#& seeing as he mentioned going to pubs I think he's at least 18

[djarinova]

In shades of grey in candlelight / I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

Spencer Reid x gn!reader content - reader is in an unfulfilling long term relationship, thoughts of cheating, best friend!Reid, friends to lovers, slight angst from reader longing to be loved properly again, cheating is slightly romanticised, confessions, teeny amount of angst words - 3k (how did this even happen omg) reputation event masterlist

♡—How long should you hold on to something after it's proven time and time again to be the source of your pain? And why does missing your best friend hurt so much more than missing your boyfriend?

It had been almost 4 weeks since you'd last spoken to Spencer—a mix of his work, the weekend he spent visiting his mother and the looming sense of… something… that had been hanging over your head like a dark cloud had kept the two of you apart for longer than usual.

Spencer would have been able to identify the issue that had been plaguing you, he's always been good at that—even before he'd joined the BAU.

He had been able to figure out that you'd failed a maths test when you were 12 years old. He had been able to tell when your parents had had a fight when you were 15 years old. He had been able to correctly work out that you'd ordered yourself the wrong flavour of milkshake—over the phone, without seeing your face—when you were 18 years old. And as you got older, your problems getting more and more adult, he had been able to figure out through missed calls and unanswered texts that you'd had your heart broken again. And again. And again.

That's what he would have said was the cause of your behaviour over the past few weeks—you've changed your hair, thrown out a bunch of old clothes, rearranged and then rearranged again almost all the rooms in your flat and you've been out drinking with your friends twice already this week (not that this is a particularly bad thing, or even entirely unlike you, but you mentioned to Spencer once that going to a bar or pub for a drink was only really fun when you were with him, and it had lit a spark deep within him that he refused to acknowledge). But this time you know he'd have gotten it wrong. You haven't broken up with anyone, you're still very much coupled up and there's no sign of your boyfriend wanting to dump you at all.

That's the problem.

You roll your eyes, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. I'm the only one that can fix it.

You scoff. The faint smell of your neighbours baking wafts over you, and you can hear him and his boyfriend giggling through your shared wall. A lump in your throat begins to form, and the familiar sting behind your eyes returns as you busy your hands with tidying away the washing up (that you had accidentally washed three times now.) The tears that fall feel like they're burning your skin as they run down your cheeks, as though the droplets are going to leave small scalding streaks from your eyes to your chin.

A new wave of bitterness envelopes you and a strangled yell escapes your lips before you have the chance to think. You hear your neighbour's pause, likely raising their eyebrows at each other as if to say what the hell is wrong with next door before quickly returning to being the lovey-dovey super cutesy couple that they are. And they are. Super cutesy. You've seen them around the building before, even one time accidentally ending up in the same café after a building wide fire alarm went off. They invited you to sit with them—your boyfriend was with his mates—as they didn't want you left on your own so late at night. It was nice, awkward, sure, but nice. Conversation was easy, they seemed to bounce off of eachother in ways that you and your boyfriend never have—at least not for many years now. Their laughter was contagious and yet as you said your goodbyes and slunk back to your lonely apartment you couldn't help the twinges of envy that plagued the back of your mind.

He doesn't look at me like that. He is never that enthusiastic about dating me. He would never gush about our first date like that. (And deep down you know he could say the same things about you.)

So, yeah. That wasn't very fun to sit with.

You somehow feel happy knowing that Spencer would incorrectly guess the reason for your ongoing sadness. For some reason the thought of being unknowable to him has you frenzied… A strangled noise escapes your throat—a laugh! Christ. It was a laugh, despite how bitter and angry it sounded.

Maybe frenzied isn't the right word… But god! You don't know! At least he would actually care. At least he would want to try and get to the bottom of your feelings, to try and understand why you've been jumpy and on edge and almost hyperactive in the way you've been non stop moving recently.

Tap tap tap.

The noise makes you jump out of your skin, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes dart to the clock. It blinks back at you.

20:37

You chastise yourself, it's probably next door coming to ask if you could keep your yells of frustration down while they're having a relaxing evening. Embarrassment floods over your face and you can feel the tears threaten to fall again at the thought of being confronted about your outburst. You can imagine the look of pity on their faces—although a hidden part of you hopes that they're coming to invite you over, to welcome you into their warm home, to smell their freshly baked bread and taste the chocolate chip cookies.

Your feet pad heavily against the wooden floor as you walk out of the kitchen towards the front door—tap tap tap. A further set of knocks has you almost tripping over your feet as you rush the final few paces. You swing the door open without a thought, not wanting the neighbours to have to knock again.

You spare no thought to the tear stains that have marked your face…

“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be—Spencer? Wha–what are you doing here?” You splutter.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Have you been crying?”

“I—well, yes I have but it's fine—I didn't expect to see you, you've been so busy lately.” You take a deep breath, for a brief second—and it was brief—you had been relieved to find that it was only Spencer behind the door, but it didn't take long for the embarrassment to claw its way back up your spine and sink its teeth into your flesh once more.

His eyes bore into you as if he's trying to look inside you. He scans your face, your movements, he watches your hands fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt—before you notice him noticing you and you flatten your palms against your sides in an awkward, unnatural manner.

“May I come in?” He asks, his voice is gentle and it's almost enough to make you fall to the floor in despair.

A hum is all you can manage in response. You quickly side step out of his way, locking the door behind him as he removes his jacket and scarf and hangs then neatly on the third hook from the left—the one that's always left bare, just for him.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Spence?”

He pauses mid stride—he’s already halfway to the kitchen and if you had known he was coming over then there would a cup of coffee on the side waiting for him, in his favourite burgundy mug, the one with a chip on the lip—and tilts his head at you as if to say isn't it obvious.

“I'm here to see you.” He states, incredibly matter of factly, as if the mere question coming from your lips is completely ridiculous. Why else would he be here?

“I—” You start, but Spencer disappears around the corner before you are able to get any more words out. You huff, feeling slightly unnerved by his sudden arrival and subsequent behaviour since setting foot on your doorstep. There is nothing else in the world that can make you as happy as he can. Something which both terrifies you, and excites you a great deal.

You step foot into the kitchen and you are unsurprised to find Spencer already in the process of making himself a coffee. He pauses once more when he catches sight of you and he holds a second mug out towards you in question. You shake your head. You don't think you'd be able to stomach anything until you can get him to speak to you properly.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and it may be the first time you ever fully allow yourself to truly think it. Because although it's not unusual for Spencer to visit you in the evening, sometimes even coming over as late as 1 or 2 in the morning—he gets back from cases at the most unpredictable times—do people think you're seeing each other? The two of you have been friends for years, it's not weird for a friend to come over at all hours of the day… right?

“Spence, are you alright?” You pause, eyeing his very full cup of caffeine. “Haven't you just got back from a case? I can make up the sofa bed if you want to get some sleep.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Why do I feel so weird about asking him to stay over? We're friends. It's what friends do.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He ignores your questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed at him. Not when his knuckles are white from how hard he grips the cup and his eyes flit from your hands to your eyes to your mouth and back to your hands.

Wait—your mouth?!

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He repeats. He closes the gap between the two of you with only a couple of steps. His steaming coffee is still clutched in his hands, but his fingertips seem restless, as if he knows where he wants them to be, but he just can't—or won't—move them there.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Your mouth feels dry—maybe turning down Spencer’s offer for a coffee was a mistake… He's barely an arms length away from you now, if you were to reach your hand out towards him it would brush up against the navy cardigan he has on. It looks so soft and you can't help but wonder how it would feel around your shoulders. Would it be baggy? Would it fit perfectly? And would Spencer want to come back from a case to find you curled up on the sofa while wearing it?

Your neighbour’s laughter ripples through the air like thunder. It's gone before you have time to register the noise fully, but it's enough to snap you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from Spencer's torso. It was as though he was waiting for you to make eye contact with him again, because he immediately puts his cup down on the side—more clumsily than usual, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an extra chip on the lip now—and takes the smallest of steps towards you. You are almost toe to toe now.

“I–uh–meant to ask you earlier… about your boyfriend.” He hesitates. “Presumably he's not around…”

There's two ways you could take his question.

Part of you wants to lie, to say that no, he's not around, you dumped him months ago—when your friends first told you that you should—and that you weren't expecting any company tonight. It would be just you and Spencer, no interruptions. Besides, Spencer knows that your boyfriend doesn't live with you, it's been the topic of many a heated discussion, but… could you just pretend you misunderstood? Could you say that no, he's not around, he's probably out with his friends somewhere. Could you admit that he hasn't texted you back in almost 4 days? Could you say he's not around, in fact, he hasn't been around you for 12 days?

But Spencer doesn't give you any time to think through what to say. You gasp when his hand touches your arm and he laces his fingers through yours without so much as a word, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if he had done it a thousand times. The certainty with which he touched you has your heart pounding. What is he thinking? All you can do is blink up at him. His eyes are swimming with questions, but the only one he voices is, “Is this okay?”

Your head moves before you can think and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. You haven't felt as calm as this in months, and yet somehow it feels like you're suffocating. His touch is warm and the dusting of pink on his cheeks has you feeling a rush of anxiety—but the good kind, the kind of anxiety you get when your crush looks at you, the kind that comes hand in hand with a first kiss… And yet you know you need to pull away. Before something more happens.

You force yourself to pull your hand out of Spencer's and the emptiness returns immediately. You stumble away, bumping into the counter as you do so, and you utter a small yelp when your hip hits the corner. Tears sting your eyes and before you know it Spencer has his arms around you. Somehow knowing what you need before you are even able to think it. You choke out a broken apology—for what, you don't even know—and all Spencer can think to do is squeeze you against his chest, whispering soft comforts into your ear.

You stay like that for a while—long enough that the pain at your hip is now only a dull ache. Your throat is dry from all the heavy breathing and you feel a slight throbbing pain in your head, but you do, somehow, feel a little better.

That is until your emotionally fried brain catches up with itself. And then you cringe, hard. Embarrassment floods your veins and you feel your cheeks heat up by an alarming degree—like someone, somehow, is holding the sun directly against your skin. You are acutely aware of how closely Spencer is watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, unsure of whether there's a look of hurt, confusion or pity on his face—unsure of whether it matters—and all you can do is stare through your blurry eyes at what you think is your feet, but what could just as easily be a pair of furry, blue alien slippers.

You scold yourself. You fell apart all because he... held your hand? God. What a mess he must think you are. And—oh! How he probably thinks you are the worst person in the world for even entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you when you aren't even single. If he even thinks that what you did was entertaining the possibility. Or maybe you completely misread the situation and he was only trying to comfort you as a friend... But what if he thinks you have no interest in him? What if he thinks he's ruined your friendship and your relationship? What if you're reading into things far too much and he doesn't like you like that and he thinks you're a bad person for even thinking about kissing him–not that he would know that, he can't read your mind–and you've certainly never thought about kissing him before and especially not right now–he doesn't know how much you long for him to sweep your off your feet—

"I like you Spencer."

You blink. Slowly you bring your head up and meet his gaze. He takes a shallow breath, as if he had been holding it for quite some time.

Christ.

You only meant to think the words, and yet somehow they slipped past your tongue out into the space between the two of you. An accidental confession of something you hadn't even consciously thought until 0.2 seconds ago.

Well I can't take it back now.

He holds your gaze. His vision blurs ever so slightly and he blinks back his unshed tears before they get the chance to overwhelm him. He clears his throat before speaking, but even then his voice is low, quiet, as if trying not to spook an animal.

"You... do?"

You nod, and he takes another obvious sigh of relief, deeper this time.

"I do. I like you a lot actually."

It's as though hearing you voice your feelings for him has broken down the very last wall between the two of you. Your mind flits briefly to thoughts about your boyfriend, before shutting them down so violently that you almost feel sick. You taste metal in your mouth and you realise with a start that you'd bitten down so hard on your lip that you'd drawn blood. You reach for the closest available source to wash the bitter taste away—Spencer's coffee. And he watches as you take a sip, your eyes are closed but somehow he can sense that they are closer to shedding tears than his are. He reaches an arm towards you and gently begins to rub soothing circles on your waist. The touch sends an electric pulse throughout your entire body and you almost drop the mug in shock. It's like all at once you realise just how stupid you were for allowing yourself to be so miserable for all this time. Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who barely touches you when one touch from Spencer has your insides burning? Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who doesn't care about your feelings unless they are positively affecting him, when the first thing Spencer asked you tonight was if you had been crying?

For right now all you care about is the way Spencer's eyes glisten when they look at you, how warm his hands are when they touch your face and how the quiet laughter from your neighbours no longer makes you feel as lonely as it did before.

You felt like such a fool. But it seemed like realising this fact was enough to set you free. It seemed like the acknowledgement was enough. You didn't give any thought now to the things you would have to do this coming week—the breaking up, the collection of your things from his place (although at this point there is only a toothbrush and a single pair of joggers that haven't moved from their place on the back of his sofa since you washed them and left them there). Hell, even the possibility of having Spencer there with you hadn't crossed your mind.

[myimaginationplain]

seeing as ATSV Hobie has no specified age, I think he can rightly be considered any age between that of the teens (Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Peni) & the adults (Peter, Jess, Miguel, etc.) according to what a person feels best suits him and/or their fanwork. anyone blowing a gasket over their own personal age headcanons for him not being enshrined in fandom as law needs to just take a fucking chill pill & get over it (I'm looking at you TikTok.)

[ankiebitez]

Beelzebub Dating Headcanons

gender neutral reader

warning: mention of sex with other people, aphrodisiacs being used without one person knowing at first, some nsft so 18+

just some random hcs i have about being in a relationship with bell. might add more as i feel like it honestly. more under the cut

beelzebub:

he would probably just decide you're dating without ever saying anything to you about it. he would kidnap take you on a date wandering around to another one of his favorite places, and if someone asked if you're together he say yes instantly. full confidence, no hesitation or doubt, just say you're dating like its the most natural thing to him. whether you just accept it or ask about it is up to you, but he already made up his mind up it seems.

would probably be down for an open relationship. we already know he fucked that one dealer lady from the "where's beelzebub?" event and multiple people from the selfie card. unfortunately with his constant wondering, you're not always gonna be around the other when one of you is horny, so he doesn't mind a couple of one night stands here and there. he gets bored of them rather quickly though, especially since they're not you. if you ever decide you'd rather have him than some random demon of your choosing though, all you have to do is send him a message and there's a 100% chance he'll be at your door within a minute at most.

he's definitely the type of guy that will take you on the most random ass dates, they're always interesting and memorable too.

he still wanders around, but you'll notice that you see him more often at least. you're in gehenna? what a coincidence that he happened to be at one of the local pubs. you're in avisos? he was actually just on his way to one of his favorite restaurants. paradise lost? actually he happened to be there getting healed up after a surprise fight with an angel. etc.

if he finds anything he thinks you'll enjoy while wandering around, he'll buy it and give it to you next time he sees you. or even when he doesn't see you, he might just leave the gift somewhere he knows you'll find it. theyre almost always strange and random things..... but just think of it like a cat leaving a dead mouse at your door to show affection. weird, but strangely sweet.

would be open to the idea of having a threesome, but he's definitely going to tease the hell out of you and whoever the other person is. just hope that the other person is either into that kind of thing or has the same energy. imagine him bullying his cock inside you or using his mouth on you, asking who's doing a better job of pleasing you and smirking at the other when all you can do is moan in response.

would also be more open to the idea of having a threesome with bael, he trusts bael and they've definitely done some things together in the past so, it'll definitely be an interesting experience.

he would definitely cook for you, and it always tastes amazing too. you should know already to be aware of the side effects, though he would never include an ingredient that could harm you seriously. if you start feeling a little bit (really fucking horny) hot and bothered after eating his food....you already know who to blame. dont worry though, he plans to take care of it.

speaking of food, he would definitely be into food play. we already know he has no shame, so dont be surprised if he tells you he has a "special dessert" for you to enjoy, only to find his dick dipped in chocolate and sprinkles for you to lick off.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 3 |PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem! reader

A/N: you guys are absolutely feral for this and I love it, thank you legitimately for all the love. Once again 😘 @ewanmitchellcrumbs ​, hope you luv uwu

Series Masterlist

warnings:  EVENTUAL SMUT, 18+, sexual tension, binge eating, mentions of breakup, cursing, dickhead Aemond, reader is horny af, English slang (soz), warnings will be added when needed

When Baela messaged you with this screenshot.

   You thought, hell fucking yes.

 What better way to take your mind off thinking about your personal trainer’s dick, undo about an hour’s worth of cardio and feel like shit afterwards?

 2 for 1 cocktails.

 Storm’s End was pretty popular so Baela, being the legend she is, booked for four of you to go. Baela, her twin, Rhaena, you and a mutual friend from university, Maris Baratheon. Her Uncle owned the pub/club so she used her connections to get a further 50% off on friends and family discounts.

 God it was going to be a long night.

 After getting ready in the living room, Rhaena absolutely hogging the Spotify playlist, all three of you buzzed on a glass of Prosecco hobble to Storm’s End.

 “Rhaena, take those stupid shoes off” you nudge her shoulder a bit, which takes her off balance. She’s wearing heels that are far too big and far too high for her. Tottling around like a newborn giraffe.

 She yelps a bit but glares at you, “At least I’m taller than you now, short-ass”

 Hand on heart, you feign offense, “Who put 50p in you?”

 Baela nudges you from your other shoulder, “Children, stop it”

 Maris pipes up from behind, playfully squeezing your butt, “Where did you get this from?”

