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fallingfavourites · 24 days

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the fisher king - cm fanfic

summary: Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You stayed at home to relax. no one had expected the terrifying turn this vacation would take.

pairing: bau team x reader (platonic), hints/alludes at spencer reid x reader and elle greenaway x reader

cw/tw: typical cm violence, shooting, blood

word count: 8,568

a/n: basically just follows the fisher king episodes plot, english isn't my first language and im dyslexic so sorry in advance, tried to edit as best as i could! i hope this fic makes sense i dont even know anymore, enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated just dont be mean about it pls

masterlist

Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You had just ended up on your couch with a cozy blanket and a movie you had been meaning to watch. A sudden loud ringing made you jump up. Rubbing your eyes so they can refocus.

You had fallen asleep. You would’ve laughed at yourself if it wasn’t for the constant loud ringing. Finally, finding your phone between the blanket you picked up without looking at the caller ID. “Y/n? Y/n?” It took a second for you to register JJ’s voice as she repeated your name.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m here is everything okay?” you asked, running a hand through your hair. “You need to get to the office. Now.” She sounded serious.

“What happened?” You asked as you vaguely heard someone talk to JJ. It kind of sounded like Gideon. If he came to the office, it must be serious.

“Tell me when I get there, I’m on my way.” You said, not even waiting for her to respond to your question and you hung up. A million thoughts race through your head as you put on a work-appropriate outfit. As soon as you were ready you got in your car and drove to the bau as quickly as you could.

When you arrive JJ immediately walks up to you and starts filling you in. Elle got arrested, Gideon received a head in the mail, Hotch had a strange phone call, and she had just gotten a framed butterfly. “So, someone is targeting the team?” Crossing your arms over your body. You’ve worked for the bau a few years now and have never experienced anything like this.

“You didn’t get anything?” JJ questioned. It was strange. “No, I haven’t.” You replied.

“Huh, that’s strange.” She said what you were just thinking. JJ frowned, clearly trying to think of a reason why you didn’t. “I’ll keep my eye out for anything strange.” You nodded as you told her.

After about 30 minutes of looking over all the evidence the team had gathered so far, Elle, Morgan, and Hotch stepped out of the elevator. JJ walked up to them, so you got up and made your way over.

“Virginia? You mean that son of a bitch is from here?” This is the first thing you hear Elle say as you open the glass doors. Talking about Frank Giles.

“I don’t know if he’s from here, but this is where he flew to. Arlington.” JJ started explaining as you stepped up next to her and Morgan. He gave you a nod as he acknowledged you.

“He’s got a long criminal record. Manslaughter, robbery, rape.” She continued as she read from the file.

“What about the victim?” You asked crossing your arms, “Marty Harris.” Derek filled in.

“Uh, he’s a two-time convicted fetish burglar, registered child sex offender…” JJ read from the other file. “And we have his head.” Gideon interrupted her. “CSU just positively identified the one delivered to my cabin.”

“Don’t waste time on the first victims. They were unrepentant, bad men. They only got what they deserved.” Hotch spoke up. “What is that?” Morgan asked him.

“I got a phone call last night before you called from Jamaica.” He said looking over at Derek.

“Any mention of a ‘her’?” Elle asks Hotch. “You must help him save her.” he replies.

“Oh, so there’s a ‘him’ now, too?” Elle responds, clearly annoyed. Which is totally reasonable after getting arrested for murder and barely having any sleep.

“I think he means Reid.” You look over at Gideon. “Reid?” You and JJ both say at the same time. “We need to regroup.” Hotch says as last, and you all walk into the office.

You, JJ, Morgan, and Gideon are sitting at the round table. Hotch stood behind you and Elle stood near the tv screen. “So, clearly we have a psychopath intent on drawing us into his game.” Hotch said with his arms crossed. “Playing with us.” Gideon looked at his hands on the table. “Then let’s return the favor.” Elle says.

“He kept telling us repeatedly to save her. What ‘her’?” Derek questions.

“Items he’s sent must be some kind of clues.” You nod at what Gideon says. “Let’s get them up on the board.” Hotch nods towards the board as he says that.

“I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963, and I got a head in a box.” Gideon starts as JJ gets up walking up to the board. “I got a rare butterfly in a shadow box.” She says as she starts writing it down on the whiteboard. “And repeated messages to ‘save her.’” Hotch adds.

“I got the decapitated body.” Elle says smiling sarcastically. “And a nice visit to the Jamaican Police Headquarters.”

Hotch looks over to you to say what you got. “I didn’t get anything.” You shrug.

“Not even a phone call?” He questions, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head. It looked as if Hotch was going to say something, but Gideon changed the subject. “Reid called from Nevada. He's on the way back here with a skeleton key and a note he got, too.”.

“And the guys who called me said, ‘the youngest holds the key’” Hotch adds on. “That’s Reid.” Elle says as she keeps pacing.

“Okay but wait a minute.” You look over at Derek. “Unsubs, they don’t contact us this way. I mean they might taunt us, dare us to catch them, but they don’t drag us into their fantasy.”

“Why not?” JJ asks Morgan when he finishes.

“Because their fantasies are sexual fantasies.” You answer before he can. “Right, taunting us is a show of power, but making us the object is…” He tries to search for the right words, “I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“There’s something else about the baseball card.” You look back to Gideon as he starts a new theory. “Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox. I went to almost every game with my father that year. Fox was my hero.” He says as he leans back in the chair. “So, is it a coincidence that he sends this to me, or does he know how I feel about him?” He questions looking over at Hotch. This makes JJ turn around.

“I collected butterflies when I was a little girl.” You all look over at her. “That’s how I knew what butterfly was in the box.”

“So, he knows us?” You question. “I got an anonymous message.” Hotch slightly shrugs. “I got a police raid.” Elle adds on. “But he knew exactly where we were.” Morgan says, supporting your theory. “Hotel in Jamaica Gideon at the cabin, Reid in Vegas, you at your home.” He lists off.

“He got that from the Bureau computers.” Penelope's voice makes you turn around in your chair; she looks nervous and has a file in her hand. “Your locations are always in there so they can find you if they need you. And I checked the log. The hacker was definitely in the personnel folders” She explains. Your brows furrow, how could this happen. “There were room numbers to the hotel in Jamaica, the address of Gideon’s cabin… There’s a lot of information in those databases.” She finished. Something about the way she’s talking is putting you off. There is something she isn’t telling you.

“Have you figured out how he was able to get into the Bureau’s computers?” Hotch asks her. She is silent. Just for a second. “I’m still working on that.” Lying to a room full of profilers probably isn’t the smartest thing to do. “Garcia, if you know something…” Hotch asks, clearly also picking up some things off.

“No, it’s, um…” Penelope's voice breaks slightly. “It’s just… I…” She’s clearly trying to find the right words, scared of upsetting the team. You give her a supportive smile. You’ve known her for years and know she would never do a bad thing on purpose. “I was playing a game yesterday.” She is silent for a second.

You look back to the team and catch JJ’s reaction. She clearly knows what Penelope is talking about. “An online game.” You look back over at the blonde with glasses. Tears shined in her eyes under the LED lights.

“A game?” Gideon asks. “Not on the Bureau computers, sir.” She quickly clarifies. “On my own personal laptop.”

“No, Garcia. No, no, no.” Derek says shaking his head. You close your eyes and lean your head on your hand. “I don’t understand.” Hotch looks for clarification.

“Wireless Internet.” You simply say. “By wirelessly hooking into the Net here to get online, the hacker could have gotten into my computer first, and… I have far less protection on my own laptop.” Penelope stoically explains it to him.

“And he could have gotten into the entire Bureau computer system this way?” You can’t see Hotch’s face as he says it but by the tone of his voice, you have some idea. “Yeah, it’s possible.” Penelope nods.

“Playing a game?” Gideon says as he gets up. “How could you be that stupid?” Seeing the look on Penelope's face, you have to resist the urge to defend her. Yes, she did do something stupid, but Gideon didn’t have to talk to her like that. “Information, files. You have a responsibility.”

“I know, sir. I’m so sorry.” Penelope replies to him. Gideon doesn’t reply. He just turns around. There is an awkward silence that hangs in the air. “But I found him.” Penelope eventually says. Almost full-on crying by now.

“You did?” You ask hopefully. “I know who he is, the hacker. His name is Giles. Frank Giles.” You all look at each other hearing this information. “He lives in Arlington, Virginia, four miles from here. I have his address” She continues as she hands the file she was holding to Hotch.

“Garcia, you said Giles?” Morgan asks her, wanting to confirm he heard it right. She nods quickly. “Let’s go.” Hotch only has to say those two words, and everyone is up and walking out of the office.

The team and you put on your bulletproof vests and got into the black SUVs. Sirens blared as you raced through the streets to get to Frank Giles as quickly as you could. The adrenaline is already pumping through your veins. Finally getting answers about why this is happening. You entered the building with the swat team. Derek kicked the door in, as usual. Everybody walks in with their guns raised. You hear some yell out that it’s clear. You, Derek, and Elle stand for a closed door.

“Frank Giles. FBI.” Derek yells out.

“Come out Giles.” Elle yells. They look at each other and both give a small nod. Then open the doors. As you enter you lower your gun immediately. You see Frank Giles’s lifeless body, only wearing underwear, laying on a dirty old mattress. A sword stuck in him.

“You got to be kidding me.” Elle’s the first one to speak.

“Hotch! Gideon! I think you’re gonna want to see this.” Derek calls out to them. You tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene to look at Elle. But she’s looking at the wall in front of you. So you look up to see ‘here thy quest doth truly begin’ written on the wall in blood.

All of you start taking in the crime scene. Vests already taken off. “He’s definitely playing with us.” Hotch speaks up. “His identification checks out.” Elle says handing his wallet to Hotch. “That’s Frank Giles.”

“There’s a big ol’bag of money sitting right here on the dresser.” Morgan says as he walks over to the bright blue bag. “So, Giles took Harris to Jamaica to kill him.”

“And then the unsub killed Giles.” You finished Hotch’s sentence.

“Yeah, but he paid him first.” Morgan says, confused about it.

“And left the cash?” Elle questions. “He must be well off.” You say, putting your hands on your hips.

“He said these were ‘unrepentant, bad men.’ Are we looking for some kind of vigilante?” Hotch asks, looking over at Gideon.

“No. The bodies are nothing but a way to get us interested. They’re game pieces. The killings are secondary.” Gideon explains nonchalantly.

“Well, this guy likes to write things in blood on the walls.” Elle says as she inspects the bloody walls.

Suddenly your phone starts ringing. All eyes are on you, but you look to Hotch. Silently asking for permission to step out for a bit. He gives you a nod and you step out to the hallway of the apartment building.

When you're alone you answer your phone.

“L/n.” You say but it stays silent on the other end. Pulling the phone away from your ear to check if you hadn’t accidentally declined the call. “Hello?” You ask as you put the phone back to your ear but it’s silent again.

About to hang up suddenly a voice comes through your phone.

“Agent Y/n L/n.” The voice sounds hoarse, you don’t recognize it. “Who is this?” You ask confused. Putting your right hand on your hip.

“It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen.” The person ignores your question. You release this is the Unsub. “Do not let them stray.” He’s talking about the team.

He has to be. You’re about to respond as he hangs up.

“Damn it.” You let out a frustrated sigh. What could he have possibly meant by that? You keep staring at your phone.

“Hey,” a comforting voice takes you out of your thoughts, “You okay?” You look up to see Spencer walking up to you.

“What?” You look at him confused. Putting your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” You smile, somewhat awkwardly.

Reid nods and sends a just as awkward smile back. It’s good to see him again. He looks around the empty hallway, hands in his pockets, hair slicked back behind his ears.

“Why are you out here?” He asks you.

“Oh, uh, no reason.” You shrug and let out a laugh. Why did you just lie to him? You honestly don’t know. It just slipped out. He also clearly doesn’t believe you, but before he can question you, you speak up.

“Let’s go, we can use you in there, genius.” You say as you nod towards the room the team is in. This time the smile you give each other isn’t awkward. They both are genuine smiles. Reid always gets a slight blush when someone calls him genius.

You never say it to embarrass him though. You say it full of affection. When you joined the bau, in your first case you got paired up with Spencer. He had been working at the bau for about a year. The two of you hit it off very well.

Walking back into the room you hear Hotch and Derek, “Midnight wouldn’t cast a shadow.” “‘Hour be none.’”

“3 P.M.,” Reid says as you walk in side by side. “Hey, guys. Garcia told me where to find you.” Hotch crouched near the body glances past Reid to look at you with a questioning gaze, silently asking about the phone call. You shake your head telling him it wasn’t important. And again, you don’t know why you are lying to your team about this. You tell yourself it’s because there are more important things right now and that phone call didn’t even make sense.

“3 P.M?” Gideon asks disrupting your thoughts.

“It’s medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary.” Spencer begins to explain, “Prime, 6 A.M”., terce, 9 A.M., sext, 12 noon, none, 3 P.M., and vespers 6 P.M.”

Elle smiles at him fondly and points her finger at him, “Reid, do not ever go away again.” He smiles at her as Gideon starts talking. “Medieval. That’s why the language changed. ‘doth’”

“Everything this guy does is a clue.” Hotch says looking at the team.

“Okay, but, guys, it’s 4:35. What do we do? Leave to the blade in till 3 P.M. tomorrow?” Derek asked.

“What if we block that window out?” You asked, pointing towards the window. Reid nodded at what you said and turned to one of the crime scene investigators. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?” He asked Gina.

“Sure.” She says as she's getting up, Elle thanks her.

When she came back with a flashlight she gave it to Reid. He crouched down next to where you were standing and pointed the light to the sword.

“See, this sun is right here at 5 P.M., Morgan, follow the shadow as I move the light higher.” Derek starts to move a small table out of the way to get closer to the wall. “Okay, and do what?” He asks when he’s finished.

“Tap.” Hotch instructs him. Derek starts tapping on the wall. He stops when he finds a hollow spot. “It’s hollow.” He says as he looks back at Hotch.

“Definitely an Indiana Jones movie.” Elle says looking over at you when you laugh at her joke.

“Feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.” Morgan says to Hotch. “Tear it open.” He replies. Derek takes a knife out of his pocket and starts cutting open the wallpaper. Pulling back the wall.

“It’s a box.” He states looking back at the team. “Pull it out.” Hotch instructs him again. “Wait, are we sure that’s safe?” Spencer asks as he stands up. You look over at him. “You think it’s a bomb?” You ask him questionably.

“It isn’t. You think he’d be playing this game just to blow us up?” Hotch retorts. “He’d have already done that as long as we’ve been standing here.” Derek agrees with him and pulls out the box from the hole. He placed it on the table from earlier.

Hotch crouches next to Gideon to get a better look at it. You make your way over to see what it is, while Spencer doesn’t move. Morgan tries to open it, but it seems like it won’t budge.

“It’s locked.” He confirms, “You want me to break it?”

“No, we should process it first.” Hotch answers his question.

“The youngest holds the key.” Gideon suddenly speaks up. And you, Hotch, and Morgan all look at Reid. Spencer searches his pants pockets for the key. Only to realize he put it in the pocket of his button-up.

He does a little jog up to the box and goes to open it. Putting the key in and backing up slightly as he turns it. Music starts to come from the box.

It takes a second for you to recognize it. Turns out all those failed piano lessons are good for something. “Schubert.” Gideon says but before he can say which piece you beat him to it.

“The Trout Quintet.” He looks over at you confused, clearly, he didn’t expect you to know it. You just shrug in reply as you focus on the note that Spencer pulled out of the box. “Five people fishing.” Hotch says, giving context to the song.

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.” Reid starts reading off the paper. “Well, that was worth it.” Elle says as she turns away.

“The lid.” Gideon points at the box, “Little tab right under the lock.” Morgan leans over Reid to open the lid.

As he opens it there’s a dvd in it, but also a blonde lock of hair tied with a pink bow.

