I've never wrote for Raf, nor do I know him well enough to do so. Sonny, however, is a different story 😍

---

"Nope. No time for a boyfriend with school." That's the response you always gave family friends and relatives when they'd ask if you had a significant other yet.

Truth be told, it's not that you didn't want to date people or have someone to call your own, but you were working your ass off trying to get your graduate degree. It wasn't easy, but you hoped it would springboard your career once you finally could add it to your resume. The downside, however, was that your love life was essentially non-existent.

At least you had your best friend to keep you sane through it all. He was a cop - well, detective now, who had enrolled himself in night law school. He came from a big Italian family and went by the nickname “Sonny”.

"Hey, doll," Sonny says, plunking himself down on the sofa beside you.

"Hey, Son," you reply, barely looking up from your work. "Tough shift?"

"No more than usual, but I'm beat. Wanna do somethin’? Take our minds off work for a while?"

You glance over to him now, fully taking in his features. He looks tired, yet somehow still optimistic. You honestly don't know how he does it. Heck, you're one missed cup of coffee away from falling apart and it terrifies you.

Sonny's brows furrow. "What's the matter?" He can read you like a book and you suppose it's this sense of comfort he always brings which allows you to unravel.

"I'm swamped, Sonny," your eyes begin to burn with tears. "I feel like I'm getting absolutely nowhere with my thesis. My prof has me chasing my tail and it's making me lose motivation more and more. I really don't know if I'm cut out for this." You look away then, closing your eyes to force the tears aside.

"Woah, woah! Hey, now!" his Staten Island accent soothes. "Don't say that!" After still refusing to meet his gaze, you feel a gentle nudge on your chin. "Look at me," he begs. "You can do this. You're intelligent 'n hardworkin’. Don't let anyone make ya believe otherwise."

Your chest tightens. "Thank you, Son. That means a lot...I just, well, the longer I spin my tires here, the more I feel as though the rest of my life is slipping away. I've been so focused on school all my life that I don't think I've really lived at all. I've always imagined myself with a career by now, enjoying life and having…someone special to share it all with. But, alas..." you shrug in defeat.

Just then something in Sonny changes. His blue eyes soften and he remains speechless for what seems like an eternity until he gently takes your hand. His touch is warm. Your stomach somersaults.

You had an immediate crush on Sonny the day you met him on campus but you valued the friendship he offered so much more than to waste it on a school-girl crush. Now, though, as he holds your hand, every suppressed feeling comes rushing back, heating your cheeks and making your heart race.

"Sonny?" you question but it comes out only as a meek little whisper.

"I've tried to deny it forra long time," he finally begins, "but hearin’ you say what you just did, I can't keep it in anymore. I...I feel stalled too. I'm tryin' ta be a good detective and tryin' ta learn law. But anythin' I achieve feels hollow until I get ta share it with someone. Y'know why I come by here so much? It's because that person is you. You're the one I wanna tell about my day, the one whose day I wanna hear about. It could be borin' or excitin' but that doesn't matter as long as I'm with you."

The admission takes you by surprise and your eyes widen. "I..." you stammer but the words get stuck in your throat.

"You don't have ta say anythin’," he averts your gaze shyly. "I'm sorry -"

"No, Sonny," you squeeze his hand remembering that you still had a hold of one another. Those big blue eyes find yours again. "I feel the same way. You're the person that keeps me going, making me smile even in the worst of times." Sonny brightens at that. "I thought you only saw me as a friend and that - that was more than okay. But I really like you and...and -" you stammer, words tangling as they battle with the nervous flutter in your stomach.

"- And I really like you too," Sonny finishes. He raises a hand to your cheek, smiling when he feels how warm it's gotten. Within an instant, he's drawing you near only for your lips to finally meet. The kiss is tender and filled with love. You allow your eyes to flutter closed with the overwhelming feeling that everything just might work out after all.

[the-sara-voe]

Chapter 8: The Profile

Warning: Description of bodily trauma and dead bodies

Masterlist

Their conference room is smaller than any of them expected, but it provides enough space for ideas to hover about. Emily stood close to the whiteboard, analyzing Spencer’s geo-profile.

“Alright, each of the victim’s dumpsites was close to where each one was picked up, and are within a couple of blocks of each other”, Prentiss started, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “So he has a preferred dumping ground, he may work or live close by”.

“He also has to have enough knowledge of the area to snatch girls when they’re isolated, so a local”, Rossi responded, observing the photo-ridding corkboard.

“Did you get anything from the staff at that bar”?

David fiddles with his pen as he chews on his words, “Not much. The bar only has cameras outside the entrance. There was a prostitute that said she saw the second victim taking a smoke outside before she left. The bar manager said a bartender quit on them though”.

“I don’t suppose that raised any red flags”?

He shakes his head while Prentiss sipped her coffee, Hotchner and Simmons entering the room.

“How did the cognitive interview go”? Rossi asked.

“Good, apparently Daniella got into a small altercation with a guy at Larkin’ before she left”, Matt said, leaning on the back of a chair, “He got ‘handsy’ and she rejected him, and then he left”.

“Brielle gave us a description”, Hotch told, handing a sketch to Emily and Rossi. The man has a square jaw, is white, with smoldering eyes and a natural smirk. Using David Rossi’s words, he looks like a douchebag.

