#this man sustained eye contact and smiled and winked at me

[faeish-art]

I haven’t shared anything from seeing miyavi on his 20th anniversary tour one year ago. Wish I could add more videos. My friend had a better camera and took most of these

[jangmi-latte]

࿐ “If Malleus had given you anything in the form of gold or diamond. You must prepare yourself. That’s a sign. You may not bear his kids just yet, but once his heat comes, it will be inevitable to stop him.”

➻ warnings: nsfw w/ a mix of fluff, breeding kink intensifies, vaginal penetration, clingy mal mal, rough sex, cunnilingus, just malleus going all out 

➻ comments: it’s going to go back and forth between fluff and smut so be aware. minors, do not interact! this is The Dragon’s Temptation part two so enjoy! 4.4k words and fem reader <3

"Lilia…" you called, concerned, "...why are you laughing so much?" With no signs of stopping, the old fae continued to holler in laughter. His whole body shook as he continued to take in deep breaths in between chortles. You were growing even more concerned. It wasn't maniacal laughter, neither was it sadistic, it was just Lilia laughing in… joy if you would put it.

Silver— who was staring at Lilia and is currently half-awake—nudged his father to catch his attention; it didn’t work. Scratching his head with the same concerned expression on his face, he said, “Father. You know how laughing out of nowhere makes me nervous.”

The old fae shimmered down into small chuckles, wiping a tear or two as he laid back on the couch. Out of breath is he, he looked at you and chuckled again. His shoulders mockingly shaking before letting out a loud sigh. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” both you and Silver asked simultaneously. Lilia looked over at the second-floor balcony of the castle they resided in. In silence, he caught Malleus, who stood and was staring at nothing; or at you. He was deep in thought, and neither you nor Silver noticed. Lilia asked Silver to give you and him some privacy, and the young man respectfully obeyed. He left you with the older fae and your husband, who now descended down the stairs, yet hid behind the wall. He avoided you, much to his dismay, and you have yet to notice the distance he has been placing.

“y/n, dear.” He sat upright and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You obliged and listened attentively. Lilia’s tone was soft, fatherly— or grandfatherly— like. Your thumb caressed the small black diamond that adorned your wedding ring whilst you glanced around in hopes of looking for Malleus. With half your attention situated in your surroundings, you looked back at Lilia, who held a knowing smile.

“Has Malleus given you anything yet?”

You pondered; it wasn’t your anniversary or was the day anything special. You replied, “Uhh... “ you bit the joint of your index finger in thought, “Give me anything like what? Be specific, please…” In the back of your head, you knew the answer. You have been married to and living with Malleus for five years now, it’s not unusual for Lilia to act like something was going to happen.

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about, dear.” There go the shaking shoulders and the suppressed laughter again.

Knew it.

You took a deep breath of air and leaned back on the couch. Your hands covered your face in embarrassment as you remembered the night before. Malleus gave you a pair of 24-carat gold earrings last night. Additionally, he was very lustful and clingy. He would sniff your neck while you’re in the kitchen, he would kiss your knuckles while you’re at the garden, he would hold and grip your thighs while he handled royal duties, and he would kiss and lick your breasts while you slept.

“Those earrings surely are beautiful.” Lilia grinned and stretched, before continuing, “Looks like I have to tell the gnomes to be ready in nine months again.”

“No, wait, Lilia! I’m not even pregnant—”

“Yet.” He cut you off with a wink.

“How would you even know I would get pregnant again this time?!” you whisper-yelled, face flushed in red. Unbeknownst to you, Malleus has been itching to touch you again as he stayed behind the wall. As each day passes by, he keeps on touching you, making sure to stay close to you at all times. It was only today that he kept his distance. He knew he would break any second and just fuck you on the spot.

“Is Faye enough of an answer for you?”

“Mama!”

Speaking of the devil, a little girl, no older than four, ran inside the castle’s lounge and wore a big grin on her face. She stopped just as your legs caught her from toppling to the ground. In a fit of giggles, she climbed onto your lap and kissed your cheek. “Hi, baby,” you cooed and rubbed your nose against your daughter’s cheek.

“Mama, mama. I found...i-i found—” she spoke, too hyper and giddy to finish her sentences as you tried to calm her down while rubbing her back.

“Deep breaths, sweetie.”

Obeying, she took a deep breath and exhaled. She then continued with her statement, “I found a mama duck with her…” she stopped and looked at her fingers, mumbling the numbers as she lifted each finger, “...four—” she showed you four fingers, “—baby duckies, and they were going for a swim! I want to touch one, but Silver told me not to.” Faye pouted.

You grinned, giggling as you kissed her cheek. “That’s great! And Silver is right. Don’t touch mama duck and her babies because she might get angry and hurt you. It’s just like how papa and I would get angry if someone else touches you.”

“She looks so much like Malleus. I feel nostalgic,” Lilia spoke and squished Faye’s cheeks. He wasn’t lying; Faye had green eyes and your hair. What made her look a lot like her father was her having his horns. She has developed into a part dragon, and her horns looked like two small bumps on her head.

“Grandpapaaaa…” Faye complained with a giggle as Lilia stopped his pinching. “Where’s papa, where’s papa?!” She looked around and even stood on your lap to look for her father.

“Ah, Faye. Come with grandpapa for a second. Playtime is over. It's time for your reading sessions. Your mother will look for your father while we read.” Lilia nodded his head towards the wall near the stairs, indicating Malleus' whereabouts. He carried the princess away from you and into another room. She even waved at you and sent you a flying kiss before Lilia closed the door. You sighed.

Malleus is in heat and Faye needs not to know about that.

“Mal?” you called and stood. You hear shifting from behind the wall and as you glance over, you see your husband. He was a bit bigger than his usual height and he had his long tail gently swishing behind him. The formal (it was casual in a way) attire he was wearing had the top buttons unbuttoned, giving you the best breast window you would ever see. As you took in a sharp inhale, he approached you.

You couldn’t speak as he eyed you; you eyed him back. Your brain absorbed this work of art of a husband in front of you. Handsome would be an understatement. “Dearest,” he sighed.

“Why...Why are you like this?” you asked, now concerned as you held his arms.

“You already know the answer.”

“I know but...why…” You moved your hands around, gesturing his whole physique while he looked down at himself. “Has Faye seen you like this?”

“She has,” Malleus said, making you surprised. “She likes playing with my tail. It gave me enough of a distraction from wanting to touch you,” he admitted. His tail wrapped around your waist and pulled you flushed against his chest. The closer you are to Malleus, the more you look at his features.

Your hand caressed his jaw as you smiled, "When did this happen?"

"This morning while you were in Faye's room. It was a sign for me to avoid you at all cost." Malleus' voice was strained and gruff. It held the hesitance of him needing to speak those words. He wants to do the exact opposite of course.

"And why would you do that? Mal. I'm your wife. It's my duty to make sure you're alright and sustained with all your needs. Do you really think you could avoid me?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I survived during your first heat," you confidently spoke. You felt the king's possessive and needy hands rub against your clothed hips. Itching their way under your dress and towards your thighs while he kept eye contact with you. "And you wouldn't hurt me."

"y/n, you don't understand," came his strict and authoritative tone. "With me in this form, I am already warning you, it's dangerous—"

"That's not stopping me from staying away from you."

"You're so stubborn." Malleus knew who he married as he exhaled through his nose and looked away in sexual frustration. Blabber here, blabber there, that's what you two are doing. What he wants is to mark you, kiss you, lick you, and make you scream already. Unbelievably horny.

You stood your ground, arms crossed over your chest as you stared up at your man. "I am."

His tail tightened around your waist, teeth gritting in frustration, "I held back on my first heat because you weren't my mate yet," he emphasized, "and now that you are my queen—" His used your chin to bring your face closer to his, lips grazing yours sensually as his slitted pupils glared at you, "—I am not going to hold back."

"I will fuck you. Breed you. And make sure you're pregnant by the end of the week. I can not and will not be able to hold myself back if that were to happen. Even if you tell me to stop, I will not. Do you understand, y/n?"

Air got stuck in your throat as your lips quivered. Either you were sexually turned on by Malleus' demeanor or you could really sense how intense his heat was at the moment. He was right. The moment you said 'I do' was the same moment you were claimed as his mate, his queen. How that sentence made your legs weak if it wasn’t for his tail holding you firm.

"Then so be it."

"y/n—…" Malleus searched your eyes for any signs of hesitance, maybe even fear. There was none. Must he be scared if he were to hurt you. You wanted to be there for him during one of his intense moments. Well, you were the one who gave him an heir; it’s not anything new that you would give him another. He only fears that with his strength and power as a fae, with him going out of control, he might just harm you.

And Malleus never wanted that to happen, not to you, not to Faye, not to anyone.

To you, this man is still your husband. This is still Malleus Draconia. Just different but it’s still him. You are his weakness; no matter how stubborn you get, even now that he YEARNS to be around you, you still have that impact on him. “Mal. I promise I’ll be okay. I’m here to help you.”

He sighed, letting you wrap your arms around his chest. “I’ll tell Lilia to keep Faye away from the castle for a week. I can’t expose her to this,” he mumbled against your hair. “By tomorrow, you should be ready.” You felt him inhale your scent as his grip around you tightened. Smiling, you kissed his neck, “As you wish.”

❥❥ ❥❥ ❥❥

“Faye, don’t give grandpa and your two big brothers a headache, okay?”

Tomorrow came sooner than you expected. Your husband is going to be one horny dragon for a week and it was hard to find an excuse to tell Silver, Sebek, and Faye since they’re going to be living in a cottage in the meantime. While you prepared yourself the previous night for Malleus—he was already impatient while you spoke to Lilia—you were also preparing Faye’s stuff. Not only did you have to prepare yourself for a rough week, but you also need to prepare to conceive another child. Faye is already old enough and you’re most likely going to give her a little sibling.

The first time Malleus was in heat already caught you off guard, but this time, you were ready. Besides knowing his sex patterns already, this new season was going to bring something new. Malleus’ draconic features showed no signs of disappearing and if his heat wasn’t sustained, he’s going to be very grumpy. You trust Lilia enough to look after your daughter. You could even see Malleus stare at his daughter while she got ready to leave. He’ll miss her, even if it was just a week.

“Yes, mama. I promise!” Faye hooked her small pinky around yours and she pecked your cheek. Sebek was already holding her bag while they waited by the door. Malleus looked at Lilia, eyes squinted as if to tell him something. The older fae just chuckled and nodded, “I got her, I got her.”

“Young Master, are you sure you’ll be alright on your own with the young mistress?” Sebek asked worriedly while he gripped the doorknob. It was a surprise to see his king in such a state, more reason for the knight to get worried. Malleus nodded, watching you approach him with Faye in your arms.

“Kiss papa bye-bye,” you said.

Faye pouted and hooked her arms around Malleus’ neck. Her father held her gently as she kissed his cheek. “I’ll have fun with Silver and Bebek but I’ll miss papa,” she admitted. Malleus smiled and placed his daughter down by using his tail, “I will be alright. After one week, you’re sleeping with your mother and I. Be obedient, am I understood?”

An overprotective father is scarier than a dragon if Silver and Sebek would ever compare.

“Yes, papa!” giggled Faye as she held Silver’s hand.

“We’ll be going now. See you in a week.” Lilia grinned while he ushered the two boys outside. You and Malleus stayed by the door, watching your daughter skip away while she held Silver and Sebek’s hands. “Call us if anything goes wrong okay? Don’t hesitate!” you called out. Lilia simply waved his hand at you while hearing Faye say, “Bebek, I want to pick fruit up trees again!” as their figures slowly disappeared from your view.

You sighed, already missing your daughter. And while you moved away from the door, it slammed shut loudly. Malleus’ hand on the door indicated that it was him who slammed it shut. Without you taking notice, you are now trapped between his body and the door. Your back faced him as his nose tickled your neck; his tongue slithered across your nape, the warmth of his tongue and the cold air sent shivers down your spine.

“Mal…” you inhaled, your hand holding onto his thigh while you arch your neck, “We just sent them off. They might come back…” came your quivering breath.

“Oh, they won’t come back.”

“What—”

Before you could even blink, you were thrown on the bed, dazed by the sudden shift of environment. From the living room, you’re now laying submissively on the bed. He towered over you, eyes narrowed, and glared at you so lustfully. “Wait—”

“I warned you, y/n.” The king crawled on top of you. His long tongue slithered across his lips, breath hitting your face as you started to pant in anticipation. The room grew hot. Your body felt like it was burning. Your legs rubbed against the sheets in dire need to be touched and fucked until you could no longer walk. Only he could make you feel this way. Your man.

“I will no longer hold back.”

And holding back he did not, indeed.

Gripping your neck, Malleus captured your lips in a hot, searing kiss. His tongue, with no hesitance, slithered inside your mouth and in desperation and temptation. Incapable of resisting your own muffled moans, and to keep yourself sane, you weakly gripped on his bicep and his wrist. He held you by your neck to keep you in place. It was his way of showing you dominance.

Breath was knocked out of your lungs almost immediately. To keep up with his addicting, electrifying, pace was enough to make you light-headed. With his knees being his support, his other hand roamed on your body. With just a tug of his finger, your clothes were discarded, ripped, on the floor. He was devouring you, really making you feel that you are his mate, his fucktoy for the day.

Moving from your lips to your neck — without even letting you have a moment’s breath — he sensed your pulsating veins. You could feel your heart beating everywhere; from your neck to your chest, and down to your cunt. You laid bare under him and you don’t even know. You felt lightheaded.

“M..Mal…” you panted.

He sucked and bit on every sensitive spot he knew would make you weak. As the rapid beast he is, he left marks, dark and bruising, at his wake. Littering your neck and your chest as his tongue flicked against your nipples. Roughly did he suck and tug with his teeth. He made them look swollen, indescribably sensitive. The hotter your body went, the more you wanted him to touch your throbbing clit already. You don’t know if the marks have satisfied him; it felt like he wanted to add more. To litter your body with hickeys that showed that you're His Highness, Draconia’s only. Waves of arousal hit you strongly as he descended to your navel.

“Shit,” he panted against your skin.

He finally stood upright, kneeling against your whorish spread legs. Your wet, glistening pussy is clear in his sight. He is hungry.

You were left under his gaze feeling so sensitive and aroused, any touch that lingered on your skin would leave goosebumps and shivers. “Mal—!” Just as you were calling out, he dove down to your cunt and latched on your clit. His lips did the work as he greedily sucked and nipped on your hardened clitoris. Your back involuntarily arched as you gripped on his horns. His hands kept your legs open. Choking out loud moans while he slithered his tongue inside your walls.

“M-Mal—..please..please! T-Too much—!” you gasped out.

It was too much, alright. Your cunt so red and wet, your hips shivering as he pushed his tongue in and out. Eating out your wetness with strings sticking and stretching from his lips to your cunt. He groaned with every tug you did on his horns. He was so good, too good, with his ability to pleasure you with his tongue alone. He was right. It was so rough. It was nothing like his first heat.

It was animalistic.

Your overly sensitive nub hardened the more he sucked. Malleus’ thumbs even spread your labia open for more access. You are vulnerable, stimulated, and submissive to him. It was all coming swiftly. You could’ve drenched the sheets with just your wetness alone. Cries of pleasure alone bounced around the bedroom walls along with the audible wet sounds that Malleus’ mouth made on your pussy. He thrusted his tongue, wiggled it inside you, hitting your spots more than you could handle. At this point, you’re shaking with your toes curling.

“I’m close! I’m close— I can’t b-breathe…!” you cried out with your body spasming. Subconsciously, you squirted just as he pulled away from your nub. Now, you’re too overstimulated for you to think straight. You panted at the intense orgasm you had. Your hazy vision looked at Malleus. He was licking your cum from his lips. “You’re ready.”

You couldn’t see his thick cock from your position. All you could do was watch; up until he flipped you onto your stomach with a pillow under your stomach to lift your hips. Your weight leaned on your knees while your arms — as weak as they are — lifted you enough to keep your head from the bed. “Malleus...wait, I’m not—”

He did not listen. Malleus rubbed his cock against your slit and without warning, he slammed into you, deeply. In one sharp thrust, he was balls deep inside you as you cried and gasped loudly. He hovered over you, pushing his hips further into yours. Your cunt was quivering from accommodating his thick cock. You have never felt so full.

“Malleus!..Nngh!”

You’re just where he wanted you to be. Under him, screaming in ecstasy, ready to take his seed. Letting him breed you until your pussy couldn’t hold his cum. And he wouldn’t stop even though it’s already spilling on the bed. Your walls devoured his cock greedily. It sucked him. You're still so tight even after giving birth years ago. To fuck you senseless would drive him mad.

That he did.

Pulling all the way out, Malleus pounded back into you. There was no mercy in his thrusts as he snapped his hips against your ass. He grunted at how you make him feel good. Breathy moans left his lips while you moaned under him. Each thrust was harder and rougher than the last. He was speeding up. One objective in his mind was to make you pregnant. It was just day one. His tail wrapped around your waist, lifting your ass higher for him to fuck you more relentlessly.

“You...take me so well,” he panted as he leaned his lips against your back. “Just hang in there. You’re doing so good…”

His cock grazed and hit just the right spots inside you; he was going to bruise your pussy with his roughness. You were growing addicted to the pleasure building up inside you. As you kept on moaning his name, his relentless thrust fueled you into absolute bliss. Fuck, you wouldn’t even know if you came again. The pleasure just never seems to seize.

His fingers crawled down to your hardened clit, rubbing them in circular motions which sent you twitching and biting down on the sheets. “Mal that’s too much!” you screamed in stimulation. Tears were already dripping down your cheeks. “Aah…! Fuck—!”

“I’m not stopping,” he growled, pounding repeatedly.

Skin slapping against skin was very evident now, the bed rocked under the both of you. You couldn’t even scream anymore, you shimmered down to whimpers and gasped. His deep groans seem to be more audible as you feel him coming closer to his orgasm. You’re trembling as he manhandles you. He really used you like his fleshlight. With a sharp thrust, you moaned loudly. Leaving your mouth hanging open as you squirted for the second, third, or was it the fourth, time.

Watching you erotically cum and stain the sheets just drove Malleus wild. It was beautiful. Seeing you filled up with his seed just urged him more. The tightness of your pussy just made him moan louder, pushing further into you as his pace grew erratic. “Take it, my queen.”

He panted, “Take all of my cum…!”

Malleus’ hips halted, ejaculating deep inside you while you’re left whimpering at his warm cum filling you up. You convulsed and continuously quivered. His thick semen already spilled out of you before he even pulled out. It felt amazing. It was so...fucking addicting. You tried to collect your breathing, left staring at the sheets as sweat ran down both your bodies. He finally pulled out, leaving you empty as you sighed in relief. Malleus watched as cum dripped down your thighs; he grew hard again.

Just as you were lifting yourself up, your husband flipped you onto your back, “You’re not going anywhere,” he smirked as he watched your eyes widen, “You won’t get pregnant in just one round.”

“Wait..wait.. Malleus let me breathe—!”

He ignored you again and sheathed himself back inside your vagina. “Mngh!”

“I’m s-still...sensitive!” You felt your clit pulsate, feeling like you want to cum again.

He moved again, just as relentless as the first round. With this position, he bit you, squeezed your breasts, kissed you, anything he could do to send you into overdrive, he did. Malleus did not let you rest. Hours and hours he bred you. At times where he’s calm, he would bring you a glass of water. Then it would proceed to another set of sex. Again, it was just and still day one. You have four more days before he’s completely satisfied.

When you started, the sun was up high, but now it was the moon that peeked through your window. It was finally the sign that Malleus was content for the night as he laid in bed in a heap of breath and sweat. You felt like passing out as you stared up at the ceiling. Your cunt was really full of his semen. “Are…” you whined, “...you done?”

“For now,” he smiled and pulled you into his arms. “We still have four more days.”

He kissed your nape as he kept you tight in his arms. You whined more, shifting your legs to make you comfortable. “I already feel pregnant…”

“Just think of Faye’s happiness once we give her a little sibling. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

You tiredly smiled, intertwining your fingers against Malleus’ larger hand on your stomach. Two little kids will be running around the castle soon. A happy Lilia Vanrouge would be spoiling the younger one. Sebek and Silver would have one of each Draconia child to look after. And… probably another one to come after that if Malleus would ever come to heat again in the future years.

That is what welcomed you as Mrs. Draconia.

© jangmi-latte, all rights reserved. Happy to Serve!

[primofate]

Shortfic: Zhongli x Childe x gn! Reader (Taking care of sick reader) Poly relationship

Listen, don’t sue me. I just have so much Zhongli x Childe x reader brainrot. I just think the dynamics would be so good. Zhongli being such a daddy good caretaker and Childe being... well Childe being Childe and you in the middle of it all, LIKE WHY THE HELL NOT? Yeah idk, I’m sorry, I indulged myself.

Categories: poly relationship, protective Childe and Zhongli, worry, possessive, fluff

Warnings: hinting at sexual activities (still very SFW though), poly relationship, not tagging anyone because I’m not sure if this is your thing. Let me know tho.

Characters: Zhongli x gn! Reader x Childe

"Zhongli…" 

Childe stands in front of the man with a defeated look in his face, eyes turned towards the floor. 

Zhongli was enjoying his tea, sitting at the table, liking the peace that it gave him. With a soft 'clink' he sets his teacup down and looks at Childe, calm gaze placed on the younger man. 

"Childe, they will be fine,"

"I just don't understand what went wrong, was it too cold last night? Or were they overworking themselves?" 

Zhongli sighs to himself, standing to close the gap between him and Childe. He cups a hand around the crook of Childe's neck, thumbing gently on his jaw. 

"These things just happen sometimes, Childe. Perhaps it was something they ate, or even just a minimal change in their routine," 

"But they look like they're in so much pain," 

"I don't doubt it, their fever is at its peak at the moment. Not to worry, I've contacted Baizhu to take a look at them in the afternoon," Zhongli moves to remove his hand from Childe's neck, but the ginger haired male grasps on his wrist and stays it there. They stand in front of each other in silence, Childe swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed out of worry. 

