#the office is of course closed at this hour

[bvidzsoo]

Your little monster

✗ Mafia heir!Mingi ✗ 

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

∞ Warning: pretty suggestive, language, guns, violence, blood, murder, toxicity ∞ Word count: 3.4k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, established relationship!au, mafia reader!au, Harley Quinn x Joker inspired relationship, smut ∞ Rating: mature ∞ Summary: Oh, how sweet it feels ruling the world. Perhaps you went a little bit overboard as you now have to rescue your boyfriend from going to prison, but it's not like you haven't done worse things together. One might say love turned you two mad.

∞ A/N: Despite being completely depressed today, hey, the inspiration came to finally write this lmao. Now we only have San's part left behind and I'll finally be done with this little mafia drabble mini-series, and I'm already thinking of starting something new and longer due to the current comeback, sigh. Let me know if I forgot anything that should be considered for a warning, I haven't detailed anything too much. Feedback is much appreciated and I hope you enjoy! <3

✗ For ambience, listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥  Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥ 

            The explosion replayed on the TV made my skin crawl most excitingly as I grinned in contentment, the cowboy hat lowered over my eyes as I sat in the metal chair, its coldness seeping through my leather attire. A sheen coat of sweat glinted around my temples and between my breasts, the air was rather humid inside the station, even with the open windows. Police officers ran around like jesters, their walkie-talkies staticky every few seconds as they were addressed or had to address someone. My eyes followed every movement closely, surveying the officers' steps and the security of this place. It wasn’t as tight as I had thought it would be given the high criminal rate in this part of the city, but that was only beneficial for me as I grinned under my hand, smacking my lips together before I sighed loudly, making sure my long, exposed, legs would get every men’s attention that passed by the lobby. It wasn’t a lobby, per se, but the chairs placed there were obviously for visitors. Not that any visitor was allowed in at this hour, but nobody seemed to be paying much attention to me, yet. If only they had known what was hiding underneath my leather bomber jacket, strapped to my vest, maybe they would have thought twice about letting me walk in here and sit around unsupervised.

My eyes strayed back onto the TV again, and I chuckled at the shitty quality of the video, but it was unmistakable who the people in it were. Besides, the names flashing in big, red, font on the screen made it rather obvious who the two criminals running away in their Pontiac were. Song Mingi and me. The Firebird, of course, wasn’t ours, but Mingi’s little friend who owned it was late with his payment, so, we made a little bargain with him. Not that the man has had much of a choice saying no to us, it was between his gorgeous white cabriolet or his life. The scum had begged rather pitifully for his life, it had been entertaining holding my gun against his temple, playing Russian Roulette with him. I knew there had been no bullets in the gun, but the man didn’t, and seeing him beg for his life filled me with arousal and excitement like nothing else. There was something about men falling to their knees and praying for their lives that had a certain effect on me, filling me with an adrenaline rush I couldn’t find anywhere else even if I actively searched for it. Not even robbing banks or forcing our way inside households was as exhilarating as making men cry was.

And the man I liked seeing cry the most was Mingi, whether it was underneath me from overstimulation, or because I waterboarded him for even so much as for looking into another female’s direction, the exhilarating power rush was always the same. It was maddening, it was addicting, and I never wanted it to stop. And that is exactly why I never stopped seeking it out. As the TV volume was increased by a passer-by general, a cup of coffee in his hand despite the ungodly hour, I finally caught someone’s attention. The man sitting at the reception, sometimes forced to operate even three phones at one time, looked up with furrowed eyebrows and pointed at me.

“You, lady!” He called loudly, making me grin to myself as I straightened up in my seat, “What business do you have here? Come here!”

The general’s eyes fell on me as I stood up, well aware that my mini-skirt barely concealed anything, yet I made myself look bashful as I adjusted the cowboy hat on top of my head, making sure nobody could see my eyes or my unmistakable flaming ginger hair. I tipped my hat in his direction before I headed for the reception, making sure to sway my hips sensually. The man at the reception frowned at me, apparently not so easily charmed, but he’d eventually be one of my prey as well, all men gave in, after all.

“You called for me?” I grinned and bit my bottom lip, making the man sigh loudly.

“Yes, what is your business here at this hour, lady?” The man sounded irritated, but I didn’t let that get to me as I pouted, my butcher knife pressed uncomfortably into my hip as I shifted my weight around on my feet.

“You see, my boyfriend is in one of your cells, and—”

“Visiting hours start at 9 o’clock, lady, you have to leave.” I tried not to grit my teeth at the interruption and hummed, forcing a sweet smile onto my lips.

“But I’m not here to visit him, Mr. Officer.” I purred, placing my arms over his desk as I leaned forward, pushing my breasts out. I knew if the light fell just right on my exposed skin, the officer could see just what was hidden under my bomber jacket, but wasn’t life boring without a little thrill? “I’m here to bail him out, of sorts.”

The man’s eyes paused on my breasts for a second and I chuckled, they were all the same, manipulating them had always been too easy. The man gulped, then looked back up at my face, his lips pursed but his pupils had slightly dilated. He was too easy.

“What’s the man’s name?”

“I can’t tell you that just yet,” I giggled, reaching forward to play with the shiny badges plastered against his left breast, “I must check if my little cowboy is fine, first. Then, you’ll know if I found him or not.”

The man glanced down at my perfectly manicured stiletto nails still playing with his badges, and he made no moves to push my hand away. How stupid, a jerk of my arm and I’d be able to slash his throat open. How foolish. But when he looked at my face again, I made sure my expression remained innocent, hiding all my thoughts just like I had been once taught by Master Song, the big bad dog, our mafia head and boss of the city, Mingi’s father. Dream big and aim high, if you know how to manipulate men, you might end up living the dream life. It had been too easy so far, Mingi is too dumb for his own good, but he’s amazing at his craft, and thus, I can’t really leave a man that knows what to do with his dick. Besides, once Master Song is gone, Mingi will be the next heir, and then I will have the whole world at my feet. Perfect.

“Your name, lady?” The office grimaced, his eyebrows furrowing now that I was evading all of his questions.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, sweets.” I chuckled, then gripped his badge and yanked him forward by it, making him yelp loudly. The general looked our way, eyebrows furrowed, before he slowly started approaching us, hand on his gun, “Take a wild guess, the news has been raging about us all night long.”

Perhaps blowing up a whole factory owned by the government wasn’t the smartest of Mingi and me, Master Song would punish us adequately if we decided to go back instead of hiding out on one of his private islands until he had cooled off. The perks of dating a mafia head’s son, I suppose. The officer at the desk finally glanced over to the TV, and I took the momentum to slam his head hard enough into the desk to make him pass out. The general was by my side now, and before he could gain the upper head and point his gun at my head, I whirled around and fetched my sharp knife, grinning at him. I kneeled him hard in the gut before spinning him around, knife pressing hard into his smooth flesh. I chuckled as the general didn’t touch his gun, all eyes on us in shock. Then, guns were pointed at us and I scoffed, resting my chin on the general’s shoulder.

“Seriously?” I tsked, “I’m going to slit his throat before you could fire your guns, idiots. Now be good dogs and lower your guns before I blow this whole place up.”

And just on cue, the small microchips I had planted around the offices started beeping, connected to the little machine I had sitting against my lower back. I press one tiny little green button, and this whole place is gone in seconds. The atmosphere was tense as everyone stood frozen, prompting me to press the knife harder into the man’s throat. The general hissed and raised his arms in surrender, “Lower your guns! She’ll blow this whole place up.”

“I damn will!” I giggled and watched the man’s profile. He was old, but he was still handsome. Not my type, but he was definitely eye candy for the older ladies, “Now, you will take me to my love if you want everyone to go home once their shifts are over. And no funny business, Mr. General, or your guts will be all over the floor.”

The general sighed quietly, then pointed towards the back, “Song Mingi is down that hallway.”

“Lovely, now chop chop, I ain’t got all night!” I huffed and manhandled the man around, pushing him towards the door he had mentioned. And just to prove a point to any stupid officer who thought they could somehow have the upper hand here, I reached behind my back with my left arm, feeling around for the nth number of buttons that were lined on the small device. Finding the one I’d been searching for, I sent a flying kiss towards the officers who remained back. However, once the light turned red as I pushed the small button, an explosion inside the building went off, setting the alarms and water system off. Lights flashed in the building and chaos instantly ensued as I giggled, grinning at the general who watched me with wide eyes, “Oopsie, I thought that button was for your lovely cop cars…well, at least they’ll understand I’m not playing around here.”

“You’re crazy.” The general hissed angrily as we walked through the door, forgotten about now that people had to take care of whichever room I had blown up. I think it was the supply room, but I couldn’t be too sure, there were too many small bombs hidden around this place, fascinating, isn’t it?! I pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek to annoy him further, and he made a sound in the back of his throat, looking disgusted.

“You’re no fun, Mr General, lighten up a bit!” I rolled my eyes and forced him forward when he tried to stop walking, “If you were less handsome, I would’ve killed you the second we passed through this door. I know my way around here, this isn’t my first rodeo, sweets.”

            The general had to go once he tried to slam me against a wall and point my own weapon against me. Poor thing was now bleeding out on the floor of an inmate I decided to set free for my own satisfaction. The rows of the cells seemed to be never-ending as I changed the ammunition for my gun once again, leaving a wake of blood in my footsteps, the hallways littered with injured and dying officers since they didn’t understand playing nice would’ve kept them alive. Greedy bastards, when will they learn that the mafia controls everything? Besides, I’m way more skilled than they ever will be. Most cells were empty and my patience was running thin, wondering whether they had fucked me over and led me towards the wrong door and hallway. Maybe Mingi had been already transported from here to a highly guarded prison, from which breaking him out would’ve been way too difficult, but not impossible. Anything for my pookie, besides, Master Song would kill me for getting his son in trouble and abandoning him. So, really, until the enterprise was solely mine, I had to cater to the likes of these dumb and irritating men in power.

My heels resounded in the quietness of the hallway loudly, and I groaned when another cell turned out to be empty. My hands gripped the gun tightly as I made sure to stay alert, well aware that I didn’t have much time before the whole police force and military would rush over us. But I still had two cells to check, so I continued to have hope. My heart stuttered in my chest when suddenly two hands came through the bars lazily, hanging out casually as if he had no worries in this world. The skin was heavily tattooed on both hands, nails painted black and chapped, his thick fingers littered with expensive rings and chunky bracelets that hung around his dainty wrists. With a grin on my face, I sped up, coming to a stop in front of the cell, coming face to face with the familiar image of my lover’s face. His eyeliner was all smudged and his lips were bloody and swollen, yet the attractive smirk was still present on his lips as his dark, and sharp, eyes travelled all over my body. He wore similar attire, all black and leather, his vest low cut and showing off his chest tattoos, the hem of the vest stopping just above his hips to show off their sultriness, his happy trail dark.

“All dressed up for me, sugar?” The deep rumble of his voice had my skin covered in goosebumps and my stomach coiling in lust. God, despite knowing each other since we were kids, I still hadn’t gotten used to the vision he was.

Song Mingi.

He might’ve been a dumb and easily manipulable man, good for his riches and for his big dick, but one look at his attractive face never failed to make me forget my grand scheme for the future. One touch and I’d unravel, one kiss and I had no idea who I was anymore. He was hypnotic and consuming, toxic and violent, but God could I seemingly not walk away and try to fix my life. Not that I had any chance of righting all my wrongdoings, I’ve been too deep into this criminal life to find salvation at this point.

“Come on, baby, won’t you get me out?” Mingi bit his bottom lip as we continued staring at each other, suddenly a dark thought crossing my mind as I smirked, tipping my hat up so that our eyes met.

“Like you did the last time?” If it hadn’t been simply for my wits and smartness, I’d be still rotting away in that godawful prison. Mingi’s expression fell for a second before he chuckled amusedly, quirking an eyebrow up.

“You need no rescuing, doll, I knew you could do it by yourself.” Mingi’s deep tone rumbled through his chest as I took a step towards him. The sirens had gone off at some point, signalling an emergency. I knew we were tight on time, but to make sure we still had some more minutes, I had set off the bombs on all the parked cars in front of the station so that they’d be distracted for a bit longer.

“Really, love?” I tilted my head, stopping in front of the bars in hand reach. Mingi hummed as his hands slipped forward, settling on my hips as he squeezed hard, licking his lips as his eyes stayed on my breasts. We usually wore matching outfits just for the fun of it, but the vest I was currently wearing was bought for different activities, “You want me to believe that? I know you were fucking that blonde bitch while I was fighting off five guards.”

The hiss was sharp as my eyes narrowed at Mingi, who had mastered the perfect innocent expression sometime in the past and was looking at me with it now, “Sugar, I was busy looking over the shipment, you know that. My father had sent a team to get you, but you were already soaking in our bath, waiting for me—”

“You’re full of shit.” I snapped, reaching forward abruptly to wrap my fingers around Mingi’s warm throat. His necklaces were heavy and chunky, but they looked fucking amazing on him. I ignored him for my own sake as I pressed my thumb harsher into his throat, making Mingi swallow nervously, “This is the last time I let you off the hook, Mingi. If you fuck anyone else ever again, I’ll cut your dick off before I take your whole legacy in the family.”

Mingi grinned, licking the corner of his mouth as he leaned forward, thinking he had the upper hand, “You love my dick too much to do that.”

“I’ve met plenty of men with bigger dicks than yours.”

“Let me out.” Mingi’s tone dropped as a fire appeared in his eyes, his jaw clenched. I laughed tauntingly, biting my lower lip as I released his neck while pushing him backwards, our eyes trained on each other. After more than ten years of partnership, we still didn’t trust each other. Maybe it was because Mingi wasn’t as dumb as I liked to think he was, and he could see right through me and my intentions. Maybe it was because I liked to play with him and threaten to fuck him up too often, but neither one of us was a trustworthy person, and I knew Mingi hated it. As if the SMG tattoo sitting on my collarbones wasn’t enough to prove my devotion to him. Nobody would even touch me out of fear now that I was forever branded to him, and I made sure those who did touch him, lost all of their fingers and toes too.

The gunshot echoed loudly as I shot the lock off, who needs a key when you have a gun? I pulled the door slowly open and Mingi remained patient, that is until I stepped in his way when he tried to leave. Without warning, I was slammed against the concrete wall, air knocked from my lungs as his swollen lips pressed against mine bruisingly, one large palm fondling my exposed ass cheek. My moan was swallowed by his desperate tongue as it pushed against mine, fingers curling around my thigh and hiking one leg up so that he could press his semi-hard on into me, groaning at the friction. I sucked at his tongue hungrily, my free hand tangling in his dark locks and yanking on them just like he liked it, making Mingi whine as he rutted against me, fondling my thigh and ass as if he hadn’t touched me in forever. This wasn’t the place nor time for this, but keeping our hands off each other was impossible even after years of being together. I knew things like this turned Mingi on all the time, and I would be a liar if I said I didn’t get a kick out of it too.

“My father will kill us this time, babe.” Mingi mumbled against my lips as he bit my bottom lip, grabbing my hand that held the gun to point it at his temple, “Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly, baby.”

“Fuck me then before they get here,” I provoked him, biting all over his face before I nipped at the skin of his hot neck, “Feel me up babe, see what I have hidden just for you.”

Mingi gulped, eyes hungry as his hands gripped my sides, feeling me up all over my torso and back, cupping both my ass cheeks to hoist me up, forcing me to grip his hips with my thighs tightly. I had all of his favourite weapons strapped onto myself, knowing he’d make good use of them, “You’ll be the death of me one day, Y/N.”

“I know I will.” I smirked, then captured his lips in a frenzied kiss again as we heard shouts closing in on us, “Seems like you’ll have to wait with fucking me, besides, our new jacuzzi was installed today. It would be a shame not trying it out after the day we had.”

“I love the way you think,” Mingi grinned and took his gun from the holster from my waist and lowered me onto the ground, gripping my jaw to tilt my head up, “And I didn’t fuck that blonde, sugar, she stole the watch I had gotten from you and she’s now floating away head down in the river.”

I cackled as the shouts were clear as day now, the officers were here. Oh, how much fun we were just about to have. After sharing one more lustful kiss, our ammunition was cleared without hesitance.