Hotchner glances at the drawing with a glum expression, “Brielle told us that Daniella had a friendship bracelet on the night she was taken. It wasn’t on her body when she was found”, he said.

With a sympathetic look and a bit of her lip, Emily asks, “First day back harder than you thought”?

Aaron nods his head in response, not saying much else.

In an attempt to change the subject, Matt says, “that might actually be beneficial. Sena thought it could be a sadist, and if he is taking trophies that confirms it”.

“You’re damn right it’s a Sadist”, Byun announces as she darts into the room, Reid lagging behind her.

Sena drops the medical examiner reports on the table, flipping through the pages. “Both victims were heavily restrained, so much so that there was leather from the gag used in their stomachs. So they were alive when they were tortured. All of the stab wounds are focused in the abdomen, and if you compare Marckus to Cortez, there is an increase in certainty and violence. He is getting way more confident”.

“Well increased violence from Marckus to Cortez is compatible with the guy who Daniella rejected”, voiced Rossi.

“A sadist who doesn’t like to be challenged by women”, Byun poses.

This prompts Spencer to add, “Oh and both victims essentially lost their entire blood volume and were killed with a corkscrew. In addition to them being redressed, the M.E. found diluted traces of sodium hypochlorite”.

Sena rolls her eyes and gestures to Reid saying, “Spencer, just say bleach. Anyway, we think this guy is forensically sophisticated enough to hide his DNA but confident enough that he thinks we are not going to find him because he is still using the shirts from that church”.

“Which I cannot find where they store them”, Luke muses, walking in with a file an inch thick, “Turns out the church the Home Sweet Home project is run by has so many volunteers that when they get a new order of shirts, people just volunteer to store them. So we have a long, handwritten check-in list of people who go to pick up the shirts when they arrive at the church”.

Hotch extends a hand for Luke’s file, flipping through the entries, saying, “First and last names, phone numbers, and quantity of shirts picked up. Okay, send these to Selemani. Maybe she can trace the numbers and connect them to home addresses. Then we can cross-reference those addresses with the dump and abduction sites”.

“Uh, excuse me, you’re not Unit Chief yet”, Emily scoffed, “but Luke, do what Hotch said”.

Luke cracks a smile as he takes the file and goes to find a scanner, Sena following closely with her cellphone to her ear. Matt and Aaron soon follow suit, the both of them having not eaten since early that morning. Prentiss jots down a preliminary profile. However, Rossi peers over at Reid, who is examining the ME reports.

“Kid, did you say the wounds were from a corkscrew”? Rossi asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Spencer responds, “Yeah, it’s strange huh”? Rossi offers him a cup, but Reid politely declines.

“The bar that Daniella Cortez was last seen at, one of their bartenders just quit. That’s one hell of a coincidence don’t ya’ think”?

Reid’s eyes widen slightly as he nods, “We should talk to that bartender”.

As Reid stands from his seat, the detective of the department rushes in. His face is red and worn from exhaustion. In a matter-of-fact tone, he says, “There was another body found in the opposite direction in an abandoned lot. In a sleeping bag and Home Sweet Home shirt”.

Before Rossi and Spencer can respond, Prentiss rises from her seat. She turns to both of them, as if telling them to find everyone and gather in the bullpen of the station. Emily glides past the table to the detective when Spencer and Rossi leave.

With calm and certainty, Emily states, “We need to deliver the profile”.

[annathewitch]

Things that go bump in the night

100 follower challenge ficlet for @starmission. Prompt “why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am?” for Leonard McCoy

Summary: Bones x reader. Reader is having trouble sleeping and is surprised at how much McCoy tries to help with the unusual problem.

Words: 3000

Warnings: teen rating for mentions of sex and swearing

A/N: sorry it’s taken so long to start getting these celebration ficlets done. I should point out that I actually wrote the first part for the celebration, and then really wanted to see what would happen next, so wrote part 2. You lucky folks get both parts! This is just silliness and fluff, but is based on a real-life problem my co-worker was having…

“Is there something particularly interesting about the door of my supply closet Lieutenant Y/L/N?”

 “Huh?” Startled out of your trance, you look at Doctor McCoy and then back at the perfectly ordinary white door, which is exactly like all the other thousands of white doors on the Enterprise.

 He inclines his head towards the closet. “You’re staring at it like it holds the answers to the meaning of the universe. If it does, you should tell the Captain, because then we can all get the hell out of here and go home.” 

You squint at him. It’s supposed to be Doctor M’Benga on duty for Gamma shift but instead you’ve got McCoy and he’s asking you about doors. “Do you have any chloroform in there?” you blurt out, and even as it leaves your mouth you know it sounds like the request of a deranged individual.

To his credit, and probably as a result of years of training to deal with idiotic questions, the doctor only raises one eyebrow and scrutinises you for a second, before asking curiously, “why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am?”

You start tapping your foot and you throw your hands up in exasperation, you might as well be honest with the man, since he probably already thinks you’re mad. “I wanted to knock myself out, okay?”

