#every time he starts to slowly earn my favor back he takes it and spits in my face

[sunnibits]

google search dark magic spells to kill your bitchass professor

[fyodior]

▹▹ EYES ON THE ROAD, HONEY

PAIRING ▹ chuuya x gn!reader

CW ▹ road head (blowjob), handjob, alcohol mentions, (n)sfw, minors dni !!!!

NOTES ▹ love the concept of roadhead but pls never do this ♡♡ (unedited srry)

WC ▹ 1.1k

“Babe- don’t,” you heard Chuuya snap through gritted teeth, though his eyes were not on you.

You chose to ignore the angry words of the man currently in the driver’s seat escorting the two of you back home in favor of undoing the belt that adorned his slim hips. His knuckles turned white gripping the steering wheel as you smirked, taking your time sliding the leather out of the silver buckle.

Chuuya groaned as you moved to work on the button of his pants, dramatically pulling down the zipper with your teeth. A prominent bulge had already begun to form where your mouth was. It was hard to ignore how enticing it was seeing you leaned over the center console in his car to undress him.

“This is a horrible idea.”

“Your dick says otherwise,” you lilted, running your fingertips over the fabric his cock was straining against, making him shiver.

He had known you were up to something the second you had settled into the passenger’s seat with a sinister smile, pupils blown. The two of you had just gone out on quite the lavish dinner date following a recent successful mission Chuuya had just completed that earned him a hefty monetary reward, resulting in a night of multiple-course meals and exorbitantly priced champagne. Your cheeks flushed and your libido grew at a steady rate with every champagne flute placed in your hand, resulting in an overwhelming desire to get your hands on your boyfriend immediately.

The way his recently tailored, sleek black suit hugged every inch of his body in the most perfectly flattering way possible had you squeezing your thighs and vibrating in your seat. You had been decent enough to maintain appearances in the restaurant, fiddling with the hem of your top to resist the urge to pounce on poor Chuuya, but things changed once you made it to the car.

Finally out of the direct line of sight of other people, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. He shot a confused glance at you as he suddenly felt his seatbelt unlatch and fly back to its unbuckled position, the metal clattering against the car interior. You just smirked wickedly in response and closed in on his crotch, desperate to get your mouth on him.

“I have no control over what my dick says, darlin’,” he growled.

No response was given as you tugged down his dress pants and briefs down just far enough for his half-hard cock to spring free, almost drooling at the sight. Spitting in your hand first, you wrapped your hand around his cock and began to stroke him, feeling smug as he was unable to hold back the groans that tumbled past his lips. Chuuya’s fingers dug into the leather of the steering wheel, tapping his foot erratically against the floormats as he tried to ignore you and keep all of his attention on the highway.

“Do you want me t-to crash?” His voice broke as you thumbed at his nicely reddened tip.

“Eh, not concerned.”

Before he could respond, you were licking up the underside of his cock, making him choke on the moans he was trying to suppress. Your fingers curled around the base and tongue swirled over the tip where you had just played with it to taste the bit of precum that had already begun to dribble out. Tipsy giggles bubbled out of your mouth as you dragged your tongue up and down his length, images of popsicles popping up in your fuzzy mind.

Chuuya had started to mumble something like the fuck are you laughin’ about? but was cut off by you suddenly taking all of his length in your mouth at once, gagging as the head grazed against the back of your throat. Saliva dribbled from the corners of your lips as you held him in your mouth and massaged him with your tongue, and he shivered as the droplets fell onto his skin.

Deeming him lubed up enough to your liking, you started to bob your head slowly up and down the shaft, dragging your tongue along with the motion. You soon picked up a bit of speed but made sure to pay special attention to the head when you could.

He moaned and gasped as you managed to take his thick cock all the way into your mouth, nose buried in the soft ginger hair that surrounded the base. The way your throat tightened as you swallowed around him had Chuuya sweating and throwing his head back against the headrest. It took everything in him not to buck his hips up into your hot mouth, knowing that at this angle it would surely choke you.

Chuuya’s hand found its way into your hair, burying his fingers into it before you smacked it out of the way.

“Hey!” he protested, sounding deeply offended.

“Both hands on the wheel,” you garbled, cock still in your mouth. Chuuya tensed his body as he felt the vibrations of your giggles around him.

Using one hand at the base of his cock to stroke him with flicks and twists of your wrist while continuing to suck him off, your other hand trailed down to massage his balls. They were soft and pliable in your fingers, and the slow motions had Chuuya crying out in pleasure.

