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ginervacade · 2 years

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A Little Much

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary : The reader gets her period and Jake is an ass about it (what else is new). He feels bad and tries to make it up to them when he realizes he might have taken it a little too far.

Warnings: menstruation, blood, crying, pain ( just period cramps), swearing. Panic attack.

( I’m using she/her pronouns in this particular fic but not all women menstruate and not everyone who menstruates is a woman! Please feel free to read this as however you identify, everyone is welcome on this blog my loves! And the way he reacts is beyond ridiculous and meant to be a joke, menstruation is completely natural and nothing to be ashamed of!)

( Also I’m being lazy cause I hate writing Y/N so this uses my character’s name, nickname and call sign so you can read it like that or switch it out for your own name)

You and Jake were walking back from the hanger after the day’s exercise. He was talking animatedly about how fast he had been flying and how he was sure to get picked for the mission. You really didn’t feel up to listening to it right now, as much as you had been trying ignore it your stomach had been hurting all morning. You ignored Jake and walked on ahead.

“ I mean it would be ridiculous not to pick me. I’m a much better pilot than Bra- Whoahoho Gigi what happened?!” He switched gears mid sentence yelling down the hallway to get your attention back.

“ What?” You turned to face him again confused. “ What are you talking about Jake?”

He jogged up to you and replied in a tone that almost mimicked genuine human concern for a second, “ You’re covered in blood.”

“ What? No I’m no-“ you turned to see the large and obvious blood stain on the back of your flight suit, sighing you mumbled “ of course”.

“ Nothing happened, I’m fine, I just need to get back to the locker room.” You sped back up but he was persistent, following you.

“ What do you mean you’re “fine”? You’re bleeding, obviously you’re not fi-“ his features screwed up in disgust as he realized. “ Oh,” he said, then he burst out laughing.

“ Oh my god,” he continued cackling “ That’s disgusting how did you not feel that?! Hahahahaha”

“ Will you please shut up?” He just kept on laughing. People were starting to look at the two of you.

“God it looks like you murdered someone!”

You felt tears of embarrassment prick your eyes.

“ Fuck you!” You yelled and ran off down the hall. As you turned the corner you ran right into Rooster.

“ Woah Careful there Daisy.” He chuckled, then he looked a little closer at you, placing a hand on your shoulder he tilted your chin up to look at him. “ Hey, Gigi are you ok darlin’?”

“ Rooster,” you barely managed to say, refusing to meet his eyes, as your own spilled over with tears.

He simply pulled you into a hug and you melted into it for a moment.

“ What’s the matter honey?”

“ I- Jake-I… nothing, I’m fine.” You pulled yourself out of Rooster’s arms and ran off down the hallway.

“ Gigi!” He yelled after you, watching you runaway he saw the blood stain on your uniform. He turned and stormed into the hallway to find Jake laughing with Coyote.

“ What did you do to her?”

“ Not a thing.” The man smirked back at him.

“ Oh really? Is that why she just ran into me crying all she managed to say was your name before she ran off again?”

“ She’s crying?” The smirk slowly fell from his face. “ I was just playing around. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“How would it not have been a big deal?!” Roosters was fuming.

Jake took a step back, unable to resist the teasing remark of “ Ok it may have been a little much.”

“ A LITTLE MUCH?!?!”

The two of them quickly fell into an argument.

Meanwhile you shoved open the door of the locker room without a word, tears still pouring down your face. You fidgeted with your lock, hands shaking so much that you couldn’t seem to get into undone. Slamming your fist into the locker you sank down to the floor in defeat. Your breathing was getting more difficult as you choked on your sobs and the cramps that tore through your body were only getting worse as you pulled your knees to your chest and laid your head in your arms. You knew this was ridiculous, irrational, unprofessional but you just couldn’t help it at this point. Everything had just built up and between pain, embarrassment, and anger it had all become too much until you came crashing down like a block tower.

“ Alright I screwed up!!! I get it!!!” Jake yelled, shoving Rooster out of his way as he stormed off down the hallway to find you. He knew he had messed up but he had honestly thought it had just been a joke. He knew you were annoyed but he didn’t realize how upset you really were. A flurry of emotions was swirling through his mind, anger at himself, anger at Rooster, worry that you would hate him (he didn’t know what he would do if you did). On his way to find you and apologize he walked passed the locker room. The sounds of someone crying stopped him in his tracks. He hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was but he felt pulled back to the door.

“ Hello?” He said, ear pressed to the door.

“ Go away!” You managed to reply.

“Gigi?”

“ Go away Jake.”

“ Alright anyone else in there has 15 seconds to get dressed.”

You were too upset to be surprised that he actually did wait. But no longer than 15 seconds before he shoved the door open, eyes flitting frantically around the room until they finally fell on you in the floor. His face fell completely as he took in the sight in front of him, knowing it was his fault. He really hadn’t thought you would actually be hurt by his teasing. ( because he’s a dumbass)

It was honestly a pitiful sight. You were sitting in the floor, the front of you flight suit was undone but still on you body and it was clear that you had just slid down to the ground when you had become overwhelmed. You were sitting there in the floor, sobbing, hair falling down, half dressed and by now you really were covered in blood seeing as you hadn’t managed to do anything about your period yet and from your hand which was bleeding. He managed to put the pieces together of that and the small dent in your locker door that you had punched the thing in the midst of your meltdown.

Sliding to the ground next to you he pulled you close. “ Come here honey.” He squeezed your shoulders and just held you for a while as you sobbed. He deliberately took slow deep breaths, keeping you pressed up against his chest in hopes that eventually you would begin to match his breathing and calm yourself down. It took you a second but you eventually did. Pulling back from him and sitting in silence. He didn’t try to stop you from pulling back, now it was time to talk.

“Gigi I’m really sorry darlin’.” You could hear in his voice that it was true but you still didn’t respond. “ I shouldn’t have kept on, especially not once you told me to stop. I was just enjoying teasing you but obviously it wasn’t funny. I didn’t mean to embarrass you and I definitely didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m really sorry.”

You took a shaky breath, finally looking at him before you responded. “ I appreciate that. Apology accepted and thank you for calming me down, I know I’m being ridiculous I just-“

“ Woah, woah, woah, back up, no you’re not being ridiculous. I was being ridiculous and immature. You’re well within reason to be upset.” He said, completely serious. You were honestly shocked at how sincere and actually remorseful he was being.

“ Jake I ran off crying, punched my locker hard enough to break skin and sat here sobbing for the past twenty minutes all because I got overwhelmed.” You argued.

“ Because I was an ass to you. You were embarrassed because I was being stupid. And you know I’m all too familiar with storming off. I only found you in here because I was storming off from Rooster to come find you.” He stood up and started to unlock you locker. You didn’t bother to ask why he knew your combination.

“ What did you and Rooster get into it about?” You asked as he handed you your bag. “ Thank you.”

“ He came marching down the hallway yelling at me for making you cry, which I deserved. He said you ran into him crying and all you managed to say was my name and I knew I had really screwed up. I really am sorry Daisy.” He said.

“ I know,” you replied, “ I’m fine Jake.” You dug around in your bag till you found a pad and a pair of underwear, disappearing to the little bathroom stall in the corner as he continued talking.

“ I hate seeing you cry. I hate seeing you upset. It just makes me hurt to know you’re hurting. It hate that it’s so often my fault. I watch you flying and I can’t decide whether to be impressed or scared out of my mind.” You looked at him in complete confusion as you walked out to wash your hands. At the sight of you in just your bra and panties, flight suit hung over your arm he blushed and turned around to let you get dressed. He continued to explain himself as you pulled on the clothes you had in your bag. “ You’re an incredible pilot. One of the best in the sky but I’m always so worried you’re gonna get hurt. I can’t lose you Gigi.” He paused, trying to decide if he should tell you before it all just spilled out beyond his control.

“I can’t lose you cause I’m completely in love with you and I- I have been for a long time. I only tease you because if I don’t I would just be stumbling over all my words every time I looked at you and rambling on like this. I know this is the worst possible time and the worst situation to be confessing this in but I just have to tell you because-“

You were completely shocked but you couldn’t stop smiling at him. “ Jake.”

“ -if I don’t now. I don’t think I ever will-“

“Jake.”

“ I’ll just bottle it up until I explode and if you don’t feel the same way then that’s-“

You cut him off by turning him around, grabbing him by the shirt and kissing him, hard. It took him a second of shock before he melted into your touch, kissing you back. He kissed you deeply and almost hungrily. When he finally pulled away, breathless all he could manage was a surprised and adorable “ Oh.”

You couldn’t help but giggle.

“ Darlin I-“ you kept giggling at the southern drawl that slipped into his voice. You took in all of him, toned muscle, beautiful blonde hair, deep blue eyes, that Texas accent and aviator confidence all had you wrapped around one of those long fingers a long time ago.

“ Shut up you big dumb hick, I love you too!!” You kissed him again and laughed at the slight blush and goofy grin that had settled themselves on his pretty face. In all of the love confessions you had almost forgotten the whole problem from earlier, until a painful cramp shot through your body and your smile faltered. He seemed to realize what was going on.

“ How about this? Since we’re done with training anyway, you and I can head back to my place for a while. I have a heating pad and Netflix and we can wash that-“ he gestured to your flight suit “ and patch up that hand. And I think I happen to have a container of chocolate ice cream and some spoons with our names on them. What do you say we call it a day little lady?” He smiled at you.

“ I wouldn’t be opposed to that cowboy, as long as you let me pick what to watch.”

“That can be arranged.” He scooped you up into his arms and you shrieked, laughing.

“ Jake put me down!!!” You laughed.

“ No ma’am.” He replied, scooping your bag onto his arm and carrying you out of the locker room.

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slippinmickeys · 1 year

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Three Part Harmony (8/?)

When they finally pulled up to the cabin — after a long and bumpy trek down a muddy, rutted driveway that wound through a hemlock grove choked with cedar — Mulder was beyond gassed, pushed to the limit of what he could endure. Shock, trauma, joy, distress. The gamut of human emotion, and nothing but highway hypnosis with which to ruminate on them all. Beside him, Scully dozed with her head resting gently against the glass of the passenger door, the white of her bandage just peeking out from between clumps of dark hair.

Between his eyes, in the very spot where — in his partner — a malignant growth had once threatened her life, a throbbing pain began to emanate; an aggregation of emotion, exhaustion, the swirling miasma of stress hormones on a brain forced into sustained fight-or-flight. He sighed and reached forward to switch off the radio, though the silence did nothing to alleviate the ache. Ducking his head to look up through the windshield, he peered at the building before him. SAFE , the waitress had written. He certainly hoped she was right.

The cabin was an A-frame, the hard planes of its roof slanting down almost to the ground, its ridge cap sharp and straight as an inverted knife. It was painted a dark gray with navy trim around the doors and eaves, and the front of the building was a near solid mass of both square and triangular windows crisscrossed with support beams. Reflecting the lights of the car for a moment as Mulder turned, it looked, he thought, like a brigantine tall ship with all of its sails unfurled. The light shone on it and then was past, the house sinking back into the murk of the trees that surrounded it.

He pulled over onto a cramped area of leveled dirt just to the side of the house and killed the engine. He glanced into the backseat at the sleeping baby, the boy’s face slack, a bit of drool wetting his ample lower lip. Mulder had, while on the run — before Scully had joined him — launched himself into the future during moments of downtime, and imagined a life in which the three of them existed; unhunted, unafraid, unruffled by the problems of the present, of the past. He would picture the most mundane of scenarios: the three of them sitting down to breakfast, how the boy's face might screw up while trying to throw a fastball, the way Scully’s voice would sound calling William in for dinner. It never went further than that — simple acts of domesticity — but the act alone kept him level, kept him sane, ground at the edges of his despair so that they were dulled, not sharp enough to prick him. Not sharp enough to draw blood.

“Scully,” he whispered.

She roused with a sharp inhale and blinked several times as she sat up, a look of confusion passing over her face as she fought to reconcile her surroundings with what they had been only the day before. She probably was hoping she’d wake to find it had all been a bad dream.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice still low. She nodded, and after a brief hesitation, brought her hand up to the back of her neck.

A flash of worry arced across his mind before he could turn it away. “Scully?” he said again.

“Anesthetic wore off,” she explained, giving him a small reassuring smile. “It’s just a little sore.”

He reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. She returned the gesture and glanced briefly back at a still sleeping William before turning her gaze up through the windows of the car and to the cabin beyond them.

“This is it?” she asked, looking at the house assessingly.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. He had plucked the map the waitress had given them from Scully’s fingers as soon as she’d succumbed to sleep, flicking on the dome light for a moment every few miles to check their progress. There was nothing else around for miles.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” she apologized, her eyes falling to the worn, scrawled-upon sheet that now sat slightly rumpled in Mulder’s lap. “I was supposed to navigate.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.”

She looked back at the cabin. “There’s no one else here?” she asked.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Mulder replied, turning to look at the house, too.

It sat, dark and stolid, beneath the canopy of dripping trees, though now that the car’s headlights were off, Mulder could see the faintest lambency from inside it, a soft penumbra of light glowing from a back room, as though someone had lit a hearthfire. It was a welcoming light, he thought. Honeyed and warm.

“I suppose one of us should go check it out,” Mulder sighed. He was run through with exhaustion and worn raw with nerves, but he leaned over Scully to open the glove compartment where they’d stashed the three guns. He grabbed the Glock, the closest one to hand, when Scully put a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” she said. “I’ve at least gotten a bit of rest today.”

Scully could, quite enviably, drop to sleep without the slightest provocation, and after the day they’d had, he couldn’t blame her in the slightest. Mulder imagined how rough he must look, eyes bloodshot and bleary, and handed over the weapon without a word. He would stay in the car with William.

Scully expertly checked the clip and the action, and finding it up to snuff, opened the door to the car and stepped out into the night. Mulder let his head fall back against the headrest, listening to the engine click and knock as it began to cool. Just as he felt himself drifting off, Scully was back, smelling woodsy, her breath curling up in twisting tendrils of steam.

“Seems okay,” she said, when she opened the door. She tucked the Glock into the back of her pants and ducked into the open passenger door to better talk to him. “There’s a lamp on in a back bedroom. Couldn’t see much beyond that. But there’s no movement.”

Mulder was aware – with that big bank of windows in the front – that the second they turned on the lights in the house, anyone outside of it would easily be able to see in. Not that there was anyone around.

He nodded. “You try the door?”

“It’s unlocked,” she nodded back. “I did a cursory check. I’ll do another when we get in. There’s no one there.” If she was certain, so was he.

Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Did you happen to see a bed?”

Scully looked at him with a sympathetic look.

“Come on, Mulder,” she said, “I’ll get William.”

Mulder didn’t even fight her, just unfolded himself from the car and reached in to grab a random selection of Walmart bags from the back. Scully unlocked the car seat and awkwardly maneuvered it into the front. She then pulled down the glove compartment and grabbed the other two pistols. Before Mulder could figure out what she was doing, she had walked over to him and tucked the Smith & Wesson into the waistband of his pants, leaning in to speak in a low tone. “Safety’s on,” she said, and then made her way back to the car to grab the car seat. “We’re right behind you.”

Mulder led the way through what there was of a yard, which was mainly gritty dirt overlaid with a damp layer of pine needles and last year’s leaves. They squelched over to the porch and up the waterlogged wood of the steps to the side of the house where he found a stark white storm door and a sodden welcome mat inlaid with flowers and words he couldn’t make out.

“It’s open,” Scully said again from behind him, and he pulled open the flimsy outer door and wiped his feet on the mat without even realizing he’d done so.

The main door stuck ever so slightly when he pushed on it, but he shouldered his way through and was surprised to be met with warm, dry air suffused with the faintest hit of potpourri. He dropped the bags near the wall and took the baby from Scully, who edged past him with her gun at low ready.

“Gonna do a quick walk-through,” she said, and he nodded, setting the snoozing child on the floor so he could shut and lock the door.

The area through which they entered opened into an open concept living room and kitchen, with a big fireplace at the center of the room that was studded with fat fieldstone masonry that went up two floors and disappeared into the ceiling. Past the kitchen, there was a single hallway that led to the back of the cabin, which Scully walked down a moment later.

“Think we’re clear,” she said, dropping the gun down to hang at her side.

“What’s the layout?” Mulder asked.

“Two small bedrooms and a bathroom through here,” she nodded toward the hallway. “I think there may be a loft up there.” At this, she tilted her head to a low wall that ran along the main room’s ceiling and ended at the chimney. She looked around a moment and found the stairs on the far side of the fireplace, reappearing a few moments later. “Another bed and a small bathroom,” she said, finally tucking her pistol into the back of her pants.

“Point me toward a bed and give me a shove,” he said wearily and she obliged, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the hallway. He plodded down it as though walking through molasses, each step feeling like more work than the last. Finally, he stumbled through a doorway, not even noticing which bedroom he’d entered, and fell, face-first, onto the small double bed he found there, which gave a plaintive creak. He considered toeing off his shoes, closed his eyes and knew nothing.

He awoke with a start, a hand squeezing his arm and a whispered voice in his ear.

“Mulder, there’s someone coming.”

He roused himself to consciousness with difficulty, his head feeling like it was filled with cotton batting. He could feel the hard nose of the pistol still tucked into his waistband, and his feet, still in the steel-toed boots he’d put on that morning, were half asleep. It was dark outside, and the lamp in the neighboring room shone dully down the hallway. When he stood, he could see headlights approaching through distant trees past the large windows at the front of the house.

He rose to his feet and got his bearings, sidestepped William who was still sleeping in his car seat next to Scully’s side of the bed and stalked down the hallway and to the front of the house, Scully right on his heels. The windows, as he approached them, leaked a frosty chill, as the air might sigh from a cellar.

“What do you think?” Scully asked, pressing herself to his side, peering out the glass of the sliding doors along the front of the house and into the night. There were headlights bouncing down the rutted driveway, getting close, and both he and Scully instinctively ducked down as they were briefly illuminated by the lights as they panned across the building. The car turned to back in next to their Grand Prix and parked, sitting for a moment with the engine idling and the lights still on. Scully had her gun out, and she was obviously asking if Mulder thought that the men in black had managed to find them.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something tells me They don’t drive a Datsun.”

A moment later, the waitress from the diner emerged from the driver's side and crossed over behind the car – a waft of pinkish exhaust shimmering around her, reflecting the red haze of the taillights and making her appear, however briefly, like a saint in a religious painting. She disappeared a second later behind the raised deck lid of the trunk. Mulder glanced at Scully and watched as she moved the gun from one hand and into her other.

Then the trunk closed, and the waitress was awkwardly carrying two brown paper grocery bags, stumbling a little under their weight in the double-cone of light from her car.

As the woman approached the steps, Mulder moved to the entryway of the cabin and pulled open the front door for her, pushing at the outer storm door with more force than necessary, which clacked into the side of the building with a concussive thwack!

The waitress jumped back in surprise, breathing hard, and would have probably clutched a hand to her chest if they hadn’t been full.

“Hi,” Mulder said awkwardly, then stepped forward onto the porch. “Can I help you with those?”

“Hi,” she replied, fumbling a bit with one of the bags which Mulder took from her. “Thank you,” she said, following him into the house.

He closed the door behind her as she moved into the space, dropping the bag she still carried heavily onto the kitchen counter which was made of thick butcher’s block and scarred from use.

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting the other bag gently down beside it. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She heaved a sigh and leaned against the countertop. “Not your fault. I’m,” she swallowed heavily. “I’m jumpier than a virgin on her wedding night.”

Beside him, Scully surreptitiously tucked her weapon into her pants and pulled her shirt down over the handle.

The woman was still dressed in her work uniform, a short sleeved white button-down shirt with a red polyester skirt. She had the shape of an hourglass and wore hose that creased a bit around thick ankles before disappearing into sensible black shoes. She still wore an apron, and a name tag that was a little droopy.

“Rhonda?” Mulder asked, dipping his head toward the woman and holding out a tentative hand to shake.

“Oh! My manners!” the woman said, wiping her hands onto her apron before reaching out to shake Mulder’s hand.

“Steve,” he said, shooting a quick look at Scully.

“I’m Lisa,” his partner said, reaching forward and taking Rhonda’s hand. “And please don’t trouble yourself over etiquette. You’ve invited perfect strangers into your home. We’re incredibly grateful.”

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not my home,” she said. “This place belonged to my uncle. He used to come out here to fish. It’s mine now. A little rustic, I admit. I use it when I need to get away. You’re welcome here. Don’t you give it another thought.”

Mulder’s eyes were pulled toward the headlights of the car that was still idling in the drive.

“Do you want me to go turn off your car?” he asked.

“Oh, please,” the woman said, and he didn’t wait for another word, just trotted out the door and down the steps so he could covertly check out the woman’s car.

He swung into the driver’s seat and looked around, as if orienting himself. There was an extra apron with five or six pens sticking out of the pocket folded neatly in the passenger seat and an empty coffee cup with a small half moon of lipstick around the lid in the cup holder. The rest of the car was neat as a pin. He turned off the headlights and turned the keys in the ignition, looking at the house once before tilting down her glove box and peeking inside. There was a battered owners manual, a couple of pieces of loose paper; the car’s registration and insurance information, and a small flashlight. The name on the registration was Rhonda Fitzsimmons. He closed everything back up the way he found it and pulled the keys, exiting the car and walking back through the night. The woman seemed to be who she appeared.

When he walked back into the house, Rhonda was just asking Scully a question.

“Where’s the little one?”

Mulder saw Scully stiffen, but she answered politely enough. “He’s asleep.”

As he approached them both, he held out the keys, handing them to Rhonda, which earned him a smile of thanks. Mulder gave his partner an All Clear nod and watched as Scully leaned against the counter opposite Rhonda, mirroring her stance. She looked as tired as Mulder felt.

“I have to ask,” he said. “How did you know we needed help? How did you know about the men in the diner?”

Rhonda sucked on her teeth for a moment, scrutinizing him. Finally, she ran her fingernails along the countertop in a horse-like cadence and said:

“Well,” her soft lilting accent making the word sound like ‘whale.’ “I didn’t like the way they looked and Shandricka didn’t like the way they felt.”

“How do you mean?” Mulder asked.

“That smile,” Rhonda shuddered. “It was off. Too big, you know? Capital gums, lowercase teeth.”

Mulder had to suppress an almost hysterical urge to laugh. “And…How did they feel?”

“Like they’d steal the sugar out of a cake, Ricka said.”

“But you gave us that map before those men even came in,” Scully said, narrowing her eyes. “I never even saw them.”

“Y’all were scared,” the woman narrowed her eyes back at Scully. “Y’all are scared.” She turned her eyes to Mulder. “I know from scared.” She said this last phrase with a lift of her chin. With the look of someone who’d swum through a river of adversity and came out the other side. “And when they came in, well… I’m just glad you’re here. I followed them, you know.”

The tired look on Scully’s face disappeared.

“What do you mean you followed them?”

“Those men. After they left the diner. Ricka took over my shift and I followed them. A ways back, they never saw me, don’t you worry. They went out Route 30. Pulled into old Doc Shepherd's place and gawped around like they’d lost their keys. I’d bet twenty bucks they’re still sittin’ in that parking lot hollering at each other,” she said. Then she added, almost confidentially, “I wouldn’t know cause I kept driving on past.”

“You’re sure no one followed you?” Scully asked.

“I’m certain,” Rhonda said with enough authority that Mulder didn’t hesitate to take her at her word.

“Doc Shepherd,” he said, gleaning an idea. “What kind of doctor is he?”

“Doc Shepherd is a she,” Rhonda said. “A veterinarian.”

Not long after that, Rhonda had insisted that they get some sleep. She’d be staying in the loft, she said, and would be up late reading. She assured them that she was a light sleeper and could hear anything from up in the loft – that the acoustics of the house funneled sound right to her and she’d know the minute anyone entered the valley, much less the house.

Mulder and Scully, overcome with exhaustion, capitulated.

They shuffled into the bedroom, William on the floor close to where Scully’s head would rest. The room was dark but for the light coming in from the hallway, vaguely illuminating knotty pine walls, amateur paintings of woodland scenes, antique furniture too small to be of much use. They each pulled out their guns, hiding them under the pillows, and Scully hid the third one in the small bedside cabinet. She kicked off her shoes and pants, pulled her shirt over her head, and slid into the small bed in just her undershirt and panties. Mulder closed the bedroom door softly, and, feeling like he needed to be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice, took off only his shirt and toed off his boots, getting into the bed in the tatty jeans he’d been wearing all day. Normally, Scully would have clocked the infraction and complained loudly, but tonight, she held her peace.

The bed was narrow, small, and his feet hung off the end. Nevertheless, it felt cozy and calm with Scully close at hand, the warmth of her seeping into his side. Outside, he could hear the wind pushing through the branches of the trees, and just beyond the hallway he heard Rhonda puttering around, opening and closing cupboards, putting away groceries. Beside him, he swore he could hear the beat of Scully’s heart and the soft, elfin sounds of William’s whistling breath.

Scully reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. After a moment, a thought occurred to him, and he reached deep into his pocket.

“Sit up,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Sit up,” he said again softly, and Scully obeyed, looking at him curiously.

He pulled out the soft gold chain and held it up in between fingers and thumbs, the tiny cross sliding down to sway gently from its middle.

Understanding dawning on her, Scully bowed her head. Without a word, he slipped the chain around her neck and fastened the hook, bending forward to press a long, soft kiss to the skin just below her bandage.

Then they each eased back, the bed softly creaking and rustling under them, and slid into the horse latitudes of the night where everything went quiet and still.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #wip #on the run #family fic #without fluff

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innovation008 · 1 year

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TOP 6 SPECIAL Drones 2023. Dipper (Zurich) parrot , leica blk2fly, tando...

TIMESTAMP 00:00 ▶ Intro 00:15 ▶ 1. Dipper - ETH Zurich 02:10 ▶ 2. Parrot - ANAFI Ai 03:57 ▶ 3. Autonomous Flying Drone - LEICA BLK2FLY 06:05 ▶ 4. Tando Drone - Indoor Robotics 07:35 ▶ 5. Prometheus - Folding Drone 09:24 ▶ 6. Flapping Wing Drone - ▶1. Dipper: A Dynamically Transitioning Aerial-Aquatic Unmanned Vehicle Meet the Dipper: a dynamic aerial-aquatic drone that can fly and swim. It has a max cruising speed of 70 km/h and a range of 5km. Dipper can also dive from 150m at 130 km/h. It can swim for 10 minutes at a speed of 9km/h. As the researchers explain: This incredible innovation in drone technology is the brainchild of a group of 8 engineering students from ETH Zurich – a fixed wing drone that can be launched into the skies and seamlessly transition from air to water. Taking it’s inspiration from the natural world and looking to mimic the action of diving seabirds, this potentially groundbreaking project gives us a glimpse into the future. The drone can be launched into the air where it can then dive underwater and move freely in any direction. On reaching the surface again, it can expand it’s wings and take off from the water’s surface to become airborne once more. The vehicle has only one main propulsion motor, and uses a novel clutch system to engage either the front tractor propeller for flight in air, or the rear ship’s screw propeller for underwater propulsion. 👉• https://dipper.ethz.ch/ http://www.roboticsproceedings.org/rs... ▶ 2. Parrot introduces ANAFI Ai: the first 4G robotic UAV Providing professionals features that really matter: • 4G as the new communications standard • 48 MP imaging accuracy • Intelligent obstacle avoidance for autonomous photogrammetry missions • A unique robotic platform with the first open-source piloting application • A Secure Element that protects both the integrity of the software and the privacy of data transferred 👉• https://www.parrot.com/en/drones/anaf... ▶ 3. LEICA BLK2FLY - Autonomous Flying Laser Scanner Advanced obstacle avoidance for easy reality capture from the sky. It captures building exteriors, structures, and environments to create 3D point clouds while flying. The BLK2FLY is designed to be easy-to-use: with a few simple taps on a tablet, users can set the BLK2FLY aloft to autonomously scan building exteriors and features, such as hard-to-access areas like rooftops and facades. Deploying the device itself is as easy as unfolding it, switching it on with the press of a button and placing it on the ground, ready for takeoff. 👉• https://blk2021.com/blk2fly/ ▶ 4. Tando Drone is Designed to Serve as a Flying Security Guard Tando, a drone that is mounted on a dock attached to the ceiling like a fan to automatically monitor a room at a set time or remote control from the outside. Indoor surveillance drone that is equipped with a flight system using artificial intelligence to avoid obstacles in a narrow space or to fly automatically if necessary. 👉• https://www.indoor-robotics.com/ ▶ 5. Folding Drone Can Drop Into Inaccessible Mines - Prometheus Inspecting old mines is a dangerous business. For humans, mines can be lethal: prone to rockfalls and filled with noxious gases. Robots can go where humans might suffocate, but even robots can only do so much when mines are inaccessible from the surface. Now, researchers in the UK, led by Headlight AI, have developed a drone that could cast a light in the darkness. Named Prometheus, this drone can enter a mine through a borehole not much larger than a football, before unfurling its arms and flying around the void. Once down there, it can use its payload of scanning equipment to map mines where neither humans nor robots can presently go. This, the researchers hope, could make mine inspection quicker and easier. The team behind Prometheus published its design in November in the journal Robotics. 👉• https://www.headlight.ai/ ▶ 6. Is It a Bird, a Plane ? Not Superman, But a Flapping Wing Drone A drone prototype that mimics the aerobatic manoeuvres of one of the world's fastest birds, the swift, is being developed by an international team of engineers in the latest example of biologically inspired flight. A research team from Singapore, Australia, China and Taiwan has designed a 26 gram ornithopter (flapping wing aircraft) which can hover, dart, glide, brake and dive just like a swift, making them more versatile, safer and quieter than the existing quadcopter drones. 👉• https://www.eng.nus.edu.sg/ #drone #UAV #flyingrobot ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 彡 Thanks for watching 😊 Make sure to Subscribe 👈, Like 👍, Comment and click the bell to never miss a release ! 🔔

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

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Bunny and Baby -- Poly!BAU Team

(Edited version for a broader audience. You can check out the full version on @hotch-and-bunny)

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Dom/sub relationships, Sir kink, Mistress kink, Ma’am kink, Daddy kink, dirty talk, restraints (handcuffs), collaring, leashes, edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, degradation, mild choking, pegging, impregnation/breeding kink, minimal in-chapter aftercare, though it is alluded to happening afterwards. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, the team refers to them as female when saying “good girl”, “princess”, etc.