McCoy’s composure is pretty impressive. His reputation for flying off the handle at the least sign of idiocy seems undeserved, but then maybe he’s just waiting to see the full extent of your stupidity so he can determine how high to crank the dial. “Well I guess I should be relieved you’re not planning to reenact a kidnapping from some kind of pulp crime novel. Is there a reason you want to knock yourself out, or is it just for fun?”

Seriously, you reply, “Oh believe me there is nothing fun about it. I haven’t slept in, like, two weeks, and I think I’m going a little bit crazy,” whispering the last bit like it’s a secret. So you’re a bit surprised when the doctor’s mouth twitches in a smile.

“Can’t sleep huh? Come on, let’s get you checked out.” He motions towards a biobed and you hop up compliantly. “I’ve got to say there are better ways of knocking yourself out than chloroform Y/L/N, which might be why it’s been illegal for medical purposes for about a hundred years.”

“Really? Don’t get much call for anaesthetics beyond tranquilliser darts in xeno-zoology. I didn’t fancy using one of those, they sting.” You shuffle about a bit on the bed, trying to get comfortable. McCoy presses a warm hand to your shoulder.

“Keep still will you, just while I scan you.” You settle and he nods his thanks. “So is there anything you think might be stopping you sleeping properly?” He’s scrutinising the biobed readout as he asks the question.

You heave a big sigh. “Noisy sex.”

McCoy freezes and stares down at you mouth slightly open. He shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry did you just say… uh…”

“Noisy sex. Yeah. After two weeks of it I’m just exhausted.” You close your eyes and rub the heel of your hand into the sockets. When you open them again the doctor is still staring at you, although he seems to have gone kind of red around the ears.

“Well Y/L/N,” he eventually says stiffly, “I suggest you maybe lay off the… uh… nocturnal activities and prioritise getting some actual sleep.” He turns away and busies himself with something, and it takes your foggy brain a second or two to catch up.

You sit up bolt upright and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh shit, no! Not me! I mean I practically can’t remember the last time I had sex, and it definitely wasn’t noisy. Not for me anyway. Shit. No. It’s my neighbour, they hooked up with someone a couple of weeks ago and, well, the walls are remarkably thin and they’re… vocal. It’s like having a pair of mating Sehlats next door, you know, all grunts and shrieks. So yeah. No sleep and a crazy urge to knock myself out…”

McCoy has turned around, about halfway through your unstoppable outburst, and he’s definitely reached the limits of his composure now, because his eyebrows are in his hairline and he’s red all over. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Too much information?” you ask quietly, mortified to have blurted all that out to the doctor.

“Yeah. Little bit.” His voice is kind of gruff and his gaze is focussed absolutely on the monitor above the bed and not on you.

“Sorry. I just really need some shut-eye. I’m getting behind at work and I really don’t want to have to explain to Commander Spock why that is.”

“No I don’t imagine you do. Mind you, he had a Sehlat as a pet, so it’s possible he’d have some idea of what you’re dealing with.” He’s looking at you now with mirth in his eyes. You can’t decide what colour they are, but they’re pretty. “Well Y/L/N, your cortisol levels are raised and your blood pressure is a bit elevated. I can give you something that will put you out for tonight, but it’s not a long-term solution. Have you tried just asking them to keep it down?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I asked and they were apologetic, but it was all like ‘oh you know how it is when you get carried away in the heat of the moment.’” Fiddling with the slightly frayed cuffs on your academy sweater, you add, “you know what? I really don’t know.”

McCoy gives a noncommittal grunt, and you realise you’re on the verge of oversharing again. You’re not quite sure why your mouth keeps running away with you around McCoy, but you’re pretty certain that this wouldn’t happen with M’Benga.

“I guess we can deal with it tomorrow. I’ll go get you those meds.” He disappears in the direction of the supply closet, and you yawn and stretch thinking that ‘we’ sounds kind of nice. The bleeps and chirps of medbay machinery are kind of hypnotic after a while and you close your eyes just for a second.

The doctor comes back a couple of minutes later, brandishing a couple of hypos. But he stops short when he sees you keeled over on your side, legs still hanging off the side of the biobed, snoring gently. For a second he just looks at you, shaking his head, then he gently picks your legs up and puts them on the bed before covering you with a blanket.

Settling down in his office, he makes sure he can see across to your bed from behind his desk, just in case you might wake up disoriented or something. He quickly types out a message to Spock to excuse you from your shift tomorrow.

It’s the following evening and you find yourself raising procrastination to a fine art. You’ve kicked Sulu’s ass at dom-jot at least ten times, and lingered in the mess hall over your dinner for over an hour, before doing an extended workout in the gym. But eventually you can’t avoid going back to your quarters to find out what incredible vocal gymnastics your neighbour and their partner will manage tonight.

You decide to use some of your water credits and have a proper shower. Maybe if you can relax enough you can get to sleep before they start. Anything to avoid having to go back to Medbay. You could honestly have hugged Doctor McCoy for signing you off for the day, but you’re also mortified at the thought of what you told him, and you’re really not sure how you’ll ever look him in the eyes again.

You’re in comfy sweats, drying off your hair and it’s still mercifully quiet on the western front, when the door chime goes. To your surprise, McCoy is there leaning with one hand on the doorframe and holding a box under the other arm. He smiles a little hesitantly, looking at the towel in your hand. “Hey, did I come at a bad time?”

