#UNDERCOVER HONEYMOONERS!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartthrobin · 1 year

Text

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

Portraits of grinning faces watched you from the whiteboard.

Women’s eyes twinkling. Husband’s grinning to the camera. At their wedding, in the woods during a camping trip, on a birthday.

"We have fucking nothing!"

Names and dates lined the edges of what used to be treasured memories in red marker. Memories each couple was not around to remember anymore.

"We have the profile." Hotch's voice was stern. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.

Outside, the ocean crashed loudly against the shore. Seagulls gabbled in the distance near the dock.

"You know that's not enough."

Chatham was one of the most influential and wealthy suburbs in Cape Cod, if not the whole state. Discovering strung out bodies on the crisp white beaches almost five times that month wasn't fitting for the shoreline that housed some of the most elaborate mansions in the county.

The BAU had been in Cape Cod for nearly three weeks. Two weeks too long in the bureau's opinion: a view shared by the team.

Derek slammed his hand loudly against the white board, over a photo of a tall, cream, wood-boarded resort sprawled over the edge of the coast. Seagull's Rest: Couples Retreat and Spa.

"Seagull's Rest is the only place that connects them.” He huffed, pressing his finger into the printed photo. “Every day that passes is another honeymooning couple that's in danger."

Emily sighed somewhere behind you. David lingered by the edge of the desk where Spencer was driving his eyes over some Greek mythology textbook, working the human sacrifice angle he’d been insistent on sharing with you over coffee that morning.

Police chatter busied the space between you and the other agents.

"Morgan," you pressed, "we have no idea what that even means. It could be maids, spa staff ... for all we know, it could even be other guests."

The room was warm, bright: through the window you could overlook the ocean. A scene too beautiful to deserve the blood painted across it’s portrait.

Nights dissolved into mornings at the sheriff's station. Coffee mugs finding purchase in the maze of photos, medical reports, staff lists: all leading back to the one place all four couples were spending their vacation.

"You know what this means, don't you?" David's voice carried over from behind you. You turned to face him, his gaze set hard upon Hotch's.

The team leader's jaw was tight.

He looked like he was considering David's words closely, sucking in a breath like it hurt him to do so.

Emily's chair squeaked where she leaned forward in it, "What is he talking about?"

Hotch's narrow eyes turned to face the team again. "We need to go in. Work the case from the inside."

"Undercover?" You probed, jaw loosening in surprise.

The team hadn't worked an undercover project in almost two years. Everyone understood that they were a last resort, when general good-old detective work wasn't doing the trick.

Hotch nodded stiffly.

"We're gonna need a couple to go in. Two of us. The pair has to match the preference of the unsub."

There was a heavy quiet before a collective understanding, a collective resignation.

"Fine." Derek nodded. He turned to face the board again. "The husbands, what are we looking for?"

"Alpha males, domineering personalities." David lifted a photo off the desk, examining it closer. "All high-power careers, wealthy. They have a handle on these women. Other couple's in the course with them reported the husband being out of touch, unaffectionate."

Spencer rose to stand, "But no specific physical traits. Unlike the women, they share a specific appearance: the hair, the height, the body shape. They all look like—"

Cold passed over your whole body from the highest point on your head. Like ice water had flooded your shoes.

"Like me."

Teeth sunk into the corner of your lip, the metal taste of blood nipped at your tongue.

It was impossible not to feel the weight of the team’s gaze, how they flickered quickly between where you sat and the photos against the board.

Spencer shrugged, nodding slowly. "Yes, like you."

You chuckled softly, missing most of the humor in the situation as you sunk further back into your chair. "I guess that's settled then."

It wouldn't be your first time working undercover, but you couldn’t say you were as experienced as your colleagues.

You'd joined the BAU last, working every possible hour and chasing down every possible lead to try stay in one of the most coveted positions at the bureau.

It definitely wasn't the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Yes, the team was welcoming - Emily worked hard to make you feel at home, empathizing with you about the difficulty of transitioning into such a team: a team that knows each other's every move and every thought before they themselves have moved or thought - and Spencer was always a friendly face.

Derek was considerate and David was a genius in the line of duty, a marvel to watch work.

What really made it difficult, was Hotch.

In the beginning, he was wary of you. You could feel him lingering when you worked, every decision you made or observation you gathered was held under the magnifying glass of Aaron Hotchner.

With time, he eased up. Trusted you with more, scrutinized over less.

It was then that the next - considerably more concerning - problem began, when you began to miss having his presence over your shoulder.

When your eyes began to linger over his hands where they rested on his holster, or fixate quietly when he brought that steaming morning mug to his lips - sipping oh, so gently.

You were so sure he'd kiss with the same tenderness. The thought kept you up at night.

The feelings you so embarrassingly held for your boss were pushed deep into the corners of your brain.

You felt secure in the knowledge that you acted as casual as possible. Nobody had mentioned anything, and the thought of Hotch ever catching even an inkling of an idea would be enough to never walk back into BAU headquarters ever again.

The only person who really knew anything was Emily.

It had slipped after a drunken night out, on the couch in her apartment, your fat tears staining her blouse: "he's so fucking hot I can't do this!"

And there he was. Silhouette dark against the cast of the sunlight through the window, looking down at you from his towering height. "You're sure you're ready for this?"

His voice wrapped carefully around your throat and you almost choked on its softness.

You coughed instead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded once, turning back to Derek. "The male?"

Derek shook his head, "Rossi and I went over there a couple days ago to question the owners. They know we're FBI."

The room turned to Spencer, who blinked big hazel eyes at the room innocuously.

You did little to suppress the giggle that bubbled out from your chest. Your heart knocked loudly when you felt Hotch's eyes flicker over his shoulder back at you.

"You wanna be our dominant alpha, Reid?" Emily's lips tugged into a playful grin, clicking the end of her pen loudly.

Soft laughter permeated the room, David knocked Spencer’s shoulder teasingly.

Spencer flushed a light pink, his gaze finding purchase at the open space between his two feet. "Yes. Very funny."

It took more than a few seconds for you to realize that without Spencer, there stood only one other possible candidate.

Your eyes climbed the length of Hotch's long black blazer sleeve. When you reached the top you found him already looking at you. You shivered.

"I suppose that means it’s me then."

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you found Emily staring right at you - a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth.

"Mr and Mrs Hotchner." David chirped, a mischievous edge to his words. "Congratulations."

You managed to squeak out a sarcastic "thanks Rossi" but Hotch stayed quiet. It made you want to sink into the crevice of your desk chair.

Instead, he turned back to Spencer.

"Get Garcia on the line. She needs to set up aliases and get us registered for the next couple's course as soon as possible."

Spencer nodded once before disappearing into the next room wordlessly.

Next, he turned to you - sucking all the breath out your lungs.

God, he made it so hard to act normal when he showed up in that fucking suit and that perfectly professional haircut.

"I want you to go over the backgrounds of the women again. Get a feel for the unsub's preference, there may be a personality type that he likes best. I'll do the same with the men." You nodded, going to stand and finding yourself always just a little too far from his chest.

"While we're away, the rest of you need to work off the intel we feed. Let's solve this before there's more bodies."

Agents began moving in every direction: out the door, back towards boxes of evidence, but Emily crossed the room to you: eyes wide and alight with mischief.

She grabbed your hand, pulling you from the room and leaving Hotch behind. "This is going to be so fucking good."

Your stomach churned.

Just shy of two days later, you found yourself sitting in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz - god knows the bureau has its ways - only two streets down from Shellshore drive, where tucked into the curve sat Seagull's Rest: the beautiful lodge on the Cape Cod coast that offered couple's courses for new and old marriages that delve into the depths of the soul and connect partners in love and touch.

At least that's what the pamphlet said as it stared up at you from your lap.

It sat at the top of the stack of case files, documents and photos hidden beneath. You pulled out the ID from the midst of the stack.

The photo you'd taken the previous afternoon glimmered up at you: Mrs Eleanor Thompson.

With less than a couple inches of space dividing you, in the driver's seat, sat Hotch.

Penelope was talking over the car speaker.

"I signed you guys up for the Honeymooner's Retreat. It's six days long, but I'm sure you'll be out by then. There are five other couples doing this course with you, you'll find their names in the documents I sent. All their records are clean."

"Garcia, I want you to cross reference all the course instructors with anybody who has—"

Hotch's voice faded from your surroundings, your brain stuttering electrically as your eyes raked over his outfit.

A tight fit black polo that was hugging his chest and chino pants begging for relief over those long thighs.

The last two days had been painful.

You'd slept almost nothing: tossing and turning for hours over the idea that you'd soon be in much closer proximity to Aaron Hotchner than you'd ever been. Too close.

Emily had tried to calm you down, "just ... focus on the case, okay? whatever happens happens."

It was easy for her to say.

Her legs didn't liquify every time Hotch sent small praise her way, like they did on you, and she didn’t have flashing images of taking care of him in the way he never does himself plague her in the small moments of quiet throughout her day.

Making him breakfast, or taking his blazer off after a long case ... undoing the buttons down his shirt—

"They're expecting you for check in at five o clock."

Your eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard, it blinked red at you: 16:47

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yeah," you added quickly, "Thanks Garcia."

"Good luck lovebirds." The teasing lilt in her voice did nothing to calm the high power washing machine your stomach had transformed to.

Heat rushed over your face.

You could feeling Hotch watching you from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Sliding your stack of pages into the Louis Vutton handbag at your feet, you forced a smile to press up into your lips.

"To marry you, Hotch?" You feigned a soft sigh, "I've only waited all my life."

The bubbling in your stomach simmered only slightly when Hotch rolled his eyes, what was almost a smile teasing at his lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

The car rumbled to a start beneath you, the expensive engine purring.

"We know what to look for. Keep your eyes on the guests, the instructors, anybody we interact with."

It was hard to focus on Hotch's advice when his wide hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

But you nodded anyways.

It felt like less than a few seconds before the car was being pulled into a luxurious white cobblestone driveway. A sign etched in ivory-coloured wood overhead marked the road: Welcome to Seagull’s Rest.

Bellboys stood in the distance under a grand arched entrance in cream uniforms, luxury cars stretched out in every direction of the parking lot.

The car rumbled to a stop. A valet attendant was already approaching before you’d even a second to gather what was left of your courage.

Hotch turned to you, slow and deliberate as was his manner, leaning precariously over the console. "Remember, we're being watched."

The door opened abruptly on your side, you glanced up to meet the face of the young man holding open the door. He couldn't be older than twenty.

He smiled. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Seagull's Rest."

Your eyes flickered back as Hotch climbed out from the other side, you smiled up at the boy before lifting the end of the olive-green sundress you'd been coerced into wearing and stepped out.

Hotch had rounded the car before you'd even straightened out. He tossed the keys at the attendant.

You were taken aback by how quickly he could escape his usually impeccable manners.

"Be careful with the luggage. There's things in there worth twelve times your salary."

You sucked in a sharp breath when he took your hand into his, sliding his fingers between yours. His palm was pressed so firmly you thought you might collapse.

He made matters worse when he cleared his throat loudly, "Come on, honey, let's go."

The reception was a bright open room, preceded by a tall oak arch, and a high ceiling loomed over the expensive wood of the front desk.

A small framed woman stood behind it, smiling as you approached. "Good afternoon, welcome to Seagull's Rest."

Hotch only nodded curtly in greeting, pulling you abruptly up against his side so that his hand wrapped over your waist. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart thumping hysterically against your ribs.

"James and Eleanor Thompson." He grumbled, "We're here for the Honeymooner's Retreat."

"Of course sir, if I could see some identification please?"

Hotch slid over the two fake ID's and the woman began to tap away at the computer.

Your eyes slid up to the view from the window beyond the desk, how the sun was almost setting over the ocean visible through the crystal-clear window.

Unsure if it was driven by purpose or simply instinct, your arms snaked up to rest around Hotch's hips, letting your head lull against the side of his chest just softly.

His chest swelled. You tried not to read into it.

"Baby," it took a moment, presumable for Hotch to realize you were referring to him, but he hummed in response, not looking down at you.

"Hm?"

You motioned to the window, "Look how beautiful it is. You couldn't have chosen a better spot."

Instead of Hotch, the woman at the front desk spoke in response.

"We boast one of the best spots along our coast. The morning yoga sessions are spectacular if that's something you enjoy, and we have cocktail evening tonight at our restaurant on the beach." Her voice dripped in sugar, sliding the two ID's and the keycard to the room back over the counter.

"That sounds wonderful—"

Hotch's stern voice pierced through your own, "Yes, well, we'll see."

The woman - Leslie, as her tag suggested - glanced carefully between Hotch and yourself. She offered you a quietly sympathetic look before meeting Hotch's face again.

"Y-Yes, of course sir."

You stayed quiet after that, allowing her to direct James and Eleanor to their room. Second floor at the end of the hallway.

Hotch huffed dramatically, grabbing the cards from the desk.

His hand slid from your waist and you almost had enough time to mourn the loss of his warmth against your side before that large hand wove itself back between yours - simultaneously warming and chilling every blood vessel in your body.

Hotch pulled you in the direction of the elevator. Nothing was said between you, only the swish of your dress and the heavy step of his leather shoes against the floors.

You two followed the corridor as instructed, gaze flickering curiously up to your fake husband every few moments before your interest caught the better of you.

"You're a little too good at playing the asshole, James." Your hand squeezed gently against his, "Something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind."

The luggage was already waiting at the foot of the bed when Hotch pushed the door open, allowing you to step in first.

A gasp escaped you.

The room had to be the most exquisite thing you’d seen in all your life.

It was lined in crisp white and cream decor, a velvet couch along the one wall and a sprawling balcony that overlooked the ocean - the sound of the waves filling every crevice of the space.

There was a thud and you turned to find Hotch opening his briefcase, pulling out the neatly packed pressed shirts that lay within.

"Hotch—"

Quicker than it took you to blink in fright, Hotch's hand closed over your mouth. He shook his head, tapping his ear. "Wires." He mouthed.

You nodded quickly, feeling stupid.

His hand dropped and embarrassment flushed hot over your neck. You looked away from him.

This wasn't a holiday and Hotch wasn't your husband.

Eight people were dead.

Unease burnt at your chest, the same kind that had been building with every passing day and every piling body. You moved in silent to unpack your own handbag where you'd placed your files.

Hotch watched you carefully, as you leaned over the bag - silhouette forming against the red and purple tones of the picturesque sky behind you.

He stared a little longer than necessary, capturing the view to his mind.

It was something he found himself doing too often. Whenever he could find a moment, an excuse. His gaze would linger on your frame, your face.

When your fingers would twitch against your necklace or when you laughed a little too loudly for the Quantico office when Spencer told his terrible, very specifically not funny jokes.

But he was Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and nothing if not the epitome of professionalism.

He planted himself far enough from the line to where he could go about his day and pretend like he didn't lose sleep at night thinking about you.

"James, did you pack the charger?" Your voice was loud, but wavered slightly. You didn't look up to his face as you usually did.

Hotch tried to convince himself that he didn’t notice.

"Yes, honey, it's in the side pocket."

There was no charger and definitely no need to ask about one besides making casual conversation in the case that wires tapped the room.

Reminded of the very real circumstance, Hotch abandoned the shirts on the bed to move around the room.

Behind him you were doing the same.

He lifted lamp shades, checked under drawers, desks and the headboard for any listening device that could have been planted before they came in.

You shuffled around behind the television stand and at the railings of the curtain before slipping into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes passed in silence before Hotch climbed back to his feet from where he was crouched down under the bed frame.

"We should be in the clear." He announced to you where you still occupied the bathroom.

"Check what I found." You emerged, sundress flittering around your ankles.

He cursed the sway of the material. Somehow you'd arrived in that green dress to the sheriff's station and it had made every nerve connecting his body to his brain turn fuzzy and the man of steel that was Aaron Hotchner was having a harder time than usual keeping his eyes to himself.

You waved a white envelope at him, "It was stuck to the window."

Hotch took it from you, it was addressed to a Mr and Mrs Thompson.

"That's us." He muttered, finger sliding to break its seal.

You stood against his side, close enough to read the letter where he slid it out but also just close enough to make Hotch's head spin from the waft of your perfume.

Good afternoon Mr J and Mrs E Thompson,

We welcome you to Seagull's Rest and want to thank you for choosing to participate in our Honeymooner's Retreat. The next few days will work to strengthen the bond of love and trust between any new married couple, and of course up the intimacy!

Tonight we will be hosting a champagne evening where you will be afforded the opportunity to meet the couples that you'll be spending the next six days with.

Meet us at the Pelican Perch Restaurant on floor 1 at six o clock. We look forward to meeting you!

Kindly, Seagull Rest Staff.

The page crinkled beneath his fingers.

"This is perfect." He muttered, looking sideways at you. "It'll give us a chance to see the unsub in a social environment if he's here."

The unknown subject (unsub) was clarified before you and Hotch had left the station that morning.

David's voice still rung in his ears:

"Someone who is calm and casual in social settings, easy to get along with but holds a position that allows people to trust them. It's what he uses to lure two people at a time to their deaths."

You glanced up at the antique clock on the wall hanging above the television. "That means we should leave soon."

Hotch nodded, "Leave the packing, we'll do that when we get back."

The sun was disappearing behind the glittering ocean surface when the door shut behind you and Hotch again.

His hand slipped down over your wrist before sliding into your grasp, between your fingers and over your knuckles.

Hotch could spend all night convincing himself that holding your hand was imperative to maintaining your cover because you were married and that was in the best interest of the case, but it would still do little to calm the way his heart began to beat from his throat when your grip tightened gently around his.

You made small talk on the walk down to the restaurant, as any couple would.

Mentioning the spa and the interior designs of the glamorous hallways you passed on the walk down to the Pelican Perch restaurant on the water.

The views of the lodging was almost nothing compared to when you two walked under the green vine archway into the restaurant.

Hotch heard your little gasp beside him and was sure it made his heart grow two sizes.

Above your heads hung a glittering maze of white fairy lights overviewing a large wooden floor with tables set in every corner. The bar glittered with bottles of every colour, size and shape that lined the shelves and the wide stacking doors were opened out onto the shoreline.

A soft jazz played and near the center of the room, ten chairs were stacked in a semi-circle around a small podium.

"This is so beautiful." You whispered, almost so soft he didn't hear it.

He looked down at you, enamored by the way the lights reflected off your eyes and your lips were parted in surprise.

"It is." But his eyes never left you.

Already, three or four couples had taken seats, keening over each other as if they two were the only people in the room.

It was almost six. Hotch tugged your hand gently in the direction of the expensive looking chairs, leaning down close to your ear: "Keep your eyes on the people."

You giggled as if he'd said something naughty, putting on a good show for the surrounding guests before leaning down to sit.

The lull of the music in the room almost convinced you that it was all real.

That as you sat and Hotch settled his arm over your thighs, pulling you close against him: that it was because he wanted, not needed, to be there.

Your eyes flickered over the people, a man and a woman were ushering people to take their seats and a tall thin waiter was sauntering around with a tray of champagne glasses.

You took two from his tray, handing the other to Hotch. He gave you a look to remind you to be careful, you could practically hear him chiding "remember, we're on the job."

The champagne was as close to velvet as you'd ever tasted, sliding down your throat far too easily as the man and woman took to the podium in front of you.

The room quietened.

"Good evening to all our lovely young couples!" The man's voice was smooth, warm.

He was older, every spit of hair from his body a stark shining white. The woman was the same, they matched the decor of the resort in the cream beach sets they adorned.

Wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled, "We're so glad to have you with us. Thirty years ago, we opened the Seagull's Rest to help any couple who felt they needed a place to connect with nature and each other, and since then it's become not only a home to us - but a home to every couple who steps through our doors."

You met Hotch's eye. Owners.

Laurie and Howard Ralph. The founders of the Seagull's Rest.

Howard spoke again: "every class is taught by a qualified, friendly and helpful instructor to make you feel safe in what Laurie and I like to call the education of love."

You'd seen their photos in files and on your tablet, somehow they looked even more pretentious in person.

While you knew you weren't looking for an unsub team, their demeanors didn't put them completely out of range for being possibly responsible.

At least that's as far as your brain could conjure up with Hotch's wide thumb rubbing circles into the side of your thigh - a motion you weren’t entirely convinced he realized he was making.

"We'd like to start off the evening with a few introductions, just to break the ice between you."

They were looking down the line of people, pointing to a Hispanic couple closest to the edge. "How about you two? Tell us your names, where you're from, how you met and your favourite thing about your partner."

The man stuttered, looking to his wife for support. She smiled up at him and you couldn't help the momentary swooping ache to have somebody to look at in that warm, soft way.

"Well I'm Alice and this is my husband Marco." She patted him fondly on the chest, "We're from New York."

"We met when we were kids, we lived next door to each other for fifteen years." The husband was a shyer speaker, but his adoration for his wife leaked through his words. "Before she left for college I asked her to be my girlfriend. The rest is history, I guess."

Laurie and Howard smiled plastically, like the grin was surgically attached there.

"That's lovely, and your favourite thing about one another?" Laurie pressed, before adding, "Remember ladies and gentlemen, this experience is about making yourself vulnerable to each other and to yourself!"

"I love how he can make me feel brand new after a terrible day."

"I love the way she knows me in little ways that nobody else does."

Slowly, the couples spoke down the line.