“Jesus.” Slips out of you. “Oh, god.” Elle says at the same time.

Morgan pulls both out as Gideon lets out a tired sigh. Derek gives Elle the lock of hair. “Do you have that evidence bag?” She asks one of the CSI’s. “Here you go.” He replies as he holds out a bag for her to put the hair in.

“Thy quest.” Morgan says standing up and holding out the dvd so you all can see it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon putting his head in his hand. After everything is mostly wrapped up at the crime scene you all make your way back to the office.

Everyone is clearly tired and wants to catch this guy.

On the car ride back all you can think about is that phone call. It keeps repeating in your head. “Agent Y/n L/n.” “Who is this?” “It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen. Do not let them stray.” You just can’t seem to make sense of it. What is it that you need to make sure they listen to? Maybe this dvd?

Without even releasing you’re back, sitting at the round table. The dvd is playing.

You see a barely lit office. A man stumbles into the frame and sits down at the chair, you can’t make out a face though.

“He moves funny.” Hotch noted. Derek looks back at Hotch to reply, “It’s like he’s injured or something.”

The man in the video starts talking. “I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way.” It’s the same voice of the man who called you at Frank Giles’s place. You shift in your seat as he continues. “You might even thank me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag.” You see Hotch glance over at Elle as she says this.

“You know now you’re on a quest. A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.” The video shows a blonde girl being held captive. She’s throwing things at the camera and hitting the bars of the cage. “As you can see, she is quite beautiful and in distress.” The way he talks about her along with the footage makes your skin crawl.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule and this rule must be followed.” You sit up straighter in your chair. The things he said on the phone call must be about this.

“The one rule is, only the members of your team may participate in the quest: Jason Gideon, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Y/n L/n, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia.” As he said, all your names and pictures of everyone on the team showed on the screen.

“A quest must be completed in the proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple. Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you will need to finish the quest. You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many adventures like mine. Believe me, when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us.” The video stopped playing. You look at everyone on the team.

“This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle is the first one to speak up.

“What do we do now?” Reid asks Hotch.

“Well, the lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” He answers Reid.

“I’ll get Video to enhance the shots of the girl.” JJ says as she gets up to leave.

“Let's get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.” Hotch instructs.

“Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?” Elle asks him, frustrated.

“Do we have a choice?” Spencer replies. But you’re not focusing on their conversation anymore, you’re focused on Gideon. You can’t figure out what he’s up to as he’s about to leave the room.

Everyone else turns around when they hear the click of the door opening.

“Be right back. You guys keep working.” Hotch says as he gets up to talk to Gideon. However, you don’t listen. The rest of the team looks at you as you follow him.

You’re following him out of the room for two reasons. Wanting to know what’s going on, everyone has always told you you’re too curious for your own good. And thinking now might be a good time to also mention to Hotch that you got a call from the Unsub.

“Jason?” Hotch calls out as he follows Gideon, “Jason!” He calls out again when the older man doesn’t stop. Gideon walks into his office and lets the door slam closed behind him. Before Hotch follows Gideon into his office, he gives you a disapproving look for following him. “We’ll talk about this later.” He says dismissively and walks into Gideon's office.

You let out a sigh. Why did you think this would work. You turn back around to have your walk of shame back to the rest of the group.

Morgan lets out a small laugh as he sees you walking back into the room. Reid gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug it off.

Not long after Hotch handed a paper over to Reid and said Haley received it. You, Morgan, Elle, and Reid had been staring at these numbers for a while now.

“My eyes are so heavy I can barely see it.” Elle says with a sigh.

“It has to be some kind of code, right?” You question, leaning against the table next to Reid. “The Unsub said we needed a book, didn’t he?” Reid brings up. You look over at him, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. ‘a book that inspired many an adventure.’” Morgan quotes from the video.

“It’s a book code. Each one of these sets of numbers represents a particular word.” Spencer explains and points at one of the codes on the paper, “For instance, page 118, line 30, word three. We need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks.”

“Right, but we don’t know what book.” You respond, another dead end.

“And the trouble is, it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book that he used.” Reid adds on.

“Just got a DNA hit on the lock of hair.” JJ says as she walks into the room, “Rebecca Bryant.” She hands Elle a picture after showing it to you, “She’s been missing out of Boston for two years.”

You look over at her shocked, “Two years?” She nods as she looks at you.

“Guys, how are we supposed to figure out which book this code was copied out of?” Derek brings the conversation back after being handed the picture from Elle. “I have no idea.” Spencer replies. JJ walks up to the whiteboard and sticks the picture of Rebecca on it.

Reid was standing in front of the whiteboard, “He said we have everything needed to complete the quest.” he said as he turned around to look at you, Elle, and Derek. Derek was sitting on the chair backward, Elle practically laying in the leather chair, you were leaning against the table and JJ was sitting normally at the table looking over the evidence.

“The answer’s got to be up there somewhere.” Elle mumbles, very clearly tired.

“JJ, get some reporters here as soon as you can.” You quickly turn around as you hear Gideon say this. Alarm bells going off in your head.

Once again, the things the Unsub said on your phone call repeating themselves. It is your task to make sure they hear and they listen. Do not let them stray. Gideon’s not listening. “For what?” JJ asks him. “Just say we need help on a new case.” Is all he gives in response before he walks away.

You get up to follow him, again. You have to stop him from doing this. Gideon is always surprisingly fast for his age. You just barely catch up to him when he reaches Hotch again. “Sirs, you can’t do this.” You say, well it more sounds like you're begging.

Gideon and Hotch, both give you confused looks.

You take a deep breath. “He called me.” You say looking at them.

Their reactions are exactly what you expected. Gideon stays silent, he’s profiling you. “What? What do you mean he called you L/n? When did this happen?” Hotch asks you with a stern look on his face as he crosses his arms. You feel ashamed. You should’ve told them. You know that. You just hoped you had figured out what he meant earlier so you could’ve given the team helpful evidence and not more questions. “Back at the apartment.” You say, placing your hands behind your back so they don’t notice how nervous you are.

Gideon just shakes his head and walks away. Obviously thinking he has better things to do than deal with you.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Hotch asks you.

“I… I don’t know,” The unsatisfied look Hotch gives you makes rethink your answer, “I wanted to figure out what he meant.”

“So, you could show off?” Hotch fills it in for himself. You quickly shake your head. That’s not why you did it. “No, no I didn’t want to add more unanswered questions for the team.” It sounds stupid and you realize that.

Hotch sighs and rubs his forehead, “What did he say to you?”

“He told me to make sure they hear, and they listen and to not let them stray. I think he was talking about the video.” You reply to him, “I think the press conference is a mistake, Hotch.”

“Gideon knows what he’s doing L/n, I trust him. You should’ve told us sooner.” He says before walking away. You couldn’t shake the nervous feeling. You went to get some coffee. Not ready to face your team yet.

On your third cup, you see Hotch walking back into the office. The press conference is over, there’s nothing you can do about it now. You see Elle walking out with Hotch.

“Anderson, take Greenaway home.” He says, looking over at him. “Yes, sir.” Anderson immediately replies.

“No, I’m fine.” Elle protests. “I’ll have your car brought over later.” Hotch tells her. “Alright, come on, Anderson.”

Do not let them stray. It repeats in your head.

“Sir, is it okay if I go with them? I can come back whenever you need me.” You ask Hotch. He hesitates for a moment, thinking it over. Elle smiles over at you, she appreciates it.

“Alright but keep your phone on and close L/n.” Hotch tells you.

Elle was struggling to stay awake the whole drive back to her house. Anderson dropped you both off and went back to the office. Elle let you into the house. You’ve been here before, many times, you and her occasionally have a drink after a case when neither of you wants to be alone.

Elle tosses her keys on the coffee table and drops her bag next to the couch and flops down on it. You can’t help but let out a laugh. She doesn’t even have the energy to glare at you, shifting on the couch to get into a more comfortable position.

You put down your own bag next to hers and take off your gun and gun holster placing them next to her keys on the table. You walked into her kitchen, you hadn’t eaten yet and doubted she had.

Opening the fridge just to find it practically empty. There are some leftovers, but they don’t look edible anymore. You grab them to throw them away, the smell hits you and you pull a face.

“Gross.” You mutter under your breath and throw it in the trash can. “Hey, I'm going to get some food, you want any?” You ask her as you walk back into her living room.

She lets out a noise that’s something between a hum and a groan.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” You say with a smile on your face, “I’m taking your keys, I’ll be right back.” Reaching for her keys on the table.

She gives you a thumbs-up while trying to stifle a yawn.

So, you lock the door behind you as you leave for the small supermarket near her house. It’s about a 10 minute walk away.

You grab some iced coffees and some simple heat-up meals. You’re done in about 5 minutes, pay for everything and walk back. The plastic bag is heavier than you expected it to be, it leaves imprints on your fingers.

You reach Elle’s front door and reach for the keys in your jacket. You try to open the lock as quietly as you can, not wanting to wake her up.

As you open the door you freeze. The plastic bag somehow becomes ten times heavier, and it drops to the floor. The ice coffee starts to leak but it’s the least of your concern.

Elle is laying on the floor covered in her own blood.

“Oh my god…” You whisper. You rush forward to her somehow without falling over your own feet. You fall to your knees. Hands reach up to her face. She isn’t conscious. You give her a few taps on her cheek and her eyes flutter slightly.

“Shit, Elle. You gotta stay awake, okay?” You look around helplessly. Her phone is on the floor next to her. Did she call 911? You place one hand on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, knowing it isn’t doing much as you feel the red hot liquid slip right past your fingers.

You reach over her to check her phone. Luckily you know her password.

You check her out going call and see 911. A sigh of relief escapes you.

Help is on the way. You just have to do everything you can to keep her alive until then.

Blood is staining your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Her eyes closed.

“No, no, no, no, Elle, stay with me. Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open. Keep them open for me. Fuck. Elle. Come on. Please… I… I can’t lose you. Please.” A million things ran through your head. If you had been here, you could’ve stopped him.

If you hadn’t left, Elle would be okay. God, why did they have that press conference. Why hadn’t you been more demanding with Hotch that it was a bad idea.

Vague sirens interrupted your train of thought. Taking one hand to check Elle’s pulse. Time stopped. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Fuck.” Panicking. What would cpr do if she was bleeding out? Not like you had any other choice. You started compressions.

No thoughts run through your head anymore. Just pure focus on the task. Not even noticing the sirens getting louder and louder.

A paramedic pulls you away from Elle. Only now realizing they had arrived. Their mouths were moving but you couldn’t make out any of the words.

You stepped back. Letting them do their job.

Everything is hazy, you blink rapidly. Tears fall on your cheeks.

Have you been crying this whole time? You didn’t even realize it. They place Elle on a stretcher and make their way back to the ambulance. You follow them without saying a word. You don’t think about the fact that your phone is still in your bag.

Getting ready to step into the ambulance you noticed a car arriving. Anderson. He stumbled out of the SUV.

“L/n, what happened?” He tried not to show his fear but the tremble in his voice gave him away. “Call Hotch. Meet me at the hospital. I- I’ll explain there.” You spoke hurriedly while getting into the ambulance.

The paramedics are rushing the stretcher into the ER. You’re having a hard time keeping up with them. The doctors take Elle over.

“I’m sorry, we are taking her into surgery. You aren’t allowed any further.” One of the nurses is holding you back. You have no fight left in you, so you just nod and make your way to the waiting room.

Anderson is already there. His eyes are red. Had he been crying? He looked like a mess. You didn’t even want to think about what you looked like right now. The way Anderson’s eyes widened when he saw you back at the house told you enough. You definitely looked worse than him.

“I called Hotchner. Him and Agent Gideon are on their way now.” Wringing his hands as he spoke. He’s nervous. “Do you... um, do you know anything yet?” He barely could get the question out without tears threatening to spill.

“She’s in surgery.” Was all you could manage to get out as you spoke. Wanting to run your hand over your face but as you reached you noticed the deep maroon stains and how much it was shaking so you put your hand back down.

“If you want to, I can wait here, so you can get cleaned up.” He offered. You gave him a thankful but tired smile.

Making your way over to the bathroom. The door handle stuck to your hand slightly, leaving a slight red imprint on it.

You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against the door as you closed it behind you. Walking up to the sink you didn’t dare to look into the mirror.

You turned on the faucet and put your shaky hands under the ice cold water. The water colored red instantly. You tried not to think about the fact it was Elle’s blood you were washing off.

Keeping your hands under the water until it turned clear again made them start to tingle from the freezing water. Turning the faucet off, you placed your hands on the sides of the sink. Not daring to look at your own reflection.

Involuntarily you let out a shaky breath. Trying to recollect yourself.

Hotch and Gideon would arrive any moment. They would have questions for you. Questions that would force you to think back to what happened not even an hour ago, while all you’ve been trying this whole time is to forget about it. You couldn’t bear to try and remember.

You dried your hands and walked out of the bathroom, scanning the waiting room for Anderson. He was talking to two men in suits. Two men you could recognize anywhere. How did they get here so soon? How long had you been in the bathroom? You looked at your wrist. The face of your watch is stained with blood. You quickly pulled the sleeve of your jacket back over it.

“It appears she dialed 911 herself before she passed out.” You hear Anderson say as you get closer to them. Hotch and Gideon turned around when they noticed Anderson's gaze shifting to you.

The pity and maybe even guilt that Anderson feels when he makes eye contact with you is clear on his face. Or maybe it’s clear to you since profiling is your job, but then how come you couldn’t prevent Elle from dying. No. She isn’t dead. Not anymore. The paramedics shocked her back to life. She’s alive. She’ll be okay. She has to be. You would never be able to live with yourself if she wouldn’t be. Hotch keeps his eyes on you for a minute while Gideon turns back around.

“Why weren’t we notified?” He asks Anderson.

“The offender apparently took her ID and gun. The uniform I talked to didn’t even know she was in the Bureau until I arrived on scene.” He replies to Gideon quickly.

“Get back over there.” Hotch says turning back to look at Anderson. “This is a federal crime scene. Nobody touches anything. We process it.” He instructs the younger agent. “Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Anderson replies as he leaves to go and do exactly what Hotch told him to.

The two agents turn back around to observe you. You are staring into space; your mind is clouded. Nothing feels clear anymore. Hotch and Gideon glance at each other. Both concerned with the state you’re in currently. Gideon takes out his phone and walks a few steps away, going to call the office.

“L/n? Hey L/n?” An authoritative, yet comforting voice made you reorientate. Hotch squinted his eyes and ever so slightly tilted his head. He was profiling you. And you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so tired.

“Sorry, what were you saying sir?” Crossing your arms over each other.

“You’re lucky you weren’t there as well.” He said touching your shoulder. But you didn’t feel lucky. All you felt was guilt, but you simply nodded. “Is there anything you remember?” He crosses his arms just like you did.

“I-” You choke on your words. You close your eyes and shake your head trying to get your thoughts in order. “I wasn’t even gone for 30 minutes. If I had just… If I hadn’t left, she would be okay.”

“If you had been there, he most likely would’ve shot you as well L/n.” Hotch tells you. Before you can say anything, else Gideon walks back over to the two of you.

“Trap and trace got nothing.” He says leaning against the wall and putting his phone away. “Unsub used a disposable cell.” You look confused at that. Hotch notices.

“The unsub, he called us. Taunting us about Elle.” He explains to you. You let out an exhausted sigh. It’s as if this case never ends.

“We got our best CSU team. If he left anything, a print, a hair, sweat, anything…” “They’ll find it.” Gideon cuts Hotch off. You look down at your hands, they are still shaking.

“I’m going to grab a coffee.” You mutter out and leave the two agents.

After grabbing your coffee, you go and sit in the waiting room. It is completely empty. Would you rather have it be busy? You’re not sure which would be worse. Because now you must sit here in this hurt. This constant tight feeling in your chest, as if you’re not getting enough air.