“I-I’m c-close, babe,” he stuttered, trying to even his breath.

Eager to make him cum hard, you instead used your hand to pump his shaft with twisting motions while focusing your mouth on the sensitive head. Precum smeared on your lips as you licked and kissed his slit, tightening your lips around it. Chuuya couldn’t hold back any longer, and you felt his hips stutter before he came, grunting and moaning your name. Your lips upturned in satisfaction as he shot hot cum in spurts down your welcoming throat. Chuuya still tried to focus on the road but couldn’t help but glance down at you happily swallowing every drop before licking him clean as his cock softened.

You pulled off his length with a wet pop, licking your lips and slurping your fingers to gather what was left. Chuuya could only watch out of his peripheral at the sinful sight.

Once finished, you tucked him back into his pants and leaned into your seat with a dreamy sigh, content with yourself. Chuuya relaxed too, loosening his iron grip on the steering wheel.

“With that mouth, you’re damn lucky I didn’t crash this car and kill us both,” he growled. You laughed.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

[radiant-reid]

request for some type of lovely smut spencer x virgin!reader 💕

mm what you wish for, you shall have

+ For the kink requests: choking kink, degrading kink, edging, sub!reader

for THE KINK LIST

Summary: all the dirty secret things that go down in Spencer’s office

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Content Warning: R18 (penetrative sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, degrading, edging, virgin sub!reader, dom!spencer, dumbification kinda, corruption/innocence kink kinda)

Word Count: 2.6k

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FANTASY  

Every time you were in the position you were in now, you want more. You need more from Doctor Reid, or Spencer as he insists you call him.

He has you sat on his cold, dark wood desk in front of the leather chair that he's abandoned in favor of standing between your legs and kissing you. All you've got left on are panties since your top, skirt, and bra have been ditched on the floor. Spencer's ditched his tie and shirt, standing bare-chested in front of you.

"Need you." You hum against his lips, surprising yourself with your boldness.

He pulls away, a smug smirk on his lips and you know he's about to tease you. "Yeah?" His teasing fingers circle your nipples, tugging at them.

"Please." You beg, voice firmer than time and you're more sure of what you want.

"Mm, my sweet baby." He hums, running his thumb along your cheekbone as he stares at you with enough intensity that it makes heat rush downward. You can tell the doe eyes you're giving him are having quite the effect on him. "Have you thought about this before?" He wonders, earning a dumb nod from you. "Yeah? Tell me what you think about." He demands sternly.

His fingers start trailing up your thigh, making it incredibly hard for you to think, especially with the eye contact he's unwilling to break. "Th-think about you t-touching me..." You start slowly as heat takes over your cheeks.

"Yeah? Like this?" Spencer asks as his thumb brushes over the damp spot in your panties.

"Mhm." You nod, spreading your legs wider but his fingers inch away from you, the coldness of his hands contrasting the warmth of your thighs. "And I think about your tongue...how it feels in my mouth... how it would feel in me." You keep going, hoping to spur him on to do something. "And I think about how your dick would feel in me." You quickly spit it out so you wouldn't be able to take it back. Your fingers do more of the talking, reaching down to touch the hardening in his pants.

Just that little touch makes him sigh in pleasure. "Fuck." He moans lowly, running his thumb over your bottom lip. "I cannot wait to be inside you."

You absolutely cannot wait either and the look on his face makes you even wetter, but you know you need to tell him. "Spencer, I need to tell you something." You announce, shrinking into yourself.

The look in his eyes changes from lust to sweetness. "What's that?" He asks.

"N-no one's ever...done that." You tell him, a little embarrassed about it.

Spencer's eyes widen and he takes a little step backward. "Do you mean no one's ever been inside you?" He asks, stunned.

You nod slightly. "I mean- there's been...opportunities, b-but no."

"Baby." He coos, voice deepening as he leans into your neck so he can whisper in your ear, hot breath fanning your skin. His hands slide up over your stomach until he reaches your tits. "You're telling me that I'm going to be the first person inside you? The only person inside you?" That thought makes you shiver, and even though you hadn't talked about it with him, the thought of being with Spencer forever didn't sound too bad. "And I get to make you into the perfect little girl for me?"

You can't help the moan that slips out at that question. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?" He hums, close enough to your face that your nose is almost touching his. "Because I think some of the things you think about me when you're alone are quite dirty."

