#pls spill those thoughts on CHRISTOPHER

[writingforstraykids]

Anon who censored things ummm (me)

Do u rly wanna know what I said😅

Do you really think I was joking? 😶‍🌫️

[honeyabyss]

Can you make the characters reacting to MC just... Swearing with alternative swear words because they feel guilty actually swearing? like, instead of F***, they say duck. And instead of sh**, they say sheep or shoot. And etc. Headcanons pls :3 Thx

I struggled a bit with this so it's pretty short, still hope you like it!

Lucifer:

"Do you have the report for Diavolo finished?"

your eyes widened in realization that the deadline was today and you didn't even notice how you 'cursed'

Lucifer just stares at you amused

he will most definitely tease you with it, watch him occasionally use your alternative swear words as well just to fluster you

at one point he will ask you as to why you're using these words as he is curious about your cute habit

will indulge you in ignoring your habit without commenting on it, but he probably will smile whenever you do it

he will absolutely threaten anyone who dares to make fun of you for this...no one is allowed to make fun of you except him

Mammon:

this boy is so confused when you out of nowhere just scream "duck", because you hit your toe at the table leg

like where? he doesn't see a duck?!

you have to explain to him that you just don't like to curse

Mammon probably won't understand why, but will instead 'translate' every time you do it

"Don't worry guys, there isn't an actual duck here...they just curse weird..."

let's be honest though, as weird as he finds it, he will probably start doing it too, it happens subconsciously, because he spends so much time around you

Leviathan:

this co-op game was so not yours, you constantly failed and felt so bad Levi was still trying his best to teach you

you got so frustrated that you let out a string of 'swear words'

that time the game over screen showed, because Levi didn't even try to play, he just stared at you

when you explain what just happened, he instantly gets it

"That's so cute!!! It fits you better than real curse words anyway!"

he'll get so weirdly invested in this, like he'll ask you to repeat the words, because he thinks you look so adorable when you 'curse'

Satan:

you had just accidentally spoiled the ending of a book to Satan and panicked, a 'swear word' slipped you

you expected Satan to be so mad at you, but instead he is really calm and looks at you as if you're the most interesting thing he ever saw

"Could you repeat that? Did you mispronounce it, because I'm sure given the situation you meant to say-"

you explain your little problem of feeling guilty and he thoughtfully nods along

this man is sweet in the weirdest way, he will try to come up with new words for you to curse with so you have more options to choose from

will tease you with it every time you say one though

Asmodeus:

you knock over the nail polish bottle Asmo is currently using and quietly 'curse' while you try to fix the mess and clean up the spilled colour

you won't be able to clean much though, because Asmo traps you in a hug, squeezing your frame while he tells you how cute that was

he won't even ask why you do it, he just accepts it as a part of your personality

"Oh sheep! Lucifer please I didn't mean to have you in the background of my latest Devilgram post really!"

he will use them now too, thinks it fits his beautiful appearance more than using foul swear words

he will hug, coo or pat your head every time you 'swear', it's just too much cuteness coming from you

Beelzebub:

you mumble one while you spill some food, which Beel instantly cleans up for you

he won't even notice it the first time, only later when it happens again and someone else points it out he as well will notice

"Oh you don't like to swear? That's alright, just use whatever you're comfortable with"

sweet boy melting your heart with his never-ending support

he won't say anything more to you 'cursing' but he will have this small smile of understanding

he will go feral if someone makes fun of you though, good luck holding him back

Belphegor:

this brat will laugh so hard, when you yell "duck" while running to RAD, because the both of you overslept

"You're such a weirdo! Just say the actual curse word, it's easy! Repeat after me: fuc-"

he gets stopped by your hand on his mouth and an angry glare

will chuckle but let it slip....for now

will say the actual curse word out loud every time you 'curse'

if it really bothers you, he will stop, but you can't take away his laughing fits, it's just way too amusing to him

Diavolo:

"Is this a human thing? Only you? That's fine, it makes you just even more special!"

you let one accidentally slip, while having tea with him and he changes the topic to curse words for the rest of the day

He is honestly interested in your reasons for feeling guilty, as he never thought of it like that, but will accept it no matter what you choose to answer or not answer in case you want to keep the reasoning to himself

when he is around you, he will make sure curse words are less used, he himself uses them rarely already, as such words aren't exactly eloquent to use as a prince, even as one of hell

he tries to stay serious when you 'curse', but sometimes he can't stop himself from chuckling

he is as well one of the 'make-new-curse-words-up'-squad, a) because he wants help you and has lots of fun trying to be creative and b) because he wants to be able to use 'swear' in front of Barbatos without him noticing (he will catch on though and scold Dia)

Barbatos:

his expressions stays the same, you aren't even sure if he noticed

is he being polite and pretends he didn't notice? Did he already know of your habit? Maybe he actually didn't notice?

whatever it is, you're conversation just keeps going as if nothing has happened

"Shoot..."

yes, Barb just whispered 'shoot' after realizing how late it already was

Barb himself has an image to uphold as a butler, but sometimes curse words aren't avoidable, so he learned to use harmless words as alternatives

he didn't react, because he simply saw it as normal

Solomon:

"Seriously? You're an exchange student in hell, having pacts with seven of the most powerful demons, but use 'sheep' istead of sh*t?"

he is more than amused, and will smirk at you every time

he will also point every 'curse' you say out, like are you sure this is the right word?

he will try to get you to curse and sees it as a game, but will stop and apologize if it makes you angry or uncomfortable

will sometimes use these words as well, but he'll emphasize the word dramatically and look you in the eyes while saying it, just to try and get a reaction from you

he doesn't really care which words you use, he'll be amused either way

Simeon:

he is actually a bit relieved, now he doesn't have to worry about you using curse words in front of his child Luke