A few minutes later Gideon walks in. He nods at you as you look at him. He sits down a few chairs away from where you’re sitting, giving you some space. You sit in silence, it’s not uncomfortable but it also isn’t exactly comfortable. “Hotch is calling JJ and Morgan.” He says, explaining where the other agent is. You just nod, not having the energy to reply. You look down at the coffee in your hands, you haven’t taken a single sip. It’s pretty much cold now. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon scrabbling things down on the magazines that lay down on the table. You don’t ask him about it.

After a while, Hotch walks in and you look up from your drink. He’s gotten rid of his suit jacket. “Any word?” He asks Gideon.

“Nope.” Gideon replies simply.

“I called JJ. I told her we’d call them if anything changed.” Hotch tells the two of you as he leans on the two chairs in front of him. Gideon and you simply nod at what he says.

“What’s all that?” Hotch asks as he notices the writing on the magazines.

“This unsub’s extremely organized.” Gideon explains instead of answering his question, “He sounded truly shocked that we didn’t follow the rules. He honestly believed we would simply listen to his directions.”

“He’s delusional. He thinks he’s a mythological king.” Hotch says, his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“But delusion and this level of organization are almost mutually exclusive.” Gideon corrects Hotch, “You don’t meticulously plan contacts in the real world if you’re suffering psychotic breaks from reality.” Before Hotch can reply to Anderson walks back in. “How is she?” he quietly asks. You stare back down at your coffee again.

“No word yet.” Hotch replies to him, “Is the scene processed?”

“They’re finished. We still have it locked up tight, though.” Anderson explains.

“They find anything?” Hotch asks, he sounds exhausted.

“CSU found a partial print.” You look up as Anderson says this. “The shooter wrote a message on the wall in blood and,” He did? How did you not notice that? Hotch and Gideon glance at you just for a second, probably thinking the same. “In one of the smudges, they found a whorl pattern.” Anderson hands over the file to Hotch. “They made a lift. They aren’t sure whether it’s enough to get a hit, but they are processing it now.” Anderson continues as Hotch hands the file over to Gideon. You get up from your seat, still holding your coffee, you walk closer to Gideon to look at the file.

He grabs the top picture of a bloody fingerprint to reveal what the unsub wrote on the wall. RULES. Dripping down the wall. You try to think back as hard as you can but don’t remember seeing it. You should’ve seen it. Gideon reads what’s on the picture and looks up at Hotch. He places the file back down on the table in front of him.

Hotch leaves to get coffee. Leaving you and Gideon alone again. You go to sit back down in the chair but stop.

You can’t help the words that slip out of your mouth. “You shouldn’t have done the press conference.” You turn around to face him. “I tried to warn you.”

Gideon doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the file. You want to yell at him. Scream that it’s his fault. But you bite the inside of your cheek.

“I was just doing my job.” He says quietly, so quiet it’s barely a whisper. You can’t help but let out a scoff and stare at him. If looks could kill Gideon would be six feet under by now. You respect him, you truly do, but he made a bad call and can’t own up to it.

The reasonable part of your brain tells you, you are projecting your own feelings of guilt and anger on him, but you don’t have it in you to be reasonable right now. So, you storm out of the waiting room. You throw your coffee in a trash can as you walk past it. Hotchner passes by you with two coffees in his hand, he’s put his jacket back on, he raises an eyebrow when you don’t acknowledge him. He looks back at you but keeps walking back to the waiting room.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You notice one of Elle’s doctors and go to ask if they have any new information.

She just tells you the same thing, “No, I’m sorry.” And she walks away.

You just wish someone could tell you something, anything. You’re tired, exhausted, angry, sad, terrified, guilty. Your eyes start to sting as you try and hold back your tears. You look around and walk into the nearest bathroom.

When the door closes the damn breaks and tears fall down your face. A sob escapes you and you place your hand over your mouth. You try to focus on your breathing to try and calm down. It works a little bit.

You decide washing your face might help you get grounded again, so you walk over to the sink. Turning it on and putting your hands under the water. Somehow the water of this sink is even colder than the one from before. You cup your hands under it and splash the water on your face.

You reach to grab a towel to dry your hands and face but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look even worse than you imagined. Your mascara is all over the place and so is your hair. There even is some dried blood on your face, you quickly scrub it off with a damp paper towel.

So many thoughts and feelings have been racing through your head over the past few hours, you can barely keep up with them. Did you overstep with Gideon just now? Possibly. You just couldn’t handle bearing all the guilt you were feeling anymore.

Before you leave you check yourself in the mirror again. You look… less chaotic to put it nicely. You smooth over your hair and clothes and walk out of the bathroom.

You start looking for Hotch and Gideon but only find the latter. He’s staring into space, the thing you’ve seen him do all day. You look around before approaching him, hoping to find Hotch instead.

“Hey…” You clear your throat as you stand next to the chair he’s sitting in. He takes a second to look up to his left and gives you a nod of acknowledgment. A certain awkwardness flows between you two. Neither saying a word.

His fingers are interlaced, resting on his lap. He’s trying to appear calm and collected, but his shaking knee is giving him away.

There’s a free chair next to him. You debate with yourself whether you should sit down or not. Gideon nods over to the chair as if he was reading your mind. “Just sit down, kid.”

A quick nod is all you give him in response as you go and sit down.

After sitting in this silence for a few minutes, you speak up. “She’s going to be okay right?” You rub your palms over your thighs, trying to shake the nervous feeling.

“Greenaway is strong, she’s a fighter.” He doesn’t know if she’ll be okay. He is probably as terrified as you are right now. Once again, you just nod. You wring your fingers. Letting out a sigh, you look over at Gideon.

“Sir, I’m sorry if I overstepped…” He looks over at you with a raised eyebrow, “Earlier, in the waiting room.” You remind him.

Gideon nods, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up again. He wasn’t mad at you; he was mad at himself. He should’ve listened. And he would regret the choice he made, along with all the other choices over his career. Gideon waved his hand at you, telling you that what happened didn’t matter.

You and Gideon sat in the hallway for another half hour before a doctor finally approached both of you. Hearing the news a sigh left you. Relief flooded your body.

Elle is okay. Elle is alive.

Gideon went to call the team as you followed the doctor. Elle was laying in the hospital bed. She looked peaceful. You can’t remember the last time you saw her this relaxed. You approach her bed and sit down in the chair next to it. All the memories of today wash over you again, the thought that you could’ve lost your friend. You wipe away a single tear that falls.

Gideon walks up next to you after a few minutes. Laying his hand on your shoulder.

“They caught him, he’s dead.” You turn around to look at him, “They saved Rebecca.” You look back to Elle as you nod at what he says. Part of you wished you could’ve been there with the team. Gotten some justice for Elle. But you were where you needed to be. Right here. In the hospital, sitting next to Elle as she wakes up.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #elle greenaway x reader #elle greenaway x you #aaron hotchner x reader #jennifer jareau x reader #penelope garcia x reader #jason gideon x reader #derek morgan x reader #criminal minds

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foursaints · 4 months

Text

the rosekiller fix-it au

the dementor’s kiss can function as a really interesting form of absolution, i think. being soulless isn’t so terrible a punishment, in a world where souls can be split and shared between people.

that’s why i’m so interested in an evan lives!AU. because evan would make a horcrux out of the empty shell left of barty

of the dementor’s kiss, lupin says: “You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no...anything.”

it’s interesting that the brain & heart are unaffected, because it raises so many questions of what the soul actually IS. barty’s existence was pretty soulless already. a boy brought up under imperius, always in service to something else. his brain was often all that mattered.

they didn’t send him back to azkaban. i think he was left in the spell damage ward of st. mungo’s, mutely accepting gum wrappers from alice & frank longbottom, not remembering what he ever did to them, just receiving their kindness.

we don’t know what the effects of the kiss look like outside the walls of azkaban, where the inhabitants are catatonic already. barty’s fate is a big question mark: what does it mean to eat & sleep & think & hear & feel, with no soul? for one thing, i think it makes him a squib. i think he can’t joke, anymore. or dream.

but then: evan rosier is a healer. a strange, dark kind. HE knows what catatonic brain damage looks like, he knows it’s not this, barty otherwise left intact. he has always wanted to make an experiment out of him anyway.

evan rosier is a dark wizard. a death eater. he would already be capable of making something as “evil” as a horcrux, but i’m curious at the idea of a horcrux made for love’s sake.

and evan rosier is a twin. he and pandora were about as close to sharing one soul as two people could be. what i’m saying is that if he split his in half, he would be used to the feeling.

i want their helpless post-war domesticity. i want evan, who lost everything, reading the prophet article on barty’s kiss, who lost more. i want evan suppressing every memory, every feeling, every ghost of his lover, to try and be a scientist again. to tend after barty’s shell. i want evan going to riddle house, grimmauld place, looking for clues. realizing a horcrux has been made of a person already.

i want barty’s second chance at a life. i want the husk of barty, wiped clean, who has only ever known the inside of st. mungo’s and evan’s care. what a meager scrap of a soul he had. what an unsatisfying meal it must have been, for that dementor. isn’t this better? he knows very little, but his terrible cleverness is still there with his brain. he knows that evan is the only other person he’s ever met who has the same tattoo on his left forearm

i want evan killing something so good & innocent that it splits his soul in half. i want him still falling in love with the shell of barty, again, this different barty, and grappling with giving him his soul, wondering if it will change him. he doesn’t even want to lose THIS barty, while he’s tortured by memories of the last one. i want them sharing two broken halves of a soul: neither of them can get into the afterlife now, but it’s okay. they can live out their lives, together.

and there is always the sharon olds poem: “So what if he had no soul / I knew him soulless all my childhood”

#rosekiller #rose & thorn #i’m cooking today you guys #saints speaks 🐇

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boydepartment · 8 months

Text

spoil it all- uni student! nishimura riki x uni student! reader

a/n: RHHHHHHHHRAHHHHHHHRAHHAHAHAHHA :3 trying new layout i am sorry if its a lil ugly

warnings- fluff! little angst…! inspired by frank sinatra’s something stupid!

wc- 500-800 words

MASTERLIST

I know I stand in line

Until you think you have the time…

you slipped on your shoes and made your way down the street, it was spring time and you had a small break off school. it was exciting and what was even more exciting was that your best friend here was FINALLY free the same time as you. riki was a hard worker and even being friends he put his work and studies first.

you had grown up a lot in the past couple years with riki, you accidentally met on coincidence and have been talking ever since. both being foreigners studying in a new country. you’d facetime, text, send eachother memes, almost inseparable. unless he had work or was practicing his dancing, or just didn’t have time due to his studies.

so when he called you telling you to come over and hang out with him, you practically rushed over. why wouldn’t you?

To spend an evening with me

And if we go some place to dance…

you both ended up dancing around his small apartment, obviously he was a little better than you, being a dance major and all…

neither of you minded though, he was your best friend and why would he care?

you only cared a little bit… a lot actually…

you always cared, you saw how much he worked on his studies and how much he puts into everything he does.

it was admirable. you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

I know that there's a chance

You won't be leaving with me

you both were laying on the carpet that was freshly vacuumed. the dancing had taken you out and you both were giggling and breathing heavily.

“i wanted to talk to you about something…” riki started and leaned on his side, you turned to him and wiped your forehead.

“what is it?” your heart was pounding. you didn’t know why. maybe it was a sliver of hope.

riki moved onto his stomach now and ran his heads through his hair, his makeshift bracelets jingling, “after university i think i want to go to a training program.”

you blinked as you looked at him, riki had been talking about becoming a professional dancer anywhere after college since you’ve met him.

you smiled at him, “where do you think you’ll go?”

riki looked at you and grinned, “i dunno, korea, new york… maybe back home in japan… i haven’t decided.” he rubbed his eyes and looked up, “maybe i’ll even go to california.”

“i believe in you.”

of course you did, and you’ll always support him. even after college, even after this period of time was over and you both will probably never talk again, after you don’t need eachother anymore, even after all of that. you’d always believe in him, your best friend.

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place

And have a drink or two

later on in the night you stood in his dim kitchen making tea. giggling as it was 2am and everything was just so funny. you felt like kids again at a sleepover.

“okay i swear i know how to make my moms tea.” riki said and spoke a lot by nodding his head and moving his hands.

you started to laugh silently, covering your face, “riki i don’t know if it’s supposed to look like that!”

he threw his head back and laughed, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie that matched yours.

you both got matching hoodies last semester because he got tired of having to shoo off locals who tried to talk to you. so he fixed the problem. that was the first time you realized you saw him more than a best friend.

you watched him rush over to the tea bags and threw them in the pot, one of the papers was still attached and it caught fire.

riki jumped back, “WHAT DO I DO?!”

you started laughing, falling to the floor, “it’ll- it should- it’ll burn out quickly just turn off- turn off the stove!”

immediately he listened and looked at you on the floor, a little longer than a friend would, a small smile on his face before he started laughing just as hard as you.

And then I go and spoil it all

after the tea fiasco you both laid down in his room. it was around 4 am and he had soft lights around his room. it was still dark but little nooks and crannies of his room were illuminated.

“do you remember when that girl in your class asked if you were single?” you asked while readjusting the blanket. you were both talking about stories throughout your time here at the university.

riki covered his eyes and chuckled slightly, “i froze up! and started speaking japanese- yes of course i remember!”

“you did the same thing to me when that guy came up to me!” you exclaimed and shoved his arm, he acted like he was hurt and pretended to cry. then he stopped and looked at you.

“that guy was ugly you could do so much better. of course i cursed him out in japanese.”

your jaw dropped and you started laughing, “RIKI STOP THATS MEAN!” you went to shove him again but he ended up grabbing a pillow and smacking you, lightly.

you both were giggling after the play fight and you were trying to brush hair out of face. he was above you still laughing and you could help but stare at him.

he was so pretty to you, obviously you always noticed this, you’ve dyed his hair multiple times, done his makeup for some university and community performances, you had every mole on his face memorized. the little details of your best friend were your favorite. and his personality was even more beautiful to you, you loved everything about him. his laugh, the way he words things, how he talks and laughs with his whole body, you were in love with him.

“what?!” riki asked, almost taunting in a way, still playing around.

By saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"

without even thinking you spoke, “i love you…”

“what?”

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frvnkcastles · 5 months

Note

hiii, can you pls make one where reader have anorexia and frank helps her to eat? i love the way you write

❤️

SAY YOU’LL STAY ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You struggle with eating, and Frank wants to help.

Warnings: Unspecified eating disorder, feminine nicknames, brief mentions of Frank’s loss, language

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: Thank you for your kind words anon! I struggle with binge eating myself so I wanted to kind of pour my own experiences into this as well and that’s why I never specify what eating disorder the reader struggles with, just that she does struggle with one. Hopefully that also makes this relatable to a wider audience. I like to think that Frank is a good cook, just doesn’t really cook until you come along and suddenly he has someone to do it for. And he’d help you with your disordered eating step by step. <3

You stared at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail of your outfit, doubting the way you looked — but one glance at your disarrayed closet confirmed that you had been through all the potential looks already, and you needed to just accept this one as what it was. Exhaling deeply, you smoothed your shirt down and hesitated before finally just grabbing your keys and phone from the dresser and heading for the front door.

When Frank had asked you out on a date, you had been over the moon. You had been not-so-subtly into him for a long time, but you had never made a move in the fear that he didn’t feel the same way, so when he had done it for you, your heart had sung. It was the first time in a long time for both of you, and neither of you really knew how to act. Somehow, though, all your enthusiasm had been sucked out of you when he had suggested dinner at his place. In hindsight, it would have been so easy to propose something else, but in the moment you had frozen and simply agreed to his idea.

And just like that, it turned from an exciting first date with the man you were head over heels for, into a meal you dreaded. You weren’t able to see the date for what it was — you fixated on the eating aspect of the upcoming evening, and it was consuming your brain. You weren’t even nervous about being alone with Frank anymore, you were just worried about eating.