 “Ow! Maris!”

 Rhaena laughs, “Our creepy cousin is giving her personal training”

 “Hey, you” Baela glares at her twin, “He’s not ‘creepy’, just misunderstood. And be nice, his dad just died!”

 “Oh yeah cos everyone loved Viserys” Rhaena mused.

 You give an awkward look to Maris as you enter Storm’s End, giving a name as they lead you to a booked table.

 “He didn’t seem that bothered about it” you shrug as you huff off your coat.

 Maris, sat next to you in the booth, hangs her jaw open, “Fuck you, look at these!” she says squeezing your biceps, “I’m jealous I don’t get to see you in the bikini”

 Rhaena snorts, “Maris, your bisexual is showing”

 “Sorry, sorry”

 You must admit that when you were getting ready to go out with the girls tonight, you’d made the effort. The black cocktail dress hanging in the back of your wardrobe, that probably hasn’t been touched since the graduation party a few years ago, looked tempting. So imagine your surprise to find that it still fit, snug in all the right places. It wasn’t quite warm enough to go out in just that, so you pulled a coat over it. Even here, in the darkened part of Storm’s End, a sort of anxiety prickled at you at how low cut it was. You were usually not so brave.

 It had been a while since Maris came to visit all of you, so the drinks came easily. And effectively being as cheap as water, it was easy to put all the cocktails away. One particular cocktail had you constantly sneezing from the ginger in it, but you were nicely drunk now, engaged in conversation.

 Maris was swooning over a girl she’d met on a night out.

 “You know when you see a woman and you’re just like ‘yes’ she is perfect” Maris swoons, slurring her words.

 Almost in unison you all say, “No”

 “Maris, we are hetero beyond hetero” you laugh, sipping the cocktail and leaning against Baela on your other side. She leans in as well, partially, if not more drunk than you right now.

 “Okay fine, I’m not having this conversation with you virgins”

 “Whoa whoa whoa! Who said virgin?” Rhaena furrows her brows, angry and you genuinely have to hold back a laugh with how loud she’s being as several people turn around, hearing what she’s said.

 “Rhaena, I am willing to bet yours has grown back it’s been so long”

 “Nuh-uh” you point to yourself, head wavy from all the drinks, “that’s me~”

 Maris orders more, “Didn’t you and what’s-his-face break up like two months ago?”

 “Yesss, but we didn’t have sex for ages before that. So if anything it’s me who’s the sad little virgin of the group” you say, polishing off your cocktail to go in for another.

 Baela snorts, “At least until she gets a mouthful of Aemond”

 You almost spit out your drink, glaring at Baela. The alcohol has made you more…morally loose, yes. But you didn’t expect Baela to say that.

 “What the fuck Baela!”

 “Oh come on, she’s been cracking out the vibrator everytime I even say his name”

 Maris sees your bright red face, “Don’t” you warn.

 “Oh my god, as if you have a thing for creepy Aemond?!”

 You raise your eyebrows, “Okay, describe him”

 “Tall, lanky, skinny…I guess?”

 Stalking time.

 You raise a finger, putting your cocktail down to get your phone. You quickly bring up his instagram and show her the one photo where his whole body is in shot.

 Pretty much as soon as the screen lights her face, her jaw drops.

 “Oh my god”

 “Can you two please stop thirsting over our cousin, please” Rhaena rolls her eyes,

 Maris zooms in, “Hold on, I want to see what all the fuss is about”

 She zooms in, really taking him in and the both of you fawn over the photo for a bit too long. Describing everything. His legs, arms that poke out of the shirt he’s wearing with veins. Ugh. His neck, his chest, his shoulders. How tall and broad he is. Just everything.

 “Would you not let that man destroy you?” you ask Maris, snatching your phone out her hand,

In your drunken haze, you freeze as your finger slips and double-taps the screen, liking the photo.

 “Oh shit”

 Rhaena raises her eyebrows, “what”

 “I just fucking liked the photo” you drop the phone and put your head in your hands, vision spinning from the alcohol as well as the embarrassment.

 The girls erupt in laughter, which isn’t helping.

 You find the courage to look and see that the photo is a good ten or so months old. And the little dot next to his profile shows he’s suddenly active. He’s definitely noticed.

 Fuckfuckfuck.

 “Hey, you never know, it might be a good ‘in’ to get him to bang you”  Maris chimes.

 You’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life. And yet, you can’t help your mind wander at the possibility of it.

 Would he?

 He was pretty handsy last time.

 But he’s a personal trainer, surely it’s wrong for you to pay him and bang him when he’s on the job.

 No you can’t.

 You can’t imagine…him bare chested pressed against you, hot, sticky and sweaty from the efforts, broad shoulders closing you into the mattress, large hands splayed across your waist, teeth biting at your neck, prying your thighs apart, rutting into yo-

 “Hello! Earth to y/n!”

 Fuck, you’ve got to stop doing this.

 “Do us all a favour and fuck him” Maris muses, “You’re like in heat or something”

 Despite the embarrassment of it all, the night continues on and Baela is far too drunk to carry on. So being the good friend you were and mother of the group, you pull her hand around your shoulder and escort her home. She’s wobbly at best and seems to laugh at the smallest thing, and even though you’re drunk as well, the situation earlier sobered you up considerably.

 “I have a headahceee….” Baela moans.

 “I heard you the first three times you said it”

 “Can we get some painkillers, we don’t have any hic back at the flat..”

 With an annoyed groan you drag her into the nearest corner shop, it’s close-ish to home, so hopefully she swallows the painkillers, shuts the fuck up and you can tuck her in on the sofa.

 She waits at the entrance while you pay, talking absent-mindedly to a stranger.

 “Baela, don’t talk to strangers please” you say as you shove the box of painkillers in her hand. The man she’s talking to smirks amused at the situation.

 “This isn’t a stranger, it’s my other cousin!” she says, her drunkenness making her far too loud.

 “Oh yeah?” you crack open the bottle of water you bought, taking a swig before passing to Baela, “Is that true?” you ask the other man.

 It could be true. He’s got platinum hair, a smile that spells trouble and that weird cockiness all Targaryen men seem to have. He gives you a bit of a wink, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Unfortunately, yes. Aegon” he extends his hand and you tentatively shake it, still a bit weary. He looks at you like he already knows you, it’s very weird.

 “Yeah that sound like a Targaryen name”

 “He’s Aemond’s older brother” Baela says while taking a sip of water, accidentally letting it fall over her face and down her neck,

 “Unfortunately, also yes” Aegon smirks, “She looks a bit worse for wear”

 “We can thank Storm’s End 2 for 1 cocktails for that, can’t we Bae?” you smile, hooking an arm around her waist to steady her, she just grunts in response, “what are you doing here anyway?” you ask Aegon as he’s now found some interest in walking alongside you both.

 He shrugs, “Just came out to get a few bits, do you guys want a lift home? Aemond’s parked around the corner”

 “Yeah actu-” your mind works before your mouth does and your face pales a bit, embarrassment working its way into your belly.

 Baela has that stupid fucking smirk on her face again, wide and giddy like a child, “Yes please! Y/n, this is your chance to get Aemond to ram-”

 “Enough of that” you warn sternly, slapping a hand over mouth, but Aegon gives an amused grin, seemingly catching onto the subject of the conversation, “We’re fine getting home thanks”

 “Don’t be stubborn, come on” Aegon says, helping Baela down the road.

 A gnawing embarrassment curls in your gut. The last thing you want is to see him. And this is reinforced when you round the corner and Aemond is in the driver’s seat, looking up when he sees three figures. His eyes dart between Aegon and Baela for a moment before landing firmly on you, shamelessly looking down and then back up again.

 You take a deep breath. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

 Try as you might, you make for the back seat, but with a shit-eating grin, Aegon makes it there first, under the guise of helping Baela in the backseat and making sure she’s okay. And you want lightning to strike him down right now with how fucking smug he looks.

 A family trait, you see.

 With an annoyed huff and without looking at the smug blonde in the driver’s seat, you get in the passenger seat, quickly pulling the seatbelt around you. Aemond doesn’t say anything either, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh.

 Oh God, his thighs.

 Stopstopstop.

 You can almost see in your peripheral the way he’s smirking to himself, thinking it’s all very amusing.

 “Aem!” Baela shrieks drunkenly from the backseat, luckily cutting the already existing tension, “Where did you come from?”

 Aem chuckles lowly and it might be the first proper time you’ve heard him laugh, he turns to his cousin in the back seat, “I could ask you the same thing”

 “I found them in the shop, what was it, Storm’s End 2 for 1 cocktails?” Aegon laughs.

 Aemond huffs a laugh in response, raising an eyebrow in your direction, “Training going well then?”

 You only have to turn your head a little to face him and when you do, you regret it immediately. In the proximity of the car, with you in the front seat, it’s achingly close. You try to muster up an indifferent look.

 “Don’t live in the gym like you do”

 He smirks, poking his cheek with his tongue, and turns back to the road, putting the car in gear to drive off. And now his gaze is averted, you briefly let your eyes go over him. It was only fair, he did the same to you. And you turn away quickly with a sigh when you see he’s wearing fucking dark grey sweatpants. All those thoughts return at breakneck speed, the sinful, lustful ones you only think of when you’re alone with your vibrator and it makes you squeeze your thighs together harshly, and you swear you see a flicker of Aemond’s head move in your direction when you do it. Not that he shows it on his face.

 Aegon’s playlist is in full swing and it’s not a long car journey, but it certainly fucking feels like it.

 You’re just thankful that Baela is quietly drunk in the backseat, half asleep, so she can’t say anything incriminating about the desires you’d divulged in female confidence.

 “Stop the car” Baela says hurriedly, undoing her seatbelt.

 Aemond brakes, looking back at her in the rearview mirror.

 “Oh shit” Aegon curses as Baela gets out the car like a bat out of hell to run behind the closest tree, halfway across the park. Aegon follows with the bottle of water you’d bought her.

 In any other situation, you’d be glad to have a borderline sick and vomiting Baela out of the car. But right now, left alone with Aemond after the sheer stupidity of the night so far, you want her to come back as soon as possible.

 Aemond sighs, at least glad Baela had the decency to get out of the car before being sick. He reaches for the gearstick to move the car out of the way of the middle of the road. And the smug bastard completely misses and his large hand makes contact with your knee instead. You can do nothing but gasp when he does it.

 “Sorry” he murmurs without moving his hand.

 When you look at him, he stays eerily still, his eyes flitting across your face to take in the dazed, stunned and impassioned look on your face. Your mouth seems to go dry, brain made of cotton, desperately trying to come up with something to say, but failing.

 Aemond withdraws his hand back to the gearstick, but not before giving the flesh above your knee a firm squeeze, burning his touch into them, leaving behind prickling heat on your skin. Seeing that you’ve been caught staring at him for too long, you flick back, pushing your legs together impossibly tighter.

 He seems to delight in the reaction.

 “Have fun on instagram earlier?”

 Oh fuck my life.

 You turn to him, embarrassed, but his eyes are on the road just as Aegon and Baela get back in the car with a few rough and tumbles. You hate how easy it is for him to get a rise out of you like this, so you turn away and just watch the night life go by as Aemond drives the 5 minute route back to your flat.

 Almost as soon as he pulls up, Aegon’s helping Baela out and you follow, just about to shut the passenger side door when-

 “See you at our session tomorrow” Aemond muses smugly. His eyes glimmering with mischief.

 Not knowing what to say and far too horny to even form a thought, you take Baela back into your arms and make for the flat, but not before looking over your shoulder to see Aemond’s dark gaze over the steering wheel.

 Once in the flat, Baela collapses on the sofa, murmuring incoherently. Like a good mother, you put a glass of water and painkillers on the side table, pulling the blanket over her.

“Did you get railed?...” Baela groans, to which you bite your lip.

“No Baela”

 With a disappointed groan, she turns and almost instantly falls asleep, aided by the dizzying effect of the alcohol creeping in. You smile at her, she’s always been like this when she’s drunk. Always the wingman. Or wingwoman, you supposed.

 Halfway through taking off your makeup, your phone pings with a notification.

Absolute.

Bastard.

You wake up the next day shockingly kind of okay. Baela on the other hand is milking this for all it’s worth. Being a Saturday, you supposed she’s allowed some time to recover.

 But when you use the blender to make a smoothie, she groans, “Are you doing this on purpose...” she groans, with a wet cloth on her forehead.

 Forcing the urge to laugh at her away, “Sorry hun”

 She lifts the cloth to glare at you, “Why are you in gym gear, it’s Saturday”

 Your mind races a bit, a blush making its way up your neck and a familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

 “Last session today before the holiday” you say, leaning against the counter to sip the smoothie, “only day free was Saturday”

 Baela pulls a face, as if amused.

 “What”

“Nothing”

 You scoff, “Fuck you, I told you all that under the influence, it doesn’t count”

 “Oh yes it does~”

 She goes on and on and on it feels like, about how badly you said you wanted Aemond to destroy you last night. She seemingly doesn’t remember the finer details about how you got home. You wished you could forget. You can still feel the way his hand gripped your leg so tightly, the bare skin prickling up.

 Ping.

The dreaded ring of a notification. And it’s like he can fucking sense when people are talking about him.

   Dramatically, you flop on the sofa, showing Baela the text.

 “I don’t know how many more signs you need” she reaches for her go to hangover cure, the biggest bar of chocolate you’ve ever seen and a diet pepsi, “I don’t want to hear anything about it, if you do though because that’s gross. Tell Maris or something”

 “Nothing is going to happen”

 “Uh huh, whatever you say hoe”

 With even Baela’s belief in you dwindling by the second, with a heaving sigh you manage to plop into your car, prop your phone on the mount for directions to the address Aemond sent you and drive. Something curls in your gut all the way there. Nerves? Excitement? Nausea? Was it the Indian food…

 You know the answer already but it doesn’t make it any better.

 The car that picked you up with Baela the previous day is parked on a driveway, a black Mercedes.

 Twat.

 With a breath to stable yourself, you trudge with your gym bag to the front door. The front garden is curiously and meticulously tidy, grass mowed and in general looked beautiful. A stark contrast, you think, to the guy inside. For a moment, you honestly think why the hell you’re here. Or maybe it’s just scary how easy it was for you to just…go with it and come to his house.

 He appears in the doorway mere seconds after you press the doorbell, making you think he had seen your car pull up, but this notion is quickly dashed when you see him. He leans against the doorframe on his forearm, having to look down at you with a bottle of something in one hand.

 “Didn’t get lost then” he says with a smug smile. The embarrassment and those thoughts that were loud the night before come back at breakneck speed, making the heat flood your cheeks uncontrollably. You just hope that he doesn’t see it, but by the amused look on his face, he totally does.

 You roll your eyes a bit and his smile seems to drop for a second. He removes his arm from the doorframe, your eyes drag over what he’s wearing briefly. It’s not the black shirt he usually has on, but a grey one with patches of dark  at the neckline and middle, you surmise he’s probably already been working out before you got here. The image of his taut stomach sticking to his grey shirt will forever be seared into your memory.

 Walking through his home is like walking through a show-home, as in, it doesn’t look like it’s been lived in. It’s weirdly pristine, smells like air freshener and detergent. And as you follow him to the back of the house, where you assume the home gym is, you can’t help but stare at the dark grey patch in the middle of his back and the way his shoulders move when he takes a drink.

 There’s some stairs that lead down and you quirk a brow, “a basement gym?”

 He stops at the stairs, looking up, his eyes somewhere else before he meets yours. His hair is up in a bun again, like the first time, with stray pieces falling out, “Yes?”

 “How very serial killer of you” you muse, following him down the stairs, “Should I share my location with someone”

 He huffs a laugh, opening the door and leading you inside with the smallest of touches to the small of your back, “Unless you want to”

 Even the borderline ghostly touch against the small of your back through your coat is enough to make your brain feel like it’s mush.

 What if he’d ventured down, using his large hand to squeeze your flesh between his fingers? Moulding the skin to shape of his palms?

 “Drink?” he asks, strangely more chirpy.

 Pulling off your coat you reply, “No, got my water, thanks”, you try and make your voice as stable as possible.

 His home gym is actually quite big, lit by several spotlights since there’s no natural light. It hasn’t got any machines, but several weights and sit up benches, perhaps he brings some clients here sometimes? Your body shudders inconsolably at the thought of being laid on the sit up benches, flat with him looming over.

 He’s filling up his own water bottle from the cooler in the corner, back to you, “So what were you doing on instagram?” he asks, and you think you can hear the smile on his face.

 Taking advantage of him not looking your way, you adjust your sports bra. It’s a different set this time, since the other is in the wash, a dark rusty orange two-piece. He turns just as you’re pulling your hair up into a bun, eyes hooded and trained on you before briefly flitting across the new outfit.

 “Stalking your creepy profile” you answer, disinterested.

 He raises an eyebrow, “Creepy?”

 “That’s what Rhaena said”

 “Ah” he responds, “she would”

 “Why’s that?”

 He motions loosely to his eye that you supposed he was blind in, “Freaks people out”

 You furrow your brows, “Why would it freak people out?”. You ask it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and he’s quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against his water bottle in thought.

 “Does it not freak you out?”

 You shake your head softly, “No”

 He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he takes a sip of water and it makes your thighs feel somewhat like jelly.

 “Right, stretches”

 Oh boy.

