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scuttling · 3 years

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Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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wikiangela-fanfics · 3 years

Text

"You should smile more" - sambucky

I’m a sucker for Bucky’s smile so obviously I had to project that onto Sam and write a fic - I use the word ‘smile’ waaaaaay too much in this fic, but whatever

This is my first ever marvel fic, so sorry if it's too ooc but I actually kinda like this one hah

Big thank you to @tasteslikestrawbebbies for beta-reading ♥♥♥

Here it is on Ao3

part 2, part 3

Enjoy ♥

***

One of the things that really struck him was that he kinda loved Bucky’s smile. Once he saw that real, genuine, happy smile on Bucky’s face… all he wanted to do was to make him smile again and again. Which was a crazy thought. Insane. He should not be thinking that, and he tried not to. But then Bucky would smile again, and Sam would melt.

His smile was… really nice. And beautiful. And it was impossible not to smile as well when you saw it. He seemed so relaxed and at peace… Sam has never seen him like that before, but he definitely liked it. He knew there was still work to do, and they would have to get to that sooner or later, but for now, he really enjoyed just hanging out with Bucky, fixing the boat together, talking, which apparently they did now, another surprising thing. Bucky opened up to him, and that meant he trusted him, not only in battle. This made Sam almost giddy.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He knew they would see each other soon, but he selfishly wanted Bucky to stay, to keep him company… to smile at him. God, he was gone on that fucking smile.

He almost considered making up something else that needed repairing that Buck could help him with, but that would require actually having something to do… and he was not about to break something on purpose. Not that that hasn’t crossed his mind… but he wasn’t that far gone. Or that desperate. At least yet.

He convinced himself that he was fine, that not seeing Bucky for a while wasn’t a big deal. Because it shouldn’t be. They had barely talked before Walker was given the shield. And it was fine. It would be fine now, too.

But then, as Bucky was about to leave, the words just slipped out of his mouth.

“You know, you could stay for a while. If you want.” he wasn’t looking at Bucky, his eyes focused on the trees they were passing.

Bucky was quiet for a moment and Sam was afraid he fucked up their relationship, which has improved significantly over the past few days.

“Uh, I’d really like to.” Bucky started. “I would, but I think I need to go. In New York there’s someone who really needs closure, and I’ve been putting it off long enough.” he sighed, and that’s when Sam looked at him again. He seemed nervous and Sam understood.

“Of course.” he smiled. “But, you know, you’re always welcome here, man.” he added.

“Thanks.” Bucky smiled, and Sam’s heart fluttered. Damn, this could not be happening. “I guess I’ll see you- What?” he stopped mid-sentence to look at Sam in confusion.

“What ‘what’?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Sam felt his face heat up and looked away. He kept his cool since Bucky showed up, and now he’s getting caught at whatever his face was doing while he was admiring Bucky’s gorgeous smile? He was pretty sure he was smiling, but what else could be visible in his expression, he had no idea. He was fucked.

“I don’t know, but it’s weird.” Bucky was frowning, his tone slow and confused.

“Bad weird?” Sam couldn’t help but ask, looking back at Bucky, who just shrugged.

“Just different. What’s up?” he asked, not wanting to let go. And of course Bucky, the expert of staring and observing, noticed the difference in Sam’s expression. Of course.

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” Sam laughed, feeling more than ridiculous.

“Now you gotta tell me.” Bucky nudged his arm. “What was that look about?”

“I was just thinking. Forget it.” he shook his head, he tried to brush it off, but he knew it was pointless. One more smile from Bucky, and he was going to melt into a puddle.

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna push.” he lifted both hands in defeat, but he was smiling. Whatever he saw in Sam’s face, had to be positive. Of course it was, he had been thinking about Bucky’s smile. “I’ll get it out of you another time.” he winked, starting to walk again, and Sam wasn’t sure when they stopped walking. “Call me when you have a lead.” he repeated his previous words, clapped Sam on the shoulder, and was about to walk away.

“You should smile more.” Sam said before he even realized he had opened his mouth. How was it that suddenly he couldn’t think around Bucky?

“What?” Bucky turned around, Sam was staring at him, probably looking as surprised as Bucky. But he said it, so there was no backing away now.

“I mean, that’s what I was thinking about.” he swallowed hard. “It’s a good look on you. When you smile.” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. Slowly, another one of those amazing smiles showed up on Bucky’s face.

“Wow, I did not expect that.” he said, his expression smug.

“Shut up.” Sam rolled his eyes, forcing himself not to smile back.

“You thinking about my smile often?” Bucky then asked, because of course he had to tease Sam about it now.

“I haven’t seen you really smile until, like, yesterday, so no.” Sam answered and thought, damn, where is this conversation going and how did we get here. “And I’m just saying,” oh God, he so needs to shut up already, but his mouth is still moving and the words are pouring out despite his efforts to stop it. “I wouldn’t mind if you did that more often.”

Bucky chuckled, and boy was that a nice sound, and looked down for a second. Seemed like someone was shy about getting complimented. Alright, Sam got it, Bucky probably hasn’t been complimented at all for the past seventy years. But Sam also kinda liked making him blush - because that’s what was happening, Bucky’s cheeks were starting to get pink, and now Sam couldn’t contain his smile.

“That’s, uh, nice.” Bucky said, looking back at Sam. “I just feel really good here, you know?” he confessed. So now they were seriously going to start talking, huh? Sam couldn’t say he was complaining.

“So you gonna come back?” the question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Again. Damn, what was happening to him?

“I haven’t even left yet, Sam. Relax.” Bucky chuckled again, his beautiful, teeth-baring smile not disappearing from his face. Then he sighed. “I promise, once we deal with Karli, I’m gonna visit again and I’ll stay so long you’re gonna beg me to leave.” he added, teasingly. Sam just involuntarily smiled.

“Imma remember that. You better keep your promises.” he said, finger pointed at Bucky to accentuate his words.

“Always do. But now I really gotta go if I wanna catch my flight.” Bucky added, almost apologetically.

“Right.” Sam wanted him to stay, but he already said that, and he wasn’t about to beg. He wasn’t that desperate. And he knew Bucky had to go, he had things to do, people to see, he had to do the work and get better, and it seemed like he was really going to. “Uh, answer my calls and texts this time, will you?” he tried to sound casual and exasperated, but the longing and a bit of hope was audible even to him.

“You plan on contacting me a lot?” Bucky raised his eyebrow.

“Maybe.” Sam was suddenly all too aware of the distance between them. He would have to take two, maybe three steps, to get to Bucky and… and what? He wasn’t sure. “Are you gonna answer?” he asked again, taking a step towards Bucky. What was he doing?

“Of course.” Bucky answered. Sam must’ve looked surprised, because Bucky snickered. “How else will I know that you have a lead?”

“You’re an ass.” Sam rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating up. And here he was hoping they would actually start talking on a regular basis… not that he wanted that. Definitely not. Why would he?

“But if you call me without a lead, I might not hang up on you.” Bucky said, a bit reluctantly, a teasing smirk still on his face. “Depends on my mood.”

“You can call me, too. If you ever wanna talk. No matter what time it is.” Sam took another step, while Bucky watched him curiously.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And, uh, thanks. For all the help, you know.” Sam shrugged. There was still a small distance between them, and he was contemplating crossing it and hugging Bucky.

“Of course.” he said, as if him helping Sam was the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “Anytime. But now I really have to-” he didn’t finish his sentence, because Sam took the final step. But instead of hugging Bucky, he pressed his lips against Bucky’s.

It was a split second, rash decision, he did not intend to do it. At all. It was either letting Bucky go and dreaming about that smile and longing for him for the next indefinite period of time until he saw him again… or kissing Bucky and possibly changing their whole dynamic, risking rejection and making things weird again, possibly weirder than ever.

But Bucky immediately kissed him back, as if he was expecting it. And Sam could feel him smiling, which only added to the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

At first, it was chaste, just lips against lips, but that lasted a whole two seconds before Bucky opened his mouth, deepening it. He dropped his bag, his metal hand finding its way to Sam’s hip, while the flesh one cupped Sam’s cheek. Sam’s hands were in Bucky’s hair, running his fingers through it, and trying to bring him even closer. Honestly, Sam wanted to stay in that moment forever. Bucky’s lips not only looked good and irresistible - the man was an amazing kisser. Sam wanted more. He needed more. And one of his hands started trailing down Bucky’s arm to the hem of his shirt, but then… Bucky broke the kiss.

“You really want me to miss my flight, huh?” he asked, his forehead pressed against Sam’s. He was smiling, and both their breaths were quickened.

“I told you, you could stay.” Sam said, not able to contain a smile either. “We could… uh, have some fun, if you stayed.” he added, his tone deliberately suggestive. He decided to stop being tentative about his feelings. They just made out, he was aroused, and he was pretty sure Bucky was too. He desperately wanted him closer, wanted their bodies pressed together. Preferably undressed. Oh fuck, when did he go from Bucky has a beautiful smile to I wanna fuck him ? This was happening fast. Or maybe those thoughts were always there, lurking, as he tried to convince himself he’s not attracted to the guy. Maybe.

“I would love to.” Bucky said, sighing, and his breath hit Sam’s mouth, making him shiver. He wanted those lips on his again. But Bucky pulled away, hands still on Sam, but now his piercing blue eyes were staring at him again. This time, Sam didn’t mind. The staring stopped bothering him a while ago.

“But?” Sam tried to keep disappointment out of his voice.

“But, before this,” he waved his flesh hand between them. “Develops any further, I need to deal with some stuff.” he said, and Sam felt his heart swell. First of all, Bucky seemed so sure that this thing between them would turn into something, so Sam didn’t have to worry about what the kiss meant, they were both on the same page. And second of all, Bucky actually wanted to work on himself first before getting into a relationship. Which filled Sam with pride. He knew that it wouldn’t be a problem for them - he knew a lot about Bucky and his trauma, and he would love to help, in any way he could. But if Bucky thought it was something he needed to do by himself, and was actually willing to do the work, that was amazing.

“Okay.” Sam said, smiling fondly. “Just, you know, not all the stuff, yeah? I’m not gonna wait for an eternity.” his tone was jocular, but he needed Buck to know that he was in, despite all his shit. He hoped his message was at least a bit clear.