Still, you showed up on time, your heart momentarily soaring again when Frank met you at the door with a subtle smile and rolled-up sleeves. He looked beyond handsome, and before you could begin to doubt your own outfit and how your body looked in it, he had washed away your anxieties.

”You look stunnin’. Come in, sweetheart”, he praised while guiding you into his small but cozy apartment, and fiddling with your fingers, you thanked him and flashed a shy smile at him that pleased him all too much. He wasn’t going to admit to it so early on, but he was nervous too, more than was visible from his confident appearance — he really liked you, and to have this chance was irreplaceable to him.

Frank ushered you to sit at the dining table where he had already gathered his pots and pans, displaying an entire feast for the two of you, and your heart sank. It was so much food, and all of it looked so well-made and it only teared you apart on the inside even more. He had put so much effort into this date, and you weren’t sure you could get through one bite.

Frank was completely oblivious to the inner turmoil storming inside of you, his usually quiet self doing all the work to make small talk while piling food onto his plate. He offered some for you, and you weakly agreed, feeling sick to your stomach as the heaps of food built over your plate, certain that it was going to force an ugly side out of you that you weren’t ready for Frank to see.

Eventually, you realized that chatting with him was actually a great way to distract yourself from the food in front of you. You could blame not eating on getting lost in the conversation, make a joke about it, anything to get out unscathed. And for a moment there, you really did enjoy yourself — you enjoyed Frank’s company, the way he treated you with such kindness and gentleness, always respectful and interested in hearing more about you.

But unsurprisingly, he did realize that the food wasn’t disappearing from your plate.

”The food not to your likin’, sweetheart? I did ask you for your preferences”, he approached the subject with care, as he always did with you, and you felt awkward heat crawl to your cheeks because of being called out.

”It all looks great, Frankie. I guess I just lost my appetite”, you chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of your neck before pushing the plate a little further away from yourself.

Tilting his head to meet your eye, Frank licked his lips. ”Sure that’s all? You’ve seemed a little… I dunno, on edge all night. Here I was thinkin’ it’s just my handsome face but maybe there’s somethin’ else on your mind”, he made a half-hearted joke, but the frown on his face was truly concerned for your well-being, and it only twisted the knife in your heart.

”It’s not really a first-date topic”, you spoke quietly, suddenly feeling utterly ashamed, but Frank was quick to reassure you, his hand shooting from under the table to cover yours in a protective hold.

”Hey, I’ve already opened up about losin’ my family which ain’t exactly wholesome conversation material, either. Not gon’ pressure you into anythin’, but just sayin’. You can talk to me, sweetheart”, his voice was full of understanding, and god, if it didn’t melt your racing heart.

You swallowed. You supposed you did owe him an explanation, and he was right, he had opened up to you about his biggest losses and faults. If you two were to have any kind of relationship, it needed to be equal. And so, you took in a deep breath.

”I—I struggle with eating. Have for years. I don’t have a very healthy relationship with food and I’m afraid if I eat this admittedly delicious-looking meal, I’m going to spiral so hard out of control that it’ll wreck me entirely”, you admitted, all in one slurred speech, your eyes cast downwards as you waited for Frank to withdraw his hand and look at you in an entirely different light.

But he didn’t. His hand stayed firmly where it was, supporting you as he processed what you had told him.

”Shit, sweetheart. I can’t say it’s a topic I know a lot about, but I do know that I wouldn’t let you spiral like that. I wanna help, so whatever I can do, you just tell me, aight?” he promised, and silently, you nodded. You both sat in silence for a while, and he strongly felt like what he had said wasn’t enough. So, he continued. ”Doesn’t make you any less amazin’ in my eyes. You’re still a strong, gorgeous lady I’m kinda fallin’ real hard for. And I’d like to learn more so I can support you however you need me to.”

You finally met his eye, looking up with genuine amazement and wonder in your gaze. How could someone be so understanding, so kind, so… perfect? And how did you get so lucky to be here with him?

”I’d like to try the food”, you started carefully, and the joy that bloomed on Frank’s made you giddy on the inside. ”But will you be the voice of reason when I start to regret it? I—I really don’t want to make it your responsibility—”, you stuttered, but Frank swiftly intervened.

”Sweetheart, I promise I’ll be here for you. I won’t let your thoughts win this round”, he assured you, and softly, you broke into a smile.

”Thanks, Frankie. For supporting me and for cooking. This has been a really nice date”, you squeezed his hand with sincerity, and returning the smile, Frank reached with his other hand to brush a stray hair away from your face.

”Any time, gorgeous.”

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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sixzeroes · 2 years

Text

walltalk.

summary | na jaemin has always been the bane of your existence—but he’s also been the centre of your sexual desires.

characters | villain!jaemin x hero!reader(f).

genres | smut, pwnp, bnha au, non-idol au.

warnings | profanity, brief description of blood, jaemin talks about murdering reader, slight hostage situation, sex, rough sex?, mentions of blowjob, use of ‘princess,’ giselle (and ten) lowkey cockblocking at the end.

word count | 2.2k.

so, this was actually posted on one of my old accounts before i decided to delete that and move here without anyone knowing. it did get around 400 notes, so if you recognise this, i am the original writer of it!! i don’t associate myself with that account or pseudonym anymore, but i just couldn’t let this one sit in my files so yeah :))

YOU CAN’T DIE YET.

It’s too early to bid goodbye to the world. There are many things you’ve yet to experience, and millions of people cheering you on. You still need to reach the number one spot. You still need to watch the new Disney movie releasing next week. You still need to try out the mint chocolate fusion that’s been the craze the past few days. You still need to travel to Greece and admire the Athena Parthenon. You still need to—

Bottom line is, there’s hundreds of thousands of reasons as to why your life must be prolonged. You’re a heroine, and your career has just begun.

No, you truly can’t die yet.

But Na Jaemin seems to think the opposite.

The room—prison—you’re confined to is dark, only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the barred window. In the middle of the room stands a chair, a blond man sitting with his chest against the back. His arms cross over the top rail, one foot tapping against the ground in a rather erratic rhythm. His all-too-familiar smile is terrifying, and you resist shuddering under his wicked gaze.

“Maybe I’ll slit your throat,” he muses, watching your every action. Ice forms along his hand, creating a claw-like silhouette in the dim light. You gulp, a little intimidated by his power.

“As if I’d let you,” you huff, sharpening your glower to prove his presence isn’t feared. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

That’s a huge lie. Both you and Jaemin know it. The blonde laughs at your revelation, the ice melting off of his skin. It hits the ground—drip, drip—and forms a puddle at his feet. “Your courage hasn’t changed, Y/N, but neither has the gap between you and I. You may be dubbed a strong hero, but you know better than everyone that you can’t beat me.”

He hasn’t stabbed you yet, but the harsh reality of his words burn a humiliating pain in your heart.

“What use is strength if your intelligence can’t keep up?” you sneer, referring to your high school era just like he had. “Don’t forget, you were always second to me in every theoretical exam.”

You barely flinch when an icicle crumbles against the wall beside your head. The skin over your left cheekbone breaks apart into a cut, a thin stream of blood tracing the curve of your face. Jaemin tosses the chair away, the loud bang leaving a ringing in your ears. He’s mad, and it’s because of you.

You can’t die yet, but you’re about to.

Fuck. All because you refused to follow Ten’s suicidal mission. Well, it’s not like yours isn’t life-threatening either, but there’s less lives getting claimed.

“You know, you always pissed me off,” growls Jaemin, crouching in front of you. Even though he’s left you untied, you make no move to attack him in hopes of escaping. And that’s the thing—you can’t escape, and you know. He knows. Na Jaemin is too strong for you to outrun.

You spit, “The feeling’s mutual.”

There’s no way you and Jaemin could ever get along with each other, much less develop feelings opposite to the word hate. In high school, it was always a battle between the two of you. Na Jaemin—first in practical exams, second in theoretical. And you—first in theoretical exams, second in practical. To be frank, the two of you would’ve been a formidable pair if it wasn’t for his egoistic attitude and your competitive personality. If it was doubtful then, it’s impossible now.

After all, Jaemin’s become the very villain he once wished to eradicate.

“I saw you on television, all your interviews, the blurry cuts of you fighting. Made me wanna wipe that stupid smile off of your fucking face.”

The rivalry between you and Jaemin wasn’t unnoticed by your peers during the three years of high school. But what most failed to detect was the sexual tension that brimmed beneath the surface of the enmity.

“I saw you too, on Wanted posters.” you hiss, wiping the blood on your cheek. It’s a little dried. “Looking all smug for a hero turned evil.”

Jaemin chuckles, prodding his inner cheek with his tongue. He looks to the side, then he glares straight into your eyes. “What can I say? The criminals are less corrupt than the righteous hero industry.” The blond man mimics quotation marks with his hand at the word righteous. “You, too, are a waste as a hero. Why don’t you join me? Wipe the damn system and build a new one from scratch. Doyoung doesn’t bite, you know. He likes pretty girls like you. I do, too.”

You don’t retaliate with phrases that glorify the hero industry. Jaemin’s right, albeit you refuse to outright acknowledge it. Instead, you snap, “Fuck you.”

He licks his lips. “Is that consent?”

Yes. “No.”

Your head jerks backwards as Jaemin grabs your face with force, a throb lingering from the impact against the wall. His fingers dig into your cheeks, thumb dipped in your drying blood. Your hands grip his forearm and he tugs you forwards, decreasing the proximity between his face and yours. It’s faint, but a peach scent surrounds the man.

Jaemin runs his thumb against your lips, and a metallic taste overrides your senses. “I’ll ask again, Y/N. Is”—he parts your lips with the push of his thumb—“that”—his nail grazes your tongue—“consent?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

Before you can release the entire breath, his hand wraps around your throat in a rough yet careful choke. With brute strength, Jaemin lifts you onto your feet, your knees buckling at the sudden exertion. There’s no time to adjust as his lips latch onto yours, snagging whatever oxygen you have left. He’s always been impatient, and even during foreplay, he shows no patience.

Your heavy pants fill the silence as he devours your lips, his tongue sliding against your tongue. Your lips that were chapped are now moist, saliva leaking from the corner of your lips. His empty hand situates itself on your hip, and you gasp when he runs it up under your shirt.

“Would’ve been sexier if you had your flimsy costume on,” he muttered against your lips. “Always wanted to strip you of that red abomination.”

“Sh—Shut up,” you groan, his hand grasping your breast. Your eyes flutter when he pushes aside your bra and pinches your nipple. The act leaves your core throbbing, aching for more. “Fuck, finger me.”

Jaemin kisses your chin. “If you blow me after, sure.”

You make the effort to glare at him. “I fucking hate y—oh.” Your jaw slacks as he shoves the hand on your neck into the warmth of your underwear, knuckles grazing the damp fabric.

“So wet, princess,” he jeers, using the nickname you loathed during the start of your youth. “I wonder who you’re so aroused for?”

“Jeno, obviously,” you scoff, and Jaemin pulls away from you, his touch leaving your skin. “Wh—hey!”

The blonde distances himself from you, licking his fingers clean of your essence. “Hm?” he hums, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not about to fuck a girl who’s got another man’s name on her mind.”

You lean against the wall for support. “Holy fuck, you’re so lame.”

“Run to Jeno, then.”

Fuck. You swallow his saliva from the messy kiss, and with it, your pride. “Shit. Fine, I’m sorry. Can you fuck me now? I’ll even suck your dick.”

Jaemin beams, and it has your pussy dripping. “Of course! Since my princess asked so nicely,” he sings, daintily taking your hands in his. Your heart stutters as he places gentle kisses along your knuckles, and then the pad of your fingers. It’s sweet, until he throws your hands up and restrains them against the wall with ice.

“How pretty,” he muses, trailing his pointer finger down your cheek. Jaemin bunches your shirt and bra so it sits atop your chest, revealing your bare breasts. You shiver from the chill, but are warmed right away when his hands roam your torso. A gasp rips from your throat when the man teases your pants down, sliding two long fingers into your cunt. Soft and shaky moans tumble from your lips, prompting Jaemin to move his fingers. His thumb—the blood clad one—circles your clit, fingers pulsing in and out of you with ease. He’s cruel, dragging the tip of his digits against the soft flesh of your walls.

As Jaemin fingers you, he seals your lips with his once again in a breathless kiss. Your tongue meshes with his, teeth clashing every so often. One hand returns to your neck, laying at the base in a tough hold. “Oh—” you mewl, “I’m so—”

Jaemin removes his fingers, and you fall limp, the restraints preventing you from crumpling to the floor. Your mind is hazy, but you manage to say, “You’re such a bitch.”

“Mhm, I am, princess.” he coos, unbuckling the belt looped around his jeans. Like you, he’s in casual attire, having dressed in civilian clothing when kidnapping you in the mall. He unzips the fly, head thrown back as he frees his hard dick. You whimper, biting your lower lip at the sight. “Aren’t you so honest?”

“Fuck,” you groan, touch-deprived. “It’s huge.”

“Can you make a condom?” he asks, slapping his length against your bare stomach. The precum smears all over your pretty skin. “I didn’t bring one, and I’d rather not get you pregnant.”

Jaemin’s either dumb or clever for relying on you to whip out protection. But you obey, formulating a packaged condom with whatever lipids left in your body. It pops out of your arm, and Jaemin catches it with a lopsided grin. He rips the packet open with his teeth, tossing the foil aside whilst rolling the plastic over his dick. You watch, counting down the seconds until he’s inside.

“Are you ready?” he whispers, lips grazing your ear.

“…Yes.”

Your answer is all he needs as he pushes into you, easily slipping in with the help of your lubrication. You release a shaky moan, eyes rolling back from pure pleasure. Jaemin hauls one of your legs over his bicep, and he catches your face in his hand. Your lustful gaze meets his, and you feel a thrill run down your spine at the look in his eyes.

He’s hungry—sex hungry, and you’re his doll to ruin.

Slowly, Jaemin pulls out before thrusting, the tip of his dick prodding your cervix. You cry out, hitting the ice wrapped around your wrists. Over and over and over again, Jaemin pounds into you, groaning the dirtiest words as does. Your back hits the wall every time his hips meet yours, but the pain drowns in the plethora of pleasure.

“So tight,” he rasps, speed increasing by the second. “You feel so, so fucking good.”

“Ah, oh my—god,” you whine, chasing his lips. He grants you a kiss, and you murmur, “Harder, fuck me harder.”

Challenges are a way to rile Jaemin up, and it seems he’s taken your plea as one. The villain grips your thighs as he lets out a low, guttural growl. He thrusts faster, at a speed you can’t comprehend. You’re seeing stars, tasting stars, in an absolute bliss no writer can describe. Jaemin stutters each time you clench around his dick, your pussy sending him into overdrive.

“Hey, cum for me.” he mutters, biting your lower lip.

You pant, running out of breath. “I’m close,” you chant, relishing the way his entire length fits inside of you. You beg, “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Keep asking.”

“Finish me off, Jaemin,” you moan. “I’m so close!”

Jaemin reaches for the restraints, melting them with his left hand. In one swift motion, he turns you so your cheek lays flat against the wall, ass out for him to see. He whistles, fondling the soft flesh. Your mewls don’t stop, spilling endlessly as he continues to slam into you.

“Jaemin!” you cry, clenching around his dick. “Close—close—so close—”

“Let it out, princess.”

And you do, orgasming with his dick still inside. You whimper when he keeps thrusting, chasing his high while simultaneously overstimulating you. Your mind is hazy when he draws his dick out, the condom full of his cum. Support is gone as Jaemin backs away, and you fall to the ground, recovering from the wild fuck you just had.

“Shit, maybe I should’ve come on your face,” he mutters, fixing his pants. Shirtless, he crouches so his eyes are parallel to yours. “You good?”

You spit and it lands on his chin. “I’m still trapped, asshole.”