You were introduced to the Taylors, the Andersons, the Fletchers, the Schmidts.

As the line drew shorter, your breath grew faster.

Of course you knew your story, you'd had it drilled into your brain for the last two days, but your favourite thing about Hotch?

No, you corrected yourself, not Hotch. James.

Your brain fished for a lie, dipping past the bundles of things you loved about Hotch that could so easily be picked from the bush.

But would it be so out of line to admit something honest, something he'd never even realize was true?

Eyes fell on you.

Hotch cleared his throat, his grip over your thigh tightened.

"We're the Thompsons. I'm James and this is Eleanor. We're from Colorado."

His voice was strong, stern. Someone who didn't know Hotch might say it was how he always sounded, but there he held a jagged edge to his tone. "We met at—"

"Woah, woah," Howard interrupted, chuckling nervously. "James, you're running a bit away with us here. Why don't you let your wife tell us how you met?"

Hotch mustered the audacity to look affronted. "Alright."

You fought hard to suppress a laugh. Hotch was an abnormally good actor.

He turned to you, "Darling?"

You sighed, practically scribbling ditzy airhead over your forehead and lifting a hand to fiddle with the buttons on his polo, "Well, I met James in my last year at college—"

"Screwing the professor, very classy."

The whisper came from somewhere to your left and surprised you.

It was soft enough that you were sure Howard and Laurie hadn't heard.

The look on Hotch's face, however, proved that he had. He'd grown completely stiff under your hand.

You fought to regain composure, "H-He was working at a law firm that I was doing an internship at. It was love at first sight, right baby?" You patted his chest slowly.

He nodded, eyes darting anywhere but you.

The owners nodded, urging you to continue. "That's beautiful."

You looked up, met with the side of Hotch's face - he didn't look like he was going to speak first.

"My favourite thing about James is ..." your mind flickering between some cliché or just spitting out what you really wanted to. "The way he looks out for me. Always makes sure I'm safe, even if it's risking himself."

It was mild enough to pass off for just a casual comment but nearly specific enough that if he knew how you felt that he'd catch on.

He pulled his gaze from where it was fixated on the foot of the podium, sinking it into yours and making the room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

"My favourite thing about Eleanor is her laugh."

It was short and sweet and deep down you really hoped it was laced in truth.

By the time you looked away from your partner, the introductions had already moved down a couple. Judging by the way the tall blonde woman who'd just announced herself as Jade Atkins was staring at you, you could already gage that she'd been the one to make the professor comment.

You could still feel Hotch's anger radiating off of him. He was hard, tense and his jaw was set tightly.

Hotch was older than you, sure. You knew that.

It was one of the things that assured - plagued - you that he would never reciprocate your feeling.

He was mature and worldly, handsome in a way no man you knew could even remotely compare.

You were younger, not that much, but still. Enough that you could be looked at sideways by stuck-up bitches like Jade Atkins.

You knew you'd never be afforded a chance ... but then why did Hotch look so angry?

He knew he was older, but he also had to know that he left a trail of swooning women wherever he went?

"James ..." you whispered.

He looked quickly down at you, clearly of the impression that it was enough of a response.

"What's wrong?"

The word looked like they hurt forcing itself from his mouth. "Nothing."

You bit the corner of your bottom lip slowly, turning over his response in your mind.

Before you could find the sense to stop yourself, you reached up and took Hotch's jaw into your grasp, pulling it down closer to your face.

Following hesitantly until he was practically leaning over, you whispered into his ear: "ignore her, she just wishes her husband wasn't a cheating alcoholic."

You pressed a warm peck against his upper cheek, close to his eye and pretended that the brush of his almost-there stubble didn't make your heart swoop down into your stomach.

Letting go, Hotch straightened out again. He looked calmer, almost like he could smile.

His eyes flickered over the man, taking in his form. It took him a moment before he whispered back, "You're right."

Within a couple minutes, the last of the couples finished their introductions and the Ralph's were speaking again.

"Thank you all, again, for coming. Please, spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, enjoying more of our champagne—"

"Imported straight from France!" Howard interjected and the couples laughed sporadically,

"—and savor the rest of your week."

Around you, couples rose from their seats. You detangled yourself from Hotch and did the same.

Initially, you had the full intention of floating around the room together, connected at the arm to analyze the guests quietly.

However, almost immediately, the women had dissected from their husbands to form a small group by the balcony.

The men had done the same, converging near the bar.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to Hotch for further instruction.

He nods towards the women, "You should go join them."

Your face crinkled in reluctance, "Don't make me go over there, James ... our friend isn't even supposed to be a woman."

Amusement was alight in his brown eyes, but his mouth remained a thin line.

"Then," he almost made you jump when his wide hand closed softly over your cheek, dragging the side of his thumb down your face, "go enjoy the company. I'll focus on the men."

Sparked by Hotch's warm touch, slightly dizzy on it, you nodded softly before turning to the women.

It was cool out on the balcony and the women greeted when you joined the circle.

You took a long gulp from your second glass of champagne, listening only half-committed to Patricia Anderson's story about their new condo on the Los Angeles beachfront.

"So, Eleanor was it?"

Recognizing the voice as the one who'd whispered brashly behind you not more than twenty minutes previously, you turned to the woman.

Your grip tightened around your champagne glass.

"Yes. Jenna, right?"

The woman gathered the nerve to look affronted, her tennis skirt swayed with the breeze over long bronzed legs.

"Jade, actually. Jade Atkins." She cleared her throat, "My husband is Richard Atkins, he owns all the Sonja Hotels north of the equator, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Another woman - Anne Schmidt - indulged her. "That's amazing, Elijah and I stayed there a couple months ago in Switzerland."

Jade nodded, looking proud, but seemingly intent on swerving the conversation your way.

"Speaking of husbands, yours is quite the catch isn't he?" The chatter of the other women dimmed slightly, the wives sensing the change of direction.

Taking another necessarily big gulp of your champagne, you nodded. "Indeed."

"He's very handsome ... how did you manage to tie him down?"

Her words dripped in condescension.

"Just got lucky, what can I say?"

Jade nodded, twisting a long golden strand between her fingers. Heat was beginning to curl at your cheeks.

"And he's so much older," she laughed airily, lifting her glass to sip at her drink, "but I guess that life insurance money makes him all the more attractive, hey?"

"Oh definitely. He also got a huge penis which helps."

Jade choked loudly around her glass and the women around you burst into fits of high-pitched laughter.

"Don't mind her," Imani Taylor pulled you aside, "All the Botox has gone to her brain."

You smiled kindly at her.

"So a lawyer you said, what's that like?"

Across the room, Hotch was sitting through a similar game of verbal tennis.

A circus of who's car is newer, bigger, better, who's company makes more money or sells more stocks.

He doubted he'd ever been so bored. That's maybe why his eyes flickered so often to where you were talking animatedly with a short woman in a hijab.

A heavy hand against his shoulder sucked him back into the conversation.

A sandy-topped man who Hotch quickly identified as Elijah Schmidt was patting him boyishly, "Don't worry about the girl, Thompson."

He didn't love the idea of you being referred to as girl but said nothing on it.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head vaguely. "Got to keep on eye on them. She can barely feed herself most days, only knows how to spend my money and crash my cars."

The words were bitter, like hot bile on his tongue but he insisted on maintaining a mutual expression. Nobody promised that playing an asshole was going to be any fun.

A handful of the men grimaced at his comment, while the rest just tutted offhandedly.

While the men were far from the nicest he'd met, in the couple minutes he'd spent with them, Hotch was almost sure that his unsub was not among them.

Despite most of their more than patchy backgrounds - mostly corporate scuffles, dug up by Garcia - none of them spoke with the ease that the suspect needed to have, the charisma and the trustworthy character. Hotch's energy was better placed elsewhere.

"Barely feed herself?" A gravelly chuckle filled the space, "Sure doesn't look like it."

Hotch's eyes narrowed on the short bald man laughing to himself, glancing over to where you stood across the room - a fat cigar between his fingers.

He recognized him as the man who sat with the woman who'd commented when you spoke. Richard Atkins.

Turning his whole body to the man, towering over his structure, Hotch's face twisted - his stomach contents boiling hot at the comment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pulling at the cigar, the end lighting up, the man shrugged. "Just saying, y'know, she doesn't look like she's skipped a meal anytime recently—"

The expression curling onto Hotch's face must've been cause for alarm, if not the way his fist tightened at his side, because almost immediately two other men stepped in.

One at Richard's side, "Hey, hey, Richard, that's enough man."

The other patting Hotch's shoulder, "Thompson ... he's had a couple drinks, just let him go."

Richard seemed to find the situation amusing because he was chortling still to himself. "Of course, of course. My bad, just locker-room talk you know. No harm, no foul."

Seething white anger was tugging on every muscle in his body, and he fought hard to maintain composure - taking a cautionary step towards Richard Atkins.

"I'd watch how you talk about my wife if I were you. Otherwise we're going to have a problem."

Atkins only huffed, turning back to his friend and his cigar. The conversations started up again around him, but Hotch had lost interest.

His wrist watch told him they'd been standing there for almost an hour.

Cleaning out the bottom of his glass, he set it down on the nearest table before excusing himself, offering handshakes and a couple shoulder pats before moving towards the women.

A handful of men followed him, clearly keen to leave as well.

He found you by the railing, laughing gently at something the woman across from you said.

Hotch's arm slid over your waist from behind, dipping his head closer to your ear: "ready to go?"

You nodded, offering a quick goodbye to the woman and some others.

The walk back to the room was quicker than he remembered, or maybe it was the light buzz of champagne against the side of his head and how you were humming something that sounded like Etta James that made it feel too fast.

On return, the prospect of unpacking awaited.

"Anyone interesting among the husbands?" You asked from across the room, lifting shirts and dresses to stack into the open cupboard.

Hotch shook his head, dislodging the secret compartment at the bottom of his suitcase where the case files had been hidden. "The unsub isn't one of them. They're all, for lack of a better word, assholes. Nobody trustworthy enough to follow to your death."

You chuckled lightly, "The women were alright. Except for this one woman, that one who whispered that rubbish when we introduced ourselves."

Hotch's stomach turned at the thought of the woman's words. Screwing the professor, really classy.

The implication on your character made his blood boil.

"Let me guess, Atkins?"

You nodded, "How'd you know?"

"Her husband's a real piece of work too. I'm gonna find something to arrest him for before the end of the week."

Your giggle permeated the space and it worked to ease the knot in Hotch's stomach.

"Don't be so dramatic, James." You draped a towel over your arm, "Mind if I grab the shower first?"

"Of course." Hotch nodded, desperately trying to fan out the image that was quickly rendering in his mind of you in the shower. "I'm gonna phone Garcia."

The bathroom door clicked behind you and you sighed into the emptiness of the room.

You took your time showering, enjoying how the hot water eased the tension over your shoulders, before drying off and slipping into the most appropriate pair of pajamas you'd brought along.

It took some convincing to let yourself pack the silk shorts and tank top, after all: you would be sharing a room with your boss.

Quickly after you'd walked back into the room, Hotch had slipped into the bathroom himself with a towel and pair of pajamas hanging over his arm.

Images of all the people you'd met that very evening sifted through your mind like a deck of cards, flipping through them and filtering the ones you knew couldn't be involved.

The spray of the shower was loud and your mind reached precariously for an image of what Hotch looked like under the fancy head in the shower that had more than enough space for two ... how the hot water was probably gliding over his long strong arms, down his chest and through the happy trail at the base of his stomach leading down towards—

The water shut off and silence echoed across the room.

You heard shuffling behind the door, wondered quietly what he could be doing, but pulled your eyes back to the case file.

The list of connections between the victims and current guests were numerous, too many to be significant as people in this wealth category generally moved in similar groups.

The door clicked open.

"Put that away, you should get some sleep."

"I—" You looked up to meet Hotch's eye and almost swallowed your tongue.

His hair was still wet, drooping over his forehead in a way you'd never seen before, and his blue t-shirt stuck to his chest with dampness. He wore plaid shorts that exposed those long legs that had been so criminally hidden beneath his usual suit pants.

He looked so ... domestic, and it set every nerve ending in your body alight.

"I ... yes, boss. Was just looking." You set the file on the bedside table.

He nodded at you, a warm look on his face. "Want you well rested for tomorrow."

There was a short silence and the look cleared from his features to be replaced by another.

Hotch's eyes flickered between the bed and the couch, and for the first time in more than a while, a look of unsureness occupied his face.

"I ... I think I'll take the couch."

Your heart sunk.

"Why?" The question chased its way out of your mouth before you could reach to snatch it.

"I don't wanna make you ... uncomfortable, considering I'm your superior."

"I mean, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us, Hotch." You stammered, desperate to be close to him. "It's probably gonna be painful to sleep on that couch anyways."

He hesitated.

"U-Unless you think it's weird, you can sleep on the couch it's fine." You wished you could sink into the sheets and disappear.

But to your surprise, Hotch nodded.

The bed sunk on his side as he lifted the covers, as close to the edge as he could from what you could see.

His head hit the pillow before he leaned over to flick off the light, you took it as a sign to do the same.

There was quiet for a long moment.

The door to the balcony was open, it was just too hot to close it, and the breeze curled over the sheets, wafting the smell of Hotch's shower gel into your face.

It took all you had within you not to sigh loudly and dig your face into his neck.

You thought the conversation had closed for the evening, but Hotch surprised you when his voice emerged from the darkness.

"You did well today. I know you were nervous."

A smile tugged at your lips. He could read you better than you thought he could.

"You've got a lot more practice at the husband thing than I do at the wife thing."

You could almost see the outline of his face against the light of the moon.

"Well, I hope this wife ends up better than the last one."

The memory of finding Hotch's ex-wife's body came starkly into view.

"O-Oh, Hotch." Your hand came to your face in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, hey," he stopped you, "it's my fault. It was a bad joke, I shouldn't have made it."

You couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you, "I've never heard you freestyle a joke before, Hotch."

"Wasn't good?"

"It was terrible." You managed around the now growing laugh.

"And yet you're still laughing. Isn't that the goal?"

You shuffled over in the sheets to face him, even though you couldn't see much - the thought that he lingered there in the darkness comforted you.

"Not at that really bad attempt at a joke, I'm laughing at you."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore when the light from the lighthouse flickered quickly over Hotch's face that he was grinning.

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Come on Hotch, you're telling me you don't have a single good dad joke?"

He was quiet a long moment, and for a second you thought you'd pressed too hard.

"Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?"

Absolutely surprised by the question, you shook your head in the darkness. "Why?"

"Because they're really good at it."

The light from the lighthouse hadn't passed over his face again but now you were sure he was smiling and every muscle in your body twitched to grab his face in the darkness and kiss him until he was oxygen depleted.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Aaron." But you shook with small laughter.

"Worse than the dead wife joke?"

"Okay, maybe not that bad."

Quiet fell again.

"You should go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Fishing for the sheets, you lifted to tuck them under your chin. "Goodnight James."

"Goodnight."

Tags:

@montyfandomlove @aurorastuffsstuff @cdizzleswzzlebonzy @pureblood-blake @kad00x @lena-1895 @marimorena06 @farrah-444

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fake dating #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid #emily prentiss #David Rossi #Derek Morgan #penelope garcia #only one bed #mutual pining

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futureplayboibunnie · 8 months

Text

i rewatched the godfather and listened to the entirety of honeymoon by lana del rey so here’s another mafia Miguel O’Hara drabble

Objectively, there were so many things wrong in the lifestyle that was gifted to you, but you didn’t feel any kind of way about it. You weren’t the type to fill the silence with empty words.

In this line of business, talking could get you killed.

Your husband wasn’t a good man and he often treated you well. He was the most powerful out of all the 5 families that ruled the underworld and he so happened to have a liking to you. You did love him once, that space where your love for him filled is now blank, a white space etched with a question mark. You didn’t know how to feel about all of it since you were his best kept secret, his secret weapon.

He used you to gain intel on his enemies, being a woman was one thing but being as cunning as you was another. You’d go undercover for him, he’d create an alias, a new passport, a new birth cerificate, a new drivers liscense. Your husband was nothing but thorough. And he needed to be thorough when the O’Hara brothers showed up out of nowhere.

The O'Hara brothers were very successful hitmen, but their business ventures were quiet, they moved in brooding silence in an effort to not draw public attention. Gabriel was more about the tech and was often out of town. Miguel, on the other hand, was dark, moody, he was the brawn, the muscle, the one that had to make all the hard choices all his life.

He couldn’t make heads or tales of who they were and how they so quickly got accepted into all of this and how the 5 families didn’t notice them on their radar. You had never seen your husband this anxious when it came to them, so he needed you to scope.

You were his crown jewel, he knew you could handle yourself. So he created a new alias: you were his new suit tailor. It was supposed to be a two month operation but Miguel took longer than expected to try and get close to you. Probably because you forgot to take off your wedding ring and now you had to make that part of your story. A stupid mistake on your half and now you’re reaping the consequences.

But here you were now.

Waiting for him at dinner at the most regal restraunt you have ever been in, you felt a little intimidated that there were a few security gaurds looming over you slightly as you sat and waited. Jesus, they cleared the whole floor out just for the two of you.

This is the type of intel your husband wanted. Intimate.

Miguel saw you through the window before he walked in, there you were sitting so prettily, waiting for him. Pretty silk dress, showing off your legs with those heels that he was surprised you could even walk in.

You were married. He noticed the massive rock on your finger while you pressed down on the lapels of his suit when you first started

Miguel knew you were married and it took a lot of time to prented he cared about it, but he didn’t. Not one bit. He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

He watched as your eyes shot up to see his figure walking towards you, a twinge of nervousness struck at your chest and your fingers started twitching as you felt his gaze simmer into yours. He was wearing the all black suit you made him last week. The sight made your legs buckle but you immediately dismissed the action.

“Salir.” (Leave) Miguel waved his hand and dismissed the guards so that you could both be alone together, the thing he’s wanted to do since he first saw you but you were so…unreadable. So polite and nonchalant, it was galling.

He waited long enough for you, now he wanted to see what your mind held.

“I apologize for being late. Business as usual.” He said coolly as he pulled out his chair to sit down.

Oh? Business?

“Such as? Nothing too serious I hope.” Your replied simply, expertly not giving away that you were digging.

Miguel contemplated your purpose, you were sat there so graceful and poised, so…fucking polite. He almost hated it. “An arms deal, a few of my guns went missing.” He stated huskily, trying to get past this conversation.

You let out an appreciative hum, letting a beat of silence cover you as you retained that knowledge “My husband doesn’t like me playing with guns, we argue about it.” You find yourself explaining your real life issues before your brain could even check it. “I told him men have endless distractions…while we ladies only have shopping and tailoring.” You chuckly dryly, giving him a shy crooked half smile, playing into whatever role of femininity you needed: this time, traditionalist. You wanted to roll your eyes back into your skull. “At least it keeps me at home.”

Miguel couldn’t help but squint his eyes and keep himself locked on you. He thought you were so sweet…and definitely unhappy at home with your husband. He sat quietly for a moment, the tension already laying thick into the atmosphere.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called today.”

“Oh…my husband’s away on a trip. So his friends came over to keep me company. More like keep an eye on me. Your call was the perfect excuse to leave.” You say whistfully, not giving too much away.

Fuck, that was just your knack. You never gave anything away, you were so….puzzling. Miguel traced his fingers over his lips as his stared at you.

Hm.

“Is that right?” He muttered but it definitely wasn’t a question.

“Mhm. It’s a beautiful night tonight, I didn’t want to be surrounded by men who don’t care but a glass of wine would be nice right about now.”

You and Miguel ate and talked into the night, the soft piano playing in the background only added to the tension Miguel could barely touch his food, all he could do was stare at you across the candlelit table, urging you, contemplating you. He hadn’t wanted a woman in so long, it was like you were placed in front of him by God himself.

You sipped at your wine as a slightly concerned and defeat look spread across your face. You told him that your husband is a broker with a fraying temper and you were surprised he believed you.

“He asked me about kids. A daughter. He’d always wanted a daughter.” Although you were playing into your character, you couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the issues that were plaguing you in your real life. You disguised it well but it just fell so naturally.

Miguel frowned when he heard the mention of children.

“And?” He tilted his head urging you to continue as he took a sip of his whiskey.

“Well,” You sighed. “With all due respect, she’d be his daughter. And that affords her a certain amount of protection I don’t enjoy.” You pursed your lips as the words strained heavily, seriousness etching at your features. “He’d never hurt a hair on her head. I can’t say the same thing for myself. I won’t leave her alone in the world with him.”

Now this really was getting intimate.

Miguel felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, he really didn’t like the way you were describing the way he acts and talks to you. He would beat him bloody for the way he treats you. He shook the thought out of his head, he needed to get a grip.

“In my work, moral codes rarely exist but I have one. I don’t hurt women or children, they are absolutely off limits and my men know this and it’s one or the only rules I expect to be firmly stood by.” He said calmly, trying to calm his temper at what you just told him.

Now this is intel. The mental list was getting bigger and bigger.

You smiled shyly as you placed your elbows on the table, looking as whistful as ever. “I sometimes think I’d rather do things on my own. The things I like don’t interest him.” You hated the fact you were telling the truth.

Miguel watched you, his eyes scorching and heated yet cold and steely. A paradox of a man as he listened intently, his ears pricked up.

“What do you like?” His voice was as rich as blue velvet.

