#but I have a feeling that’s what they’re gonna wanna co

[suoulfillem]

i turn 25 in just under two weeks and i would much rather hide under a rock than have to awkwardly pretend to want to celebrate that

[mazzystar24]

Okay but picture this a couple of eps into s8 Eddie shows up at bucks all happy I mean downright giddy and just BLABBING but we the audience can see buck looks sad but we don’t know what about (and Eddie doesn’t notice at first cos yapping) then Eddie reveals the reason he’s so happy is cos Chris wants to come back and basically being like pack your bags we are driving to Texas (according to Google it’s an 11hr and 49 minute drive and also Eddie canonically just assumes buck would be involved cos why wouldn’t he) and obviously when he says the Chris coming back thing we see buck instantly brighten up

But then Eddie’s brain catches up and he’s like wait a minute what was up with his vibe before I said that and he looks around realising the loft is in ‘buck is sad’ mode and then buck drops that him and Tommy just broke up and before he asks that he doesn’t wanna talk about it (and we the audience hadn’t seen this so we spend the ep as much in the dark as Eddie is) so Eddie (while concealing his conflicted happy bt are done but concerned for buck emotions) is like even better we’ll take your mind off it with the road trip! 🤩

Maybe Buck tries to be like oh I’m not gonna be good company or oh I don’t wanna impose and Eddie’s just looking at him like he grew two heads and is like what are you on about you dumbass (affectionate) I literally always want your company and you never impose

And boom it’s a Texas road trip episode

Shenanigans ensue on the way to get there maybe, flat tires, people needing help,etc

Maybe they stop at motel on the way cos it’s a long drive or cos of one of the little things that happen (and there is only one bed <- damn who said that???) and they go to a bar (preferably cowboy bar for cowboy hat Eddie reasons- and when I say cowboy bar I use that loosely because the vibes we want is save a horse, ride a cowboy not be gay, get shot - we are a pink pony club not republican club) and buck is acting weird the whole trip but they’re still their drunk affectionate selves but there is a vibe that we and Eddie are both meant to think is cos of the breakup, maybe buck even gets hit on and drunk buck is a yapper and starts talking abt loving a guy who’s never gonna love him, etc, etc and Eddie overhears and thinks it’s tommy and hello complicated feelings again

As the trip goes on buck starts getting more at ease

Eddie is still concerned tho

Buckley Diaz family reunion and all the feels

And this is when you guys get to choose your story:

Either once buck and Eddie go home and they have a moment that’s like their usual ones (very romantic but gaslighting is saying it’s platonic) and when buck is alone we get a flashback to the bt breakup and its revealed that buck has feelings for Eddie (whether that is realised during the breakup or he broke up with tommy cos he realised etc)

Orrr

Diaz parents being dickheads, we get a will mention AND an Eddie confession that is overheard by buck, (then either buck acts on it before the ep is over or we are left on a question mark) AND THEN we get the flashback

[luveline]

Hi jade!! I saw ur looking for some Steve or Eddie requests, I was thinking either of them seeing reader a little tipsy leaving a party with a guy she obviously doesn’t want to go with and they kinda step in and save her:) ily

ty for requesting! fem, 1.2k

“What’s up with you?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “What do you mean?” 

Jamison, taller than Eddie, rests on the opposite side of the same door frame. They’re blocking the hallway, Eddie in the kitchen doorway and Jamison the living room’s, but neither care nor mind. Being conscientious isn’t Jamison’s style, and Eddie’s too heartbroken to care. 

“What, is it Y/N?” Jamison asks. 

Eddie nods in your direction, past Jamison’s shoulder. He turns. 

You’re sitting amongst a crowd of people on a coffee table, a guy standing between your legs. He’s holding your face, a hand especially possessive at the side of your neck.

“I didn’t even know she was talking to somebody,” Eddie says. 

“That’s not a lot of talking,” Jamison says. “She looks wasted.” 

You do seem pretty tipsy, your eyes heavy, head lolling into the guy’s hand. He laughs at you and bends to touch you, his hands going under your arms, and Eddie has to look away. 

Jamison gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“I can’t look. My heart is broken.” 

“Eddie, does that seem weird to you?” 

Eddie joins Jamison in the doorway and glares at the people glaring at them both to move, before he finds you again. The guy you’re with is trying to pull you into a standing position, but you’re moving backward, attempting to lay on the coffee table despite a mound of decorative books and candles. 

“Sweetheart,” the guy says softly, “come on, let’s get you home.” 

“No, thanks.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. Just seems like she’s drunk.” 

Still, his feelings set aside, there’s something off about it. You’re squirming away from his touch —he grabs your hip and you groan like you’re in pain. The guy's smile twitches and Eddie thinks, Oh. 

He forces Jamison to take his drink and plunges forward. 

“I don’t want to go with you,” you say, slurring but for sure a rejection. 

“Y/N,” Eddie says, before your mystery guy can get another word in, his hand suspiciously tight on your elbow, “you okay?” 

“She’s fine.” 

“Awesome,” he says, giving the guy a smile and turning his attention right back to you. Your expression fills with familiarity, your shoulders sagging in relief. “You okay?” 

“I just said she’s fine.” 

“And both times I wasn’t asking you,” Eddie says, looking at your jerk with wild incredulity. “Dude.” 

“Eddie, I’m okay,” you say. 

“Yeah? Wanna come and get a glass of water?” 

“Munson, I fucking have her, man. She’s fine, she literally asked me to take her home.” 

This guy isn’t an out and proud skeeze ball, he’s undercover. Eddie can’t tell instantly if he’s lying, nor could he have spotted him a mile off, but the more he watches how he’s acting, the more Eddie doesn’t care either way; boyfriend or not, he can’t just grab you and pull at you. 

“Maybe stop fucking dragging her around,” Eddie snaps.

“I’m trying to help her up! It’s none of your business.” 

Eddie can’t fight. He sizes the guy up anyways and decides his best bet is a swift attack, Eddie’s probably gonna need the first punch. He curls his hand into a fist at his side to give it one last shot. 

“Listen,” Eddie says, “I’m gonna ask her if she wants to go with you, and no matter what she says I’m not gonna let her, anyway. One of the girls can take her home.” 

“You fucking loser,” the guy says, with enough vitriol for Eddie to know he’s about to get punched. 

You save the day. You finally manage to stand, and you rag your arm out of the weird guy’s grip. Your other hand sews through Eddie’s arm, your drunken weight pressing into his side. “I don’t wanna go anywhere with him,” you say to Eddie, looking into his face with urgency. “I don’t even know who he is.” 

“You fucking creep,” Eddie says to the guy. “‘Cos she’s drunk you’re gonna force her into the car? Go be a ‘white knight’ somewhere else, Jesus.” 

“Leave me alone!” you pipe up. 

“You’re both fucking losers,” the guy says, stalking off through the door and into the hallway. 

Eddie wishes he could say that he can’t believe how creepy people are. He can’t imagine what the guy would’ve done to you if he’d managed to get you back to his car. 

“You okay?” he asks you again. 

You sit down hard on the coffee table. With music thumping from the kitchen and tens of eyes on you, you’re looking overwhelmed, and queasy if your constant swallowing is any indication. 

Eddie sits down next to you. “You don’t know that guy?” 

“No. Name is Connor something, I think.” 

Connor the Creep, Eddie thinks. Fitting. “Your arm okay? He was grabbing you pretty tightly.” 

“I thought he was gonna take me to his car,” you say, letting your face hang forward. 

“I wasn’t gonna let him.” Eddie pats your leg amicably. “Seriously. I thought he was your new boyfriend at first, but you made it clear you didn’t wanna go with him. Good job.” 

You shake your head. “I’m so stupid.” 

“If you’re stupid, I’m dire.” 

“I can’t believe how drunk I am,” you say, turning to him, stressed and humoured at once. You giggle strangely. It’s pretty cute, but Eddie’s wondering if he should be pulling you in for a hug or something, you look that unsettled. 

“It’s a party! That’s what people do at them. You’re fine.” 

“Not fine. What if he felt me up?” you ask. 

Eddie nods. “Right. I’m sorry I didn’t swoop in sooner, I would’ve– I’m just dumb as a bag of rocks. I couldn’t tell he was being a creep until I got a good look at you.” 

“Don’t be sorry, you got him to leave me alone.” 

“…Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

His eyebrows pinch. Yours follow, like a funny mirror, and you hold your hands out on wobbly arms, waiting for him to put something against your chest. He shakes his head in confusion. 

“Can you hug me?” you ask. 

His eyebrows rise, his lips press together in surprise, and he hides it by quickly taking your arms and pressing them against his sides. He wraps his own around the tops of your arms and your shoulders, his hair pulled as he smushes your heads together. 

“You don’t have to go home with anybody you don’t want to,” he promises, scared that you’re scared. 

“I wanna go home with you,” you say, feeling along one side of his waist nicely. 

He holds back a shiver. “I’m gonna get Macy to take you, babe. Don’t worry.” 

“Okie dokie. Thank you, Eddie, you saved me.” 

“It was a team effort.”

You speak into his shoulder, “Go team.”

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[quarterlifekitty]

So I've been wanting a dog for SO long and I'm still not in a position to get one in good conscience, but together with a partner it could maybe be possible. How would the CoD men react to you suggesting getting a dog together? And also, what kind of dog would they want? And what would they want to name it?

Hope you realize that they’re gonna get deployed at some point and then it’s your dog lol

Gaz wants very classic, intelligent medium-large dog. German Shepard, Labrador, malamute, something like that. And he acts like he’s your dad when you ask about it. Like “are you sure we can handle the responsibility???” Like I dunno Kyle if you’re telling me that I can trust you with an automatic rifle in a foreign country but I can’t trust you to co-parent a dog then I’m not paying my fucking taxes this year. Anyway, it likes him more even though you’re the principal food giver, and it has a simple, pretty name like Lucy or Daisy.

You’re going to have to ask Soap about getting a dog on your second date if you wanna beat him. This man is 100% the type to bring home an animal without asking or telling you. Terrier of some kind— friend of his was giving away puppies and he couldn’t help himself because without you he has no impulse control. You come home to the puppy tearing into one of his boots and you’re like “Johnny. What is this.” And he’s like “That’s Gargamel” as if that should satisfy all of your curiosity.

Ghost is kinda reluctant. He doesn’t think of himself as nurturing. He doesn’t like noise. He’s all “if we’re gonna have a dog, it’s gonna need discipline from day one”. You get a mutt from a shelter, some pit bull mix. On day 2 he’s letting his leg fall asleep because the dog is sleeping on his lap. It has a generic dog name, like Spike.

Price thinks a dog is a good idea. Could keep you company while he’s away, and you probably need some more time to warm up to living with him before he suggests a baby. He insists you decide on the breed because you’ll be spending the most time with it, but he’s clearly very biased. He’s pushing for a dog with floppy ears. This man wants a wrinkly dog. You’re getting a basset hound, is what I’m saying. He decided when you brought up getting a dog. The dog gets a rank, also. Sergeant Columbo. Sarge for short.

König does not realize this, but his favored breeds are all intelligent, somewhat violent, and require a lot of grooming. Childishly, he doesn’t love the idea of getting a dog because it means sharing your attention with an animal, but at the same time he feels it would be cruel to deny you that considering that he can’t be home all of the time. You get a poodle or a bedlington terrier. It has a cute name like Mitzi, but like. That thing is tearing squirrels to shreds. And he loves it. But it loves you more.

Nikolai agrees on a dog, so long as it has utility as well as being a companion. He’ll get you a doberman, and it’ll be trained at a highly rated obedience school, and further trained by him to basically defend you to the death. And you can tell him that you don’t think anyone is ever gonna try to pull anything on you while this dog is around, but he just says it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Its name is something edgy like Dante, Mephistopheles, Cerberus. He thinks a scary dog needs a scary name, even if it acts like a puppy when it’s around you.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

so literally eight years ago i posted a snippet of a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing set in a student co-op and for no particular reason, the concept is tickling my brain right now. so uh here, have this? i guess?

“So, Ursula, my dear,” said Lee, taking the seat across from her at the dinner table. “My fluffy little crumpet. My buttery brioche bun. My tangy slice of pumpernickel—”

Ursula squinted up from her Anthro reading. “Uh-oh,” she said. “You only call me bread when I’m in trouble.”

“Happened to glance at the meeting notes this morning,” Lee continued, her voice rising. “You’ve got anything you wanna explain or defend?”

Ursula flicked her highlighter from one finger to the other, determined to play it cool. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Which meeting notes, exactly, were you glancing at?” She peeked out of the corner of her eye to check how this was going down. 

Poorly. 

Lee stared at her, apparently at a loss for words, which was not a great look for the house president.

“You did this more than once.”

“I take notes every meeting, Lee,” she said, as levelly as possible given how Lee’s ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ Mom vibes were oozing from every pore. “It’s my job, as house secretary.”

“Is it?” said Lee tightly. “Is it your job?” She whisked opened her laptop and read aloud: 

“Benedick’s eyes blazed with passionate fury. His nostrils quivered. ‘Well,’ he said in a low growl, hair resplendent under the environmentally friendly fluorescent lights, ‘personally, I think if anything, there's not ENOUGH lentils—’ Beatrice gasped. It was so wrong, and yet…”

Ursula winced. “‘Said in a low growl’ is wordy. I should’ve just put ‘growled’.”

Lee pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ursula,” she began, “just how much of our official co-op house notes, which by the way are formally submitted each month to the Co-op Board, are written as if Benedick and Beatrice’s stupid arguments are some kind of torrid Harlequin paperback?”

“That depends.” Ursula steepled her fingers, dropping the highlighter in the process. “How much of my notes do you have access to?”

“All of them,” Lee gritted out. “Because they’re public. That’s what I’m saying.”

 “Look,” said Ursula. “I don’t think I said this when I ran, but I wanted to be house secretary in the first place because a lot of the time, taking notes is the only way I can make myself concentrate. I would literally be taking notes during the meeting anyway. It’s an ADHD thing.” 

Ursula sighed. “And pretty early on, it became clear that meetings in Messina House are basically just a Sexual Tension Thunderdome for Benedick and Beatrice. They go back and forth for pages sometimes. I can feel every electrical connection in my brain fighting to zone out. So yeah. For a while I rewrote their fights as rhymed couplets, for a very short bit of time I had Balthazar set them to sea shanties, and since last December, I’ve been transcribing very close to their actual words, with very close to their actual intentions, plus just a tiny bit of genre trimmings. If they’re gonna waste my Saturday and test my focus, I’m doing what I can to stay awake and keep my typing fingers limber. I’m up to 75 WPM, by the way.”

“December?” Lee repeated. “Ursula, it’s October. You’ve been doing this for over a semester?” A terrible wave of realization seemed to sweep over her just then, regarding the general pacing and content of a standard Harlequin. “Please tell me,” she whispered, “there is no sex in the meeting notes—”

“There’s no sex in the meeting notes,” Ursula interrupted. “Per se,” she added under her breath.

Lee’s lips were pressed together into a thin line. “One year,” she said. “I want one year where nobody drives a motorcycle down the hallway or accidentally mixes up chlorine gas during their bathroom clean, or spends almost a full calendar year slipping smut into the public record—!”