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled, leaning in for another kiss, this time brief, leaving Sam chasing after him as he was pulling away. “I’ll see you soon.” he added, finally picking up his bag and starting to walk away. Again.

“You better answer your phone or you’ll see me sooner than you think.” Sam yelled after him. Bucky turned around to shoot him one of his genuine, amused grins that made Sam’s knees weak, and made it impossible not to smile back.

Yeah, he definitely loved Bucky’s smile. And he already couldn’t wait to see it again.

#sambucky #sambucky fic #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky fluff #fluff #fanfic #tfatws #sam and bucky #bucky's smile is the best thing ever and it prompted me to finally write about them #sam wilson #bucky barnes #idk #i'm bad at tags #my writing

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cooliogirl101 · 3 years

Note

so what happened with nana and shamal? are they a less intense version of gin and hisana? 🤔

The first time Shamal sets eyes on Nana Fujiwara, he is convinced he’s seen an angel. He takes in the warmth of her eyes, the silkiness of her hair, the way she smells like white tea and jasmine, and he leaps at her with welcoming arms, ready to embrace her and press himself against those soft, inviting curves.

He’s promptly enveloped in an enormous cloud of pepper spray. That basically sets the tone for the next two years of their relationship.

In general, Nana likes to think of herself as someone who gets along pretty well with people. She knows she has a bit of a temper, but she tries her best to keep it under control and to remain patient, calm, and understanding.

That all goes out the window when it comes to Trident Shamal.

There are a lot of things about Shamal that she hates. She hates the way he leers at and chases after every girl he finds attractive. She hates his stupid, perverted grin and she hates the stupid, dopey look he gets on his face every time she sees him, and she hates his stupid, fucking ridiculous rule about ‘not treating men.’

Most of all though, she hates how he gets away with it. How every single member of the administration simply laughs it off, telling her it’s “just some harmless flirting, don’t worry about it.” One professor tells her she should be flattered and she almost commits homicide right then and there.

Then to top everything off, she can’t even avoid him because as the top two members of their class, they always end up getting paired together for projects, which was...just typical.

Honestly, Nana thinks the fact that she hasn’t killed him yet is an enormous testament to her self control. She could probably put that on her resume under ‘special skills’-- has refrained from murdering classmate (was there a word for that? Classmate-cide? Peer-tricide?) despite being given literally hundreds of reasons to do so.

Not to say she hasn’t imagined doing so. Vividly. She ended up doodling so many scenarios that she had to get a second notebook.

Any other day, and Shamal would have been thrilled to have Nana Fujiwara, the loveliest, prettiest, most adorable girl in his class, knocking on his door. Any other day and he would’ve been more than happy to wax poetic about her beautiful smile, her fiery personality, her large, doe-like eyes, the soft curve to those plump, inviting lips, the-- well, the list goes on.

Right now however, he hadn’t showered in three (or was it four?) days, he was drenched in his own sweat, he was running a fever of 39.5 C, his head was throbbing painfully, everything hurt, and to top everything off, the room smelled strongly of vomit.

“Shamal, I know you’re in there! Open up!” Shamal groaned miserably, covering his eyes with one arm as the pounding at the door caused his headache to go from ‘someone trying to drive an iron spike through my head’ to ‘iron spike is now on fire and accompanied by a hundred tiny hammers, please kill me now.’

“Goddammit Shamal, you were supposed to send me the draft of your half of the project three days ago! Open the door!” Nana continued to shout through the door. “I swear to god, if you don’t open up, I will kick your door down, don’t think I won’t--oh.”

Nana blinked, irritated scowl melting away at the sight of his appearance. She frowned, a touch of concern creeping into her expression.

“Are you...okay?” She asked hesitantly. It was the first time he’d heard Nana Fujiwara sound hesitant and Shamal hated it.

Summoning up whatever last reserves of strength he had left, Shamal put on his best flirtatious grin, eyes curving up into crescents.

“Aww, you don’t have to be worried about me, beautiful!” He cooed, then clenched his teeth as he felt his stomach swoop nauseatingly. “I’ll be fine, just had a lil’ too much to drink last night.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, which had the added benefit of keeping him mostly upright. “I just need to sleep it off and then--”

“Yeah no, you’re clearly not okay. Stupid question,” Nana murmured, clearly ignoring everything he’d just said. She stepped closer, placing a hand against his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” He shouted. Nana flinched, startled, and Shamal cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“No,” he repeated, calmer this time. “No hospitals. I’ll be fine.”

“Shamal--” Nana began.

“They won’t be able to do anything,” he interrupted. “I’ve been through this before, I know how it goes. I just need to wait it out.” He swallowed. “Going to a hospital won’t help. Please, Nana, I--”

He suddenly doubled over, retching violently the rest of his words disappearing under a river of vomit. Shamal had just enough time to see Nana’s eyes widen before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

Shamal woke up to gentle hands dabbing at his face with a cool washcloth, the pleasant scent of white tea and jasmine, a familiar voice murmuring soft reassurances in his ear.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s just me,” the voice whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nana?” Shamal asked, fighting to stay awake. “You stayed.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah. I stayed.”

Honestly, Nana had no idea what possessed her to actually listen to her obviously sick, half-delirious, idiot classmate instead of doing the reasonable thing, which would’ve been to dump him at the nearest hospital.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually called her by her name for once, instead of some stupid pet name. Maybe it was the fact that she knew firsthand how miserable hospitals could be and could sympathize with his desire to avoid them at all cost. Or maybe it was the fact that she recognized the tone of voice he’d used when he’d told her that there was nothing the doctors could do to help him-- the kind of resigned certainty that could only come from experience, of having your hopes dashed over and over. It was a tone of voice she was well acquainted with.

(“I’m sorry Christina, there’s nothing more we can do.”)

It could have been any one of those reasons, or all three of them. She tried not to think too much about it.

It took another two days before Shamal’s fever started coming down and three before he started sounding halfway coherent again. On the fourth, she found him sitting in bed with his breakfast untouched on the nightstand next to him.

“Is something wrong?” Nana asked, frowning. “Are you feeling nauseous again?” When he shook his head, she continued, “I can make something else if you don’t like--”

“Why?” Shamal interrupted.

“Why what?” Nana asked, puzzled. “Why did I make eggs? I was looking up things that are good to eat when you’re sick and I came across a recipe for Chinese steamed eggs. I wish I knew about this before, I mean like it provides protein but it’s soft like a custard so you don’t have to chew much and--”

“No, why-- why do all this? Why go to this much trouble for me?” Shamal demanded, gesturing wildly with his hands. “The cooking, and the-- the washing, and you even cleaned up my apartment, and I don’t-- I don’t understand why--”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, just leave your unconscious body lying there on Death’s front doorstep?” Nana asked uncomprehendingly.

“I threw up on you!” Shamal snapped, sounding mortified.

“Yeah, you aren’t the first person to throw up on me, and you won’t be the last,” she responded dryly. “I’d be in the wrong line of work if I let a little vomit get to me.”

When he still refused to meet her eyes, she sighed.

“Look Shamal, I may not like you-- actually, I can’t stand you-- but that doesn’t mean I want you to suffer like this. You don’t deserve that, no one deserves that.”

No one deserved to feel like their body was failing them. Nana swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“I was in a position to help, and so I did,” she said quietly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“...as simple as that,” Shamal echoed. “You truly mean that, don’t you? No favors, no debts, just--” He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “You’d go above and beyond the call of duty even for those you hate, just because it was the right thing to do.” He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You really are something else, Nana Fujiwara.”

Nana glanced away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was just acting weird due to the lingering fever, or-- or dizziness from missing breakfast, but something about the way he was looking at her in that moment--

“I should take your temperature again, it’s been over eight hours since I last checked it,” she said abruptly. “I think I left the thermometer in the other room, wait here.” She marched off and tried to ignore how it felt like running away. “Eat your eggs.”

#would really love to hear what you guys think of this relationship dynamic!#solar flame au #wtl!au

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stuckwith-harry · 3 years

Text

A/N: Listen, babes, I was straight up not planning on putting out fic this year, but a series of well-timed little accidents and a very sweet groupchat resulted in this flirty little guy. While I’m sorting out my organisational crisis over on Ao3, I’ll put it here, and now I will go and agonise over the 23 other writing projects on my desk, cool? Cool. I’ve no real content warnings, it’s only banter, although the banter is not what the kids might call family-friendly.

look at what a heart can do / i’m starting to get to you

Silence has begun to come easily.

They’ve opened the window over Ginny’s bed, and cool late-summer air comes spilling in like handfuls of water, moving through the loose shirt she’s slipped into. She’s sitting cross-legged on her mattress, her back to the window, her knees bumping into Harry’s legs, her fingers drumming on his knee in a slow, tipsy rhythm, lilting and lazy like the pitter-patter on her windowpane. Afterwards, she can’t say whether a few minutes or an hour passed this way, only that it was time spent simply sitting and breathing and shifting beside each other, exchanging glances like secret handshakes, knowing grins.

Harry is flipping through the Quidditch magazine that usually resides on Ginny’s nightstand, his thumb absent-mindedly scratching at his bottom lip, his bare back leaning against her headboard. His face is softer without his glasses – like she’s catching him asleep – and still covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Every once in a while, he turns the journal over to point something out to her, like –

“Look at this one.”

So Ginny leans over the open page and peers at the model he’s indicating. “D’you think it’s weird that they’ve got it listed as a Chaser broom?”, she asks quietly, meeting his eye. “Sure, it’s speedy, but look at the inertia, that’s a better fit for a –”

“Beater”, they say in unison, grinning, and settle back into silence. Outside, the night is complete and starlit, the rain showers are warm and brief, and time is passing at a languid pace, not in any hurry to end.

Ginny finally gives up on her novel after she makes it to the bottom of the page for the third time in a row without any of it sticking, resigning herself to the fact that her thoughts are elsewhere. More precisely, they’re stretched out next to her in a pair of boxershorts, squinting at a line-up of the most anticipated broomstick releases of September 1998.

She rests her chin on her hand, her elbow on her knee, quietly looking over at him. His hair, she thinks. His hair is impossible.

He notices.

“What?”, he says softly, gazing back.

Ginny hums. “I have a question.”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Was tonight the first time you did … that?”, she asks.

He suddenly takes great interest in the pattern of Ginny’s quilt, picking at a piece of lint she’s pretty sure is imaginary. She thinks she can see a flush creeping up his neck, too.