 It’s almost as bad as the first time you’ve done them together, except he’s extra handsy, smirking with the knowledge that you were talking about him in your spare time. This time, when you’re doing the 60 second planks on the mat, his hand stays there on your back, moving every now and then slowly between your shoulders, to the nape of your neck. And there’s no mirror in his home gym, so you’re only hoping and praying that he’s not taking this opportunity to look at you in the skin tight leggings too closely.

 Although secretly, you kind of hope he is.

 “That’s it...” he praises lowly, and it takes you so off guard that you think you might just crack. But you resort to just biting your lip, trapping the skin between your teeth painfully.

 Squats are genuinely no better. He stays behind you the entire time, achingly close with his hands on his hips and everytime you go down to do one, you can’t help the desperate thrum of anticipation in your belly as you make contact only very slightly with his leg.

 Once you’re done with stretching and core, with the lack of windows in the room you’re in, it’s very hot and you wipe your forehead a little, slightly out of breath as you take a sip of water. Feeling as if you are being watched you turn your head slightly and see him sat on the sit-up bench watching you intensely.

 “Shit” you curse as some water leaks out of the bottle onto your chest and right down your sports bra. You try and wipe it away quickly, your chest already glistening with sweat. But when you look up, you see his eyes quickly flit from there to your eyes, darkened. One of his thighs jitters as he bounces his leg, as if aggravated.

 “Sorry” you breathe, grounding yourself, “what next” you ask, desperately trying to lighten the tension.

 “Bench press” he responds, and there’s that same tone he used last time. The tone that he used after literally scaring your ex away. But you swallow thickly and nod and sit where he once was.

 He explains how to do it and you take it all in a bit until you realise he’s going to be standing right behind you and your cheeks flood with heat again, tingling down the back of your neck. He just stands there as he usually does, but from this angle (and it’s very difficult to not look at this point) your head is right at his waistline and had there not been 30kg combined in your arms right now, you probably would have given more of a reaction to it.

 But you do your reps, with him watching in silence, seeing you break a sweat. As far as you are aware, his eyes forever on your form, but really it’s zoned in on that shadow that disappears down your sports bra and at the exposed bit of midriff beneath that to your leggings.

 As you’re doing the last few, he rounds the side and places his hand flat on your ribs, right under your sports bra’s hem and you freeze, an involuntary gasp escapes.

 When you meet eyes, he’s already regarding you.

 “Relax”

 Licking your lips nervously, you nod and breathe in and out deeply. But he never takes his hand off you, almost making sure you’re doing what he says.

 The next few reps are probably the most difficult. Never being able to stop thinking about his fingers on your bare skin, his thumbs drawing very very small circles on the hot flesh there. The air feels charged, as if one wrong move could ignite something, like striking a flame near gas.

 He moves his hand lower to your abdomen, making you freeze and look at him again. There’s no smug smile on his face, just a hooded, promiscuous expression, one that makes a deep, blurry thrum right where his hand is.

 “Push here”

 You try and do as he says for the last few, but it’s hard with the way he’s staring at you. And when you let out a huff and put the weights back where they belong on the rack, he nods slightly.

 “Good girl”

 He sees the way your face flushes this time, but makes no comment on it. Instead he rights himself to stand, extending his toned arm to you to help you up, not breaking the intensity of his look.

 It really does happen too quickly to know who did it. All you remember is taking his hand to pull yourself up. The next. Both his hands are around your waist, nearly encompassing them with how big they are, and the way they slide against your glistening skin rouses you in places you didn’t even know existed.

 There’s not even time to say anything when he locks his lips with yours, pushing you harshly against the wall with a thud that makes you gasp into his hot mouth. It’s messy, chaotic, a clashing of desperate lips and when he brushes your lower lip with his tongue it’s embarrassing how good it feels. He pushes you against the wall so harshly by your waist that you think he’s trying to embed you into it, hands clasped tightly around you in frustration, his fingertips creating marks where they are fixed.

 Amongst all this, he presses his firm, lithe body against yours and you let out the quietest of moans with the realisation that he is desperately hard beneath the sweatpants he’s wearing, pressing it into your thigh.

 “Fuck…” he breathes as his hand snakes up your front to take hold of your jaw, kissing with such need that it almost feels like too much.

 All this time your hands have had no idea what to do, but one slides to the nape of his neck, gripping harshly and completely destroying the style his hair had been in. The other runs over the slick skin of his forearm, tracing the veins there, and how they seem to thrum with every beat of his heart, faster with the desire that courses through them.

 “Fucking perfect…”

 Words fail you at this point, his fingers digging into the sides of your face make you realise he’s keeping you right where he wants you, attacking your mouth with his in a way that’s not really happened to you before. And that little breathy moan escapes once again when his teeth nip at your lip as he pulls away, immediately dipping to your neck to kiss and suck the delicate skin there, his hips pushing against yours with hunger.

 You wonder what his hands would feel like wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently, or maybe not so gently. If his hands would just go that bit lower…if your hands just dipped beneath the hem of his shirt…down the sweatpants…

 Buzz buzz.

 Snapped out of this hot, heavy trance, Aemond steps back a little and you duck underneath his arm, not daring to look back at him at the fear you might stay and fuck up this entirely professional relationship. You desperately look at your phone, a missed call from Baela.

 But that’s all the excuse you need, you hurriedly pack up your stuff, “S-sorry…I..” you start but with no vocabulary to actually finish. Your core is still spurring with delight with what you’ve just done, taking all the power from your brain.

 Looking back briefly, he looks a bit dishevelled but still ridiculously too good, flushed in the face and his chest gently heaving, and with that ghost of a smile on his face. Not smug this time, to your delight.

 “Um, sorry I have to go…thanks, Aemond” you excuse promptly. Even the very swift walk back to the car is a blur. It’s only when you’re in the driver’s seat, intensely gripping the steering wheel that it all slots into place.

 Your fingers go to your lips and all the places his hands had touched you. They’re on fire. Begging for more. And you feel your breath in your lungs stutter at the memory of it. Aemond stands at his window, watching with acute amusement that you’re still sat there, absolutely dumbstruck by what’s happened.

 Baela pings you in the wake of her missed call.

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@mrsgrwy​ @lovelykhaleesiii​@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid​ @namelesslosers​  @chainsawsangel​ @warmfieldofgrass​ @mynameisbaby9​ @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix​ @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​ @amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss​

[spicythistlesatdawn]

REFERENCE THIS

CW: Adult themes. (Planning on some hot and heavy in this one) Non-Traditional A/B/O dynamics. Military inaccuracies. Medical inaccuracies. 18+ MDNI. OC x Canon Characters.

I love how, as a collective, we agree: "Ohhhh yes. Omegaverse141 is literally where it's at." I also absolutely love how as a collective essentially we've kinda agreed that yea. Alpha!GHOST and Omega!SOAP are like peak. But even better is Omega!Ghost.

Poly!Alpha Soap, Gaz, Price x Poly!Omega Ghost and Omega!reader (reader will be described as more muscular and tall)

this is gonna just be a drabble rn until my brain stops bein fried

Simon who hasn't had his heat in fuckin YEARS and just kinda didn't see a problem with it. He took his leave regardless to keep the alphas from suspecting anything, Masking came in handy for that tbh. It was too embarrassing to admit to the alphas of his pack that his father had essentially scared the omega into a sort of dormancy

Simon who tried not to be wooed by three eager alphas. Johnny's boyish fuckin charm "LT yer lookin' mighty this mornin, ach can ye help me reach the coffee tin?" Kyle's sweet little gifts that suited Simon's needs "I noticed you were out of tea, thought I'd pick yuh some up. Oh those knives are yours. Yes I got you a new mask, your old one had holes in it" and Price, he played dirty, leaving scented items in spots he knew Simon would find them and whisk them away before anyone noticed. All so terribly sweet and pushy and Fuckin hell he wanted to bite each of them, gorge himself on them and let no one else have them.

One night he caves. He caves hard because he craves love, he craves affection and the soft things his pack offers. What makes it perfect is they all decide to take leave for Price's rut. Simon's skin is buzzing for it, really it is. His pack says nothing about the fact Ghost didn't go into heat.

Hes eager, his body feels alive more than it has in ages. More often than not his alphas have him ruining his underwear with his slick.

The lack of a true heat makes it's way to the surface though. They're noticing. They're worried, yea sure stress can change up cycles but "Si when was last real heat you had?"

He's playing it off, of course. "Oi, at least I don't need birth control, shit fucks up a system worse than anythin'" "Can't remember really," "why it's not like we want a pup round 'ere anyway,"

His loving alphas though, they want him to be healthy, a delayed heat is not healthy. All that stress is bad for the heart and body and mind. So they look for solutions. Laswell mentions that maybe some time off and around civvy omegas would do Ghost some good.

A months leave. They're at Soap's apartment in Edinburgh, far enough from his family they won't be bombarded, close enough the siblings and niblings and mam can visit! It's a strange sense of normalcy that Simon hasn't allowed himself in a long time.

The pub is nice, the pub has a lot of omegas. Dainty things, overly sweet things. They're so pretty, and Ghost admires them for that. He finds comfort in watching them.

But then he scents something. Something not entirely sweet but entirely delicious. His mouth is watering, fangs actually aching. Then he spots YOU

You who looks so alive and vibrant and strong. Simon hadn't thought about pups until you and suddenly he's thinking about what you'd look like round because of the alphas. He thinks what going through a pregnancy would look like. What would being a milk nurse for your young be like?

You look so strong too, a hard worker. Like him, like his alphas. Hes nudging Johnny, pointing you out to him. Poor man is confused. "Ach Si, wuts got ye so active?" Sure Johnny sees the appeal, but he's not entirely sure what his omega is asking.

Simon doesn't even know what he's asking. The omegas he had come across before had never piqued his interest this fucking hard. He had more often than not bared his teeth at any omegas who came to up to his alphas.

Now he was here in this pub trying to urge Johnny to talk to you. Because Simon was not gentle enough, not sweet enough. Johnny however was being a idgit.

So he prodded Kyle. "The bird at the bar, wearin the tank," "Wut bout her Si?" He had never seen Simon look so shy, but oh, he loved it, though. "Pretty lovie," was all Kyle said and slipped from the booth.

You watched the lean alpha with smooth dark skin sidle up to you. Saw the claiming mark and the scent of a strong omega. You can't help how the omega part of that scent catches you, where is their Omega? How dare this beautiful man with full kissable lips sidle up to you like he doesn't have someone already.

The scowl is mean enough, coupled with sour displeasure Gaz nopes the fuck out. His Si is a burly omega and he knows those muscles aren't just for show. You work, and you work hard and even if he is an alpha, an SAS member, you could and would probably lay him out.

Aaaaaaa, the disappointment Simon feels, though, because now his instincts are latching bad. You would make such a beautiful member of the pack. LOOK AT YOU. Muscles that flex as you assess the alphas in the pub.

Oh! Oh, you're looking at him now. And he's staring, and he knows you see Kyle, who you sent scurrying back. He loves the look of realization. Appreciates the fact he wore his balaclava because you can't see the blush creeping up his neck.

You're assessing each other then. He's nudging John gently. John, who knew what was going on and didn't know whether to feel pride, concern, or maybe even jealousy. John, who dipped his head towards Simon's neck and rumbled softly, showed his possessiveness and made you and Simon pause.

You turn back to the bar, order something the men might like, whiskey or bourbon.

That makes John assess you again as you approach with the drinks. Introduce yourself. Eyes focused solely on Ghost. You're trying to catch his scent, realizing pretty quickly he can mask

Simon has to mask because Dear Jeebus your scent up close has him ruining his boxers.

You assess the others, and they're not truly paying you any mind. You don't want them to. It was becoming increasingly obvious that it was their Omega showing interest. It was their Omega that seemed inclined to woo you.

You find out their military, it tracks. The precision they move with, the way they all watch the pub. Watch you now.

They find out that you moved from America to Scotland and became a forge master. You make all kinds of things. Blades (Price makes a note of this because he wants to give his omega something nice). Knick knacks. Tools. Edinburgh is perfect because of all the clients you get in, farmers, husbands, wives, families, and workers. You also travel for conventions.

Ghost discovers you came to the pub in search of an alpha or even a beta to bully into "seeing you through your heat" he doesn't offer himself or his alphas. Even if it burns up thinking of someone else doing it. He doesn't want to offer something his alphas don't want. Price is pressing into his side though, looking at his omega and deciding they would talk very soon.

It's Johnny who gives you their numbers as they mention it's time to go. You steal their booth and watch them leave. Their scents surround you except for Ghost's. Which makes you frown because now you're wondering what could have happened that he'd need more than one self defense.

You decide to make a group chat and send a gentle hello, no longer thinking about finding another to bully into taking care of your heat.

That night, Ghost is attended by all three alphas cooing and teasing him. Telling him he's so wet and needy. "Good omega, was she a pretty bird? Did you like how she looked at yuh?" Gaz had no shame in teasing Ghost about you. Price was rather pleased there was something changing in Ghost's scent already.

Maybe Price would talk to all of his boys about taking care of you and Ghost for both of your heats. What better way to get Ghost's hormones on track than expose him to another omega in heat? Oops, he said that out loud, and now Ghost is being a loud, precious slut for them.

You and Simon (he messaged you to call him that) have been messaging quite a bit. The alphas are pleased. Their Omega is happy. Something about you has all of the men vibrating with something.

Simon has asked all of you go on a date. He wants to make his intentions known, he had talked at length with his alphas. Why he wanted to court you, let his alphas court you.

It's sweet, they understand, and this is the most forthcoming they've ever seen Simon. They love it. He loves his alphas, love the way they care for him, but he admitted something about you just... clicked. You felt like you fit in. You weren't military. You were a civvy, but you exuded strength you had talked so easily with everyone at the pub that night. It did call to all of them, not to mention you respected that they were already pack, when you spoke to them that night, you gave your respect to Price and Ghost.

Price is working with Ghost to plan a date night. He feels oddly excited. Something about his feral omega meeting another omega that has his boxers slicked is thrilling.

"Get you a pretty lil lovie. Yuh think she'll bend yuh over?" Price had never been so thoroughly mauled by Ghost during sex. Johnny and Kyle were thrilled by it.

Now to woo you

[sentientcave]

And They Were Roommates

Got brainworms from Ceilidho talkin' about Fem!Soap and wrote out a few scenarios, and landed on this one as my favourite. Maybe personal trainer Soap and hot woman complimenting you in a dive bar bathroom Soap will get written about later on.

Part 1

Part 2 Here

(Fem!SoapxFemReader) ~2.2k words

Alcohol mention, but no other major flags at this point. (A few jokes about axe murderers) But also MDNI because this is an 18+ blog and there will probably be NSFW content in future parts

You had put an ad up online.

Your best friend had moved in with her boyfriend, leaving you with more apartment than you could afford. You had enough savings to get you through till the next month, but things were going to be dicey if you didn’t find someone to take over Fern’s half of the rent soon.

You’d had plenty of responses, mostly from men that gave you creepy vibes, even through digital means. You’d actually met with only one person, and she was allergic to cats, which made her a no go.

She’d been nice enough, though. If it really came down to it, maybe Fern would take Red Herring. She did love that fat orange bastard. And so do you. The thought of giving him up, even to Fern, doesn’t sit right.

Red meows loudly through the door as your key scrapes in the lock. You nudge him away with your foot while you enter the apartment, wary of any escape attempts. You feed him so he stops yelling at you, and boil water so you can feed yourself some instant ramen for dinner, and boot up your laptop to check the ad again.

A few more creepy responses, one of which is just a slightly blurry dick pic. You delete them. One that looks promising.

>Hey! I’m interested in the room if it’s still available! Can we meet soon? I’m a military gal and I’m being deployed again next week and I already gave notice at the last rat-hole I was renting. Seemed like 60 days was plenty of time for apartment hunting 60 days ago, but I haven’t found anything lol. Hopefully we get along! You can give me a call any time in the next few days, and we can set up a meet’n’greet. Thanks a bunch! Jamie MacTavish

Her number is in brackets below that, next to the soap emoji, for whatever reason.

No sense waiting around. You call the number right away.

“Hello?” The voice is a woman’s, a dusky alto, which is a good first sign.

“Hi, Jamie? I’m calling about the apartment. Or, um, from the apartment.” You give her your name as an after thought, feeling silly that you hadn’t led with that.

“Yaldy! I was hopin’ ye’d call. I’ve got a friend I can move in with if it comes down to it, but I really don’t want to. He lives in a worse rat hole than I do. Are ye busy now? I’ll buy ye dinner if you like, just for the short notice and the trouble.”

Anything would be better than ramen for dinner a second night in a row. “Yeah, alright. There’s a decent pub down the street, Keeler’s? It’s close so I can give you an apartment tour if you pass the ‘not a murderer’ vibe check.”

There's a beat of silence. “Does killin’ people in the line of duty count?” she asked. “Because, er, I have. But I’m not like, prone to doin’ that kind of thing in my spare time.”

You think about it a moment. State sanctioned violence does feel different than personal time violence, although you're pretty sure that speaks to some sort of unaddressed bias. Something to think about. “I appreciate the honesty, at least.”

She laughed. “I can meet ye at yer pub in half an hour. That work for ye?”

“Yeah. That works.”

“Great. I’ll text you a picture of me so ye know who tae look for. See you soon.”

You get the text a minute after you hang up. A picture of a gorgeous woman with big smile and bright blue eyes, the sides of her head shaved, the rest of it left long and braided back from her face. She looks normal enough.