"Although we aren't bound by a contract…" Zhongli's voice tones down to a near whisper, Childe's eyes flicker up towards his. "...We're bound by an even stronger bond. Rest assured Childe, we are doing the best that we can," Zhongli moves his hand an inch downward towards his shoulder and squeezes it, and, in a slow and comforting motion, presses a kiss on Childe's forehead. "They will be fine," Zhongli repeats in a way that gives Childe the confidence and reassurance he needs. 

The younger male takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. He nods and let's go of Zhongli's wrist, head turning the slightest to listen if you've woken up. 

Nothing. 

He kinda wished that you did, so that he could ask you how you were doing. If anything hurt. If you needed anything. 

"Why don't you rest for a moment, I'll check on them in the next few hours," Zhongli motions over to the tea set on the table. There were 3 teacups filled up, one for him, one for Childe and one for you. "It wouldn't do if both of you got sick now, would it?" 

Childe sighs and agrees, "Tell me if they wake up," and so for the rest of the day Zhongli stays by your bedside, changing the wet towel atop your forehead and merely watching the quickened rise and fall of your chest. Your face is flushed pink with the extra heat your body is producing, face clearly uncomfortable. 

Suddenly Zhongli understands Childe’s anxiousness. You looked as if you were about to break. Childe was wildly protective of you, compared to Zhongli who always seemed to see things in a neutral manner. Looking at your current state though, he can't help but feel a stronger need to hide you away from the dangerous world. 

Zhongli leans back in his seat, closing his eyes to rest momentarily. He had probably fallen asleep because in the next moment he hears his name on your lips. Even without opening his eyes, he knows that it’s you. He pushes himself up and comes to see that you’re sitting up as well, flush still on your face, sweat sticking to your forehead. “Y/N,” he’s a little startled, but motions for you to wait. If Childe finds out that he didn’t call him at the first moment, he’d be livid. 

The moment he steps out of the room, his foot just an inch out, Childe is up and walking towards him. “Are they okay?” he asks, and Zhongli merely opens the door wider for him. Childe becomes a literal clingy koala at the sight of you. “Y/N!!!!” and leaps forward to give you a bear hug. There’s so many things coming out from his mouth that you weren’t even sure what he was saying anymore. 

“Ahahaha…” You laugh nervously as he grips you in a tight hug. Zhongli just watches, the edge of his lips slightly upturned into a small smile. “I’m fine, Childe, I think I just need some rest and maybe something for the annoying headache I’m having,”

You pinch in between your eyebrows as Childe pulls back, smoothing your hair back and fussing over you. “Medicine, right? How ‘bout water? Do you need water?” You smile brightly at him despite the fatigue and he beams back, infinitely glad that you were awake and talking to him. He continues his line of questioning, “or maybe kisses? How about kisses? Hugs? I have plenty to give,” It was your laugh that let him know that you were feeling better, at least better than last night when he had just found you passed out on the floor. 

“Just some tea is fine,” you reply, leaning forward to rest your head on Childe’s shoulder, him wrapping his arms around you in response.

“We’ve poured you a cup of tea already, I’ll go and fetch it,” Zhongli says, opting to give the two of you some time alone, but not before pressing a kiss atop your head, just as he had to Childe earlier. 

“How do you feel? Are you in pain?” Childe yet again asks and you shake your head, “It’s manageable, don’t worry too much,” but your lover sighs and caresses your hair carefully. Zhongli comes back a moment later with Baizhu, who had arrived just as he was fetching your tea.

“Ah, Y/N, it’s a good sign you’re awake,” Baizhu smiles sweetly, much too sweet for your liking. Childe takes himself away from your bed and lets Baizhu do a complete check of your vitals and condition. He stood side by side with Zhongli, stance relaxed. 

Baizhu isn’t stupid. He knows the kind of relationship the three of you have. He’s been on house call another time for Childe who had sustained quite the injury. He saw how you worried over him, and saw how Zhongli’s expression creased into anxiousness. 

The situation was the same today. Except that you were the patient, Childe’s face was the one covered in anxiety and Zhongli… Well… He didn’t seem too bothered by the whole thing but if you looked closely, he was slightly tense than he usually was. 

Baizhu just wanted to have his fun. How far were their boundaries, really?

“How are you feeling, dear?” Baizhu asks you as you’re sipping on the warm tea. “...Tired and… a splitting headache” You put away the cup of tea with a slight sigh, still feeling your muscles cry out for help. “Is that so?” Baizhu tilts your head up to look at him, fingers under your chin, and he peers into your eyes, a tad closer than he was before.

Zhongli and Childe tense at the motion, but don’t make a move to interfere. “Just checking your pupil dilation,” there’s an undertone of mischief in his voice, though you couldn’t tell if that’s just how he usually was or…

Baizhu’s hands slide down to your arm, taking your wrist and checking your pulse. A moment of silence passes, “Just a little fast but otherwise normal,” and lets go of your arm. He prescribes a medley of Chinese herbs to be taken as tea, telling Zhongli and Childe how to prep it. He finishes his examination rather quickly, “A normal fever, if it worsens tomorrow then you should call me once again,” he takes your hand and rubs it rather affectionately. You’re a bit surprised at the action.

As if that wasn’t enough, another one of his hands cup your cheek as he gives you a quick wink, “I wouldn’t mind getting called multiple times for such a charming face like yours,” the blush on your cheeks is suddenly not just because of the fever. 

One would think that Childe would react faster to the pharmacist’s advances, but it was Zhongli who sets his hand down rather roughly on the other man’s shoulder, “Baizhu, that’s unnecessary,” The tall man says. Almost commands.

Childe was only mid step. The green-haired man chuckles, the white snake around his neck weirdly quiet today. “I’m merely examining your...interesting arrangements, they ARE a piece of art--” and the warning squeeze on his shoulder told him that he should be going. 

He chuckles again, but lets himself be led out by Zhongli. Childe takes his place next to you, the mattress caving at his weight, “...Were you blushing just now?” he accuses you, eyes squinted.

“N-No… It’s the fever…” but your stutter tells him otherwise. He raises an eyebrow in question, obviously not believing you.  

You gulp a little, “I was just caught off guard… it’s not that I enjoyed what he said…” you pout a little. Childe smiles at the cute look on your face, he was merely teasing. “Oh? Well, doesn’t matter, I’ve seen a lot more different expressions on your face than just a small blush,” there’s a quick smirk on his face and it’s here that your face turns into a tomato. You know exactly what he was insinuating. 

Thankfully, Zhongli strolls in and sees the alarming redness on your face, concludes that Childe must have said something to fluster you again. “They still require some rest, Childe, perhaps leave the teasing for a little later,” 

His tone is stern, but only because he knows you needed more sleep. Childe smiles but continues, “I think they’re just fine! See how their cute little face blushes just for me, Zhongli,” he takes your face in his hands and turns it towards Zhongli, who was...admittedly slightly enamored by the charming display.

Zhongli coughs into his hand and turns his gaze away, “Strange how energetic you are now, just a moment ago you were beside yourself with worry about Y/N,” It was your turn to tease Childe at the information Zhongli just gave out. “Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you so much!”

Before Childe could even reply Zhongli continues the sentiment, “Yes, he looked as if he was about to cry,”

“Th-That’s not!” Childe retracts from you, wanting to say that it wasn’t true but his words get stuck in his throat and it is now his turn to turn his gaze away in slight embarrassment. Zhongli and you snicker at his change in attitude but you were also curious as to what Zhongli was doing while you were fast asleep, “and you, Zhongli? I suppose you’re not one to worry too much,”

There’s silence on his end, with his arms crossed you can’t gauge his expression but he was having an internal battle on whether or not to tell you that he was actually just as worried. But...he had to be the strong one for the two of you. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, strolls over to you and leans down to quickly kiss the side of your lips. “I worry in my own way, dear,” The way he says dear sends shivers down your spine, and you know in your heart that he had been worried too, just toned down to balance out Childe’s anxiousness. 

Childe suddenly gets in bed with you, pulling you down for a rest. His chest is against your back, arms around your waist and mouth whispering in your ear “The two of us will always take care of you, believe me,” You smile a little and close your eyes. “I know,” just as Zhongli joins in, placing himself at your front. 

Sandwich cuddles are your favourite and although you’re very much running a fever, the warmth from them is soothing. Zhongli drapes an arm on both of you, and leans down to kiss you on the forehead, brushing away stray strands of your hair as if you’re porcelain. When he pulls away he sees the look Childe gives him. A ‘Do-I-get-one-too?’ written all over his face. 

Zhongli chuckles, leans in a little bit further to place one on the other man’s forehead, and watches the two of you drift in and out of sleep. 

It’s certainly one of the most beautiful sights he’s witnessed.

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[ddarker-dreams]

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications.  Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ” 

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

[loove-persevering]

I’m Not Jealous! (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Description: {Request] Could you possibly do one of Reid getting jealous? Thank you!!

   This case was a long one, taking everyone’s brains and energy it was completely draining. You and Spencer had spent the previous night working later than everyone else finally figuring out a geographical barrier that finally made sense, with the new information you hoped he unsub was right under your nose. 

 You sat in the main office of a police department in Florida talking to one of the officers who had a question about the case from the profile you had given out a few hours earlier, ‘’The geographical barrier shows that he hits within 15 mile radius of one specific area, we found that there are around 100 bars in that barrier which doesn’t give us a precise idea of where he’s going next, but we can cross off some of the places he’s already been and make a smaller geographical barrier off that maybe today,’’ You explain to him taking a sip of your coffee. 

 ‘’Ah, I see.’’ The young officer says. You glance around seeing in the small office where you had set up that the rest of the team was inside, scared you were missing out on something of importance you quickly push yourself away from the officer’s desk trying to make your way back, ‘’So do you ever get a night off?’’ He asks you before you could scurry away. ‘’I mean you can’t spend all day here, right?’’ He says beaming a smile at you. 

 You politely throw a smile on your face not wanting to hurt his feelings, ‘’I’m pretty busy, don’t have much time when a serial killer is on the loose for a night off.’’ You say laughing uncomfortably. 

 ‘‘Well I have some of my best officers out there looking for this guys, they take some of the heat off of you and do me a favor.’‘ He explains an amused smile on his face. 

 ‘’What favor would that be?’’ You ask. 

‘‘They take a shift, so I can take you out.’‘ He says and you let out a snort of a laugh. 

‘‘Excuse me?’‘ You ask him. You glance back up to the room where everyone was noticing they were now staring at you confused by the situation, ‘‘Uh, I have to go.’‘ You quickly say throwing your cup in the trash and speed walking to the small room. 

‘‘What was that about?’‘ Reid ask when you walk in. 

‘‘Nothing, let’s just get back to the case.’‘ You say blowing it off. ‘‘Please,’‘ You insist. 

 ‘’Y/N’s right, let’s get back to it.’’ Hotch orders. You glance up at him silently thanking him and he raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously. ‘’Reid, Y/N good work last night on the geographical profile, let’s try to narrow it down even smaller if we can. The police had statements from people from the last murder site let’s go over those and see if we can find anything.’’ He says sliding everyone a stack of papers.

 Later that night you and Spencer again were the only one’s working, ‘’I can’t find anything,’’ You groan. ‘’Not a single thing connecting anyone, why is this impossible?’’ You ask Reid who was sitting across from you.

 ‘’We’ll find something eventually, we just have to look harder.’’ He explains. 

You sigh tapping your pencil against the desk repeatedly and after a few seconds you notice him look up at you just quick enough to catch it then glance away, ‘’Sorry does that annoy you?’’ You ask him, ‘’Nervous habit’’ You explain. 

Spencer laughs at your statement, ‘’I don’t think thats your nervous habit,’’ He says with a small laugh. You look at him as if you were questioning what he was saying, ‘’You fidget a lot that’s what you do when you need to move around, you’re nervous habit is sipping on coffee and hiding your hands with your shirt,’’ He gestures to your sleeves now which were rolled up to your elbow. ‘’You did the nervous one earlier after you came back in the room from talking with the cop,’’ He points out and you look at him amused dropping your pencil on the table laughing. 

‘’Wow, stalker much?’’ You say laughing making him laugh. ‘’I’m kidding.’’ You say, ‘’Interesting though, you have a nervous habit yourself Dr. Reid.’’ You say smugly leaning back in your chair crossing your arms over your chest. ‘’You spit out random facts and sometimes even point out obvious ones and you sometimes avoid eye contact,’’ You say narrowing your eyes at him which he stares directly into yours making you both hold back a laugh. 

‘‘Nervous habits are shown to help us reduce anxiety, we find comfort in doing them which makes some of the anxiousness go away,’’ He explains, you just stare at him in response. 

‘‘Okay Spenc,’‘ You say laughing, you glance up at him realizing that you had never called him that before and now you felt insecure doing it. You had only joined the team a few months ago and automatically hit it off with everyone, Spencer seemed to be the one you talked to the least and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was him avoiding you or that you got nervous talking to him because you had a crush on him. 

 You glance up and give him a nervous smile but he doesn’t say anything just glances back down at the papers and continued reading some of the statements, you glance back up every once in a while but he still seemed too busy to look up. ‘’I’m gonna turn in for the night,’’ You announce to him a little while later, ‘’Goodnight Reid,’’ You say this time correcting yourself. 

‘‘Night, Y/N,’‘ He says sounding a little bittersweet. 

_____

 The next day you were determined to start fresh, you were more than ready to nail this unsub who had been killing woman in bars all over town. Walking past the officers desk from the other day he stops you once again, ‘’Miss Y/L/N?’’ You heard his voice, turning around you stand at the edge of his desk. ‘’I’m sorry about the other day, I realize now it was really unprofessional of me to act the way I did.’’ He says and you give him a sympathetic smile. 

‘‘Well I’m sorry as well I didn’t mean to come off so cold,’‘ You explain to him. 

‘‘If I had realized you had a boyfriend I would’ve never-’‘ He begins to explain. 

‘‘Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.’‘ You quickly correct him. 

‘‘Really?’‘ He asks sounding surprised. ‘‘I mean I just assumed you and the other young man seemed like you were- I mean he’s been glaring at me for the past hour,’‘ He says laughing nervously looking past you across the room at Spencer talking with someone. ‘‘He watches you like you’re the only person in the room,’‘ He says rubbing the back of his neck with this hand, ‘‘Anyway I’m sorry it was unprofessional to ask.’‘ He says. 

‘‘Not a problem Officer, I appreciate the apology, really.’‘ You tell him sincerely. 

‘‘Again none of my business but you’re friend over there he seems a little jealous for you to not be dating,’‘ He says sheepishly. 

 ‘’I don’t think he’s jealous-’’ You pause as soon as the words leave your mouth. ‘’Oh my god!’’ You yell out in front of the office. ‘’Jealous!’’ You yell out and the officer looks at you confused. You run over to the rest of the team and Spencer almost looked nervous, ‘’The unsub is trying to make someone jealous!’’ You point out and you see Spencer’s shoulders drop almost out of relief. ‘’Dela Freeman was at two of our last bars and in her statement she said she had just got out of a bad relationship- I can’t believe I just remembered that! What if our unsub is her ex and he’s trying to make her jealous going to the bars and picking up these woman and when she doesn’t come back to them he kills them?’’ You explain. 

‘‘That would explain the overkill,’’ Emily points out, ‘‘He’s mad because the one he desires attention from isn’t giving it to him so he uses what he has the girls he’s trying to make her jealous with.’‘ She elaborates.

Spencer coughs clearing his throat, ‘’That would also explain why the Bars are so local if she goes to school around here those are popular places among the college campus.’’ Reid points out. 

‘‘Let’s get Garcia on the phone and see what we can find,’‘ Hotch says, ‘‘Nice work Y/N,’‘ He says before taking off. You try to hide the satisfaction on your face as he praises you, it always felt good when your boss told you good job but there was still so much more work to do, first you had to find a name. 

______

 Three hours later you sat in the back of an ambulance with the latest almost victim, you had made it just in time to save her although emotionally she was having a rough time she didn’t sustain any injuries which she was thankful for. Dela Freeman’s Ex was the unsub, she broke up with him after he constantly accused her of cheating and not paying him enough attention which fueled his accusations against her and it caused him to kill woman to try and get her attention back. 

‘‘You’re going to be alright okay? They’re going to take you to the hospital and check you out. We called your parents and they’re on the way to meet you.’‘ You say squeezing her hand. 

‘‘Thank you,’‘ She cries out to you, ‘‘Thank you so much.’‘ 

You give her a gracious smile before stepping out the back of the ambulance closing the door. ‘’Good one today,’’ You hear Morgan’s voice from behind you. ‘’How’d you figure it out?’’ He asks curiously. 

‘‘The cop-he kept asking me out and then thought Spencer was jealous and it just clicked, believe it or not.’‘ You say laughing. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you, ‘’So pretty boy was right,’’ He says amused. 

‘‘About what?’‘ 

‘‘He thought the cop was hitting on you, said you seemed nervous.’‘ He says laughing. 

‘‘He can’t tell when I am nervous, he barely knows me.’‘ You point out. 

‘‘The kid knows more about you than you think,’‘ He says mysteriously but with a hint of something in his voice, ‘‘Between you and me,’‘ He whispers, ‘‘Boy wonder over there seemed more nervous than you when he saw the guy talking with you,’‘ He says winking at you. 

 You look at him a little stunned, Spencer nervous that you were talking to a guy? That was new. 

Hours later you were back at the station taking everything off the boards and putting it into a filing box for records. ‘’Hey,’’ You heard Spencer’s comforting voice come into the room. 

‘‘Oh, hey!’‘ You reply back turning back to your bulletin board taking another tack off. ‘‘I’m happy we finally got that break, we needed it.’‘ You point out to him referring to last night. 

‘‘All thanks to you,’‘ He points out shuffling some papers in his hands so they align against the round table. ‘‘What clicked?’‘ He asks, ‘‘Even with Dela Freeman’s statement she never mentioned a breakup in them just what she saw?’‘ He asks. 

‘‘Her friends mentioned they were out to help their friend get over an ex, in their words to get over someone you have to get under someone else,’‘ You say looking back at him a smile at the stupidity of that saying. He laughs along with you continuing to shuffle the papers on the desk. 

‘‘Where’s everyone else?’‘ You ask. 

‘‘I’m not sure actually, I was hoping you’d know.’‘ He says. 

‘‘Hey,’‘ You hear another voice and look to the door where the young officer who had hit on you was standing, ‘‘Wanted to thank you for all your help, we uh- really appreciate it.’‘ He says giving you a smile, he glances over at Spencer awkwardly still showing him a smile of appreciation as well. ‘’My offer still stands though,’’ He points out winking at you. 

 You hold up the papers stacked in your hands, ‘’Paperwork’s calling,’’ You say laughing. 

‘‘Not even a day off?’‘ He asks and you nod your head with a laugh. He pats the door frame where his hand was rested, ‘‘It was nice meeting you all.’‘ He says looking from you to Spencer back to you. ‘‘Have a safe flight back,’‘ He says before disappearing out the doorway. 

‘‘Nice guy,’‘ You hear Spencer mutter under his breath. 

‘‘Huh?’‘ You ask. When you turn around Spencer shakes his head dismissing what you had heard him utter under his breath. ‘‘He said something about you earlier you know,’‘ You point out causing him to look up. ‘‘Said you seemed jealous? It’s what helped me figure out what the unsubs motive was.’‘ You point out going back to the bulletin board letting out a laugh. 

 He stays silent for a few minutes and the silence encases the room, ‘’I was,’’ He says a few minutes later breaking the silence, ‘’I was jealous I mean.’’ He says causing you to stop filing looking up at him, he was staring at you back a little more wide eyed than usual. 

 ‘’You were?’’ You say a little to happily, ‘’I mean you were?’’ You cough trying to adjust your voice.

 ‘’I was, I’m not sure why.’’ He says furrowing his eyebrows as if he was confused by the emotion itself. 

‘‘I think I know why.’‘ You say smiling softly biting your lower lip to keep yourself from breaking out into a full on grin. He glances up gesturing for you to finish what you were saying, ‘‘You Dr. Reid have a crush on me.’‘ You say trying to sound as confident as possible. 

‘‘I-uh,’‘ He immediately stutters, ‘‘That would be unprofessional-’‘ He points out. 

‘‘Ah, ah, ah, there you go with the stuttering and the pointing out the obvious. You’re nervous habit, are you nervous right now?’‘ You ask teasing him. 

‘‘What? No?’‘ He says his voice sounding a little higher pitched than usual a tell that he was lying. 

‘‘You’re lying!’‘ You point at him a finger straight at his face, ‘‘I make you nervous!’‘ You say aloud. 

‘‘That’s not true!’‘ He says lying even more. 

‘‘It’s okay if I do,’‘ You say laughing, ‘‘You make me nervous too.’‘ You tell him, ‘‘In a good way.’‘

‘‘I do?’‘ He immediately fires back. 

‘‘You do,’‘ You admit to him. ‘‘You’re always the smartest person in the room easily, you pick up on my nervous habits which makes me nervous because obviously you’ve taken the time to notice them. You work harder than anyone on this team and you just have this overwhelming sense of empathy for people, even the bad ones.’‘ You tell him, ‘‘I’m nervous to be around a person as good as you.’‘ You tell him smiling at him and he stares up at you wide eyed. ‘’Sorry,’’ You say laughing shaking your head. 

‘‘Any room you go into you seem to have this quality about you that just lifts the mood, when you get praised by anyone you do a tiny victory in you’re head which is really cute.’‘ He pauses looking up at you. ‘‘With this job we constantly see horrible things but working with you and being around you makes it a little more bearable, even on the most terrible of days.’’ He says to you. 

You hold back your words for a second, unsure of how to reply to what he just said but when you do you realize your words were going to change the friendship for the better, ‘’I said no to the officer because I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out.’’ You tell him. He smiles to himself then looks back up at you still sitting in the chair across the room,  ‘’What?’’ You say looking at him, ‘’Do I have something on my face?’’ You ask him reaching up making him laugh more. 

‘‘No, no, I just-,’‘ He pauses trying to gather his words, ‘‘Would you want to come over for dinner at my house? When we get back to Virginia at least.’‘ He asks. 

You grin like an idiot not bothering to hide the smile on your face, ‘’I would love to Dr. Reid.’’ You say happily. 