“Which part?”, he asks, then, making a face: “Pretend I didn’t say that. The answer’s yes either way – yeah. Yes. I figured it was fairly obvious.”

“It wasn’t, actually”, Ginny says, “that’s why I was curious.”

This does nothing to lessen the way his face is heating up, but with the way he’s grinning to himself, she decides she needn’t feel too sorry for him. “I’m gonna … take that as a compliment, then.”

Ginny grins back. “Oh, you should. It is.”

He clears his throat, not quite meeting her eye. “Have … you?”

She shakes her head, shrugging.

“Huh.”

She squints, smile intact. “Surprised, are you?”

His face hovers in a place between trepidation and something that looks a little like bashfulness, but isn’t. It’s funny, she thinks, he should look bashful. Not very long ago, he would have, but now … she turns her head, searching his features. There’s newness in every slight movement of his mouth. In the intensity with which he looks at her.

“No – and it wouldn’t matter”, he starts, with that bout of sincerity he gets on occasion that makes Ginny weak in the knees. “You just, uhm …”

Ah, she thinks, there is it. Bashfulness in heaps.

“You were good at it”, he says, sounding breathless.,

“Well, thanks”, she says, feeling inexplicably warm. “So were you.”

He squints at her, then looks back at Broomsticks Monthly. “Alright, try not to sound too surprised.”

“I’m not surprised you’re good at it!”, she laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting to, ah – score a goal – the first time we did that.”

Harry peers up at her, the colour of his face roughly resembling their old Gryffindor Quidditch uniforms. Ginny wiggles an eyebrow.

“When would I ever have – who would I have done anything with?”

“You’re telling me you and Cho never reconnected in an abandoned broom closet after things went downhill?”

He seems simply stunned at the idea. “No. Definitely not.”

“It’s not a ridiculous assumption”, Ginny says, amused.

“Her and I only – come to think of it, I’m pretty sure we only kissed the one time. And she was – well, sad all the time, wasn’t she, and I was –”

“Seething all the time”, she says cheerfully. “Fair enough.”

He gazes back at her, visibly mulling something over.

“You and Dean never did anything?”

Ginny throws a pillow at him.

Harry catches.

“You needled me too!”

Which Ginny, unfortunately, cannot argue with.

“No, we really didn’t.” She watches his face for a reaction, for a hint of relief, or smugness maybe, but to his credit, there is none. “I think he wanted to, though.”

Harry makes a face.

“Alright, relax”, she grins. “I’d spare you the details, but there quite literally aren’t any.”

He slouches back, propped up on one elbow buried deep in her pillow, the deep orange glow from the lamp on her nightstand casting his face in soft shadows, in warm hues. Ginny continues to watch him. He’s squinting into Broomsticks Monthly again, but his eyes are not moving along the page, so she knows he noticed.

After a moment, he sighs.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

Ginny merely hums in response, and it dissolves into ripples of soft laughter at his expression. There it is again. That newness in his face.

“You … made it pretty easy.”

“Hm?”

“Your face”, he says finally, with a quiet rasp in his voice that tugs pleasantly at Ginny’s insides, “is … extremely readable. It wasn’t that hard to figure out what was … working for you.”

Ginny stares at him, stunned, and he at least has the good sense to look a little abashed.

“Your face is extremely readable”, she mutters.

Harry grins. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s a good thing.”

“No, I mean it”, she says, throwing her head back, peering down at him with a grin. “You were pretty readable too. Very transparent.”

“I’m just saying, it wasn’t all me.”

In the moment’s silence that follows, while they effortlessly reassemble their limbs, Ginny’s eyes come to linger on the long-abandoned camp bed on the floor beside her bed, whose only function now is to keep up the ruse for her parents’ sake. She grins: he’s been sleeping in her bed since he came to stay in her room instead of Ron’s.

They’ve been sleeping with each other for almost a week.

“You make that easy”, she tells him lightly. She makes a purposeless dog-ear in her book, shuffling around on her mattress, her body bumping into his with such ease she might as well have never known anything else. “Maybe it’s not … entirely accidental. It’s easy with you.”

She hears his slow exhale, watches the way his grin softens into a smile. Even under the loose-fitting shirt, she feels herself growing warm, even though it falls off her shoulders like a circus tent, the shoulder seams comically misplaced on her upper arms.

It’s as good a moment as any to remember that the t-shirt is Harry’s, technically. It makes her feel naked in a wholly new way; only she realises she doesn’t mind.

She lets out a fluttering breath. “Interesting. I’m usually the one making you blush.”

“Well”, he says softly, “it looks good on you.”

It’s unclear if he’s talking about his t-shirt or the colour of her face, and it doesn’t matter much, it makes warmth pool in Ginny’s belly all the same. For a moment there, she’s the girl with her elbow in the butter dish all over again – if nothing else, she can imagine their faces glowing in identical shades of pink, bright like the carnations growing in the flower boxes on the Burrow’s windowsills.

What never presents itself – what doesn’t come back – is the urge to hastily pull back into her shell, like a little snail prodded by an overzealous finger. So he continues to look, and she continues to let him, the fluttering in her belly light and pleasant like the first sip of a fizzy drink.

That much is new.

#hinny #hp #fanfiction #i forgot if i had a fic tag for mine lol #jessie writes #there we are

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 200!!!! I’m so proud of you.

Ok, so I had a dream about Ricky the other night. He was 1000% not on my radar, but now he is. LOL so I’m requesting “No panties, baby girl?” With Ricky.

Thank you my dear 😊 ah yeah 😍 Ricky can kinda just sneak up on ya 🥰 hope you enjoy ☺️

Jealousy

Pairings: Ricky Hauk x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, slight angst, jealousy, fluff.

When Ricky got accepted into the creative writing course you were so proud of him. His mother finally letting him attend after realising how talented he was. Of course you’d always known, being his girlfriend for the last two years he’d written you countless poems, which you cherished. Lately though, he’s been really busy, in college during the week, working in the garage at the weekend. You haven’t seen him in over three weeks, it’s the longest you’ve gone since you both started dating.

Tonight, Ricky has invited you to a poetry reading in the old book store in town. Excited to spend some time with him, you wear your cute little floral dress, the one he loves to rip off you. The thought of him touching you with his slightly rough hands sends a spark straight to your core. Deciding to be a little bold, you forgo wearing any panties, with the hopes that Ricky will bring you to your favourite spot. The sound of a car horn rips you from your thoughts, looking out the window you see Ricky wave up at you. You practically race out the door and jump into his arms. He swings you around before gently pushing you up against his truck. He kisses you the way a drowning man drinks water, it’s all yearning and desperation. Pulling away from him to catch your breath

“Baby, my mom is watching.”

Looking towards the window, sure enough your mom is there. Ricky gives her a quick wave before helping you inside the truck. He has his hand on your thigh the entire drive. He fills you in on his course and how Joey is getting on in school. You don’t tell him that you know, because you’ve been helping him with a few of his projects. Arriving at the book store hand in hand, Ricky introduces you to some of his college friends. They seems nice and are thankfully easy to talk too. It isn’t until she walks in that the atmosphere shifts slightly. She walks straight towards Ricky, swaying her hips as she does. He’s quick to drop your hand and pull her into a hug. Her name is Casey and she is undeniably beautiful, with her emerald green eyes and blonde hair. He seems captivated by her, choosing to sit beside her for the reading, leaving you with Caleb. Your hurt and doubt begins to creep in as you watch the two of them deep in conversation. Maybe he’s been with her the last couple of weeks, making it seem like he was too busy to meet. Maybe he’s moving on to someone who has more things in common with him than you. Well if he’s going to ignore you the whole night, so will you. When the reading is over, you spot Jake from the supplier company for the hardware store. You won’t lie, he’s gorgeous, that surfer dude vibe doing him wonders. As soon as he sees you, his eyes light up. He finishes talking to the guy next to him and strides towards you.

“Hey Y/N, didn’t expect to see you here!” His eyes rake over your form and you can see desire building behind them. “You look beautiful by the way.”

Blushing, “thank you, not so bad yourself. What are doing here?”

“Oh, that guy over there with the long hair and glasses, that’s my friend Hudson. He organised the reading, said I better show up, give my support.”

“Ah I see, not a big fan of poetry then? I’m not surprised you seem more athletic, am I right?”

“You hit the nail on the head. Football. Although lately I haven’t much time, been helping dad with the business takes a lot of my time. Course you know all about that. How are your parents?”

You can feel eyes on you, and sure enough when you turn slightly, Ricky is staring right at you. There’s a fire brewing behind his eyes and you know you’ve struck a cord. Deciding that making him jealous is the only way your going to get what you want, you play into it. You twirl your hair with your fingers and smile brightly up a Jake.

“Oh their great, their actually heading away for their anniversary soon, 30 years married.”

“Wow, that’s along time. Hope I reach that milestone some day.”

“Oh I’m sure you will, I’d say there are loads of women vying for your attention.”

“Oh…well…..I suppose….just not found the right girl yet.”

Running your hand up his arm, “maybe you’ll find her soon?”

You can see the pink tinge on his cheeks. Suddenly an arm is wrapped around your waist and your pulled into something hard and warm. Looking up you see Ricky staring straight at Jake.

“Hey man, how do you know my girlfriend?”

“Oh…I deliver to the hardware store.”

“Cool. Baby you ready to go?”

“What already, but I was just…”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish what you we’re saying. He pulls you along through the store and out to the street. He looks around, as if he’s searching for something, before pulling you into the nearest alley. Without hesitation, he pushes you up against the wall.

“What was that in there?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, that guy in there, you were all over him.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“That’s rich coming from you. You do realise YOU invited me tonight, YOU said you wanted to spend time with me. As soon as Casey walks in, I’m forgotten about.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t forget about you..”

“You did! If you don’t want me anymore fine, but don’t string me along Ricky, I deserve better.” He can hear the sadness in your voice. He tilts your chin upward so your looking at him.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise ok. I love you. Yes I get along with Casey, but she’s not you. Never will be. Your it for me Y/N, me and you.”

“I love you too and I’m sorry about Jake. I was just angry and wanted to make you jealous.”

He kisses you passionately taking your breath away. His hands are roaming all over your body. One hand slides it’s way down, lifting up the skirt of your dress. He runs it up your thigh towards your heat. He lets out a guttural moan.