You get ready and head out, texting Fern to let her know where you’d gone, just in case Jamie actually was a murderer in her spare time.

Jamie’s already there when you get to the pub, sitting at the bar with a pint, watching the door intently, her leg bouncing. You give her a little wave, and she beams at you. She’s even hotter in real life, wearing tight, ripped up jeans that cling to her muscular thighs, and a tight black tank-top under a cropped leather jacket. She has almost no jewelry, other than the dog tags around her neck and the silver hoops in her ears. She looks, well, normal. Friendly.

You go up and introduce yourself, earning a firm handshake. She’s strong.

“Hi!” she says excitedly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jamie, but my friends call me Soap. I’d tell ye why, but it’s classified.”

“Is it really?”

“No. But it’s fun to say.” She flags down the bartender. “A pint for my friend here, if you don’t mind. You want to grab a booth? Or stay up at the bar?”

You look around, and there’s a few empty booths, but it’s early yet, and they tend to fill up quickly. “Let’s move. If we stay up here the single dads are going to start hitting on us.”

"We are a couple of dolls, aren't we?" She flashed another big smile at the bartender as he set a second pint out. "We're movin' to a table, if ye don't mind."

"No problem, love," he says, obviously besotted already. "I'll send Jenny around to take your order."

"Thanks, pal. Appreciate it."

You pick up the pint and follow her over to a booth, sliding in on the opposite side.

"So, you said you're military?"

"Ah am. SAS no less. Best of the bloody best. Not many jobs where ye get tae blow things up awl the time." She sheds her jacket, revealing impressively muscled arms. "I could just live on base, if things don't work out here, just so ye ken. No pressure on ye. But I hate stayin' on base when I don't have to. It's the communal showers. Most of the lads are, well, lads. Gotta shower in the middle of the night, and I keep bumpin' into my LT when I do. And he said I could move in with him too. I’m in a rush but I willnae be homeless, so ye don’t need to worry about me if you dinnae think we’ll get along."

You wince in sympathy. "That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd ever be comfortable showering in front of other people."

"Is naw so bad, if it's someone ye like seein' naked. But most of em are munters anyway. Wouldnae mind so much if more of 'em looked like you." She winked over the edge of her pint glass and took a swig.

You laugh at her little joke. She's fun, and you already feel at ease with her. She tells you about her old rat hole apartment, and a little about living on base, although she's a bit vague on the details of her actual job, beyond blowing things up.

She asks you about your work, and you tell her about the used bookshop you work at down the road. You're basically the only employee, and it's usually not too busy, although it can be annoying when you get a rush in the middle of pricing 'new' books. But it pays the rent, more or less. You talk a bit about Fern, and about Red Herring too.

"I love cats," she said excitedly. "Never been able to keep one, bein' away so much. LT had a dog, and he was awlright, but I'm definitely more of a cat girl. Got bit by a few too many pups in my day."

"Well, Red's a real love bug. Once we're done here you can meet him. I think we're going to get along fine."

"Och, really? Just like that, aye? Thought I'd have to work harder."

"Honestly, I thought I was going to have to accept some weirdo or give poor old Red away. You're a much better fit than I expected to find. I think we could be friends."

Her blue eyes track something behind you and narrow slightly. "Well, I'm holdin' ye to that. We're about to be accosted by my lads. Don't let them scare ye." She shoves her plate across the table into the spot next to you and clambers out of the booth. "Oi, what're you munters doin' here? I'm gettin' interviewed for an apartment. Dinnae need you scarin' my girl."

You look behind you, spotting a giant wearing a skull-print balaclava, and a more regular-sized (though no less muscular) black man with a brilliant smile. "We wanted to make sure she wasn't an axe murderer," he says pleasantly.

"Or a chainsaw murderer," the giant adds.

Soap cuts him off before he can take the seat beside you. "Over there," she orders, pointing at the opposite bench, where she'd been sitting. "I'm not lettin' you box her in." She grimaces at you apologetically as she drops into the spot beside you. Her thigh presses against yours for a moment, before you shift further down the bench. "They're sweet, in their own way. Think I need lookin' after. The big guy's Ghost, or LT. This handsome pain in the arse is Gaz. Don't let him sweet talk ye intae callin' him Kyle unless you want him tae put yer ankles up by yer ears. Made that mistake before."

"You don't have to bring that up every time you introduce me to a woman," Gaz says, clearly exasperated.

"I do. How else are they gonna know to call you for a good time?" She smacks his hand away from her plate when he reaches for it. "Oi! Order your own chips ye bastard."

"I only want a couple," Gaz protests.

"Ye always say tha' and ye always lie. Ah umnae fallin' for it again."

"You can have a couple of mine," you offer. "I wasn't going to finish them anyway."

"When do we get to see the place?" Ghost asked.

"Ye don't, unless yer carryin' boxes for me. I willna ask her to let three strangers in her home when she's only just met me."

"Well I guess we're helpin' ye move," Ghost said. "Was gonna leave it all to Price."

"Lazy cunts. Ne’er around when there’s work tae be done.”

“I was gonna help,” Gaz protests. “I already told you that.”

“And I did tell you that you could move into my place if you didn’t find somethin’ in time,” Ghost points out. “We’re not all bad.”

“Well, they’re not bad lads tae have watchin’ yer back in a fire-fight,” Soap admits. “But they dinnae know how to be normal about anythin’.”

“Are you supposed to be the normal one?” Ghost asks.

“Aye. And I willnae have you say otherwise in front of my new friend.”

She finishes eating long before you do, with the speed and gusto of a woman who often has to defend her plate against hungry scavengers. Gaz, true to Soap’s complaint, eats the majority of your chips, although he does thank you and give you a big, wide smile, the sort that could sell someone a bridge. He’s definitely a charmer.

Soap asks for the bill while you’re finishing up. You reach for your purse, but she puts a hand on yours and gives you an intense blue stare. “No, kitty. I told ye I was buyin’ ye dinner, I’ll no’ let ye make me a liar, especially when Gaz ate half your plate.”

God she’s strong. You’re not sure that you could shake her off to insist even if you tried. “Alright. I just—”

“Oh I ken. But I wouldna offer if I didna mean it. I’m a woman of her word.” She pays with cash, and offers you a hand up and out of the booth. She points a warning finger at her friends. “And dinnae follow us, ye creepy bastards.”

They laugh, like they hadn’t followed her to the pub in the first place.

“They really do mean well,” Soap says, linking her arm with yours as you step out onto the street. “But they’ve go’ a bad habit of thinkin’ they dinnae need to respect my space just ‘cause we’ve all spent nights crammed into one room sharin’ cots. I think if the captain had his way we’d all live in his house and sleep in a big fuck-off pile like dogs.”

“Sound a bit claustrophobic.”

“Aye. Ye understand why I’m so eager to make this work with ye, kitty-cat. If I move in with LT it’s just a matter of time before Price comes over tae help us fix somethin’ and says ‘Oh, I dinny know why ye both stay in this shitehole. Whyna stay with me a while, till we find ye somethin’ better?’ And then before we know it we’re all sleepin’ in the same bed and usin’ the same toothbrush.”

You giggle, hoping that's just a joke. “That’s gross.”

“I ken! Horrible men, they are. I need some girl time before I go mad.” She squeezes your arm and knocks her head against yours gently. “We’re goin’ tae be best friends in no time, kitty. I wish I wasna goin’ away so soon.”

“You haven’t even seen the apartment yet!”

“Och, tha’s a formality. I was more wurried about us gettin’ along, kitty. The apartment doesna matter all that much, so long as it’s got a workin’ shower and a place for my bed. If I pass Mr. Herring’s sniff test, I’ll give ye cash on the spot, aye? For next month an’ half of this one, since you’d be lettin' me move in before the first.”

And, well, it’s hard to think of a good reason to say no.

[adachimoe]

PSC Eps 12, 13, 18, 19 "Ah-ha, I SEES it!"

Last time: Ep 1 + Explanation, Eps 2 + 4, Ep 5, Eps 6 + 7 (no Q&A), Eps 8 + 9, Eps 10 + 11 (plus PSC Cafe)

I paraphrased some of the phrasings, except for the fish question. I left that as-is because it impressed Isocchi so much she rewarded the viewer who asked it with a t-shirt.

Episode 12

Q: Does Rise wear earrings with a piercing-type backing, or does she wear clip-ons? A: Clip-ons.

(This sounds dumb because language thing and Atlus's answer. In JP, a "ピアス / pierce" is for pierced ears, but an "イヤリング / earring" refers to clip-ons. In English, we just call all of these "earrings" lol. The viewer asks if Rise wears a pierce or a clip-on or a magnetic clip-on, and Atlus answers that she wears clip-on, but not if her ears are actually pierced or not, hence my weird phrasing.)

Q: Where did Aragaki live before moving back into the SEES dormitory? A: He was probably living somewhere by himself, or he kept being an unwanted guest at the homes of his shady friends. Probably a big reason why he got to know Strega so well was cause he spent so long as a vagrant. Q: During Episode Adachi in P4AU, Adachi mentions getting tired of seeing the Moonlight Bridge when he was in the city. Did he used to live in Iwatodai? A: He didn't necessarily live there, but he worked in the city center, and would take the scenic route back to HQ by driving over to Moonlight Bridge to imitate a character on a popular detective drama.

(See this post for more about the TV show in question.)

Episode 13

Q: Who is Margaret's favorite (hot guy) Persona? A: I think Ardha, Helel, and Yoshitsune are her favorites since she swaps between them a lot. She uses Oberon for the 9999 damage Megidolaon, so maybe she's got some obsession with him? Q: Why does the P3 Protagonist wear his MP3 player in Tartarus? It makes sense during his everyday life, but it doesn't work during the Dark Hour, and it seems like it would be annoying swinging around during battle, or I think it would break when he gets attacked. Did he just forget to take it off? A: Part of the reason why is that he will sometimes he listen to it on the way to Tartarus. The other part is that wearing it has become a habit. Q: In Persona 3, what's with the wound on Sanada's forehead? I'm worried because his ribs healed in a month but the wound on his forehead still hasn't healed after a year. A: The band-aid on the left side of Sanada's forehead is just to express that, "He always has injuries cause he's a boxer". Due to his past, he's the type who wants to train to the extent that he's bullying himself, so it seems he has a lot of fresh wounds on his face.

Episode 18

Q: In P4D, Kanamin's costumes include her plain jersey with a shirt that says "Life" (人生) on it, and it seems like the writing changes when she dances. How many variations are there? A: 13 total ("Life" + 12 others). Q: When did Sho from P4AU get that scar on his forehead? I thought the story would explain something about it since it glows when his eyes glow, but even after clearing the story, there was no explanation. A: The scar on his forehead is related to "that one thing" being implanted into his forehead. The blue glow is due to the influence of "that one thing" and the red glow is due to the influence of "the big guy".

(Contextually: Blue = Plume of Dusk and alternate personality, red = Hi-no-Kagutsuchi.)

Q: I want to know if Shiroku's pet fish Akihiko that's kept at Shiroku Pub is a freshwater fish or seawater fish? The fish itself looks like an oarfish making it a deep-sea fish which would at least need a tank with seawater. But Inaba is surrounded by mountains and the only sea on the map is Shichiri Beach. I don't think it's that far away because the main characters can go there, but Shiroku runs the general store during the day and the pub at night so I get the feeling she doesn't have time to go get seawater. A: If you look into it, there's an "artificial seawater mix" for keeping seawater fish in aquariums as pets and it's very easy to get through mail order. If she really is keeping an oarfish in an aquarium, that's impressive - something no one else has been able to do! I wonder how she does it... There's so many fish you can catch around Inaba...

Episode 19

Q: What's with the distinctive hair styles on Yosuke's Personas Susanoo and Takehaya Susanoo? Did Yosuke wish he could have an afro? A: The flashy hair isn't because of Yosuke's heart, but because the mythological Susanoo had the image of a tempest and a violent storm. It being red is to communicate that, within the game, Yosuke is not just strong against wind, but also strong against fire. Q: During January in P3P, it's mentioned that Sanada and Mitsuru take standardized tests for university admissions. But in P4 Arena, Sanada had been training overseas. Did he drop out? A: No. As mentioned in the P4 Arena story mode, he was just on leave from school. It was probably his own version of a ritual purification before embarking on the path of fighting as a professional, but even Mitsuru told him, "You're overdoing it".

(Since Aki joins the police force to support the Shadow Workers in the epilogue, I assume this is talking about him fighting Shadows professionally, not him thinking about becoming a pro boxer.)

Q: Why does Ryoji wear a scarf? November seems a bit too early for scarf weather. Does the scarf have a special meaning? A: Mainly for impact when you first meet him, but also his values are different than other people's and we were conscious of that - like he's "a foreigner who hasn't gotten used to this town yet".

(Japanese people tend to dress based on the season rather than the actual weather lol. [E.g. an older woman in the countryside asked me, "Aren't you cold?" when I was wearing leggings and a t-shirt on a warm sunny day in spring.] November would usually still be considered fall.)

[macravishedbymactavish]

Somebody Come Get Him (TF141 x M!Reader)

He's dancing like a stripper.

TW for mentions of alcohol, swearing, club dancers. Soap wants to be a sugar baby but do we blame him.

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist | Based on this request | 18+ MDNI |

You passively listened as plans for a night out this weekend were being planned. Who would be the designated driver? Should we go somewhere new? You two are coming, right?

"Sorry guys, I'll have to pass on that. It's my grans birthday and you know how it is with older people" you chuckled at the momentary horror in their eyes. "I'm sure Simon will be a good sport and go out this time. Right mate?"

The look of object horror and filtered rage in your best friends gaze caused your heart to skip a beat or two. You loved Simon like a brother, but he was a scary motherfuc--

"'Course I will, since you can't be bothered. Tell Gran I say hello" He quipped, seeing right through you. Fuck I shouldn't have thrown him under the bus...

Swallowing the growing anxiety inside, knowing this was bound to bite you in the ass later. You gave your friends a warm smile before bidding yourself off. To granny's house.

--

"You're late!" You heard an accented voice scold as you walked in the back. "How many times must I yell at you before you learn? I think you like being yelled at!"

A smile spread across your face in amusement as the woman's attempt at scolding. Walking by you pressed a cheeky kiss to her head chuckling. She couldn't stay mad at you, or anyone else here for that matter.

"Happy birthday, Gran" you teased, ducking as a headband was thrown in your direction at the name. Ma, boss lady, Gran (she hated that one), Ruska Roma (she loved this one) -- a woman by many names to her many employees. The only boss in history that everyone seemed to like.

"What did I say about that shit? Enough!" She laughed, followed by a thank you, asshole. Now get to work already. Save the world by day, and entertain the world by night.

"You're here? Been a long time stranger" you heard a familiar voice tease, walking up behind you to place her hands on your shoulders. Eyes meeting yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. Your bitten lip, and awkward smile gave you away.

"You still haven't told them?" Your soul sister laughed.

"Why would I? It's bad enough that Simon knows some of what I do, let alone my entire team" You argued, face and neck flushing at the idea of the guys finding you out. "All they need to know is I'm visiting family for a birthday"

"And you're bringing poor gran into this? Straight to hell for you" Her eyes widened, her shit eating smirk growing. Everyone here knew you were part of an elite team.

Nobody on your team knew you were actually a member of 2 elite teams. Awkward.

"At least I'll be in good company" you snorted, rolling your shoulders back as you took a deep breath. Nerves starting to catch up with you, 45 minutes until you're on deck.

--

"Barebackers? Never heard of the place" Kyle scrunched his nose up slightly at the suggestion. A place that appeared in Johnny's targeted ads. "Think it's any good?"

"Half decent menu for pub food" Simon chipped in, mindlessly scrolling his phone. The last thing he wanted was to go out tonight, but someone had to use him as the scapegoat.

"Better than trying to party with Gran all night" Johnny laughed, pulling up the address.

--

"Pre show shots for my birthday!" Gran called out, causing everyone in the dressing room to cheer. Her birthday being the only night staff can consume any alcohol while on shift.

Taking a shot from the tray, you lifted it in the air. Joining in on the out of tune "happy birthday" being sung.

--

"So that was terrible, thanks you two" Price huffed, leading the group out of the club. Cursing to himself that he didn't notice anything odd about a name like Barebackers.

Barebackers!

"How was I supposed to know it was a bunch'a dudes stripping?" Kyle argued, shaking his head. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but going to a club like that with your coworkers was unerving to say the least.

"I know a place down the street. Shouldn't be any dancers" Simon offered, ready to leave Barebackers behind. Happy he dodged a you-sized bullet tonight.

--

"Aye! Be ready to go, the song after this is all you" you heard the DJ yell to you. Pulling your attention from the patrons at the bar you were serving. Giving her a thumbs up, you began the process of hyping yourself up for the show.

You've been doing this for a fair while, you were confident in your abilities to entertain and majority of the feedback you received was positive. Doesn't mean you're not riddled with nerves and feel like you're about to vomit before going on stage though.

Ignoring the twisting of your stomach, you busied yourself with making the next order of drinks that came through.

3 fruity drinks, 1 double whiskey and 1 double bourbon.

--

"I'm not drinking that" Simon pushed the purple and blue drink back across the table. "That's begging for a damn hangover"

"Suit yourself old man" Kyle laughed as Johnny sat back in his seat, now with both drinks in hand. "More buzz for me"

"You start puking, you're on your own" Price mumbled, staring at the two younger men.