You swallow hard because they are. Those dirty thoughts in your head each night are incredibly persistent. "Th-they are."

"Tell me." He insists while his large open palms slide up your thighs, goosebumps following in their wake. "I know only thinking about me isn't enough to get you off."

"Think about your big hands..." You start, placing your much smaller palm on top of his. "...Around my throat."

Spencer's eyes darken at that, and his hand instantly moves from your thigh to around your neck, just resting it there. The big palms feel even better than you could have ever imagined they would. "Like that?"

"Mhm." You whimper, instinctively spreading your legs wider as you get wetter. "And... I think about you saying mean things." You confess, red in your cheeks again.

"Always knew you were a whore." He says. "Sitting in my lectures... probably getting wet each time I spoke."

You smirk at him, trying to get some of the confidence you first spoke with back. "How could I not when you wear your suits?" You ask, fingers running down the side of the lapels of his jacket. "And your hair." You continue, reaching up to run a hand through his curls.

"Such a slut for thinking those things about me." He shakes his head, although it's not disapproving. The thumb that's on your thigh makes its way up higher until it's brushing against the seam of your panties. "Dripping and I haven't even started."

"Can you start, finally?" You ask, the frustration finally spilling over. You can tell he's enjoying teasing you, the rush it's giving him is obvious in the way he's getting harder.

"Don't be a fucking whore." He warns and your eyes widen at how hot it is to hear coming from him, as well as the added pressure he's put on your neck. You nod, leaning forward to kiss him, the sweetness of his lips contrasting his words. "Can I?" He asks, fingers tracing over the seam of your panties with renewed interest.

You nod, but from the look you get from him, it's not enough. "Please." You beg. His actions aren't quick, sliding your panties down slowly as you lift your hips up and try to get him to do something more. "Want you to fuck me, Spencer... need you to fuck me."

"Keep going." He instructs, sliding down to his knees on the floor of his office as his hand slips away from your throat and takes your panties completely off. Then he tucks them into the pocket of his jacket, smirking up at you.

It's so insanely hot that you have to touch him more, threading your fingers through his curls and tugging his face close to your heat. His mouth is close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath contrasting the cold air in the room against your most sensitive parts.

"It's pathetic, really." Spencer hums. "Just how desperate you are."

"Please do something." You beg again, thrusting your hips closer to the edge of the desk and spreading the palm not in his hair against the desk.

He leans forward enough so his nose brushes against your clit while his finger gently traces through your lips. "Did just my word do this to you, baby?" He wonders, not getting an answer from you besides a desperate whimper. "To dumb to even talk now, huh?"

His word shouldn't turn you on so much but you feel yourself get wetter and you can hear when his finger slips inside you with little resistance. Your breathing gets heavier as he starts pumping one finger in and out of you, inching deeper and deeper each time.

Just that one finger inside you is enough to have you gripping his hair tighter with one hand and the desk with the other, muscles inside you tensing.

"Spencer, fuck! Th-that feels so good." You scream out when he adds another finger, keeping both of them at the same quick pace.

In the pleasure of the moment, your eyes fall shut, head tilting backward and Spencer stops. "Look at me." He demands, not starting again until your eyes are locked onto his deep hazel ones.

"S-so good." You moan, clenching around his fingers as you feel yourself getting closer.

Just when you're almost there, his touch is gone, just one hand gripping your thigh and keeping them spread. His fingers slip past his lips, lapping up your arousal on his fingers.

"You taste as good as I imagined." He mutters, seemingly unconcerned about the fact he hadn't let you cum.

"W-why?" You whine, squirming uncomfortably on the desk and pouting down at his grinning face.

That gloating look on his face doesn't leave, and it's one of his most attractive. "Because I can." He replies simply. "Now do you want me to continue or am I going to have to leave you here dripping?"

"Continue." You answer before quickly tacking on a pathetic, "please."

Spencer does so, slipping his tongue through your folds so slowly that it kills you. He plunges it into your entrance, and you moan loudly at the contrasting feelings. It's so overwhelming that your head is spinning. He's enjoying every little whimper and moan coming from your lips if the smirk you can feel against you is anything to go by.

All those fast rambling talks you've heard from him in the past were a good indicator of how good he is with his mouth. His grip around your thighs tightens as you try closing them around his head while you tug at his curls. Your heart races in your chest, thumping quickly as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it with perfect pressure.