Your eyes shot up and blinked for a moment, stilling as you finally registered the words, Miguel felt you swallow thickly. “I like the movies.” You gave him a crooked smile. “He doesn’t go with me so I go by myself. He and his friends only talk business.” You chuckled lightly.

“I don’t like movies either.” Miguel replied gruffly as he downed the rest of his drink. The look on your face spread into contempt, he caught a glimpse of you under all that politeness. And then you snapped it back on like second instinct as you smiled.

“Mr O’Hara you’re too busy to go to the movies. Even this dinner took you about 3 months to schedule. Movies are for people who have far too much time on their hands.” You teased.

Damn.

Miguel just kept staring.

“No its not that….It’s too dark. I’m not a fan of too much darkness.”

Oh?

He doesn’t like the dark?

Your lips parted as a palpable silence settled between you, Miguel was eager to dismiss the situation.

“Would you like another drink?” He grabbed the wine bottle to top you up.

“To keep you company. Alcohol…” You tisked. “Such trivial things…” You muttered quitely.

“If you play close attention to it enough, nothing is too trivial.” Miguel was laser focused on you and all you could do was give him a blank and slightly rattled look.

It was making you feel….things. You can’t feel it, you’re not allowed to feel it.

Miguel watched you as you raised the glass to your lips and took a sip, his eyes travlled to the lipstick stain on the rim as you set it down.

Fuck. Blushed red, a little glossy.

You rotated your head around to still be surprised that no one was actually here.

“Cleared out huh?” You questioned knowingly.

“I value my privacy. And it’s a nice place to talk so no one disturbs us.” He replied back as sauve as ever and you hated the feeling swinging in your chest as they fell from his lips.

The gaze you shared felt like it could last a lifetime, you were both practically eyefucking each other, neither of you blinked until he spoke.

“Your husband works a great deal, eh?” Now he was the one that was prying.

“At what I have no idea. He won’t tell me. I’ve always said that having a man is fine as long as he’s far away from home, right?” You raised an eyebrow, a cunning look filled with hubris and quiet flirtation.

It was like you weren’t even trying to be this sensual.

Miguel’s lips parted as his mouth tugged upwards a little. “Your husband is a broker, yeah?” He wanted to know more about you, about your life.

“If you wanted to know more about him, I’ll bring him along next time. You men always have something to say to each other.”

Miguel hated the idea. Absolutely not. He stayed quiet

“But with women you just make small talk.” You breathed and it halted him in his tracks, the small smirk, the look in your eyes- he wanted what he couldn’t have.

The silences that surrounded you was beating with tension that you thought you once forgot.

You swallowed.

“Small talk like this to me….is a rare treat.”

The night went on. Talking. Slight flirting. An ache started to form between your legs and your cunning was also turning into a mix of that and attraction. Your fingers grazed your arm slowly, your lips were getting wettet and your eyelashes seemed to flutter as you watched Miguel talk.

“The men I work with are high ranking officials and lowlives. But they all have the same look in their eyes.”

Yes. This is exactly what you needed to hear.

“And what is that?” You reply simply.

“Fear.”

“Of course.”

“But you’re different, aren’t you? You’re not afraid.” Miguel couldn’t help but comment on you, in this business a woman as polite as you should be on the chopping block but no, there was something about you.

“How about you?” You shot back and as always you disarmed him immediately but he didn’t like to give anyone that sort of power.

No one can catch him off guard.

“You’re smart but not smart enough to know how to catch me out.” Miguel smiled wickedly as he reached for his pack of smokes and pulled out a tab.

Your lips parted as you scanned his face up and down as he put it inbetween his lips. He noticed your mindless yet intent gawk and raised his eyebrows, he took another one out and extended his arm out as his fingers brushed your skin. You stilled and blinked up at him dumbly as his thumb brushed your lips and opened your mouth wider for him to put the cigarette.

His touch was like liquid fire.

You finally caught it and then he took his lighter and lit his and yours up, watching the way your lipstick stained the butt. When you fingers held it, he caught a full view of your wedding ring, it was massive diamond rock held together by golden pearls. His face grew embittered by the sight, his frustration fanned into anger and now his sentiments remained the same.

He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

#spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

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nexysworld · 8 months

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Summary: Things go awry when your undercover mission involves 'marrying' another agent - suffice it to say your boyfriend isn't thrilled. Based on this request. Pairing: RE6!Leon x DSO Fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, my poor attempt at humor, not beta read. No use of y/n WC: 1028

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"Are you sure you guys will tell him? I haven't been able to reach him yet." You felt ridiculous about the whole thing - a fake wedding? That was something right out of some cheesy made-for-tv movie. It honestly shouldn't even have bothered you that Leon hadn’t been made aware, it wasn't like you were actually cheating on him. Still though, it just felt like something he should know, since you would be kissing another man. Didn't help that it was Chris Redfield of all people too. "Of course, he's supposed to be getting back from that China mission today, right? We'll make sure he's in the loop." Helena assured, with a smile. If it hadn't been for your nerves and focus on the mission, you probably would've caught the way Sherry’s face contorted as she held back laughter, hiding behind the brunette woman.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it." The rest of your time was spent having your hair teased and curled, layers upon layers of makeup being applied to your face. It felt like hours had passed before you were finally deemed worthy enough to be set loose for the main affair. All the while Helena and Sherry sat together cracking up over something that they spoke to each other in hushed whispers about. “What’s so funny?” You finally asked. “Oh nothing.” Was the only reply. “You wouldn’t get it, it's an inside joke.”

“Uh huh…” Not fully convinced by their statement, you wanted to pry further, but let it go not having the time to interrogate them.

As you walked towards the makeshift altar, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Chris, who was looking just as uneasy as you felt. He was standing so stiff in the suit, more like a statue than a groom. Hopefully your acting was better than his, or this whole thing would be a bust. The doors to the side of the chapel opened, and much to your surprise you found Leon walking through. It was obvious that he was fresh off the plane by his messy-blonde locks and the fact he hadn't even taken his tactical gear off. You recognized the irritated look on his face, and it made your stomach drop.

The ceremony went by in a blur, mind racing with thoughts of Leon and how he was feeling. ‘Why does he look so upset? They had to have told him or he wouldn’t even be here.’ You barely registered the words being spoken by the officiant, speaking only when it was your turn. It had only just registered for you that it was time for the kiss. Chris leaned in, and you closed your eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand, and not to your boyfriend staring daggers from the pew.

Before your lips connected though, you were interrupted by the sound of Leon's voice cutting through the air. "Alright, what the fuck is going on here?"

A couple of gasps were heard from the crowd, you ignored them to make eye contact with the blonde who's boots loudly thrummed against the floor as he made his way over to you and your fake groom. "At what point were you planning on telling me that you were leaving me? Maybe I'll get a postcard from the honeymoon?" "Lee, I-" "I don’t care that I’m interrupting your little ceremony – save it. I can't believe you'd do this to me, and with Chris of all people?" "Leon, stop." You half whispered to him, trying to get him to calm down without alerting the crowd to anything suspicious. "I need you to calm down." "Calm down? I go away on a mission and when I come back you're getting married --" "Leon please, it's not what you think." You pleaded, trying to get him to lower his voice. "It's not real." He paused for a moment bewildered by what you said. "What do you mean it's not real?"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you leaned in to whisper to him. "It's not a real wedding. It's for a mission Chris and I are working on, an undercover mission." "An undercover mission?" He repeated as if the words were foreign to him. There was a brief moment of silence before realization came washing over his features. ”Oh shit.” “Yeah oh shit.” You chided through gritted teeth. Any further discussion was cut off by the sound of Chris’ voice. “I’m sorry folks.” Chris said with a weary tone. “I think my fiancé and I need some time to work this situation out.” He put one hand on your back and the other on Leon’s ushering the two of you back to the dressing room. The moment the door closed, you were already going off again. “Did you seriously think I would just get married to someone else while you were away?” “Well, no… I guess not.” “You guess not?” You felt the vein above your right eyebrow begin to throb with annoyance. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” “For starters you were in China. But besides that, Rebecca and Sherry were supposed to tell you for me – wait a minute, if you weren’t told how did you even know to come to the church?”

“Well uh…” Leon reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. It took him a moment to unlock it before handing it over, revealing a message thread. The number said ‘Unknown’ and the only thing included was a picture of you in the gown along with the address. “What the –”

The unmistakable sound of laughter filled the room as the two culprits decided to enter. “We’re sorry.” Sherry said. “We just thought it would be a little funny to keep Leon on his toes.” “Yeah, we figured it would be a little harmless fun, we didn’t expect him to get here so soon.” Helena added. “But man, the look on his face – priceless.” Leon’s mouth hung open at the girls’ words, you could tell his brain was working overtime to process the situation. You had to admit, it was funny to look at. Kissing him on the cheek you joined in the laughter.

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andorerso · 1 month

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INTRODUCING REBELCAPTAIN SMUT WEEKEND MONTH

I'd made a promise to make something smutty, and I'm here to keep that promise. In the legacy of the much beloved Rebelcaptain Smut Weekend, I'm organizing a Rebelcaptain Smut Weekend Month! Since I felt like a single weekend was just not enough time for all the smutty goodness, I thought why not do four weekends instead? This gives us more to look forward to and more time to create.

SCHEDULE: the event will run during May, every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (so that means May 3-5, 10-12, 17-19, and 24-26)

RULES

✩ the obvious ones: your creation has to be about Jyn and Cassian, and since it's a smut themed month, it should be at least a little spicy!

✩ I'll be using the tag rcsmutmonth for organization. feel free to tag your creations with it too so we can all find each other's works!

✩ no sign-ups required, anyone can participate. if you see a prompt you like, and you want to make something for it, go ahead!

✩ any type of fanwork is welcome! fanfic, fanart, gifset, graphics, rec lists... you name it.

✩ I provided nine prompts for each weekend as inspiration, but don't feel constricted if you don't like them. the point of this event is to encourage more smutty content for our beloved ship, so if you have other ideas in mind, go for it! as for the prompts, use as many as you like and mix them up if you want to.

✩ generally, I encourage you guys to post on the weekend, but don't feel bad if you can't get it done on time. this is a low-commitment, low-pressure event. we're all busy irl so if you're lagging a little behind, post it anyway! we'll be happy to see it whenever it's ready <3

✩ tag appropriately! if triggers or kinks appear in your work, don't forget to list them.

✩ any other questions, thoughts, ideas? let me know! this is my first time organizing such an event, so I'm sure I'm forgetting something

PROMPTS UNDER THE CUT

✩ May 3-5

last night on earth sex ┃ distraction ┃ "Touch me already."

sex pollen ┃ aphrodisiac ┃ "Tell me how much you want me."

"we're alive" sex ┃ birthday ┃ "I want you to take whatever you need from me."

✩ May 10-12

wet dream ┃ forbidden┃ "Want me to stop?" "Don't you dare."

hate/angry sex ┃ favor ┃ "We can wait if you want-" "We've waited long enough."

praise kink ┃ possessive ┃ "Tell me I'm the one. Tell me there's no one else."

✩ May 17-19

orgasm denial ┃ strip ┃ "Do I need to tie you up?"

snowed in ┃ undercover ┃ "Convince me this is real."

under the stars ┃ uniform ┃ "Say my name. I want to hear you say it."

✩ May 24-26

make-up sex ┃ elevator ┃ "I can’t get off unless I’m thinking about you."

accidental voyeurism ┃ sparring ┃ "Think we'll get caught?"

reunion sex ┃ honeymoon ┃ "On your knees, Captain/Sergeant."

#rebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #rcsmutmonth #swfandomevents #rogue one #jyn erso #reblogs appreciated even if you don't plan to participate #let's spread the word <3 #im weirdly nervous i've never done anything like this before #cassian andor

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green-typewriterz · 2 months

Note

i would love literally anything sam winchester related the lack of fics r astounding.. maybe something fluffy?? ive had a bad week would so cheer me up

Best fake-real husband

ASKS ARE OPEN

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: You and Sam go undercover in a small town to find out what's been happening to the disappearing couples.

ASK: above

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, awkward moments, mid season sam (in my mind it’s season 5 so its not following canon plot)

Author notes: Thankyou so much for the ask!!! I hope this is good :))) also Sam is the leader of the Sassy man army and if you don’t think so you can leave. Also thank you to @midsummeranderson for helping me plan <3

word count: 4110

You had always hated suburban houses, they just seemed empty, unforgiving. Though you didn’t have much of a choice. Bobby had a case and you two were to go undercover.

”Husband and wife…” Sam began, a glint in his eyes as he moved around the open plan kitchen, opening the windows to salve the heat that bit at their necks.

You smiled in reply, laying out weapons to move to the spare room. “Not awkward at all.” You replied and he laughed, shrugging his usual flannel onto a chair and digging into his bag.

Sam looked up, smiling, holding two rings in his hand. “Nope. I’m going to be the best fake-real husband ever. Dean thinks I can’t and I’m kinda determined to prove him wrong.” You sigh and shake your head, but there’s no annoyance behind it. Trust Dean to make a game out of it.

A piece of hair fell in front of his eyes - it’s so long now that it reaches his shoulders, princelike. “Well then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife.” He hummed in agreement and you tucked his hair back behind his ear and a smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’m off to a good start, Sam Heathcliff.”

You gently slipped the ring onto your finger, the metal slightly too big for you. It was your grandmothers, a mix of silver and sapphire. Sam places his dad’s wedding band on his own hand, fiddling with it gently. It made you smile softly, how the ring was cold against your skin - your grandmother had always wanted you to wear it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your memories and the two of you looked to each other with confusion, Dean wasn’t meant to be here until later that evening. You opened the door cautiously, flitting into character when you saw a 57 year old woman holding a large pie in her hands.

She grinned cheerily, pushing the dish forward into your hands as she spoke, you didn’t really have another choice but to take it (you’d probably hand it off to Dean later.) “Hi,” the voice sounded fake, satirical. She never met your eyes, she was almost entirely focused on Sam. “I heard there was a new couple in town, thought I’d do the neighbourly thing and say hi.” She began, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a particularly suggestive manner. “We’d love to have you over this weekend, monthly barbeque.”

You looked at Sam, who looked entirely uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving and wrapped your arms around his waist. “We’d love to…” you waited for a name, the woman smiled with annoyance, as if she hated you speaking to her.

“Helen. Watson.”

The two of you introduced yourself and agreed to go, knowing the gathering would be useful to get information. With one last glance at Sam, Helen turned around and left, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Dean came round that evening, constantly grinning and mocking and (as you had expected) he greeted the pie with open arms. “Look you two,” he began, as if he were an expert on the subject, “You’re practically a couple already, just… act like you’re in your honeymoon phase for the old women.”

He stated this as if it were an obvious fact and you raised your brows at his use of the word ‘honeymoon’. Sam looked away in annoyance (Something Dean found extremely funny). It seemed as though the younger Winchester couldn’t wait to get rid of Dean and so, as soon as he had finished his pie, he was forced out the door and back to the impala. There was a second sigh of relief when the door closed.

Though it had seemed like a smart idea at the time, the two of you were sorely regretting filling the spare room with hunting gear as it had left you with one bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” Sam said as he gathered some clothes to sleep in, you stood in the doorway, arms folded as you shook your head.

“Not a chance, you’d barely fit on this bed imagine how uncomfortable you'd be downstairs.” You argued and he shook his head, trying to claim that he’d slept worse. Eventually, the two of you came to an agreement. Sam would sleep over the covers, you’d sleep under them (he always got hot at night anyway - especially during the summer).

You excused yourself to the bathroom and by the time you had gotten back Sam was already asleep, long hair falling gently over his eyes. You lay down beside him and got comfortable, though you forgot just how much Sam moved in his sleep. He seemed to subconsciously move closer to you, warm, tan skin flush against yours.

His face was inches from yours, holding a gentle smile as if he were happily dreaming (though that was something that didn’t happen often). You gently moved the hair from his eyes and he moved closer still, broad shoulders brushing against you. You fell asleep in the comfort of his warmth and awoke with his arms wrapped securely around you. He wasn’t awake yet, you always woke up before him.

You eventually found it in yourself to move from his grip and headed downstairs, intending to make breakfast for the two of you. He was downstairs a few moments later, hair a sweet, tousled mess on his head. You smiled sweetly but neither of you spoke - there wasn’t much need to.

The two of you seemed to move around each other as if you had been married for years as you got ready for the barbeque, passing each other what you needed wordlessly. Chalk it up to years of hunting together.

“Todays gonna be entertaining for me.” You stated, a smirk on your face. He tilted his head in confusion as if he were a dog and you smiled, eyes drifting to his shoulders for a moment. “C’mon Sam, it’s a town of 47 year old women who hate their husbands and you’re a - very awkward - 6 '4 man. A handsome one at that.” He blushed and turned away, continuing to get ready.

His hands fiddled with the jacket in front of him. “Yeah, so?” You smiled at him, opening the front door as you spoke again.

“So, it’s gonna be fun watching you squirm.” Your smile turned to a grin and Sam shook his head, following you out the door.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You were right, as expected. Although most were fine, one specific group of women made an exaggerated effort to fan themselves, whispering to each other about Sam. They almost immediately ushered you over. You sent a look to your best friend and headed toward them.

Immediately, they began to gossip, asking you about how you and Sam met and you could barely get a word in edgeways. There were compliments thrown at you too, but you knew they were just to stop you ‘feeling jealous.’

“How did you get so lucky?” One woman, Helen, asked. Her voice was wrought with envy as she stared over at Sam. Part of you understood why they were staring, Sam looked strangely good in the traditional small town husband attire. His white polo had a few buttons undone and the fabric was tight on his arms (Dean had ordered the wrong size) and his long hair was held back from his head by a pair of sunglasses, a few stray pieces falling over his eyes. The only part you weren’t a fan of was the khaki shorts…but it seemed to be the dress code in the town so you brushed it off - you and Dean would probably make fun of him for it later. He felt his gaze on you and turned to meet your eyes, smiling softly and winking. The women around you giggled and you rolled your eyes, to which he laughed.

It turned out that talking to the four women was the best thing for the case, they absolutely adored gossip. “Couples have been going missing, it always starts with the husbands.” Margaret whispered excitedly, “It happened to the couple who were here before you, sweet things.” she continued, sipping on a glass of wine.

You tilted your head, something Sam recognised from a distance, you’d had an idea. “Do they leave anything behind? People can’t just disappear?” You asked, pulling your hand through your hair.

Helen shook her head. “The damn council barely clean out the houses.” You nodded. Bingo. If the house hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned, chances are there’d be evidence. Helen continued to ramble and you were listening intently, until a hand gently slid onto your waist.

You let out a gasp but the strong smell of cedarwood and amber calmed you down. You knew exactly who it was. His grip pulls tighter around you and you lean into him, head resting on his chest. You felt your face flush - something you were praying he didn’t notice.

“How did you two meet?” One woman asked and you looked at each other, making sure without ever even speaking that you had the story right.

Sam leaned his head on yours and sweetly said, “why don’t you take this one, honey.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, he was trying to throw you off and the hand that was massaging your side was proof of that.

You met his eyes with the same excitement, if he wanted to play, you were really going to go for it. “We both worked as government agents, met on the field. Hence all the scars.” The women nodded in realisation, looking at some of the injuries you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “He wasn’t the biggest fan of mine at first but I grew on him, isn’t that right darling?”

Sam nodded, his eyes not leaving yours as he replied, “and now I don’t want to be without her ever again.” He found that sentence to be more true than he thought.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Sam sent an exasperated look your way as he raked a hand through his hair (and sadly took the glasses off his head). “How were the boys?” you asked with a smile and he turned to make sure no one was watching before dropping the facade.

“I’m actually shocked how much I don’t know about football.” He replied and you both laughed, him leaning into you as he smiled. He looked outside at the group of gossipping women before adding on, “they seemed…friendly.”

You laughed, “to you, sure, but I think it’s because they want you in their bed.” The sentence was blunt and Sam’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing a strong red. You, however, continued as if you had never said anything, “I think it could be witches? We’d have to search for hex bags though.” He nodded, not meeting your eyes (he was slightly flustered).

The two of you eventually said your goodbyes and made your way down the street, Sam looked annoyed with himself. “What’s up?”

He sighed, “this one guy, Glenn, roped me into holding a housewarming party…” You stared at him incredulously, did he not try to say no? Sam recognised the look in your eyes and defended himself, “the man was incredibly persuasive!” You shook your head but knew there was no way out of it. You weren’t the best at party planning.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The long stretch of grocery store met you as you and Sam stood in the doorway. You didn’t often do this as hunters so it was a slightly daunting task. You looked at each other with tired eyes and went your separate ways, deciding to cover ground as if it were a hunt…just for nachos.

You rounded a corner only to see Helen stood there. Not wanting to be stuck in conversation again, you instantly turned on your heel, hiding behind a row of sauces. Though, something caught your eye. In Helen’s basket, clearly hidden just not very well, was a large amount of herbs and salt. What got you interested was the extreme amount of basil and sage.

Witches. Had to be.

Sam approached you, smiling gently. Something about the situation made him look so… domestic. You tried to motion to him what you were thinking but he seemed so fixated on you, his reaching out for yours. “Can you do your job?” you spoke, the words sounding harsher than you had intended. He instantly pulled back, face twisting with annoyance.

“What?”