Pairing: Nonbinary!Reader (fem anatomy) x BAU Team.

Dynamic (in order of superiority): Sir!Dom!Aaron Hotchner, Ma’am!Dom!Elle Greenaway, Mistress!Dom!Emily Prentiss, Daddy!Dom!Derek Morgan, switch!Reader (sub in this plot), bunny!sub!Spencer Reid.

Word Count: 7645

Criminal Minds Discord Server

We had been returning from a case in Louisiana, everyone sitting comfortably in their own seats on the jet. Hotch and I were beside each other— I was pressed between him and the window— Morgan was across from us, Emily and Elle were across the aisle and a row back, and Spencer was laying on the couch. Rossi hadn’t come with us because he had a family emergency. Emily and Elle were the only ones talking while the rest of us were quietly working on our own things; but Spencer was just half asleep on the couch, trying to catch up on some rest. He told us before we boarded that he had another headache that kept him up all night, and we all scolded him for not coming to one of us and seeking help because we always knew what to do to help him. He insisted that it wasn’t a big deal, though. While I didn’t entirely believe him, we all decided to let him rest during the flight.

It wasn’t until there was a bit of turbulence that made me grab onto Hotch’s arm that things got… interesting. The thing was, when it came to Aaron Hotchner, the slightest touch could set him off, and he would get mean because he saw even the simplest of shoulder bumps as a bratty act that needed to be punished. I always had to be careful around him because of that. But I forgot. The plane jumped in the air, my stomach dropped, and before I knew it, I was squeezing his bicep to ground myself as some kind of reminder that I wasn’t going to die or something.

When the turbulence passed, I tore my hand away from Hotch, keeping in mind that I had to keep my hands to myself, but it was too late. He was staring at me. I swallowed hard and tried to go back to my book that Spencer had recommended, which was his attempt to win his favor with me after he pissed me off one day and I wanted to punish him. He was lucky that I wasn’t as mean as Hotch and Emily. Unfortunately for me, however, that meant I was completely fucked because Hotch was still sitting there, staring at me, likely asking himself how I could dare to touch him without permission, even when it was for something as innocent as it had been. I finally dared to look up at him. He was frowning.

“Sir—” I tried to explain myself quietly so that the others couldn’t hear, but he shook his head, silently telling me to stop. I fell silent and gulped.

Hotch, without saying anything, looked back down at the iPad that was sitting on the table in front of him as he was going through emails, scoping out new cases to take on; but what he did after that was somewhat unexpected. His hand closest to me drifted between my thighs. I adjusted in my seat, trying to fix my posture to be “smooth” so that no one else would notice. No one looked up. Hotch continued with his plan, forcing his hand between my thighs, spreading my legs open to give him access to what was beneath my skirt. I should have known that wearing a skirt on the jet was only going to get me in trouble, but with the case having just ended, and with Spencer’s headaches, my attire had been the last thing on my mind. To Hotch, however, it seemed to be the only thing on his mind.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered to me. I was surprised Morgan didn’t hear him.

When I nodded, Hotch pressed his index and middle fingers against my panties, finding the sensitive nub that was my clit, hiding behind my labia and the clitoral hood. He was too far. I needed him to press harder to actually feel his fingers, to actually get me to the edge rather than just get needy for him— but my desperation for him and what was about to come was undeniable when he slid his fingers down to hover over my core, discovering a wet spot that was slowly forming. Hotch snickered to himself. I knew that he was probably thinking to himself something along the lines of how he had only just touched me and I was already wet, proving to him that I was always thinking about having one of them— if not all of them— fuck me.

Hotch moved back up to my clit, and he pressed hard enough that I could feel him, but not enough to actually give me everything I wanted. Slowly, he started rubbing circles over my panties. A quiet sigh left my lips as I leaned back in my seat, moved my hips forward to give him better access, and I screwed my eyes shut. There was no doubt that if Morgan happened to look up, he would know exactly what was happening.

As Hotch’s fingers started moving faster, I rolled my hips eagerly to make his pace in an attempt to speed up my orgasm, but he pulled away somewhat and slowed down until I stopped moving and waited politely for him to make another move. He went back to what he was doing suddenly. I tensed and tried my very best to hold still this time while also biting my lip to keep myself from moaning. But I was so close again. So, so close. I just wanted to cum for him.

“Sir, please,” I whispered. “Please.”

“Please, may I cum?”

“Ask Mistress first.”

My eyes widened and I looked at him, but he was still reading his emails, so I looked over at Emily. She was still casually talking to Elle without a single clue as to what a mess I was while sitting next to Hotch. I shook my head. I couldn’t. I couldn’t beg like that randomly when they were all doing their own things. So, Hotch shrugged because he didn’t care one way or the other. If I wasn’t going to ask, he wasn’t going to let me cum, and for him, that was fun and it didn’t matter. But to me, it mattered. His fingers kept rolling over my clit again and again, and it was getting unbearable, it was getting torturous. So, I dared to give in.

I let out an audible moan while leaning forward to grab onto the table to hold my orgasm back, and I croaked, “Mistress—” Everyone stopped what they were doing to look over at me. There I was, clearly falling apart as Hotch’s arm was suspiciously moving in the direction that led just between my thighs. Emily was staring at me. “Mistress, please, may I cum?”

Her mouth fell agape in shock when she realized what it was that Hotch was doing and why I was asking. She looked between me and Hotch. “Have they been good?” she asked him.

“No,” he said nonchalantly.

“Then, no, you may not cum, slut,” she said to me.

I whimpered and increased my grip on the table until my knuckles were turning white. “Please! I’m not going to last!”

“You cum, you get punished,” Morgan said.

“Fuck…” I tried wiggling away from Hotch, but it was useless since I was trapped in the seat next to the window. “Please…” I was breathless now. “Please… I can’t…”

“And what are you doing?” Elle questioned roughly, squinting at Spencer, scolding him for something I couldn’t see.

Spencer floundered and stuttered from the couch. “I— Um. Nothing, Ma’am. I’m sorry. It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Fuck—” I moved my hips around again with Hotch’s fingers as my orgasm suddenly washed through me, a shiver running down my spine as my toes curled in my shoes, my thighs shook against the leather seat, and my walls clenched around nothing. “Shit.” Hotch slowed his movements as I came down from my high. My eyes quickly scanned the interior of the jet, catching how they were all scowling at me, unpleased with how I had cum without any of their permission. My heart sank in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“First, Spence starts touching himself without permission,” Elle began as she stood from her seat and started approaching the couch. I sat up a bit in my seat so that I could look over my shoulder to see Spencer sitting up somewhat now, an erection straining his pants, a small wet spot on the front from his pre-cum. “Then, you cum without our permission.” She ran her fingers through Spencer’s hair, then once she was far enough in, she curled her grip, roughly pulling at his curls to make him sit up all the way. “And the two of you still had the audacity to say that you’re sorry. I don’t think they’re actually sorry; do you, Morgan?”

“No,” he answered, also disappointed in us.

“We didn’t train brats,” she hissed, pulling at Spencer’s hair again, making him whimper.

“His headache, Elle—” Emily warned quickly.

Elle froze when she remembered, and she tried removing her grip from Spencer, suddenly aware of how she might have hurt him in her fit of anger. “I’m sorry, Spence—”

But he cut her off by gently taking her wrist and leading her touch back to his hair, encouraging to pull again. “It’s gone.”

“Don’t lie, bunny.”

“I’m not, Ma’am.”

She smirked and tugged again, bringing him to his knees. “Then the two of you have no excuse for misbehaving. Their punishment, Morgan.”

Hotch slid out of his seat and moved to the back of the jet where Emily was still sitting so that there was enough room for Morgan to stand at the same time as I did, knowing that it was better than him grabbing onto my hair, too. When we were both in the aisle, my back close to Elle’s, Morgan caught me off guard by pinching my chin roughly in between his thumb and his other four fingers. I pouted my eyes at him. I was trying to silently beg for mercy, but, of course, it didn’t work.

In fact, it made him chuckle. “Princess, you did this to yourself.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry… Please… I didn’t mean to cum.”

“Then, you should have held it like good girls do.”

“Their punishment, Derek,” Hotch reminded.

Morgan rolled his eyes because he already knew what he was doing and he hated that Hotch thought he needed to be babysat while Domming me, even though he didn’t. Morgan and I had done plenty of scenes together. As the only switch in our relationship, it was easy for me to go visit one of them when I needed to be Dommed, whereas I would go to Spencer if I needed to Dom. Each of them were unique Doms, though, and I would seek them out separately, depending on what I needed. I mean, I lived with Hotch, but he could be cruel, and sometimes, I didn’t need that. Out of all of us, Morgan was the kindest. His punishments were never harsh, and playing with him was always easy, compared to with Emily or Elle, who were on the same wavelength, both masters at torturing me with edges, ruins, forced orgasms. When I needed something light, I went to Morgan. When I needed to be completely out of control, not a single thought in my head, I went to Emily or Elle— usually both at the same time. With Hotch, he was everything that Morgan, Emily, and Elle were, but he was also the one who gave me the harshest punishments. Nipple clamps that he tugged on, floggers, plugs, being tied up and left there for an hour while he was gone, cockwarming me until he came and I didn’t. But Morgan was the one that had dictated my punishment. For cumming, he got to decide what they were going to do with me, which gave me a little bit of hope that it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded.

I did so without hesitation, and he spun me around so that he could cuff my hands together. I had a good view of Spencer and Elle now. He was on his knees in front of her, the two of them watching each other carefully— probably because she was trying to decide if he was lying about his headaches or not, and he was trying to gauge how bad his punishment would be. But she was just playing with his hair. We all loved to do that. I mean, Spencer loved it, too, which was why he did it, and it was the easiest way to ease him in and out of sub space. When I would Dom him, our sessions were usually the same. I’d go to his house to find him kneeling by the door, waiting patiently for me while wearing his cute little collar that we all picked out for him, and then he’d cook dinner for me. Sometimes, if he had been bratty, I’d sit in the living room, using him to balance platters in his hands that held my wine glass, any snacks I had, and sometimes even a book or two. If he ever dropped them, I’d punish him. If not, I’d reward him. For rewards, we’d go to his bedroom where I’d worship his cock, but never getting him close enough to the edge to actually make it 100% pleasant. I liked watching him squirm. Even when he had his best days, he knew that I wasn’t going to immediately let him cum because my favorite part about being his Dom was controlling his orgasms. As for punishments, that usually came with tying him up, flogging him sometimes, ruining his poor, little orgasms to make him whimper pathetically, and overstimulating him. I fucking loved the sounds he made during sex. Usually, I could pry them out of him with just a simple praise, but they were always so sweet when I had him tied to his bed, a plug in his ass, and I was riding every single drop out of him, never stopping even after he came inside of me.

His hair, though… One rough tug at his hair and he was immediately our bunny. For aftercare, his favorite thing was cuddling while we played with his curls. Brushing his hair, curling his strands around our fingers, gently massaging his scalp, all of those things prevented him from sub dropping, and it reassured him that he was safe with us, that we loved him, that he was going to be okay. I loved his hair. In fact, I was obsessed with it. Watching as Elle played with it and he nuzzled against her with a hypnotized, submissive smile on his face, I felt myself lighten up, too.

“Come here, bunny,” Morgan beckoned Spencer over to us. After Elle released him, he crawled around her and stopped just in front of me. “Take their skirt off.” Spencer did as he was told, reaching up for my waistband, quickly pulling my skirt down to my ankles. I helped him by stepping out of them. “Not their panties,” he warned when Spencer moved for those, too. Spencer dropped his hands to his lap. “Can you see how wet Sir made them? The mess they made from breaking the rules?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Don’t be like them.”

“Spence, where’s your collar?” Elle asked, already digging through his bag that she retrieved from one of the overhead bins. I heard another one open behind me and Morgan, probably something that Hotch or Emily were looking for. “Nevermind.” She found Spencer’s collar and leash in his go-bag and brought it over to us. “Presentation.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Spencer looked up somewhat so that Elle could see where she was positioning the collar over his Adam’s apple, and then he looked down and moved his long hair out of the way so that she could clasp it together.

“Presentation,” Morgan whispered in my ear. So, that was what the other overhead bin had been. Hotch had probably gone digging for my collar, too.

The rule with me and Spencer was that we weren’t allowed to wear our collars in public because the whole point of kink was that all parties were consenting adults at all times. If someone wasn’t consenting to the scene, it had to stop immediately. The thing with wearing an obvious O-collar out and about was that the general public couldn’t consent to viewing it. Yes, it looked like a choker if you were oblivious, but it still wasn’t fair. And we didn’t like to draw attention to ourselves, anyhow. So, Spencer and I could never wear our collars in public, but we always had to bring them in our go-bags in case a situation like this arose where we were at the hotel and needed to submit, or, yes, even on the jet. This had only happened once before, though, to be fair.

When Morgan finished clasping my collar around my neck, he pushed me to my knees, my face even with Spencer’s. His breath was hot on my nose, our lips so close I could nearly taste him, but Elle tugged on his leash, pulling him back, and Morgan tugged on mine, pulling me back. We both whimpered at the feeling. “You don’t get to touch each other,” Morgan hissed. “In fact, Y/N, you don’t get to touch anyone at all.” My eyes widened and I looked up at Elle, almost as if I could read the look on her face to see how the rest of them were feeling behind me.

She was smirking. “Bunny’s so hard…” Elle teased, pulling on Spencer’s leash to have him lean back against her thighs. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he admitted.

“You’re lucky that you only palmed yourself without permission. If you would have done anything worse, we’d be making your punishment no-touch, like Y/N. What do you say to us for sparing you that torture?”

“Thank you.”

“Good boy.”

“Let’s move them to the front,” Morgan told Elle so that she could pull Spencer onto the couch to give him room to make me crawl towards the front of the jet where no one would bother me. “Go on,” he encouraged. I started crawling, and when I made it where he wanted me, he had me turn around so that I was facing the entirety of the team. “Now, you get to sit here and watch.”

“Daddy?” I questioned, unsure of what he meant.

“And not talk.” He crouched and kissed me gently. “This is what you get for breaking the rules.”

“It’s useless to keep apologizing; isn’t it?” Around Morgan, I could talk to him like that, which was a little more casual than most scenes called for, but with the others, I could never say anything like that. Morgan understood, though. He nodded and kissed me again. “Give me a toy, at least. Edge me, ruin me— Anything.”

“No.” He stood back up.

Elle had Spencer’s pants on the ground now, and Emily had moved to the couch to peel his shirt off. As Morgan approached them, Hotch moved closer, too. I watched as the four of them dedicated their entire attention to Spencer, kissing his jawline, nibbling on his earlobe, running their thumbs over his sensitive nipples, and Elle worked her hand down under his briefs. I rolled my hips around for friction against my soaked panties when I heard Spencer let out a breathless moan just before Hotch kissed him to shut him up.

“Don’t let him edge,” Emily warned as Elle continued to play with Spencer inside of his underwear.

“Aw,” Elle cooed with false sympathy against his cheekbone, “is bunny already close?”

He nodded eagerly while pulling away from his kiss with Hotch. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair to make you ask Mistress for permission the same way Y/N had to.”

He turned his head to look up at Emily. “Please, Mistress?” He sounded just as desperate and pathetic as I had. “May I cum?”

“You touched without permission, though, bunny,” she said to him. He shook his head, knowing that was her answer without saying what she actually meant. “I know that listening to Y/N beg was overwhelming for you…”

She dragged her nails down his chest, making his chest tense up. I saw the way his little stomach sucked in, and I whimpered again. I wanted that to be me touching him. I loved the little tummy he had now since we had helped him get over his addiction since Mexico. He was so healthy now, which meant eating well, something we regulated, and it gave him a cute, healthy, tummy that showed when he was wearing his belts with a button down shirt. I loved praising that part of him. Sometimes, it was obvious how self-conscious it could make him, but when we let him know how much we loved it and how proud we were of his progress since Mexico, he would love it, too.

Spencer bucked up when Elle pulled her hand out of his underwear, leaving him hanging on the edge. Hotch grabbed Spencer’s hips and pushed him back down onto the couch with a huff, probably still angry about me, but now it was worse since Spencer was acting up. I saw Spencer’s cock twitch helplessly behind the constraints of his clothes. He was trying to reach for someone’s hand again, but Morgan collected his wrists together and took Elle’s handcuffs, using them to restrain Spencer the same way I was restrained.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Something. Anything. Please.”

“My bag, Hotch,” Emily muttered, focusing on getting Spencer out of his underwear now. He let out a sigh of relief when his cock bounced freely against his stomach. Hotch scrambled to Emily’s go-bag at the back of the plane and started digging in it for something. “The red one—”

“I know,” he grumbled. “I know.”

He pulled out three things, holding them up long enough for me to inspect from where I was kneeling on the opposite side of the jet. The red strap on that Emily loved to fuck Spence with, a bottle of lube to help him take her easier, and the worst part… Honestly, I didn’t know what was worse, what I was enduring or what torture was awaiting Spencer with the last toy Hotch retrieved. I didn’t even realize Emily carried it around with her. How did she even think to bring such a thing? I mean, I understood the red strap and the lube, but… that? I almost felt bad for Spencer. At least I got to cum earlier, even though I wasn’t supposed to, but it seemed like they didn’t want Spencer to cum at all. I felt sorry for him. If I wasn’t so far into sub space, I probably would’ve snickered with the rest of them, thinking about all of the wicked ways I could have tortured him with it, but… No, I couldn’t while we were both being punished.

“If you want to touch so bad,” Hotch said while returning to the couch, “then we’ll touch.” Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the last toy. “But we won’t let you cum.”

He struggled against his Doms’ holds as Hotch knelt down to begin the tedious process of sliding the tight metal cock ring over Spencer’s length. Spencer cursed at the feelings. I had no doubts that the ring was cold to the touch— which was an unbearable feeling for him— and it was probably so tight on him… When it reached his base, it kept all of the blood right where it needed to be to ensure he stayed hard. And then Hotch grabbed the string version of the cock ring, which was entirely adjustable, so he slid it over Spencer’s balls and tightened it. Spencer cried out.

“Sir—” Spencer moaned pleasantly as Hotch suddenly dipped down and wrapped his lips around Spencer’s cock. “Thank you, Sir.”

Emily came over to torture me. She pulled at my leash, choking me, tugging my head back somewhat. “Keep your eyes on Spence.”

My gaze was narrowed down my cheeks and my nose so that I could watch as Hotch slowly licked his tongue around Spencer’s sensitive tip that was still leaking pre-cum. I knew he tasted good. I knew that he was probably a leaking, pathetic mess, and Hotch was enjoying every second of torturing him; and I wished that it were me instead of Hotch.

Without warning, Emily pressed her index finger against my clit, making me jolt.

“Fuck!”

Emily snickered and started rubbing my clit faster.

“Mistress, I’m close. Please.”

“No.” She kissed the tip of my nose before pulling her touch away. I leaned forward to regain her touch, but she was already walking away. “Lemme fuck him,” she told Hotch, wiping some of the sweat off of Spencer’s forehead.

“I want to warm him up first,” Elle said eagerly. Hotch released Spencer from his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. “Turn him over.”

Morgan and Emily worked together to get Spencer on his knees on the floor, and they pressed his chest against the couch. Emily tugged at his leash to keep him distracted when he looked over at me with a painful, silent plea for help— help which I couldn’t give. He accepted his fate, closing his eyes as he waited for the next step.

“Let me hold him,” I begged. “Please. I’ll serve you all while I do it!”

Elle squirted some of the lube onto her index and middle fingers before rubbing them up and down Spencer’s slit. He tensed up. “Fine,” she said, still concentrating on him. “Come here.”

Morgan sat on the couch, his thigh just beside Spencer’s head so that we couldn’t make eye contact from where I was anymore. I started crawling towards all of them, letting Morgan pick up my leash when I was close enough so that he could tug me forward. He spread his legs so that I was sitting between his knees. “Suck,” he commanded, beginning to take his pants off.

I took the moment with nothing to do as an opportunity to finally turn my head to look at Spencer who still had his cheek pressed against the couch. I leaned down and kissed him. He perked up and started kissing me back. Just as it got more intense, the two of us fighting for dominance in our kiss, I felt him suddenly back down when Elle slid her fingers into his tight hole, causing him to moan against my lips. Our hands were still trapped behind our backs, so I couldn’t hold him steady to encourage him to keep kissing me, I couldn’t tangle my hands in his hair, and I couldn’t even reach to hold his hands as they struggled in his cuffs.

“Baby girl,” Morgan called, waiting for me.

“Stop ignoring him,” Hotch hissed, pushing my panties to the side and sliding his thumb into me. “Shit.” He sounded so turned on. “Fuck, baby.”

“You and bunny,” Elle chuckled. “The two of you can never hold it together. Pathetic.”

Spencer and I moaned happily in response to the degradation.

Morgan, now completely impatient, held my head between his palms, tore me away from Spencer, then turned my gaze before pushing my mouth onto his cock. He kept moving me until I gagged. I felt Spencer rut against the couch when Elle must have curled her fingers against his prostate or something, and I followed suit when I felt Hotch replace his short thumb with his long cock. I thought I was supposed to be facing punishment— Not that I was arguing. Even if I could talk, I wouldn’t have brought it up, because at least I finally got him. He always felt so good. He was so long, but not as thick as Morgan, not that it mattered. Both of them knew how to please me, and that was what mattered more than anything.

“Jesus, baby girl,” Morgan moaned, throwing his head back.

“He’s ready,” Elle said. Spencer whimpered when there was a loss of contact between them after she pulled out of him and stepped away, giving Emily room to kneel behind him and line up her cock with his ass. “Are you going to be good for us, bunny? No cumming?”

Spencer whined. “I don’t know, Ma’am.”

“Promise or we won’t fuck you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he insisted quickly, realizing his mistake. “I won’t cum. I promise.”

“Good boy.”

Suddenly, he was pushed forward when Emily roughly thrust into him. I pulled my mouth off Morgan long enough for me to catch my breath and moan as Hotch continued fucking me softly to torture me, and I looked over to see Emily showing no remorse with Spencer. Poor thing. Elle had stretched him, and Emily took a second to let him adjust, but now he was ruined. Absolutely destroyed. He was going to be wobbling on our way off the jet when we would land, I just knew it.

“I didn’t say you could stop, slut,” Morgan growled, grabbing me by the hair this time to make sure that I wouldn’t move away from him this time. I groaned as I took all of him in my mouth again. Just as he willed it, I bobbed my head up and down, my jaw slack, my tongue flat, my throat open to stop the gagging because he was using me as a hole and nothing else, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Hotch pissed me off suddenly by reaching under me to grab my breasts through my shirt, making me roll my hips eagerly against him. “So greedy.” He thrust roughly into me in an attempt to warn me off of acting out again, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to cum. I had to cum. I needed some kind of relief. “Don’t you fucking dare—” He pulled out of me when he felt me tighten around him. “Brat.” He spanked me hard. “Elle.”

“I thought you understood that we didn’t train brats, baby,” Elle said, backing Hotch up. She teased her cleaned and re-lubed fingers at my ass now while Hotch realigned with my pussy. “You and bunny don’t get to cum.”

I moaned around Derek’s length as Elle and Hotch both thrusted into me simultaneously. He gave me every single inch he had to offer, making sure I felt just how big he was, the way he could reach deep places inside of me that made my knees weak every time. As for Elle, her approach had been a bit slower so that she could be safe. When her fingers were moving in me, she only put them in about half way before gently pulling them out and pushing them back in, this time all the way to the bottom knuckle, and then she curled her fingers. Morgan held me steady as I moaned around him again. The three of them working together to fill each of my holes was… I mean, they had all filled me further before, but this just felt so different… so good…

“Mmm—” Morgan bucked his hips up so that he could fuck my face harder. “I’m gonna cum.” He panted as his fingers gripped my hair harder. He let out a grunt as his whole body tensed, his orgasm finally hitting him like a train. As his cum spilled into my mouth, I used his hesitancy as a chance to finally move my tongue around, stimulating his shaft, making him twitch and squirm a bit more, and I hummed happily around him to make it even worse. They were torturing me, the least I could do was slyly return the favor. “Shit, baby!” He pulled me off before I could continue overstimulating. “Fuck.” His thumb caressed my cheek lovingly for a second. “Go on. Swallow.” I shook my head. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take anything more. I was so full, I felt like I was going to explode. He furrowed his brows. “Swallow, slut.” I kept shaking my head, and I tried to escape Elle and Hotch so that I could find somewhere to spit, but they held my hips still while Morgan grabbed my face. “Swallow.”

I searched his eyes for a moment, quickly realizing that he wasn’t going to release me until I did as he asked. Even if the jet landed and we were supposed to be getting off, probably to head back to mine and Hotch’s place to finish all of this, Morgan was going to sit there with me until I swallowed. I had no choice. While keeping my gaze even with his, I slowly swallowed the load he gave me. When I was done, I opened my mouth to prove my success, and he finally let go of me while grinning.

“Was that so hard?” he teased.

“Mistress,” Spencer moaned, his voice muffled somewhat, “I can’t take it anymore.”

Morgan and I looked away from each other to investigate what was happening, and it was just as our attention was brought to him that we saw Spencer slump as he gave up. Emily was still fucking him, don’t get me worng, but his poor, red, needy cock was leaking, begging for the cock rings to be taken off so that he could ejaculate— and he just couldn’t take the denial anymore. He couldn’t take being on the brink constantly. Holding his posture for her so that he could fuck his ass, keeping his head turned so that we could hear his pathetic noises, all of that meant nothing to him now. They had finally broken him.

“It hurts,” he complained.

“Color,” she whispered, brushing his curls back so that she could lean over his back and start kissing his neck lovingly.

“Green, but I can’t… I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“The two of you and not being able to hold it today,” Elle scolded, moving her fingers faster inside of my ass. “It’s like we need to teach you guys how to behave again and work on your stamina.”

Spencer and I quickly exchanged a worried glance. We hadn’t done stamina in so long. This was close, sure, but actual stamina training with Elle was the worst— especially if Hotch were there. They liked to tie me and Spencer up so that couldn’t move a single muscle, and then they’d press a vibrator against my clit while Spencer got the fleshlight. For hours, we would have to lay there, edging again and again as Hotch and Elle turned on my vibrator and started fucking the fleshlight over Spencer’s cock, and then they’d stop when we were close enough. It was torture. They purposefully gave us hard edges. The longer we went, the more rewards we earned for the week, but if we came, they ruined our orgasms before painfully continuing, and all of it was for the sake of increasing our stamina during sex and teaching us how to hold back our orgasms until we had permission. It worked after a while. Spencer was a lot worse at it than I was, but we finally got the hang of it, and the two of us were pretty good about holding out until we had proper permission; but there was just something about the atmosphere of being on the jet compared to being at someone’s house or in a hotel room that had our brains melted down to nothing. I had orgasmed once without permission, and there were multiple occasions while Hotch and Elle were fucking me from behind that I felt myself getting there again— and if they weren’t so good about pulling away on time to edge me, I would have cum again without permission, regardless of the punishment. But Spencer… He was trying so hard to be their good boy. He had touched himself without permission, which he knew wasn’t allowed, so he had accepted that he wasn’t allowed to cum, but those cock rings were straining against him, practically milking him considering the way he was leaking so helplessly; and it was just too much for him. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bunny, if you cum, we’re going to have to put you in your cage,” Emily warned.

“We should anyways,” Hotch panted from behind me.

Spencer shook his head urgently. “No. Please. I’ll be good. I- I prom… I promise.” He sighed as Emily changed her pace while fucking him. “I promise.” It sounded like he was crying now. “I promise…” Our little broken record. “I promise.” Not a single thought in that pretty head of his.