“Excuse you,” said Ursula. “Smut’s a different genre altogether. This is romance. Slow-burn, enemies to lovers.”

Lee threw up her hands, nearly knocking over her laptop. “What are you gonna do if Benedick or Beatrice sees this?” “Oh.” Ursula froze. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, uh-oh,” she said. “Look, clearly there’s only one thing to do.”

Ursula nodded. “Right, we have to execute a series of far-fetched shenanigans designed to turn those two fighting fish into a pair of cooing lovebirds, stat.”

“No,” said Lee. “What? No, you need to go back and rewrite all of—”

Pedro slid into the room in his socks. “Oh sweet, are we hooking up Benedick with Beatrice?”

“Hell yeah,” said Ursula. They high-fived.

Lee closed her laptop with a snap. “Ursula, what are the odds,” she said, “that you actually buckle down and rewrite all of the meeting notes to read like they were written in the genre of meeting notes?”

“Oh, like, zero,” said Ursula, as Pedro chimed in, 

“Yeah, that will not happen.”

Lee looked despairingly back and forth between Ursula and Pedro. “What do you think is the likelihood that playing love gods will like, actually, genuinely work?”

“Twenty percent,” said Ursula.

Margaret glanced up from the other end of the table, where she was gluing together a collage of every restaurant on campus that had ever given her food poisoning. It was for class, was the thing.

Art school kids, man.

“We’re tricking Benedick and Beatrice into giving themselves over to their intense chemistry?” asked Margaret.

“Thirty percent,” said Ursula, because Margaret was inscrutable much of the time but surely they would have a fighting chance with more of the Humanities on their side.

At “intense chemistry,” Lee shuddered. “That reminds me,” she said, standing and scooping up her laptop, “I need to post a sign in the basement bathroom warning people not to mix bleach with acid.”

“Are you in?” said Pedro as Lee attempted to slip out the door. “Love Gods?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Lee.

“Not a love god,” Margaret announced. She had found the sequins, and was applying them with enthusiasm. “Except in the general Peace on Earth sense, I guess.”

“I’m texting Hero,” said Ursula, digging for her phone. “She knows Beatrice better than anyone. She’ll have tips. That puts our potential success rate at 45%, easy.”

“If we’ve got Hero, we’ve got Claudia,” Pedro added. “And she’s been BFF with Benedick since freshman year.”

“This is a terrible plan,” Lee muttered. “Yeah,” said Ursula, “but you implied it yourself. If, uh, certain parties see my meeting notes, they will murder me. Do you really want a fellow co-oper’s blood on your hands?”

Just then, Benedick burst into the room, Beatrice on his heels.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice shouted, “are you genuinely trying to argue that soybeans are the superior legume? Soybeans? Over chickpeas? Over kidney beans? Hell, over peas?”

“Soy milk,” said Benedick, counting on his fingers, “silken tofu, miso, tempeh, firm tofu—”

Beatrice took a step closer to him, eyes flashing, “I have never in my life had tempeh that tasted like anything other than an evil Cliff Bar.”

“It’s not my fault your tastebuds were installed backwards,” said Benedick. “This from the woman who still, in the year of some people’s lord 2024, thinks lattes are ‘too trendy’—”

“Espresso is a waste of coffee grounds,” said Beatrice in a low, dangerous voice.

Benedick gasped. “You take that back.”

Beatrice took a step closer. “Coldbrew has more flavor and more caffeine.”

“Coldbrew,” Benedick echoed, stepping even closer. “You’re defending that swill over a nice mocha? Get latte’s name out of your mouth.”

Benedick and Beatrice were standing almost nose to nose, breathing hard.

“You know what?” said Lee from the door. “Ursula? Fuck it, I’m in.”

Ursula whooped. Margaret reached for the glitter glue. Benedick and Beatrice visibly both ran through their mental rolodexes of coffee-related insults. 

From the entryway came the distant revving of a motorcycle engine. Borachio was no doubt doing wheelies in the foyer again, but that was a problem for house presidents, not innocent house secretaries who had done no wrong, thought Ursula as she returned to her reading and her growing mental to-do list.

[starhvney]

𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: blaze, garroth, gene, laurance

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: your friend group has a certain game they like to play at your co-ed sleepovers–one that was exhilarating and full of tension. naturally, what’s a girl to do but use her wits and charm to win over the heart of the boy she’s playing with? and what if he’s the one pulling the strings all along?

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: teens being teens, fluff and flirtyness, kissing and cooties! it’s implied that they’re dating the reader or at least have mutual crushes

𝐂𝐖: use of fake knives and nerf guns lol

𝐀/𝐍: erm..umm…hehe? bites lip

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫. 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

“hey blaze, wanna go see something cool?” you ask suddenly, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes up at the tall werewolf.

he purses his lips, black ears twitching against his dark red curls. a suspicious hum leaves his lips for a moment as the rest of the group warily watches on.

“okay!” he goofily smiles, shrugging and following after you towards the house’s basement door.

“blaze… don’t fall for it.”

“but she’s such a trustworthy person!” he protests against the group’s warnings, beginning to follow you down the dim staircase.

you hold back a snort at his enthusiastic voice, wondering if he was playing up on his usual airheaded tendencies or if he really thought you weren’t going to kill him off from the game down here.

“the basement, definitely super romantic and cool and not suspicious at all!”

he definitely knew. you giggle as you make it to the end of the staircase, standing at the bottom as you awkwardly try to think of what you want to “show him” besides the plastic knife in your pocket.

“your laugh is usually cute, but when it’s so mischievous and in a dark basement it’s kind of creepy,” he shivers, backing up towards the stairs again. “actually… i just remembered i need to do something!”

“wait! you said i’m cute, right?” you snatch onto his flannel, dragging him back towards you—or rather dragging yourself towards his much heavier and unmoving body.

“yeah…”

“um… wanna… make out?”

“yeah!” he switches back to his himbo cheerfulness, very eagerly leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.

you indulge him for a moment, before your puckered lips spread into an evil smile and you’re pressing the plastic knife into his abs. a disappointed sigh leaves his lips as he dramatically sinks down to the floor to play dead.

“not cool, you’re gonna leave me in the spooky basement?” he pouts, his fluffy tail laying flat on the ground.

“you’ll be fine,” you giggle, pressing one last kiss to his forehead and happily skipping up the stairs to finish the round. “see you later!”

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞!

“where is everyone…?” you trail, feeling uneasy as you look for all of the friends you were separated from. 

your search is interrupted when you hear footsteps rapidly approaching you across the grass of the backyard. 

despite knowing this was a silly game with friends, turning to see a six foot three beast of a werewolf sprinting at you with a plastic knife in hand was still a terrifying visual. you couldn’t help the terrified yelp that left your lips as you sprinted away from him, knowing your efforts were futile.

you’re caught up to within barely a few seconds, strong arms nearly crushing you as he scoops you up. a squeal leaves your lips as you cling onto his shirt, feeling your feet leave the ground.

“wait! wait!” you screech, heart racing as you catch your breath.

“nuh-uh,” he laughs.

you groan when you feel the knife firmly placed against your back, limply dangling in blaze’s arms.

“caught you.”

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫. 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

your arms boldly slink around garroth’s shoulders as you lean onto him from behind where he sat, your face snuggling up to the side of his cheek.

automatically he tenses up, eyelids narrowing as his vision darts over to you from the side of his eye. he mutters your name suspiciously, but one of his hands comes up to softly grab onto one of your arms.

“hey, garroth,” you whisper into his ear, holding back the amused giggle that fights to escape your lips. “i was just wishing a tall, hot blonde guy would go into the closet to make out with me…”

garroth sighs, his ears turning a bright red where your breath ghosted along the skin.

“you said that last time, and i died.”

you can tell he’s trying to make his voice monotonous and unimpressed, but the amused intonation at the end of his sentence tells another story. your chest presses against his back, and the breathy, mischievous laughter that exhales from your lungs shakes the both of you.

“no, i’m for real this time!”

“oh yeah, that sounds perfect,” he sarcastically quips back. “i’ll go with the girl trying to seduce me into the closet with no witnesses.”

“garroth… would i ever betray you in such a way?”

“you just did a couple rounds ago.”

“yeahhh,” you drawl out, placing a kiss on his cheek as you quickly place the knife over his heart and press down. “sorry.”

he sighs, slumping forward on the table to play dead.

“so cruel and heartless,” he jokingly pouts, and you have to restrain yourself from placing another kiss on his jutted lower lip.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞!

“garroth, i’m sorry. why don’t we hug it out?” you suggest, arms spread wide as you look up at the blonde expectantly.

he rolls his eyes, leaning down and tightly wrapping his arms around you. after a moment you pay his back, expecting to be let go, but realization hits you as it’s his turn to giggle at you. 

the light rumbling of his laughter vibrates against you, before you feel the plastic knife pressing right up against the small of your back.

you groan, going limp in his arms and leaning your head back as you sigh in light hearted annoyance.

“wowwww, okay.”

he continues to laugh, leaning over and letting you slink down to the floor before gently letting you rest on the ground.

“sorry,” he smiles, looking the least bit sorry before leaning down and placing a kiss against your lips.

“i’m so gonna haunt you.”

“i wouldn’t mind a pretty ghost following me around,” he smiles back, before getting back up and running off to finish his job.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫. 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

“gene, wanna go make out?” you casually ask, smiling at the older boy cheekily and attempting to ignore the attractive look he stares back at you with.

his head falls back and he rolls his eyes, smirk plastered on his lips as he sighs in contemplation from where he sat.

“see, how am i supposed to refuse when you ask like that, though?”

“like what?” you tilt your head innocently, lacing your hands behind your back.

he pointedly stares at you through hooded eyes, before stretching up from his seat and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“alright, where are we going to make out?”

you shrug and guide him out of the house, passing a few people as you go.

“where are you two going?”

“to make out, apparently.”

“don’t tell me you’re falling for that.”

“it’ll be fine,” gene drawls, waving his hand as the two of you exit the house. “i have a feeling on how this is gonna end, but i’ll take my chances.”

“well, whoever’s the cop—be ready when she comes back alone,” you hear someone say as the door shuts behind you. 

you only take a few steps before turning around, pointing the knife at him with a small innocent smile on your face.

“damn, not even gonna give me a small chance at a kiss before you kill me?”

“so sorry,” you apologize emptily, the cheeky smile on your lips leaving when he leans forward into the knife, grabbing your face and devouring your lips for a moment with his own.

you blink at him in shock as he pretends to cough in pain, keeping forward into the ground and rolling onto his back to play dead.

“it’s alright, you will be later,” he smirks back, laying flat on the ground and staring up at the stars.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐩. 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!

finally! you found where your friends had been all round… only to see that they were all sprawled out on the floor, motionless. you take a cautious step into the room, slowly turning your head to the tall form standing in your peripheral.

you hear a few snickers from the ground as you and gene stare at each other, with your hands on your hips.

“well, it’s just us, huh?”

“yep.”

you don’t have enough time or a chance to pull out the gun, instead having to run away down the hall and through the back doors as he suddenly sprints after you.

“nooo! nonono, gene!” you call out, fumbling for the gun in your pocket as you run through the grass.

“why are you running?” he asks, the amused smile on his lips heard through his voice without even having to glance back. “don’t run from me.”

you point the gun back, shooting and missing the boy entirely, wasting your last bullet. one more stride and he catches up to you, knocking the gun out of your hand and restraining you against him with one arm in a single swoop. 

“wait! don’t!” you frantically scramble as he presses the knife up against your chest. “i will… um!”

“mhmmm…” he tauntingly hums, letting you continue.

“…go out? …with you?”

you whine as he presses the knife down against your chest, slumping over as he hunches over and slowly lets you down to the ground. deep laughter leaves his lips as he looks down at your pout, hands on his knees in amusement. 

“sorry, that’s not a good deal if you already do that, doll.”

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫. 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

“laurance, follow me,” you tug on his shirt, backing up as you try to lure him out of the room.

“i’m not falling for that, silly girl,” he leans down towards you, smirk plastered on his face. “where’s everyone else you walked off with, then. hm?”

“falling for what?” you follow him as he starts backing away from you and towards the door. “i just love you so much. i wanna show you!”

“uh-huh, right,” he nods, before turning and taking off outside into the cool night air.

“laurance! wait, let me show you!” you laugh hysterically. “i wanna show you how much i love you!”

“get away!” he laughs, using his soccer skills to dodge and run away from you in the grass.

you manage to catch him, jumping onto his back and using the momentum to tackle the both of you down to the soft grass. your legs straddle his torso as you both catch your breath, chests panting for air.

“now it’s just us…” you trail, dragging your index finger across his lower lip. 

you pull on it before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips, simultaneously plunging the fake knife against his chest.

“that was both terrifying and hot at the same time,” he breathes with a smug grin.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐩. 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!

“come on, you don’t trust me?” laurance tilts his head, pouting as you indecisively point your gun back and forth between him and katelyn—the rest of your friends laid out on the ground. “ouch, that hurts.”

katelyn stares at you with a deadpan expression. her and laurance have their arms raised in the air in surrender, leaving you as the one to make the game-settling decision.

“um…”

“don’t let him woo you, you’re better than this—“

“she went off with aphmau alone and now aphmau is dead!” laurance insists, leaning forward towards you. “it’s obviously her, be smart. you’re smart.”

“um… i’m sorry katelyn!” you apologize, sending a bullet out toward katelyn’s stomach.

she laughs with a groan as she sinks to the ground. you come to the realization that you, in fact, made the wrong decision when nobody else gets up, leaving you and laurance at a standstill.

“…i’m out of bullets.”

“you better run…” someone mutters with a snort on the ground.

strings of shouts and scared curses leave your lips as you take off down the hallway, searching for any bullets to use now that you’ve cornered yourself at one end of the house.

“oh no!” you yelp, socks sliding as you land against a wall, laurance’s hands trapping you in before you can scramble anywhere else.

“hey,” he jokingly bites his lip, staring at you with faux seduction.

you sigh dramatically. “just kill me.”

he giggles, stabbing you with the knife before placing a kiss against your cheek.

“hey, it’s not your fault my charm works so well—“

“shut up.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[muldermuse]

An Unlikely Hero (ex boyfriend!Billy Butcher x reader)

this is going to be a multi part series!!! i love exboyfriend!butcher and he is on my mind constantly. if u would like to read more about him here’s some more posts! if you wanna talk about him pls send me your thoughts ❤️ dividers by @saradika ❤️

part one: the first date

OR

the first time you meet Billy Butcher

You swore to yourself that this was the last Tinder date you’d subject yourself to. Last week, you matched and met with Jack who had a Homelander sleeve tattoo and cried to you about how hard it was to be a ‘true American’ nowadays.  The week before that, it was Shay who seemed sweet but kept trying to ply you with drinks and invite you back to his place (he bragged that his ‘folks were out of town’, which would be impressive if you were a hell of a lot younger than you actually are). This week’s date is named Harry and he’s just not right for you. You thought it over texts but as soon as you sat down with him tonight; it was confirmed. It’s not even like you have a great previous relationship as a point for comparison, all romantic love has been fleeting and, with how things are going currently, you imagine it always will be.