“Take the hint, Sam. Behind me.”

You continued to whisper back and forth in annoyance, alerting Helen who watched in confusion. You quickly turned to look at her and sighed as she approached, hiding the herbs with the rest of her groceries. “Lovers quarrel?” she joked and the two of you laughed in the same way Bobby would when Dean told another of his bad jokes.

Sam made excuses as you looked at her, trying to see if you could spot any witch runes on her. It seemed as though she was trying to do the same to you. “Well isn’t that tattoo…neat!” She said, trying to hide the venom in her voice as she pointed out the anti-possession tattoo on your collarbone. Great.

You looked at Sam in annoyance and turned back to Helen. “Thanks! I saw it in a magazine!” You tried to explain away but you knew you’d been caught, she had spotted you and you her. Though she was very keen to stay in conversation, Sam made a quick excuse and you both left as soon as you could.

“Told you it was witches.”

Sam didn’t reply. The car journey back was completely silent, an unspoken annoyance building in the both of you. Neither of you said a word until the front door closed. “Nice job letting her see the tattoo.” Sam said annoyedly, turning to look at you.

You sighed and turned away, packing away the groceries. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time actually hunting we’d be done by now! This isn’t exactly a hard case, we don't need more bodies to our name.” The reply was sharp and annoyed.

He suddenly grabbed your wrist so you’d look at him. “I’m doing my job just fine.” His eyes were locked with yours. You stepped closer.

“No, you’re not. You’re distracted.” Sam scoffed, his minty breath fanning against your cheek from how close you were. His hand was still firmly on your wrist.

An annoyed smile spread across his face and a muscle in his neck tensed. “Oh yeah? And why would I be distracted?” You stared directly at him, from his long hair that fell over his unreadable gaze to the smoothness of his bronzed skin.

You found yourself stepping closer again. “You tell me.”

There was a crushing silence, the only sound being your sharp breaths. Suddenly, Sam’s grip on your hand moved to your waist and he pulled you into him, his lips colliding with yours. You leaned into him, hands grabbing his hair harshly. He kissed you as if he were hungry, as if he had been waiting for years - maybe he had. He lifted you easily and sat you on the kitchen counter, leaning back from the kiss for a split second. His chest rose quickly in hot breaths as he kissed you again. You bit his bottom lip - letting blood drip as his hands gripped your skin.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The party was loud and irritating, there wasn’t a moment where you had time for yourself, not one point where you weren’t ’y/n Heathcliff’. You and Sam had barely talked after the evening before - you didn’t know what to say.

You knew Helen would be at the party, not only would it be good to keep up appearances but she could get her next victim from it. Sam sent you a look and you nodded once, heading toward the spare bedroom in search of weapons, just in case.

A small, easily hidden knife was being placed into your waistband when Sam opened the door, closing it harshly behind him. “Sorry,” he said quietly, “had to get away from Miriam.”

You laughed gently and went back to preparing, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Helen’s here.”

“I know.”

Silence again. You sighed, “and you just left her out there? Alone?” His brows furrowed and he offered a witty remark, starting another hushed argument between the two of you.

On the other side of the door, Miriam and Margaret pressed their ears to the wood, giggling like school children at how the argument sounded to them. Through the muffled walls, all they could hear was gasps and sharp noises - of course they assumed what they wanted.

Sam’s hands pushed through his hair as he sighed, uncertain of what to do, when suddenly the door started opening. He rushed forward and pushed against it, rushing out a quick, “one moment!” All he heard in reply was laughs.

“What do we do?” He asked nervously and you stood still, nervous, until a thought popped into your head. You held your hands out - asking for permission and, once he nodded, you placed your hands gently in his soft hair, ruffling it. It annoyed you how he still managed to look good.

Then, once he had done the same for you, you looked him up and down, deciding his outfit was far too…tidy. First it was one button undone, then another (you unbuttoned a third for personal reasons). A blush rose on the tips of his ears.

He went to open the door when you realised something was still missing and, in a quick moment of panic, you rushed forward and grabbed his face, kissing him harshly on the lips (you were purposely trying to smudge your lipstick onto him). Sam made a noise in shock but found himself leaning into it, eyes lingering closed for a moment longer after you had pulled away.

Shit. He thought. He definitely liked you.

Eventually, the door was opened and Sam met the two women with an awkward smile. “Oh!’ Margaret began, giggling, “I was going to offer a drink, but I see you’re occupied…” The woman looked at one another, laughed again and walked away, leaving Sam blushing with embarrassment. The door was closed once more and when you were both sure they had walked away, laughter spilt into the room.

He shook his head and smiled, stepping closer to you. “Close one.” You smiled gently, staring into his eyes (the light was hitting them perfectly). There was silence again - neither of you knew what to do.

”Are we ever going to talk about last night?” You asked, thinking about how his hands felt on your skin. His features turned more serious as he sat down on the bed.

He stared at you, lipstick still in a smudge on his face. “I’m not sure what to say about it.” You neared him, hands trailing over his shoulders. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, lifting his chin with your finger as you felt his soft lips against yours. There was something impossibly gentle about it and you weren’t sure anyone had kissed you that softly before.

”Maybe we don’t need to say anything.”

He smiled. You kissed the corner of his grin and headed back downstairs, attempting to fix your hair as you went. You were met with stares as you entered the kitchen - Miriam had most definitely told everyone… at least it sold the cover.

Time passed with an almost excruciating level of slowness and Sam not making a re-entrance back downstairs wasn’t helping either (you had no one to distract you). Eventually, the party cleared out yet Sam was nowhere to be seen - now you began to panic.

You said goodbye to the final few neighbours and headed back upstairs, calling Sam’s name. The lack of response worried you. The first door by the stairs - the one that unfortunately led to your weapons room - was ajar, scratches around the lock. You pulled the dagger from your waistband and slowly opened the door, sighing as you saw the bloodstain on the floor. You had a feeling you knew who had taken him and where he had gone.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You had managed to track him to Helen’s house, hiding around the back to get a good view through the sliding glass doors. Sat, tied to a chair in the middle of the main room, was Sam. His face was bruised and bloody and his expression looked annoyed, chest heaving with sharp breaths. Helen, Miriam and Margaret circled around him, playing with his hair and gathering items they needed for the spell.

”Poor Sam,” Helen began - you assumed she was the leader, “you’d think you’d be able to fight back against three 57 year olds.” Miriam headed into the kitchen as Margaret laughed, they almost reminded you of the witches from Macbeth.

”You’d also think, considering she’s a hunter, that your ‘wife’ would be better at hiding.” Suddenly, a surprisingly strong pair of hands grabbed you, pushing you against the wall.

You struggled against the grip but it was no use, your hands being painfully tied behind your back. Miriam ushered you into the living room, retiring you to a chair beside Sam. You met his eyes with an apologetic gaze and he returned it.

It was your turn to feel the bunt of the witches’ fun now, knives sliced at your skin and hair was cut from your head, you knew they’d done it somewhere visible on purpose. They grabbed at your face, nails digging into flesh and smiling as Sam protested.

Eventually, the three left the room and you and Sam began planning. You shuffled your chair toward him, trying to see if he could reach the dagger you always hid in your shoe. His hand brushed over your shin but he couldn’t reach any further.

With one final attempt, Sam tried to lean on the chair to reach, which ended with him toppling both chairs. He landed on top of you, his chest flush against yours. “Sorry.” He spoke, words hoarse from lack of breath.

Luckily for you, the fall had broken the ropes around your ankles and - though it hurt like hell - you manoeuvred your leg just enough to read the blade. Sam's hair tickled against your face and his lips tickled your neck - but that was something you’d have to think about later.

“Nice try you two.” Helen spoke as she waltzed back in. You hid the blade in your sleeve as your chair was fixed once more and while the three were busy working, you managed to slice through the ropes. you waited patiently, watching with a newfound confidence. Luckily for you, Maragaret was the type of witch to intimidate - her favourite tactic being getting as close as she could.

You took the opportunity and thrust the blade forward, stabbing through her throat. She screamed out and you stood up making your way over to the other two to fight. You took a fair few punches, but it was nothing new and soon enough the two others were on the floor too, holding onto the last of their life.

The large salt circle was immediately broken and Sam was freed, you apolising every time you accidentally touched any of his injuries. “That was badass.” Sam complimented and you laughed, leaning your hair back tiredly.

You turned away, starting to destroy the spell further as you spoke, “Ready to finally stop being husband and wife?” You asked and a small smirk rose on his face, hands snaking back over your waist again.

With sudden passion, he spun you back around, his eyes glinting. “Not really.”

With that, Sam lifted you off the ground, hands securely gripping your thighs as he kissed your neck. You had your back pushed against the wall as he moved to kiss your lips, your hands pulling at the back of his hair. He sighed and went to kiss you again when the front door swung open, revealing a disgusted (but slightly relieved) Bobby and a grinning Dean.

”We can explain?” Sam offered, gently lowering you back to the ground. You couldn’t look at one another.

Dean shook his head, smiling like a madman. “I don’t know Sammy, seems pretty obvious to me.” Then, with the same giddy happiness he turned to Bobby, who had since fished a ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

Typical. You and Sam shared an annoyed look as The other two hunters headed back out the door. ‘“C’mon you lovebirds,” Bobby began, “There’s a vamp nest in Chicago.”

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #fluff #Injury #witches #supernatural #supernatural fic #Sam Winchester the sass queen #sam winchester x fem!reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

Text

Honeymoon Suite

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Batman sends you and Dick undercover as newlyweds. At the end of the mission, neither of you want things to change.

Warnings: fluff, possible OOC, brief mentions of insecurity, reader wears a bikini once

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

A/N: Reader is a vigilante but there's no fight scenes or anything, it's more just gathering data for Bruce! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think or if you have any DC requests! :)

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info

This isn't necessarily Titans!Dick, I just like this gif!

“Since when do you investigate recently paroled convicts?” you ask, looking out over Metropolis. “This seems like more of Clark’s thing. Literally, journalist Clark could do this far easier.”

Bruce sighs, and you smile. You can exhaust him from miles away.

“Because he started in Gotham, and I want to make sure he doesn’t come back,” Bruce answers.

“And I’m still in sunny Superman-city, why? Our boy bought a plane ticket three hours ago.”

“Until he goes to the airport, I want your eyes on him.”

“And then what? He disappears, free to con people who don’t have a Batman?”

“You do it on purpose,” Bruce accuses. “If you’re done asking questions, I’ve got news.”

“Also Clark’s thing,” you quip.

“Never mind. You can stay in Metropolis.”

“You love me, Bats. I’ll stop; tell me.”

“Against our better judgment, we all do.”

You smile, remembering the first night you put on a mask and took to the streets of Gotham. One of your best friends had been permanently altered by Scarecrow toxin, and you were done being scared in your own home. The same week, before you really grasped just how dangerous what you were doing could be, you ran into Robin. Batman wasn’t with him, but you soon met him, too. Robin was your age, reckless, and had a heart-stopping smile, so when he asked you to stay with him, you agreed. Batman reluctantly agreed, likely more interested in getting you off the streets than anything. After a few months, Dick trusted you enough to remove his domino mask, and Bruce sighed as he followed suit. Your relationship with Dick, both in and out of the Robin suit, made you part of two families: The Waynes and the Bats and Birds of Gotham. Every new addition to the family and the team pushed you and Dick closer, and you know what your feelings toward him are, but you have to remind yourself daily that losing him isn’t worth getting it off your chest.

“Still there?” Batman asks.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m here,” you answer quickly, standing as you watch the sun go down.

“There’s going to be a slight detour on your way back.”

“Just tell me it’s somewhere warmer than Gotham,” you joke.

“Much. Nightwing – Dick – will meet you at the airport.”

You want to laugh at the strain in his voice as he says Dick’s name, but your attention catches on another word.

“Airport?”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Welcome to paradise, babe,” Dick greets, pulling you into a warm hug as you walk through the airport doors.

“Thanks,” you murmur, closing your eyes and letting him envelop you completely.

He keeps an arm over your shoulders, leading you to an expensive rental car. After tossing your small bag in the back, he holds your hand over the console, looking into your eyes and smiling.

“I have a question,” he begins. You nod, and Dick’s smile grows. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes widen as you tell yourself that it’s for the mission.

“A thousand times yes,” you answer, watching Dick slide the ring onto your left ring finger.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Your hand remains in Dick’s as he begins driving, your dream life with him coming to life around you.

“I checked in when I got here this morning. The honeymoon suite is nice,” Dick says distractedly.

“Honeymoon suite?” you repeat.

Dick hums, and you lower your gaze from his profile to the ring on your finger. It’s going to be a long few days.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Your suitcase is in the closet,” Dick says, leading you into the small cottage with a hand on your back. He sees your confused look and laughs. “I packed a few things for you, I didn’t think you’d have beachwear with you in Metropolis.”

“Thank you.”

Dick lays back on the bed, propping his head up on his hands as he watches you open the closet.

“There’s a white bikini in there that I’m pretty proud of. I think it’s a better choice than you would have made.”

You roll your eyes before looking at the beachy pastels, sundresses, and swimsuits filling the bag. Dick chose things you have always wanted to wear but never felt good enough to buy for yourself. Losing your focus, you finger through the different fabrics, jumping slightly when Dick’s arms wrap around your waist.

“We have dinner reservations tonight, so pick a good one,” he whispers.

“Looks like they’re all good ones.”

“I have excellent taste,” Dick replies with an absent-minded tap to your wedding ring.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Good evening,” Dick greets the couple sharing a table with you. He pulls your seat out, keeping his hand in yours as he sits beside you.

“My, you two are just the most handsome couple I’ve ever seen,” the woman exclaims, leaning toward you. “You picked a fine one, didn’t you, dear?”

You glance over at Dick and smile. “I sure did.”

Dick’s thumb runs over your knuckles, and you let yourself go in the act. Losing yourself, you adopt this character of being a wife to the man you’ve loved for years.

As you eat and talk to the other couples celebrating engagements, weddings, and anniversaries, you lean against Dick’s side, playing with his fingers. After one particularly romantic comment about your eyes, you raise Dick’s hand to your lips, kissing the knuckle below his ring. He turns toward you with a big smile, pecking your forehead before pulling you closer. You could get used to this, which is incompatible with an undercover mission.

✯✯✯✯✯

The proximity is killing you. Dick is so close that you could touch him, and you do, but you try to show some restraint. You set boundaries long ago, including one stating that you would never kiss one another purely for Batman’s never-ending mission. Your firm position on that boundary wavers more with each moment. This island is doing something to you, and you’re terrified that it will ruin your relationship with Dick.

Every time Dick smiles at you or takes your hand, running his finger over the fake ring on your hand, it’s like a glimpse straight out of your dream life. Right now, reclined on the beach in a bikini of Dick’s choosing, though, the dream falls apart.

“Dick,” you whisper, tapping your shoulder against his chest.

He pulls his hand away from your hair, a flower you didn’t see him pick braided into a small section of your hair.

“There’s our guy,” you mumble after he hums, pointing with your chin.

“He coming toward us?” Dick asks, running a sandy hand over your arm.

“Not right now. If he’s looking for the same kind of victim as in Gotham, we’re going to have to set a trap.”

“How?”

You turn toward him, frowning as you answer, “Get in a fight and let me storm off.”

Dick’s eyes drop away from yours before nodding. “Not yet,” he mumbles. “It has to look real.”

“Dinner?” you ask, brushing his hair back.

His eyes flutter closed as he nods, aware that the social setting will make enough of a scene. That doesn’t mean Dick wants to do it, though, nor is he sure about using you as bait.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do I look okay? This fits weird,” you complain, tugging the white sundress down on the sides.

Dick appears behind you, holding your wrists still as he meets your eyes in the mirror. He pulls your back to his chest, looping his arms over your waist.

“You look beautiful – you are beautiful,” Dick whispers. “So beautiful that I don’t know if I can yell at you.”

“We can change the plan. Pretend like we’ve been arguing all afternoon in private, and I can just choose a moment to storm off,” you offer.

“I don’t want to fight with you at all,” Dick amends.

“Hey.” You turn in his arms, looping yours over his shoulders. “This isn’t real, okay? I will never treat you like this.”

Dick nods, dropping his head to press his forehead against yours.

“Promise?”

You nod, dragging a finger along Dick’s jaw. “I promise.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Yeah,” you mumble, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. “I got it earlier.”

Dick made a passing comment about working with others, glancing toward you at the end, and you took the opportunity to start a fight. The target, Bruce’s con man, is several tables away, but his eyes are on you. Dick’s eyes drop, and you desperately want to cup his chin and apologize.

“Working with women can be hard though,” someone says, continuing the conversation.

“It certainly can,” Dick agrees.

You stand up, silently tossing your napkin onto the table before you walk out. Navigating through the crowded tables, you take a deep breath when you exit and hear footsteps behind you.

“’Scuse me?” he asks.

You slow before you stop, turning toward him and wiping an imaginary tear.

“I’m sorry, I overheard and just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m a marriage counselor and I wouldn’t feel right about leaving you here upset.”

“I’m fine, or I will be,” you answer, slightly impressed with how easily he slipped into the lie. “It’s just frustrating to be married, and I wasn’t expecting it to be so different.”

“Marriage counseling is a great option even for newly-weds. I actually have a pay by the appointment service here on the island, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, really? That- actually, yeah, that sounds amazing. What do I need to do?”

“$1,000 cash, up front, and then you can come by anytime.”

“Soliciting for a false business is illegal,” a resort security guard says as he approaches. “I’m going to need to take you to the office for questioning.”

“Really, me? Because her husband looks a lot like the Wayne kid from Gotham, not Gray Todd or whatever he said his name was,” the conman argues. “What about impersonation?”

Dick walks outside just as the security guard looks toward you.

“What’s going on out here?” Dick asks, laying his hand against the small of your back. “Are you okay?” he adds quietly.

You nod and press back against him gently. “This guy was trying to steal our money, apparently.”

“Someone called in a tip that he’s been posing as a marriage counselor,” the security guard fills in. “Though, do you folks have ID?”

Dick removes his fake ID from his wallet, and you’re surprised when he hands one over for you too.

“Your last names aren’t the same, are these up to date?”

“I haven’t gotten my updated license yet,” you answer. “We haven’t been married long.”

“Ask them questions separately and they won’t be able to answer. They’re the con artists, not me!” the conman cries.

“Maybe I should take you two in for questioning too.”

“On what grounds?” Dick asks with an incredulous chuckle. “What would I need to do to convince you we’re married? This is ridiculous!”

You glance over, and a crowd is gathering at the door, so you tap Dick’s side to alert him. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“I’d like to speak to your manager in the morning, but for now, are we free to go?”

The security guard also sees the crowd and hesitates before nodding. Dick leads you away and back toward the cottage but pulls you to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, looking over his face.

“People are still watching us and we need to keep this up or they won’t believe us,” Dick whispers.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Does it matter?”

“If they think we’re not really married, they can’t prove anything about our guy. Then we just look like we lied to get a nicer cottage.”

You nod and ask, “So what do we do to prove it?”

Your arms are around Dick, you’re as close as physically possible, so you’re not sure what else you can do to look like you’re in love. Especially considering you are in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before raising his hand to the back of your neck and kissing you.

He picks you up, a strong arm under your hips as he carries you up the stairs. You grip his shirt at the collar, returning the kiss but refusing to deepen it. As Dick unlocks the door, you drop your head to his shoulder and glance at the dissipating crowd, only a few people left who don’t mind imposing on a private moment.

Once you’re inside and Dick sets you down, he steps back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know it was the one rule, but I didn’t know what else to do,” he rambles, carding his fingers through his hair. “Sorry.”

You hold a hand up to stop his pacing and shrug. “We had to. It’s fine.”

Dick nods, another whispered apology rolling off his tongue before he offers to let you use the bathroom first. When he steps back, that proximity you thought would break you is taken away, and you realize that is was holding you together all along.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk out of the bathroom, Dick is staring out the window. The dark beach holds his attention until he stands wordlessly. Then, when Dick returns from the shower, he doesn’t speak to you. Opening your mouth, you want to ask him something, say anything, but he sits at the far side of the king-sized bed and makes himself comfortable with his back to you.

The last few nights, you started on opposite sides of the bed but woke up with Dick’s arm over your waist and both of you in the middle. Those moments are being ripped away from you, though, and you’re not sure why. If it’s the kiss, you told him it was fine. Dick is usually the one ready and willing to talk about this kind of stuff, but he is shutting you out.

Hating the distance and craving his closeness, you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

The answer is barely audible, a sigh of, “Of course not.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief, moving your hand to the middle of the bed like an olive branch. “Then what happened? I’m really not mad about the kiss, Dick.”

Dick rolls over, his eyes bright in the minimal light of the cottage as he takes your hand (again). “I don’t want this to end,” he confesses.

After contemplating what this could mean, you whisper, “It doesn’t have to.”

Dick sits up, pulling you in, slow and methodical as he kisses you this time. As he pulls you into his lap, you enjoy knowing that there’s no rush or fear or lies behind this, just you, Dick, and the love between you.

“Maybe we should get married,” he mumbles against your lips. “Bruce will pay for a few more days.”

You pull back with a breathless laugh. “And listen to your brothers after they find out you eloped? No thanks.”

“So, you won’t marry me?” Dick asks, looking up at you perched on his legs.

“I’ll marry you as many times as you want, Dick Grayson.”