“If you blow me—”

His words are cut short when the window explodes, the building crumbling from the impact. Both you and Jaemin glance over to the gaping hole in the wall, a confused Giselle standing atop the debris. She scans your half-naked body, then his lack of shirt, and analyzes the scene in no time.

“Ten! They fucked!”

A snicker flies from Jaemin’s lips as he tosses his shirt back on, ruffling his blond hair in amusement. The man glimpses Giselle’s preoccupied state and looks back at you. With a wink, he says, “I’ll contact you for that blowjob. Later, princess.”

You simply blink as he runs off, escaping before he’s forced to engage in a (tedious) fight. When reality hits you and your mind registers his words, a disturbed scowl settles on your face.

You can’t die yet.

And for now, Na Jaemin seems to think the same as he hints at an upcoming rendezvous.

#neohub #nct u #nct dream #nct #na jaemin #jaemin smut #jaemin scenarios #jaemin oneshot #jaemin imagines #jaemin au #jaemin ff #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader

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octuscle · 7 months

Note

A weird change has been going on with all the guys at my office. Many of them are now acting “southern” wearing cowboy boots and hats and belt buckles and even talking in southern accents despite almost none of them being from the south. They also started driving giant trucks and even some of my more liberal co workers are now talking about conservative politics.

Could the chronivac be behind these changes?

You have the feeling that the young employees were the first to be affected. When you went home a few days ago, you heard a "Goodbye, Mister! Havuh nice eevnun!!" from Frederick's desk. Frederick is an intern. A promising Harvard student from the best family in Providence. You're actually on a first-name basis in the office. But you don't actually wear a cowboy hat either…

The next person to be hit is Peter from the coffee shop downstairs in the office building. Peter is actually a talented barista and, like all people in the catering industry, is actually a disabled actor. You once saw him as Hamlet in an off-Broadway production. He wasn't any worse. "Hello Mr. Goldmann, sir! Uh hot blaak filter coffee as usual?" You look at him in amazement. "Peter? Is that you? I always have a cappuccino. Have you forgotten?" "Kaynt bay, mister! Way don't sayul thet kinduh stuff. An by thuh way, mah name iz Pete."

Fucking hell, Pete is really smoking hot. Okay, the conversation between you is getting more monosyllabic by the day. You'll get used to the black coffee. Not to his Trump praise.

Over the next few days, more and more of these cowboys and rednecks will come your way. There is talk in the news of a hacker attack on TikTok accounts and on Chronivac by the Russians. Allegedly, it is no longer the will of the voters but the voters themselves who are being manipulated. Thank God you don't use TikTok.

A few days later, things get more serious. You come out of the elevator, your eyes engrossed in the New York Times. What is that stench? Your eyes fall on Frank, the young man working at reception. A cloud of sweat and musk wafts around him. His left hand is under the table, moving rhythmically back and forth. "Good morning, Frank!" you say sternly. His hand is suddenly on the table and he clicks away the porn on the screen. "Excuse may, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Ah didn't say yawl coming." You say that your name is Sebastian and that he should get back to work. Apparently he misunderstood. As soon as you turn around, he jerks off again.

And it smells bad in the office. A lot of employees here seem to have an increasing problem with personal hygiene. And spend more time in the gym. And watching cowboy movies. Still mostly young colleagues. But also a few who are your age. It's frightening.

You're sitting at the financial statements. They have to be finished in the next few days. And apart from you, no one in accounting seems to have a clear head anymore. What you're given is full of errors. In terms of content, spelling, grammar… A catastrophe. You hear heavy footsteps behind you. "Goldmann, Smith, Wagner. Into thuh conference room. Now!" You turn around. The two giants look a bit like your CEO and CFO. But they smell like the locker room at a rodeo.

The two of them will forward you the links to a few TikTok videos. You should watch them! Don't have an account yet? Then bloody well get one. You'll get a lecture that our business model isn't patriotic enough. That you're doing too much business with the disgusting gooks and the cowardly French and Krauts. You're supposed to make America great again. America first!

Robert and Richard look at each other and at you, embarrassed. They don't really understand what they should do now. Admittedly, neither do you. You wonder whether the board has gone mad. Robert and Richard, who represent product development and sales, start to discuss whether it is even possible to restructure the supply chains and distribution channels in the short term.

You install TikTok and take a look at the videos sent by the CEO. They are basically advertising messages from the right wing of the Republican party. Repulsive stuff. And you have no idea what this has to do with your company's accounting and controlling.

After reflecting on the situation for a few minutes, you get up and think that you need a drink for the shock. You wonder if they could do with one too? Robert and Richard, who have also just installed TikTok and are watching the videos, look up briefly and shake their heads.

The cognac you received as a gift a few years ago is no longer in your office. You also can't remember whether you gave it to someone as a gift or took it to a company party. Surprisingly, you find beer in the fridge in the coffee kitchen, which is actually against company policy, but no schnapps or anything like that. You go to Frank and ask if you have any whiskey or something similar. Frank spits his chewing tobacco into the wastepaper basket and pulls a silver hip flask out of a drawer. "Home-brewed by mah dad, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Do yawl need uh glass?" You shake your head, take the flask and take a big swig.

Rick and Bob ask if you've brought booze and chewing tobacco. The two of them rant about the government, fantasize about how good everything will be once Trump is back in power and scratch their balls. They're both good guys. A bit hollow in the head. But they have their hearts in the right place, don't think twice and implement orders quickly and efficiently.

You really can't believe the gobbledygook they spout. You sit down, take a pinch of chewing tobacco and push the tin over to them. And after an impressive burp that smells wonderfully of the chili from today's lunch, you take a deep breath.

"Buddies, is way men or weaklings? Thuh bosses want ideas frum us, not whinin'. Wadja thank uh thuh fallerin' plan: naw more deliveries uh goods frum China frum next year an doubled prices fahwar sales tuh Europe!" Bob and Rick both snot their tobacco in the corner, shout "Yeehaw" and fart. Hehehe, they also had the chili. Shit, a good chili fart always makes you horny. You pull down the blinds in the meeting room. And Bob and Rick undo their belt buckles.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #mullet #musk #stop trump #ai image

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

Pure (Matt Murdock x Fem!Virgin!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I’ve strapped on my slut pants for this one. How I got this idea, I don’t know. All I know is that I had it, wrote it, needed to take a cold shower in the middle of writing it, and finished it. I think it’s even a little funnier after this last episode of She-Hulk, especially since I wrote it before I saw it. Is this self-serving? Yes. Is this also the perfect alternative fic option for me to include a gif of Bed Matt™️ when I wanted to but didn’t for another fic? Also yes. Enjoy, sluts (affectionate)! :)

Summary: After Matt overhears a conversation between you and Karen, his feelings that he holds for you already take on a new life, and his thoughts won’t rest until he sees them through.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual friends pining but neither of them know it until they know it, swearing, smut (virgin reader, nervous/excited reader, oral - f!receiving, fingering, sloppy kisses, P in V, praise kink! praise kink!, soft!dom!Matt (did I use that right?), Communication King Murdock, light corruption kink?, unprotected sex--if I’m gonna do a corruption kink, I might as well go all the way on it), cutesy cuteness because I just love seeing Matt happy.

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 5,957

Matt’s not sure what word he’d use to describe you—one single term seems impossible to ascribe. Every time he tries to think of one, it never seems to capture your essence. You’re the furthest thing from selfish, and you only want to help those around you. You’re like light, a soothing breeze on a warm summer day.

One day, he’s talking with Father Lantom, finally having taken the old priest up on his offer of a latte at a chat. When the word “pure” falls from his lips, Matt immediately thinks of you—your kindness, your laugh, your optimism, and your heart. Everything about you is pure, and only enhances every last thing that you do.

But when Matt overhears you talking with Karen the following week, both Foggy and him up to their necks in casework, he comes to realize just how true that connotation is.

“So,” you hum, a lithe tone up-pitching your voice. “How’s everything going with you and Frank.”

Karen blushes and laughs, shaking her head as she files paperwork while you print. “We’re doing good. We went to Coney Island last night.”

“Cute. Did he win you a giant stuffed animal?”

“Actually, yeah. A giant frog.”

“That’s so sweet, I think I’m gonna get a cavity from the story. A full night just playing carnival games?”

“Well, we kind of cut it short. We went back to my place, and, well.”

It takes a second for it to click for you. “Oh.”

“C’mon, (Y/N)! You know how it is. That giddy excitement, especially when you haven’t had a chance to see one another in a long time. You get handsy with each other, he whispers something in your ear . . .”

You nervously clear your throat, and Matt can hear you nod your head as you work to organize the papers printing on the braille machine. Your heart is racing. “Y-Yeah,” you breathe. “Of course.”

Karen notices your shift in tone. “(Y/N), you have done it, haven’t you?”

“Well, um . . .”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I—,” she tries to backpedal.

“No, Kare, it’s fine. It’s just something I’ve done yet, that’s all.”

“Can I ask why?” she asks hesitantly.

Matt can hear you shrug.

“It’s a big step,” you say softly. “And I don’t know . . .”

“Is it like a religion thing, or—?”

“No.” You pause, unsure how to explain your mentality, mortified when your brain plays a ‘What if?’ situation with the idea and your crush on Matt. “If I’m not good at it or . . . I don’t know. It’s the idea that they could just leave the next day because they don’t like me anymore or because I wasn’t good enough. I’ve been rejected for less. I don’t want that to be added to the list of reasons why. To know that they’d stay is important for me. So far, none of them have or have wanted to.”

Matt feels his heart sink while Karen shuffles, unsure of what to say.

“I know the right guy is out there for you,” she settles on. “And I’m sure when you find him and when you’re ready, you’ll know, and it’ll be great. So great, you won’t be able to walk right.”

You let out a soft sigh; with your dating history, you’re not entirely convinced that her words are true, but you appreciate her sentiment. “A girl can only hope, right?”

He’s so caught up in what he just heard, Matt barely registers your footsteps moving towards his office. A gentle knock on his door brings him into the present and away from his thoughts.

“I’ve got those files for you,” you say. “I can put it in the case folder if you want and you can get to them when you’re ready.”

Matt clears his throat and straightens. “I can take them,” he says with a little tilt of his head and a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Matt,” you say, placing them in his open hand before you walk back to your desk.

After overhearing your conversation, Matt can’t prevent his mind from wandering. He’s thought about maybe asking you out before, but he’s been worried that with everything he is, everything he does, he’d ruin your friendship. But now that he had overheard this conversation? Not only does he wonder what it’d be like to kiss you, but now to feel your body under his, completely at his mercy as he is the first person to explore you in the most intimate of ways, his hands being the only thing to give you support as he ruts into you, feeling you clench him tightly. Having you sit in his lap, bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, your face buried in his neck as you moan and whine just for him. Bending you over his desk, leaning over you to kiss down your spine, marking up your flesh . . .

“Are you even paying attention to a word in saying?” Foggy says. Matt couldn’t tell God Himself the point at which his best friend and partner entered his office he’s so lost in thought.

“Sorry, no,” Matt says sheepishly.

“Who is it this time? That short lawyer with the curly hair heading the new GLK/H office in SoHo?”

He chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “No, not her.”

“Well, I expect the full details when you’re a little less horny.”

“Sure, Fog,” he appeases. “What’s up?”

“I have some things for the discovery on the Christiansen case. Turns out the McNeils were a little less honest than they lead us to believe . . .”

“Thanks for staying late,” Matt says, casually leaning against his office door frame, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long gone somewhere in his office with a few buttons undone.

“No problem, Matt,” you smile, adjusting at your desk to turn and smile at him. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You always do more than you’re ‘here for’, (Y/N).” He pauses and licks his lips. “You know how much I appreciate you, right? Everything that you do, both for your job here and what you do outside of work.”

“Thanks, Matty,” you say softly, his words making a warm feeling spread across your skin.

He leans away from the doorframe, slowly walking toward where you sit, his hands in his pockets. “You want to get out of here? We could grab a bite, if you want.” His fingers graze over his watch. “It’s late, and I can’t go starving my favorite employee.”

You laugh, the pads of your chair gliding across the floor as you stand up and move toward him. “Don’t let Foggy hear you say that.”

“Eh, he doesn’t count. We’re partners. You’ve stepped up in an incredibly huge way since Karen started at the Bulletin full-time. Nelson and Murdock would’ve sunk without you.”

A blush burns at your cheeks as you dip your head. “You’re giving me too much credit, Matt. It’s all you and Foggy.”

Matt lifts your chin with his finger, gently urging you to look at his face, to stare at his eyes behind his the red lenses of his glasses.

“You’re too good for everyone, you know that? Pure,” he says softly, his voice hitting a low register. “If people can’t recognize that, they don’t deserve you.”

You’re afraid that your words will catch in your throat while your heart races. “Are you saying that you deserve me?” you whisper.

“I’d love to think I do, but, you’re far too good for me. But I’d like to stick around—find that answer out for sure.” He takes a half step closer, feeling your body heat pour onto his frame. “Tell me to stop,” Matt breathes, his voice hitting a sinful timbre as his hot breath tickles your skin. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Matthew, I . . .” you whisper, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your thoughts straight.

You shouldn’t. He’s your boss.

He’s your friend.

But you want him.

And he wants you. First and foremost, he wants you for who you are and how you make him feel.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never had your heart race so fast and your brain short circuit like this.

“Words, angel.”

Those two words make you lose all self control as you crash your lips to Matt’s, your arms flinging around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and tugging at the strands. Matt moans against your lips, pulling you impossibly close as he leans forward to meet your kisses. Your bodies spin around, pinning you between him and the wall as you exchange passionate embraces. The metal of Matt’s glasses creak between the force of your kisses. Matt’s tongue deftly slides into your mouth, needing to taste every inch of you. Your noses smush together as Matt tightens his grip on your waist, keeping your body in place as he pushes against you. This feeling of his hips against yours is enough to send goosebumps all over your body, parting your lips in a moan that allow him to capture your bottom lip between his, his teeth tugging at the flesh. You’re both breathing heavily as you stand in the office.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Matt admits, tucking some hair being your ear. His hand gently slides down to your neck, holding onto you softly before leaning forward to kiss you again. His tongue parts your lips once more, making the kiss a little sloppy and wet. His lips are as soft and plush as a new pillow, easily clouding your thoughts and judgement.

“Matt, wait,” you stop him, your hands on his chest to create some distance between the two of you, your chest suddenly feeling too small for your beating heart.

Oh no, he thinks. I fucked up, and I fucked up bad.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m sorry, I—,” he starts, but you halt him with some soft taps to his chest.

“No, Matt. It’s just . . . Well, I’ve never . . . I haven’t . . .” You dip your head, embarrassed at the moment, just like you have felt every time you’ve gotten to this point before. Unlike the other times, however, there is so much more weighing on this for you—this is Matt. “I don’t want to just be a fling for you, Matt. I can’t be a fling. I . . . I care about you too much.”

Matt hears your heart race faster, your entire being on the verge of becoming a complete and utter mess. You’re not sure at what point you started to have feelings for Matt, but you know that they’re there and they’re strong—the fact that he even reciprocates them in the slightest is exciting and terrifying. But at the same time, you know that Matt has quite a reputation, and you don’t want to be just another name on a long list of ladies.

Matt moves one of your hands directly above his heart, holding your other firmly in his. “You could never be a fling. You’re so much more to me than any relationship I’ve had before. It’s only you. And I want to show you just how much I mean that.”

Matt’s words wash over you like warm water from your shower head, His heart beats steadily with each word, the posture of your hand on his chest a silent, wonderful reassurance that he means everything he says. You capture his lips with yours, the embrace languid and tender but absolutely brimming with burning desire. He smiles down at you after your lips part, his nose brushing against yours. “Then I guess the question is if you can keep your hands to yourself long enough for us to make it back to my place.”

