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#my fic
kckenobi · a day ago
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this might be too specific but i relate so i want it very badly: obi-wan experiences chronic knee/shoulder pain but hides it from everyone (especiaLLY the council) except for anakin & ahsoka & cody, that's it, and all three of them love him so much and want him to not be in pain but obi-wan hates worrying others. it just means a lot to my little pea brain
obi-wan with chronic pain (and good friends :')
Contrary to popular belief, it didn't get better.
Obi-Wan returned to duty a week after Geonosis. It would have been sooner, had Vokara Che not been so insistent, and the Council a little less willing to listen. The saber wounds from his knee and shoulder were sewn up from a healing crystal, no scar to even show for them now. Unlike Anakin, who would feel the effects of Dooku's blade for the rest of his life.
But a year into the Clone Wars—a year of watching the Republic struggle and crumble and snap, a year of watching sentient beings die at the hand of his failure, a year of knowing that any of them, any of them, could be next—and Anakin was fighting better than he ever had. He'd blossomed, really—as a Jedi, a leader, a man. Sometimes, when he was sparring with Anakin, Obi-Wan forgot Geonosis had happened at all.
But not for long. Never for long.
"Sir?"
Cody was watching him now—goodness, he'd forgotten the Commander was there. They'd been combing through paperwork, settling the affairs of the latest campaign, and neither of them had even changed from their scorched and bloodied clothes. Obi-Wan had declined medbay—he always did, these days. But knew he wasn't being quite as discreet as he'd hoped from the way Cody followed him down the hall, gently taking his arm when he stumbled.
Watching him with soft eyes now.
"Sir, you should sit down," Cody said. "Or go to bed. We can finish this tomorrow."
"We won't have time tomorrow," Obi-Wan replied, without looking up from the screen. With one hand, he massaged his shoulder, trying not to grimace. He leaned on one knee. "We'll be landing in Coruscant in six standard hours, and then it'll be all politics and Council business and—"
"And I can finish it myself then, is what I was getting at."
A light hand came around his back, then—not moving him any place in particular. Just there, a gentle reminder. Soft and warm.
"I can't," Obi-Wan said softly.
"You couldn't do that to me? Sir, I'm your Marshall Commander—"
"No," Obi-Wan said. "Well, I would hate to do that to you. But I mean...I..."
He leaned forward against the nav console. If it wasn't there, he wasn't sure if he could still hold himself up.
He closed his eyes. "I mean I couldn't sleep if I tried." Cody's hand on his back stilled. "Not the way I'm..."
Cody, behind him, finished quietly. "The way you're hurting."
Obi-Wan didn't answer.
But he did let Cody pull up a chair. Cody had to help him down, keeping him from too much weight on the bad knee. He had the grace to ignore the unbidden cry of pain as Obi-Wan sank down into the seat.
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks—wasn't entirely sure what would come out if he tried to speak. His vision was a little blurry now, and he waited for it to come back. Then, he'd go back to the paperwork and the reports and—
Cody's hand landed lightly on his shoulder. The bad one, which ached almost as badly now as it had in the week after Geonosis.
And when Cody began to rub the aching muscle and bone, Obi-Wan almost tried to stop him. Found, though, that he didn't quite have the energy.
He leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes.
Back at the Temple, it should have been better. The place always glowed like a beacon in the Force, full of the light and humor of children and the wisdom of generations. Anakin was back from his own campaign in the Outer Rim, Ahsoka with him, and they had plans to meet up that evening for a meal.
Although at the moment, Obi-Wan wasn't certain he could stomach one.
The Council listened to his debrief with interest—it was his first in-person meeting in quite a while, though many of the other Masters tuned in via hologram. It was always strange to see them, but not to feel them. The Council Chamber felt empty in spite of the many voices.
But an in-person meeting meant Obi-Wan had to work a little harder to hide it—the way he leaned on one leg more than the other, the way he reached for his shoulder when no one was looking his way. As a hologram, he only needed to think about how normal he looked. Here in the Chamber, he had to be careful he wasn't projecting into the Force how he felt.
"Master Kenobi, we have a difficult contractual situation in the Mid Rim. Might we send you to negotiate?"
Obi-Wan stifled the odd feeling in his chest—relief, in part, in fulfilling his real role as a Jedi. Regret, that Cody and the men would be on their own.
And then, the strangest one of all—a bit of dread.
He didn't want to be alone.
"Of course, Master Windu."
"We'll brief you tomorrow," he replied. "For now, get some rest—you'll need it. We all do."
Obi-Wan nodded. The meeting was dismissed, and the Councilors moved to adjourn.
When Obi-Wan started for the door, though, he stumbled.
Master Windu saw—or maybe sensed—his discomfort, and soon enough he was there at his side.
"And perhaps," he said, hand gently on Obi-Wan's forearm. "Make a visit to the Halls of Healing as well."
"I am fine, Master."
Master Windu's eyebrows raised, then lowered. Obi-Wan's face burned.
"There isn't much they can do for me anyhow."
Obi-Wan declined dinner at Dex's, when Anakin asked. Ahsoka had merely looked disappointed, but Anakin saw through him—the worry was all over his face.
"We'll bring some back for you," Ahsoka said. They were standing in the doorway of Obi-Wan's quarters. "You want the usual?"
"I'm afraid I'm not very hungry, Padawan."
It was Anakin who contested that. "You need to eat something. Better Dex's than more ration bars." He was eying Obi-Wan closely, which he avoided. "Be back soon, okay?"
There was a nudge in the Force—Anakin, checking in on him. Obi-Wan nudged back, but it was weak.
When they shut the door, Obi-Wan kicked off his boots and left them in the living room. He thought about making some tea, but the energy necessary to get to the kitchen, and the thought of holding something in his stomach, both deterred him. Instead, he inched toward the bedroom, finally allowing himself to limp as much as necessary. No need to put on a show now.
Until he stumbled. A step from the bedroom door, his bad knee gave, and he cried out.
He didn't catch himself.
At long last, he managed to get himself into bed. He stripped off his outer tunics as best he could, leaving the leggings and undershirt beneath, and curled himself under the covers. He could sleep, maybe. He didn't feel the pain in his sleep.
But blast, no, it hurt too much, and the ache was so constant and pressing he couldn't even find a position that was comfortable, couldn't even lie still without feeling it. He couldn't sleep like this. For so many nights now, he couldn't sleep like this.
So he didn't. Just lay there, hurting, alone.
When Anakin knocked on the door again, he couldn't even force himself up to get it.
Anakin knew the code—knocking was more of a formality anyhow, for both of them. From under the covers, he heard the door sliding open and two sets of feet enter the room, talking and laughing. And that made his heart ache, too.
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin called. "We brought you a burger. Where'd you go?"
They crossed the living room, and then there was a knock on the bedroom door. It opened, and light flooded in.
He heard Anakin exhale.
There was whispering, and then Anakin was passing the food to Ahsoka and murmuring something he couldn't hear. When she was gone, just Anakin crossed the room. Obi-Wan felt, more than saw, him sit down on the edge of the bed.
"It's bad today, then," Anakin said softly.
Obi-Wan nodded. And for some reason, it was those simple words—an admission of the truth—that brought tears to his eyes.
He rolled onto his back, rubbing a sleeve across his face with a sniff. The motion sent a sharper pain through his shoulder, and he let out a short, high-pitched sound instead of answering.
Anakin didn't say anything more. Just took over Obi-Wan's weak attempt at massaging out the pain, the way that Vokara Che had showed him a year ago. Obi-Wan let his head drop back into the pillow, and closed his eyes.
It did ease off a bit. He didn't know how much time passed before he was opening his eyes again—had he fallen asleep? And Ahsoka was in the room, sitting on his other side.
"I thought you might be getting a little hungry," she said.
Obi-Wan tried to smile. "I'm afraid I don't quite have it in me to get to the kitchen, Padawan."
She revealed the bag of takeout, and a stack of plates and cutlery.
"How about a picnic in bed?"
And that almost got a smile.
Anakin helped him sit up. They stacked some pillows against the headboard, so Obi-Wan something to lean against, and he drew his knees toward his chest beneath the blankets. They kept the lights dim, and propped his knee up on some more pillows. Ahsoka got his food out onto a plate. And for the first time in far too long, they shared a real meal.
Anakin and Ahsoka did most of the talking. Obi-Wan followed the conversation, some banter about the pros and cons of Jar'Kai against droids, which eventually led to a mock lightsaber battle using the kitchen spoons. And Obi-Wan, somehow, found a laugh within himself too.
When they'd finished, Ahsoka cleared the dishes. Anakin helped him settle back into the bed, head still propped up by pillows, and popped in a holovid. Obi-Wan didn't even bother to protest that they had more important things to do.
He didn't see the end of the film. In fact, he barely saw the beginning, before his head was listing sideways and falling gently against Anakin's shoulder.
And as his Padawans settled in beside him, the voices of the holo-film flickering in and out of his consciousness, he felt something distant and warm, something he'd missed—
Peace.
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robininthelabyrinth · a day ago
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✿ a cute prompt idea (inspired by several fanarts) but age reversals for the siblings (ie da-ge NHS, shixong JC, meimei WQ & JYL). could lead to cute antics, fix-it timelines, or just as much/more angst
going to call this a modern AU but it's mostly just crack
ao3
“Here, I brought the drinks,” Nie Huaisang said. “And tea for Lan Zhan, of course.”
Lan Wangji nodded in appreciation.
“Much appreciated,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is everyone here?”
“Well,” Wen Ning said hesitantly. “I mean…”
“No,” Jin Zixuan said. “By which I mean yes, everyone’s here who’s going to be here. We’re not inviting Wen Chao.”
“Definitely not. Sorry, Wen-xiong, you’re the only Wen we’re allowing in here.”
“That’s fair.”
“Enough chatter,” Jiang Cheng said, and lifted his drink. “I hereby declare this to be the opening session of Club ‘So Your Younger Sibling is More Talented Than You’. Long may we bitch about our fate.”
They all saluted and drank to that.
“As a reminder, everything that’s said in this room is subject to the strictest confidentiality,” Jiang Cheng continued after a few moments. “And no one is allowed to offer any helpful advice on how to feel better about it: we’re here to vent about our mutual insecurities, not seeking advice. Club rules. Everyone agreed?”
Agreement all around.
“So, in that case, let me start,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just last week, there was a – an incident I’d rather not going into detail about, but which got my parents to start fighting again, and which served as a beautiful illustration of how both my little sister and informally adopted brother are better than me in every possible respect. They understand the Jiang sect motto better than I do, they’re nicer than I am…sometimes I even feel like they’re better friends with each other than they are with me…”
“I mean, your sister isn’t as good a cultivator as you,” Jin Zixuan offered, though the way his cheeks turned a bit red suggested he was adding a mental even if she’s really pretty and surprisingly cool afterwards.
“No, but Wei Wuxian is. He’s a genius, innovative and brilliant; he even invents new techniques,” Jiang Cheng said gloomily, politely ignoring the subtext. “Put them together and they make the perfect Jiang sect heir.”
“…I’m sorry about that.” Jin Zixuan rubbed his eyes. “If it makes you feel better, my younger half-brother is a verifiable genius, too, especially when it comes to organizing things. And he has perfect control over his emotions the way my parents are always trying to get me to do – I mean, he smiles no matter what people say to piss him off, and people say some really stupid stuff.”
Jin Zixuan’s brother was technically a bastard and the son of a prostitute, which everyone knew, and everyone also knew how much the cultivation world loved its gossip. There were nods all around.
“You think you have a problem with geniuses,” Wen Ning said quietly, drawing a pattern on the table with one finger. “My younger sister is said to be the best doctor in the entire cultivation world – no, the best doctor the cultivation world has produced in several generations.”
“Does she invent brand new ways of doing things, too?” Jiang Cheng asked, with sympathy.
Wen Ning nodded.
“And your uncle compares you?”
“Oh, does he ever.”
“My father doesn’t compare us, though sometimes I wish he would just to get it over with and make A-Yao feel better,” Jin Zixuan said. “My mother, on the other hand…”
“Don’t get me started about mothers,” Jiang Cheng said.
“You guys think you have it bad!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “Look at my younger brother! Maybe your Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli together make up a perfect sect heir – my kid brother is a perfect Nie sect heir all by himself. Fantastic cultivator, excellent at saber, brilliant strategist, responsible, mature…and unlike Jin-gongzi’s younger brother, he's legitimate. And he’s good at the stuff my sect is good at! No offense, Wen-xiong, but the Wen sect isn’t exactly known for its doctors…”
“No, you’re right,” Wen Ning said. “That sounds awful.”
“Everyone’s always comparing us,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s always ‘Nie-gongzi, why can’t you be more like your brother?’, ‘Nie-gongzi, look how hard your brother is working’, ‘Nie-gongzi, your brother – your brother – your brother!’”
He sighed.
“I can’t even get angry at him,” he confessed. “He takes things so personally – any time he overhears someone saying something like that, he gets all up in arms on my behalf, saying that I’m trying my best…you don’t know how aggravating it can be, knowing he really is that great!”
Lan Wangji cleared his throat.
Everyone looked at him.
“Yeah, all right,” Jiang Cheng said. “You win. As usual.”
“Yeah, no contest,” Nie Huaisang said, and Wen Ning and Jin Zixuan nodded. “We may all be bad off, but at least we don’t have Lan ‘Perfect Gentleman, Most Desirable Bachelor, Nice and Friendly and Plays Multiple Instruments, Is Brilliant at Swordsmanship and Cultivation All Together At Once’ Xichen as our younger brother.”
Lan Wangji nodded firmly, though he looked a little smug.
His position as king of the club was unshakeable.
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falsegoodnight · 19 hours ago
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voicemail sings a wreck
explicit | 37k
Louis doesn’t have any proof, but he’s pretty damn sure that even when he’s dead and buried six feet deep, Harry Styles will still find a way to haunt him in his grave.
-
Or, Louis is the president of the biggest omega sorority on campus, Harry is the president of the biggest alpha fraternity on campus, and they do not get along.
💫 Written for the @bottomlouisficfest​
💫 Graphic by @afterglowslouis​
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gyllenwaynesbitch · 2 days ago
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Echoes
dad!Bucky × reader
Oneshot
Summary: Bucky cant stop cuddling your little tummy when the baby starts to kick.
Warnings: too much fluff. Sugar rush? Idk
Word count: 1.1k+
Authors note: seriously? I dont know where this came from. No regrets tho.
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"Are you sure, you're ok?", he asks for the fifteenth time in the last 2 minutes. But your attention is really just focused on figuring out that weird feeling in your stomach.
Was it the gravy from last night? The weather? Morning sickness? Exhaustion? You had no idea anymore. Although, overwhelming nausea had died out since the last couple of hours, that tingling push in your tummy just wouldn't stop.
"I think we should just Google it.", Bucky suggests, phone in his hand before you can even nod your agreement. Your heart is beating too loud in your ears, all the horror scenarios showering your mind like confetti at a party.
Your hand loops through his arm, fingers holding him in a death grip because its only his presence that keeps you grounded right now.
"Second trimester symptoms.", Bucky murmurs, fingers typing at lightening speed.
But the feeling surges through your abdomen again and this time it's almost like lightening has simultaneously struck your brain with the answer.
You bite your lip and sit up straight, your husband mirroring the action like an echo.
"Babe. Do we need to go check with the hospital?", he urges. His tone is tensed out like a stretched elastic, arm wrapping around your shoulders like he's trying to keep you together.
But the euphoria and unfamiliatity of the moment is still washing over you, your mouth sealed shut, lost in an array of novel emotions.
"Babe?", he asks again, and this time you silently take his hand and place it over your stomach. His eyes widen when he understands what you're trying to do, his pupils flitting between your face and the crest of your pregnant belly.
You calm your breathing, chest rising and falling as you wait for the chimp inside you call out again. Your head rests back on the couch, and his hand automatic comes to your forehead, soothing over the sweat, the nervousness.
You can tell he is about to ask you something, his patience waning slowly. But your tummy lurches again, and this time his jaw just falls open.
His other falls off your back, joining his other palm against your t-shirt. You wish you could see the joy on his face right now, but your own vision is blurred by the tears in the way.
"Oh my god.", he breathes into the hanging silence. His eyes take effort to tear away, but he finally meets your expectant gaze and pure bliss is all you can read in them. His smile can practically split his face in two, his eyes glowing like diamonds.
"She did it again!", he exclaims, used to the bump this time.
"She?", you ask. You laugh halfway through the question, his lips then interrupting your words with a kiss.
"Yeah. You feel how strong that kick was? Leg-strength is all your arena babe. She's a mini-you", he chuckles, wrappings his arm around your body again and pulling you into him.
His metal arm grazes lightly over your skin, pushing the fabric of your shirt aside, so he can feel you like he's always been used to. You relax into the crook of his neck, eyebrow raising when he suddenly giggles.
"My arm really vibrates when she moves.", he tells you. Your heart suddenly clenches at his words, the reality of it all hitting you full in the face. The fact that you're having this baby with Bucky, here in this life, sitting on this couch and cuddling.
It's all too much.
The tears now start to fall in full force and Bucky's hand promptly collects them off your skin.
"Why you crying, sweetheart?" It's more a rhetorical question, really. The spells of crying had increased with the hormones and he was more than used to sleeping with you huddled up in his lap.
"I just love you so much.", you gush, more tears spilling out after the words are vocalized. His smile widens at your extremely potent reason for weeping, his lips peppering kisses all over your face.
"I thought you'd be happy about that. But apparently loving me makes you cry. I guess I have to live with that now.", he shrugs dramatically, earning a smack in the shoulder for that excuse of a joke.
"These are happy tears!", you scold. He pushes his torso away from yours, head leaning downwards slowly so you can make space for him on your belly.
"I love you too, baby.", he mumbles, words lost partially into the warmth of your body. You cant tell if he's talking to you or your tummy, but at this point you couldn't mind on bit.
You kiss him on his head, his eyes purposefully closing as he once again places his vibranium arm on your bump.
The baby kicks again this time and you can't help but wonder if she's answering to every message he sends her. Maybe its just wishful thinking but it doesnt fail to put a smile on your face.
"I think she likes it when I'm close.", he whispers, thunh rubbing over your bellybutton.
"I think I like it when you're close too."
He hums a yes, hands locking behind your back as he starts to doze off on your lap.
"You're the best pillow in the world.", he says sleepily. His eyes flutter shut in a second, a yawn erupting from his throat like your proximity itself was intoxicating.
"Only for you, daddy.", you whisper, kissing his ear before resting your head on the armrest, eyes closing in search for some rest.
"Only mine.", is the last thing you hear from his lips, a wide smile on your face as you both fall asleep in each others arms, oblivious to the world outside your own little bubble of bliss.
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fruitcoops · 2 days ago
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eve that was so CUTE and relatable (😳) but CUTE. do you think maybe you’d be interested in writing a short little jump into the future as a sequel where s and r are together but cap is watching tape and pauses it on remus on the bench in his jersey now and he can DO something about it like go find him and give him a smooch but he kinda just lets himself crushhhhh on loops again? the fic is PERFECT as is just thinkin about lovesick cap and his sappy habits <3
Yes! This is a continuation of this fic, combined with requests for Remus taking care of sick Sirius and Remus taking a big qualification test. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3
TW for illness (cold/ flu with fever and body aches)
Sirius cleared his throat and bundled up tighter beneath his mountain of blankets, squinting at the TV screen as drowsiness pulled him further under. “Re?” he croaked.
“Just a sec!” Remus called from what sounded like the kitchen. His fingers click-clacked on his laptop keyboard; about twenty seconds later (or twenty minutes—Sirius was barely aware of his toes, let alone the passage of time), socked footsteps hurried down the hall and the door to the den creaked open. “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”
Sirius blinked slowly at him, furrowing his brows. “Why’m I watching tape?”
A light blush colored Remus’ cheeks and he bit his lip as he sat carefully on the edge of the couch. “I was going to put a game on so you’d sleep better, but nobody’s playing yet, so I popped some tape on,” he admitted. The back of his hand was cool on Sirius’ forehead and cheeks, and he leaned into it. “You’re still running a fever. Need anything?”
Sirius mumbled a ‘no’ and shook his head, tucking his knees up to curl around Remus’ hip. Every joint ached and his throat felt like someone had taken a fork to it—between his general grossness and the dark circles shadowing Remus’ eyes, they were quite the pair. “Test?”
“Which one?”
“Yours. Going well?” He was quickly discovering that English was a terrible language to try and remember when one was feverish and headachy, but he doubted his French would be any better. He really did feel horrendous.
“Yeah, not bad.” Remus’ fingertips slipped through his hair, pushing it off his forehead and sliding along his scalp the way that always sent butterflies through Sirius’ stomach. “Just finished unit four.”
“How many?”