“Different honeymoon suite each time?” Dick jokes.

You duck your head against his chest as he laughs, gladly letting him hold you close for one more quiet, slow night before you return to Gotham.

“We need to pack, our flight is at 10,” you remind him.

“Don’t forget the white one,” he says against your cheek, leaving kisses along your face.

You are returning to Gotham with something far better than a new bikini or souvenir: Dick Grayson’s love running through your veins and your heart safely in his hold.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bonus:

"It worked, Alfred."

"Excellent news, Master Bruce. Perhaps you could be the next to go on a trip and come back with a woman in your life."

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dc comics x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson

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msdanvers · 2 years

Photo

Kara and Lena, secret agents for the DEO, go undercover as a couple on honeymoon (in space!), and they totally don’t fall in love with each other as they do it. That would be unprofessional.

my contribution for the last volume of the @supercorpzine is now up on ao3!

#come get y'all fake dating mutual pining idiots to lovers space travel juice!#supercorp #supergirl #zine #supergirledit #supercorpedit #supercorp fic #fanficseries #supercorp fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp sunday #myedits #myedits: supergirl #kara #lena #1k

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 8 months

Note

I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS!!! can i request a pietro fic where him and the reader are both avengers and they are best friends, but the reader has the biggest crush on him (she manages how to hide well) and they get assigned to a mission in hawaii and have to pretend that they're married and are there for their honeymoon? and that pretending to be the reader's husband and doing everything together like a couple made pietro realize that he also had feelings for her. one day they both go to a restaurant and have some drinks and he builds enough courage to finally kiss her (in the rain😼)

(i know it's cheesy but i just love the idea😭😭 and also, sorry if there's any mistakes, english isn't my first language hahah)

hii!! omg I love this and cheesy things hehe!! and don’t worry, your english was great! apologies, I had a nightmare writing this, I finished writing it then went to edit the next day to find chunks of my paragraphs were missing :(( but thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

—

fake dating

pietro maximoff x fem!reader

word count: 811

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

As you and Pietro are the two youngest members on the team -with the exception of Peter- you were often paired together for lots of missions. Being best friends had its perks, especially for trips away where it was just the two of you.

You were both assigned to Hawaii to "collect intel", as Cap lightly put it. The pair of you undercover: smitten newlyweds on your honeymoon. Usually, you weren't a fan of these kinds of aliases, but this was different- it was with Pietro.

It allowed you to tap into your true and hidden romantic feelings towards him without over-complicating everything. Fake dating was like a compromise to you. It felt like it gave you a brief chance to date him without the consequence of doing the real thing.

The moment you boarded the plane, the mission began, and you were all over Pietro- leaning into him and stroking his arm, giggling at his jokes and sharing stories with the elderly lady beside you.

It all felt natural, and you didn't know where to draw the line. You admit you may have gotten a little carried away, but you couldn't help it- it just felt so right to date Pietro, like you could finally be your true self without keeping a part of you locked away.

The first several days of the trip went smoothly, completing all tasks assigned within the first few hours of the day, leaving you both together for many hours doing touristy things.

Each day was slightly different- snorkelling in the ocean for one and eating lunch with the locals for another. You both wanted to make the most of your 'vacation,' so you chose activities you couldn't do anywhere else, nor would you have time for otherwise.

As the days progressed, so did things with you and Pietro. You would find yourselves flirting and touching with no one around- no one to prove things to. He grew more comfortable being romantic with you, a lingering touch to your hand or a soft smile when you speak- just small and possibly inconsequential moments that felt too sincere to be fake.

Today was the last night of the trip before heading home in the morning, so you and Pietro decided to have dinner at your favourite quaint restaurant on the beach, much like a final farewell to the town you both grew to adore.

Everything was perfect- the scenery, the food, the company, even. It was the best end to an already great trip.

By now, you were on your final course of the night, sharing a desert as you chatted in your usual friendly way.

You sit up straight, pointing the spoon at him. "You suit it,"

His head cocks to the side, evidently confused. "Suit, what?"

"Y'know... the sun— being away. You seem happy," you smile, placing your spoon aside. "Haven't seen you like it for a while." You shrug, glancing out into the ocean to avoid his fixed gaze.

"I do?" he grins, pointing the spoon at you like you did him. "Same with you... it's nice to see."

"Maybe it's the company," your smile widens, turning back to face him.

He chuckles, itching his foot closer to yours under the table, slyly bumping into it. "Maybe."

After dinner and more drinks, you find your tipsy selves on the beach, sitting in the sand, huddled together under a blanket to keep warm. Pietro's arm draped over your shoulder, holding you close to him as you look out into the ocean. It all felt so familiar, like second nature- as if this was how it should be between you.

Sure, you've cuddled like this many times before, but this was not like those times- this was different. It was intimate- sincere. Pietro pulls away, glancing over your face as a gentle smile forms, watching the way yours mirrors his.

"Looks like it's gonna rain," you divert, suddenly aware of how real this all feels between you.

He hums weakly, his smile faltering as he slowly leans towards you, his low gaze focused on your lips.

"Might storm," you whisper, adding.

"Mh-hm," he softly replies, almost as if he wasn't paying attention. He slips his hand up to cup the side of your face, his palm resting on your jaw, guiding you closer.

"It might—"

He cuts you off with a small shush, quietening your blabbering mind before brushing his lips over yours, kissing you soft and sweetly. It felt like months of repressed longing poured into a single, beautiful moment. A moment you've long been yearning for.

As you pull away from one another, you wish you could stay here forever. Stay in paradise.

But as much as you hated to think about it, you'd be leaving tomorrow, and all you could think about was how things would be when you go back home.

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

pietro taglist: @astermath @thewinterv @earth-elemental18 @lunnnix @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @randomawesomeperson102 @queerponcho @selfryed @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @mrsbarnesxxx @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected

#request #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff x you #pietro x reader #pietro fanfiction #pietro marvel #pietro imagine #pietro maximoff fluff

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seancekitsch · 1 year

Note

Setting: Cabin

Genre: Mystery

Trope: Undercover Married

Prompt: On a roadtrip together

Kink: Exhibitionism

from the fic prompt generator with Adrian?

ok i hope you were hoping for a full on fic bc here it is

Being Watched

smut, basically the prompt, i got carried away

“Adebayo I just don’t understand why we have to be married on all of these missions,” you sigh into the receiver of your burner phone, the sound of the shower in the cabin drowning out any possibility of your best friend hearing. The shitty flip phone looks ridiculous, and anyone would peg you as undercover at this resort. There are senators here, senators who very well could be butterflies, and you’re here with a flip phone in the honeymoon cabin after driving 6 hours in the Vigilante-Mobile with Adrian singing along to Carly Rae Jepsen. Not that you minded that part, you sang along with him and fed him sour gummy worms while he got you there safely.

“You guys just… work like that,” she responds, not even trying to hide her snickering on the other end. She’s right, check in at the resort went smoothly because Adrian slipped his right arm around your waist and made a show of waving around his wedding ring to all of the staff, kissing the side of your head and gushing about how excited he was that the bed was one of those vintage round ones from the 70s in the cabin. You yourself couldn’t stop blushing while you curled into him and clutched your suitcase close. You looked like a couple madly in love. Leota reminds you to keep your head on straight and to stay safe and all the other things you have to do before you’re rushing off the phone because you hear the shower stop.

It’s only a few moments until your friend, your best friend, comes out of the little bathroom of the cabin with nothing but a towel draped low around his hips.

Fuck, this was going to be harder than you thought.

But wasn’t it always? Don’t you always go through this? Adrian always parades around the hotel or villa or cabin you’re in with that damn wedding ring on his finger and you always practically jump out of your skin, itching to move closer to him under the sheets at night or to kiss his lips in private, away from potential counter surveillance.

A part of you suspects this is just a forced proximity thing. You didn’t always want to fall into bed with your best friend since high school, and you didn’t always wish the wedding rings were real. But now you do, sometimes overwhelmingly so…

“What? Did I scrub too hard and accidentally wipe a nipple off?”

Fuck, you’ve been staring, checking him out like some kind of perv. You shake your head, nervous that somehow Adrian gained the ability to read minds or something from too many hits to the head.

“Nope, I didn’t,” he confirms to himself, looking down at his bare chest to check.

“Sorry, Ade, I must have zoned out,” you physically shake yourself out of it. You can do this.

“Are you gonna shower too?” he asks, and you swear he’s flexing now, his biceps chiseled and shiny in the lamplight. You never thought of yourself as the type to go after muscular dudes, and you still aren’t really, Adrian is just an exception.

You nod, quickly rifling through your bag for your toiletries and speeding to the bathroom door for some privacy.

The click of the door in the latch triggers a sigh you didn’t realize was building in your chest. Just three more days, you tell yourself, three more days of this week long recon mission and you could go home, scrub the smell of his cologne off of you and touch yourself until you passed out to get rid of all this tension in your body.

You fiddle with the nob on the shower and shed your clothes quickly to jump under the slightly too hot spray.

This is exactly what you needed. You let the steam rolling off the tiles and your skin evaporate all the tension in your muscles and your mind. You relax fully. Maybe you can just spend the rest of the night in bed watching shitty cable movies and laughing and your feelings can bury themselves for the evening.

Your relaxation is short lived, though.

“Hey Honey?” Adrian calls through the door; Honey is the codename for when things go sour. Shit.

“Can I come in?”

You fiddle with the nob and quickly end your shower, lucky to be done with the shampoo so you can hastily grab the towel and wrap it around you.

“Of course, Sugar!” you call, back, quickly unlocking the door and open it for him to scurry in, now clad in his sweatpants and an athletic training top that truly did you no favors in sparing you from his looks. He presses his back against the door, looking up around the perimeters of the ceiling.

“What’s going on?” you whisper, clutching your towel tighter to yourself.

“We’re being watched,” Adrian tells you, pushing up his glasses and only letting his eyes dart briefly to your body, “I just saw one of the cameras turn on, little red light next to the smoke detector.”

“There’s supposed to be a light, Ade,” you sigh, “There’s supposed to be a red light. That means it's working to y’know, detect smoke.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from him, grabbing the loose sweatshirt you brought in here and bringing it down around you without disrupting the towel; a talent you mastered from having to bunk with the guys on too many occasions.

“No that’s—“ Adrian stops himself and curses under his breath, “I know that. You have a smoke detector in your apartment.”

You snap your head up to look at him while you grab your sweatshorts.

“Why do you say that like your apartment doesn’t have a smoke detector?”

Adrian just smiles at you.

“Okay,” you physically shake your head to keep yourself from doing the mental gymnastics on that one, pulling your shorts over your thighs, “So, typical plan H?”

You hate plan H. Plan H is a fake-out make-out until whoever is watching stops. You’ve done this countless times, and never has it gotten easier. Once you stop kissing its back to the normal friend shit and the ice cold longing that sinks into your gut. Every time his lips fall on yours you beg and pray to any god that will listen that this will be real, that you won't stop once you realize the coast is clear. Every time he makes you moan it's for real, and he always compliments your acting skills. You’re a shit fucking actor and you know it. You thought he knew it too, for how well he knew you.

You sigh.

“Plan H it is,” and you towel off your hair as much as possible. It's going to get ruined and you'll just have to re-shower in the morning. But if it gets surveillance out of your room, its worth the risk. No one ever wants to watch “newlyweds” go at it. He watches you squeeze the excess moisture from your hair with an expression you can’t exactly place. With Adrian, it’s usually so easy to tell how he’s feeling. Somehow, he never learned how to hide himself or how to be sarcastic or to read emotions. But this look in his eyes you can’t figure out; it’s dark and far off and seems to be trained on your knees of all places, from what you can tell of blotting your hair upside down.

This dance is like all the rest. You come barreling out of the bathroom all hand and lips and limbs and he practically throws you on the rounded mattress. Its like this every time, you throw your leg over his hip and he licks at your jaw and you moan and you cry out genuinely because you're sensitive and you love it.

You let yourself fall onto your back, not even putting your elbows down to break your fall. Adrian’s arms quickly cage you down like a vice, his entire body pushing onto yours, his weight apparent but not crushing.

“Fuck, I’m so glad I can call you my wife,” he says, looking into your eyes but loud enough for any camera to hear. You roll your neck back, opening it up for him to kiss the full expanse of it and play the role of dutiful lover.

“My love,” you gasp, his mouth latching onto the skin above your jugular. He sets your skin aflame, makes you burn. Adrian kisses all the skin on your neck he can reach before he throws the covers over you. This is the finale piece.

And god, how you wish this was real. It feels like torture to be so close to the real thing and to not actually have it. Knowing that you’ll be pent up and jumpy for the rest of this mission and spend an entire night with your vibrator between your legs the moment debrief is over. That the expectation now, that’s what always happens.

What you don’t expect is for Adrian to push himself back from you to pull his shirt from his chest. Fucking hell, you think, your eyes following the reveal of skin, from his happy trail on his abs to the little dusting of chest hair on his sculpted pectorals, the finale being his broad shoulders that lead to arms strong enough to carry you like you’re weightless.

He spreads your legs and pushes himself between them, and you immediately curse yourself for not putting on underwear when you threw on your shorts. That meant your panties were somewhere in the bathroom and there were so many more chances to embarrass yourself now. He slots himself between your legs in a way that looks real. Anyone watching on the other side of that little red light wouldn’t know the difference. That was key to Plan H, something you and Adrian had actually fumbled through practicing in his apartment one night, setting up his phone in different vantage points and testing what motions looked real.

Adrian pulls at the neckline of your sweatshirt, already stretched out from years of wear as you thread your fingers through his curls. God they feel so soft, so much more defined and luscious since you convinced him to ditch the five in one.

Adrian moans against your skin, and you go stiff.

“Do it again,” he whispers, the breath of a laugh on his words and it’s only now that you realized you had tugged on his hair.

You open your eyes to the sight of the mirror over the bed, taking in your appearance. Your hair is tangled and damp, you look like a drowned rat. Adrian however, is all rippling back muscles and reddened scar tissue from a nasty fight the two of you barely got out of making his pale skin look even more beautiful. Shit, this really looks real, the way he’s eagerly nipping at your collarbone and neck, the way he’s flexing his muscles and taking control of the situation. Adrian is many things, your best friend, a possible maniac, weapons expert, slightly emotionally stunted, but he could easily add erotic stand in on a movie set to that list.

You decide to help him out, hiking your parted knees up until they’re around his hips, and one of his hands grips the back of your knee and pushes the leg even farther. Without thinking, you let out the neediest whine you've ever heard, feeling your skin ignite. You have entirely too many clothes on. You watch your own eyes in the overhead mirror, pupils blown wide and a stray tear leaning from the outer corner, your lips fallen open in desperation. You’re fucked.

You tear your eyes away from yourself, desperate to do anything but break your own heart over the fact that this is not at all real and you will have to sleep in this very bed with him tonight. Your gaze drifts to the smoke detector with its damned red light.

It’s singular red light.

Just one, not two.

That means…

“Adrian! Adrian, stop,” your hands move to brace themselves on his chest, putting distance between you where his lips had made connection with the underside of your jaw.

He pulls apart like he’s been burned, all except for where your legs are still hitched around his waist.

“What’s wrong, did I hurt you?”

His eyes are wide with panic, darting around your face to look for signs of pain, of anger, of disgust. You know exactly what he’s doing. He’s been searching for that disgusted look since high school and he’s never grown out of it. You know the look well, having watched him make it towards women at community college, as well as being on the receiving end of it once or twice.

“No,” you say, your hand rubbing at his shoulder to try to soothe him. As much as he tries to say he doesn’t have emotions, you can feel them in his tense muscles.

“Ade, look at the smoke detector again.”

He does as you say, giving you a full view of his toned neck; gorgeous and just there for the biting and if this was real you would have wasted no time in sucking a dark hickey into the expanse of skin there, claiming him as your own for all to see. Not that he’s exactly someone who has people lining up to get with him, but still. If anyone wanted to they just couldn’t.

“It’s the normal amount of lights,” he says, but he makes no move to get off of you. You don’t want him to though, and it’s not like you untangle your legs from his waist either.

“They stopped watching,” he continues, eyes darting around, searching your face for a new game plan.

“I guess we should…” you trail off, avoiding eye contact as much as possible and finally starting to slip you legs away from where you had so hastily wrapped them around him. You had made a mistake there, getting way too into it yourself. This isn't the kind of place where you can get selfish, you think, there are lives at stake.

Adrian’s eyes are dark with something unknown, his expression unreadable as he searches your face once more.

“We don't have to,” his voice sounds so matter-of-fact.

“Adrian… what-” your eyebrows furrow as you wrack your brain trying to figure him out. You start to move your legs, unhooking your ankles and unlocking yourself from Adrian’s hips- when he stops you in your tracks; hand planted on your thighs to keep them in place.

“What if… What if I want to keep going?” he asks a bold question with an equally bold straightforward delivery. What if he wants to keep going? Is this a fucking joke? He isn't the type to joke like this.

“Do you?” you ask, ready to risk it all. The words are out of your mouth before you can weigh the consequences of them.

Adrian scoffs.

“Duh,” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if, of course, of course he would want to keep going, would want to keep ravaging you and throwing you into the deep end of this torture.

“We… Our friendship,” you gasp, grasping at something almost dumbly.

“You mean our friendship that I already totally ruined?” he balks, as if you're late to the party, as if you should already know.

“Ruined?” you parrot, and his left hand shoots to your knee,keeping you from slipping away from him.

“Yeah, I mean like, by falling in love with you and shit. I thought you knew. Chris makes fun of me all the time,” he admits, and finally his grip on you loosens. He gives you every opportunity to move away and get out of this position. That look of bracing for disgust evident in his eyes again in full force and absolutely killing you.

“Adrian,” you say, trailing off, the words confirming in failing on your tongue. Of course you'd heard Chris making fun of Adrian, but he makes fun of Adrian for everything so you figured it was better to ignore it.

Adrian pushes himself off of you to lean back on his knees, starting to pat the bed feeling around for his shirt.

“Wait, Ade!” You almost scream, ready to beg as long as he stays exactly how he is. Between your legs.

He freezes, his expression unreadable to you for maybe the first time ever.

“What if I want to keep going too?” you ask, voice timid and far away, but your arms remain loose and planted around his neck.

“Do you?” he asks, not at all hiding his enthusiasm. You fucking love that about him. He looks so excited. So happy, and knowing it's all for you...

You fucking kiss him instead of formally responding, arching your back and pushing yourself up to connect with him, forcing your lips to make contact so he knows, he knows, that you’re desperate for it. His tongue licks against your lips and you moan wantonly, not unlike your fake recon moan, but this time entirely real and something you fully intended on hiding until Adrian embarrassingly pulled it from you.

You accept his tongue in your mouth eagerly, letting him take the lead and pulling more moans from you, absolutely kissing all of your resolve out of you.

“Fuck me, Ade,” you whisper, puling your lips away from his for a moment, ready to scream the same words if he asks.

“Me?” he asks, “You want me? Jesus, I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”

“Not as long as me, I promise,” you laugh, and pull him back down onto you, fingers threading into his curls again.

You tug on his hair again as his teeth graze your bottom lip, earning an absolutely sinful groan from his lips. You've heard this man yell and scream and groan in pain but nothing like this; this is like heaven itself, better than any drug you could think of. Better than the indica strain in your vape that Adrian always yells at you for hitting in the Vigilante-mobile.

He bites down on your lip, not worrying about whether or not it hurts, reveling in the yelp you let loose against his mouth. Adrian’s hands travel up your thighs, over your hips and those little sweat shorts, squeezing right against your pelvic joints, and then finally they dip under your sweatshirt, his hot calloused hands against your smooth skin.

“You know,” he starts, open mouth working its way back from your mouth to your jaw, “It kinda sucks they aren’t watching anymore. Woulda been hot.”

Your brain fries and short circuits at his words. You peek an eye open at him, eyes blissfully closed and still continuing his kissing as if that was the most normal thing for him to say. Honestly, you figured Adrian had to be into some kinky shit. You've heard him discuss his threesomes with Chris, and you've seen what the trunk of his sebring looks like. He can protest all he wants but you know the fuzzy pink handcuffs aren't for any kind of “bad guy” he could be up against. Plus, he just kills them. He doesn't exactly take prisoners.

“You wanted an audience for this?” Surprise more evident in your voice than you meant it to be. Part of you thinks you might have slipped and fell in the shower and this is some sort of hallucination or fucked up knock-out dream.

His hips twitch and buck into yours, and you easily respond with a roll of your hips in return.

“Want those fucks to see I finally got the girl,” he responds, rocking his hips back up into you again, but on purpose this time. His hands travel to your chest and your heart breaks for him a little. You know if this goes well you'll be his first real girlfriend. The first girl to spend more than one consecutive night, the first girl to do dishes and laundry with him, the first girl to not run because you know all the ugly shit he’s done and you already don't care.

“Always had me, babe,” you pant. Your back arches off the mattress as you meet the movement of his hips, now working up a rhythm against each other.

“We both just needed to pretend to be married to get it right,” you joke, pushing him back only enough for you to wiggle out of your sweatshirt and throw it towards the edge of the bed. Now you know what Adebayo was talking about on the phone. You guys just work like that. Like a married couple, like a real couple. He laughs and starts kissing down your chest, immediately latching himself onto one breast while he grabs at your waist. You tug on his hair again as your other hand starts to travel his toned back. He’s absolutely beautiful, you think, running your fingertips over the freckles along his shoulder blades that you've memorized at this point.