Hotch pulled out of me suddenly and he snatched away Elle’s fingers. My legs shook as my sudden, unexpected, unplanned orgasm was completely ruined. I hadn’t seen it coming. One second, I was watching Spencer fall apart, the next, I was clenching around nothing as my orgasm peaked yet I got no relief from the feeling since they had removed the stimulation when I needed it most. My clit was throbbing. I fell, just like Spencer, my cheek crashing against Morgan’s warm thigh.

“Their cuffs,” Hotch said pressingly. Morgan reached for his pants that were pooled at his ankles, and he grabbed the key from his pocket, then he handed it off to Hotch. “We’re done with you, baby girl,” he told me. I shook my head. I needed to cum. I had to… I had to cum… Geez, I felt as broken as Spencer looked. “Can you stand?” I shook my head again. “Okay…” He freed my hands and rubbed my wrists to ease the pain from every time I struggled against the metal bondings. “How bad is it?” he asked, taking my leash and gently tugging, a signal that he wanted me to turn around face him. I did so. When he saw my face, he chuckled, and Elle followed shortly, the two of them so impressed by how broken I must have looked. I knew that my hair was a mess, my eyes and bottom lip were pouting, and my legs were still shaking. I looked ridiculous. “That bad, princess?” He stroked his cock at the sight of me.

“Fuck them again like this,” Elle encouraged seductively in his ear. “Both of them on their backs…” she said a little louder so that everyone could hear her. “Taking what we give them.”

Hotch fell in love with the idea, immediately shooing Morgan off the couch so that he could throw me onto it. I yelped as I landed on the cushions. My right thigh was just next to Spencer’s face— so close that I could feel his pants against my skin— and Hotch, Elle, and Morgan were standing just in front of me, licking their hips with lust and hunger in their eyes. Hotch was still running his grip up and down his length at the sight of me.

“Look at the mess we made, bunny.” Morgan reached over and pulled at Spencer’s hair, pulling him upright so that his back was pressed flush against Emily’s chest as she used the new angle to fuck him harder and deeper. Spencer’s engorged penis twitched at the sight of me. My panties were soaked with a mixture of my wetness and cum. “Don’t they look so stupid?”

Spencer nodded while screwing his shut in response to Emily’s cock hitting a new spot inside of him. “Yes, Daddy. They look so good.”

I rolled my hips around, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. My whole body was on fire, and I just needed someone to touch me again. I needed to touch Spencer, which was the worst part, because I knew that they wouldn’t let me, and even if I could, a single touch was going to set him off, and I would’ve felt bad if they ruined him, too.

“You want me, baby?” Hotch teased, gliding his thumbs over my hard nipples through my shirt.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“You want me to breed you?”

I let out a shaky breath before gulping and nodding. “Yes, Sir.”

He stopped fucking with me and he instead went back to stroking his cock. “I know you want to cum, baby,” he cooed, “but you can’t… Rules are rules.” He started fucking his fist faster. “Good girls get to cum.” His breath was ragged now. “You weren’t good.”

Elle grabbed his face and turned him so that they were suddenly kissing, and he pushed his hand past her pants and panties so that he could press a finger directly against her clit. They moaned together.

“I’m going to cum,” Spencer warned. Morgan was holding his leash taut, forcing Spencer to keep his back against Emily’s chest while she moaned into his neck and left a hundred different hickies. “Please. Please, Mistress.”

“No.”

“I can’t hold it.” He was leaking onto my knee now, that was how close together we were.

“I said, no. You cum, you get caged.”

“Fuck—” What Emily said did the opposite of what she had intended. Instead of deterring him from cumming, the threat of being locked up in a cock cage enticed Spencer, tipping him over the edge that he needed so badly. “I’m cumming!”

Just as his dick started twitching, Elle jumped into action, quickly grabbing my hips and turning me so that Spencer was lined up between my legs, and she pushed my panties to the side. Emily fucked harshly into Spencer as he started cumming. The force of her action jolted Spencer forward, putting his tip directly at my entrance. We both moaned at the feeling. I needed him, and it seemed he needed me, because when he felt how wet I was, his weak, repressed load slowly poured into me. He had tried to hold back. I could tell with how sad his orgasm was and how he was whimpering that he didn’t want to cum. He wanted to be good for them. But Emily fucking him, Morgan trying to choke him with the collar, the cock rings squeezing his penis and swollen balls, and my torture that he was witnessing was all too stimulating to every single one of his senses. He had to cum the same way I had to cum earlier when they denied my orgasm.

Emily stopped fucking him to make sure that the orgasm was shorter and to ensure that he didn’t go any further into me than necessary. They wanted his cum to be inside of me, but that was it. They didn’t want either of us to enjoy it.

Without warning, Hotch grabbed my hips away from Elle, putting me back where I was so that I was facing him, and he thrust into me suddenly, cumming within an instant, too. “Fuck…”

He came much harder than Spencer had because he wanted to give me everything, to fulfill the breeding kink we had. All I felt was the stretch and the warmth of his semen, though, because he refused to thrust to help ride out his high since it would have inevitably pleased me, too, and that wasn’t the point. He wanted me to be full and to get nothing out of it.

When he caught his breath, he pulled out of me slowly. I whined at the loss. “Did you learn a valuable lesson?” he questioned.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Which was?”

“No cumming without permission. Ever. Under any circumstances. My orgasms don’t belong to me.”

“Good girl. Go clean yourself up in the bathroom then come back for water, a snack, and play with Spencer’s hair.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

I melted at the praise. “Really, Sir? Even though I broke a thousand rules?”

“Even then. You did good.”

Emily got the cuffs off Spencer, and he immediately went to pry off the cock rings, but Morgan slapped his hands away. Spencer stared at me as Morgan started gently pulling off the metal one around his shaft. “Daddy,” he hissed, his eyes clenching shut. Emily and Elle were running their fingers through Spencer’s hair already to help him calm down. “Fuck,” he gasped when it was off. “Thank you.” He then prepared himself as Morgan went to release the tie that was around Spencer’s balls. When the pressure was gone, Spencer slumped, falling somewhat, and we all reached forward to catch him. “Thank you.” Hotch kissed Spencer’s temple and pulled him onto his lap on the couch. “I’m sorry for cumming without permission.”

“We’ll call it even, bunny,” Morgan said, referencing how I had done the same thing. “You and baby did so well.”

Elle grabbed the lotion from Spencer’s bag that he used for aftercare, and she started massaging it between his cheeks as Hotch continued to hold him. “You, too,” she told me while still tending to Spence. I went to sit down, but Emily beat me to it, taking the only spot left beside Hotch, and she patted her hands on her lap. I laid over her the same way Spencer was on Hotch. Our faces were close again.

“May we?” Spencer begged.

“Yes,” Morgan answered.

Just as Elle started using her other hand to massage some lotion onto my ass, Spencer and I started kissing. He tasted so good. It was comforting rather than erotic, and I felt myself slowly easing out of sub space in a way that didn’t let me drop. I hoped that he was okay, too.

I ran my fingers through his curls. “I love you, Spence.”

He kissed me harder before mumbling, “I love you, too.”

----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc @Braty-angel

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nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Yandere! Hawks (Keigo Takami) - Scratches and Bruises

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Alright I’ll do it...I’LL WRITE HAWKS SMUT....but I won’t like it.

Okay people so This is gonna have talks of death, abuse, yandere shit.

Leggo!

...

“What’s a pretty girl like you do sad for?”

You looked up from your phone to find a man practically leaning over the restaurant table. You could smell the alcohol from miles away and the way he was moving wasn’t helping his case either. You were instantly put off by him. Correction: You were disgusted by him.

“What’s a ugly man like you so bold for?” you smiled sweetly as the venom dripped off your words. “I’m really not interested.” you looked back down at your phone. You were just about to get a new high score on your favorite phone game and this asshole was ruining your chances. Your character almost died twice since he began bothering you. It was really starting to get on your nerves. If you didn’t unlock that new skin, you might kill someone.

“Oh come on.” he slurred. “Can a guy just compliment such a pretty lady?”

“Not when he looks like fucking Voldemort.” you replied just as quickly as he ended his sentence. “You’re kind of bothering me right now.” you pressed pause on your game and looked up again. “I’ll ask again. What do you want, seriously?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a guy at one of the booths, staring over at you. It didn’t feel creepy, but it was enough to capture your attention.

“I wanted to-”

“What do you want?” you cut him off again. “We’re wasting time here.” you threw your phone on the table. “Save me the headache and save your ego...” you crossed your arms. you faked a smile. “Goodbye.”

“You bit-”

“Is there a problem?”

A new person walked up to you two. The same guy who you had noticed before stopped in front of your table. He had sandy brown hair, and very sharp looking eyes. You swore you’ve seen him somewhere. You weren’t too sure.

“Nothing buddy, just about to show this bitch who she’s talking to-”

You crossed your arms and shifted around in your seat. “I mean I don’t need to be shown anything.” you shrugged.

“Oh are you?” he laughed. “Well I hate to break it to you but I’ll have to intervene” the stranger laughed out loud.

“What do you mean-”

The drunk was instantly floored as this stranger grabbed his by the neck and slammed his face against the table not even an inch away from your phone. The drunk landed on the floor with a thud, moaning in pain. You weren’t even sure if he was registering the pain he was in or the fact that he had gotten his ass handed to him in the first place. All that you knew was that he was being peeled off the floor and escorted (more like thrown out.).

“You’re welcome, lady.” the guy didn’t take another look at you before be took a step forward.

“I didn’t need your help.” you snatched your phone off the desk. “I can take care of myself.” you rolled your eyes. “And I wasn’t gonna thank you, either.” you stood up. “I’m definitely not going to now.”

The man slowly turned around, revealing his face clearly. “Oh really?”

He was attractive, no doubt about it. His tight black muscle tee with baggy jeans and boots...damn he was a looker. Yet you weren’t like most MC’s...it would take a bit more than that for him to have any impact on you.

“Really.” you repeated. You put a hand on your hip. “Now if you’ll excuse me...I’m off to find another table to sit at.”

The man who ‘saved’ you didn’t take his eyes off you all night. Even when your friends came and joined you.

“Hey Y/N, is that Keigo Takami looking at you?”

“I think it is!” another friend piped.

“Who?” you stared at her as you lowered your drink. “Who is Keigo Takami?”

“Y’know...Hawks.” she whispered. “I heard they call him that when he served time...”

“He’s a literally crazy person. He’s an absolute menace! He’s a former hero...”

“Can imagine why...he beat the shit out of this guy who tried to hit on me.”

“Him?! I haven’t heard of him ever doing that for anyone before.” your other friend widened her eyes. “Y/N, I’ve heard of his past relationships...they didn’t end well. They all ended up missing...or in therapy.”

“I can take care of myself.” you shrugged. “I’m sure whatever Hawks has for me, I can take.”

“Don’t say that so freely, Girl. I heard he has a lot of screws loose.” your friend put a hand on your shoulder. “Like a lot.”

“Well whatever Mr. Man has in store for me, I’ll be prepared. It can’t be that bad, right?” your confidence dispersed a little bit. You looked behind you back at Keigo who had been cracking open a can of beer. He looked a little to interested in his own world to see you staring.

“Y/N...Y/N!” your friend snapped her fingers in your face. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah!” You focused back on your friends, feeling your emotions sort of switch.

From the corner of the room, Keigo’s eyes followed you. He took his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you. Never in his life had he ever seen a girl like you before. He had never been so...fascinated either. Something inside him snapped, he had to get to know you.

He had to.

...

“Is there a reason you’re following me?”

On a trip to the supermarket, you couldn’t help but voice your opinions. Keigo was hiding in behind a display of cans whilst you stared at the cheese. Hmmm Cheddar or American? Maybe Havarti! Hmm Pepperjack? Why were there too many types of cheeses?! Too many options!

“You have a very keen eye.” he revealed himself. “I like that.” he began walking along side down down the aisle. “Try this one, it’s the best on burgers.” he grabbed a package of Pepperjack cheese and tossed it in the cart.

“I’m just very aware.” you replied boredly. “It comes with the territory.” you opted to ignore him trying to shop for you.

“Of being a hero?”

His words made you freeze. You hadn’t been a hero in years, let along thought about it. It had been so long...

“I hung up my cape years ago.” you rebutted. Your tried to keep your voice steady, but he could tell his words affected you. It made you wonder how he even knew that.

“I can say the same.” he winked. “Only I traded the cape for...other things.”

“I can tell...Hawks.” you grumbled in reply. “That’s what they used to call you right?”

Keigo knew you were challenging him. Part of him was angry, others not so much. He was interested to say the least. No one dared call him that anymore. Hell, no one lived long enough to even finish such a sentence. What made you so different? You had guts...he liked that.

“Yeah...that part of my life is over now.” he began following you down the aisle. “What about you? Why’d you give up hero work?”

“That’s not something I want to discuss with a stranger in the middle of the store.”

“I get it...how’s 7:00 sound?”

“Pardon me?” You and your cart skid to a stop. “What did you just say to me?”

“I’ll meet you at the bar we met around 7! Don’t be late, and tell the bartender Takami Keigo is gonna be waitin’ for ya.” he winked. “Don’t leave me waiting princess...”

“I don’t even know you!” you were taken aback. “You don’t even know my name...”

Keigo’s face twisted into a smirk. He took a step towards you. You flattened yourself against the aisle wall as he trapped you against the cereal. “So tell me...What’s your name?”

“Huh?!”

“For a hero...you’re pretty dense.” he chuckled, nearing his face closer. “I asked your name, Hun.” he winked. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Y/N.” you replied breathlessly. “My name is Y/N.” Why did you tell him that, you had no clue. Idiot!

“Okay then Y/N.” he neared his face towards yours. “7:00 tonight...okay?”

“Uh huh.” you nodded.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you tonight, princess.”

...

You sat at the bar stool, spinning around lazily. You called all of your friends, your parents, hell even your grandparents. You didn’t tell them the details, but you told them if you didn’t message them back by 9:00 AM the next morning, call you just in case.

“What can I get you?” the barkeep walked up, wearing a kind smile on his face. You suddenly remembered that Keigo had told you, and you didn’t trust it one bit. “Can I get a water please?”

“Coming right up, young lady.” the older man kindly looked at you. “Anything for the former Number 1 hero!”

You giggled bashfully. “Please, that was years ago.” you shook your head. “I appreciate it though.” you smiled. Hero work, the bane of your existence. Your past buddies and partners had all begged you not to leave, but with the amount of scars and suffering you endured, you had no choice.

You wouldn’t put yourself through that again, not for anyone.

“Here you are miss.” the glass was set in front of you.

“Thanks.” you put your hand over the top of the glass. Now that it was in yoru hand, you could move accordingly. “I was also supposed to meet someone here?...Told me to tell you to expect me...Keigo Takami?”

The barkeep’s face fell, fear striking his features. “O-oh! You’re Mr. Takami’s company for the night! I’m supposed to escort you to his special booth.”

“Special booth?” you repeated.

“Y-yes, please follow me!” he urged. “Only VIPs are allowed back here, but he rented out the entire back area just for you!”

You felt your senses go off, fight or flight mode. Now or never. You reached in your purse. Knife, check. Mace, check....Gun...check.

The kind barkeep took you to a back area. It looked like the main dining area, only a lot more high end. Slow jazz music was playing in the background and the lights were low. He was right, there was no one here...except one person.

He dawned a brown leather jacket, black skinny jeans and those all to familiar boots. He tapped his fingers against the table as he stared down at his phone.

“Mr. Takami. She’s here.”

Keigo looked up with that shit-eating smirk. “Thank you Hideo, leave us.”

The barkeep stalked off leaving you alone. You suddenly felt out of place. You looked around, taking note of the city beaming outside the windows.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

You looked back over at Keigo again, almost surprised. “Yeah, it is.” you nodded.

He motioned next to him. “You wanna sit down or are you gonna stand there staring at me? I don’t bite.” he winked.

Silently, you sat down, still keeping your distance from the man. You were about a good two feet away from him. You weren’t too keen on getting any closer.

“I’m surprised you came. I thought you’d find a way to get out of this.”

“I am too, but I figured I’d entertain this idea...just for tonight.” you shrugged. “Don’t try anything, got it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Keigo cracked a genuine smile. You looked stunning and he wanted to tell you that. He wouldn’t admit it, but he knew about you when you were going by your hero alias. He recognized the way you walked, the way you spoke. You could have killed that freak who hit on you if you wanted to. However you didn’t. He was curious about that.

“Why did you ask me out?” you raised an eyebrow before he could get a word out.

“I’ll let you know in a minute.” he winked. “I’m more interested in you.”

“Like what?” you raised an eyebrow. “How interesting can I be?”

Keigo didn’t want to say he did extensive research on you and couldn’t find shit. It drove him crazy. It was making him go quite literally insane. He was more that interested. He was invested. When he didn’t answer, you sighed.

“You tell me first.” you crossed your arms. “I know your reputation proceeds you.” you raised a brow.

“Princess, that’s not how this works.” he tried to sound as if he was joking. “I ask the questions here.”

“Well it is today.” you shrugged. “Either we have an even exchange or you’re out of luck.” you shrugged. “You decide.”

Keigo stared blankly at you. You were a tough nut, that was for sure. Plus you sure as hell weren’t afraid of death. That must have meant you had no idea what he was capable of. Then again, it must have been your Hero Side taking a stance.

After what felt like a minute, he sighed in defeat. “...A friend of mine was killed by a hero.” he confessed. “You ever hear of someone called The Bronze Monk?”

“That name sounds familiar?” you raised an eyebrow. “He’s another hero, right? He can turn his fists into bronze.” You tried to recall.

“Mhm...He killed my friend.” Keigo clenched his fist. “I did 6 years because of him....”

“I don’t understand.” you raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with you?”

“This was while you were dominating the game I guess, so I don’t blame you for not knowing.” he shrugged and he slapped a hand on the table. “HIDEO! TWO BEERS.”

“So I’m confused. I heard The Bronze Monk died mysteriously...he fell from over 500 stories...”you paused. You took to time to noticed that Keigo has aired out his wings this time around. You didn’t even noticed he HAD wings. “It was all over the-...wait a second...You never said who your friend was.”

“She was a- she was a villain.” Keigo sighed. “She was like a sister to me and I was tryna get her to stop being so dumb...turn over a new leave and she was doing so well! Shit, but...one day she dumbly got into a fight with that asshole and I watched my friend die right there.” Keigo hitched his words slightly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” you said sadly, regretting opening your big mouth. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No...it’s fine. I guess in order to move on I gotta talk about it right?” he sat up straight as the barkeep came back with two mugs and quickly stalked back off. “I was so blinded by my own anger. What type of hero would go out of their way to punish someone trying to make amends....” he seethed. “I flew him up to the tallest building in the city and dropped him...I only got off on good behavior...”

It finally all made sense, to you at least. You let what he said marinate and sit well...it felt surreal.

“So.” Keigo grabbed his glass and took a huge gulp. “I’ve said my peace. You’re turn.”

You stared at this guy for what felt like ages. Something told you that this guy couldn’t be trusted. All the alarms were going off at the same time...but for some reason-

“My parents wanted me to be a hero.” you said. “My quirk is hereditary, so it’s passed from person to person.” you shrugged. “I loved saving people, helping people...then-” you paused. “I saw how corrupt, and hateful, and disgusting these so-called heroes were...I lost someone important to me too.”

Keigo raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. You took a swig of beer, trying to gather your thoughts.

Keigo took note of the way you were fiddling with your left hand. Your thumb grazed over your ringer finger as if something was missing...something important.

“Who was the guy?” Keigo asked, snapping you out of your trance. He had a gut feeling he already knew, but he wanted to hear it from your mouth.

“...H-he was um...we dated since high school.” you shrugged. “We were a team, him and I.” you smiled at the memory. “When he turned his back on the hero world, they turned their back on him too.”

“Meaning?”

“They sold him out.” you choked. “They left him for dead and told me he would be okay. I should have gone back for him but they held me back, they told me there were other people that needed my help.”

“What happened when you learned the truth?” Keigo asked. He only knew that a poor hero lost his life, he didn’t know that the only other survivor just so happened to be his future wife.

“I had to choose...my friends and my morals or being a hero. If anyone knows just how two faced and conniving these people are, it’s me.” you shuddered. “I’ve met traitors, and killers disguised as good guys. At one point I couldn’t take it anymore and I gave up! Forget being number 1, forget status, forget everything...Being a hero...lost me everything.”

“Hm. Thank you for sharing that with me, Princess.” he replied. “It must have been hard to do...it’s nice to know you trust me so much.”

“It was only fair, I guess.” you boredly drank. “It not that big a deal.” you stared down at your fingers. “It was years ago, I’ve moved on.”

Keigo took note of how your mood faltered. He couldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me?”

“Hm?” you looked up from your glass.

“I’m sure where ever your fiancé is, whatever he’s up to. He doesn’t blame you.” he put a hand over yours. “He wouldn’t hate you for moving on either.”

“He wouldn’t?” you narrowed your eyes. “How do you know?”

Keigo couldn’t answer, he just wanted to say something, anything, to put a smile on your face. It was like a second nature in such a short time. He wanted to be your hero. “It’s just a hunch...you shouldn’t be afraid to move on...sometimes all you need is a push out the nest.” he winked as his wings twitched behind his back.

“Bird humor? Really?” you scoffed.

“It’s what I do, princess.”

...

After the heavy and depressing, you don’t think you laughed that hard in years.

“Wait hold on.” you stopped laughing. “Pause for a minute! You, with those big ass wings got your ass handed to you by some chump named ‘The weather man?’” you were crying from laughing so hard.

“He could control the wind!” he defended, also laughing. “You shoulda seen it!”

“Well maybe you need to exercise your quirk more.” you crossed your arms.

“As if you’re the master of your own.” he playfully rolled his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I am!” you raised an eyebrow. “Shall I demonstrate?” you scooted out the booth and stood up. “Don’t blink or you might miss it.”

Keigo leaned back in his seat, now very interested in what you were about to display for him. He watched your eyes narrow in focus as you held your hands out in front of your face. Slowly, a very tiny tornado formed in your hands, small and handheld. This mini tornado was soon replaced by a tree sprouting out of the top. You waved your hand around and miraculously summoned rain out of your palm.

“Okay Y/N, focus.” you mumbled. Suddenly, out of everything, a flame erupted from the center of your hand.

He watched in awe, he had never heard of anyone with a quirk like this one before. With another flick of the hand, everything you had summoned disappeared. “Ta-da!”

“That was amazing.” he commented as your sat down. “What was that??”

“I come from a long line of ‘benders’. Funny name, I know.” you giggled. “I can bend another element...spirit. I can only do it when I’m really happy though.”

“Why didn’t you try that one?”

“...I said I can only do it when I’m happy.” you smiled sadly. It didn’t take long for Keigo to catch on.

“Oh.” he raised a brow. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s alright.” you shook your head. “Ever since...he died...I’ve never been able to do it.” you shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to.”

“I’d love to witness that.” Keigo laced his fingers within yours, making your face heat up. “I bet it’s beautiful.”

“...S-shush.” you scoffed, looking away bashfully.

Suddenly the song changed, a slow jazz song began playing. A slow beat, with soft drums and what you could describe as a romantic saxophone.

“Dance with me.” he held out his hand.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully as you took his hand and stood up. He guided you to the middle of the floor. he pulled you flush against his chest. The slow music seemed to drown out the hustle of the city noise outside. He hummed thoughtfully, singing to the tune for you.

“You never told me.” you mused as you two moved in sync.

“Told you what, princess?”

“Why did you ask me out?”

“Truth be told, something drew me to you.”

“Like what?” you innocently stared. “What about me could possibly interest you?”

“Out of everything you’ve told me, everything really.” he bit his lip. “You’re amazing, everything about you.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Keigo.” you shyly replied. You turned around and rested your back against his chest. He rested his head in the divot of your shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your waist, guiding you along to the music.

He was right, he wouldn’t leave you, not now. Not ever.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it, princess.”

“If I admitted I was wrong about you, would you hold it against me?”

Keigo nearly froze. A shock was sent up his spine as the words left your lips. “You shouldn’t say things like that, princess.”

“How come?” you turned around to face him.

“I want to-” he bit his lip. A gentle hand rested on the base of your neck, his thumb caressing your throat. He laid a kiss on your lips, passion dripping off of every peck. His tongue slipped through the small gap as he moaned against your mouth. You whimpered and shivered feeling his tongue dominate your mouth. He responded with sounds of his own. Shaky breathes and low groans.

You responded to his touch, allowing his hands to travel under your shirt. “Keigo.” you whimpered. Your feverishly ran your hands through his hair, practically gluing your bodies together. You felt his fingertips creep under shirt, dancing across your skin. “W-we can’t do this here.”

“You’re totally right.” he didn’t cease, instead opting to kiss down your neck. “So...my place or yours.”

You felt yourself lose all sense of direction. “Y-yours.”

“You’ve just opened up Pandora’s Box, princess.”

...

You fell back on his bed, crawling backwards. He rid himself of that jacket and his shirt, leaving him to flex his muscles, his wings, and everything. You stared up, trembling in anticipation.

Your friends would probably kill you, but you didn’t particularly care. You hugged yourself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

Keigo loved it. It meant you still had innocence flowing in your veins, not for long. He would toy with your brain. He would bend you to his will and drive you insane with lust. You would be the perfect sidekick for him. He stalked over to you, biting his lip.

“Look at you.” he mused. “You’re so cute.” he giggled. He rested a knee at the edge of the bed, beginning to crawl towards you.

You noticed his wings were spread wide, covering over you two like a shield.

“C-can I?”

“Go ahead Princess.” he smiled knowingly. He had the look as if he knew something you didn’t. You reached a trembling hand to gently brush his beautiful feathers. A low groan erupted from his throat.

“Oh my gosh! Am I hurting you?” you almost withdrew your hand back.

“Don’t stop...please.” he growled lowly.

It was only then you realized, this was turning him on. You ran your hands through his feathers. They were soft, shiny even.

“Enough!” he grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “Look at you, princess. All ready for me.” he laughed. “I wonder how wet I can make that pussy for me.” he used his other hand to fumble with the button of your jeans.

You trembled under his touch, feeling your pants slide down your legs. You were completely drowned in your own lust. A fire was prominent in your chest. You were shaking under his fingertips.

“Enjoy this, princess.” he winked before crawling down. He lifted your shirt up and planted little kisses along your stomach. He grabbed the hem of your panties with his teeth and pulled them down.

You were squirming in anticipation, waiting.

“You smell so...so-” he didn’t finish his sentence because he had drove his tongue up your slit. A gasp escaped your lungs. Absentmindedly, you had grabbed a fist full of his hair.

“Fuuuh~” you couldn’t speak. You weren’t even sure he’d be able to hear your over the sound of your wetness. You could feel your water dribble down your thighs.

“Wrapped your legs around my head.” he growled, digging his nails into your thighs. “Grind that pussy against my tongue, princess.”

You thrashed against his mouth, feeling warmth gather in the pit of your stomach. “Keigo!”

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, making you cry out even louder.

Keigo felt himself lose touch with everything, he was only focused on you in the moment. Fuck, was he hard too. Hearing your moans. Shit, he couldn’t wait to bury himself into you.

“Baby, do you hear that?” he looked up at you as he promptly replaced his tongue with his fingers. “Listen.” he pumped his fingers into you. “You sound so fucking cute” he groaned, mimicking your soft whimpers. “It feels good, yeah?”

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded.

Suddenly, he yanked his fingers out of you. His head fell forward to rest on your pubic bone. He sounded as if he came just now even if it was you getting all the pleasure.

Like a predator stalking after it’s prey he meet your eyes. He wore a sadistic grin with his bottom lip taken between his teeth. He sat up, fumbling with his belt buckle.

“You ready for me, princess?”

“Yes, p-please?” you whimpered.

Fuck, you couldn’t do that to him. He had a mind to tear you apart where you lay. Your jaw went slack as his cock was released from its restraints. Would that even- Inside you?!

You felt it brush against you, slightly. You met his eyes and froze there. He was staring down at you. He looked absolutely feral. You could barely look away as he slid himself inside your throbbing hole. He painfully slowly rolled his hips into you. He twitched inside as he bucked his hips into you.

“Look at how good we fit together. That’s right.” he managed through clenched teeth. “My cock was meant to be here. I was meant to fuck you.” he snarled.

You tightened around his length as he thrust harder. “You’re so fucking beautiful, princess.” His jaw dropped again. “Say my name, please?”

“K-keigo.” you obeyed. You felt a warmth in your chest as well as your core. It was like a fire was being ignited in the pit of your soul. “I’m gonna-”

“Fuck! Don’t finish that sentence.” he snarled. “You don’t wanna know what I’m gonna do as a result.”

In a swift motion, you were suddenly staring down at Keigo. He had a death grip on your legs as he was now thrusting upwards. You had your hands on his chest in an attempt to support yourself.

“I think I like you more when you’re riding me.” he bit his lip. “You look so fucking sexy. Those moans, that body, your pretty fucking pussy-”

“Keigo, please! I can’t it anymore.”

“Oh yeah, you gonna cum? You wanna cum for me, baby?” he spoke in a babyish voice. “You wanna cum all over Papa Bird’s cock? Do it, do it for me...ARGH FUCK!”