The door to his loft isn’t even closed before you bring your lips back to his, pulling him by his shirt collar and into your body, snaking you hands over his shoulders and onto the back of his neck when you feel you have him close enough. Matt’s hands slide down your body and under your thighs, lifting them up around his waist. You moan in delight into his mouth, his lips moving to your neck to nip, suck, and lick at the think skin that you are all too eagerly offering him. He tosses his glasses on the table by the door as he walks your bodies from the entryway to the bedroom. Matt’s attempt to gently place you down on the mattress is skewed by his own growing desire, turning the motion into more of a toss, your body bouncing up and down on the furniture.

Matt kneels at the edge of the bed, volleying kisses back and forth on the inside of your legs. Pushing up the fabric of your flowing skirt, he gains access to your thighs, becoming a little more aggressive with his ministrations, nibbling at the skin, licking down the little stings that accompany it. You let out breathy little sighs, each press of Matt’s lips against your skin making your heart race in a glorious fashion. Each kiss moves higher up your leg, spreading new branches of goosebumps and warmth all over.

That when you feel it—an overpowering wetness between you legs, trapped in your panties.

“Matt,” you breathe. Internally panicking that you’ve started your period far before you were supposed to, you wanted to push Matt away to save your embarrassment. But Matt knows exactly what really happened—it’s a sign of your enjoyment, your eagerness for him, your want. You really are so pure. Part of him feels guilty for making a move on you like this no matter how readily you accepted him, no matter how you both feel for one another, but the thought of being your first, being the one to tarnish that pristine virtue, to make you his, it makes him rock hard.

His hands snake up your thighs and push them wide open, letting your scent hit through his nose, permitting through your panties.

“Matt,” you try again, begging God above or whatever supreme being is there to spare you any further embarrassment.

“You smell so pretty for me, angel,” he groans, brushing his nose on your clothed core. “Can’t imagine how you taste.”

Matt presses soft kisses to your clothed core, pulling a whine from your lips.

“Your panties are so soft,” he mutters, nipping at you through the soft, thin fabric some more. “I bet your cunt is even softer.”

Dragging his lips up your panties, he grasps the hem of your underwear with his teeth, slowly pulling it down your hips and off your body. You watch the movement as Matt seductively works, and you’re shocked to find the inside of your panties void of any red color. Instead there is just a large damp spot in the middle and a long string of a clear something coming from you and to the fabric. Once your underwear is midway down your thighs, Matt uses his calloused fingers to slide them off of your body, letting the fabric pool on the floor between his bent legs and the bed.

“I want you to tell me how it feels,” Matt whispers, his hot breath fanning across your glistening folds as his nose brushes up against the top of your pubic mound, placing a little kiss there in anticipation. “I want to hear those pretty little sounds fall from your lips, okay?”

You don’t even get a proper chance to really comprehend or answer his question. Matt’s lips are on you in a second, pressing a soft, open kiss right on a special bundle of nerves that make you moan and your heart sharply skip a beat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he smirks, gently grazing his hands over your exposed thighs. “That feel nice, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathe, looking down at him, the sight of his face between your legs sending you absolutely wild. “Do it again.”

A devilish smile grows on his lips before he complies to your request, this time adding light sucks to the way he wraps his plush lips around your clit. You can’t help the needy moans that fall out of your mouth, keening for more attention from his lips. You can feel Matt’s lips pull into a big smile as he continues to work his mouth. He pulls away for half of a second before licking a stripe up your folds. You whine, your back arching off of his mattress while your head tosses to the side. It’s like you’re not in control of your body while Matt’s lips are on you, twisting and turning into the pleasure. Matt has to use his forearm and one of his strong hands to pin your hips down to the mattress as he eats you out like a starved man. The combination of licks, sucks, and kisses turn you into a whimpering and moaning mess. When he lightens the embraces, you think you’re getting off easily. What you don’t expect is for a finger from Matt’s free hand to lightly brush up against your glistening folds. You suck in a hiss at the sensation, causing Matt to glance back up toward you while his finger continues to move up and down.

The sight is something glorious. His fluffy brown hair is disheveled and the tip of his nose, lips, and chin are covered in a marvelous slick from having his face buried between your legs. His honey hazel eyes are warm as they focus just to the right of you, making you feel safe as you cross a boundary you can never come back from.

“If you enjoyed that, angel, I think you’ll like what comes next,” Matt teases, his voice low with lust.

Dragging his fingers back down, you feel him at your opening. His fingers, absolutely covered in your arousal, gently push your lips open as he feels you; then, he carefully prods your entrance with his middle finger, pushing in slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and you moan as you feel him, slowly moving his finger in and out of you.

“Tell me how that feels, angel,” he urges, unable to stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to your hipbone.

“G-good,” you exhale, closing your eyes to focus on the way that he manages to sneak his finger a little bit deeper in you each time.

“And do you like this better?” Matt punctuates his question with a curl of his finger, the tip of his digit scraping against your wrinkly walls and hitting something soft and spongey that draws an intense moan from you. A deep chuckle rolls from Matt’s lips and coats your warm body like honey. “Is that a yes, sweetheart? I need you to try and use your words for me.”

“Better,” you whine, writhing against his arm. “More.”

“More.” The way he coos my words back to you is somewhere between a question and amusement. Regardless of his exact tone, Matt carefully slides another finger in you. Rolling your head from one side to another, you let out a low groan, basking in how amazing the sensation feels as Matt manages to hit something so spongey and wonderful, increasing the pleasure with each ministration. You can’t but help the way that your toes curl and your back arches when he puts his mouth back on you. Your hand shoots towards his head, fingers tugging at his hair to keep him close. You’re an absolute mess as Matt works you, and you have no idea how or what to focus on more—his fingers or his mouth. What does begin to register, however, is a tightness in your tummy, a fluttering. You’re not exactly sure what’s going on, but you know that the longer that Matt works, the way that his touches set your body on fire, the more prominent the feeling gets.

You wine as he removes his fingers from you, his mouth kissing everywhere but where he had been thoroughly inspecting the real estate. Pushing your dress up and off your body, Matt wastes no time kissing as much of your gradually exposed skin as possible. Once the fabric is pushed over your head and off of your arms, Matt peppers kisses all over your collarbone and neck as he pulls your bra down and off, just avoiding your lips as he changes locations.

“You’re going so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his hands finding a home on your waist as he finally brings his lips to yours. “But that feeling you had? That good one in your tummy? I want to be in you when it finally lets go. Will you let me do that, angel?”

Matt barely has a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt “yes” and bring his mouth back on yours. The kiss is deep and needy, and he lets you undo his shirt and feel all over his sculpted figure. You don’t know what takes over you, but all you know is that you need Matt in every way, shape, and form possible. Matt finishes the work you started, wriggling off his white button down as he paints kisses all over your chest. His senses are in overdrive as he comes in contact with the supple skin of your breasts, his nose filling with a cocktail of your fruity body wash, your skin, and the thin sheen of sweat that has emerged on your body. While the noises you make as you move against his sheets is a beautiful symphony, the way your heart sings for him is the best thing he has heard in his entire life. Its rhythm is one of elation and tenderness—pure.

There’s that word again.

Even as you lay under Matt, completely at his mercy as the two of you engage in an activity that should pollute the very core of the term, but still manage to embody the fullest extent of the word.

As the thought crosses his mind as he brushes the tip of his nose up your skin to rejoin your lips, that’s when the thought comes to him.

You’re it for him.

“I thought I was the one who’s supposed to get flustered,” you chuckle breathily, your hand moving to caress his cheek.

A smile pulls at Matt’s lips, bringing those beautiful crinkles out for your enjoyment. “I just want to remember this,” he explains softly before pulling you in for a lusty kiss, a moan falling from his lips into you. Matt gives your swollen and tingly skin a few more tender kisses before leaning back on his knees, undoing his belt and ridding himself of all fabric below the waist.

You suck in a gasp when you see his cock out, hard, painfully taut, and leaking. All for you. Matt shifts his weight to his left, twisting his body to reach for the nightstand. You take his hand in both of yours, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Angel, I—,” he starts, but you give his hand a squeeze.

“Matt, I want this,” you keen as you try to calm your excited breathing. Everything feels right. “I want you.” You pull him back into you, and he lowers himself over your body so his hair tuft flops in front.

“Are you sure?” God above, is his voice so soft when he says that question. It’s brimmed with excitement, affection, tenderness, and nerves.

“I’m sure,” you confirm as his thumb gently strokes back and forth on your cheek. The pad of his digit roams to your bottom lip, letting him feel just how soft it is. You open your mouth slightly, and Matt can’t help but slide his finger in, letting you capture it and envelope it in warmth. Now, it’s Matt’s turn to moan as he feels your tongue swirl around his finger, letting his mind wander to what your mouth would be link around his cock.

That question will have to be answered another time.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to be buried as far as he can possibly get in you.

Pulling out his finger, he presses one more kiss to your lips before adjusting himself between your spread legs. You've gotten even wetter for him, if that's at all possible, and the smell of it drives him up a wall.

"I'm gonna go slow, okay?" he tells you. "I want to hear those beautiful nosies from you, angel, but you need to stop me if it hurts and you need some time. Can I hear you promise me that?"

"Promise," you whisper, your heart racing in an out of control pace. Matt takes one of your hands in his, lacing his fingers with yours in an effort to soothe you.

"Good girl," he coos. You feel a deep blush burn at your cheeks and your heart race as you squeeze his hand involuntarily. "You like that, huh? You like when I call you my good girl?" Just like earlier in the night, your brain short circuits when the name falls from his lips once more. "Oh, I think l'm gonna have fun with that," he teases, bringing your entwined hands to his lips for a kiss.

Carefully, Matt moves forward, and you can feel the head of his cock press against your opening. He pauses for a beat before he continues to press forward, making you a whimpering mess with each movement. With each gentle push into you, your pleasure grows.

"Wait," you squeak when the burning stretch becomes too much. "Hold on a second."

"That's my good girl," he praises. "Doing what I asked, using your words. Tell me when you're ready for more, angel."

As you take your time to adjust, Matt brings your wrist and forearm up to his lips, kissing, sucking, and nipping at the skin, licking down each mark he makes in an effort to soothe the sting.

"More," you swallow.

"Kisses, angel?" he smiles against your skin. "Or cock?"

"Cock," you breathe. "I want more."

Planting a kiss smack dab in the middle of your palm, Matt continues moving his hips forward slowly, letting out a low grunt as he pushes deeper in you.

"Oh, God, Matt," you moan, the sting of intrusion having turned into something only of pleasure. "Oh, so good.”

"So perfect, sweetheart," he sighs as his face controls in pleasure that matches your own. A low rumble falls from his chest when he bottoms out in you, somehow managing to fit all the way inside.

"Talk to me," he hums as he leans back over your body, kissing up the curve of your side and up and over your breasts, up the column of your neck, and finally to your lips.

"Move," you beg, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth before you press kisses up his jaw and to his ear. If that's what him pushing in felt like, you want it all. Over and over and over. "I-I need you to move."

A blissed-out smirk falls across Matt's lips before he kisses you hungrily, one hand resting on the side of your neck while the other weaves through your hair in the back of your head.

"You're doing such a good job taking my cock like that," he praises as he slowly beings to set a rhythm, the drag of his length against you unlike anything you have felt before. "Such a good girl for me, letting me spread you wide and take you. God, angel, you’re doing so good, taking me all the way like that, nice and deep.”

How Matt is forming coherent sentences is fully beyond you at this point. Maybe it’s because he’s done this before, maybe it solely something he’s doing to keep you calm as he pushes through his own pleasure.

“So tight, angel,” he grunts, his hands sliding up your thighs towards your hips. “Oh, you feel so good. Fuck.”

You moan and whimper with each one of Matt’s thrusts, and you yank him down on top of you, desperate to feel every last inch of him against you. He groans but quickly lets out a little chuckle, thrown off and endeared by your excitement as he cages your body below his.

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

“Y-Yes,” you moan, moving your hands along his incredibly soft skin. You paint a trail of kisses all along his shoulders, collarbones, and neck while he keeps on rocking into you. His hot breath tickles your skin as his beard brushes goosebumps all over your body while he tries to match you embraces. Matt whispers and grunts little praises into your skin, never faltering to let you know how good you’re doing for him.

“M-Matt,” you whine, your nails digging little crescents into his back. “S-Shit! Mmm!”

“Words,” he grunts, his ability for full sentences now starting to escape him.

“God, you’re so deep!” you cry, your eyes fluttered shut as you absorb the pleasure he gives you as your words being to slur together. “So big.”

Matt tunes into your body, listening to how the blood rushes through your veins down to where your bodies join together and your heart races. He knows you’re not going to last much longer.

“Angel,” he pants. “Angel, it’s okay.”

“Matt!” you cry, your voice curving up in pitch. You’re so close, he can taste it—and it drives him wild.

“I know, angel, I know. You’re gonna feel so g—fuck, that’s nice. So good for me.”

“Matt, I—.”

“‘M right here,” he assures with a kiss. “Right here. Let go for me, angel. Let me hear you.”

With a few more thrusts, an intense pleasure rips through your body, unlike anything you have felt before, and far better than what you’ve ever experienced. Your hips buck up to meet Matt’s while your legs latch onto his waist. Matt up above you is the only thing keeping you from thrashing around in euphoria. You hold onto him for dear life, your hands mussing his hair as he buries his face in your neck, moaning as he chases his own release and spills into you. He forces his hips to keep moving fast as he cums, desperate to make sure that your first orgasm is memorable, that the tremors ripple through your body long after it has past, even if it means the sensations verge on too much for him. Only once he feels you start to loosen up and your breathing begin to relax does he pull out, pressing kisses into your skin all the while his hands caress your shaking body. He hears your head roll to the side to face him as he lies down next to you.

“Matt,” you breathe, and he can hear the blissed out smile spreading across your face as you curl your body into his.

“You alright, angel?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Amazing,” you sigh softly.

“I’m gonna go get some things to clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You hum a confirmation as Matt gives you another kiss, carefully rolling out of bed and through the loft. He returns quickly with a warm damp towel, some water, and a pack of grapes. Putting the glasses down on the nightstand, he sits on his knees, pressing gentle kisses into the skin of your stomach, hips, and thighs.

“Can you open your legs for me, sweetheart?” he asks softly.

“I don’t think I can do more,” you breathe dreamily.

Matt chuckles, absolutely beaming at your happy disposition in his bed. “We’ll get you there eventually, sweetheart. But I want to clean you up. I’m gonna move your knee, okay?”

You oblige with his request, a soft moan falling from your lips as you spread wide for him, the delightful soreness reminding you of how perfectly his body fit with yours. “That’s it,” he whispers as he helps gently guide your leg open. “That’s my girl.” Matt is careful with his wipes, sprinkling kisses here and there as little reassurances. He’s extra careful when he gets to your core, knowing all too well how sensitive you must be. When he’s finished, he tosses it to the side and leans up over you to kiss you.

“Can you sit up for me now and drink some water?” he whispers into your cheek before stamping another kiss to your skin.

You do as he asks without another word and he hands you the glass, a gentle arm around your shoulders as you hydrate. “Can I get you anything else, angel? Do you want a snack? I can give you a little massage, if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, your mind beginning to reorient itself as you snuggle into his body. “That was . . . I don’t even know.”

“I hope it was a good ‘I don’t even know’,” he smirks.

“The best ‘I don’t even know’,” you chuckle. “I, um . . .” You blush deeply before you mutter, “Thank you for being my first.”

Matt notices the skip in your heartbeat, the shy and scared tone of your voice, and the salty tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks.

You’re embarrassed—ashamed, even. Why?

Matt pushes your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at his face.

“Thank you for giving me the honor. For trusting me,” he whispers, placing a light kiss on the apple of your cheek. “This is something important. Personal.”

“You don’t think . . . I mean, I . . .” you start, unsure of how to even form the question you were thinking.