“Need to-,” you gasp as he bites down on the underside of your breast, and you're sure youll be covered in marks by dawn, “Need to feel you.”

You aren't sure when you became a beggar, or maybe Adrian just made you one.

“Oh you’ll feel me,” he promises, starting to kiss his way down your ribcage, down your stomach. He’s much more of a kisser than you imagined, much more attentive and much more loving. You almost feel bad for not thinking of him like this when you used to touch yourself to the thought of him. That feeling immediately dissolves when he then bites at your hip, his hands pulling at your shorts to give him more access to your skin.

It’s awkward and fumbling to get you out of your shorts, not unlike two teens going at it on prom night, all nerves and fear and curiosity bound in eagerness. He tries to whip them off of your calves, resulting only in jerking your ankles up awkwardly, and the two of you burst into a comfortable laughter as you remove them yourself the rest of the way.

He freezes for a moment, finally seeing you completely bare. At first, it’s extremely flattering, his lips hanging open and his eyes wide as they search your form.

And then you find your arms slinking from their position on his shoulders to try to cover yourself, only to be stopped by Adrian himself. His rough hands wrap themselves around your wrists, pinning them down so they can’t go where you wanted.

“Can’t hide from the Vigilante,” he jokes, bravado evident in his voice.

You only roll your eyes and giggle in response.

“Please don’t tell me you’ll be Vigilante in bed too,” you counter.

“Might chase you.”

You know he’s serious, just like you know he’s serious about wishing the camera was still watching.

Heat floods your body, and suddenly all of this is so real, Adrian, his hips pressed against your bare body between your legs, his dusting of curly brown hair on his chest, the warm eyes behind glasses staring straight back into yours.

“Adrian…” you trail off, not sure what you're trying to say or ask. It's all just, the Adrian of it all.

“No, I’m serious, babe. I might chase you,” and everything in his tone tells you he’s serious.

“Please… Adrian,” you don't even finish the sentence, because he knows exactly what you're asking for. His hands abandon your wrists to find themselves on your hips again and his lips find your own. He kisses you deeply, like a promise, hard and slow as his fingers move eagerly. Featherlight touches you didn’t expect him capable of trail from your hips to the apex of your legs. You’re so thankful you shaved in the shower; you know Adrian wouldn’t actually give a fuck about body hair, but there’s just something about a first impression you can’t help but feel.

You gasp against his mouth the moment his finger dips and bumps against your clit, clumsy, but perfect. He doesn't stop kissing you as he explores further, tracing circles against your clit delicately, and then more forcefully.

You can tell by the way he kisses you that he’s studying, testing the waters to see what gives you the most pleasure, what you react most to. He switches from his circular motion to a rocking back and forth of his fingertip over your clit, and you think it's lights out for a second; Fuck, it feels so good.

“Oh, that's it,” he whispers, lips still smashed against yours. You can only whine in response, high pitched and needy. You try to arch your back, try to move in any way you can to get Adrian better access to you. He only pushes you further, his grip of one hand so tight on your hip it could bruise, the other working hard to make you feel good. But he doesn't even need to work that hard, with the way you are moaning and crying against him. Your skin burns under his touch, and freezes with the absence of it. You come alive like a wire tripped and electrified under him. You love it, and you knew you would, but it feels so different from the idea of him and the real thing. There's so much romance here, even if Adrian’s lack of romance could possibly deny that.

“Fuckin’ love it,” you moan against him, and he tries to roll his hips, incapacitated by his own hand. Quickly he pulls himself away letting his sweatpants clothed cock shove against you.

You can feel it, sort of. You can feel that his cock is big and that he knows how to move his hips but you want to know everything about it, want to memorize every ride and twist and dip of his body.

You pull your lips from his, ripping yourself to the side just long enough to speak.

“Gimme all of it,” you beg, and he absolutely does not hesitate. Adrian removes his hand from where he's working you over to the waistband of his pants so he can free himself for you.

He wiggles his sweatpants down awkwardly, fumbling and tangled up, but frees himself without any comment from you. You can’t say that you were exactly graceful either, the eagerness taking over your motor skills momentarily.

Adrian pauses for a second, letting the moment sink in. You’re bare before each other for the first time on purpose. It’s not like when he would come in through your window unannounced after work and you’d scream and throw shoes at him. It’s full of lust and love and sheer nerves. For both of you, it isn't your first time, but as he pushes into you without weird decorum of virginity, it feels almost alien, but at the same time, this is how it's supposed to happen. He bottoms out with a little smile, searching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. If he finds any, it fades away quickly with a kiss. His eyes are the prettiest shade of brown, you think, feeling your own little smile grace your lips.

“Guess the newlywed cabin is living up to its name finally,” you joke, stopping again to press a kiss against his lips, “only took, what, multiple missions?”

Seven. It took seven missions.

Adrian snaps at this point. His hips move, completely without warning to thrust back out and into you again, so roughly and perfectly Adrian that it feels too good. It's everything you imagined and more.

“Wish this was happening every time,” He thrusts more, “Imagined us actually married.”

He moans, relinquishing his self control to how good it feels. All of your nerves were already on fire, but his words kick you into overdrive, the same way that when you hold your finger over a candle too long it feels almost cold. Your nails rake down his back as his pace picks up, your legs around his back giving you leverage to thrust back on every snap of his hips.

“Wanna be yours,” you moan, your head thrown back against the pillow to give yourself better leverage to arch your back.

“Wish that fuckin’ camera was still on,” He groans, “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

He dips his head down, first connecting with the underside of your jaw, then to the side of your neck where he bites down, hard and unapologetic; You know it's gonna bruise up to a dark purple by morning.

“Fuck,” you moan, “Keep that up and they’re gonna.”

Adrian only laughs against your skin, and bites down again. He doesn’t falter or change his pace, his hips always snapping recklessly against you. You feel more full than you ever have, something about Adrian invading all of your senses and overwhelming all of them has you a mess already. You’re sure he’s gonna last longer than you, already your body feeling like it’s floating in space and already your mind drowning in everything Adrian.

“Adri-” you whine, but off by your own voice, as your body jolts under his touch. More accurately, his slap. Its light and playful and just enough to drive you that much further towards the edge.

“Oh… You liked that?”

You nod.

He laughs, scrunching his nose to try and push his glasses back up his nose.

“I knew you would. Had to be kinky if you were into me,” he sighs, before slapping your cheek again a little harder, and you find your moan melting into a laugh. He’s so effortlessly hot while still being adorable Adrian. He knows you so well.

“Fuck me harder, babe,” you beg, finding it harder and harder to form words as tension rises in your body, your body overheated and every nerve like fireworks. Adrian seems to be spurred on even more by the pet name, immediately pushing into you even harder the second you call him babe.

You can feel your orgasm building quickly, now completely sure you're gonna finish before him. He pistons into you, hips pressing flush against you, his balls against your ass. He’s no longer pulling all the way out, instead staying deep inside you and grinding his hips harder into you. It's absolutely driving you wild, moans and whines spilling from your lips. You're close, so incredibly close, and there's no way he can’t feel it from his position. He presses his whole being against you, his sweaty chest against you, his forehead pressed against yours.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is even more perfect than you ever could have imagined. And now you see it, the way Adrian could so easily pretend you were actually married. How easily all of this came to you both, how well you knew each other's bodies without ever doing this before. That deeper feeling without a name.

Your fingers move from his back, surely scratched and maybe even a little ripped up from your nails, and to his scalp, to those bouncy curls that you always look for in a crowded room.

“Fuck!” Adrian practically shouts as you pull at them, rutting harder into you even still. That pushes you over the edge, and you barely register the shaking of your legs or the low moan in your throat as your fist tightens in his hair.

“Goddamn,” he chuckles, hands leaving their place on the mattress to cup your cheeks as he lets you come down from your high and finishes off himself. You whine almost pitifully as you can feel the searing heat of him spilling inside you, and he just soothes you with the sweetest kisses you've ever tasted. He stays there a little while, a lot more gentle and intuitive than you expected of him. He wipes away tears you hadn't realized had fallen and he lets you catch your breath.

“My pretty wife,” he sighs, moving slowly as he finally pulls out of you, the sting of his departure and the cool air of the cabin knocking you like a wave.

“Not your wife,” you correct him, but your voice is full of love and exhaustion.

Not your wife, yet, at least. You can't afford to get ahead of yourself, especially not when you work on this team, but you let the thought pass through your mind without punishing yourself at least.

Adrian just laughs, full and boisterous as he pulls you into his chest and holds you there in an iron grip. You think for a moment, that maybe he does that so you won't leave. You weren't planning on it anyway.

“I still wish the camera was on,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“I know, babe,” you mumble, eyes getting heavier.

And then.

“Wait, Adrian, can we circle back to the thing where I don't think you own a smoke detector?”

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase smut #adrian chase fic #vigilante imagine

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darling-i-read-it · 9 months

Note

if you’re still writing for GTA V could i request something where Trevor is dating a girl that’s younger than him/age gap and is in college, total opposite of him. but he is IN LOVE and he absolutely needs to just marry her, tie her down, etc.

i need you to know that age gap in college total opposite is me so this request made me very <3 it made me <3 trevor i love you.

i hope you enjoy!

Smarts? A schedule? A home that isn't a trailer? Someone who kind of knows what they're doing?

Trevor had never known these things before

You and Trevor met when he was in your college town for a job. He was being shitty about it, lingering around the college bars. He had to wear some snazzy outfit in order to fit undercover and he met you.

He was smitten. You were drinking something strong and he asked you to a drinking game. You were kind of drunk and he looked a little better hazy but you were more than happy to comply to a game.

You sweeped the floor with him.

He had never fallen in love so quickly

You both fell asleep on a bench outside. It was freezing when you woke up in the morning. You had lost your jacket. Trevor offered you his. After confirming the two of you didn't sleep together, the relationship was off.

All of your friends thought you were insane!

They met Trevor in passing (he was usually around, in your dorm even though he wasn't supposed to) (commuting with you even though he had no where to go) (always in college bars, bragging about his girlfriends grades)

"He's kind of old?" a friend noted. You were sitting with your computer out, typing furiously. You really had to finish this essay.

"He's got experience."

"He's bald?"

"Not quite."

"Doesn't he live in a trailer?" You peeked over your computer.

"He can budget. Also, the trailer is fun. When I've cleaned it."

"You're like a maid?" You scoffed.

"Trust me, I'm not a maid. We do lots of things other than cleaning."

the insinuation was fucking but you actually did a lot of things. His whole life of crime thing tended to bleed over to you when you came over. He often had a lot of money though which was a win. Tuition was expensive!

Your friends thought he was a sugar daddy. You didn't deny it?

Trevor liked spending all his time with you. He had never known something so special. He had never loved someone so much.

Obviously his next inclination was to tie you down! He wanted marriage! He wanted a honeymoon!

You were still in college, gathering your own personhood. Marriage is not something that was technically on your radar.

Trevor and you spent some time in a hotel (his treat) so you didn't have to hear your roommate complain. You had your head on his lap, looking eagerly at your computer. Homework. So much homework.

He brushed his hand through your hair.

"What are you writing about now?"

"Climate change."

"Is it changing? It was really hot outside today." You snorted, shaking your head. You shut your computer. You could finish it later.

"Just a bit. How is that thing we did last weekend?"

"Oh the Millers score? It's great. We can buy a house."

"But you're buying another hanger?"

"I like planes." You looked up at him, arching your back to do so.

"A house though...so much square feet. So many places to sit. And do other things."

It was defiantly a weird place to be at the college age. He could kill someone for you (he would. he has.) and he also had no idea what you were doing academically. You complained about shitty professors and he almost killed one of them (you explained that would be proactive)

He told everyone ever about you. He bragged about you to strangers. He told Ron. He told Michael.

No one believed him. Like literally...no one

Ron only believed him when he ran into you at the trailer once over a break

You were so kind (and younger and good looking and smart?). Ron didn't really understand the whole thing but when Trevor kissed you you looked so happy.

It may have been a random relationship but it worked so well for the two of you. Yes, it was kind of weird because you were constantly doing homework. He was in crime and made meth! Sometimes opposites attract.

"Are you going out out tonight?" Trevor asked, sitting in your dorms fire escape. Quick exit if he needed it.

"I have one of my 300 classes to study for."

"You should drop out."

"You paid my tuition for this quarter."

"And I am telling you to drop out." You rolled your eyes, looking at him through your lashes. He waited, eagerly. He was wearing some clothes you had gone out and bought together. If you could just convince him to change that haircut. "We should get matching tattoos."

"Trev."

"A heart with an arrow."

"Trev," you said, laughing gently. "I'm busy. Don't you have people to scam?" He took a step in through the window. He gestured outside into the night.

"I have the helicopter on the roof. I could teach you."

"Oh God, do you remember the last time you tired? I'm like..horrendously bad at helicoptering." You could fly the crop duster! But the helicopter had too many things to focus on.

"We can go to Paris." You shut your computer.

"You are gonna make me fail." He hit the window sill.

"I'll pay the tuition for next quarter too."

#trevor philips x reader #trevor philips x fem!reader #gta imagines #gta headcanons

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writercole · 2 months

Text

Dangerous Distraction

Summary: A secret mission. A formal gala. Two agents that hate each other. What could go wrong?

Words: 2105

Warnings: Suggestive dancing, Jake Seresin as a secret agent.

Credits: @princessmisery666 for beta reading this, @ryebecca for being the absolute best hype woman and twin that I could ask for. My ride or dies 💕

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a bit now. I found it when I found the other Jake story and…it was finished too. I hope you enjoy.

The mission couldn’t be worse. Not only was she paired with her worst enemy, they had to make everyone believe that they were a couple on their honeymoon, madly in love with one another. She was a skilled agent, one of the best, but even she had no idea how they would be able to pull it off.

Jake Seresin, code name Hangman, had made his feelings abundantly clear from the moment they were introduced. He thought little of her, making demeaning comments about her abilities, her skills, and her training. Though, he claimed, it was never because she was a woman.

He dismissed every idea or strategy she proposed, often tearing them down publicly, causing a fight that only ended when one of their bosses intervened. He walked away smug, calm, collected while she was visibly seething. On multiple occasions her colleagues pointed out where he wormed his way under her skin, undermined her confidence, and worst of all, she let it affect her; it was then that she decided she hated Jake Seresin.

They had been at the hotel undercover for three days, playing the perfect couple in public, barely speaking behind the room’s closed door. She was grateful for the foresight of the planners to book a suite with a closed off bedroom. She took it over quickly, citing the need for privacy to dress and prepare.

Jake balked at first, whether out of true opposition or the need to be contrary she didn’t know. Regardless, his choice was removed as soon as she slid the doors shut.

Night three happened to be the night of the gala that they had been sent to infiltrate. She was getting dressed, ignoring the way Jake continued to give updates on the time through the closed door. As her lipstick glided across her bottom lip, a knock echoed through her suite.

“How long can it possibly take to get ready?” Jake sassed, “the gala started half an hour ago.”

“Beauty takes time, Hangman,” she replied.

“There isn’t enough time in the day to make you as beautiful as some of the women I’ve seen here,” he muttered under his breath, fidgeting with his watch before he called, “just…hurry up.”

“Why don’t you pull the stick out of your ass and head down to the bar. I’ll meet you there.”

“Fine. But I will handle this without you if you don’t hurry.”

She let out a sigh of relief when the door slammed shut, taking a moment to enjoy the silence before she had to go downstairs to the stuffy ballroom and pretend to be madly in love with a man she detested, one that also despised her.

Jake had been down in the ballroom for ten minutes and had already spotted their target and devised a plan to complete their mission. When another ten minutes had passed with no appearance from his partner, he felt an uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He rested his glass of scotch on the bar and allowed his eyes to sweep over the room again before he went searching for her.

The sounds echoing off of the walls faded to nothing and Jake followed the way everyone’s heads had turned to the door. He stood up straighter while his jaw fell, his gaze raking up and down the body of his partner scanning the crowd.

A blinding smile spit her face in two and she began moving across the room, every gaze following her path.

Jake’s ears picked up the middle of a chord change and realized that the music and conversation hadn’t actually stopped; his senses blocked them out when he caught sight of his partner. Seeing her in a different environment, a formal setting, sparked a reckoning that had not previously crossed his mind.

The beauty that radiated from her stirred a warmth and giddiness in his chest, one that intensified with every step she took towards him. Her smile faded to a smirk and his heart skipped a beat. Jake became intensely aware that in the last minute or two he hadn’t needed to act like the doting newlyweds they were supposed to be.

She was stopped by a man with wavy hair and a mustache before she could make it to Jake’s corner of the bar. He felt an anger rising up as the man brushed a strand of hair back, caressing her bare shoulder as her hand covered her giggle. An unfamiliar sensation washed over him and he abandoned his drink, stalking over with his shoulders back and his chest puffed out.

His arm slipped around her waist as he made it to his date. He pressed a kiss to her temple, cooing, “there you are gorgeous.” His eyes focused on the way she looked up at him, wishing for half a second the desire he saw there was real. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come find you. Actually, I was counting on it. Finding you locked up in our room with alternative plans for the evening.”

“And just who are you?” the mustached man asked, ire and disdain lacing his tone.

“I’m her husband,” Jake answered as his grip on her waist tightened, his fingertips digging into her soft hips. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to make sure my wife knows how beautiful she looks tonight.”

Jake pulled her away to the dance floor, twirling her into his chest as he slipped his hand in hers.

“That was far from subtle, Hangman,” she mumbled quietly.

“Aren’t I supposed to be playing the doting husband?”

“The doting husband doesn’t have to be insanely jealous and try to mark his territory in front of a room full of strangers,” she countered, a smirk crossing her lips as her brows rose in challenge.

“When you look the way you do tonight, any husband would want to mark his territory, doting or not,” he replied sincerely, dipping her low as the song ended.

Her eyes searched his face for a sign, for something, for anything that might clue her in to his actual thoughts. All she found was a softness lingering in his slight smile, a hunger in the narrow eyes that flitted down from her eyes to her lips.

The tempo shifted as a new song began and he pulled her upright, stopping her when she tried to leave the dance floor.

“Jake, I can’t dance to this,” she hissed as he spun her around, pulling her back flush to his chest.

“I can,” he muttered against her neck, sending shivers up her spine. “Follow my lead.” His right foot slipped between hers and kicked them apart, a smirk dancing on his face at the gasp she tried to hide.

Jake led her in a tango, twirling and dipping her, his hands wandering over her body as they moved across the dance floor. She followed his lead fluently, her moves becoming second nature as she leaned into the trust she had for the partner who was surprising her this evening.

A heat built between them, the fire in their eyes as passionate as ever, spreading throughout their bodies with every touch, every glance, every whiff of their scent. By the end of the dance, when Jake had their chests pressed against each other, their panting breaths mingling millimeters from their faces, he could no longer hide the fact that he was attracted to her tonight. The evidence was pressed tightly into her hips.

“Seresin,” she hissed under her breath as his hands gripped her tightly. The crowd around them applauded wildly, all eyes she could see focused on them in the middle of the dance floor.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered, his eyes darting between hers anxiously.

She waited a beat before nodding slightly, feeling the tension in his shoulders release.

“Just a second, then.” His hand slid up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, holding her tighter as his head dipped to her ear. “I have eyes on the target.”

“I’m assuming my six,” she muttered back with a grin.

“He’s at the bar. You step out onto the terrace and block that exit.”

“And let you get all the credit? I don’t -”

“Do you trust me?” he repeated. His grip loosened when she nodded and he led her off the dance floor, pressing a kiss to her temple as they reached the balcony doors. She stepped out of the door and he turned to the bar, letting out a curse as his eyes widened.

The mark had vanished.

The breeze sent shivers up her spine. The entire situation had her on edge. Hangman had a reputation for leaving his partners high and dry and taking all the credit for the mission himself. The soft click of footsteps prompted her to release a tense breath, her shoulders relaxing as she turned. “Jake, I thought -”

She stopped short when she saw their mark, his face adorned with a dark grin.

“I’m sorry to disappoint. But I must say, you look beautiful this evening,” the mark said as he buttoned his jacket.

Two additional men materialized from the shadows and advanced towards her, causing her to take steps backwards. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breathing became labored, gasping for oxygen to fill lungs that fought expansion. There had been no training for a situation where you’re being approached directly on a balcony.

A piece of tape covered her mouth and a black bag draped over her head before she could scream.

The mark disappeared. Jake swore under his breath as he scanned the room again fruitlessly. There was no sign of him anywhere. His eyes widened and he darted for the balcony door. His stomach fell to the floor as he stepped out onto an empty terrace, the lingering smell of her perfume the only sign she had ever been there.

“Shit,” he swore while he pulled out his phone. “Shit fuck fuck shit.”

Dialing a contact, he paced frantically across the small space, counting the steps he took back and forth. One, two, three, four, turn.

“Control.”

“Fucking finally,” Jake barked into the phone. “I need extraction for myself and the location on my partner.”

“I’ll need approval from your mission leader for those,” the tech on the other end of the phone explained.

“No, what you need to do is find her. I think she was taken by the mark.”