You felt his warmth inside you at the exact same time you had came. He was shaking under you, rolling his hips upwards to relieve the friction he had caused.

Keigo stared in amazement at a bright light erupted from your chest, a small bird in the shape of smoke began flying around the room.

“That would be spirit.” you laughed tiredly, watching the quirk you had thought died reactivate out of nowhere.

“I hope you know...you can never leave me now.” Keigo sat up to lay kisses on your neck. “You’re mine now.”

(AND DONE! This was Hawks debut on the blog so lets all give hem a huge hello!)

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aot-brainrot · 3 years

Text

Bunny and Baby ~ Poly!BAU Team

(Full version for a smaller audience. You can check out the edited version on @imagineaworlds)

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Dom/sub relationships, Sir kink, Mistress kink, Ma’am kink, Daddy kink, dirty talk, restraints (handcuffs), collaring, leashes, edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, bladder control, degradation, mild choking, control, pegging, impregnation/breeding kink, minimal in-chapter aftercare, though it is alluded to happening afterwards. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, the team refers to them as female when saying “good girl”, “princess”, etc.

Pairing: Nonbinary!Reader (fem anatomy) x BAU Team.

Dynamic (in order of superiority): Sir!Dom!Aaron Hotchner, Ma’am!Dom!Elle Greenaway, Mistress!Dom!Emily Prentiss, Daddy!Dom!Derek Morgan, switch!Reader (sub in this plot), bunny!sub!Spencer Reid.

Word Count: 9700

Criminal Minds Discord Server

“Sir—” I tried to explain myself quietly so that the others couldn’t hear, but he shook his head, silently telling me to stop. I fell silent and gulped.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered to me. I was surprised Morgan didn’t hear him.

“Sir, please,” I whispered. “Please.”

“Please, may I cum?”

“Ask Mistress first.”

Her mouth fell agape in shock when she realized what it was that Hotch was doing and why I was asking. She looked between me and Hotch. “Have they been good?” she asked him.

“No,” he said nonchalantly.

“Then, no, you may not cum, slut,” she said to me.

I whimpered and increased my grip on the table until my knuckles were turning white. “Please! I’m not going to last!”

“You cum, you get punished,” Morgan said.

“Fuck…” I tried wiggling away from Hotch, but it was useless since I was trapped in the seat next to the window. “Please…” I was breathless now. “Please… I can’t…”

“And what are you doing?” Elle questioned roughly, squinting at Spencer, scolding him for something I couldn’t see.

Spencer floundered and stuttered from the couch. “I— Um. Nothing, Ma’am. I’m sorry. It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“No,” he answered, also disappointed in us.

“We didn’t train brats,” she hissed, pulling at Spencer’s hair again, making him whimper.

“His headache, Elle—” Emily warned quickly.

Elle froze when she remembered, and she tried removing her grip from Spencer, suddenly aware of how she might have hurt him in her fit of anger. “I’m sorry, Spence—”

But he cut her off by gently taking her wrist and leading her touch back to his hair, encouraging to pull again. “It’s gone.”

“Don’t lie, bunny.”

“I’m not, Ma’am.”

She smirked and tugged again, bringing him to his knees. “Then the two of you have no excuse for misbehaving. Their punishment, Morgan.”

In fact, it made him chuckle. “Princess, you did this to yourself.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry… Please… I didn’t mean to cum.”

“Then, you should have held it like good girls do.”

“Their punishment, Derek,” Hotch reminded.

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded.

Spencer nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Don’t be like them.”

“Presentation,” Morgan whispered in my ear. So, that was what the other overhead bin had been. Hotch had probably gone digging for my collar, too.

My eyes widened even further. “Wait. No. Please—” I struggled against the cuffs, wiggling around on the ground as I made a desperate attempt to free myself with no such luck. I knew what was coming. I hated it. I didn’t want them to have the satisfaction of watching me struggle uncomfortably later while they laughed at me. I didn’t— “Mistress, please,” I begged as Emily sat in Hotch’s seat so that she was right beside me. “Please, anything else.”

“Color, baby girl,” she said calmly. She wasn’t as frustrated as the others, I could tell. That was the nice thing about her. As wicked as she could be, her emotions were usually opposite to Elle’s. When Elle was mad, Emily was calm. When Emily was mad, Elle was… well, she was still mad, but she made an attempt to restrain herself.

I pouted. “Green.”

“Then, open your mouth.” She held my jaw as I opened up and tilted my head back somewhat, waiting as she unscrewed the cap of the water bottle in her hands. She had one with her, but Hotch was setting two more down next to his iPad on the table. “Tap Morgan’s leg for Colors.” I felt Morgan press his shin against my back so that my fingers were near his ankles in case I needed to have them slow down or stop.

Emily started slowly pouring the water into my mouth. When I couldn’t hold anymore, she stopped, giving me a chance to swallow. And then she did it again. We kept going until the entire bottle was finished, and even then, she grabbed the next bottle, unscrewed the cap, and started pouring. It was half way through the bottle when I started to feel it. The uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that told me that I was going to have to pee soon, and I whimpered, tapping Morgan’s ankle to tell them that I needed them to slow down.

Emily stopped pouring. “What is it, princess?” she asked.

“I’m already there…” I shamefully admitted.

“Full?”

I shook my head.

“Then, keep going.”

I reluctantly opened my mouth again and let Emily continue her work, getting to the end of the second bottle before she decided that I had enough. They were going to save the last bottle. Certainly, there were more in the fridge where the bar was at the back of the jet, but they would grab them as needed. For now, two was enough, later, they would give me a third, and when it got really bad, they would grab more if they had to. I didn’t want the third one, though. I already had to go, and because of it, I could feel myself actually getting wet again, a sign that I was going to be miserable for my entire punishment.

The point of making me drink was that the feeling of being full aroused me the same way it would if I were filled with Hotch or Morgan’s cocks, or Emily or Elle’s straps. It was the same build that came with needing to orgasm. They controlled my orgasms the same way they controlled… well, when I could go. They made me hold my orgasms the same way they made me hold this— and both were painful to keep back. I was fortunate, however, unlike Spencer, to know that I had never actually released without permission, in front of them, or during a scene at all. Spencer, on the other hand… The poor thing. He could never hold it when Morgan would grab his hips and slide inside of him. The pressure on his prostate and his bladder was always just too much.

Eventually, they’d let me go, but they’d wait long enough until I was squirming. I mean, they weren’t going to hurt me. Since Morgan had chosen this as my punishment, they were all going to have to keep an eye on me to make sure I wasn’t actually in pain because this could be a dangerous punishment if not properly handled; but I trusted them. If they weren’t going to let me cum, they at least had to let me pee— which felt just as good as letting go of my orgasms.

“Bunny’s so hard…” Elle teased, pulling on Spencer’s leash to have him lean back against her thighs. “Did it turn you on to watch Mistress make princess drink?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he admitted.

“You’re lucky that you only palmed yourself without permission. If you would have done anything worse, we’d be making you drink, too. What do you say to us for sparing you that torture?”

“Thank you.”

“Good boy.”

“Let’s move them to the front,” Morgan told Elle so that she could pull Spencer onto the couch to give him room to make me crawl towards the front of the jet where no one would bother me. I whimpered when I felt how full I was while on all fours. I already hated it. “Go on,” he encouraged. I started crawling, and when I made it where he wanted me, he had me turn around so that I was facing the entirety of the team. “Now, you get to sit here and watch.”

“Daddy?” I questioned, unsure of what he meant.

“And not talk.” He crouched and kissed me gently. “This is what you get for breaking the rules.”

“No.” He stood back up.

“Don’t let him edge,” Emily warned as Elle continued to play with Spencer inside of his underwear.

“Aw,” Elle cooed with false sympathy against his cheekbone, “is bunny already close?”

He nodded eagerly while pulling away from his kiss with Hotch. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair to make you ask Mistress for permission the same way Y/N had to.”

He turned his head to look up at Emily. “Please, Mistress?” He sounded just as desperate and pathetic as I had. “May I cum?”

“Please,” he pleaded. “Something. Anything. Please.”

“I know,” he grumbled. “I know.”

He pulled out three things, holding them up long enough for me to inspect from where I was kneeling on the opposite side of the jet. The red strap on that Emily loved to fuck Spence with, a bottle of lube to help him take her easier, and the worst part… Honestly, I didn’t know what was worse, what I was enduring while my bladder got worse or what torture was awaiting Spencer with the last toy Hotch retrieved. I didn’t even realize Emily carried it around with her. How did she even think to bring such a thing? I mean, I understood the red strap and the lube, but… that? I almost felt bad for Spencer. At least I got to cum earlier, even though I wasn’t supposed to, and I was going to get a chance to go to the bathroom after all of this, so I’d have two releases, but it seemed like they didn’t want Spencer to cum at all. I felt sorry for him. If I wasn’t so far into sub space, I probably would’ve snickered with the rest of them, thinking about all of the wicked ways I could have tortured him with it, but… No, I couldn’t while we were both being punished.

“If you want to touch so bad,” Hotch said while returning to the couch, “then we’ll touch.” Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the last toy. “But we won’t let you cum.”

I felt my stomach fill out a bit more. I tried sitting back on my feet to relieve the tight feeling that being upright or tilting forward caused, but Morgan caught my movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glared over at me. I knew what he was going to say before he could even open his mouth. “Daddy, I can’t.”

“I don’t care. Sit up.”

I adjusted, my panties rubbing flat against my clit, the waistband of said panties moving just under my stomach, making me feel the sweet torture of my full bladder being teased. I moaned, “Fuck…”

“Does it feel good?”

I shook my head. “Please, just let me go pee real quick. I’ll come back and sit here quietly like a good girl.”

“The next bottle, Em.”

I cried, “No!” The more I struggled against the cuffs, I felt my bladder swell, making the urge to pee worse. “Please!”

“Sir—” Spencer moaned pleasantly as Hotch suddenly dipped down and wrapped his lips around Spencer’s cock. “Thank you, Sir.”

Emily came over with the last bottle of water. “We won’t make you hold it much longer,” she whispered as she unscrewed the cap. Subconsciously, I already knew what she told me because it wasn’t safe to hold it back much longer, but hearing it from her was still a relief that made me sigh gratefully. “Open.” I tilted my head up and opened my mouth. “Keep your eyes on Spence.” My gaze was narrowed down my cheeks and my nose so that I could watch as Hotch slowly licked his tongue around Spencer’s sensitive tip that was still leaking pre-cum. I knew he tasted good. I knew that he was probably a leaking, pathetic mess, and Hotch was enjoying every second of torturing him; and I wished that it were me instead of Hotch, but I couldn’t do anything about it as Emily started making me drink. “Swallow.” I closed my mouth and slowly drank everything she had poured. “Breathe,” she cooed when she caught me panting afterwards. “You’re okay.”

I immediately felt my bladder swell again. “Mistress, I can’t take it anymore…”

“You’ve done more before.”

“Alone with Sir, yes. I’ve never been overwhelmed like this before.”

“Open again.”

I did so. When she was done pouring, I swallowed again. It was getting even worse now. “I can’t—” Without warning, Emily pressed her index finger against my clit, making me jolt. “Fuck!” The stimulation was enough for my body to relax just enough for long enough that I let go for a moment. I caught myself just as it happened. “No, no, no, no—” Emily snickered and started rubbing my clit faster. I was so embarrassed by what had just happened, even though it could have been much worse, but all of that embarrassment was clouded by the fact that it felt so good to be touched after Morgan gave me the impression that none of them were going to touch me for the rest of the flight. “Mistress, I’m close.” Because of my full bladder, the truth was, the urge to pee mixed with the urge to cum, which only quickened my edge. “Please.”

“No.” She kissed the tip of my nose before pulling her touch away. I leaned forward to regain her touch, but she was already walking away, and I cried again as I felt my entirely full bladder swell my belly. “Lemme fuck him,” she told Hotch, wiping some of the sweat off of Spencer’s forehead.

“I want to warm him up first,” Elle said eagerly. Hotch released Spencer from his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. “Turn him over.”

“Let me hold him,” I begged. “Please. I’ll serve you all while I do it!”

Elle squirted some of the lube onto her index and middle fingers before rubbing them up and down Spencer’s slit. He tensed up. “Fine,” she said, still concentrating on him. “Come here.”

“Baby girl,” Morgan called, waiting for me.

“Stop ignoring him,” Hotch hissed, pushing my panties to the side and sliding his thumb into me, pressing directly towards my bladder. I screamed in pain against Spencer when I felt myself let go a bit more. “Shit.” He sounded so turned on. “Fuck, baby.”

“You and bunny,” Elle chuckled. “The two of you can never hold it together. Pathetic.”

Spencer and I moaned happily in response to the degradation.

Morgan, now completely impatient, held my head between his palms, tore me away from Spencer, then turned my gaze before pushing my mouth onto his cock. He kept moving me until I gagged. I felt Spencer rut against the couch when Elle must have curled her fingers against his prostate or something, and I followed suit when I felt Hotch replace his short thumb with his long cock. I thought I was supposed to be facing punishment— Not that I was arguing. Even if I could talk, I wouldn’t have brought it up, because as painful as my bladder felt, at least I finally got him. He always felt so good. He was so long, but not as thick as Morgan, not that it mattered. Both of them knew how to please me, and that was what mattered more than anything.

“Jesus, baby girl,” Morgan moaned, throwing his head back.

Spencer whined. “I don’t know, Ma’am.”

“Promise or we won’t fuck you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he insisted quickly, realizing his mistake. “I won’t cum. I promise.”

“Good boy.”

Hotch pissed me off suddenly by reaching under me to grab my breasts through my shirt, and when I thought that his intentions were pleasant, he threw me for a loop by caressing my inflated stomach. He chuckled. “So full…” He massaged the sensitive part of my torso where my bladder was, making me roll my hips eagerly against him. “And so greedy.” He thrust roughly into me in an attempt to warn me off of acting out again, but I couldn’t help it. The need to pee was too similar to the need to cum, the two feelings were blended together now, so when he teased my stomach, I wanted to cum. I had to cum. I needed some kind of relief. “Don’t you fucking dare—” He pulled out of me when he felt me tighten around him. “Brat.” He spanked me hard. “Elle.”

“Was that so hard?” he teased.

“Mistress,” Spencer moaned, his voice muffled somewhat, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“It hurts,” he complained.

“Color,” she whispered, brushing his curls back so that she could lean over his back and start kissing his neck lovingly.

“Green, but I can’t… I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“Bunny, if you cum, we’re going to have to put you in your cage,” Emily warned.

“We should anyways,” Hotch panted from behind me.

Hotch pulled out of me suddenly and he snatched away Elle’s fingers. My legs shook as my sudden, unexpected, unplanned orgasm was completely ruined. I hadn’t seen it coming. One second, I was watching Spencer fall apart, the next, I was clenching around nothing as my orgasm peaked yet I got no relief from the feeling since they had removed the stimulation when I needed it most. My clit was throbbing. I felt myself leak just a bit more, my bladder warming up at the feeling. I fell, just like Spencer, my cheek crashing against Morgan’s warm thigh.

“Their cuffs,” Hotch said pressingly. Morgan reached for his pants that were pooled at his ankles, and he grabbed the key from his pocket, then he handed it off to Hotch. “We’re done with you, baby girl,” he told me. I shook my head. I needed to cum. I had to… I had to cum… Geez, I felt as broken as Spencer looked. “Can you stand?” I shook my head again. “Okay…” He freed my hands and rubbed my wrists to ease the pain from every time I struggled against the metal bondings. “How bad is it?” he asked, taking my leash and gently tugging, a signal that he wanted me to turn around face him. I did so. When he saw my face, he chuckled, and Elle followed shortly, the two of them so impressed by how broken I must have looked. I knew that my hair was a mess, my eyes and bottom lip were pouting, my legs were still shaking, and I was so bloated. I looked ridiculous. “That bad, princess?” He stroked his cock at the sight of me.

“Fuck them again like this,” Elle encouraged seductively in his ear. “Both of them on their backs…” she said a little louder so that everyone could hear her. “Taking what we give them.”

Spencer nodded while screwing his shut in response to Emily’s cock hitting a new spot inside of him. “Yes, Daddy. They look so good.”

I rolled my hips around, butterflies fluttering in my stomach— or maybe that was the urge to pee just getting worse. Regardless, though, my whole body was on fire, and I just needed someone to touch me again. I needed to touch Spencer, which was the worst part, because I knew that they wouldn’t let me, and even if I could, a single touch was going to set him off, and I would’ve felt bad if they ruined him, too.

“You want me, baby?” Hotch teased, gliding his thumbs over my hard nipples through my shirt.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“You want me to breed you?”

I let out a shaky breath before gulping and nodding. “Yes, Sir.”

“You wanna be fuller than you are now, huh?” His hands worked their way down to my stomach where he started massaging his thumbs in, finding my bladder without any problems. “So fucking full. It’s gotta be uncomfortable, baby, I know… But you did this to yourself.”

“Sir—” I tried moving away from him in an attempt to make him stop teasing my bladder, but I couldn’t escape. “I won’t hold it if you keep doing that.”

I didn’t want to be like Spence. As much as I loved him, I didn’t want to share his embarrassment of peeing myself like he had. The first time it happened, we were all together for Elle’s birthday. Spencer had been acting up during dinner, touching her when he wasn’t supposed to, speaking out of turn, giving me lip when I told him to be careful. We weren’t having it. When we got to Elle’s place, he complained that he had to pee before we started, but Hotch pinned him to the wall with a large hand around his throat, making Spencer’s eyes widen as he started apologizing profusely. Hotch didn’t let him go. For being a brat at dinner, the consensus was that we were going to take turns fucking him and cumming inside of him while he had to hold it. He hated it. He was already bloated from dinner, but when we fucked into him, we could see our cocks through his tummy as we were thrusting in and out of him. As I said before, it was always when Morgan finally got to fuck him that Spencer let go. It was something about the girth I was pretty sure, because out of him, Hotch, and the straps Em, Elle, and I had, Morgan was the thickest, which meant that he always stretched me and Spencer, so it was no surprise that Spencer immediately let go when it happened. He cried at the humiliation. He couldn’t believe he had done that while we were all watching— and what was worse to him was that we liked it. We liked that it degraded him.And even worse than that was that he liked it. It made him hard, and when Hotch started to jerk him off, it wasn’t long until he was begging to cum. I was the one who took mercy on him. I gave him permission before the others could argue, and Spencer immediately fell apart.

I didn’t want to be the one who felt Hotch fill me up and I couldn’t help but let go, and they would laugh at me. I could tell how embarrassed I’d be. Hotch seemed to take mercy on me the same way I had with Spencer back then. He stopped fucking with me when I was practically in tears, and he instead went back to stroking his cock.

“I know you want to cum, baby,” he cooed, “but you can’t… Rules are rules.” He started fucking his fist faster. “Good girls get to cum.” His breath was ragged now. “You weren’t good.”

“No.”

“I can’t hold it.” He was leaking onto my knee now, that was how close together we were.

“I said, no. You cum, you get caged.”

Without warning, Hotch grabbed my hips away from Elle, putting me back where I was so that I was facing him, and he thrust into me suddenly, cumming within an instant, too. “Fuck…”

When he caught his breath, he pulled out of me slowly. I whined at the loss. “You can go now.”

My eyes widened for a second as I registered what he said, but once I dawned on me, I didn’t hesitate. Despite my still weak legs, I pushed myself off the couch and I ran straight for the small bathroom at the back of the jet. I held onto the counter in front of me as I finally released everything that had been building. It felt just as good as an orgasm, if I were being honest. Holding it like that, being teased and denied by my Doms like that… It was just as painful as being edged, but getting to release was just as rewarding as an orgasm.

The door opened suddenly to reveal Hotch standing there, fully clothed, his arms crossed over his chest. I tried hiding myself by clasping my hands together over my crotch. “Did you learn a valuable lesson?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Which was?”

“No cumming without permission. Ever. Under any circumstances. My orgasms don’t belong to me.” I felt another wave of liquid pressing against my weak bladder, but I tried my best to hold it back since he was still standing there.

“Next time, I will make you go in front of them. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Clean yourself up then come back for water—”

“Sir—”

“Not for that,” he said with a chuckle. “Water, a snack, and play with Spencer’s hair.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

I melted at the praise. “Really, Sir? Even though I broke a thousand rules?”

“Even then. You did good.” He closed the door again and walked off, giving me the chance to release again.

When I was finished, I stood and cleaned myself, using the washcloths under the sink to clean up between my thighs. Usually, one of them would have helped, but the jet was too small, and the bathroom was only big enough for one person. I had to do this part on my own. When I was washed and dried, however, I made my way back into the main cabin, finding Emily racing to get the cuffs off Spencer. The second he was free, he immediately went to pry off the cock rings, but Morgan slapped his hands away. Spencer stared at me as Morgan started gently pulling off the metal one around his shaft. “Daddy,” he hissed, his eyes clenching shut. Emily and Elle were running their fingers through Spencer’s hair already to help him calm down. “Fuck,” he gasped when it was off. “Thank you.” He then prepared himself as Morgan went to release the tie that was around Spencer’s balls. When the pressure was gone, Spencer slumped, falling somewhat, and we all reached forward to catch him. “Thank you.” Hotch kissed Spencer’s temple and pulled him onto his lap on the couch. “I’m sorry for cumming without permission.”

“We’ll call it even, bunny,” Morgan said, referencing how I had done the same thing. “You and baby did so well.”

“May we?” Spencer begged.

“Yes,” Morgan answered.

I ran my fingers through his curls. “I love you, Spence.”

He kissed me harder before mumbling, “I love you, too.”

#mine #fanfic #hotch #elle #emily #morgan #reader #spencer #sub!spencer #sub!reader

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handshakesake · 3 years

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🔥 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 🔥

YUJI/SUKUNA x READER

PART #3

!!! NSFW !!!

/// WARNINGS: Non con, oral, tag teaming, dirty talk, smutty smut smut (Yuji’s aged up, obv) ///

((Okay so now I can start doing DUALITY and if you guys like this you’re gonna lose your minds for the next phase. Also no shame, I’m a sinner and I know. -claps hands-))

Yuji might have sped just a tad bit to get home, right on your heels up the stairs to the front door, seemingly more comfortable since you hardly reacted to his unfortunate curse. Or maybe it was jealousy, seeing the other touching you during the switch and starting a war with him over a girl. If Sukuna wanted to stir him up, it worked. You could barely get the keys into the doorknob with Yuji’s mouth nibbling at your ear, hands tugging you backwards into his chest, dipping his head to bite at your neck.

“Glad to see you’re f-feeling better…but I can’t...mm, I can’t get the door- ah!” You fumbled over your words when he ran his tongue up the side of your neck, sneaking the keys from your hands and whispering with a suspiciously innocent tone.

“I’ll get it, I’ll take care of anything for you….” As soon as the door was open you two were stumbling frantically inside and Yuji kicked it shut behind him, ripping his tie off with a determined look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

Sore and sleepy, you sat up in bed in the dark and felt for your lover next to you, but he wasn’t there. The bedroom was pitch black, no light from under the bathroom door to indicate he was in there, in fact you couldn’t see anything at all. You could feel the sheets under your fingers and were confused, finding smooth silk in place of the fluffy blankets you and Yuji would nuzzle into most nights.

“Yuji?” You called out, but there was no response, just a painfully eerie silence and the sound of water dripping once or twice. You slowly slid off the bed, but when your feet touched the floor you found liquid an inch or so deep. First assumption was that the apartment flooded, so you scrambled for the light switch in the dark, finding no walls or doors. No furniture. Just more empty blackness. Just when you started to panic, you felt a hand slowly wrap around one of your wrists.

“Yuji?” You could hardly breath as another hand grabbed your side, then another arm hooked firmly around your back so you couldn’t escape.

“Wrong again.” Sukuna’s voice wasn’t playful or lyrical like it’d been in the car earlier that evening, it was a spoken growl, and agitated tone that warned you not to fight him. Warm, liquid verbal impatience.

“Why can’t I see you? And where are we?” Instead of pulling away, you let the arms gather you up and lay you back on the bed haphazardly. The mattress shifted, your body began to react to the fight or flight instinct kicking in, but you wouldn’t escape. He caged you in, climbing on top of you and sitting on your pelvis.

“We are within my domain. You wanna see me? Or are you scared of the dark, little girl?” Sukuna was mocking you, expecting the whole scenario would make you try to run, fight him like predator and prey, but you didn’t.

“If you still think I’m afraid of your form, you’re in for a surprise.” You ran your hands along his where they rested on the bed and kept his body up above yours, triggering flames to flicker around the bed, candles with their melting dripped onto the red liquid floor.

“Naughty thing, aren’t you. Wanting a peek at the big bad curse.” He snickered, lower set of hands trailing over your chest, down your waist and to the hem of the only thing you were wearing, a t- shirt. He tore it away with ease, enjoying the way you shivered. He was in thick white robes, body was so starkly similar to Yuji’s, aside from his eyes, arms and the vicious sneer on his face.

“You’re actually quite breathtaking.” You mumbled, half lidded eyes locked on his lower jaw as he swallowed hard, frowning while he brought his face to yours and the tips of your noses touched. His chest rumbled contemplative, he looked almost softer, a gaze of pity.

“Of course I am, I’m your king. Keep up the praises and I might reward you.” A trill cackle erupted from his throat, but it died down when you reached up and tugged at his robes and whined.

“I can’t praise what I can’t see.” Oh, Yuji must have screwed you a bit senseless, because the subservience was not something he’d seen come so easily.

“Ask me properly, little thing. Address your king correctly and I may have mercy on you.” His wicked smile showed fangs that glittered in the flickering candle light, his tongue teasingly wriggling behind its cage just waiting for a taste. His patience was godly, however, despite how many centuries he’d missed this ritual.

“Handsome, wise king Ryomen, have pity on my poor soul. Spoil me with your visage.” You smirk, dizzy with lust, just slightly noticing the deep red smoke on the air around you, sedating you without your knowledge.

“Such an obedient thing…” Sukuna sighed, but his lips were still curved upward, pride swelling as he let his clothes fall off him, leaving you to stare in awe for a few seconds.

“Little thing, you’re practically drooling. And over someone like me? Tsk tsk, what a shame. Though, it simplifies so much you look at me the way you look at the brat. Maybe I can come to terms with sharing my property.” As he spoke, he flipped you onto your stomach, a hand nestling into your hair to yank your head back and force you to look into his eyes.

“Share? What does Y-Yuji say...about that...” You moan your words while his three free hands find every inch of your body and handle you with a roughness your other lover never dared use.

“Ask him yourself.” Sukuna muttered as he turned your head by your hair and you found yourself staring up at Yuji standing at the foot of the claw foot bed.

“This is pretty lewd. Is it bad I’m a little turned on? Fucking pissed, yeah. But...” Yuji was affected the same way as you by the smoke drifting around, causing the bridge of his nose to be dusted pink with the heat of his blood.

“Shut up, brat! We share the same body, it hardly matters. Now keep her mouth shut too while I have my way.” There was no warning otherwise from Sukuna, a cock entering you with a single languid thrust was its own warning. It hurt, stung and you immediately reached out and grabbed onto Yuji’s waist for stability as the beast behind you set a rapid pace from the start. Your cries were so desperate, it tore at Yuji’s heart, but he felt like his legs would give out if he even moved. Between grunts, Sukuna gave him an order, his three free hands still roaming your form carelessly as he fucked you hard.

“Use-her-mouth! Or I will!” The warning was taken seriously, Yuji clumsily and in a haze pulling his jeans down to free himself, reaching for your hair to find Sukuna’s hand already there. With a half groan, half snicker, Sukuna gave Yuji a little help and pulled your head back more, your mouth already agape with desperate moans. As soon as he was in your mouth, Yuji started making some desperate noises of his own, only dwarfed by the occasional cackled of Sukuna, praising your subservience in the same breath he’d tease the brat.

“You’re such a fun little thing to play with, isn’t the brat lucky I let him borrow you?” He growled, but you couldn’t speak, drool dripping down your chin as Sukuna forced you to fuck Yuji with your mouth, fist in your hair painfully tight.

“You’re borrowing her, fucker! She’s m-my girlfriend!” Yuji stammered, they both picked up their thrusting pace and you clawed at the sheets, climax hitting you with no warning. Then another, lightheaded from the struggle to breath as Yuji got more needy for his own release and pushed deeper into your throat. They came in tandem, agonizingly, and you tried not to choke on the warmth flooding your mouth while the other flowed into your cunt so hot you couldn’t stand it. The broken choked cries you made on Yuji’s cock had the both of them rolling their eyes back, satisfied with themselves.

#jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #smut #itadori smut

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luvnami · 3 years

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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - au where child!fushiguro megumi has a childhood best friend. like what i write and want to tip/commission me? click on the appropriate links and you’ll be redirected!! i haven’t been able to find a part-time job so your help will be greatly appreciated <3

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - @rintaroll shakes head

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 795

“‘gumi? are you there?”

“shh!”

your foot hits a stool in the darkness and you yelp, hands circling midair as you try to regain your balance. a small, warm hand grabs your wrist.