It's a few hours later and Harry’s suddenly a lot drunker than you. You’ve moved from the overpriced restaurant to your favourite bar. The drinks are questionable in that they’re both incredibly cheap and very strong. You grab two stools at the bar which is overwise empty, apart from one man nursing a whiskey. You’re sure Harry’s drunker than you because he’s currently sobbing into his craft beer about how he hasn’t felt a connection with anyone since his ex-girlfriend, who left him 3 months ago for a co-worker.

“Like, you’re nice y’know. You seem like a nice girl” you try not to recoil at the phrase “but my ex? She was great. There’s no one else who’s ev-hic-ever been like her and there never will be”. The guy sat next to you at the bar mutters a “fuckin’ ell” under his breath as he gestures towards the bartender for another neat whiskey. His accent is completely out of place in this local dive bar; he sounds European. No trace of an american accent so you consider that he could be a tourist who’s wandered into a bar looking for a cold drink and some respite.

You try not to smirk at the utterance and tune back into what Harry’s saying, “I think we’ve both just gone through the motions tonight, don’t you agree? I can tell you’re not really into me and to be honest, I’m not into you”. You kind of admire his candor because he’s right, you’re not into him in the slightest but the next thing out of his mouth quickly dispels any misplaced respect you held for him. “I’ve been real lonely since she left though…maybe you could come back to my place-hic-she’s uh…some of her stuff is still there but there’s not a lot of it in the bedroom”. He’s that plastered that what he assumed would be a casual hand slide up your thigh becomes a full push, hurtling you into the whiskey sipping man next to you. You fall into his chest, it’s strong and kind of feels like slamming into a wall. 

“Right, tha’s fuckin’ it” the potential tourist speaks and it’s only when he stands up that you realise how broad he is. He’s tall with thick black hair and the beard to match. His outfit is seemingly prepared for a spectrum of weathers with a Hawaiian shirt clashing with a thick overcoat. He’s older than you, definitely older but absolutely attractive. More attractive than anyone you’d seen on Tinder or, probably, ever in your life. “You alright there darlin’?” his dark eyes bore into yours as you nod and cough out a meek ‘yes’. You silently curse yourself, the first thing you say to this strong man makes you sound like a small frightened mouse.

“’M jus’ gonna get rid of your little pal there and then I’ll buy ya a drink- alright?” his hand rubs your bare arm and sends a flurry of goosebumps across your skin. The whole interaction feels more charged than anything you’ve had before with another human, you wonder if he’s feeling it too and pray that he is.

“Oh nice one man, I’ll have uh…another craft” Harry gestures towards the tap, completely oblivious to the situation in front of him

“All you’re fuckin’ gettin’ cunt is a helpin’ hand out that fuckin’ door. Now, I’ll ask ya politely one last fuckin’ time…fuck off” he elongates the 3 letter word. A comically confused look spreads across Harry’s face. “’M on a fucking date here man and she’s coming back to mine, aren’t you?”

“No” you quickly deadpan, shaking your head at the still unnamed man.

“There’s your answer then cunt, off ya fuck” 

“Butcher- no fuckin’ blood on my bar this time man” the bartender shouts whilst idly checking his phone. Butcher? Is that the guy’s name? 

Harry stands up, pushing out his chest which, if anything, only exaggerates how small he is in comparison. “I’ve bought her meal, paid for her drink and I’m go-hic-gonna take her back to my place and fuck her”. He finishes his sentence in Butcher’s face. Whilst you see a flicker of fear cross Harry’s expression; Butcher’s look borders on hysterical. 

“Alright then big fella, I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen” he slams his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, his eyes now boring into his. “You’re gonna fuck off back to your shitty little home, grab some lube, cry and wank to ya heart’s content about your ex who is probably ridin’ some big fat fuckin’ dick right now-yeah?” Butcher nods as if Harry’s going to agree with him.

Your date goes to interrupt but Butcher presses a finger to his quaking lips before he can start, “what’s not gonna happen, my sad little mate, is that you’re going to fuck her. She’s hadta listen to your fuckin’ whinin’ about your ex all night whilst you’ve fuckin’ insulted this gorgeous woman. So, get out before I throw ya through the fuckin’ window”. Harry’s lost for words, he doesn’t make eye contact with you as you stand silently behind Butcher. You see tears brimming in his eyes as he smacks $20 on the bar top. 

“Fuckin’ old asshole” Harry spits as he shoves past the pair of you.

Butcher smirks at the remark, watching the door swing shut behind Harry before turning to you. “Right darlin’, whatcha havin’?” 

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even a real date. You finally got his full name. Billy Butcher. Your heart races just to say it. He’s from London but has been in the States for a while. He asks all about you and you surprisingly find you’ve got a lot in common. He’s funny, charming and really fucking exciting- you have to admit. By the third drink, the chat goes from conversational to more flirty. 

“The bartender said ‘this time’, do you do this a lot? Love saving a damsel in distress? Are you a hero, Billy Butcher?” you smirk at him and he returns it back to you. There’s lust in his eyes and you see him take your appearance in for what feels like the upteenth time since you sat down.

As he goes to speak, the bell rings for last orders and he takes your hand to help you off the bar stool. You down the remnants of your drink together and he puts his arm around you and escorts you out of the bar.

You don’t want it to end, he lights a cigarette and you thank any higher deity for the extra thinking seconds it gives you. He speaks before you get chance, “Will ya let me walk you home darlin’? Swear on my mum’s life I won’t try any funny business”. He holds his hand out like he’s making a scouts honour. Honestly, you do anything to spend a bit more time with him so you smile, link your arm with his and pull him down the quiet streets.

The air makes you feel drunker than you are. If you were sober, there is no way you’d be giggling like a school girl at everything this man is saying, yet here you are. Your arms are linked and you’re resting your head on his shoulders as you tell him about your horrific dating history. Everytime he laughs and accuses you of exaggerating you say, “Billy Butcher, I would never ever lie to you”. You say it because his name feels so fun sliding off your tongue. You barely see anyone on your walk home and the sound of your shared laughter fills the empty streets.

As you turn down your street, you wish you lived miles away so you could keep walking together for hours. Your stomach drops at the thought that you’ll never see him again. Which, you completely realise, is fucking stupid. This stranger threatened your date to leave but he also made you feel safe and laugh harder than you have in months. You pull his stride to a stop outside your house. It feels like some awful hallmark romcom or trashy romance novel.

You thank him for escorting you home and he turns down a nightcap in your house as “it’s not gentlemanly on the first date”. He shoots you a wicked grin again as he says, “my mum would be spinnin’ in her grave darlin’”.

You try not to let the heartbreak from that sentence show on your expression. “You’re a gentleman, Billy Butcher?”

“The best one around darlin’. I’ll prove it tomorrow when I take ya out for lunch”

A brief flare of anger hits you, “yeah, I hear that all the fucking time. The lunch never happens, I don’t see you again but then we bump into each other at the store and you apologise and say you’ll be in touch which, of course, you never will be”. You regret it as soon as you stop speaking.

Before you can apologise, he grabs a sharpie out of his coat pocket, takes your hand and scribbles down his number. “There, alright? You call me at any time gorgeous and I swear, I’ll fuckin’ answer and come runnin’”

His kiss to your cheek is soft yet restrained. “You’ll forget about me Billy Butcher, I know it”.

“S’not fuckin’ possible, darlin’”. He says goodnight and walks down your street. A plume of cigarette smoke trailing after him.

He keeps his word.

40 minutes later, and after one final glass of wine, you call him.

He answers on the first ring and says your name. He tells you where to meet tomorrow and what time to get there.

You hope he can always keep his promises.

[charliehoennam]

the dinner party

A/N: Filling out this request. Enjoy!

Pairing: David Loki x F!reader

Summary: David and his girl spice things up at her boss's annual dinner party.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ ONLY. Language, unprotected p in v sex (wrap your willy, kids), oral play, cumplay, not proofread

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Parties in general were David’s least favorite things. He rarely gets time off and the last thing he wants to do is spend it sharing you with people he doesn’t know.

Sure, they were your co-workers and superiors and he trusted you more than anyone in the world. But you looked way too sexy to be at this stupid dinner party.

He wanted to have you to himself tonight. He didn’t want to socialize; his social meter was already naturally low and he’d been there for almost half an hour now, enduring the small talk with the strangers you introduced him to and all their invasive questions about the job he mostly just didn’t want to think about.

You noticed his discomfort when he excused himself to get more wine after one of the most obnoxious guys of your workplace asked him what the most disturbing thing he’d seen on the job was.

It was disturbing for a reason and he wished he could forget it.

“Uhm, that’s rather a hard question to answer. Guess I’ve just seen too much” David answered curtly. “Excuse me, I ran out of fuel” he confirmed raising his glasses.

You co-workers laughed it off with his little joke, but you knew he wasn’t trying be funny, so you followed him into your boss’s kitchen.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t-“ you started, regretting that you had dragged him along.

“Not your fault, babe. People are just assholes sometimes.”

“Just 30 more minutes? I don’t wanna be here anymore than you do, but I have to. You know how my boss is. He takes it personal if we don’t show up. I don’t wanna be iced out at work.”

“What if I planted drugs in his house?” he smirked picking at the charcutarie board on the kitchen island to pop some salami into his mouth. “Ooh, that’s good salami. I think that’s salami, at least.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course, I am. But he is a douche. I’d be doing you a favor.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but this job pays for all the sexy lingerie I wear for you.” You smirked filling up both your glasses. “And the hours are really flexible too.”

“Almost as flexible as you” he smirked back idling around the kitchen. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise. I know it’s important. It’s just fucking boring as shit. If I have to hear your boss talk about his Italian inspiration for the house, my head might actually explode. I can literally feel the vein in my head throb every time he says ‘venetian’.”

You chortled with a sip of your wine.

“I know he’s a lot to handle, but it’s just for 30 minutes. And I already introduced you to everyone, so we can just hang out with my friends out back until then. They’re pretty normal, like us.”

“I can’t believe it’s only been half an hour. It feels like it’s been at least 3 hours.”

“What can I do to make it easier hm?” you smiled rubbing your palm against his chest.

“Well…” he smirked lowering his gaze to scan your body. He loved how your black dress hugged your curves just perfectly. “There is one thing that would make me really happy. You know I have a sweet tooth, right?”

You narrowed your eyes with a mirroring smirk.

“You want dessert already?”

“It’s the best part of the course, if you ask me.”

“Fine. But we gotta keep it quiet” you nodded with a mischievous smile.

"Wait. Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief. He didn't think you'd actually agree.

"Yeah, I am. This party is a total dud. I wouldn't be here unless I had to. Might as well make it fun," you smiled nonchalantly, dipping your fingertip into your wine and dabbed the red liquid on his white shirt.

“Hey! What’d you do that for?”

“You’re a cop, David. Rule number one: always have an alibi. And I’m not gonna ruin my dress. It was more expensive than your shirt.”

“Ey, I paid 10 dollars for this shirt at the good-will.”

“My point exactly,” you smirked taking his hand to lead him out of the kitchen and back into the crowd. “You’re such a klutz, Davy. Let’s try to get you cleaned up.”

Fighting back the excited smile was hard to do as you led him to the upstairs floor. Running off to a secret place to do secret things had you both feeling like young teenagers in love again.

“Yeah, ” he smirked with suspicious eyes squinted at you as you weaved through the crowd of employees. "Accident happen."

If there was one thing David loved more than you and his job, it was going down on you. And, if that wasn't enough already, it was one of the many things that he excelled at.

"C'mere, beautiful" he smirked turning you around once you'd locked the door.

His hands snaked around your hips as lips collided with you in a feverish kiss, hiking up your dress. Your lower back met with the marble countertop of the sink in the lavish bathroom.

David opened his eyes to look at the reflection of your ass, beautifully on display in your black lace panties.

"You look so pretty, baby" he groaned at the twitching of his hidden cock.

Your cheeks bloomed with warmth as praises spewed from his mouth.

Once his knees met the floor, he wasted no time getting to work. David loved seeing you in black lace. He loved your pussy even more.

His moans were muffled as he buried his mouth over your clothed cunt, nose rubbing and circling your sensitive nub as he inhaled your delicious scent.

"Got this pretty pussy all dressed up for me too huh?" he asked with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

His hot breath and warm tongue nuzzling your cunt had your panties growing wetter and wetter with a combination of his saliva and your slick.

You moaned as your hand reached for his head, legs welcoming his mouth as you sat back on the edge of the countertop.

With a hand wrapped around your thigh, he hooked a finger under the lacy fabric and pulled it to the side in order to display your juicy cunt to him.

"Ain't nothing sweeter than this right here."

His open mouth quickly latched onto your exposed pussy. His tongue eagerly licked up the sopping mess that only flooded from your spongy walls.

His thumb circled over your delicate clit as his tongue stroked over your plushy folds up and down, over and over again, sending electricity throughout your body and curling your toes.

The sticky sounds of your incredibly wet cunt and his mouth along with David's expertly technique altering from your pussy, down to your puckering asshole, had your head hanging back. Heat burned in your cheeks as you wondered if anyone could hear you from the outside.

David's eyes were locked on your contorting reaction, coming undone with your mouth hung open in an ecstasy only he could provide. So desperate for your release, you ground your hips against his face, caressing his head of luscious hair as you chased your high.

Your spine arched forward as you relished every greedy movement of his flickering tongue, panting when his thumb slowly sped up its circling over your tender clit.

David's low chuckle at your frantic chase for climax sent chills over your hot skin.

"D-Dave, I-I'm gonna-" you gasped, trying your best to stay as quiet as you possibly could.

"Cum for me," he ordered adding more pressure and speed to his teasing thumb.

The blinding white light of sheer pleasure rippled through your body, letting it tremble under his unyielding mouth. Despite your attempt to shut your thighs, he chuckled darkly as he forced them apart, pushing you further back and folding you over on the countertop until your knees met your chest and your back met the cold surface of the mirror behind you.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soaked just for me.”

With a teeth baring grin, his long fingers glided easily between your slick folds, toying with the sensitive mound of flesh.

“Came so good for me, didn’t you? Gonna let me taste it?”

You nodded eagerly at him unable to speak with heavy breaths, trying to ease yourself from your newfound high.

“Be a good girl and spread your pussy for me then" he ordered politely quickly bringing your hands under your thighs to pull your pussy apart to hold it open yourself in the raunchiest way.

“Atta girl” he grinned maliciously.

His tongue shoved into your soaked hole, delving deeper and deeper into your open cunt. David was addicted to your pussy, to your taste. He loved how wet you could get, how much of a mess you could make just for him to see.

You watched as he fucked you with his tongue, lapping at your pulsing walls as he impatiently licked for every single drop.

"Baby, fuck me. Please. I need your cock in me so fucking bad right now" you begged, reminded by his tongue of his dick.

He didn't hesitate for a single moment before unbuckling his black pants to let his throbbing dick bounce freely from its confines. He spat into his hand and wrapped it around his cock to give it a few tugs, eyes hungrily staring your gaping pussy.

"Jesus fucking Christ" he groaned as the saliva and his pre-cum mixed and coated his heavy cock.

Aligning his heavy tip´to your welcoming pussy, he slid it up and down your swollen slippery lips to gather your slick. You hissed as he tapped it over your sensitive clit, making your hips buck as they chased his cock eager to fill up your pussy with his sizeable dick.