"What ever happened to being a mother hen, sir?" Kyle laughed, damn near doubled over when Price gave him a silent side eye in response.

Don't compare me to poultry again.

"Fuckin 'ell" Simon cussed under his breath, seeing movement out of the side of his eye. Dear old Granny smiling over at him with a knowing look, giving him a small wave.

"Now why don't you give it a shot? One night, you keep all your tips and if you don't like it you're off the hook" she bartered. You brought in a ton of revenue and traffic after your first night. She could only imagine what having double trouble military men would do.

"I'll pass ma'am" He awkwardly nodded, already hearing his brother laughing at him if this ever got out. Even worse, his squad.

"If this SAS gig ever doesn't work out, you know where to find me. Or he will at least" she jabbed a thumb in your direction, to where you stood behind the bar chatting with patrons.

That had to have been what, 6, 7 years ago? How did the woman look almost identical to now. Better yet,

How did she recognize him?

"Mr. Riley, it's good to see you again" He tensed right up, hearing a familiar voice now beside him.

"Couldn't miss your birthday Gran" Ignoring the awestruck looks of his team, he carried on light conversation. Hoping her previous offer wouldn't come back around.

"All drinks on me tonight, so have fun" she smiled at everyone, as the song was fading out. "Rooster there, find me after. I have an offer you can't refuse" she winked at Soap, who's eyes widened as he finished half of the second drink.

"Enjoy the show, boys" with one last smile, she returned to her initial seat. Beside the main stage a few feet away from them.

"Gran just hit on you" Kyle howled, clutching his stomach as his body shook with laughter. Managing to get out something about this is amazing.

"I'd be a damn good sugar baby" Johnny smiled, moving to finish his drink before promptly choking. "Is that?!" Eyes wide, looking directly at where you walked on stage.

"Bloody hell it is" Price chuckled, impressed with the confidence and skill you held yourself with. Feeling Simon slide down a little more in his seat beside him. The music picked up before he could ask just how much his lieutenant knew about your personal life.

"Is this how granny likes to party?" Johnny yelled over the music, expression a mix between confusion, intrigue and approval.

"I guess she owns this place now too" Simon grumbled, arms crossed as he watched you put your all into the show. Last he heard of the old bat, she had a private entertainment buisness. Leasing out her dancers to the highest bidders to the local clubs.

"I don't see why you wouldn't take her up on the offer" you shrugged, counting your payout from the night. "Easy way to make extra cash and unload after a long day here"

You heard a soft grunt in response from the other couch. Your best friend and roommate still in disbelief that you were so open and willing to take your clothes off for money.

"Too much family 'round here. Don't need my nephew hearing about that" you stopped counting, and gave him an amused look. You were terrified for your first show, and all but begged him to come as moral support. While Simon respected the talent and effort, it solidified that he wouldn't be caught dead half naked and shaking himself on stage.

"Then don't tell him. Simple"

3 of the men watched as you performed, all the movements coming naturally. A skill that you gave your last few years perfecting.

The 4th was pinching the bridge of his nose groaning about how he got into this situation. From one bar watching half naked dudes dance to another.

You focused on your movements, letting yourself get lost in the music and occasional cheers. No other thought besides letting loose, having fun, ohmygodisthatmyteam.

Brushing the thought aside as soon as it came, you finished your performance. Sauntering off the stage, catching your coworker in a quick hug before making your way to the back, shaking slightly. Nope. No. Nonononono.

"Who's the one with the cap? You need to introduce me" your soul sister begged, handing you a towel to wipe off the sweat and residual glitter from your performance. Fuck, play this right.

"I dunno, is he a regular?" Your heart lept into your throat as you feigned ignorance. Refusing to meet her knowing gaze as you changed back into your normal clothing for the remainder of your shift.

"In your life, yes. Now spill, who is he?" She bit her lip, smile widening as you rolled your eyes. About to shut her down when you noticed a familiar figure wander into the back alongside Gran. Fuckfuckfuck

"I've gotta go, can't leave things unattended" you rushed out, turning to leave before you heard a call of your name in a familiar accent.

"You never told me there were more fine gentleman" Gran lightly scolded, one hand wrapped gingerly around Johnny's bicep as she smirked. "Why not?"

While you were proud of yourself for both lives you ran, you also made a point to keep said lives seperate. Church and state if you will. None of the guys on 141 (minus Simon - but you two met in your teens) knew about your extracurricular activities, and none of your entertainment family knew exactly what you did in the military. 5 years of keeping this life secret, now exposed.

"Not to flirt with you, but you look mighty hot" Johnny laughed, clearly a tad intoxicated as he scanned around the room. Wondering why you didn't tell the guys sooner.

"Gran, a minute?" You whispered, avoiding your friends gaze. Shame suddenly taking over you. Why? There's nothing wrong with this, with what I do.

"We can talk here. No secrets." She looked you dead in the eye, reading every thought going on in your head. "They love you anyway. Maybe a little more now even. You are a man of many talents, my son" she smiled, patting your cheek lightly while encouraging you to see the rest of your team. You nodded slowly, grabbing Johnny as you walked back out into club (much to his dismay, something about sugar baby dreams...?)

"So much for "when we work together I best not have to see you shaking your ass around anymore" Simon grumbled when you approached the table, "when did Roma buy out the place?" He asked, as you sat alongside your team. Leg bouncing with nerves.

"About a year ago now, I started here after the OP we did in Amsterdam" you quietly explained, cringing when you heard Johnny start loudly explaining to Gaz how much he liked it here.

"You keep yourself busy then" Price offered, amusement lacing his tone. "No wonder you're rich. Natural talents pay quite well I suppose"

"Natural talents? More like years of practice" Simon quipped, giving them a brief summary to your years of knowing each other. The countless times he walked in on you dancing somewhere in your shared flat half naked. Causing your face to burn brighter with every word and story. Your move earlier in the night officially coming back around to haunt you.

"No need to be ashamed, you're good at what you do" Price started, taking a swig of his drink before continuing.

"But I best not see you shaking your ass anywhere near me ever again"

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Consequences

Pairing: Criston Cole x Fem. reader

Themes : Smut | Modern AU

Word count : 1.1k words 

Summary: Being a brat comes with consequences, especially when it comes from the hands of the head of the Targaryen’s family’s head of security. 

Warnings : Mention of drinking | Nicknames | Brat taming | Spanking | some cock warming | Daddy kink

MINORS DNI | 18+

This is my first Criston Cole post. Hope you all enjoy it.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

Aegon had been causing trouble again, this time by going on a pub crawl and nearly starting several brawls. His brother Aemond had to physical drag him back to the car and bring them both back home.

Criston went over the security report, tutting and tsking, hemming and hawing, as page after page opened up with details of furniture smashed, expensive bottles of liquor wasted, and a hefty pub bill that remained unsettled. Thank the gods the Targaryen family was rolling in money, he thought. He poured over each page again, thoroughly absorbed by what he was reading.

At least, he pretended to be absorbed by what he was reading.

You grumbled: “How much longer must I stay like this?”

The sharp spank that reddened your thigh made you draw breath.

“Until I say so, my pet.” Criston ran a hand through his hair, his eyes on the report the entire time. “And do I need to remind you on how I should be addressed?”

When you whined, Criston turned his attention to you, inch by painfully slow inch. He savoured this, making you wait, running his tongue over his lips, admiring the sight that was before him.

And what a sight you had made. Dressed in nothing but a soft, silken robe, you had been made to straddle his lap, his length already buried inside you. Criston let his eyes rake their way all over you, thinking what an apt consequence he had come up with. You had refused to follow his requests the night before, acted like a brat when he asked you to finish up with them and always saying no. Oh, Criston didn’t mind, mm-mmm.  He didn’t mind your little stunts, and he never tired of them. He savoured those moments when you challenged him, trying to get the upper hand, to arouse him, to rile him up. And it always ended up with you finally submitting to him and straddling his lap like this, accepting the consequences for the little stunts you pulled hours before.

Another sharp spank to your thigh reminded you that you hadn’t answered, and that you must answer, lest he keep you waiting for longer than you could bear. “How much longer must I stay like this, daddy?”

Not even a few minutes and already you were calling him daddy. Oh, but you were already giving in. That made his greedy eyes light up like anything, made his cock grow even harder. “As long as I deem it necessary my pet,” he cooed as he went back to the report in one hand, the other sneakily making its way around your waist. “You know that.”

“But daddy,” you whined, your breath reducing to a sharp moan when he spanked you again, this time on the ass. “Please…”

Criston was enjoying this tremendously, seeing you slowly turn a crumbling mess. Seeing your mouth open in a half-moan, your hands splayed out against your chest as you tried to steady yourself, your body trembling even as he kept you stretched and full, why, it was better than anything else he had ever experienced. “Aww, my little pet,” he cooed again over the report he pretended to go through. “Giving in already?”

He kept still, not moving or spanking or even touching. He loved toying with you like this, first setting your body on fire with the way he was touching you, then by denying you after that, made you want much more than what he was doing at that moment. With each passing second the sensations of touch and then denial proved to be too much, and you whimpered a barely audible, please daddy.

“You can please daddy all you want,” Criston smirked, seeing the growing hunger in your heavy-hooded eyes. He wondered how long it would take before he had you truly begging and pleading. "You'll stay like that for as I long as I say so."

Your mewl was rewarded with yet another sharp spank to the ass. "Behave, my pet," he delighted in your sharp whimper. "Or I'll deny you even more."

Your defiance crumbled and you finally begged, “I can’t bear this daddy.” The feel of him filling you, stretching your walls, and not going beyond that was like blissful torture. Him taking great delight in denying you was like blissful torture. There was only but one what to convince him to give you the relief you were craving so badly. And that was by submitting to him, something you did everytime, shamelessly, and so easily. "Please, please please."

Criston replied with a nonchalant, "No, my dove."

"Please daddy," you mewled. "Please."

There was simply the shake of a head, no words, no other answer. While he ‘continued’ to read, Criston let his free hand slid up your waist, making slow, languorous movements over your belly, gliding over your ribcage, before slipping under your robe to rest over a breast, and rough, callused fingers had their way with an already puckered bud. You could only surrender to what he was doing, jolts and shivers washing over your body while your mouth parted in silent moans. Your walls quivered around his cock, your heartbeat hammering in your ears whenever he pinched or tugged. Impulsively, you leaned into him.

When you moved without even realizing it, Criston moaned deeply. "Fuck, you feel good," he muttered under his breath. He forced his eyes open, checked the clock. Enough time had passed and you had been denied long enough. Criston hummed, made a great show of slowly closing up the file, of taking his own sweet time to place it on the coffee table.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see your eyes following his painfully slow movements, your pupils already dilated and darkened. There were no whines this time, no huffs of protest. And you were keeping quiet the entire time, keeping still, just as he asked you to. It honestly made him even harder than before. "Very good," he breathed. "And since I'm finally finished," he smirked when relief lit up your eyes. "Have you learnt your lesson, my pet?”

You nearly sobbed when he rewarded you with a shallow thrust.  "I have, daddy." A purr rose from the back of your throat when a rough hand glided over your thighs. 

Criston nodded, let go of your breast, thinking of letting his lips replace his fingers soon enough. "And that lesson is?"

There were those warm, callused hands stroking your thighs again, making you quiver all over. "To listen to you and not be a brat, daddy."

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. Criston had most of the day free, and he was already coming with plenty of things to keep you like this, on your knees, and then under him. “And will you behave yourself from now on?”

“Yes daddy,” you babbled when his arms hooked around your waist.

“Good,” Criston crooned as he made himself more comfortable. “Now, why don’t you be a good little pet and see how big of a mess you can make over me.”

[panther-os]

"Hobie's 18 or older because he mentions going to pubs and 18 is the legal drinking age in the UK"

okay ftr I do think Hobie's 18-ish but y'all motherfuckers really truly seriously think HOBIE FUCKING BROWN would wait until the law says it's okay for him to do something before he does it??? whether he's legal to drink or not, he probably has at least twenty different high quality fake IDs and a half dozen underground establishments where nobody is ever carded and spider-punk and his band always drink free

y'all're severely misunderstanding the entire fucking point of the character

UPDATE: After talking with a British friend, I have also learned that going to the pub is essentially the equivalent of going to Red Robin. It is a place with alcohol, that does not mean that it's closed to minors or families. Pubs are as embedded in British culture as McDonald's is in American culture. And we don't actually see Hobie drinking there, so yeah he's probably 18ish but this is not proof.

ALSO they have informed me that because British teens grow up in and around places with alcohol, they tend to want to visit other places with alcohol like bars and clubs sooner. As a result, most British teens grow up two degrees of separation from someone who can get them a fake ID. And after they use that fake ID to get into bars and clubs, they usually find it not at all what they were expecting and then go back to hanging out at pubs.

tl;dr: pubs =/= bars, going to a pub =/= being of drinking age (This is fascinating cultural knowledge I'm glad to have now that actually does add a lot of depth to Hobie's character for me.)

[casspurrjoybell-26]

May to December - Chapter 18 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*     

The Local Pub

Things were going well until Otis decided that he wanted to go swimming.

The adults had been conversing amongst themselves when Kyle mentioned going for a walk by the riverside with Chaska.  

"I want to go too," the toddler had injected, flaring his hands as he approached the dining table his grandmother and father were sitting by.

"Swim? With Chaska?" he seemed to ask as he made to climb his father like a stool.  

The blonde man raised his brow at his son, chuckling before picking him up and placing him on his lap.

As all toddlers were, Otis quickly became distracted.

He found the plastic fruit deco interesting and quickly forgot about his demand to go swimming with his favorite person.

His memory was jogged, however, when he met Chaska in the daycare the next morning.

The toddler squealed, stamping his feet before demanding why Chaska had gone swimming without him.    

"Swimming?" Chaska whispered to Kyle after he had gotten the toddler to calm down.

He was carrying the child in his hands, cradling his head as he stared at the boy's father for an explanation.    

Kyle sighed.

"I was talking to my mother about us taking a walk by the river and he decided we went swimming," he said.

The younger man chuckled at that.      

The daycare was filled to the brim.

Older kids who were around for summer school played tag and ran about the room.

"Can he swim, though?" Chaska asked, bringing Kyle out of his thoughts.

The older man's mouth parted as she stared out into the room, trying to jog his memory.

He hadn't paid much attention to Otis' extracurricular activities when he was with the boy's mother but he guessed the boy at least started swimming lessons at some point?      

"I don't know. I might have to text Anastasia to ask," Kyle muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Every day he had to confront himself with something else he didn't know about his son.

He was glad to learn, he just felt small whenever he had to come to terms with how little he knew about his son.      

"Alright," Chaska said, holding the small of the boy's back.

"I could also ask him when he wakes up."

The screaming and crying had knocked him out.

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Children exaggerate."      

Chaska nodded.

"I know but if we get an inflatable pool, we could blow it up in your yard and go 'swimming' don't you think?"      

Kyle thought about it for a bit.

Yes, Chaska was right.

There was no harm setting up a fake pool and letting Otis have some fun.

As a kid, he had hung out by the river or just hosed his friends and played with buckets of water.

Otis, as much as they had moved miles away from the suburbs, was still a posh kid.

Young children didn't care too much when it came to changes in how they lived but how they noticed a change in how they played.    

"I'll see what I can buy after work," Kyle muttered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his overalls.

There was a two-wheeled tractor he had to fix,and he was already running late.      

"See you in the afternoon, love," Chaska muttered, leaning forward to kiss the man's cheek before heading off with Otis in his hands.      

"Well, aren't you two getting along," Chaska's co-worker said as she brushed past Kyle and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

It took a while for Kyle to gather his composure and head out of the daycare.

He made his way down the stairs, his face refusing to cool down even when he got into his car.      

Ever since Chaska had told him he loved him he couldn't calm down.

Yesterday, he had stared up at the ceiling all night as he replayed the event in his head.

The younger had messaged him in the morning, asking if they could get some drinks together at the local pub.

Of course, Kyle had said yes, and he was looking forward to that in the evening when he and Chaska were free.  

Kyle drove to the farm he was supposed to work at and through the hot afternoon as he got his overalls stained with mud and engine oil he counted down until he could meet up with Chaska.

The young man was going to drop Otis off with Kyle's mother before he went kickboxing.

After that, they had planned to meet at the post office and Kyle would drive them to the little pub that was always overflowing with balding old men with pot bellies.      

Kyle hadn't pinned Chaska as much of a drinker but it seemed the dark-haired man enjoyed going through a bottle or two occasionally.

"Can I help you?"  

The question made Kyle blink as he turned to look at the supermarket attendant.

Kyle had finished work two hours ago.

His client had let him take a quick shower at their place, so Kyle was able to skip going back home to freshen up.

With the newfound free time, he had decided to buy the inflatable pool Chaska had told him to.      

"No," Kyle muttered, putting his hands in his pockets as he backed away from the shelves.

"I don't think you have what I'm looking for," he said, licking his lips.  

"What is it?" the teenager who didn't seem to be any older than sixteen asked.      

"I was looking for those inflatable pools and I thought maybe..." he trailed, not finishing his sentence.      

The young girl beamed, turning around and making her red hair bounce.

"We have them. We just leave them in storage because kids have a habit of shoplifting around here," she said.

Kyle followed her.

She made Kyle wait at the counter before going out to the back and soon enough she was back with a box that has a picture of kids in a blue inflatable pool.      

"Thank you," Kyle said, paying for it before lifting it off the desk.