“Not too many people are like you, (Y/N)—pure like you in everything that you do. I’m glad you were able to trust me with this.” Your wrap an arm around him and turn your face into his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else tonight with anyone else.” He kisses your temple. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow,” he whispers in your hair. “Let me date you. Because I don’t want this to be it between us.”

That sentence makes you tilt your head up, amazed how he’s facing you with nothing but utter adoration. “I told you you weren’t a fling. I want the chance to show you how happy you make me, how you make me feel. Please?”

A bright smile pulls at your lips, a new wave of energy washing over you. You pull your body up, having your lips meet his, rolling on top of him. You gingerly straddle his hips with your legs, kissing him passionately as he reciprocates with just as much emotion.

“Can I take that as a yes, or?” Matt chuckles, a deep red blush speckling his fair complexion as you carefully place your body weight on his lap.

“Yes,” you hum, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth before moving back in and slipping your tongue in his mouth like he did to you earlier.

“Mm, angel,” he murmurs against your lips, and you feel something begin to press against your thigh, Matt’s strong hands moving up your waist as his thumbs brush the sides of your breasts. Your heart swells with excitement and your face flushes with heat, a tingly buzz in your lower abdomen. If you thought Matt was intoxicating just by sitting at his desk doing legal work, you are simply drunk on him with his body below you like this.

“How about we test my stamina?” you sigh between kisses.

Matt smiles brightly and kisses you with urgency, understanding that tonight will probably go longer than he initially anticipated. Even in your desire to do something so sinful, you still remain so pure.

And you’re all his.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

☀️Frankie Morales, dialogue prompt 2, scenario prompt a.

Congrats on 500 followers! 💗

Rain Soaked Romantic.

2. "Don't go on that date." + a. Kissing in the rain.

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. another frankie request completed - i love this man :( I combined two requests for this one, because they were basically the same!! thank you my loves <3

Pairing - Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - one curse word !!

Word Count - 600

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready soon?" Santiago asks, looking at you pointedly. You check your watch and stand up quickly, realising that it's a lot later than you thought.

"Oh, fuck. Thanks, Santi. I should probably get going."

The other boys look at you curiously.

"She has a date," Santi teases, laughing when you go shy.

You're suddenly bombarded with questions. Who is he? How did you meet? Where are you going? What time? Is he hot - hotter than me?

"No, Ben. He's not hotter than you," you wink at him. He winks back, chuckling.

All of the boys are laughing - except for Frankie. No, Frankie's gone rigid, all expression erased from his face.

"You good, Morales?" Will asks him quietly. Frankie simply nods once in response.

You gather up your things and make your way towards Will's front door.

"You'll let us know how it goes, right?" Santiago asks.

"And you'll keep your location on?" Benny adds.

"Yes and yes," you reply quickly. "Promise!"

You're halfway down the driveway when you hear Will shout after you.

"Drive safe! That rain is relentless!"

"Always!" you yell back, smile on your face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're fully dressed and ready when you hear a knock at your door.

You bound down the stairs, expecting to see your date waiting for you. Instead, you swing your door open to be met with Frankie Morales.

He's soaked, the rain drenching his clothes and plastering his hair to his forehead. There's water dripping down his face, cascading down his cheeks. He looks beautiful, albeit a little cold.

"Frankie?"

"Hi," he pants breathlessly.

"What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Yes. And no," he replies unhelpfully.

"Did something happen?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, something happened," he explains. "I realised something, sitting on Will's couch earlier. And all of a sudden, I knew I had to tell you. I can't wait anymore."

The rain is still pouring, but Frankie refuses to step inside. It's like he's glued to that specific spot on your front deck, too terrified to move.

You look at him expectantly, dazed and confused. So, he continues.

"Don't go on that date."

He's looking at you intently. Your breath quickens, chest heaving with every inhale. Neither of you break eye contact.

"... Why, Frankie?" you almost whisper.

"You know why."

"I need to hear you say it, Frank. I need to hear you say it."

He takes a deep, careful breath, and exhales with a shudder.

"Because I'm in love with you."

In this moment, it's as if time stops. Neither of you move, neither of you breathe. You just stand outside your door, rain soaking the both of you, eyes locked on each other. Eventually, you speak.

"I was only going on this date to try and get over you," you confess.

"Get over me?" he questions, brows scrunched in confusion.

"I've been in love with you since the first day I met you, Francisco Morales."

Frankie breaks out into a blinding, gleaming grin, beaming his happiness in all directions. He lunges towards you and pulls you into his arms, soaking your dress with his wet clothes.

When he puts you down, he cradles your face carefully before pressing his lips to yours. He's careful and soft and warm and everything you ever imagined and more.

The rain hasn't let up, drenching you both, but it doesn't matter. The cold can't touch you when you're in Frankie's arms. Nothing can.

And when you receive a text from Will the next morning that reads - "How was last night?" You reply - "Best night of my life."

409 notes · View notes

nokkihy · 7 months

Text

JUDAS’ KISS

SUMMARY - you and ethan find yourselves stuck in the middle of the blackmoore university murders

WARNINGS - strong language , mentions of being stabbed, blood, use of y/n (yuck i know)

PAIRINGS - gn!reader x ethan landry

WORD COUNT - 2k (damn)

AUTHORS NOTE - i hate this so much. so sorry for the rushed ending i honestly didn’t know what else to do.. anyways first fic back!!! woo we cheered

MASTERLISTS

he knew he had to do it. to avenge his brother that sam killed. to go along with the plan. he knew that he couldn’t fight it. he knew had to be on the same train as you when you were killed by his sister. and every second of it hurt him.

you were terrified to say the least.

with anika and quinn dying, and all of the murders happening at your school because you just had to be in the same literature class as tara, you had a lot of reasons to be terrified.

one being that mindy had you and ethan at the top of her prime suspects list because neither of you were there when anika and quinn died. it was extremely surprising to hear coming from her. well, not really. she was a horror movie fanatic everyone knew it. and she lived through one last year, so what’s stopping her from blaming anyone?

two being that you and your friends are being tracked down by lame sickos who idolized actual serial killers and won’t stop at anything to finish what stu and billy started. the theories, the press, the reddit community pages that are filled with pictures and information about you. you barely even felt safe in your own dorm anymore.

three being that you have a boyfriend during the whole situation. ethan was amazing. both of you were apart of the same friend group, so you were hanging out basically every day. you and ethan met through chad, who you met from tara. he was very dorky to be frank and 100% and could marry his movie collection if he could, but being in a relationship during the times of all of the blackwood murders? not good.

which brings this back to the two of you being at the top of mindy’s suspect list. fortunately, you both had econ together to keep each other company. you had finals soon, so the gang should understand if you two ditched the sleepover, right?

wrong.

you decided to crash at ethan and chads apartment after class since chad was at the sleepover, studying for your econ final and donnie darko on the tv as background noise. you were sat on the floor, legs tucked underneath the low coffee table with your laptop, books, and notebook on top. ethan was on the couch, legs sprawled out and his laptop on his lap.

“what is.. the definition of the word equilibrium?” you ask ethan, your fingers typing over the keyboard on your laptop and eyebrows furrowed, deeply concentrated in the work.

“its uh, when the economic forces are balanced. like, when the supply and demand for a product are the same and the both equilibrium curves intersect.”

a ding echoes from both of your phones. it’s not important, probably just people texting in the group chat. you copy down the definition ethan gave you into yours notes, yawning softly.

“tired?” he says, shutting his laptop and sitting up right on the couch, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. you nod, closing the lid on your laptop and standing up. you walk over to ethan and sit next to him, resting your head on his lap.

ethan’s hands delicately play with your hair, his eyes fixated on the screen where the movie you’ve watched together a million times plays on the screen.

“y’know, i hope we last. like, a really long time after all this ghostface stuff.” you mutter, speaking more on the impulsive truth instead of false words. you mean it. ethan had a very special place in your heart. he was always there after a ghostface attack, he was there if you were sad, if you were hurt, anything. some people say that college relationships rarely continue after graduation, but you know that’s not true for your situation.

he just simply hums, the hand that was previously on your head tensing up, but slowly continuing to play with your hair. eventually, you both felt yourself drifting off on the couch and finally falling asleep.

7:30, your alarm forces you awake.

you get up from ethans lap, waking yourself up and stretching. you reach out to stop your alarm, the next screen showing various texts and calls from tara, sam, chad and mindy from last night and way early this morning.

mindsss 🤬🤬❣️❣️

“sams place asap.”

9:58pm

chad 🤫🧏🏽‍♂️

“where the hell are you?”

10:30pm

“shit, shit, shit.” you whisper to yourself, shaking ethan awake from his sleep. he groans, eyes opening slowly as he regains his sense of where he his.

“we gotta go. something happened.”

you arrive tara, quinn, and sam’s apartment with ethan, police tape and sirens blaring down the whole block. rushing over to mindy after seeing her sat in the back on an ambulance holding her arm, you see a black bag covering a body.

“who.. who is it?” the question comes out shaky, looking around the crowd and trying to see who was there and who was gone.

“step the fuck back, ghostface.” mindy says bitterly, looking you up and down as you approach her. ethan comes up next to you, his face covered in worry.

“ghostface? it’s not, it’s not me.” you stammer in shock, eyes widened from her bold statement.

“yeah, sure. you and your little boyfriend were both gone last night and we all know these fuckin psychopaths work in pairs. stay back.”

you open your mouth to talk again, but chad drags both you and ethan away from her and to a spot away from mindy. your eyes are still stuck on her, appalled by her sudden accusation.

“quinn and anika are dead.” he says, his hand running over his hair and breathing out heavily. you gasp, hand going over your mouth in shock.

so that’s what the text was about. shit. you knew you shouldn’t’ve been so involved in your final. you could’ve stopped it. you could’ve been there to help them fight ghostface off.

sam, tara, and mindy were now looking over in your direction, chad and ethan having a completely separate argument about what was going on. all you could think about was how suspicious you looked to everyone.

later that night, after suddenly hearing that gale is dead, you and the group (plus danny) go down to the train station to go to the ghostface shrine. the chatter and noise making it nearly impossible to hear what everyone was talking about.

tara, sam, chad, mindy, and danny all board the train, but chad notices that you and ethan are being held behind by a group of people. he tried to reach out of your guys, but danny pulls him back and the the doors shut with a loud hiss before you can rush onto the train.

“fucking hell.” you groan, watching as the train leaves you and ethan stranded until the next one comes.

“what a great day.” ethan says, eyes shut as he leans against one of the poles nearby as the two of you wait.

the next train pulls up 5 minutes later, you, ethan, and tons of other people pooling into the train cars. the amount of people push you two apart, him on one side and you on the other. you frantically try and push through the crowds of people, but the lights flicker off and everything goes dark. in the brief moment of light you get through the window, people with masks of horror movie characters on become way more noticeable. jason, freddy krueger, a purge mask.

a ghostface mask.

the lights flicker back on, your breathing quickened and eyes widened. you try and look for ethan from where you’re standing, seeing a small peek of his brown, curly hair but none of his face. you close your eyes for a moment, your arms clinging onto one of the poles near where you were standing.

the lights turn off once again. what the hell is wrong with these lights? the subtle colorful glow from a costume turns on, allowing you to just barely see that the ghostface mask you previously saw wasn’t where it was before, but sitting down and looking in your direction. you stumble back against the train car wall, praying that the lights would just turn on.

you hate how it was halloween and anyone could be dressed up as ghostface. the person staring at you could be a child, for all you know. or it could be one of those theorists that recognized you on the train and wanted to screw with you.

or maybe it was actually ghostface.

lights on. only for a brief second. you wonder what ethan is doing now. is he thinking of you? is he trying to look for you? what’s going on? lights off.

the person in the ghostface mask disappears completely from your line of sight. is it clear? the intercom announces that the train is coming to a stop and the doors are opening. you breathe a breath of fresh, weed and must infused air. not very comforting, but better than having to hold your breathe from worrying. you begin to walk towards the exit, taking a step forward before the person in the ghostface mask lunges towards you and pushes you back against the wall. a gloved hand covers your mouth, a sharp object plunged into your stomach.

a scream escapes your mouth, muffled by the tight hand over your mouth and your body slides down against the wall. your eyes are widened, tears violently rolling down your cheeks and mouth open with inaudible screams of agony. the knife is forced out of your skin, only to be stabbed right back inside. the ding goes off when the train stops, the doors hissing open and people begin to exit the train.

ghostface rips the knife out of you one last time, exiting the train and leaving you bleeding on the ground. ethan is finally in your line of vision and at first when he sees you he smiles, but when he sees you, the smile is wiped off of his face and he rushes over to you. he sees you holding the spot where you were stabbed, all over your blood on your hands and staining your shirt.

“oh my God, oh my God.” he panics, his eyes basically popping out of his head when he looks at you, but snaking his arm around your shoulders and helping you get up, yelling for a help when he carries you out of the train car and onto the station floor. you consciousness begins slipping away from you, the only thing you remember before passing out is being rushed into the back of an ambulance and ethan following behind.

you wake up to a bright room, unsure about what time it is, seeing a doctor, mindy, and sam next to your hospital bed. you try to sit up, groaning in pain at the sharp feeling in your abdomen.

“where’s.. where’s ethan?” you ask gently, looking around the room and not seeing him. was he hurt too? did ghostface kill him?

“ethan was one of the killers.” sam says, her hand laying on top of yours and rubbing her thumb over your skin. you shake your head eyebrows furrowing in confusion

“no, he wasn’t. he was on the train when i got stabbed, it’s not him. where is he?”

“y/n. it was him, quinn, and detective bailey. quinn’s not dead. she was the one that stabbed you. all of them are family. ethan is dead.” quinn says suddenly, her voice sounding more like she was trying to say ‘i told you so’ instead of trying to comfort you.

tears prick your eyes immediately after she says ethan was dead, your breath catches in your throat and the hand that was being held underneath sam’s shaking.

it was all a lie. study dates, the ‘i love you’s’, everything was a lie. and ethan let his own sister almost kill you in cold blood, right in front of him.

did he ever really love you?

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry angst #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n

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bellaxgiornata · 7 months

Text

New Jeans

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings/tags: 18+; fluff, dirty thoughts, embarassment, confession of feelings, and Michael’s perfect ass

Summary: Tired of the power struggle and constant arguing between Frank and Amanda, you find yourself distracted by Michael’s ass in a pair of new jeans at an early morning meeting. But your inappropriate daydreams are interrupted when you get caught staring.

a/n: I've had this random little piece sitting around for a bit and I just finally got around to finishing it. That photo of Michael in those black jeans that's been circulating might've fueled me finishing this... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @sunflower-tia

Arms crossed over your chest, you stood in the basement of Jimmy and Amanda’s house, warily eyeing the multiple snake enclosures on the other side of the room to your left. It wasn’t the first time you’d been down here for a meeting, but it never failed to make you a little uneasy with all the snakes Jimmy kept in the room. Some of which you knew to be venomous–even if they supposedly weren’t anymore. It didn’t help that a particularly large snake was eyeing you through the glass, its head raised as its tongue darted out, tasting the air.

But you were here because you didn’t have a choice. Frank had called a meeting this morning shortly after you’d woken in order to discuss a deal with a neighboring gang. Though in true Amanda fashion, and also due to her continued efforts in trying to take over the Kinsella business, she'd insisted the meeting happen here. At her house.

Truthfully you'd grown tired of the power play back and forth between the two over the past couple of months. While you’d long since come to learn that Frank didn't have much of a backbone for running things when real conflict arose–aside from kissing ass and cutting deals to avoid said conflict–he did have a good sense for business and negotiations when you weren't all stuck in disagreements with rival groups. And while you grudgingly admitted Amanda was great at striking deals to get what she wanted when she was motivated enough–only further proof of how manipulative you'd always known she really was–you knew she had no backbone, either. She was all bark and no bite. One threat from a vengeful rival, a single gun waved in her face, and she'd probably end up in tears. Neither of them really had what it took to run this business long term, but Frank always seemed the lesser of two evils.