Agonizing minutes passed while he waited on hold with control. The sound of a helicopter landing on the rooftop next door drowned out the response of control and spurred Jake into motion. In one swift motion, he climbed onto the iron railing and jumped to the neighboring building, his shoulder taking the brunt of the landing and propelling him into a roll. Pulling his pistol from his holster, he approached the chopper, finding that the occupants had evacuated and left the pilot.

He raised his weapon and stepped into view. “You’re flying me now.”

The pilot looked at him and shrugged, flipping a few switches and handing over a headset as Jake settled into the front seat. “Where to?”

Jake only had an inkling of where the mark would have taken her, and barely a guess as to what they were driving but he had to do something, anything. If he didn’t…well he refused to think about the possibilities.

The duct tape over her mouth chafed as she wiggled her lips, trying to loosen the tape enough to moisten the area and get the tape off. The zip ties they placed around her wrists cut deeply as she shifted. She took deep breaths to counter the rising panic in her chest; she had been trained for this. She knew what to do.

“You really shouldn’t struggle so much. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She couldn’t tell which of her abductors had decided to comment on her escape attempts, but he was on her left. The black cloth they had placed over her face was melting the meticulous makeup she applied before the gala and it pissed her off that she didn’t even get a picture before it was all ruined. Defeated, she slumped back against the seat, her shoulders squeezed between two of the giant men that had taken her hostage.

Her mind reeled with details from her training, what to do, when to do it. She had been in dangerous situations before but this time, something was preventing her from acting.

This time, she was the collateral. This time, she was relying on someone else to rescue her. And that was terrifying.

#cole writes #writercole #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman seresin #secret agent au #undercover au #top gun maverick au #tgm au

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year

Text

Call Me Mrs. Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: not many, very brief mentions of death and some minor violence- this story is mostly just sassy arguing tbh

Genre: fluff

Summary: You have never gotten along with one Steve Rogers, at this point the rest of the team considers it a win if you two don't speak to each other for an entire day, at least then you aren't fighting. So when a briefing meeting results in you getting paired on an extended mission with him you are less than thrilled. It won't be easy but you're determined to get through it and who knows what'll happen.

***

You check your watch as you walk down the halls of the Avengers tower heading towards the meeting room. When you push open the door everyone turns to look at you.

"Y/n. So nice of you to join us." Steve snarks at you from the front of the room.

"Oh I'm sorry were you waiting for me? I would've taken longer if I knew." You say lazily as you plop into a seat next to Wanda who has to hide her snicker at your words. Steve rolls his eyes at you but doesn't bother trying to retort. Your relationship with him always been somewhat contentious. You assume it's because he's a square.

"Now that everyone's here we can get started." Steve says passing out the briefing folders. You flip yours open and scan the words quickly as he begins talking.

"Alright, here's the situation; this is our target, Dusan Müller. Hydra scientist. Our sources say he's been hiding in a small town somewhere outside of central Italy." Steve explains.

"That's very nonspecific." You scoff.

"We've narrowed it down to one of five we simply need to check them out and find him and assuming he has help we need to do it without raising suspicion."

"So, espionage? Someone's going undercover?" Nat asks.

"That's the plan." He nods.

"Who's going and what's their cover?" Bucky asks.

"Based on some research we've done the most solid undercover would probably be a newlywed couple." Tony says.

"Wait what?" Wanda frowns.

"A few of the towns are travel hotspots for 'unconventional honeymoons'. A new couple touring Europe is least likely to raise questions. At the very least it'll take a while before anyone realizes the truth." He explains.

"Sooooo who are our newlyweds?" Nat prompts again.

"That's what we're going to figure out now." Steve says.

"You haven't decided yet?" You frown.

"There are a lot of factors. A discussion makes the most sense so we can account for as many as possible." He forces out through clenched teeth.

"Well y/n and I have tons of espionage experience." Nat says.

"We could always go together." You wink at her.

"And Steve's one of the strongest fighters." Wanda says.

"He's a lanky scientist will we need brute strength really?" You ask.

"Again we don't know who is helping so if he's not isolateable we might." Tony says.

"Well if we're listing them off Bucky's a pretty strong choice for top fighters too." You point out.

"Anyone helping a Hydra scientist would for sure notice me though, plus with the metal arm I might- draw more attention, because jackets in the middle of summer on a honeymood would be weird." Bucky explains shaking his head.

"I'd go but the whole billionaire playboy thing I wouldn't wanna risk being recognized." Tony shrugs.

"Where are Bruce and Clint? Are they not available for this mission?" Wanda asks suddenly.

"They are not. Other tasks are occupying their time." Tony tells her. "If you ask me I suggest Rogers and y/n go." He adds.

"Fuck off Stark." You roll your eyes.

"Actually based on my calculations the most favorable pairing for this mission is Captain Steve Rogers and Miss Y/n Y/l/n." Vision says. It's the first thing he's said the whole meeting, you'd almost forgotten he was in the room.

"What?" You scoff.

"No." Steve says at the same time.

"Vis, you might want to recalculate that one because the only thing we are most favorable for is driving each other crazy." You cross your arms.

"Miss Romanova is the only other member of the team as skilled in this area as you y/n, however, the chances of her being recognized are higher as you fight with a mask and she does not. Similarly, as Mr. Barnes has explained, his reputation as the Winter Soldier proceeds him, and it is an unnecessary risk to send him. Mr. Stark also has quite the reputation and I am a synthezoid that would also draw attention, leaving Captain Rogers the least conspicuous partner for you."

"And Wanda or Sam?" You ask.

"It is my understanding that Sam will be indisposed during part of the proposed timeframe and Wanda lacks proficiency in the skillset needed to successfully pull this off. It would be nothing short of foolish to test her undercover capabilities with such a high-stakes mission." Vision says.

"Fine." You relent. "I'll go undercover with Rogers if you insist it is the most advantageous option." You grumble.

"I can't believe this is happening." Steve shakes his head.

"When do we leave?" You ask.

"Tomorrow at noon."

"Feels a little short noticed for an extended mission don't you think?" You frown.

"I'm sorry will that be an inconvenience to your schedule?" The question is dripping with sarcasm.

"It's got fuck all to do with my schedule and everything to do with the protocol that this doesn't follow."

"What do you know about protocol?" Steve scoffs. You stand up sharply.

"First of all I've been going on missions for longer than you've been active in the 21st century secondly I've been on this team long enough to know there are protocols we follow for these things."

"Extenuating circumstances required us to work around protocol because we can't waste time."

"And that's all you had to say but instead you wanted to be petty and make me seem like a spoiled brat because I asked a valid question! Maybe nobody else will bother because it's not their mission but since I have to leave I sure as hell will question things as necessary."

"Or don't. You have your directives. You could try just following them."

"You would do well to remember, Captain, I am not one of your little soldiers. Around here we don't just blindly follow orders. I've watched that shit get people killed too many times."

"Alright let's all just calm-"

"I will see you on the launch pad tomorrow at noon. If you need me before then, don't." You cut off whatever Sam was going to say. You grab your briefing folder and storm out of the room angrily. It's not long after that Wanda and Natasha come into your room where you're shoving clothes into your duffle bag angrily.

"So, how do you plan to play husband and wife with someone that makes you want to commit a crime every time he speaks?"

"I'm gonna act. As if my life depends on it. Because it kinda does." You sigh. "Look I'm going to do my job and I will do it well, personal feelings aside. What do you even pack for a fake honeymoon in Europe?"

"Lingerie."

"Natasha!" You glare at her.

"Not for use, but if somebody ends up in your bags you want it to look like you're on honeymoon with a man you love, so a couple pairs of cute underwear couldn't hurt." She explains with a shrug.

"Honestly I think you should try to make a connection with him on some level. Find common ground to make this mission easier on you both. It would be good for the team in the future as well." Wanda says.

"No thank you." You shake your head.

"Wanda you're a genius I'm texting Sam." Natasha says.

"No. Why would you do that?" You frown.

"He's friends with Steve, maybe he'll have some insight on how to keep you from killing each other before you return." Natasha says.

"Dude I'm just trying to pack!" You huff.

"And we're trying to make sure any injuries sustained on this mission are not a result of infighting." She shrugs.

"I would never jeopardize a mission that way and you know that Nat." You point at her. Your door swings open again and Sam comes strolling in with Bucky in tow.

"Alright what're the girls gettin up to?" He asks.

"That took you a concerningly short amount of time to get here." You mutter.

"I brought Bucky too." Sam says.

"Why?"

"Well I figured this was gonna have to do with Steve and since he's the certified record-holding pal of our captain- couldn't hurt to have his input." Sam shrugs.

"I am just trying to pack and these two are in here chatting away. So join the party I guess." You mutter tossing more things on your bed.

"How long do you think you two will be gone?" Wanda asks.

"Hopefully no more than a week, but I'll pack enough for a couple days longer than that. Plus I know how to wash my clothes." You shrug.

"Anyway! Guys, we think y/n could benefit from finding some common ground with Steve and who better to ask than his boys!" Natasha explains to them.

"'We' being her and Wanda I have no interest in any of this actually." You clarify.

"Steve is- not a complex man." Bucky shrugs.

"No not complex just exasperating." You roll your eyes.

"Is there- a particular reason why you hate him so much?" Sam asks with a smirk.

"I don't hate him-"

"EURIKA!" He gasps and you shoot a confused look at him.

"You don't hate him?" Bucky hums.

"If I hated him nothing Vision said in that meeting room would convince me to do this mission. I don't even know if I'd be on the team with him if I felt that strongly about him." You explain. "Rogers is just such a stiff. He sees the world in a specific way and expects most things to adhere to that worldview. When they don't he gets naggy. It's aggravating."

"So, just to clarify; you do not hate him." Sam says.

"No. I don't. He's just boring and we don't get along because I don't like boring people and the way he talks to me is fucking rude. As if it's my fault that he's insipid." You scoff.

"Honestly that- feels like a start." Bucky nods.

"A start for what, exactly? I'm not the problem. We can't find common ground if he's not willing to lighten up."

"I mean if you're together for an entire week he can't be stuffy the entire time, right?" Sam shrugs.

"I don't care if he's stuffy the whole time. It's not a vacation. We don't need to have fun being a fake couple." You say.

"Honestly I think this mission will be good for your relationship with Steve. We're all on a team it's not good for you to fight with him all the time." Wanda says.

"This is feeling oddly intervention-like. Save it y'all, I just want to do my job and bring in this hydra creep." You say.

"It's not meant to be interventional, we just want to make this easier for you." She sighs.

"I don't really need it to be easier but I appreciate the attempt. Sammy, Bucky go about your business please and thank you." You sigh folding the last of your clothes and shoving them in your large travel duffle.

"Good luck this week lady." Bucky nudges you before tugging Sam out of your room.

"Are you kicking us out too?" Natasha smirks.

"At this point I should, but you don't listen anyway." You roll your eyes. You toss your travel toiletries bag into the duffle and couple of other travel essentials, a book, your mission suit, and some extra combat equipment, things of that nature and by the time you're done packing you, Wanda, and Nat have made plans for dinner later in the evening.

~*~*~

When you wake up the next morning you put on a sundress, chosen by Wanda who insisted if you were going to convince anyone you're on a honeymoon you need to look like you would on a date. After a nice breakfast, you grab your duffle from your room and stroll out to the helipad where Steve is already waiting with his arms crossed.

"You're late." Steve grunts as you approach.

"No I'm not. You said we leave at noon. It's noon now."

"We leave at noon means get here before."

"I told you I'd meet you here at noon. You can complain about the semantics of my arrival all you want but you're wasting the time you're so upset about me not adhering to." You say walking past him to get into the quinjet taking you into Europe. Steve stomps onto the jet behind you joining you at the front of the jet. You try not to laugh at the deep frown on his face as he prepares you for takeoff.

"We'll land in Italy where a truck is loaded up for us to take the rest of the way to our first town, and we'll be using the truck to get from town to town." Steve tells you.

"Yeah sure." You mutter grabbing your briefing file to read over again. You always read the information more than once to find anything valuable.

"Did you not- read the whole file yet?" He glances in your direction.

"Of course I did. I'm rereading. We've got like six hours to kill on this jet." You roll your eyes. You feel his gaze on you as you read but you ignore it and eventually he turns his attention back to the controls of the jet. It's in autopilot now but you're sure he'll spend the entire flight glaring at the instruments to make sure nothing goes wrong.

Once you land, you shove the folder into the bottom of your duffle and sling the bag over your shoulder beating Steve to the three agents meeting you at the landing site.

"Hello miss y/l/n." One of them nods to you.

"Hi y'all." You smile at her.

"This will be your transportation for the duration of your trip. There are supplies and gear tucked under the backseat and a radio to contact us if necessary in the center console and your passports are in the glove box." The same agent details to you, pointing to a silver fiat pickup truck. When Steve joins you one of the other agents tosses him the keys.

"We're good to go?" Steve asks the first agent.

"All set, like I was telling miss y/l/n there's emergency supplies and a radio stashed in the vehicle and your destinations are programmed into the GPS system." She nods.

"Is that such a good idea?" You ask with a frown.

"The truck is Stark tech it only says fiat to blend in because they're common in Italy but, nobody's gonna be able to track you with it, or even plot your route. It's biometrically activated." She explains.

"That's better." You nod. You throw your bag into the back of the truck and climb into the passenger seat. You grab your passport out of the glovebox the name on it says Alissa Rogers and Steve's says Grant.

"We'll be in touch." Steve nods one last time before loading his stuff in and settling into the driver's side. He pulls off quickly and you watch as the scenery changes the further you drive towards the small town you'll be staying in.

"Hope you brushed up on your Italian. You're less likely to find English speakers in the countryside like this." You say opening a snack you'd brought along in case you got hungry before you could get food.

"Tony assured me the place he booked was tourist friendly." Steve mumbles.

"I mean sure but what if you have to talk to the locals? Or will that be up to me?"

"As if you speak Italian." He scoffs.

"I speak several languages actually. Side effect of being trained to be an international spy." You shrug and Steve doesn't have a rebuttal for that so he focuses on driving and you munch away on your snacks. A short while later you make it to the small inn you'll be staying at. It's cozy looking, exactly what you'd expect for the town you drove into. It looks like the kind of place where most of the people know each other. With your bag tossed across your back, you follow Steve into the inn where he grabs the attention of the woman at the desk.

"Excuse me, hi we're looking to check in. We have a reservation. Should be under Rogers, first name Grant." Steve says smoothly with a charming smile.

"Oh yes you booked a honeymoon package!" The woman gushes happily as she types away at her keyboard. You have to refrain from reacting when she says that. Looks like it's showtime.

"Yeah we just got married, we're traveling through Europe for our honeymoon." You tell her with a fake dreamy look on your face. You even wrap your hands around Steve's arm affectionately.

"Oooo traveling through Europe! Sounds so exciting and romantic." The woman beams.

"It has been so far! We're still very early into our plans but, so far it's been everything I've dreamed of and more." You sigh softly. The woman lets out a barely there squeal about how cute you are and how lovely newlyweds tend to be before sliding your room keys onto the desk.

"Here are your keys cara mia! Try to rest if he allows." She winks at you and you laugh although the innuendo in her statement makes Steve stiffen beside you.

"Grazie! Oh! Do you have any food suggestions, we've been driving for a while to get here." You ask her.

"Ah most people cook around here but there's Nino's! It's the best place nearby. I'll give you the address." She quickly scribbles the address onto some spare paper she has at the desk and hands it to you.

"Thanks so much, ma'am. Have a good night." Steve finally finds his voice to bid the kind nonna farewell before leading you off with a hand at your back.

"Oh what a sweet old lady." You smile as you walk up the stairs to find your room.

"You settled into the lovestruck newlywed thing very quick." Steve observes.

"Well yeah, this isn't my first rodeo and honestly hopelessly in love is not even close to the hardest part I've had to play on a mission." You scoff.

"Clearly, you're very good at this."

"Yeah that's probably why Vision thought I'd be best for the job." You shrug unlocking your room and tossing your bag to the side.

"There's- only one bed." Steve points out with wide eyes.

"Of course there is. We're supposed to be a newlywed couple on our honeymoon, why would we have a room with two beds?"

"Well I can call down for extra blankets and set up on the floor or-"

"Don't be ridiculous. If you want to sleep in the bed it's king sized, I'm sure we can manage to share." You scoff.

"I just figured it'd be easier if we-"

"It's not a big deal to me Rogers, the main thing is if someone like came to the door and saw pillows and blankets set up on the floor it would hurt the hopelessly devoted story we're trying to sell."

"Hopelessly devoted?" He frowns.

"It's a song from Grease, an old 70s movie. Don't worry about it. Point is, it'll be odd if anyone sees you set up on the floor. Unless you prefer sleeping on straight wood." You shrug.

"I don't." He frowns.

"So don't make it a thing. Which by the way, you kept Rogers for this mission?"

"Yeah, Tony figured it was common enough that it wouldn't matter. Grant's my middle name."

"Hm, interesting. Well, I'm Alissa, apparently. Should we check out that restaurant the nonna suggested?"

"You feel like going to dinner?"

"I mean she said most folks around here cook so tomorrow I'll hit some of the street stands and you can try asking around subtly for any information on our target."

"Shouldn't you do the asking around? I mean what happens when I end up talking to someone that doesn't speak English?"

"You can introduce them to your gorgeous Italian speaking wife, or hope they have nothing important to say." You shrug. "I think you can handle it. You coming with me to get something to eat or not dude?"

"Uh yeah I guess."

The two of you have a semi awkward dinner playing the happy in love couple for anyone that walks pass while not really talking to each other. When you return to your room you take turns showering and getting ready for bed without saying a word to each other.

"Do you care what side you sleep on?" Steve eventually asks.

"Not particularly."

"Then I will take the side by the door. If that's okay?" Steve suggests.

"If that's what you want. Sure." You shrug tossing the comforter back and getting under it on your designated side. Why he's acting so awkward about the whole thing makes no sense to you but honestly most of his actions make no sense to you. Curled up on one side of the bed you quickly fall asleep, all the travel has certainly tired you out.

Light peaking through the curtain slowly pulls you from sleep in the morning. As you gain consciousness you get more aware of a weight across your body. A weight that doesn't move even as you shift in bed. It's an arm, attached to a body, that's apparently close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from it and the realization makes you scramble out of bed so suddenly you wake Steve too.

"You don't strike me as a cuddly sleeper Rogers." You clip. You can see in his eyes that he's struggling for a response but you grab your duffle and rush into the bathroom before he can find one. You get yourself together and leave pretty quickly with a comment to Steve about making sure he does what you agreed on when he gets on with his day.

With a tote in hand, you scan the different stands in town stopping to buy various produce and things. By the time you'd settled in yesterday and doubled back out for dinner most of the town had gone quiet, it's nice to see everyone out now and survey things. When you're looking at some bracelets at one shop, you overhear a conversation between the woman behind the counter and someone sitting off to the side near her. They're speaking in Italian but you clearly catch one of them gushing about the increase in handsome foreigners in their small town. You giggle a bit, loud enough for them to notice.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interject." You smile apologetically, speaking to them in Italian. "I just caught the last bit of your conversation and well, I take it you've met my husband is all."

"The American is your husband?" One of them gasps.

"Yes he is. Was he here?" You ask her.

"Briefly, he said he was looking for 'trinkets' for friends." The one behind the counter says to you. She says trinkets in English with a confused scrunch of her nose.

"Sounds like him. Do you see a lot of Americans here?" You ask.

"No not Americans often. There was a really handsome German here a couple of days ago." She shakes her head.

"German? Really?" You blink.

"Oh yeah, I remember him. He was tall and thin with a beard and big round glasses and his eyes were bright, almost yellow." The seated woman says.

"Yeah! He didn't talk much but he was much friendlier by the time he left and he spoke with a heavy accent." The lady behind the register adds.

"Was he here long?"

"Probably around 3 weeks." The woman at the register says.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Well he asked me where the next town to us was, even had me point it out on a map." She tells you.

"Interesting. Must be nice to see new faces sometimes. I'll take these two bracelets." You say placing two items on the counter. With all that chatting you definitely need to buy something before leaving, plus they're so cute you're sure Wanda will love them. The woman checks you out and after a bit more looking around, you head back to your hotel. There's a kitchen on the main floor that you can use to prepare food since that's the norm, plus with this information you'll probably be on your way in the morning. When you return to your room, Steve isn't there, which is fine, you take advantage of the empty suite to take a long hot shower. Eventually you step out and put on lotion before stepping out into the room to grab your clothes.

"You take incredibly long showers." Steve's voice makes you jump as you notice him at the desk in the corner.

"Holy fucking hell." You hiss clutching your chest.

"Forgot you shared this room?"

"No, you weren't here when I got back, hence the long shower, and I didn't realize you were back." You huff, using your towel as a cover you pull on your underwear and shorts. Steve's head is focused on whatever he's reading over at the desk so you let the towel drop to put on your sleep shirt with your back to him.

"You should really pay better attention to your surroundings." Steve mutters.

"Fuck off." You scoff.

"I'm just saying you should totally have noticed I was in here before I spoke."

"Who cares man? Did you find anything interesting out today?"

"Not much, I talked to some guys about visitors but none of them had a lot to say, just that sometimes they come."

"Well I heard a German man was here for around three weeks before asking for directions to the next town over."

"Really? Where did you hear that?"

"Some women in a jewelry store."

"And you think this is legit?"