"It's not a problem."

The girl beamed.

"Have a great day."      

After putting the box away in the trunk of his car, Kyle drove to the post office, parking because he knew it would take a while for Chaska to get back from kickboxing.      

The time in his hands meant the young man thought a lot.

His face would get warm when flashes of Chaska's smile would show up in his mind.

They had only parted ways in the morning but Kyle missed him.      

His stomach muscles squeezed up when he remembered Chaska's lips on his and the man's warm breath on his skin.  

The blonde man parted his lips before swallowing the spit that built up at the back of his throat.

He wondered why he was always thinking about that.

Sure, it was important in relationships that called for it but it was getting a bit ridiculous on his end.  

Ever since that night they hadn't gone further.

They shared kisses and they held each other close but the lack of time between them and the presence of a child halted all possibility of going further but Kyle wondered if tonight would be okay.

He had told his mother that he might not come back tonight and Kyle didn't think the younger man had anything doing after they were done sharing drinks and listening to karaoke.  

There was a knock on the window.    

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Chaska asked when Kyle wound down the windows.

Joy had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed the young man.      

The older man shook his head, muttering...

"Nothing important," as Chaska got into the passenger seat and strapped himself with the seatbelt.

Kyle noticed that Chaska looked to be in a good mood.

He had a bright smile on his face,and his hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.    

Kyle thought about it for a bit, before reaching out to give the man's thigh a squeeze.

"I missed you," he muttered, watching as Chaska's eyes flickered to his hand.  

"I missed you too," Chaska mused, leaning in, and surprising Kyle before giving the man a kiss.

He managed to coax a moan out of the older man before pulling away and looking up ahead.      

"We should be heading to the pub if we want to find somewhere to sit," Chaska muttered, holding on to his backpack and kickboxing gloves.    

Still dazed, Kyle nodded, starting up the car and steering them in the direction of their destination.

Kyle still kept his hand on Chaska's tight and from time to time the younger man would let himself trace the grooves of the blonde man's fingers.      

The physical affection made Kyle crave sexual intimacy even more.

He wondered if he should bring it up or subtly ask...      

"You're going to miss it, if you keep driving this fast," Chaska said, bringing Kyle out of his thoughts.

The neon sign that displaced the pub's name flashed in white, green and blue.

Kyle slowed down, steering as he tried to find somewhere to park.    

[winchestershiresauce]

What is and What Should Never Be - Chapter Two

Santiago Garcia x f!Reader, eventual Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Series Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors do not interact) / Chapter Rating: Teen

Series Summary: When you need a date to your cousin’s wedding after a breakup, Santi suggests the two of you pretend to be together for the summer. Between your families, his friends, pub trivia, and unexpected feelings, what could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Summary: Santi invites you to trivia and you meet the men of Delta Force.

Chapter Warnings: alcohol consumption, use of Spanish terms of endearment, mention of a murder

~1.7k words

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

--

When you answered your phone, you couldn’t even get out a hello before Santi was asking, “What are you doing tonight, querida?”

“Well hello to you, too,” you laughed. “Would you say I was lame if I said I was probably gonna curl up on the couch with some wine and my boo, Netflix?”

“I wouldn’t say you were lame, but I do think you should come to trivia with me and the guys instead.” His voice was teasing and you couldn’t help but tease back. 

“The guys? Are you sure you’re ready to introduce me to Delta Force? That sounds like a pretty serious commitment.”

“When have I ever shied away from commitment?” You scoffed and before you could answer, Santi interrupted, “Don’t answer that, cariño.” You had to laugh – at least the man was self aware. “So are you in?”

You thought for a moment. You really didn’t have a good reason to turn him down, and you figured you’d have to meet his friends sooner or later, so you gave in. Surely, it’d be better to meet them at something more low key than a big event, right? “Yeah, I’m in. Text me the details and I’ll be there. Hopefully Netflix will forgive me for taking a rain check.”

“I’ve heard Netflix is more forgiving than I am. See you at 8.”

Part of you was nervous that things might be awkward after what happened at your cousin’s wedding. The morning after, both of you had agreed that sleeping together wouldn’t change anything, and your plan for the summer was still in place, but something in the back of your mind nagged at you. 

–

Walking into the bar, it didn’t take long to spot the table you were looking for. As you made eye contact with Santi, his smile widened and he beckoned you over to join them. As you approached the table, he got up to greet you, pulling you into a tight hug. He placed a kiss to the side of your head and herded you into the booth. As you scooted into the open space in the corner booth, you introduced yourself to the unreasonably attractive men that Santi considered his best friends. 

“I’m Benny, as in Benny and the Jets,” the blond man next to you introduced. You gave him a puzzled look.

“Oh, like the Elton John song?”

“Well, and the team.” 

“The team? Like… the New York Jets?”

“No, like –” he turned to look at Santi, “Pope, did you not tell her the name of the trivia team?”

Santi shrugged. “I figured we’d get there eventually, Miller,” he laughed. He turned to you and explained, “Our team is called Benny and the Jets – Benny is kind of a trivia king, but please don’t feed his ego.” You couldn’t help but grin at the pride on Benny’s face before he started to introduce you to the other two men at the table. 

“These broody bastards are my brother, Will,” Benny started, and the other blond nodded in your direction, “and Frankie.” Frankie looked at you from under the brim of his well-loved Standard Heating Oil cap, gave you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and went back to his conversation with Will. Part of you hated that your first thought when seeing Frankie was that you wished you would have met him before you’d made your plan with Santi. If you were going to pretend to be Santi’s girlfriend, you probably shouldn’t spend too much time admiring his friends, but Frankie was gorgeous in an unassuming kind of way, especially with those soft brown curls flipping up around his cap.

As the trivia host’s booming voice began announcing the rules and the team names, Santi slid a pint of cold beer in front of you. “You ready, querida?” he asked. 

“I’m always ready,” you replied with a grin. The questions started easy enough – for Benny, anyway – and you saw that he had definitely earned his reputation for carrying the team. Will sat at the end of the bench seat, neatly jotting down the answers Benny whisper-shouted and taking them up to the host. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth question, however, Benny got stumped.

“Did he just say the first live televised murder? Like, actual murder, not fictional?” Benny questioned, looking bewildered. 

“I think so, the way he worded–” Will started to answer, but you interrupted him.

“Lee Harvey Oswald.” When everyone turned to look at you, you added, “So I know true crime. Sue me.” Benny looked impressed.

“That makes sense,” Will responded, jotting it down on the slip of paper. When he got up to deliver it to the host, Santi wrapped his arm around your waist and squeezed you against his side. 

“Nice job, hermosa.” You expected him to pull his arm back after you gave him a grin, but he didn’t. His thumb brushed over the small spot of skin on your hip where your shirt had ridden up. The small touches of his skin on yours were simultaneously calming and electrifying and while you were tempted to pull away and overthink it, you loved the feeling of warmth emanating from where his hand rested. He was just playing his part and playing it well, so you allowed yourself to enjoy it.

After the next question, when Benny immediately knew that Dolly was the name of the sheep that was cloned in 1996, you had to ask him how he knew all these random bits of information. “So do you study for this stuff or something? And if so, how does one study for trivia?” Benny laughed, and Will butted in to answer you.

“Ben’s always been one of those freaks who somehow retains every piece of information he’s told,” he explained.

“Who are you to call me a freak when you’re the one who counts literally everything?” Benny retorted. 

“It’s not literally everything – it’s just the important stuff.”

“Well I don’t retain literally everything – it’s just the important stuff.” Benny made his voice nasally to mock Will, and Santi reached over you to slap at his arm. 

“Guys, come on,” Santi scolded the brothers, “You’re both freaks.” You bit your lip to hold in a laugh and your eyes met Frankie’s. He was similarly trying not to laugh, his palm covering his mouth, and he shook his head at his friends’ behavior.

“Pope, I need you to know that your girlfriend is the only reason you’re not on the floor right now.” Santi leaned forward to glare at Benny and you pressed yourself firmly against the back of the wooden bench seat.

“Is that so, Miller? You wanna go?” The laugh you were holding back escaped from your lips at Santi’s playful aggressiveness, and you wedged yourself more between them. You placed your hands on his shoulders to hold him back and you were sure Benny was making faces behind your back with the way Santi fought against you.

“Would you two knock it off? I can’t even hear the question.” Will rolled his eyes and gave his brother a pointed look. 

“Sorry, man,” Santi replied, laughter still prominent in his voice. You turned away from him to face back toward the table and he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you back to lean against him. The intimacy was not lost on you, but you tried to ignore the little somersaults your stomach did as he tucked his chin against your shoulder.

“For those who weren’t listening,” Will started and you brought your focus back to reality, “The question was–”

“I heard it, the answer is Mr. Clean,” Benny interjected. Will opened his mouth to question, but Benny added with finality, “Really.” Will raised his hands in surrender before writing the answer down and heading up to the host's table.

"You all seem to work really well as a team," you commented. 

"We've had a lot of practice," Santi started. "You have to work awfully well as a team when you do what we did and, luckily, that seems to come naturally with these assholes."

"That makes sense. It seems like you each have your own specialties when it comes to trivia, and I'm sure that's the same case in the field."

"Yeah, you should see us when Redfly's here. We're a bit of a shit show now that we're old and retired, but we've got everything covered," Ben laughed. Will snorted as he took his seat back at the table.

"I bet that's a sight to see," you laughed with him, "You're enough fun even down a man."

Santi squeezed you to him and placed a little kiss on your shoulder. "You should come back again next week, hermosa. We could use your obscure expertise and you'd likely get to meet Redfly– er, Tom."

"I'd really like that. Would anyone be opposed to that?"

"If you can handle those two," Will gestured between Santi and Ben, "You're more than welcome in my book." 

"Yeah, we'd love to have you. We gotta get to know the nutcase who decided Pope was worth spending time with," Ben chided, jostling you with his elbow. You laughed, and he looked to Frankie, raising an eyebrow. "Fish?"

"Sure," Frankie shrugged. You weren't sure what was up with him, but you tried not to let your annoyance show. He'd been fine with you at the start of the night but as you seemed to grow more comfortable with everyone else, he seemed to pull away. No one had said anything about his behavior, so you figured it best to just assume this was part of who he was. Santi had mentioned things about him often, and you knew how close they were, but you weren't quite seeing the warmth that Santi often described. It intrigued you, if you were being honest. Santi always spoke so highly of him and my god was he good-looking, so you decided you'd try to get a better read on him the next week. There was something calling you to him that you just couldn't quite put your finger on.

--

A/N: This was kind of a short one, but gotta set things up! 

If you wanna be tagged in future chapters, let me know!  @aubergine-lips​ @swordandstar​ 

[drabblecat]

Yandere!Heisenberg x F!Reader Part 1

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Kidnapping, yandere behavior

This is part one and it is fairly tame, but next chapter and the rest (however many that is) will be very NSFW for sure! Just an idea that I had and needed to set the scene first.

(requests open)

Running a rag across the bar, you cleaned the remaining spills of the night. The pub’s radio crackling in the background as you finished your shift. You couldn’t be too picky after moving to the small town, and jobs were hard to find. There of course were openings as maids and other help in the castle nearby, but that thing gave you the creeps. Not to mention living where you work would be a questionable way to create a work/life balance. Hanging up your apron and placing it on the hook you made your way to the door.

“Have a nice night newbie!” The pub owner’s burly voice called to you from the back, finishing up the dishes from the last of the dinner rush. He was a nice man, no wife or kids, but to be honest was a caring enough person to be a father figure. Like hell you’d ever admit that. Besides the town drunks you had yet to meet a truly miserable person here. The people that did cause a scene were often thrown out and you never happened to run into them again. Perhaps in such a small town everyone knows everyone, and reputation has to be maintained.

Checking your watch, it was almost one in the morning. Nothing is open right now, but hopefully you could pick up fresh bread tomorrow morning. You told the baker about always having a hard time shopping and they were nice enough to allow you to ask them to set your order aside. Snow boots padded softly on the snowy stone path, just the light of nearby houses lighting the way. People said it was dangerous to walk around at night alone, but you never came to any harm. You carried a knife hidden in an inner pocket of your coat, but you only even brought that with you being worried about any of the wildlife you might encounter. The reason everyone was so scared to walk alone at night was supposedly to horrible howls they all heard. All things considered that was reasonable. The village was near large patches of wilderness for hunting, and having wolfs, bears, and other creatures is normal. You wouldn’t call any of those animals ‘horrendous beasts’, but drunks at the bar trying to scare you might.

Reaching your door finally you pulled the large metal key out of your pocket. As nice as the old style door looked, the key was a pain in the ass to carry around constantly. Your house wasn’t much, but it fit your needs. First thing you did was place your watch and keys in the bowl by the entryway. It was always easier to follow that habit than to be constantly looking for where you put it. Deciding that a bath was just the right thing for your aching feet, you went to run the bath. After filling the clawfoot tub just enough and topping it all off with a lavender bath bomb, you put your towel on the rack. As you gently lowered yourself down, the warmth of the water melted away your soreness. It was moments like this you loved, nothing to do but let yourself get lost in thought. You worked nights mostly, so there was no need to set an early alarm.

A good amount of time had passed when you heard a small bang coming from the kitchen. Alarmed you got out of the bath, quickly patted yourself off, and wrapped a towel around yourself. You didn’t see anything right away, but after looking closer your watch was now on the floor. Picking it up you looked it over, the glass was fine, but the leather strap had a few scratches near the end. Must have been those damn mice! They have been such a problem lately, it must have been those little thieves for sure. Last week it was your homemade cookies, a few days ago they had completely shredded a thank you card one of the locals had given you. Honestly, if you weren’t on such a tight budget as it was you’d consider getting the biggest cat you can possibly adopt.

A shudder ran down your dripping wet body as a gust of cool night air came through to interrupt your internal rant. Looking to the shutters they were once again open and flapping in the wind. You would blame their inability to latch on the mice too, but you knew it was just your reluctance to call a handy man and actually get it fixed. Realizing you were in nothing but a towel, you made haste to shut them, if the neighbors were going to get to see anything they should at least pay.

“Go off to a quaint village they said. It’ll be a relaxing life, they said…” grumbling you headed towards the bedroom to finally get some sleep. Slipping on a nightgown that went down just to your knees and tucking yourself into bed, you drifted slowly off to sleep. A distant howl barely audible echoed in the night.

You awoke with a start, eyes slamming open as screams filled the air. You got out of bed as quick as you could. Stumbling into the kitchen and slipping on your boots and coat before opening the door to see what the hell was going on. Immediately you were met with the sight of your neighbor’s neck being torn by a horrendous zombie-werewolf type creature that only barely resembled a man. You were told briefly of the place to go should some emergency happen. Without having time to think about it, your feet were already running towards the supposed safe spot. Bodies littered the street as you ran, the baker, the old woman… you stopped in your tracks. Although torn he was still recognizable, it was your boss, the one man who was kind enough to give you a position so you could get your new life started. Judging by his uniform he hadn’t even made it home after closing.

Before even coming to terms with this revelation, your leg was tugged out from under you. Falling onto the stone path you instinctively grabbed the knife stashed in your coat and stabbed the creature directly in its eyes several times. The creature stood, grabbing its face as it became blinded. Taking the opportunity, you booked it out of there. The house was now in your line of sight, the main gates wide open. With a sudden gust the gates slammed shut, a chain like a snake wrapped its way around sealing it shut. Still, you had to try, pulling on the gates with all your might but to no avail. Tears ran down your face as you fell to your knees. Not even the freezing snow on your bare skin could snap you out of this nightmare.

“Too bad, you almost made it! But don’t worry hun, I’ll take care of you now.” A deep voice came from above you. Slowly you tilted your head and were met with one of the town lords you had heard about, Heisenberg. Just as you had registered his face, the chain on the fence shot out and wrapped around your neck. Desperately your hands flew to your neck, helplessly clawing at the metal snake until your vision went blurry and darkness enveloped you.

“Sleep tight sweetheart…”

------------------------------------

Before opening your eyes, the smell of a garage hit your senses. Judging by what feel alone you could tell you were on a bed of some sort. Slowly you opened your eyes. It was a dimly lit bedroom, the bed you were on was more comparable to a cot and the sheets looked stained. Peering at your leg, you saw it was wrapped in bandages exactly where the beast had grabbed you, and a chain that connected your leg to a bed post.

“Well good morning sunshine! Sleep well? Quite the excitement you had last night huh?” the mattress shifted as the man sat down at the foot of the bed.

“Heisenberg?” Your voice was quite and unsure, still shaken from the memories of the night.

“So you have heard of me, great! And I certainly know you, known you for a while now.”

“What the hell…” you sat up quickly in bed and pushed yourself as far back as you could away from the man. Almost immediately the chain moved, pulling you down the bed. He towered over top of you, hand coming down next to your head. Chuckling he used his other hand to caress your cheek, rough thumb brushing across your lower lip.

“Don’t be trying to run like that, I know this is new and all but what’s the alternative? I send you back out there to get eaten alive? Don’t be foolish, I’m here to take care of you after all.” Looking into his glasses you saw your own face in their reflection, you knew that deep down this was only the beginning of the nightmare.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖      

Chapter 4 - Christmas Feelings. Episode 2.