It turns out looking McCoy in the eyes is easy, they’re very pretty eyes after all. It’s stringing together a coherent sentence that’s hard. “Doctor! I was just… I wasn’t expecting… what are you…” You take a breath. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He straightens up and gestures into your quarters. “Is it okay if I come in? I have something for you.”

“Sure.” You step back, trying to ignore the fact that as he brushes past you, your palms have started to get all tingly. As he’s putting the box down on your tiny counter, you excuse yourself for a minute to blast your hair dry and attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. It occurs to you that it didn’t really matter last night when you were wandering around Medbay, half crazy with sleep deprivation.

When you emerge, the doctor has perched on one of your stools, swinging gently from side to side, and is looking around your poky living space with interest. “So, Doctor McCoy I didn’t know you did house calls?”

Spinning around to face you, he grins. “Only for special cases. Anyway I’m off duty so this isn’t a house call, and you can stop with the ‘doctor’ business. It’s Leonard, or Len. Whichever.”

You plonk yourself down on the stool opposite Leonard. “Special cases huh?”

“Well, you’ve got to admit, you’ve got a pretty unique problem. And I did say I would try and help.” You stare at McCoy in disbelief. He’d said it, but you didn’t expect him to actually do anything.

He carries on, not noticing your surprise as he picks a couple of items out of the box. “So I talked to Scotty and gave me a pair of these to try. They’re industrial grade earplugs. But, since they block out so much noise, and you’ll be sleeping, hopefully, you’ll also need this.” He unpacks a thin plastic mat. “It’s an alert system, slips right under your pillow and connects to the ships computer to vibrate and wake you if there’s a red alert.” He swings from side to side again looking pleased with himself.

“You got these for me? You really didn’t have to Doc… Leonard,” you correct yourself, and he shrugs.

“It’s nothing darlin’. I mean if it stops you having to pilfer drugs from my supply closet in the middle of the night,” he says, teasing gently. “And also I might have done some research into those… uh… Sehlats.” A faint flush spreads across the doctor’s cheeks and a smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“You did?”

“Yeah. You said they were loud, but goddammit that was something else! Chapel thought I was dying or something and practically battered down my office door. I… had some explaining to do.” You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a laugh. McCoy looks up at you grinning again. “It might be funny to you, but I was the one who had to convince my head nurse that looking up mating Sehlats was legitimate medical research.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I’m not sure she believes me. But anyway, if that’s what you’re up against, some earplugs is the least I can do.”

The tingling feeling in your palms has spread to your stomach. You’re a little dumbfounded that he’s done all this for you, and your earlier urge to hug him has morphed into something else altogether. Together with the lingering sense of mortification, it makes you tongue-tied, and it’s all you can do to whisper some thanks.

A frown creases McCoy’s brow. “Are you okay Y/F/N? You’re awful quiet, at least compared to last night.” He studies you seriously, before clearing his throat. “I should be going anyway, don’t want to keep you up,” he offers gruffly, but you realise that’s the last thing you want.

“Leonard, don’t go.” He stills and you can feel his gaze on you even though you’re looking down at the counter. “Can you just forget ninety percent of what I said last night? I’m so embarrassed for oversharing like that.” You fiddle with the packet of the earplugs until a large hand places itself over yours and squeezes.

“Don’t feel awkward darlin’, I’ve heard so much worse.” He pauses for a second and you glance up to see him looking down at your joined hands thoughtfully before continuing, “I’ve got to be honest with you though, it kind of makes things a bit complicated. I’d really like to stay and I brought the fixings for hot chocolate McCoy family-style, in case you needed to unwind, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you because of your, uh… dry spell.”

He releases your hand and rubs the back of his neck. That pink tinge is back in his cheeks and for some reason it gives you the courage to blurt out, “If you stay, I was going to watch a holo. And hot chocolate sounds… really good.”

With his smile it’s like the tingling sensation in your stomach metamorphoses into full-grown butterflies the size of the Andorian giants in the lab. You agree on a movie, and McCoy makes the drinks. It turns out a generous slug of bourbon is the secret ingredient in his family recipe, and you can’t argue with how amazing it tastes.

You settle down on the couch, which is too small for you not to be pressed right up against each other given the size of the doctor’s frame. He sprawls his legs out in front of him, and stretches his arm out along the back of the cushion behind you. As you relax a bit with the idea of him, you lean in and he drops his hand to your shoulder.

You’re about half an hour through the film when you hear the sound of voices next door. You can feel yourself tense and so can McCoy as he glances down at you before pulling you a tiny bit closer and rubbing soft circles across your back with his thumb. “Thanks,” you mumble, breathing in deeply and finding some comfort in his warm clean smell.

But it’s not long before things start to escalate into a gradual crescendo from moans and panting into thumps, and groans and bitten off curses. “Did they make these damned walled out of paper,” McCoy mutters.

“I don’t know, but it gets worse.” You wince as the thumping becomes the rhythmic bang of furniture against the wall and the doctor’s eyebrow shoots up. This continues for what seems like an age, until it reaches a peak of full blown shouts and shrieks and one long drawn out scream.

“You weren’t kidding darlin’,” McCoy says, looking incredulously at the wall between your quarters and next door. “ I thought they were knocking through at one point.”