⚞ Masterlist ⚟

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[imorynn]

—-> GOOD GIRL ( a. o’connor)

➺ pairings : agnes o’connor • fem!reader

➺ genre / maintains : drabble, SMUT ( MDNI, 18+ ), masterbution, phone sex, somewhat daddy kink ( though it’s mocking ? Am I projecting ? I don’t fucking know. ) dirty talk, slight degradation, praise, nicknames ( sweetheart, slut, bunny, sweetheart, I am fucking feral—) mentions of strap usage ( Agnes’ part —)

➺ word count : 800+

➺ dividers by : @cafekitsune !!

“You pretty little troublemaker, just start touching that little pussy for me, hmm? Let me hear you…”

You were desirous in your bedroom at the sound of her velvet, taunting voice over the phone, it made the growing dampness in your panties almost unbearable. She was aware of where you were, and what you were anticipating. She was more than aware of how much you were waiting for it, yearning and heaving almost every late night as she departed from the police station house to demonstrate to you in unmediated experience what it was like to be mercilessly fucked until you collapsed.

Were you satisfied with who you had become? You, the sheltered-life, silent and bright-eyed succeeding young gal that you were within Westview? Is this what you had foreseen when you studied an eminent career in university and succeeded in graduating to pursue that very interest? Of course not. Though, the hours were long, and the days — while significant — they were crucial at the moment, and if your dating experience during these dull years has taught you anything, it was that dating those your age came with no fulfillment due to their lack of maturity and ability in making you feel safe, and desired. So, you took liking in an older audience — particularly Agnes O’Connor who was frankly not necessarily anywhere close to being stable and was constantly wavered with this peculiar aura you had yet to thoroughly discover, it seemed you relished in being fucked by a five-foot tall ( including five inches if you were to be specific) blue-eyed brunette who was around the age of 51 (or so it seemed) with a maturity and rogue confidence, sarcastic with no decency of your privacy, who knew precisely how to liquify your limbs and render your brain useless with the wet muscle of her tongue, and her smirking mouth, and her calloused fingers, and the sight, taste of her pussy, her str—

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you’re waiting for me, wearing nothing other than one of my flannels you love so much and those ribboned panties you know I like…” A deep inhale was heard from the other line — an expression you could already visualize the moment you heard the faint graze of fabric coming undone; pretty features shadowed by the dim light cast in that unkempt office of hers, jawline tight, pink lower lip tucked between her teeth with a quirk between her brows, pupils practically absorbing the blue hue of her eyes as they became wider, hazed. “Betcha’ there’s a wet spot in them from how needy you are to be fucked over and over until you cry on my fingers. Things are running a little slow for me down here, so you’ll have to get yourself nice and ready for me, how’s that sound, hon?”

The fingers of your right hand danced slowly down to where you needed them most while the other undid the remaining buttons of her flannel. When those spit-soaked lips of yours separated, one name laced with a title resided on your tongue, and it clamored from the pit of your heaving lungs the second shaking digits dragged between your slippery folds from entrance to sensitive clit. “Yes, detective Agnes…”

A subtle smirk laced her tone as she spoke, her satisfaction with the outcome unmistakable. “Good girl.”

In a fraction of a second, the sensation scorched and twisted and ached — you fervently welcomed it, and allowed it to increase. Whimpers and moans crawled your your throat and into the phone’s speaker while continuing your ministrations, attempting to recollect her every action and favor, because fuck, does she know how to work every bit of you with the same raw scrutiny she carried for her job.

“Goodness, bun, you’re gonna make me come with those dirty pretty sounds. Such a fucking slut, aren’t you? Two fingers, slooowly in and out … in and out before rubbing your clit, just like I do it.”

You sharply gasped, digits slowing down their erratic pumps, faint squelching sounds reaching your ears and you felt your own arousal oozing down the curve of your ass, soaking the pattern fabric clinging to you and into the mattress below. Your overbearing impatience clashed with her orders ; the faster you would cum, the faster she would come, the faster you get to experience the blaze of stars and feel yourself getting split open and filled to the brim. It was obscene, ferocious, nearly maddening how desperately you needed her, the extent to which you would go to continue experiencing the way she was making you feel every single damn night. It was filthy and boisterous as you continued fucking yourself with your delicate fingers, never as good as how she did it, yet sufficient enough to set the mood for what you anticipate will be a sprawling, enduring play.

Wet thrusts brought your orgasm closer, taking you higher each time you brushed your special spot.“You’re wet for me, aren’t you? Waiting for me to fuck you dumb with my strap? Waiting for daddy’s cock, huh?”

The deriding, no less titillating, octave in her tone — the nickname — made a searing heat crawl up your throats and spread across your already flushed cheeks. The visual of her mouth twisted into a grin with her hips snapping to meet yours was the last thing you saw before the stars and sparkles appeared behind your lids. The orgasm, fulfilling and ardent, was enhanced by the cruelty of her words and the promise of what was yet to come. 

“Stay where you are, pretty bunny. Daddy’s on her way.”

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.

Words: 2,7k.

TW: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: He is so ❤️‍🔥daddy❤️‍🔥 but also 💔dad💔 for me, okay?

This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.

And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.

But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.

From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.

Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.

And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”

Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.

Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.

“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”

“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”

Teamwork, as you liked to call it.

“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”

Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?

You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”

Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.

“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”

God, no.

“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?

“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.

You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”

His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”

Oh, oh, oh.

The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.

“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”

You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.

“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”

Then, silence.

The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.

“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.

Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”

Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”

He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”

The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.

“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.

You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.

“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.

They would never have done this.

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.

“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”

“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”

“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.

“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”

You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.

“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”

“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.

“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.

You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”

And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.

And the door slammed behind you.

[writingwisterias]

If its possible could you write about how Vendetta Leon is knackered and wants some release after the team has won the day, he come home to the reader but even though th reader wants him bad, she denies him and makes him shower. (hes very stinky but doesn't realise) The reader then teases him while hes in the shower until he buckles and cant take it anymore, taking control of the reader and ramming her out of frustration ^~^ Thanky <3

Yes!...we all know Leon would smell the worst after a mission with the amount of sewage he runs around in. I rambled so have a one shot!

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Alcoholism, Multiple orgasms, Doggy style, Rough Sex, Frustration, Overstimulation, Choking, Bruising, Spanking, Cum eating,

He was so fed up with everything today. Training was tough after he skipped it for so long. The last mission he went on with Chris changed his outlook on life. The events made him realize the small beer belly he had obtained needed to go if he was going to survive anything again. His shirt was sticking to him in such an uncomfortable way and he was practically rushing out of the door to get changed. Leon didn't even make it out the Gym door when he was then called for a mission briefing, giving him no time to change or refresh. Begrudgingly he walked back towards the office room, spending the next few hours marinating in the sweaty fabric. He didn't care at this point, his thoughts were just so desperate to get home.

It was late by the time he got in, his duffle bag thumped to the floor as he entered. A huge sigh left his lips as he finally sagged on the dining room chair to take off his shoes. It was then that he saw you, cooking in the kitchen wearing only his shirt. He probably should have been more concerned with how fast his dick rose at the sight but now he had quit drinking he found his dick actually worked properly now. Your sex life has been revived, enjoying nothing more than feeling his cock buried deep inside you every night. He watched as you moved around the kitchen, it was almost perverted making the situation just that more exciting for him. You didn't hear him come in, your headphones were too loud, and he wondered what you were listening to as you swayed your hips like that. Your ass gets exposed ever so slightly each time you circled them showing off your little pink undies.

His hand rubbed up his length through his sweat pants, the grey fabric exposing the size of his erection in a way that would make your knees weak...if only you turned around though. Leon eventually caved, his feet moving towards your space. He felt you jolt in his arms as they circled you, his mop of hair brushing against your neck as he kissed it. You sighed into him, finally, he was home. You turned in his arms smiling at him as you removed your headphones. "Someone seems happy to see me" you joked, your fingers brushing against the bulge that pressed against you. Leon only hummed in response; his mouth returning to the pulse point on your neck, his teeth grazing and nibbling at it. It was only then the smell of him assaulted your nose.

Your nose crinkled up as you turned your head away. You giggled at his pout, of course, he was aware of how he smelt but he didn't think your body was outwardly rejecting him like this. His fingers grabbed at your waist holding you close to him, preventing your escape. "I don't smell that bad" he mumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. You tried to be polite understanding his still fragile state. Leon had come a long way in the past few months but he was still sensitive. Your fingers combed through the whisps of hair at the nape of his neck, scraping the scalp slightly causing a soft moan to escape his lips. "If you take a shower for me then I'll be open to whatever you want" you whispered in a sultry tone. You smiled as his cock twitched against your stomach, bringing his lips in for a kiss. You could feel his tension leave, whatever happened in his day you were now determined to make him forget. "Fine" he groaned, stepping away from you and making his way towards the bathroom.

What he didn't expect was for you to follow, he tried to sneak glances over his shoulders at your movements. Silently hoping for you to follow him into the bathroom and he would finally free his frustrations. However, you turned into the bedroom, humming to yourself as you complete whatever task you were doing.

The water did little to wash away his frustrations of the day, his back still felt tense, and his shoulders were still stiff aching with his growing muscles. Leon looked down at the swirling drain before groaning at the sight of his hard cock, twitching amongst the shower stream. He was so desperate to touch you, to find out where you had run off to. Leon didn't have to look very far, however. A gasp left his lips when your figure stood in the dim bathroom light. Your body was decorated in the most beautiful lace, the suit left nothing to the imagination as he saw every single part of you. Your nipples perked and ready for his attention, to suck on pathetically like he did almost every night. A low growl left his lips as you walked towards the shower screen, the fog on the glass blurred his view faster than he could wipe it away. You smiled at him, such a sweet innocent smile one he always adored; but your eyes told a different story. Your pupils were blown out wide with lust as they flicked towards his throbbing length, tracing the length of the veins that were so prominent. Leon wanted to cave and touch himself under the heat of your gaze, have you watched and seen what you neglected by making him shower. But with you in that lace bodysuit, standing there waiting for him to get out, it was much more tempting. "How's the shower?" You asked him casually as your fingers began tracing the length of your sides. You watched with a small smirk as his eyes lit up and followed them. "It's...it's good, almost...done" he panted. You could see his Pre-cum dribble out from his tip. The substance getting washed away as fast as it appeared -what a waste.

"Do you feel relaxed?" You asked him teasingly. That question caused him to scowl, drawing his attention away from you to his dick. He looked at it as it twitched in the shower stream deciding how to proceed. How could he relax when you looked like that? When your soft velvet walls were his new addiction. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention back to you, he watched as you walked away back to the bedroom he assumed. Your perfect ass begging him to follow you.

You heard him follow, the water dripping from him like he was some swamp monster as he followed you. He entered the bedroom to the sight of you bent over perfectly, your ass waving him hello. He growled as he approached, his frustrations finally snapping as he saw the crotchless area. Your entrance weeping and ready for him. You felt the pressure of his fingertips gripping at your hips alerting you to his presence as his knees pushed against your thighs spreading them further. Leon let out another groan as his tip pressed against your tight hole, gathering your arousal. Mixing it with his own like making some sort of sick potion. He couldn't ignore your pleas for more, not when you were always taking such good care of him. After all, you brought his deepest desires back.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to fuck you with his brain all fuzzy with alcohol, he barely remembered it. Leon supposed it was a good sign but deep down he knew it never felt like this. His tip entered first, the sensation causing his cock to twitch as he stretched you. He grinned at your fingers curling into the fabric as he bottomed out. Leon's thrusts were slow at first, enjoying seeing his length exit your walls covered in your arousal. His fingers grasped at the flesh of your ass the sting of his grip began making you whimper. "Naughty girl to tease me like that" He whispered in your ear, his body pressing your own into the mattress as he leaned over to talk. Your breath shook as his palm began to soothe the swell of your ass. "You know what naughty girls get right?" he teased. His hand was flat against your ass cheeks waiting for your reply. "Right?" his voice lowered in a warning. You nodded, another whimper leaving your lips. "Th-they get punished" you stuttered out, you could already feel the ghost of the sting from the last time he did this. The first slap is always the worst, the base of the pain. It was always the taster of his strength for the night.

You gasped as it hit, pain blossoming over your cheeks. You must have riled him up because he didn't even soothe the pain before landing another one. You could tell it wasn't going to last long with the way his hips jolted every time you squirmed away from the pain. Grunts left his lips as he soon gripped your hips. His pelvis slammed against the redness that spread across your ass bringing back the sting. Your moans were guttural as he was relentless. Leon hated being so rough with you, but today wasn't his day, and he wanted to finish it off on a high note. He was always vocal during sex but now his words were actually audible instead of the drunken rambling that left his lips. Each swear that he grunted out made you whimper, each nickname made your walls flutter around him. His hand wrapped around the front of your neck lifting your body so your back was against his chest. His cock brushed against your cervix at this angle. You could feel his chest heave with his breaths, his growls ghosting the shell of your ear.

His hands squeezed around your neck, making sure to avoid your windpipe. Your breath puffed out in small whimpers as your brain became fuzzy. He could feel your walls begin to milk him with your unexpected orgasm, your body collapsing against his as he continued to thrust himself into you. "So fucking good baby" he groaned. Your body fell against the bed again, drool spilling over the sheets. "Going to cum so deep" he whispered, "so deep"

You felt his warmth flood inside you, his load coating your walls as he buried himself. Your name fell from his lips as he chanted it like some form of prayer. "Such a greedy pussy, is she needy for more already?" he teased as he felt your walls clench around his soft cock. "Please.."You begged. You weren't even sure what you were begging for, your mind was blissed out but you could still feel the needy throb of your clit from the lack of attention he gave it. Leon chuckled as he pulled himself out of you. If you weren't so drunk on pleasure you would have cringed at how pathetic the whine that left your lips at the empty feeling. You spun around to face him, his hair dishevelled from the shower. Leon's eyes were blown out wide as he grinned at you, his gaze almost predatory. His abs highlighted with the fairy lights you instited decorated the bedroom. Leon stalked towards you, pressing your body against the bed again. You crawled up the sheets away from him and his body eventually towered over you.

You expected him to kiss you until his cock hardened again, but he had that hungry look in his eye. Leon lowered himself to your thighs, kissing down the inner side of them leaving small bite marks like a trail. His nose bumped against your clit as he lapped up the evidence of himself where he was spilling from you. Your eyes widened in shock, it wasn't the first time Leon had gone down on you. He's done it many times but not after he...

"What...what are you doing?" You whimper. Your fingers brushed through the strands of his hair, tugging him closer and he continued to lick and suck. Leon didn't respond but you felt his chuckle on your clit. The vibrations cause your grip to tighten. "It tastes unreal baby, both of us mixed like this"

He crawled above you again, his now hard cock filling you to the brim again as he distracted you with kisses you. You whimpered as his tongue swirled with yours, the taste of cum filling your own mouth. Your cock drunk brain was truly lost, too many senses overpowered by him as he began to thrust again. The round was shorter than the last and he felt his balls tighten almost immediately. You looked like a goddess underneath him. The lace hugs your frame, cupping your breasts perfectly making the bounce with each thrust. You moaned loudly as you felt him finish again, the familiar throb of his cock as it deposited his load again. Yours shattered through you shortly after as his fingers circled your clit. This time the both of you were satisfied, the day lost in the back of your minds as you stared at each other. Leon left briefly to get a damp cloth, cleaning you up gently making sure not to touch anything too sensitive. His arms pulled you close against him; holding you close as you appreciated the comfortable silence.

[vintagelasvegas]

Dunes Hotel & Casino '55-'93

Dunes, 1955. Kodachrome photo from Charles Phoenix.

Timeline of the Dunes

’53-54: First announced as Hotel Araby (RJ 11/1/53), then became known as Vegas Plaza, and Hotel Deauville (RJ 1/20/54, 4/23/54). Named the Dunes by the time of groundbreaking, 6/22/54 (RJ).