Andy: Evan… I think it isnt much of a secret any longer that I have a major crush on you… I just thought it was about time I open my mouth about it he chuckled hoarse and sniffled his nose look, I know what this is, and I know it's probably never gonna lead anywhere, I get that you are straight… but I also do get that you feel something when we kiss. I'ts written all over your face. Something changed the past days, something had changed already the night where I kissed you in the hallway. There is something there now, we can't deny it…. well technically you can try all you want, but it doesnt change the fact that something is there. I dont know what it is? Love? Lust? Who knows? But I would like us to try to take a peek down that road, to try to see where it might lead. If you dare? I have feelings for you, and at least for me, I assure you this isn't just me wanting to jab my fucking dick into something again, if that's all I wanted I could swing by the local pub… or ride Daniel for a few hours… not to mention I have Congo. It's more than that… you arent just a hole, and I promise you, I will never suggest sex, unless you suggest it. Which I'm well aware probably wont ever happen, and Im okay with that. Evan: I opened my mouth to say something, but he hushed med and went on Andy: I love you as a friend, but lately it seems this love has grown bigger than that… and I think it's safe to say I am falling for you. I know you probably wont be comfortable with that, and I also know you probably wont be comfortable with any of this, lord knows I still at times feel uncomfortable in my "new" sexuality… so it is absolutely fine for me if we keep whatever happens between us a secret. I understand if you dont want anyone else involved in it, and I will respect you 100% in everything we do together. First and foremost you are my best friend, and I wouldnt wanna ruin that in any way. But I would like you to concider walking down this path with me, or at least take a peek at it…. maybe theres something good there? He smiled softly in a way so his eyes sparkled, and I suddenly felt very warm inside. I always knew he was very handsome, but right this moment I notice he was more than handsome… he was beautiful Evan: I opened my mouth buth no words came out, I was afraid, could I give him what he wanted without losing myself in it? Andy: He sighed softly, frowned and for a second I swear I saw tears in his eyes its okay, I understand… I wont kiss you again, it all ends here… I respect you. He looked up at me, forcing a half smile, but this time it was easy seeing the tears press to get out of his eyes. I felt a lump in my throat. I had come here to make him happy, to help him get through this difficult time, but I had only made it worse, more difficult. He looked at me with sad eyes, then turned around, stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking in the direction of the ranch. Evan: I stood frozen, observing him walking away, what was I going to do? He was sad because of me… all because I was scared.

[sillydg]

"A Walker knows, when a Walker knows" Part one. Faith happens.

Hi everyone! I’m participating in the 12 Days of Fictmas! Thank you so much @emichelle and @leelee10898 for hosting it and I love it so far!!

So I completely failed at writing a short piece. Because when I got the amazing prompt ‘Nutcracker’ my mind kept running. And I ended up with a 9.000 words piece, and it turned into a series that I’m going to focus on this December and January. I mean talking about a crash and burn, got nothing going on situation.

SORRY!

Book: The royal romance

Pairing: Drake Walker X F!MC (Riley Herreld)

Rating: 18+

Series Summary: Drake meets Riley. But not in the usual kind of way. Fate interferes when Riley’s supposed to be working on that big Bachelor night.

She gets drawn to Cordonia in another way. But what happens when a Workaholic, meet a Walker come together? Will they provide a Christmas miracle and get over their own love skepticism?

Or can we turn on ‘Love actually’ after this series to make us feel good again?

One way to find out!

Part one. Summary: We see how faith interferes with Riley meeting the guys and after that, it’s jingling all the way at the Christmas Market. Extremely fluffy Drake and Savannah!

A/N: This is without pre-reading. I completely went rogue, so I’m sorry for the mistakes I made due to tiredness and English not being my first language.

A/N: If you want to be tagged for this series (Outside of my Drake’s and Permanent taglist) Please let me know!! I will not tag the Readers/writers taglist for part two without having permission.

A/N: Some parts might seem a bit uncharacteristic, but for the sake of Christmas fluff. I'm taking this all the way. In this story Bartie is a little bit older when Drake meets Savannah again.

Category: Over the top a bit predictable Christmas fluff, with an edge.

Warnings: Mentioning’s of a mom dying of cancer, swearing, and implied sexual situations. Please do not read if you’re under 18.

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS

A Walker knows, when a Walker knows. Faith Happens.

Four years ago. New York.

Riley enters pub ‘The fiery breath’ on a cold Sunday afternoon. She decided to come in early to have a cup of coffee and hear about Daniels's Saturday night shift since she had to call in sick the night before.

“Riley!” Daniels smiles broadly from behind the bar.

Riley lets out a relieved breath, "Oh Thank God. You're still smiling at me! I was so scared that you would be furious for having to take the Saturday evening murder shift all by yourself and missing your hot date because of it. I'm soooooooo sorry."

He snorts, "Yeah. I'm so mad at you! God, I bet you loved calling in sick because of having massive food poisoning."

She chuckles while sitting down on a high stool, "It was a hoot! Man, me and the toilet had some serious one-on-one bonding time going on yesterday. I think we even got to second base..."

He leans on the bar, “Ooof, that sounds like a hot night indeed! Are you feeling a little bit better though?"

She nods, "And believe me. This is not going to happen again. I've learned my freaking lesson last night."

"What do you mean..."

"Well, You know how I always get a lot of chicken wings on a Saturday night before work, right?"

Daniel nods because he knows how much she loves her weekly wings.

"Well. Yesterday I was heading over to my favorite place when I noticed a new Indian restaurant right beside it. So I thought… Why not try something different for once? What's the worst that can happen?” She groans, "How wrong was I, right?"

Daniel rubs his hand over his face, “Oh Riles. Because one. Famous last words. It's a miracle that you're still sitting here because of two. The well-known rule is that you have to wait at least a month before trying new places around here. Half of them close after two weeks due to hygienic problems and most importantly three.

You don't like Indian food because of the coriander. It's literally genetically determined that you don't like it.”

Riley shifts a bit uneasy, “But my mom did. So I thought… " And she sighs deeply. "You know how my mom always believed in signs of the universe? And how romantic at heart? I've really been trying to, you know, be less of my rational self and open up for things like 'faith' and all that."

He lays a gentle hand on her arm in support while she continues speaking. "And since it was exactly a year ago that she passed away yesterday... I figured. Maybe she's sending me a sign. Or maybe I just wanted her a bit close." A light sob escapes her mouth.

Daniel walks from behind the bar and wraps his arms around her. And after a few seconds, he hears her sobbing turns louder. After a few minutes of silence, she whispers, “Thank you, Dan.”

Daniel leans back with a gentle smile on his face, “I’ve got you always. Well, are you ready for some coffee before your shift starts in twenty?”

“Always. You know how I like it!”

He brews her a double espresso and sets it in front of her. She contently sips it, "Was Ron mad at you for missing another date?"

"Nah, he understood."

"Thank God. And how about the rest of the night?"

Daniel takes a second to think, "Well I found out that I am brave enough to take out the trash all by myself."

"Wow!" She grins, "Look at you! Conquering the little rats all by yourself in the ally! So proud!"

Daniel smacks her with a table cloth, “There is no such thing as little rats Riley. Every rat is too big. And the ones in our back ally are huuuuge. Splinter huge!"

And she holds up her hands in defense, “Okay, Sorry. But still. I'm proud and happy, because this victory means that I never ever have to take out the trash again.”

“You wish."

"Fine. But if I go out to take the trash and never return, I'll probably be eating Pizza with my new friends in the sewer."

"So now I'm starting to think you actually are asking for food poisoning."

Riley shrugs, "Well can't leave my toilet hanging, now can I. We really bonded, Dan."

"Oh well, since the forever Bachelor, because I don't believe in love, is finally hooked I will keep my juicy story about the four hottest guys in the universe walking into this very bar last night to myself."

Riley pouts and combines it with big watery puppy eyes.

"Damn Girl," he grins, "If you ever fall in love with a guy by a god forgiven miracle, that man is properly fucked. Even I can't say no to this," and he motions for her face, "Whatever it is what you're doing right now."

"Are you sure about that... because I'm still not hearing any of those juicy deeds."

Daniel sighs dreamily while leaning on his hands, "You've should have been there Riles. The door slammed open and these four hotshots entered the bar. One was kind of cocky, one way too hyper, one a bit static but damn I would have loved to eat some breakfast with that guy this morning... but the other one. I think I met your 'The one' Riles."

Riley burst out in laughter, "Hahaha, Oh God. And you... Hahaha, how do you manage to look so serious, hahaha, while saying something so ridiculous." And she wipes a few tears away, "Man. Crying from sadness, crying from laughter. Hell. What a rollercoaster today. Thank you I needed that."

But the moment she looks up she sees Daniel glaring at her with a dead-serious look on his face. "I'm not kidding Riles," he states, "He was poorly dressed, drank your favorite whiskey, hot as hell, and grumpy as fuck. But there was something about him."

She chuckles, “I’m sorry Daniel. I know that you are more like my mom in this area, with the whole 'the one' stuff...." And she falls silent for a second not sure how to react, so she relies on her 'joke' defense mechanism. "Besides I already made that deeeeep connection with the toilet seat, remember? No one can come between us anymore. I might even be ready to introduce him to my father.”

"You can joke all you want, but I couldn't help it. I Just got this feeling…”

Riley notices that she's about to cross a line so she hits the breaks. “Okay. Okay. I'm sorry, let me try that again." And she takes a deep breath, "Well if he's really my 'the one' then it might be for the best that I haven’t bumped into him yet, Daniel. Because I’m nowhere near ready to meet my ‘the one.’ I have to find a way to become happy with myself first. To love me for who I am. To grow and find out where I belong. So in my mother’s words, if it’s meant to be our paths will cross eventually.”

“Well, let’s hope your mom is right because I asked them if there is a chance of them returning tonight because I told them about you and they really wanted to meet you!"

"Ahhhhh you told them about me?"

"Of course, you're my number one Riles, and well... I wanted to give you a chance to meet him."

Riley leans with her elbows onto the bar, "So what did they say?" And her eyes grow wide, "Wait what did you say?"

Daniel averts his eyes and starts shifting at his place, "You know..."

She hides her hands in her face, "Ohh no. You've told them about me throwing up, didn't you? O god. Probably also made a dirty joke about me barfing over their food if I would be there."

"I did not!"

"Liar!"

"Tsssk. Besides even if I did, it doesn't matter. Because they are sitting in a plane towards Cordonia right as we speak!"

Riley frowns, “Cordonia? Did you say Cordonia?”

He nods, “Yeah, why?”

“Well, my granny lived her whole life in Cordonia. It’s where my mom is born, and she has lived there for eighteen years before moving to New York with my dad. The two of them met there in a cute bed and breakfast. My mom used to sing there and my dad was a visitor.” Her mind is racing back and forth, “And I forgot about it.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and searches for ‘Cordonia.’

She scrolls through pictures of landscapes and a smile appears on her face, “It’s beautiful. My mom used to tell me a lot about it. She always said that the people were so nice and she loved the traditions.”

Suddenly her eyes lock onto one of the photos and she freezes. There was no way to describe what she's feeling right now, but one way or another it feels important. She softly whispers, “Dan, look at this.”

And she turns her phone to show the picture to Daniel.

He frowns, “What do you mean? It’s just a bandstand Riles, with a lake behind it. It's not that unique and you literally walk past one in the park every freaking day.”

She shakes her head and glances at the photo, “Nah. It's special. There is definitely something about it." And she sighs, "It’s beautiful.”

Daniel glances over to Riley who seems to get lost in the picture altogether, without even noticing herself.

“Yo Riles, can I see that again?”

“Mmh?” She murmurs without looking up from her phone.

“Riles…”

And she snaps out of it, “Oh I’m sorry. Yes of course!” And she hands him her phone. Daniel takes another look at the photo but can’t discover anything special about it and when he looks up he sees her staring absently out of the window.

Her mind is clearly all over the place ass she nervously taps her fingers on the wood of the bar. He has never seen her like this before and suddenly an idea comes to mind. He closes the page and searches for, ‘Teacher jobs in Cordonia.’ And a direct hit on top of the list draws his attention. “School of sparkles and sunshine,” His eyes scan over the job offer and even with the completely different school system he manages to figure out that they need a school counselor combined with a teacher for six and seven years old.

He hands her, her phone back and points at the screen. “Here look at that! Call them!”

“What?” Her eyes grow wide, "Where is the photo?"

"I closed it..."

She murmurs under her breath frantically searching.

"Riley, stop! Just focus on the job offer now, okay? I'm sorry, but I'm sure you'll find it back later!"

She glares at him, "Ohh but I'm so gonna smack you if I don't."

"Fine whatever. Just look!"

She murmurs swearwords as her eyes flash over the screen. She looks up in confusion. “Are you serious? Do you want me to call them? Right now? You want me to decide in a second to move to Cordonia? Dan, they are searching for someone who is available next week.”

“Yes! It’s perfect for you!”

She sighs. He's right, it is perfect for her. And with all the things her grandma and mom used to tell her about Cordonia, it could very well be where she belonged. But she cant help it and her mind keeps drifting off to her dad. Because without any brothers or sisters leaving New York would mean leaving him behind. Alone… And she shakes her head. “I cant.”

He lays a gentle hand on her arm, “It’s been one and a half years since you’re graduated as a teacher. I remember so well how excited you were about finding a job anywhere else than New York! Because we both know that you've never been truly happy here, nor that you ever will be.

And I get it. You've been through a lot last year. You decided to stay after your mom got sick. You wanted to be there for her and your dad. Spent as much time as possible with both of them. And after she passed away you decided to stay a few months longer to support your dad.

But those few months have turned into a year now, Riles. Don't you think it's time to think about yourself for once?

We both know that your dad just wants you to be happy, just like I want you to be happy and just like your mom wants you to be happy." He shoves her phone back over the bar.

"So call them.”

Riley’s eyes flash from Daniels to the screen and back. She knows he’s right, and the more she thinks about it, the more it surprises her how excited she feels about it. Could this be it? Could this be the place where she would finally be happy? Where she could find her place to do exactly what she loves?

Her thumb lingers above the number to call. One tap. Only

one tap away. But the thought of leaving her dad behind is excruciating.

She looks up with pleading eyes to Daniel, “I can't do it. I cant…”

“Yes, you can. Do it.” And he

starts tapping in the bar in a rhythm… “Do it. Do it. Do it.”

“I can... Yes. I can... Oh, the hell with it!” And before she knows it she taps the number. But right after she gives the phone to Daniel, “OMG what did I do? I cant.”

They hear, “This is the director of ‘Sparkles and Sunshine, how can I help you?” And Riley looks up with panic in her eyes.

Daniel shoves the phone back while trying to encourage her, “Say something. You can do it, Riles.”

Riley shakes her head.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

He smiles gently at her, “Remember the promise you’ve made to your mother…”

She sighs deeply and closes her eyes as she recalls her mother's words she agreed on.

Promise me that you will search for your place in this world. Don’t let this stop you. Promise to trust that I will guide you when you areready for it, just listen to the signs. And don't worry about your dad. He is strong and you are too. I will always be there with you and him. He'll never be truly alone.

I love you, carebear. But please be a carebear for yourself as well. Because caring for someone else starts with caring about yourself.

Her eyes are filling with tears and with a shaking hand, she picks up the phone from the bar. Daniel nods encouragingly.

“Hello?” She hears.

“Hi, this is Riley Herreld,” she says with a shaky voice. She draws in a sharp breath since she’s still on the brink of

crying, “And I’m calling for the job offer I found online…”

Present-day.

Sunday, five days before Christmas.

After spending the morning making arrangements for Bartie's stay at Drake's apartment and preparing Drake himself for the week to come, he and Savannah find themselves strolling over the annual charity Christmas Market of Bartie's school 'Sparkles and sunshine.' They are heading for Bartie and Maxwell who have been spending the day leading one of the activities on the Christmas Market.

The ambiance is perfect on this typical winter cold Sunday afternoon, with some light snowfall and the shimmer already setting in.

There are strings of lights, and decorated Christmas trees between all kinds of different stalls and the different activities to participate in.

The sound of Christmas music played by the school's live band fills the air, bringing everyone instantly into that jingle mood.

Drake looks around in amazement at all the kids happily running around, "This is so different from the Christmas Charity event last year, which was merely set up for the rich parents to show off their goodness by doing voluntary work, while eating bites made by expensive caterers, drinking expensive booze and where the only organized activity was 'networking' for the same rich parents, while the kids were bored and hungry."

He glances over to the collection of stalls with all kinds of rustic homemade food and different warm beverages like homemade gluhwein and hot cocoa. He loved homey and rustic food. And with this, there will be some money left at the end of the event for the children's chosen charity instead of last year where there was close to nothing to donate eventually.

Savannah nods, "This is the first time that Riley, Bartie's teacher, was allowed to organize it and she decided to turn it a bit around. The kids turned in their ideas and she just selected some of the activities, food, and stalls. " And she looks around, "Though I think she has some weird deals with some high placed timelords because no one in her right mind can fix all of this in only a month, while also being the producer of the annual Christmas play, counselor, part-time teacher and always willing to help every kid who needs a little bit of extra schooling."

He snorts, "Sounds healthy."

"Yeah, Yeah, brother. You have no right to speak. This is your first week off in four years working at the palace." And she stops at her pace the moment her eye falls onto a small wooden figure, "OMG look at this!" She holds up a little wooden Nutcracker. "Can you imagine this little thing standing on your table... or your tv cabinet?"

"No."

"I'm going to buy it for you anyway."

"Then I'm going to give it to the lady who lives with the cats three apartments away from us. Her cats always love new stupid stuff to knock off of tables and cabinets."