“are you okay?”

you can barely make out fushiguro’s features in the darkness. you give him a nod, before firmly grasping his hand in yours. he tugs you through the hallway of the house without even needing the moonlight to illuminate his path.

your bare feet pitter-patter against the hardwood flooring as you make your way from the bedroom to the genkan. fushiguro lets go of your hand momentarily to open the front door, easing it on its hinges ever so carefully to prevent any squeaking.

the warm, humid air hits your face and you inhale the scent of cut grass, flowers and the neighbour’s dog poop all at once. you scrunch your nose and pinch it.

“i forgot my slippers, ‘gumi,” you say when fushiguro reaches for your hand again. his eyebrows knit together.

“we don’t have time to go back and get them. tsumiki might find us,” he mumbles.

the both of you stand in the midst of cicadas chirping and mosquitoes buzzing for a minute, trying to figure out what to do. fushiguro suddenly stoops down and plucks a slipper off of his foot.

“take it.”

“are you sure?”

“i told you to take it, so just do it.”

“hehe, thank you, ‘gumi.”

you hold onto fushiguro for stability and slip your one foot into the doraemon slipper. it’s a little too big, but you make do with hobbling. the both of you continue through the front gate, darting past other homes which have their curtains drawn and lights switched off.

fushiguro leads you to the open field at the corner of the intersection. fireflies light up the darkness and you gasp.

“‘gumi! fireflies!”

you point one hand at the bugs. it’s almost as if fushiguro had snatched the stars down from the sky just for you; this one summer night where the dust from the road makes your one foot feel all powdery and his sweaty hand in yours is something you wouldn’t trade, even for those yummy strawberry jellies tsumiki makes.

fushiguro is silent. a few fireflies change their course of flight and buzz towards you two, inspecting the aliens of the field carefully. you giggle as a bug lands on your hand, its little legs tickling your skin.

it flutters off just as quickly as it had landed.

“how did you know these were here, ‘gumi?”

fushiguro wonders if he should tell you that he first saw them on the news when tsumiki was folding laundry. his eyes had lit up in the same ways yours did, instantly knowing that you would have loved to see them. he then wonders if he should add on that he stayed awake every night, sleepy eyes peeled for the glowing bugs outside his window.

he tightens his grip on your hand as a droplet of perspiration slips down his back.

“i dunno,” fushiguro mutters under his breath.

you frown briefly, but decide not to chase the subject. you let go of his hand to dash into the field, not caring that the damp mud cakes your feet and dirties the hem of your cotton shorts.

“‘gumi! come here! it’s like being in space!” you giggle and beckon him over quickly.

fushiguro steps into the field tentatively, face screwing up when the mud squishes between his toes. he’s quick to forget his discomfort when you twirl around, hands outstretched as the fireflies quickly disperse from your touch.

fushiguro wishes that the fireflies would last longer than summer. into autumn, winter, spring and then summer again, all year round. just so he could see you like this — without a single care in the world. he knows your eyebrows furrow when your mother comes home late again, and when the kids at school snicker behind your back.

he kicks his slipper off and joins you, jumping up and down on his legs as he tries to pluck the fireflies with his small hands; to snatch the stars from the sky for you.

the next morning, tsumiki finds muddy footprints leading all the way to the living room, where you are asleep on fushiguro’s chest (he’s starfished on the sofa, while your drool stains his t-shirt). she sighs quietly, but says nothing and grabs a mop with a wry smile.

she doesn’t ever find the missing slippers that fushiguro lost, even after checking the field in broad daylight. they rest in a drain behind large, concrete pipes — one tossed over the other carelessly, but still a complete pair together.

you unknowingly reach for fushiguro’s hand in your sleep.

he takes it.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjkmag #jjk fushiguro

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

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random thoughts about aegon vi and septa lemore

Apparently, it’s Aegon’s week. i don’t think i ever paticipated in these events for any character or pairing, but @agentrouka-blog’s theory that septa Lemore is Ashara Dayne and that the baby switch was between Aegon and her rumoured child (instead of random kid) showed up on my dash today.

Lemore being Ashara Dayne and there having been baby switch like theorised would be fantastic, because she’d know a lot of stuff that is otherwise impossible to know. She knows who dishonoured her at Harrenhal (we all know Brandon, not Ned). She knows about Wylla, a wetnurse from the Dayne Household, who Eddard Stark and Edric Dayne both say is Jon’s mother (we all know Jon is Lyanna’s, so this apparent lie version being told by two different people who have nothing to do with one another seems to suggest a combined lie between Ned and the Daynes). She knows about Jon because Ned went to Starfall with him and (if baby switch theory is true), she can confirm Aegon VI is real.

There’s also the suspicious narrative choice of a “Targ” (not even, she has dark hair, not silver hair, even if she has purple eyes) getting with an impetuous Stark at Harrenhal and a secret child never really going anywhere. What’s the point of that besides shading Rhaegar plus Lyanna equals Jon? This I always thought was suspicious, but this theory would *poof* make it make sense.

TYRION III ~ ADWD

This is the chapter where Aegon VI Targaryen is first introduced. The whole chapter is like a “perigrination” to find him. I am of the opinion that Aegon VI is the real thing for a long time now and there’s evidence that might be the case in this very chapter where he’s introduced.

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. Tyrion counted six, oaken chests with iron hasps. Duck shifted them easily enough, hoisting them on one shoulder.

This is shortly after the chapter starts. Not only Illyrio asks about Aegon, there’s also the imagery of six chests about. If Aegon is crowned king of Westeros, he’ll be Aegon VI Targaryen.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." Illyrio sounded oddly sad.

This is often used as a clue that Aegon VI is fake. Illyrio is expressing some sentimental attachment, so there are theories that he could be the father and the mother would be some Valyrian looking wife he has. it has its merits.

On the other hand, Aegon VI is on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes his hair another colour, but most importantly in this passage, is Aegon’s fond of a specific sweet that what we would at first mistake for a father for the reasons pointed above gifts him with.

This is 1:1 what’s going on with Sansa, she’s on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes her hair another colour, she’s fond of a specific sweet (lemoncakes) and Littlefinger, who’s pretending to be her father and is very... emotionally invested... in her, gifts her with some (well, in parternship with her cousin, but the cousin is another matter).

By parallel, Aegon is real.++

Tyrion craned his head to one side, and saw a boy standing on the roof of a low wooden building, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair.

Aegon is inrroduced standing above the rest, literally high-standing.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

An older couple with a Rhoynish cast to their features stood close beside the tiller, whilst a handsome septa in a soft white robe stepped through the cabin door and pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

This is actually what I came for, Lemore.

Why a septa would be described as “handsome” when that should have no relevance since she’s supposed to be chaste (I know, it’s Tyrion, but still)? Ashara Dayne is described by many as being beautiful, arrestingly so. If Lemore is Ashara, “handsome” is a good way to describe her beauty still.

Lemore has dark brown hair. Ashara is described as having long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders. More importantly, Lemore's first actions is push her hair from her eyes. Like, pay attention to this woman’s eyes, even though they’re not described ever (not even their colour).

TYRION IV ~ ADWD

Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull.

So yes, the night after Tyrion meets Aegon and his party for the first time, he dreams of dragons fighting. Take note these are dragons, not a fake dragon in whatever way and a dragon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

The clouds in the sky were aglow: pink and purple, maroon and gold, pearl and saffron. One looked like a dragon. Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay at home and tend his garden in content, someone had written once, for this wide world has no greater wonder. Tyrion scratched at his scar and tried to recall the author's name. Dragons had been much in his thoughts of late.

One of those clouds looks like a dragon. There’s no dragons with these colours BUT Targs have purple eyes and Viseryion, a dragon I believe is a narrative stand-in for Aegon VI, is described as cream and gold, so one colour here. Honestly, the important here is that Tyrion is associating dragons around Aegon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

Holy shit.

“Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes.

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning.

"Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

Yeah, it’s Tyrion, who’d sexualise a rock, but this is a septa who deserves respect. Yet, this is how the writer “paints” the reader’s first interaction with this new character. These are always the most striking moments when establishing a character and sex imagery is what the writer decided to do.

Also Lemore not only knows that Tyrion’s fantasising about having sex with her and doesn’t give a shit, she laughs instead, gets naked to bathe, and doesn’t give a shit if others look at her naked body. This doesn’t feel like a septa. I mean, I remember Mordane and the zealots at King’s Landing who screwed with Cersei. They have nothing on this.

The way she puts why she has no problems with naked bodies and the like also suggest some kind of “free spirit” which goes well with the (disgusting, but there) dornish wanton woman trope and being dishonoured by Brandon at Harrenhal.

Another thing to note, is that Tyrion also clearly says the “Shy Maid” wasn’t named after Lemore, which suggests she’s neither shy nor a maid. This is confirmed by her actions and by...

The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Lemore was pregnant at one point!

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?"

This disparity of behaviour between septa Lemore and any other septa in ASOIAF is VERY suspicious. Note how Lemore has two mysteries about her already, she’s characterised nothing like any septa in ASOIAF (more like the tasteless “dornish wanton woman” sterotype instead) and a mystery child. What’s the point of that, if she’s irrelevant.

Compare how he Yandry and Ysilla couple is treated, where there are no bizarre things taking place that I noticed. Also Yandry and Ysilla are specifically said to be a pair of Dornish orphans. Why is the image of Dornish people here, along with Lemore? Suspicious, suspicious.

Lemore is “past fourty”. The asoiaf wiki lists Ashara Dayne as being born between 260AC and 269AC, which means that she’d be around this age if she had lived.

The imagery of a (false, but still) maidtaking a bath while men watch is the same as Florian and Jonquil song, an event that legend says happened at Maidenpool (close to... yes, that’s right, Harrenhal, where Ashara met Brandon).

"The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells.

"Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

That’s not the behaviour of a septa and note the narrative acknowledgement that Lemore has secrets. She’s also called Lady instead of septa at some point in the narrative.

If this is Ashara, then Brandon met his match at Harrenhal. The waste, I can’t. What a sexy couple.

This chapter also contains Targ history as well as some Dorne (mother Rhoyne and whatnot). It goes well with Aegon is the real deal. But what really cinches it is the ending...

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."And why not?

Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

The Old Man of the River is a lesser god, the son of Mother Rhoyne. These gods are all associated with Dorne.

Aegon is real.++.

Tyrion VI ~ ADWD

"Even the bravest of your forebears kept his Kingsguard close about him in times of peril." Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

Who is she, really... indeed... Lemore’s identity clearly is important.

She turned back to Prince Aegon. "You are not the only one who must needs hide."

Why does Lemore need to hide? :)

#asoiaf speculaion #i'm not going to tag these characters because the original theory isn't mine #i'm also not going to tag these characters because this isn't enough to warrant an entry on aegon vi targaryen week

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beautifulletdownfics · 2 years

Text

Harry’s got four sold out shows at the London O2 and no idea who’s just walked on to the stage of his life …

In which Harry and Nina meet through an alternate set of events involving indoor football matches going wrong & Rodger being liberal with offering Nina’s musical services

Say Harry needs an exceptional horn player in a pinch Say Nina has a few free nights & nowhere better to be

+++

Part 1: Bright Lights & Cityscapes

Harry hated feeling like this.

These moments were rare, but they consumed him, and every ounce of his laid back and easy-going nature imploded. The anxiety was horrendous, and he fought hard to control it, trying hardest of all to cut off the unhelpful ‘what if’s’ streaming through his mind.

What if he hadn’t had a shower, what if Harry set his alarm just ten minutes earlier, what if he pushed up the escalators and overtaken people, what if he did not let that person cut in front of him in the line at check-in.

“It’s done, mate,” He told himself softly, his passport burning a hole in his pocket, “So stop it.”

He’d endured two cancelled flights, a missed connection and now, a line through customs at Heathrow that didn’t seem to have moved at all in the last five minutes. Yesterday when his chartered flight had been cancelled, Harry’s team had assured him the fastest, easiest way to get to London would be a commercial flight.

Nobody anticipated the weather proceeding to royally screw Harry over though.

When everything was going wrong, and he was trying to sort it out—all while dealing with the genuine likelihood that he would miss his own show—he had done his best to keep his cool. It wasn’t anyone’s fault … Well, if anything it was a little bit Harry’s because he wasn’t usually one for cutting travel this close. It was a stupid decision, he really should have been in London the day before.

His voice would take a hit because of this, Harry wasn't well-rested, and it usually took a good few hours to sort itself out after a flight. Not to mention his band had done the final rehearsal earlier in the day without him. If he had any luck at all, Harry might get a ten-minute soundcheck if the venue pushed back opening the doors. It was all so unprofessional.

He felt sick. And if Harry thought about it too much, he knew he would wish he was home and could have a proper shower cry and start the day again. Start the last two days again. He hated the idea of going on stage that evening with this day weighing on him, and this frazzled, panicked mental state haunting him.

The show had to be good—something good had to come from this mess.

+++

Nina lived for moments like this.

“How many seats does it have again?” She asked the room, eyes gliding over the seats so far away Nina needed to squint to see them clearly.

“Fits twenty thousand,” A voice behind her said, “We’ll have fifteen thousand in tonight.”

“Holy shit,” Nina said quietly, breathing in the cool, stale air of the London O2. Even empty, it was beautiful, and she couldn’t wait to hear what it sounded like to listen to the notes from her instruments surge around it. She hadn’t had a gig where she needed to switch between trumpet and tenor saxophone for a while, and already Nina knew it was going to feel good to do so.

“Have you played something this big before?”

Nina frowned but cleared it off her face before she turned back to where the rest of the band was setting up. She really shouldn’t have spoken. She hadn’t anticipated any of them having a problem with her being there, but she should have been more on guard. Nina was a virtual stranger to them, and they had all been touring together for years.

“The Athens Olympic Stadium was seventy-five thousand,” She told the bass player, whether or not he meant to be demeaning Nina wasn’t sure. Still, his tone had her feeling the need to establish herself a serious player, and quickly.

Nina learned early in her career it better to be the bitch who could play than being underestimated and miss out on the chance. She just needed one opportunity to prove herself, and they would lighten up. Nina knew friendships only formed after it was determined she wasn’t dead weight.

“Right,” A production manager coughed, “Should we start?”

+++

Harry managed only the most pathetic of a vocal warm-up.

It wasn’t until three songs into the set that he relaxed enough to start trusting his voice to do what he wanted it to. They sounded good, and the O2 was full for his first of four nights. He’d arrived at the arena fifteen minutes before he was due to go on which as far as Harry was concerned was inexcusably late. By the time he got on stage, they were nearly forty minutes behind.

He was shaking it off though, his stomach had been clenched the entire first song as he worked hard to win the crowd over. In his head he was still rushing through the airport, sucking on his dehumidifier in the back of a car and changing in a room with five other people all trying to do their jobs—hair, makeup, sound set up—at once.

So Harry could be forgiven for the fact it was three songs in when he turned around and remembered that there was a stand-in horn player.

Amid all his travel fuckery, Harry had left that particular fiasco up to someone else to sort. A broken finger spelt disaster, and it had been one detail too many for Harry’s mind to have held onto.

Shit, he didn’t know her name or who the heck she was. She was keeping up at least. Harry was surprised that he hadn’t noticed it was somebody different until this far in. The girl hardly looked old enough to be a professional, a thought Harry immediately berated himself for. Somebody had vouched for her, he needed to trust his people.

“London, I’m so sorry I was late getting on …” He said slowly into his microphone, “I’ve had one of those days, and you’re really turning it around. Here’s to curing shit days with music!”

Harry got lost in the next few songs, the middle of the set always hit him hard. He tried to completely lose himself it in, something about living in that moment and knowing the stage was still his all night felt refreshing.

The crowd roared back at him, and Harry smiled, there was a long intro into the next song, and he sided up to his rhythmic guitarist, pulling out his in ears and holding his mic down behind his back, “I need her name… The horn player, for band intros later. I’ve got no clue who she is.”

His friend nodded back at him, “I’ve got you, mate. Nina. Lawrence.” “Thanks,” Harry nodded, slipping back into the click track in his ear and shaking off the moment of worry.

Nina Lawrence, Harry repeated to himself.

+++

Nina got home just after midnight.

“How was it?” Rodger jumped up from the sofa as soon as she walked by, making Nina jump and clutch her chest, “Sorry.”

“It was good,” She told her flatmate, unravelling her scarf and bending down to unzip her boots.

“Good?” Rodger repeated, “Just good? You played the O2! How was Harry?”

“He was great. He’s got a very charismatic stage presence,” Nina's boots fell on the wooden floor, and she rolled up onto the balls of her feet and down again, soothing her sore arches.

The pop melodies were simplistic at points, but the grooves were fun, Nina would admit that. She was already figuring out where to add a little flare here or there the following night. Nina knew that the rest of the band was nervous about her; she was young, and they didn't expect she would be at the same level as their usual horn player. But being underestimated was Nina’s sweet spot, and she hadn’t missed a note during rehearsal or the actual show.

“He sure does,” Rodger agreed, coming around and following Nina into the kitchen where she was putting the kettle on for a tea, “What did you think of him though?”

“I didn’t meet him.”

Rodger’s voice raised an octave, his hand deep in the Tupperware container with the leftover cake from Nina’s twenty-first birthday the weekend before, “You didn’t meet him?”

“He arrived fifteen minutes before the set was supposed to start and I left straight after, I wanted to get the Tube,” Nina explained absentmindedly, hunting for her favourite mug in the cupboard and then finding it used in the sink, “Max used my mug again.”

Rodger’s eyebrows pulled together and licked the icing off the end of his finger, “That doesn’t sound like Harry.”

“Yeah, I think they were all kind of stressed about it.”

“Did you like his band? I don’t know all of them …”

Nina sighed, knowing what Rodger was getting at, “They were fine, they had more to worry about than a normal first show. They’ll be better tomorrow after having seen me play tonight.”

“They will,” Rodger agreed, “They said they needed someone who could step in and nail it, I don’t think his tour manager actually believed me when I knew just the horn player."

“Thanks, Rodg,” Nina sighed, “This is going to pay for a new mouthpiece for the sax.”

“Good money in pop, hey?”

“Don’t be facetious,” Nina laughed, “Those guys might not be playing seven movements, but it’s hard work, I could barely hear myself at some points.”

Nina hadn’t played with any of them before the run-through that afternoon. Their usual horn player broke his finger playing indoor football, and it was too late to have a full rehearsal again. Harry was in Los Angeles, Nina was pretty sure she had picked up, and there was trouble getting him back to England. So, Nina arrived at the O2 with her trumpet and her saxophone, having listened through to the setlist for thirty-six hours and then sound checked with the band.

“When you meet Harry you’ll like him,” Rodger assured you. “He’s a good guy.”

“He sings very well,” Nina smiled, finally satisfied with the steep of her tea, “I’m going to take this upstairs with me. I’ve got sectionals tomorrow before lunch.”

She hoped Rodger didn’t know how hard she was trying not to think about the ethereal yet magnetically sexy pop star she shared the stage with earlier in the evening. Because she wasn’t.

Not even a little.

+++

Harry was in a much better frame of mind the following day.

The afternoon rehearsal ran smoothly, and he was impressed by how efficient it felt. Waking up early and taking himself to the gym first thing had been the reset Harry needed. He arrived at the O2 that afternoon with a spring in his step, ready for night two.

“Do you know where Nina is?” Harry asked an assistant in between radio calls he was doing.

“Nina?”

“The new horn player,” He specified, “I still haven’t met her. She disappeared after soundcheck.”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find someone who knows.’’

“Thanks,” Harry returned, starting to get some kind of strange feeling about the young woman who had really impressed him in rehearsals. He noticed a few new runs she added into one of the songs and it sounded great, Harry meant to catch her after to say so, but he got caught up talking to one of the sound technicians.

The four hours between the rehearsal and when the countdown to the show began went quickly for Harry. He did some media engagements, showered, tried to fit in a twenty-minute nap, failed and then joined the band for a greenroom dinner. They all seemed to be in good spirits, and he finally got the chance to ask his musical director where Nina Lawrence was sourced from. Harry was surprised and then not at all surprised that his producer and friend Rodger was called on in the time of need. If Harry had been thinking he probably would have called Rodger himself as well.

Nina didn’t reappear until it was her thirty-minute call and so Harry didn’t get the chance to speak to her before the show. He briefly wondered if the cat and mouse Harry felt like they were playing was deliberate on her behalf. His band told him that she arrived at her first rehearsal without anything written down but had known the songs what felt like backwards and forward from the first run through.

Maybe she’s a fan, Harry thought. It would explain her nerves around everyone and knowing the songs already. He wondered for a moment if he should be a touch more careful around her if that was the case. Although Rodger wouldn’t throw him under the bus like that, Harry decided to trust.

“London!” He threw all thoughts of the pretty horn player from his mind the second he walked on stage, “I feel a terrific show coming on!”

+++

Nina slipped back into her warm-up room after the encore.

Her two empty instrument cases were cracked open and abandoned on the floor. Initially, when Nina had been shown to this small, concrete room, the roadie had to apologise for its size and the fact that it was a little way away from the rest of the band’s warm-up rooms and the central green room. Nina liked it though, she could shut the door and play at full volume which meant when she got on stage, there were only minor adjustments she needed to make to be on pitch from the slight change in temperature. In the bigger band room, she would struggle to tune properly amongst the other instruments.

Nina set about cleaning the tenor first, dismantling it with expert precision and clipping its case closed. Her trumpet required less work, and Nina found herself blowing a stream of dead air through it, then trilling up to a note she was practising hitting for a concerto the London Symphony Orchestra was playing next season.

“Knock, knock,” She heard behind her, the notes falling silent abruptly in a way Nina hated.

Harry Styles stood in the doorway, his bow-tied shirt untied and a bottle of water clutched in one hand. “Hi, I … I’ve been trying to catch you to introduce myself properly, I’m Harry.”

Nina transferred her trumpet to her left hand and held it at her side as she accepted his handshake, deliberately avoiding looking at his exposed chest, “Nina, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry smiled, “Thanks so much for jumping on board, you’re a great player.”

Nina ducked her head under his gaze, meeting his eyes again with a tentative smile, “Thanks for having me. You’re great up there. Really. Congratulations … Four sold-out nights?”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, “So they tell me, it’s pretty mental really … If I think about it too much, I feel like I might throw up.”

“Ah,” Nina waved off, “Seeing you up there, nobody would ever know.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and Nina watched him try to figure out what to say next.

+++

Harry felt like an idiot.

She was standing in front of him quietly, her fingers fiddling with the three buttons of her instrument thoughtlessly. Nina Lawrence was quite gorgeous, and Harry was taken by the soft sweetness her dark eyes projected, he hadn’t been expecting it, and it was disarming. Harry noticed her on stage tonight, letting his focus linger on her twice when he knew a horn riff was coming. She filled the sound out perfect, and Harry had been taken by the subtle swing of her hips and her shoulders rocking along with the tempo. His fill-in horn player was all legs, blissful smiles and calm confidence behind her instrument that Harry himself could only dream of.

Whatever is was Nina Lawrence was made of, Harry wanted even the smallest drop of it.

“You did really well tonight,” He said, immediately cursing himself for essentially repeating what he already said. “When you … Come hang out and have a drink once you’re packed up.”

She rocked up onto her tippy toes and then back down, “Sure, thanks.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, feeling like a blabbering fool as the full extent of his attraction hit him, “Thanks again. Broken fingers are … You got us out of a pickle.”

Walking back down the hall to the main green room a moment later, Harry chugged the rest of his water and tried fixing his hair. Just a few minutes of Nina Lawrence watching him earnestly and seemingly oblivious to her own charms had him feeling more than a touch off-kilter. He did a check with himself, wondering if he was merely projecting onto her, only to have his burgeoning crush confirmed a short while later when she came into the green room, and his heart rose into the base of his throat.

Harry hadn’t caught that particular feeling, or anything close to it, so quickly in years.

There was a commotion at the door, and Harry turned from where he had started transferring some greek salad onto a small plate. A few of the crew were greeting Robbie Williams who Harry had known was attending the show tonight with his daughter. It was usual for some people to come backstage to see everyone afterwards, but Harry was happy enough to shove a few mouthfuls of food into his mouth and let the roadies have their fun.

“Harry!” Robbie said, taking three long strides in Harry’s direction before his gaze momentarily flicked to the side. Harry watched a puzzled look befall the pop icon’s face, “Nina?”

Harry’s head snapped to the table to the side of the room where Nina was sipping at a mug of tea. Her face lit up, and she put the tea on the table behind her, “Rob, hi.” “What the devil are you doing here?” Robbie asked her, slowly opening his arms and pulling Nina into a warm, friendly hug, “I completely missed that it was you up there! We had a couple of bathroom trips during the show.”

“It’s not where you’re used to seeing me,” Nina replied pleasantly. “How are you? Everyone well?”

“All good!” He said, then Robbie frowned for a moment, “Actually, we’re seeing you in a week or so … The 14th right? When does your season open?” “The 14th, that’s right,” Nina’s concentration waned to where Harry was intently listening in on their conversation, wondering how the hell they knew each other. Harry coughed into his hand and stepped forward.

“Robbie, thanks for coming out, man,” Harry gave his childhood hero a side hug.

“Brilliant show, Harry, mate, well done,” Robbie praised him briefly before pointing at Nina, “And well done on having Britain’s finest up on stage with you!”

“Oh,” Harry laughed uneasily, very glad this wasn’t the first time he was meeting Robbie myself, “I don’t think I realised the company I was in.”

Nina crossed her arms over her chest but kept her expression neutral. For a second, Harry thought she looked irritated, but he then noticed the way she was biting the inside of her cheek and picking at her nails. She was nervous.

Robbie looked between the two of them.

“I’m just filling in, Rob,” Nina explained, “Harry’s usual player broke his finger, and I jumped at the chance.”

+++

Nina could quickly feel the moment getting away from her.

She could feel Harry Styles watching her completely dumbfounded and wasn’t fond of the feeling. Her dad had worked with Robbie a few times over the years, and Nina ended up being called up on stage for a song at a show in Manchester once. The Robbie she knew was more family friend then pop icon and Nina had never run in any sort of industry circle, so she could understand the surprise she had read on his face when he first spotted her.

“You know each other?” Harry asked, eventually.

Robbie grinned and held his hand out at hip height, “I’ve known this one since she was this high.”

“I was ten,” Nina corrected, “I was a little taller than that, thank you.”

“Wow,” Harry commented, nodding in understanding. Or something he hoped resembled it.

“Nina’s father is a modern-day Leonard Bernstein,” Robbie elaborated where Nina wasn’t entirely sure she was comfortable him doing so, “Incredible composer and I’d argue Britain’s greatest jazz mind. He’s the man I call in to sort out arrangements for my tours.”

Harry nodded with genuine interest, “Amazing.”

Nina settled into the fact this conversation was going to happen, she wasn’t going to be able to figure out a way to cut it short or dodge it. She wished she didn't handle the attention so awkwardly, Nina didn’t want Harry to think she was strange. He was by some extension her boss.

“So, you’ve borrowed her from the LSO? Ballsy move, Styles, you’ve got a good nose on you,” Robbie said conversationally.

“I’m afraid there’s been a comedy of errors of sorts,” Harry explained gingerly, “I only met Nina properly about half an hour ago, so it was entirely somebody else’s good nose.”

Robbie thought that was tremendous, “Fuckin’ rock’n’roll!”

“Dad,” A little body appeared next to Robbie and Nina had never had such an affinity with the expression ‘saved by the bell’. She stepped away as Robbie’s daughter met Harry, who turned on all the charms with his littlest fan in the room. Nina decided to take advantage of the catering and sorted herself out a roll with ham and cheese, taking her tea with her to a corner of the room where she could put her phone on to charge.

One of the tour managers told Nina earlier that if she wanted to invite any guests to the show, she was able to, and so she had messaged her parents and brother to see if they were interested in coming down. Her parents would come, they said, but Nina’s brother was staying for a party.

+++

Harry had the distinct displeasure of feeling like a muppet.

He watched Robbie and his daughter swing past Nina on their way out the door. Robbie kissed her cheek, and they had a brief chat. Harry wasn’t able to hear before Nina was left on her own, finishing the last of what looked to be a sandwich.

His assistant came over, briefing him on the next day and what needed to be achieved. Harry tried very hard to focus on everything that was being told to him, but he was acutely tuned in to Nina’s movement, tracking her walking around the room looking a little lost trying to find where she could wash the mug she used. A member of venue staff eventually found her and took it from Nina. Then, Harry watched her take her phone off the charging station and walk out the door.

He felt a weighty disappointment.

+++

Nina had somewhere to be.

She walked off stage after the third night and hurried straight back to her warm-up room. As she cleaned her trumpet and saxophone, she decided to leave her instruments there for the night. There was no orchestra rehearsal the next morning, and she was on her way out.

“Tonight it felt really good up there,” Harry said behind her.

“Oh my god,” Nina yelped, feeling the scare roll down her spine.

What he said wasn’t wrong though, the show had felt outstanding. Nina had finally clicked with the band during soundcheck and managed to get a few smiles out of the drummer and guitarist throughout the night. It felt nice to be part of the team.

“Shit,” Harry took a step deeper into the room, taking up half the space with the stage presence he hadn’t shed yet. “Sorry, I thought you heard me follow you.”

+++

Harry was making a mess of it.