You're so close to that idyllic feeling that you can feel yourself tightening around him and almost tipping over the edge. And then it's all gone.

"Shit, fuck, please let me cum." You beg, almost in tears about how good it feels and how horrible it feels now that it's gone.

Spencer stands up again, wincing slightly at his knee before he leans forward and his delicious forearms box you in. "Sweetheart, you're going to be so ruined by my cock you won't be able to cum for anyone but me."

Overwhelmed from the lust, you lean forward to kiss him again, tongue slipping into his mouth passionately. When you pull away panting, he's still smirking.

"Want you inside me." You request, pulling at his belt buckle and palming his bulge.

"Going to turn you into a stupid mess for me, baby, just you wait." He promises, slipping the two fingers that had been inside you into your mouth. He spreads them out, pressing against your tongue so much that your lips part as your jaw drops open.

While he effectively gags you, his other hand skillfully undoes his belt and takes his cock out. It fascinates you, really, how he's so dexterous with just one hand, and when you look back up at him, he's still smirking.

"What's got you so dumb for me?" He questions, pumping his cock while you gawk at him. Just thinking about him being inside of you, seeing how big he is, is enough to have you trembling with anticipation.

"Your hands." You mumble out around his fingers as best you could, your spit running down his fingers.

Experimentally, he pushes his fingers further down your throat, making you gag slightly around them and eliciting an even bigger grin from him.

"You're going to look so beautiful choking on my cock." He mumbles. You quickly shuffle closer to him like you're preparing to get off the desk, but he stops you. "No, not now, baby. Later." He tells you.

You pout when he takes his fingers out of your mouth, longing to suck on the digits once more. "Tomorrow?"

Spencer chuckles at that, the kind look taking over his face again as he leans down to kiss your nose. "Sure, sweetheart." When you reach down to touch his cock, he throws his head back with a pretty little groan. "Ready for me to fuck you? Gonna be mine forever after that, you know?" His lips make their way up your neck, nipping little marks into your skin.

"Yes, please, Spencer, please." You babble, wrapping your legs around his hips in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Such a slut." He shakes his head, grabbing your chin and pulling your face closer to his so he can kiss you again. He holds your face close to his while he lines himself up with your entrance.

Slowly, he slides into you while you gasp, all the air being knocked out of your chest. "Fuck." You moan, leaning back as he continues thrusting inside you.

"Doing so good for me." He coos, stilling when he's fully inside you. "Feel okay?"

You can't nod fast enough. "Fuck, yes, f-feels amazing." You manage to get out between the moans and whimpers falling from your lips. His thrusts pick up again, in and out and you can feel every inch of him inside you. His cock is much thicker than his fingers were and the stretch is incredible.

Your moans get louder as your heart rate picks up and you're subconsciously clenching around his cock.

"Bit dumb on my cock, aren't you?" He asks, voice in your ear again before he licks a thick strip on your neck. You nod wordlessly, convinced you're only capable of moaning. "It's okay, you don't have to think, baby."

"S-Spence." You moan, taking one of his hands off your waist and bringing it to your throat.

He understands what you mean, adding pressure on your neck. "So perfect." He mumbles, thrusts reaching deeper into you, clearly spurred on by your instruction. "Can feel your pulse racing." He comments, grinning about it.

"I'm so close." You cry out, throwing your head back in pleasure.

"I know, can feel you squeezing me," Spencer tells you, sentences disjointed by how close he's getting. "Ready to cum, baby?"

When you nod, his other hand reaches down to rub your clit, only increasing the volume of the string of moans you're letting out. That time, he doesn't take the climax away from you, he keeps the same brutal pace into you and hand around your neck while you orgasm.

"Fuck, Y/n, fuck." Spencer moans, the uncharacteristic swear words coming out as he cums deep inside you.

Your breathing doesn't even out when he leans down to rest his head in the crook of his neck, clearly spent from his orgasm as well.

He picks his head up after a while, his curls a mess, but he looks at you with adoration. "How do you feel?"

"So good." You answer, leaning forward to kiss his lips again.

"Kinda went a bit rough on you." He mentions, tilting his head to the side to look at the red marks on your hips from where he was holding you, something you hadn't even noticed.

The look in his eyes is obviously concern and you shake your head. "Not at all. I love it."

He cups your cheeks again and leans forward to kiss you when he recognizes you're okay. "Okay, good." He says, looking at you for a moment of silence. "Wanna go to dinner?"