“No panties, baby girl?!”

You’ve lost the ability to speak, nodding your head instead. You look him in the eye and you can see their blown wide with lust. He’s frantic now, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down to his knees. He can’t wait anymore lining himself up at your core and with one thrust he is deep within you. You can feel very ridge of him inside you. His cock pulses as he waits for you’re permission.

“You can move baby.”

You don’t have to tell him twice as he pounds into you without abandon. It’s so raw and the thought that if someone walked by and looked into the alley they would see you, set your body on fire. The moans that he’s letting out turn you on even more.

“God baby…..so…..hot and wet…..all mine.”

“Yes….all yours.”

Pleasure coils into a tight knit in your belly, threatening to unravel at any moment. You cry out as fierce waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembling with force of your climax and Ricky follows you over the edge with a groan, as he releases inside you. Your both panting hard. Ricky fixes your dress before pulling his trousers back up. He pulls you flush against him, “you ok baby?”

“Yeah, that was amazing. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Do you wanna stay at mine tonight? We can snuggle on the couch and watch a movie?”

“That sounds so good right now, also I’ve spent three weeks without you. Damn right I’m staying over.”

He kisses you again before you get into his truck and drive towards his house. A thought enters your head, if this is how he reacts, I’ll have to get him jealous more often. Smiling you stare at him, “I love baby.”

“I love you to forever and always.”

Tagging:

@lunaserenade @anaaaispunk @librariantothejedi @day-off-inkyoto @asta-lily @maievdenoir @elinedjarin @dindjarinneedsahug @pascal-rascal424 @pintsizemama @seasonschange-butpeopledont @janelongxox @stevie75 @thorins-queen-of-erebor @dihra-vesa @loserrlauraa @kirsteng42 @ikinmahlen @almaeunice @jediknight122 @colorlesswhispersunknown @rosie-posie08 @alberta-sunrise @javierpinme @pascalisthepunkest

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ricky hauk x reader #ricky hauk x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #ricky hauk x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #ricky hauk fic

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minteyeddevil · 3 years

Text

“Needed a Break”

Lucifer x MC Liah (Fem!MC)

Smut/NSFT

(phone sex, masturbation; self-indulgent piece cause I am trash for my ship)

With a heavy sigh leaving her, she closed her text book and picked up her D.D.D., checking the time. The white numbers read ‘1:00am’ and she gave a deep groan this time, letting herself fall back onto her pillow. Time had gone by way too fast since she started working on homework that she lost complete track of it and wasted the entire evening. She had sworn she would finish this project in time, especially after not doing so well with her last one; but she didn’t think it would take this long to get it all over and done with. Maybe one more hour and she would be completely done, she thought.

She was interrupted from her thoughts when her D.D.D. began ringing suddenly. The ringtone that played was the one assigned to the eldest of the brothers, the only one who actually had one assigned to them. She picked it up, looking at his image displayed on the screen. What could he be calling about this late at night? Please don't let it be some kind of lecture; was there something she forgot to do? After running through several possibilities in her head, she simply shrugged too herself and answered the phone, letting herself relax against the headboard of her bed.

“Hello? Lucifer? Whatever it is, Mammon did it.”

“Hello, Liah." He chuckled a bit at her quick quip. "I am not calling due to any recent occurrences, I simply assumed you would still be awake at this hour. Burning the midnight oil, hm?”

She gave a dry laugh, looking down at the mess of papers and books on her bed. “Guess you could say that. I did say I would finish my project on time, didn’t I? Being sleep deprived is a small price to pay to get my grades in order." She instantly regretted mentioning sleep deprivation; but he only seemed to hum in response.

“Hm, but you still need your rest so that you can actually pay attention in class." Ah, there it is. "Sleeping through lecture would not suit our proper exchange student, now would it?”

She rolled her eyes, but it wasn't lost on her that there was a tease to his tone of voice this time, instead of the usual stern and matter-of-factually way he would speak. “I know I need to sleep, and I plan on doing so once I am done here, which will hopefully be soon. But, sir,” she teased, treading lightly, "don't you think it's rather against your standards to keep me busy on the phone?"

There was silence on his end of the line for a moment, and she feared she may have over-stepped; but his deep chuckle made her suck in a deep breath. “I suppose you are correct. To be quite honest with you," he added on a sigh, "I decided to call because I...simply desired to hear your voice.”

She was taken aback by this, completely caught off guard. She flushed slightly as well, shifting the phone from one ear to the other as she curled up against her headboard further. “R-really? That...doesn’t really sound like something you would do, Lucifer. Normally you are buried in your work, so I wouldn't expect you to...want to listen to me talk.”

On the other end of the phone, Lucifer sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face, looking over the stack of papers that were currently set in front of him. “Mm, truthfully I found myself actually seeking distraction, believe it or not. I still have an immense amount of paperwork that needs tending to, and Mammon certainly added to this issue with his stack of bills he decided to neglect, and found their way onto my desk. In seeking said distraction, you were actually the first thing that came to mind, hence me calling you.” He was silent for a moment suddenly. “Does that bother you that I called for something so selfish and ridiculous?”

She sat up quickly, hugging the phone to her cheek as if she was trying to hug him through the device. “No, not at all! It’s just...unexpected is all. I don’t mind being on the phone with you. Especially if I am helping you take a break from your work for a bit," she added on a small giggle.

“That reply makes me quite happy,” he admitted on a soft chuckle. He leaned forward on his desk, picking up a stray paper and looking it over before just placing it right back down, not bothering to read it. “Thank you for humoring me. Are you going to continue working on your project while we talk?”

She looked down at the mess of books and papers, frowning deeply. “Actually I’d rather pay attention to talking to you for now, if you don’t mind. It’s nice taking a break from work, don’t you think?”

He sighed, crimson eyes closing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose. Though I have so much I need to get done for Diavolo…”

“Your loyalty to him knows no bounds,” she interrupted him, not wanting him to dwell and regret taking this much needed break, however long it would be. “But you still deserve time to let yourself rest, Lucifer. Running yourself ragged all the time isn’t good for your health, demon or not.”

He hummed his agreement, nodding. He let himself recline once more in his chair, smiling softly. “Yes, you’re right, little lamb.”

She froze for a moment before a shudder ran up and down her spine. Little lamb? Did he just use a pet-name when referring to her? That was the first time she had ever heard him say something like that to her, and she was so thrown at the fact that she honestly liked it. She especially didn't know how to reply to it, and stayed silent on her end of the line; so silent that Lucifer thought she had hung up.

“Liah? Are you still there?”

She snapped out of her daze, shaking her head and feeling the heat in her cheeks against the coolness of the phone screen. “Yes, yes I’m here! Sorry I just...um," she worried her lower lip with her teeth, "you've never called me anything other than 'Liah' before, so it took me a bit by surprise. Not that it bothered me or anything!" she scrambled, the flush only heightening and spreading to the tips of her ears.

He cleared his throat. "Forgive me if I did over-step-"

“No! Actually, um, I...quite like it," she admitted, subconsciously scratching at her lower lip with the nail of her index finger.

He allowed himself a smile for a moment, and switched the phone to his other ear. “Then I will continue to call you as such, my little lamb.” He heard a small squeak from her end of the line and a mumbled agreement, making his smile only widen. How cute she was when she was flustered by him, he thought. He found it rather endearing how her face would turn almost as red as a tomato when he would catch her off guard with his quips and retorts; this situation being the most recent. He gave a small laugh. “It’s rather entertaining getting you flustered, I have to admit," he teased, "I wonder...could I possibly fluster you further by telling you some things I have been thinking about you as of late?”

He felt rather bold at this point, considering it didn't seem she would be turning him down. She was always so receptive to his gestures and slight flirtation; would he be stepping too far over the line with the current thoughts he wished to share? He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to see where it could take things; but he honestly did not foresee the phone call getting to this point to begin with.

The way his tone of voice seemed to deepen, almost become suggestive, made her knees weak. She had always harbored a flame for the Avatar of Pride, but for things to escalate this quickly? Was she dreaming?

Her sudden silence however gave him pause, and he began to back-pedal, worried that he did indeed over-step this time. He cleared his throat once more, and she could hear the shuffling of papers in the background. "I didn't mean to tease so harshly, Liah. Forgive me, I will let you go back to your school work-"

"Wait, wait Lucifer, no, please don't hang up!" She sounded frantic and he paused, listening. She was sitting upright in her bed, clutching tightly onto the phone as she licked her lips before choosing her next words.

“What have you been thinking about me, Lucifer?”

He swallowed. "Are you truly sure you wish to know?"

"Yes. Please."

"Swear to me you will not regret this."

She felt her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "I swear, Lucifer."

She heard a slight hitch in his breathing, and his voice seemed to deepen as he spoke to her. “I’ve been thinking about how you would look sitting snugly on my lap as I worked, my cock buried deep inside you while you weren’t allowed to move. I’ve imagined you underneath my desk, mouth wrapped around me as you whimper and moan for me…”

Her own breathing hitched, and she sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. She let herself fall onto her bed, rolling onto her side as she held the phone tightly to her ear. "Have you really been thinking that way about me?"

"To be quite honest, it's practically an every day occurrence at this point," he admitted on a small laugh. She squealed, burying her face in her pillow, feeling her heart leap in her chest. "Is it bad that that makes me...actually quite happy to know?" she asked shyly, rubbing her thighs together as the thoughts he just shared filled her head.

“I suppose not. But, I truly wish to know...what do you think about me, my little lamb?”

She could feel the heat in her face spread to her chest, and a secondary heat grown hotter between her thighs. She swallowed and admitted to him, “I think about you coming into my room at night and having your way with me. About you punishing me for not doing my school work by s-spanking me and fucking me into oblivion..." She gasped and hid her face her pillow. "Oh this is so embarrassing to share with you, Lucifer!”

He laughed, and the sound only made the warmth in her belly grow. “Don't be embarrassed, please. I truly enjoy knowing you think about me in the ways I think about you. It makes me genuinely happy, and, I must admit, incredibly turned on." His last few words seemed to come out on a growl, and she whimpered beside herself.

"Liah,” his voice seemed to boom in her ear suddenly, stern and demanding. “I want you to touch yourself while on the phone with me.”

She whimpered once more, and he had to bite back a groan at hearing her. He continued, “I want to hear the little noises you make when you touch yourself and hear the sound of you coming undone. Please.”