“No, I didn’t hear you,” Nina smiled at him, and he couldn’t help the dopey grin he returned. She looked happy, and the baby hairs that had escaped her headband made her look youthful and carefree. Harry’s eyes narrowed in on the freckles across her nose, clearing his throat to focus on why he was there; why he had all but chased her off stage.

“Sorry, I …” Harry watched her return her instruments to their cases and then hunt around the room for her personal belongings, dropping each into a black shoulder bag, “You’re on your way out,” He deducted, trying not to sound glum.

“My parents came tonight,” She told him, eyes shining with an adrenalin Harry recognised but was sure he didn’t look half as beautiful wearing, “I’m meeting them for dessert back in Central London at this place we love … Robbie and his wife too. You’ve brought together old friends.”

Harry could imagine how it had gone behind the scenes; Robbie messaging his old friend to say he had seen Nina, Nina’s father saying they were coming the following night, a plan to catch up after was hatched.

“You’re frowning,” Nina told him, breaking the internal spiral Harry had been facing.

“No, no,” Harry shook himself back to the moment, “No, sorry.”

Nina was pulling on her coat, and as she untucked her hair and flipped it out over the collar, she tilted her head to one side, “What did you want me for?”

Harry couldn’t collect himself well enough to respond.

“You followed me,” Nina said, noticing something behind his ear, “And you’ve still got your in-ears in.”

He started shaking his head, “I mean … I was …” Harry threw his hand out into the air in some gesture he hoped Nina read correctly, or at all, “I was hoping to catch you and ask if you wanted to get dinner afterwards … After this. Now.”

Nina’s alluring brown eyes widened, “Oh.”

“You’re busy though,” He hurried, “Which is … Good.”

“Good?” “For you!” Harry pack-peddled, so stuck in the terrifying throws of attempting to ask her out that he couldn’t yet recognise how much of a loser he was being.

+++

Nina was misinterpreting what Harry meant.

She must have been. Harry Styles wasn’t asking her out. If she played his words over in her head, she could see where he probably meant the whole band was going to dinner. Why had Nina’s mind automatically leapt to a date then? Shaking her head, Nina scolded herself for the crush she hadn’t realised had formed. She was silly, really. Clearly, she hadn’t fully comprehended just who she had been on stage with the last three days. Had Nina really missed the fifteen thousand screaming young women they were playing to?

“Tomorrow’s when the whole group is going out after,” Harry spoke, “But … I mean I’m in London all next week if you’re free. Wait, you do live here, right?”

“I live with Rodger,” Nina explained dumbly, only clinging to the last thing Harry said.

“Oh, cool,” Harry nodded, “Well, most nights are good for me … Is there … Like, what’s good for you?”

“You’re asking just me?”

She watched as Harry’s face was taken over by a very brief alarmed look, “Yes? Was that not clear … Oh god. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you? I didn’t even ask.”

Getting to her parents was no longer on the front of her mind. Instead, Nina watched Harry squirm before her. He had tugged his in-ears out at some point, and they hung down his chest, deep breaths making the sheer material sparkle under the fluorescent light.

“I’m a little slow!” Nina reassured him, holding her hands out and stepping toward him, “Stop looking like that! I’m sorry. I’m …” She wiggled her fingers in the air in front of Harry’s chest, “I’m all caught up.”

Fucking hell.

She pulled her lips together and gave him a natural smile, “I don’t have a boyfriend, no … And I’d love to have dinner next week.”

“Incredible, amazing. Okay,” A deep frown line formed between Harry’s eyebrows then his expression lightened, “I … I just have one question,” Harry’s face cracked, and he giggled at her, copying the movement her fingers had just made, “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Nina hitched her weight to one hip and tried keeping a straight face, “It’s the universal sign for being single, isn’t it?”

+++

Harry knew he really shouldn’t have laughed at her quite so extravagantly.

+++

Nina would take being the butt of every joke if it meant Harry looked that happy.

+++

Harry could hear her playing from the green room.

He had finished a few press things and was making his way through the warren of corridors backstage, smiling to himself at the notes echoing through the venue. It was their final sound check and rehearsal at the O2 before tonight’s fourth show.

Harry jumped up the few steps on the side of the stage and tried to keep his boots quiet as he walked across to where his band were seated on empty amp stands and each other. They were all watching Nina standing on the edge of the stage, her trumpet up to her lips.

“We asked her to play us something while we waited for you,” His drummer said with a tone of awe. “She’s in the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry.”

“I did know that,” Harry smiled gently, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the back of Nina as she played a beautiful, haunting song. She looked utterly serene, despite the fact what she was playing would have caused most people to have a brain aneurysm for even attempting.

“I Googled her last night,” The bassist said, “Nina’s the real deal. How does Rodger know her?”

“They’re flatmates,” Harry offered quietly.

“She’s pretty funny as well,” Harry’s keys player added, surprising him because they were a hard nut to crack, “She told a journalist this afternoon who was snooping that Nina was sure she saw you eating raw pumpkin before going on stage each show.”

Harry smiled to himself.

“You’ve got a crush,” One of his assistants said as she sided up to him. Harry turned to look down at her and noticed there was a small crowd that had formed, all called by Nina’s exquisite playing. “You should ask her out, she’s single, I already sussed it out for you.”

“I’m already on it,” Harry mumbled.

She hit his arm and nodded happily, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

+++

Nina was surprised to be sad she wouldn’t play with them again.

She had entirely derailed soundcheck, which ended up being a jam session where they all played their favourite songs. Harry discovered Nina could play nearly any song he named, which was a game she hadn’t indulged in a long time.

The crew got involved as well, and Nina could honestly say she had never heard a band go from Your Body is A Wonderland to Californication in a matter of seconds. By the end of the hour, her cheeks hurt from laughing, and Nina felt she was floating up at the nosebleeds. All of his band were incredible musicians, and they radiated joy in everything they played. She adored it.

“We’ve never done anything like that before,” Harry walked back to the green room next to her as everyone scurried off for a final few hours of freedom before the show, “It was just what everyone needed going into the last night, some fun. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” She asked him, trying hard not to concentrate on Harry’s hands around her saxophone, his long fingers playing with the buttons they could reach. He was insistent on helping her carry her instruments back.

“The last four shows have felt … You’re just a breath of fresh air,” Harry decided on.

“I’m a breath of fresh air?” Nina repeated, baffled, “I haven’t played anything written in the last century in years.”

+++

Harry truly felt it was the best show he’d ever played.

The final night at the O2 came quickly, and Harry found himself standing on the side of the stage, waiting to go on before he realised much of the day had happened. He watched as his band got into position in the dark, the crowd thundering when the lights all went off, and an intro track played.

In his ears, Harry heard the count start and the opening riffs of their first song started lightly with just the guitar and drums. Keys came in, and Harry held his breath for the late addition from the soundcheck only two hours earlier.

He counted the beats and then shut his eyes, waiting for Nina to play the quick but impressive run she had blown him away with earlier in the day. It took a repeated phrase from the title track of his new album, added a smooth complexity that Harry could never have imagined and then somehow also settled back into the key of the song they opened the show with.

It was beautiful, and he ran onto the stage and started yelling out his greeting. But not before first turning back to face his band, shouting at them they were going to kill it and raising his arm to point at Nina in recognition of this being her final show with them. He couldn’t say he had missed who she had been replacing.

“London!” Harry cried out, “Let’s go!”

+++

Nina felt spectacular up on stage.

She was trying to breathe every moment in, taking stock of how it looked from every angle because she knew there wouldn’t be another gig like this one. Probably ever.

Rodger stood side of the stage where several Harry's family and friends were also watching, there for the last show in London, and Nina really did think she could tell the difference. Harry was absolutely incredible on stage. His vocals were phenomenal, and Nina found herself in a rare moment where she actually considered the lyrics to a song. She tuned set aside the arrangements and melodies, and instead, Nina wondered who the songs were written for and about.

“London,” Harry’s voice echoed through the arena, “We have loved playing for you this week … I would never have dared to dream I could fill the O2 four nights in a row so thank you, you guys are who have made this happen. Thank you!”

Nina was switching instruments, trading the saxophone for her trumpet for the song that was next. The screaming intensified around her, and she looked up to see what subtle thing Harry might have done to set off his crowd.

Harry was merely standing at his mic stand with one finger pointed up in the air, as if he was signalling to fifteen thousand people he was waiting for them to be quiet so he could say the next thing to them. Without even knowing the words, they loved him for it.

+++

Harry told the crowd that he had a fantastic band.

In the same way that he usually did, he ran through each of them. His fans knew who they all were, and Harry toured the stage to visit them all, introducing them as if nobody knew them. These were the people who made Harry look and sound good night after night, and he didn’t ever forget it.

“And lastly!” He said, holding his finger back up again.

The screaming got louder, and Harry zeroed his gaze in on the few rows he could see, desperation on the young faces watching him, sensing the show was coming to a close. He smiled a few of them, trying to make amends for not always being on stage in front of them.

“I want to thank one extraordinary young lady who really saved the day for us this week.”

Harry managed to turn around quickly enough to see Nina freeze in her spot, looking first at Harry and then back to the rest of the band with a look of horror on her face. She had been expecting the short line Harry had used to introduce her all week, he hadn’t drawn attention on any other night to the fact that she wasn’t usually with them or anything had happened to his usual band member. He laughed into the microphone when, as he approached her, Nina took a step back as if she could escape him.

“See,” Harry continued when he felt he could hear himself, “We had somebody break a finger, which meant they couldn’t play their instrument. So we had maybe … Twenty-four hours to find someone to play trumpet and saxophone for us?”

Nina was doing an excellent job to look like she wasn’t wholly aghast by him, “I hate you,” she mouthed at him, laughing when Harry’s drummer started a deep beat under the applause beginning to swell.

Harry took a deep breath in, casually threw his arm around Nina’s shoulders and spoke, “I’d like an extra big thank you from us all to our new friend, Nina Lawrence on horns!”

The crowd cheered, and Harry held her against his side for a moment, looking down at Nina and hoping she was lapping up the praise.

She really had made all the difference.

+++

READ PART 2 HERE

#fic: someday someday #fic: twenty good reasons #1dff #harry styles fic #REPOSTING BECAUSE I DELETED THIS FROM MY BLOG

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter 3)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Does fluff warrant a warning? Well, before we get into the gritty mission, here be some fluffy fluff. Oh, and language. Because I speak that shit.

Thursday came sooner than anticipated, and with it came that awful rush of dread that enveloped you each and every time you set foot in an airport. You’d think you’d be over this by now, your job shuttling you off to the far corners of the Earth, making it so that the only way you could ever get to where you needed to be – Bogota, Juarez, Islamabad, home – was by plane. But… no. The fear of plummeting to an inevitably fiery death inside a giant can filled with the recycled breath of dozens – even hundreds – of strangers was one you were simply never going to get over.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” Benny barks out amid a thunderous laugh as he watches you down another pill and chase it with a tiny bottle of vodka. “Is it even safe to take Xanax with alcohol?” he asks, his face screwing up in confusion, a hint of concern breaking through the amusement. “Are you so scared of flying that you’re willing to risk an OD?”

“Seems strange, given your profession,” Tom mutters as he sidesteps Ben to slide into the row of seats behind you.

You offer no reply, instead blinking your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the awful activity of preparing for takeoff. The doors haven’t even closed yet, people still steadily boarding the plane, your new teammates still stowing bags and chatting merrily around you, and yet you’ve already buckled in, pulled the lap belt as tight as it will go, and downed your second Xanax in an hour.

“She’ll be alright,” you hear from above. You crack open a single eye and look up to see Santiago looming over the back of your seat. “Fish,” he calls out, tossing a quick glance at the man still struggling with fitting everything into the overhead compartment. “You sit with her. Tell her about all the times you’ve flown. Keep her calm.”

“I’m calm,” you mumble under your breath.

He looks down at you and raises a brow, gaze holding yours even as he tells his friend, “And don’t let her pop any more pills.”

“No shit,” Ben chuckles as he steps out into the aisle, relinquishing his seat just as Frankie finally slams shut the door on the overhead bin. “We’ll have to scrape her off the floor otherwise.”

Frankie slides in next to you, the tiny armrest barely allowing for any space between you and the scorching heat radiating off of him. Normally you might be okay with that, it certainly felt good in the chilly parking lot the other night. But right now you’re feeling flush and hot and on the verge of possible combustion, the odd suck and click sound of the plane’s door shutting and sealing you in causing a bead of sweat to begin sliding down your temple.

“Truth be told, I’m not too wild about being on flights where I’m not the pilot,” he says, his soft voice pitched perfectly to sound just over the hum of the plane, the new buzzing in your ears, and the sudden woosh of air from the vent that he reaches over to switch on above you.

“Comforting,” you mutter, shutting your eyes against the harsh, dry air blowing down on you, but inclining your head back into the steady, cooling stream just the same.

“Just don’t tell her about how many times you’ve crashed, Fish,” Ben laughs from across the aisle. You bolt upright and crane your neck around the man beside you so as to stare the giggly child down, wide eyes gleaming with a very real threat that actually causes his smirk to break and a subtle, “sorry,” to slip past his lips.

Frankie takes your hand, pries it away from the armrest that you’d been holding in a death grip, and he gives you a little nudge with his elbow, encouraging you to lean back in your seat. “I’ve never crashed,” he corrects, shooting Benny a swift, reprimanding glare before turning back to you. “I’ve just… had a couple of rough landings. But each time everyone walked away fine.”

“Yeah?” you question, critical brow cranking high. “And how often do people walk away from rough landings on a commercial airplane?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Not often,” he admits. “But they also don’t go down often, so there’s that.”

Your eyes blow wide, slight gasp catching in your throat as you eke out, “Are you trying to jinx us?”

He twists in his seat to look at you, his fingers wrapping just a little bit tighter around your hand as you inadvertently shake in his grasp. “Trust me, princesa, this is the least dangerous thing we’re gonna do this week.”

The heady bolt of fear subsides a bit, quickly replaced by a tinge of confusion – princesa? – and a hint of irritation. Your face twists into an overdone pout – “Don’t call me that.” – but you can’t deny that his words do, somehow, put you at ease. Or perhaps the Xanax is just kicking in. Either way, you find yourself settling back into the seat, body and mind both suddenly sluggish and heavy. You twist towards him, away from the window and the blinding glare of the early morning sun as it reflects off the stark white wing of the plane, and you let out a small disgruntled grunt as the too-tight lap belt digs into your hip.

Frankie easily contorts himself in his seat so that he’s able to face you bodily, smiling – perhaps teasing – eyes never disconnecting from yours as he too settles in and reclines his head to the headrest. “Gotta have some kind of callsign over the radio,” he states, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a coy, crooked smile. “You don’t like princesa… how about loquita?”

“Fuck you,” you bark out amid a snort of a laugh, the offended pitch to your voice and wide-eyed stare setting him to very nearly vibrate with stifled giggles.

He takes a moment to swallow down his obvious amusement, holding your gaze all the while. Then he clears his throat and pulls his features into a stern set. “Don’t take it personally. I’d call anyone who hates to fly crazy.”

You issue out a short, incredulous scoff. “Maybe if I were the pilot, I’d like it. If I were in control.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod and a sigh. “That helps.”

But the truth is, you don’t actually think it would help that much. Because, well… “What person in their right mind thinks, you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to ignore the fact that God gave me legs instead of wings and I’d like to leave the ground. I mean… the ground is the safe place, man. What are you thinking?”

He smiles over at you, a soft, tender expression that sets off a flutter deep in your core. “What kind of person wants to stay on the ground with everybody else when they can climb into the heavens and move through the clouds?”

You bite back the grin that begs to break out and instead flatten your face in the most deadpan expression you can muster. “Are you fucking with me right now?” He merely shoots a wink in response, the light from outside your window reflecting in his deep brown eyes as they pierce into you. You roll your own eyes, but can just barely hold back the quirk to your lips as you say simply, “You’re the crazy one.”

He lets loose with a soft chuckle and shifts further in his seat so that he’s entirely facing you. “You never wanted to play in the clouds?” he asks, grin pulling wider. You feel a new heat – a welcome and comforting one, not the panicky, dizzying burn from before – blossom inside of you as you notice a single dimple cave in on the side of his stubble-dusted face.

A long sigh escapes you. “I mean, I did watch a lot of Care Bears growing up,” you offer, working to keep your expression still and set. But his smile simply grows and it’s just a breath of a moment before you break and let loose with a beam of your own. “God,” you nearly whine as an airy chuckle spills out of you. “Play in the clouds? You’re so cheesy.”

“Hey, I happen to really like cheese.” He raises a rather serious brow as he asks, tone low and sincere, “Can you imagine what the world would be like without cheese?”

You force a stoic glare, bite back a smile. “It’d be terrible. No nachos or pizza…”

He shakes his head slowly, sadly. “All the macaroni would be naked.”

You release a soft sigh. “One third of those popcorn tins would be empty.”

“Or filled with, I dunno, kale-dusted popcorn or something.”

You snort out a laugh, nose wrinkling in disgust. “What would we eat with tomato soup? Grilled eggplant?”

He shrugs. “What would Green Bay fans wear to the game?”

And again, you laugh, this one full and buoyant. “Poor Wisconsin, their entire economy would collapse.”

“What about the French?” he asks.

And it’s your turn to offer up a shrug. “They’ve still got wine.”

He stares at you for a lingering moment before his eyes flicker just past and out the window. “Maybe it sounds a little cheesy,” he begins, ticking his chin towards you, towards the tiny airplane window behind you. “But look out there and tell me there isn’t a part of you that wants to climb out there right now and bounce through those fluffy little bastards.”

Your brows pull tightly together, a quick flicker of pure shock shooting through you and causing you to whip around so fast that a crack sounds from your spine. Outside the window are, in fact, hordes of white puffy clouds peppering the bright blue sky. “What…?” you choke out, utter confusion lacing the word.

When had you taken off? When had you reached altitude? How had he managed to distract you so effectively as you climbed thousands of miles into the sky in this deathtrap tube?

You stare out the window for a long moment, giving yourself time to breathe, to comprehend. Allowing your fingers – which had just clamped painfully down on Frankie’s hand yet again – to slowly relax and loosen their terrified hold. No, there’s no part of you that wants to go out there and bounce around in the damn clouds. No. Way. In. Hell. But there is a part of you that begins to get lost in the soft, subtle beauty stretching out all around you. It’s still scary as hell. But it’s also… amazing.

Frankie watches as you continue to gaze out at the sprawling sky, bright blue on this beautiful day, a day he’d like nothing more in this world than to be out in, flying through the wide-open sky. Your hand remains wrapped around his, even if the intense grip has slackened. And your shoulders are still nearly pressed to you ears, so tense and taut. But there’s a sort of wonder wrapping about you now too, a look of, if not joy, at least appreciation.

“Los cielos,” he mutters from behind, seemingly to himself, his tone dreamy and airy and full of something like… wonder. You toss a glance over your shoulder and catch the way the sun lights his face as he stares just past you, his eyes fixated on the world beyond. You stare for perhaps a beat too long, not realizing until his gaze slowly shifts from the window to you, catching you in the act. The dimple caves again, wide smile pulling once more as he locks onto your eyes, light laughter bubbling out of him as your gaze pings away in a swift moment of embarrassment. He squeezes your hand, tightening his grip on your fingers for a single, quick, perfect millisecond before he utters, honeyed voice once again carrying more than a hint of teasing, “Cielo.”

Confused, you look back up at him, your brow twisting. But you let out a groan the moment he tenders another wink, the moment you realize that he’s just offered up another ridiculous callsign suggestion. You roll you eyes again, but make no move to pull out of his hold nor turn from his heated gaze. “So much cheese…”

He laughs again, his grin pulling tight as he watches you settle back into your seat with an exhausted sigh. You raise a brow in question, in challenge. And the smirk fades to a stony façade as he gives a single, definitive nod and declares, as though all has been settled, “Cielo.”

000

The flight knocks you for a loop. Less than an hour in, you’re passed out, snoring away on Frankie’s shoulder. You wake at one point to discover a pool of drool leaking from your gaping mouth and soaking through the shoulder of his button down, but you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, nor the grace to apologize. Instead, you lazily swipe at the mess and turn with an incoherent mumble before dropping your heavy head against the cool glass of the window. You’re pretty sure you hear the tinkling of laughter coming from across the aisle – pretty sure that’s the sound that woke you from your drug-induced slumber to begin with – and you can definitely discern the throaty whispers of shut the hell up and you’re an asshole, Ben coming from the man by your side. But you’re too laden with sleep to really process or care.

For the next however many hours, you dream. Dream of bouncing through clouds in a bright blue sky. Dream of slinking through the jungle with strange men by your side. Dream of falling and floating and somehow rising to fly. You sleep and dream – and snore and drool – until an all-too familiar laugh sounds from above, a barking command of, “Hey, get your ass up, agent,” echoing in Santi’s exasperated – yet amused – tone. You blink open your eyes, tilt back your head, and see both him and Tom glaring down at you as they stand – bent awkwardly from the low ceiling of the plane – in the row behind. “Everybody else is already lone gone, bonita. Get your ass off the plane.”

Your brow furrows and your middle finger rises steadily upward, but somehow the rest of your body feels too heavy to move and it takes a kindhearted gentleman in a tattered old ballcap to ease you to your feet and out into the aisle.

“The second one was a mistake,” you mutter wearily as you nearly faceplant into Frankie’s chest.

“Yeah,” comes from behind in an annoyed scoff as Santiago reaches over to collect your bag from beneath the seat. “I’m confiscating your Xanax.”

The ride to the run-down inn and resort – far from the city and cheap as all hell – passes in a blur. But by the time you arrive and check into your little bungalow, you’re feeling, if not refreshed, at least awake.

Everyone agrees to meet up at the tiny restaurant at the edge of the grounds in about twenty minutes, just long enough for a quick rinse and wardrobe change. And somehow you manage to be the first one there, allowing you the opportunity to have a quick chat with the bartender – which results in a free, giant fruity concoction – before settling into a table in the corner. You let out a relaxed sigh and breathe back in the humid jungle air, realizing only in this very moment that a part of you actually missed this place. That a part of you might just think of the Amazon as home. You glance around, take note of your surroundings – as you always do, always have done, even before your law enforcement training – and begin to watch the rather handsy young couple at the bar as they giggle and swoon.

It isn’t long before Benny jogs up behind you and drops into the seat on your right. He sets down a fruity drink that looks suspiciously like yours, making you wonder if the bartender treats all tourists to a free, sugar-fueled beverage and perhaps your flirting earned you nothing at all. But as the others meander in and join you, all with mere sweating bottles of beer in their hands, you decide instead that you and Ben must just be the most special of the bunch.

Of course, that notion begins to chafe once Benny turns to you with a wicked look in his eye and pulls his phone from his pocket, nonchalantly swiping though a parade of terrible photos with an all-too delighted smile. The first few show you passed out on Frankie on the plane, mouth gaping wide as you spill drool into his shirt. “Oh, God!” you gasp, only just now recalling the brief moment of near lucidity from earlier in the day. “You took pictures?!”

You give him a quick slap and try to grab the cell from his hand only to have him rear back and laugh out, “Wait, wait, these are my favorites,” before scrolling through the next dozen or so, each picture showing a steady progression of your drowsy head falling from Will’s shoulder down to his lap as the two of you sat in the back on the drive in from the airport.

“You talk in your sleep,” Will states plainly from across the table, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

You cock your head suspiciously at him, gaze narrowing. “Liar,” you accuse despite knowing full well that it’s true.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a crooked grin. “Something about… sliding down rainbows?”

“Ooooh,” you drawl out, nodding your head. “Yeah, that makes sense. Frankie kept talking to me about Care Bears on the flight in.”

The man to your left takes a steady gulp from his beer, a swallow so huge it makes you think he’d been navigating the desert all day, desperate for a drink. “You were barely conscious for more than five minutes on that flight. You don’t have a clue what I talked to you about.”

“Better not have been anything dirty,” Santiago interjects pointedly.

You turn and pin Frankie down with an intent yet amused stare. “I definitely remember something about playing in the clouds.”

“Naked?” Ben asks as he jostles your other side with his elbow.

“Ahora, eso seria realmente el cielo,” Frankie mutters softly, ducking further beneath the bill of his hat and trying desperately not to laugh as you level him with an astounded glare.

By the time the food comes, your table has managed to outdo the small group of college students in the corner in terms of noise, filling the only partially walled-in establishment with a relaxed sort of banter and the occasional booming laughter. Benny continues his jokes and playful ribbing, eagerly pulling you in to blend with his tightknit group. Will and Frankie both remain mostly quiet, despite their comfortable-looking grins and occasional bursts of laughter.

Tom’s demeanor is similar, perhaps a bit less relaxed, a bit more guarded. Even after claiming to be cool with your presence on this little escapade, he’s anything but warm and welcoming to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that he continues to pull Santi aside to whisper what you can only assume are either covert sweet nothings or – far more likely – mission-related thoughts and plans that he still doesn’t quite trust you with. You shrug it off… it’s fine, really. You’ve had to slip into other cliques and clusters before, wedge yourself into a special operations task force or try to integrate in with local police to gain access to intel. This wasn’t your first rodeo. And frankly, compared to the Federales in Juarez, all of these guys had welcomed you into the fold with wide-open arms.

It isn’t long – or it doesn’t feel like long, anyway – before Santi rises and tells everyone that he’s heading to bed. A shit-eating grin passes over his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, familiar looking pill bottle. He shakes the remaining Xanax around and states simply, “For once, I’m actually gonna sleep great.”

Tom follows hot on his heels after issuing out – in a tone equal parts dad and captain – “We’re up at 0500 and I don’t want any of you to be dragging ass.” Everyone nods their assent, but the moment he and Santi are out the door, Ben promptly buys another round and the four of you who remain settle into a new rhythm that lasts until the tiny restaurant and bar finally shoos you out so they can close for the night.

The lot of you wander the grounds of the inn for a bit after that, indulging in the cool breeze after hours of sweltering heat, and continuing to laugh and talk. But as you make it back to the bungalows, the brothers break away, Ben disappearing into his room without so much as a grunt of goodbye, and Will raising a pointed finger high and telling you and Frankie both to, “Get the hell away from these mosquitos and go get some sleep. Otherwise, Redfly’ll be raining down shit on everyone in the morning.”

But you’re now more awake than you’ve been all day, sated from a too-large dinner and positively sloshing with alcohol, well-rested after your many-hours-long nap during your travels, and you just can’t seem to make yourself shut up, not even once you arrive at your door.

And Frankie seems to welcome it, listening intently as you babble on, filling the gaps with assertions of his own. Now that Ben’s no longer around to monopolize the conversation, you and Frankie develop an easy back and forth, the dialog taking on a soft, steady, even cadence. You talk about everything, the two of you. About Mexico, because you spent nearly four years in different parts of the country, and he still has family in a few of those areas. And you talk about all the places you’ve been, you with your sprawling career and general lust for travel – Road trips are more my thing though… and camping, hiking… Have you ever been through Bryce Cannon? God’s country. – and Frankie with his time in the military and more recent contract work – Yeah, nature’s great and all, but have you walked through the bazars in Marrakesh? Unbelievable. Though I wouldn’t say no to a day of fishing off the Gulf.

You talk about Santiago, each sharing stories of the man who had only just become a trusted colleague and friend for you over these last few years, but had been one of Frankie’s most beloved people for well over a decade. And that leads you into asking about the other guys too, each of whom you find yourself getting to know better and better from even just the few stories he shares as you two recline back into the railing of the bungalow’s small porch. He even manages to get you comfortable enough to share some stories about your own comrades over the years, the good, the bad, and the ugly… and the long-time partner who bled out in your arms following a bust outside of Albuquerque. Though you don’t spend much time on that, eager to move on almost the moment that your partner’s name passes through your lips.

The look on his face, though – as you share those sparse details from that most awful day – tells you immediately that Frankie understands exactly what it’s like to lose a partner, a brother in arms. And while that isn’t a surprise in the least – he had just gotten through telling you that he spent fifteen years in the special forces after all – that knowledge does cause you to feel a whole new pull. It makes you scoot a bit closer, makes you drop your hand easily atop his, your sweaty palm gliding along his warm skin before he reciprocates by slowly turning in your grasp and twining his fingers with yours.

“So,” he breathes out after a moment. “You’ve been out here for… three years?”

You nod, a soft smile blooming as you think about this bizarre and stunning corner of the world. “About that.”

His gaze travels out into the lush jungle located just beyond the row of bungalows, small porchlights illuminating just enough of the canopy to remind you both of where you are. “What’s the city like?” he asks after a beat.

“It’s nice,” you rush out. “Small, relaxed…” Your lips purse together as you think on what to say, how to describe this place that has been your home for three years now. “Lot more tourists than you might think. It’s funny, even the people who live here – in the city at least – a lot of them are transplants from Bogota.” You give a nonchalant shrug – “The streets flood a lot. That’s not always fun.” – and relish the deep chuckle emanating from the man by your side. “There’s a legend about how it got its name,” you say suddenly. “I’ve never really gotten any details about it, but supposedly a Colombian soldier fell in love with an Amerindian woman…”

“Leticia,” he supplies, the name slipping from his tongue in a perfectly accented drawl, falling out into the dark night in a soft, low rumble.