 ‘’I told you!’’ You hear Morgan yell, ‘’I told you he had it in him!’’ Morgan yells stepping into the room JJ following behind shaking her head laughing, ‘’My man!’’ He says and Spencer and you both shake your head in disbelief. ‘’Penelope owes me five bucks,’’ He says whipping out his cell phone ready to call her. 

 You laugh glancing up at Spencer who had a smile on his face staring back at you. 

You couldn’t wait to get home.

[duskholland]

Lingerie | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ your co-star Tom offers to photograph you in your new lingerie, and it only escalates from there.

word count ↠ 3.9k

warnings ↠ this is pretty much just pwp I won’t lie. we’ve got some dirty talk, a lingerie-filled photoshoot, a lil bit of thigh riding, oral (fem receiving) and then MxF sex

a/n ↠ quarantine is doing ~stuff~ to me and I couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of Tom being your photographer and getting more and more riled up so....here ya go. enjoy! this is the first time I’ve posted nsfw stuff in a very very long time, so any feedback would be appreciated :) also a huge thank you to @rhapsodyparker for being my fave hype man - love you mate !

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

Spending a few weeks in London with your new co-star Tom and his brothers had been the brilliant idea of your manager. When your schedule had presented you with a some valuable weeks off between projects, she’d suggested that bunking down with him in his London house would be the perfect way to get to know the man before you spend the next months acting out your latest project. You’d seen him around at a few awards shows, and he hadn’t been opposed to hosting you, so with a few heavy suitcases and an open mind, you’d moved into the house he shares with his brother Harry and his best friend Harrison.

It’s been three weeks since you first rolled up, and things are going well. You’ve been enjoying getting to know the guys and the city they love so much, and it seems like every day you grow more and more comfortable around Tom - which is only a good thing, given that your upcoming project requires you to tangle with him in a few risqué scenes. But you’d be lying if you said that your feelings for the brown eyed star are merely platonic, and over the last couple of days especially, you’ve found your thoughts wandering. You catch yourself stiffening as you watch him throw back a pint of beer, his sturdy fingers wrapped carefully around the glass. And something in the pit of your stomach stirs every time he sits by you, his thigh pressing flushed to yours. You’ve even caught him staring at you from across the room a few times, his eyes trailing over your figure, and you haven’t been able to stop yourself from imagining his curly brown hair rubbing at your inner thighs.

It’s a game. A dangerous, heated game, and with every passing day, his eyes seem hungrier as they meet with yours, and he seems to inch closer to you. Neither of you have acted on the sizzling tension that ripples between you, but you know it’s just a matter of time before one of you moves a little too close, or touches the other for a little too long, and it all explodes.

“What have you got there, Y/N?”

You’re pulled from your dirty thoughts by a question coming from the man you’re daydreaming about. Tom walks into the kitchen, raising a hand in greeting as he peers down at the package you’re holding. His deep brown eyes meet with yours as you smile at him in greeting.

“Just some clothes. I’m doing a brand deal and they want me to take some pictures and post them on my Instagram,” you explain. You put the package down on the kitchen table and carefully begin to cut along the seam.

“Getting that money, eh?” You laugh as Tom slips into a chair beside you, watching you curiously with his chin resting in his hands.

“A girl’s gotta make a living,” you reply. “Hey, do you think Harry would take some shots for me? It’s always hard to get the angles right.”

Tom hums beneath his breath. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d be down for that. He and Harrison are out at the moment, though, so you’ll need to wait-“ He falls silent as you tip the contents of the package onto the table, your cheeks warming immediately as you take in the garments you’ve been sent.

Lingerie. Several different pairs of matching bras and panty sets, in a scattering of different colours and designs. You feel your heart beat faster in your chest as Tom stares down at the pieces, his own face blushing a deep red.

“I think Harry might die if I make him take photos of me whilst I’m wearing this,” you admit, picking up a red lacy bralette. Tom’s younger brother has always been nice to you, but he radiates the sort of nervous energy that can sometimes put you on edge, and you immediately know you can’t ask him to photograph you. “Guess I’ll just have to struggle through this by myself,” you mutter dejectedly.

Tom’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the lace in your fingers, realisation replacing his shock. He sits up straight, stretching out his arms and his biceps flex as he meets your gaze. “I can always help you,” he offers shyly. You meet his eyes and his tongue slips out to wet his lower lip.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m not as good as Harry, but I like to think I’ve picked up a few of his tricks.” Tom reaches out, fingers connecting with the tops of your arms, and your breath hitches as he grins cheekily. “Besides, I’m sure I could help you with some of your angles. If you want, of course.”

The question hangs in the air. As his fingers gently trace over your upper arm, you know this is the opportunity to back out. He’s looking at you through heated, brown eyes, but you know he’ll leave it alone if you decide to draw the line here and maintain the professional distance you’ve been slowly narrowing. But you don’t want to, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by a longing for him to keep touching you, and the idea of him photographing you as you lounge around in this new, sexy lingerie sets your heart racing.

“I’d love that, Tom. Are you free just now?”

He nods quickly, the tips of his curly brown hair wafting in the air. “Definitely.”

[-----]

It takes you about twenty minutes to get ready for the shoot. You’ve been around in Hollywood for long enough to know how best to do your makeup and tie your hair, and much to your relief, the lingerie clings to you perfectly. The contract you’d signed states you only have to post photos in one of the sets, so you pick one with a nice, deep burgundy hue and then walk out into your bedroom where Tom’s waiting for you. His wide eyes fall on you and suddenly you get a little self-conscious, reaching up to cross your arms over your chest as his gaze slides up and down your figure, drifting over every inch of exposed skin. When he drags his eyes back to your face and gives you a bit of a smirk, a shiver rolls down your spine.

“You look stunning,” Tom says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat quickly, averting his eyes as his cheeks gain a healthy colour. “Really, Y/N… You look amazing.”

His compliments bring a smile to your face, and you carefully put your hands back to your sides. You feel tentative and shy, but you approach him anyway and pass him your phone. “Thanks, Tom,” you mumble, meeting his eyes quickly. “Um, I was thinking you can just get a few of me the window, and then after that, maybe a couple on the bed.”

“Sounds great.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking at him carefully. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he chuckles lowly. “I don’t mind at all, Y/N. There are worse things to do than take photos of a pretty girl like you.” You bite your lower lip as you smile bashfully at him. 

“Okay,” you say. You move over to the window before adding a quick, “I will pay you back, Tom.” You punctuate your promise with a wink, and then turn around and try out a few positions against the window.

Tom gives you a few pointers as he starts to capture your shots. You know what you’re doing, but his advice helps you twist and angle yourself in the most flattering ways. The main focus has to be on the sponsored lace clinging to your chest, and as time goes by and he gradually moves nearer and nearer to you, your thoughts grow darker. You’d be lying if you said the seductive smiles and soft angles you’re throwing out are just for Instagram. It makes your heart race and a heat build between your legs to have him watching you so intently, occasionally chewing on his lower lip as he works. When you turn around and face the window directly, you arch your back purposefully and you can feel his stare hot on the curve of your ass, and as you throw your head back over your shoulder to meet his flushed face, you know you’ve caught him right in the act of checking you out.

“How are the photos?” You ask, breaking the charged silence after a few moments of sustained, intense eye contact. You relax your position as Tom steps nearer and passes back your phone, but he lingers by your side before draping a hand over your back. His hand rests on your naked hip, his touch gentle but it causes you to push into him greedily. He’s warm and he smells like pine trees and man, and your body is thrumming with so much sexual energy that you can feel your lace panties dampening.

“You look unreal,” he says, watching over your shoulder as you flick through the photos. “I’m not even sure they do justice to how incredible you look right now.”

You smile gratefully, favouriting a few of the shots. “You know, I think we’ve got as many as we need, actually. You did a really good job, Tom. Thank you.” You put your phone on the windowsill and turn to look at him properly. When his hand goes to slip from your waist, you reach down and grab at it, pushing it back into place firmly. His eyes meet yours, a curious questioning mixing with the dark lust, and you give him a smirk. “I know you liked watching me.” Your gaze briefly dips down to his crotch, and the way you can see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans. Emboldened, you lean up and brush your lips by his ear, “If you want me, you can just tell me.”

You keep your lips by his ear. When he reaches up and wraps his other hand around your waist and pulls you closer, you let your mouth drag down his neck, pressing soft, light kisses to his pale skin. You keep going until he whines, and then you suck against his sweet spot and nibble at the skin, teasing him gently until he wraps his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face up to look at him.

“You’re such a tease, you know that, love?” He speaks, voice dropping an octave. His eyes are on your lips and the deep red lipstick you’ve coated them with, a burning fire dancing in his eyes. “Walking in here with all that lingerie, kissing my neck like that.” His fingers move from your chin and up to cup your cheek. “I want you,” he whispers, mouth brushing yours ever so slightly. The confirmation makes you wrap your arms around his neck, and you place a kiss just beside his mouth, grinning softly.

“Then have me.”

His mouth captures yours in a heated collision of lips and teeth, and you moan into his mouth as his hand slips back into your hair and tugs at your strands. His hot tongue slips into your mouth as you kiss him back passionately, your body burning from all the pent-up frustration you’ve been pushing back for weeks. The hand on your waist slips up to your back, holding you flush against him as his groans, his face flushed and his forehead sweaty, and your core throbs as you hold him close to you.

Tom breaks the kiss after a few mind-numbing minutes, and you know you’ve got lipstick smudged over your face, but you don’t care as he leads you over to the bed. You straddle his waist as he sits up against the headboard, his hungry hands trailing over every part of your exposed skin as your heart rate spikes. His thighs are firm and you can’t help but grind down against one of them as he pulls your mouths together again. The friction you get through your wet panties from his tough black jeans makes you whimper into his mouth, and he pulls back with a lazy smirk on his face, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“You’re so bloody hot,” he murmurs, hand brushing over your arm. “Can’t believe you’re here right now, looking like this. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He leaves a few soft kisses to your shoulder, gazing up at you softly, his brown curls strewn messily across his forehead. Your heart skips a beat. 

You run a fond hand through his curls before pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” Tom laughs but holds up his arms as you pull it up and over his head, and then you roll from his lap as he wiggles out of his tight jeans and throws him aside. He pulls you back to his lap, this time positioning you so your centre rests over his black Calvin Kleins, and you rock down to feel his length pressing up against the fabric. “Shit, Tom,” you curse, the pressure sending rolls of pleasure through your clit. Your forehead falls to his as his hands move your hips, helping you grind against him as both of you feel a little relief. “I want you so bad.”

Tom moves quickly, flipping the position until you’re the one on your back, your head nestled in the soft pillows, and he’s pressed over you, caging you in with a strong arm either side of your head. He catches your lips in another kiss, and when he pulls back, he lets his teeth tug at your lower lip, catching your moan in his open mouth.

“Can I take these off?” He asks, pulling at the waistband of your red panties. You nod quickly and raise your hips as he tugs them down your body, his large hands pressing your thighs up and apart as he settles between your legs, his eyes drifting down your slippy slit. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re absolutely soaked for me.” He drags a light finger through your folds, applying a very light, very teasing pressure to your clit, and it makes you grind down against him. “So fucking needy,” he coos, finally rubbing your tender bud with a little more pressure. As you gasp and fist your fingers in his hair, he moves his face nearer your core. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a cunt this wet and hot for me. Mind if I have a taste, darling?”

His filthy words make your body shake, and the moment you’ve nodded your head, your back arches from the mattress as his soft, warm tongue slips out and wraps around your bud. One of his hands anchors your hips to the bed as the other accompanies his mouth on your core, and you moan loudly as he slips two sturdy fingers into your wet, aching entrance. It feels unbelievable to have Tom pressed between your legs, his fingers curling and pounding into your heat in a way that makes you cry out loudly. And his mouth - oh, god, his mouth - is unbelievable. You can tell he’s enjoying it by the way he works his tongue so smoothly, teasing lightly through your wet folds before circling back to your bud, kissing it and lapping over it and sucking it until you’re a sweaty, delirious mess above him.

Your fingers ache from the hold you’ve got on his hair, and you suck in a breath as you feel your edge approaching. “God, Tom, you’re so fucking good at that. I’m gonna cum if you keep it up.”

For a wonderful moment, you think he’s gonna keep going. He’s got his fingers pressed flush against your sweet spot and it feels so amazing that you’re about to melt, but then he smacks his lips and pulls back, leaving you high and dry and panting desperately on the sheets.

“Oh, what was that? You were gonna cum?”

You blink desperately down at him, surprised to see him looking up at you so confidently, with that teasing smirk dancing over his face. “Tom, I swear to god, you’re such a dick-”

“Shh.” He reaches up and drags his messy fingers over your mouth, and you part your lips to let them in. You swirl your tongue over his digits, humming lightly as you suck off your tangy juices, his eyes watching you darkly. It feels so dirty, but it sends a thrill down your spine, and your core continues to throb as you pull at his shoulders and bring him back up to you. “I think it’s only fair that we cum at the same time, princess? Don’t you?” He whispers. 

You release his fingers with a pop, sighing frustratedly as you trail your hands down his toned front. His muscles pull taut and tense, and as you grab a peek at the lines of his abs, you find yourself wondering how you ended up like this with him. He’s so handsome it makes you ache, and it’s as if he can hear your thoughts as he presses a few kisses to your jaw.

“And you call me a tease,” you respond, eyelids fluttering shut as he drags his mouth over your neck. “Stop messing around and fuck me, Tom.”

“Mm, so demanding.”

You grab at his hair and tug his face away from your collarbones and up to your mouth, kissing him hard. “I need you,” you whisper hurriedly against his lips. “I’m going to explode if you don’t fuck me.”

His lips pull into a warm smile. “Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” He replies. “Condom?” You point at the bedside table and he disappears for a few moments, leaving your body cold and empty. Once he’s procured a shiny silver packet, you watch with wide, hungry eyes as he pulls off his boxers, pumps his length a few times, and then rolls this plastic over his tip before you even get a chance to touch him. He notices your pout and bites his lower lip as he moves back over you. “You can touch me next time,” he promises. “Right now, I just want to be with you.”

“Next time?” You mumble, your lips going to his ear as he pushes your thighs apart. You kiss his lobe softly, dragging your teeth over his skin until he whines. 

“If you want there to be a next time, of course,” he adds. You make brief eye contact as your heart pangs in your chest, but then you find yourself distracted as his cock rubs through your aching slit and you curse, gripping his shoulder hard.

“I definitely want there to be a next time,” you promise. His tip prods at your entrance and it takes everything in you to keep back a whine. “Now, please, Tom, let me feel you.”

He presses a small kiss to your lips, and then follows through with your request. Your fingers dig into his arms as his length fills you completely and deeply, your jaw falling slack as you moan loudly.

“You’re so wet for me, love. Feels so good around me-” Tom’s voice breaks into a groan as his hips meet yours, finally in as far as possible. “Fuck, wish I could stay like this forever.”

You scatter a series of hot, breathy kisses to his forehead as you adjust to him, before running a hand over his shoulder and nodding certainly. “You can move now,” you say.

He rocks into you gently, exploring your hot heat with care as his hands move all over you. One moment he’s gripping at the lace on your boobs, the next he’s got his fingers slipping over your hard nipples, and after that he’s pulling on your hair. All whilst his cock pushes into you, gradually growing more fervent, your soaking pussy welcoming him in easily. Your groans mix with his as you cling to him, your entire body shaking from the tension building in your body as he fucks you hard and fast.

“I love your pussy,” he rasps, teeth digging into your skin as his sweaty forehead rests on your shoulder. With every thrust, he adjusts the angle, only settling into a proper pace as he hits your special spot and you moan loudly, raking your fingers down his back. “So fucking perfect, baby.” His mouth drops praises all over you and it just makes you feel even more into it as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts.

“You fuck me so well, Tom,” you groan into his hair. The muscles in his back ripple beneath your touch as he fucks you roughly. “God, you’re gonna make me cum.”

He manages to keep himself supported on one arm as the other slips down, his hand roaming between your bodies to find your pulsing bud. As he rubs over your trembling clit, you feel your orgasm build quickly in the pit of your stomach, everywhere feeling alert and hot and needy as you pull him closer.

“Mmm, you gonna cum for me, Y/N? Let me feel you clenching around me as you scream my name?” His voice is dirty and dark and the way his lips curl around your name makes you clench tightly. “C’mon, let go. I’ve got you.”

And he rolls his hips against you just as his fingers rub your clit, and it’s so deliciously hot that your head rolls back and your orgasm peaks. Your chest heaves, the lace wrapped around your breasts pushing up against Tom’s hot chest as you cum noisily, your body tingling as a pulsing warmth spreads out from your centre. Tom grunts and screws his eyes shut as you clench and squirm beneath him, and a few moments later you feel his rhythm falter as he reaches his peak too. You rock together as your highs mix and build, your hair sticking to your face as your moans turn to whimpers and your grip on his arm relaxes, and when he pulls out, you’re left feeling empty but satisfied. You breathe deeply as Tom collapses beside you on his side, his hand grabbing at yours as his eyes find yours, searching your face carefully.

“Wow,” is all you manage to say. You shiver from the pleasurable aftershocks, your body feeling light and tingly and completely fucked out, and when Tom pulls you nearer, you let him hold you in a hug against his hot chest, feeling happily settled in his embrace. “Anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

Tom laughs gently, his hand pushing your hair from your face which allows him to kiss you again. It’s softer now, not burning quite as fiercely as it had before, but it’s still unbelievably nice to have him this close to you, loving on you so tenderly. “You really are something else, love,” he compliments. His eyes sparkle brightly as he squeezes your hand. “And I wasn’t lying earlier, I really would be down to do this again.”

He looks vulnerable and nervous for a second, but you quickly smooth away his nerves as you kiss him softly, gripping at the back of his neck. Your lips fit perfectly together, and it’s as if everything has finally slotted into place as you admit, “I would be more than happy to do this again, Tom. Maybe you can even take me on a date.”

His entire face seems to light up, and he leaves a quick kiss on your cheek as he grins. “I would love that, darling.”

[------]

A few hours later…

[@yourusername has posted a new photo]

| image |

@yourusername: good things come to those who wait...

Comments:

@tomholland2013: 🔥🔥🔥

@fan1: omg do u guys think they’re dating

@fan2: why has she tagged tom on her chest like that

@fan3: omg i ship it

[------]

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

[nationalharryleague]

Portfolio; Part 2

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, CEO!Harry

Word count: 3.2k!

A/N: Hi everyone!! I am back with part 2 of “Portfolio”!! The first part had such great reception and a few people have asked for a part two. As always, I would looooove some feedback and I hope you enjoy!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!

Part 1

“Nice work, Miss Y/L/N,” Harry told you, walking briskly through the office, holding up the binder that contained the proposal you had been working on recently. You watched as his long legs gracefully carried him down a row of cubicles, both of you doing your best to conceal the smiles threatening to break onto your faces.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” you chimed as he passed you and your secretary. He muttered something along the lines of ‘now get back to work,’ before he turned around and shot a million dollar smile in your direction. You quickly winked at him, hoping no one noticed, and hid your cheeky grin in your cup of coffee.

“I think Mr. Styles likes you,” giggled your secretary, Charlotte, taking a sip of her tea as you took a gossip break outside your office.

“We’re just friends now,” you lied through your teeth. “We work better when we’re getting along than when we’re at each other’s throats.” Oh, how you loved his throat, and his neck, and his jaw, and his smile. He was a never ending piece of art and you could stare at him all day long.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two carpooling to work in the morning,” Charlotte playfully pried.

“We just figured out we live close by each other,” lie, “and it gives us more time to talk about work,” lie, “and we just think it’s better for the environment,” semi-lie.

“Whatever you say boss,” she said amused and moved to answer the phone that had begun ringing on her desk.

It had been four months since that night when you ended up in his arms with his pouty lips pressed up against yours for the first time. It was the first of many, many more kisses you shared.

You had spent these last four months peeling back his hard exterior and getting to know the mushy center. You knew the way he took his tea in the morning, the songs he sang (surprisingly well) in the shower, and the way he always slept on his stomach, sheets pooled around his waist. While you hadn’t said it, the two of you knew that you were quickly falling in love with each other.

Harry had become a huge part of your life and you two rarely were apart. Work was a series of knowing glances and stolen kisses any time you and Harry were alone. While you two had become an incredible professional team, your productivity when working together had slowed, unable to get much work done when he was constantly trying to convince you to hook up in his office. Outside of work, you spent nearly all your time in his penthouse dressed only in one of his expensive dress shirts that he insisted looked better on you than ever did on him.

Your phone buzzed on your desk, bringing you out of your Harry-induced daze. Meet me in the copy room ;), your phone read. You let out a laugh and playfully rolled your eyes before making your way across the office to your intended destination.

Opening the door, you only got a glimpse of your gorgeous boyfriend before he pulled your body to him, your lips falling into a well practiced dance against one another. You kept your hands rested against his chest, learning from your mistakes of previously messing up his hair during a particularly passionate trip to a storage closet. While you remained careful to leave no clues of what you two were doing in the copy room, Harry buried his hands in your hair and moved to leave kisses down your neck, sure to leave some type of bruise. You pulled away from him, breathless, gently scolding him for being so careless.

“Harry, I will not fuck you in this copy room,” you told him, smoothing your pencil skirt and straightening out your blazer. You were met with a needy and pathetic pout that made the large man look like a small child who was denied a piece of candy.

“What makes the copy room off limits?” he smirked down at you. “We’ve had sex in most of the rooms of this office.”

“No lock on this door,” you smiled, moving to your tippy toes to kiss him lightly on the nose and turning to leave the room. He reached out and grabbed a hold of your wrist, pulling you back into him.

“I don’t care who sees,” he spoke against your lips as he connected you once again. “I’m sure my girl and I put on quite the show.”

“You are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you?” you giggled in between soft kisses, arms hooked around his neck. “And I care, Harry,” you confessed, pulling away from him and looking seriously into his bright green eyes. “I worked hard to get to this position and I will not let people attribute my success to me sleeping with my boss.”

“But you are sleeping with your boss,” he called after you as you separated yourself from him and moved towards the door again. “Quite a bit actually.”

“But it didn’t get me to the top, did it?” you winked, exiting your hiding spot.

“I quite like it when you’re on top.”

***

This was definitely not sustainable.