She swallowed her nerves. “Okay. I will...as long as I get to hear you in return.”

Another deep chuckle. "Of course you will." She could hear the rustling of clothing and the sound of metal hitting the floor; she pictured him scooting forward in his chair, unbuckling his pants with one hand and pulling his belt free of the loops in one go. On his end of the phone, he was palming himself through his slacks, before undoing the zipper to let his cock free of its confines.

Her hand slipped into her shorts and underneath her underwear, finding her folds already wet. She keened softly when her fingertip touched her clit, drawing tight circles around the sensitive nub. “I’m...I’m touching myself now, Lucifer…”

“I love how my name sounds in your lust-ridden voice, my little lamb,” he groaned, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving himself a few shallow strokes, “I want you to imagine me between your thighs, imagine that I am the one who is touching you and bringing you pleasure.”

She moaned, closing her eyes to picture him above her, doing to her what her hand was. “L-Lucifer...I wish you were here with me though,” she whined, speeding up the tight circles on her clit before dipping her fingers into her entrance.

“I will be soon, but for now let me enjoy listening to you. Keep thinking of me, pinning you down on your bed and fucking you hard like you wish for me to.” He tightened his grip a bit, pumping himself a bit faster, in time with how he was imagining her fingers to be moving.

Hearing him curse was such a rarity it sent a jolt down her spine and straight to her cunt. She gave a wanton moan, loud and high in his ear. He continued. “Once I get my hands on you, no other demon will be allowed to touch you. I will mark you all over and claim you as my own.”

She could hear his breathing come in small pants and she imagined him leaning back in his chair, free hand pumping his cock hard and fast, in time with her own stroking fingers. “Lucifer...please, may I cum?” she cried, feeling her toes begin to curl and that tingling, numbing sensation begin to take over her limbs.

He smirked to himself. “Yes, you may, little lamb. Cum for me.”

His words pushed her over the edge, her fingers sliding into her entrance as she came around them, rocking her hips against her own hand. She heard him grunting and panting on his end, imagining him cumming all over his desk, his hand gripping his cock tightly. There was a moment of silence, that was shortly followed by a defeated sigh.

“I...may have gotten carried away there.”

She giggled. “Did you make a mess on some important papers?”

“I blame you for this,” he practically snarled; yes, he certainly did. She simply smiled against the phone. “Are you going to come punish me for it, then?”

“You better be prepared for it,” he growled, and soon hung up the phone.

She smiled and sat up on her bed, looking excitedly at the door as it was soon swung up by a very hungry looking demon.

“Now, where were we?”

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me nsft #lucifer #mc liah #oc liah #fem!mc #fanfiction

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neverdoingmuch · 3 years

Note

Wangxian prompt: They see each other constantly. Like, maybe they're neighbors, or is a "my kid's teacher" situation. Maybe they meet at the bus stop, or work in the same company but different offices. So they're aware of each other and they exchange glances, maybe little inside-joke smiles about things they both notice. They see each other being brave, competent, kind, so so handsome. And when they actually talk to each other months later the first thing they say is "Marry me" and "Yes"

ooh!! this sounds like a lot of fun, i love it so much. i think office workers would be the best bc then we can contrast the banality of the rest of their lives to the quirkiness of their relationship so to speak.

okay so it all started when lwj decided that he wanted to eat breakfast on his apartment balcony

he takes his bowl and goes to sit in the chair outside and he’s prepared to just enjoy the cool morning air but when he looks up he sees a man sitting on the balcony exactly opposite his

wwx, by some strange luck, has the apartment across the street, and always goes outside to try and wake up bc he is not a morning person at all and the 9-5 job is killer for someone who likes to go to sleep at like three in the morning

anyway, lwj looks up and sees this kinda cute guy just sitting on the floor miserably blinking at the rising sun and is like oh weird and tries not to stare too much

but after that first time lwj sees him, he starts seeing mystery balcony dude everywhere, like everywhere and no amount of not staring is gonna save him

he goes down to his favourite cafe to get a cup of tea after breakfast and while he’s enjoying his tea and reading the newspaper he hears someone laugh loudly and glances over to the muffin display to see balcony man chatting with one of the staff as he orders his own coffee

balcony man must have noticed his attention because he looks over and for a moment he looks confused but then he’s smiling brightly at lwj and it’s this absolutely amazing smile and he’s even hotter when he’s not sitting in a ratty t-shirt across the street and lwj panics, chugs the rest of his tea, and immediately leaves

he ends up arriving at the train station fifteen minutes early and is stuck awkwardly waiting while avoiding the grandma who likes showing men pictures of her granddaughter who is very beautiful and very single apparently

the train arrives and lwj gets on, finds a seat and pulls out his phone to respond to emails. then, just as the doors are about to shut, who should rush in but balcony man

he’s kinda sweaty and red but the guy makes it look good and he ends up sitting down a few metres from lwj, not that lwj notices because he’s very busy responding to his emails about how one of the teams in sales is having difficulties with one of their projects, so busy that he spends the next thirty minutes staring at the email unable to get past the second line

lwj and wwx end up getting off at the same stop and to lwj’s absolute horror they end up going to the same building

lwj tries to do the thing where you speedwalk past the person so they don’t think you’re following them but then wwx did the same thing to him so they end up arriving at the same time

they get in the elevator together, lwj near the door off to the left and balcony man in the far corner, leaning against the wall and looking down at his shoes

it’s kind of awkward but thankfully wwx gets off at the fifteenth floor - software design and tech support or something while lwj gets off at the twentieth floor - sales maybe?

he doesn’t see the man again until the end of the work day when they get into the elevator at the same time and go back down. they’re the only two people in there bc they’re working late or the stars aligned or something

and that’s just the first day. after that, every day the same thing happens and they keep seeing each other as they’re going to and from work.

but also lwj goes to do the grocery shopping and when he’s paying wwx is in the next line across and when he goes to buy new strings for his guqin wwx is already in the store buying a new mouthpiece for his dizi

this goes on for a few weeks and then one morning, while wwx is trying to shock his system into waking up and lwj is just enjoying breakfast, they hear familiar shouting: the couple downstairs is breaking up again

lwj rolls his eyes, aware that come next week they’ll be dating again, and just blocks it out when the boyfriend comes stumbling out of the building with his shirt half on and the girlfriend still yelling

he looks across the street to see what balcony man thinks of it all and sees that he’s mouthing along to the argument (it really is exactly the same speech every time but it’s incredible that he’s memorised it). lwj snorts. it’s unseemly and rude but balcony man is over there acting out the break up as well as mouthing along and it’s the funniest thing lwj’s seen all week.

wwx notices him laugh and decides to wave at him. lwj tentatively waves back and with that the magic of their relationship sets in

now when lwj goes to the cafe in the morning wwx will look around the store until he spots lwj and wave at him, and lwj will lift his mug up in greeting which always make wwx laugh

then when they get on the train, they always get seats opposite each other and while they never actually say anything, sometimes lwj will glance over to see wwx sneaking a look at him. they both blush and look away but moments later they’re doing it again

when they walk to work, lwj crosses the street so they can walk at the same pace and not have to actually be right next to each other and despite having to cross back over, wwx is always still waiting to catch the elevator with him.

now when they go up, they still don’t talk to each other but wwx always hums and lwj taps along with whatever tune he’s picked.

same thing when they go back down in the evening and catch the train back

over time it starts to become more than just staring and smiling, now when the couple downstairs breaks up, wwx will hold up like three fingers and lwj understands that balcony man thinks they’ll get back together within three days

(wwx’s always right btw)

when they go to the cafe lwj will send wwx a thumbs down if the sports mum with eight kids gets in queue first and wwx will always make hearts with his hands whenever the baristas start flirting.

when they get in the train and hear the angry businessmen argue they’re sitting there making funny faces at each other,, well wwx does and lwj just tries to keep his face blank. he usually succeeds but sometimes he smiles and wwx will always do a little victory wiggle which is honestly so cute lwj is dying

the elevator? they don’t even have to say anything. whenever a coworker they don’t like hops in they just find subtle ways to explain why they don’t like them and how

the best time was when lwj saw su she get in and immediately pulled a face like he sucked a lemon and had to try and mime “he always takes really long lunches and is really bad at sales but we can’t get rid of him because he’d whine too much and no one wants to put up with that” but he’s lwj and doesn’t really do miming. in contrast, when wen chao gets in wwx just holds up his thumb and pointer finger like he’s measuring something, and holds them only a few centimetres apart.

they both get really good at reading each other like that

when they catch the train back home it’s always really late so lwj ends up reading a book while wwx sketches and, just as lwj always holds up his books so wwx can see the cover, wwx will show lwj whatever he’s drawn

at one point in time lwj comes home and sees a stray kitten hiding in a box near the entrance to his building but he can’t take it in bc of his rabbit so instead he goes out onto his balcony and just points straight down and holds up a cardboard box he has in his own apartment

without even hesitating wwx goes downstairs and crosses the street, still dressed in his pyjamas, and takes the kitten home.

lwj kinda expected wwx to take the kitten to a shelter or something but within a month their morning routine changes to allow a kitten to climb all over wwx as he tries to wake up and it’s ridiculously adorable but also lwj is sitting there in absolute awe of how good balcony man is to just take in a stray like that

there’s probably a few other scenes, like wwx and lwj going out to a dinner with their teams and they get seated at nearby tables and end up sending each other commiserating smiles whenever the conversation gets particularly dull and the time when lwj gets caught by the well-meaning grandma who always tries to set people up with her granddaughter on the train and he taps out sos in morse code and wwx just replies rip and stares out the window for the rest of the trip

anyway this is getting a bit long so im going to say jump forward a year (doesn’t have to be a year i guess). they’re still enjoying this whole thing they’ve got going on and they know each other so well that when lwj sees wwx some mornings he knows to go to the cafe early and order an extra strong coffee for wwx and wwx will sometimes sketch pictures of rabbits when lwj seems a bit annoyed after work