She pouts and holds it right next to her face, "But Bartie would love this since he plays a nutcracker as a leading part in Christmas Play 'The Nutcracker.'

Drake grins, "You can try all you want Sis, but you know how I feel about Christmas decorations. What's the use to make your apartment look like an elf barfed in it, only to wrap it up a few weeks later?" He offers her his arm and with a disappointed face she sets the little guy down again, before locking her arm in his. They start strolling again.

"But..." says Drake while leaning in, " I am considering buying a three for this one time only. I know how Bartie loves to decorate it and it's not every year that my awesome Nephew gets to stay with me for three nights in a row!"

Savannah squeaks excitedly, "Drake Walker, he's going to love that!"

Drake snorts, "Yeah. Yeah... The things I do for family," and he bumps his shoulder gently against hers. She smiles softly, "Once again, thank you for being such an amazing Uncle Drake."

He shrugs, but Savannah stops him from moving forward. "Don't wave it away, Walker. You've listened to my monologue about school and the rest of this week for over three hours this morning. WHILE sitting down. And we both know that you get restless after sitting down for more than ten minutes and your average concentration span is less than five.

Besides not every uncle decides to buy the apartment next door AND makes his nephew feel at home by turning one of his rooms into a bedroom for him as you did a year ago. He loves being at your place and he loves you, Drake. So don't brush over it and take the beep compliment!"

Drake beams at her words, "Well I promised to never let the two of you out my sight ever again didn't I?"

Savannah nods, "We are very lucky to have you in our lives!" And she lets out a shaky breath.

Drake knows that she tries to avoid bursting into tears right now. She loves the fact that Bertrand asked her to help him organize the big annual Beaumont Christmas Bash since Maxwell's occupied. He's helping Bartie's teacher miss Riley Herreld with the dance routines of the Christmas play.

But filling in for Maxwell also meant being separated longer than one night from Bartie for the first time ever.

Besides, both of them know how hard it is when a beloved parent leaves, even if it's only for a few days. So he understands why she feels conflicted and the reason why he got her an early Christmas Present. It's something to help them both through the nights, and days until they reunite on Thursday night when they are all heading over to the palace for an Early Christmas Party organized by Liam and Olivia.

Drake nods, "Come on. I wanted to wait until we got home, but we have a little bit of time on our hands right now. And since Bartie and Max are going nowhere for the next two hours, how about we sit down for a bit?"

Doubt is written all over Savannah's face, "But don't you want to know what activity he came up with? He's been over the moon since Riley picked his idea, and he's been so mysterious about it."

He grins, "Oh I'm dying to see what he came up with Sis, but... I think this might be important to do first."

And a small smile appears on her face, "Well, how about it then. Just for a bit." Drake nods towards some benches around a decorated table, "How about you sit down and I get us some hot cocoa." Savannah nods, shivers, and dives deeper into her scarf. "Good one."

He moves over to stand at the end of the waiting line. His eyes drift over the crowd, enjoying the sight of the kids being happy, painting wooden figures, singing, and dancing.

But suddenly his eyes lock on a silhouette in the distance. He's not even sure why he's staring, but he seems not able to tear his eyes away from her. She's wrapped in a huge wooly scarf, an equally warm woolen cap, and her long red woolen jacket seems to be tailored perfectly.

His mind is racing as he tries to determine if they have met before. Because it feels like it, but he can't remember her name. And even though she's too far away to see the fine lines of her face, there is one thing he knows for sure. If she would've introduced herself to him he would've remembered it.

She's standing next to a fire barrel, ruffling through a stack of papers on a clipboard while talking to a man beside her. The man seems a bit flirty, but she ignores it or maybe she doesn't even notice it at all.

But all of a sudden her eyes snap up and hers meet his despite the distance. And for a few long seconds, they just stare at each other. He subconsciously smirks and suddenly the most beautiful smile he has ever seen appears on her face. Not knowing that it's a reaction to his own body language.

And his heart skips a beat. What the... He frowns. Okay, that's weird.

"Sir, Sir..."

"Mmh," He says sunken in thought. What is happening?

"Sir, do you want something to drink or to eat or..."

He snaps out of it. The line behind him turned long and all the people once in fornt of him has dissapeared. "I'm sorry," he murmurs while setting a few steps forward. "Two hot cocoa’s please." And for a brief second he looks back, but she returned to her conversation as well.

"Are you driving?" The man behind the stall asks.

"Mmh?" And once again his head snaps back.

"I asked if you were driving."

He shakes his head, "Nope, we both have a ride home. But why do you want to know?"

"Well first off all, if you're going to be distracted like that, it might be best not to drive. But most of all," The man points at the bottles standing right next to the pot of hot cocoa, "In case you want an adult poor.”

“That’s surprising, how about it!”

“Coming right up," and he pours two shots of whiskey before topping it off with cocoa and whipped cream, "There we go."

Drake smiles as he hands him money, "Keep the change and I'm sorry about what happened..." He coughs, "Twice..."

He shrugs, "She has that effect on a lot on a lot of men. You're not the first and certainly are not going to be the last person who can't stop staring at her. But let me save you from making a fool of yourself like Tim, the guy from the sawmill standing right next to her does every time when he sees her.

In the four years she's been here she never dated. So good luck if you're thinking about trying it." And the man hands him the drinks, "Merry Christmas to you, sir."

Drake nods and he moves his gaze once more to find her, but she's gone. Weirdly enough he feels a little bit disappointed. He instantly decides to ignore it as he takes place across from Savannah.

"So..." and he hands her, her drink and holds his up in the air for his sister to tap it, "Cheers."

And with a big smile, she taps her mug against his, "Cheers." She sips content, before looking up in surprise, “Nice. Didn’t expect that.”

“You know me, couldn’t say no.” He grins, "And now why I asked you to sit down for a little bit."

He takes off his leather gloves, opens his jacket, and takes out a small package. Savannah frowns the moment her eyes lock on the flat and beautifully wrapped box. He lays it in front of her and her eyes grow wide, "Drake Walker, did you buy me jewelry?”

He shrugs casually, “Yeah. No biggie. Just two excruciating hours in the jewelry store I'm never getting back. But completely worth it."

“I can’t believe this,” and she studies the perfectly wrapped box. “So what is it?”

Drake snorts, “I’m sorry? Did I miss an important note about a change in the gift-giving process? Because the last time I checked things were as follows; The gift giver gives a wrapped present, which is wrapped to make sure that it’s a surprise, and the receiver unwraps it to find out what it is.”

She rolls her eyes, “Jeez. Fine. No need to be sensitive about it.”

But there is still no trace of unwrapping intention as she asks, “Can I at least get a hint?”

“For the love of God, Sav.” And he rubs his forehead, “Okay. I can do this the hard way and state, ‘Just open the Beeeeep present’, what you are not going to do and a whole discussion unfolds. Or I do this the easy way since we have only," and he glances at his watch, "A little bit over an hour left to see what Bartie and Max are up to. So a hint it is!"

"Yaaaaash," squeaks she excited.

Drake shakes his head, "Are you done?"

She nods, "Yes, please go ahead!"

He grins at the sudden serious expression on her face. "Alright," he says but remains quiet while sipping slowly at his drink.

His sister looks at him with big eyes as he slowly takes another sip.

“Are you kidding me right now?” She squeaks the moment he moves in for another sip.

He shrugs, “You know no one is stopping you from just opening that present, Sav.”

She groans and smacks him a few times against the arm, “Draaake.”

"Fine. Fine,” and he laughs, “Stop hitting me." And she moves in for another slap as Drake quickly says while shielding himself, "Remember how mom made us and dad matching bracelets from pieces of string?”

Savannah freezes with her hand still in the air, “I completely forgot about that! We would ‘link’ them together every time he had to leave, making so that where ever he went, we were still with him. And he was with us.”

Drake appears carefully from behind his arms, “Exactly, so if we would wake up, scared and feeling alone because of missing dad we only had to look at our bracelets to feel better.”

Her hand drops and smiles softly sunken in thought,

“Yeah, I remember.”

Drake sighs deeply as Savannah keeps staring at the little wrapped box, but still without any intention of opening it.

“Sav, can you please just?”

“Oh right,” And she pouts, “But it's beautifully wrapped. I hate to ruin it.”

Drake sets his drink on the table, takes the package out of her hand, before ripping the paper off. “Note to self," he groans, "Always pack my own gifts because there is no way in hell that it's going to look too pretty to unwrap.”

And he shoves the black box back to her over the table, “There we go.”

She opens the lid excitedly, and two silver bracelets appear. One bigger and one smaller one, both with an infinity symbol subtly weaved in. Savannah's bracelet has a big heart with a smaller heart cut out of it., “Drake…” she whispers completely stunned.

She carefully takes one out, studies the little heart, and while gasping she says, “You’ve imprinted my name in his small heart and his name in mine?”

“Yes. And the smaller heart is cut out of the big one, so the two of you can link them together the moment you say goodbye after dropping him off at school tomorrow morning.”

“Drake,” and she swallows hard, “This is perfect. So if he wakes up in the middle of the night, I am there beside him. Or… Or…”

He gets up from the bench he was sitting on, walks around the table, and sits down next to her. He wraps her in a big hug and she starts to sniff. "Are you freaking kidding me Walker, are you seriously making me sniffle in public."

Don't worry, you look adorable while doing it Sis," and he gives her a gentle smile.

"Sniff. Sniff. I know your lying but I'll take it anyway."

He gently rubs her back and her sniffles slowly disappear, “You ok?” And he leans back to meet her eyes.

She wipes the last tears away with her hand before nodding, "I'm fine. But hell Walker. I could ask you the same thing. You are buying us jewelry, sitting and listening for so long without complaining this morning, and thinking about getting a Christmas tree for... What other Christmas Miracles are you planning to participate in?"

"I think this is pretty much all of it, Sis."

"Yeah, you sure? Not something like, 'Drake Walker and the Christmas Miracle of bringing someone else to the Beaumont’s bash as my date than Johnnie Walker?'

He snorts, "You know my heart belongs to Johnnie, and him alone. I'll never get enough of him and no one is going to get between us."

Savannah chuckles. She loves teasing her brother like this. But she also knows better than trying to push a stubborn hot head Walker into the mess that one calls love.

"You know that I know that, right?" And she reaches for her bag to take the invitation she brought with her. "This is the official invitation."

He opens it and smiles at the already with Johnnie Walker' filled-in RSVP card. "Thank you, Sis, for accepting instead of forcing me into something I'm not comfortable with."

She sighs in understanding, "Is Liam still holding on to his Single Drake Christmas tradition?"

Drake nods, "Yeah. He sends me at least three pictures a day, with phone numbers and way too much information. And we both know that it doesn't matter, he's going to invite two of them and Kiara to his early Christmas party anyway."

Savannah can't help but chuckle, "Oh God, and his 'surprised' face every year while saying, 'Ohhhh look who just showed up out of the

blue asking for you? She 100% single, looking for something steady." And with a smirk, she states "Yeah, the ladies are lining up for you ever since the whole 'Things are great' meme took off right?"

He grins, "I do have absolutely nothing to complain about when it comes to one-night times of fun since that very moment if that's what you're talking about Sis."

"Well, You enjoy that bachelor life as long as you still can, Walker." And she sinks in thought, leaning her head against his shoulder, "Because it's just like dad always said.

A Walker knows, when a Walker knows.

We know it instantly when faith decides to throw that special someone in our face., but when it does your Bachelor's days are over.

The only problem is that we are not in the slightest bit capable of dealing with strong emotions that come with us ‘knowing.’ Our prime reaction is trying to Walker our way out of it by instantly running away, denying, drinking, ignoring. Yes, we turn to desperate measures until we are finally ready to get our heads out of our asses, give up fighting, and give in to our happily ever after... Because no matter how hard we try, there is no denying it eventually."

Drake snorts, "Faith? Instantly knowing that special person stands in front of you and a happily ever after... Sav... Have you been doing reruns of 'Love actually' again?"

She chuckles, "Absolutely. And there is nothing wrong with enjoying a little bit of romance in your life Drake. Christmas miracles do happen you know. Besides, you secretly so like that movie."

Drake frowns, "Absolutely not. I think I can say without hesitation that if I ever offer to watch that movie voluntarily it will mean that I'm in direct danger or completely lost my mind.

"Noted! But make fun of this faith thing all you want Drake. One day, when you least expect it, it's going to smack you in the face with a chair. But since we are talking Liam's and Olivia's party anyway... Why don't we take a look at this week's schedule?"

He rubs his hands over his face, "Didn't we already talk about this today?"

And she ruffles through her back and takes another paper out of it. "We did but I forgot to show you this," and she lays the folded paper open in front of him. "Drake Walker, Bachelor of a lifetime, good luck with your first experience with the family agenda."

His eyes drift over the paper, "Right so Bartie and I are meeting you and Bertrand at my place Thursday right to all head over to the Early Christmas Party?"

She nods as he looks up, before looking down again. He murmurs, "Bartie's play Friday night on the night before Christmas...already knew that" but then he frowns, "Sooooo why exactly is the Beaumont Christmas Bash starting on Friday directly after Bartie's play instead of the usual first day of Christmas?"

"It was the logical thing to decide. Everyone who is invited to the Beaumonts Christmas Bash from our inner circle is going to watch Bartie anyway, including mom. And we have enough room for everyone to stay in. So why bother and sent everyone to a hotel for just one night. And well. At that moment we decided to go even bigger this year!”

Drake pinches the bridge of his nose, “Even bigger? Sis, there are almost people dying every year. And now you want two nights of disaster and danger in a row?”

She chuckles, “I'm replacing Maxwell, remember? So its not going to be more dangerous than ever!" Her eyes turn dreamy, "It’s going to be more romantic than ever.”

“Oh dear lord. I'm extremely conflicted right now since I have no clue which one of these two is worse.”

She smacks his arm, “Just hear me out. There is snow to be expected this Friday, so I fixed up a lot of beautiful carriages for the couples to travel with towards residence Beaumont, including fluffy blankets, a guy with a top hat upfront, and bottles of booze. All bedrooms will be completely decorated Christmas-style, extremely soft rugs in front of the crackling fireplace, and fuzzy blankets everywhere."

"Oh God, I hate everything fluffy... If you ever find something fluffy in my apartment then..."

She rolls her eyes for him interrupting her dreamy monologue, "But there is already something fluffy in your apartment. I did make you that package remember? In case there is ever going to be a lady friend sleeping over. With blankets... slippers..."

Drake slowly shakes his head.

"Mmh, then I might just have hidden it!" And after a quick innocent smile, she continued, "Anyway. Rude for interrupting me. There will be a huge white piano in the middle of the big ballroom. Live Jazzy Christmas music and it will be decorated like a serious winter wonderland. Glitter, fake snow the whole shebang. And mistletoes everywhere!"

“Not conflicted anymore. We are bringing Maxwell back. I prefer my hero complex being triggered all the time instead of touching fluffy things all night.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a Beaumont bash. Dangerous things like swords and firework are definitely going to be there. Only the swords are going to be covered in fluffy fabric and the fireworks will involve a lot of glitter and glamour."

Drake grins, "And Bertrand agrees with all of it?"

Suddenly Savannah throws him a death glare, making him instantly lean back a little bit. But then her glare turns into a broad smile, "Yes."

He blinks, "Okay. I believe you. Note to self. Do not piss Sav off."

“Good. Now, I’m just saying this once. You are the only one who has the privilege to change his RSVP up until the very last minute because if you’re planning on getting smacked in the face by faith, this is the best time to do it.”

“Nope,” and he teasingly runs his finger over the agenda, “It’s not on the agenda. Darn. Bummer.”

She shrugs, "There are going to be enough single ladies to enjoy anyway, even just for one a night."

"Nah I'm just going to enjoy being around the people who I hold dear in my heart," and he pulls her close, "Because that's all I need in my life."

"God, you're not kidding around tonight, are you Walker?" And once again she wipes away a few tears.

"Well, you're also not kidding around Sis," and he points to the Monday morning nine o'clock appointment he has with Bartie's teacher.

"Oh right," and she smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand, "How about we continue our search for Bartie? I'm sure she'll be around there somewhere as well. I'll give you a quick introduction and tomorrow she'll tell you a bit more about what to bring the days to come and you can ask her some questions. Well, If it's still needed after my extremely thorough explanation today that is."

Drake chuckles as they both rise from the bench and he puts his gloves back on. Yes her explanation has been more than thorough, but also extremely incoherent due to extreme nerves and a constant rollercoaster of emotions for the week to come. So he can only thank God on his bare knees for a chance to ask questions. Because that schedule combined with those stack of books. It didn't make any sense at all.

“But why do you think that she's close to Barties and Maxwell's activity? She's organizing this whole thing right? She can be everywhere."

"Well, she told me that she would keep an extra eye on Maxwell since he loves playing with fire or something."

And all the alarm bells are going off in Drake's head the moment he hears the words 'Maxwell' and 'fire' in the same sentence. "What did

you just say?"

"She said that she would keep..." and Savannah falls silent in the middle of the sentence as she suddenly realizes what Riley actually told her.

"We need to find them, now! You go that way, and I go the other way."

She nods, "Whoever finds them, calls."

And they turn on their heels. His teacher must have been kidding right? There is no way that she would let him lose around fire right?

But she only met him four days ago... And usually, five minutes is enough to figure out the danger that is Maxwell. But I never met her before. Oh God... What kind of mess am I running into?

Part two. Bartie's Choice