"My little lamb use whatever words you want, the most important thing is you're comfortable with it"

prays the demons or Solomon don't rub off their bad influence on you

supports you fully, but wishes you wouldn't have to use alternatives neither

Simeon does not curse! He is an angel!...sometimes he is the very strict author Christopher Peugeot though...and that one can get stressed and might whisper a small curse word

he'll try to learn from you for those rare occasions and use your alternative 'swears'

Luke:

he probably won't get it at first, but with the way Simeon visibly tenses and relaxes after the words left your mouth, he gets curious

you explain that you feel guilty for cursing and therefore use similar sounding yet harmless words

"Well, obviously cursing isn't good! But if you only use these words..it should be okay?"

will startle Barb so hard when he yells 'duck' next time he messes up in their baking session

he will have a serious conversation with Barb, and Simeon...and probably Michael...and you will get scolded as well for teaching an angel to use these words in that way...even though you didn't mean for him to start using them

just be more careful around Luke, and he will try hard to never swear again

[thisissirius]

👀👀👀 "don't be scared, I'm right here" pls dear siri

take you over anybody else [ao3 link] eddie/buck, minor injuries, hurt/comfort

for my darling @capseycartwright :)

The truck is tense. 

Eddie’s not looking at him, face turned to the window, and he’s got a hand on his knee. Buck’s used to sitting close to him, easier to touch, jostle, and generally mess around. Now, he’s on the other side of the cab and Buck’s never been so aware of the distance. 

“Eddie,” he says, desperate to make things right. 

“I don’t want to talk about it here,” Eddie says, tone clipped, and Buck can see the look Hen and Chimney share. 

Ignoring them, he sighs, knows he should let it rest, but he doesn’t want them to go into a burning building with this hanging over them. “If you would just let me explain—”

“What’s to explain?” Eddie snaps. “You don’t think I’m making the correct choices in my life or in Christopher’s life. You apparently think I should mourn Shannon forever. I’m not allowed to get hurt, so you don’t want me making my own choices.” When he stares at Buck, Buck feels it cut deep, stealing his breath. “Did I forget anything?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Buck snaps back, because if Eddie will just listen—

Eddie snorts, turns away and what the fuck, Buck’s trying to fix this. 

“Look at me,” Buck says. 

“Both of you, quiet,” Bobby says, his voice cutting through the cab. Eddie ducks his head, embarrassed, and Buck looks out of the window, skin crawling. He hates when he and Eddie fight, when they’re not a unit. It makes everything else feel wrong. 

They jump out of the truck as it arrives, Bobby immediately taking charge. “Buckley, Diaz, you take the basement.”

Eddie looks irritated, but his face smooths out and Buck takes his cue; they’ve worked together and been pissed off. They can do this. Eddie stares up at the sky, as if bracing himself, and when he looks at Buck there’s an expression on his face that Buck doesn’t understand. “Let’s go.”

Buck follows, willing to sink into the headspace of firefighter. He calls out, does the sweeps with Eddie. There’s a groaning from above and Buck looks up, doesn’t like how bent and warped the wood is. “Eddie,” he says. “We should move quickly.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and Buck tries not to let on that he’s surprised. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”

This time it’s Buck leading the way, and he heads back towards the stairs. There’s a lot of clutter in the basement and Buck makes a mental note to tell the inhabitants to clean up and make access easier. He says as much to Eddie. “—don’t know why people don’t wanna navigate the place they keep their laundry shit,” he mutters. 

There’s a snort from behind him—amused or pissed off, Buck can’t tell—and then a creak. 

“Shit,” Eddie says. Then, “Buck!”

Something creaks above, a noise that makes Buck panic, and then nothing.        

_____________

Buck snaps awake abruptly, and immediately wishes he hadn't. Pain shoots through his stomach, down his side and he groans. 

"Easy," someone says to his left. 

Eddie, Buck thinks. There's a dull pain in the back of Buck's head and he opens his eyes slowly, immediately scared when he can't see anything. "Eddie," he says, voice shaking. "I can't see." 

"It's dark," Eddie replies, and Buck can see movement, an arm in his periphery. "We're trapped." 

"Fuck." Buck can feel weight on his stomach, along his left side, underneath his body. "We fell?" 

Eddie snorts, a noise filled with pain and Buck tries to find his face in the darkness. "More like something fell on us." 

Okay. This is fine. Buck's eyes adjust to the darkness and he can see rubble and wood crashed around them, and through it, Eddie's face. There's dirt on one cheek, except Buck doesn't think it's dirt. "You're hurt?" 

Eddie doesn't say anything for a moment, which is all the answer Buck needs. Then, quietly, "so are you." 

Frowning, Buck says, "what?" He's fairly sure he'd know if he was injured. "I'm fine," he continues, running his hands over his chest, down to his stomach and yeah, everything's not okay.

"Hey," Eddie's voice snaps through Buck's awareness. "Listen to me, Buck, breathe for me, okay?" 

Hyperventilating, Buck thinks. Embarrassing. 

"Don't be scared," Eddie says, his voice thick. "I'm right here, Buck, okay? I'm right here." 

Eddie's here. 

Buck's okay as long as Eddie's here. 

Breathing finally evening out, Buck wraps his fingers around the pole currently stuck in his side and stomach and swallows down the urge to throw up. It doesn't hurt, which should probably worry him, but he turns his head, looks at Eddie. "We're getting out of this?" 

"We are," Eddie says, with a certainty that surprises Buck. Eddie doesn't lie to him.

Which means, back in the truck—

“I’m sorry,” Buck says immediately, because he needs Eddie to know. 

Eddie grunts, like he’s trying to move, and when Buck looks, he can see rocks and rubble tumbling away from Eddie. “For what?”

Buck swallows, thinks of their argument in the truck, Bobby’s voice cutting across them, telling them to stow it and work it out later. “You can make your own choices.”

"it doesn't matter,” Eddie says immediately. There’s another shift of rocks, this time on the other side of Eddie. Buck frowns, realises Eddie’s trying to protect him from falling rocks and can’t stop the words spilling out of his mouth. 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted you to know.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, sounding wrecked. “It doesn't matter. Whatever happened before, i just wanna make sure you're alright."