And for the past few years that you’d been an important member of the business, Frank had always been the one in charge. He’d been the one to trust you and pull you up through the ranks, landing you in a position as a trusted member among the Kinsellas alongside Dotser. You were almost as trusted as a Kinsella yourself, which was why you were asked to attend these big, important meetings.

Though the back and forth was beginning to affect the business; something you weren't blind to. Which only made your life harder. You'd been dying for Amanda to stop sticking her nose where it didn't belong and to fall back in line already. She'd already had a good position in the family, one that didn't get her hands quite so dirty. You wished she'd just go back to that and stop trying to boss everyone around, but unfortunately the two voices that would have the biggest say in the matter never quieted her down.

A gentle hand on your shoulder startled you out of your thoughts, your head turning to the side. Birdy stood beside you, greeting you with a warm smile, one which you readily returned as the rest of the family filed past you into the room.

You liked Birdy. She was dangerous when she needed to be, but she was also incredibly sweet. You'd never had an issue with her before and you had a strong feeling that she liked you more than she let on.

“G'mornin’, dear,” Birdy greeted. “You're lookin’ quite chipper despite the early hour.”

Laughing lightly, your eyes nervously darted around the room. Briefly they landed on the real reason you were feeling so ‘chipper’ this morning. Michael Kinsella. You knew he'd be at the meeting this morning and that alone had made you eager to show early. And maybe it had been the reason you'd spent a bit of extra time getting ready beforehand.

“I just downed a bunch o’ coffee this mornin’,” you replied quietly, your eyes hurriedly returning to Birdy in the hopes that she hadn't caught you glancing at Michael for noticeably longer than the others. “Figured I might need it for this discussion,” you finished with a shrug.

One of her dark brows rose curiously up onto her forehead in response, the corner of her lip twitching upwards just a fraction. Heat crept its way up your neck as you forced a smile onto your face, hoping she wouldn't somehow piece things together. She was always far too observant.

“Now that we're finally here,” Frank’s voice rang out through the room, catching your's and Birdy's attention, “let's get this matter settled already.”

Birdy gave your shoulder a gentle pat before she crossed the room, making her way over towards her brother. Her presence beside him was meant to be a clear sign of support during the meeting, though you knew it wouldn't stop Amanda. And as your eyes shifted to the opposite side of the room, you saw her pushing off the wall and already opening her mouth. You sighed, bracing yourself for another one of these frustrating meetings.

“I still say ya aren’t offerin’ good enough terms,” she shot at Frank, arms crossing over her chest. “Ya take that deal to them and they're goin’ to laugh ya right out the door. Now my suggestion–”

“Is cuttin’ into my profits,” Viking snapped at her, eyes narrowed as he leaned against the row of terrariums behind him. “Why don't ya just give all our profits away with that deal, huh? Seems like that's your plan all along.”

An irritated huff quietly slipped out of your lips, your eyes scanning the room and eventually landing on Dotser. Catching him rolling his eyes, he looked just as tired of their bullshit fighting as you were. You almost laughed at his obvious frustration but immediately stopped yourself. This wasn't the time or place for that.

As the bickering began to fill the room, the noise level increasing, your gaze finally traveled to the Kinsella who was standing just in front of you. Michael. Unlike most of the others, he wasn't currently throwing his thoughts loudly out there to be heard and participating in the continuing and heated argument. Instead, he was running the heels of his hands over his eyes looking very much like he hadn't slept well the previous night. He also looked like he wished he wasn't here, and honestly you couldn't blame him.

Inevitably, as your eyes often did whenever Michael was around and you figured no one was watching, your gaze lowered until it landed on his ass. The edge of his jacket hit right above it, always giving you a perfectly unobstructed view, one you admittedly couldn't resist taking a peak at.

Except this time it looked like he'd thrown on tighter fitting jeans than usual. A new pair of pants perhaps? You'd seen him wearing the same few over the past year ever since he'd been released from prison, you figured you'd have remembered these black ones if he'd have worn them before. Usually he often wore dark wash jeans, but these ones hugged his ass more than any of the others you'd seen him in. They even managed to fit snug around his thick, muscular thighs that you'd daydreamed about far too often.

No, these looked like new jeans. You were certain of it.

Bottom lip rolling back between your teeth, your eyes lingered on the shape of Michael’s lower half in those new jeans. The argument around you continued on, but you ignored the ever increasing noise. You'd much rather imagine running your hands over the perfect, round curve of his ass, even over the stiff new denim. And there were certainly other stiff things you'd have loved to feel beneath those jeans.

Your eyelids fluttered shut for a moment as you tried to imagine being able to actually grope that tempting bit of him currently tugging at the seams of his jeans. Ultimately you had to actively force yourself to remember that you weren't alone in this basement, though that was quickly becoming hard to do as your mind began conjuring up mental images of you undoing the button and zipper of those pants and yanking them down his large thighs. Imagining your hands reaching around to cup his ass in your palms over the dark boxers you pictured he wore, you wondered just how firm the muscle would feel when you gave it a squeeze. Just how much of that ass could you manage to fit into both of your hands?

Shifting back and forth on your feet, thighs pressing together, you realized you were getting a bit too hot and bothered by your line of thoughts already, but yet you couldn't seem to stop them this morning as you tuned out all the disagreements around you.

You wished you could drag him out of here by the hand and head next door back to his place. You wanted to tear those jeans right off of him. To drop to your knees in front of him and caress his solid thighs between your hands, taking your time massaging the muscles and appreciating his legs as much as they deserved–along with another part of him. You longed to hear the noises he'd make, especially considering you had overheard from Jimmy that he supposedly still hadn't gotten laid since he’d been released from prison. You always imagined he'd be quite vocal with how long it'd been since someone had taken care of him.

What you wouldn't give to feel those powerful thighs of his slamming against the back of you as he bent you over the side of his sofa, too. To feel his strong hands gripping your hips and holding you in place while he fucked you. To feel his–

Your eyes snapped up at the sound of your name being called in clear agitation. Glancing around the room, you noticed everyone was staring at you. Your palms began to sweat when you caught Michael’s eye, the questioning look on his face causing your face to heat in embarrassment after the thoughts you'd just been having about him. Though when Frank ground out your name between his teeth, your eyes flew over towards him.

“Sorry, what was that?” you asked.

“ Christ ,” Frank cursed, running an agitated hand through his hair. “I was askin’ your thoughts on the new proposal. Ya were listenin’ to that, weren't ya? Because that was the whole damn point of this meetin’.”

Arms hugging your chest tighter, you felt that heat burning even more at your face now. Because no, you hadn't heard a damn thing that had been said.

“Sorry, I s'pose I didn't have as much coffee this mornin’ as I'd thought,” you replied awkwardly. “What uh, what was the new proposal?”

Standing beside Frank's irritated form, you saw Birdy eyeing you with something like a knowing smile growing on her face. That's when you knew you were in trouble. She clearly had some idea of what was going on, but thankfully it seemed that she had the tact not to say anything.

But quite unfortunately for you, someone else didn't.

“She might've heard what was goin’ on,” Amanda snapped, shooting you a dark look, “if she hadn't been so damn busy starin’ at Michael’s damn arse the whole time we were talkin’.”

It felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs, your heart skipping a beat in your chest at her accusation. Your eyes immediately grew wide in embarrassment. Of course Amanda would've noticed your attentions on Michael and grown jealous with how inappropriately protective she was over her husband's brother. Because she wanted him, too.

“He isn't interested in ya,” Amanda spat. “So ya might as well pay attention to what ya are gettin’ paid to do ‘round here. That should be interestin’ enough for ya.”

You could feel Michael’s eyes boring a hole into the side of your face while Amanda had been speaking, but you hadn't dared to look over at him. How could you even begin to dispute what she'd said? All you could do was wish one of those snakes in the nearby enclosures would suddenly swallow you whole so you could get out of this absolutely mortifying situation.

Thankfully it was Frank who unintentionally came to your rescue.

“Alright, fuck it,” he growled in agitation. “We'll reconvene on this shit later. I've got other things to take care of this mornin’, I don't have time to deal with the goddamn lot o’ ya bein’ a fuckin’ pain in my ass this mornin’.” He waved a hand towards the basement steps, gesturing his head sharply at it. “Go on, fuck off all o’ ya.”

You didn't wait to be told twice. Abruptly turning on the spot, you hurried towards the stairs and began to rush your way up them. You couldn't get out of the house fast enough, desperate to get to your car parked on the street and back to your house.

What an embarrassing morning. How were you ever going to show your face around Michael ever again? Amanda was one thing–you'd certainly have no issue telling her off later for being an asshole–but Mikey? For fuck's sake, you did jobs with him. He relied on you.

And now he knew you were into him.

Yanking open the front door of Amanda and Jimmy’s house, you rushed outside. The chill of the morning air felt refreshing in comparison to the way your body temperature had vastly begun to increase as you nearly sprinted down the drive, maneuvering around the expensive cars parked there. Relief flooded you once you reached the end of it, your car coming into view.

You were so close to freedom. All you wanted to do was get back home, then you'd somehow figure out how to deal with this whole awkward situation. Maybe you'd have time to find a way to explain everything away to Michael later in a way that wasn’t quite so embarrassing. But just as you'd managed to unlock your car, your hand reaching for the handle, you heard him exiting the house and calling your name. Hand freezing in midair just before the door handle, your body tensed. You'd been so close to getting out of here before he could confront you, but apparently you still hadn't been fast enough.

His heavy footsteps were fast approaching and you winced at the sound of the pavement under his shoes. Seconds later he was saying your name again, clearly having come to a stop just behind you as his reflection came into view along your car's window, his face visible above your shoulder. Your eyes clamped shut, your mouth going dry instantly as your hand dropped back to your side. You truly didn't think you could turn around and look him in the face right now.

“What was that back there?” Michael asked.

You grimaced at the question, opening only one eye to peek at Michael's reflection. He was standing just behind you with such a confused expression on his face, his dark brows knitted together. The sight of it had you blurting the first thing that came to your mind.

“‘M’sorry, I was just in my head ‘cause I was sick o’ the fightin’ those two always get into at meetin's lately,” you said, scrambling for an explanation. “I wasn't actually staring at your ass, ya just happened to be standin’ in front o’ me.”

“So then why did ya run outta there so fast?” he asked.

Shrugging a shoulder lamely, you shook your head. “‘Cause it's a bit embarrassin’ having Amanda call me out in front o’ everyone like that. In a meeting no less.”

Michael blew out a slow, tired breath behind you. Nervously you began chewing the inside of your cheek, wishing this uncomfortable moment would come to an end so you could get in your car and get out of here.

“And why won't ya even look at me now?” he asked, voice softer. “Ya can't even look me in the eye.”

“‘Cause I…”

Your voice trailed off, the sentence hanging unfinished in the air. What were you supposed to tell him? You figured he'd see right through anything more that you said if he hadn't already. And you knew Michael was smart. Was he really buying any of the bullshit you were spewing now?

Sighing, your shoulders dropped in defeat. You'd already been caught and called out by Amanda, you might as well just confess and deal with the repercussions now and be done with it. He'd probably never want to work jobs with you again, but you'd live. Even if you vastly preferred his company and level head to that of working with Jimmy or Viking.

“Okay, yes,” you admitted, turning around and finally facing him. “I was starin’ at your ass and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been,” you continued, fighting the nerves making you feel like you were about to vomit on his shoes, especially with the way his eyebrows had risen so high onto his forehead. “I find ya attractive, I always have. Ever since I first met ya at that welcome home party Amanda and Jimmy threw for ya. And I've–I've had a stupid little crush on ya for the past year ‘cause ya weren't like any o’ the others in your family, but I've always done my best to keep things professional with ya. Which I will still continue to do, but I understand if ya aren't comfortable workin’ jobs with me anymore.”

Michael continued to stand there, blinking a few times as if he hadn't expected you to quite say all of that. Your stomach twisted anxiously at his silence and you began to wonder if you might have overshared a bit too much. Maybe you shouldn't have confessed the bit about your crush when you'd been owning up to staring at his ass, too.

“This is sufficiently uncomfortable so I'm just,” you gestured your thumb to your car behind you, cringing awkwardly at the situation, “goin’ to go.”

Michael’s hand darted out, catching onto your wrist before you'd had a chance to turn around. You froze, your eyes dropping down to where his long fingers were wrapped around you. It felt like your heart had jumped up into your throat at his unexpected touch, heavily slamming away. Gradually your eyes slid up the length of his arm, landing back on the sheepish expression now etched across Michael’s face.

“Ya aren't the only one,” he whispered.

Your brows drew together on your forehead as you gazed at him in confusion. “What?” you asked.

“I mean,” Michael said, taking a step closer to you, “ya aren't the only one. I've had feelings for ya for a while now myself. But I just figured it was best not to get involved. Considerin’ we work together and…I don't have the best past.”

“That wasn't your fault,” you blurted automatically.

A faint smile spread along his lips, his hand still holding your wrist in a gentle grip. It took your brain a moment to process what he'd just said before that bit though. Did Michael actually have a thing for you too?

“Would ya maybe…let me take ya to dinner later this week?” he asked.

Sucking in a breath at his question, you swore you stopped breathing for a moment. Especially with the nervous and hopeful way he was staring at you now.

“As a date?” you managed out.

“Yeah?” he replied hesitantly. “Would that be alright?”

“I–yeah,” you answered, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I'd really like that.”

Relief visibly overtook his features as a wide smile spread along his lips. You could still feel your nerves coursing through you though, and they only increased when Michael's hand on your wrist slid downwards, his fingers carefully entwining with yours.

“For the record,” he began softly, “I might've stared at your arse a few times myself.”

Mouth falling open, your eyes grew wide in surprise. Michael chuckled softly at your reaction, nodding slowly.

“It's true,” he told you. “Just didn't want ya to feel left out.”

You tried to bite back the stupid smile threatening to break out across your face, but the sight of the one growing even wider on his own mouth had you failing miserably. How long had the pair of you been trying to hide your feelings for the other over this past year? Because it was quickly beginning to feel ridiculous now.

“Can I ask what had ya managin’ to be distracted through the entirety of that meetin’?” Michael asked curiously.

Clearing your throat, your eyes dropped down towards your feet. You could feel a flush forming on your cheeks at the question. “I uh, was tryin’ to figure out if those were new jeans ya had on,” you muttered awkwardly.

Michael’s warm laughter had your stomach somersaulting inside of you, but your embarrassment only grew as your cheeks further heated. Of course you weren’t going to admit to the inappropriate things you’d been imagining while trying to figure out if those were new jeans.

“Yeah,” Michael answered, amused, “they are. Kinda glad I bought ‘em now.”

“So am I,” you mumbled.

Michael’s hand gently squeezed yours, the touch drawing your eyes back up towards his. He was grinning at you now, the corners of his eyes creased. He looked happy in a way you’d never really seen on him. At least, not any time he wasn’t with his daughter, Anna.

“I’ve gotta help Frank with some things this mornin’ but can I call ya later today?” he asked. “To make plans for takin’ ya out later this week?”

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling nervously back at him. “Sounds good.”

His lips curled up slightly higher at the corners, his hand once more squeezing yours before he released it. Then he turned, heading back towards the drive of Jimmy and Amanda’s house no doubt in search of Frank. As he walked, your eyes once more landed on the curve of his ass in those wonderful black jeans, the pockets stretched perfectly across the width of each cheek. But just as Michael made it halfway up the drive, you saw him glance over his shoulder back at you.

Your face burned as your eyes darted back up to meet his. He let out a little laugh that carried towards you on the wind before he shot you a cheeky smile that had your palms beginning to sweat. Spinning around, you opened your car door and quickly slid into the driver’s seat, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

But as you started the car, shooting one last glance out of your window at Michael’s form retreating back into the house, you found yourself hoping that he wore those jeans on your date later this week. Because his ass really did look damn good in them.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #kin bbc

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