The “good working relationship” cover could only work for so long and the way you acted could give it away any moment. You were so comfortable and happy with each other now, a rare and impossible feat before, and it was hard not to notice. You two had done a complete 180 and you could only pray the office was turning a blind eye. It was hard to pretend that you weren’t falling head over heels in love with this man.

There was a reason this was forbidden. Harry was in a position to manipulate and take advantage of his professional power above you and you understood why it was absolutely not allowed. There was a laundry list of powerful men who had taken advantage of their female subordinates and hurt them and their careers beyond repair. While you both were very consenting, it was a power dynamic that could quickly turn sour.

You both had plenty at risk. While you were desperate to stay secret for the sake of your professional reputation and career aspirations, Harry had a Fortune 500 company to worry about. SPR was growing at a rapid speed and was quickly becoming the most sought after public relations firm in the country.  You anxiously held your breath whenever at work, praying both of you could be on your best behavior, refusing to be the reason Harry fell from his golden boy position in the business world.

Harry had briefly suggested you quitting and just letting him take care of you. That idea made you feel like a sugar baby in your own relationship and you were not okay with that. He also brought up the idea of quitting your formal position and working as a freelance consultant so the HR policy would no longer apply, but you were quick to shut that down as well. While you would do anything to be with him and stop worrying, your career came first. There was no guarantee that you two would work out and you refused to give up your career for any man.

There was a brief period of time that Harry had considered a publicity beard. Hiring some model to pretend to be Harry’s girlfriend for the paparazzi would take some of the heat off the both of you and probably advance both of their careers. But you knew you were far too jealous to watch him with someone else, even if they were being paid to be there. You tried to be cool, calm, and collected at all times, but when it came to Harry, something ignited in you that you just couldn’t turn off.

Watching from across the office when his new, and irritatingly attractive, assistant began was torture. Cami was smart and beautiful and way overqualified to be running to get his dry cleaning and scheduling his rides to the airport. She was a tall, stick thin, blonde bombshell and you couldn’t understand why she was working in an office and not walking a runway. You watched the bedroom eyes she gave him every time they made eye contact, annoyed at how similar they were to your own, constantly looking up at him and batting her eyelashes. You always got a kick out of watching him shut her down when she started on her breathy ‘Mr. Styles’ voice which resembled Marilyn Monroe’s rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ for JFK.

“Mr. Styles,” she sing-songed, “would you like me to get you something for lunch today?”

“No. I’m going out for lunch,” he dead-panned harshly. It made you feel good that he was meeting you at home for lunch, and the strong possibility that you were lunch made you feel even better. You watched from the doorway of his office as he didn’t even look up at her from his computer, a smirk threatening to break out onto your lips.

“Hi Mr. Styles,” you alerted him to your presence. His eyes shot up to make contact with yours, fighting a smile off his own lips. “I have a proposal for you to review.”

“Have a seat,” he said, motining for you to sit across from him at his large mahogany desk. Cami hung in the corner, waiting for some sort of command when Harry told her to leave and shut the door behind her. Leaning back in your chair, you took in the man sitting across from you. He wore a light blue suit that was perfectly tailored, paired with a white dress shirt, and navy tie. His hair was pushed back, just long enough for some of his natural curl to show. His eyes shined in the light from the floor to ceiling windows of his office that framed him and as soon as the assistant left the room, a huge smile rested on his face.

“So, what proposal do you have for me?”

“I can see it now,” you began, putting on your best proposal voice. “Dinner, a bottle (or a few) of wine, and movies at your place tonight.”

“My love, you could sell wood to a forest.”

***

That night started out calm enough. You had ordered in your favorite Italian place, the same one that you had shared your first real conversation over, and ate it over a bottle of wine. You two sat at his kitchen island, both dressed in Harry’s comfiest clothes, and talked about your days. It was a long day in the office and you were exhausted and the few glasses of wine running through your system were not helping. You leaned over on your barstool, resting your head on his shoulder, receiving a light kiss to your forehead in between bites of his dinner.

“Just so you know, Marcus was a bit of a dick to me today,” you slid into conversation in between bites of a garlic knot, always one to stir the pot.

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t like him very much either but I can’t just fire someone because I don’t like them,” he explained softly.

“You can fire Cami,” you said before fully thinking. You watched from his shoulder as he questioningly raised his eyebrows, mouth still stuffed full of food. “I just don’t like the way she acts around you. She looks at you like she’s ready to mount you at any second.”

“I can’t fire my assistant because you’re jealous,” he said with a light chuckle.

“Harry, I’m not jealous,” you asserted while lifting your head off his shoulder to look him in the eye, not sure if what you were saying was fully true. “I just don’t like the way she acts around you.”

“You’re jealous!” he pushed, poking and teasing you into anger. He wore his famous smirk across his lips and while you usually thought it was adorable, tonight it was pushing every one of your buttons. Your cheeks began to heat with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, intensified by the wine you both had been drinking.

“I would have been more jealous if you you went through with that stupid beard idea,” you spat. It was Harry’s turn to get offended now. His eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise at your comment, before they settled in a frustrated scowl.

“I was just trying to help,” he countered, his voice low and gravely. “You’re the one who’s so uncomfortable at work.”

“I can’t be comfortable at work knowing that if we were to get caught, both of our careers are finished!” You slid off the barstool, unable to be so close to him right now, and began pacing the immaculate kitchen. “Knowing that you just want me to quit so you can keep me up in this penthouse barefoot and pregnant doesn’t help either.”

“Y/N, come on. You know I don’t want that.”

“You’ve asked me to quit for you more than once, H.” You were both standing now, circling around the kitchen island. You walked away from him everytime he got close, the thought of him touching you right now made your blood boil.

“I wanted you to quit so that we can be together!” he raised his voice as he defended himself.  

Your career was everything to you. Your work was what gave you the opportunity to escape New York and get a fresh start in London. You had to put an ocean between you and your ex to feel safe again, and your hard work and talent was how you did it. You would not give it up for a man.

You and Harry had never fought like this before and you were worried how similar it felt to when you and your ex would fight. You had promised yourself that you would never be in a situation like that again.

“You’re the fucking CEO!” You were both yelling now. “ You’re in charge of everyone there. You can change the HR policy if you want.”

“No, I can’t. Were both in PR; you know how that would look for the company and both of us.” He argued from across the island. “My employee can’t be my girlfriend.”

“Okay,” you said after a pause, suddenly calm.

“‘Okay’ what?” Harry asked, chest still heaving for yelling.

“I don’t want to be either anymore.”

You marched your way to his couch, grabbing your briefcase and work clothes. You heard his calls for you to stay and pleads for you to take it back, but you ignored them. You made your way to his front door, slamming it behind you as you left.

***

Four Years Later

You sat in the conference room of SPR for the first time in over four years. The table and chairs had changed, no longer the heavy wood conference table you had known. It had been swapped out for a long black oval table that was flanked with chairs that were now filled with lawyers.

Harry sat directly across from you, in the same spot he sat the first night you began to fall in love with him. He looked a little different now; his hair had gotten longer, he had grown out a bit of a beard, and he had a couple more tattoos. You couldn’t help but think about all the nights you had spent together in his bed, your fingertips tracing the designs on his skin. Your eyes bore into each other, scanning each other’s face for emotion and desperately trying to get a read on the other.

It was easy to fall back into your distanced body language. While you were connected through intense eye contact, both of your arms were crossed, shielding yourself from the others’ stare. You had been competitors these last few years after all. Today, that was all changing.

After you left that night in a storm of jealousy and hurt, you made good on your threats to quit and started your own firm. You began to climb your way up the PR ladder and four years later, you were Harry’s biggest competitor. When the idea of a merger came about, you were hesitant but understood it was what was best for both of your businesses.

A thick contract was passed across the table between the both of you, both CEO’s silently signing on the dotted line. “The merger is complete!” your lawyers cheered excitedly, only small smiles finding their way onto your faces. “You are now Co CEOs of Styles-Y/L/N Public Relations.”

“Congratulations Chief Executive Officer Styles,” you spoke as you lifted yourself out of your chair, reaching out a hand to offer a handshake. You offered him a cold smile you had practiced to perfection in the mirror in preparation for today’s events.

“Congratulations Chief Executive Officer Y/L/N,” he repeated after you. When your hands met, the familiar sparks shot their way up into your arm, your heart beginning to flutter. You knew that feeling in the pit of your stomach that he caused so well. You got it whenever he was around, like he continued to have some sort of magic over you after all this time.

You left as the small celebration died down, opting to meet with Harry in his office to devise a plan moving forward concerning office space and upcoming projects. Strictly business, you constantly reminded yourself. Soon, the sun began to set and you decided it was best for both of you to head home.

Walking out of the building, it felt strangely familiar to the night you had first shared together. Your footsteps fell insync as you silently walked into the parking garage and towards your own cars. You looked over at his hand and realized he had already put his ring on.

“Hey, I thought we said we were going to put our rings on together after the merger,” you smiled as you fished around your blazer pocket for your engagement ring and wedding band.

“Honey, I thought you saw me put it on,” he laughed, flashing you his bright smile and the golden band that sat on his left hand. You carefully slid the rings onto your ring finger, covering the slight tan line you got when you wore them outside of work. You intertwined your hands, walking the rest of the way to your cars as a couple. You giggled as you always did at the sight of a baby’s car seat in the back of Harry’s sports car.

“I’ll pick the baby up from my mum’s if you grab dinner on the way home,” he offered.

“Sounds like a deal,” you agreed and pressed your body up against him, pecking his lips as he ran his hands up and down your back. “It feels good not to hide at work anymore.”

“No one can take advantage of the other if we are both in charge, right?” he smirked.

“Not according to HR,” you chuckled softly, resting your head on his chest before pulling away and getting in the car next to his.

“I love you, Mrs. Y/L/N-Styles!” he called into your car when you both rolled your windows down.

“I love you more, Mr. Styles!” you called back. “I’ll see you at home for our business meeting!”

Thank you so much for reading!! Please let me know what you think in my ask! Requests are also open :) 

[writefightandflightclub]

First light, last love

Summary: a lazy, fluffy morning in bed with your love, Santiago Garcia.

Author’s note: Very quick blurb in response to an ask- not my best but hope you like it! You can decide whether he means literal breakfast or “breakfast” *wink wink* at the end, depending on how you wanna be woken up.

Warnings: language, it’s Santi.

Word count: short and sweet. 

Tagging: @phoenixhalliwell​ @lostgirlheather​ @justrunamok​ @aellynera​ @damerondjarin​ @blushingwueen​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​ @holybatflapexpert​ @himbopoes​ @arabellathorne​ @yourbucky084​ @mandoplease​ @mylifeliterally​ @arkofblake​ @multifandomlife22​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @aisling-beatha​ @stardust-galaxies​ 

GIF by @twillight

The morning sun is the first caress on your skin, gently easing you awake. Santi’s hands are the second, pulling you from the warm embrace of slumber and into the warm embrace of him.

As you stir, you feel the sturdiness and familiar shape of Santi’s body pressed firmly to your back as he forms a big spoon around you. You absorb the texture of bare skin on skin as his nose nuzzles into the back of your neck, and his hand languidly wanders over your belly and your thighs. His fingertips trace symbols on to your flesh, which only those fluent in the language of love might hope to ever decipher, easing your consciousness into the waking world and to a place where you feel completely safe and content and held; in his arms.

You hum softly to signal to him you’re awake, and a blissed out smile eases over your lips, the joy that comes from waking up next to your love and enjoying this closeness spilling visibly out of you.

“Morning, Princesa,” he breathes, hot air and the deep rumble of his voice fanning over your neck. Santi presses a gentle kiss to your neck, propping himself up onto his elbow to allow his kisses to journey along your jawline, and you turn your head to greet his lips with yours, giggling into the kiss.

Every time you kiss him it feels like arriving home. Each moment with him holding you feels like breaking dawn. Warm, fresh yet familiar, and an inconceivable blessing.

You peel your eyelids open, failing to quell the happy smile which beams out of you as soon as your gaze greets his, those warm, coffee eyes the only wake-up call you need.

You love waking up slow with him like this. No alarms; no place to be, except beside each other.

“Morning, handsome,” you say softly, as his broad hand comes to gently cup your cheek.

Those hands of his. You love them so. Those hands which were trained to be lethal, but which felt like they were made to love you. When they feel so good against you, what other purpose could they possibly have?

Instead of craning your neck, you swivel until you are flat on your back, Santi’s prone body still tesselated neatly into your side. He smiles back at you, his eyes skimming over your face and hair as if he is seeing you afresh with the start of the new day; even though he has looked at you so often, you sometimes question how he could possibly still wonder at the sight of you. Even when you’re like this, still shaking off the dregs of sleep, face and hair still fresh from the pillow, Santi’s eyes are glowing with adoration.

Santi runs his hand over your contours, fingertips guiding his gaze and sweeping languidly over your chest and stomach and legs. The callouses of him rub against the smoothness of your skin as he cups handfuls of your soft parts in his palms as if you are his daily bread. As if he might bring you to his lips to sustain him. After all, how could he live without you?

As you enjoy his touch, light filters intermittently through the curtains, hazy and half-cocked, ocassionally finding its aim on your face or throwing bars of gold daybreak over Santi’s chest, sun glinting off his dog tags. 

“Holy shit, baby,” Santi breathes as he studies you. “Once again you’re even more beautiful to me than yesterday, and less beautiful to me than you will be tomorrow.” Santi’s lips quirk up playfully, as his fingertips continue to wander the planes of you. He’s never lost when he’s touching you. He’s never lost, like he has been so often in dense jungle, tunred around and scared for his life. His fingers always know their path. His lips always know thier route to your lips, even in the dark. And yet, although he knows you so well, he never tires of you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you say, rubbing your eyes and adjusting to the light, feeling out your limbs and emerging gradually from the heaviness of sleep. “Just when I think you’ve run out of ways to charm me, you come out with something like that. Before you’ve even had coffee.”

You turn your body towards him and Santi lowers himself back to the pillow. You shuffle until you lie nose to nose with each other, shimmying the blankets down until they rest across your hips and tangling your thighs with the meat of his.

“I fuckin’ hope I never run out of ways to charm you, preciosa,” Santi says in earnest.

A lazy grin inches over his face, and you enjoy the creases which form around his eyes and mouth. Then, muffling his confession, Santi dips his head forward to nuzzle kisses into your neck. “Plus... alright, I confess to raiding the greeting card aisle yesterday while I was waiting for ‘Fish to checkout the beers.”

Your fingers filter into his grizzled curls as a soft chuckle shakes your chest up against him, and you absorb all the textures of him possible as his stubble grazes pleasantly along your collarbone and your breasts, soothed by lazy caresses of his lips and tongue. “That one made me think of you, cariño,” he whispers, his voice entirely earnest again as he tips his chin to look up at you from beneath his lashes and heavy brows with sincere eyes. 

You snicker softly as you nose into his curls, planting a loving kiss to the top of his head and lingering there to inhale the unique scent of him. Wrapping your arms around him more tightly, you tug him into your chest, and Santi hums contentedly, thoroughly dissolving into your embrace as you bring him closer and tangle limbs with him.

You feel so happy you might float to the ceiling, if you weren’t tethered by the blankets and by his embrace.

You both tug in a deep, steadying breath and exhale it together, enjoying nothing but the silence and the presence of each other for a few, extended moments.

“How is it-” Santi eventually begins to wonder idly as your arms encase him “-that I spend most of my time surrounded by a trained squad of killers, but I never feel safer than when you hold me like this?”

“Hmm. You didn’t get that from a Hallmark card, did you?” you tease, deflecting some of the raw emotion in his tone with humour, as it almost feels too overwhelming to handle, sometimes, Santi’s love. “That one was all you, you charmer?”

His words have a happiness blooming right from the core of you, and, you hope, suffusing back into him as you share this moment of loving each other, transmitting love back and forth through every touch and brush of lips and fingers and skin.

It is moments and mornings like this which you love the most. Not the grand gestures of love. Not the greeting card moments or the surprises or the special ocassions. The mundaness of love is everything to you. The simple, small joys with Santi are the ones you treasure the most.

“Yeah,” he jokes. “The rest said: everyone knows not to fuck with you, mi Reina, because they saw you tear Will a new one when he was a dick at our housewarming, and now cartels and drug lords cower in fear. Happy Thanksgiving.”

You laugh, a lilting sound which draws Santi’s eyes back to your lips, and you flop back on to the mattress, your arms raised above you on the pillow. Santi takes the opportunity to roll on top of you, craving even more contact. He boxes you in securely with his arms, and nudges your knees apart so he can lie in between your legs, hips pressing up against you. The weight of him against you, the feel of the solid mass of him on top of you is such a comfort, grounding you entirely when only moments ago you were lost to your dreams; still, moments like this with your love seem beyond your wildest dreams.

The chain of Santi’s dog tags jangle and pool on to your chest as he settles over you, the cool metal a pleasing contrast against your warm skin and the body heat emanating off of him. You regard them warily, ever since that time they chipped your tooth during a particularly vigorous embrace, but you have grown to love the familiar extension of him, and the reminder that although he is lethal, he is nothing but soft for you.

You follow the bobbles of the chain up and over his smooth chest, corded neck. To his face. God, he’s handsome. All over and at all times, but especially in the mornings like this, when he’s in nothing but his boxers and his watch and that chain. When his skin is bare and warm against you except for these shocks of cool metal. When he is still slightly grogged and unguarded, fresh from sleep. You love seeing his mussed mop of curls and the overnight sprouting of his stubble. Love having him all to yourself.

Santi swoops his soft lips down to kiss you again, and as he pulls back up you admire the happy glow in his heavy-lidded eyes. Admire the flexed muscles in his shoulders as he holds himself above you, and the soft curve of his belly pressing against yours. You drink him in, and you know he’s doing the same with you. 

While enjoying this moment, the like of which seems so rare these days, it suddenly strikes you how long you have gone uninterrupted.

“Santi, the house is quiet. What did you do to the boys?”

Santi grins down at you like the handsome devil he is and greedily kisses almost every inch of your face, bit by bit. “Sent the boys off to lake. Wanted you all to myself today.”

You smile broadly and gratefully at your thoughtful, adoring man. You were really enjoying the week out at the lake with the squad, but the boys could be a lot, and you did agree; you wanted Santi all to yourself for a little bit too. Ok, a lot.

“Thought we could have a lazy morning then take a picnic up to the coast? Found a good place you can do some reading while I lie in your lap and gaze longingly at you?”

You look at him adoringly and Santi takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue languidly along your lower lip, humming into the cave of your mouth as you grant him access and slowly mingle your lips and tongue with his like you have all the time in the world. 

You wind your arms lovingly around his neck, and pucker your lips to plant a delicate kiss to the tip of his strong, perfect nose. “You’re a genius, Santi. In fact, you know what? I love you more than I did yesterday, and less than I will tomorrow.”

Santi doesn’t smile at your words, despite the playful grin on your own face. He simply looks at you in wonderment again.  As if he’s seeing you fresh. Like every moment with you is a breaking dawn. “Fuck, Princesa. Who’s the charmer now?” Santi looks at you as though he’s the luckiest man in the world, and that never fails to floor you.

Yes, these were without doubt your favourite kind of mornings. You treasure these small moments together, where you have all the time in the world to adore each other. And you did; you do. You adore each other more and more every single day.

Sometimes, perhaps, waking is a sweeter dream than slumber, when your love makes every moment like a new day. Makes each feeling cheesy enough to write in a greeting card.

You smile conspiratorially, fluttering your eyelashes at Santi. Pushing your luck, even though you’re already the luckiest woman in the world. “Have I charmed you enough for you to make breakfast, my love?”

“Breakfast, mi Reina?” Santi purrs, pumping his eyebrows. “You just lie back and I’ll take care of breakfast. I’ll take care of you, ‘cause, fuck, do I love you too.”

Yes, this is it. This is definitely what dreams are made of.

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 2, chapter 1

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Content warnings: sex work mention, one noncon kiss, minor noncon touch (suggestive but not sexual)

Morgan was deeply uncomfortable. The caravan ride had been entertaining, at least for him. Cain was delighted to have an attentive audience, and after divulging all he knew about the events currently unfolding - Diablo's corruption and influence spreading, the dark wanderer last seen heading east and his possible motives - he had expounded at length on his theories about the forces of Heaven and Hell and what moves they might make next. He also shared tales of the time he'd spent in the desert cities in his younger days, and anything else that happened across his mind. It seemed he had an unlimited capacity for storytelling. Morgan liked it, content to absorb as much knowledge as he could.

However, once they'd reached their destination, they had been almost immediately ushered to the palace by a taciturn guard armed with a very sturdy-looking spear. Cain had already slipped away, ostensibly in pursuit of an old acquaintance, but both Blaise and Morgan found themselves visiting the sultan unexpectedly.

Upon their arrival, the man, who introduced himself as Jerhyn, had actually been quite friendly. He had somehow heard about their defeat of Andariel and was eager to pay for their assistance with problems that had arisen in his city. The mercenary guild was struggling to maintain their ranks in the face of increasing demonic activity. Blaise had agreed to join them readily; working together with a group to combat monsters and demons was well within her comfort zone. Morgan was trying to delicately express his preference to work alone, but the sultan was being insistent and it was proving difficult to argue.

The problem he was experiencing was rooted in the attack the harem guild had sustained weeks earlier, prompting Jerhyn to offer the members shelter within his spacious palace. Priests of Rathma had no particular rules with regards to celibacy, but surrounded as he was now by women and men in various states of undress, Morgan found himself wishing they did. He'd never managed to grasp the allure of intimate relations. He was aware of it as a possible motivation for the actions of others - there was a long list of those - but he'd resigned himself to simply not understanding it. The guild members flocked around Jerhyn, all flashing jewels and rustling silks. It was impossible to look at the man without seeing an astonishing amount of bare flesh. Of course Morgan was familiar with the human body, had helped with preparations for some of the more involved burial rites, but this was different. It felt like an invasion of privacy, despite the fact that the display was clearly intentional. His discomfort was making it difficult to negotiate.

Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself, gazing around with frank admiration. When Jerhyn finally relented, allowing them until the morning to come to a final decision, she grinned wolfishly.

"Does that mean we get to spend the night here?"

Jerhyn smiled indulgently. "Of course, if you wish it. You may stay as long as you like. Any of the companions here can show you to the guest chambers. Please, enjoy yourselves."