“Total? Ten.” Remus laughed at the ensuing groan and moved his hand down to rub between Sirius’ shoulders, right where his spine ached the most. “Can’t disagree with you there, but I need to do this if I want to keep my job. I didn’t spend the last week studying my ass off just to give in to your cute face.”
A finger tapped his nose and Sirius scrunched up, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile. “Come ‘n’ cuddle after cinq?”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Lips brushed his forehead and Sirius sighed, sniffling back his stuffy nose as Remus stood again and headed back into the kitchen. “Drink your water!”
After a few minutes of hyping himself up, Sirius dragged himself into a semi-sitting position and took the water glass off the coffee table in an unsteady hand—it was cool on his burning throat and he felt the pounding in his head ease by a degree. The pace of the game was a bit dizzying, so he settled back down and let his eyes fall half-closed again. Preseason, he thought absently. September or October.
Another thought struck him a moment later. Pre-Remus.
Sirius frowned, burrowing deeper into the knit blanket Remus’ mother had sent for Christmas a few years prior. They had been living together for months now—he didn’t like thinking about the quiet, lonely time before he got to share his home (and life) with the best person he knew.
Players swerved and collided in bright flashes of color; fans in blue and white cheered in the stands, leaving Sirius to idly toy with a scalloped corner and tune out the unfamiliar voices of Tampa’s commentators. He hated feeling sick in the first place, but the uselessness that came with it could not have arrived at a worse time. Remus had been wound up tighter than a rubber-band ball with the impending stress of his online certification exams, studying into the wee hours of the morning until Sirius came down to get him from his new nap spot at the kitchen table. The moment he realized he couldn’t successfully drag himself out of bed felt like an anchor sinking into his stomach.
Sirius grimaced as the sound of the game began bothering his ears and the sweeping movements of everyone on the ice started turning his stomach. He fumbled for the remote and pressed ‘pause’ with all the force he could muster; it wasn’t much, but it did the trick.
His brain was moving so slow that the image frozen on the screen didn’t register for a solid thirty seconds. Sirius blinked the sleepy fog from his eyes, torn between groaning and smiling at their faces. Remus was passing him a puck to sign, probably for a young fan, and Sirius was staring back at him with unbridled affection as he took it. Their hands almost touched—not quite, Sirius had been too careful about that—but it didn’t matter. Their expressions said it all in that perfect pixelated blip.
“Baby?” Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “What are you doing?”
“Game’s too loud,” he answered, shuffling over to make room. “Chapitre cinq?”
“Completed.” He felt the couch dip, then Remus’ hesitation. “Did you stop it on us?”
“We were so stupid,” Sirius sighed, guiding him down by the elbow. “It was an accident, though. Tu es si beau on the bench.”
Remus traced patterns over the back of his hand with a kind of easy familiarity that made him feel all gooey inside. “I’m glad you think I’m handsome in my tracksuit.”
“Someone has to,” Sirius agreed with a grin. “Mais non, I have something important to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“Mhmm.” He nuzzled into the back of Remus’ neck. “I have a crush on you. Thought I should tell you before it gets out of hand.”
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” Remus laughed, giving his wrist a squeeze. “Merci beaucoup.”
“You’re welcome. I did this before, you know. Before us. The cameras don’t show the bench as much as they should, but if I was sad it always made me feel better to look at you.”
He didn’t fully process which words were actually coming out of his mouth for a while, then found that he didn’t care. “Really?” Remus asked in a quiet voice half a century later. Sirius nodded. “I love you.”
“Je t’aime aussi, mon loup. I’m sorry you have to keep taking tests. I know you’re smart. The team knows. Moody knows. They should know, too.”
Remus laughed softly, shifting when Sirius pulled him closer to his chest. “It’s not about how smart I am, it’s about making sure I can do my job right.”
Sirius breathed in the smell of their laundry detergent and the citrusy tang of Remus’ shampoo. It was difficult through the clogs of his nose, but comforting all the same. It had taken quite a bit of effort to remind Remus the importance of showering during his week of crushing worry and mountains of review sheets. “You work so hard. Everyone should trust you.”
He felt Remus’ exhale on the back of his hand and blinked until the TV screen stopped blurring. Hardly eight months had passed since that moment, and there they were, spooning on the couch with the whole future ahead and a family that loved them.
“I loved you then,” he murmured. “I knew it, too, and it scared me. I’m not scared anymore.”
Remus’ chest buzzed against his own. “It’s a bummer you’re sick, or else I’d kiss you stupid.”
“Rain check.”
Sirius smiled at the feeling of Remus’ laughter and held him tight. “I should start chapter six, shouldn’t I?”
“You should stay right here—” Sirius snuck his leg over both of Remus’, trapping him. “—and cuddle your sick boyfriend and take a nap because you haven’t slept in a week. The test is online. It’s not going anywhere. You know what you’re doing. Give your brain a break.”
“I feel like I’ve had this exact conversation with you before, just flipped,” Remus said wryly. He didn’t resist. “One hour, okay?”
Sirius made a noise of agreement. With any luck, Remus’ ebbing tide of stress and adrenaline would leave him snuggly and warm for at least two.
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thatbuddie · 3 hours ago
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if you all outgrow me
[post 5x10, for buddie week day 2: “who were you expecting?”, angst, ~680 words]
Buck sees him everywhere he looks, even weeks after he’s gone.
He doesn’t literally see him everywhere, and not suffering from hallucinations is a small blessing to be grateful for in the midst of the chaos that is his life, but Buck sees him just the same.
He sees him in the corners of the firehouse, every place where they’ve had important conversations, every place that is now just another reminder of all the ones he’s never been a part of.
He sees him in the firetruck, where so many teasing remarks have been made, where Buck always found an opportunity to laugh but now just finds himself having the laugh and the life sucked out of him.
Buck sees him in the locker room every time he opens the locker they once shared and stares at the pictures that aren’t there anymore, one more thing he took with him when he left and that Buck is just supposed to be fine living without.
He sees him when he’s doing a rescue and someone else secures his harness. He sees him when Bobby serves dinner and there’s always too much of it. Buck sees him when he exhausts himself at the gym and there is no one around to spot him.
Buck sees him everywhere he looks, except for how he doesn’t see him at all because he’s gone, and the only things he left behind are the ghosts of some memories, a bunch of empty promises, and a broken shell of a person that Buck doesn’t know how to begin to put back together.
You’re stuck with us.
Buck sees him everywhere he looks, except for how he hasn't seen him in weeks.
And Buck isn’t stupid enough to not realize the part that he’s playing in this, dodging calls, and making excuses, and avoiding their new reality. And Buck isn’t cruel enough to blame him for his decision, not when the reason for it was so big, not when the heart behind it was so pure.
But Buck is stupid enough to pull away, and he is cruel enough to feel abandoned.
Buck is enough of everything to feel the hurt, but he isn’t enough of anything to deserve the healing.
A hand settles on his shoulder as Hen and Bobby roll their latest patient into the ambulance, and very slowly, like he never left the waves of the tsunami and he’s still struggling underwater, Buck turns around to look at the person who’s touching him.
For a second, Buck sees him and nothing has changed. For a second, Buck feels alright.
But then he blinks his eyes and Greenway is standing right in front of him, a confused frown on his face. Despite himself, Buck lets out a noise, surprise and hurt coloring the breath that escapes his lips.
“Dude, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Greenway says, familiar and unknown all at once.
Bobby yells at them to get back in the truck, and Buck puts one foot right in front of the other expertly until they reach the vehicle and move inside.
Buck swallows, “It’s okay, don’t worry. I just thought you were someone else for a second.”
“Oh, who were you expecting?” Greenway sits down in his place, and Buck takes a seat as well.
Buck tries to remember how they were sat the last time he rode in the firetruck, and no matter how hard he tries Buck can’t conjure up the image. It’s another thing lost, one more insignificant detail that Buck wants to trash and treasure, that he wants to loathe and love.
Buck sees him then. In front of him, and by his side. Buck sees him having his back, and trusting Buck to have his.
But then Buck blinks and he’s still gone. Buck failed him, or maybe they failed each other, or maybe there was nothing to fail in the first place.
Shaking his head, Buck looks out of the window of the firetruck, the streets of Los Angeles his only companion, and says, “No one important.”
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Imagine showering Frankie's bare chest and stomach with kisses. Maybe you have him cuffed to the headboard so his arms are spread out, maybe you let him comb through your hair with his fingers while literally purring with pleasure from your ministrations.
He still has hard muscles underneath the skin, but that golden skin has started to sag a little with age. The abs are hidden underneath an ever-growing layer of fat, and the boxer briefs are starting to cut into his sides.
And you love all of it, so you kiss every inch of it all, suck his nipples hard until he's moaning, nip at the loose skin around, playfully bite the soft flesh underneath his navel. Show him the appreciation he deserves and so well needs. Love him to self-confidence. Make him pant and beg for you. Ask him if he sees how wonderful he is.
"With you, I do."
Imagine Frankie masterlist
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ezrasbirdie · 10 hours ago
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insecurities - chapter seven
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series summary: Charlie Ellis is the lead intelligence analyst under Javier Peña’s direction, but he doesn’t even know she exists. All she knows about Javier is what everyone else says—and rumors don’t tell the entire story. A chance meeting in the embassy courtyard brings them together, and Charlie finds herself thrust into a world she never imagined being a part of when she’s called in to help with an undercover operation.
chapter summary: Charlie and Javier act on their feelings for a change, and have a talk about the future.
rating: E [SMUT; PIV, oral (m/f receiving), weight insecurities b/c obviously, not like a ton of warnings but you know, it’s sexy times]
pairing: Javier Peña x Charlie Ellis [ofc]
word count: ~5k
note: My babies finally got some fucking sense, we love to see it. Thanks to @starlightmornings for the beta because she is the most devoted and loving writing wife on the planet. And thank you to @danniburgh, my consult in all things Javier Peña. Also—we’re going through the end of S3 with this little AU, so that’s at least 3-4 more chapters. At least. I’m currently mostly focused on Javi and Christmas Marcus, so God willing I’ll get this finished in a reasonable amount of time. Next chapter there’ll be a little more action. Hope y’all are along for the ride!
masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next | read on Ao3
~~
“You’re shaking,” Javier murmured as Charlie ran her hands through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed that he’d noticed. “You make me so nervous.”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. Don’t apologize,” he mumbled into her mouth, but Charlie heard the smirk in his voice. With anyone else, it might annoy her, but Javier Peña could get away with almost anything.
It was different last time, rushed and desperate and dark. She hadn’t had time to be self-conscious. Now, though. Now she had time to think about the stubble of her leg hair; the way he could see every bump and dimple on her thighs. And it had been a while since she’d actually had sex. What if she was bad at it?
Not that Javier cared about any of it. He dragged his nose down her neck, basking in her sweet scent.
“Bedroom?” He whispered. She kissed him one more time and stood, holding out her hand, which he grabbed with no hesitation. He would follow wherever she led.
“Close the door behind you,” she said, giggling. “Señor’s concept of personal space is non-existent.”
He huffed into the back of her neck, his heart racing. Shit, he was nervous, too. Charlie flicked off the bedroom light, plunging them into near-darkness. The hazy orange glow of the streetlights through the blinds was barely enough to see by. He frowned and pulled her into him.
“Baby,” he murmured, “Let me see you. Please.”
She fidgeted in his arms. “I just don’t want you to not like what you see.”
Javier’s heart ached at the way she assumed he wouldn’t worship every part of her. He pressed his forehead against hers.
“You know that little swimsuit you wore the first day? When you sat on top of me and put that sunscreen on me? You know what I wanted to do, Charlita? I wanted to—I wanted to roll over and fuck you. I wanted to pull your little swim suit to the side and fuck you there, in front of all those people.”
His voice was low and reverent with his confession. Charlie swallowed and let him stroke his thumb across her cheek.
“Please let me see you. I need to see you,” he begged, all remaining pride left on the other side of the bedroom door.
“Okay,” she whispered, turning on the little bedside lamp. “You first, though.”
Javier pushed her to the bed and stood between her legs, unbuttoning his shirt and looking her in the eye. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless, of course, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She wondered if he knew. If he knew the energy he radiated; the sheer sexuality that seeped from his pores when he so willed it. It quickened her heartbeat and shortened her breath, and she wondered if it was something she’d ever get used to.
Javier leaned down to kiss her, cupping the back of her neck with his hand, like he couldn’t help himself; she whimpered into his mouth, unable to keep her want in check.
His movements quickened with her noises, unbuckling his belt with speed and a sloppiness that didn’t hold that trademark Peña smoothness. But it did trigger another wave of arousal, knowing he was so desperate for her. Javier kicked off his shoes and socks, and tugged his pants off. She blushed at his lack of boxers.
“Those were just for my benefit, then?” She whispered, remembering a flash of him in blue plaid boxers that had hugged his little ass. She’d wanted to pinch it then.
“Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. Don’t ever wanna make you uncomfortable,” he said.
She ran her hands up and down his narrow hips, unable to keep her eyes off of his body. She leaned forward and kissed his little tummy, softened with age and a diet that likely comprised more beer than he’d admit to. His cock jumped at the feel of her lips; she smiled against his belly and pressed a second kiss, and he flinched, pulling back.
“You okay?” Charlie asked.
“Tickles,” he grunted, running his big hand through her hair with a soft smile on his lips, and she filed the information away for later.
She pulled back and looked up at him, trying not to stare at his cock bobbing in front of her. She’d never described a dick as beautiful before, but this was damn close. Thick and long and begging, begging for her mouth.
Charlie surged forward, engulfing as much of his length as she could in her mouth. Javier dug his fingers into her shoulders and hissed at her warm, wet mouth.
“Fuck, baby, you—“
She moved her head back and forth, her tongue licking sloppily, wrapping her hand around his base—it’d been a long time since she’d done this, but she was starving for him. Saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth and dribbled down her chin; Charlie moaned, perhaps louder than necessary. She relished the way he groaned and slid his hands into her hair after she did.
“You don’t—you don’t need to—“
“Shut up, Javi,” she said, her words garbled as she sucked him greedily.
“Yes ma’am,” he murmured. He tossed his head back and closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his composure. Truth be told, he was a little embarrassed at his performance the other night—he usually lasted longer.
Charlie pulled her mouth off of him to tease his tip with her tongue, and that—that almost broke him.
“Charlita,” he said, tugging her hair back to look her in the eyes, “You keep doing that and I’m gonna ruin this cute little shirt.”
“Not if I swallow it all down,” she breathed, leaning forward again. Javier grit his teeth as he tugged her hair again, pulling her away.
“Love that filthy little mouth,” he groaned. “But I wanna see you. You gonna let me see you now?”
She chewed her lip and nodded, wide-eyed. Javier pulled her shirt over head and grinned at her sports bra.
“I wasn’t exactly expecting company,” she said.
“I like it,” he murmured. Javier admired the bounce of her tits as the bra came off, cupping one in his hand and kneeling in front of her. She looked away, embarrassed, and he used his other hand to turn her face back to him. “I like these.”
“They’re not—they’re not, like, um—“
“Not what?” He asked, drawing one nipple into his mouth. She gasped.
“They’re, you know. Big—“
“Yeah, they are,” he murmured around her.
“I just mean they’re probably not what you’re used to,” she said, swallowing. “If—if Katie’s your usual—“
He pulled off for a moment. “You’re what I want. I want these.”
Javier swiped a thumb over her nipple, pulling another whimper from her, and continued kissing her breasts, licking and sucking and nibbling. His attention to her nipples had her growing wetter by the second. After a few more minutes, he leaned up to kiss her again, and grabbed the waist of her leggings, intent on finally getting her out of them.
“Jav—Javi, I haven’t—“
He stopped at her hesitancy.
“What is it, amor?”
She sighed at the endearment. “I just…my legs are stubbly and my…I haven’t shaved…”
Javier shook his head. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want you.”
Charlie nodded and let him continue. He took her nipple back into his mouth, suckling softly as he pulled her leggings off.
His eyes widened when he saw she wasn’t wearing panties.
“Traviesa,” [naughty] he teased, “Look at you.”
She laughed. “Wasn’t expecting company, remember?”
Javier spread her legs, kissing her calves and up her thighs, moving toward her tummy and breasts. She whimpered, relaxing at his touch and the praises he murmured into her skin.
“Love these,” he whispered as he kissed her thighs again, sucking little marks. “Always wanna touch these.”
He moved to her core, pressing kisses over her soft curls and spreading her lips open with his big fingers. She was shaking again, but he didn’t think it was from nerves this time.
“So sensitive, Charlita,” he crooned, his warm breath ghosting over her cunt as she arched into him.
“Peña,” she whispered, “if you don’t put your tongue—“
He smirked and cut her off in the middle of her empty threat, pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit and—oh, fuck, she tasted divine. Divine was not a word Javier Peña used a lot, but there was no other way to say it. She was tangy and musky and salty and sweet; everything he’d imagined she would be.
He wondered how long it’d been since he’d had something so soft and warm and wet in his mouth; dripping and gorgeous and just for him. She whined above him to move, lick, do anything—so he did. He worked his tongue over her, licking into her core and listening to her little gasps; bumping her clit with his nose. She threaded her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and tugging when he hit something inside of her.
“Javi,” she murmured, and the way she said his name so sweetly made him grind against the bed for relief.
“What do you need, bebita?”
“Need you to fuck me. Need you inside me, Javi.”
Javier dug his fingers into her thighs, groaning. He wanted to do this right. He wanted her to come first, he wanted her to enjoy herself.
“Charlita—“
“Please? Please? I’m so—I need you so bad,” she whined. And, fuck, how was he supposed to say no to that? He dipped his head down again to press a kiss to her clit, then moved to line himself up with her. She whimpered as he dragged his cock through her folds.
“You got a condom, baby?”
“I do—but—I wanna feel it so bad. I know I shouldn’t, but I want you so bad,” she begged. “I’m on the pill.”
Javier almost sank into her because, shit, yes, he wanted to feel her, but the last time he’d been tested was before Katie. He needed to be sure.
“Better not,” he said, hurtling to explain as he saw her face fall the way it did when she was embarrassed. “No—no—“
He leaned forward to press his mouth to hers. “None of that. I want to feel every part of you. Fuck, I want to, but I need to be sure. And the minute I am, we’ll do it just like that. Won’t accidentally hurt you.”
Her eyes cleared and she swallowed. “Okay. I should have—“
“No, no apologizing,” he said. “Christ, you’ll beat yourself up over anything.”
“Just like you,” she said. Her voice was hoarse with desire. “In the drawer.”
Javier rolled one on expertly, satisfied that he hadn’t completely forgotten what he was doing. Javier leaned down and kissed her again, pushing in and sucking in a breath, feeling her warmth even through the latex.
Charlie cried out as he buried his face into her neck, rocking into her slowly. She planted her feet on the bed, meeting his hips with her own. “So good, bebita. You feel so good.”
“Faster,” she murmured, and he obeyed. She was so much more decisive than the other women he’d been with, and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the way she asked him to shift one way or another; the way she moaned when he hit a certain spot. The way she clenched around him and moaned his name.
“Javi, Javi, Javi,” she mewled, and he thought of everything he could to keep himself from coming.
“Your pussy’s so tight,” he growled into her ear, smirking at the whimper it pulled from her lips.
Charlie was in another world. Javier Peña hovered over her, one hand gripping the headboard for balance and the other cradling her head. He was here, holding her, kissing her, fucking her. Keeping her safe when she’d offered him everything. Every time he nibbled on her shoulder, or kissed her chin, or pinched her nipples with his fingers it was bliss, worship, like he’d waited his whole life for this.
“Javi,” she simpered. “Can you do something?”
“Whatever you want, baby,” he said.
“Let me turn over,” she purred. He groaned at her request, moving a little faster in anticipation. Of course he wanted her on her hands and knees, of course he’d pictured fucking into her and rubbing circles around her clit until she fell apart around his cock. But he’d refrained this time. He’d wanted to see her face.
She grabbed his biceps and squeezed. “You don’t need to be gentle.”
“Fuck, Charlita, keep talking like that,” he growled, pulling out and kissing her hard. He grabbed her hips as she turned over and breathed in slowly at the sight of her like this. Her ass in the air was something he’d not been prepared for. Round, full cheeks and thick thighs and her pussy, glistening perfectly and stretched from their earlier activities. He rarely stopped to look.
He didn’t usually want to know them so well.
So he bent down to kiss her cheeks and licked a stripe up her already-quivering pussy.
“Javi,” she whined again, and he brought his hand down on her ass, a sharp slap ringing through the room mixing with her gasp. He wondered if he’d made a mistake until she muttered “harder” and he huffed a laugh. He slapped her cheek again, mesmerized by the way it jiggled.
Javier had always been a leg man. A long pair of well-toned legs in a mini-skirt would catch his eye faster than anything, especially if they were walking past his desk in a pair of heels, catching him unaware.
But this was good, too. Better, even.
“Harder,” she whimpered again.
Javier knew his own strength.