“Yeah, well that was round one. They might end up crashing through the wall before they’re done tonight. Though I doubt that would stop them.”

“So it’s like this all night?” He gets up to pour you both a glass of the neat bourbon.

You nod. “Every time I doze off, they’re ready to go again.” You attempt a grin at McCoy as he hands you the drink, “I mean you have to admire their stamina.”

“And I thought living with Jim in the academy was bad.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You should try the earplugs next time, see if they help.”

You turn your attention back to the holo, and curl in beside him. You have one hand pressed on his chest feeling the steady rise and fall, and his arm is wrapped around you with his hand absently trailing gentle strokes up and down your side. You feel his cheek resting on the top of your head and the gentle tickle of his breath in your hair.

It’s quiet for now, just the sound of the holo and McCoy’s breathing, until he inhales deeply and mumbles, “Y/F/N, your hair smells incredible darlin’.” You twist to look up at him and he’s got this soft kind of disbelieving expression on his face. Biting your lip, you look into his mossy eyes before tracing down the angles of his nose, to gaze at his full, slightly chapped lips. Hazily, you wonder how they would feel on yours. He swallows and you glance up, to see him equally fascinated by your mouth. Huffing a whiskey-scented breath he leans closer…

“Oh baby, YES! Just like that!”

You jump apart, startled by the shout from next door, which is followed by the sound of someone kicking the wall and the now familiar moans and groans quickly begin to build. “Goddammit!” McCoy hisses, running his hands through his hair. You look at each other and the moment has passed.

Quelling your disappointment, you get up and grab the packet of earplugs. “Guess it’s time to try these then.” The doctor is sat there looking thunderously at the wall. “Leonard?” you ask tentatively.

He hits pause on the holo and leaps to his feet, pacing towards you and back to the couch again a couple of times. All the while the volume of shrieks intensifies. Eventually he seems to have come to some kind of decision because he turns to you and grasps you by your shoulders. “Fuck the earplugs Y/F/N, this is goddamned ridiculous.” He plants a kiss on the top of your head before storming out the door.

Stunned, it’s a second before you gather your wits to follow him, and by then he’s outside your neighbour’s door, hand slamming on the door chime. There’s no appreciable reduction in the activity from inside and so McCoy mutters something incomprehensible before hammering a fist on the door.

Suddenly there’s silence.

He hammers again, this time following it by bellowing, “this is Doctor McCoy. It sounds like you’re in considerable pain in there. I need you to open the door for me so I can confirm your status.” He looks along the corridor at you and winks. He’s actually enjoying this, and judging by the heads poking out of doors further up the corridor, he’s not the only one.

When there’s still no sign of the door being opened, he hammers one more time. “I need you to open the door for me in ten seconds, or I’ll assume you’re incapacitated and I will use my medical override to gain access. Ten, nine, eight, seven…” he doesn’t even get to six before the door swishes open and your red faced neighbour is there wrapped in a sheet.

“Uh… Is there a problem Doctor?”

“Lieutenant Y/L/N and I were trying to enjoy a quiet evening with a movie and a drink, but it sounded like someone was having their limbs ripped off by a damned Gorn next door! Frankly I was expecting to find you splattered in bits around your quarters.” McCoy’s eyebrows are at full mast and your neighbour is looking a bit queasy.

“We’ll… try to keep it down in future, sir.”

The doctor scowls murderously. “You see that you do, or I’ll slap a curfew on your sorry asses so fast it’ll make your head spin. And I won’t give you the courtesy of a warning before using my override to do it. Dismissed.” You stifle a giggle at the sight of your neighbour attempting to stand to attention in their sheet, before McCoy spins on his heels and strides back to your door.

He grabs your hand and pulls you over to the couch to sit back down beside him. He knocks back the last of his bourbon and turns the holo back on. “So where exactly were we?” he asks gruffly as he slides his arms back around you and pulls you against the solid warmth of his chest.

“I believe I was gazing adoringly at you and hoping you’d kiss me.” You tilt your head up and grin as you feel a hand slide up your back to cradle the side of your face.

“Oh yeah, you were biting those pretty lips and I just wanted to taste them” he murmurs as he leans in. Heat pools in your stomach only to burst into fire in your veins as your lips meet. It’s slow at first, then you’re moving your mouths more desperately and you’re nipping at his pouty bottom lip with your teeth. He growls and presses harder, and you open your lips to his tongue. Somewhere in the back of your mind, as he shifts you both so that he’s half lying and you’re sitting across his lap, feeling sparks where his hand has slid up under your sweater to swirl lazy circles on the skin at the small of your back, you think this might be the best damn kiss you’ve ever had.

When you eventually come up for air, you press your fingers to your tingling lips and smile. McCoy grins back at you lazily and catches your hand, kissing the tips of each finger before placing it on his chest under his. “That’s better.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that. I mean are you allowed to use your override like that?”

The doctor looks wide-eyed with mock innocence. “I only threatened to use it. Though even the mountain of paperwork if I did use it would have been worth it darlin’.”

“You know I kind of feel a bit sorry for them,” you muse, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean they’re pretty lucky to find someone who makes them feel that good.”