The words sound good, so Buck drifts on them. He concentrates on breathing, on not passing out because he doesn’t think Eddie’ll be happy if he does. There’s a scuffing noise and then oh. “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie’s got blood on one side of his face, a gash over his eye and nose, but he’s got his hands on Buck’s face. “I’m here.”

It’s a lot; Eddie’s fingers are soft, the worry on his face too much and Buck finds himself sobbing, clinging to Eddie. His side throbs, every small movement a wrench on his stomach. 

“I’m here,” Eddie says again, a hand in Buck’s hair, his eyes running over Buck. 

“I do know why I said those things,” Buck whispers, needs to get the words out. His vision is starting to grey and he doesn’t want to leave Eddie alone. “I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to hurt like me.” 

Eddie looks surprised, brows drawn together. His lips part, as if he’s going to say something, and then he shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, pressing his lips to Buck’s forehead. “We can talk about it if you want, but we don’t need to. I know you, Buck. I know you’re hurting. I just wish you’d found an easier way to tell me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Buck sobs. 

“I know, Buck, I know.” Eddie’s hand is soft in his hair and Buck drifts. There’s a sharp sting on his scalp. “Stay with me, alright? Talk to me.”

Buck opens his mouth, closes it. When he speaks, the words aren’t ones he wants to fall between them. “I want you to love me like you love her."

There’s silence. Well, there’s silence between then. Buck can hear yells and noises, indistinct from above and around them; their crew, coming to get them. He blinks slowly, hand reaching for Eddie. Eddie takes it blindly, but he immediately focuses on Buck. 

“There’s not even a contest,” he says, and he sounds hoarse, scared. 

Buck doesn’t know what to do. “Eddie—”

“I don’t love her,” Eddie says, fast, as if he’s scared he’s not going to be able to. Buck wants to tell him it’s alright, he understands, but Eddie drops a glove, gets his warm, long fingers on Buck’s face. He holds his chin, taps lightly with his forefinger and Buck struggles to focus. “Buck, I don’t love her. We’ve been on dates but I know—I don’t know why I’m saying this, I should just—I love you, Buck, you hear me?”

“It’s okay,” Buck says. He wants to reassure Eddie that it’s okay, that Buck’s okay with it, when the words register. “What.”

Eddie’s smile is soft, tinged with fear and sadness, but he leans down, kissing Buck softly. “I love you, so you stay awake for me, yeah? I wanna talk to you later.”

Buck doesn’t know what to say. He thinks he’s crying, can feel Eddie’s fingers move to his cheek, brushing them away. “I don’t feel so good.”

“i know,” Eddie says, and he leans in, touches their foreheads together. “I’m here, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

Nodding, Buck lets his lips linger against Eddie’s and tries to hang on. 

— — — — — —

This time, Buck comes back to consciousness slowly. 

There’s a dull ache in his side and stomach this time, something warm weighing him down. Opening one eye slowly, Buck keeps it half-lidded, stunned by the light. He’s in hospital, which doesn’t surprise him. Neither does Eddie, half asleep on top of Buck. 

Buck smiles, lifts a hand to Eddie’s head. “Hi.”

Eddie snaps up, blinking away sleep and immediately lets out a breath. His smile is slow but bright. “You gotta stop ending up here.”

“I said we should leave,” Buck protests. Not my fault your heavy ass takes forever to move—”

Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth, gentle, and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you hate my ass.”

Licking at Eddie’s palm, Buck laughs when Eddie makes a disgusting face, pulling back and wiping his hand on the bedsheets. Buck stares at him, at the still-fresh gash across his eye. “Is it gonna scar?”

Frowning, Eddie pauses, then touches a self-conscious hand to his face. “It was deep,” he admits. “They’re not sure.”

Probably, then. Buck touches a hand to Eddie’s face, thumb hovering above the scar. “You’ll still look hot.”

Eddie licks at his bottom lip, heat in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“You always have,” Buck admits quietly. 

It doesn’t take much prompting for Eddie to lean in, kiss Buck softly. His fingers are on Buck’s jaw, sliding down to his pulse point. “I’m sorry.”

Buck shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I thought you needed time,” Eddie admits. “I wasn’t leading Ana on but—Bobby said I should move on,” he explains quietly, eyes dropping to the bedsheets. “You weren’t, everything had happened with your parents and I wasn’t sure you’d ever be ready for me.”

“Eddie,” Buck says quietly, a hand in Eddie’s hair. “Look at me?”

Slowly, Eddie lifts his gaze, and Buck knows there’s a lot they need to talk about, a lot they need to go through, but right now, he just wants to be. 

“I’m ready.”

— — — — — — — —

“Is Chris home?” Buck asks. He’s leaning against Eddie, Eddie’s arm around his waist as they walk up the drive. 

Eddie nods, grabbing the keys from his pocket. He helps Buck up the step and his hand slips down to Buck’s waist as he opens the door. “Yeah. I knew you’d wanna see him.”

Buck doesn’t think he can love Eddie more. The words are right on the tip of his tongue, it would be so easy if they slipped out. 

“Bucky!”

Christopher is careful when he hugs Buck, and Eddie drifts away, probably to get things settled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m getting there,” Buck says gently. He kisses the top of Chris’ head and then Eddie’s back, arm at the base of Buck’s spine. 

“Come on,” Eddie says. He’s careful of the padding on Buck’s hip, his stomach, where the lingering wounds are protected. Eddie takes him to the bedroom and Buck’s breath hitches when he sees the pillows stacked up, the comfortable place Eddie’s carved for him in the bed. 

“Eddie,” he says, hates how easily he’s been crying lately. 

Eddie laughs gently, but it’s not cruel. He wipes at Buck’s face, kisses him. “Come on, in the bed.”