“Are you sure, bebita?”
“Please,” she whispered, her plea coming out choked and wanting. And he never wanted to deny her anything again.
His hand came down hard, the slap even louder this time. He stared at the handprint and moaned, bending down to kiss her. And then he couldn’t help himself—he moved down further, needing to see her again. She was dripping, aching for him.
“Tell me what you want, Charlita. What do you want from me?” He asked, running his fingers over the warm handprint.
Charlie bit her lip. She knew he liked her. She knew he was attracted to her. But her consciousness craved more, some proof she’d never get if she didn’t ask in her own way—would he have wanted her at all if he hadn’t felt bad for overlooking her?
“I want you to fuck me like we just met in a bar. I want you to show me what you’d do to me. Talk to me like you just want me.”
Javier sucked in a breath and grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her. “I’m not…I wanna do this right, Charlita.”
“You asked me what I wanted. I need you to show me, Javi. Please.”
He got it, then. She needed him to prove his desire. He could understand that. Javier leaned down and bit her earlobe, more harshly than he might have earlier, but whispered, “You’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?”
“Yes, Javi. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
Javier took a moment to remember what he’d been like before. He thought of his night with Katie, but that was borne of frustration. Anger, even. He thought of Gabi and Helena, but Charlie’s pussy wasn’t something he’d purchased.
A girl he’d met in Laredo in a bar came to mind.
She’d been pretty. Curvy. Soft and kind. And he’d made her scream. He could do that again.
“Let me see that sweet little pussy, baby,” he ordered, kicking her legs open with his knee and settling between them. “Let me see how wet you are.”
He swiped his fingers through her folds, teasing her clit for a moment.
“Gonna let me fuck this, hm?” He asked, letting a dormant part of himself take over.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes.”
“Wanted this pussy since the day I met you,” he said, and she whimpered. “Fucked my own hand in that hotel room. Wanted to fuck you on that bed just like this. You want that?”
She whined in affirmation, a tiny “please” escaping her lips. He swiped through her folds once more, wishing to God that he could feel her properly, and plunged inside of her. She whined and grabbed the sheet, and he fisted his hand into her hair, pulling firmly.
Neither of them spoke as he snapped his hips into her, his gaze fixated on the way her ass jiggled and the way she pushed back into him, grinding and whimpering as he angled himself.
He’d been right—he wasn’t gentle, and that was fine. Gentle was not what she needed. She needed this hurried, desperate fucking. He pulled her hair and tugged her upward, holding her close to his body. His hips snapped up and all she could do was hold onto his hands as he fucked into her.
“This what you wanted, pretty thing?” He whispered into her ear. “So much filthier than I thought—want me to fuck my cock into you—can’t even speak—“
Charlie could only murmur assent as he used her body the way she’d been dreaming that he would; as he ran his hands over her tits and the belly she so often tried to hide from him.
“You wanna touch yourself, Charlita? Make yourself come while I’m in you? I think you should,” he grunted. “I can help.”
She sobbed an agreement and snaked her hand down to her swollen clit, rubbing quick circles.
“I wanna come,” she whined.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
Javier moved, just a bit, searching for something inside her. He knew he’d found it when she clenched around him. He pushed her down again, clutching her hips and reveling in the sound of his balls slapping her soft thighs.
“Faster,” she breathed, and he didn’t know if he was talking to him or herself, but he sped up anyway. He was so close—every time she clenched he had to keep himself from letting go. Eventually, he buried himself so deep he wasn’t even leaving her body, just grinding into her cunt, not wanting this to end.
“Javi,” she cried. “Javi, Javi, I’m—“
He slapped her ass, hard. “Come,” he ordered. “Come now.”
And, Jesus, did she ever.
Her cunt milked him, pulled him in to where he couldn’t move, just ground into her while she sobbed his name as he whispered encouragement.
“So good, baby, so good. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, so fuckin’ sexy,” he mumbled into her skin, his teeth scraping her softness. It was maybe a few seconds, but it seemed like it lasted forever, and Javier gazed at her shuddering form as he pulled her up and soothed her with kisses.
“Can I move?” He murmured. She nodded, leaning against him as he fucked into her maybe half a dozen more times. The way he moaned her name in her ear as he came made her warm all over. He kept her on him for a few more minutes, then gently laid her down. Javi rolled her over and caged her with his arms.
“Look at me,” he murmured, kissing her, all tongues and teeth and soft, plump lips. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her shy grin gave him a rare peace that settled deep inside of his gut. He kissed her again before sitting up to find the bathroom. He came back with a damp washcloth and saw her laying there, a blissful expression on her sweet face, looking like a Greek goddess.
Javier pressed the damp cloth to her middle, and she flushed. She’d noticed the gesture the first time, but had been too exhausted to comment.
“What?”
“No one’s ever done…that,” she admitted. He frowned.
“You’ve been with the wrong people,” he said, kissing her forehead and crawling in bed. She wiggled off the bed, still naked, and he whistled. She looked back at, flustered at his Cheshire Cat grin.
“Where you going?” He asked, like he didn’t want her to go anywhere at all.
“Gotta pee,” she said, biting her lip and escaping to the bathroom. Charlie looked in the mirror and gazed at all the little marks and bruises from his teeth and fingertips. No one had ever handled her so roughly, but with so much care. Charlie remembered his whispered praises, calling her naughty. She hoped he’d do it again next time.
She hoped there would be a next time.
When she opened the door, she found Javier by the open window in his slacks, blowing smoke out into the cool night air. Charlie grabbed the sheet, wrapped herself in it, and joined him.
“The view’s amazing, right?” She asked, looking out the window.
“It is,” he agreed, not talking about the mountains as he looked at her messy hair and glowing cheeks. “Beautiful.”
Something banged against the bedroom door, and a pitiful meow followed. She rolled her eyes as she shuffled to the door and opened it. The orange tabby jumped onto the bed, looking quite offended at his exclusion and demanding pets from the closest hand.
“He always like this?” Javier asked, putting his cigarette out and petting the little monster.
“Only when you get to know him,” Charlie said.
She crawled into bed again.
“You want me to stay?” Javier asked quietly.
“More than anything,” Charlie answered, unable to keep the hopeful earnestness out of her voice. Something toxic in the back of her mind told her he’d be gone by the time she left the bathroom. And here he was, asking her if she wanted him to stay.
Charlie turned off the lamp and curled herself around him, perhaps holding him a little too tight. Holding him like she’d wanted to for so long.
“Are you really here with me?” She asked into the dark.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured.
Javier gathered her in his arms and swept her hair aside, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. She shuddered at the tickle of his mustache growing back. Charlie reached behind her and put her fingers to his mouth, lightly tracing his upper lip.
“This is starting to grow back,” she whispered. He huffed a laugh and kissed her fingers.
“I barely recognize myself,” he said, and she detected a hint of insecurity.
“You’re still you,” she said. “Just as handsome and broody as ever.”
“I am not broody,” he protested.
“It’s okay,” she said, turning to kiss him. “It’s sexy.”
He kissed her nose.
He hadn’t kissed anyone’s nose in ages. She turned back around, carefully covering herself, even in the darkness. Javier wondered if she’d ever let him see her fully when they weren’t having sex. Assuming she wanted that again. He took a deep breath. He heard Steve’s voice in his head. Communicate, you shithead.
“Charlita,” he murmured. “What do you want out of this?”
Charlie tried to keep herself from assuming the worst, after all they’d been through. His actions told her he was in it, but she never really knew. With her luck, she’d confess that she had genuine feelings, and he’d be telling her this was fun, but they’d have to keep quiet at work. And he’d call her.
“I, um, I hadn’t really…I don’t know. Whatever you want,” she mumbled, and cringed. It was the same way she’d reacted to the airport to him, and the same way she’d reacted to every other romantic partner who’d broken her heart or hurt her feelings. Her confidence shriveled, and she wilted like a neglected flower. She hated it, but it felt ingrained. Because what else could she do?
Javier frowned and shook his head. “That’s not what I asked, baby.”
Charlie sighed. She had, of course, forgotten that most men were not as perceptive as Javier Peña when he was staring you down, either.
“I’m not very good at this, either, you know,” Charlie told him.
“You told me what you wanted earlier,” he murmured into her neck, breaking her tension enough to make her laugh.
Javier leaned back against the headboard.
“Come here,” he said, opening his arms. She straddled him and pressed her face into his chest. They laid there for a moment as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. It was the closest he’d ever felt to anyone. He tipped her chin up to look at him.
“So,” he said. “What do you want out of this?”
Charlie took a deep breath. He’d asked for the truth, after all.
“I’m thirty-five. I’m not interested in being someone you just call for sex. I’m not interested in being someone you want to be with secretly. I’m not…I want a relationship, Javi. You’ve only known me a month, and I understand if it’s too much, but that’s what I want. I want to make it something real.”
Javier looked down at her with those big brown eyes, and for once, they didn’t look sad. They were inquisitive, surprised even.
“A relationship?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And like I said—“
“Why would I want to be with you in secret?”
Charlie smiled painfully. He had no idea.
“You really don’t see me like other guys, do you?”
“Who would wanna hide you?”
Charlie sighed.
“Well, several of my college boyfriends to start. And then when I came back home from my year abroad, I decided to settle down in Missouri. I was twenty-five or so. Met a guy, didn’t work out. Met another guy, didn’t work out. And then I met Cory, and it was…let’s just say that when they offered me the transfer here, I took it. He was just mean, you know? We lived together, and I never met any of his friends. Always told me he’d introduce me to his family when I lost twenty pounds. And I guess I’m just used to it now.”
She stopped when she realized she’d been rambling, but Javier was listening with rapt attention. Anger burned in his chest; not at her, but at the men who’d treated her this way. Men who’d made her feel like she wasn’t worth being with. Men like him, he remembered. He pressed a soft kiss to her nose.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, peppering her face with kisses. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted. I was scared. You’re too fuckin’ good for me. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“So, what do you want, Agent Peña?” She asked, kissing his chest.
“I know it’s only been a month. I wanna be with you. I want to take you out and show you off and tell everyone you’re mine. And I wanna find every motherfucker that ever treated you bad and kick their ass,” he said. She giggled into his skin.
“I’m serious, sweetheart,” he continued. “I mean it. You deserve better than me, but I’d be lying if I said I wanted you to be with anyone else.”
Charlie nuzzled him. “I want that, too.”
Javier’s chest filled with warmth; something tender bloomed inside of him.
“You feel right,” he said. “Is it too old-fashioned if I ask you to be my best girl?”
“No,” she whispered. “I think it’s romantic.”
He kissed her again, and again, and again until she was writhing on top of him and his cock was hard with need again. Charlie whined in frustration. “That was my last condom,” she said, panting against his neck.
“Don’t worry, baby, come here,” he cooed, holding her hips as she ground her clit against his length. “Does this feel good? Can you come like this?”
“I—I think so,” she moaned.
“Let me help you, bebita,” he said, pulling her further forward, rocking her back and forth, squeezing her soft hips and reveling in the way she felt rubbing herself against him. She cried out the faster she went, murmuring his name over and over. How was she still so wet for him?
“Traviesa,” he said again, his voice dropping an octave this time; he grinned at how much she liked that, “You wanna come on me? Come on, fuck—“
She moved faster, then stilled—he felt her pulse, her cunt clenching around nothing, throwing her head back and moaning as she came. He was so close, so close—
“Baby,” he said urgently, “Where?”
Charlie looked down at him with a devilish grin. She hopped off of him and stuck her ass in the air, and he snarled as he got to his knees.
“Dirty—fucking—girl—“ he said, pumping himself a few times and slapping her cheek as he came, mesmerized by its movements.
Charlie grinned into her folded arms, listening to his grunts behind her and feeling his warm come on her back. Marking her. She was his. He held onto her ass for just a few moments, kneading her there.
“You like my ass,” she teased.
“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he panted, bending down and kissing her ass and thighs. “Stay there.”
He cleaned her up again, and she rolled back into the blankets, sated and exhausted. She looked to the window and saw Señor staring stonily back at her.
“Oh, fuck,” she laughed.
“Yeah, I saw him earlier,” Javier said, searching for his cigarettes.
“Why didn’t—“
“Didn’t wanna ruin the mood,” he grinned.
The cat jumped from the window, like they’d offended him.
“You could have left, you know,” she snorted, but he paid her no attention, stalking out of the room.
Javier curled himself into the open window again, smoking.
“Thought you were gonna quit,” Charlie asked.
“Me, too,” he sighed, taking a few more drags and stubbing it out. He curled back into bed, and kissed her again. “I could do that all night, you know.”
“Mm, me too. But I kinda took the day off work because some guy was rude to me, so. I can’t sleep in,” she murmured.
“What a jackass,” he said. “You want me to rough him up a little?”
“That’d be great,” she agreed, her eyes drooping.
“Goodnight, bebita,” he said, but she’d fallen asleep. He joined her soon after, content enough to fall into bliss with his face buried in her hair.
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merrydiaz · 9 hours ago
Text
what do you say to someone (when they've heard you say it all)?
title from how did we get from saying i love you by great big sea.
It was the right decision. It was the right decision, to take a step back, a step away. Chris needs him. And yet here, standing just inside the door of an apartment he used to know almost as well as his own home, Eddie feels flayed open.
“You won’t talk to me,” Buck pleads, like Eddie hasn’t been trying but the words feel like a noose around his neck every time he tries to speak them. Like Eddie doesn’t want to tell him, my son is so scared of me dying that he was preparing for this Christmas to be our last together. Like he doesn’t want to claw out the devastation that’s been burning a hole in his chest since he first learned just how much his own son fears his mortality.
Instead, Eddie says, “We talk all that time.” It’s not exactly a lie, because he makes sure to have Buck over once a week to see Chris and calls him when their schedules don’t line up. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk to Buck anymore--at least, not the way he wants to. Not after the distance between them that’s only increased tenfold since Eddie left the 118, and not about this unspoken thing that’s been simmering between them since May.
“Yeah,” Buck laughs bitterly, “we talk. About your new job. Or what Chris is doing in school. Or your fucking laundry. But you never want to talk to me about you.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Buck.” That is, in part, true. Eddie doesn’t know what Buck wants him to say. Does he want him to talk about why he left? Does he want him to talk about all the intricate details of why Chris clings to him so much more than he used to? Does he want him to talk about what happened to them? There are so many—too many—things for them to talk about, Eddie couldn’t even guess where to start.
Buck leans against his dining table, the few feet between them feeling like miles, the frown that was already on his face deepening. His eyebrows pinch together, eyes shut, and he lets out a sigh. Then, so quietly Eddie would have missed if he wasn’t paying attention to every movement and sound from him, Buck whispers, “you left.”
Eddie must make a sound, because Buck’s eyes open, and look directly at him. “You left, and you didn’t even talk to me about it. And you haven’t been talking about anything for months, practically since—”
“Buck.” Eddie has to interrupt him, because if he doesn’t the last scrap of who he was before is going to be torn away, and Eddie isn’t ready for that, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that.
“We—we never talked about it, Eddie. Don’t you think it’s time we did?”
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yoyomarules · 16 hours ago
Text
I reckon Nate runs a bunch of cons where Hardison’s the one to charm the hell out of people but has to stop because Parker and Eliot get so jealous it actively causes problems.
See, Hardison doesn’t flirt the way Sophie or Eliot do. When they play that role, it’s clearly an act to anyone who knows them. But Hardison is so himself, so warm and charming and personable, that knowing it’s an act doesn’t make it feel any less real.
So when Parker hears a receptionist’s breathless giggling at one of Hardison’s jokes over the comms, she bends her lock-pick out of shape and takes twice as long as usual to break into the mark’s filing cabinet.
Not a problem, because Parker’s twice as long is the next thief’s inhumanly speedy, and nor is it a problem the time Eliot shows up to the inevitable mid-con regroup with his natural curls, which Hardison’s vocally admired before, bouncing around his shoulders. That’s just a personal choice completely unconnected to Hardison complimenting the mark’s hair, and Eliot defies anyone to suggest otherwise.
Where it does get distracting is the time a mark gets just a touch handsy, fingers lingering on Hardison’s arm. Hardison assumes Eliot’s winding him up when he starts muttering about transdermal poisons—it seems unlikely the director of a haberdashery company is actually employing tactics straight out of spy thrillers. He wears long-sleeved tops for the rest of the job all the same, though.
And it really puts the con at risk the time a mark’s assistant says, looking into Hardison’s eyes, ‘I feel like even though you’ve only worked here a week… I can really trust you. Would you come back later so I can show you this issue with the accounts, tell me what you think?’
‘It’s a bad idea,’ Eliot insists, as they’re trying to work out exactly how to play it.
‘Yeah, like why in the evening?’ Parker asks. ‘That’s suspicious, right?’
‘Uh, that’s a completely normal time for secret poking around in the company accounts,’ Hardison says.
‘What if she tries something?’ Eliot demands. ‘Someone should go with you. Nate, tell him.’
‘She’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet,’ Hardison says, offended. ‘Y’all really think I’m that useless?’
‘What if she tries something else? Like a sexy something?’ Parker asks.
Eliot makes a choked noise. ‘Yeah, or—or that.’
‘Whoa! I seriously doubt Rachel invited me to the office to seduce me,’ Hardison says.
Parker glares. ‘Oh, it’s Rachel now, is it?’
‘It’s always been Rachel; her name is Rachel.’ Hardison says, baffled.
Nate smothers a laugh. ‘Eliot, Parker, look into that mystery investor our mark mentioned.’
‘Okay, but we can do that later—’
‘Now. Hardison, call Rachel.’
‘Oh, and if she tries to seduce you,’ Sophie says, ‘it’s not too late to add a bit to your backstory about how you’re loyal to your true love but the cruel hand of fate is keeping you apart.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Hardison says.
Technically, it isn’t Eliot and Parker who blow the con—that’s actually on Nate for calling while they’re hiding in a cupboard in the mark’s office. Helpfully, Rachel is all on board to take down her boss, whose corruption she’s suspected for a while. But it’s sheer luck that she takes the truth of why they’re there in stride, and Nate quietly decides it’s best Hardison doesn’t play this kind of role in future.
‘Hey, out of interest, what cruel circumstances would you have suggested are keeping Hardison apart from his true love?’ Nate asks idly later, as he and Sophie are sitting at the bar, watching Parker, Hardison and Eliot bicker about the best way to break into Area 51.
‘Hardison’s character, you mean?’ Sophie says.
‘Oh, of course.’
‘I don’t know.’ Sophie swirls her wine around her glass. ‘Family feud. Tragic miscommunication.’
‘I’m telling you,’ Eliot is saying, ‘it’s cheating if you do it remotely.’
‘W—cheating?’ Hardison splutters. ‘I’d like to see you get in without disabling the motion sensors.’
‘You wouldn’t need to disable the motion sensors with my plan—’ Parker insists.
‘Okay, so maybe we’d need all three of us; how ’bout that?’ Eliot concludes, voice carrying across the room.
Sophie sips her wine. ‘Or then again, it’s possible they’re just a little slow on the uptake.’
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c-e-d-dreamer · a day ago
Note
For your request for holiday prompts, how about something inspired by I saw mommy kissing Santa Clause? Like Cassian dressing up as Santa and kissing Nesta but their kids see
And another one that's been lowkey sitting in my ask box because I haven't had time. So sorry! But this was super fun to write, and I hope you enjoy :) Also, big shout-out to my best friend who's a teacher and always gives me student’s names that I can use in fics.
"You look ridiculous." 
Cassian glances down at himself, at the bright red jacket and matching pants, each trimmed in white. The movement causes the ball of his hat to go flying forward, knocking against his cheek, and he reaches his hands up to straighten out where the hat sits atop his dark tangle of hair. 
He looks up to where his wife is perched on their sofa, half the cookies on the plate in front of her already gone and a piece of tape for wrapping the last gift poised between her fingers. She's wearing her unimpressed face, an eyebrow raised in Cassian's direction, but he doesn't miss the fondness swimming in those blue grey eyes or the slight uptick at the corners of her lips. Gods, he loves her so much. All these years later and she still has his heart thundering in his chest every time their eyes meet. Still has that warm feeling flooding through him until his fingers are tingling. 
"You don't think I look hot, Nes?" Cassian teases, throwing in a wink for good measure. 
That just earns him an eye roll, and Cassian steps forward, taking Nesta's hand and pulling her to her feet. An arm around her waist, and he's tugging her even closer still. He presses a kiss to his favorite spot behind her ear, reveling in the shudder that takes over Nesta. 
"Don't I make a hot Santa?" Cassian whispers hotly in her ear. 
Nesta snorts softly, but her grip is still tight where her hands are buried in the fabric at his waist, she still leans into him. Cassian opens his mouth, ready to make another dirty joke, when they both feel a distinct kick. Cassian pulls back with a wide smile, only to find Nesta's just as soft, as bright, as they both reach their hands for the spot. 