“You really never had that before huh?” McCoy’s voice rumbles through his chest, and you shake your head. “Well that’s a damned shame. Someone really ought to do something about that.”

It’s comfortable and warm in your Leonard cocoon, with his arms wrapped around you and your face buried in his neck, breathing in that soothing smell. You close your eyes just for a minute as you murmur your agreement.

“If you like, my legendary hands are at your disposal,” he adds with a chuckle, expecting you to laugh in return. “Y/F/N?” He peers down at you, but all he can see is the top of your head. “Y/L/N?” He feels a sigh of breath as you exhale, and the sound of a gentle snore. “Maybe next time,” he says smiling at the sound.

He shuffles carefully, trying to move you both into a more comfortable position without disturbing you until eventually he’s lying on the tiny couch with you on top of him. Then, with a rush of tenderness, he wraps his arms around you more securely and closes his eyes.

Taglist (100 follower requesters plus others): @starmission @musikat18 @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @space-helen @dirajunara @kawaiiusagichansan @spookyscaryscully @wickedsingularity @burtmacklin34 @the-Mormon-girl-in-the-books @kingarthurscat

[allumetterouge]

I almost didn’t post this today, tbh - but I choose to trust the two lovely people who told me I wouldn’t make a fool out of me showing y’all this

Thank you @minchen0897 and @ceara-banana <3 And a Happy Valentine’s to you!

The Perks of being Jason Todd

Relationship: Jason/Tim Summary: It's way too easy to convince Jason to pick Dick's drunk brother up from a party. Which may or may not have to do with his stupid crush. 

[Read on AO3]

Jason dreaded what Dick would say the moment he picked up the phone. So he stared at the device before reclining back in his chair and finally giving in.

“What?”

“I got good news and bad news.”

“Don’t you always?” He twirled his pencil in the hand not holding the phone. His thesis was due in two months and he really had wanted to work on it today – but Dick Grayson was a man on a mission and Jason knew not to stand in his way. Mostly because it ended up advantageous for him, too.

“The dean agreed to listen to your proposal about female hygiene products in the bathrooms.”

“Fuck yes. Just give them some pads, at least, dammit, it’s not that hard.”

Dick chuckled mirthlessly. “He’s going to listen, Jay, no one said anything about him agreeing with you. You remember the last time you asked him to give out free stuff to the student body?”

“Pretty sure HE won’t forget it either. - So what’s the deal? When can I talk to him? In fact, I got some time right now.” Jason turned the page on his notepad.

“Not before next Friday?”

“Next Friday, huh.” He jotted down the date and underlined it twice. Jason liked to be prepared for this kind of stuff and he would make sure to let Donna do most of the talking this time. Nobody could refuse her; she was a goddess and she knew it.

“Jay,” Dick said, his voice low enough to be little more than a hiss through the phone. “About the bad news.”

Of course. There was always a catch. “What is it? Does he want a public apology?”

“Actually, it’s a favor.”

“Geeze, what does he want?” Slapping his hand on the desk, he stood, starting to pace through his room.

“It’s for me actually.” Jason stopped dead in his tracks. Dick Grayson, the golden boy himself, needed a favor from the one student who just couldn’t keep his mouth shut and study nicely like all the other students on campus?

“Can you pick up my little brother?”

It was no secret Dick Grayson had been adopted. It was no secret he hadn’t been the only kid that had been adopted by the same, wealthy family. It was a secret, though, who that wealthy family was, as all of them went by their original last names. So when Dick told him about his little brother, Jason was surprised to know the kid. Tim Drake was a freshman in his literature class and he was pretty sure they had argued about every text they had discussed in class. And by ‘pretty sure’ Jason meant ‘he knew exactly how bad it was that those were the pictures his subconsciousness conjured up almost every time he jerked off’.

The worst part was that they weren’t even friends. They didn’t know each other outside of class and as much as Jason wanted to kiss that pretty brain behind that pretty face, that was about it.

With growing annoyance, Jason still found himself pushing his way through the party Tim had called his brother from. Parties were boring. People dancing and screaming at each other was not Jason’s idea of a good evening. His mood only perked up when he saw a familiar figure leaning on one of the couches in the living room.

“Cassie,” he called out to Donna’s cousin. The girl actually heard him over the noise and Jason thanked God for that small miracle.

The blonde blinked at him for a moment longer than needed, which might have more to do with the red cup in her hand than his charming good looks. “You’re...”

“Jason,” he prompted, only to add, “the guy Donna brought over to cook dinner around Christmas?”

“Oh, right! Jackson!”

“Jason. Listen, I’m looking for Tim Drake? Tiny guy, usually wearing some kind of flannel and jeans?”

Cassie started at him, the corner of her mouth turning down slightly. “I know Tim.”

“Great.” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting a little on his feet. He cringed when one of his shoes kept sticking to the floor. “I’m here to pick him up.”

Chucking back her drink, Cassie waved her hand over the couch she was leaning on. When Jason didn’t move, she pushed her cup in his hands and bent down over the couch.

“Your ride’s here.”

Carefully not to tread into anything else, Jason rounded the couch to watch Cassie lean over the kid he’s been looking for. Just like her, Tim seemed to be inebriated, but unlike Cassie, he was flushing and crying and trying to pull the girl over the backrest.