They manage to get him situated in the middle of the bed, Eddie on his left side, Chris on the right. Eddie’s got a small TV in the room, courtesy of Buck trying to make Eddie’s bedroom look lived in, and he turns it on, giving Buck a look. 

“Disney?” Buck asks Chris. 

Chris nods, and they argue good-naturedly over the movie until they settle on one. Eddie’s got snacks and drinks, and when they’re all settled, he moves closer, helping Buck lean against him. Buck wants more; he slides and moves, wincing the few times he pulls on his stomach, but groans when he finds the perfect position, tucked under Eddie’s chin. 

It’s easy to relax; Chris keeps up a steady stream of chatter, pressed up against Buck’s right side. Eddie’s warm around him, arm over his shoulders, lips against his head, fingers rubbing down Buck’s spine. Buck drifts in a doze, comfortable and warm, the sounds sending him further into sleep. 

— — — — — —

Chris kisses Buck’s shoulder and climbs out of bed, trying to be careful, and looks at Eddie. “Will you say goodnight?" 

Eddie nods. "Go get ready for bed, I'll be in soon."

Chris makes his way out of the bedroom. Eddie smiles, running a hand through Buck's hair, down the nape of his neck. "Buck?" 

Buck barely twitches. He's dead to the world, hand curled in Eddie's shirt, breathing even against Eddie's collarbone. Gently, Eddie tries to extricate himself from Buck, but as he gets Buck situated on the pillow, he groans, eyes opening slowly. "Eddie?" 

"Just saying goodnight to Chris," Eddie tells him. He kisses him gently, thumb rubbing over his cheek. "I'll be right back." 

Buck looks upset and Eddie's heart breaks. Frowning, Buck reaches for him. "Where you going?" 

"To Chris," Eddie says again, tries to make Buck understand. "It's bedtime." 

Abruptly Buck's face changes and he blinks, stares to the other side of the bed. "I fell asleep?" 

"Yeah," Eddie says, then rests a hand on Buck's shoulder when he tries to move. "Stay put. Chris says you can hug him extra hard in the morning." 

Buck still looks petulant but he nods, finally lets Eddie go. "Come back?" 

"Soon," Eddie promises.

— — — — — — —

Buck feels cold when Eddie leaves the room, but he shifts onto his right side, groaning as he stretches out. He still aches, can feel pain starting to creep into his awareness and he knows he needs to take some meds. 

Move. He needs to move. Roll out of bed maybe, he can say goodnight to Chris and—

There’s a hand back in his hair, Eddie’s lips against the skin beneath his ear, his jaw. “Sit up for me?”

“M’kay,” Buck says, still half-asleep, but lets Eddie help him sit up. There’s a glass of water and some painkillers in Eddie’s hands and Buck lets out a sob. “You’re amazing.”

Eddie laughs gently, waits for Buck to take the meds and finish half the water. He rests it on the dresser and it takes Buck a moment to realise Eddie’s changed for bed. 

“I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “You need to shower?”

“Brush my teeth,” Buck says with a groan, grateful when Eddie helps him up. He thinks he might get used to it, leaning against Eddie, hearing Eddie’s soft murmurs. 

It’s not until they’re climbing into bed, Buck finding a position that’s comfortable, and Eddie wraps around him, Buck’s ear to Eddie’s chest. 

“I love you,” Buck says quietly, rubbing a hand over Eddie’s chest. 

There’s a smile in Eddie’s voice as he whispers, “I love you too.”

Buck drifts off to sleep, safe in the circle of Eddie’s arms. 

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Coffee to go

Pairing: Chris Cuomo x female Reader

Warning: Swearing, Smut (only read this if you’re 18+ pls), NSFW, not edited

Note: Alright, this is my first attempt at smut so be nice pls (also I’m not a native speaker, so sorry for my grammar)

The cold November wind blows right into your face as you walk (actually, it was more of a jog) through the streets of Washington DC.

“You will reach your destination in 200 meters“ the computer voice from google maps tells you through your headphones. You break into a run, clutching your hot coffee cup tightly to prevent it from spilling over.

“Shit, don’t let me be late on my very first day of work“ you whisper to yourself, as you finally reach the huge glass doors of the CNN headquarters.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N“ you tell the security guard at the entrance, showing your ID„ I’m the new intern in the politics department.“

„First Elevator on the right, then all the way up to the 10th floor.“

You pass the security check and mumble a quick “Thank you!” to the guard as you make your way over to the elevator. You have 3 minutes left.

“This is my dream job, this is my dream job. It’s finally happening.“ you repeat to yourself, alone in the cabin.

You still can’t believe that you were granted the prestigious position as an intern for the DC politics department at CNN. You graduated with a degree in journalism from Oxford, UK this summer, but with the current political climate and the presidential election coming up, you felt like DC was the place to be at the moment. When you saw there was an internship at CNN advertised, you didn’t hesitate and applied. And all the hard work you put into getting excellent grades and doing tons of extracurricular work payed off, because here you were, on your first day of work.

You try to calm your fluttering nerves one last time with deep breaths and a sip of your still fairly hot coffee.

As the mechanical voice announces the elevators arrival on the 10th floor, you practically storm out of the doors...and run straight into a wall.

“Oh Fuck!“ a deep voice exclaimes, and as you take a step back you see that the wall you ran into was, in fact, a man. A very tall, broad and handsome looking man...with your hot coffee spilled all over his white dress shirt and a furious look on his face.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Sir!“ you cry out, praying for the ground to swallow you up. What a perfect first impression. You reach in your pocket to grab a handkerchief, but he dismisses you bluntly with a wave of his hand.

„Just watch where you going next time.“

Giving you one last sharp glare, he walks away, disappearing into a door further down the hallway.

Still mortified, you throw your now empty coffee cup onto the nearest bin and hurry to the room you were told to go in your admission email. It’s a tiny office, where a moddle-aged woman sits on a desk loaded with paperwork.