’55: May 23, original owners Robert Rice, Al Gottesman, Joseph Sullivan, Alexander Barad and Jason Tarsey open the $4 million Dunes Hotel-Casino with 200 rooms on an 85-acre site. Architect J Replogle, designer R. Dorr Jr. Signs and Sultan figure by YESCO (RJ 5/23/55).

’55: Aug., Dunes leased by Sands partners and reopened in Sep. Subsequent financial difficulties cause the casino to be closed, 1/56.

’56: Bill Miller, Major A. Riddle, and Robert Rice are licensed to reopen the casino in May. In Nov., the license is changed to add M&R Investment Co. on the license as the company that operates the Dunes.

’57: Jan., Minsky’s Follies opens the first topless show at a Strip resort.

’59: Convention Hall addition.

’61: Olympic Wing addition.

’62: Riddle sells 15 percent of the stock to M&R Investment Corp., whose stockholders now include Charles Rich, Sidney Wyman and George Duckworth. Tower groundbreaking, 10/21/62.

’64: May, Sultan figure moved to golf course. In Oct-Nov, the 180-ft sign is installed in Oct., and switched on 11/12/64.

’65: Jun, opening of Dome of the Sea and the 24-story tower. Dunes Golf Course opened.

’69: Continental Connector Corp., a publicly traded company, buys the Dunes in a $59M stock transfer in May. In Dec, the SEC charges that CCC defrauded stockholders in the proxy statement it issued offering to buy the Dunes. CCC settles the SEC complaint in ’76. At this time, bankers E. Parry Thomas and Jerome Mack are principals in M&R and CCC.

’74: In Sep., Gaming Control Board files a complaint against the Dunes for catering and "comping" alleged Kansas City mob chief Nick Civella, one of 11 members of the Black Book, Nevada's List of Excluded Persons. The Dunes ultimately was fined $10,000.

’75: In Feb., Morris Shenker buys an interest in M&R through his IJK Nevada Inc. Later in the year, Dunes owners Shenker and Riddle are asked about allegations that reputed mobster Anthony Spilotro had "set up shop" at the Dunes. Spilotro reportedly was spending up to 14 hours a day in the poker room and appeared to be using it as an office.

’76: In Jun., Shenker sues the Teamsters Union for $140M for backing out of a loan commitment, which was to be used to add another 1,000 rooms. In Oct., Dept of Labor intervenes, saying the loan was prohibited. In ’80, Shenker's breach of contract lawsuit is tossed out of court by U.S. District Judge Roger Foley.

’79: South tower opened in summer. Shenker announces the Dunes will construct a $65M hotel-casino in Atlantic City. FBI affidavits are unsealed claiming that two confidential informants "both advised that the Kansas City organized crime group headed by Nick Civella has a concealed interest fronted by Shenker at the Dunes." Shenker denies the allegations.

’80: In Jan., alleged members of the NY Columbo family are discovered staying for free at the Dunes. Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker says the "comping" did not violate the law or gaming regulations. Later, four of the group, including Joseph Columbo Jr., are indicted on charges of obtaining money under false pretenses in an airline ticket reimbursement scam. The indictment is dismissed by District Judge Joseph Pavlikowski and in ’84 was reinstated by the NV Supreme Court.

’82: Aug., the $17M Oasis Casino opens, doubling the existing casino space at the resort. Design by Farris Alexander Congdon Architects. New 2-floor casino includes Xanadunes electronic gaming area, and Video-Video arcade space (RJ 8/13/82, 8/20/82).

’82: Dec., Stuart and Clifford Perlman agree to buy the Dunes for $185M. The brothers loan Shenker $4M and $2.9M of that sum is used to pay overdue federal payroll taxes and avoid the seizure of assets by the IRS. Shenker denies the resort is on the verge of bankruptcy. Docs filed with the SEC indicate the property is in default on a number of loans and a number of creditors threaten foreclosure action.

’83: The Perlmans assume management of the Dunes in Apr., and operate it for four months before the sale collapses in Aug.

’83: Oct., a foreclosure sale of the Dunes' golf course and some other property is averted when problems are worked out with the trustees of the Hotel & Restaurant Employees and Bartenders Int’l Union and the trustees of the Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Trust, which are owed $1.5M for non-payment of union benefits.

’83: Dec., a federal jury in Las Vegas decides that Shenker owes $34M to the So. Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Fund for defaulting on loans in ’73-’75 to two of Shenker's land companies, Sierra Charter Corp. and IJK Nevada.

’84: Feb., Shenker files for personal bankruptcy in Missouri to protect his assets from the $34M judgment. The IRS claims that the 78-year-old Shenker owes $66M in unpaid taxes stretching back 20 years. Shenker's bankruptcy filing claimed assets of $82M and liabilities of $197M, the largest debt ever recorded in the St. Louis bankruptcy court.

’84: Mar., Valley Bank of Nevada heads a consortium to lend the Dunes $68.6M as part of a debt restructuring plan.

’84: May, John Anderson buys a controlling interest in the Dunes with his JBA Investments Inc. Anderson signs a $25M note to pay the Perlmans for the $35M they invested in the resort. Shenker's 26 percent interest remains under the control of the bankruptcy court.

’84: Jun., the FBI alleges that Shenker approved $600,000 in kickbacks to alleged Milwaukee crime boss Frank Balistrieri in connection with loans from the Teamsters Union to Allen Glick, who later bought four Las Vegas resorts before being forced out of gaming by Nevada officials. Shenker denies the kickback allegations. No charges are filed.

’85: Feb., Dunes is cited for failing to retrofit the property to meet fire safety standards. About $2.2M is spent on retrofitting during the first half of the year.

’85: May, former Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker leaves his position as corporate treasurer of Circus Circus Ent. to become president of the Dunes.

’85: Aug., Jack Bona buys out the Dunes' 49 percent interest in its Atlantic City property in a $21M sale. The next day, Bona places the property in a Ch. 11 reorganization in bankruptcy court.

’85: Sept. 27, Dunes defaults on the $68.6M bank loan and Valley Bank moves ahead with the legal steps required for a foreclosure sale Dec. 23.

’85: Oct. 24, Federal marshals begin seizing cash from the Dunes casino cage to pay a $2.7M judgment obtained by trustees of the Culinary and Bartenders unions. They accept a $200,000 check and leave the cash in the cage.

’85: Nov. 1, Marshals return to collect the remaining $17M owed to the unions but are halted by a last-minute restraining order.

’85: Nov. 6, Dunes' operating company. M&R Investment, files for reorganization under Chapter 11.

’87: Masao Nangaku buys the Dunes for $157M.

’92: Nov., Dunes bought by Mirage Inc. for $75M.

’93: Jan. 26, closed. North tower and sign demolished 10/27/93.

‘94: Jul. 20, South tower demolished.

A major source for the timeline is Jane Ann Morrison. Judge Approves Payday for Dunes Employees. Review-Journal, 11/7/85.

Dunes, 1955. This is the original layout of the resort, before the addition of the Convention Hall and Olympic wing. Photo by Ed Screeton. Dunes Hotel Photograph Collection (PH-00281), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Late '64. The 180-foot sign has recently been completed. Dome of the Sea restaurant and the hotel tower are nearing completion. Culinary Workers Union Local 226 Photographs, UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Nine

also available on AO3 and Quotev | visit first two tags to find all the other chapters | warnings: profanity, another flashback (I’m sorry), cigarettes and smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Nine:

Sevika had begun to show up at the brothel more than usual.

Whenever she walked in, eyes shifty, posture tense, you’d peek your head out from your office doorway, cold beads brushing your face. A frown, a nod, and then disappearing back into the rosy haze of your office. She’d storm off to find a worker she favoured and left as soon as the hour was up.

You’d noticed a pattern- well, not so much a pattern as an obvious fact. She asked for one girl only.

You had the girl brought into your office. She shuffled in, clasping her hands in front of her as you kicked your leg over the armrest as you reclined on your couch. You placed a cigarette in between your lips, and flicked your head at her.

“Lighter,” you said through clenched teeth. She stepped forward, leaned down to collect your lighter from the low table, and stepped closer to you. Flicking it open, she held it underneath the end of your cigarette, and you watched as the reflection of the orange glow danced in her eyes. Your lips curled into a languid smile as you fell back into the tassels and velvet, smoke spreading through the air, and she straightened up again.

“Name?”

“Donna, Madam.”

You turned your head to look at her boredly.

“Tell me about Sevika.” You lazily gestured to the sofa opposite. “Does she talk?”

“Talk…?”

“Does she spill?” You plucked the cigarette from your mouth and waved it about for emphasis, the glowing end carving a smoky trail in the air. “Does she tell you anything about herself? Anything relevant?”

Donna cleared her throat and readjusted her seat on the couch. “No, Madam. She’s quite secretive, compared to other clients. Doesn’t talk about herself much.”

You chuckled, taking a long drag from your cigarette. “Of course,” you murmured, smoke pouring from your mouth. “Do you ask questions?”

“I’ve tried, but she doesn’t like to stick around for small talk.”

You frowned, and abruptly propped yourself up on an elbow. The cigarette was back in between your fingers. “Well, you do what you can. I want to know why she comes here so often.” You rolled the cigarette in between your fingers. “Something tells me it isn’t just pent up energy.”

“I’ll do my best, Madam.” 

You stood up, leaning down to stub out the cigarette and then escorting her to the doorway. You gave her a small pat on the shoulder.

“I hope your best is enough,” you said flatly, watching a small look of panic flit across her face as you smiled sweetly, nudging her through the beads. “Bye-bye.”

Unfortunately, Donna’s best was in fact not enough. A week later and there was a conversation to be had.

“She got angry after I asked,” she muttered hurriedly, clutching her hands to her chest. “If she isn’t getting angry, her answers are cryptic or vague.”

A slow drag of the cigarette as you braced yourself, a flat palm on the hallway wall. “And what kind of questions do you ask?” You mused, inspecting the cigarette in between your fingers.

“I-I asked her,” she stumbled over her words, “The reason why she came so often, what her boss was like, and how she knew you.” At the brief indirect mention of Silco, a muscle in your face twitched subtly. You pushed down any further action and nodded, humming. She flinched back as you idly blew a curl of smoke in her direction. “Tactfully, of course.”

You studied her nervous face, your head tilted. The front door opened and the familiar sound of beads tinkling came from the top of the hallway. Heavy footsteps cut through the hushed murmur of workers and clients as Sevika stomped down the carpet towards you and Donna.

“Sevika,” you said smoothly. “Our number one patron.” With a sardonic twitch of your lips you turned to leave Donna and her admirer alone for the night, but paused when your name was spoken.

“I haven’t come here for any service,” Sevika said firmly. You stayed still, your back to her. She squared her shoulders. “I need to talk to you.”

You looked at the patterns in the carpet, taking a rather jumpy drag of your cigarette. Eyes wide, settling on every little detail that caught your attention. You drew your hand from your lips and exhaled sharply, smoke shooting from your nose and curling in the air like you were some kind of dragon.

“You’ve finally gotten what you wanted,” Sevika added roughly.

You whirled around violently, jewellery clinking. “And what might that be?” You snapped. Donna took a few stumbled steps back, before disappearing further into the building entirely. You both ignored her.

“You’re on the boss’ radar.” Sevika adjusted her cloak over her arm, looking down at you with a sort of smug, knowing look that made your blood boil.

You inhaled sharply, agitated. 

-

“You’re telling me, that he says, I can’t be harbouring anyone he wants,” you said calmly, despite the fact you were pacing the room, occasionally running your hands through your hair. Sevika nodded from where she was hunched over on the couch. You stopped short.

“Bullshit,” you spat.

Sevika looked up at you, bored, and shrugged her broad shoulders. “That’s just what I’ve been told to tell you. You either turn them in, or he has some Shimmer-mutated freak come over and storm the place.” She raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Think of the children, [name].”

At this you stiffened entirely, letting out a sound that didn’t seem entirely human. Sevika straightened up a little.

“Shit, sorry. I wasn’t actually thinking of- I mean, it wasn’t a dig at-“ she paused, watching your chest heave up and down, expecting you to burst into a rage at any minute. But instead you straightened up.

“You his right hand?” You said coldly, voice even. “Or just his errand-girl?”

At this, Sevika scowled, apologies forgotten. You continued coolly, taking a drag on the cigarette. Smoke curled around you like a veil.

“Who?” You muttered. She looked up.

“What?”

“Who does he want? And why?”

“Three men. They’ve been fucking with his factories, working for some other douche.” Sevika rubbed her face with a hand. “Before you go on a rant, no, it’s not to save Zaun from drug addiction.” She scoffed. “They want a monopoly on the Lanes.”

At this, you scrunched your face up. “So, they voluntarily fucked with him for power.”

Sevika nodded. “And they’d fuck with you too, the second they get their hands on what they want. You’re seriously gonna let them take advantage of your hospitality?”

You mulled it over in your head.

Of course, whatever bullshit she was spitting was pure lies or exaggeration to get you to cave in. But they were nice ones. And the bastards had chosen that for themselves- they couldn’t piss off a kingpin and expect you to let them hide behind you. That wasn’t what you were there for.

And-

Think of the children, [name].

You flinched, the action not going unnoticed by Sevika. But it remained unaddressed as you waved your hand dismissively, taking another shaky breath of smoke. “That won’t work. I don’t turn in my own people.”

“Shocking,” she muttered, standing up and dusting herself off.

“Just fuck off and get out. Your stupid threats won’t stop me. If Silco chooses to send a monster into a building filled with kids and innocents, he can live with that blood on his hands forever, being the forsaken bastard he is.”

“Quite the speech,” Sevika drawled, eyes dragging across your hard face. She frowned. “You sure you wanna do that, [name]?” You beckoned her closer. She hesitated, then leaned in.

You put the cigarette out on her cheek.

She hissed, jerking her face away as her skin practically sizzled. You straightened up. “I said, get out.”

You slouched against the frame of the front door as she left, inspecting your nails tilting your head back to rove your gaze over the patterned ceiling. Your silhouette was framed by light from the street outside as Sevika stepped through the door, rubbing the spot you’d burnt her.

You gave her a siren’s smile. “Pleasure doing business with you,” you smirked, and, to rub it in farther: “Errand-girl.”

“Fucking kill yourself,” she replied stiffly, disappearing into the street.

You laughed.

-

“Silco?” You uttered, confused at seeing him at your doorstep. “It’s eleven o’clock at night.”

“I-I know, I’m sorry.” His gaze travelled past your shoulder into your apartment. Muffled sobs emanated from behind a closed door. “But you left your knife and wrist cuff at the Last Drop.”

“And you come to return it at eleven PM,” you grumbled, but silently thanked him as you took your things from his outstretched hand. As Alice’s cries intensified, you gave him an apologetic look, clearly frazzled. “Look, I have to go.”

“Is she alright?” The question was gentle, probing. His eyes searched your face. “Are you?”

At this you almost collapsed, and to his surprise you threw yourself at him. He grabbed your waist to steady you, as you looped your arms around his shoulders and buried your nose into the crook of his neck. He tensed. Relaxed. Melted.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I’m exhausted.” He guided you into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“What happened?”

“Something happened with the kids outside today when Felicia took her out, I don’t know.” You ran a hand through your hair, frazzled. You were still clinging to his arm, something of which he was acutely aware of but did not mention. “It must have triggered her- reminded her of something-“ you waved your hands around, exasperated. Through your uncoordinated movements he could tell you needed rest. “She won’t stop.” Your voice broke.

“Get on the sofa,” he commanded gently, and you immediately obeyed. He went to the bedroom door and crouched down, knocking on it gently, softly calling Alice’s name.

Within minutes he had her outside and quiet, stroking her hair. He looked up at you, and you could only stare at him, eyes half-lidded, in amazement. 

“I’ll put her to bed,” he told you, and you laid back on the couch, sighing. 

You didn’t know how long it had been of you drifting in and out of consciousness for you to hear his footsteps approaching you. You watched him lean over you, pausing as if to say something. His eyes flicked down your face.

“Scoot,” he said finally. You eased yourself up, and he sat down next to you. You immediately draped yourself over him, head on his chest. He tensed, relaxed, melted into your touch. Hand went to your hair.

“You calmed her down pretty quick,” you mumbled. He hummed, staring into the darkness absentmindedly. You began to tremble, and he looked down at you, jolted with concern.