“Geeze.” Jason ran a hand through his hair. “You’re a mess, kid.”

It took them a while to get Tim in his car, but together, Cassie and Jason made it. The drive wasn’t too long, but it would take them enough time to listen to the radio if they weren’t talking. And Tim hadn’t seemed to be in any condition to talk. For a while, Jason was sure the kid had fallen asleep, but he turned the radio down and his heart sank when he heard the sobs coming from the backseat.

“You okay back there?”

The noise stopped impressively fast, but Tim couldn’t quite get the tears out of his voice. “What do you care?”

With a sigh, Jason set the turn signal. “Come on. I’m getting you home. Least you can do is tell me what the fuck happened that made Dick promise to play in the next play.”

Tim sat up, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a petulant child but Jason still felt relief wash over him. He’d stopped crying. That was the Tim he knew, the one who didn’t take Jason’s bullshit. “He so did not.”

“You got me,” Jason chuckled. “It’d be great, though. Imagine him as Peter Pan. We could actually hang him on some ropes and make him fly - wouldn’t be half as dangerous as having Rose do it again.”

“Rose was a great Peter.”

That, Jason had to give her. He’d gotten into trouble for the gender thing, of course, but no one actually cared other than the dean.

Tim put a hand on the seat, almost touching Jason’s shoulder. He was leaning his head on the cushion, glancing at Jason from the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You probably got better things to do than picking up some asshole on a Saturday night.”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Jason felt his heart beat against his ribs. This close, he could smell Tim. Could smell the alcohol and the party on his skin. The last time they had been this close, Tim had almost jumped over his table to get in Jason’s face about Lady Macbeth. The kid had looked vicious then, vicious and more alive than ever. There was no chance in hell Jason would ever forget the fire in his eyes or the sneer on his lips, but neither seemed likely on the young boy in the back of his car.

Tim leaned his head on the passenger seat, studying Jason with eyes, still red from crying. After a moment or two that felt way too long, he sighed; a tiny, wet sound that made Jason’s heart clench painfully. “Just... sorry for being a bother, I guess. It’s my fault and I should be able to find my own way home...”

“Yeah, okay.” On the spur of the moment, Jason hit the breaks to merge into another line. “That’s bullshit. We’re not doing that.”

“Wait, what?” Tim blinked, pushing of the seat to look around. “This is not the way home.”

“It’s called a detour.” Jason gritted his teeth. His hands started to shake on the wheel but he refused to look at Tim. Whatever he thought about Jason’s impulse, he would have to verbalize it because Jason couldn’t deal with hurting the kid even more. Not when his intentions were actually quite the opposite.

“Look, birdbrain,” he said, still keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m not letting you home like this. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to explain to your dad what happened if you can’t even tell Dick, so no. We’re gonna sober you up first and then we’ll think about getting your glass slipper back so the prince won’t find you and tell your dad about that party.”

“Shit.” Tim sat back. “My paper’s due on Friday.” Jason blinked, looking back at the boy and giving him a confused grunt that made Tim laugh. “Conner still has my laptop.”

“Then go get it some time this week.”

Tim laughed again. A broken, hysteric laugh that made Jason actually turn his head. “He doesn’t want me back. He’s broken up with me and doesn’t want to see me again and I can’t get my laptop anymore. It’s gone. Whoosh.” Tim’s hands move, imitating a small explosion, but his face still bore the false cheer.

Jason bit his lip, trying to focus on the road ahead. So that’s what all this was about. This was the reason Tim got drunk at that party and called Dick, acting so out of character his brother made sure the kid got home safely. Cursing his luck, Jason could only hope Dick would come home sooner than intended. Knowing the family, Tim didn’t have much fun with his little brother and their father without Dick around, even if there was no break-up hanging over his head like a dark cloud.

Tim and Conner had been … No matter how much Jason had wanted to get to know Tim better, their relationship had always been a great excuse not to try anything. To not try getting Tim’s attention, because knowing he’d be rejected felt way better when the reason wasn’t Tim not being interested but the plausible deniability that already being taken gave him.

So Tim and Conner were no more. Great. Dick had called them ‘soulmates’ once and Jason had wanted to vomit. Whatever the case, the kid must be hurting like hell right now and all Jason saw was the way his face twisted into that grimace, that smile that was even more fake than Claudius’s declarations to Hamlet’s mother.

“Stay put,” Jason ordered when he pulled into the rest stop. Working at the restaurant there had its perks – one of them being getting good, greasy food in the middle of a Saturday night without questions asked. Still warm, too. Jason stalked across the parking lot with a doggy bag in hand not long after, opening the back door of his car with a flourish. “Now you get out. Fresh air and greasy food, just what the doctor ordered.”

Tim sneered, his nose crinkling harshly. But he did as he was told. His tears had stopped, but standing next to Jason, he seemed even smaller than usually. His shoulders slumped and his feet dragging behind him as they made their way to one of the benches where families would pack out their lunch when they didn’t come into the restaurant to eat on their way to whatever vacation they had planned.