"See?" Cassian points out. "Someone agrees with me." 
"That's because you spoil her, so she's a Daddy's girl." 
Cassian ignores her, leaning down to press a kiss to Nesta's rounded belly. Satisfied when their baby girl kicks again, Cassian straightens up, cupping Nesta's face with his hands. He leans close until their noses brush, until he can see every shade of blue in her eyes, every sun kissed freckle on her cheeks. 
"Do you want Santa to spoil you, Nes?" 
"I hate you so much." 
"You can't lie on Christmas, sweetheart." 
Before Nesta can make any more protests, Cassian closes the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers. 
~ * * * ~ 
When Cassian wakes in the morning, it's to the sun reflecting off the crisp, white snow blanketing the world outside and right into their bedroom. He smiles softly as he takes in Nesta's still sleeping form beside him, one hand delicately resting on her stomach. It takes Cassian's sleep-addled mind a few minutes to realize what's missing from this picture. Particularly, the excited little feet jumping on the mattress, the high pitch squeal declaring it's Christmas. 
Cassian takes a moment to listen, wondering if those little feet have snuck downstairs without him, but the house is quiet. Cassian leans over, pressing a kiss to Nesta's temple, before sliding out of their bed and out of their room. He pads down the hall to the room at the end, carefully opening the door. 
He expects to find Kylynn still fast asleep, the only logical explanation for the lack of her waking him up, but instead his daughter is awake and sitting on her bed. Cassian notes the way her arms are crossed, her eyebrows pinched together, and the little pout pushing out her lips. It has him frowning as he steps fully into her room. 
"Aren't you supposed to be the one waking me up for Christmas morning, not the other way around?" He teases lightly, moving to sit beside his daughter on her bed. 
"I don't want any presents from Santa," Kylynn declares, huffing softly. 
The quiet determination, the annoyed look marring her face, is so like her mother that Cassian has to bite his lip around a smile. He reaches it up to run a soothing hand through her hair instead. Those dark curls from him. 
"You don't?" Cassian asks gently. "But you were so excited before." 
"I don't want them. Send them back." 
"Send them back? We can't do that."
"We have to. I hate Santa now." 
"Ky, why do you hate Santa?" 
Cassian isn't sure what explanation he expects to get from Kylynn. Honestly, this whole conversation has been a whirlwind. Last night, they could barely get Kylynn to bed she was so ramped up on excitement for Christmas morning. And now this one-eighty? Maybe, he should wake Nesta. She would definitely be better at handling this than him. 
But then Kylynn's whole face shatters, a pained wail pulling deep from her chest and big, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. 
"I saw Santa kissing Mommy last night," Kylynn sobs. 
Cassian bundles up his daughter into his arms, holding her close to his chest as she continues to cry. He rocks them gently and runs a smoothing hand up and down her spine. He hates seeing her like this. Every sob like a sharp knife right to the heart. He curses himself for not hearing her sneak down the stairs last night. 
“Are you and Mommy going to break up like Eleanor’s parents?” Kylynn gets out between hiccups. 
Cassian sighs softly, thinking of Kylynn’s classmate whose parents are divorcing. He pulls Kylynn away from him, just enough that he can wipe the tears from her cheeks with gentle fingers. She sniffles softly as he does it, looking up at him with wide blue eyes still lined with unshed tears. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. 
“Mommy and I aren’t breaking up,” Cassian tells her. “We love each other so much, just like we love you.” 
“Then why did Santa kiss her?” 
Cassian tries to think of what to tell her. On the one hand, telling her the truth, that it was him the whole time kissing Nesta, would assure her that he and Nesta were definitely not breaking up because Santa of all people was coming between them. But he also doesn’t want to ruin the magic of Christmas and Santa so young for Kylynn. She’s only four years old after. But keeping up the belief in Santa clearly is going to do more harm than good in this situation. It’s a lose-lose. 
“Well, Ky,” Cassian starts gently. “Because it wasn’t actually Santa kissing Mommy.” 
“What do you mean?” 
“It was Daddy, wearing a Santa costume.” 
“Why were you wearing a Santa costume? Wouldn’t that confuse Santa?” 
“You see, sweetie—” 
“Because Daddy is one of Santa’s helpers.” 
Cassian glances toward the bedroom door to find Nesta leaning against the door frame there. She shoots Cassian a look that he knows means they’ll be talking about this later, but then she’s offering Kylynn a soft smile. She walks over and joins them on the bed, Kylynn scrambling into her mother’s arms without any encouragement, curling up against Nesta’s chest. The sight has Cassian’s heart squeezing with the amount of love he feels. His two favorite girls, soon to be three, tucked up together like this. 
“One of Santa’s helpers?” Kylynn asks quietly, blinking up at Nesta. 
“That’s right,” Nesta explains, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kylynn’s hair. “There are so many good little girls and boys that need presents, that sometimes Santa can’t get to all the houses in time. So he has helpers, and Daddy’s the helper for our neighborhood.” 
“You are?” Kylynn asks, turning her attention back to Cassian. 
“I am,” Cassian assures her. 
Kylynn nods sagely. “That makes sense.” 
“Now, how about some hot chocolate?” Nesta offers. 
“With extra marshmallows?” Kylynn pleads. 
“Of course.” 
Nesta presses a kiss to Kylynn’s cheek before standing up from the bed. Cassian holds his own lips out in a pout, and Nesta rolls her eyes teasingly but leans forward to press a kiss to them before heading toward the door and downstairs. He smiles as he watches her go before turning his attention back to their daughter. 
“And how about those presents from Santa?” he asks. 
Cassian is glad to see the wide smile return to Kylynn’s face as she nods excitedly at him, those bright, blue eyes free of any more tears. He scoops her up into his arms and settles her on his hip as they make their way out of the room and to the stairs. 
“So, Daddy, how did you meet Santa?”
Taglist: @moodymelanist @hellogoodbye14​ @nestaspegasus​ @confusedfandomslut​ @sv0430​ @angelic-voice-1997​ @talkfantasytome @secretlovelybeauty @azreilsblade
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kitkatpancakestack · 2 days ago
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For anonymous, who requested established buck and eddie designing the layout of their nursery for their daughter. Extremely elated to invite myself into the girl dad!buddie pandemonium.
Read this and the rest of the Interior Designer!Eddie series on ao3!
XIX
“Buck.”
A mop of brown hair appears in his eyeline, above the edge of his book. He uses his hand to mark the page and lowers it to his lap, revealing Christopher’s bright-eyed smile. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“Dad is doing it again.”
“You mean—”
“Uh-huh.”
“With the binder?”
“Yes."
“Right.” He grabs the receipt he’s using as a bookmark and wedges it in place, setting the book on the side table. Christopher flops onto the couch and turns on the TV, and Buck navigates his way through the still unfamiliar halls of their new home. There are still boxes lining the walls and the ratio of organization to chaos isn’t yet ideal, but they’re making it work. Anyway, Eddie’s been fixated on something else entirely, leaving Buck and Christopher to do most of the unpacking.
He finds his husband sitting on the floor of the empty room with his binder in his lap and a pencil stuck in his ear, staring off into the middle distance. Buck watches for a moment, amused, before he lowers himself to the ground, too, his joints carrying out a full-bellied symphony as he does so.
Eddie angles his head toward him, lips twisting in an amused smile. “Lot of snap, crackle, and popping going on over there.”
Buck bumps him with his shoulder. “That’s big talk, Mr. I-Threw-My-Back-Out-Doing-Laundry.”
“It was from the call, Buck, that piece of the ceiling dropped and bent my spine all out of shape. You saw it happen, you were there.”
“Right, okay.” He scoots close enough to lean his head against Eddie’s shoulder, eyes skating over the scribbly page of notes. “Your son is concerned for your mental health, by the way.”
“My mental health?”
“I believe that’s what I said, yes.”
“I’m fine. I’m being perfectly normal about this.”
“Uh-huh.” He plucks the binder out of Eddie’s lap and flips through the latest section labeled Isla. A disgruntled noise of protests bubbles up the back of Eddie’s throat, but otherwise he doesn’t complain. Buck flips through the notes, not really reading, just absorbing the volume of his husband’s weirdest idiosyncrasy. “You realize she is a baby, and will not be able to shower you with praise and approval, right?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought.” He deposits the binder in Eddie’s lap and presses a kiss to his temple as he stands. “I’m ordering pizza for tonight. You gonna join us?
Eddie waves him off. Buck rolls his eyes and searches for Christopher, who is in his room, still putting his stuff away. “Dad acting normal again?”
Buck shrugs, flopping onto the bed. “Normal as your dad has ever been, I suppose.”
Christopher nods, turning the book in his hands over and over. A slew of comfortable, wordless moments pass, Buck staring at the ceiling and planning out the week, before Christopher says, “He might not be okay.”
The bed creaks as Buck sits up to peer more directly at him. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugs. “He gets a bit weird with me every time I try talking to him about it. I don’t know.”
“Hm.” Buck lies back down, scratching over the stubble on his face. “I’ll keep an eye on your dad,” he murmurs. “I always do.”
And he does. He doesn’t have a notebook where he catalogues Eddie’s movements every hour, but he still feel like a scientist observing a specimen. Over the next several weeks, Eddie spends most of his time in the soon-to-be nursery, nose shoved in his binder. Soon-to-be, because no meaningful progress has been made in the one room that actually has a time constraint. And Buck knows Eddie has a plan, because he’s seen the Pinterest boards, and scrolled through the tabs on his laptop, and flipped through the pages in the binder, but nothing has translated from Eddie’s head to the physical space.
So, a couple weeks before they’re set to bring their daughter home, Buck does something he never thought he would do:
He asks Eddie to go to Target with him.
It’s early on a Saturday, both of them sleeping off a double. Eddie is essentially dead to the world, so Buck takes advantage and rolls on top of him, tucking the cold tip of his nose into the juncture where Eddie’s jaw meets his neck. “Eddie,” he whispers.
A broken, half-asleep moan is the response.
Buck presses an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “What are your plans for today?”
Hands slide down Buck’s back, fingers digging into the divots on either side of his spine. Eddie’s voice is low and scratchy and molten lava when he replies, “I have one very good idea right now.”
“Mmhm.” Buck rolls off but doesn’t move far, tangling his fingers through Eddie’s frazzled bedhead. “Let’s go to Target.”
“Target? You?” He’s blinking, suddenly more awake. “I’m sorry, is there someone under the bed pointing a gun at you or something? What’s going on?”
Buck fists a chunk of hair in his hand and administers an emphatic tug. “Asshole. It’s shopping. Let’s go shopping.”
“So weird. I must be dreaming.”
Absolutely insufferable. He thinks about calling him out on it, but Eddie always looks so safe and loved and vulnerable in the mornings, this one especially, and so Buck sidelines his plans for thirty minutes and rolls back on top of his husband.
Christopher seems enthused at the idea when they break it to him over breakfast, but his hidden agenda is revealed when he makes doe eyes at them to buy some new video game that’s just been released. Eddie holds out all of five minutes before caving, five minutes longer than Buck lasted, and the excitement placates Chris while they amble around the store.
“Check this out, Ed.” Buck holds up a peach-colored bean bag and a matching pillow. “This goes with the crib and the rocking chair. And it fits your theme . . . what was it? Morning Sunrise?”
Eddie’s face flushes, as it always does when his interior design compulsion is verbalized, but he runs his fingers over the fabric. “I like it,” he says. “Put it in the cart.”
Buck takes it as a small victory. He moves through the baby aisle and actually has fun doing it, feeling the weight of reality settle, anticipating the expansion of their family unit. So much so that he doesn’t realize Eddie’s left him until he looks up and he’s alone.
“Eddie?” he calls.
Christopher nods toward the toy section. Buck follows, and sure enough, Eddie is standing with his hands on his hips, staring down a giraffe that is bigger than Chris.
Shocking everyone, Eddie says, “I want this.”
Buck blinks. “It doesn’t exactly fit your theme, babe.”
“I don’t care. This. I want this.”
And it was the only thing all day that Eddie picked out for himself, so Buck offers to haul it under his arm on the way to check out. They throw everything in the car, eat Pizza Hut for lunch, return home, and then lug everything inside their house.
Later that night, a little before one in the morning, Buck jolts awake and reaches across the expanse of his bed, only to find empty, tousled sheets beside him. He pulls on a sweatshirt before shuffling down the hall. The room to the nursery is cracked open. Eddie is inside, binder in his lap, leaning against the wall, again staring at nothing.
Without a word, Buck pushes the binder out of Eddie’s lap and replaces it with his head. Eddie’s hand moves to Buck’s hair like opposite poles of a magnet and sifts through it. “What's going on with you, Ed?”
A harsh sigh, heavy and tired. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s . . .” the thoughts hangs, unfinished. Buck picks at a loose thread over the knee of Eddie’s jeans.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, feeling Eddie shift beneath him. “It’s okay if it’s hard.”
"It shouldn’t be.”
“Christopher isn’t angry, you know.”
When Eddie doesn’t respond, Buck knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Knowing somebody better than yourself will do that. “He’s excited to have a little sister,” Buck continues. “And he thinks you’re a great dad. The best dad. They don’t give those #1 Dad mugs to just anybody, you know.”
He hears the huff of breath above him, rolls onto his back to see Eddie’s face.
“I also think you’re a great dad." He pokes Eddie’s cheek. “Smokin’ hot, too.”
Eddie laughs. Buck grins, because making Eddie laugh is one of the greatest joys he’s even known.
They sit together for a moment in the nursery, until Eddie pats Buck’s chest in wordless insistence. Buck moves out of the way, trailing Eddie as he hauls in the bags from their Target trip. He drops everything to the floor. “Probably going to be up all night,” he says. “Get some sleep, Buck.”
“I’ll help.”
“Cute, but I don't have time to micromanage you.”
Buck makes an indigent squawk in response, but Eddie kisses it away, and then pushes him out the door. “Sleep,” he repeats. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Ed. Even when you’re being a meanie.”
The laugh follows him all the way into unconsciousness.
The next morning, Buck finds Eddie swaying gently in the rocking chair. The crib is set up. The white carpet with silk fringes covers the middle of the floor, and there’s the peach beanbag, and a pile of peach pillows, and a peach baby box with Isla written on the top, and the giraffe keeping guard over his kingdom in the corner. It’s perfect, and real, and theirs.
“Wow,” Buck says, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Strong work. As usual.”
The familiar sound of crutches clacks up behind him, and Christopher pokes his head through. His jaw drops, and then he grins, and when Eddie opens his arms, he actually falls into his father’s lap. Buck’s throat tightens. Chris hasn’t done that with either of them in a while.
“It looks so good, Dad,” Chris whispers.
“Thank you, mijo.” He kisses the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re here to see this. To help with this.”
“Duh, she’s going to be my little sister. It’s my job.”
It could just be the reflection of light, but Buck thinks there might be tears in Eddie’s eyes. “You got it, Superman.”
“But, Dad?”
“Hm?”
“The giraffe has got to go.”
“You don’t like my giraffe?”
“No. The eyes follow you. I don’t trust it.”
Buck barks out sharp laughter, and Eddie tightens his hold on Chris, rocking back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth. “We’ll see,” he says, meeting Buck’s eyes across the room.
Later that week, Eddie changes his design theme to Giraffes at Sunrise, and he grins so much while holding a giraffe pillow in his hand, that neither Buck nor Christopher can bring themselves to say a single word against it.
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sweeethinny · a day ago
Text
Little Harry meets Baby Mia
@joyseuphoria and @funbunnypotter26 asked me to write about Harry meeting Mia because I shared this amazing video and told it reminded me of Harry.
so here it is
I feel like it was the cutest thing I've ever written in my life
----------------
Harry went to Mia's crib every day. And every day he saw nothing but blankets, folded clothes, and pillows. No baby his parents promised, just a mess.
Was that what a baby was? A mess?
Harry had heard his mum say that today was the last day with the belly, but he didn't understand why, how was she going to get the belly out of her? And where would Mia live if Mum took her house, which was her belly?
Mia was roomy, Harry knew that, several times his mum said that and he noticed how her belly got bigger every day. It was like it was going to burst like a soap bubble (his father had promised him it wouldn't and that Lily was safe, but Harry didn't believe it, so he was always mindful of his mum's belly, taking care never to poke her skin. He loved her, didn't want her to explode).
Harry has waited every day since his parents told them. Every day he waited, watched the calendar his dad gave him, waiting for the month of April to come, which was when his mum promised him that Mia would arrive - Harry didn't understand how she was going to arrive either, if she was already there in his mother's belly, but Lily told him that there would come a time when she would take the baby out of her.
When April came, Harry ran to his sister's crib, hoping she was already there, but again, there was nothing.
But today was different.
Sirius arrived at dawn and took Harry out of his bed and took him to his parents' bed, his father gave him a kiss and said he would be back soon, and his mother seemed to be in a lot of pain so Harry was worried about her but she was crying and smiling, saying it was okay when he said he wanted to go along with them to protect her. Sirius would stay with him while his parents were wherever they went, and soon Harry fell asleep again, too tired to fight.
When he woke up, his parents still hadn't come back. Sirius made him pancakes, but he wasn't happy like he used to be. Sirius was worried, pacing back and forth, and every now and then he would send a patron to wherever dad was asking if everything was okay.
His parents were away for another two days. Harry was worried and missing them, crying to sleep and wanting his dad to read him a bedtime story, not Sirius. Not that Sirius wasn't good, but he wanted his dad. He wanted his mum. He missed them.
On Thursday night, his parents arrived.
Mum looked tired, very tired, and she seemed to have been crying too, Harry was worried about her because her belly wasn't as big as it used to be.
"Have you lost Mia?" He asked, confused, placing his hand on his mother's stomach that wasn't as round anymore.
Lily smiled, grumbling to pick him up, then full him with kisses and hugs, whispering against his forehead. "Mommy is fine," One more kiss. Harry had missed her so much that he didn't even care. "Have you been to see your sister's crib yet?"
"Not yet! Sirius said I couldn't go in!" Harry complained, because he had tried to get into the room earlier, but Sirius said the room needed to be…clean, it needed to be clean for some reason.
"Let's go then?" Lily set him down, giving Harry a hand, who quickly accepted. He wanted to run but realized that his mum was in pain so he walked slowly.
"Are you hurt Mommy?" he asked again.
"Mommy is fine, just a little pain, but nothing to worry," She smiled, and opened Mia's bedroom door for him. Harry saw that his father was there, by the side of the crib, also looking tired but not in pain.
Why had only Mom felt pain???
"Come see, we have a surprise for you," James called after him, and Harry walked over, climbing over the crib and managing to climb up until he could look inside, and where once it had been blankets and clothes, there was now a baby, small and all wrapped up on a blanket that he chose some weeks before.
The baby was so small that Harry thought it was a fake.
But as if to prove it was for real, Mia made a noise, softly and that Harry didn't quite recognize, but she seemed to say hi and that cheered him up. He finally had a sister!
"There's a baby in here!" he yelled, climbing over the crib to go inside. Harry had waited so long to meet her, it wasn't the same thing as talking to Mom's belly, now he could see that Mia was really real! She existed! And now Harry was her brother.
He didn't quite know what that changed in his life other than the fact that he wasn't the only child in the house anymore, but that seemed to be important because Dad always told him that by now, he was going to be a big brother.
Anyway, there was Mia!
“Hey, hey, calm down.” Mum took his arm, and Dad helped him into the crib, always reminding him to be careful.
Of course he would be careful, she was so small she looked almost like those dolls Mum kept in the attic.
"Hi," Harry greeted her, but Mia didn't seem to understand what that was. Dad had told him babies took time to learn to speak, so maybe that was why.
But she yawned, opening her mouth wide, and Harry took it as she greeted him, and it was enough to make him smile and laugh with glee, touching her head carefully. Her eyes didn't open like his, maybe she was too sleepy? Her nose was very small, as was her mouth, but Harry noticed that her hair was different from his.
Harry had messy black hair, mum always said, and Mia had a few hairs on her head, and a much lighter color, looking a lot like the golden color he used to paint the golden snitch, in a drawing that mum put it in a picture frame and hung it in Mia's room. He had made it for her, it was him, mum - with Mia in her belly - and dad. The Snitch was flying under them.
"Do you want to hold her?" Mum asked, standing in front of the crib, for some reason her eyes were watery. Was it the pain she was feeling that made her cry?
Harry nodded.
"So, have a seat," Dad helped him get ready, he taught him how to hold his arms straight while mum took the package that was Mia, and placed her in his arms. She looked even smaller there, but it was heavy, not too much, but enough for Harry to brace his arms on his outstretched legs while Dad held her head.
Couldn't she keep her head up?
"Hi," Harry said again, only because she made a noise that sounded like a whimper, and maybe it was hello in babies' language.
Harry hadn't been a baby for a long time now, Dad said he was a little man now, so Harry didn't speak Mia's language.