He would've teased you far more if he hadn't remembered where you were, so instead, his tip slipped past your folds and into your warm wet cunt.

He pushed in and pulled out slowly at first, to wet his dick enough until he could glide in and out of you with ease. You both watched completely hypnotized by your pussy lips wrapped around his heavy member with a shiny glazed hug.

"Keep this pussy open for me, baby girl. Take it all in. I know you can take it."

You felt so wonderfully full and stretched with his thick, long cock slowly moving inside you. Every ridge and vein of it massaged your walls in the perfect way, eliciting even more wetness from your body.

"Ah, fuck" he growled lowly unable to tease.

He needed to cum so badly. His dick was already throbbing and aching for release. Not to mention that eventually someone would knock on the door or come looking for you.

His belt buckle jingled as his hips began to piston against yours. His large hands moved to your chest, pulling your bra and dress to watch your breasts bounce freely with his every thrust.

"Ain't gonna last long like this, baby" he panted softly as he mumbles against the smooth calf of your leg.

He pounded balls deep into you quickly, watching your slick lips squelch around his cock as the sounds of wet slapping skin echoed softly in the bathroom.

It was just too much for him. Your perfectly drenched pussy hugging his cock beautifully, his balls smacking around your ass cheeks, your breasts jiggling to his rhythm.

It all overwhelmed him, bringing him to finally cum heavily into your womb.

Your walls squeezed around his cock, milking him of every single drop until he had to force him to pull out from the oversensitivity of it.

A couple of strands of his pearly white cum squirted over your lips as he gave his final couple strokes to his sensitive tip, aimed at your gaping pussy hole to fill it to the brim.

He smirked proudly as he admired his white load inside your cunt, overflowing like a waterfall from your used pussy and down to your pulsing asshole.

"You're gonna keep this pussy just like this, alright?" he smiled darkly as he gently moved your lacy black panties to cover your cunt and soak in all your - and his - juices.

"No cleaning up. I want to feel it when you walk around out there."

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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[anjee0]

My brother's best friend

Chapter 3 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

B Rabbit x Female!reader. (Feel free to put an oc insert if you wish as well)

Description - In which Y/n starts to become friends and possibly more with her brother's best friend, BRabbit.

Warnings - Throughout the series there will be: Mild swearing, Smut, Mentions of drugs and alcohol. (More warning to come throughout the series)

@tiny-gay-satan tagging u cos u love this series xx

Y/n wiped down the counters at the diner as she sighed heavily. She was still mad at Jordan the other night. The memories of last night quickly flashed by in her brain, occupying it as she tried to focus. All she could think about was Rabbit and how she had a great time with him last night. She'd never had anything like that before with any other guy.

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimed as it opened. Y/n looked up to see Carly entering the diner with a warm smile on her face. She sat down at the barstool and looked at Y/n sympathetically.

“Hey girl. I heard about what happened last night.” Carly said.

“You did?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah, everyone knows about the little feud Jordan and your little lover boy got in.”

“Wait? Everyone knows about that?” 

“Yup. I'm pretty sure Papa Doc's gang were talking about it too.”

“Tha Free World? I hate those guys…”

“I know right, they're all so arrogant and full of themselves.” Carly scrunched up her face in disgust.

“Also, Rabbit is not my ‘lover boy’.” Y/n started putting air quotes around the words ‘lover boy’. “We're just friends.”

“I know, I'm just teasing. Do you think Jordan and Rabbit will apologise?”

“I hope. I don't want them fighting over something stupid. I feel guilty.” Y/n frowned as she looked away from Carly.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Their boys, they’re gonna be immature.” Carly reassured her.

Y/n chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just, they’re best friends. They’ve known each other since high school, I don’t wanna ruin anything between them.”

“Well, if it’s really bothering you, then why don’t you try helping them apologise?”

“How would I do that? I’d just make things worse.”

As Carly tried to think of something, the bell above the door chimed again as it opened. Y/n and Carly look to see Rabbit entering the diner. He immediately laid his eyes on Y/n and gave her a soft smile before approaching her. Carly quickly smirked at her friend before getting up to move elsewhere.

“I’ll give you and lover boy some time.” She teased with a playful wink before sitting down at a booth.

Before Y/n could say anything, Rabbit was already sitting at the bar stool. The first few seconds were just silence as they looked at each other with softened expressions.

“Hey.” Rabbit said, softly.

“Hey.”

“I think we should talk about last night.”

“Yeah…”

“Listen, I wanna apologise to your brother but he definitely doesn’t wanna talk to me right now.”

“I can help.”

“You can?”

“Yeah but before that, I just wanna say sorry-”

“Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault.”

“I know but-”

Rabbit placed his hand on top of Y/n’s as his gaze lessened. She could see a spark in his eyes as he gently smiled at her and moved his thumb against her hand gently and slowly. His hand felt baby-soft, completely in contrast to his rough exterior.

“It’s not your fault. Stop apologising.” He whispered.

“Okay,” Y/n whispered back softly. “I’ll stop.”

“Now, tell me. Do you have any ideas?”

The following 2 hours consisted of them talking out ideas to try and sneakily get Jordan and Rabbit to meet up without getting anything to go wrong. It was difficult when Y/n was constantly switching between cleaning tables, taking orders, serving food and then talking to Rabbit again. Carly would glance at them every moment or so with a knowing smirk as she sipped on her chocolate milkshake or took a bite from her burger or chips.

“Okay, well that works for me.” Rabbit said, concluding the conversation.

“Right then. I’ll see you later.” Y/n replied.

‘Yeah. See you.” With those final words, Rabbit left the diner.

Immediately, Carly got up from her booth and approached Y/n and smiled at her. “You two going on another date?” She teased.

“No. We have a plan on getting Jordan and Rabbit to apologise to each other.” Y/n replied with a stern look on her face that matched her tone perfectly.

“Okay, but are you gonna act like him reaching for your hand never happened?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Carly exclaimed. “You’re saying you completely missed out the part when he put his hand on yours?!”

“Oh, that. Well-”

“Oh, it’s okay Y/n. It's not your fault. How about we go on another date and make out with each other?” Carly said in a high pitched voice, clearly mocking Rabbit.

“Lower your voice.” Y/n replied. “You’re acting like a child. He didn’t say any of that.”

“Then what did he say?”

“He just told me to stop apologising and that it wasn't my fault.” 

“Yeah, same thing. Y/n, he's into you and so are you. Shoot your shot.”

“We're just friends Carly. And even if I did like him, I'd probably focus on getting him and Jordan to apologise before trying anything.”

Y/n got home after her exhausting shift and immediately threw herself onto the couch. Her back ached and her muscles felt utterly sore. Her ears were ringing and she had a killer headache too, not the best combination.

“You alright?” Jordan asked as he entered the room.

“No, not really. I'm so tired from work.” Y/n replied. “Shit, I left my purse at the diner.” She groaned in realisation. “Can we go get it?”

“You want me to drive you to the diner?” Jordan asked.

“Well it's bad enough you didn't want pick me up from my shift!” Y/n exclaimed. “Had to walk with aching legs back home now I can't even get a ride.” Y/n complained as she shuffled to get up.

“Okay, okay. I'll drop you off there.” Jordan insisted.

Y/n smirked to herself at how gullible Jordan was as she got in his car. She hadn't actually forgotten her purse. She was only lying to get Jordan to drive to the diner where Rabbit was waiting. 

Jordan parked his car in front the diner and looked over at his sister. “Go in and get it.”

“Actually…” Y/n began.

“Jeez, what did you do now?”

“Nothing! You just need to get out of the car.”

Jordan groaned I'm frustration as he unbcukled his seatbelt and got out of the car aggressively. Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at her brother's antics as she got out of the car.

Instead of her gong inside to the diner, she went around the back to a dark alleyway. Jordan scrunched up his face in confusion as he watched his sister going completely off task.

“Hey! Where the hell are you going?” Jordan asked.

Y/n didn't respond as she simply just continued to walk down the alleyway. Jordan quickly ran after her in a panic. 

“Y/n Y/l/n! Stop walking away from me!” He shouted after her, sounding just like a concerned mother.

When he entered the alleyway, all he could see was a dead end that chips of brick falling off and muddy graffiti. He soon became panicked when he realised his sister wasn't there.

“Y/n?” He called out.

“Jordan.” A voice said. 

He turned around to see Y/n and Rabbit standing behind him. His sister had a stern expression and Rabbit looked nervous buy tried to cover it with a neutral expression.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Jordan asked, feeling a spike of anger.

“Jordan, calm down.” Y/n said.

“Don't tell me to calm down! You bought me out here for nothing?”

“Not for nothing.” Rabbit interrupted. “Listen, man. I'm sorry, okay? I know asking your sister to hang out with me before asking you was wrong. And I know I should've told you before hand. I just don't want this ruin our friendship, man.”

The air was thick with tension as Jordan only stared at Rabbit with an unreadable expression. “Man, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have gotten mad.”

Rabbit smiled Jordan, feeling relieved at his response. “So we're good?” 

“We're good.”

Jordan and Rabbit dapped each other up with their signature handshake before pulling each other into a hug. Y/n exhaled a sigh of relief she didn't realise she was holding. She was genuinely happy to see that her brother's friendship was mended.

“Hey, did you walk here? I didn't see your car at the car park.” Jordan asked.

“Nah man, I walked here.” Rabbit replied.

“Hey, I'll give you a ride home.” 

“Nah man, it's fine.”

“Rabbit, no way you're walking home in this cold ass weather.”

“Alright, I'll come. Thanks man.”

During the car ride, Jordan and Rabbit were discussing the rap battle taking place next week on Friday. Y/n simply instead listened whilst looking out the window, watching as the houses and rundown buildings passed her eyes.

“You can drop me off here.” Rabbit said.

“Man, don't be stupid. I can drop you off at your home.” Jordan insisted.

“I know but-”

“Rabbit. I don't care about where you live. Y/n won't either. Don't be embarrassed.” He said as he continued driving.

Y/n looked over at Rabbit and gave him a soft smile, letting him know that what Jordan said was true and that he didn't have to worry. Rabbit smiled back, feeling reassured.

Jordan stopped in front of Rabbit's trailer and dapped him up before Rabbit got out of the car.

“Alright, I'll see you around man.” Jordan said as he rolled the window down.

“Yeah man, see you too.” Rabbit replied. “Oh, and Y/n. Lily asked if you could come over some time. She likes your company.”

Jordan turned to his sister and gave her a nod, letting her know she could go. Y/n smiled at her brother before looking back at Rabbit.

“Yeah, I can do that. How's tomorrow?” She asked.

“Tomorrow's good. 10 am?” 

“Works for me.”

“Alright. I'll see you then. Goodnight you two.” 

Jordan and Y/n bid Rabbit goodnight before they drove back home.

Y/n knocked on Rabbit's door and waited in anticipation. For some reason, she could feel a buzz of nervousness in her stomach making it's way around to the rest of her body. She didn't understand why she felt this way, she wasn't scared for all she knew.

The door opened to reveal Lily looking up at Y/n with glee through her adorable blonde bangs.

“Y/n!” She exclaimed before hugging her.

“Hey Lily.” Y/n replied with a wide smile on her face.

“Come in!”

Lily stepped aside for Y/n to enter. The place was pretty cramped but it had a cosy feel to it. Y/n spotted Rabbit making pancakes in the kitchen and she was a bit surprised to say the least.

He wasn't wearing one of those baggy hoodies she had only ever seen him in. Instead, he was wearing a white tank top that suited him perfectly. His arms were toned with muscles that looked incredibly hot. He wasn't wearing his beanie either, revealing his brown buzz cut. Rabbit put the last pancake on the plate then turned to smile at Y/n.

“Hey.” He said.

“Hey.” Y/n replied 

“Did you have breakfast? I'm making pancakes.”

“I already ate at home.”

Rabbit nodded and kissed his teeth. “Uh, I should probably change this.” He said, looking down at his tank.

“Is it not hot?” Y/n blurted out. She could feel her cheeks burning up as the words left her mouth.

“It's November, Y/n.” Rabbit chuckled. “And of course you find it hot. You're wearing layers.” And by layers, he was referencing the shirt and baggy cardigan she was wearing.

Lily dragged Y/n over to the sofa and made her sit down. Lily took her little legs to the kitchen and took her plate of pancakes. She retreated to the sofa and placed the pancakes on her lap.

“When mum's not home, Jimmy let's me eat on the sofa and watch TV.” Lily giggled.

“He's a fun brother, huh?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah, I would've watched TV but I wanna talk to you.”

Y/n felt a cocoon of butterflies erupting in her heart as Lily said that. She smiled softly at her nodded. “I would love that.”

“Yay!” Lily cheered with a mouthful of pancakes. “So can we be friends?”

“Yeah, we can be friends.”

Lily giggled and continued talking to Y/n gleefully. Her brown eyes lighted up with excitement every time Y/n would answer some of her questions. She would continue to eat her pancakes as she listened carefully.

Rabbit came out of his room and leaned against the doorpost as he watched Y/n and Lily talking. Something about the way Y/n was soft and gentle with her tone when it came to talking to his sister made him feel something that he couldn't quite explain. He took his pancakes and sat with the girls on the couch. 

“Jimmy's working on a new track and I think it's dope!” Lily said.

Rabbit chuckled and Lily's interesting word choice and ruffled her hair. “Thanks baby.”

“You should listen to it after we finish breakfast.” Lily said to Y/n.

“If it's okay with your brother.” Y/n said as she looked over at him with gentle smile.

“Yeah, why not?” He replied.

After breakfast, Rabbit bought Y/n into his and Lily's shared room. The girls sat on the bed whilst Rabbit sat on his chair and played the track. 

If first started off with a few notes of the piano before it quickly changed to another beat, followed by Rabbit's voiced.

Yo, his palms are sweaty,

Knees weak,

Arms are heavy.

The lyrics played. Some parts of the song were left blank with no lyrics with only the beat playing.

“I left the parts I don't have lyrics for blank for now.” Rabbit explained.

“What do you think?” Lily asked.

“I like it. The beat’s nice. And your voice goes perfectly with it.” Y/n replied.

Rabbit smiled as he felt the tips of his ears heating up as they went pink. “Yeah, thanks.”

Time passed quickly as seconds struck like swift bolts of lightning. Rain pattered against the windows, making a calming rhythm of nature. The three of them were sitting around the table eating food Rabbit had prepared.

The warm food felt perfect against Y/n's tongue as her taste buds took in all the flavour, making a satisfying sensation for her. The scent of the food meandered through her nostrils, making her want to take more.

“You're a great cook, Rabbit.” Y/n complimented him.

“Thanks. But pancakes and lasagna are the only things I can make.” Rabbit replied.

“You can make sandwiches too!” Lily said, with little bits of sauce and cheese on the corners of the mouth.

“Anyone can make sandwiches.” Rabbit said as he took a napkin and cleaned the remnants of food off Lily's face.

“Can I?” Lily asked, her voice piqued with curiosity.

“Yeah, it's easy. 2 pieces of bread with some type of filling.”

The rest of the dinner was carried out by a comfortable silence and the sounds of cutlery clinking as they hit the plate. The silence was quickly disrupted when Rabbit's mum arrived home.