“Good Morning Ma’am, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the new politics intern, starting today.“ you tell her, hoping that your face isn’t beet red anymore and your jacket is free of coffee stains. The woman glances up from her computer screen and gives you a quick look over.

“About time. Welcome to CNN, I’m Susan, your supervisor.“

She rummages trough a desk drawer.

"Here is your company ID, a key to the break room, you already sent us your signed contract, didn’t you?“ she asks in a monotoneus voice.

"Yes, thank you so much.“ you say, taking the offered items. "Is there already a list of what my tasks here are going to be?“

"Yes, with the election coverage starting tomorrow, there is still a lot of preparation to do. You’ve been assigned to run errands for our anchor team today, and I guess also for the rest of the week. Paperwork, coffee, stuff like that, just be at their back and call. We expect it to be a tight race, and we need to cover it 24 hours a day. So be prepared to spend most of your time here.”

"There’s a locker in the break room, put your stuff there. The copy room is next door, make 3 copies of those papers and bring them to Chris Cuomo, he’s our lead anchor for the election coverage. His office is the last door down the hall on the right. And hurry, we don’t have a lot of time and he’s not exactly a patient man.” She starts typing something on her phone, obviously dismissing you.

You rush to the break room, hastily throw your bag and jacket in the last free locker, checking your appearance one last time in the mirror (face still a bit red, but no coffee stains, thank god) and go on to make those copies next door. You let your mind wander while the copier does it’s job.

Chris Cuomo. You know he hosts a well known daily prime time show on CNN, but you’ve never seen it as it airs in the middle of the night in the UK. You’re actually suprised they chose him for the job of the election lead anchor, considering he was originally based in the New York Office of CNN. You try to remember what he looked like, but you have no idea. And no time to google him.

So you just grab the stack of papers and bolt down the hallway to the door Susan described. There’s a provisional sign on the door, bearing the name “Christopher C. Cuomo”.

You knock three times and hear a loud "Come in“ from the other side of the door. You enter...and stop instantly, eyes going wide.

Standing in front of you is the guy from the elevator. The hot one. The one who’s dress shirt you ruined with your beverage.

Said dress shirt lies on the floor in a crumpled heap. The man, obviously Chris Cuomo himself, is wearing only a white undershirt, apparently in the middle of changing clothes . His huge, muscled arms are on full display. And he’s looking directly at you, one eyebrow arched.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a hint of annoyance in his deep voice.

You realize you are staring, and quickly try to compose yourself.

“Uhm, yes, I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr Cuomo, I’m Y/N, the new intern. I’m here to deliver those papers from Susan’s office . I’ve been assigned to assist you today...Sir” you add hastily.

“Assist me, huh? I hope this doesn’t involve any more coffee. I only have so many white shirts.”

“I’m so sorry again for that, Mr. Cuomo.”

“Don’t worry, kid” he says, now giving you a closer look. His eyes are a perfect shade of blue-green. The heat started creeping back in your face under his scrutizing gaze.

“You’re a Brit, aren’t you?”

You just give a quick nod, not trusting your ability to speak properly. He comes a step closer, arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

“Have a good start then, Y/N” he says, voice dropping a bit, still holding intense eye contact.

You feel your heart rate going through the roof and pray that he won’t detect it. This mans presence was really intense and brought all kind of distracting thoughts to your mind.

Your "Thank you so much, Sir” comes out way less confident than you intended to, and you basically flee through the office door you hadn’t even bothered to close when you entered.

“Wow!” you think to yourself, “It’s the first day, and you already made a fool of yourself and now have a giant crush on the lead anchor, who’s at least in his 40s. Good job.”

This was going to be interesting.

(Next Day, afternoon)

“Don’t stare, don’t stare.”

You chant your mantra in your head for what felt like the hundredth time this day.

The last 24 hours have been the most exciting, stressful and demanding ones of your entire life. You currently run on what feel like 5 liters of coffee, some energy bars and a two hour nap you managed to catch on the couch in the break room, the circumstances leaving you with a constant feeling of giddy exhaustion.

But no matter how much your eyes were burning, you couldn’t take them off Chris Cuomos hands. Those big, strong hands with thick fingers, holding manuscripts, fixing his tie or just opening a bottle of water. You try your best not to think about how those hands would feel like on your bare skin, grabbing your hair, pushing your tights apart. The burning feeling between your legs intensifies as you feel yourself starting to get wet.

Chris is wearing a black suit today and looks so unbelievably good that you want to cry. His confident, almost dominant demeanor in front of the cameras, combined with his sharp witted comments on the latest news only fuel your growing attraction to him.

Youre standing in the corner of the studio, holding a stack of papers and a clipboard with the latest numbers of some irrelevant county in Alabama that you need to hand over to the anchor desk.

The cameras move over to Phil on the magic wall. Chris uses the quick moment out of frame to stretch his arms above his head, his shoulder muscles clearly visible even through the suit jacket. You’re staring again. And he’s looking directly at you with a knowing smirk.

He caught you.

You feel your face flushing again and you quickly begin to shuffle through the papers in your hand in a poor attempt to appear busy.

“Thank you Phil, we’re taking a quick break now, stay with us.” Chris’ voice sounds through the studio. As soon as you made sure that the cameras are turned off, you hurry over to the anchor desk, putting down the fresh manuscripts with the latest numbers and restock the water bottles, all while trying your best to avoid Chris, still mortified that he caught you checking him out.

The commercial break only lasts about five minutes, so you quickly make your way to the studios supply cupboard to fetch some new water bottles. They were on the top shelf, just barely out of reach for you. You were already standing on your tiptoes, but no chance.

“Need any help with that?” a deep voice suddenly says right behind you. You startle, loosing your balance and fall right into the hard chest of Chris Cuomo. Strong arms sneak around you, steadying you. In that moment you become aware of the heat radiating from his huge form, his delicious smell of aftershave and coffee filling your senses.

Your pulse is like a hammer in your chest as he lets go of you, giving you the opportunity to turn around and face him.