“Hey. Look at me. What’s wrong?”

You cursed under your breath as his hand flew to your chin to tilt your face towards him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I keep pulling stunts like this. I don’t even have a reason to be upset.”

“I don’t believe that.”

You stared at him defiantly, but it didn’t take long for the facade to crumble. You let out a shuddery breath as you wiped your eyes with your sleeve, straightening to sit up properly. His arm circled around your waist, dragging you closer to him. You pressed your face back into his neck.

“If I can’t even calm her down,” your voice was soft and broken, “what kind of mother am I?”

At this he didn’t have any words. You watched him search for them, a dark strand of hair falling in front of his eyes. After a while, he spoke.

“You’re a good one,” he whispered reassuringly. You shook your head.

“No, I’m not. I have to rely on my friend to come over at eleven at night to calm her down.” Your voice cracked and you nestled deeper into him to hide the tears threatening to fall. “Crying again,” you muttered. “God, I’m so pathetic.”

He rested his head on yours. “You’re not,” he said firmly, keeping his voice down. “[name], if I hear you talking yourself down one more time I’ll smack the tears off of your face.”

“I take. And take, and I take,” you muttered feverishly. He glared at you.

“Because I give. And I give willingly.” He slipped his arm beneath your thighs to drag them into his lap, readjusting you so you’d be more comfortable, knowing you were on the verge of sleep. 

“Thankyou,” you exhaled.

And fall asleep you did.

[slippinmickeys]

The Unseelie Court (5/16)

They had awoken early, before sunup, and Scully had drifted through the dark passage of the connecting door and into her own room, closing the door behind her. She met Mulder outside an hour later, tying the sash of her light woolen coat. 

When Mulder turned the engine over to get the heat going, he looked over at her. 

“Sheriff’s office or morgue?” he asked. 

“Sheriff’s office, I think,” she said. “We need to submit the leaf into evidence before the chain of custody gets murky. Then maybe we can all head over to the morgue together and figure out just what the hell is going on. I had the diener run another set of dental X-Rays on the new body.”

“The old body,” Mulder said. 

“The body,” Scully conceded, somewhat testily. 

Though it was past sunrise, the light was moody and Mulder turned on his headlights before he swung out of the motel parking lot. The radio gave a squelch of static and Scully reached forward and snapped it off, a heavy sigh briefly fogging up the passenger window, hiding the gray day on the window’s other side.

“You okay?” Mulder asked as they bumped over the curb and onto the roadway. It was something he probably wouldn’t have done before they’d started sleeping together, but a newly vulnerable part of him worried he’d done something wrong. 

“Fine,” she said. Of course. 

Mulder sighed himself, his mood suddenly matching that of the weather.

The sky wasn’t overcast; it was depressed, the cloud cover drooping so low it seemed to lean on top of the trees. 

The drive was short, no more than five minutes, and they were out of the car and strolling through the front doors of the Sheriff’s office before they’d had time to figure out a game plan. 

The deputy who’d met them at the morgue the evening before was sitting behind the duty desk, and he seemed just as startled to see them as he had twelve hours prior. 

“Deputy Miller,” Mulder said. “Before we talk to the Sheriff, I have some evidence that needs to be added to what the forensic unit pulled from the lakeshore yesterday. Can you see me back to the evidence room, please?”

“Um,” the deputy said. “Can I see your badge again?”

Mulder and Scully both flipped them up. 

“Alright,” Miller stood. “Okay. Um, follow me.”

For lack of anything else to do, Scully followed them, through the still fairly empty bullpen and into a back hallway, where Miller fumbled with a ring of keys before finding the right one and unlocking the evidence room door. 

The deputy led them to a bankers box and handed over a clipboard to Mulder before removing the lid off the top and taking a step back. Mulder stopped writing when he looked down inside. 

“This is the wrong box, son,” Mulder said. 

Intrigued, Scully moved around his other side and peered in. Inside the box, encased in sealed plastic evidence bags, were the red toy bucket from near the body on the beach, as well as the beer bottle and coins. But the bottle was that of a weathered Bud Light, and the coins from Daly’s pocket were just a handful of dull pennies. The iron ingot was nowhere to be seen.

“This is the box from yesterday,” Miller said, going pale. “It says so right here.”

“The victim had a pocketful of rare coins and an iron ingot, and the beer bottle near the body was not Bud Light,” Mulder said. 

“Excuse me,” said a loud voice from the doorway. “Can I help you?”

All three of them turned to see the Sheriff standing in the doorway looking thunderous. 

“Miller, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, taking a step inside. “No one but law enforcement is allowed inside the evidence room. If the Prosecutor’s office finds out about this—”

“They’re FBI!” said Miller, at the same time Mulder said:

“Sheriff Cox.”

The Sheriff stopped his rant, cocking his head at Mulder. 

“We were just logging in evidence we got from our initial examination of Daly Carmichael in the morgue,” Mulder explained. “We ran into a bit of a situation last night and were hoping for your input.”

“You’re here about Daly Carmichael?” the Sheriff asked. “I didn’t think the FBI had jurisdiction, but I’d be more than happy to accept your help with the case.”

“Sir?” Scully said, confused. 

“I don’t know who called you, but—”

“You did,” Mulder said, setting the evidence log book down on top of the file box. “You called me. Yesterday morning.”

“I think you must have mistaken me for someone else. Did one of my deputies…”

Mulder turned and looked down at Scully, exchanging confused looks. 

“Yeah,” Mulder finally said. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened. It must have been one of your deputies.”

“Mulder?” Scully said quietly. He shook his head at her, just a quick motion and moved toward the Sheriff, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder and steering him out of the evidence room. 

“Why don’t you tell me about the case?” Mulder said. 

***

“Mulder what the fuck ?” Scully said, the very second they had walked out of the Sheriff’s office doors and into the brisk outside air. She had not called out Mulder in front of LLE for not pushing back on the collective amnesia they all seemed to be suffering, but she sure as hell wasn’t waiting any longer. He’d gone right along with it, reintroducing himself to deputies they’d spoken with yesterday, getting the full run-down on a case they were already investigating. She was appalled. 

“Did you see that?” Mulder said, excitedly. “No memory of meeting us yesterday. None of them! That rookie deputy, Andy, standing there in the bullpen. No idea who we were. And Deputy Avery, the relief on his face when the Sheriff asked him to give us the file and I told him we already had it? Avery had no idea where the file was and thought he was about to get his ass handed to him. Probably thinks we saved his career.”

“How do these people have no memory of yesterday, Mulder? It makes no sense .”

“I wonder if your diener Aeon remembers,” Mulder said. “Or if they got to him, too.”

“If who got to him? Mulder .”

Scully stopped short and grabbed Mulder by the arm, pulling him back toward her. 

“Mulder, explain to me what you think is going on. Because I’m about to march back in that building and demand an office-wide drug test. Or, I don’t know, look for a hypnotist in the closet! You didn’t press them on the fact that none of them seemed to remember anything about yesterday other than the fact that they found the body of an alleged missing person, nor the very important fact that evidence from the crime scene was very clearly swapped out .”

“Magic,” Mulder said. “I think we’re dealing with some kind of magic. And it started last night the moment you took this out of Daly Carmichael’s mouth.” At this he produced the evidence bag with the leaf in it. 

“You didn’t log it in?” 

“Under the circumstances? No,” he said. 

Scully blew out a breath. She couldn’t argue with that particular decision. 

“The Sheriff is going to follow us to the morgue,” Mulder said a little more gently. “Let’s…see how this all plays out.” 

He was walking to the car before Scully had a chance to fully register the word “magic.”

***

“This is the body that was found on the beach yesterday morning?” Scully asked, still in her business suit and wool coat. She was standing at the head of the examination table looking down at the older body that had appeared the night before. “In exactly this condition?”

“That’s him,” the Sheriff said. “The techs from Richmond finished up at the scene and we shipped him over here. You said you took a look at him yesterday? Any idea what killed him?”

The Sheriff was standing not far from the table’s other side with Mulder flanking him to the right. Avery stood patiently just inside the door

“I haven’t had a chance to perform the autopsy yet,” Scully said. “All that’s been done is trace.” She turned toward the door. “Where’s the diener?” she asked. 

Aeon hadn’t shown his face yet, though the body and everything else was prepped and ready, and the dental X-rays were up and waiting to be looked at in the light box. The Sheriff assured her that copies had been sent to the state forensic dentist.

The night before, Aeon had been just as baffled as Mulder and Scully by the aged state of the body and had agreed to run another set of dental X-Rays. 

“Crazy that he was wearing the same clothes he went missing in,” Sheriff Cox said. “All these years later.”

“Assuming this is Daly Carmichael,” Scully said. 

“I mean…you don’t think it is?”

“Not without confirming his dental records.”

“I know you’re not a forensic dentist,” said the Sheriff. “But maybe you could take a look?” 

Scully glanced over at the dental X-rays in the light box. The ‘70s originals from Daly Carmichael were significantly smaller–the edges of the film rounded and hoary. Scully shared a look with Mulder and he nodded at her. She blew out an unhappy breath but nevertheless moved over to the lightbox and turned it on. 

The similarities were apparent the moment she looked at them. The second molar on the left side on all three X-rays showed identical amalgam fillings, each with an odd, distinct shape similar to that of Rhode Island. It wouldn’t take a forensic specialist to confirm that all three X-rays were of the same mouth-Daly Carmichael. 

“These,” she said, sighing unhappily, “appear to all be from the same person.”

“Daly Carmichael,” Mulder said, clarifying. 

“Yes,” Scully said. “Though I would still like confirmation from the forensic specialist.”

She knew it was a mere formality, but she was determined to do things by the book. 

“Still,” the Sheriff said, smiling. “It’s great to get confirmation. And close a case.”

“We still don’t know what killed him,” Scully said. 

“Can you find out? Your partner says you’re a forensic pathologist?”

Scully didn’t answer for so long that Mulder took a step forward. “Scully?” he said. “Can you?”

“I can try,” she said. 

***

When Scully emerged from the locker room having changed into scrubs, the Sheriff and his deputy were gone and Aeon was back, cornered by Mulder, who appeared to be questioning him. 

“So you remember us coming in here yesterday?” Mulder asked him.

“Of course I remember you coming in here yesterday,” Aeon said testily. “Hours after you should have been. And then all kinds of shit happened. You ruined my night.”

“Anybody else here yesterday? Where’s the local ME?”

“On vacation,” Aeon said. “This is a small county, Agent Mulder. It’s just the two of us.”

“Mulder,” Scully said, hoping to diffuse what was turning into a heated conversation. 

Her partner turned to her. The diener took the opportunity to step around him. 

“Do you need anything else before you begin your examination?” Aeon asked Scully.

“I’m good,” she said.

“I’m not done asking questions,” Mulder said. 

“I think you are,” said Aeon, and Mulder’s phone trilled from his pocket. The little man gave him a satisfied smirk.

Mulder reached in and pulled out his phone. “Skinner,” he said, looking down at the display. When he looked back up, the diener had left the bay. Mulder let the phone go to voicemail. He’d call his superior back.

“I guess they didn’t get to your diener,” Mulder said. “Who I don’t think I like.”

“The feeling appears to be mutual,” Scully said. “I’m just glad whatever insanity is happening down there at the Sheriff’s office doesn’t extend to here.”

Mulder had to agree with that one. “Do you think the body has any answers?”

“If it does,” Scully said, reaching out and grabbing a scalpel, “it’s not going to be magic.”

Mulder wasn’t so sure about that. He had long ago accepted that their job turned them into ecstatics, subject to mystical experiences. 

He thought about the dark opening into the trees by the lakeside, what he was now sure were Daly Carmichael’s footprints leading out of it.

“While you do this,” he said, moving to the door. “I’m going to go back to the crime scene.”

“Okay,” Scully said, reaching up to turn on the recording mic above her head, catching his eye before looking back down at the body before her. “Be careful, Mulder.”

“I will,” he assured her.

[annaphoenix1994]

Interrogation

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

Coyotes whaled in the distance of the Mexican desert, making an average person uneasy, but I didn't mind it. In fact, I found it comforting that there was some other type of life here besides us, although I couldn't help but recall the last time I was in a dark desert like this in the middle of the night...

When I was hung by my ribs courtesy of Manual Roba. Hung by hours on end as he and his men continued to try to brainwash me and interrogate me.

The memory alone made chills erect on my arms while I watched Alejandro force Hassan to his knees, removing the hood from his head so he can take in his view. Soap and Alejandro surrounded him, pacing as Graves set up a laptop on the hood of the car we had driven out here. Kiera stood on next to the fender of the car, leaning her elbow against the hood while I stood on the adjacent side, staying back to observe the situation in front of me.

I struggled to fight the dryness in my eyes, looking forward to the moment where I could sleep, everyone else around me seeming to fight the same feeling. I didn't even care about taking a shower at this point because I knew I could do it later as all I cared about right now was wrapping up this interrogation and closing my eyes.

"On your knees." Soap barked at him, standing back as Alejandro kept a hold on Hassan's shoulders.

"Y'all got a clear picture?" Graves said into the computer, two screens showing up on the other end, connecting live to General Shepherd and Laswell.

"Crystal."

"All set."

"Alright, we are live, folks." Graves announced, hooking his thumbs into his vest as he stopped in front of Hassan.

"Do you speak Arabic?" Hassan questioned.

"No."

"Farsi?"

"No."

Hassan scoffed, "Of course not. Then I'll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs."

"Ah, see, we're getting off to a bad start here, Hassan." Graves shook his head.

"You're talking to a Quds Force officer."

"You're the commander of a foreign terror organization."

"I could say the same to you."

"What's your target, Major?" Graves mocked.

"What was your target when you sent missiles to my land?"

I looked over at Kiera when I heard her mumble, "Why would we send missiles to his land?" before jotting down a few words on a scrap piece of paper from Graves' notepad that sat next to the computer. What was she on about?

"Oh, wild guess, to nail your ass."

"So insolent and foul-mouthed. You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire."

"You're in bed with the cartel, Hassan," Kiera chimed in. "If you disappeared, no one would know where to look for the stain."

I glared at Hassan when I noticed that he looked at her up and down, smirking as he liked what he was seeing. It disgusted me.

"So, I see it's all Americans that are so foul-mouthed and unintelligent. Sa'ajid muteatan fi hashw hadha alfam li'iiskatika. (I'll find pleasure in stuffing that mouth to shut you up.)"

"Eindama tafeal dhalika, sa'akun mtakdan min astikhdam 'asnani allaeinati. (When you do that, I'll be sure to use my fucking teeth.)"

I had no idea what they were saying, but I could at least understand Kiera's tone to retort to something inappropriate that Hassan said.

"What did he say to you, señora?" Alejandro asked.

"He said that he would find pleasure in stuffing my mouth to shut me up, and I told him that when he did, I'll use my fucking teeth." She scoffed.

If looks could kill, both Kiera and I would've had his head.

Hassan shook his head as he couldn't think of something else to say to her, but Soap quickly intervened and began to question him with the same gleam of anger in his eyes. "Where'd you get American missiles from?"

"I don't care where they're from, I want to know where they're going!" Shepherd barked, and I immediately noticed Kiera jotting down another few words, except this time, it looked like a sentence with Shepherd's name circled as well as Graves'.

Graves sighed, listening to the whaling coyotes that sounded closer than where they were before, "Take a look around, Hassan. Now, you can either become part of the food chain or you can start talking."

"I doubt you'll have pleasure in torturing me, but I'm a hostage here. This is illegal—"

"You're a prisoner of war." Alejandro growled.

"Iran is not at war with Mexico. I've broken no laws. These men and waqiha (slut) are the law breakers!" He shouted, again glancing at Kiera who was going through Hassan's phone that she had asked me for, jotting down a few words of information.

"Yeah, Bin Laden said the same thing too and you saw what happened to that motherfucker, huh?" She retorted.

"Do not speak his name!" Hassan shouted at her.

"Bin-fucking-Laden," She repeated, glaring at him and holding heavy eye contact with him. This lass was more than relentless. No man scared her, and I didn't know whether to be even more attracted or afraid of her because she took no bullshit from anyone. "By the time we were done with him, he looked like confetti."