“Hey sweeties.” Stephanie said, greeting her children. She then saw Y/n sitting at the table, with a smile on her face. “Oh, Rabbit, you didn't tell me you had a girlfriend.” 

Embarrassment radiated off Y/n's face as her heat rose to her cheeks and to her ears, making her flustered.

“Ma, she's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend.” Rabbit groaned.

“Oh, sorry.” She apologised. “I'm Stephanie by the way.” 

“I'm Y/n, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. Say, you look quite familiar…” 

“She's Jordan's sister.” Rabbit said.

“Oh, no wonder! You two look so alike!”

The four of them chatted with each other, catching up on highlights for the day before Stephanie decided to retreat to her room. They also eventually finished their dinner and Y/n insisted she could help with the washing up.

Rabbit helped tuck Lily into bed whilst Y/n watched from the doorstop, a soft look in her eyes. He sang a quiet and gentle song to his sister to help her sleep. His voice sounded like an angel, beautiful and pure. When Lily eventually drifted to sleep, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead before turning the lights off and leaving the room.

“You're a good brother, you know.” Y/n said as they both sat on the couch.

“Thanks. But sometimes it just feels like I'm not.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“I just have this voice in my head that's telling me that she's growing up in a shitty trailer park because of me. That we're broke because of me. And I know it's my deadbeat dad to blame for, but I can't help that it's my fault. I want to give her the best. I can't do that.”

Y/n held Rabbit's hand, her fingertips grazing his silken hand as she traced every detail on it. She could feel her stomach twisting in nervousness as she did.

“Rabbit, you're a great brother. Lily looks so happy. Everytime I looked at her, she would always be smiling at you. She loves you Rabbit and she would definitely say that you're a great brother. And nothing is your fault, okay?”

Rabbit smiled softly as his grip on Y/n's hand tightened slightly. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Y/n looked at the clock on the wall. She read as she realised that it was getting late. She immediately got up and dusted herself off. Some parts of her wanted to keep holding his hand.

“I need to go. It's getting late.” She said.

“I'll drop you off.” Rabbit offered.

“No, it's fine. I can walk.”

“No way. It's not safe for girls to walk here during this time of night.”

Y/n sighed “Fine.”

He grabbed his beanie and put it over his, then adjusted it slightly. He got his car keys as Y/n followed him out. They got in the car, feeling a wave or warmth hit their face, a complete contrast to the icy air outside.

The car ride had no exchange of words as quiet jazz music played from the radio. When they reached Y/n's house she took one last look at Rabbit and smiled. 

“Thank you. I had a lot of fun.” She said, softly.

“Me too.”

Without any warning, she reached in for an embracing hug. A caring warmth radiated their bodies and they put their arms around each other.

“I'll see you.” Y/n said after she pulled away.

“Yeah, see you.”

She got out of the car and went inside as she heard Rabbit's car driving away. Jordan was still at work. After getting into bed, she softly smiled to herself as she rewound the core memories of today. She felt a bud of happiness blooming in her heart.

A/N: thinking about making this a mini series with 6-7 chapters. Chapters may be a little longer though.

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 11

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 11 - Take a Chance and Crash

Tags: (changing this to tags for each chapter) Swearing, masturbation, sexual innuendos, flirting, alcohol consumption, drunk Reader, angst, confirmed sexual abuse by parent. No beta reader, mistakes are all me. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.1k

AO3

“Thanks for driving me home, Emily,” you said sleepily in the passenger seat. Unlike you, Prentiss had held back on drinking a lot so she could drive home safely. The other ladies took ride shares, and you were going to as well until Emily offered to take you home.

“Well, considering I strong armed you into coming, figured it was only polite,” she answered cheekily.

“Strong armed?” You laughed and accidentally snorted, which made Emily bite back a chuckle. “Maybe if I kept saying no you woulda gonna go cavewoman on me.”

“What does that even mean?” She was not fluent in your drunk talk yet.

“You know!” you said without explaining any further as to you, it was obvious.

“I’m sorry to say, I do not,” she said with the years of patience talking to inebriated co-workers.

You found this confusing and shrugged. “I thought you were smart and membered things good.”

 “I am, and I do, but not once did either of us mention prehistoric women.”

“You were going through my clothes!”

She nodded.

“And you were so …” your hands gestured in the air trying to find the word, “so…insistent. Persistent?” You looked confused and pouted. “Both?”

Emily fought a smile by biting her lip. “Both works in this case as they’re synonyms.”

You made a fist to pound on the armrest triumphantly. “Yes! So, if I didn’t still wanna go, I bet you woulda made me get dressed, throw me over your shoulder, and throw me in the car. Ugh! Ugh!” You pound your chest in time with the grunts, and then looked around with a squint trying to remember something. “This car, actually. This is the car we came in, right?”

“Yes!” Emily barked out a laugh. “But I wouldn’t have made you get dressed.”

“No?” The thought of that makes you sad as your eyes drifted to her hands wondering what they would feel like on your whole body. That made you grin a bit dopily.

“No,” she confirmed and wished she didn’t notice that you may have been delighted by being undressed by her. You were intoxicated and she wasn’t going to confirm that look any further, but it made her wonder how far your defenses had dropped to comment like this and how truthful they were. “I’m not a cavewoman. Just … persistent.”

“Insistent!” you said, looking proudly at her and squinted with one eye open. “Syn -no -nym.”

“Very good, Whitlock. You get an A in English class.”

You jutted out your lower lip and nodded. “I’m skilled with my tongue.”

It took Emily every ounce of self-control to not push down on the gas pedal and tear off down the road with that unexpected comment. She plays it cool. “And … why is that?”

“Linguistics!” you announced. “Know lots of English and other languages. Like you!”

Her heart’s accelerated beat slowed a little with that, and she chuckled. “Not the best use of the English language right now, honey, but at least you’re trying.”

Then you blurted out in Russian. “Это означает, что вы тоже умеете обращаться с языком!” And then looked sly. “Делает меня счастливой девочкой, а?”

This time she came to a hard stop at the red light and the seatbelt locked on both of you. “Ugh! I hate when this happens.” You fought with the strap to try and loosen the seatbelt. You looked the fool as you kept failing to free yourself by grunting with each pull, glaring at the anchor attached to the door that kept clunking in defiance.

Emily remained quiet as you struggled. She wasn’t as proficient in Russian as you were, but she gleaned enough of it that made her mouth go dry …

The rest of the drive home had been tamer because the fight with the seatbelt seemingly made you forget all about the linguistic tongue inuendo due to alcohol consumption, but Emily was well aware that her surprised reaction was wailing with desire for you. When you exited her car, a flash of want passed between you when you locked eyes. It began as a rudimentary current that wanted to spark brightly and latch onto the two of you. Emily did want to reach out to claim it with a fervent need. In those scant seconds of gazing deeply into your eyes, she pictured herself quickly exiting the car to stalk around it towards you so she could capture your lips in a hot, fervent, kiss.

Later that night Emily was stuck lying in bed and unable to sleep, her mind drifting inevitably to you. She tried forcing her mind to work on the current cases to be logical instead of emotional – detailing evidence or witness testimony or go through Monday’s schedule to bore her to sleep because running numbers at that financial meeting is boring as fuck. But every time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing you. The way your eyes squint, making them noticeably mischievous, when you playfully flirt with her. It caused your mouth to curve upwards divinely despite Emily being mortified! Or how delightfully witty you are, how your intelligence pours from you underneath all that frivolity that speaks to the demons you’ve shared with one another. Your physicality in taking Luke down was a sight to behold. Not just the innate skill that you’ve honed over the years to defend yourself but your exquisite lean frame that her wandering eyes enjoyed tracing your musculature.

Emily hadn’t felt this way in a long time and when she did, she just took care of her needs with a toy or her hand in the safety of her own home. Instead of giving in to her desire and being respectful of your inability to make sound decisions, you both parted ways, Emily waiting until you made it inside the main entrance safely as you continued to sing Shadows of the Night by Pat Benatar that had started playing in the car. You may have been drunk but damn, did you have a fine singing voice. You even stayed on key.

Her mind begins to wander further, wondering how those strong arms and legs of yours would feel wrapped around her own body. It forced a sigh from Emily’s mouth, her body shifting under the sheets as the chase for friction between her legs grew wanton. As she brought her hands under the sleep shirt she wore, she toyed with already erect nipples, palms gliding against them in a circular pattern before fingers pinched and rolled. She closed her eyes and gasped, feeling herself clenching as her body demands more.

One of Emily’s hands drifts teasingly along her bare abdomen, imagining how the two of you would try and dominate the other, kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes until one of you claimed victory and, in her mind, Emily succumbed first. She softly groans with her hand slipping under the pajama pants and the waistband of her underwear, teasing coarse hairs. She cries out, picturing your face between her legs, nuzzling and teasing your tongue to work Emily up viciously. She spreads her fingers rubbing her clit between them as hips rock of their own accord. She immediately clenches with a strangled sigh, needing to fill the escalating ache. She imagines her fingers sliding inside her were yours, that you were feeling her slick heat for the very first time. That your tongue was batting against her clit instead of the palm grinding against it. Emily’s wanton body was flushed with impending climax – lips parted in a diverse symphony of cries and gasps with hips rocking to reach maximum penetration. Her free hand gripped the sheets tightly and tugged, grounding herself in the image of you pumping and curling your fingers at just the right tempo to make her sing. She imagines your heated gaze locking with her own across the landscape of her undulating body and that was when she couldn’t hold back any further.

Emily cried out your name at the first tight pull deep within her pelvis before unraveling completely.

She immediately fell asleep after releasing her body’s tension in a delightful orgasm but when she awoke this morning, Emily knew she was in trouble. She wanted to blame JJ, Tara and Penelope for putting thoughts of you two together in her head, but that wasn’t entirely true. These stray thoughts have been occurring since Indio. If she wanted to be truly honest with herself, probably even longer.

So, it really, really, was unpleasant to know that she didn’t have the entire weekend to get her emotions in check. No. Sicarius just had to make contact late last night. Penelope texted both you and Emily that Spiderboy took the bait. Emily had made the decision for the three of you to meet at Quantico to go over next steps and not respond too quickly without a plan, and if things progressed further, you would need a separate device to use, which could only be provided onsite.

She purposefully remains seated to the left of Penelope, not wanting to sit against the edge of the desk to avoid as much eye contact with you as possible. You had shambled into Quantico with an FBI hoodie on looking like a criminal. The hood was pulled tightly over your head, the strings long and dangling against your chest and to make the ensemble perfect, you had sunglasses on. The black sweats and crocs really took away the mystique though.

You were nursing your coffee from a to go cup from Costco, idly swinging your chair back and forth in thought on the other side of Garcia. You hadn’t said anything or acted like anything out of the ordinary happened last night, and Emily knows she didn’t fantasize the interaction. It occurred to her that maybe she got lucky, and you were so drunk you just don’t remember what happened.

Penelope being hung over also was in Emily’s favor. No jokes or pushing any information on driving you home has come up. Well except one joke she made about you.

“You’re awfully quiet there, Unabomber.”

“Ha. Ha.” Your tone was dull. “I’m thinking.”

You were thinking about last night and how stupid you were on the ride home with Emily. Sure, you didn’t betray national secrets, or Emily’s tendency to sleep on her office couch instead of going home, but you were a stupid drunken fool hitting on her so explicitly when you two were alone in her car.

You had never been so grateful being choked by a seatbelt. It managed to reset your brain, making you behave, your addled mind going to a safe place which was singing in Emily’s car! Who does that?! You’re so fucking embarrassed that drunk you thought singing to Pat Benatar was the perfect way to turn the conversation around to something less mortifying with only three minutes left until you arrived at your complex.

You’re still unsure how you feel about Emily ignoring what happened and honestly, it’ll have to wait for another time. You need to focus on Sicarius.

User45125: How’s the world on your end? It’s been a minute.

You received this message a minute after Sicarius responded to your carefully written response to a true idiot poster that thought gasoline and a match were all you needed to send things ablaze. Someone with more finesse would offer advice on how not to get caught after your first fire. You and Emily had bounced different ideas on how to tackle your first post on the message board and felt that an innocuous response to a thread would get your feet wet. You also liked some posts that fit FlamePit23’s usual interests, but at an inconsistent pace to make it appear that FlamePit23 was busy.

Penelope suddenly whines in frustration. “Ugh, still no luck, ladies. The way private messaging works on this platform is that the system deletes messages after ninety days. Nothing I’m doing can retrieve them.”

“Well, we got everything FlamePit posted, and I came up with a good opening. I can keep it up with the info we’ve got. Just, if we keep messaging like this and things escalate, I’m gonna need more wiggle room to communicate and I doubt I’m doing this on my personal cell,” you explain.

Prentiss immediately agrees. “Garcia, set up a cellular device for Whitlock with all the bells and whistles the prior unsubs had. I want this phone to be Sicarius approved.”

“Easily done. I’ll hook you up with latest and greatest, my dear.”

You nudge her knee with yours and she looks up at you and smiles when she sees yours. “Thanks for taking care of me. But now I need to borrow her majesty’s keyboard to respond. May I?”

She tilts it towards you. “You may.”

You bite your lower lip and, in these situations, become FlamePit23 and go with your gut. It’s how you’re a good spy. You put you away in this neat little box to emulate the persona that you’re required to be. You type something out as Garcia and Prentiss watch. You didn’t even have to delete words or rephrase. You answer as if this wasn’t your first time speaking with Sicarius which impresses both women.

FlamePit23: You know how it goes. Life gets in the way and you have to pretend play. How is shit on your end?

You didn’t hit send yet and look at the ladies to your left. “Sound good?”

“Did you seriously rhyme on purpose?” asks Penelope.

You finally pull back the hood covering your head and smooth back your tussled hair. “Indeed, I did. This girl likes being poetic so here I am waxing some.”

Emily nods to hide her distracting eyes towards your movements. “Hopefully it’s enough.”

You hit send and slide the keyboard back to Penelope. “Figure I’ll stay here until the phone’s ready?”

“Correct. We can’t take the chance Sicarius responds back now that FlamePit23 will seemingly be more active. How long to get her set up?”

Penelope’s fingers dance along her newly returned keyboard setting up programs and requisitioning a phone for your use. “A few hours to work my magic, lovelies.”

“And let’s start brainstorming electronic footprints that Sicarius can find. If things start going well, he won’t want to talk to someone that he can’t find anything on.”

“Good plan. But first, I’m gonna go make some coffee. Can’t plot without more,” you announce, rising. “Shall I make it for three?”

“Yes, please!” Penelope brings up coding to start imprinting electronic lies for later. Not for social media. No, this FlamePit would be off those apps, probably have a police record and basic information of where she lived, went to school, work, and current address. Simple things for Penelope to create.

“That would be great. Thanks, Whitlock,” says a distracted Emily, busy scrolling through her phone.

You take it as a good sign that she doesn’t want to join you to talk about last night. You salute the two of them and head out to the kitchen.

Penelope may have been hung over, but she was not ignoring her desire to know what happened last night after Emily offered to drive you home. Since you arrived at Quantico first looking like shit, she didn’t want to press her cutie for any information just yet. The sober section chief was her target.

