#chase dispatch x reader

“You okay?” You call from the bedroom, hearing him rummage through the bathroom medicine cabinet. “Chase, I told you that no one can see your pimple.”

“Fuck…” He clenches his teeth, looking for your moisturizer. “Babe, where’s the cream you use every night?”

“You mean my expensive moisturizer?” Snorting, you clasp on your bracelet that Chase gifted to you on your third anniversary with him. When he doesn’t answer, your concern grows. He would have a clever retort by now, but as you hear another frustrated groan, you stand up with your silk dress trailing gracefully behind you. “Chase, we’re going to be late for the award ceremony.” Peeking over the doorway, you see him dip his fingers into the tub of moisturizer that has you cringing. “You know the instructions reads ‘pea sized amount.’”

“Babe, fucking look at this!” His frantic eyes turn to you.

Your gaze unabashedly ogles him in his suit and tie that’s perfectly tailored to him. “You look fucking hot.” Smirking, you let out a low wolf whistle.

“I know, but it’s not that.” He points right in the corner of his eye as a dollop of moisturizer gets flung right on his iris. “Son of a—!”

“Come here,” clicking your tongue, you grab a wad of tissue and swat his hand away before he smears even more cream right on his eye. “Just let me handle it.” Voice soft, he finally relents with his arms falling to his side, shoulders slumped as he lets out a huff. You dab carefully at his eye and then wet the corner of the tissue before washing out the remaining moisturizer. “There, does it still hurt?”

Chase blinks warily, nose scrunched as he turns back to the mirror to check the damage. “No, it doesn’t sting.”

“You’re welcome, Narcissus.” Mumbling, you throw the tissue away, taking his chin in between your index and thumb as you turn him to face you. “You just wasted fifty dollars worth of moisturizer, it’s not a miracle fix, you know.”

“Babe, I have wrinkles.” He says as if he was telling you something dire.

“Wrinkles are fine—”

“Just last week you found a white hair on my head!”

“It’s natural.” You try to calm him down with your hands on his chest.

“I’m barely thirty!” Stomping his foot, he goes around you to the bedroom, huffing and puffing before he plops down on the bed dramatically, body bouncing down briefly.

Your face pops out from the corner of his eyes, smiling sweetly down at him. “You’re twenty six, and you’re right, that’s not even skimming thirty, handsome.”

Groaning, he places his arm over his eyes as he feels the bed dip beside him.

“Chase, come on, you’re still young, sometimes people grow white hair and get crow’s feet earlier than others.” Sighing, you decide to lay beside him, staring at the ceiling before turning to face him with your arm laying atop his stomach, and leg propped on his lap. “Y’know, we can skip the awards show and just stay at home fucking around, literally and figuratively.”

Chase snorts, blowing a raspberry and taking the arm that was over his face and then under your head while his hand grasps at the silky fabric of your dress right on your hip. “That’s tempting. But I promised Mechaman that we’ll be there.” He says in a low tone, eyes remaining on the ceiling.

“Okay,” you cuddle closer to him, cheek pressed atop his shoulder as you trace the buttons on his dress shirt. “You know that you’re still hot in my eyes, right? Wrinkles and all.”

“Just in your eyes?” Chortling, Chase side eyes you.

“Bitch, yes, because my eyes are the only ones that matter.” That gets a good laugh from him. You flick his chest, twisting up, a hand right on his chest to look down at him with a glower. “Right?!”

“Yes, right, babe, yeah.” His palm squeezes your behind unabashedly.

“Correct answer.” Your lips hover above his own, index carefully wiping at a stray blob of moisturizer on his temple. “You don’t have to worry about growing old anytime soon when we’ll be growing the whitest hairs and having wrinkles for days together.”

“You wanna grow old together?” His eyes shine, beaming up at you, hands caressing your back.

“Fuck yeah,” you exclaim without missing a beat. “I know we’d be those old couples who aged like fine wine.”

“Yeah,” The thought makes his heart sing, imagining a life with you as you both grow old gracefully together. “I’m sorry for wasting your moisturizer.” You hum in content from his apology, satisfied enough that he’s cuddling you in his own way. “You’re right.” Letting out a sigh, Chase pecks the tip of your nose. “I’m curious though, would you still jump my bones if one day you wake up beside Benjamin Button?”

“Fuck, that’s an obscure reference.”

“C’mon,” his cupped palm around your behind shakes you. “yes or no? I might need the blue pill soon.”

Sucking in your teeth, the same smile he loves so much curls around your lips. “Well, good thing I like older men.”

Chase mirrors your smile, chuckling. “I’m only a year older than you, asshole.”

“Okay, grandad.” Joking in a sing-song tone, you lean closer to him, meeting with his lips.