They sat with their backs to the table and Jason handed a bottle of water over. Tim drank without a word, kept taking the food from Jason silently. It felt nice, just existing like this. Moving with each other, no words needed. The kid wolfed down the burger Jason had gotten for him, and he was half-way through his fries when he finally looked up. He looked up but ducked his head between his shoulders, a blush on his cheeks that Jason blamed on the cool night air.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. Whatever Tim was thinking about, he was still a little drunk and would have one hell of a hangover in the morning. “Don’t mention it. ‘s not like I’m doing this for free.”

Tim’s gaze fell, his hands fumbling with the bottle. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Dickie is getting old cummerbund to talk to me again,” Jason added. The kid was confusing him, one second, he seemed to feel better, to calm down, the other… he looked even more devastated than before. “Stop thinking about that asshole.”

Tim snorted, leaning his back against the table to look up at the stars. “Who says I’m thinking about Conner?”

“You’re thanking me like you owe me. You really just want to feel bad about yourself and being a bother to me gives you another reason.”

The kid chuckled, hugging the bottle close to his chest. “Stop trying to make sense, I’m still drunk.”

Jason couldn’t help himself, he leaned over, his arm falling behind Tim on the table like it belonged there. And he smiled. Genuinely. “You’re awfully eloquent for someone still being drunk.”

“I’m still able to make bad choices.” Tim grinned back, his face so close Jason could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck. His eyes drifted towards Tim’s lips seeing the words more than hearing them and wanting to feel them against his mouth more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. “Really, really bad choices,” the kid said, his head falling against Jason’s shoulder. “Like telling Conner about the other guy.”

“The other--” Jason’s lungs were on fire, each breath hurting as he felt Tim getting comfortable under his arm.

“The other guy I like.”

“Oh.” Jason forced a smile on his face. Tim was drunk and cuddling up with him because he was drunk. He didn’t like Jason and he didn’t like Conner either. He liked someone else. Someone who wasn’t Jason. He was doing a bad job of hiding his pain, having Tim in his arms and still knowing he had no chance to be more to Tim than the guy from Literature 101 who grinned way too much while telling him all the ways he was wrong about this or that interpretation. More than the guy his brother talked into stopping him from getting black-out drunk at a stupid party.

“You’re a good person, Jason. You’re easy to talk to, you know? I…” Tim sighed against his shoulder. “I like you.”

Jason didn’t recognize his voice when the words came out almost automatically. He stood, dislodging the kid and ignoring the sudden cold he felt where Tim’s warmth had been only moments before. “Let’s get you home,” he said, shutting off the pain he felt at those stupid, three words. Words he had longed to hear – but not like this.

The trip was short and all the while, they hadn’t spoken another word. The radio had filled the silence, but something had changed, so when Jason killed the motor in front of Tim’s house, he didn’t expect the kid to hesitate.

“Thank you. For … everything,” Tim said, his hands gripping the seatbelt.

Jason grunted. He wanted a cigarette but he hated smoking in the car. The smell just never left the upholstery and the ash got everywhere.

“I, um, I meant it.” The kid unbuckled and chuckled absentmindedly. Tim was not looking at him and the blush on his cheeks could not be blamed on the cold. Jason’s heating was working perfectly fine.

He leaned over the stick one hand on the console, the other tentatively bracing itself on Jason’s shoulder. Tim moved slowly, giving him all the time he’d need to stop him, but Jason had never expected anything like this. Had no idea what to think of Tim’s lips pressing against his.

Jason didn’t react. He was frozen in place, yelling at himself to get a move on - this might be his only chance, Tim might not even know him anymore on Monday. Kid’s drunk and heartbroken and desperate for comfort. But Jason felt himself kiss back, his fingers sliding over Tim’s knee and his eyes falling close.

Ever since the start of the semester, he had been curious about this; had wanted to feel Tim’s tongue in his mouth, had wanted to hear the soft sounds, the tiny breaths between them, but Jason was a bad man. A bad choice and Tim was drunk and heartbroken and desperate for comfort.

When he pulled back, he was panting, and so was Tim. Their breaths came out in short, shallow puffs, mingling in the small space between them. Opening his eyes, Jason could see the spark in Tim’s. Never had he seen the kid’s cheeks so red or his lips so swollen, making a picture that would haunt him in his dreams.

“Thank you,” Tim said again, smiling. His eyes closed and the moment broke, getting Jason back to reality. He had wanted this, but it was a bad idea. So, so bad…

Tim let himself fall back into his seat, taking a deep breath before putting a hand on the door. He kept smiling, but Jason knew his eyes would still be swollen, would still be red from crying all night and his head would hurt and he’d regret this night in the morning.

Climbing out of the car, Tim moved slowly, as if reluctant to leave. He turned back, one hand still on the door. “So, um. Wanna get lunch together on Monday?”

Jason blinked, dumbfounded. “I... Yes.” Because he wanted to. He really, really wanted to. Get to know Tim better, that is. And maybe… more.

“Great,” Tim grinned, his eyes bright in the harsh light of the car. “It’s a date,” he said before jerking the door shut.

A minute passed, maybe ten or twenty, Jason didn’t know - but he did know he should turn the motor on and leave, instead of lurking in Tim’s driveway like a creep.

He smiled, finally turning the key. “It’s a date,” he said, turning up the radio real loud. There was no way he would sleep tonight; not with the way his heart was jumping in his throat just thinking about Monday.