She looks at Emily who was focused on her phone and decides to take her fuzzy yellow pen top to tickle her friend’s face. “Okay, spill!”

Emily irately swats the offending item away. “What the hell?!”

She accusingly points her fuzzy pen top at her. “You mean to tell me nothing happened last night?!”

“What?” Emily was tired and impatient at the vague statement, but the fierce look Penelope was giving her provided the means to piece together the unspoken specifics. “No, nothing happened. I just drove her home.”

“After all the flirty banter and her eying you all night, nothing happened?” Penelope was appalled.

“She was not eying me all night. And to be fair, you all end up being flirty with each other, and me, when you’re all tipsy and beyond,” she corrects firmly.

“I have eyes, Emily, and I saw hers looking at you when she wasn’t laughing against your side,” she counters haughtily. “And you sure as heck didn’t mind her being all cozied up to you.”

“And she was drunk. I’m not going to do anything when she’s drunk.”

“Ah!” Penelope points happily. “So, you do want to do something!”

“No! That’s … that’s not what I meant,” she says, quickly trying to defend herself.

“Then what did you mean?” she asks, crossing her arms with an eyebrow raising with demand. “You still haven’t given a real reason why you can’t go for her.”

“Because we’re working a case.” She gestures with her phone hand to Penelope’s screens. “Last thing I need is a distraction. Or if shit goes wrong, being awkward at work.”

“No,” Penelope waggles her brows in mischief. “But this would be a good distraction since, you know, you’re one of the few people not getting laid around here.”

She grimaces and feels her cheeks grow hot as her mind goes back to getting herself off last night to the thoughts of you. “God damn it, JJ …”

Penelope’s face relaxes and looks at Emily with sympathy. “I wouldn’t push if I didn’t think our cutie wasn’t in to you, and believe me, all signs point to being hot for Prentiss. And come on, Emily! You two have a lot in common and are getting on well. Take a chance for once and see how things go instead of running away of a maybe good thing …”

You stop in Prentiss’ office to grab her FBI mug before heading to the kitchen without thinking. You just know that was her preferred mug and wanted to use it. You pour the coffee grinds into a filter, fill the coffee maker with water, hit brew, and then line up the mugs. Yours was just a plain red one that you borrowed and set it between Prentiss’ and Garcia’s Good Morning Servant white mug with cats on it.

As the hot water starts dripping with audible hissing, you lean against the fridge with a sigh wondering what you were you going to do about last night. Do you just ignore what happened like Emily was doing or do you come up with a lame apology and see where things go?

Easy enough. You’re going to forget about it and pretend you were an amnesic drunk. You never had a relationship before and you’re not going to start changing your mind now. Everyone has baggage but yours is the size of two semi’s packed full of it. Emily doesn’t deserve to deal with your bullshit. Bullshit that equated to never having an emotional or physical relationship ever with anyone since your fucking father ruined any chance of that connection with his abuse against you. You used your body for marks in the CIA, which was easy for you to pretend to be someone else, like how you pretended to be someone else when your father assaulted you. It was easy to transpose the same survival instincts to undercover work and push women that held interest in you away with being aloof to their advances. Men were easier to disappoint. If a no didn’t suffice, it became a fuck off, and if that didn’t work, the fist in their face ended the issue.

But fuck it all with Emily. Why did she have to be so fucking flawlessly imperfect. You didn’t know how else to explain her energy that just wanted to link with yours. The woman was fucking gorgeous with long silver hair framing her face, and brown eyes that spoke to you with a depth of emotional understanding being in the same line of work as yours. And her fucking ability to disarm you was aggravating as it was comforting. You just were able to be you around her and since Brian gave her some leeway into who that was, you found it easy to be honest with her.

You never had this sort of affection come over you for anyone and it scared you that you wanted to know what it felt like. But you couldn’t. Again, it wasn’t fair to Emily.

Your phone goes off just then and when you pull it free from your pants pocket, you see that it was Brian and answer. “Your ears were burning. The guilty party has decided to check in.”

Brian laughs. “She told you, huh?”

“Considering she showed up outta the blue at the apartment and I was livid? Yeah, of course she told me.”

“And how did it go?”

“Oh, you just assumed I went?” you respond back, pretending to be irritated.

“You sound tired and hung over, so yes. I know you did.”

You scowl in displeasure at how easily he can still read you over the phone. “Seriously? I sound like that. I thought I was hiding it pretty good.”

“Well?”

“You want a pat on the back or something?” You say it with a chuckle.

“Nope. Just want to know how it went.”

The hand against the fridge door was lightly stroking the cold metal before you began drumming your fingers against the surface in thought. “I had a lot of fun. Thanks for telling her.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Though, you really should be thanking Prentiss for calling me.”

“I did.” You rock your head mulling it over and rephrase. “Sorta.”

“Alright. How did you sorta thank someone this time?”

Brian was well aware of your ability to speak around certain phrases and thanking someone for pushing you was one of them. “By allowing her the pleasure of driving me to the meet up and back.”

“That all?”

“No.” He waits patiently as you work up your courage. “I let her know I suck at being in groups.” Then you thud the back of your head against the fridge a couple of times. “And I sang in front of her on the ride home.”

“You did not.” He’s shocked.

“Indeed, I did.”

“You never sing in front of people so casually …” He still couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, well …” You sigh,” … I was drunk.”

“Even drunk you don’t.” He waits a beat, and you can hear him smiling into the phone. “You must really like her to let your guard down like that.”

“That’s debatable but thank god I have a good voice, or I’d really be embarrassed.” You click your tongue. “I also may have confirmed I’m a spy last night. Just with Prentiss tho. Since you gave a bit of clearance and all.”

“That’s fair. She’s high enough up the chain to know small details of your work. But speaking of work …”

“Uh, oh … I swear I didn’t do it,” you grin, chuckling.

“Actually, that’s right on the nose. You missed Nina.”

Your eyes widen and you hit your fist against the fridge. “Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bail on Nina. Is she mad?”

“No, but I am. You’re seeing her tomorrow. I want no excuses and for you to write it on your forehead if you need to. This is the first time in years you missed a session when stateside.”

“Okay, okay. Wait. Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“And I’m the Director of the CIA.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Of course, Brian pulled strings and paid Nina a bonus to talk to your ass on a weekend day. “Fine. What time?”

“10am.”

“Got it. I promise I won’t miss my date with Nina this time.”

What you didn’t realize is that Prentiss had come down to talk to you and was waiting for you to finish your conversation with Brian just around the corner. The courage that Penelope had forcefully coaxed out of her immediately dissolved into disappointment. It was too good to be true that you were interested in her and it was just the alcohol talking. She slips away back to Penelope’s office, anxiously picking at her nails to work through the emotions coursing through her body.

Whoever this Nina was, she must be an amazing woman for Brian to be setting her up with you. She was lucky. Unlike Emily who was two minutes too late in asking you out …

*Translation from Russian

And that means you’re skilled with your tongue, too! Makes me a lucky girl, eh?

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven @maybe-a-humanbean @unoreverselu @fluffypalmtree @willow-nox @simplylove-c

[wasabi-gumdrop]

thinking about modern au Kabru

ivy league college student, probably studying law and political science on a full scholarship. first time living away from Milsiril so he has to promise her, yes mom i’ll call you at least four times a week, no mom i don’t need your amex black card, yes mom the normal credit card is fine i need to learn how to budget like a Normal Person (it has a limit of $20k — that’s not normal Kabru).

Milsiril insists for a long time that she’ll just get him a house off campus so he can have his own space (aka a place she can drop by anytime and possibly live a few months out of the year just to be close to him) but Kabru puts his foot down and tells her the best way he’s gonna make friends is by living with other students (bye mom).

his floor in the coed dorms is the party floor and he always makes sure to invite everybody (his nightmare is accidentally leaving anyone out and having them think that he doesn’t like them). somehow it’s always a good time, everyone leaves with more friends than they came with, it never gets totally out of control, and plenty of girls who are interested in him (and a lot of guys too tbh) bring tons of baked treats so there’s always free food. Kabru is the RA’s favourite person to have in the building (even though Kabru himself is messy but most of the people he’s friends with are nice and clean up after themselves).

he has a porsche (Milsiril gift for his 16th bday) but he’s adamant about not driving it unless he absolutely has to (because he doesn’t wanna look like a douche). BUT he never says no when his friends ask for rides (so he ends up driving all the time anyway). he actually contemplates selling the porsche and going for a more practical car but Mickbell is like ‘dude you are not taking this away from me.’ Kabru sighs and decides to keep it because his friends (Mickbell) like being chauffeured around in a fancy convertible (Rin, Holm, and Dia don’t care, they’re just glad they don’t have to walk to the grocery store).

he’s probably on a casual texting basis with most of his professors and you know he’s going to all their office hours, grabbing beer with them just to keep chatting about life outside of school. and that’s how he winds up in some super secret faculty group chat where he’s now privy to all the college administration gossip.

Kabru is elected for student council during his freshman year and he’s probably the favourite to be sc president one day.

he doesn’t really date (gets too in his head about how he doesn’t wanna ruin any friendships) but he does hang out one on one with a lot of girls and treats them all really well. he probably goes so far out of his way to be platonic that he flies a little too close to the ‘Just Like One of the Girlies’ sun, he kinda forgets that most people interpret it as flirting coming from him. which leads to a few awkward conversations. people feeling led on, a few angry jealous boyfriends, scathing dms about him being a girl stealing homewrecker.

it’s such a nightmare for him and he needs it to end right now. so he begs Rin to ‘date’ him for a week or two and then publicly dump him just so the entire student body gets the message that he is Just A Friend.

Rin stares at him for a few seconds. then she laughs. she laughs and laughs. she laughs for a crazy long time. and then eventually she goes, ‘wow you’re an asshole, Kabru. no i won’t be your fake girlfriend. you’re gonna suffer and i’m going to enjoy it.’

and that’s when Kabru has a moment of enlightenment. ok yeah. asking for that is probably really selfish and mean. maybe he needs to think about girls’ feelings more and that’s maybe more important than his deep seated need to be liked, and when has Rin ever been wrong about anything.

he apologizes. and so begins one of the more serious talks he’s ever had with Rin about being okay with not being liked.

he thinks he can really turn over a new leaf. the whole ‘not worrying about what other people think’ thing goes pretty well — up until Kabru meets the aloof professor for his Monsters and Myths class who keeps forgetting and mispronouncing his name.

Kabru has never needed someone to like him So Bad, he needs Prof. Touden to like him as a matter of life and death, and he’s willing to look stupid for it (fails a midterm on purpose to justify begging for one on one tutoring)

[lightlycareless]

I was thinking about your portrayal of Naoya and I was already thinking of a JJK actor au which led me to think of how actor Naoya upon hearing that Y/N was going to be in this new romance movie, I feel like he’d immediately use all his connections(Ofc he could audition but he needs to make this a sure thing plus he’s fs a Nepo Baby XD but at least he’s got the skills too) just so he can be in that movie with Y/N(Maybe the Male lead was gonna be Nanami too!). I bet they’d end up getting together by the end of filming Teehee. You don’t have to write anything if you don’t wanna but I thought you might think this au is fun too if only to just daydream about it :D

Heya anon!!

Thank you for your patience hehe. I have to say, AU’s where Y/N or Naoya are a celebrity is kind of like my guilty pleasure; I don’t really indulge much on it because I don’t have a plot line most of the time, but this was the perfect excuse to see what I can do with it :> I just hope you enjoy it!! Also, this is going to be a two-part oneshot so… yeah hehe.

Btw, thank you all for those who voted for fluff, but we know how this goes so I had to put a little bit of drama somewhere :) it’s Naoya we’re talking about.

Warnings: AU. Naoya and Y/N are actors; he’s an idiot, a nepobaby, womanizer, etc etc, but we already knew all that. What’s interesting is his so called redemption OOF.

Happy reading!

Established actor Naoya that’s quite popular amongst the audience even with the rumors of his difficult work ethic, less than desirable personality, and blatant nepotism, thanks to his good looks and deceiving charm.

Because of his status, whatever project he wants, he gets. Sure, there are some that still have the audacity to require an audition from him, but it’s just a formality that he dejectedly complies to—Naoya knows that even when doing a bad job, he’ll still get the part at the end of the day.

But that doesn’t mean Naoya goes for any kind of role; he’s quite specific about what he wants: a pretty co-star.

And the studios had a variety of reasons to allow such demands, starting from a financial benefit: with a handsome face like his to match with an equally attractive coworker, he’ll only sell-out all functions; and in turn, he’ll get his fair share of enjoyment with his fellow partner of the moment. The same ones he discards immediately after getting bored; careless if they unwittingly got feelings for him—but nonetheless a win-win situation all around.

Such a quick lifestyle has him already setting eyes on his next target, a relatively unknown rising star with a seemingly promising future whom he was immediately smitten by upon seeing her for the first time, just as the rest of the world was.

“Y/N L/N” Naoya would repeat, enjoying how the sound of your name rolled off his tongue—fitting for someone of your beauty: vibrant eyes, rosy cheeks, shiny hair… and to top it all off, a humble yet shy demeanor that just made his obsession for you grow tenfold.

Wouldn't be the first time he’s grown interested in up and coming actresses, because in Naoya’s perspective, they’re much easier to impress, far more gullible to manipulate how he wants…

But it would be the first time he’s ever been so desperately obsessed to be with, for soon after he saw you, you became all he thought about. Causing him issues with his current fling (it briefly grazed the headlines, his team quickly fixed that)and some commitments he almost fumbled, keyword: almost.

Naoya couldn’t explain it; there was just something about you that attracted him, almost like you were destined to be together.

He needed you—one way or the other—and he needed you now.

Per usual, he soon demanded his manager and assistants to get a detailed list of all your upcoming projects, to see which ones he could be part of, and if neither were to his advantage, make those opportunities. Naoya was not to let you go so easily.

”A movie adaptation for some romance series that’s been in the talks for a while now.” His manager highlighted. “It’s her biggest work yet as a protagonist—in fact, development just started because of her.”

”Romance?” Naoya breathed, excited at the implications. “Do they have the male lead yet? I don’t think I need to tell you what I want, do I?”

”Oh, uh, no—you don’t, but… about that—“

”What is it?” It was always frightening to see how easily his behavior oscillated when facing his disapproval, but once already here…

“What?! What do you mean the casting’s already done?! Why wasn't I made aware of this????”

Because as obvious as his womanizing ways were, it would be physically impossible to have him assist every single call in hopes he’d settle with someone attractive enough for his standards.

Besides, this project already had their co-stars in mind way before it was even announced, the studio was just waiting for the right female lead to come along: and when that proved to be you…

Nanami was quickly brought on board, perfect for the role in all ways that mattered: from physical similarities to his character which made the fandom very, very satisfied, to work ethic; his professionalism was always beyond everyone’s expectations, no one has ever complained about him.

Kento was, hands down, a dream to work with—and considering what all of this meant, it was safe to say that Naoya was not happy about it.

”Well, get them to change actors!” He quickly demanded. “Call them and let them know I want the part, should be easy enough considering my status, no?”

”Ah, I— I guess I could but I’ve heard other people tried before and failed… so I don’t want to waste your time if you’re going to face that same result…”

The way how other’s interest in the film is implied behind his words makes Naoya’s eyes widen. Because surely no one cares about participating in that irrelevant series he’s never heard of until now, if it didn’t mean getting to work with you, that is. Everyone’s favorite girl of the moment.