"Yeah, okay, but you're buying and I'm going to need my underwear back." You agree with a laugh, looking down at the mess of clothing on the floor and sticking your hand out.

Spencer clenches his teeth. "Hm, why don't we just order in then?" He suggests, eyes lingering on where his cum has started dripping out of you while he gets himself redressed.

You giggle at him. "Just get me a tissue, idiot."

"Then we can go home, and we can do that all over again?" He wonders, taking some tissues out of his desk and gently cleaning you up.

"Absolutely." You agree.

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[weluvsosa]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍! ~ 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

warnings # oral (m receiving), slight praise, face fucking, 1 use of the word slut, gagging, breath play if you squint

"y/n i'm bored" nahoya complained as he laid flat on your bed in a star position, staring up at the ceiling and letting out loud, obnoxious sighs every now and then. you were sitting at your desk not too far from him—trying to focus on your essay that was due tonight, but you found it difficult with your boyfriend's constant complaints.

you pushed your chair out from the desk, swiveling around to face him with a look of annoyance on your face. he popped his head up a little to look at you, a pout on his face. "is there something you want?" you asked him. the prominent smile on his face somehow getting bigger before he answered you "can you come over here for a minute"

" 'hoya you know i-"

"just for a minute baby" you sighed and reluctantly got out of the chair, slowly walking over to him. you stopped right in front of him, standing in between his legs as he lifted himself up and smiled at you.

smiley moved his hands from the bed to your waist, pushing his hands under your shirt and massaged the soft skin.

"can you do me a favor?" he mumbled, moving his hands from your waist and lowering them down to your ass, roughly grabbing and squeezing at the meat. you glared at him before smacking his hands away, earning a whine from him. "you seriously want me to stop because you're horny?"

"you didn't have to hit me—and you don't have to stop, just take a little break baby please" he poked his lip out. you didn't budge, still standing over him "just a quickie?"

"a quickie is gonna take too long babe" he whined, placing his head against your stomach, fake crying. you rolled your eyes at his theatrical behavior before looking down at him, almost feeling bad.

with it being the end of the semester, you were constantly at the library studying or staying after school to get some extra help, you were kind of neglecting your boyfriend and you understood why he was being so needy all of a sudden.

you crouched down onto your knees and tugged his joggers down, making him pause his fake tears and look at you with a confused expression. "what are you doing- oh god" his voice cracked when you wrapped your soft lips around his tip, stroking whatever you couldn't fit in your mouth.

nahoya leaned back against his elbows and let out a deep sigh, fingers tangling in your hair as tried to guide you but you quickly popped his fingers away and pulled yourself away from his dick "don't touch me boy i know what i'm doing" he chuckled and you rolled your eyes before pressing your tongue right against his fat tip, making him buck his hips up into your mouth. you gathered all the saliva you could form in your mouth and spit it on his dick while squeezing tightly, stroking it up and down to make sure it was lubricated enough.

smiley threw his head back into the mattress and groaned loudly as he gripped onto his orange locks. “fuck y/n” he cursed out. you looked up at him through your lashes and grinned “you like that ‘hoya?” you asked softly as you increased the speed of your hand while running your tongue over his balls before pulling one into your mouth and sucking harshly.

“oh my god you’re so good at this baby, so fucking good” he whimpered out as you squeezed his dick harder. you stopped sucking his balls and brought his bright red tip to your lips, slapping it against them a few times before bringing his dick into your mouth while smiley stirred under your touch. your tongue glided around his tip and you fondled his balls more. all the spit you put on his had started to run down and you brought your tongue from the bottom of his ballsack to the top of his tip, licking and and slurping up all the extra wetness.

even though you told him not to touch you, he couldn’t help but bring his hand back to your head and get a good grip on your hair, more so to balance himself than to help you. you didn’t waste any time to take his entire dick into your throat and he moaned out loud. smiley lifted himself to look at you and he nearly came on the spot.

the bottom of your face was covered in a mixture of spit and pre cum and there were tears streaming down your face from gagging and trying to swallow all of him but you did it nonetheless. you took his dick out again and slapped it against your tongue while you moaned and took deep breaths before shoving it back into your mouth and bobbing your head up and down again, looking up at him as you moaned around his dick, the vibrations making his dick twitch and he gripped tighter onto your hair.