Morgan stood and bowed politely before turning to leave. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" Blaise hissed next to his ear.

"To find an inn," he whispered back. Her grip tightened and he fought the urge to pry her fingers off of him. It would not be wise to make a scene so soon after their introduction, he reminded himself. No matter that he was already uncomfortable to start with, and it was only getting worse.

"You know it's incredibly rude to turn down an invitation like this, right," she pointed out. He... yes, he did know that, now that he thought about it. The overwhelming desire to be anywhere else was impeding his ability to remember all the rules of social interaction. He did not outwardly protest as Blaise steered him back toward the crowd of concubines. "Have a little fun for once," she said at a more normal volume, pushing him into the waiting embrace of a pale, slender young woman before turning away to mingle.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart," the woman purred, running her hand down his chest. He tried not to shrink away from the contact. "Let me show you to your room. Don't worry, you don't have to be shy with me." She flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Thank you," he managed. She took him by the hand and led him down a staircase and up a corridor while he alternated between looking at his feet and looking at the ceilings. They appeared to be intricately painted tiles, but the details were lost on him.

Morgan heaved a small sigh of relief when she stepped into a room, beckoning him to follow with a wink. Finally, a respite. He opened his mouth to thank her for her guidance, but she muffled him with a kiss, pressing him into the doorway. He froze for a long, panicked second, torn between the desire to push her away and the lack of any adequately clothed spot on her body to push against. As she raised her arms to embrace him, that did it. He reached up to shove against her shoulder, leaning away.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Showing you a good time, sweetie." He was not having a good time. She went to lean in again and he wriggled free, ducking under her arm and backing away into the room.

"Please, don't." He kept his hand raised to ward her off. She pouted.

"What, you don't like me?"

Not especially. The invasion into his personal space had been unexpected and unwelcome. "I'm sure you're... quite lovely," he said haltingly - it was more of a guess than a lie - "but I'm not... interested in... that." He gestured vaguely, hoping to somehow encapsulate the concept of physical intimacy.

A look of understanding dawned on her face, to Morgan's relief. "Oh. Oh! Sorry about that. I can usually guess. Your friend seemed pretty sure down there, doesn't she know...? Oh well, just sit tight, I'll get out of your hair." She flashed him that bright smile again as she left.

Morgan sat wearily on the edge of the bed. New places were exhausting, and he still had to figure out how to convince the sultan that he would gladly help the mercenaries as long as he was permitted to engage with them as little as possible. How best to frame it? He tested a few different scenarios in his head, starting to build a script from the pieces that seemed most compelling. It was laborious enough that he didn't notice the figure at the entrance to the room until it spoke.

"Not a lot of people turn down Meera's company. Perhaps I'll be a little more to your liking."

"Please, I just - um." He'd started to answer before looking up, and found himself wholly unprepared for the vision that greeted him. The most breathtakingly beautiful person he'd ever seen was leaning casually against the doorway. He smiled at Morgan, a flash of pearly teeth bright against the deep umber of his skin, and moved in to perch on the edge of the bed beside him.

"My name is Jemali. What should I call you?" He laid a delicate hand on Morgan's thigh. That broke the spell. Why did these people insist on so much physical contact?

"Morgan," he said, sliding away from the other man. "I don't like being touched," he added.

"You say that," Jemali smiled, edging closer, "but you've never been touched by me. I'd remember a face as handsome as yours." He reached out to caress Morgan's cheek, but he ducked away from the contact, standing and backing away.

"I don't like being lied to, either." The flattery was over the top. A particularly kind and tactful person might go so far as to describe him as distinctive, but that was just a polite way to skirt around the issue. He was ugly. That was an objective fact. There was no point in trying to disguise or deny it.

"Morgan, honey, I'm not - look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let's start over." He patted the bed next to him. Morgan did not move. Jemali sighed. "At least meet me halfway here. I'm trying to please you. If you don't want Meera and you don't want me, what do you want?"

"To rest after a long journey." His patience was wearing thin and he didn't want any sort of company, no matter how lovely they might be to look at. "I just want to be alone."

Jemali arched an eyebrow. "You have a free shot with the finest concubines money can buy, and you don't want to take it?"

"I do not."

"You a eunuch or something?' He cast an appraising glance at Morgan's trousers.

"No."

"Well, now you have me curious." He sprawled across the bed, stretching long limbs to claim the space. "What possible reason could you have to turn both of us down like this? We aren't used to the sting of rejection, you know." He pouted.

"Is it not enough-" he closed his eyes briefly. Irritation was a loss of control, a failure to adhere to the principles that guided him. Plus, raising his voice was starting to hurt his throat. He took a calming breath and tried again. "I don't desire anyone's company. Please just accept that."

"Fine. You don't have to tell me." Jemali rolled over onto his stomach, propping his face up on his hands. "Akarat knows I could use a break anyway. So tell me about yourself, Morgan. Or don't you like talking, either?"

"Not really."

Jemali rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Just my luck, too. Stoic adventurer types are usually right up my alley, but you're going to be a tough nut to crack. I can tell. Don't-" he held up one finger to cut off Morgan's next words before they'd left his mouth, "- don't ask me to leave, because I will, but nobody's going to believe we've finished so quickly. And we're on orders from the sultan to see to you and your friend, so that means I'll have to send in someone else and you'll have to go through this all over again. So just let me sit here for... oh, an hour or so, and then we can both be on our merry ways."

"Fine."

Morgan seated himself in a plush chair opposite the bed, since the other man seemed to be making himself comfortable and he wanted to stay out of his reach. The following silence lasted for nearly a minute before Jemali's voice jolted Morgan out of his thoughts.

"So you must be some sort of wizard." Jemali was studying him, head tilted in what must have been a practiced pose. It was impossible for a person to look so thoroughly statuesque by chance. "You don't have the build to be a fighter. Are you any good? I mean, you must be, or else you wouldn't be here enjoying my company." He stretched languorously. Was he even capable of being still? "Oh, what a story! A strong, silent sorcerer, come to protect us from the clutches of foul demons! This could have been almost romantic, you know. What a waste." He splayed long fingers dramatically across his bare chest, casting his eyes up toward the ceiling.

Ah, yes, the demons. Perhaps he could get some useful information out of this encounter. "Were you there?"

"Was I there when - oh, you want to talk about that." Jemali hugged one knee to his chest, running the edge of a painted fingernail along his bottom lip. "No. No, I was lucky enough to be on a house call. Lost some friends, though." So he could be still after all. Morgan winced. Of course this lively individual had been friends with the victims. Of course the memories would be painful. He hadn't meant to distress him, even though he'd just been hoping for some peace and quiet.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he offered. The other man's lips quirked upward.

"Thanks, honey. That's nice of you to say." He gave a small sigh. "You want to know what you're up against, huh?"

"If I can."

"Smart. Now, we don't make a habit of judging our clientele, but everyone agrees there was a suspicious character who came through just beforehand. Refused to take off his cloak or even pull down his hood. Didn't want anything, just asked a lot of questions and left. Really strange. The demons showed up a few hours later."

Morgan leaned forward. That sounded like it could have been the dark wanderer Cain had described. "Do you know what he asked?"

Jemali shrugged. "Something about old myths, some sort of tomb or something. I don't know."

That would be enough to start with. He could question the sultan in the morning and go from there. Hunting for information was easy enough to justify as an individual task. If the wanderer was looking for something old, that might give him occasion to scour the city archives for information, a pleasantly solitary task. It could also be a justification for working with Deckard Cain, who clearly had some familiarity with the area. The scholar was a useful resource, he reminded himself. It was just a bonus that he liked the old man's company. Things were starting to come together.

Morgan leaned back, satisfied. The action made the collection of small pouches on his belt dig uncomfortably into his side, pushed out of place by the plush stuffing of the chair. He stood to remove them, but of course nothing could go without comment.

"What's all that?"

He considered his options. Ignoring the question seemed unlikely to work, given Jemali's persistence. A vague answer would just lead to more questions, and he didn't particularly want to get into the details of his profession. It might solve the pressing issue of privacy for the moment, but word would inevitably spread, and that could hinder his effectiveness with the sultan. Or get him expelled from the city, depending on the citizens' mood. It wouldn't be the first time. Might as well give a brief explanation.

"Potions. Ingredients for potions. Dried foods. Trinkets." He pointed at each pouch as he named its contents.

Jemali's face lit up. "What kind of trinkets? Like jewels? Oh, can I look at them?"

They were mainly jewellery. Sometimes a skeleton rose with some trappings of its former life still intact - clothes, weapons, baubles. At some point Morgan had started collecting the ones that were particularly appealing to him. The dead generally had no use for possessions. Sometimes he bartered them for supplies, which was useful enough to justify the collection. Sometimes he traded them for other, prettier baubles. To further aid him in his travels, he told himself. Nicer trinkets fetched him more supplies. But he also liked to just look at them sometimes, to appreciate their shapes and the way light played off their surfaces.

He passed the small bag to the courtesan at arm's length. Jemali upended it over the bed in front of him, spreading out the contents to admire them. Morgan, in turn, settled back in his chair and admired Jemali now that his attention was elsewhere. People didn't generally appreciate being stared at, he knew, but everything about the man was arresting. The shape and warm colour of his eyes, the smooth slopes of his skin, the slick, uniform coils of his hair. Even his movements were effortlessly graceful. His voice was easy to listen to, soft and lilting.

"Lost in contemplation of my beauty, hmm?"

Mortifyingly, he was right. "I - I'm sorry. For staring." Morgan averted his eyes. Stupid to have let himself get so distracted. He really did need to rest.

"You don't have to apologize, darling. Clearly you have excellent taste in pretty things," Jemali purred, playing his fingers first over the array of baubles in front of him and then drawing them up to frame his face. He batted his eyelashes. "You sure you don't want a little taste of this?"

"Quite sure." The threat of physical contact was enough to put Morgan back on the defensive. He shifted uncomfortably.

Jemali tilted his head. "You're a funny little puzzle, Morgan. Tell you what, let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I'll tell the others that you've requested to be my exclusive client. They won't bother you if they know you're mine," he grinned.

It would have been preferable for the guild to ignore him entirely, but he supposed dealing with a single courtesan would be much easier than trying to explain himself over and over. At least this one seemed to understand his request not to be touched.

"And in exchange?"

Jemali reclined fully, wriggling his shoulders into the sheets. "You let me come and go as I please. I don't have a good place here to take a break when I need some alone time. I'll be as quiet as a little mouse, you'll hardly know I'm here."

He considered. It seemed favourable, provided he could count on Jemali to actually be quiet when he needed to concentrate. But would the guild really keep bothering him as long as he stayed here? Or was Jemali overstating the issue to get what he wanted? He eyed the other man warily.

"And I promise I won't lay a finger on you without your permission," he added. That was enough to tip the scales.

"We have a deal."

"Wonderful!" Jemali clapped his hands together and sat up. "Now let's seal it with a kiss, as a matter of tradition... oh, honey, it's all right, I'm just teasing. I said I'll respect your personal space, and honestly I meant it. I'm sorry, Morgan, you don't have to look so scared."

He clenched his jaw. He wasn't scared of being touched, he just didn't want it. Especially not from someone teasing him. Of course, he should have been expecting it. Tiredness and discomfort had interfered with his usual defenses. And if he was honest with himself, so had the peaceful journey, and so had the man's unexpected beauty. He had to remember that he'd earned a measure of respect from his traveling companions, that he couldn't expect the same sort of treatment from a stranger. Especially not such a pretty one, when he was just the opposite. That was just the way the world worked.

"I am going to rest here," he said, closing his eyes and hoping he could take Jemali at his word to leave him be. That ought to end the conversation.

"You can use the bed, you know."

"This is fine."

"All right, suit yourself." True to his word, Jemali was quiet. Morgan could hear the sheets rustle as he made himself comfortable, and shortly afterward his breathing grew slow and deep. Once he was sure the other man was asleep, he finally felt comfortable enough to slip into a light meditation.

It was nearly two hours later by Morgan's count when Jemali gave a soft, almost musical sigh as he awoke and stretched. There were some quiet sounds of fabric and jewellery shifting as he arranged himself, then the soft pat of his feet hitting the floor. "Until next time, darling," he said in a low whisper, and then he let himself out.

Morgan waited a few minutes before relaxing back into a deeper meditation. The chair was actually quite comfortable, much better than the back of the caravan. There was no need to move to the bed. Tomorrow he would meet with the sultan, well rested and hopefully on his own terms. He was cautiously looking forward to it.

[hazza-bear-care]

Stay Safe (1/3)

A/N: I FINALLY STARTED WATCHING CRIMINAL MINDS!!! Granted I am still on season 1, I feel a little more comfortable writing about the BAU crew. Dr. Reid is definitely my favorite so far, but there’s always room for improvement lol. Anyway, enjoy. PS my timeframe is all over the place. I described Spencer’s looks from the later seasons, but kept the season 1 characters because they’re the only ones I know right now lol. Sorry for the confusion, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway!

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (oc)

Warnings: THREE CHAPTERS WORTH OF SMUT!!!! This one is light (fingering mostly, kinda public, dirty talk from Dr. Spencer Reid himself)

~~~~~~

Nova Calderon is a child psychotherapist born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. After graduating from Towson University with her bachelor’s in criminal psychology and receiving her master’s from John’s Hopkins, she finally felt ready to start a job with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. 

Shouldering her black leather satchel, File-O-Fax clutched tightly the grip of her left elbow, a blistering cup of coffee in her right hand, she nudged her way through swarms of people. Silently praying that she wasn’t late, Nova took a seat on the Metro and decided to flip through her portfolio: three years interning under the best of the best in the Pentagon, a permanent position following not long after. But, the Pentagon couldn’t sustain her for too long: by the time she finished a pile of reports, fifteen more showed up on her desk. She longed to do more than just basic homeland security. Nova always knew she wanted to work in the government, but she didn’t spend all that money and energy in school to be someone’s assistant. After those three years and six months, Nova had the opportunity to join the BAU after her boss had put in a good word with Jason Gideon about her work ethic as well as her interactions with the children that often passed through the halls whenever a higher-up decided to bring one in for fun or even school field trips. 

The train screeched to a halt and she assumed, quite correctly, that the current stop was hers. Jumping up from her seat and startling the creep sitting next to her and almost breaking his nose with her shoulder, she scrambled off the train and scurried through the streets of Quantico. Finally locating the right building, she entered and was immediately intimidated by the hustle and bustle happening around her. 

“Hi. I’m Nova Calderon. I have a meeting with a Jason Gideon?”

“Agent Gideon is out for today, but his associate Aaron Hotchner will be conducting your interview.” After listening to the instructions the receptionist gave her on how to find Aaron Hotchner, Nova straightened herself up and mentally prepared herself for how this interview would go. She walked through the double glass doors with a deep breath, and the people in the room went quiet. 

“Well, hello. How can I help you?” An attractive black man said from his desk, his jaw on the floor. 

“Um, I don’t think I’m in the right place. I’m looking for an Aaron Hotchner?”

“You’re in the right place, sweet cheeks. I’ll show you to his office.” The same man responded, his flirting skills leaving something to be desired.

“I was told to wait for a Jennifer Jareau?” Nova replied, trying very hard not to roll her eyes at the man attempting to approach her. 

“That’s me. I will show you to Agent Hotchner’s office. Follow me, please.” A cute blonde instructed, leading Nova up a ramp and to an office with a closed door. Jareau held a finger up, signaling for Nova to wait until the coast was clear. The brief pause allowed Nova to glance around at who she hoped would be her new coworkers: A dark haired woman who looked like she couldn’t be bothered with Nova, the same man that flirted with her just a few seconds ago, his nose now buried in a manila envelope as a way to hide his staring, another blonde girl who had a big smile on her face and shot Nova a thumbs up for luck, and a skinny man with curly hair and a little scruff not bothering to hide his wandering eyes. His gaze was almost scrutinizing, scraping up and down Nova’s body repeatedly. Their eyes met and immediately the two both felt a fire erupt on their cheeks as Hotchner’s door opened and Nova got roped in. 

~~~~~~

Three days later was Nova’s first official day. Agent Hotchner was incredibly impressed with Nova’s portfolio and resume. While working with children wasn’t something the BAU did regularly, it was still a good choice to have a child psychotherapist on the team. Just because the typical profiles include men in their 20′s and higher, doesn’t mean a child still can’t be involved. 

“Morning, Nova. Are you ready for your first day?” Elle asked from her desk, legs propped up on the flat surface as the team awaited further instruction. 

“I’m nervous, but yes, I’m ready.” Nova had gone through a sort of orientation, meaning she already had a gun strapped to her waist, which she wasn’t comfortable with just yet. Nova didn’t like guns, but in her line of work it was hard to do anything without a gun. She took a seat at her desk, which happened to be across from Spencer’s, and attempted to get comfortable. 

“You’re not used to your gun yet,” Spencer noticed as Nova shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Wow, Reid, you are some profiler. I, uh, don’t like guns. Never have.” Nova remarked back.

“You don’t like guns? How the hell did you last so long at the Pentagon?” Derek asked.

“I was a secretary. I was never required to carry one. I did have one issued to me, but it was never loaded. The ability to fire a gun wasn’t a requirement for desk jobs.” The slight hint of annoyance in Nova’s voice was only caught by Spencer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Nova rubbed her eyes and tried to stifle a yawn. 

“Long night?” Elle asked.

“I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. Ugh I sound like I’m 12 years old and waiting to go on my first field trip.” Everyone around her chuckled, but Nova didn’t notice that Spencer was no longer sitting across from her. A cup of coffee appeared on her desk along with a bottle of sugar and some creamer cups. 

“I didn’t know how you take it.” Spencer muttered as he sipped his own coffee and sat on his desk, rather than in his chair. 

“Wow. Um, thanks, Dr. Reid.” Nova whispered as she reached for the coffee and the supplies Spencer had gotten for her. 

“You can call me Spencer.”

“How come she and JJ get to call you by your first name, but we have to call you Reid?” Derek muttered, crossing his arms, almost like he was pouting. 

“Let me ask you something, Morgan: Are you a pretty girl?” Spencer asked, a serious look covering his face. Nova blushed and tried to discreetly cover her face. 

“No, Reid, I’m not. But are you saying that Elle isn’t pretty? Or Garcia?”

“No. They’re pretty. But they prefer to call me ‘Reid’. Right, Elle?” Elle nodded. 

“Thanks for calling me pretty, Reid.” Spencer shot Elle a small smile and nodded, further proving his point to Derek. 