“We really can’t have any normal interactions, Y/N?” he asks, studying you, again with that intense gaze and a little smirk.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Cuomo, I don’t know what’s up with me, I’m usually not that clumsy. Must be the lack of sleep.“ you ramble and try to return his stare, forcing your voice to sound steady and confident, something you weren’t feeling at all.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind you falling into me at all.” He comes closer, his huge form filling out most of the tiny storage room. You take a small step back and feel the shelf behind you. You look to the floor, absolutely overwhelmed with the situation (and without a doubt, with a beet red face again) One of Chris‘ giant hands reaches out and turns your chin up to meet his eyes. His touch burns and tingles on your skin.

“I would appreciate it if you would look at me when I’m talking to you.“ he says in a intense and stern tone that sends a hot throb to your center and makes you take a sharp breath. You feel your nipples hardening under your blouse, wetness gathering in your pussy.

„Yes, of course, please forgive me, Sir.“ You look up to meet his eyes.

His pupils are dark and dilated as he lets out a deep, shuddering breath. The tension between you is almost palpable.

„Come to my office after the shift is over. Alone.“ he says and storms out of the storage room, leaving you behind in a horny, confused mess, waterbottles totally forgotten.

The next few hours are agonizing. Not only is the election a really tight race, your nerves are in a total frenzy because of what happened in the storage room. You keep replaying the interaction in your head and try your best to not stare over to where Chris was sitting, failing miserably every time. One time, your eyes meet his, but he just arches his eyebrows and looks back onto his laptop screen.

The dominance with which he had talked to you stood in a total contrast to the gentle touch of his fingers on your face. You are confused, and more turned on than you have ever been by anyone else.

You want to kiss him, want his hands all over your body, touching your naked skin, claiming you. Why does he want you to come tonhis office? The uncertainty was driving you crazy.

Time was creeping at such a slow pace, but finally the day shift is over. You ask an extremely tired looking Susan for a break which she begrudgingly grants you.

After quickly freshening up, you make your way through the empty hallway to Chris office, heart almost jumping out of your chest. What the hell was going to happen?

Straightening your blouse one last time, you knock on the door, waiting for the allowance to enter.

”Here goes nothing.”

Chris sits behind his desk, both suit jacket and tie hanging over the chair.He’s looking at you, as if he’s expecting you to make a move.

There was a prominent vein in his temple that became more noticeable the longer you stood there, failing to get a word out, hands trembling at your sides.

His shirt sleeves were turned up, and the view of his defined forearms sends a throb of want directly to your core. Finally, Chris breaks the silence and adresses you.

“Y/N, why are you here?”

His arms are crossed in front of his chest, accentuating his biceps. You just stand there, unable to move a single muscle.

He gets up from behind his desk and makes his way over to where you are, stopping directly behind you. A shiver goes down your spine because of the close proximity.

His next words are spoken with his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath against your cheek, his deep voice making the hair on your arms stand up.

“I asked you a question, little one. Answer me.”

You gathered every ounce of courage you had.

“I want you to touch me.”

He doesn’t move.

“Please, Sir.”

Suddenly, two strong hands grab your shoulders and spin you around.You stare directly into Chris’ face, his dark pupils are blown, there is a look of unhinged lust on his face.

A second later, his lips come crashing down on yours. The kiss isn’t gentle, all tongue and teeth and passion, making your head spin and your knees weak.

One of Chris hands sneaks around your back and grabs your ass, giving it a rough squeeze. You moan loudly as he holds you even closer, his hard bulge pressing against your abdomen. His big, hot body pushes you back against his desk and he effortlessly lifts you to sit on top of it.

Chris takes a step back, his large hands sprawled on your tights. You can feel the heat of his skin all the way through your trousers, the need to have him is so strong that you feel like your whole body is on fire.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, little one?” He says in low, throaty voice, holding your tights in a hard, almost bruising grip. “Staring at me, biting those pretty lips, undressing me with your eyes, making me hard every time. You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?”

He kisses you again, and starts to trail hot, wet kisses down your neck. You can’t focus, your hands clutching at his back, little gasps of pleasure coming out of your mouth.

“Yes, please, I need you” you exclaim, admitting what’s on your mind since the moment you saw him wearing that undershirt. His hands leave your tights and start opening the zipper of your trousers, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.

His hands are now roaming up and down your bare legs, slowly coming closer to the pool of heat and want between them.

“Oh my God, please touch me.” you beg, longing to finally feel his fingers on your aching pussy.

One of his large hands leaves your leg and gives you a hard smack on your ass, the pain causing you to utter a sharp cry and sending a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

“Ah, be polite, little one. Use your words and ask me properly for what you want.” Your face is burning, why was hearing this so incredibly hot?

“Please touch my pussy and fuck me, Sir, I need your cock.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. But this was an exceptional situation, and right now you’d say anything if it would result in Chris cock buried inside you.

He smiles a devious grin. “I wanted to do this since the moment you stepped into my office yesterday. Take off your panties, now.” he commands, giving you another slap on your ass.

While you’re hurrying to get rid of your underwear, he starts unbuckling his belt, opens his fly and takes out his cock. It’s long and hard, already leaking precum. You were in for a treat. He pulls a condom package out of his pocket and rolls the rubber over his length.

“Turn around and bend over” he said, you quickly obey and a moment later you feel one of his thick fingers parting your wet folds and entering you, while another finger rubs your aching clit. A needy whine breaks out of your mouth and you throw your head back in pleasure .“God, you’re already so wet for me, little one.” Chris groans, adding another finger.

You almost can’t take it anymore, feeling like you might go insane if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“I need you in me, Sir, please” You’re begging now, totally beyond caring.

Chris removes his fingers, lines up his huge cock at your opening and starts slowly pushing in, inch by inch.He groans, grabbing your hips, and once he’s fully settled in your tight heat he starts a brutal, deep pace.