“I'm your brother,” He smiled. "I was waiting for you," Mia started to cry. For some reason, maybe she was in pain too. This despaired Harry. “No, don't cry, I'm cool, I promise.” Did she understand what was cool? Harry bent down and kissed her forehead like his parents did to him whenever he cried. Mia was still mumbling, but she wasn't crying. Maybe she understood what he was talking about, because he was once a baby too!
‘’We are gonna play a lot, ok? I have a lot of toys so it will be a lot of fun!’’
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girl-next-door-writes · 2 days ago
Text
It Had To Be You - Part 1
Characters: George Weasley x reader
Summary: Joining the DA has you learning, not only how to defend yourself against the dark arts, but also that George Weasley maybe isn’t the total fool you had thought him to be.
Word Count:1381 words
A/N: @gred-n-forge was one of my reblog draw winners a few months back and they gifted me this little plot bunny. At the time it felt like it was going to end up rather Christmassy so here is the first of a 3-part George Weasley fluffy Christmas kind of fic. Enjoy.
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You knew who George Weasley was. Merlin, everybody knew who Fred and George Weasley were, they had made a point of becoming infamous throughout the school in the years they had been here, but you had never really got to know him. The two of you moved in different social circles and, if you were being honest, you thought he was a bit of an idiot. All the pranks and chaos that surrounded him and his brother seemed so high maintenance, like a scream for attention that you had no choice but to hear. That wasn’t to say you hadn’t considered his good qualities, like his eyes, or those long slender fingers of his. He was also pretty good out there on the quidditch pitch too, but those thoughts were fleeting, and you were never one of those girls who would throw themselves at a boy. The Weasley twins had enough of those in their little fan club.
Then came the reign of Umbridge. A dark, foreboding fell upon the castle and the pockets of joy and laughter seemed to be vanishing faster each day. It had made sense to you to join the D.A. Harry Potter had an extraordinary natural flair for magic and if things were as bad as he said then you wanted to be able to protect yourself and those closest to you.
Standing in the Room of Requirements, you felt nervous. Looking around, your eyes landed on the trio of redheads in the corner and your shoulders slumped a little. This was important and you could only hope the Weasley twins weren’t planning on disrupting things for their own amusement.
“Hi. I’m glad you made it.” Neville appeared by your side, giving you a shy smile. He had been the one to hand you the leaflet in the library, the two of you often found yourselves to be the last there when studying.
“Hi.” You greeted with a warm smile, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The chance to learn how to conjure my very own Patronus is worth the risk of detention.”
“Oh, detentions aren’t all that bad.” A voice piped up behind you, causing you to jump a little.
“And if you find yourself in there then we can always keep you company.” A second voice chipped in as Fred rested his arm on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh and was about to respond when Harry called the meeting to order.
As the days turned into weeks, the meetings became more and more successful. You felt a sense of achievement seeing the practical side of your magic growing stronger.
“So, how was your day?” You turned to your right, looking up and seeing the now familiar face of George Weasley as he fell into step beside you, the two of you obviously heading to the same place.
“Not bad. How about you?”
“Much better now I get to see you.” He teased, causing you to laugh and roll your eyes.
“Well, if seeing me is the highlight of your day, George, then this has been a very disappointing 24 hours for you.” You smiled as he opened the door for you, allowing you to squeeze past him and into the Room of Requirements. As you did so, the scent of his bodywash or perhaps his deodorant caught your nose and it felt eerily familiar, though you couldn’t place where you had smelled it before. Shaking off the strange feeling you decided it had probably just been when you had stood close to him at some point before.
The weather had begun to turn colder, and you found yourself spending more and more time in the library, soaking up the accumulated knowledge there like a sponge, eager to try and apply it at the next DA meeting. As the darkness had drawn in, you had gazed out of the nearby window and watched the snow flurries dance in the wind. Allowing your mind to go blank for a few moments, it had surprised you to find a certain tall, flame haired boy enter your thoughts. Okay, so maybe George Weasley wasn’t a complete muppet. Maybe some of those pranks of his were quite funny, and the small furrow on his brow when he concentrated was quite cute. You caught yourself before your brain could take you further down that path. Oh no, you were not going to be one of those girls who caught feelings for the unattainable pranksters.
Quickly gathering up your books and shoving them into your bag, you got to your feet, realizing it was rather late and that you needed to be in your common room before curfew. Hurrying down the dimly lit corridors, your pace slowed as you heard a familiar voice.
“It will only hurt for a little while. Here, if you put some of this on it then that will help.”
Rounding a corner, you saw George and Fred consoling a first year, who was clutching his forearm as he sobbed. At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Fred had stood up and George looked in your direction.
“It’s okay, should have known those footsteps weren’t Filch.” Fred gave you a wink before turning back to the boy.
Your eyes met George’s and the softness you found there startled you. After seeing him with Ron and Ginny, you hadn’t realized that there was this gentle side to him. He had always seemed to tease and torment to show his affection.
“Come on, let’s walk you back to your common room, mate. If the salmon shit face catches you then she’ll have to get through me and Fred first.” George patted the boy’s shoulder as he got to his feet.
“Ah, a run in with the rosé one.” You said to the poor boy, giving him a soft smile. “Well, if anyone can make you feel better after spending time with her then it’s these two. Just don’t let them lead you astray.”
“Hey! I resent the implication.” Fred pouted, though his eyes twinkled as he looked at you. “Come on, I’ll walk you and Georgie boy here can accompany the girl.” He said conspiratorially to his new friend.
“Fred Weasley, I am fully capable of walking myself to my common room.”
“Yeah, but then George would miss out on the chance for a kiss goodnight.” Fred grinned cheekily.
“Oh, fuck off Fred.” You chuckled, shaking your head and making your way down the corridor. There was no way that George Weasley would want to kiss you, and that thought kind of made your heart hurt a little.
“Hey, wait up!” George called, smacking his brother on the back of his head before jogging after you. “It’s not really safe to be walking around here on your own at the moment.”
“And yet you will be walking back to your common room all alone. Is this double standards, Weasley?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your face straight as he scrambled for the right things to say.
“What? Wait. No, that- that wasn’t, I mean…” he let out a deep sigh and the two of you walked in silence for a while.
“It doesn’t matter so much if I get caught. I’ve done my fair share of detentions, even some with Umbridge and that sodding quill of hers, but I don’t want you to have to face that.” George said softly, a small frown on his brow as he looked anywhere but at you.
“Thanks.” Your single word seemed to echo in the darkness as the two of you stopped at your destination. Turning to look at George, it felt as if there was a strange tension surrounding you. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he shifted awkwardly. Fred’s words came back to you and you wondered if George was worried you might actually try to kiss him.
“Right then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Weasley. Don’t be getting into any trouble on your way back.” And with that, you turned and entered your common room.
“Shit.” You groaned as soon as the door had closed. In that single moment you had become completely aware that you had somehow, despite yourself, fallen for George freaking Weasley. This was not good.
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fruitcoops · a day ago
Note
when you get a chance, remus picking a place to have seggs, that is semi public with humor, because your humor with seggs is the best
<3
Thanks, I'm glad people were so excited about the sequel to this smut fic! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, of course <3
TW for semi-public smut, being walked in on (nobody sees the explicit stuff), and minor hygiene issues
Remus groaned into Sirius’ neck as the fingers on his hips dug in, sending a zap of pleasure through the general haze of horniness fogging his vision. He pressed forward even harder—their chests bumped together and he could already feel the hard line of Sirius through two layers of denim against his thigh. Music pounded so loud around them that he could hardly hear a thing, but Sirius’ labored breathing audibly grew harsher and he smoothed his broad hands down to grab two handfuls of Remus’ ass.
“Home?” he asked, voice low and husky already. Remus lived for that sound, lived for the times he could rile Sirius up until the bright flashing lights and the dance floor shaking under their feet didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t like they were the only ones grinding up against each other, either.
A yes hung on the tip of Remus’ tongue before melting into something much, much better. “No,” he answered, nuzzling the hinge of Sirius’ jaw. “No, I want to cash in my prize.”
“Your p—” Sirius faltered, then stopped rubbing up on him to meet his gaze in utter shock. “Here?”
Remus quirked an eyebrow, then glanced over at the sign for the men’s bathroom. Sirius still looked confused, so he did it again with a tug to his belt loop. “Five gold stars, baby.”
Sirius blinked at him. “Re, it’s fucking disgusting in there.”
Remus kept one hand in his waistband, but slid the other down to press gently over the bulge in his pants. “I was such a good boy for you,” he hummed. “And I thought you said I could pick.”
Someone sweaty bumped into his back, knocking them closer together—Sirius hissed through his teeth as the pressure on the outline of his dick increased. Some of the initial hesitance in his expression vanished and his pupils blew wide. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this at home?”
“Positive.”
“Lube?”
“Wallet.”
Sirius licked his lips, then narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re not allowed to be louder than usual. Someone could possibly hear you getting your reward, ouais? Not a definite event.”
Remus felt himself throb in his tight pants and grinned. “Deal.”
Sirius started to lead him toward the bathroom, then rocked back and lowered his voice again. “And I need to wash my hands first.”
“Please do,” Remus laughed, linking their fingers to drag him through the thumping mass of people into the bathroom. It was poorly-lit and, as Sirius eloquently described, pretty fucking disgusting, but the smell wasn’t that bad and as long as only their shoes touched the floor it really didn’t matter. The first stall was marked off with an ‘out of order sign’ and the third was decidedly in the worst condition, but the second…
Remus felt a thrill spike in his stomach and he took Sirius by the elbow as he dried his freshly-washed hands on the sides of his pants. “Here,” he said before crashing their lips together and walking him backward into the stall. The door closed behind them with a creak—miracle of miracles, the lock was functional.
Sirius’ hands wove through his hair and he moaned into his mouth, slipping both hands up the front of his shirt to feel the familiar ridges of muscle. “Exhibitionist,” Sirius breathed.
“Not quite.” Remus trailed his fingers down to the front of Sirius’ pants, popping the button and zipper with little trouble. In truth, the zipper practically dropped on its own with how hard he was under it. “It’s the thought that counts.”
The stainless-steel door covered in Sharpie graffiti clanged as Sirius crowded him up against it and scraped his teeth along Remus’ lower lip; Remus hardly registered where his hands had gone before his pants were around his knees and Sirius was pawing at his thighs. “Nobody else could talk me into this,” Sirius panted, grinning. “You’re too creative, mon loup. Wallet?”
“Back pocket.”
“Fuck,” Sirius muttered as he crouched slightly. Remus let his head fall back against the door, already breathless and so hard it almost hurt; not two seconds later, he felt a wet warmth on his shaft through the fabric of his boxers and let his mouth go slack. A whine slipped out at the press of Sirius’ tongue and the brush of fingertips just beneath the back of his knee, but the sensation was gone mere moments later and Sirius was kissing him once again.
I could spend my whole life doing this, Remus thought a little deliriously. A package crinkled near his ear and he pulled back with monumental effort, shuffling around to give Sirius enough space to drop his own pants and face the door. His pulse picked up as he braced his hands on the cold metal door and leaned forward so he could arch his back a bit—Sirius’ hand came to rest on his lower back and he shivered.
“Shirts on?” Sirius asked, sliding his mouth over the outline of Remus’ shoulder blade.
“Nowhere else to put ‘em.” Remus rocked back until his ass bumped one of Sirius’ thighs. “C’mon, baby, what’re you waiting for?”
There wasn’t an ounce of tentative care in Sirius’ hands as he gripped Remus’ waist, then pulled his underwear down with a teasing snap of the elastic band and a pinch to one side that nearly made Remus’ knee buckle. His calluses moved in appreciative circles over the bare skin until he moved close enough that Remus could feel the heat of his body on his back. “Of all the places in the world, I didn’t think you’d be this bold,” Sirius said into the bend of his neck.
Remus swallowed a groan when a warm hand closed around the base of his shaft. “What was your first guess? My childhood bedroom?”
“PT room.”
“Ah. Fair, but boring.” He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Aren’t you tired of the same old scenery?”
Sirius muffled his laugh in Remus’ skin as his slippery fingers trailed down in a cold line. “When you’re on your knees? Never.”
Two digits circled the rim and Remus let out a shuddering breath that caught in his chest when the first began to press in. His face flamed hot when it reached the second knuckle—the sudden, sharp realization that they were in the public bathroom of a crowded bar-slash-club where there was no lock on the outer door hit him like a bolt of lightning and he felt Sirius’ moan as he tightened around him.
“Fuck, we’re really doing this,” Remus panted, one thigh trembling as Sirius found his prostate with deadly accuracy.
“Any time you want to back out and go back to our bed so nobody gets pinkeye, just say the word.”
“Holy shit—not a chance.” He licked his lips and spread his legs a little wider. “You’re really going to pass up this golden opportunity?”
Teeth grazed the shell of his ear. “You know I’d fuck you anywhere short of an open window, mon amour.”
A shiver raced down Remus’ spine as a second finger nudged in alongside the first, flexing until it reached the spot that made him press his forehead into the back of his hand with a soft noise. Sirius could pretend to be scandalized all he liked, but when it came down to it, Remus knew he got just as much of a kick out of it as he did. “A—and you call me an exhibitionist,” he said, closing his eyes when Sirius’ hand disappeared from around his cock and the rustle of fabric followed. “Got enough space?”
“Have to admit, it’s a bit of a tight fit,” Sirius laughed. Remus craned his neck back; the stall was barely big enough that Sirius didn’t have to straddle the toilet, but their close proximity wouldn’t exactly allow for a huge range of motion. It was a little comical, really. Sirius raised his eyebrows with the ghost of a smile when he caught Remus looking. “Ready?”
Remus bit his lower lip around a grin and pulled him in the by the collar of his shirt for a bruising kiss, sinking back into the planes of his body. “Fuck me so everyone knows when we leave this janky-ass stall that I’m y—”
The last word dissolved into an inhale as the slick head of Sirius’ dick began its steady press inward and his other hand splayed over Remus’ lower belly, where his abs jumped at the feeling. He turned back to the stall door and blew out a long breath, planting his feet on the floor and bending forward for a better angle. “Merde,” Sirius managed through clenched teeth as Remus held in his whine.
“I’ve been wanting this all night,” Remus mumbled. He bucked back to take the last inch and got a tight hand on the back of his neck for his troubles. “Oh, fuck, Sirius.”
Heavy weight blanketed his back and he moaned into his bare forearm. “Could’ve told me before we came here. Would’ve fucked you at the house so everyone could see how nice and wrung-out you were.”
Remus let his head loll to the side so Sirius could work a love bite into the side of his throat. “Alcohol makes me horny. You know this—right there.”
Sirius circled his hips, building a rhythm of quick, deep thrusts to make the most of the little room they had. One arm remained a solid bar across Remus’ hips; the other moved down his spine with hard pressure before Sirius slid it up his shirt to rest over one pec. The metal of the door was beginning to warm under Remus’ hand and forearm at long last, and he didn’t even try to stop the small, punched-out sounds from slipping through his lips.
“What do we do if someone comes in?” Sirius asked as he slowed to stay buried deep inside. Remus exhaled hard through his nose and felt the palm teasing his shaft grow slicker with precome. “Not that you care, of course.”
“Want me to scream it?” he panted, pressing his fingertips into the hard steel in front of him like he always twisted the sheets at home. Sirius’ hand came up a moment later and grabbed his wrist, guiding him to hold onto the top of the door instead. The stretch sent a flurry of pleasure through every nerve and his heart skipped a beat. “Want me to tell every poor sap that walks in here I’m getting railed by—hnn—Captain Sirius Black?”
“You’re getting railed by your boyfriend,” Sirius corrected with a pointed thrust that made Remus’ ankles threaten to give out under him. “Which is infinitely more important for them to know.”
“You always get so possessive when we dance,” Remus laughed breathlessly.
“Because I can see them looking at your perfect ass.”
His fiery comeback died in his throat as the head of Sirius’ cock dragged over his prostate in an absolutely decadent movement—Remus’ elbow hit the door with a thud and a long moan he had been trying so hard to keep in echoed off the walls of the small bathroom as Sirius hoisted him back into his previous spot. “Do it again, do it again, do it again, please.”
Sirius whined into the back of his shoulder and put the hand not responsible for keeping Remus off the floor over his wrist, holding it flush to the door. The sound of their skin smacking together was music to Remus’ ears as he rested his head back against Sirius’ bicep, panting openmouthed at the bliss of it all.
“Huh—huh—uh—hard—” The pressure on his arm disappeared; Remus’ eyes flashed open when Sirius’ palm pressed down over his mouth without breaking pace.
“I love you so much but you’re so fucking loud like this,” Sirius huffed, hitching his hips up and drawing a choked whimper from some deep part of Remus. His knees wobbled more with each passing minute. His knuckles were white on the top of the door. He was so close he could taste it in the back of his mouth and hear it in the buzzing of his ears, the pounding of his blood, the shallowness of his breathing.
A sudden rush of sound filled the bathroom just as Sirius put his leg beneath Remus’ thigh to prop him up, changing their angle so he nailed his prostate on almost every thrust.
Remus could hear his own strangled moan even through the barrier of Sirius’ hand.
The door slammed shut.
They froze with Sirius still buried to the hilt.
“I’ll uh…” The squeak of someone’s sneakers shuffling bounced off the walls and Remus closed his eyes against the sting of frustration. Whoever had wandered in was quiet for a moment longer. “I’ll just—I’ll come back later?”
He could feel Sirius’ chest shaking with the effort of holding down laughter. The door to the bar opened again, closed again, and Remus lost it.
“We’re so fucked,” he gasped, tugging Sirius’ hand off his face through his snickering. “We’re so fucked, and I don’t even feel bad.”
“That was humiliating,” Sirius said into the rucked up wrinkles of his shirt, though Remus could feel his smile. “Mon dieu, I can’t—I don’t know whether I’m into that or not. Are you okay?”
“Other than a ruined orgasm? Peachy-keen, baby.” He wiggled back into Sirius, who was still hard and heavy and burning hot in him despite the intrusion. “You?”
Sirius answered by pulling his chest up so Remus was almost on his toes and snapping his hips forward so hard that small black stars popped at the corners of his vision. Remus’ mouth fell open without any say on his brain’s part—then again, his brain had been thinking of very little other than yes yes yes more more harder yes for about ten minutes. “Want me to bend you over again?”
Remus licked his lips, making valiant effort to not go crosseyed. Every drop of lost arousal surged back in double-time. “I—don’t care—oh fuck—your choice.”
“This is your—what’s it called?”
“Prize,” he moaned.
“Your prize, your choice.” Sirius’ voice was right next to his ear, turning his insides to mush with every sultry word.
“Just bend me I don’t—”
Remus didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Sirius knocked one of his legs out further and tilted him downward again, making him scramble to regain his meager hold on the freezing steel. His thrusts were becoming sloppier and his breathing was more ragged; he jerked Remus a grand total of about four times before the tiles below him blurred and he hand to bite down on his forearm so the whole bar didn’t hear his orgasm hit him like a runaway freight train.
His heels hit the ground hard. Sirius pulled out and Remus felt come stripe his lower back mere seconds later, sending his blood in a dizzying rush back toward his face. “Shit,” said through numb lips once the ringing sound faded.
Sirius’ breath caught. “What?”
“I forgot baby wipes.”
There was a quiet laugh behind him and he didn’t even bother looking back as Sirius rested his forehead between his shoulder blades, wrapping both arms around his torso. “The things you worry about,” he muttered with undeniable fondness. “Je t’adore.”
“Mmm, pulling out the fancy one,” Remus murmured without opening his eyes. His hair was damp against his forearm. “I love you, too.”
“Think you can walk yet?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased, leaning down to pull his pants and underwear back up. He opened the door with a shaky hand and managed three steps before he had to lean on the stall divider for support to the sound of Sirius’ muffled glee. “You know what, you can flatter yourself a little bit, actually.”
“Stay there.” Sirius’ eyes were alight with affectionate mischief; he placed a lingering kiss to his temple, then half-jogged to the sinks to wash his hands and dampen a handful of paper towels, passing half to Remus. “Need help?”
“Nah, I got it.” The water was nice and cool on his overheated skin, swiping away the itchiness that was already starting to bother him. Sirius took the wad of paper when he was done, then pulled him back in for a slow kiss against the divider that drew the last woozy butterflies out of his stomach. “You’d stop kissing me like that if you knew what’s good for you,” Remus said into his mouth.
Sirius’ tongue flicked playfully over his lower lip. “Ouais?”
“Ouais. I didn’t bring anymore lube and that poor guy has been waiting for ages already.” He poked Sirius right in the center of his chest, but bowed into him when the hand at the small of his back applied a bit of pressure.
“So unfair,” Sirius agreed, nudging their noses together as he kept kissing the breath right out of Remus’ lungs. “I can really tell your protests come from the heart right now.”