You nod. “And he named the city after her.”

Frankie huffs out a small laugh, a light and airy rumble. His gaze continues to wander, dark eyes shifting along the barely perceivable horizon. “Must’ve been a hell of a lady,” he mutters absently, giving your fingers a squeeze.

You watch him closely, his features soft and relaxed in the low light, the slightest hint of a smile still riding his lips. “Yeah. Must’ve been.”

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #will ironhead miller

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

joint chiefs.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: aunt tali is back for the third night in a row (whoops). this can be a stand-alone, but the original intention was to follow up in the dark, a few years later. it’s totally not necessary to read that one beforehand, but it might be fun! as always, tell me if i’ve screwed up somewhere and i’ll fix it right away :) words: 3853 warnings: swearing, some good kissing, snark, a couple of references that you get bonus points for recognizing some vocab, just in case: CARD: child abduction rapid deployment team, SAIC: special agent in charge, taking six/on your six: covering your partner’s back

ao3 | masterlist | requests closed

+++

You rolled over when your phone rang, answering it right away. “Hotchner.” You checked your watch on its charger. Just after 6am.

Can’t kidnappers wait until the sun’s up?

“We need you in the field today. CARD presence has been requested in Chicago for an all-hands, time-sensitive joint case. Details are incoming, but may be slow to reach you - I have very few myself. When can you be in the office?” The voice of your section chief came at you rapid-fire, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“Yes ma’am. I can be there as soon as my sister-in-law gets here for Jack. I’ll call her now and give you an ETA when I have one. I can’t imagine it will be more than an hour.”

“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to ask with Aaron out on a case as well.”

“It’s alright, ma’am. I’ll be in touch.” You hung up and dressed quickly, calling Jess.

“Got a case?” She sounded terribly chipper for this hour.

“Yeah, I do. I’m so sorry to wake you,” you added lamely.

She chuckled. “You didn’t, and I should thank you. You just saved me from my 7am yoga class.”

“Well, put it on my tab. How quick can you get here?”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

You thanked her again and padded down the hallway to Jack’s room. Kneeling beside him, you brushed some hair off his forehead. It was enough to wake him. He blinked sleepily up at you and reached for you. You wrapped him in your arms, stroking the back of his head.

“Hey bud. I’ve got a case I gotta go on, but Aunt Jess will be with you until Dad or I get home, okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes again.

You kissed his forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he mumbled.

You shot a text to your section chief. Be there in 35 mins.

You made yourself a quick breakfast and a pot of coffee. You pulled a travel mug for yourself and a mug from the cabinet for Jess (It said Someone from San Antonio Loves Me!, but that was neither here nor there).

Your go bag was already in the car – BAU habits die hard.

Jess arrived in record time, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and taking her cup of coffee out of your hand. You’d grown close in the last few years, and considered her as much of a sister as Aaron did at this point.

You slipped out the door as quietly as possible, jumping into the car and driving straight to the Quantico airstrip.

The plane was waiting for you, and you greeted the CARD B-Team as you sat down.

+++

The flight to Chicago wasn’t too long, but you managed to get some sleep on the way.

When you were on your final descent, you checked your email, finding no further information from your section chief, other than a case file for a series of missing children and address for the precinct. You didn’t have any information about the other factions of the joint case. Hopefully it wasn’t those jokers at the State Department. They meant well, but they never played nicely with the bureau.

You almost laughed out loud when you arrived at the local precinct, finding the backsides of both Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan in front of an evidence board.

“Hey, Chief?” One of your SSA’s – Agent Esme Salinger, stepped up beside you. “Aren’t those guys from your old unit?”

“They sure are.”

She snorted. “This’ll be fun.”

The back door opened, and Aaron, Emily, and Dave barreled in, heading straight for the conference room.

“You may be right about that,” you said distractedly.

Aaron was barking about something in his Unit Chief Voice™, but you couldn’t make out the details as he kept moving. They pinned new evidence on the board right away, not taking any time to clock your presence.

That didn’t last long. Your newest agent, Knowles, jogged up to you with his go bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Hotch,” he said, way too loudly, “where should we park the cars?”

You whirled to face him, directing him to park by the other federal vehicles around the side of the building. You stifled your smile as you felt eyes turn to your back.

When you turned, you found the entire BAU grinning at you. You crossed to the conference room, wordlessly asking your team to hold where they were as you left them behind.

“SSA Hotchner. Good to see you again.” you said, approaching Aaron, your hand extended and tone extremely formal.

He bit back a smile and he shook your hand with an unreasonable firmness. He matched you note for note. “SSA Hotchner. Glad to have you with us.”

You winked at him.

With a wave of your hand, your team trailed across the room and fell into a line at your back like a pack of well-trained ducklings. With a certain degree of pride, you introduced them to the BAU one by one.

“...And this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief.” You looked at your husband with a small, fond smile before sobering and redirecting your attention to your team. “For the sake of clarity, we’ll switch back to my SAIC callsign – Ace – while we’re working with the BAU. Understood?”

They nodded, and got to work, pairing off with your former teammates to determine their plan of action.

Aaron stood beside you at the board. Staring straight ahead, his arms crossed, he asked, “Ace?”

“Yeah – I used all your poker tricks and cleaned them out my first week back at CARD as SAIC.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Excellent.”

+++

Aaron let himself into your hotel room just as you finished hanging the rest of your clothes in the minuscule closet. He came up behind you, dropping his hands to the waistband of your pajama pants and kissing your neck with a kind of desperate gentleness.

You smiled and tilted your head, bringing a hand up and carding your fingers through the hair at his temples. “Miss me?”

“You have no idea,” he said against your skin.

You turned in his arms and kissed him, pouring all your love and pride into it. He opened his mouth to you, and the way his tongue ran against yours stole your breath. He emitted a low groan when you scraped your teeth along his lower lip and he backed you up toward the bed.

“Planning on gettin’ some tonight, Agent Hotchner?”

He huffed a laugh, his mouth falling to the underside of your jaw and around to the sensitive skin over your carotid artery. You fell back on the bed, and he followed.

There was a knock at the door. You both froze, his body hovering over yours.

“Fuck,” you whispered, nearly throwing him off you.

He pressed his back to the wall by the bed, out of sight from the door. There was a shit-eating grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and straightened your shirt, hoping things weren’t too out of place.

Agent Salinger was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Ace. Do you have a minute?”

You leaned against the doorframe, trying to imitate something that looked casual. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Did you happen to bring any Advil with you? I’ve got a splitting headache and I’m out.”

“Sure, give me just a second.”

You left the door cracked and dug your med kit out of your go bag. Aaron tugged on the back of your shirt as you passed, and you swatted at him out of habit. Retrieving a small handful of tablets, you poured them into a little ziploc, sealed it, and returned to the door.

“Here, Salinger. This should hold you over if it continues through the end of the case. If you’re still hurting after we land back at Quantico, go ahead and visit the infirmary to see if they can do anything for you. That concussion’s still healing.” You smiled at her. “We need you sharp, alright?”

She took them gratefully, and gave you a mock salute. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” you joked. “Anything else you needed?”

She shook her head. “Have a good night, Ace.” She paused, hiding a smile and raising her voice a little, rising up on her toes. “You too, Hotch!”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “Goodnight, Salinger. Sleep well.”

“Feel better!” Aaron’s voice came from around the corner, and you rolled your eyes.

“Sleep well, you two.” Then, with a suggestive, curling smile, “Need a wake-up call in the morning?”

You shut the door in her face with a laugh and another farewell. As it closed, you leaned against it heavily. “Oh, I am never going to hear the end of that.”

Aaron turned the corner, loosening his tie. “Now, we’re even.”

You looped your arms around his neck as you remembered that day, years ago.

“You know, for a pair of profilers you guys really suck at sneaking around.” JJ’s voice echoed in your head.

“I guess so,” you laughed. “This marriage is about give and take, after all.”

He kissed you languidly and you could feel the tension as he did his best to hide his smile.

+++

“Hey, Hotch, how come you don’t have a cool nickname?” Derek said, grinning behind his sunglasses as they all piled into the car.

“I’d have one if you gave me one,” he quipped. You drove the car in front of him, the window rolled down and your elbow visible where it rested in the frail Chicago sunshine.

He was excited to see you back in action. With your position as deputy unit chief, your role in the field was limited to emergency situations only. And with the CARD A-Team up in Pennsylvania for the week, you were stuck wrangling the younger agents on your own.

That said, it was exciting for you to take point, and even more so to work alongside Aaron again.

The difference this time? You were peers. You had the same title, the same posture, the same authority.

And perhaps most importantly, very little scrutiny regarding possibly-shared hotel rooms.

+++

He knocked on your door in the little pattern he picked up from you, and you opened it with a faux-serious expression.

“Agent Hotchner, we can't keep meeting like this.”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

He has a motive.

You opened the door further and draped yourself against him where he stood in the hallway, continuing dramatically, “What will the people think?”

With surprising, but still gentle, force, he pushed you back into the room and pressed you against the wall. There was a click behind him as the door swung shut.

You gasped, and your hands were suddenly over your head, locked between his fingers.

“I think,” he said, wet, breathy kisses trailing down your neck and behind your ear, “the people will be appalled,” his lips closed around your skin as he painted marks over your collarbones, “by the unprofessional,” he released your hands, dropped to his knees and raised your shirt, “shocking,” he laved kisses across your stomach, “and unbecoming conduct of two senior agents.” His final words were delivered against your left hip.

You wound your hands in his hair and inhaled shakily. He pressed kisses and swept sweet bruises into your skin until you couldn’t feel anything but him.

When his mouth ghosted over you through your pajama pants, you knew exactly where the night was going.

Your knees gave out, and you dropped into his lap, straddling him. You traced a hand down the side of his face, over his jaw. He leaned into it, and you roughened, taking his chin between your fingers With a firm, controlled jerk, you brought his lips to yours. His hips twitched, and you bit his lower lip in retaliation.

He let out a low moan in his chest and his hands rucked up your shirt. They splayed across your back and shoulders, calloused and familiar.

Allegedly, you made it to the bed at some point. If your exhaustion the next morning wasn’t enough evidence, the duvet on the floor and the pillows on the wrong side of the bed would happily testify to the lack of sleeping you did once you got there.

+++

The next day at the evidence board found you and Aaron with identical, massive cups of coffee.

Agents Salinger and Knowles sat at the table the next room over, reviewing interviews with JJ.

“Do you think they ever, you know,” Knowles made a vaguely obscene gesture with his hand, and Salinger covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

JJ didn’t look up from her notes, but replied, deadpan, “You have no idea.”

The younger agents snickered and watched you two work.

It was easy. Even considering the stressful, time-sensitive nature of the unsub’s escalation over the previous four hours, you both moved around each other with a grace that only came with time.

+++

A critical error.

That’s the only thing you thought when you busted into the unsub’s house, minutes after your agents. The unsub was nowhere in sight, and Salinger was on the floor with her partner, putting pressure on a mild wound on his forehead and temple.

Your jaw tightened and you shot them a look.

I’ll deal with you later.

Later came faster than even you could have imagined. You rounded the corner of the precinct to find Aaron laying into your agents for their screw-up back at the house.

You stepped up to them with purpose and put a firm hand on Aaron’s arm.

“Hotch, can I speak with you for a moment?” you looked at your agents and then back at him. “Privately.”

It took everything in you to resist slamming the interrogation room door behind you.

“What on this God-given green Earth made you think it was appropriate to discipline my agents?”

He took a deep breath before replying and dropped into what you, usually fondly, referred to as Lawyer Mode. It was far less endearing in that moment, and only served to further piss you off. “Their mistakes cost us an arrest today. With this level of escalation, we could have two more missing kids by sundown. They needed to be made aware of their critical failure.”

You pressed your hands to the cool table, realizing you two were facing off over the surface like two cowboys in an old Western.

This town ain’t big enough for the both of us…

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“No, I think it’s time sensitive and needed to be addressed immediately.” He crossed his arms.

Damn it.

You changed tactics, opening your shoulders as you braced yourself on the table. “I’m acutely aware of the time-sensitive nature of this case, which is why I was waiting to reprimand them until they had the time to actually process it. They’re young. They get caught up in it, and Salinger is particularly prone to amplifying rejection, so she’ll be unwilling to take risks until we fly home for fear of inspiring your ire and my disappointment. They fucked up, I know. But I know my team, I know how they need to be handled so we can continue working on this case. You don’t.”

The frustration had drained out of him during your tirade and was replaced with contrition. You were right, and he knew it. You softened your tone, but only a little.

“Aaron, I need you to trust me to handle my team effectively. I don’t need you to step in on my behalf.” Your frustration crawled up into your throat, and you begged your tears not to betray you. Swallowing, you collected yourself and stared him right in the eye. “You undermined my authority today. Please don’t do it again.”

His mouth pressed into a thin, remorseful line. He looked down at the table and took a deep breath. Meeting your eyes again, he said, “I respect and value your leadership and your position. You are, and always will be, the best person to lead your team. I got caught up in my frustration and failed to consider the optics and the specific needs of your agents. I’m sorry.” He rounded the table, crossing to you. “It won’t happen again.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, Aaron crossed the chasm between colleagues and spouses and reached for your hands, running his thumb over your wedding ring. It was a silent reminder, for both of you.

Fight nice.

“Thank you.” Sighing, you brought one of your hands to the lapel of his suit jacket, fiddling with it just for something to do as you spoke. “You need to apologize to my agents for overstepping and emphasize that you defer to me on all aspects regarding CARD involvement in the case.”

“I can do that.” His lips quirked up into the smile you loved, the smile that only you saw. “Forgive me?”

You heaved a sigh. “I guess so.” He met your eyes and you broke, a little smile threatening at the corners of your mouth. “Let’s get out there and save some kids today, yeah?”

He released your hand and crossed the room, opening the door for you - a wordless agreement, as well as a reiteration of support you so deeply cherished.

+++

It only took you another hour to locate the unsub - even though he used forensic countermeasures, he wasn’t all that bright. One swipe of his credit card, and Garcia had him in her clutches.

You raced to his location. Aaron drove the lead car with Derek behind him, and you brought up the rear with the rest of the team. It was more than a little thrilling to drive impossibly fast, sirens wailing, headed to end this man’s reign of terror on Chicago families.

Throwing the car into park strategically perpendicular to Derek’s SUV, you jumped out of the car and drew your weapon. You took Aaron’s six through the front of the house, a calm settling over you as the pair of you fell right into line.

Aaron found the unsub in the back bedroom, with a knife held to the most recently kidnapped child. You squared up just off Aaron’s left shoulder for a clear line of sight, avoiding his right side. If you had to fire a shot, the last thing you wanted to do was aggravate his bad ear.

Out of the corner of your eye, Derek lined up a clean shot through the window. He knew to wait for Hotch, who had started to talk the unsub down, before taking any action.

Your heart swelled with both pride and affection as Aaron successfully and handily de-escalated the situation and made the arrest himself. He passed the unsub off to the local officers, and you both continued searching the house for the missing children.

JJ found them first, unharmed and terrified, in a hidden shed out back. She deferred to you, and you called your team over to perform a quick trauma eval on each of the children.

Knowles and Salinger, still twitchy from their earlier run-in with Aaron, settled down once they were able to perform their designated duties with their colleagues.

When they were finished, Aaron pulled them aside and spoke quietly with them for a moment. Salinger’s mouth twisted into a little smile, and Knowles took a deep breath. Every once in a while, one of them looked over at you as Aaron spoke.

After a final set of smiles and nods, they exchanged handshakes. Aaron looked significantly lighter as he approached you as you leaned on the SUV. With your sunglasses on, you looked decidedly and federally important.

Aaron settled in beside you, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You bumped his shoulder, and kept your voice low. “It was nice to work together, again.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, but it was one only you (and maybe Dave) would notice. You could carry on entire conversations without physically acknowledging each other just as well as you could communicate without words at all. Aaron stayed focused on something in the middle distance as he replied. “It was.”

“It’s nice to know you’re still good at your job without me.” You bit back a smile as your eyes tracked your team, wrapping everything up.

You could almost hear his eye roll. “Glad to hear my performance is consistent and up to your standards.”

“Your performance is always consistent and up to my standards.”

The double meaning was not lost on him, according to the dimple that pressed into his left cheek.

After a moment of silence, the humor dropped from your tone. “Sorry I got mad at you.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, his face unchanged. “I deserved it.”

“You did,” you agreed, “but I forgot how much I dislike getting upset with you in the field.”

“As opposed to getting upset with me at home?”

“Exactly.”

+++

Knowles and Salinger placed a bet on something while you were all in the car, but you weren’t sure what it was. You shook your head at their antics, feeling very much like a parent all of a sudden.

When you all landed in the hotel lobby, BAU and CARD combined, Hotch checked his watch and said, “We’re all taking the jet back together. Adjust accordingly. Wheels up in thirty.”

With a smug grin, Salinger collected her cash from Knowles.

You exchanged a glance with Hotch, one full of long-suffering understanding, and shook your head.

+++

To save on space, it only seemed reasonable to cozy up to Hotch on the flight home. The three extra bodies meant that almost every seat was full, and sleeping in a ball was the only option.

Your head rested in Hotch’s lap, pillowed on his suit jacket, while the rest of you curled up on the seat beside him. A case file rested lightly on the side of your head as Aaron reviewed it, flipping pages every once and awhile.

Your phone rang, and Hotch pulled it out of your pocket before you could reach around for it.

“Hotchner….Hey buddy...Yeah we’ll be home really soon. We’re on the plane right now…” He checked his watch. “It’ll be past your bedtime when we get home, so we’ll come in and say goodnight to you really quick, okay?...Alright. See you soon. I love you.”

He hung up and tossed the phone on the seat, reclining and stretching his long legs out in front of him. You tapped his knee. “How’s the kid?”

He chuckled. “Good. Apparently there’s mac ‘n cheese for dinner. It’s very exciting.”

You hummed contentedly, bringing your arm up to rest on his knee as you endeavored to get a little more comfortable.

Aaron’s hand landed on your shoulder, and he squeezed once. “Missed you.”

You covered his hand with yours. “Missed you, too.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @wannabewinchester67 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @mrshotchnerrossimulder20 @darkeclipsebatlight @honeyshores @laneygthememequeen @emmice9 @word-scribbless @abschaffer2

(if y’all have been up in my masterlist recently, i added you to the tags. i also love you. pls let me know if you want to hop off the tag list anytime - i promise you wont hurt my feelings!) also some tags aren’t working - make sure you’re able to be tagged in posts in your settings!

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanficiton

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

Text

Strangers (Part 4)

Summary: Sam has returned into Dean’s life for some reason and the reader is there to try and help Dean through having Sam around again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x patient!reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, mention of surgery/injury

A/N: I hope you enjoy!

____

“Hi,” said Sam, giving you a quick wave. He stared at Dean who was already on his feet. “I need a place to crash for the night. If that’s okay.”

“What happened to the apartment, you were sharing with that girl, Jessica.”

“She died a few years ago,” he said.

“You kill her?” asked Dean. You got up, still holding your box of swiss rolls and Sam frowned. “You’ve been out of touch for three years. It’s not an unreasonable question.”

“I didn’t kill her,” said Sam. “I saw...it was a serial arsonist. I saw who did it and he ran with a bad group. I’ve been in witness-”

“Witness protection? Are you serious? I’m the fucking easter bunny while we’re at it,” said Dean.

“De, I think he’s telling the truth,” you said, nodding towards him. “He’s obviously upset.”

“You’ve been in witness protection? This whole time?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “Things have been happening lately. A lot of things. These guys are no longer a problem so I can come home. Except for the fact I don’t have a home anymore and had to drop out of college.”

“I filed a missing persons report on you.”

“I know.”

“I hung up flyers, search parties, fundraisers.”

“I know.”

“I drove to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night because I thought I got a tip about you.”

“That was me. I had to relocate after that.”

“I looked for you for so long. Even when mom and dad gave up, I didn’t. There was no foul play but the cops told us it was unlikely we’d ever find you. You probably walked out and didn’t want to be found. I was so angry at you. They told us you were dead cause someone hurt you or you walked away. Those are two very different things,” said Dean. You dropped the box on the couch and grabbed his hand, Dean pinching his nose with his other.

“I can leave if you want,” said Sam.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Dean. You rubbed his back and he walked over, giving his brother a hug.

“Finally got a girlfriend?” teased Sam as he returned it.

“You two are gonna get along great. You can swap stories,” laughed Dean. “Oh, I need a drink. Also how’d you get in my house?”

“My handler had a key made. They took it from your locker at the hospital,” he said.

“Lovely.”

“I know it sounds…” said Sam as he glanced at you.

“Crazy is kind of our thing,” you said. “I’m Y/N.”

“You look familiar,” he said.

“My ex boyfriend tried to kill me. With bleach. In my drink.”

“Oh yeah. He was fucking nuts,” said Sam.

“Yup. That’s been our fun for the evening,” you said. “He got out. He’s dead now. It’s fine. Better than fine cause I’m gonna eat a whole box of swiss rolls and not feel bad about that.”

“Yeah, I will get along with you just fine,” said Sam, giving Dean a look. “Not sure about you though. I wanted to-”

“S’okay,” he said. “I’m just...happy you don’t hate me after all.”

“I wanted to call you so many times. It was too dangerous though. I couldn’t put you in that position,” said Sam.

“I’m getting kind of used to that,” said Dean. Sam smiled and you walked over to them both.

“I crashed date night, didn’t I,” he said.

“Just a bit,” said Dean.

“Well I am really happy to meet Dean’s little brother,” you said, giving him a hug. “You don’t mind if Sam hangs out with us, right?”

“No, never. As long as you’re cool with it,” said Dean.

“Of course,” you said.

“I appreciate it but honestly I’m wrecked. I could use with a shower and a bed,” said Sam.

“The guest room is right down the hall,” said Dean, pointing the way. “You hungry?”

“Nah. I’ll keep out of your guys hair,” said Sam. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Dean. Sam started to head for the hallway when Dean grabbed his arm. “I’m really happy you’re home, Sammy.”

“Me too.”

He smiled before he left, Dean taking a deep breath as he locked up the front door again.

“So you got a brother,” you said.

“Yeah. I probably should have brought him up at some point,” said Dean. You shrugged and rested your hands on his hips, Dean smiling softly. “I thought he was dead.”

“I’m glad he’s not,” you said. “I’m gonna have to back out on the being roommates thing though.”

“What?” he asked.

“Sam needs it way more than I do. I can stick around my parents until my apartment is ready. Seriously, it’s okay. He’s gonna need a lot of help. Trust me. He’s gonna want you,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. My parents aren’t that bad. Someday we can be roommates though?” you said.

“Okay. I’ll take a raincheck for now,” he smiled.

“Tonight’s not so bad,” you said. He nodded and you pulled him close to your body, Dean’s arms wrapping lazily around you. “You doing okay?”

“I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, the most terrified I’ve ever been in my life and the most relieved I’ve ever been in my life tonight. I honestly don’t know where to begin,” said Dean.

“I got a box of chocolate with your name on it that might be a good place to start.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” he said. “You okay too?”

“My night’s ending on a good note. I’m good Dean. Let’s get back to our date. I was in the middle of cuddling you if I remember.”

One Week Later

“Howdy handsome,” you said, the elevator doors at the hospital opening to Dean standing there in his navy scrubs.

“Gorgeous,” he said, giving you a quick kiss as he stepped on. “You already have your follow up with Mace?”

“Yeah. I am progressing well I guess. We’re switching my immunosuppressant to try something that doesn’t make me as tired and won’t make me as susceptible to illness,” you said.

“That’s good. I know you’re on the strong stuff right now. Mace is pretty good about finding the right med combo by the second or third try,” he said. “Transplant meds are tricky.”

“I’ve learned. How’s your day going?” you asked. “Saving lives?”

“Easy going day. Took out some tonsils on a teenager, did an appendectomy on a toddler, did a bone reset on a kid that broke her leg. Nothing they won’t all recover from 100% percent.”

“That sounds good,” you said. “When do you get off?”

He snickered and you whacked his arm.

“Such a boy,” you said.

“I have one more surgery for the day but I’m heading home after that. Our parents are coming into town. They’ve been in Florida cause their vacation plans got screwed up with the pandemic last year so they rescheduled and of course it’s this week and there’s tropical storms so they can’t get a flight out and they finally are getting home today. It’s been a nightmare. I’m supposed to cook dinner so that’ll go wonderfully.”

“You’re a good cook!” you said as the doors opened and you walked with him down the hall. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. They excited to see Sam?”

“Yeah. They feel bad about...they thought he was dead. Like it hasn’t been long enough to legally declare him that way but they were going to. I’ve always had a somewhat tense relationship with my dad. We fought a lot about Sam after he disappeared.”

“I think no matter what happened before, dinner’s gonna go good for you guys tonight,” you said.

“You’re coming right?” he asked.

“You want me to?”

“Yeah. I...you make me feel...safe,” he said as he stopped walking. You smiled and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together. “You don’t have-”

“I’d love to. I really like Sam and I want to be there for you. I like that I make you feel safe, makes me feel good,” you said. He rubbed the back of his neck but you caught the smile on his face. You gave him another kiss, a whistle coming from further down the hall.

“Get a room, Winchester,” said a guy as he walked by with a laugh.

“Better be a soundproof room,” you said, the guy stopping in his tracks.

“Okay, I approve of this one,” the guy chuckled. Dean rolled his eyes but he was biting down a laugh.

“Y/N, this is RN. Lafetite or Benny as well call him. He’s Donna’s boyfriend,” said Dean.

“Oh yeah, she was great,” you said. “She removed my appendix.”

“That woman knows her way around a blade,” said Benny. “You had the digestive transplant done a while ago, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, Dean making a face beside you.

“Badass,” said Benny. “I worked with Mace some on you.”

“You’re a surgeon too?” you asked.

“No, no. I’m a surgical nurse,” he said.

“They’re pretty important,” said Dean. “The really good ones could perform minor surgeries themselves like Ben. I keep trying to convince Benny here to go to med school and join the rest of us.”

“Oh you know you’d miss me too much, Deano. You me and Novak are the dream team of pediatrics,” he said.

“Sure we are,” said Dean with a laugh. “Y/N and I were having a little get together on Sunday, watch a little football, food. Round up the usual suspects?”

“I can get the crew together. I’ll bring my beer dip and some of those pretzels. Very easy on the digestive system,” said Benny to you.

“That’s considerate,” you said. “It’s okay. I’m alright with most stuff. I just got to watch the grease a bit.”

“These are really not greasy at all. I’ll give you the recipe sometime,” said Benny as his phone went off. “I think we’re late for pre-op.”

“When are we not?” said Dean. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“See you later, Dean.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Dean that night as he rushed in the house. You and Sam were working the kitchen, Dean checking the clock. “They’re gonna be here in five minutes.”

“Go wash up. Sam and I can cook a few pieces of chicken and make mashed potatoes,” you said. You were nearly finished anyways, the chicken baking away in the oven. Dean made a thud down the hall but shouted back that he was fine before you heard the bathroom door shut. “He always been a worrier?”

“Pretty much,” said Sam as he got out the plates. “He seems different. Good different. More easy going.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known from him so I don’t have much to go off of,” you said.

“You might have something to do with it,” he said. He smiled and finished up with setting the table. “You’ve never met our parents Dean said.”

“No. We’ve only been together a few months,” you said.

“This’ll be an interesting evening then,” said Sam as the doorbell rang. He suddenly looked nervous and you rubbed a hand up and down his back.

“It’ll be okay,” you said. “Trust me.”

“I see why he likes you,” said Sam. “Here goes nothing.”

______

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #au #doctor!dean #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

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scullydubois · 4 years

Text

one-shot: does a scully pee in the woods?

read on ao3 | msr flirting and fluff | 1.6k | rated t | s6, pre-Field Trip

tagging @today-in-fic

While driving to North Carolina, Scully has to resort to some dubious tactics to convince Mulder to stop so she can use the bathroom. Unfortunately, she doesn't specify where he should stop...

---------

He promised they would stop once they made it out of Virginia. What Scully didn’t realize is that Virginia is five hours worth of highway, and despite his assurance that he is “driving as fast as he can” and his natural tendency to cruise as much over the speed limit as they can go without getting pulled over, they have still not made it out of the state.

“The next exit, Mulder, please,” she begs, squirming in her seat. She is not used to driving this long. Usually they hop on a flight--with a bathroom, thank you very much--and then head just a few miles out to their destination. But of course, the FBI is cutting their budget, and according to Skinner, the only way they could take this case is if they agreed to make the six and a half hour trip to North Carolina by car. Which hadn’t sounded that bad to either of them. I mean, the open road, the radio, and each other for six hours? What could be wrong with that? Then again, they hadn’t stopped to consider how early they would have to leave DC to make their lunchtime meeting, nor the exponential decline in their ability to tolerate one another with each increasing hour.

Mulder drums the steering wheel in time with the beat of the classic rock song playing. “I’m telling you, we’re almost to the state line. If you’ve made it this far, you can make it another twenty minutes.”