Hassan glared at her, pursing his lips as he tried to stand to his feet before Alejandro forced him back down. "You and your beloved General Ghorbrani, too," Soap added. "Broke every law—"

"You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes! Allah wahdah qadir ealaa musaeadatik alan! (Only God can help you now!)"

"I want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass!" Shepherd ordered.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, General," Kiera advised as she was now standing in front of the computer, arching her brow at him, and I could see that he didn't like being advised by a woman, because his next question came with a hateful attitude.

"And why not, Dutton?"

"Killing him is an act of war and you know it. And I don't know about you, but I don't want to go back to war with Iran when they have possession of our missiles." She shrugged.

"She's right, General," Laswell intervened. "Killing him is an act of war and keeping him is illegal. Right now, he's too hot to hold."

"Tell me you're getting something actionable, Laswell."

"Working on it. Stand by."

Kiera stepped out of the way and stood in front of me, setting Hassan's phone on the hood while Graves and Soap approached closer, irritation towards Kiera written all over his face. Don't give me a reason to bash you, MacTavish.

"Actual, let me finish this." Graves pleaded.

"There's nothing I would like more, but the women are right. Without proof, we need to turn him loose and see where he takes us."

"He's right here, Kiera. You can't be serious!" Soap scoffed at her.

Right before I could say something, Kiera was quick with her wit, "As serious as a fucking heart attack, Johnny."

"Don't use my first name." He warned her.

"Then don't use mine." She glared at him, unaware that I was shooting Soap the same glare, telling him to back down before I intervened.

"Now, turn him loose. She'll work on getting more intel." Shepherd advised.

"She better." Soap mumbled under his breath, shaking his head before walking away. Oh, I was going to scold him for this later.

"Or what, MacTavish?" Kiera questioned, not letting him get away with it.

"Nothing."

"Thought so."

"Did we get anything from his phone?" I asked my group, now holding the phone in my hands.

"Affirmative. We got a hit." Laswell answered.

"Good. Now, take him back and let him go."

Soap sighed, watching Graves shut the laptop as Alejandro covered Hassan's head with a burlap sack, irritated that we practically did all of this work for what felt like nothing, but Kiera was right. We had no physical and solid proof about what Hassan's plans were, but something told me to trust her judgement since she was Laswell's second in command.

"I'd kill for a whiskey and Coke right now," Kiera shook her head, mumbling to herself as she approached me, opening her hand to retrieve Hassan's phone from me, tossing it to the ground and stomping it completely. "Fuckin' bastard."

"Could've had one if you would've let us kill him right here." Soap sneered. Don't bloody instigate, MacTavish.

"Shut your mouth, Sergeant, or I'll shut it for you." She warned, picking up the smashed phone and throwing it into the desert.

"What're you going to do, little lass? Kick me between the legs?" He taunted.

"No, I'll beat you like a man."

"You could never."

"Alright, when we get back to base, I'd like to see you try."

"'M not hitting a woman."

"Then why talk shit like you would?"

Soap didn't reply, mainly because he didn't have anything to say. Her glare was dangerous, and a part of me felt bad for the hot-headed Scot because I wanted her to beat him in line, but the other part of me wanted us to all get along and work together because we were all good assets to each other. She struck a nerve when she addressed him with his first name, it was clear that he didn't like that, but he had it coming when he addressed her by her first name in front of an enemy, possibly compromising her.

We left Hassan in the desert to wander the dirt road alone. Shepherd said to let him go, so we literally did just that. He could find his own way back for all we cared. Besides, his long walk bought us some time, especially when Kiera destroyed his phone. The ride back was an awkward silence, Soap's leg bouncing up and down impatiently while he kept his jaw taut. He was pissed that we had to let Hassan go, but somehow was more pissed that Kiera bruised his ego right in front of everyone. I wasn't surprised to watch him react in such a way, but I could see that he was contemplating on if he wanted to fight Kiera or not. And for his sake, he better hope that he doesn't lay a finger on a woman, or I'd take matters into my own hands.

"Do you need a medic, señora?" Alejandro asked after we cleared the entrance into his base.

"What she needs in an attitude adjustment." Soap mumbled, unaware that we all heard what he had just said.

"Won't you give it to me, then? Talking like you're some big and bad man yet you won't do anything about it." She retorted.

"I'm too good to hit a woman." He scoffed.

"But you don't mind talking shit to one? Tough." She growled, getting out of the back of the car the same time Soap did, the two standing almost nose-to-nose, glaring at each other. I quickly walked around the car, putting my arm between them and glared at Soap. "Stand down, Sergeant. Don't let her get to you." I tried to talk sense into him, but it wasn't working. Kiera had easily pushed his buttons, and it looked like I was going to have to break them up.

But a part of me wanted to see who was going to win, but I was better than that. Soap needed an attitude adjustment of his own, but he needed to pick a fight with someone his own size, not a lass who was smaller than him by weight and height.

"Johnny, if you don't stand down right now, you and I are going to have a problem." I warned, pushing my arm against his chest.

"Tell her that. She started it."

"No. You started it, Sergeant. I wouldn't blame her for bashing your head in. Stand down."

"I think the best thing is to let them fight it out," Alejandro commented. Was this bastard serious? A woman fighting a man? "She can take it."

"Bullocks." I scoffed.

"He's right, Lieutenant. I can take a punch from a man twice your size. Him, eh, it'll feel like I'm getting hit by a little boy." She shrugged.

Soap tried to lunge at her, but I stopped him. Kiera was in the wrong for instigating a fight like she was craving it, but she was of a higher authority than me, and the other part of me could see me defending her even if she was in the wrong. "What would the old man say right now? Hm? You're being bloody stupid. Think about it." I threatened.

"The old man would've told me to shut her up." Soap argued.

"Captain Price and I get along because he understands my judgement." She retorted. She's worked with Price before?

"Let 'em fight it out right here, Ghost," Alejandro said. "I don't want to see it either, but they'll cut out each other's throats the moment we leave them be."

"I'm not letting them. That's bloody stupid."

"It is, but you know it'll happen one way or the other, and it could happen on a mission and get us all compromised. If they duke it out now, they'll blow off steam and forget about it tomorrow."

"No. You two, stand down now." I warned them, my glare now at her. She looked cute when she was mad, but I knew I should get out of her way.

"I'll stand down. Don't know about your Sergeant, though. Seems he's too hot-headed."

"It's because of you, slag!" He shouted, taking it way too far and he had no idea what she was going to do next. I guess neither did I, because she had enough power to move my arm out of her way and punch him square in the jaw, knocking him off balance.

He cupped his jaw before he turned back around, watching her present her face to him before tapping her jaw with her index finger, mocking him and asking him for a hit back. I gave up at this point, standing out of their way as holding them back did nothing but boil their anger towards each other. "I'm not hitting a woman."

"Because you're too scared. I even took it easy on you, asshole. You won't do it. Come on." She hummed at him.

"If you do it, Sergeant, you don't know what you're getting yourself into." Alejandro warned him, but Soap didn't know whether that meant dealing with the rest of his men or Kiera herself, but by Alejandro's tone, it sounded like this wasn't the first time Kiera had gotten into a fight on the base.

Was it childish? Yes, but in a way, Soap brought this on himself. He figured that Kiera would back down to him if he were to try to assert dominance, but she was the wrong one.

"I'm not hitting her."

"You know you want to." She mocked.

"Yeah, I want to, but I'm not."

"Come on, get it out of your system. I actually want you to. Give me some exercise."

"Yeah, you definitely need it." He scoffed.

"And you need a haircut. What grown man wears a mohawk?"

"I do!"

"No shit! Where'd you get your haircut? Wean's World in Glasgow?" 

Honestly, that was a pretty good comeback considering "wean" meant "child," meaning that she was calling him a little boy.

I couldn't even hold back a silent chuckle. 

He couldn't take her instigating anymore. He charged at her, but she stopped him by reaching her arm behind him and grasped his belt, throwing him over her opposite leg and onto the ground before straddling him. He tried to restrain her, but she was quick to start punching. Eventually, he hooked his fist into her shoulder only to be hit harder by her.

Well, I guess his shot with her was long gone because he wasn't going to forgive her after this. "Is that all you've got, Johnny?" She taunted, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Saving my energy to put you into the ground." He groaned, taking another punch from her relentless fist before using his leg to tangle around hers, using his body to his advantage to force her onto her back, trying to pin her from keeping her from punching him again before she managed to turn herself against him to get back on top of him, ready to deliver another punch before I forcefully grabbed her and locked her arms against my chest, effortlessly pulling her off of him.

"Knock it off!" I warned in her ear.

"Let me go!"

"No," I huffed, pushing her against the side of the car before I took a pair of zip-cuffs from my vest, forcing her wrists together behind her back and disabling her. "Cool off. I think you've proven your point."

Alejandro snickered, walking over to Soap before offering his hand, helping him to his feet and offering him a rag to clean the blood from his lip. "Are you done?"

"Yeah."

"No, he's not done," I intervened. "You and I are going to have a talk, Sergeant."

"I'm not the one who swung first!"

"Doesn't matter! You still did it. You know better than this shite. I'm not here to fucking babysit you. Do you want me to make you wait on her hand and foot?"

"I wouldn't mind it. Thought it was kinda hot." He shrugged, mumbling under his breath.

"Alright. This night is over. You and I aren't finished." I pointed my finger at him.

"Yes, sir."

I shook my head as I moved to grasp Kiera's forearm, "Where are you staying?"

"You can let me go, Lieutenant. I know where to go—"

"I wouldn't put it past you to charge at him again. I asked you a question."

"Second floor of that building over there." She nodded her head towards the location of her quarters.

"Let's go." I gently tugged on her arm, escorting her myself to ensure that the situation wouldn't decline yet again. Even though I was angry with the situation, I wasn't angry with her. I would've done the same thing if I was in her shoes and could agree that Soap was in the wrong for saying those things and she had every right to respond the way she did, but she knew better, too. She could've just let it go through one ear and out the other, but I partially agreed with Alejandro when he said that it could've compromised us if they fought during a mission.

I escorted her up the stairs and down the hallway. "It's this one." She sighed.

Isn't that funny, her room ended up being right next to mine...

I opened the door for her, letting her walk inside before I unclasped the zip-cuffs from her wrists, watching her shake the tension away before taking her hair down from its tight bun, letting it fall over her shoulders. I took a brief moment to look around, seeing a laptop opened on the desk and a pink blanket sprawled across the bed that sat snug against the wall, a single door leading into a bathroom. Little did I know, it was a shared bathroom. And just down the hall was a small kitchen nook where most of the soldiers gathered for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Get yourself cleaned up."

"First thing on my mind." She shook her head.

"You need a medic?" I asked, referring to her leg injury she gained from earlier.

"No, but he might."

"I meant your leg."

"I'll be fine. I'll look at it when I go shower."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

I couldn't help but blush behind my mask before I shut the door and made my way to my quarters just next door. My suspicion was right – the door that led to the bathroom in my room was joined with hers. It wasn't surprising as some barracks were like this instead of sharing an entire unit of showers. I removed my vest and weapons, followed by my boots as I sat them aside on a chair before removing my mask, laying it on the side table as I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and dry, exhaustion ready to take me into a deep sleep once I laid down, but I knew I couldn't fall asleep just yet as my brain was still processing what had happened today.

I feasted on my MRE while sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed in nothing but my fatigues and a black compression shirt, listening to the water of the shower in the bathroom, chuckling when I heard her say to her phone, "Siri, play 'I Remember Everything' by Zach Bryan!"

I could've grown irritated that she was playing music while in the shower, but I couldn't help but listen to her hum to the lyrics as well as singing along when a certain verse came along.

"A cold shoulder at closing time, you were begging me to stay 'til the sun rose. Strange words come on out of a grown man's mouth when his mind's broke, pictures and passing time you only smile like that when you're drinkin', I wish I didn't, but I do, remember every moment on the nights with you... Fuck, this is such a good song!"

I chuckled at her, noting that she had a good singing voice. Shaking my head, I threw away my MRE before standing to my feet, keeping my mask off of my face as I made my way to the kitchen nook down the hall. I only wore my mask for tactical reasons and didn't care if someone saw my face. It wasn't like I was ugly and covered my face for that specific reason, but I chose to cover my face when on the field to conceal my identity, only being known as Ghost as one of my biggest fears was for one of my enemies to recognize me or remember me.

But when I was in the safety of the barracks, I could care less about the stupid thing. In fact, I felt better without it on. Thankfully, nobody was in the kitchen nook except me, and I was eager to see if there was anything in the cabinets to make tea with. Yes, I was a typical Brit wanting tea late at night, who cares?

And thank fuck did they have a pack of tea bags in the cabinet along with a set of mugs beside it. Waiting for the coffee maker to warm up, I propped myself against the counter snacking on a protein bar that lay in the basket on the counter, staring blankly ahead of me. My goal was to make a mug of tea and take it back to my room before taking a shower myself and going to bed, waiting patiently for Kiera to end her shower before I could.

I turned my back to the room as I focused on making my tea, hearing a door creak open from down the hall. I didn't pay whoever any mind, throwing away the used tea bag before turning around to walk back towards my room, making eye contact with Kiera as she had been heading the same way. She didn't know who I was, or so I thought, but she quickly put the pieces together when she recognized my stature and black warpaint around my eyes. She didn't realize it, but her eyes were gleaming with surprise and interest.

She subtly pressed her thighs together before forcing herself to walk forward, a towel taut on the top of her head with a tank top and pair of sleep shorts to match. She really makes herself at home, yeah?

But fuck was it cute... and attractive.

She smelled of vanilla as her bare feet patted against the tile, her toes painted white as she entered the kitchen nook. "Do they have Coke in here?" She asked, keeping her eye contact towards the floor as she felt like she wasn't supposed to see my face.

"I didn't look. Though I highly doubt cocaine is on a military base." I shrugged, taking a sip from my mug as my eyes watched her lean over to look in the fridge. She was driving me crazy and didn't even know it. I studied the floral tattoo that covered her entire right thigh, breathing in heavily when I briefly imagined those thighs wrapped around my waist. Fuck, Simon! Stop sexualizing her!

"I meant a soda," She giggled. "Oh, yes! Coke and a bottle of whiskey! I hit the jackpot!"

I shook my head, "You're drinking this late at night?"

"Yeah, why? I have a report to do. It'll be a while before I fall asleep."

The more she talked to me with that oblivious gleam in her eye, I was going to have to cut our conversation short before I embarrassed myself in front of her with my obvious lack of intimate affection. I felt ashamed to think this way, but I wasn't going to let her realize that she was causing me to be sexually frustrated, wanting to fuck the attitude out of her. I was going to have no choice but take care of this issue with my own hand eventually, because I had no chance with a woman like her. Did I want to shoot my shot? Fuck yes, but I was too afraid of getting rejected, so I kept to myself. I had only known her for a day, but she had been a distraction throughout our entire mission by having me constantly making sure she was in my line of sight or making myself be there to coax her out of trouble because I didn't want another man to do it.

In my younger years, I would've taken the opportunity to flirt and test the waters, hoping for a night of sexual release with a mutual agreement, but I knew better now. I was in a higher rank and valued my job over one-night stands. Besides, a woman like her deserved more than that – a man to protect her from herself and more, to lay with her every night to be there for when she had a nightmare, to make love to her whenever she wanted it, not a one-night stand.

She was a fucking wildfire, and I didn't even know if I had the confidence to handle her.

It's weird, but I could see myself doing that with her – giving up a part in my world just to be a part of hers. She was just like me. We shared the same mindset, attitude, morbid humor, and work ethic. She was perfect for me, but I knew I was thinking with future thoughts instead of present, but there's no harm in wishing, right?

This woman was going to be the death of me, and I needed to prevent that, but what if I didn't want to?

"Fair point." I shrugged, focusing on my tea, unaware that I had drank more than I thought. I usually sipped my tea, but tonight, I found myself gulping it in a last-minute effort to avoid looking at her, knowing every time I did, a familiar tightness threatened to tent my pants.