His girl.

Ever the competitive one, it doesn’t take him much longer after that to call who he had to call, bribe who he had to bribe to finally, after many insistences, sign the contract that effectively labels him as your co-star.

Careless if his decision would prove detrimental to the project in the long run, or if it would strain relations between him and Nanami. Naoya never really minded him, outside of being bundled together with some other actors the audience generally cataloged as the most handsome in the country—if this change meant they’d never get to work together, fine! He had obtained a much better reward in return anyways.

Naoya wasn’t to allow anyone to deprive him of what was rightfully his—even if he wasn’t aware of it beforehand—and thus, when the fateful day to start working alongside you finally came along, the moment he’d see you for the first time without the interference of a screen, or through a picture—

His breath ran short. Heart skipping a beat when his eyes fell on your figure: truly, the cameras did you no justice.

You were far more breathtakingly beautiful in person.

So much was his shock, that the smooth introduction he had planned for the moment was limited to a stuttering mess, a shame to someone as charismatic as him.

”You’re—you’re Zen’in—No, I mean, I’m—“ Naoya says, a stranger to the heat forming in his cheeks, inwardly demeaning the weak presentation he must’ve given you now.

But if he wasn't already fixated enough on you, the way you appeared to be indifferent to his nerves completely captivated him. A wide smile on your lips as you greeted him with that same enthusiasm that made the whole world fall to your feet.

”Nice to meet you, Naoya!” You chirp. “I can’t believe we’re working together… I mean, so early in my career! Thank you so much for this opportunity, I promise I won’t disappoint!”

”The pleasure’s all mine.” And so is the curse you’ve seem to have unwittingly placed upon him after sweetly declaring you’d be under his care.

He’s made up his mind, Naoya will make you fall in love with him in less of what it takes to wrap up this movie. He’ll make you his, and will go to any length to ensure so.

Even if it meant ignoring your father’s (your manager, a veteran actor of days past) clear warnings.

”Don’t think I don’t know how your kind works.” Eiichi, your father, threatens Naoya during a short moment of privacy. “And I’m well aware of the rumors that surround you, even if you have your team quiet them. I should’ve known you were up to something the moment you insisted on Nanami’s removal—but I’ll let you know that whatever it is that you have in mind, I won’t allow it.”

”I assure you, Eiichi-san, I have no other intentions with your daughter outside of making our best efforts to have this picture timely done.” Naoya cynically responded, which just made your dad even angrier. Your co-star thinks your manager is an all bark, no bite type of dog. An old dog too, and treats him like such.

“Then surely asking you to act appropriately for once in your life isn’t too much to demand, is it?” He frowns. “Especially for someone who’s barely starting in the genre.”

”Wait—you mean to say—“

If this is your first romance movie, does that mean…

You haven’t done your first on-camera kiss?

Or perhaps even better—you haven’t kissed anyone at all?

Not quite, nor were you ever going to disclose personal matters that truly only belonged to you.

But if your father intended to protect you, he really, really shouldn’t have said that. Eiichi shouldn’t have gone ahead and essentially pushed you further into Naoya’s claws, his words being the last piece of motivation to become completely unhinged and make your time with him… tense, to say the least.

Oh, but how could he not? You were simply too adorable when trying to do your best to fulfill everyone’s expectations: barely putting up a fuss when Naoya got a bit too dramatic to what the script demanded, far more handsy, even when not recording: all for the sake of staying in character, he’d claim.

And when he dejectedly worked on those scenes where nothing of his interest was happening, you didn’t even complain. You kept quiet, submissive, taking the situation as best as you could and kept on working—because that’s what professional actresses do, isn’t it? And you’re nothing but the best.

But things didn’t really escalate until it was time to record that long-awaited kiss; what the script demanded to be the first kiss between their characters, in other words, something sweet, overall a touching scene.

However, Naoya naturally had to blur the line between his work and personal life—and instead of taking this moment as what it was, just two people trying to get the job done, he decided to… mark it as some declaration of feelings.

Confirmation that the time the two had spent together, a few weeks now, had actually amounted to something; aside from figuring out what your soft lips tasted like.

Because to Naoya, those interactions in between breaks, outside of the set, and even during filming, had been quite meaningful to him. To you too, he suspects.

Your shy nature just didn’t allow you to openly affirm it, a little push was all you needed to do so.

”Don’t be nervous, dumpling.” Is the nickname he’d given you upon seeing your excitement for last week's catering. You’ve politely told him it wasn’t necessary to call you that, but he insisted otherwise, calling it their very first inside joke. What everyone does to get along better. “Just follow my lead and I’ll worry about everything else, ok?”

Not exactly the reassuring words you were searching for, but for someone of Naoya’s expertise, alongside the physical hold he had over you at this point, hands over your arms, keeping you close to his chest… it’s not like you could demand otherwise.

And so, after everyone was in position, the director finally signals the scene to begin: Naoya delivers the script with an uncharacteristic perfection, outside of that slight rush behind his words, eager to get to that one particular moment, it’s obvious he’s been looking forward to recording this.

To kiss you, which he abruptly does by suddenly moving his face towards yours and then, captivating your lips onto his—giving more than his interpretation of the character’s desire: it was him wanting to take in your scent, warmth, touch, everything, and bask in it.

Claim it as his own, for those in the room, and the world in due time, to see.

One might’ve even assumed you were fine with his intentions too, given how you didn’t complain nor fight back against his desperate gesture, struggling to follow his lead in a way that appeared he was trying to eat you alive.

Which thankfully didn’t happen once the director cut the scene, and just before you ran out of breath.

”Naoya, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, that was—a bit too much.” The director said; if he was aware of your and Naoya’s fluster, he didn’t comment. “Let’s do it again, from the top.”

Normally, Naoya would’ve retorted at what he considered unnecessary reshooting, apparently his time was far more valuable than the rest even when he was being paid millions to be there… but this time around, he was nothing but obliging, in fact, Naoya even suggested that they’d go at it once more just to be sure they captured the right sentiment. Fulfill his desire.

With each time becoming more and more desperate than the other.

Naoya frequently claimed himself to be immune to any kind of addiction, thought of it as weak for the character, above such “petty” faults—But when it came to you… he just proved to be as human as the rest.

He physically needed to have all of you; they’d have to forcibly pry him away to stop—

Or for you to do so, swiftly placing your hands over his chest and pushing him away when it became too much, putting an end to the scene before the director could and subsequently raising many eyebrows around you.

”What’s wrong, Y/N?” The director asks upon seeing your distraught face—exhausted from the many reshoots, and of course, Naoya’s overbearing ways. “Is everything alright?”

”Ye-yeah, I just… I’m sorry, I think I need a break.” You silently plead, looking over to your manager who was more than ready to step in if your request was dismissed; which thankfully, wasn’t. The director sighing before turning around and stating:

”Alright everyone, take 5.”

The perfect opportunity for Naoya to follow through with his so-called affirmation of feelings, trailing behind you soon after.

“Hey, dumpling, wait up! There’s something I need to—“

”Not right now, Naoya.” You respond, your pace unwavering. You didn’t even turn to face him. “I have to—be alone for a moment.”

”Y/N—“

Your father and sister, manager and assistant respectively, close in on you and break eye contact between the two, allowing you retreat into what he assumed your dressing room—

And leaving him behind to deal with his anger, which he immediately takes out on the director, stomping his way to him and giving him a piece of his mind.

“So you’re just going to let her go?” Naoya hisses, the man, having worked with him on previous occasions, simply sighs.

”What do you want me to do, Naoya? You saw how she ran away.” He responds. “Besides, we’ve been at it all day, I’m tired too.”

”This is just going to ruin the pace of the film, you know that, right? You should, considering your… experience.”

”Look, Naoya— it’s quite obvious what you were trying to do back there, I’ve seen it before; but we’re not going to discuss that.” He adds. “The girl is new in the game, naive, and overprotected. Did you know that her management sent us a long list of requisites after the studio offered her a contract? If it weren’t for her family, she would’ve been immediately dismissed.”

”Requisites? What kind of requisites?”

“None that I can discuss with you, but I guess I could tell you the obvious: you were not part of them. There’s a reason why Nanami was firmly set for your role, but guess that doesn’t matter since you know your way around these things…”

”Is there something else you’re hiding from me? Why bring it up if you’re not going to tell me anyways!” Naoya growls. Why was Nanami brought up again, out of nowhere??

”Just take 5 minutes, Naoya. Clear up your head, we still have a long day ahead.” The director insists. “And if it’s worth anything, Y/N will be back, she’s very dedicated to her work, I’ll give her that. Even with your weird… plays, I’m sure.”

But that wasn’t enough to calm Naoya—not with the way you essentially fled from him.

Your behavior led a part of him to feel… inadequate. Underperforming—stupid.

Rejected.

And he’s never been rejected before.

A dangerous observation to make considering his easily ignited attitude.

The moment you were back, he’d demand an answer. Hear, directly from you, why you’d cruelly dismiss his advances when he had been nothing but nice to you.

… but that moment wouldn’t come today.

In fact, not even in the subsequent ones, for after everyone was abruptly requested to go home, the studio announced that filming would go on a brief hiatus to sort out some… unexpected issues—which Naoya immediately connected to you given your radio silence.

Forcing him to directly reach out to you… but you’d never answer. In fact, all of his attempts were swiftly ignored; your team didn’t even acknowledge them! As if dealing with junk mail.

Naoya’s desperation naturally spiked after that, frantically searching for an answer—

Which he’d get soon enough, but only through a tabloid which probably described the worst case scenario he could’ve imagined unfolding for this situation:

“Y/N to abandon latest project—close sources blame differences between protagonists.”

Naoya’s heart sinks.

Also, I wish to apologize if these little comma things “ appear weird? Like not the right ones at the beginning? I’m currently out of my home so all of my writing is being done through a tablet lol I’ll come back later to fix them :> I hope it didn’t ruin your reading experience :’v

And I might as well comment I didn’t feel like ending part one with just the headline, but at the same time the whole naoya’s heart skins doesn’t completely convince me…. But I don’t know, might be my impostor’s syndrome or something who knows!!!! All that I know is I have to make Naoya pathetic on the second part, so if anyone has any ideas of what you’d like to see send them in hehe I want to make him suffer :) or at least guilty, damn…

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking!! I shall proceed with the following part after I write down a little smut hehe. Thank you so much for sending in this ask, take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 3

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: not edited, mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, some cute fluff and as usual, as much angst as i can fit into a chapter <3 word count: 2.2k authors note: OK well not gonna lie, i cried writing the ending. i keep saying happy things are on the way and they are we're just slow getting there, ok? anyway i hope you all like this chapter & if you wanna, feed my writing soul and give me some feedback <3 i do have a tag list if you'd like to be tagged, there is a form below or you can leave a comment or dm me & i can tag you in the next part. thanks for all the love on this little story <3

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Co-parenting with Mat is interesting to say the least. Although, you’re not sure if you can even classify it as co-parenting because Nora still has no idea who Mat really is. She just knows that he now tags along with the two of you most places you go and she’s thrilled. Her questions for him are endless, asking about anything from hockey to what living in New York is like. She’s always been inquisitive, but this is a whole new level, even for her. 

You have mixed feelings about this because while you are happy that they’re getting along, you’re worried what will happen at the end of the summer when Mat has to return to New York. There’s no way you and Nora can follow him, and co-parenting between Vancouver and New York? Impossible. 

You’re sitting with Mat, both of you watching Nora play with some other kids on the playground. He’s been quiet but you can tell there’s something on his mind. Even though it’s been eight years, you still know Mat like the back of your hand and you know when he’s trying to decide whether or not to bring something up. You’re curious though, so you bump your knee against his and raise an eyebrow when he turns to you. 

“What’s on your mind?” you ask and he smiles sheepishly. 

“I was wondering if I could see some baby pictures,” he says quietly, and then adds, “of Nora,” as if he needs to specify. You were wondering when he was going to ask because his parents and Liana have already asked to see and asked for copies of all the pictures. Mat has been a little more reserved about most of it though, not asking questions about your pregnancy or for pictures of Nora as everyone else had.

“Yeah, of course,” you tell him, pulling your phone out and adding him to the shared album that his family is already in. 

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and you watch him swipe through pictures, pausing at certain ones although you can’t see which. You’re a little nervous because there are ultrasound photos and pictures of you throughout your pregnancy. You don’t know how he’ll react, because he still hasn’t really expanded on his feelings about you not telling him about her other than what he said at the coffee shop. He’s spoken to his parents, you know that much from Liana, but he hasn’t said anything more to you.

“She looks like you,” he eventually says, “got your nose.” 

“She has your eyes,” you counter and he smiles. 

“Yeah,” he whispers and before he can say anything else, Nora plops down on the bench next to him and peers at his phone.

“Hey! That’s me!” she exclaims, pointing to the picture of her from Halloween last year.

“Really?” you pretend to be surprised, smiling when she rolls her eyes dramatically. 

“Yes, mama. See? You said my eyes look like my dads.”

Mat tenses next to you. You’re sure he’s going to say something but instead he just smiles at Nora. 

“They’re pretty nice eyes,” he agrees, ruffling her hair before she ducks out of his reach with a giggle. 

“Mat, come push me on the swing!” she begs and he lets her pull him towards the swings without hesitation. You can’t help but grin at the pleased smile on Nora’s face and the way Mat does exactly what she wants without complaint. You know he would’ve definitely been the easygoing parent when Nora was younger and it makes you upset when you think too much about it because he should’ve been there for all her milestones and firsts. He should have been there when she crawled and then walked for the first time. He should have come with you when you dropped her off on her first day of Kindergarten and pretended he wasn't crying with you. 

There are so many firsts that he should have been next to you and it’s slowly eating away at you because you took that away from him.But it was the right thing to do. 

At least, that's what you tell yourself when you go to bed every night.

. . .

“So, how’s it going with Mat?” Jaxon asks, taking a sip of beer and giving you a knowing look. You regretted talking to Jax about your struggles the minute he started asking you the questions you didn’t want to hear. Your best friend is a little too observant sometimes and it always backfires. 

“Fine,” you say shortly, staring into your wine glass. Nora is staying at your moms tonight, so you decided to invite your friend over, hoping to get some advice that would help you feel better instead of feeling like you’re being interrogated. 

“Right,” he drawls, “that’s why you sent me a cryptic text and haven’t said anything else since “beer or wine?” right? I could be home with my boyfriend right now but you seemed like you were going to spiral and we all know exactly how that ends.” 

“Things are fine,” you grumble. “He’s been absolutely perfect with her.”

“Alright, then what’s bothering you?” 

“It’s just, I feel guilty, okay? Mat’s being better than I ever hoped to even think about and I feel like I shouldn’t have taken away his chance to be in her life before she was even born,” you say in one breath. “I keep thinking about the things he’s missed, and I feel like-”

Jax cuts you off before you can say anything else, holding up a hand. “Look, you did what you thought was best at the time. Was it necessarily fair? No. You can’t go back though, and you’re going to drive yourself insane if you keep thinking like this. You can’t change the past, but if he wants to be in her life now, and you’re okay with that, you need to make peace with your choices.”