“Are you willing to test that theory?” Scully prods, an eyebrow elevating itself. “Because I know you are a man of many theories, but I really don’t think this is one you want to mess with.”

“Oh, I do.” He flashes a quick smile at her, as if to confirm that, yes, he is amused by her suffering, if she hadn’t noticed.

“ Mulder…” she whines, not even bothering to construct a coherent argument. It’s time to play the card she never plays, the one that will catch his attention and show him that she is serious about this. She hates to stoop this low, but at this point, it’s either play the card or pee her pants.

“Mulder,” she makes her voice sound languid and far out, “has anyone ever told you that you bear a great resemblance to Cary Grant in his young and handsome days?”

He is rather unphased by this. Too unphased for Scully’s liking. “No, and I really don’t, do I?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She lets her voice flutter through the confines of the car. “Dreamy, boyish, yet somehow retaining your masculinity. It’s astonishing, really.”

She sneaks a glance at him. He’s stopped tapping along to the song. He turns the radio down to listen to her like a dog’s ears pricking toward their owner’s voice.

She looks through the windshield, continues her reverie. “He looks like such a gentleman, but I can’t imagine that he’s a gentleman in…” She trails off suggestively, waiting for Mulder to raise some objection.

When she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, he is already looking at her. “What?” she offers innocently. “Do you have proof otherwise?” It’s always a contest of right or wrong for them.

“No, but I might have proof of aliens. Bounty Hunter, I know that’s you, what have you done with the real Scully?”

She considers what would happen if the Bounty Hunter had disguised himself as her and was driving alone with Mulder in the middle of a five lane highway with dozens of other cars. “You know, you’d be screwed right now if it were.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling.”

She wets her lips, navigates the next sentence with precision. “But since it’s not, you can get screwed instead.”

Mulder almost swerves into a jeep in the next lane. “Jesus, Scully!”

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable…?”

He focuses on the road. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Gee, I wonder what’s that like.” She looks at him with a devilish closed-mouth grin.

Mulder registers this and looks away just as he cracks his own smile. Silly, misbehaving, rebellious Scully has a power over him that would be comparable to religion, if he had one.

“So what I’m hearing is, you want to forsake your opportunity to make it the whole way through Virginia without stopping just so that you’ll actually have some semblance of comfort?” He checks to see if she’s smiling and is happy when she is.

“Something like that, yeah,” she says, imitating his reply from earlier by donning a outlandishly deep voice.

He coughs to hold back a laugh. “Well, the lady’s wish is my command, though I must warn you that the next exit’s not for another seven miles.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we just passed a sign.”

“Mulder, I don’t know what kind of bladder you think I have, but I’ve drank two cups of coffee since the drive started and one before I left my apartment. I would classify this as an emergency.”

“I’ll pull over, then.” He switches lanes, turns on the emergency lights, and presses the brake slightly as he pulls onto the shoulder, all before she can protest.

“This is humiliating, Mulder,” she laments as he unlocks his door, pulls it open.

“While we’re at it, I’ll go too. Save us a stop in North Carolina.”

He’s way too excited about this, she thinks. She unclicks her seatbelt and climbs out of the car like a child dragged to church by their parents.

They proceed toward the woods at the edge of the highway. Mulder leads the way, a subtle spring in his step about getting to return to nature, so to speak, and to embarrass Scully while doing it.

As they hit the dividing line between grass and trees, Mulder looks back at this partner.

“Have you ever peed in the woods, Scully?” he asks with a smirk. “I’m assuming that’s what’s happening here, since you mentioned the coffee.” Scully winces at the rather disgusting image his implication puts in her mind.

She puts on a scholarly, serious tone as they head deeper into the trees. “You know, Mulder--and I’m glad we’re clearing this up-- I have peed in the woods actually. I seem to remember we were stuck in the woods overnight just last year. In Florida, was it? And contrary to what you may believe, I actually did relieve myself during that period of time. Thanks for asking.”

“Wow, you learn something new everyday,” Mulder jokes.

“Exactly.” Scully can’t help but laugh. What a funny little situation this is. They have shared so many instances when the stakes were much higher, life-threatening even, and this is what feels so grueling.

The vehicle noise having quieted significantly, Mulder gauges that they’re far enough from the roadway now. He stakes out a pine tree and steps up to it.

“Don’t look, Scully!” he teases, as if she needed the reminder, as if he really cared.

As he stands there, pants unzipped and all, he can’t help but wonder how many years this tree stood here before some human just decided to come over and do their business on it. That has to suck, huh? You’re just going about your usual tree life--swaying in the wind, rooting deep into the Earth, maybe providing a home for some critters--and then this creature that’s like, fifty times smaller than you comes over and pulls their pants down. What the hell?

A few yards away, Scully hunts for a place that might preserve an ounce of her dignity. Not that she has any left at this point, but it’s a nice idea. There’s some bushes not far off, or she could take a cue from Mulder and squat against a tree. This process is so much more complicated for a woman--you have to get down low, check the ground around you, not hit your shoes…

She chooses a spot behind a bush and crouches down. She hears Mulder zipping his fly, wonders if he’ll be able to see her when he turns around. She can’t see him, so theoretically he shouldn’t be able to see her, but he’s so much taller that she’s never sure. Then again, she’s not as objected to being seen by him as she expected herself to be. Still, she waits for him to say something.

“Scully, please tell me this wasn’t just some elaborate plot to abandon me in the woods.”

“I’m over here, Mulder,” she reassures. “But don’t come over.”

“Why, what are you doing?” He laughs at his own joke.

“Very funny,” she says, trying to cover the sound of her faculties. This feeling of release is so desperately needed that it’s almost orgasmic. She finishes, then rezips her pants while staying as crouched as possible. Sated, she stands up, pops into Mulder’s view. She tightens her belt as she walks over to him.

She sighs. “I’m glad that’s over.” Mulder smiles. She’s been through far worse, in far more unpleasant conditions, and this is what bothers her. A complex being, his Scully is. They retrace their steps toward the highway.

“You do know that toilets weren’t invented until like, the Renaissance, right?” he teases.

“Sure, but they weren’t just squatting in the woods!”

He pulls the car keys from his pocket. “I guess we’ve solved another X-file…”

Scully gives him the look she’s been giving him for six years.

“...does a Scully pee in the woods?”

She bites her lip, obscures her smile. That’s her Mulder.

#of all the things for me to write 1.5k on...#txf fic #txf fanfic #the x-files #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #mine

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drreporting · 3 years

Text

Infections of A Different Kind of Human

2. Gentle Earthquakes

“Did you talk to Arizona as yet?”

Amelia sighed, trying to mask her irritation as she scrubbed her nails. “I sent her a text earlier, Owen. It’s only been a half hour.”

“I know, I know. I’m just asking because I’m worried about you,” he relented, taking his place next to her as he grabbed a sponge to scrub. Within two hours of her telling him the news, her condition had progressively worsened. “You mentioned to me that you were feeling crampy earlier, you’re nauseous, and you just told me your shoulder was hurting you.”

“For your information, I meant crampy in mood,” she quipped, although she was stretching the truth a bit. In all honesty, she did feel very uncomfortable, but couldn’t pinpoint where exactly the feeling was originating. “Although I do feel like I might shit myself soon, so we better hurry up with the surgery before it ends up on you.”

Owen shook his head and smiled. “That’s too much information, and you know it.” She winked back at him and smiled, turning on the water to rinse her hands. Owen observed her washing her hands, seeing on her face that there was something she wasn’t telling him.

---

Screw everyone, she thought as she walked to the parking lot. They were all watching her like she’d lost her marbles and she was tired of it. Maybe doing the surgery at Hopkins was better, that way, no one would even know she was sick. But how was she going to take a vacation?

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” Ryan exclaimed to his sister, “Why are you being so quiet?” Normally, the little girl would answer him, but she was in a mood so sour that she barely even recognised that he’d told her something to begin. She just gazed up at her mother with a look of betrayed trust.

They came up to the car and Amelia unlocked the door, saying, “Why don’t you help your sister in the car, instead of provoking her, hmm?” Ryan blushed a little and nodded, opening the car door, and helping Rosie in, before getting in himself. “Do you need anything in the trunk?” Both kids shook their heads. Amelia closed the door and walked to the back of the vehicle. Once she opened the trunk, she began offloading the various school bags and lunch kits she’d been carrying and, as she closed the trunk, she felt an odd presence behind her, almost as if the wind expelled from the trunk gave away the person’s location.

“Don’t turn around,” a voice suddenly said, as though he knew Amelia had spotted him in the reflection of the windscreen glass the second he appeared. An object poked the middle of her back as the voice said, “Everything. Now.” For a moment she stood there, in a bit of shock, as she began to process the situation. But she didn’t want things to escalate, so she complied. She took off her two rings, and she unlatched the gold around her neck, a necklace Owen had gifted her last year. She rested them on the hood of the trunk in front of her, resting her handbag next to the jewellery as she awaited his response. Slowly but surely, a hand crept forward, grabbing the jewellery. The hand then came back, digging in her bag. She watched as it fished around in it, taking out her purse. He opened the thing, stripped her of all her cash and cards, but not before asking, “Where are the keys?” Her eyes darted up from their previous position, looking through the back glass of the car and at her kids sitting quietly, staring back at her. It was the one thing she was hoping not to hear. She couldn’t answer him, because she had them, and she was hoping he’d have been satisfied with the other possessions. But no, now he wanted her car too, and she couldn’t let him have it; her kids were in there.

His hand closed around her upper arm as he forcefully spun her around, pushing her against the adjacent car. Grabbing her by her throat, he asked once more, “Where are the keys?” His breath was shaky, and his eyes were crazed as they bore into her, almost as if he was strung out on drugs. He dug the gun deep into her stomach now, and she wondered if he’d noticed the other people in the car, if he would have mercy on them. She doubted it.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” Keeping the hand around her neck, he used the gun to caress her body, poking it into her jacket, grazing it across her blouse, searching for the keys himself. She could see the look of pure ecstasy on his face as he revelled in the power he had, mixed in with a bit of lust as he let the gun hook around the collar of her blouse, pulling it down a bit. “Is it in here?” She averted her gaze in disgust as tears began to brim in her eyes. “Or maybe I should ask your kids where they are?” he taunted her, pointing the gun in the direction of her car now. “Hmm?”

It was that final gesture that had made her snap, had shifted her brain into something she could only describe as her ‘fight or flight’ response. This was the only opportunity she would likely have, a moment of weakness that she could take advantage of and hopefully succeed. With every nerve on fire in her body, Amelia jumped at the man, her right hand outstretched for the gun.

---

Muffled voices, complete chaos, and the high-pitched sound ringing through Owen’s ears from the sound of the gunshot, were all he could focus on. That, and the fervent cries of his children, whom that man had just blatantly shot at, without hesitation. Uncurling from his previous position, Owen sat up with the twins still in his arms, droplets of blood splattered across Finn’s face as he bawled his eyes out. At first, his immediate reaction was to search the boy for any injuries, but the second Owen lifted his left arm, a searing pain shot through his entire body.

“Hunt, don’t move!” Meredith yelled at him, rushing to his side, “You’re hurt!” Derek followed too, taking the twins out of his arms, and rushing them to the nearest available bed, while Meredith began to assess the wound.

“What about Finn and Isabella?” the worried father asked as he rose to his feet, aided by Meredith.

“They’re okay,” Derek called from across the ER. That was a relief, he thought. But just as quickly as the relief washed over him, dread took over. Amelia.

“Meredith, I need a gurney, IV fluids, and you need to call the blood bank,” Owen said as he began backing out of the ER. “A positive blood.”

“Blood? What are you talking about?” she inquired, still not getting the point.

“It’s not for me,” he replied as the automatic doors opened. He turned, sprinting out of the ER, leaving Meredith to wonder who all those things were for, if not for him.

“Mer, can you come over here for a second?” Derek asked. She walked over to him, smiling at the two babies in front of her, who were still recovering from shock. “Has anyone called or checked on Amelia?”

It was then that it clicked in her head. “No, but I think Owen just went to do that. He told me to order up a bunch of stuff, almost as if…oh no…”

“Let’s not assume anything as yet,” he answered, a calm response compared to how he was truly feeling. He hoped to god that his little sister was okay. “Order up the stuff, just in case. And we need to call the police and report the stolen car. Probably cash and cards too.”

The more time Owen had to think, the more he was convinced that something terrible had happened to Amelia. It was funny, that after everything that had happened today, after the way she’d been treating him the past four months, after catching her with someone else, he was running for his life down the ambulance bay, to the parking lot. And maybe he still cared, and maybe he didn’t, but he couldn’t stand the thought of something bad happening to her again, leaving their children motherless, and destroying their family. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have had a family anyways, even if she was okay. He was conflicted by all these thoughts, wondering which were true and which were just bitter responses. That was when he saw the small, 4-foot-high figure of their eldest, running towards him.

“Ryan?!” Owen yelled at the little boy. He ended up crashing right into him, and his hands wrapped around his shoulders as he looked down at the boy. There was blood all over his clothes, on his shoes, his pants, and it was beginning to stain into his white shirt and blue jacket. “What happened, are you hurt?”

The young boy shook his head. “It’s mommy.” And just like that, Owen began to feel a chill run down his spine. He gave the boy another once over, noting that he was, without a doubt, covered in more of his mother’s blood than she probably had left.

“Okay, go into the ER and tell Uncle Derek and Aunty Mer what happened. Tell them where she got shot. And tell them you need 8 or more pints of A positive blood. Can you remember all that?” Ryan nodded emotionlessly, as though all life had been drained from his face. Without prompting, he began running again, straight for the ER doors. Owen stared at where he had just been holding the boy; his hands were bloodied and shaking like two rattle snakes. He could feel it in his bones that this time would not be like all the other times Amelia had been hurt. No, this time…this time she could die. And just the bare thought of that happening flipped a switch in his head, and he couldn’t stop running, he wouldn’t. Not until he found her.

The second Ryan stepped into the busy ER, everyone stopped what they were doing and became silent. They all stared, eyes agape, as their brains began processing the information it was being fed.

“Ryan,” Derek was the first to say, walking towards his young nephew slowly, “What…what happened? Are you hurt?” Seeing the young boy drenched in blood from head to toe was a horrifying view, one he would never forget.

Remembering what Owen had said to him, Ryan’s first words were, “Mommy got shot.” He brought his fingers to the lower right quadrant of his torso. “Right here.” He dropped his hands. “Owen said you need 8 pints of A positive blood.” Everybody heard clearly what Ryan had said, and yet no one moved.

“Meredith,” Derek muttered amidst the silence, looking at his wife with a face that, for once, she couldn’t read, “Where is April?”

“I think she and Jackson have left for the evening already,” she calmly responded as she pulled out her phone, “But I can page them and see if she hasn’t gone too far.”

“Thank you,” he responded as he lifted both twins, “I’m gonna take these two to day care, just in case.”

“Ryan, let’s get you cleaned up,” Meredith called, beckoning the boy, “Where is your sister?”

“She’s with Dr. Kepner and Dr. Avery,” Ryan responded as he followed her, “She was holding the wound before they came.” They entered a supply closet and she turned around, furrowing her eyes at the little boy before going to the back to seek a new outfit for him.

“Why didn’t you help her?” she inquired, finding a jacket and loose fitted joggers. When she turned back around, she was surprised to find tears in the boy’s eyes.

“I was afraid,” he whispered, averting his eyes to the ground, “I have never seen so much blood, not even at the hospital.” He closed his eyes in shame, letting the tears fall as he confessed, “Rosie wasn’t scared, I don’t know why.” He stuck his hands out for the clothes, and Meredith gave it to him, her heart aching for the poor boy. “What if she dies because I was afraid to help her?” he asked, his face showing all of his devastation, “What if…”

“Ryan, everything is going to be okay,” Meredith told the boy, pulling him in for a hug, even though he was still soaked in the blood, “Everything will work out how it’s supposed to.” And for the life of her, Meredith sure hoped that was true.

---

BANG.

April heard the sound, clear as day, pulling her son behind the nearest car as she shielded him. She heard a body dropping, and then the jingle of keys.

“Get out!” a voice yelled; one she couldn’t determine. Taking the risk to peek out the front of the bonnet, April was just in time to see Amelia’s car reversing haphazardly out of its space, before screeching off, leaving Ryan and Rosie to stand in front of someone she could only assume was Amelia.

“Jackson!” she yelled, running towards them, Samuel’s hand still in hers, “Jackson!” Once she was near enough, she noticed Ryan was frozen still, staring down at his mother, while Rosie appeared to be helping Amelia to stop the bleeding. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t freeze too, just out of pure shock. And, to make matters worse, she heard another shot ring off in the direction that the man had driven.

“April?” Jackson called, nearing, “What in the world is going on? Wait…is that…” He looked down at the body and noticed that it was, in fact, Amelia.

“Hold Samuel,” she said, abandoning the boy to get on the ground, “Hey, Ryan?” The young Shepherd looked at April, a lost gaze in his eyes. “I bet you would be great help at telling the hospital what happened?” He stared at her for a moment before nodding and running to the ER entrance.

Now that Ryan was out of the way, April scooted to Amelia’s side and pressed her hands over Rosie’s. “I think I can handle it from here, but you’ve been great help, Rosie.”

“Yeah?” the girl asked, looking into her eyes for validation. April nodded, and Rosie released her pressure, pulling her hands out from under their bigger counterparts.

“Go wait over there with Dr. Avery,” she instructed. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Amelia began to groan and whine, gripping at the area where she had been shot. “Amelia relax, relax. You’ve just been shot-,”

“I fucking know April,” she managed to moan out bitterly. Tears came to her eyes as she began to feel fluid rising in her throat.

“Jackson, we need a first aid kit or something to stop this bleeding,” April exclaimed. Despite her steady pressure, she could feel the blood pumping out of Amelia with each rapid beat of her heart, and the increasing size of the surrounding pool only served to emphasize how much she was really losing. It had to be her aorta that was damaged, she was almost certain.

“April, I go for that kit, I won’t make it back in time,” he worded carefully, and she knew exactly what he was insinuating. Amelia wouldn’t make it in time. They would be wasting time by prolonging the condition; she needed immediate attention. So now the question was, what to do?

“We need to get her in the ER,” she voiced, “The gauze applicator will stop the bleeding and give us time. Can you carry her?”

“My shoulder is still healing, I can try,” he said, “But who’s going to hold Harriet?”

April unwrapped the scarf around her neck and placed it over Amelia’s wound. “Amelia, can you hold this here?”

The neurosurgeon shook her head, coughing up blood. “Can’t feel.” Can’t feel?

“What can’t you feel?” April prodded her for more information, but she could see her eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open, “Amelia?”

“April….” Jackson called, pointing behind her. Turning around, she noticed Owen standing behind them, a few feet away, and staring. Everybody seemed to be frozen today.

“Amelia,” Owen called, suddenly finding his motion once more. He crashed onto the ground, next to April, as he tried to assess the situation. “No, no, no, no, no…” he kept mumbling the word as he covered one hand over the scarf and cradled her.

“Owen, we need to take her into the ER,” April advised the man, but Owen was more concerned with waking her up. Tears were streaming down his face like two waterfalls, and Rosie had honestly never seen her father so devastated and so confused. Especially considering what she saw earlier this evening, the last thing she expected him to do was cry over her.

“Amelia, wake up,” he begged. When her eyes opened slowly, tears came into them as he watched her constricted blues stare back at him.

“Owen?” she whispered hoarsely, lifting her arm to hold his bicep. Using nearly all of her strength, she moved the hand to cup his cheek, smearing the entire side of his face in her blood as tears came to her eyes. “Can you forgive me?” The calmness in her voice sent shivers down his spine, and his gut was giving him all the worst feelings right now. “Because I think I’m dying, and I don’t want-”

“Amelia, you are not dying,” he sternly told her, his voice cracking at the end.

“I am, I can feel it,” she insisted, a weak, broken smile on her face. “Are you bleeding?” Lifting his hand off the wound, April noticed the bleeding had slowed, and she and Jackson exchanged a look of worry.

“I am,” Owen confirmed, “But I’m okay, and you will be too.” Her fingers ended up grabbing at the edge of his collar, before slowly slipping down and falling limp.

“Owen, we are wasting precious time,” April fussed, and she was right. He was wasting her last moments on a goodbye when he should’ve been trying to save her. So he did the only thing he could think to do; he lifted her up. And he began jogging back to the ER.

---

“Amelia!” Owen shouted, reaching to her side just in time to catch her fall, and unfortunately breaking scrub, “Amelia, can you hear me?” When he received no response, he looked to the scrub nurse and said, “Page trauma, page Robbins.” The nurse obeyed his orders and, looking to their current chief resident, he added, “Find me a replacement trauma and neurosurgeon.” Pulling Amelia into his arms, he yelled out, “And somebody get me a gurney!” He disconnected the headlight from her head and began pulling her out of scrub. It was only as he got deeper below her garments, he began to notice blood, soaking everything from her waist down. A cold chill zoomed down his spine as he feared the worst, the words of this morning bitterly replaying in his head. “Imagine if it’s twins again.”

---

Owen barged into the ER, pushing past anyone in his way to get Amelia to a gurney. Seeing his colleagues all surrounded by one specific bed, he chose to lay her down there and, the second he did, he began initiating CPR, while April applied the pressurized gauze to the wound, temporarily plugging the hole and stopping the bleeding, at least until they could get into surgery. Meredith attached the monitors to her, while Jo attached a central line. Isaac check her pupils, notifying them that her eyes were dilated, but no one seemed to care, especially not Owen. They were far more concerned about bring her back to life; brain death was unimportant. Once Meredith got the monitor on, the ER was suddenly filled with the gruelling noise of an unsteady rhythm, which would likely lead to a flatline if they didn’t hurry.

“He can’t be here,” Meredith voiced to Isaac, “Someone needs to take over for him.” Isaac looked at his chief, and then at Owen.

Walking over to his side, Isaac placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder, offering softly, “Hunt, let me take over. You can’t work on family.”

“Don’t you dare touch me you homewrecker,” Owen growled through his gritted teeth, continuing his effort to resuscitate. After what transpired this evening, Isaac could understand the hatred Owen probably had for him, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Amelia, and an objective decisions needed to be made, and Owen couldn’t do that in his state. Plus, he was contaminating her with all the blood flowing from his shoulder wound.

“I can take over, she will be safe,” Isaac fought, trying to get him to listen, “Dr. Hunt, I need you to step back.” He tugged on Owen’s shoulder once more, which was his biggest mistake. As he felt Isaac’s hand on his shoulder again, Owen thought of what he saw happened today between Amelia and him. He thought of all the times he’d seen them together in that stupid scan room, over the last couple months. He thought of when they weren’t together, and Isaac had taken advantage of her, their home, and their children. He thought of everything in one second, and in one second, he’d managed to throttle him in the face with his closed fist. Within that same second, he felt two hands grab onto his shoulders, holding him back now as he tried to reach across the ER to hit Isaac again, while also wanting to resume his resuscitative efforts. “Let me go!” Owen yelled, “I have to save her.”

“Owen, calm down,” both Jackson and Derek urged, having been the two to hold him back.

“Charging to 250,” April announced, rubbing the gel between the two pads, “Everybody, clear!” Everyone stepped away, raising their hands, before she attempted to deliver the lifesaving jolt to her system. Pressing down on her chest with the pads, April watched as Amelia’s body tensed upwards, before dropping back lifelessly to the bed, her rhythm still abnormal. “Resuming CPR.

“I think she’s in hypovolemic shock,” April muttered as she pushed on Amelia’s chest once more, while Jo began to tube her. Once the tube was in, and she was providing mechanical ventilation, April went to try once more. “Charging to 300.” She rubbed the pads together, while Owen watched helplessly, trying to get to her. “CLEAR.” Another shock, no response. “Restarting compressions...”

“April…” Jo murmured, gesturing to the monitor. The trauma surgeon turned to look at the screen, seeing the flatline appear.

Looking back at Jo, she shook her head and said, “We can’t stop.”

“But-,”

“Keep the blood coming!” April yelled to the nurse, “She’s not dead until she’s full of blood and dead!” After 5 more minutes of compressions, and 5 bags of blood later, she finally said, “Charge to 300.” As the paddles began to charge up again, everyone watched with an anticipation like never before. Owen refused to remain calm, consistently trying to break free of Jackson and Derek’s grip on him, while Jo tried her best to get the blood to go faster into her stream. Meredith stood with Rosie and Ryan, who’d seen far more than their little minds could handle, and the rest of the ER was just plain silent; the most silence they’d ever heard.

April grabbed the paddles. “Everyone, CLEAR!” She pressed the paddles to her chest, and once again, her body arched and then dropped lifelessly on the bed. She began chest compressions again, but they all knew it was too late. For ten seconds, no one said anything and then, finally, April stopped.

“Don’t call it,” Owen begged April, tears streaming down his face and making trails in their wake against the blood Amelia had smeared on his face earlier, “April, please.”

Wearily, April responded, “Owen, I have to.” She looked at the watch on her wrist and, just as she was about to say the time of death, there was a beep. And then another. And then another.

“I think we have a rhythm,” Jo yelled excitedly, the shock evident in her eyes, “Oh my god!” But just as the celebration was about to begin, Amelia arched her back, and began having a seizure. It was then Isaac’s turn to come back in, and thankfully he got the seizure under control in a short space of time.

“Is she okay?” Owen asked, finally calming down.

“She’s okay, Owen,” Jo confirmed for him. As the words left her mouth, Owen finally collapsed to the floor, passing out.

“I think we need another gurney,” Jackson said, wiping blood off of his face from his earlier restraint over Owen causing blood to squirt out of his wound and onto him, “His shoulder is bleeding pretty badly.”

“We need to get a CT scan,” Isaac voiced once Amelia had reached some sort of stability.

“We don’t have time,” April insisted, “We need to get her to the OR now. When she’s stable, we’ll do the scan.” Isaac nodded and allowed them to wheel her away, while Derek and Jackson tended to Owen, who was pale and unconscious, drenched in a mixture of his own blood, and Amelia’s.

When Owen finally awoke, he was in a bed in a patient room, his shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling. The only occupant of the room was Derek, and he sat across from him with a look Owen could only describe as grim and exhausted.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, standing up to pour him a glass of water. Owen watched as he walked across the room to the small table near his bed, reaching for the glass and pouring from the mug into it.

“I feel weak,” he mused, trying to stretch his shoulder. The pain that shot through, though, was enough for him to not do it another time. “Where is Amelia?”

Derek handed him the glass. “5 hours of surgery. They should be closing right now.” Owen took the glass and took a sip of the water as he processed the information. “She lost a lot of blood. They had to replace almost more than half of her blood volume. With that much lost blood…”

“She should’ve died,” Owen finished for him. And yet, by fate, at least for now, Amelia was alive and okay.

“We need to talk about Ryan and Rosie,” Derek said, switching the topic instantly, “I think you should consider a psych check for both of them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he agreed, taking another sip of water. He could probably use a psych session too, after what he’d been through, far less the kids.

“Ryan seems pretty shaken up, but Rosie…” the neurosurgeon divulged, “Rosie seems…fine. Which is weird.”

“Not entirely weird,” Owen told, “She has shown signs of someone who bottles things up. Maybe that’s what she’s doing now.”

“Still,” Derek enthusiastically encouraged, “You should talk to them and see for yourself.” Owen looked up at the Shepherd and nodded. “There’s two other things we need to talk about,” the Shepherd added quickly, “Firstly, the police are waiting here for you to make a report and perhaps a description of the man and Amelia’s license plates and registration for the vehicle.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Owen submitted, “What’s the other thing?”

“You and Amelia never remarried,” he said uncomfortably, wringing his hands, “So you are not her next of kin.”

“Well, then who is the proxy?” Owen asked, completely confused. He thought that Amelia would’ve changed something like that, whether they were married or not.

“It’s uh…” Derek scratched the back of his neck, “It’s under Ryan’s name. It reverted to him after the divorce…”

“Why would she have him as her medical proxy?” Owen wondered aloud.

Derek shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Amelia is much too complicated for my understanding. That’s for you to figure out.”

“Who is the successor?” the trauma surgeon further prodded.

“It’s Addison.” Derek sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “Look, Owen, I know this is an impossible situation, and that this is only making it even harder, but-,”

“Derek is that you?” a familiar voice called. Looking to the door, Owen and Derek came face to face with a man, dressed in a long coat, holding a suitcase. He appeared pretty old, his hair was almost completely grey, and his eyes held wrinkles at their corners.

“Tom?” the neurosurgeon named the man, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replied, “I thought you’d have been in DC. I figured that’s why I was called.”

“Wait, who called you?” Owen asked, looking at the Hopkins’ neurosurgeon.

“Shepherd called me,” he explained, “The other Shepherd, I mean. She said she had a patient she needed help with.”

“Why didn’t she ask me for help?” Derek pondered aloud, feeling a bit offended.

Tom shrugged. “So where is my star pupil?” Owen and Derek looked at each other, wondering how to break the untimely news to the new person in the room.

#omelia #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #derek shepherd #meredith grey #april kepner #jackson avery #jo wilson #ryan shepherd #rosie shepherd-hunt #au #owen and amelia

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