I couldn't help myself as I looked down her legs to look at the huge gash from the rock she collided with when she had to jump from the cliff. "Don't you think it needs stitches?"

Fuck, Riley! Why'd you make it obvious that you were looking at her bare legs? You bloody idiot! Okay, you can justify it by saying that the fresh blood running down her leg caught your attention. Yeah, say that!

"Probably. I can stitch it up if I need to," She shrugged, moving past me to reach into the cabinet, pulling out a short glass before putting a handful of ice into the bottom of it, pouring a heavy amount of whiskey into the glass. "My adrenaline hasn't worn off yet. Might as well do it before it does, huh?"

Do what? Let me fuck you while it's in our system? Because I can see you pressing your thighs together, love. Goddammit, Riley! Go back to your room and jerk off and get it over with before you blow it!

"Probably a good idea." I breathed a chuckle, mentally slapping myself.

She flashed her hazel eyes at me as she moved back towards the fridge, putting the bottle of whiskey back into it before pulling out a can of Coke, cracking it open and taking a sip before her tongue slipped out to lick her lips, "This Mexican Coke is the best."

"Thought it all tasted the same?"

"Oh, no. Mexican Coke is way better," She hummed. "I've got some work to do. I'll see you later."

"Sure thing." I nodded, watching her walk away with each hand full of her evening treat of whiskey and Coke as well as a couple of Reese Cups.

Fuck, my dick physically hurt at the thought of her under me, and I knew I needed to do something about it before it got me in trouble. Her eyes looked at me with curiosity and arousal when she realized what I looked like beneath my mask, and I began to wonder if she realized that she liked when I forced her hands behind her back. Cheeky lass, yeah? I'll take care of it if you'll let me.

Little did I know, we both went to bed that night sexually flustered. 

[eliotquillon]

i have to imagine that at some point during chase and cameron’s fwb era, chase went back to aus for a trip. what about a time zones/jealous cam drabble?

sorry this took me FOREVER and is also not really jealous cam but more…pining cam?? argh. but i tried :) set between fetal position and airborne

In the end, it isn’t House who goes on vacation after they discharge Emma Sloan. It’s Chase; he walks into work one morning, a rare day when they’re not both riding in together, shoulders hunched and face pale, and says, “House. I need to talk to you.”

“You know I hate it when you do that,” House complains, but he must see what Cameron sees: the sunken gaze, the tense fingers. Who died, Cameron thinks, but his parents are both dead already. He leads Chase to his office and shuts the blinds. Cameron looks, and looks, and looks. Chase does not look back.

*

“I’m going out of town for a few days,” Chase tells her at lunch. They are attracting stares: the whole hospital knows they’re sleeping together now, no thanks to House. No thanks to me, Cameron thinks, a little guilty, and pushes another forkful of salad into her mouth. “Can you check on my stuff while I’m gone?”

“Out of town?” Cameron presses, selfishly wanting; she regrets it as soon as she says it. Chase presses his lips together, pushes his fries sullenly around his plate. Cameron is all too aware of the choreography. In two hours, the nurses will all be whispering about the big break-up—false for all the obvious reasons, but also because there’s nothing to break up. “What happened?”

“I have to go to Melbourne,” Chase says flatly. “There’s an issue with my dad’s will.”

“But I thought he cut you out of it,” Cameron frowns. She doesn’t mean to be insensitive with her bluntness. She only means to clarify; she had been shell-shocked, when he spat it out bluntly all those months ago, not at the specifics but at the mere concept of it. It’s the sort of thing you hear about, vague family gossip about a friend of a friend, but surely, Cameron had thought, it didn’t really happen. Surely people—mothers, fathers, great-aunts—were never really so cruel as to deliberately strike someone out with their last act in this world, not for no good reason. Chase spears a fry, and does not eat it.

“He did,” he says heavily. “Including the stuff he had no right to cut me out of. Can you do it?”

No, Cameron thinks. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t handle it. I’d be a sobbing mess, not coming into work every day to flirt with a colleague and snipe at Foreman and save people’s lives. Not casually discussing it over lunch. But that isn’t what Chase is asking.

“Of course,” she says, “just leave me the key.”

*

She gets into the routine of it easily enough. It helps that she knows her way around Chase’s apartment already—though, of course, she knows the bedroom best. Cameron stops by every evening on her way home from work to air the place out, sort the mail, check there’s nothing spoiling in the refrigerator. Chase left at the last minute; there are still clothes in his laundry hamper, a towel on the bathroom floor, electronics still plugged in. When she turns on the TV out of idle interest, it is automatically tuned to a sports channel. Cameron laughs, and the way the sound rings out across the empty room makes her feel absurdly guilty.

It would be so easy to pry. She has the experience, after all—years of snooping around patients’ homes, always careful to put things back where she found them, and she’s far more familiar with Chase’s habits and floorplan than she is theirs—and, secretly, she has the desire. Without him here to distract her with his hands or mouth or terrible post-sex cooking, it is easier to admit her own curiosity to herself. It is easier to admit that she wants to know him beyond the scope of what he has already told her. But easier isn’t the same as easy. Cameron closes windows and throws out expired milk. She ignores the bedroom. She always leaves the key behind.

*

It isn’t that she misses him, at work. It’s simply lacking for a case—House is due to fly to Singapore the day after Chase is scheduled to return—and there’s scarcely anything to do. She has brief, cordial lunches with Foreman, spends the mornings doing clinic duty and the afternoons catching up on House’s permanently-backlogged charting. It is all very companionable; she has always liked Foreman well enough, save for the times he has given her reason to be annoyed, and without Chase to wind him up Foreman seems to return the sentiment. He only tries to broach the subject once.

“About you and Chase,” he starts, and Cameron’s pen leaves a dent on her chart.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. It’s the wrong answer: she should’ve said, there’s nothing to talk about. It’s what she means to say, but for some reason her mouth won’t form the words. Foreman sighs, and his eyebrows make a grand leap of frustration, but he just nods.

“Don’t bring me into it,” he warns, and this time Cameron doesn’t bother trying to correct him.

*

Melbourne is sixteen hours ahead of New Jersey. It is natural, Cameron thinks, to wonder what he might be doing. It is natural, given the circumstances, to wonder if he’s alright. It is not natural to wonder if he misses her, but she finds herself doing that anyway. His voicemail beeps with messages; the sound of the dialtone makes her so irritated that she has to fight the urge to delete them all at once.

*

“Thanks,” Chase says when he comes back to work, jetlagged and small-looking and yet, Cameron hopes, a little pleased to see her. “You didn’t have to clean up after me.”

She didn’t mean to. She didn’t even want to, but her hands were idle and his phone kept beeping and once, while she was intercepting a delivery he must’ve forgotten about, she heard a strange woman’s voice ask about him on the speakerphone, words garbled through the closed hallway door. In Cameron’s experience, it is easier to resist temptation if there is something to be tempted away from. “I don’t mind,” she says. “Did everything turn out alright?”

“More or less,” Chase shrugs. He leans close; he still smells a bit like stale plane air and, Cameron imagines, a certain kind of foreign-ness. “Come over tonight?” he asks in a hopeful undertone.

Cameron is sick of his apartment. She would rather not examine why. “Come to mine,” she says, decisive, and rises to greet Foreman.

[lieutenant-sarcastic]

This....semester is not.. going well so far

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Adding onto Sylus’ desperate need to be near you at all times. He’s clingy.

You groaned as strong hands scooped you up out of your bed, disturbing your sleep. Curling towards the warmth, soft footsteps carried you away.

You forced your eyes open to meet the red ones that glanced down at you. “Sylus?”

Sylus kissed your forehead and held you tighter as he brought you into his office. “I wanted some company.” He sat down on his deep red plush couch, laying you in his lap and pulling a blanket over you.

You groaned and reluctantly laid in the position he was putting you in. “I’m tired Sy.” Sylus chuckled. “Then sleep. I’m not stopping you.”

Scoffing at his sarcasm, you looked up at him from where you laid in his lap. He happily started to run his long fingers through your hair. “You stole me from my bed.”

Sylus tsked at you. “I did not steal you from your bed. I stole you from my bed.” A ghost of a smirk crossed his face.

He patted your cheek before placing his glasses on his nose and picking up a book. “You brought me here so you could read?”

He sighed and put down the book on the end table next to him. Swiftly he adjusted both of your positions so that he was lying across the couch with you draped along him, resting on his chest. He reached behind him, grabbed his book and continued to read.

You groaned and rolled your eyes at him but got comfortable nonetheless. “At least read it to me won’t you?”

Sylus’ deep laughter vibrated you. “Of course, Kitten. Listen close.” He didn’t care that he’d likely be up for hours and end up falling asleep when it was time for you to wake. As long as you were near him, it’s all he needed.

[cherrygirlfriend]

office visitations pairing: wife!reader x ceo!rafe synopsis: wife!reader goes to visit rafe at work for lunch warnings: smut, breeding kink, praise, soft rafe, talk of pregnancy, fluffy ending MDNI - wc: 2k IT'S MY BIRTHDAY which means this is the last day of my birthday celebration! i had so much fun writing these fics and i hope you enjoyed them as well!

everyone on kildare island wondered how rafe cameron of all men had managed to land you; sure, he was rich and good looking, but in figure 8, that was nothing. but somehow he had, and only after six months of being your boyfriend, he had asked you to marry him; no one knew that he had been looking at rings after your very first date.

you were basically his opposite; the sweet, girl-next-door pogue who no one ever had anything bad to say about, while he was known to lash out at whoever was in the wrong place in the wrong time, but after meeting you, he was obsessed.

rafe was sitting in his office, just having finished up a board meeting, those always stressing him out, paperwork piling on his desk, his cup of coffee having gone cold already.

there was a soft knock on rafe's door, and he rubbed his forehead, letting out a small scoff; he had told his secretary to not let absolutely anyone to come bother him. he looked up at the door, letting out a cold and detached, "come in." knowing that his secretary would be looking for a new job.

but as soon as he saw the familiar pair of eyes playfully peek into his office, it was like all the tension slowly rolled off his shoulders. "hi." you said with a smile that was so bright and sunny rafe was sure it could've melted down an icecap. "can i come in?"

rafe cleared his throat, standing up from his chair, "yeah, of course." the man smiled, running a hand through his mussed-up blonde hair as you stepped into his office. you were wearing a long, flowy sundress, carrying two cups of coffee and a bag of something, "what's this?" your husband asked amusedly, his head nodding toward the bag.

"i brought you some coffee and croissants." you said, placing the things on his desk and turning to him, "i knew you're always stressed after board meetings. i would be too, if i had to sit around with a bunch of old guys for an hour straight listening to their issues with you or whatever you do." you chuckled, straightening the collar of his button-up.

"you know just what i need." he groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, tilting his head down so he could nuzzle it into your neck, breathing in the floral scent of your perfume while you let out a small chuckle, your eyes closing as you held him, stroking his back.

he pulled back, looking down at your dress with a small grin, "did you wear this for me?" he asked, feeling the fabric inbetween his fingers, "it looks great."

"thank you. my husband got it for me." you said playfully, giving him your left hand. rafe took hold of it, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before looking at your engagement ring.

"he has great taste. in women, in clothing, and in jewelry."

you laugh softly, shaking your head and rolling your eyes, until rafe took your chin inbetween his pointer finger and his thumb, forcing you to look up at him, the man admiring the way your eyes twinkled, moving his hands to rest on your waist again. "you look so gorgeous."

"and you look very handsome." you said, tugging him down into a kiss, your lips on his immediately causing rafe's head to buzz. rafe's hands slowly slid down to your ass, grabbing at the flesh through your summer dress, pulling you closer while one of your hands was on his chest, and one of your hands was on the back of his neck, short blond hair meeting your soft palms.

you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, keeping your forehead and nose pressed to his, your breaths mingling together while your eyes were closed.

"i missed you..."

"you saw me this morning." rafe mumbled, one of his hands traveling to your cheek, cupping it in his hand while his thumb stroked your soft cheek.

"does that mean i can't miss you?" your brows raised with a chuckle, the hand that had been resting on his chest was now tugging his button-up out of the trousers they were tucked in, rafe letting out a small groan when he felt your warm hand slowly trail up the line of his abs, "you know, i realized something…" you practically purred into his ear.

"yeah? what'd you realize, sweetie?" he asked, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, pressing small kisses on your warm skin, causing shivers to run down your spine, goosebumps starting to form all over your body.

"i'm ovulating." you whispered with a grin, before pulling back to see his reaction. rafe lifted his head, looking at you with half-lidded eyes and a small grin, his hands sliding down to rest on the curve of your ass.

"mmhm, 's that the case?" he asked, he shamelessly looking down at your tits, rafe's adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, your fingers starting to unbutton the buttons of his shirt, revealing more and more of his tanned chest, shivers running down his spine when he felt your manicured nails on the skin that you were slowly baring. "i guess we should take advantage of that, then."

you let out a small squeal when your husband lifted you into his arms without any difficulty, carrying you to the other side of his desk. rafe sat down on his chair, positioning you so that you were straddling him, his calming cerulean eyes gazing up into yours.

your hand moves to the nape of his neck, fingers gently playing with the short tendrils of hair there as you gaze down at him, the hint of a smile playing at your lips. rafe brought his hand closer to your face, his fingers curling under your chin, bringing your face to meet his, the sides of your noses pressed against one another, breaths mingling together before his lips brushed against yours.

and soon, rafe's shirt hung unbuttoned on his broad shoulders, your panties discarded on his desk, your body still mostly covered by your dress, his slacks and boxers at his ankles. the thumb of his left hand brushed against your hardened nipple over the fabric of your dress, a small gasp escaping your lips as your soaked entrance hovered over the tip of his cock, practically aching to sink itself down on him.

"you ready?" rafe whispered under you, pressing a featherlight kiss on your clothed nipple, and somehow even that was enough to make you dizzy; you couldn't speak, simply nodding, his hands slowly crawling up from the sides of your thighs up your dress until they were on your hips, rafe's touch so hot you thought he might leave burn marks. slowly, he started bringing your hips lower, a long drawn-out whimper leaving your lips when you finally felt rafe stretch you out; you'd been together for a long time but every time his cock entered you it felt like the first time.

even though you were the one straddling him, rafe was the one doing all the work. slowly, he lifted you up, before bringing you back down, your head thrown back, lost in all the bliss you were feeling, his lips attaching themselves to your neck, pressing soft kisses on your pulse point as you let out small, soft laughs when you felt his stubble on your skin.

although his lips moved away from your neck, rafe continued moving you on top of him by your hips, briefly bringing one of his hands to cup your cheek, making you look down at him, your eyes hazy and glossed over from the pleasure he was giving you.

"you look so gorgeous like this..." rafe whispered, letting out a grunt as he felt you deliberately clench yourself around him, the corners of your mouth quirking up into an adorable, almost shy smile, your cheeks feeling warmer due to his sweet words.

he moved his hand back to your hips, continuing to guide you up and down on his cock, slightly picking up his pace, whimpers leaving your lips whenever he bottomed out in you, hitting that one spot like it was nothing, when for you, it felt like everything.

"so damn gorgeous..." he mumbled against your skin, and as one of rafe's hands traveled down to your pussy, his thumb starting to draw languid circles on your clit, you started moving your hips just slightly faster, every part of you screaming that you needed more of him, needed to feel every part of him.

"please..." you whined, the tone of your voice making something in rafe's chest ache while also making the heat in his abdomen nearly double.

as his thumb picked up its pace, your head felt so beautifully blank; all you could focus on were the sensations running through your body, the fire he'd lit inside of you, and the orgasm you were already starting to feel approaching.

"please, i'm so close..." you whined, your words getting muddled with your moans.

your eyes were closed, unable to see the way your husband was admiring you, looking up at you with pupils blown so wide his blue eyes might as well have turned into the shape of a heart, and he continued bucking his hips up into you, both of you chasing your orgasms, the sound of squelching and moaning filling his office.

suddenly, he felt your walls spasming around his cock, your orgasm washing over you as you held on tight to his shoulders, your body shuddering with pleasure, moans leaving your lips without you even realizing it was happening.

rafe watched as you came undone, continuing to move inside of you even though your walls felt snug around him, the man starting to feel a familiar tightening in his abdomen.