“You’re certainly making a tough argument,” Remus said dryly while he slipped his hands into Sirius’ back pockets. What’s the harm in a couple more minutes? he thought, kneading the soft muscle in his palms. A bit of a break never hurt anyone. And if he needed a little more time to make sure he wasn’t staggering through the bar on jelly legs, that was simply part of the prize.
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arc852 · a day ago
Text
A Broken Promise
 Day 3! We’ve got a bit of a villains au with this one so I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: Betrayal, broken trust, a bit of dark SBI, fear, panic, mention of death and guns
Summary: Tommy is found by the villain Siren and grows to trust him. That trust is soon broken.
Word Count: 1578
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 Wilbur had promised.
 He had promised.
 All that time ago, when Tommy had first been found, not by Wilbur, but by Siren, the man had promised he would never use his powers on him.
 Back then, Tommy had witnessed first hand how powerful Siren’s ability was. The villain had been breaking into a lab, the lab that Tommy happened to be captive in. The villain, as Tommy learned later on, had initially been there to take some equipment and blueprints. The lab itself was run by the hero corporation, so it made sense that Siren wanted to try and steal some things from them.
 Tommy had witnessed Siren using his powers on the guards and scientists of the place. On a few, ones that Tommy knew didn’t have any powers, Siren simply told them to sleep. On others, he told them to jump out the window. And when a leftover guard pointed a gun at him, Siren told him to shoot himself instead.
 Tommy had only just managed to turn away in time but the gunshot had still rung in his ears. And it did nothing to block out the sound of the now limp body hitting the floor. He hadn’t been able to hold back a whimper at the noises and when silence overcame the room, Tommy looked up to see the human staring right at him.
 Present day Tommy liked to say he cursed Siren out when that happened. That he hadn’t backed down, even when the villain had reached for him.
 In reality, when Tommy noticed Siren start to walk toward him, he had froze. His fear in that moment had been overwhelming and all he could do was back away until his back hit the wall of the tank. He had just watched this man kill other humans and command them with simple words after all. If the villain could do all that to some humans, Tommy didn’t even want to think about what he could do to a borrower like Tommy.
 Siren opened his mouth and Tommy expected a command, an order.
 Instead, Siren’s words held no power to them. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
 Siren had then grabbed him in a gentle fist, taking him out of his cage. Tommy had struggled, not believing his words. Why would he? Words meant nothing when he felt helpless in the grip of a human. He fought against the hand until he was exhausted, going limp in the grip by the time Siren had made it home. 
 That night had been filled with gentle words and light touches. Something that surprised Tommy more than anything. Even the heroes that had captured him hadn’t been so gentle. 
 And that night, a promise was made. One that calmed Tommy’s heart and opened himself up to the idea that maybe he could trust what Siren said.
 “I promise, I’ll never use my powers on you.” Siren, Wilbur, had said that fateful night. And Tommy, despite his lingering fears, had believed him.
 He had been a fool.
 “Tommy, seriously, you’re being ridiculous.” Wilbur said and it wasn’t hard to hear the annoyed tone in his voice. He was at the opposite end of the table that Tommy was standing on. At the other end was The Blade, or Techno as he preferred to be called by those closer to him. Tommy was still in awe over the fact that he even fit into that category.
 But he wasn’t focused on that right now. No, because Wilbur was the one being ridiculous. All Tommy wanted was information and Techno was willing to give it to him. Not Wilbur.
 “How am I being ridiculous? I deserve to know what kinds of things you guys do! And since you won’t tell me, Techno graciously offered to tell me himself.” Tommy said with a huff. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed with two humans hovering over him but he remained as calm as he could. 
 “Tommy.” Wilbur sounded tense now, along with still being annoyed. It made Tommy flinch. “You don’t understand. This sort of stuff…” Wilbur shook his head. “You don’t need to know it.”
 “Don’t need to…?” Tommy curled his hands into fists. “I do though! I hate seeing you come back home with whatever new injury you have! We live together, big man, I deserve to know what’s going on with you and the rest of the SBI.” Tommy crossed his arms. “I’d rather have heard it from you but if Techno is more willing to tell me then so be it.”
 Said villain was still just standing there and though he still had his mask on, it was easy to see how awkward he was feeling with Tommy and Wilbur arguing. He cleared his throat though, bringing attention to himself. “Seriously Wil, the kid deserves to-”
 “Shut it, Techno.” He interrupted him, before turning back to Tommy. “Just come here. You don’t need to know about any of this.” Wilbur repeated and that was the last straw. Tommy turned his back to Wilbur angrily.
 “You’re not the boss of me.” Tommy said. If he wanted to learn some things from Techno, he didn’t need Wilbur’s f****** permission.
 But turned around as he was, he couldn’t see the expression on Wilbur’s face.
 But he did hear the growl. 
 “Tommy, come here.”
 A cold, foreign power washed over his body and panic settled into his gut. Against his will, his body turned and started walking towards Wilbur. Tommy tried to fight against it, but his body wouldn’t so much as twitch against the hold Wilbur had over him. “No no no no.” Came out in short, stuttered breaths.
“Wilbur…” Techno’s tone was unreadable and his voice trailed off. Wilbur himself ignored Techno altogether, eyes focused on Tommy, an unrecognizable look in them. 
 His feet carried him closer until he was right in front of the villain. But as soon as he made it, the power over him fell away and Tommy took this opportunity to try and run. Even though he knew it was hopeless, he still had to try.
 “Stop.” 
 Tommy froze and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 
 A hand wrapped around him, gentle as always but this time Tommy didn’t find comfort in being in the hold at all. He felt utterly betrayed and terrified and as Wilbur turned Tommy over in his hand so they were now face to face, Tommy found he couldn’t meet his eyes.
 “You…You promised.” Tommy choked out, close to sobbing. He knew he should have never trusted a human, let alone a villain.
 Wilbur’s facade broke a little but he composed himself and opened his mouth again. Tommy flinched at just that.
 “Sleep, Tommy.”
 And Tommy was powerless to stop the way his eyes closed and darkness took over him.
***
 “Seriously Wilbur?” Techno said as Wilbur held Tommy gently in his hands. “I thought you ‘promised’.” Techno said, eyebrow raised but not quite mad per say. 
 “I did but…you heard him! He wasn’t going to back down.” Wilbur looked down at the incredibly tiny life in his hands, trying to push away the guilt that was trying to crawl up into his heart. “It’s too dangerous for him to know this stuff, you know that.” Wilbur glared at Techno but his brother only shrugged.
 “It’s also dangerous for him not to know.” Techno said. “But fine. If you want to keep him in the dark, then that’s your decision. But I can tell you, after this? He’s not gonna trust you like he used to.”
 Wilbur bit his lip and looked down at Tommy again. He looked so peaceful when asleep. He used a finger to gently move some hair out of his face before sighing. “I know.” He looked up to meet Techno’s eyes. “I know, which is why I have to do this.”
 Techno looked confused but Wilbur ignored him and brought Tommy a bit closer. “Tommy.” He said, his voice already thick in sweetness and power. “When you wake up, you won’t remember me using my power on you or this conversation.” He felt his power flush out of him and fall around Tommy. He watched the borrower shiver for a brief moment before becoming lax once again.
 And there it was. A second chance. A reset. He didn’t have to feel bad because Tommy didn’t remember and that made it fine. It meant that, in the long run, his mistake didn’t matter. Right?
 “...How many times have you broken your so called promise?” Techno asked and Wilbur jerked up, looking at Techno with wide eyes. He quickly calmed himself though and held Tommy close to his chest.
 “...I don’t have to answer that.” Wilbur said after some hesitation. “Besides, it-it doesn’t matter. Tommy won’t remember this and I won’t do it again. It’ll be fine.”
 Techno only hummed. “Right.” He turned around and headed towards the door. “Welp, I’ll let you deal with all that. See you at dinner tomorrow.” And with that, Techno left him alone with Tommy.
 “Techno just doesn’t understand.” He muttered to himself, taking a seat on the couch and still cradling Tommy in his hands. He looked back down at him and pushed down the guilt. “I’m just doing this to protect you. Besides, I won’t do it again. Never again.”
 And even Wilbur knew he was lying when the next words came out of his mouth. “I promise.”
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drspencerweed · 2 days ago
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Dear Spence
Night 1
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spencer reid x fem!reader
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fic summary: Going undercover as serial killer bait was simple. Going undercover as serial killer bait three months after being kidnapped was not so simple. Going undercover with the love of my life and having to pretend to be in love with him while also pretending I was pretending was….well it was about as complicated as it sounds.
chapter summary: Sharing a bed was going to make the mission much harder than I expected, and that's saying something.
Chapter Word Count: 2.8k
Content: Rated M (16+) fem!reader, mentions of past kidnapping, trauma responses, nightmares, descriptions of past kidnapping, canon-typical violence, fake relationship, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, only one bed trope
tw for this chapter: mentions of past kidnapping, descriptions of a panic attack
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[Prologue]
I paused in front of the mirror while I brushed my teeth, my eyes caught by the glint of my fake ring set. Spencer had gotten ready before me, so he had been climbing into bed when I slipped into the bathroom with my pajamas in my hand. I stared into my own eyes, observing the smallness of my pupils and the bags underneath them. My heart clenched in my chest when my mind wandered to Spencer again.
The rest of the day had made things harder and harder for me. He had kissed me in every room; while I was propped up on the kitchen counter, with an arm around me on the couch, even pressed against the dining room table. He was playing his role to the max, we were sickly sweet in love. His arms wrapped around me while I cooked dinner, pressing kisses into the back of my neck. It was so easy to get lost in it.
A few times throughout the day, he pulled me into the bedroom with playful eyes. Of course I would follow him, and then we would get in the room and he would drop the physical contact as quickly as possible. “Just to give us some breaks.” He said. I did appreciate the time to gather myself. It helped me not get too lost in the fantasy of the situation. But without fail, the moment we were out of the bedroom again, my heart was pounding and I felt like we were in love.
And now I was staring at myself in the mirror, trying not to cry. Because it was fake. It was all fake. I gripped the sides of the sink with my toothbrush still in my hand, and stared at the whites of my eyes. How was I going to survive another week or two of this?
A light knock sounded from the door. My head whipped to look at it. “[Y/N]?” Spencer called. “I’m heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, do you need anything?”
“I-I’m fine.” I choked out. My voice betrayed me, and I knew that Spencer knew me well enough to hear through it.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Really, I’m fine! Thank you though!” I said, brighter this time.
“Okay, well, if you’re sure...” Spencer answered. He didn’t really sound like he believed me. I sighed when I heard his retreating footsteps. The rest of the week had to get better, I couldn’t keep going if I was having a breakdown in the bathroom every night. I spit out my toothpaste and rinsed my mouth out, splashing some water on my face to attempt to reduce the redness. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clothes off of the floor and dug through my pocket to grab the paper there. I pulled it out and slid down to the floor with my back against the door.
Unfolding the paper was second nature. It only took two flips to see the name written on the outside, in my shaky hand.
Dr. Spencer Reid
I ran my fingers over it gently, as if I could pull the words through my fingertips. Then I flipped the final fold and revealed the full letter. I had read it so many times since I first wrote it, that I didn’t really need the paper to recite it. But I let my eyes follow the words anyway.
Dear Spence,
I’m writing this because he’s going to kill me. He told me to choose who to address my last words to, and of course I chose you. It was easy, really. No one deserves my goodbye like you do. I’m sorry it’s another letter, I know how much you hate those. But I don’t have any way to give you anything better.
He keeps reciting famous last words to me, as if mine should matter just as much. I think he’s obsessed with our legacies, what it means to have something left behind when you’re no longer here. I wonder what my legacy will be. The pressure to pick something perfect is more than I thought. You’d think I would be scared of death, but I’m more scared that this letter won’t be good enough. Death seems inevitable now.
I wish I could see your face right now. I would give anything to see your face one last time. You would help me pick the perfect quote to leave off on, the perfect synonym to make it more eloquent. I can just imagine you correcting my word choice and giggling as I write out scary texts. My last words have to mean something, they have to be perfect.
I think I know what they’re going to be, now. But I want to save them. And I can’t leave you with half a letter. Imagine? He gave me this much paper and I am going to use every inch of it. To tell you how important you are. To me. To everyone. To the world. You tend to forget, I think.
You mean so much to the world. Everything you do is in the effort of making it better. Your brain is the most noted when people talk about you, but I think that’s blatantly disregarding your heart. You do good deeds for the sake of doing them, not for recognition or even for a thank you. You save people everyday, and there are so many lives that you have touched.
This team loves you. Every single one of them. You are a light in everyone’s life. I know you don’t see it, and I know how you analyze everything everyone does to convince yourself they don’t want you around. But they do want you around! And they love you so fucking much. Spencer, please remember that. Please see how much you mean to them.
And that leaves how important you are to me, I suppose. You’re my best friend. You came into my life rambling about Doctor Who and you shattered everything I knew about what it meant to feel wanted. You showed me compassion and excitement and you wanted to be around me, like, all the time. And it made me so happy. No words feel good enough to describe how much you mean to me. Everything about you is so important. The way you laugh, the way you ramble, the way you read me. You always manage to know what I’m feeling before I do, don’t you?
I’ve been keeping a secret from you. At least, I think it’s still a secret. Maybe you’ve guessed already, or Morgan figured it out. Maybe I’m not half as subtle as I think and maybe this letter won’t have the impact that I expect it to, but I want my last words to mean something to me. And as often as I think I’ll take this secret to the grave, I know that if I died and you never knew it I’d never forgive myself. Not because I need to get it off my chest, but because you deserve to know.
Even if you don’t say it, you make me feel loved. I know it’s not in that way, but I still feel it. You let me feel like I deserve to feel love. Like I’m worth something to this world. Not many people have ever made me feel that way. And you deserve to feel that way, too.
You deserve to be loved. I’ve watched you brush it off so many times, out of fear, or anxiety, or reasons maybe I don’t even know. But you deserve it, more than anyone I know. You pour love out into the world, and you deserve to receive it too. After I’m gone, let love into your life. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to give it to you.
Please forgive me for leaving you, Spencer. If I had a choice I would never leave your side. Too many people have left you and I can’t believe I’m about to be one of them. At least I’ll get to say what I want to say, first. Maybe this will help. Maybe this will make it worse. Either way, I’m sorry.
The paper is running out, as you can see. I have to finish quickly and make sure there’s space for my last words. I want them big and bold and clear and I don’t want my tears to smudge the ink, so I need to get it together quickly. Nothing feels quite right to say before this. Goodbye, I suppose.
I will love you endlessly, Spencer Reid.
Yours Forever,
[Y/N]
The paper was tear stained and a bit faded as it had been a few months since it was written. Everytime I read it, I remembered the feeling of being back there, of being so close to death. I remembered the frigid metal that was constantly pressed to the back of my neck, the dripping of the ceiling in the dark basement. The single red light I had to write by.
I was only kidnapped for a few hours, held hostage and forced to write out my last words. Compared to the things I’ve seen survivors go through, it was nothing. The bonds that tied me to my chair were not biting, and the only weapon I saw was a gun. It was scary and horrifying but nothing compared even to what Spencer himself had gone through. I felt silly sitting here three months later, crying over a letter I knew I'd never send.
My hands shook as I dug through my clothes to find my cell phone. I dialed the first person I could think of, trying to choke down a sob.
“[Y/N]? Is everything okay?” Emily answered quickly, knowing that if we had information we were supposed to call Hotch directly. I tried to speak but it came out garbled, so I took a deep breath and tried again.
“I-I don’t know if I can do this.” I whispered into the phone. “I know I said I could and I really thought I could but now I’m here and it’s real and-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down for a second.” Emily instructed. I stopped and took another shaky breath, my cheeks hot with tears. “Breathe, okay. Take a moment to just breathe, alright.” I nodded even though she couldn’t see me, and took a few deep breaths until my breathing had mostly evened out.
“I just. This is much harder than I anticipated.” I admitted. Leaning my head back against the wall of the bathroom, I blinked up at the ceiling. “I knew it would hurt but not-not this much.”
“I am so sorry that you’re going through this,” Emily said, her voice thick with sympathy. I swallowed thickly as I understood what she wasn’t saying.
“There’s no way to back out, is there?” I asked. Even when I had dialed, I hadn’t really expected to get out of the assignment, but Emily’s silence was telling.
“Garcia picked up on someone who hacked the smart devices already. She can’t track him yet, but he’s definitely on to you guys. Pulling you out would push him into hiding.” She explained. “I was actually going to text you to call me when you had a second so I could let you know.”
“That means we have seven days right?” I looked down at the paper in my hands. Seven days. I only had to do this for seven days.
“If he follows pattern, yes.” Emily said. We both went silent, and there was a moment of comfortable silence. Then Emily finally spoke up, “I wasn’t kidding about that girls night. All you gotta do is make it through these seven nights. Maybe even less, if Garcia manages to catch a break.”
I smiled at the idea of a night with Emily, Penelope, and maybe even JJ at the end of all of this. It would hopefully be cathartic, and I knew they were the perfect people to unload everything onto. “Well let’s keep hoping that’s what happens.”
“I know this is hard, and I can’t imagine all the different reasons this is hard for you, but I know you can do it. And if you need to call me I’ll always be there.”
“Thank you.”
“Now get back to your Doctor,” She ordered. I laughed a little as I stood up from the floor.
“I will.” I clicked off the phone and looked down at the paper I was still holding, swallowing tightly as my eyes chased the words again.
This letter was my heart and soul on a page. I knew it wasn’t healthy to keep rereading it, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes, I read it and thought I should come clean. I thought maybe I was right in the letter, and he did deserve to know; even if it would only end in heartbreak for me. But then I thought about how, when he broke my heart, I would have to leave him. I couldn’t be his best friend and get over him at the same time. And I could never justify leaving him.
So I read it to remind myself that even if I wanted to, I could never tell him.
I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to cry again. The door to the bedroom opened and closed, so I knew that he would be waiting for me in bed out there. I folded the paper again gently. Then I gathered up my clothes and made my way into the bedroom with a fake smile dancing on my lips.
Spencer, in his glasses now, was sitting up reading by the light of his bedside lamp. He looked soft in a plain white long sleeve t-shirt, more casually dressed than I typically saw him. It reminded me of nights spent on opposite ends of my couch, laughing and tossing popcorn into each other's mouths. His eyes darted up to me when I stepped out of the bathroom. I rushed over to my nightstand, and slipped the letter into the top drawer.
“Emily just called. She said the unsub already hacked into the devices they have here. Garcia is trying to track the guy but isn’t really getting anywhere,” I told Spencer as I put my clothes away.
“Oh! Well, I guess that’s good news. We were right about where he was getting names if he picked ours up so quickly.” He mused.
“Yeah! It also means that hopefully we only have to do this for a week.” I said, turning to face him. “And the sooner this is over, the better.”
Spencer looked a little hurt, but schooled his face into something nonchalant quite quickly. Maybe I had imagined him being hurt. “Is being around me that bad?” He joked. I rolled my eyes, and then looked down at my fingers.
“I just, uhm. Last time I came face to face with an unsub I wasn’t even trying to.” I tried to joke about it, but my dejected voice made it fall flat.
Spencer’s face fell and he looked like he was contemplating something. “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of that-”
“It’s fine, Spence. I didn’t mean to imply that I’m not enjoying my time with you.” Except that everytime you kiss me is torture. I pulled some case files out of my bag and climbed on top of the duvet. Spencer still looked apologetic, but obviously couldn’t find the words. I didn’t even want him to apologize, I hadn’t meant to make the situation awkward.
“Are you planning to go to bed? I can turn off the light,” Spencer spoke up. I looked over at him as I opened the files, raising my eyebrows as I looked down at the spread in front of me.
“Does this look like I’m going to bed?” I asked, holding up evidence photos. He chuckled and shrugged, turning back to his book. I was reading over the first victim’s background information when I felt eyes on me again. I looked up to find Spencer watching me inquisitively. “What?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head lightly. “Nothing.”
“Okay, weirdo.” I teased with a chuckle.
We spent the next few hours like that, side by side in our own worlds. Every once in a while I would ask him a question about the case, or he would share a thought about his book with me. It was nice; it felt almost domestic. I shook the thought out of my head as soon as it came.
Eventually we agreed it was time to go to bed, even if we had nowhere to be in the morning for the first time in a while. The lights clicked off and I drifted into dreamland, pointedly facing away from Spencer and trying not to be so conscious of the warmth radiating from his body next to me.
[Next] (coming this Wednesday)
<<<<>>>>
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mellaithwen · 2 days ago
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Send me a postcard (when you get to where you're going) (based on this post by @maddieandchimney) Buck hasn’t heard from Maddie in weeks, and just when he’s about had enough of climbing the walls, and he's moments away from going searching for his sister himself; the postcards arrive, all at once. (ao3)
“These mailboxes are just too small on a normal day, and there’s no way these would have all fit,” the man explains simply, and it’s then that Buck spots the pile of mail in the man’s hand, all wrapped up and bunched together with four elastic bands, clearly intended for the one address.