“Brat.” He matches your tone, holding onto the back of your head as he gently pushes you deeper for a much needed kiss.

‘Woah. Language,’ you joke, settling down at the table next to him and finding him squinting at something on his phone. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Nah. Nothing.’

If the way he dismisses you isn’t proof enough, Chase brings his phone closer to his face in an attempt to read the text, letting the screen light sear into his pupils, before he drops it with a grimace and another muttered expletive, rubbing at his temples to stave off an upcoming headache.

‘Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.’ You let out an exaggerated, fond sigh. ‘Why don’t you use the reading glasses, Chase? They help. You know they do.’

He scowls at you, but grudgingly accepts the case you hand him — because you just knew this was going to happen — and slides them on, adjusting them twice before he acknowledges the light weight on the bridge of his nose.

‘I look dumb as hell. Happy?’

‘I am happy, and you don’t look dumb as hell. You’re like a wise owl.’ You nod, sagely satisfied with the comparison. ‘A hot, wise owl.'

‘I’m not trying to be an owl, I’m trying to be a goddamn superhero. I wear glasses there because they look cool, not because I need to.’ He whips the glasses off in irritation, but must immediately notice the improvement they give him after all, because he puts them back on again after a moment — not without visible annoyance. ‘What do the eye people know anyways?’

‘Eye doctors — opticians, if you’re fancy — and if they don’t know more than you, they sure as hell can see more, babe. You were running into brick walls at full speed.’

‘And? I lived, didn’t I?’

‘You did,' you say doubtfully. 'But you only have so many more brick walls you can smash through before they smash you.’

Chase raises an offended hand to joke at your use of "smash", but then hisses in pain as his fingers twitch, the joints swollen and stiff. Your expression flashes from teasing to concerned in an instant, and you scoot closer in your chair, taking his hand in yours without needing to be told anything, feeling the new coolness of his skin, the visible veins that weren't there a few months ago.

You wait like that for a moment, until the ache subsides enough for Chase’s fingers to uncurl, properly latching onto you. He exhales a long, tired breath as he squeezes, then lets go.

‘Thanks.'

‘Of course,’ you murmur. ‘Has it been like this long?’

‘Yeah,' he mutters. 'Felt like fucking broken glass in my joints all day.’

You hum in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, babe.’

‘Whatever.’ Chase glares down at his hand, his features softening after a moment, though his eyes remain bitter. ‘Just got to get more used to it.’

He flexes his fingers again, grimacing less this time, and gingerly reaches up to card through his locs, now much more salt than pepper. The rapid aging seems to have taken pity on it, at least, opting straight for stark white instead of moving through gray.

When he next speaks, it’s much quieter — blunt, but so devoid of his usual gruffness that it catches you off guard.

‘You’re okay with me being old, right?’

‘What?’ You look at him incredulously. ‘Of course. Why would I have an issue with it?’

‘Come on, you know why.’ His eyes avoid yours, darting around stubbornly as if he’s trying to focus, even though the glasses are still on. ‘I mean, look at me. I'm young as hell but I'm old as hell. And I’m only gonna get even fucking older and harder to deal with. Weak knees and always needing the thermostat to be turned up and shit.’ He huffs. ‘Wonder how much you'll love me then.’

‘Chase,’ you say carefully — but not without making sure he can hear the honesty in your own tone, because you know he hates when you treat him as delicate — ‘I do not give a single flying fuck how old you are. You’re still the only one I’d rather want to be with. Even if you start wearing granny cardigans.’

He snorts, relieved by your candor. ‘Really. So you’d still find me hot when I’m going to bed at nine PM and knitting or whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to do to wind down?’

‘Especially then. And wrinkles are all the rage these days.’ You smirk, then add in a softer voice, ‘And I don’t care how much older you look. I want to grow old with you. As old as I can, anyways.’

That earns you the privilege of Chase capturing your lips with his, mouth curling at the pleased sigh you give against him — you let yourself be drawn into him, still able to be swept up with his strength, the beginnings of the mustache he's started to grow tickling your face.

When you draw back, the glasses sit a little crookedly on his nose. Gently, you reach and adjust them for him.

‘You are hot old,’ you say, clear affirmation behind your words despite the light way you say them. ‘Especially with these glasses. Get yourself those little chains to hold them up and you'll make me weak at the knees.'

Chase's eyebrows draw up, his gray eyes sparkling. ‘Careful or I’ll hurt my fucking back carrying you to bed.’

‘Oh, no, we can’t have that,’ you tease, leaning in to kiss him again. ‘Save your breath, grandpa, and let’s just stay here.’

He’s all too happy not to argue.