"'m so close..." rafe mumbled, not even sure if you could hear him through the bubble of bliss you seemed to be encased in. "gonna come in you... gonna put a baby in you... you're gonna look so gorgeous with my baby in you..."

when you let out a soft whimper, trying to move yourself on his cock even though you were still riding out his orgasm, rafe groaned, burying his head in the crook of your neck, loud whines leaving your lips when he fucked into you at a faster pace, rafe almost losing himself in you and the way you felt around him, knowing he'd never get enough of you, never get enough of having you like this.

it didn't take long until he let out a loud groan, and you felt ropes of his cum filling you, moving your hips slightly to make sure he was as deep inside of you as possible, the closeness feeling almost intoxicating.

neither one of you spoke for a while, and the only noise that could be heard in his office were the pants that slowly turned into regular breathing, and finally when it had settled, you pressed your forehead against rafe's, taking a deep breath.

you felt rafe's hand on your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there, and it was like he was reading your thoughts; sometimes the way he knew you intimidated you, just because the thought of ever losing that scared the hell out of you.

"it's gonna happen." he said comfortingly, opening his eyes to look into yours, and you pulled your forehead away from his to do the same. you brought your hand to your abdomen, looking down at it while letting out a small sniffle, your tone laced with insecurity, "you think so?"

rafe pressed his hand over yours, and you wondered how someone could know exactly everything you thought and needed, his large, ringed hand somehow managing to soothe every single thought running through your mind.

"i know so, and i'm never wrong, am i?" he grinned smugly, making you roll your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

[retrosabers]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

[elliewithcellie]

Protector

summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)

wc: 9.8k (oh my god)

cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously

a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on

“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.

Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.

His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”

You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.

You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.

The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.

Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.

“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”

“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”

You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.

You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.

“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.

Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.

------

“Hotchner.”

You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.

“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”

You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.

“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.

You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.

------

The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.

The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.

Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”

“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”

 “Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?

The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.   

You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”

“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.

“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.

“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”

You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.

Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.

Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.

You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.

As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.

You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.

“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.

You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”

“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.

“What’s your book about?”

Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.

“It’s a romance,” you confessed.

“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”

You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”

You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.

“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.

You smiled at his words.

“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.

“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”

You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.

“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”

You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.

“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”

“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.

“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”

“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.

“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”

“My dad said all that?”

“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.

“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”

“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”

“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”

He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.

“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.

“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”

You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.

“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”

You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.

------

You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.

You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.

“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”

He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.

“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”

“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.

You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”

“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.

You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.

As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.

The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.

“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.

-------

In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.

JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”

You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.

“No, I slept fine. I swear.”

“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”

“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”

 “Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.

His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”

Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.

“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”

“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.

Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”

The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”

“Y/N,” Reid said.

All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.

“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”

“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”

“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.

“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.

“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”

-------

For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.

You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.

“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”

You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.

You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.

Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”

You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.

“Put it on.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.

“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.

“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”

“That’s it,” Morgan said.

“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”

On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.

“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I got it.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.

Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”

You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.

------

You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.

Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.

“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.

You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”

“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”

The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”

“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”

“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.

“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.

Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.

“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.

------

The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.

------

You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.

Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.

“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.

“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”

“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”

Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.

“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.

Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.

Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.

“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”

You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.

When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.

“How are you?”

“Everything hurts.”

“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”

“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”

“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”

“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”

Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”

“Hotch. Please.”

Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”

You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.

“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”

He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.

“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”

You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.

“It was you?” you asked.

Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”

“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”

The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”

Hotch shook his head no.

“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”

“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”

Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”

The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.

“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.

“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.

Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”

The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.

“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”

“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.

“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.

Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.

Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.

Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.

“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.

A few of them chuckled at your antics.

“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”

“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.

“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.

“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.

“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.

A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”

“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.

“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.

Imagine how Hotch must have felt.

“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.

The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.

“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”

“You need sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”

You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”

“It’s why I offered.”

You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”

“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”

When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.

“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.

“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”

You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”

He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.

“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”

Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”

He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight.”

------

You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.

The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.

“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.

“How can I help?”

You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”

His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.

“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”

“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.

“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”

All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.

“Wait,” you said.

He froze.

You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.

“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”

You nodded.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

------

The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.

When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.

“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”

“I can get my things just fine.”

“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”

You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.

The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.

Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.

“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”

You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.

You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”

“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.

You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.

Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.

Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.

“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”

“Hotch, what is all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”

“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.

“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”

Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”

“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”

“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”

Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”

You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”

“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.

“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”

“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”

“I would do that for anyone.”

“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.

“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.

“This morning…” you said.

“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”

“Then what did Reid mean?”

Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”

“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”

“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”

You looked at him in shock.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”

“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”

Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”

“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”

“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”

“Stop it, now.”

“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”

“Hotch, I swear to god—”

“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”

“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”

“But he’s not just mean, is he?”

The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.

Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”

You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”

Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”

“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”

His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.

He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

“This is ok,” you said, breathless.

“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”

A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”

You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.

“Your room. Now.”

His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.

Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.

“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.

You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.

You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.

“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.

“You, first.”

Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.

“Your turn,” he said.

You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.

You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.

“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.

“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.

You nodded.

“Use your words, honey.”

Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”

He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.

“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.

“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.

Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.

A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.

“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.

“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.

“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.

“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.

When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.

Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.

“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”  

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”

He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.

Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.

“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”

Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.

You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”

Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.

“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”

“Faster, please,” you said.

His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.

“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”

He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.

“Just like that!” you blurted out.

He did just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.

“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.

“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”

You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”

“Chest!”

He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.

Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”

“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”

Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.

“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.

“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”

In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.

“The team’s gonna know,” you said.

Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”

“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”

Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.

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

ForeversTaglist:

@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude

[kitkatscabinet]

Nothing fucks with my baby

Simon Riley x wife reader

Summary: Simon is the Earth orbiting your sun and he'll do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if that means resorting to bloody means.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: attempted non-con (not by Simon)

@ghosts-cyphera for you pookie, hope you enjoy!

Eight months. It’s been eight long, tortuous months since Simon saw you in person. Eight months of living off brief Skype calls interrupted by work schedules and shitty internet cutting out mid-call, an age since he’s touched you. Since he’s breathed in your scent and cradled you against his muscular chest, since he’s tasted you. Pictures of you weren’t enough, even if you’d gifted him a set of delectable Polaroids showcasing your gorgeous body decorated with black and white lingerie.  

Long deployments had never bothered him, not until you’d become the central part of his life. Simon was the Earth, orbiting your sun reverently and fervently. He’d worship you on his knees for eternity if that’s what you desired.

His appetite for you has always been ravenous, but his need for you has been greatly nourished after months of no contact. The door to your shared home swings open with a bang, the anticipation coursing through his veins diminishing his control in a way he knows you’ll scold him for. His bag is dropped carelessly in the foyer as he stalks through the space, a man on a mission to find you. Not even the weary exhaustion after months of shit sleep and shared communal spaces would deter him from his mission. 

You’re not in your home office or the bedroom and Simon’s frustration simmers under his skin as he marches straight back out the door. It’s only the knowledge that you’ll be devastated to have missed his surprise homecoming that tempers his annoyance. 

Ghost is beyond irritated by the time he arrives at your work, not necessarily at you, he knows how seriously you take your career, it’s one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. Once some lowly private had made a snide remark about you being the breadwinner, scoffing at Simon for letting his wife ‘emasculate’ him like that. It was only Price playing damage control that kept him from a dishonourable discharge that day. He had no regrets, especially after the incident taught people to keep your name out of their mouths. 

It’s late, well past working business hours when he keys into the building using the code you’d given specially for him. So it shouldn’t surprise him how empty it is, most of the lights turned off as he made his way to your office, but Simon hadn’t survived over a decade in the military without learning to trust his gut. A distinct uneasiness settles in his body, narrowed eyes surveying the space for anything out of the ordinary as he increases his pace to get to you. 

The light in your office is on, the door is left open carelessly and gives Simon a clear view of the sight of you bent over your desk trying not to cry as a man holds a gun to your head and fumbles with your sleek dress pants. Simon thought he knew rage, but any anger he’s ever felt is drowned in comparison to the sheer righteous fury that alights his veins. 

He closes the gap in record time, red filtering out the corners of his vision and spraying over his knuckles as he rips the interloper away and viciously lays into him. Any slurred words pleading for mercy are ignored and shut down as Simon’s fist renders the man’s mouth an inoperable bloody mess. 

His arm aches furiously by the time he pulls back, chest heaving with breaths that have long since been silenced from the scumbag that now lay dead on the floor of your office. It’s the sound of your shaky sobs that pulls Simon back from the brink, immediately darting towards you, shaky hands stained with blood cradling you against his bulk gently. 

He’s vibrating with an explosive cocktail of fury, fear, outrage and relief. You press yourself tighter against his chest like you’re trying to burrow into the safety of his ribcage. Simon can’t bring himself to speak, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he buries his face into the top of your head. The silence is broken by the shaky inhales of your rattling breaths and sobs. 

All too soon you’re pulling away, even when he fights to keep you safe and sound against his chest. “Simon? What… what’s going to happen with-” You try and turn your gaze towards the corpse staining your carpet but Simon prevents you with a hand grasping your jaw, preventing you from getting a glimpse at the carnage. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head darling, I’ll take care of it. But first, let's get you home yeah?” He walks you from the building to your car with a supportive arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you against his side before sliding you into the passenger seat of your car. It’s a testament to how shaken you are that you don’t protest, remaining silent and clutching the hand that grasps your thigh like a lifeline. 

It doesn’t take long to tuck you into bed, wrapping you tightly in the blanket like it will protect you from the horrors of the outside world. The adrenaline had faded from your body making way for the exhaustion. Simon doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure the clutches of sleep have pulled you under, and even then, it's with extreme hesitation that he stands and leaves the bedroom, reaching for his phone to make a call. 

Luckily, you don’t wake even once in the hours that follow as he waits for news of the cleanup. He spends that time alternating between checking in on you, watching you breathe peacefully and pacing the linoleum floors that you’d insisted on. 

A single knock on the front door pulls him from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to pull him further and further into darkness. He opens the door to an unimpressed Price, who pushes his way in with Gaz and Soap trailing after. Expectantly he stares at them, watching as Price lights a cigar and takes a long drag. 

“It’s done. Did you have to make such a mess though son?” It’s an innocuous enough comment but one that raises Ghost’s hackles anyway and he shoots a venomous glare at his captain that would never have been acceptable in any other circumstances. His shoulders tense and it takes everything in him to keep his voice somewhat level. 

“That fucker laid his hands on my wife!” He inhaled shakily as he remembered what he’d almost been too slow to prevent, unable to prevent the rise of volume as he yelled at his captain, “My wife! He’s lucky I didn’t paint the room with his insides!” The baritone of his booming snarl is loud enough that even Soap flinches slightly with widened eyes. 

There’s a tense silence but his captain nods, something like approval in his gaze before his eyes slide towards the right and Simon turns just in time to witness you call his name, voice hoarse with sleep and eyes red from tears. 

He crosses the space and curls you against him in record time, nonchalantly throwing a dismissive wave towards his team who simply nod in understanding and file back outside. “Were those the boys? You didn’t have to kick them out” you murmured though Simon was already hushing you, leading you back to bed with a firm hand on the small of your back. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout them lovie, they were leavin’ anyway” he waved away your concerns, finally kicking off his shoes, trapping you in his arms and pulling you down onto the mattress. You squeak at his actions, giggling as his stubble tickles the skin of your neck. 

Despite how pent-up and desperate for your touch he is, Simon makes no move to escalate the situation, settling you in his arms and simply breathing you in. Neither of you speak about the earlier incident, not willing to shatter the peace. Though Simon lets out the occasional hum when your hands trace gentle circles over his heart, focusing on the steady beat of his pulse beneath your palm. 

Inevitably the lingering emotions of the day would have to be dealt with, but not yet, Simon would allow himself to relish in the peace just a little longer.

[plutotheplum]

Take a Chance with Me

zayne x fem!reader

summary: zayne gets called into work, so you bring him dinner.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, established relationship, smut, fluff, handjob, oral sex, p in v, office sex

wc: 4.4k

a/n: based on one of zayne's text messages! he's so domestic boyfriend core. this is basically just some soft, fluffy smut before i write a dawnbreaker angst fic :3

also on ao3!

Akso Hospital is quieter at night than it is in the day.

You’d been expecting the bustle of nurses and doctors when Zayne had texted you saying he’d been called in on short notice, preparing yourself for some sort of emergency. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that was the case, most likely a pressing surgery that had come up for Zayne.

Sometimes, you wished he’d take more days off. It was a little selfish to want to be wrapped up in Zayne’s arms all the time, but you couldn’t help yourself, the comfort and warmth his body provided was like no other. It was what you had been doing earlier that night, cozied up next to him on the couch, with a fluffy blanket pulled up over you both as he’d spoken to you about one of his past surgeries.

Zayne’s voice had a certain lull to it, the low murmur of his voice making your eyes droop until you’d curled up into his chest, face pressed into his neck and fallen asleep before the takeout you had ordered even arrived. 

Jenna’s missions had kept you on your toes for the entire week, your body exhausted and dazed under the constant stress of fighting Wanderers. Zayne gave you the solace of being able to unwind, although your boyfriend was as stern as ever, he was everything you needed. 

That was until you’d woken up and realized he was gone. Zayne had made sure you were tucked in, a pillow placed under your head comfortably, and your hair brushed away from your face. You’d been disappointed, but the moment you were awake, you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried.

It’s why you’re here now, the takeout bag clutched in hand with a couple of paper plates and forks stuffed inside, as you wait patiently for the elevator to drop you off at Zayne’s floor of the hospital.

And of course, I can’t wait to see the person delivering it.

Zayne’s text flashes through your mind, and your grip on the bag of takeout tightens. It wasn’t fair how a simple line of text could make your heart race and your mind swirl with emotion, a sense of yearning taking root within you. 

You spy Yvonne sitting at the front desk and you give her a small wave before approaching her.

“Hi,” Yvonne greets, smiling up at you, “here to see Doctor Zayne?”

You nod in response, holding up the bag of takeout. “He got called in before we could have dinner, so I figured I’d just bring it to him.”

“That’s nice,” Yvonne says, her fingers tapping against the keyboard, “Doctor Zayne finished up his surgery about an hour ago. He’s probably resting in his office.”

“Thank you, Yvonne,” you chirp, giving her smile and another wave before making your way towards Zayne’s office.

It’s tucked away into the corner, his name engraved on the plaque that sits adhered to the surface of the door. The door’s unlocked, but you’re not surprised, he probably left it open for you. Turning the handle, you poke your head in to find Zayne’s head resting on his outstretched arm against his desk.

His eyes are closed, so you step in quietly, trying not to rustle the bag of takeout too much and let the door lock behind you with a quiet click. Zayne remains motionless and you tiptoe towards him, setting the bag down beside his desk. He looks peaceful like this, his lashes kissing his cheeks, face relaxed as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

You’re not quite sure what you did to deserve someone like him. Zayne is sickeningly gentle and even more sickeningly patient with you. He treats you like you’re precious because to him, you are. You’re more precious to him than any award he could be given, more precious to him than the highest praise he could receive from any senior doctor in Linkon and beyond. You’re the only thing that truly matters to him.

Zayne’s devotion runs deep. It soothes your frayed nerves, and has lodged itself inside of you deep within your viscera. Sometimes, you think about clawing out the protocore-embedded heart in your chest and handing it to him. Zayne would take care of it, you’re sure, as he does now. 

He stirs for a moment and you still, slowing your breathing so as to not wake him. Your hand reaches out, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek. Zayne’s nightmares had gotten less frequent recently and you were thankful for it. He needed the rest. You lean in a little closer, unable to help yourself, letting your lips brush across his cheek in a fleeting kiss.

The hand on your wrist startles you for a moment before you realize Zayne is awake, his head lifting lazily and his eyes blinking open blearily.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice laced with sleep.

“I said I would,” you say softly, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over it. Zayne leans into your touch, letting out a heavy sigh as though some impossible burden were lifted off of his shoulders. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and let him nuzzle into your palm, his lips kissing the inside of your wrist.