His address, apparently.
The mailman hands them over to Buck, who only just catches them in time. He has no idea why there’d be so much all of a sudden—he always sets his correspondence to be electronic where possible. He supposes there could be an early Christmas card or two in there, but his parents sure as hell never bothered, and most of the people he actually kept in touch with would hand him one in person.
“Uh, thanks!” He says, shaking his head out of his reverie and giving the man a grateful nod as he goes. He’s still intending on heading over to see Athena, figuring he’ll dump the mail in the passenger footwell of his jeep and sort it out after he’s spoken to her for advice on finding someone who doesn’t want to be found—when he spots the familiar cursive on one of the postcards in the pile and stops in his tracks.
“Maddie?” He whispers, as though the mail might actually respond.
He quickly unwinds the elastic bands, and starts sifting through the post. There's at least one utility bill, two junk mail leaflets that he’ll recycle later, and a note from the sorting office apologising for the delay, but the rest are postcards. All with a variety of images on the front, landscapes and animals, some with place names, some not, some with great paragraphs of text on the back, while others barely have more than Buck’s address.
And all of them signed with his sister’s name.
Buck’s fingers ghost over the paper—drifting over the familiar handwriting, as if he were afraid that he might smudge the precious ink that sits there. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat before turning on his heel and running back up to his apartment—his plans all but forgotten in his pursuit of reading them all as quickly as he can.
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Witcher of Surprise Part 13
(Previous) (Masterpost) (Next)
Summary: Geralt gets to know the Pankratzes.
Rating: M
Warnings: some mild horniness
AO3 link in masterpost!
“So you’re actually married?” Cordelia asks as Jaskier and Geralt settle down across from her and Oskar.
“Of course I’m actually married.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at her. “I already told you.”
“I wasn’t sure if this was some scheme so Mother would stop trying to set you up with the Duke of Arrenhove’s niece.”
“Livia got married to an earl from Cidaris two years ago.”
“And you think that would stop Mother? I half-expected that earl to die mysteriously in his bed on the wedding night.”
Annalise Pankratz gives her daughter an exasperated sidelong look. “I introduced them at one ball, Cordelia. You make it sound like I locked them in a dungeon together until they fell in love.”
“No, but the fact that you could come up with that scenario so quickly worries me,” Jaskier says around his mouthful of scone.
“My children are prone to dramatics,” Annalise tells Geralt in a conspiratorial voice.
Geralt arches an eyebrow. “I’ve noticed that.”
“I keep waiting for them to grow out of it,” she says. “I imagine I’ll be waiting until long after the grave.”
“And now who’s being dramatic?” Jaskier demands.
Violetta leans forward. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Geralt, but your eyes are fascinating. Do you have a third eyelid, like cats do?”
Lucrezia reaches around Peter to smack her on the arm, horrified. “Melitele’s bosoms, Vi, you can’t just ask people about their eyelids!”
“Why not?” Violetta demands. “They’re just eyelids. It’s not like I’m asking him about his—”
“Okay.” Jaskier holds up a hand to stop her, because Violetta’s lack of filter means that he really doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence.
Luckily, Geralt looks more amused than anything. “I have the normal amount of eyelids,” he tells her. “But I can see in the dark.”
“Interesting.” She cocks her head to the sides. “A third lid would have been a helpful mutation for a witcher, you would think.”
“I’d let the mages who made us know, but they’re all dead.”
“Don’t mind Violetta,” Cordelia tells Geralt. “She’s always had a head for puzzles.”
“And she’s incorrigibly nosy,” Lucrezia adds. “She drove half her professors at Oxenfurt into early retirement.”
Rather than being offended, Violetta looks proud of that fact. “I would have driven the rest to retirement, if I’d been there any longer.”
“I’m sure Jaskier did that for you,” Geralt says dryly.
Lucrezia laughs. “The only reason the university survived is because they weren’t there at the same time.”
“And because you and Cordelia never attended,” Jaskier points out.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Geralt.” Annalise looks exasperated by her children. “Jaskier’s told us all about you.”
“And not just this morning either.” Cordelia shakes her head. “No, for the last decade, you’ve been the muse who got away. How could he go on when there’s no one more interesting to sing about than the White Wolf?”
Jaskier scowls at her. “I never said those words.”
“You did,” Liesl pipes up from the other end of the table. “Many times.”
“I don’t know why I come home to visit you all every year.” Jaskier begins buttering another scone with all the dignity he can muster. “You’re all dreadful to me.”
“You come home because Mother would hunt you down if you didn’t,” Cordelia says. To Geralt, she adds, “That wasn’t me being dramatic. She would.”
“I would,” Annalise agrees. “So, Geralt, my son tells me that the two of you are tied together by destiny.”
“It appears so,” Geralt says. Jaskier notices that he’s barely touched his food, so he pointedly drops the buttered scone on his witcher’s plate and picks up another.
“We know so because he kept trying to leave me when it first happened and it never worked,” Jaskier says.
“Why would you try to leave him?” Katya pipes up, frowning.
Jaskier winces, but Geralt’s answer is matter-of-fact. “Witchers don’t usually get married. And they don’t usually have bards tailing after them on the Path. It took us a while to get used to each other.”
“It takes a lot of people a while to get used to Jaskier,” Cordelia says.
Jaskier throws his scone at her, then immediately regrets it when he finds himself scone-less.
“Don’t throw food at the table.” Annalise gives Jaskier a severe look. “You’re setting a dreadful example for your nieces and nephews.”
“No example I set can be worse than the ones Violetta and Cordelia set every day.”
Cordelia throws his scone back at him.
“If you get butter on this doublet, I will be very cross with you.” Jaskier checks himself over for crumbs.
“It can only improve that ghastly outfit, darling,” his twin says sweetly.
Geralt snorts with laughter.
Jaskier hates both of them.
“What’s it like being married to Jaskier?” Lucrezia asks Geralt. There’s a twinkle in her eye that belies the innocence of the question.
Geralt shrugs. “Noisy.”
Jaskier elbows him in the ribs.
“In a good way,” Geralt adds.
Cordelia arches an eyebrow. “Gods, you really must love him.”
Jaskier feels his face flame. Perhaps he wasn’t as clear as he should have been about the thoroughly unromantic nature of this marriage. He got too swept up in this family’s excitement that he’d finally found someone.
“I do hope his efforts at flirtation have gotten better,” Lucrezia says.
Jaskier knows what story she’s about to tell and he groans. “Lu.”
His eldest sister ignores him entirely. “He once told the Marchioness de Vole that she had a neck like a sexy goose.”
“Oh, he’s used that line more than once,” Violetta says. “He said the same thing to Agata Nowak. Her father overheard too and I thought Jaskier was going to be strangled.”
“He gets it from his father, I’m afraid.” Annalise pats the Viscount on the hand. “He once told me that my eyes reminded him of a pair of curtains in his aunt’s house.”
“They were nice curtains.” Jaskier’s father looks sheepish.
Jaskier sniffs and takes a sip of tea. “I’ve refined my craft after a decade of traveling the Continent, seeing the world, meeting a wide variety of people—”
“He hasn’t gotten any better,” Geralt says flatly. “He told a barmaid in Cidaris that she had very striking teeth. She didn’t take it as a compliment.”
“It was meant to be a compliment!” Jaskier throws his hands up in exasperation, sloshing tea all over the tablecloth. “Oh, sorry, Mother. She had the whitest, most even teeth I’ve ever seen! It was quite impressive.”
“Oh, Julian.” Cordelia reaches across the table to pat his hand. “It’s probably a good thing for the Continent that you’re married and the world is safe from your attempts at being charming.”
Jaskier feels a pang. If only this were the kind of marriage he wants it to be and that was true. He covers up the regret with a roguish smile. “I could have a dozen husbands and the Continent still wouldn’t be safe from my charm.”
Next to him, Geralt chuckles, so softly that Jaskier is probably the only one who hears, and something in Jaskier’s chest lifts. Geralt may not love him romantically, but he’s here, sitting with Jaskier’s family and laughing at their antics. That means something. It will have to be enough.
***
In the days that follow, Geralt sees what feels like every inch of Lettenhove. Jaskier takes him to the secluded little spot on the beach where he used to like to sit and think as a child. He takes him to see the baker who used to sneak him pastries and to the farmer who used to let him help feed the goats and chickens. He takes him to meet the villagers that he used to play knucklebones with as a child, most of whom now have children of their own.
Seeing Jaskier at home with his family is a delight. Jaskier has always seemed wholly at ease with himself, but he’s even more so here, surrounded by the people who have known him his whole life and love him just because. He playfully argues with his sisters, accepts their affectionate barbs with good-natured shrugs and eyerolls, and dotes on his nieces and nephews. Geralt can see how Jaskier ended up this way, so naturally full of love and optimism. Growing up with this family, he was never going to turn out any other way.
What’s more, the Pankratzes seem to have accepted Geralt with ease. The fact that he’s a witcher or that Jaskier claimed him through the Law of Surprise doesn’t even seem to faze them. Of course, they seem to be under the impression that Geralt and Jaskier are in love, an impression that neither Jaskier nor Geralt have done anything to contest. Geralt isn’t sure what Jaskier’s motivations are, but Geralt stays quiet out of worry that learning that Jaskier is trapped in a loveless marriage will be the last straw for them.
“You’re good for him,” Annalise Pankratz tells Geralt on their third night in Lettenhove. It’s after dinner and the family has retreated to the gardens to enjoy the cool night air and the sea breeze.
“Hm?” Geralt drags his gaze away from Jaskier, who is arguing with Cordelia and Violetta about who can be blamed for a mysteriously shattered vase when they were children.
“Jaskier’s always been a happy young man, but I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time,” Annalise says. “He’s glowing with it.”
Geralt glances back at the bard, whose eyes are sparkling, even as he dramatically clutches his chest and declares that he’s being slandered by his own flesh and blood. “It’s because he’s home with all of you.”
“That’s not it.” Her lips curl into an almost wistful smile. “Jaskier loves us, of course. We always have fun during these few short weeks we get with him each year. But he may love us and he may love Lettenhove, but this isn’t the place for him. That’s been obvious since he was a boy.”
“I don’t know,” Geralt says. “He seems happy here.”
“He is. And when it’s finally time to leave in a week or two, he’ll be just as happy to get on the road.” Annalise pats Geralt on the arm. “Don’t worry about sparing my feelings, dear. I’m glad that Jaskier has found happiness as a bard. And I’ll admit, I’m glad that happiness is with someone who can keep him safe from all the dangers of the world.”
“I will,” Geralt says, because that at least is something he can offer her son.
Her eyes crinkle as her smile widens. “I know.”
***
On their fifth day in Lettenhove, Jaskier realizes that he miscalculated. He thought that his feelings for Geralt were a manageable thing. He loves the witcher and he will probably continue to love the witcher until the grave. He has always been one to love quickly and easily and to fall out of love just as quickly and easily. He’s never wasted time pining, past a few sighs and a sad love ballad or two. Plenty of the people Jaskier have loved haven’t loved him back and he’s been fine with that.
But this thing with Geralt feels different. Jaskier thinks he might burst with all the things he doesn’t dare say. The longer it goes on, the less certain he is that these feelings will be something he’ll be able to sing away.
He finds Geralt in the garden with Hattie, kneeling down next to the little girl as she informs him in extensive detail about each one of the plants. She’s picked up a love of gardening from her grandmother. Hattie reminds Jaskier a lot of how he was at that age: curious about everything, bubbling over with enthusiasm about the things she loves, and occasionally exasperating, even to the people who love her best. But even though Geralt surely knows all the information Hattie is telling him, he shows no sign of irritation or exasperation. He nods along, pausing to occasionally ask questions.
Jaskier thinks his poor little heart might beat out of his chest.
“What’s your favorite flower, Uncle Geralt?” Hattie asks and Jaskier has to slap a hand over his mouth so no noise escapes.
Several emotions flicker their way across Geralt’s face at the word uncle, settling on something unbearably tender. He clears his throat and says, “Monkshood.”
Hattie wrinkles her nose. “Why?”
“It’s a useful flower. I use it in a few of my witcher potions.”
“That’s a silly favorite flower to have,” she declares. “Your favorite flower should be buttercups.”
“Oh?” Geralt’s lips twitch. “Why’s that?”
“Because Uncle Jaskier’s favorite flower is buttercups, so they should be yours too.”
Geralt nods solemnly. “Hm, I see your point. Buttercups are a fine flower.”
Seemingly satisfied, Hattie goes back to jabbering about the rose bush in front of them. Jaskier flees before he can be discovered melting into a puddle of goo. He finds Cordelia and Liesl in the parlor. Cordelia is reading a novel while Liesl is feeding Matilde. Neither looks up when Jaskier flops dramatically onto the chaise between them. Nor do they look up when he sighs loudly.
“I’m in love with my husband,” Jaskier announces.
Cordelia flips a page of her book. “Well, yes, I would think so.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Jaskier says. “We’re not like that. We’re married because of the Law of Surprise. Geralt cares about me as a friend, but he doesn’t love me. And I’ve gone and fallen head over heels like an idiot.”
Liesl and Cordelia exchange looks. “You’re closer,” Liesl tells Cordelia mildly.
Jaskier frowns. “Closer for— ow.”
Cordelia whacks him on the back of the head with the book. “Jaskier, I will go to my grave not understanding how you can be so good at reading a crowd and yet such an utter dumbass when it comes to understanding other people sometimes.”
Jaskier gapes at her like a fish. “I understand people, Cordelia.”
“If that’s so, then how is it that you haven’t figured out that your witcher is head over heels for you?”
Jaskier turns to Liesl, who shrugs in a “don’t look at me” sort of way.
“The man is clearly not comfortable with large groups of people,” Cordelia says. “He seems to prefer his own company. Yet, he accompanied you here. He didn’t turn tail and run the first morning. He’s gone out of his way to be accommodating. He let Father win at Gwent, and that must have physically pained him. He’s let our children clamber all over him for nearly a week now. Do you think he would do all that if he didn’t return your affections?”
“He’s a friend—”
“A friend who is doing a very bad job of pretending that he’s not in love with you,” Liesl says. “And really, Julek, are you just noticing that you love him?”
“Of course not. I just watched him being adorable with Hattie and it hammered home how hopeless my affections are. I am never going to get over him.”
“Have you seen him?” Liesl asks. “You were never going to get over him anyway.”
Cordelia makes a noise of agreement.
Jaskier tilts his head back and groans. “You are not helping.”
“Why on earth would you come to us for help?” Cordelia demands. “That’s what Lu and Mother are for.”
Jaskier groans again.
“You could try talking to him,” Liesl says. “You do love to talk.”
“You’re supposed to be the nice one of the family,” Jaskier reminds her.
“I am being nice.” Liesl readjusts the baby at her breast. “Do you remember what you told me when I was pining so hopelessly after Mathias after I graduated from Oxenfurt?”
“That was different. Everyone except the two of you could tell you’d been in love for years. The letters he used to write you during your breaks were full of so much yearning, we could rework them into romance novels and sell them.”
Cordelia snorts inelegantly.
Liesl ignores her. “And you sat me down and told me, with all your vaunted wisdom of years of being chased out of married people’s beds—”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“—That if I didn’t actually tell Mathias what I wanted, I had no one to blame but myself if I didn’t get it. And that even if he didn’t love me, our friendship would only survive if we didn’t have the specter of unrequited love hanging over our heads. I owed it to myself and to him to be honest.”
Jaskier thinks that over for a moment. “I give good advice, don’t I?”
“Rarely,” Liesl says at the same time Cordelia says, “Even a drunk pigeon finds the right roost once in a while.”
Jaskier pulls a face at his twin. “Leave the poetry to me, Cordy.”
“Happily.” Cordelia turns back to her novel. “Now, go deal with your witcher and leave us be. This story is just getting to the good part.”
***
“Here you go.” Jaskier slaps two overflowing tankards down on the table in front of Geralt. “The best ale the Continent has to offer.”
Geralt takes a sip of ale. It’s… fine. Not the worst he’s ever had, but also not the best. “It tastes like any other ale.”
“Geralt, you wound me.” Jaskier flops down into the seat across from him. “The first time I got drunk, it was off this ale. And the second and third times too.”
“I think we’ve established that your taste is questionable.” Geralt pointedly looks down at the bard’s magenta and yellow doublet.
“My taste in travel companions, certainly.”
Geralt snorts and takes another sip of ale. It’s really not bad. He doesn’t see what all the fuss is about Lettenhove’s tavern, but Jaskier seems like the type to be nostalgic for the watering hole from his youth.
“You seem to be enjoying your time here?” Jaskier asks.
“It’s a nice enough tavern.”
“I meant in Lettenhove.”
Geralt nods, not sure how to put into words exactly how he feels about this place. It’s good to see Jaskier happy and loved, but it’s just as good to be met with open acceptance in a way he normally only experiences at Kaer Morhen and the Temple of Melitele in Ellander. Even in towns he passes through where the people are grateful for his help and he’s not met with open hostility, there’s usually a distance there, a wariness. The people may not loathe him, but they’re still very aware of the fact that he’s a dangerous mutant.
But Jaskier’s relative aren’t afraid for their son’s safety with him. They don’t hate him or resent him for invading their family home. They’re genuine in their welcome. And while some of the people of Lettenhove are a bit taken aback to find a witcher in their midst, the fact that Geralt has been seen in the company of multiple Pankratz children, often with at least one of them climbing all over him, seems to ease their concerns. After all, if the earl is willing to let his great-grandchildren anywhere near the witcher, then he can’t be too dangerous.
“I saw you in the garden with Hattie earlier,” Jaskier says, a fond smile spreading across his face. “You were being very kind humoring her. I’m sure you had better ways to spend your afternoon than being lectured on facts you already know by a small child.”
“I guess I’m used to talkative Pankratzes who think they know everything.”
“You shouldn’t talk about Violetta that way. I’m her brother. I’ll have to duel you.”
Geralt can’t stop the chuckle from bubbling up in his throat. “Hattie’s a sweet kid.”
“That she is.”
“And I don’t mind the talking. You get used to it, after a while.” Geralt glances away, focusing on a gouge on one of the floorboards. “Don’t know if I could go back to the quiet of being alone on the Path again.”
Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Well, luckily for you, destiny seems to have decided that you don’t have that option.”
“Lucky me.” Geralt wants it to come out ironic, but he can’t quite manage it.
“She called you Uncle Geralt.”
Geralt has to swallow back the little lump of emotion he can feel trying to rise in his throat. “She did.”
“I suppose technically, you are her uncle by marriage. And my sisters are your sisters-in-law and my parents—”
Geralt looks away. “Witchers aren’t supposed to have families.”
“My dear, I’m not much interested in what witchers are supposed to do,” Jaskier says quietly. “You have a family here. You’ll always have a family here. My family has known you for all of five days and they adore you.”
“They adore me for your sake.”
“Maybe.” Jaskier shrugs. “But I like to think even without the Law of Surprise, you would have been accepted here. My family has a lot of love to give.”
“I’ve noticed.” Geralt is having trouble looking directly into Jaskier’s too-blue gaze. He drains his ale and rises to his feet. “Going to go take a walk.”
He knows he’s being churlish, even as he pushes his way out of the tavern, but his head is filled with too many thoughts and he needs space to think. He walks down to the beach, which is deserted at this time of night. The air is cool and smells of salt and sand. Geralt closes his eyes and tilts his head back to enjoy the breeze on his face, trying to let his mind slip into an almost-meditative state.
“Geralt?” He hears the soft shuffle of footsteps in the sand as Jaskier approaches. “I’m sorry if I pushed too hard.”
Geralt turns to face Jaskier, whose cheeks are pink from the cool air and the ale and whose shoulders are slightly hunched with nerves. “You didn’t.”
“Really?” Jaskier looks skeptical. “Because we were having a perfectly lovely time and then you ran out of that tavern like a chort was chasing you.”
“I wouldn’t bother running from a chort. They’re too fast.”
Normally, Jaskier would laugh at that, but his expression stays serious. “Did I say something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just needed some air.”
“Do you mind if I accompany you while you get some air?”
Geralt nods and starts to walk down the beach. Jaskier falls into step beside him and they walk in silence, the only sounds around them that of the shrieking of gulls and the beat of the waves on the shore. As the beach narrows, with a cliff looming to their right, Jaskier stops to look out at the inky dark ocean.
“I used to love the beach at night,” he says. “I’d come down here all the time when I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re lucky something didn’t carry you off.”
“We’ve been here for five days and you already sound like my mother.” Jaskier nudges him.
Geralt snorts and they lapse back into silence, watching the waves.
“I’m not used to this,” Geralt finally says.
Jaskier turns to face him, brow furrowed. “Used to what?”