"I mean it's just street gossip so I don't have a way to verify really but it's definitely a promising lead."

"You're sure it's the right man? I mean 'a German' doesn't exactly scream Müller was here."

"Well I couldn't slap a photo in front of them and ask for clarification but they described him as tall and thin with a beard and big round glasses and bright 'almost yellow' eyes. I dunno I'd say that's a pretty close match if you ask me."

"You found information pretty quickly."

"There are very few things that transcend language, borders, gender et cetera, one of them is that people like to gossip. You find the right people and ask the right questions they will tell you any and everything."

"Then we need to move."

"In the morning."

"Why would we not move now? We have a lead we shouldn't let it go cold."

"If the women from the shop were telling the truth chances are he'll be there a couple weeks before we have to worry about him moving. I think we can afford to start fresh in the morning. Plus we don't have a plan. If we move now it's impulsive and foolish."

"We have a plan, find this guy and apprehend him."

"That's not a plan that's an objective. How do we find him Rogers? And how do we move when we do find him? Are you implying we just tackle him in the middle of town if that's where we see him? I mean even a half-baked skeleton of an idea is better than absolutely nothing." You roll your eyes.

"Do you have a plan you'd like to propose?" He glares at you.

"No, that's why I'm saying we wait til morning. So we have time to come up with one. He's probably going to be there for a couple weeks, we have 8 hours to spare."

"You don't know that."

"Obviously I don't, but he doesn't know we're looking for him he has no reason to rush out of there. If he was here for 3 weeks why would he leave there in 2 days?"

"Fine! We will leave tomorrow morning. Bright and early. 8am."

"Yes sir, drill sergeant." You say with a mock salute. "I'm going to make food downstairs, would you like some?"

"Trying to poison me?"

"If I were, you wouldn't know until it was too late." You smile.

"In that case, I'll pass."

"Suit yourself. If you wanna make yourself something, there are more groceries." You shrug grabbing a few things you need before leaving the room. You make yourself dinner and sit in the lobby to eat, chatting with the woman at the desk, it's the same nonna who checked you in so you offer her some food while you talk. Eventually, you head back up to your room where Steve is still hunched over the desk.

"Okay. So when we get there tomorrow we need to focus on finding him while keeping a low profile so we can figure out the most effective way to apprehend him." Steve says.

"Do we have an extraction plan?"

"I mean I've thought of a couple ways to go about it, if he's in a lodging situation, like this one, we should try for stealth. Moving at night would be the safest choice, to minimize the likelihood of civilian endangerment. If he's staying somewhere alone, apprehension isn't super important, if he's staying somewhere with someone I'd say again stealth is-"

"That's fine I guess but not at all what I meant. Do we have a plan for getting us and him back to the US? Because this was expected to take at least a week and at this rate, we'll be ready to move in like half that time."

"I... will contact the team when we're on the road in the morning and we'll plan our apprehending around how quickly they can mobilize." Steve says.

"Good." You say crawling into bed with a book. You put on music and read quietly while Steve does, who knows what at the desk. He eventually gets up and shuffles into the bathroom. You hear the shower running for a while before he comes out in shorts, using a towel to dry his hair. You barely glance up from your novel as he pads around the room. You don't speak with Steve for the rest of the night. You read, and he does whatever he does until you both eventually turn in at different times.

The next morning you wake to the sound of shuffling around you and when you open your eyes Steve is darting around the room.

"Good. You're awake. Get up and get ready so we can leave." Steve says curtly.

"What's the matter Stevie? Not much of a morning person?" You snark back without getting out of bed.

"I looked it up, the drive we're in for is almost four hours. The sooner we get on the road the better so we can actually get this done. Which means I need you to get up so we can get out of here."

"Sounds to me like you need a Snickers." You snort.

"Excuse me?" His head snaps to you with narrowed eyes.

"A snickers, you know, the candy bar- their slogan is 'you're not you when you're hungry' I'm making a joke about you being cranky- I cannot believe I just had to explain that to you. You really are a grumpy old man, you'd give Scrooge a run for his money sheesh." You scoff, finally pushing yourself out of bed.

"Are you just going to make silly pop culture references all day?" He rolls his eyes.

"Who knew you'd be such a Grinch so early."

"So that's a yes? The Grinch is a Christmas movie."

"So is Scrooge but they're grumpy all year round it's just worse around the holidays. Which begs the question, is the attitude just for little ol me, or does the Italian countryside always make you this prickly?" You smirk.

"Just. Get. Dressed." He says through clenched teeth. You roll your eyes at his grumbly attitude and grab your clothes to change in the bathroom.

"There's some fruit amongst the groceries by the way. I suggest you have one, might put some pep in your step." You taunt before shutting your bathroom door.

"It won't be so bad! Maybe you'll find a way to connect with him! Steve's not a complex man." You mock all your friends in the mirror as you put yourself together. "Complex?! God, I wish! He's about as complex as a cardboard box with half the personality. Honestly if only he were complex that'd be so much easier." You rant to yourself. "Thank the stars the universe practically dropped this guy's location in our lap because there is no way I'd survive a week with this guy." You grumble. You change your clothes and brush your teeth letting out one more deep breath before leaving the bathroom.

"Alright. Ready to go when you are." You say tossing your things into your bag and zipping it up.

"Good. Let's go." Steve grabs his bag and practically storms out of your hotel room without a second thought. You pick up your duffle and what's left of the produce you brought and trot down to the lobby where Steve's already checking you out.

"Hello!" You smile at the woman behind the desk.

"Hello darling! So sad to see you go so soon!" She smiles at you.

"We'd love to stay longer but there's so much to see and not nearly enough hours of our trip." You say wrapping your arm around Steve's and resting your head on his shoulder dreamily "Isn't that right Grant?" You sigh.

"Yeah! We've got so many plans! But the stay here has been lovely." Steve says smiling at you with kindness that even you almost believe is sincere. It makes you want to put ten feet between you and you have to force yourself not to react outwardly. With one last goodbye to the woman at the counter, you and Steve leave the hotel and load your things into your truck. As soon as Steve starts driving he uses the communication system to contact Tony.

"Rogers. Status report?"

"We have a lead that we're following and need to know how quickly we can be extracted from Italy if we've successfully located the target." Steve tells him.

"Have you located the target?" Tony asks.

"I spoke to a woman that says she gave our target directions to another town over so we suspect he'll be there." You interject.

"What if he's moved?" Tony asks.

"Well based on what the woman said, he was around for a few weeks before he left so I think it's safe to say he's likely still there." You say.

"We can extract you as quickly as tonight if you're able to apprehend the target."

"That would be-"

"Too soon. Can you plan for an extraction tomorrow morning?" You cut Steve off and he shoots you a glare momentarily.

"Tomorrow morning?" Tony clarifies.

"Yes. Assuming our lead is correct we'll be ready to go early in the morning." You say.

"Yeah sure. We'll get you a jet and leave it in a holding pattern. Say, 6am?" Tony asks.

"That should give us enough time. If something changes we'll let you know." You say. Tony mumbles an affirmative before disconnecting and you put your headphones on for the remainder of the drive with your head in your book. When the four hour drive ends and Steve pulls up to where you'll be staying you push open the door and hop out of the truck. Steve sorts out your room with the owner of the small hotel you're staying in and practically slams the door when you're in your room.

"Why would you tell Tony to set us up for tomorrow and not tonight? If they could be ready tonight we should take tonight!"

"I thought we were on the same mission but it appears that you are somewhere else because we don't even know where this man is. We just got here and even if we walked outside and saw him right now we can't exactly snatch him in the middle of the day. What happened to that spiel about 'stealth to minimize the likelihood of endangering civilians'? If they plan to extract us tonight that is not a reasonable timeframe and I'm sure you know that. You're just picking fights for no reason." You roll your eyes. Not to mention he waited hours to bring it back up- who stews this long over a departure time?

"Eight hours seems like a pretty reasonable timeframe for me. My fault for overestimating your capabilities."

"If you think I couldn't do this shit in eight hours you're smoking. On my own, I'd have no problem with an eight hour timeline but we are not the team that can be rushing into a mission like this when we don't know what the details are. Honestly Rogers whatever your fucking problem is table it. We have someone to find and we're pretty far from the landing pad so we need to be done and on our way in like twelve hours. I am going to start tracking down our target so we can actually arrest this guy. Skulk in here if you want." You grab your sunglasses and (mostly prop) tote bag and leave Steve in your room. You can't fathom why Steve is annoyed that you asked for a few extra hours to make sure you can actually complete this mission but that's his problem. The sun feels nice on your skin as you walk around surveying people from behind your big sunglasses. When you walk into a small cafe after some time and scan the few customers you almost miss the face you've memorized from your briefing file. He's sitting in a corner eating with a newspaper. You order something small to not raise suspicion and eat it quickly before exiting the shop. There are lots of places to give you a vantage point of the cafe's entrance so you pick one and wait out of sight for Müller to come out. Eventually, he strolls out of the cafe and turns left so carefully, using buildings as cover, you follow Müller for some time. He doesn't stop anywhere until he comes to a small house at basically the edge of town. You watch the house for a while hoping that he'll leave for you to check it out a bit closer. When it starts to pass a half hour you ruffle through your tote for one of the random prototype gadets Tony's always giving you to test out. One of the things is a little box holding a buglike device. You remember him explaining this one, it's supposed to do surveillance. You open the box and turn it on, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket indicating it's connected. You locate an open window and release the camera bug towards Müller's house, making sure it gets inside before heading back to your hotel to make a plan.

"What have you been doing for the last two hours?" Steve asks as soon as you walk back into your room.

"Tracking Müller. Like I said I would. Did you just sit and sulk?"

"No." Steve glares. "Did you find him?"

"Yes I did. It looks like he's staying alone too." You say passing your phone to Steve for him to see the footage from the bug camera.

"Wait you planted a camera?"

"I saw him in town and followed him til he ended up at this house. Then I used one Tony's little doodads. It's a camera the size of a bug that can fly like one too."

"So you know where this is?"

"Yes I do. It's practically at the edge of town. We should have no problem getting to him later."

"Okay." He nods. "Alright so here's what we'll do. We'll track him with this camera til nightfall and then we'll go get him. It should be quick, sneak in knock him out and get him loaded into the truck."

"Yeah okay." You nod, taking your phone back from Steve. Periodically you check the camera bug that follows Müller around his temporary home over the next several hours. Just before the sun goes down, you notice something odd when you're checking the footage. Müller's moving frantically about, it looks like- he's packing.

"Müller's on the move." You say grabbing the keys to the truck and rushing out of your hotel. Steve runs out behind you.

"Y-Alissa wait!" Steve calls as you start the truck and he almost doesn't get in quick enough as you pull away. "Geez y/n where's the fire?" He asks.

"It looks very much like Müller is about to get the hell outta dodge. We need to move now." You say.

"Wait a second this is very much not what we were planning to-"

"Yeah well that's gonna have to change the man is packing his bags as we speak."

"Are you sure that's what you saw I mean-"

"Rogers argue with me later." You grumble out. Driving, the trip to Müller's is much shorter and you're there in only a few minutes. You hop out immediately even as Steve calls for you to give it a minute. No way are you letting him get away when he's right here. You burst into the small home, that's really just one room and shock the man inside so hard he almost trips. He's quick to get his barings though and lunges at you, grabbing a kitchen knife on his way towards you. You dodge him pretty easily even though he weilds the knife much better than you'd expect of a labcoat. He manages a couple scratches before disarm him and take him down with a plate to the head.

"Dammit y/n. I told you to wait." Steve grits out angrily as you drag Müller towards the truck that's still running.

"What's the big deal? We got our guy." You shrug, folding Müller into the backseat awkwardly."

"Maybe you were too busy charging like a bull to notice that we've drawn attention." He hisses.

"So let's hit the fucking road." You roll your eyes and climb into the passenger seat of the car. Steve lets out an angry huff but gets in the driver side and begins your trip back to the launch pad in central Italy. It'll take you most of the night to get there but you let Tony know to expedite the jet since you'll definitely be there before 6am. At some point, you have to sedate Müller when he starts to groan in the back seat. By the time you make it to the launch pad, agents are waiting with the jet.

"Agent y/l/n, Captain Rogers. Welcome back." One of the agents nods at you both when you exit the truth.

"Hey Jackson. Müller's in the backseat- mind grabbing him for me?" You smile as you tug your duffle out of the car.

"Of course." He nods opening the back door and hauling Müller's still unconscious body from the truck to the jet with ease.

"I could've handled that." Steve says to you.

"Who cares? I probably could've handled it too but we have bags to grab and the fewer trips the better." You roll your eyes.

"The jet's fueled and prepped for takeoff and our reports indicate clear weather so it should be smooth travels." Agent Jackson says to you, although Steve is likely going to monopolize flying.

"Thanks. Then I guess we'll be off." You say heading onto the jet. You toss your bag down and take a moment to secure Müller to the seat he's in at the back of the jet while Steve talks to the agents for a few minutes before following you into the aircraft.

"Make sure he's secure." Steve tosses at you as he passes.

"No shit Sherlock." You roll your eyes, getting into your seat up front next to him and strapping yourself in as he prepares to fly.

"If he wakes midair we don't wanna worry about him ambushing us."

"First of all what're the chances that guy would even be able to take us both? Secondly, I'm not an idiot, he's chained to that seat. Even if he wakes up he's not going anywhere." You scoff.

"To your question; better safe than sorry."

"Yeah whatever." You mutter.

"Not whatever, in fact, speaking of, you were extremely reckless last night." Steve says sternly.

"I was instinctive."

"Oh please. You rushed over there without a plan, ignored my instructions, and charged in carelessly. What if he was armed? Not to mention the fact that people noticed that something was going on. You could've gotten somebody hurt."

"First of all he was armed technically and as you can see, not a scratch on me so can it. You saw just as well as I did that he was packing his things Rogers, the man was about ready to flee and we could not lose him."

"We had a plan-"

"Plans change Rogers its not the end of the world."

"It is when you put people at risk dang it. If you had just followed-"

"If I didn't move when I did we could've missed our chance entirely. He wouldn't be here if I followed 'the plan' that didn't account for a frantic relocation of our target. I made sure the mission got done and the only person at risk was myself which would be the case regardless because that comes with the territory."

"You-"

"God are you two married or something?" Müller's voice shocks you even as you and Steve respond immediately.

"NO!" You shout together.

"You argue like a couple." Müller muses.

"You are so very wrong about that assumption." You scoff.

"Well I was only pointing out-"

"Don't. As a matter of fact if you speak again Müller you'll spend the remainder of this flight strapped to the outside of the jet like a cannoe."

"Can you even do that?"

"Do you really wanna find out?" You glare at him. That effectively shuts him up and cuts your argument with Steve short so the rest of your flight is flown in silence. When you land, it's you who unchains Müller from his seat and puts him cuffs to drag him out of the jet.

"Thank God that's over, the tension between you and the obstinate man was getting unbearable." Müller says.

"Whatever you were sensing was not tension. We barely get along." You roll your eyes.

"Does he know that?"

"Excuse me?"

"When you aren't paying attention he looks at you as if you're responsible for the stars in the sky."

"Those glasses of yours must be the wrong prescription." You scoff.

"You may think me many things but a fool should never be one. You might not agree but some things are easier to observe as an outsider."

"When it comes to people I'd take advice from a Nazi scientist is absolutely not on the list so please save it." You say.

"Y/n! We'll take him from here." An agent grabs your attention as you make it to the building. The walk from the helipad has never felt so long.

"Consider what I said." Müller says as he's dragged off.

"What he said?" Steve frowns from behind you.

"Just- mindless blathering." You grumble walking off to your room. You are not about to let some idiot you just met with no idea who you are get in your head about something he absolutely does not understand.

"Y/N! YOU'RE BACK!" Wanda bursts into your room just after you've closed he door.

"You are- always the first to find me." You chuckle as she throws her arms around you.

"I missed you so much! I almost called you like five times."

"Wanda I was only gone for like four days." You laugh.

"And the HBIC has returned." Natasha strolls in and sits on your bed.

"Hello to you too Nat." You chuckle.

"So? How was it?" Wanda asks.

"Well I didn't shove a dagger between his shoulderblades." You shrug and Natasha laughs.

"Oh come on, that can't be all you've got to say." Wanda scoffs.

"Honestly Wanda not stabbing him in the spine is a pretty raving review for a mission where I had to pretend to be his honeymooning wife."

"Did you even have to play the loving couple?" Natasha asks.

"Well when we got to the first place the woman checking us in was a lovely old Italian woman who was very interested in the fact that we were honeymooning so around her we did have to do the hand holding and dreamy sighing for her sake." You shrug.

"You made it back pretty quickly." Natasha points out.

"I'm efficient." You shrug.

"What does that mean?" Wanda asks.

"It means I tracked down Müller with the help of some gossiping women in town and good old fashion espionage then I made sure he didn't get away once we found him by apprehending him when I realized he was definitely about to vacate. Much to Steve's dismay apparently."

"His dismay?" Wanda frown.

"He lectured me twice because we had a plan and I had to make a change last minute when I saw the guy frantically packing his bags on our little surveillance bug."

"Wait so what was his problem?" Natasha frowned.

"We had a plan and I couldn't follow it. If I'd listened to him we totally would've lost Müller all together. He just hates when he's not the one calling the shots. It's like any decision I make that's not his idea is wrong. I know I said I don't hate him but man does he make it hard to believe that."

"The way you butt heads- I can't believe you made it home and in four days no less." Nat shakes her head.

"Like I said I'm efficient. And personal feelings will never stop me from completing a mission. You can say lots of things about me but you'd be lying if you said I don't do my job well." You shrug. A knock on your doorframe grabs your attention to find Steve standing in the still open doorway of your bedroom.

"Hi Nat, Wanda." He nods to them.

"Welcome back Steve!" Wanda waves.

"Hey Rogers." Natasha nods.

"Y/n, we need to talk." Steve says looking at you.

"If you're going to complain again about me not sticking to your plan save your breath. I have better things to do and if you have that much free time I suggest you follow my example and find a better way to spend it." You roll your eyes.

"It's not that."

"Then what do you want?"

"Alone, please." Steve glances at Natasha and Wanda who look at you.

"Go. I'll talk to you later girls." You tell them and they quickly slip out of your room. "Make it quick Rogers I just spent 4 days with you and I think that is plenty for us for a while."

"What Müller was saying-"

"On the jet? He's an idiot, who cares? As if anyone with sense would assume we're married the way we argue." You scoff.

"Not on the jet. After we landed. His, 'mindless blathering' as you put it."

"Are you expecting a play by play of that conversation because it was so inconsequential I've already forgotten most of it-"

"I heard him. My hearing is- better than average so, I know what he said."

"So did you just ask for funsies earlier?" You frown.

"Well no I just wondered what you'd say about it."

"He doesn't know either of us so I have nothing to say about it. The ramblings of some criminal are the last thing on my mind so if you've come here to tell me not to pay him attention I already wasn't-"

"You are so frustrating." Steve huffs out.

"Excuse me? What is your problem?!" You blink at him.

"My problem is you! You are my sole source of torment!"

"The fact that you are a boring bitch is not my fault! How am I the source of your torment you walking piece of styrofoam!?"

"Oh where do I begin with you?! Your smile makes my heart ache!"

"Yeah well you- wait, what?" Your eyes widen as you process his words, retort dying when you realize he didn't actually insult you.

"You walk into a room and it immediately lights up. Your laugh is better than symphonies. You are so effortlessly so amazing that you've enthralled me without trying. It's incredibly annoying." He rattles off.

"I- I'm really confused." You frown.

"Damn it y/n I'm in love with you!" He forces out. Plot twist. You totally did not see that coming.

"You're in love with me?"

"Somehow yes and everything you do makes it worse. It's infuriating to know my life is no longer mine and that is in in fact yours."

"This is the most paradoxical love confession I've ever gotten. Do you want, an apology or a date?" You ask.

"Wait- what?" Now it's his turn to give you a wide eyed stare.

"Well, you're in love with me but you seem to be very... inconvenienced by it so- should I be saying sorry or telling you to plan a date for Friday night?"

"Wait y-you'd go on a date with me?" His brow furrows.

"If you'd ask me on one."

"I thought you hated me?"

"You're critical of everything I do. So I intentionally get on your nerves. If I had known it was because you had a crush on me I might've been nicer to you. We aren't in kindergarten though Steve being mean to someone you like doesn't get you anywhere." You cross your arms.

"So- will you go on a date with me?"

"Yes I'll go on a date with you. Does Friday night work for you?"

"Friday's Perfect. I'll- let you know the details once I sort them out."

"Alright. I'm going to finish unpacking. I'll see you around." You smile.

"Kay." Steve's cheeks tinge slightly pink as he smiles at you in that shy 'you make me nervous way'.

"Anything else?" You ask when he doesn't move.

"Oh! N-no. I- I'm gonna go." He tells you.

"Okay. See ya." You chuckle as he scrambles out of your room. You can't believe you have a date with Steve Rogers. He may not be a complex man but he sure is a confusing one. To think all those times he was picking fights with you was because he had a crush- you almost hate the way it makes you giddy to think about it. But honestly who could stand a chance against a love confession like that? His life is yours?! You've never even heard him speak so dramatically before. When he came in here you said four days was more than enough time for you to spend to gehter and now well, let's just say you can't wait for Friday.

***

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