Your shoulders deflate at his words, and you drink the remaining wine in your glass. He’s right about all of it and you hate that. You hate that he’s right and you hate that you can’t accept it.

“I need more wine,” you mumble, standing up and making your way to the kitchen. You don’t usually drink, definitely not since Nora, but you let yourself indulge every now and then. Besides, Jax has always been a bad influence. 

You’ve just finished pouring the glass when there’s a knock on your door. You look at the time on the microwave and frown, unsure who would be knocking at eleven o’clock on a Friday night. If anything was wrong, your mom would have called and you don’t have many friends that would make a late night visit. 

Abandoning your wine, you walk to the door and open it and come face to face with Mat who looks nervous and definitely like he would rather be anywhere but here. 

“Uh, hey?” you say but it sounds more like a question. He doesn't seem to be drunk and you don’t know what else would warrant a late night drop in. 

“Hey,” he says and just because you have the best luck, Jax decides that now is the right time to follow you to the door. 

“Your phone is ringing, and it’s your mom,” he says, freezing when he sees Mat standing there. He looks uncomfortable, and when you turn to Mat, all you see is fury. 

See, the problem is, despite nothing romantic going on between you and Jax, relationship talk wasn’t something that you and Mat had brought up. He didn’t bring up his girlfriend, and so far, nobody besides your mom has been around when Mat was with you and Nora. Also, throw in the fact that you’re sure Mat has no idea who Jax is, it’s easy to make assumptions. 

“Nevermind,” Mat says shortly, “I’ll leave you to your night.”

You grab his wrist before he can leave, wanting to clear all this up even though it shouldn’t really matter if you were dating someone. 

“Wait,” you say and he stops but keeps his back to you. 

“Nora woke up and wants to talk to you,” Jax says, breaking the silence and you hesitate, not wanting Mat to leave but knowing you need to talk to your daughter. He seems to sense your dilemma, because he hands you your phone, slips his shoes on and squeezes past you and Mat, calling out "I'll call an uber”, before walking down the hallway of your apartment building. 

You feel like an awful friend, and you’ll definitely be making it up to him but you pull Mat inside, shutting the door before holding the phone up to your ear. 

“Nora?”

“No,” your mom says softly, “I’ll put her on now.” 

You thank her quietly, waiting until you hear your daughter's voice. She’s sniffling, and tells you about the bad dream she had, asking if you can come pick her up. Your mom is trying to comfort her on the other line but it’s no use because she’s set on coming home.

You glance at your wine glass sitting on the counter and curse yourself because this is exactly why you try not to drink. 

Mat, as if he is reading your thoughts, says “I’ll go pick her up and bring her here.”

He still looks irritated but his expression softened since he heard Nora. You wouldn’t take him up on his offer but you know how much your mom hates driving in the dark so you just nod, watching him shake his hand out of yours and your face heats up when you realize you hadn’t let go. 

“Be back in twenty,” he says before leaving. 

“Mat’s on his way to get you, sweetie,” you tell Nora. “He’ll pick you up and bring you straight home, okay?”

She sniffles again and says a quiet, “okay,” before presumably handing the phone back to your mom who you tell that Mat is going to pick her up. She doesn't say anything, but you know she wants to. You realize she probably thinks that he was here with you and your instinct is to correct her but you don’t bother. You thank her and apologize, before bidding goodbye with a promise to let her know when Nora and Mat make it back home. 

You clean up while you’re waiting, dump your glass of wine down the sink and start making the couch up so Mat can just sleep here instead of going all the way back to his house after making the trip to pick Nora up. 

It’s not long before you hear the door open and close quietly and you look to see Mat carrying a sleeping Nora inside. 

“She fell asleep on the drive here,” he explains. “Didn’t want to wake her.”

You nod, pointing him in the direction of her room before sitting on the couch waiting until he comes back. You want to have whatever conversation the two of you need to have even though you know it won’t be a good one.

He’s quiet when he walks into the living room and hesitates before sitting on the couch next to you. You both sit in silence for a minute until you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. 

“Jax is a friend,” you mumble. “But even if he wasn’t, you have no place being mad about it.”

“I wasn’t mad,” he argues, “I was caught off guard. I didn’t know you were dating because you hadn’t brought it up.”

“I’m not dating,” you repeat and he sighs.

“I know.” 

Another minute of silence before you raise your head and look at him. 

“What about you? What happened to your girlfriend?” you ask, even though you know she left. 

He shrugs, “she left. Said she wanted no part in raising a child. Not that she would have had any place in Nora’s life if I had a say.”

“Of course you have a say,” you say. 

He looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You forget sometimes how good looking he is and it’s probably the alcohol that makes your brain fuzzy but all of a sudden, you just miss him. It’s not just physical attraction either, you can’t help but remember how considerate, loving and caring he was when you dated. You were both young, but it always felt like the two of you would be together forever even though you always knew in the back of your mind that he would have to leave one day and you wouldn’t be able to follow him. 

Despite doing your best to forget about him, to get over him the past eight years, the love you felt for him never went away. 

“Do you ever think about us? About what could’ve been?” you ask quietly.

“Always,” he says gently with a softness in his eyes that you’ve only seen directed towards Nora since he came back into your life.  

“Me too,” you whisper. 

He hesitates before lifting a hand and brushing a piece of loose hair that’s fallen in front of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingers for a moment, fingertips just barely brushing against your cheek. Your eyes close and you let yourself have this one moment, one minute where you can imagine that you’re seventeen again, laying on your bed with Mat’s arms holding you, whispering empty promises about forever to each other. Just kids in love, thinking forever was possible.

But you’ll never be those kids again.

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[judeswhore]

i’d kill you if i loved you less hard - jude bellingham | instagram files

summary: your relationship with jude is complicated but that doesn’t stop you both from wreaking havoc online

pairing: situationship!jude bellingham x singer!reader

face claim: gracie abrams

notes: you can find my masterlist here. this is based on an ask i got in my hey jude :) tag and i just had to do it. pictures are not mine, credit to the original owners

yourusername

liked by judebellingham and others.

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view all comments…

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judebellingham

liked by jackgrealish and others.

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view all comments…

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———

yourusername

liked by gioreyna and others.

yourusername it’s supposed to be fun turning 21 or wtv

view all comments…

jobebellingham wonder who that could be

↳yourusername it could possibly be ur dad

↳jobebellingham fuck off u worm

user8 happy birthday favourite girl

user9 HAPPY BDAY❤️

user10 are we gonna just ignore the boy in her bed?

↳user11 it’s jude it’s a common occurrence tbh

judebellingham happy birthday ig

judebellingham suppose u look kinda fit

↳yourusername i distinctly remember u telling me this morning that i’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen

↳judebellingham i say daft things when my dicks in ur mouth

↳karim_adeyemi there’s other people on this app u know

bestfriendsuser happy bday girly looking as hot as always ily <3

bestfriendsuser im gonna act like that third slide doesn’t exist for my own sanity

↳yourusername probably shouldn’t open my snaps then

user12 this feels like a relationship announcement

↳yourusername it’s not.

user13 spending her birthday together but they’re NOT dating🤨

↳yourusername we just hang out sometimes🙃

↳trentarnold66 hang out🤣🤣

———

judebellingham

liked by declanrice and others.

judebellingham views were nice

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user14 wtf??

user15 is she his girlfriend

yourusername don’t tell anyone but u look really pretty rn

yourusername why’d u post the pic where u can’t actually see my arse

↳judebellingham because i don’t want people looking at ur arse

user16 so much for not dating

reecejames u two are foul

bestfriendsuser is someone gonna explain how this happened

↳judebellingham when two people really like each other they do nice things together

↳bestfriendsuser i really fkn hate u

user17 my girls getting corrupted :(

gioreyna 🥰🥰🥰

↳judebellingham 😘😘😘

gioreyna mr and mrs “it’s not serious”

↳yourusername it’s not serious🙄he’s just got a big bank account

↳judebellingham tell him what else is big babe

user18 ^^^ i hate seeing this stuff

———

yourusername

liked by masonmount and others.

yourusername in this weeks news

view all comments…

masonmount GO MARIO

↳yourusername thanks 4 being my luigi🫶🏻🫶🏻

↳judebellingham mason’s like 4ft shouldn’t it be the other way round?

masonmount 🍒🍒

↳user19 MASON?? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN

↳user20 i’m sure they’re just friends

↳user21 i really don’t like her

masonmount i still feel a little sick and my ears won’t stop ringing

↳judebellingham aren’t u too old for go karting??

user22 i swear she was with jude

↳user23 she’s got a type apparently

bestfriendsuser this i can get behind

↳yourusername shhh🤭🤭

user24 i am so in love with u

oliviarodrigo girl how are u so HOT

↳user25 collab soon🙏

jobebellingham that sunburn looks painful

↳judebellingham bro why are u here

↳jobebellingham she’s upset with u not me🤷

———

judebellingham

liked by england and others.

judebellingham in this weeks news

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jobebellingham give it a rest🤣

yourusername first shirts ugly

↳judebellingham really? cos it got me laid

↳yourusername did it fuck u were in my dms all night

user26 u look SO good omg

user27 him using the same caption as y/n they’re definitely fighting

↳user28 i think they broke up tbh

↳user29 they were never together😭

erling.haaland good looking fella

↳judebellingham all u big guy❤️

bvb09 the coldest🥶

user000 the best week with u

↳judebellingham u know it🤪

↳yourusername oh?

↳bestfriendsuser oh??

↳yourusername but he was “missing me”

gioreyna liked this comment.

jobebellingham liked this comment.

user30 ^^ these two are so messy

———

yourusername

liked by oliviarodrigo and others.

yourusername hot girl healing

view all comments…

judebellingham gorgeous😍😍

this comment has been deleted.

judebellingham ur arse looks good in these jeans

this comment has been deleted.

judebellingham answer ur phone bro

this comment has been deleted.

jennaortega obsessed with the first pic

↳yourusername me when i kiss u

user31 we all saw jude’s comments

user32 so so pretty u deserve the absolute world

user33 y/n heartbreak era??? new music coming???

↳user34 i don’t want her to be sad but we NEED new music

yourusername liked this comment.

masonmount nice jeans

↳user34 not again🙄🙄

judebellingham liked this comment.

gioreyna can u heal a little faster i’m getting bored

user36 u are my idol <3

———

judebellingham

liked by yourusername and others.

judebellingham good to be back😁

view all comments…

bvb09 Let’s go!!⚫️🟡

user37 y/n still liking his pics👀

karim_adeyemi cute

user38 i wanna give him a rose :(

kalvinphillips most i’ve seen u smile

gioreyna should give that rose to someone else

↳bestfriendsuser she needs a lot more than that

↳gioreyna it’s time he started breaking bank

↳yourusername i wanna date u instead🤭

↳judebellingham you’re off limits.

↳yourusername mason didn’t think so

this comment has been deleted.

sanchooo10 big things to come🙏

↳judebellingham come back dortmund bro

↳sanchooo10 👀👀

adidasfootball ⭐️

user39 petition for u to come to everton

yourusername ur beard looks like pubes

this comment has been deleted.

———

yourusername

liked by sadiesink and others.

yourusername big girls don’t cry🙃

view all comments…

yourusername ps. new music is cooking

sadiesink HOT girls don’t cry

sadiesink especially over mediocre men

↳yourusername especially not men who use bunny ears to tie their laces

user40 new music new music new music

user41 show us ur tattoo!!!!

↳gioreyna it’s a portrait of me

↳yourusername a nude portrait🤭

user42 the way jude is nowhere to be seen

trentarnold66 can i get tickets to ur next gig?

↳yourusername will u hook me up w aitch?

↳trentarnold66 suppose so if u play nice

user43 prettiest and sweetest girl ever <3

user44 u were too good for him anyway

jobebellingham liked this comment.

gioreyna @.jobebellingham stop being a little shit🤣

———

three weeks later.

yourusername added to their story!

↳ judebellingham replied to your story!

jude:

u wanna show me

what’s under that top?

you:

not particularly

jude:

don’t be mean

u don’t miss me?

i missed u

you:

missed me or

missed fucking me

jude:

both

i wanna see u

no one’s home

you:

i’m busy

jude:

with mason?

you:

no

jude:

so come over

i know u need me to fuck u

you:

i can’t think of anything worse

jude:

oh really?

i remember u were

begging me two weeks ago

to fuck u in that club

bathroom

seemed like u really

needed it

you:

no idea what ur

talking about

jude:

come over and i’ll

jog ur memory

c’mon pretty girl

let me show u how

much i’ve missed u

———

judebellingham

liked by trentarnold66 and others.

judebellingham call her easy

view all comments…

yourusername too far

↳judebellingham i’ve got a list of other things to call u but my mum follows me

↳yourusername 🤨🤨

user45 no fucking way

yourusername why would u post that last pic

↳judebellingham so everyone knows how good u are for me

↳yourusername just gagged🥴🥴

↳judebellingham come gag on something else

reecejames surely not bro

↳judebellingham i don’t see what’s wrong

user46 she does seem kinda easy tbf

↳user47 and jude doesn’t?

jobebellingham mate u could’ve kept these private

bestfriendsuser poor barnaby😢😢

↳yourusername dw i cleaned him :))

↳bestfriendsuser i literally cannot stand u

↳judebellingham i left u a little present for next time ur in him

↳bestfriendsuser ur fucking VILE man

↳judebellingham THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT

gioreyna u can take that virgin ring off now

———

yourusername

liked by braedenlemasters and others.

yourusername stream i should hate you, out friday!

view all comments…

user48 ur so beautiful… and he’s there

judebellingham tell me ur joking

judebellingham i can sue u for defamation

↳yourusername baby that’s such a big word for u🥺

↳judebellingham i’d be more annoyed if u didn’t look so pretty

↳bestfriendsuser embarrassing👎

user49 FINALLY NEW MUSIC

user50 so SO excited i can’t wait

judebellingham can we talk about how fit i look here tho

↳yourusername no we can’t

jennaortega oh i’m SEATED for this

gioreyna i don’t think u understand how badly i regret introducing u two

↳yourusername you’d be terribly bored without our drama

↳gioreyna yeah but i’d still have my sanity

user51 i just know this new music is gonna top anything else this year

user52 u look gorgeous!! i hope you’ve found happiness

↳jobebellingham don’t count on it

masonmount cant wait to listen💙

↳judebellingham bro have some shame

———

one year later.

judebellingham

liked by jobebellingham and others.

judebellingham so proud of you angel🤍

view all comments…

user53 OMG???

user54 is this the official announcement

yourusername i love u ig

↳judebellingham c’mon u can do better than that

↳yourusername why don’t u come home and i’ll show u just how much i love u

user55 oh she’s gorgeous

user56 jude we want ur girlfriend

reecejames congrats man

gioreyna ur punching clearly

jobebellingham u lasted a whole 12 hours before telling everyone

↳judebellingham ur acting like everyone didn’t already know

user57 this is actually adorable

user58 i want what they have🥺

↳jobebellingham trust me u don’t

masonmount happy for you two!

judebellingham pinned this comment.

↳yourusername do u have to be so petty

↳judebellingham yeah he tried to fuck my girl

↳yourusername MOVE ON