“All of this.” Geralt gestures between himself and Jaskier. “Having someone who wants to introduce me to their family. Being a part of someone’s family. Wanting—” He breaks off, abruptly realizing that he’s nearly said too much.
“Wanting what?” Jaskier steps closer to him. “What do you want, Geralt?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Geralt starts to turn away, but Jaskier catches him by the wrist.
“Actually it does,” Jaskier says. “Quite a lot. What do you want? Anything that’s in my power to give is yours.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“And why not?”
“Because what if I ask for something that you can’t give?”
“Then I’ll find a way to make it happen.” Jaskier strokes a thumb over Geralt’s wrist. “Do you know why my family adores you so much, Geralt?”
Geralt’s mouth is dry. “Because questionable decision making runs in the family?”
“You’re not going to goad me out of this conversation,” Jaskier says. “My family adores you because they see how much you make me happy. They see that you mean the world to me. They see that I love you.”
Geralt can only stare at him, shocked into silence.
Jaskier lets out a hoarse little laugh. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, Geralt. I really don’t expect you to. But we’re going to be traveling together for the rest of our lives and so you deserve to know the truth. I love you. I fell a little bit in love with the idea of you in Posada, but now that I’ve gotten to know the real you, it feels like I fall more in love with you every day."
“Jask,” Geralt rasps.
Jaskier looks at him with wide eyes, expression the same mixture of terror and hope that Geralt can feel growing inside his own chest. Carefully, Geralt reaches out and takes Jaskier by the wrist, pulling him closer. He takes his time, wanting to give Jaskier the chance to pull away, to tell him that never mind, this isn’t what he wants. His gaze falls to the pink curve of Jaskier’s lips, waiting for them to form a “no.”
Instead, Jaskier seizes Geralt by the front of the shirt and pulls him into a kiss. The bard’s lips are warm and a little chapped, tasting of salt and ale. It’s a tentative kiss, almost searching, and a little awkward. Geralt has kissed many people in his life. He knows what he’s doing. But suddenly, he feels as clumsy and awkward as a boy, unsure of what to do with his lips and tongue after so many weeks of wanting.
Jaskier laughs against his lips.
“What?” Geralt pulls back, abashed.
Jaskier shakes his head. Geralt can feel the curve of his smile against his lips. “I can’t believe I’m kissing you after all this time. You have no idea—”
Geralt huffs a laugh and pulls Jaskier back into a kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation. He lets his kisses show how much he’s wanted this, how much he’s been wanting Jaskier. The bard has only been in his life for a few short months, but it feels like Geralt has been waiting a lifetime for this: for the silky feel of Jaskier’s doublet under his hands, for the warmth of his body, for the thrum of his heartbeat and the smell of his growing desire.
Jaskier pushes him backwards and Geralt goes willingly until he’s pushed up against the face of the cliff, Jaskier’s body flush against his. Jaskier’s long, deft fingers travel over him shamelessly, carding through his hair, exploring his shoulders and chest, skimming over the waistband of his pants. Geralt takes it as an invitation to do some exploring of his own. With one hand, he cups the back of Jaskier’s neck, burying his fingers into his hair. The other hand slips under his chemise and up over the jut of his hip bone, the soft skin of his stomach, the trail of thick hair under his belly button.
Jaskier shivers and lets out a little moan, pressing his hips into Geralt’s so that Geralt can feel the length of his erection pressed against him. All Geralt wants to do is grind their hips together, make Jaskier moan and shake apart against him. But as Jaskier’s hands begin to fumble with the laces of his pants, Geralt remembers where they are.
“Jask, you’re the one who told me fucking on a beach was a bad idea,” he murmurs. “Sand in unspeakable places, remember?”
“That sounds like a problem for later.” Jaskier’s voice is thick with desire. “And I’d very much like to speak about those unspeakable places.”
As the bard leans in for another kiss, there’s a squawk from above. Geralt and Jaskier look up to see about a dozen seagulls perched on the edge of the cliff, staring down at them with beady little eyes.
“Hm.” Geralt squints up at them. “You’re right. They are creepy.”
Jaskier shudders. “I feel like you need your silver sword right now. We’re dreadfully outmatched.”
Geralt takes in Jaskier’s kiss swollen lips and rumpled hair. “Back to the house?”
Jaskier looks from the seagulls to him and grins. “Back to the house.”
***
Next: Just smut.
Note: The smut is opt-in only, so please reply to this post to let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter! If it's not your thing, you won't miss anything plot-relevant and part 15 will be posted shortly after part 14.
Tag list: @kueble @maya-the-yellow-bee @feral-jaskier @pinkkaktus @armory-rasa @trissmarrygoals @justjess94 @dapandapod @wehyperfixatedtoohard @rinkashirikitateku (sorry @legion-of-queer @sweetiepieplum and @inveterate-scars, Tumblr won’t let me tag you)
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jule1122 · 2 days ago
Text
Malex Secret Santa Fic - Two hot palms pressing down on my face
Written for https://malzysaur.tumblr.com for @malexsanta for this request: Michael teaching Alex how to fix a simple issue on his vehicle and it just dissolves from there into either a pretty intense make out session or smut - wherever you’re comfortable going with it. Maybe a bonus blurb at the end of the next day Sanders sassing Michael about Alex “just being a friend”
Thank you to my wonderful betas @im-the-punk-who and @unbearable22.  All remaining mistakes are mine.
Two hot palms pressing down on my face on AO3
Summary: Michael needs to change Alex's oil.  Alex has other ideas. 
Title from U & Me by Alt-J
Michael smiles when he sees Alex pull into the junkyard.  Alex had texted him earlier that the “change oil” light had come on in his car. So even though Michael had been looking forward to an early night, he asked Alex to come by instead of going home - it would be easier to change his oil here where he had everything he needed.  Michael had already pulled out the jack, tools, oil pan and five quarts of oil.  
Alex pulls up to where Michael is waiting.  He gets out of the car and immediately pulls Michael in for a kiss.  “Hi,” he whispers against Michael’s lips.
“Hi,” Michael says back, the reply almost lost when Alex pulls him in again. “Come on,” he gently pushes Alex back.  “Let’s get your car taken care of.”
Michael pops the hood and gestures for Alex to stand beside him.  “Let me show you how to check your oil.  You need to pull out the dipstick.  Do you know where that is?”
Alex raises an eyebrow at Michael and snorts.  “I know where my dipstick is, yours too.”
Micheal gives him an unimpressed look.  “Fourth grade humor is not appreciated.  This is important.”
Alex pouts, but steps closer to watch.  Michael pulls out the dipstick and wipes it off with the towel he keeps tucked into his pocket.  When he leans forward to put the dipstick back in, Alex presses against his back and begins nuzzling his neck.  Michael wiggles out of his arms to finish what he’s doing.
“Alex,” Michael sighs, dismayed at the state of the oil.  “When exactly did the ‘change oil soon’ light come on?”
“Yesterday?”  Alex shrugs.  “Maybe sometime last week?” 
“Next time tell me right away, please.  Oil is a liquid, it should be gold and fluid,” Michael points to the dark brown, thick substance on the dipstick.  “Not dark and sludgy, like this.  You can’t just ignore stuff like this.”  Michael puts the dipstick back a little more aggressively than necessary.  He hates the way Alex neglects taking care of himself.
“I meant to tell you, but you know how crazy work’s been.  It slipped my mind.”
“That’s not an excuse,” Michael chides him.  Eduardo had put Alex in charge of a multi-department project that had him leaving early and coming home late for weeks until it finally wrapped up yesterday.  “I know you’ve been busy, but you can’t just let everything else slide.”  
“I’ll try,” Alex pulls Michael in by his belt loops for a hug.  “Thank you for caring,” he whispers against Michael’s ear.
Michael relaxes in Alex’s arms, letting Alex kiss him along the underside of his jaw.  He tilts his head back, moaning when Alex bites at the hollow of his throat.  “Come on,” he pulls Alex’s head up, kissing him quickly before pushing him away.  “We’re never going to get done if you keep distracting me.”
“Fine,” Alex holds his hands up and rolls his eyes.  “What’s next?”
“I’m going to jack your car up. Not a word,” he points his finger at Alex when he catches the amused look on Alex's face.  Michael grabs the jack, and quickly gets the front of Alex’s car off the ground, ignoring the way he can feel Alex staring at his ass while he works.  “Once I’m under the car, hand me the oil pan,” Michael points at the pan so Alex knows what he wants.
Michael settles on the creeper and slides under the car.  He grabs the oil pan when Alex passes it to him, positioning it quickly and uncapping the oil reservoir.  Once he’s sure it’s draining, he slides back out.
Alex immediately hauls him up off the creeper, a hungry look in his eyes.
“Once the oil drains,” Michael begins.
“That will take a while, right,” Alex cuts him off.  He’s still holding Michael’s hands tightly.
“A few minutes,” Michael frowns.  “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, just come with me.”  Alex pulls Michael over to the airstream, letting go of him long enough to open the door before taking his hand again and pulling him inside.  Alex comes to a stop in what used to be the bedroom, groaning when he spots the workbench they installed when they ripped the bed out.
“Come on,” he says, and then he’s moving again, taking Michael into the kitchen and boosting him up onto the counter.
“Alex what the hell?” Michael asks.
But instead of answering him, Alex threads his hands through Michael’s hair, tilting his head and kissing him.  Alex bites at his lip until Michael opens his mouth. He changes the angle, sweeping his tongue inside and pulling at Michael’s hair.
When Alex finally ends the kiss, it’s just to mumble “God you’re so fucking hot,” into Michael’s neck.  He licks his way down Michael's neck, shoving the open collar of his shirt aside to suck a mark on his collarbone.
“What?” Michael laughs. “All sweaty and dirty?”
“Yes,” Alex moans, shoving Michael’s shirt up and kissing his way down his chest, thumbs pressed against his nipples.  “Just like this.”  When Alex’s mouth reaches Michael’s waist, he nips at the skin just above his hip while trying to undo Michael’s pants.  Michael’s not sure how he manages it, but Alex gets his belt and jeans undone and slides his pants and underwear down past his knees without pulling him off the counter.  Alex grabs one of the kitchen chairs and pulls it over so he can sit between Michael’s legs.  He pushes Michael’s legs apart and rests his head on Micheal’s knee.
Michael should feel uncomfortable - bare assed on the kitchen counter, leaning forward because the cabinets don’t allow him to sit up straight.  But Alex is pressing kisses along his inner thigh and licking the crease of his groin while massaging his hips and somehow all Michael feels is desired.
“Alex,” Michael moans when Alex lets go of Michael’s hip and starts slowly stroking his cock.  The gentle pressure makes him want to press into Alex’s hand, but he can’t do that without falling so he has to let Alex set the pace.
Alex sucks hard at the skin at the top of Michael’s thigh, making him moan again.  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Alex asks.  He buries his nose in the curls at the base of Michael’s cock and takes a deep breath.
“Can’t be more than what you do to me.”  Michael argues as Alex’s hand leaves his cock to play with his balls.
"You’re wrong,” Alex shakes his head.  He lays his head back on Michael’s thigh, his breath ghosting over Michael’s cock when he speaks.  “You were still asleep when I left this morning, curled up in bed.  All I could see was the side of your face and your hair.  You looked so peaceful and warm, I wanted to crawl back in bed with you and kiss you awake.”
“Hmmm,” Michael can only hum in agreement as Alex continues to almost idly stroke him, hands gently tracing the length of his cock and drifting down to cup his balls before starting all over again.  It’s not enough to get him off, but he’s hard and leaking into Alex's hand.
“You’re so easy in the mornings,” Alex continues.  “You’d let me fuck you if I asked, and you’d already be so relaxed, I bet I could have started with two fingers.  Push them right inside, and you’d be ready for me in no time.  I’d fuck you nice and easy too, just rock inside you until we both come.  And you’d be asleep again before I even cleaned us both up.  I thought about that all day.”
“Any morning, every morning, Alex.  You know that.”
“Good,” Alex looks up and smiles at him.  It’s almost feral, his eyes sharp with desire, and Michael’s cock twitches just seeing how hungry Alex looks.
“And then I come here, and you’re warm and glowing in the sun.  Just a little sweaty and you smell just like you do in the mornings, right before you shower.  I want you so much, Michael, all the time, but like this, you’re irresistible.  You’re lucky I had enough patience to take you inside.”
Picturing Alex pushing Michael against his car and dropping to his knees outside where anyone could see them, has Michael getting even harder in Alex’s grip.  Alex laughs like he knows what Michael is thinking about.
He spreads his hands along the insides of Michael’s thighs and presses them apart as far as he can.  His hands are warm, almost burning into Micheal’s skin and he knows there will be bruises there tomorrow.  Small marks he can cover with his own hands, push into the same places Alex’s fingers rest now and remember how it felt to be touched like this.
Michael forgets all that the moment Alex takes his cock into his mouth.  Alex doesn’t move right away, just holds Michael’s cock as deep as he can, letting it rest heavy on his tongue.  Then he licks his way to the crown before sucking it back down again.  It’s a little awkward.  Michael grips the counter hard to keep from falling and ends up almost bent in half over Alex, but that somehow makes it better, that neither of them can wait for perfect.
Alex knows what he likes, knows just where to press his tongue, how hard to suck and when to slow down when he doesn’t want Michael to come or how deep to take him when he does.  So within minutes, Michael forgets how his jeans keep him from wrapping his legs around Alex or how the chipped edge of the counter digs into the back of his thighs.  He forgets everything but how good Alex makes him feel.  He shifts restlessly as his orgasm builds, wanting to get closer to Alex, but Alex increases the pressure on his thighs, holding him in place.  He hums around Michael’s cock, and Michael comes with a shout, holding himself as still as he can so he doesn’t accidentally overbalance himself or Alex.
When Michael opens his eyes, Alex is leaning back, looking as blissed out as Michael feels.  It makes Michael want to crawl into his lap and ride him until he gets off again, and Alex comes screaming his name.  Then he remembers they haven’t replaced the lube since it ran out, and he sighs in frustration.
“You good?” Alex asks looking confused.
“Hell, yeah,” Michael replies, making sure Alex knows how ridiculous that question is.
Alex smiles in response and retraces his earlier path up Michael’s body, placing soft kisses along his thighs and stomach and as far up his chest as he can with his shirt pushed up.  Alex stands then, ducking a little to reach Michael’s mouth, kissing deep and messy, letting Michael taste himself on Alex’s tongue, when he gently helps him off the counter.  
Michael breaks the kiss to pull his pants up, but Alex pushes his hands away and carefully redresses him instead.  It’s intimate and sweet and shouldn’t reignite Michael’s desire, but it does.
He quickly drops to his knees, and works to get Alex’s pants down.  Alex’s cock is hard, already leaking, and Michael swallows hard just thinking about sucking him off.  “Is this what you want?” Michael asks.  “Me on my knees for you?”
He leans forward, but Alex stops him with a hand on his shoulder.  “I want you to fuck me.”
“Oh, babe, I wish I could.”  Michael mentally bemoans their lack of lube again. “I’ll take care of you, though.”  
Michael maneuvers them around until Alex is facing the counter with his hands braced on it, his back to Michael.  That puts Michael eye level with Alex’s ass, and he takes a moment to admire it, running his hands over the smooth flesh, squeezing gently.  “I’ll fuck you when we get home tonight,” Michael promises.
He pulls Alex’s cheeks apart and blows lightly on his hole, smiling when Alex rocks his hips back toward him.  “But first I’m going to open you up nice and slow.  I’ll start with my tongue, get you nice and wet before I use my fingers.  And once I’m sure you’re ready, I’ll fill you with my cock.  You want that?”
“You know I do,” Alex groans.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” Michael makes sure Alex can still feel his breath against his hole.  “Going just a little deeper with each thrust until you're so full from my cock that you come without either of us touching you, just from how good I feel inside of you.”
“Michael,” Alex says his name as both a plea and a demand.
“I think you deserve a little preview.  Go ahead and touch yourself since I have my hands full.”  Michael squeezes Alex’s ass again before leaning forward and licking his hole.  He holds Alex open while he presses his tongue inside, teasing the rim.  Michael can hear the sound of Alex’s hand stroking his cock, when he hears his breath hitch and his hand speed up, he pushes his tongue in as deep as he can, fluttering it inside of Alex.
After Michael hears Alex come with a muffled groan, he pulls back, stroking his ass a few more times as Alex relaxes.  Michael stands up and gives Alex’s ass a light slap.  “Not quite a scream, but I’ll get you there later.”
Alex rolls his eyes and takes the towel Michael found in the cupboard, quickly wiping himself off and getting his pants up and fastened.  “I’m counting on it,” Alex says, tossing the towel aside and pulling Michael into his arms.
Michael steps back when Alex tries to kiss him.  “Let’s go,” he opens the door, ignoring Alex’s pout.  “The sooner we get your oil changed, the sooner we’re home and naked in our bed.”
When they walk out of the airstream, Michael almost trips over his own feet when he sees Sanders standing in front of Alex’s car, hood down and off the jack.
“Car’s done,” Sanders says when he spots them.  “Just don’t expect me to do this for all your 'friends.'”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”  Michael complains at the extra emphasis. 
“Thanks, Walt,” Alex says cheerfully before squeezing Michael’s hand and walking away.
Michael glares at him before turning his attention back to Sanders.  “We’ve been living together for six months.  You helped me move in.  We built the raised beds in the backyard together.”  Michael’s voice rises as he lists the reasons Sanders knows exactly what he and Alex are to each other.  He knows Sanders just does it to get under his skin, but he can’t help correcting him.
“You’re the one that called him a friend.  And from what I can see nothing has changed since then.  You still look at him like he hung the damn moon, same as you always did. He still pops up here at all hours, forgetting the rest of the world as soon as he sees you, just like he always has. So friends it is until I see a ring on someone’s finger,” Sanders crosses his arms, looking entirely too pleased with his logic.
“A ring?” Michael sputters, trying to think of a response.  Then he remembers Liz complaining about how Arturo is always asking when she and Max are going to settle down and start a family.  He narrows his eyes at Sanders, “Are you angling for grandchildren, Old Man?”
“Well, I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you.”
Michael throws his hands up in defeat.  “I’m going home before you say any more crazy shit.”
“You go ahead and take your friend home,” Sanders says with a smirk.  He starts to walk by Michael, but pauses.  “Jesse Manes was a terrible human being and a worse father, but he taught his boys to be self-sufficient.  That one,” he jerks his thumb toward Alex, who is leaning against the door of Michael’s truck, eyes closed and face tipped toward the sun, looking so beautiful it makes Michael’s heart ache.  
He looks away when Sanders clears his throat to get his attention.  “He knew how to change a flat tire, jump a dead battery and change his own oil before he could drive.”
“Good to know,” Michael pats Sanders on the shoulder and walks over to where Alex is waiting.  Alex opens his eyes and straightens up when Michael approaches.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asks Alex.
“Enough to know I’m going to have to ask his permission if I want to marry you,” Alex replies with a soft laugh.
“You’re as bad as he is,” Michael groans.
“It’s sweet, nice, that you have someone who cares that much,” Alex says, reaching for Michael’s hand and entwining their fingers.
“That’s one way to look at,” Michael ducks his head, still a little uncomfortable admitting how much Sanders means to him.  “He also told me you know your way around cars. So I guess you already knew where the dipstick was, huh.” 
“I told you I know where your dipstick is,” Alex teases, trying to pull Michael closer..
“Alex,” Michael stays where he is and tries to look stern.
“It was a long time ago,” Alex sighs.  “I try to forget anything he taught me.”
Michael winces, feeling guilty for pressing this even if he was just teasing.  He knows how hard Alex works to undo every bit of Jesse’s influence.  But Alex is still relaxed and smiling so Michael lets himself be pulled into Alex’s arms.
“I don’t care,” he tells Alex so he’ll know Michael isn’t upset.  “I would have changed it for you anyway.  I like taking care of you.”
“I know, and I like watching you work. Besides,” Alex whispers into Michael’s ear.  “I learn best with positive reinforcement.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Michael laughs as Alex starts kissing his neck.  “Let’s go home, and I’ll show you lots of positive reinforcement.”
“You’d better, I remember exactly what you promised me.”  Alex reluctantly lets Michael go, kissing him one more time before reaching for the passenger door.
Michael looks at him in confusion.  “Your car’s done.”
“Leave it,” Alex shakes his head.  “I’ll ride in with you in the morning.”
Michael feels warmth spread through his chest at the realization that Alex doesn’t want to be apart long enough to drive home separately.  He takes Alex’s hand once they both have their seatbelts on.  “I love you, but I’m still going to complain about getting up early so you can get to work on time.”
“I love you, too,” Alex's smile is radiant.  “And there will be a very nice incentive to get you up tomorrow.”
Michael remembers Alex describing his plans for waking him up, and suddenly the early hour doesn't sound so bad.  “Sounds like we both have promises to keep.”  He starts the truck and pulls out, eager to get them both home. 
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