(wwx will fold them into paper aeroplanes and throw them across the train to lwj and lwj always takes them home and flattens them back out and then shows them to his rabbit before before putting them up on the fridge)

one day the trains break down and they’re stuck waiting at the station in the morning and for once lwj feels genuinely sad that he might not get to work on time. like work is whatever but he doesn’t want to miss out on the half an hour on the train with balcony man and the way they speedwalk to see who can get to the office first and the awkward waiting outside the elevators where wwx bounces up and down and lwj taps out a rhythm against his thigh until wwx notices and starts humming along

but then he notices wwx walking over to him. he seems kinda nervous, hesitating at first but he puts on a confident smile and saunters over and lwj is panicking because they haven’t done this before and he doesn’t know what to do

wwx opens his mouth - he’s going to make the first move and ask out his mystery man, but then lwj takes one look at wwx, who’s standing right next to him and it feels different to all the other times they’ve been together, and he panics

wwx barely manages to open his mouth to say good morning when lwj blurts out will you marry me?

wwx blinks, blushes bright red, and immediately goes yes! (it’s a bit too loud and people around them turn to stare but neither of them notice)

lwj immediately whips out his phone and sends in an email saying that he’s taking a sick day and after he sends it off, he slips his phone back into his pocket, takes wwx’s hand in his and asks him what’s your name?

it takes wwx like fifteen minutes to stop laughing by which time they’re back at their cafe and this time, they both sit down at a table after ordering their drinks and it’s the baristas making hearts with their hands at them

#Anonymous #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs #modao zushi #mo dao zu shi #asks #my aus #cql #the untamed #anon i hope this turned out alright!!#i loved your prompt so much and i wanted to do justice to it #i was thinking it was gonna be short but it ended up being really long too ):#or not a sad face if you like long answers?#who knows!!#but i had a lot of fun!#i didnt get much into the brave & competent thing bc i wanted to create a disconnect between their normal jobs and these moments they share #also?? they'd probably have to talk if they saw each other up close so rip the logistics

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funnyexel · 3 years

Text

Something About You

Loki x Black Female Reader

A/n : In honor of the kick off of Loki, I’ve made this little short story about him. Thanks for 90+ followers! Requests are open! Masterlist Mega List

You sat in the same seat you always did. In the same coffee shop you always visited but somehow today felt different...It didn’t feel like the other days. Typing away on your laptop, a towering male takes a seat across from you. Ignoring him, you continue your work. Stealing a glance, you see he has been staring at you. Clearing your throat, you try your best to sound intimidating. “Can I help you?” You look up from your screen for a few moments. He shakes his head, still in awe with something about you.

“Look. I don’t want to be rude or anything but your staring is kind of distracting me.” You finally stop what your doing, trapping him in solid eye contact. Your eyes roam around his figure for a moment. Jet black hair, that reached his shoulders. Pale skin, that looked even paler compared to yours and a lazily sharp jaw. “What are you writing?” Your face twisted in a confused format. “A book. I am writing a book.” You take a sip of your drink. “Don’t let me stop you.” He gives a peering smirk.

With a huff, you go back to typing. His eyes are still fixed on you. Saving your document and closing your laptop. You fold your hands on top of the device. “Ok, what? You have my full attention.” He chuckles at your words. His laugh shaking you to your core. “What kind of book are you writing?” You lean your head on your hand. “I don’t know yet. I’m kind of having writers block at the moment.” He nods his head to you. Your eyes gliding over this handsome stranger. “That does seem quite frustrating.” His voice smooth and his wording proper. “Yes, very.” You look out the window for a moment before turning your head back to him and putting your hand out.

“I’m Y/n.” You introduce yourself to him, taking your hand he introduced himself. “I’m Loki.” His cold palm met your warm one and lightly shook. “Nice to meet you Loki.”

Y/n and Loki have met in that coffee shop ever since that day. It was their spot. They got to know each other. He’d tell her ridiculous stories about his home. Going on about how his father wouldn’t treat him like a son, how his brother is a brain dead doofus, and how he felt different from others. She could relate to some of his issues. He wanted to better himself and he told her, he was in a situation he couldn’t get out of. Months pass, you were on your way to your apartment from your publishers office in Midtown Manhattan.

“Yeah, yeah the avengers are cool and all but no one ever considers the damages after their battles. People call me crazy because I don’t like this area.” You talk to yourself, quietly as you walk to the subway. Suddenly hearing screams and commotion, you turn your walk into a sprint. “This is why I don’t like this area!” You slide your card and your train comes into view. A spark of hope flares in your eye. Your footsteps slow to a stop, that spark in your eye dying instantly as the train gets blasted to pieces.

The creatures speaking their foreign language, you slowly back up and run out of the subway. Stopping dead in your tracks at the sight. Some type of floats in the sky and more creatures. “I should have stayed in New Jersey.” You jog away from the subway entrance as footsteps become louder. Finding a building, you bang on the door. “Hello!? SOMEONE PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR” You hear shuffling inside, you know people are in there. “Please! I Know Someone Is In There!” You project your voice. Hitting the door one last time, you move on. “I hope it was worth it Y/n. You just had to give your publisher a paper copy because it was the best book you’ve ever written.”

You mock yourself. On the verge of tears. You suck those tears up at the sight of more creatures. Turning back, two appear behind you. Push comes to shove and somehow, someway you got taken on one of those floaty thingy’s. “Let go of me!” You twist and turn, trying to get out of their grasp. “Someone!” You scream. Seeing an opportunity to get out their grasp, you take it and get pushed off. Now falling from god knows how many feet, you scream fearing your inevitable fate. A pain hits your stomach, a hand holding your back. You groan, gripping onto the back for dear life. “damn, that hurt.” You mutter as your stomach aches. You lift your chin up, your head spinning.

“oh look at that...a blond man?” Your head was messing with you at this point. Hallucinations clouding your thoughts. You hear the person under you curse. Two palms hold onto each side of your waist, pushing you off with enough force to rip your hands off their back. A great power pushing you away. In the midst of it all, you get a glimpse of that recognizable long dark hair. “loki.” You roll backwards, your butt hitting the ground hard. Those tears that you were holding in before, flew freely down your cheeks. You attempted to wipe them away but they kept coming. Looking around through the tears, you see you’re in Central Park. Somewhere they didn’t reach yet, people were walking around like it was any other day.

The pain of your ribs comes backs to bite, as you feel two of your ribs break. “Damn you and your strong shoulders.” You collapse, not yet having the energy to move from that spot. “Ma’am, are you alright?” You look aside. “yes.” You find the strength to wipe away the tears, holding your ribs as you sit up. A small pain hits your shoulder. “no.” You tilt and fall back into your spot, blacking out.

You groan, your head pounding almost as painfully as before. “Y/n L/n. Orphan. Mildly Popular Book Author. Three books published.” You force your eyes to focus in the dimly lit room. “where am I?” Your hand flies to your ribs as you sit up in the chair. “Unimportant. What’s important is why the chitauri would go out their way to get you.” You look at the black man. “I don’t know.” You breathe out. “You should know something.” Looking around the room, your eyes trail back to the man. “I know something.” You pause your sentence for suspense. “I know I have two broken ribs from being tossed around like a rag doll.” He chuckles for a moment before doing a hand motion.

A few moments pass, your wounds get tended to, with the black man gone, a few new comers take over. “Why would you let him do an invasion?” And before you could breathe a sign of relief, you get bombarded with questions. “I didn’t let him do anything.” They were convinced you had something to do with the invasion. “What were you doing in the area? Why did the chitauri capture you?” They were beginning to make your head hurt all over again. “I was giving my publisher a copy of my book and I don’t know.” You tried your best to answer the questions but they refuse to believe your answers.

“What part of “I don’t know” do you not understand? I keep telling you I don’t know meaning I actually don’t kn-” Your sentence gets cut off with a hissing of the restraint, they place on your mouth. Attempting to pull it off, they respond with grabbing your wrists and putting on handcuffs. Yanking you out the seat. “Maybe you’ll know like this.” They practically drag you to your next destination. “Get in.” It wasn’t a choice. Pushing you into a small capsule. They shut the glass, it wasn’t the roomiest of spaces. “Someone will talk.”

You flinch at the sudden light, shining brightly into your eyes. “Do the avengers know you’re doing this?” Loki tries not to show his panic. This isn’t what he wanted for you. He didn’t want you to get caught up in his mess. “They don’t need to know as long as we get information.” You see the mans hand shift to a panel. Using the heavy duty cuffs you try to break the glass. Muffled screams come from your capsule. You shake your head, pleading for him not to drop the capsule. “Last chance.” Loki traps your eyes in a gaze, for the seemingly last time. Without remorse he pushed the button causing your capsule to-

Your knuckles ache as your hands rip away from the sheets. With a groan, you sit up and dangle your feet over the edge of the bed. ‘I hate that nightmare.’ You sigh. Standing to your feet and looking back to the abnormally large bed made for two. Putting on shorts, you walk over to the kitchen. That’s what you loved about this place it was all one floor, very easy to get everywhere. Sitting at the island stool, you rub your fourhead. Gazing out the window missing your lover. You decided to leave the house. But not before leaving a note, just in case he came back before you.

“went to earth for a little. will be back later. xoxo y/n”

Stepping outside into your yard. You click the little device Loki “borrowed” from his brother. Selecting “Midgard” a bright light taking you to the desired planet. Your nightmare recommencing on the way.

The whirling winds of the storm happening on the outside abused the capsule as it fell into a foggy cloak. Before you could realize, what you’d done. You were holding onto a bright gold little hint of green string. It was powerful. “Did I just do that?” You said to yourself. The highspeed winds making it impossible to hear yourself.

A loud crash echoed the vacant alleyway as you are brought onto the planet. “I need to fix that.” You groan, getting off the floor and looking around to see which area you’re in. Waiting patiently for a crowd of people to walk by, you quickly step out of the alleyway and join them, blending in. You stop at your coffee shop, missing their signature drinks and food. You sat at your usual back table. The worker recognized you and began to prepare your order. While waiting you, spent your time on social media. You saw your friends and how they’re getting their lives together. You noticed that they were messaging you about how you never post anymore and how they are worried about you.

Thanking the worker with a smile as they placed your order down, you take the time to try and respond to most of the messages. Your leg began to bounce and you started to feel uneasy. Steadily glancing up from your phone, you saw nothing out of the ordinary. A small tap on your shoulder startled you. Your eyes following the well shaven man sit in the seat across from you. His aura was fairly strong but compared to yours it was faint and weak. For a moment your leg stopped but then your hand began to tap on the table. Your anxiety becoming known. “Can I help you?” You ask, trying to continue to reply to the messages and distract yourself from this man.