You let out a hiss as he stretches you and hold onto the desk, trying not fall over with the force of his powerful thrusts. The pleasure is overwhelming, his large cock filling you perfectly over and over again, a bruising grip on your hips, his deep voice groaning dirty things into your ear. You’re ability to form coherent sentences is long gone, only moans and short breaths are coming out of your mouth.

Behind you, Chris is breathing heavily as one of his hands reaches around you to rub your clit.

“Fuck, You feel so good baby, so fucking tight around my cock.” he swears as his thrusts are starting to become faster and more erratic.

His rubbing on your clit intensifies, and you can feel your climax approaching.

“Come for me baby, come on my cock.“ Chris leans forward, biting the tender the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

Pleasure and pain surge through you as you hit your peak, Chris‘ name on your lips. You feel his body going stiff behind you, his grip on your hips tighening almost painfully as he finds his release with you.

For a while, the mix of both your ragged breaths is the only sound in the office, then Chris carefully pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness making you whimper.

Strong arms embrace you, and you hear a small chuckle as a kiss is being pressed to your neck.

But the gravity of what you’ve just done still hits you like a punch to the gut and you whirl around, eyes wide with shock, head still spinning from the intensity of your orgasm.

“Oh, oh no” you mutter to yourself, breathing heavily as you see your crumpled trousers and panties lying on the office floor along with several papers who fell from the desk during your activities. What did you do?

“Hey, hey, little one, calm down.” Chris says, sensing your anxiety right away. He cups your jaw and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your trembling lips. Your worry eases a bit as you kiss him back.

“How about you lie down on my couch and I go and get us snacks and something to drink. Maybe even some coffee?” he asks after pressing a final kiss to your head.

You manage a shaky nod and a small smile, looking up at Chris’ handsome face.

He flashes you a toothy grin, forehead still shining with a thin layer of sweat, his hair tousled.

He looks breathtaking.

“You’re staring again, Y/N.”

“I know.”

[creme13rulee]

Deep Within My Bones- a Paralympics-AU Yuri on Ice Fanfiction

Viktor wins another gold at the Olympics, and attends the Paralympics as another duty as the King of Ice Skating. Having lost his inspiration and heart, Viktor did not expect to find love in what he sees as the perfect man. Yuuri, after losing his legs, lost his chance to compete on the same ice as his idol. When the world seems to fall into place, what else can be taken away?

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10545924?view_full_work=true

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12432995/1/Deep-Within-My-Bones

Chapter One under the cut

Viktor sent a sidelong glance at his travel companion, Cristophe, as said man pursed his lips and practically made out with the airport bathroom mirror.  Viktor supposed he could indulge him, after all…His best friend in skating had flown longer than Viktor, who had only had a three hour jump from home. He had spent the few days between standing on the podium in Sochi back home with Makkachin. After spending the week at the Olympics, he had spent the small amount of energy he had. He lost the strength he had to put up the happy mask. Which is why he had gone home to the only soul he could show his true, honest face to.He had been cuddling with her when Yakov called… and called again, calling enough times they he knew it wasn’t a message he could ignore.  The IOC, and apparently Yakov as well, had decided that sending the podium winners to the Paralympics would be a good way to get some positive press about back in the news. Especially when the golden prince of iceskating belonged to the host country. Thank God Cristophe  had placed second, or Viktor would have been even more reluctant to leave his apartment and  Makkachin alone. No rest for the wicked, after all.

   “Do you think they’ll have champagne at the banquet?”  Cristophe had managed a perfect selfie even in the sickly fluorescent lighting. The main show would be happening in a few hours. Viktor could have arrived the day before, but had chosen to arrive the day of the main skating events. Viktor had done it  mainly to delay the time he had to spend back in the limelight… but to Yakov, and to anyone else, it was in order to meet  Cristophe. Viktor hadn’t been pressed further than that. He was rarely pushed for details or reasons. Not since the second gold medal. Or maybe it was the third? There were too many to count, and with each new medal came another loss of meaning.

   Christophe shrugged “Who knows? As long as it’s a party.” He pursed his lips one last time before they wordlessly drifted toward the exit. They had spent enough time together at international competitions alone to build their own silent cues and language.  Viktor was fine with delaying their departure from the airport. He would gladly spend another twenty minutes, an hour inside that bathroom. There would be press before they could get their luggage. Beyond that, who knew? It was winter. Cold, blustery, blank. Much like Viktor felt inside. He would smile, appear where he was told to go, and leave when he had clocked enough hours to placate the media.  He hadn’t looked into who was skating. Yakov and little Yuri would be angry if they knew. But it was just another year, another gold medal. At some point you had to force new ways to be surprised.   Viktor squinted into the bright white daylight, what little sun reflecting off the snow outside and spilling into the baggage claim. He had traveled the world, but somehow, every airport seemed the same. Large windows. Everyone moving to somewhere else. Nowhere to hide.

   After their short appearance for the press, the two met Yakov and the car just outside the airport.  The old man was out in the cold, his nose red and breath coming out in a large cloud. Yuri, predictably, was sitting in the car, playing some sort of  handheld video game Viktor didn’t recognize. Yakov pulled Viktor into a rough, one-armed hug. For a moment his heart-stilled. Did Yakov notice? Had he become too complacent? He was so caught within his panic that he barely caught his coach’s last few words. Congratulations, thank god.  The old man was being fuzzy and proud, not over attentive.  His act, however old and replayed, still held its audience. Viktor picked back up his smile, remembering to give the old man a light squeeze  before he slid into the backseat, managing to shock the blonde out of his angry reverie.

   “Congratulations, Yuratchka.” He said with as much brightness as he could, trying to make  his face shine. He earned a glare in reply. The boy had only been under Yakov for a few years, but he had already beat the old man to the punch.  There was no way to fool Yuri, even with more practice and experience.