“Yeah, I think Nova enjoyed it too. She’s as red as a stop sign.” Derek laughed as he teased the newest member of the BAU team. Nova covered her face even more by slamming her face down on her desk and wrapping her arms around her head. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the light teasing, but she knew she could never look at Spencer with a straight face again. Nova felt someone rub her back in comfort, but she didn’t care to find out who it was. Then to everyone’s rescue, JJ walks in with a case. 

~~~~~

The case went smoothly, and Nova couldn’t have been more exhilarated. She had rescued three children from a serial sex offender who got off by murdering the people he raped. The gruesome pictures and the events leading to find the missing children exhausted Nova, yet she couldn’t fall asleep on the jet flying from Colorado to D.C. 

“Great work, Nova. I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to keep up with us.” Hotch commented, a slight smile gracing his lips. The older man adjusted himself in his seat as he quickly prepared to catch a few winks on the flight home.  

“Yeah, Nova. You did an amazing job,” JJ gushed, making herself comfortable. She was asleep in five minutes, leaving Spencer and Nova the only two awake.  Stifling a yawn yet again, Nova tried to make herself comfortable on the stiff plane seats without drawing too much attention to herself, but evidently failed as she had caught the gaze of a certain doctor. Spencer snapped his fingers, effectively getting Nova’s attention. Quirking his fingers, he gestured for her to join him in his seat. Nova blushed, scooting across the aisle and standing awkwardly in front of Spencer. With a smirk, the doctor hooked his arms around Nova’s waist and pulled her into his lap, securing a blanket around them. 

“What are you doing, Spencer?” Nova whispered, making herself comfortable on Spencer’s lap. 

“Shh. You don’t want everyone to wake up, do you?” Spencer whispered back, a slight smirk on his face as a response to Nova’s confused look. 

“Spencer, what are you--” Nova froze in her place as she felt Spencer’s hand creep up between her legs and find it’s home just a few inches away from her core. With wide eyes, she quickly looked around the jet, silently praying that everyone truly was asleep. 

“Don’t worry. As long as you’re quiet, no one will know what’s happening. Are you gonna be quiet for me, little girl?” Nova’s breath hitched in the back of her throat, the dirty words coming from the usually shy doctor quickly dampening her panties. Not trusting her voice, Nova nodded, not confident enough to make even a little bit of eye contact with the man holding her firmly on his lap. Spencer chuckled and placed a few sparse kisses around Nova’s face, avoiding her lips entirely. She let out a small whine when Spencer avoided her mouth for the fifth time, a rumbling in the man’s chest. Finally giving in, Spencer lightly placed his mouth on Nova’s, breath’s mingling just enough to make the girl wiggle on his lap. 

“Sit still,” Spencer growled, his erection becoming more prominent every time Nova moved. 

“Then kiss me, Reid.” Without further prompting, Spencer slammed his lips to Nova’s, tongues immediately dancing together. While still fully immersed in the kiss, Spencer took the opportunity to once again slide his hand up until his long fingers met the area Nova needed them most. A gasp radiated from her mouth into Spencer’s as she silently thanked whichever deity she believed in that her pantyhose stopped just before her knees, allowing the doctor to simply push her panties to the side and run his fingers along her slit.

“You’re so wet, little girl. Is all this for me?” Spencer whispered, the teasing tone in his voice thick with desire. Once again trying to keep quiet, Nova nodded and brought her lips back to Spencer’s. He chose to roll her clit between two fingers for just a few tantalizingly long seconds, his mouth snuffing out the sounds of her soft moans. In a flash of surprise, Spencer jammed two fingers inside Nova’s wet heat, the pair groaning simultaneously into their kiss. They quickly pulled apart as Nova choked out a breath, gluing her lips shut to prevent any noises from coming out. 

“Fuck, Spence. Go faster, please.” Burying her face in Spencer’s neck, he did as she asked, quickly speeding up his fingers and marveling at the squelching sounds her pussy was making around his fingers. He curled his fingers up and Nova gasped, melting into Spencer’s grasp as his fingers brushed against the soft spot that was buried so deep inside her tight heat. Nova clamped her hand over her mouth, smothering her moans, the sounds ever increasing in volume involuntarily. The hand that wasn’t buried in her pussy came up to her her mouth and smacked on top of hers, preventing more moans from slipping between her fingers. Spencer went impossibly faster, the sounds becoming more lewd the harder he buried his fingers in Nova. Her legs started shaking and her walls were clenching around Spencer’s fingers, signaling that she was close to the edge. 

“You’re close, aren’t you baby?” Spencer whispered in her ear, slamming his fingers ever deeper in Nova’s pussy, the girl trying very hard not to scream or thrash in his grasp. “Yeah, I can feel that your close. Come on, baby. I know you can do it. Go ahead, make a mess for me, Nova.” With that, she squeezed her eyes shut, dropping her jaw in a silent scream, both her hand and Spencer’s still covering her mouth as a precaution. Her legs shook furiously as Spencer kept moving his hand, helping her through her high and removing his hand from under the blanket, putting his fingers in his mouth. Nova watched with hooded eyes as her new coworker of a week sucked her climax off his long fingers. When he was finished, he planted his lips on Nova’s again in a heated kiss. Spencer pulled away and kissed the girl’s forehead, pressing his hand to her head and leading it to his shoulder, a silent prompt to sleep. 

“Spencer?” Nova whispered, still trying not to draw too much attention to the pair. 

“Hmm?” She could feel his throat vibrate as he hummed in response.

“What was that for? What does this mean?” Spencer smirked at her questions, his mind running equally as fast.

“I’ll tell you some other time, love. Just go to sleep.” Nova nodded and closed her eyes, mind running with images of a happy future with Spencer. She was asleep in 5 minutes, similarly to JJ. 

“Hey, lover boy. I’m glad you’re making a move and all, but how about making absolutely sure everyone is asleep before you finger a girl so good she’s practically screaming, okay?”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Morgan.” Spencer muttered angrily, blushing as Morgan ruffled his hair, chuckling. 

[hoodoo12]

Festival (30/30)

@beejiesbitch @turtlepated @clairjohnson @memedemonhours @monsterlovinghours @yankyo @edosunshine @go-commander-kim @saucymangos @beetlebitchywitch

Everyone departs, in various ways. Some go away further than others (and may have further adventures . . . wink) Thank you to everyone who took a chance reading this very self-indulgent rp scenario. Thanks especially to @pinkbeej for being such a fun amazing partner, and more importantly, a fun amazing human being.

Beej and his clone locked eyes as Eve explained the circumstance. Initially there was hesitation on his part for losing a piece of himself permanently, a sort of damage he had never sustained before; on her part, for losing her home, her lover . . . the two of them felt so certain that the curse would bring her back into him the moment he was put away. If that wasn't the case, though . . .

"It'll be fine. I think she's shown she's got enough drive to be . . . the me I could never quite be," he said softly, giving a nervous grin to the manifestation of his self-hatred and femininity. She was made from powerful feelings, and had much more potential than he'd previously thought.

Pink swallowed thickly and nodded, biting at her lips as tears lined her lower lid. Beej floated closer to her so that she'd have no cause to release Carmen's hand or leave Kadus' grasp. Two additional arms sprouted from her, reaching for him as he leaned in to embrace her. The hair of both forms gleamed brightly, and when he pulled back he looked surprised for a moment, until understanding and a wider smile set in.

"Go. If you end up staying . . . you'll be all right."

He backed up a step as Pink scooped Carmen up into arms that stretched to comfortably hold her even with her distended stomach.

"I'll see you at home, sugar." she murmured, kissing her cheek and neck. "Or I'll find a way to come see you again."

She turned timidly to Kadus and blushed. "You . . . you sure you don't mind me coming along?"

⁂

Jessie perked her brow a little, but noted that it didn't seem like Eve would help them find out more about Andy . . . now that she was familiar with his face, she supposed that didn't matter much. Perhaps she'd talk some sense into him, but . . . well, there was always her way of dealing with things to fall back on. She shook off the initial irritation at having no further leads into finding the asshole and turned her focus back to the brownie and Ollie.

"What do you think honey? He's been helpful and sweet. If he would like to, would you mind us offering to bring him home?" she asked. It relieved her to think that there would be another being to keep Ollie company if she wanted some alone time with BJ. She had to admit, the furry little thing was so ugly it was cute.

"Does that interest you?" Her last question was asked directly to the brownie.

She mindfully continued to touch BJ through the questioning, allowing a steady stream of her thoughts to pass to him in flashes. The man being gutted if he appeared again-- Ollie and the brownie being occupied together while she took his hand and pulled him to Harold's porch--a little burst of excitement and pleasure at the recollection of the taste and effect of the jelly cakes.

With a pink tint to her cheeks, she allowed her mind to wander down other avenues as well. His thumb in her mouth--hands held above her head--the sharp, repetitive slap of hard thrusts--her pinned and bent beneath him, thighs nearly at her sides with his tongue in her mouth . . .

She looked a little dazed as the fantasy ran away with her and she stopped herself before she could go so far as to tease him with the orgasm he wasn't yet allowed to have. Gods, she hoped it'd make him ravenous. She felt delightfully attractive and sensual, reveling in the pleasure she'd been able to share that night. She ached in her womb with the desire to be claimed by him, to give back every piece of her she'd shared for his pleasure.

The flow of thought and emotion shut down as she found herself spurred even further into her needy daydreams by the realization that he had access to her little mental spiral. She tried hard to focus instead on the responses to her questions.

⁂

Watching her lover and his clone quietly make the decision for her to go, Carmen chewed on the inside of her lip. She wanted him whole but wanted him happy, and she was only just beginning to understand which fractured parts of his souls each clone manifested. It seemed like this decision was edging more towards the happy side of his equation. She enjoyed getting to know this clone, but if it was best for Beej, she supported it.

What worried her most is not calling his name. He’d been out all night, and despite not using much of his energy he did use some, and she had no idea how much he actually had, or if he was leaving a trail that was going to lead his monster of a mother back to them. She hated that keeping him safe meant keeping him cocooned away from the world.

Still, she accepted the the final decision and burst into a surprised little laugh as his female clone pulled her against her, even as tears wet her face. “Have fun,” she whispered into her ear, “be careful.” She took a deep breath, locking the light floral scent from the delicate flowers into her memory. She pulled back a little and brushed her pink hair back just to keep the contact for a moment more, then kissed her gently on the mouth. “I can’t wait to hear about everything,” Carmen told her, then let her go. Once Pink was released, Kadus gathered her up. “Yes, ροζ θεά μου. I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise. What the witch says is true, however. I don’t know the way back that isn’t ordained by set laws between the worlds.”

“The door, centaur,” a low voice near the dying bonfire called. Carmen and Beej looked over Kadus’s haunches to the minotaur who’d spoken. At some point he’d put on his thin loincloth again, and in the brightening dawn, Carmen saw the true color of his horns under the gilding: verigated white and black. In respect to the somberness of the moment she had to bite her tongue and not giggle; she must be automatically drawn to black and white now. She could feel Beej’s fingers tightening on her and his quizzical glance at her as she shook slightly in the effort not to laugh, and knew she’d have to tell him why sooner or later.

“I’ll take care of her,” Kadus assured Beej and Carmen. It was easy to see they were torn between letting her go, worry, and fear. It pleased him, however, that his offer was accepted; he hadn’t lied when telling Pink he wanted to show her his homeland.

With a final nod to the two of them, he led Pink away towards the faint shimmer passed the bonfire. A satyr slipped through, and a few fauns lingered as if to see if Eve was going to follow. She didn’t. They skipped into the doorway, visible one second and not the next, and then the minotaur lowered his head to step through as well. When it was Kadus’s turn, Carmen lifted her hand to wave and then wiped away more tears that fell.

⁂

Jessie had asked him a question, but before he could answer dirty fantasies flooded his mind’s eye. As much sex as she’d had over the past night she was still horny and it showed; it should be embarrassing to get a hard-on with a breather who was a essentially a stranger standing right in front of him, but after this orgy he supposed it didn’t matter.

BJ reached up to cup Jessie in what he hoped looked to be a protective way, although it was mostly to keep his hand off his cock for the moment. He did manage to muzzle a moan at the images she fed him too, and briefly he wondered if she was going to be sore, when they could find some time for themselves, and--oh shit, when did she need to feed again?

They really did need to go.

It was in the back of his mind that he had no real reason to refuse to let another fey take up residence in his place, and Jessie was already asking the little creature its opinion. It was answering positively without his blessing anyway. The witch’s pointed directive at least gave him a chance to turn and move to pick up his suit. “Leaving the clearing is exiting,” she called after him, making him pause. Should he say something to anyone else? The specter who seemed so similar to him but different in fundamental ways hadn’t yet turned back to them. He had no idea if he’d ever see him and his scarred lover again, so it would probably be polite--

“We’re going,” BJ called in their general direction. When the two of them turned, he lifted a hand. “Thanks for . . .”

Stupid, but he didn’t know how to end that sentence. A one time blow job and fuck fueled by fairy magic didn’t mean anything, but being approached and accepted did. In the end, paralyzed by indecision, he simply nodded to them, made sure everyone he carried had a handhold on him to not be dislodged, and stepped into the treeline. His suit reclothed him with a thought, like a second skin, and despite Ollie’s earlier declaration he’d have to find his own way home, the leprechaun twittered in his ear a route. Arriving with two housemate but leaving with three, BJ shook his head and glanced back for a final look at the clearing.

As Pink returned Carmen's kiss with a sweet smile in her eyes, Beej watched the exchange with mixed feelings. There was still the large amount of certainty that his clone would be pulled back into him by the curse, but the tears on his lover's face made him almost regret the decision to let a piece of himself travel to another world. The potential for what they could learn from it, though . . .

As Pink floated alongside Kadus, having waved to Carmen, Beej and even smiling in farewell toward Eve and the specter who had indulged with them all earlier . . . it dawned on her that perhaps it was his interaction that gave her the courage to try to branch out and caused her to make Kadus' acquaintance.

She hugged close to him, eyeing the door between their worlds with excitement, wonder and curiosity. Her arms tightened around his arm as she watched the other beings vanish in passing through. As Kadus prepared to pass through, she turned and saw Carmen waving to her. With a brilliant smile, she raised her arm and waved back, though her wave was bouncy, happy and enthusiastic.

Before she could change her mind, she turned and met Kadus' eyes with a warm smile and nodded, floating alongside him as he stepped through.

Beej turned to Carmen and gathered her to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks and bending to kiss her lips softly. Multiple hands fussed over her, drying her tears and brushing back her hair from her forehead, stroking her back and cupping her ass to pull her in.

"'S alright babes, I'm right here." he murmured softly, hoping to comfort her.

He nudged her forehead with her own, kissing her cheeks and the tip of her nose sweetly. The call of BJ's voice snagged his attention, and even as he held her close he turned to listen to the other ghost.

The half-finished sentence made him smile, the guy did seem like the type to not know what to say after a positive experience with strangers . . . and truth be told, he could remember the time when he wouldn't have had words either.

"Thank you!" he called back with a grin, "'N remember, it's all right ta be happy."

One of his many hands held up BJ's card, displaying that he'd held onto it purposefully, not wanting to lose the memento of this strange other.

Jessie listened to the exchange with a grin, cocking her head a little as Beej held up a somewhat familiar looking card. It'd been ages since she'd seen any of those, back before they'd replaced the bed! She didn't have much to say, but she raised her tiny arm and waved at Beej and Carmen and Eve as BJ stepped away, clothing himself and taking his leave with her and both tiny fey clinging to him securely. As they vanished from view, Beej looked back down to Carmen with a smile.

"How're ya feelin' babes?" he asked, brushing her hair behind her ear again. "'m surprised yer still standing."

His lighthearted tease was followed up by a soft kiss to her lips.

Carmen watched as Beej’s clone floated to the doorway on the arm of the centaur, excitement plastering a wide smile on her face. It occurred to her, in a rush of panic, that she was nude, but just before she could call out after her to put on some clothes, Beej was holding her and kissing her, and the other specter’s voice was telling them he was leaving.

She turned just her head in response to the call, and by the time she looked back to the doorway between planes, Beej’s clone was gone.

She held onto Beej a little tighter then, even as she managed a good bye to the ghost almost at the tree line. His striped suit reappeared on him and although she should have been able to see him for a longer period in the trees, after only a step or two he was gone from sight as well.

Her throat hurt, and she took in a shaky breath. Beej still cuddled her, soothing her; it occurred to Carmen she should be doing that for him, not the other way round. Still, his query made her laugh a little. Luckily Eve had given them a little privacy, returning to the side of a few other witches tamping out the remaining coals of the fire, so she didn’t feel embarrassed to answer him.

“I’m not sure either,” she admitted, slipping a hand between her legs to cup herself lightly. “I don’t know how well I’ll be able to walk once all the adrenaline wears off.

“Thanks for last night. I’m glad we attended.” Carmen kissed him and was interrupted with her cousin telling them to get their clothes; it was past time to go. Hand in hand, they crossed the clearing to where they’d entered. Carmen slipped her cotton shift over her head and let Eve and Beej lead her through the forest again.

fin

[moonlights-inkwell]

Someone You’re Not.

Summary: You know so much about him, but really you know nothing. You don’t even know his real name.

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,947

A/N: I mentioned how Jaskier told the reader his real name in my last fic and then decided I just had to write this. I guess this is a series now.

Warnings: Drinking, Canon compliant violence, smut, unprotected sex.

For the amount of time you and the pretty bard spent together, you could safely say you knew very little about him. Well, very little might be an exaggeration. Jaskier is exceptionally open and spends so much time talking, and usually about himself, that it would be impossible to not pick up a thing or two. You know in all certainty that his favourite colour is periwinkle, that he spent a good few years studying in Oxenfurt Academy, and how immediately when you decide to stay in an inn or tavern he needs to have a bath with a very specific lavender oil.   You know the way he fingers the frets of his lute even when he doesn't play, just to have something to do with his hands, how he brightens up at even the most minute of praise and how his smile makes you swear he cannot be human because human men can't possibly be this beautiful. You know the feeling of his lips against yours and his hand on yours, but you really know nothing at all. No idea of where he grew up, if he has siblings. You don't even know his name.

It seems slightly sinister when I think of it like that, you consider as you swirl your tankard of ale, sat across from the centre of the tavern floor where he's singing for the clientele songs of Geralt's success in slaying a selkiemore not two hours before. The drunken celebration of the town people, clapping and shouting a familiar chorus of Toss A Coin To Your Witcher over Jaskier's new song, feels worlds apart from the comfortable quiet of the table you share with the white haired man- connected with these grinning locals but only through the bard's song and proximity. He's beaming, eyes glittering, and mouth turned up in the widest smile as he drinks up the praise and adulation. He looks like a child in front of a baker's shop and always does as he performs, your own lips turn up in an appreciative smile as you watch him bound around like an overly excited puppy, plucking the strings of his lute. After travelling together for... you don’t even know how long- time is almost an incomprehensible concept while traveling with the Witcher- and being in your relationship as of two winters ago, you don't even know what his given name is. Something about that strikes you as unfair. Stage Names are all well and good for Bards, needing something that can be cried out easily by an adoring audience like the one in front of you now but he’s more than just a bard to you. No matter where you go, he always charms anyone who listens to him sing. It makes sense. When you met him, working in a tiny tavern in a tiny town not far from Toussaint, you fell in love as soon as you heard him sing. Were anyone ever to ask about your first meeting you would have claimed that you felt his grip on your heart intensify when you saw him smile. Gave up on a job, friends, a life to blindly follow him in his travels with his Witcher friend, all for the sake of that smile, that voice, those eyes. Like a siren, he sang his song and into his hold came your heart. It sounds oh so very romantic- as Jaskier has said time and time again when trying to put the “tale of our love" to music- but it’s not quite true. His voice was beautiful, his eyes wild, his voice like a call to the wild, but that wasn’t what made you leave everything behind; you left because of how sweetly he spoke to you after his show, ignored the rest of the tavern to sit at the bar talking avidly to you until long after you should have closed, and how beautiful his personality was. It sounds far more romantic to say it was love at first sight, first song, than love at first conversation, love at first offer of freedom.

No matter the venue, you watch him pour his soul out into his performances and sustain himself on the praise it earns him, be it these little pubs or wedding banquets. He's like a fae or a puppy, the way he can just lap up positivity and turn it, alchemy like, into song and show. You assume the only person who hasn't fallen in love with the Bard's songs is the person he spends most of his time singing about. The Witcher is never impressed, preferring the quiet of his meditation over the hustle and bustle of a lively performance. You don't entirely blame him. Jaskier is a joy to watch performing, and his voice is like nothing you’ve known in your life; but you travel with him, and Geralt has travelled with him long before you entered their traveling party, it takes the wonder out of him sometimes, when reminded that the same man singing was only this morning composing an annoying little ditty about how Geralt smelled and needed to bathe and how you ought to smile more. Geralt makes a noise of annoyance at all the noise, and you attempt to hide your enjoyment by taking a deep gulp of your beer, only to gag and cringe at the taste. It’s disgusting.

Ale always tastes vile, always has and always will. In your younger years you drank it with friends without complaint so as not to be laughed at, though your male friends had always laughed anyway. Having worked in a tavern meant that it was the convenient to drink and serve during the busiest working hours, in spite of how disgusting it is to you. Even now, you find yourself drinking it to keep up an appearance of stoicism to impress Geralt, determined not to have him believe you delicate and useless in contracts, but even now you couldn’t make yourself like it, or even find it tolerable. If your white-haired companion notices the way your face scrunches up after taking a swig, he says nothing. In your disgust at your drink, you hadn't noticed that the songs have ended and the crowd quieted down, until you feel the press of lips against the curvature of your neck and your bard settling himself beside you, which only serves to draw a shocked squeak from you. He smiles at you with a playful wink, resting his lute on the table,  

“Well, what did the two of you think of my triumphant performance?” He asks proudly, which results in a noncommittal grunt from Geralt. He’s never been much of a conversationalist, and never has much time for the songs either, so you find yourself filling in the silence with your own enthusiastic praise.  

“It was fantastic. You know it was fantastic, Jask.” You coo to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and watching his chest puff up with pride. “Especially seeing as you only wrote it today.” In return for the compliment, the Bard presses a kiss into your hair. You pull back and smile proudly, resting a hand on his thigh as you take another swig of the beer. The look on your face must have been undeniable as you find Jaskier gently prying it from your hand after noticing your grimace,

“Gods, Dear Heart. Don't dare drink that, it tastes of piss.” He says playfully, leaning in close to gently wipe the ale that had sloshed over your bottom lip in the sudden movement. Dear Heart. As much as you've never been one to use aliases or fake names, Jaskier uses pet names so often they might as well be your true name.  

Dear Heart, Dove, Love, My Breath, Darling Muse, My Moon and Stars; you lose track of the number of sweet names he uses for you. They’re always romantic and lyrical, the kind of terms that would sound stilted coming from anyone but him. He says them like they’re meaningful, and had taken time to construct, even more so than the time it took your parents to name you. At first you had worried that he used them because he's forgotten your name, but you know that it’s just his way. He pairs them with sweet kisses to the back of your hand, or a hand at your hip, using your true name only when annoyed or worried. He likes titles. He still calls Geralt by every pseudonym he can think of much to the ire of the other man.  

“If it gets me drunk then it's fine.” You reply quickly, cheeks flushed at the feeling of his calloused thumb against the sensitive skin of your mouth, trying not to breathe in deeply and to fight off the urge to brush your tongue across the pad. No matter how many times he touches you, however chaste the contact is, you find yourself blushing like the first time. With a melodramatic gasp, the bard pulls back his thumb to stare at you like you had grown a second head.  

“You do understand you're supposed to enjoy what you’re drinking, not just what it does to you, right?” He says, as if he's the authority on drinking, his tone of voice telling you that there's nothing you can say to dissuade him. “I’ll fetch you some of the wine I like. I can promise it tastes better than that.” And with that he smiles and pushes the thumb into his mouth, cringing as the beer touches his tongue. “Gods, I was right. You stay there, don’t touch that, I’ll be back.”  

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's proclamation and grunts for your attention before he gestures towards the door, got to his feet and walked off to bed. Despite what Jaskier's song would have the people believe, it had not been as easy a fight as either of you had anticipated. Geralt had been slammed into the river bank so many times you thought he would have broken a bone or more, and a rapid movement had seen you sent crashing into a tree and less than useless for an hour or two. He's had a spree of bad luck as of late. You almost feel bad that he has to see you and Jaskier interact with each other like this since his latest tryst with Yennifer ended as poorly as it ever does. The Witcher’s absence sees you return to your earlier thoughts about the Bard's name, or your lack of knowledge of his real name. It shouldn’t matter, and truly it doesn't matter to you, but as you watch him try and navigate his way through the crowd of people around the bar, you find yourself trying to think of what his real name could be. He's no Erik, and certainly you can’t imagine him as an Aleksander or Kacper, but you can't quite imagine a name for him but Jaskier. It suits him. Dandelion’s are bright, beautiful and misunderstood, and so is he. Were you honest with yourself, you have no idea why he's here with you. If his accent and clothes weren’t already loaded with coin and privilege, him saying things like ‘you should enjoy what you drink' just solidifies in your mind that he doesn't belong with you and Geralt. Enjoying what you drink means affording a drink that tastes so good it justifies paying for it, and you can barely justify paying for even ale when it gets you drunk. He's like a rare and beautiful songbird, sweet sounding and brightly coloured and strange to find lingering in places where they don’t belong, like with a Witcher and a girl with such little self-preservation that she'll fight monsters, such as yourself. The sight of Your Dandelion returning to the table with two jugs of wine removes every thought from your mind entirely.  

“Here, Dear Heart. You'll like the taste much more, I swear.” He says with a wide grin, still riding on the high of his triumphant performance, pockets full of coin and head filled with applause. He looks beautiful like this. The two jugs are placed in the space between your hands and his, surrounded on one side by his lute. He reaches out timidly and rests the tips of his fingers on your palm, which lets you slide your palm under his and squeeze it gently. You sip the wine without a second thought and he, in turn, takes a deep gulp. It tastes of tart cherries, cloves and how Jaskier's lips taste when he kisses you in the midnight hours, you find yourself smiling as you pull it away from your mouth, the deep red staining your mouth. He’s right. You do like the taste.  

“It’s beautiful.”  

“I told you as much, Dove. It’s delicious, the night is young, and we have coin. So drink.”

/////////

Once the two of you have reached a delicious sort of drunkenness that can only come with the coins from a successful contract, performance, and spending them on more than five jugs of the sweetest tasting wine you have ever drank, you find yourself pressed against the door on the inside of the room you're sharing with your Dandelion. His lips, chapped but soft, are pressed against your own, tongue dipping into your mouth as if still seeking out any wine that might linger still, making your fingers curl into the blue satin of his doublet and your tongue to timidly lap at his. Nights like this, where you aren’t sleeping in the open or five feet away from Geralt and Roach, are rarer than you would like but the scarcity makes you treasure them more. They feel like a gift. Nights where the two of you can just take time with one another, not just steal quick moments of pleasure when you can be sure you're alone. You wouldn’t give up this life for anything on the continent but if you could sleep in a real building more often you would do it in a heartbeat, just for moments like this, where a knee slots between your own and his lips dart down from your own to the hollow of your throat, to suck bruises the colour of wine against your skin, drawing desperate sighs from kiss swollen lips. Your hips rut against his knee to try to relieve the pressure and wetness gathering between your legs, and a warm hand rests on your hip, guiding you to move quicker still.  

“You’re so beautiful.” Even in moments like this, he can’t keep himself from talking. At this point, it must be a universal constant: the sun will rise each morning, fish live in water, ale tastes disgusting, and Jaskier is still talking. Warm breath fans against your skin as he speaks, as much to himself as to you. “So beautiful like this, Dear Heart. Blooming. Like a flower. You are fucking beautiful.” His tone is reverent and makes your heart ache for him to take from you, anything and everything he needs. He makes you feel so much more than what you are, and in return you groan weakly and pull his head back by his hair to slam your lips into his once more. He mutters something against your mouth that sounds a little like your name, then pries you from the door and against his chest, knee still between your thighs, and begins to stumble blindly towards the bed. Fingers splay across your chest, somewhere between groping at your chest and trying to undo the lacing keeping it tied together, in return you push the doublet off of him and let it fall to the floor without a thought. It’s easy to forget how well built your bard is when he spends so much time around Geralt, but now with a hand pressed against firm muscle beneath a thick thatch of hair you’re reminded that he is so much more than someone pretty with a lute. The brunette pulls back from you with a heavy sigh which turns to a throaty chuckle as you chase after his mouth to continue the kiss. When your eyes finally open to see why he isn’t kissing you, you catch sight of blown out pupils, with only a thin ring of ocean blue surrounding it, roaming along your face and body hungrily.  

“Jask,” Your voice comes out a pathetic whine, which makes him chuckle once more, deft fingers tugging your chemise over your head only to then bunch it up and toss away from you, like prolonged contact would make it catch fire.  

“Yes, Dear Heart...” He replies quickly, voice husky and verging on a growl.  

“I want you...”  

“And you have me.” He cradles a hand against his chest for a second or two, before pulling you closer once more, turning and pushing you onto the bed. “And I have you. And will for as long as you’ll have me.” As long as you’ll have me. He says it every time you’re intimate, anything from him simply pressing his fingers inside of you to bedding each other, it's only as long as you’ll have him.  I'd have you till the day I die, you think to yourself as you land on the mattress, I’ll want you till the day I die.  

“Then have me.”  

The smirk he gives you is feral as he climbs over you, knees sinking into the blanket on either side of your hips, lips pressing into your neck once more then travelling downwards. Without your chemise to keep you warm, the blushed flesh of your nipples hardened in the cold air which hadn't gone unnoticed by your lover, who slides his hands to your chest once more to gently massage your mounds while mouthing down the valley between them and towards your trousers.  

“Oh, Muse, do not worry.” He says reassuringly, pulling his hands back from your skin to the fabric at your waist. “I’ll have you. And Gods, how you'll sing for me.”  

////////

Like all nights that involve Jaskier, drinking, and privacy, you find yourself held down against the soft mattress; one of his hands cradling your cheek, while skilled fingers pump in-and-out of you at an almost agonisingly quick pace. Slick, wet, slapping sounds echo through the room, coupled with reassuring coos from him and your own gasps and sighs. The candle, dimly lit and resting on the table closest to the bed, gave out just enough light for you to stare adoringly up at him- cast in golden light like a god amongst men. He was right. Sing for him, you did, moaning loudly into his mouth as he kisses you sweetly. It's the bard in him, that sees him treat your body like an instrument to encourage noises from, your moans the tune and his sweet nothings the lyrics. Its the most beautiful song of his, you can't help but think, one that you would gladly sing every day for the rest of your lives, a song that’s lyrics consist of a call and response between the two of you,  

“Yes, Dear Heart. Sing for me, my girl.” Or “Sweet thing, you’re so bloody gorgeous.” Which is followed by your own faltering mutters of,  

“Jask... there. Oh. I'll...” and “Dandelion... please. Please.”  

The two fingers inside you curl and rub against that spot that makes your gasp grow louder still, a hand suddenly grasping his forearm tightly to anchor yourself once more.  Buried to the start of his signet ring, he grins, twists his fingers once and then pulls them out of you. Glistening digits are pulled up to his mouth and sucked on while he maintains eye contact with you, rocking backwards to rest on his knees. He's spent an hour with his mouth and fingers working your cunt to orgasm over, and over, and over again, yet the simple sight of him sucking your essence from his fingers is enough to make you flush, as if struck with the perversion of the situation all at once. Darkened eyes, framed by darker lashes rake down your body hungrily, such a hunger that any insecurity you might have felt about being so exposed is gone at once.