“I’m Doctor Strange and I’d like to have a word with you.”

Part 2?

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

firewhiskey appreciation day — james potter

pairing: james potter x female!reader

prompt: “you look yummy.” & “my hand was made to fit into yours. that’s all there is to it.” from this prompt list!

warning: mentions of alcohol consumption

Parties in the Gryffindor common room aren’t exactly a rare occurrence.

The older Gryffindors throw parties all the time, for a multitude of different reasons: to celebrate a Quidditch match victory, someone’s birthday, or maybe even just for the sake of it. A way to have fun; to de-stress and forget all of the worries that comes with being a student. Homework and projects and, occasionally, drama.

Sometimes they make up a holiday on the spot. Sirius calls this one the “Firewhiskey Appreciation Day” and, like always, everyone just goes along with it.

Point is: parties are a regular thing. All the Gryffindors are used to it.

But what they're not used to is the sight of their usually cool, calm and collected Head Girl, [Y/N] [Y/L/N], aggressively headbanging and swinging her hips on top of the coffee table, looking a step away from toppling off and falling flat on her face.

James Potter, who has just clambered out of the portrait hole and into the common room, stares, not quite sure whether or not he should believe his eyes.

"Am I going mad," begins Remus slowly, wide eyes similarly fixed on [Y/N], who is now clutching her wand in lieu of a microphone. "Or is that your girlfriend?"

Sirius emerges from a group of seventh-years in the middle of the room, striding towards James and Remus with a glass of firewhiskey in one hand and a mug of Butterbeer in the other. "Drinks?" he says, grinning, holding one out to each of them. "I’d ask you to pay up, but you blokes are lucky I’m your best mate."

"Who gave her something to drink?" James demands, sounding positively outraged.

"Who—oh, you mean [Y/N]?" Sirius breaks out into a grin as he turns around to look at the girl behind him, who seems to have started tap-dancing on the table. A throng of Gryffindors are gathered around her, laughing and cheering her on.

"Yes, I bloody well mean [Y/N]," James says, exasperated. "She’s a ruddy lightweight!”

Sirius laughs. "I might have given her a shot of firewhiskey—"

"You—"

"Just one," continues Sirius smoothly, shoving the mug of butterbeer into Remus's hands so that he can clap James on the shoulder. "Just one, mate, relax. She asked for one and to be honest with you i wasn't sure, but she insisted. Soon after one little sip she was climbing on top of the table and belting out some Muggle song." He lets out another laugh, watching [Y/N] try (and fail) to tap-dance. "You’ve got yourself a keeper, Prongs."

James gapes, at a complete loss for words. There's a laugh threatening to bubble out of his throat, but he shoves it back down for later—he can tease [Y/N] about this tomorrow morning (and possibly for the rest of her life; he's never going to let her live this down) but for now, he needs to stop her before she does anything she might further regret.

"Bloody hell," mutters James, shaking his head. He shrugs Sirius off and makes a bee-line straight for [Y/N], shoving past drunken teenagers as he goes. One of them grins at him and goes, "Didn’t know your girlfriend was such a good dancer, Potter!"

James grimaces.

He has to shoulder his way through the small crowd that has gathered around her. Once he has reached the base of the table, he tugs on her robes—enough to grab her attention. She whips around, a woozy grin on her face, cheeks flushed pink and a wild look in her eyes.

”Darrrrling!” she sings, movements sluggish like she’s moving through water. Bending down to grab his necktie, she gushes, voice slurred, “Come dance with me!”

James can't help the laugh that slips out of his mouth. [Y/N] is a fairly reserved person; being Head Girl, she is almost always composed—or at least in front of other people. So seeing her let loose like this in the middle of the Gryffindor common room is quite an amusing sight.

"I’d love to," says James, grinning. "But trust me when I say you'd much rather have this night over with.”

"Oh, no!" She’s pouting, standing back up to full height as she crosses her arms and shakes her head vigorously. "No, no, I’ve still got to show everyone this dance I made up!"

The Gryffindors erupt into a chorus of enthusiastic cheers.

"—and you're going to help me teach them!" beams [Y/N], knees buckling dangerously underneath her—James lurches forward by instinct to catch her, but she manages to stay on her feet. "It’s much too early to turn in for the night, darling, I can’t leave now!"

James sighs. There’s an exasperated smile on his face, but it is also so ridiculously fond, like [Y/N] is the most precious thing on earth. (And she is—or at least to him.) "Really?" he says, flicking his eyebrows up at her. "Would you rather stay here dancing or snuggling in bed with me? It’s a one time offer, my love."

He sees her hesitate. The grin on her face droops into an animated frown, but then a moment later she's beaming again—"Why don't we dance in bed, Jamey?"

Another laugh. He’s never going to let her live this down. "Alright. Okay." James holds his arms out to her, gesturing for her to come down. "I’ll carry you there, how does that sound?"

She purses her lips in contemplation, stroking her chin. After at least five seconds of this, she nods to herself, and then, turning back to the crowd, she sweeps her arms out and bows; a full-on ninety degree bow. The kind of bow theatre performers would do after a show, just before the curtains would close.

"Thank you everyone for coming out here tonight!" she yells, her flushed face glowing with pure, unadulterated happiness. The Gryffindors hoot in response, some letting out sounds of disappointment at her departure. "Until next time, my lovely fans!"

Waving at her crowd of so-called adoring fans, she tries to step off of the table, but her legs weaken underneath her and she very nearly falls—but James is there to catch her, staggering as her entire weight collapses on top of him; "Merlin," he says, hands gripping at her arms to keep her upright. "Are you okay?"

She giggles. A drunken, high-pitched sound. Leaning forward, she quite literally slaps her hands around his cheeks, holding him in place. "You look.." she murmurs, teetering on her feet as she looks at him up and down, lips quirking up into this funny, crooked smirk. When her eyes finally move back up to meet his, she says, "You look yummy."

James makes a choked sound at the back of his throat that sounds both like suppressed laughter and disbelief. He nods, if only to please her, and leans in to press a brief, chaste kiss to her lips. He tastes firewhiskey. “Thank you, love," grins James, slowly prying her hands off of his face. "But I've got enough people telling me that."

She gasps in exaggerated outrage. "Who?" her lips curl venomously, hands forming fists. "Tell me, so I can challenge them to a dance-off—show them who's got your heart—I will win, won't I?"

James laughs. "Yes, love. Of course. You’ve got my heart and the rest of me."

[Y/N] squeals again, actually jumping in excitement. "Do I have your nose?" she sings, bumping her nose against his, smiling from ear-to-ear. "Your lips—oh, what about your hands?" she gasps comically, grabbing at his hand and skimming her fingers over his palm. "Wow, your hand feels so—" She inhales, holding his hand up between them like it's the most amazing thing she has ever laid eyes on, "Soft. And warm."

James is equal parts both endeared and alarmed. He nods again, letting her continue to inspect his hand as he places his other free one on her waist to steer her away from the heart of the party.

She laces her fingers through his, and then—she screams.

James jumps, taken by surprise. "They fit!" [Y/N] gushes excitedly, shaking their interlaced hands in front of his face. "They fit, James! Our hands fit!"

Trying to calm his still racing heartbeat given that she'd screamed right next to his ear, James takes a deep breath before grimacing at her. "Wicked, right?"

"It’s like magic!" she enthuses, letting him lead her to the stairwell of the girls' dormitory. Only a few more steps left to go, thinks James, with yet another heavy exhale. “How does it do that?”

She’s taken to bouncing up and down as she walks despite the fact that she’s unstable on her feet. James purses his lips, pausing, gripping her by the shoulders so that he can veer her around to face him.

”Love,” he says, eyes dancing over hers, “I’m going to carry you up to your dorm, okay? Don’t—“

She squeals.

”Don’t move around too much or I might drop you,” he says, moving one hand up to gently card through her hair. “Alright?”

She grabs his hand again, lacing her fingers through his. “How!” she exclaims, shaking their hands frantically between them once more. “It’s like magic!”

”Yes, you already said that,” says James through a laugh. Slowly, he wriggles his hand out of hers, offering her an apologetic look, and bends down, sliding one arm around her back and the other underneath her knees so he can quite literally lift her off her feet.

“But your hand,” she complains as she’s being carried up the stairs. “I’ve got to hold it more, James, darling, so I can figure out why it fits so well with mine.”

James adjusts his grip on her, a smile growing on his face as he silently envisions her freaking out in the morning over tonight’s antics. “My hand was made to fit into yours,” he tells her playfully, climbing up the staircase with her in his arms. “That’s all there is to it.”

He meets her gaze, smiling, and spots her staring at him, eyes wide in awe. “Wow,” she breathes out, looking as though she has unearthed all the universe’s secrets. “Wicked.”

James has to stop on a step so that he can throw his head back and let out a loud laugh. “It is, isn’t it?” he says, grinning. “I’m never going to let you live this down, you know that, right?”

Her brows furrow. “Live what down?”

”Nothing,” James ducks his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

taglist: @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03 @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy @kpopgirlbtssvt

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elareine · 3 years

Note

If you could, can you please write JayTim or RoyTim (whichever one you want) trying to be romantic and woo Tim (maybe with some puns, I love puns), but Tim is a bit oblivious towards it, because the other is so cool, therefore they must be trying to make friends and be nice with him and nothing more. So when he does finally realize its an italicized "Oh" moment.

Hi lovely!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this fill. I... ended up making it JayRoyTim, I hope that's okay? It just fit so well, but I can totally write something else with JayTim or RoyTim for you if you want :)

Also, it turned out to be about pick-up lines more than wooing, sorry. I might’ve gone overboard with googling the puns. It's long enough that I put it on ao3, too. What's your username on there? Then I'll gift it to you.

if you were a transformer (you’d be optimus fine)

“Well, here I am.”

Tim looks up, utterly confused. “I didn’t call for you, but… that’s… great?”

Roy waggles his eyebrows. It looks faintly disturbing. Redheads should maybe not do that. Or, actually, Tim revises mentally, thinking of literally every other redhead Dick ever dated—that’s just Roy. “What are your other two wishes?”

“Coffee and some silence to finish working this case?”

Roy looks weirdly deflated at that, but he does get him some coffee. Tim soon forgets about it.

—

(“How’d it go?”

“Does obliviousness run in the family?”