Breaking through the relaxed atmosphere, your stomach growls and you flush, cheeks heating up. Zayne lets out a low laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you onto his lap.

“You should’ve eaten,” Zayne says, brushing his hand over your hair.

“I wanted to eat with you,” you mumble, pouting petulantly.

He hums, reaching for the bag of takeout, taking out the plates and forks along with the food. It’s impossible to stop yourself from nosing into his cheek, lips pressing soft kisses along his jaw and across the expanse of his cheek.

“I missed you.”

“It’s only been a few hours since I last saw you,” he muses, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

“So? I still missed you,” you reply, arms tightening around his neck.

A smile tugs at his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. He presses the fork of food up to your lips and you open your mouth obediently, letting him feed you. Zayne rubs his hand up and down your back from time to time, his lips pressing against your cheek with every bite he feeds you.

You curl into him when he finishes feeding you, letting your face find its way back home into the crook of his neck, carved out just for you. Zayne tightens his arm around your waist, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip every now and then as he eats.

“I love you,” Zayne says quietly, the fork settling against the plastic takeout container.

“I love you too,” you say, trying to press yourself closer into the heat of his body.

It frustrates you, not being able to be as close to him as you want. The sense of it not being enough, despite being flush against him, gnaws at you. Zayne knows this of course, can see the little downward pull of your lips whenever you get like this and try to meld your body against his as though you’re trying to burrow through his clothes and into him. He’d let you, if it was possible, keep you safe behind the curve of his ribs and close to his heart.

He slides his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head to tilt it upwards. You smile up at him fondly, eyes fluttering shut when he brushes the tip of his nose against yours.

“I love you,” Zayne repeats, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you t-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours, drawing you into a slow kiss. It’s sweet, the way he presses his lips to yours in a tentative question as though asking for permission even though he knows you’ll give it to him. Your head tilts, your hand sliding into the softness of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp gently. Zayne shivers and leans into you further, his hand squeezing at your waist.

Longing unfurls in your gut, the slow, syrupy sweetness of his kiss sinking through your flesh and encasing your soul in a warm embrace. You’re shifting on his lap, moving your body so that you straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. Zayne chases after you when you break away, not letting you leave him for long, guiding you into another kiss.

His hands have begun to drift, smoothing up over the skin of your thighs, squeezing at the flesh before sliding under to grab at your ass. You smile against his lips, fingers splaying across his throat before dragging down to hook into the knot of his tie. You tug downwards, loosening his tie from around his neck. 

“We can’t,” he whispers, glancing towards the door.

“I locked it,” you murmur, kissing him softly, “please, Zayne?” Your fingers go further, beginning to unbutton his shirt all the way. “I need you.”

Zayne stares up at you and sees the neediness in your expression, the haze that comes over your face whenever you ask him for his cock. He finds that he can never deny you.

“Okay,” Zayne says quietly, squeezing your arm, “okay, sweetheart.”

You palm him through his trousers, feel him beginning to grow in the confines of his pants. Zayne tries to bite back the noises you elicit from him, but it’s impossible when you look at him like that, your eyes all starry and cheeks flushed. 

“You’re always taking care of me,” you whisper, palming his bulge a little more firmly, “let me take care of you now, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a shaky breath and you smile, pecking his lips gently. Pulling his belt buckle free, you undo the button to his trousers, dragging the zip down to see his boxers. There’s a dark spot on the fabric and the sight has you licking your lips, grasping his half-hard cock through his boxers.

He lets out a strangled groan, his head falling back against his chair, hips bucking up to chase more of your touch.

“You’re teasing me,” Zayne grits out, his knuckles white with how tightly he’s gripping the armrests of his chair.

“‘m making you feel good,” you correct. 

Your hand pulls his boxers down, and his cock slaps against his abdomen, thick and tip flushed prettily. Zayne’s fully hardened now, the tips of his ears reddening as you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Fuck-” he pants, running his hand through his hair, “d-don’t stop.”

“Not going to,” you whisper, hand tightening around his cock.

Zayne groans again, his thighs falling open a little more. Your other hand cups his heavy balls, massaging them gently, lips finding his again as his pre-cum wets your hand. He kisses you desperately, hips bucking up into your hand. Zayne pushes at the straps of your dress impatiently, pulling it down along with your bra to find your breasts.

“So pretty,” Zayne murmurs, hand splaying across your back to make you arch into him.

He mouths across your collarbone, all the way to your sternum before drifting down to try and stuff the entirety of your breast into his mouth. A breathless laugh leaves you, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip of his cock. Zayne’s thighs jump, his grip on you tightening, tongue alternating between flicking over your nipple and swiping over the whole of your areola.

Spit drips from his mouth, a thin strand connecting his glistening lips to your hardened nipple. You catch it with your thumb, feeding it to him, letting him suck your thumb into his mouth. He moans around it and you whine, cunt clenching at the feeling of his warm mouth over your skin. It has you feeling debauched, your own mouth opening to let a glob of spit drip down and onto his cock. Zayne’s cock twitches and he presses himself against you, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as he pants.

“Sweetheart,” he grunts, his cock fucking into your hand, “you feel so good.”

You mewl in agreement, hand slipping into his hair again. Zayne lets out a low whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he curls his own hand around yours, tightening your grip. You move your hand faster, swipe your thumb over his fat, leaking tip more frequently and tug at his hair to tilt his head and kiss him.

“You’re throbbing,” you whisper, lips brushing over his with every word.

“You tend to have that effect on me,” he replies hoarsely.

His cock throbs almost on cue, another glob of pre-cum spilling down the side of his length. You squeeze your hand tighter, dragging it upwards to see more pre-cum spilling out of him the tighter you squeeze. Zayne sounds utterly gone, mouthing at your chest to distract himself, lips wrapping around your other breast this time. 

He stares up at you, amber-green eyes shining in the light as his mouth stays enveloped around the fat of your breast. You bite your lip, giving him a dazed smile and lowering your head to nudge your nose against his. Zayne forgets about your breast, tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me, Zayne,” you whisper sweetly, kissing the tip of his nose, “wanna see you cum.”

Zayne moans unabashedly, his heart fluttering at your words. His hips buck up one last time before he cums, squeezing at your sides roughly as his forehead falls against your shoulder. Hot, thick cum smears across your hands and you hum happily, giving his cock one last teasing pump. Zayne shudders at the sensation, grunting softly as he catches your wrist to stop you from playing with his sensitive cock.

“You made a mess, Doctor Zayne.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. You stay perched on his lap, watching as his cock softens. Zayne takes your hand before you can lick his cum off of your palm, his handkerchief swiping over your sullied palm and fingers, cleaning your skin.

Zayne kisses you again, squishes your cheeks to make your lips pucker out for a moment and smiles at the sight. You frown when he moves you off of him only to realize that he’s standing up as well, pushing your shoulders gently to make you sit down on his chair.

He sinks to his knees and you bite your lip, body taut with anticipation. Zayne pulls your socks off, his thumbs pressing into the arch of your right foot. You sigh at the sensation, eyes slipping shut.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, placing a reverent kiss to your ankle.

Your heart lurches, lips trembling as he caresses your calf. Zayne kisses up the length of your leg, up your shin and past your knee, his fingers squeezing at your flesh. He drags his lips across your inner thigh, landing soft kisses to your skin. His scarred hands graze over your panties, knuckles pressing against your swollen clit for a moment before he kisses your panty-clad pussy. 

Zayne repeats the same sequence of actions for your other leg as though he were worshiping you. A part of you wants to cry at his display of affection. There’s a lump in your throat with how nicely he’s treating you, but you swallow it down, losing yourself in the fond gaze he gives you.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper, fingers running through his hair.

“I’m not,” he replies, kissing your pussy again, “I just love you.”

You swallow harshly and Zayne smiles, his fingers pulling down your panties. He thumbs apart your folds and lets out a shuddering breath when he realizes how wet you are. 

“All for me,” he murmurs, watching the clench of your pussy around nothing, “you’re all mine.”

You whine in agreement, back arching as he licks over your cunt. Zayne kisses your clit and buries his face into your pussy, licking and sucking without abandon. You can barely stay on the chair with how much you’re squirming and writhing under his mouth. Zayne winds his arms around your thighs and holds you in place, his mouth making lewd noises as he makes out with your pussy until your cries grow louder.

You hope his office is soundproof, but when Zayne sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, you lose any sense of where you are, letting out pitchy, shuddering gasps as your feet press up onto your toes, digging into his back. 

“Zayne!” you cry, tugging at his hair roughly. He groans into your pussy, enjoying the sting of pain across his scalp. He buries his face deeper, kissing and licking until your pussy is puffy and slick is pouring out of you uncontrollably. “N-nghhh- no, Zayne. You- you have to fuck me!”

“Okay,” he rasps, pulling back when you tug at his hair, “up, my love, get up.” He taps your thighs and you stand up on shaky legs, pulling him closer by his tie to kiss him.

Zayne kisses you as you paw at his broad shoulders, pushing his shirt off to grasp at his muscled arms and back. He squeezes your waist, kneads the fat at your hips before he’s spinning you and bending you over his desk.

Your dress is flipped up, a squeak escaping your lips when he brings his hand down, slapping your ass. A giggle makes its way out of you and you rise up on the tips of your toes, wiggling your hips and ass for him playfully.

Zayne groans at the sight and slaps your ass again. His fingers spread apart your asscheeks, his eyes feasting on the sight of your glistening, puffy pussy again. You cry out when you feel him shove his face back into your pussy, licking over you messily and without abandon until you reach back and push at his head weakly.

You let your hips sway back and Zayne grasps his cock, pressing it against your greedy cunt. He curses as your pussy sucks him in, his hand balling up the fabric of your dress into one hand, keeping you spread as he watches you take his cock, inch after inch.

You let out a strangled gasp, the air being punched out of your lungs as he fills you up. Zayne is big and thick, his cock splitting you open, forcing your pussy to take him, carving the shape of his length inside of you. Your nails dig into his desk and neither of you seem to care as a few patient files slip off of the edge of the desk, the paper fluttering to the ground.

“Always so tight,” he hisses out, his hand curling over your hip, “such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Your head falls against the wood of his desk, teeth sinking into your knuckles as you try to muffle your noises. Zayne notices and lets out a tsk, his arm reaching for yours and bringing it behind your back.

“None of that,” Zayne chastises, “I want to hear you, my love.”

He does hear you when he presses your lower back down, his hips thrusting forward. You cry out, moaning and mewling as his cock sinks into you repeatedly. Zayne drapes himself over your back, kissing up your spine and landing a soft kiss to your shoulder, hips humping into your ass. The squelch of your cunt should be embarrassing, but it happens whenever Zayne fucks you now, you get so horribly wet whenever you see his cock and he touches you.

You turn your head back to kiss him and Zayne groans into your mouth, licking into your mouth before he’s moving back to fuck you properly. Your knees would buckle if you weren’t bent over the desk. His name plate inches closer to the edge of the desk with every thrust Zayne delivers to your pussy.

Zayne pants and grunts; you look back to find his face flushed, his eyes closed and brows drawn together tightly. He looks handsome, face twisted with pleasure and want; unadulterated passion.

“Zayne- o-oh yes-” you whimper when he pins you down, his hands grasping your hips roughly.

He ups his pace, the desk rattling, his belongings hitting the floor. Each snap of his hips leaves you reeling and you’re sure you’re seeing stars in the darkness of your closed eyes. 

“Good girl,” he groans, unable to stop himself from landing another slap to your ass, “my good girl- fuck- I love you so, so much, sweetheart.”

You’re practically sobbing, walls clenching around his cock so tightly that he’s cupping your jaw and drawing you up so that your back is flush against his chest. Zayne bends his knees and fucks up into you. Your nails scrape against his arm, head falling against his shoulder as his hand slips down to rub your clit.

“Take it,” Zayne whispers, nipping your earlobe, “take it, baby.”

His calloused fingers on your clit too much and your body is seizing up, the coil of pleasure inside of you snapping until you moan loudly, his hand slapping over your mouth when the beginnings of a squeal make its way out of you with how oversensitive you are. 

Your body shudders as you cum, and you try to push his hand away from his clit but he sinks his teeth into your shoulder in warning, rubbing tight circles until he cums, his low grunts filling your ear as his hips slow into a stuttering mess. Zayne bends you over the desk again, shuffles forward until his hips are flush against your ass, balls pressed against your clit, his cock stuffed inside your pussy snugly.

“I love you,” you whine, feeling his hot cum fill you up.

“I- I shit-” Zayne gasps, thrusting his hips forward a few more times as he feels your walls clenching around him tightly, milking every drop of thick cum from him, “Hah- I l-love you too,” he stammers, slumping over you.

You mewl under his weight, his softening cock slipping out of you. Zayne’s cum mixed with your arousal drips down your thighs, smearing against your skin. He lifts himself up after a few moments of panting, using his desk for support. You turn around, rising up on shaky legs and even shakier toes to cup his cheeks and kiss him.

Zayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. He deepens the kiss, lowers his head for you so that you can sink down flat onto your feet again. Your tongue tangles with his, hands stroking over his hair soothingly as you give yourself to him, body and soul.

You can feel his smile against your lips, the drag of his lips across your cheek and the side of your head to press several kisses to your forehead.

“I hope your office is soundproof, Doctor Zayne,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and letting your chin rest on his chest.

“I hope so too,” Zayne says, flushing lightly.

You laugh, kissing the underside of his jaw. You help him pull his shirt on again, buttoning up the front of it and tighten his tie again. Zayne wipes the insides of your thighs with a few tissues, discarding them in the bin beside his desk, helping pull up your panties over your hips.

He fixes the straps of your dress, fingers brushing over your shoulders gently and the place where his teeth had sunk into you.

“Take the day off tomorrow,” you say to him as you help gather the patient files that had fallen off of his desk.

“You know I can’t,” he sighs, shaking his head.

You pout, widening your eyes and batting your eyelashes up at him in an attempt to give him the most pleading look you can muster.

“Please?” you say, sidling up to him again, “you’re overworked, Zayne. Take the day off, hm? We can relax together.”

Zayne stares down at you, his lips pursing for a moment. It never takes much convincing. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he feels compelled to listen.

“You’re a terrible influence, sweetheart.”

You smile up at him giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘m just taking care of my lovely, handsome, perfect boyfriend.”

“Fattening up my ego, huh?” Zayne asks, dipping his head to steal a kiss from you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your voice softens slightly. “I- I do mean those things, Zayne.”

Zayne falters at the hint of vulnerability in your voice. He can see that you’re shy about it with the way your eyes dart away from his, you always have been whenever confessing your more heart-felt feelings. 

“If you insist,” he says quietly, trapping your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes to meet his again. “But I think you’re the perfect one.”

You flush at his compliment, swatting his chest. He laughs, grabbing your fist to press a firm kiss to your knuckles. Zayne’s laugh fades when he stares at your hand, his brows furrowing for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your own brows furrowing as you stare at your bare hand. There’s nothing on it, nothing of concern anyways.

“Ah,” Zayne clears his throat, giving you a smile, “it’s nothing.”

It’s strange. He can’t help but think your left hand looks oddly bereft in the light. 

Zayne thinks a ring would fix the problem. 

He dips his head, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips as he takes your hand, leading you out of his office, letting Yvonne know that he wouldn’t be available tomorrow.

Zayne drives you home, despite your insistence that you could drive instead, his head shaking sternly as he’d ushered you into the passenger’s side. You’re curled up in bed with him, blankets pulled up over both you, the heat cocooning you in. 

“Despite your Evol, you’re so warm,” you mumble drowsily, face pressed into his chest.

“That may be because of the blankets,” Zayne says, amused.

You scoff, but you don’t have it in you to come up with some witty remark, instead letting him play with your hair.

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you slur, body relaxing further when he scratches your scalp gently.

“I want to spend the morning in bed with you,” he whispers, watching as your eyelids slip shut.

It’s only half the truth. Zayne does want to spend the morning in bed with you, but he also wants something… more.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You’re asleep when he whispers the words, his lips brushing your forehead.

It doesn’t matter. 

You’ll hear them properly when he gets down on one knee.