“You taste so sweet.” It makes you sound like a pie or tart to be spoken about like that, but you can’t help but be flattered. He says it every time he works you to completion on his tongue, and while you argued the first time or two, you've grown to believe him. Or so you say, just so you can avoid his emphatic lectures about your beauty and how he would kill or die for you to see yourself as he does. The wine has made you brave, though, letting you question him  

“I... I do?” There is an unmistakable quiver in your voice that turns Jaskier's grin wolfish. You'd almost be afraid of the look he gives you were it not for the softness in his eyes. You know his answer. It’s always the same. The swipe of his index finger across the sensitive skin of your slit, circling your clit once, twice, before pulling back and pushing it into his mouth with a loud moan, almost certainly for your benefit. He’s a performer by nature and by trade, and the level of confidence he exudes as he smirks down at you is comparable only to the confidence he has when he sings. Moving down to cage you to the bed, nose touching nose, lips near touching, his member rubs against the wetness gathering at your thighs making you gasp, feeling like you’re being touched too much and too little all at once.

“I’ve never tasted anything so sweet in my entire life.” He sounds so sincere. You know that words are his occupation, and that he’s had many lovers before you, but he speaks with such a sincerity that makes you feel like the only person to have ever existed in his eyes. It’s enough to make your throat tighten and eyes well with overly sentimental tears, so you quickly shut your eyes and press your lips against his, tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, until it opens and your tongue dips within. He tastes of sweet cherry wine, something that can only be described as Jaskier and some thing you can only assume is the taste of yourself. You should feel ashamed, a voice in the back of your mind says weakly, at such a wanton display, licking your own taste from the mouth of a lover who's taken to holding you with such a gentleness you'd swear you were made of glass, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Lustful acts behind closed doors is hardly the end of the world and Jaskier isn’t one to judge, especially if the appreciative noises he’s making into your mouth is anything to go by, and if description of what happens find itself in his next song then even still you won’t care, save for the blush it'll bring to your face and the wink that will inevitably come as he sings. It won’t be the first time. Adjusting your legs to better accommodate him between them, his member rubs against your slit, but he keeps his touch chaste, holding your face gently before breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.  

“May I?” It’s obvious what he means, but still you tilt your head as if oblivious.  

“May you what?” The playful tone of voice brings from him a near exasperated sigh, coupled with the softest smile you can imagine. He doesn't need to ask, never does, especially when he's had you crying out for him for hours now, but he does and always does. It’s sweet that he wants to ensure that you always want it, but you love teasing him.

“Please may I make love to you, Dear Heart?” The candle flickers as he says that, and for a brief second, you're dipped into pitch blackness, before the light returns once more. Make love. It’s such a pretty term, so much sweeter than calling it fucking, makes you feel loved- even if he’s never said that he does. Cheeks tinged a deep red, you nod quickly.  

“Please do.” The earnest desire in your voice is hard to hide sober, so you don't even attempt it drunk, instead opting to dedicate yourself to more fruitful pursuits like wrapping a hand around his cock and rubbing up the length quickly. The gasp that slips from his lips is musical and makes you smile, but it slips as his hand rises to grab your wrist, stilling the movement and pinning it gently to the bed.  

“As much as I love you doing that, if you keep it up, I won't be able to last.” Your heart swells a little with pride, and your mouth turns up in a small smug smirk. You understand all at once why he smirks at your moans.  

“I don’t recall saying I want you to last.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, making his eyes narrow into cat-like slits.  

“I want to make you cum on my cock. And I don’t see a way of doing that if I don’t last.” He nips at your ear, then presses a kiss to the space behind it as he pushes into you. No matter how many times he beds you, it feels like the first... especially after multiple climaxes. He's thick. You moan loudly into his mouth as he pushes himself to the hilt inside of you, and the earlier stimulation makes him feel bigger still, every inch and vein feeling massive. It’s hard to articulate how good he makes you feel in this moment, filling you and brushing his nose against the curve of your jaw, so you moan out incoherently.  

He's leaned over you, with hair far beyond tousled and hanging over his face, pupils blown out so wide you can barely make out the thin blue ring around them, and lips made plump and pink from kissing. He's beautiful, almost painfully so, covered in a thin sheen of sweat which reflected the flickering candlelight. You don’t feel worthy of the attention he lavishes on you, but it's not something you would have ever vocalised, for fear of one of his long, verbose rants about how much he adores you, loves you most ardently.  

“Jaskier-" You moan softly into his mouth as he kisses you chastely, which causes the corners of his lips to turn up into a satisfied smile. He always smiles like that when you moan, proud like each noise is a medal or triumph. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you tell yourself you should be embarrassed by how vocal you’re being, but you also know you would make a million noises just to make him smile. You couldn’t have been silent if you tried anyway.

“Julian.” He replies, hips bucking back slightly only to push back into you. What? Julian? Your eyes widen then narrow in confusion, the combination of that and the pleasure of the thrust causes you to let out a moan, tinged with confusion. He chuckles once more, but less self-assured this time. He seems to have realised that saying a name that isn’t yours, while inside you, was not likely to go down well. “It’s my name. My... name.” He becomes shy for a second, leaning back onto his knees so that he’s no longer draped over you with his body, member pulled out until only the tip remained inside of you. You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring up at him, his face childish looking in a sort of guilt you've never seen before. “I was... I was hoping you could-"  

“Julian.” You cut him off, reaching out to brush your fingers across his chest and threading through the shag on his chest. Julian. Your mind replays the name over and over again, and it's wonderful. A real name. It suits him, but it’s not Jaskier. It's not the name you know him by. Julian is a real name for a real man who would have real responsibilities, not a beautiful foppish bard who follows adventures and travels around the continent without a second thought like your Dandelion. “Julian, Jaskier, Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup... It’s all the same to me.” It isn't though. Maybe to him it is, but you’re struck by how... insecure he looks now. Jaskier is never insecure, occasionally cruel and more often than not jealous, but insecure? Not your Jaskier.  

Somewhere in your mind, back, far beyond the thought of sex and satisfaction that is taking you over, you think about those names that you call him. Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup, Jaskier. All of them are the same wild, beautiful, charming man. This Julian, still beautiful and charming, is afraid; you don’t like that look on him. You like his stupid, over-excited grin, and so you lean up and peck his lips.  

“It's all the same to me, Julian.” You repeat with a soothing smile. “As long as you’re mine, I really don’t mind what I call you.”

Ocean-blue eyes light up with a bright grin, and with a drunken laugh he pins you down once more, face buried in the crook of your neck at the same time that his hips snapped against yours, which draws a loud moan of each other’s names in unison.

“Oh, Dear Heart.” Jaskier, Julian, whispers sweetly against your skin and you swear in that moment that had he asked you to pull down the moon and the stars, you would have immediately done it.  

“Julian.” You moan out, clinging onto his back as his thrusts continue at a near brutal pace.  

“My Dearest...” He moans, mouthing at your collar and throat, one hand holding your thigh to his hip and the other holding onto your hand like someone will steal you away from him at any moment. The changed position makes you feel fuller still, each and every thrust bringing stars to your vision until, with a shaking gasp, you feel yourself overwhelmed by the oh so familiar feeling of your own completion washing over you once more. Julian, no Jaskier, continues his frenzied pumping into you, talented fingers working at your sensitive pearl, just on the right side of painfully pleasant. Any thought you had had even a second beforehand melded into an incoherent mess of the same few words,  

“Good. Oh fuck, Jask. So fucking good.” Then, while your mind was overtaken by the lust and wine, you whine out a weak, “Julian.”  

At that he stills, with a painful sounding whimper, and you feel the sensation of warm release flooding into your cunt. Eyes snapping open, you catch the sight of him leaning over you once more. For a moment of silence, a reprieve from the moans, gasps and wet slap of skin on skin that had filled the air, he remains leaned over you, forehead pressed to your collarbone before dropping down and collapsing on top of you. Absentmindedly, you reach up to card your fingers through his damp hair. He has so much fucking hair, you consider lazily and smile.  

“You'll be the death of me, Dear Heart.” It’s muffled, and a little hard to make out, but you hear him clear as day; it makes you smile, the image of him dying mid shag. He peaks up at you from beneath those long eyelashes and repeats it, peppering kisses along the goose-pimpled flesh of your chest and the top of your breasts, making you giggle. It was a bad idea to laugh, as it encourages him in his journey of kisses, hands moving up to tickle you while using his body weight to hold you in place.

“Gods, Dandelion. Get off of me.” You cackle, trying to buck him off without much luck. “You weigh a tonne!”  

“Are you calling me fat, Darling?” He sounds incredulous and insulted, but the wide grin on his face proves that he’s anything but. Rising slowly, he rests over you on one elbow and cups your cheek, pulling you into a sweet but deep kiss while he delicately pulls himself from within you. The loss makes you whimper under your breath, eyes slipping shut once more, and Jaskier breaks the kiss momentarily to watch transfixed for a second as some of his seed drips from you. You blush under his gaze, as you always do when he looks at you in this way. Skilful fingers scoop up some of his own seed, mixed with your essence, and push it back inside you, the sensation drawing a loud moan from you once more. Mouths pressing together once more, the mattress dips beside you, and you pull back once more to smile,

“I cannot believe you just called me fat.”  

“I would never!”  

“I weigh a tonne? That’s what you said.” His tone is matter of fact and you lean in and press a playful kiss to the tip of his nose.  

“A tonne of muscle and talent?” You offer, and he smirks, grasping you by the hips and all but flinging you on your side.  

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love. Now sleep.” He says with a sigh and swats playfully at your bottom, pulling the sheets around the two of you. He never makes demands of you, so his light comments like sleep carries far more weight than they should. The blanket, combined with him curling himself around you, head between your shoulders, makes it too warm for you to fall immediately asleep; but you find yourself drifting into the warm, incomprehensible space between sleep and awake.  

“Julian, eh?” Your voice is little more than a croak, yet it’s enough to make him huff out a short laugh with a squeeze of your hip.  

“Yes. Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz. I. I thought you should know.”  His confidence has faltered once more and instinctively you place a hand atop of his and squeeze it. “...I realised earlier I hadn't told you.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz.” You repeat, testing how the name feels in your mouth. “I like it.” He nods tiredly, and you curl up into a ball, rolling onto your side to let him take his usual sleeping position, forehead between your shoulders. “...but I like Jaskier more.”  

“Same here.” He mutters tiredly and presses a kiss to your spine. “But if anyone is to call me that, I'd rather it be you.”

“...thank you, Jaskier.”  

“For what, Dear Heart?” He asks and lifts his head, resting his jaw on your shoulder.  

“Telling me? Letting me know?” In this tired headspace you're finding it harder and harder to keep any thoughts out of your mouth. “I don’t know. I appreciate you telling me more about you. You’re just so... private. I worry I barely even know you sometimes.” Voice dipping into a near whisper, sleep begins to overtake you, eyes slipping shut.  

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, My Muse.” He whispers, the last thing you hear before falling asleep. Once you're asleep, he smiles, pressing a kiss behind your ear before returning his head to your back, “Anything you want to know from my past. My future is already yours; you may as well have what I was as well as what I might be.” Your rhythmic breathing causes his eyes to droop once more. “...I love you.” Before that confession can give him reason for concern, sleep engulfs him, bringing him to dreams of your future together.  

[maxrev]

For the kiss prompts: "in the snow" and "life or death" if I can combine them like that? your call) for an otp of your choice.

IT IS DONE...I had no idea this would explode into such a long prompt lol. I mean, I gave it a title and even added a quote xD. Anyways, here you are :) Thanks SO much for the prompt! A bit angsty but I figured the prompt called for it! 

Under the cut because...wow...

I’d like to thank @spaced0lphin for her wonderful musical work, as it provided inspiration to write this piece and @theoriginalladya for checking it over 

When I Took to the Sky 

Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time… It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other. Leo Buscaglia

Arcing through the debris, the drop shuttle came to rest amidst the debris of a ship, snow puffing up into the air as it landed; flakes sparkling as they danced and whirled in the air before once again coming to rest on the ground. Pulling on his gloves, the pilot reached for his helmet resting on the passenger seat and tugged it on, twisting it snug with a snap. 

He took a deep, steadying breath...and stepped out onto Alchera. 

Ever since Niall had received the message from Admiral Hackett about placing a memorial here, he’d been pushing it aside. A memorial to honor those who’d laid down their lives for the Alliance. Hardly seemed enough, considering how dismissive the findings the crew of the Normandy had presented. But the fact he was employed by Cerberus now was cause for surprise in being contacted. Other questions followed though; why had the Alliance waited so long to decide on a memorial? Had he not rose from the grave like Lazarus, would they even have bothered? 

Once he’d agreed, he continued to push it aside. There were other missions to take precedence, a ragtag bunch of crew members to hunt down and recruit, and the Illusive Man to annoy - his personal favorite agenda. Anything took precedence over coming here. He simply wasn’t ready to face the part of his past which had changed everything.  There was hope coming here would heal old wounds, rather than deepen them.  

His steps were measured, faltering when he came upon a piece of the Normandy, his mind thrown back in time invoking memories he’d suppressed of a life changing event from over two years ago.

Two fecking years! 

It was a constant struggle to process the passage of time; dying and then being resurrected without any knowledge of it.  

Pausing at the mako, he was thrown into the past, scenes flashing behind his eyes…Kaidan's white knuckled grip as Niall slid the tank through snow and ice up the mountain on Noveria; Ashley yelling with uncontained glee as he'd skidded close to the edge of the lava pools on Feros; Garrus' mandibles twitching when he'd observe the mako on return to the Normandy; Kaidan's resignation upon being turned down again upon his request to drive...the near kiss they'd shared inside the cab a few hours before their last drop when their world ended.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approach of another drop shuttle.

A sound came from behind him, out of place in the absolute stillness around him. Niall whirled, one hand reaching for his maglocked weapon, the other erupting in a blue glow. Setting eyes on the source, both hands dropped to his side in shock. 

Kaidan.

Right away, he noticed he LT had changed. They’d spent so much time together; on the ship, off the ship, on the battlefield, he’d learned the LT’s subtle mannerisms. Gone was the quiet, sensitive marine soldier with stars in his eyes, the romantic he’d claimed to be back on the SR-1. In the eyes staring back at him carefully, in the posture of the man before him, there was a confidence and maturity he’d not had before. There was also doubt. 

It's me, Niall wanted to say, to reassure. It just wasn't so simple.

He watched the play of emotions in the deep brown eyes he'd dreamed about so often. Their eyes locked and he was thrown back in time. Although for him, it was only a few months ago...not two years, when they’d been sitting in the mess on the SR-1, drinking coffee and going over their notes on the Terminus. Niall had been going on about the goose chase they'd been sent on...

“I cannae believe they sent us out to the arse end of space for nothing! Wasted two fucking weeks looking for something which isnae even here.” He slammed his fist on the table, other soldiers in the mess startled at his outburst. Niall ignored them. 

“I’m sure they just wanted us out of the way but we’ll find something, Shepard. We just have to be patient.” 

Niall snorted, “My patience ran dry about an hour inta this mission. I’ll contact those doaty bampots and tell 'em what I really think.” 

Kaidan chuckled, took a sip of his coffee before answering, “Not your best idea by a long shot.” 

Winking at him and enjoying the slight blush across the cheeks, Niall smiled, “Aye but it’ll be fun and blow off some steam.” 

In the end, nothing came of it as the ship rocked hard to port and alarms began to blare around them...

A cough brought him back to the present, watching the brown eyes change in the light, the initial confusion fading to doubt, then replaced with wariness. 

"Who are you?" The first words to be spoken aloud between them, in the same velvety rasp which had haunted Niall’s dreams.

They cut deep, hurt worse than any wound he’d endured. He straightened up, pushing the pain away and answered. 

“Who d'ya think it is? Jolly ol' St. Nick? Tis me, Kaidan. Niall.” He felt like he was stating the obvious, words coming out sharper than intended. 

Silence followed his outburst, the sound of wind wailing in the distance filling the stillness. As the quiet stretched on, Niall reflected on the situation, quickly realizing if roles were reversed, he'd be suspicious as well. Indignation sailed away like a balloon on the wind.

Ready to apologize, Kaidan spoke before Niall could ready his words, “I thought--” voice hoarse with agony, he choked on whatever he’d been about to say, unable to continue. Looking away from Niall, he composed himself, took a deep breath and despite his attempt to remain calm, blurted, “You...you were dead.” 

Biting his tongue against voicing the LT’s mighty powers of observation, Niall fought for something a wee bit more serious and relatable. Now wasnae the time for jokes. 

“Aye," the words ‘but now I’m not’ still echoing in the air between them. How could he begin to explain what he dinnae understand himself? As if he were stuck in quick sand, he felt the more he tried to climb out, the deeper he sank. 

“So, the rumors were true.” 

“Och, aye, guess they were.” 

“When?” 

The wealth of emotion in the single word struck Niall right in the heart, nearly making him stagger from the pain. He fought for an answer, disregarding one after another as they came to him. 

With a heavy sigh, he decided on the truth, “Several months ago.” The dark brows inside the black helmet furrowed downwards into a frown he was all too familiar with. Even to his own ears the response sounded lame. “I dinnae know until then. I was...uh...I doonae even know what to call it...brought back to life?” He threw his hands up in frustration. 

Disbelief followed his statement, turning quickly to suspicion. He could see the change in Kaidan's eyes through the visor. Tone flat, he echoed, “Brought back to life." At Niall’s nod of confirmation, his voice rose, "How is such a thing even possible? Who is...capable of such a thing?” 

Knowing how Kaidan felt about the organization, Niall didn't spare him the facts. He'd find out anyway. “Cerberus.” 

The climate of Alchera was cold and frigid, unfit for flora or fauna to sustain life. Even inside his armor, Naill could feel the chill in the air and had simply wanted to walk through the ruins and leave quickly. He’d never expected to find a dog tag or get lost in memories. 

And now, with his confession, the temperature seemed to drop even further; at least where the two of them stood. Kaidan stared at him for several long, agonizing seconds. He didn’t bother answering, turning around and walking away.

Niall jumped forward, his gloved hands capturing Kaidan’s stopping him, “Wait, please. Don’t go.” 

His gaze dropped down to where their hands were joined; Niall's did as well, heart skipping in his chest. “Please.” He wasn't above begging, not when it came to Kaidan. 

Pulling his hand from Niall’s, Kaidan turned away; yet, he didn’t leave. Several minutes went by; Niall held his breath. “How could you? It’s...they’re Cerberus! You know what they’ve done. The...the things we saw!” 

Fully aware of what his impassioned words implied, Niall felt his anger rise in response, “Did ya think I had a choice in this? As if I could pick and choose who would ha’ the honors of...of fixing...of rebuilding me? Fuck! I wouldnae have chosen this at all...if anyone had ever bothered to ask me first. But here I am and will damn well make the best of it, ya ken?”

Silence stretched on around them. “Are you…you?” Kaidan whispered.

How many times had he looked in the mirror wondering the exact same thing? “I doonae know, Kaidan…" He repeated in a whisper, "I doonae know."

With the admission, he could not look at Kaidan anymore, gazed around them instead. He saw a glint of something shiny; another set of dog tags perhaps. 

To fill the void, he explained, “Saw something sparkle in the sun shortly after I landed. Walked over and found a set of dog tags belonging to Pressly. As I wandered among the wreckage I found more from the crew...the ones who…” he couldn’t say it out loud, felt a hand settle on his shoulder. 

Startled, he turned to stare at it, unable to process the gesture with Kaidan’s protests from a few short minutes ago. Did he believe him now or was it all just for show? Yet, Kaidan had never been superficial. Something Niall admired about him, then and now. 

“We’ll do it together.” The words startled him even more than the touch, but he was grateful. 

“Aye. Tapadh leat.” **

Searching the pieces of the Normandy side by side. As the looked, Niall noticed the sky darkening overhead. Caught up in the past, neither of them had paid any attention. A storm was approaching; a large one. Seeing another glint of metal, Niall brushed off the snow and wrapped the chain around his gloved fingers. 

The storm had intensified and was coming at them fast and furious. There wasn’t time for them to get to their drop shuttles and leave.

He turned and tapped on Kaidan’s helmet. “We need to take cover. Now! Get inside one of the drop shuttles!” Niall took off at a dead run towards the one closest, Kaidan hot on his heels. 

Jumping inside, Niall slammed his fist against the touchpad, shutting the door just as the storm growled over them, ice chips beating a staccato against the steel hull. Wind buffeted the Kodiak, causing it to rock before sliding a few inches along the ground. Unable to radio out and with no one able to contact them, they were sitting ducks at the mercy of the storm.  

Niall reached up and took off his helmet, scrubbing his shorn, itchy scalp with gloved fingertips. 

“You...you’re...the scars?” Kaidan finally managed. 

Niall had forgotten. Not completely healed when the Lazarus project had been sabotaged, he was left with scars where his skin hadn’t had time to knit back together. Chakwas told him by remaining calm they would eventually heal and fade but with stress, they would remain...or get worse. 

Well...

He turned towards Kaidan, their eyes locking. Niall wasn’t the man he’d been the last time they’d seen each other. 

“Aye, scars. I wasnae fully healed when...well, when I was brought out of my coma.” He went to replace his helmet. 

Kaidan stopped him, hand on his arm. “No, don’t. I don’t care what you look like, Niall. I just...I was surprised.” 

He nodded. No moreso than he when he first looked in the mirror. The image staring back at him had been a great shock. That mirror had been replaced. Niall went and sat down on the bench in the back; Kaidan remained standing, neither one speaking as the storm raged on outside. It might last an hour or maybe days. 

“Look, Kaidan--”

“Niall, I--”

Both of them spoke at once. Niall gave a weak grin as Kaidan chuckled and he noticed the pink hue covering the tips of the ears. Some things hadn’t changed. He felt as if a weight had been lifted and he’d been granted a boon. 

Looking at Kaidan straight on, he began again, “I ken how it looks. I do. But, before you draw and quarter me, I dinnae now what to do, where to go. The Alliance won’t ha’ me now and I talked with Anderson and Hackett. They know what’s going on with the human abductions. The Council won’t listen.” He spat the name, no more enamored with them than in the past. “What would ya ha’ me do?” 

“Plead your case, push them. Be relentless like you were before. They have to see reason.” 

Shaking his head at Kaidan’s blind faith, he countered, “Do they? Have they ever? Have ya forgotten Sovereign? The Citadel doesnae even remember, the damage wwept away like so much garbage, forgotten and moved on.” 

The shoulders slumped. Niall studied him, drinking in the sight of a man he hadn’t realized how much he’d begun to care about. Until he was gone. Yet, here he was right in front of him. And they were arguing, Kaidan too blind to see what was so obvious. He stood up, stepping forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Kaidan looked up. 

Niall lost himself in the brown eyes, a golden amber when the light overhead caught them just right. How had he never noticed before? The laugh lines spreading out from the corners of his eyes, the freckles above his right eyebrow. So many details he’s missed. No, he’d never bothered to find. Now, he noticed them all...and more. 

Adrenaline surged in his blood, excitement unfurling within him. He remembered the scars over Kaidan’s lips, wanting to touch them, see how they felt beneath his fingertips...against his tongue. They were right there in front of him now. Overcome with a tidal wave of pent up emotions, he acted on impulse. 

Leaning forward, he captured Kaidan’s mouth with his, losing himself in the scent and taste of him, in the soft lips, his tongue tracing the scars...finally. 

Lost in a longing he had no name for, it took Niall several seconds to register there was no reciprocation. His heart twisted painfully inside his chest. So, this was it, then. He took a deep breath, ready to apologize. But, as he stepped away, he stumbled, Kaidan surging forward to initiate the kiss this time. 

The Kodiak faded away, as did the storm outside. Only the two of them existed in this perfect moment and Niall drank it up like a parched man in the desert until they both broke away, simply in order to breathe. 

** thank you, Scottish Gaelic, informal

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Can I request a platonic traffic light trio/Kiri🟥Kami⚡Deku🥦? Like,🥦is going out w/ friends.🟥⚡Simply wished🥦's hangout to go well & then off to do their own thing. But when🥦is back, he's in tears. Turns out,🥦's "friends" are still the same bullies they were back in🥦's school days. 🟥⚡Being the good, true friends & best bros they are, proceed to provide🥦w/ a very much needed comfort, reassurance & support. (For context, this is a Quirkless AU where 🟥⚡🥦are college roommates) TY ILYSM

Ohmigosh yesssss!! (sorry this took so long) _

'Hey, Mido-bro! Going somewhere fancy?' Eijirou paused his game of Mario kart to turn and look over at his flatmate.

'Yeah! I must say you're looking absolutely Gucci today, my good man.' Denki agreed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 'Ten out of ten would bang.'

'Kaminari-kun, stop!' Midoriya squeaked, hiding his blushing face in his arms. 'You don't mean that and anyway, It's not a big deal!'

Eijirou looked him up and down, before raising an eyebrow. Midoriya was wearing a green suit that matched his hair; the top buttons of his shirt were open - he had likely given up on trying to fix his tie and discarded it - showing enough of his chest to make a simple man like Eijirou swoon. Even the chunky red shoes were endearing…

In a certain light.

'Bro, you are looking manly as heck! What's the occasion?'

Midoriya slowly lowered his arms until they were in front of him. He tapped his fingertips together and looked away, almost embarrassed.

'A few friends from school are in town and they wanted to meet up at that fancy restaurant downtown.' He laughed nervously. 'I'm probably gonna just get garlic bread or something because it's super expensive, but yeah. I think it'll be fun.'

'That's great, man!' Denki flashed him a bright smile. 'I went there for a date once and let me tell you, the garlic bread?' He blew a chef's kiss. 'Très magnifique!'

'Yeah, but he can't just have garlic bread!' Eijirou looked at him, scandalised. 'Mido-bro is our resident beefy boy and needs more than bread to sustain him!'

'Kirishima-kun, it's okay-'

Eijirou dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out two 10,000¥ notes. Both Denki and Midoriya stared at him with wide eyes, but Eijirou just shrugged and held the money out to Midoriya.

'Treat yourself, dude!' He smiled, but his friend shook his head.

'No, no! I couldn't possibly!' He exclaimed, frantically waving his hands in front of him. 'That's way too much money!'

'It's fine, really.' When Midoriya remained apprehensive, Eijirou got up from the sofa and physically placed the notes into his friend's hand. 'Have fun, Midoriya.'

'I'll pay you back!'

'No, you won’t!' He sang. ‘It’s on me.’

'But-'

Before they could start bickering, the blaring sound of Mario Kart's Coconut Mall started blasting from the TV and Eijirou whipped around with a shocked cry.

'DENKIIIII!!!'

His friend turned to smirk at him, albeit his eyes flashed knowingly and in an instant, Eijirou realised the reason behind it. Anger and betrayal turned into awe.

Oh Denki, you beautiful specimen of manhood! 

With a grin, he ran forward, leapt over the sofa and bounced onto a cushion, before picking up his controller and racing to catch up.

Several minutes passed before the door behind them shut quietly, signalling that Midoriya had left. The two of them then smiled knowingly and bumped shoulders.

'Yo, man! Can you lend me 20,000¥ too?'

'Sure, bro- Wait… What for?'

'I wanna get more Pokémon plushies.'

Oh…' He thought about it. 'Sure!'

🔴🟡🟢

Denki wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep on Eijrou's shoulder, but he was definitely sure of how much it had hurt when the two of them woke with a start and bashed their heads together when the front door slammed shut.

He rubbed his forehead and groaned as they both turned around to find Midoriya in the doorway, illuminated only by the light of the glaring TV. His friend didn't seem to notice them though, too wrapped up in his own mind as he fell back against the wall and slid down onto the floor.

'Midoriya!' Both Denki and Eijirou exclaimed, rushing over as their friend bent his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. When they reached his side, Denki heard soft sobs and noticed how Midoriya's shoulders shook with every breath.

He then noticed how his suit was stained and ripped in some areas. He shared a look with Eijirou, both concerned.

'Hey, Midoriya.' Eijirou reached out to touch him, but his friend flinched away. 'It's okay, it's just me and Denki. You're home now. Are you hurt?'

Denki bit his lip when Midoriya slowly lifted his head to look at the two of them.

'Kaminari-kun, Kirishima-kun?' He sniffled, before moving to wipe his red-rimmed eyes with his sleeve. 'I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise, dude!' Denki shook his head. 'Are you okay? What happened? Were you mugged?'

'No.' Midoriya's voice was hoarse and he stared straight ahead, eyes watery. 'Well, yes, but not by some strangers.'

Their friend swallowed heavily and sighed, lip quivering. 'I should've known better really. I thought they'd changed. I thought uni would've made them kinder, but I was wrong.'

'Wait, are you saying your friends from school did this?' Eijirou asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Midoriya bit his lip and nodded.

'When we were at the restaurant, they were fine. They were being nice and they asked about my degree and whether I was enjoying it, but as the night went on, they started making jibes until they were being straight up rude. I didn't want to cause a scene because we were in public, but when they started laughing about my mum, I paid my share and left, but they cornered me outside and… Well… seven on one was never going to be a fair fight anyway. Got a few good hits in though.'

Denki blinked dumbly as he processed what these so-called friends had done, while Eijirou frowned.

'I'm calling Todoroki, Uraraka and the rest of the crew.' The redhead made to stand. 'They're not getting away with this.'

'No! Kirishima-kun, wait!' Midoriya surged forwards and grabbed onto his arm. 'Don't, it's okay. I'm okay. Can we just… Forget about it, please. I don't want to give them any more reason to hate me.'

'Why do they even hate you in the first place?!' Denki found himself blurting out. When Eijirou shot him a look as if to say 'dude', he shrugged. 'What? It's a valid question! You two are the nicest guys I know.'

Eijirou muttered a quiet 'bro' but Midoriya just sniffled out a laugh and let go of his friend's sleeve to wipe away more tears.

'I've asked myself that for years, Kaminari-kun.' His laugh came out as a choked sob. 'I mean, I've always mumbled a lot and used to obsess over heroes and stuff, so that probably just… made it easier for them to pick on me, I guess?'

'Midoriya, no.' Eijirou crouched back down and clasped his friend's shoulder. He initially jolted at the contact, but slowly accepted that the touch was kind. 'There will never be a valid reason for what they did. You have to believe that.'

Denki watched as Midoriya stared at Eijirou for several moments before nodding stiffly. His friend then pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and shrunk in on himself once more. Eijirou sighed at the action and looked at Denki, pleading for help.

Not wanting to disappoint his friends, he scratched the back of his head to rattle his brain for answers. He wasn't good at this, neither of them were. Usually, Midoriya was the one who inspired others and helped them talk about their feelings. It was unfair to now ask Midoriya to give himself his own pep talk!

'Why am I so stuuupid!' Denki moaned into his hands, his revision notes were a mess around him. 'The information's just not going in!'

'Don't say that, you're not stupid!' Midoriya smiled brightly at him. 'You just haven't found the right method yet.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you've been using mind maps for the past few weeks and you haven't been able to take any of this in, just like the flash cards last year.' Midoriya started to mumble and Denki tried his best to follow along. 'But when we did that activity with the plasticine a few months back, you got it practically straight away!'

His friend beamed at him in a way that made Denki instantly feel at ease. 'Play by your own strengths, Kaminari-kun, not what’s expected!' 

He clicked his fingers and grinned at Eijirou before turning to look at Midoriya.

'Hey, dude.' He spoke gently, albeit with a hint of playfulness. 'Me and Eijirou were about to play some Dream Daddy and we need your expertise to woo our man.'

'Dream Daddy?' Midoriya raised an eyebrow and looked at him quizzically. His face was blotchy and dried tear tracks stained his cheeks, but Denki definitely preferred that to a still-sobbing Midoriya.

'It's a dating sim!' Eijirou barked out a laugh.

'A wh- what?!' He squeaked. 'N- Not happening!'

'Come on, Mido-bro!' Denki pouted with big eyes. 'Please? It's not the same without you! We need you and your big brain to reel in our perfect daddy!'

Eijirou nodded frantically and mimicked his expression. The two of them stared expectantly until their friend sighed, resigned to his fate. His frame relaxed slightly and a small smile made its way onto his face.

They missed that smile.

‘Okay, fine! Just... Stop saying daddy.’

‘No promises.‘ He winked, eliciting a snort from Eijirou.

However, before either of them could say anything else, Midoriya suddenly threw himself forwards and wrapped them both in a hug, knocking their heads together as laughter fell freely from his lips.

'Thanks, guys.' 

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[theoriginalladya]

Physical Affection Prompt

@scarletthalloran asked for a prompt for Gabriel “Ree” Shepard and Kaidan, so here we go!  The Avenging Angel of Mindoir does have a softer side after all!  ;)

Setting: Vancouver HQ, five months after Shepard’s return to Earth.  2186

Physical Affection Prompt:  #3:  smiling into a kiss   

from this prompt list  

On AO3 here