“Yes. Yes it does. Have you met Bruce?”

“…okay, fair. Your turn next.”)

—

“Jason? What’re you doing here?”

Sure, Jason and Roy have been spending a lot more time in Gotham lately. Something to do with a case, Tim assumes. Maybe even with the one that they worked on together in Star City five months ago?

Anyway. They’ve been around, is what Tim is saying. Not at the manor, but at Tim’s apartment and his workspace, cause apparently it’s not worth rebuilding their safe house after it went up in flames, and Bruce and Damian are too often at Dick’s place. He’s not exactly surprised to see either of them anymore. (Pleased, yes. But not surprised.) However, Tim has no fucking clue why Jason is currently grinning at him from the other side of the library desk.

At least Tim has the good sense to check his name tag before he gasps: “Jason?”

“Oh, hey, Tim.” Jason’s grinning. “Guess you figured out my new job, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tim shakes his head. “Color me surprised.” So this is what Jason’s spending his days doing. He’s gotta be shadowing someone, right? Tim’ll ask him tonight.

“I’ve always liked this place.” Jason’s gaze is far away for a moment. Tim badly wants to know what he’s remembering. Then the older man seems to come back to himself and gives Tim a weird—maybe angry?—look. “It’s a good thing I’m a librarian, too, cause I’m totally checking you out.”

“Alright, I can take a hint.” Tim grabs his book and demonstratively walks over to the self-service scanners. Really. How rude.

—

(“Are you telling me he managed to resist you in your cardigan?”

“Apparently.”

“Aww. C’mere, babe.”)

—

So Roy blows things up all the time. No, really, Tim now totally understands why Dick was so happy when he heard the duo is camping out at Tim’s place for a change. His older brother even gave Tim a thumbs-up, for God’s sake. He must’ve known.

Cause yeah, there’s at least one explosion every two days. Or Roy dropping something cause he’s too focused on what he’s thinking to remember what his hands are doing. Or something dropping on him. Jason seems used to it; he just catches whatever it is or laughs at Roy. Tim… is starting to learn to do the same, actually. Whatever Roy comes up with at that moment is usually worth it, and besides, he’s kinda adorable.

Aaaaaaanyway. (He’s using that word a lot in his own thoughts right now. Almost as if he’s avoiding thinking about something. Hmm.) Tim’s not surprised when Roy walks into a room, stumbles, and slaps a hand over his eyes with a dramatic exclamation.

Tim, in shorts and not much else cause he got drenched in pollen earlier, just raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Roy?”

“Nope.” Roy’s hand is still covering his face, but Tim can still see his grin underneath. “I’m gonna need your name and phone number for insurance purposes.”

“Roy. You have both of these things,” Tim explains slowly, wondering if Roy sustained a brain injury or accidentally dosed himself on something. “And why insurance?”

“I was blinded by your beauty.”

God. Sometimes Tim wonders about the original Titans and their socialization for the two dudes if this is how they think making friends works. Then again, Kori, Donna, and Dick probably appreciated constant compliments about their beauty. It all makes sense. Roy must be so used to it that he even uses those same methods when someone unexceptional like Tim is around.

He smiles gamely. “I’m looking forward to hearing that phone call. Must be almost as great as the time Bruce tried to convince his insurance company that Clark dropping on his car wasn’t an act of God because God is demonstrably not a Kryptonian. Neither was the giant ape punching Clark out.”

Roy drops his hand at that. “…Batman did what?”

—

(“You were doing so well, too.”

“I knoooow. How much more obvious can we get?”

“I dunno, but I intend to try.”)

—

“Do you like Star Wars? Because Yoda only one for me!”

“Haha. No. Star Trek or die.” Tim’s answer is automatic. He’s had these discussions soooo many times with Kon before. Of course Jason also goes for the space cowboy soap opera.

Besides, Jason’s boyfriend is standing right next to him. He doesn’t mean to sound flirtatious with Tim. Or maybe he does, and it’s just good fun? Or maybe teasing him? Tim can’t figure it out, but he knows he doesn’t like the weird hollow feeling he gets in his stomach when he thinks about it, so he changes the topic.

And makes both of them sit down to watch some classic Captain Kirk, of course.

—

(“Should I be insulted by that pick up line?”

“Nah. There aren’t that many lines that imply a polycule, though.”

A kiss. “Alright.”)

—

One of the things Jason and Tim have in common is their predilection for motorbikes and fiddling around with them. Not that makes them unique in the batclan; Tim has never spent days quietly working side-by-side with Dick, though, the way he does with Jason. They started out with separate projects. Then Jason saw this vintage Ducati at an abandoned warehouse he was about to blow up and, well… Would be a shame, right? Tim just happens to have had one of these before—regrettably lost to one of Harley’s exploding baseball bats—so he offers his expertise.

It’s not because it means bending over the engine with Jason, closer than they ever are, their hands brushing when they hand each other instruments. It’s not.

Roy doesn’t join them. He’s too polite to say so, but he finds normal cars and bikes boring af. Doesn’t stop him from popping his head into the garage and whistling when he sees that they are shirtless and covered in grease. It’s a damn good look on Jason, so Tim can’t fault him for that.

Roy follows it up with a: “Are you a parking ticket? Cause you got fine written all over you.”

Tim can’t help it; he blushes at the suggestive tone. Those two never stop flirting with each other, do they? So far, he has managed to avoid stumbling over them while they’re making out (not that they’re making that easy—the kitchen? Really?), and he’d like to keep avoiding that, thank you very much. He’s already feeling guilty enough for his fantasies as it is.

“Uh. I should clean up,” he mumbles and flees.

—

(“Dammit.”

“…do you think that was a rejection?”

“Nah. He was definitely checking me out before you came and fucked it up.”

“That’s saying something if you noticed it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

—

So Tim has magically acquired cat ears and a very fluffy tail. Don’t ask. They’re gonna go away in eight hours, and until then, he’s gonna stay in the cave and work himself to distraction. Jason seems intent on keeping him company, though.

(It’s nice. Tim loves hanging out with Jason—that’s not the problem. The issue is that Tim is looking ridiculous, and Jason is being nice about it, and none of this is helping his stupid crush go away.)

They’re absently chatting about nothing until Jason says: “Kinda a pity you’re a cat, though.”

Tim looks up. Huh? Admittedly, he never pegged Jason as the type to go for catboys (though maybe… he did hang out with Kyle… perhaps it’s just that he definitely doesn’t go for Tims), but that’s still a weird pronouncement.

Jason is grinning. “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.” He pauses. “Wait. Like even more than you already are. Uh.”

Tim sighs. Great. And now Jason is making fun of him again. “Whatever.”

—

(“A chicken?”

“Shut up. I panicked.” A sigh. “He was so cute with these ears.”

“…yeah, he was.”)

—

“You must be tired. You’ve been running through my mind all night.”

“I’m not tired,” Tim says automatically. Why does everyone keep asking him that tonight? Surely the shadows under his eyes can’t be that bad? He used concealer!

Something in Roy’s expression softens. “Aww. C’mere.” He pats the space on the couch next to him, and when Tim sits down, Roy pulls him half of on top of him and into a hug. “Relax for a bit, little bird.”

Tim sinks into the embrace, boneless all of a sudden. Roy just has that effect on him. Tim vaguely remembers thinking of him as his oldest brother’s cool friend and then Jason’s cool boyfriend, kind of a fuckboy but clearly good for Jay.

Now? Now, Roy just makes him feel safe.

—

(“So you spent the night on the couch just so he could sleep in your arms?”

“Yeah. Totally worth it.”

“Duh.”

“I just wish we could do that with him every night. Bet he fits perfectly between us.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“We might have to up the ante or switch tactics.”)

—

They’re talking about their favorite books—Tim doesn’t read as much as Jason does, but they discovered a shared love of sci-fi weeks ago—when Tim says: “Actually, that book kinda reminds me of you.”

“Oh?”

“Overly dramatic but good.”

Jason makes an offended noise, and Tim grins.

“I’m not sure which part I should argue about first.” Jason pretends to think.

Tim is always down to tell Jason that fuck his self-perception—Jason is a good man, one of the best Tim knows; that also feels too revealing right now. Instead, he gets up from their comfortable position on the couch and grabs the first stack on the table, carrying them over to the shelves to replace the gaps. “What kind of book would I be?”

“Babe, if you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

“Annoying and no one reads it?” Tim asks without turning around, trying to ignore the babe. That’s. That’s gotta be a slip of the tongue, right? Force of habit from spending so much time with Roy?

“No, fine,” and the emphasis is clear this time. Jason continues before Tim can reply: “Though if we’re talking books…”

Tim whirls around. “Save it. You don’t have to make fun of me just because I—“He swallows down the words.

Jason looks alarmed. “Tim—“

As if he can smell trouble, Roy chooses that moment to enter the room. Tim has barely heard him approach, Jesus. He doesn’t want to have this argument in front of Roy, though, so he just stands there in the middle of the room. Jason, too, has stopped speaking.

Roy, of course, takes one look at the awkwardness and decides to make it worse. Or more confusing.

“Did you just come out of the oven?” he asks.

“As this isn’t Hansel and Gretel, no, I didn’t.” Tim checks his shirt, just in case this is an actual conversation opener and not just a weird attempt at a distraction. “Do I have soot on me?”

“Nope.” Roy shakes his head, and he’s smiling that smile again, the one Tim is startled to recognize, the one he thought is reserved only for Jason— “Because you’re hot.”

And finally, Tim gets it. “Me?”

“Yes, Tim.” Roy’s moving in closer. “You.”

There’s a soft touch to Tim’s shoulder, and Tim whirls around, expecting Jason to be mad, cause his boyfriend is—is hitting on Tim, right, that’s what’s happening, Jason can’t be happy—

Jason is smiling down at him. His hand is still resting on Tim’s shoulder, but it slides down to his collar bone, a gentle presence as he murmurs: “You’re so beautiful that you made forget my pick up line.”

Oh. Oh.

Tim says the first thing he can think of: “Are you a raisin?”

Jason starts grinning. “I’m not even gonna qualify that with an answer.”

Tim smiles back. “Cause you’re raising my hopes for a kiss right about now.”

And he gets one. And then another, and then Roy joins in, kissing Tim’s neck and then his mouth and—Yeah.

They’re too busy for any more pick up lines right now.

#elareine writes #jayroytim

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