   “You should have said that at the finals.”  Yuri muttered, going back to his video game. The junior games had just finished. He remembered watching them at home before taking Makkachin for an evening stroll. He hadn’t the energy to watch, attend the parties (and the private ‘after-parties’) at the life event.  Not knowing, however, would be a sin.  While Viktor Nikiforov was a king, and a sinner, he was not a fool.  He had done his duty, even though it was done through a distance.

  “I should have,” Viktor breathed before falling into quiet. Cristophe kept himself busy on his phone, after a few short English  pleasantries exchanged  with Yakov. Viktor focused on the window, the glass fogging up as if Yuri’s anger had burned through his skin and dissipated into the air. The car company had not cleaned the window, the faint ghost outlines of genitalia and handprints appearing in the condensation. Hundreds had probably sat in these same seats. Perhaps people bigger and more important than Viktor Nikiforov, world-record holder, 5 time gold Medalist, treasure of the motherland. Had they left their mark, or did they blend in with the mess of fingerprints and smears of oil, destined to be wiped off at the end of the week?  Did anyone else feel as inconsequential? Or were they more than a newspaper article and poster, something beyond the competitions and Olympics?

 They arrived to the stadium, though the crowds of people had  thinned.  With the grey weather and threat of snow, it almost looked like the Olympic oval had been abandoned. The buildings were still lit up, scrolling through the list of names of those who would compete today. They might as well had been blurred, or blank. No one paid attention.

 “Youll be in the front behind the kiss and cry. Don’t embarrass me.” Yakov grunted when they got close.  His tenderness had worn off, either by the ride or the cold atmosphere that had grown in the ride over.  Like everything else, it didn’t matter much .Viktor readied himself for the press again, and another long day to live through.

  If anything, it was interesting to see who went on the ice.  Some American who needed visual cues to the music, watching a coach with bright red gloves and the tackiest shirt Viktor had ever witnessed. Another skater completed a moving piece, but Viktor had been distracted by the thick heavy lenses strapped to the skaters face, rather than the costume. He knew the mechanics of jumping, just how to balance your weight to get the maximum spin. Without a competition to worry about, the world champion only was curious about what made them different. What made them so special to make him fly back to the godforsaken city.  He was about to peek at Yakov to see if he could sneak a scroll through Instagram before something caught his eye. Yuri was watching, something he hadn’t done for the past hour and a half. His game-toy ( or whatever is was called) was closed and stuck in the pocket of his jersey. It was new, and stood stiffer with the patches of new sponsors Viktor had failed to notice. Viktor followed his eyes to the ice, watching a navy blue figure glide to the center. Viktor frowned. He had missed the announcement, and a cursory glance told him nothing. There were no athletic straps holding goggles on. The coach, while a little easter-man looking, wasn’t ready to cue.  Other than looking a little stiff and nervous, there was nothing different about this skater. He hit his cue, raising his arms at the exact moment. The lutz was flawless. His costume sparkled with every graceful movement What was this man doing here?  Viktor turned to look at Yuri, who was watching intently. He nudged the boy, “America?” He said out of the side of his mouth. He didn’t expect Yuri to answer. They hadn’t said anything since their moment in the car, but today was his lucky day.

 “Japan.” Yuri looked disgusted.  He must have done his research.  Despite his attitude and sourness, he was still fighting to impress Yakov. And impress Viktor.

“Is it an intermission?” He said, out loud, much to his dismay, watching the step sequence. A little stiff, but a step above than what he had seen. And expected out of his event.  Why was he here? On this rink? And why did he have no idea who he was?

The rest of the skaters went by in a blur. As expected, mystery man returned to the ice, taking the podium for silver. The scores reflected exactly what he expected, the lower points where he had thought the skater was too stiff,  a spin that hadn’t ended nicely.  Viktor felt  fire lick at his belly, enraged that the  man who had done so well hadn’t reached gold.  It went undeserving to someone else, a skater he couldn’t name or remember. Probably one who had skated after Japan had stolen his attention. No one that deserved gold. Viktor knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that  the competition awarded points to the mechanics of the sport, and not  just to pure and perfect bodies. But it still felt wrong.

The ride to the hotel was just as quiet. Cristophe was jet-lagged and determined to make it to the party.  He had his routine to go through… water, meditation, a long-distance chat with some mystery man. Viktor knew better than to interrupt that.

Yuri… was Yuri… and Viktor was on Wikipedia.ru determined to find the roster of the skaters that had played that day.  He frowned, pushing his thumb against the screen, scrolling through the endless list. None of the cryllic character stood out to him. English blurred in, until finally he saw some other curlique –ish writing interrupt the blur of his native language. He immediately tapped it, expecting to go to another article about this perfect man. But no dice. It reloaded the Japanese federation site. His eyes crossed with the combination of rows of kanji and indecipherable words and the carsickness boiling in the seat of his stomach. The pictures took much longer to load, but it was the only thing of use. There he was… Viktor’s mystery man, in another blue outfit. The same perfect face. Perfect shoulders. And nothing else.

Viktor wished for the older technology of flip phones, so he could at least vent his frustration by snapping the phone shut. A button push just didn’t cut it. Nothing? It wasn’t the Olympics, but it was still an international event. Why wasn’t there more?

His stomach  nor his head could stand the switch to the English webpage, so Viktor spent the rest of the ride staring out the window, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Without a name to place, he only had the images playing over and over his head. Arms lifting in a graceful arc.  A slow bend into a tight spin. Why was this figure burned into his head? Why did he want more?

The promise of hearing a name attached to the ghost in his mind was the only thing that got Viktor up in time for the gala. He had ordered a bottle of wine, pretending he’d share it for Cristophe as a thanks for coming back with him. It didn’t last that long, or rather, Viktor’s inhibitions didn’t. The bottle was gone before the hour. He had enough time to dress into a smart suit, the one he had left from the main events. It had stayed in his suitcase, a spare, but at home in St. Peterburg, he hadn’t the energy to go to the dry cleaners. It would have to do. The grey matched the weather outside, and his mind inside. All he saw was the ice, and the navy blue moving across it.

That man was driving him crazy.