~~~

Vega leads Gabriel through the winding halls of Vancouver HQ with a purposeful stride and more than a little enthusiasm, and even Gabriel, who cannot in the remotest sense be considered ‘out of shape,’ finds it a challenge to keep up with him.  “Where are we going?” he asks for the third time since Vega pulls him from his quarters in the Detention Center.  

“Can’t say, commander,” the lieutenant replies as he jumps onto a just emptied elevator and holds the door.  Gabriel follows.  “All I know is I’m to take you to the conference rooms ASAP.”

The conference rooms.  Gabriel sighs as the elevator starts to descend.  Probably another meeting with his defense team, then.  Maybe there’s been an update on his proceedings or something.  The trip down is short, and upon arrival, Vega is quick to lead the way out. Instead of turning to their right, however, they go to the left.  That startles Shepard more than just a little.  “I thought you said the conference rooms?”

Vega chuckles and winks.  “I did say that, didn’t I?  Must’ve gotten lost.”

The hall they head down is long, narrow, and has over a dozen doors branching off both sides to smaller rooms.  This isn’t the conference center, but part of the administrative wing; various clerk offices and the like.  About halfway down, Vega makes a sharp right into a shorter corridor, this one containing a half dozen doors, all on the right side.  To the left is a wall of windows.  The come to a stop just outside of the second to last door.  “Here you go, sir,” the lieutenant says, scanning his palm over the lockpad to open the door.  “I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

Years of taking orders without question are about the only thing that moves Gabriel forward in that moment.  As soon as he is a foot clear of the doorway, it shuts behind him, leaving him in the dark.  There is a window on the far side of the room, but the shades are drawn to block the sun. The room itself is dark, surprisingly so for a meeting, but Gabriel has no idea where the switch is, and has no omni-tool available to throw a bit of light on the subject, so he is stuck.

Throw …

The thought triggers another, and his right hand flexes absently.  As always, without his amp it is more difficult to draw the dark energy to him, to control it the way he is used to.  Still, if it gives him a way to see better, it’s worth a shot, as crude and rudimentary as it is.  Focusing his thoughts as he was trained is easy enough, but not having his amp takes longer.  After a moment or two, he manages to wrap just enough around his right hand.  The help it provides is negligible in the end, but it’s worth it simply for the satisfaction of knowing he can do it in an emergency, if necessary.

To his left and about halfway across the room, the soft chirrup of an omni-tool stirring to life, followed by the orangish-amber glow, catches his attention, followed by a voice, strikingly familiar and completely unexpected.  “You’re going to give yourself a migraine if you aren’t careful, Ree.”

Gabriel’s breath catches in his chest.  “Kaidan?” he breathes, releasing his hold on the energy and plunging himself back into near complete darkness.  

Kaidan steps closer, out of the shadows, the glow of his omni-tool framing his face and a hint of a smile on his lips in its eerie light. “Hey, there.”

Gabriel sighs softly, unexpectedly content for the first time since …  Well, since Cerberus brought him back, really.  Still, this isn’t exactly protocol for a man in his position, and if anyone knows that, it’s Kaidan Alenko.  Frowning, he folds his arms casually across his chest, asking, “You now part of my defense team?”

Kaidan chuckles softly, lips curling into a full smile.  “Not exactly.”

“Then why are you here?”  

There is a moment of silent hesitation before he replies, “Anderson owed me a favor.”

Gabriel blinks.  Owed you a favor?  How the hell did you manage that?  He opens his mouth to ask, even starts to form the words, then slams it shut once more, muttering, “Forget that, I don’t want to know.”

Another laugh.  “Safer for you that way,” Kaidan agrees and moves a couple more steps closer.

Gabriel follows his every step, eyes locked onto the amber-brown that look more yellow-orange in this light.  He thinks back to the last time he saw them, the grief and sorrow that mirrored his own for those brief moments after the Omega-4 Relay run and his journey back to Earth.  But when they parted that day, the situation between them had been on better terms.  He has no idea if that is still the case.  “Is there a reason for your visit?”

The corner of Kaidan’s lips twitch.  “Thought you might like to see a friendly face for a few minutes.”

The Butcher of Torfan’s eyebrow arches.  “How few?”

“No more than fifteen.”

Gabriel breaks eye contact first, his head dropping toward his chest and arms falling to his sides.  “Better than I expected.”

“Like I said, Anderson owed me.”  Kaidan takes another step forward until there are barely a handful of inches separating them.  “How are you, Ree?  Really?”

Gabriel is half tempted to simply say fine and be done with it, but there is a sincerity in the plea that reaches deep inside and wraps around his heart, refusing to let go.  Memories of better times, of realizing there is far more between them than either cold have ever guessed, of risking it all for just one moment.    

Lifting his head again, he straightens to his full height.  When their eyes meet this time, there is a flicker of some kind of emotion behind Kaidan’s, or maybe it is simply a fluctuation of light dispensed by the omni-tool.  The hidden, romantic side of Ree Shepard wants to believe what they once had is still there, just waiting for the right moment.  

“I –.”  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, huffing softly, and muttering, “Why the hell are you making small talk at a time like this?  You know I’m no good at it.”

Kaidan’s lips curve into a full-fledged, knowing grin. “Just testing to see how far gone you really are after six months of house arrest.”

An expectant look fills his eyes as Gabriel sorts. “And, doctor?” he quips.  “What is your diagnosis?”

Kaidan lifts his free hand to slide over Gabriel’s shoulder and cup the back of his head, gently urging him closer.  Gabriel moves without hesitation.  As they angle their heads, lips touching lightly, Kaidan’s grin does not diminish.  “Insufficient data,” he murmurs.  

Gabriel’s lips twitch and he huffs softly just as Kaidan kisses him.  Closing his eyes, he leans into the touch, relishing it, savoring it.  God knows how long it will have to sustain him …