“s-shit baby you’re gonna make me cum soon” he gritted his teeth as small whimpers left from

his mouth, he lifted his hips up and started to thrust into your mouth, matching each time you went down on him. “yeah swallow this dick- oh fuck fuck!” smile cursed while thrusting harder into your mouth “you want me to cum in your mouth don’t you? of course you fucking slut”

the degrading name stirred up something inside you and you stopped moving, finally allowing him to fuck your throat how he wanted to. smiley squeezed his eyes shut as he put both hands on the back of your head and chased his own high, the sound of your mouth taking all of his dick pushing him more and more towards that.

“yeah yeah swallow it all baby, i know you can shit!” smiley’s moans started falling from his mouth more and more as his thrusts became more rapid until his hips stilled and he came, holding your head down on his dick as he forced you to swallow all of his cum, body twitching as his chest heaved up and down, taking deep shallow breaths as he came down from his high, finally releasing your head.

soon as he let you go you popped up and started coughing harshly, trying to catch your breath as you sat in between his legs. you looked up at him and seen the layer of sweat covering his body, his hair sticking to his face as he stared down at you with adoration. “were you trying to fucking kill me?” he laughed loudly and grabbed the bottom of your face, not caring about all the sticky fluids still on it “i’m sorry babe, i just couldn’t help myself”

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[draco-and-tom]

Dirty Girl- James Potter

Summary: James has been busy lately and you take things a little too far too get his attention

A/N: I loved writing this request so much because I'm in love with the marauders and haven't been able to write a blurb/one shot for them do to my requests which are basically always open. To both of the lovely people that requested marauder stuff I love you <3. 

WARNINGS: Slut shaming, unprotected sex, choking, degrading, praise, pet names, grinding, sensitiveness, spit kink, mirror sex.

Type: Smut to kinda fluff

REQUEST: Hey girl I really loved your all of your stories, Do you think you could do another one but a little more focused on james being a Dom james x reader. with a lot of degradation and bdsm. But please no daddy kink just her calling him like jamiese.If it don’t want to it fine I totally get but just asking!

Around this time of year was really stressful and annoying for you. You couldn't seem to get your boyfriend’s attention because he was always training for quidditch.  Here you were, watching your boyfriend mumble to himself about game strategies. You had already gone most of the summer without seeing him and now you had to deal with this. You were bored, horny, and sad. The worst part of it all was that James knew it and didn't care. He would always try to hush you with “later bunny” or “not right now y/n” just so that he could enjoy your frustration. Plus in all honesty, he truly was busy. You watched carefully as James wrote plays on parchment and hid your body under the sheets, not wanting to be caught. You started touching your body, sliding your hand slowly down your stomach and to where you wanted him most. As soon as your hand touches the wet spot in your panties James turns his head to look at you. You quickly moved your hand away, but there wasn't a point, he had caught you. James looked at you sternly and you tried hard not to cry from frustration. “What the hell do you think you’re doing Bunny?” you looked away from his face, unable to make eye contact any longer. You sigh and wiggle uncomfortably under his gaze “I’m sorry Jamiese” your voice was barely above a whisper. James turned back around to continue his work but still talked to you “Get out from under the sheets”. You lifted the covers off of you and sat on the bed, your legs crossed. You kept sighing and whimpering, just trying to get your boyfriend's attention, but he didn't even tell you to be quiet. He was ignoring you. Once you understood what he was doing you got up off the bed. James didn’t even turn to look at you, it was like you weren't there. “Jamieseeeee” you whined as you made your way over to him. He continued to write down things for quidditch. You wanted to snap the quill in half, but you knew that if you did that he would just get out a new one. When James was ignoring you he went all the way out, pretending like what you were doing didn’t happen. Either that or that it was completely normal for something to happen out of nowhere, almost like a ghost. You huffed and sat on his lap, your legs on either side of his waist. You knew you were being a whiny brat, but right then you didn’t care like you usually would. James looked everywhere but at you and what you were doing, even when you wiggled your hips against him trying to get friction. You’re lip quivered as you watched him ignore your actions once more. You felt like you could scream and cry from frustration. You knew that if you cried James would more than likely wrap you in his arms and give you all of the attention that you had been craving, but you didn’t want to be that much of a needy baby. You hid your mouth in the crook of his neck and rocked your hips gently against his. You whimpered and moaned against his skin as you rocked your hips. You could tell it was hard for him to ignore you. His breathing became more ragged and the movements of his hand as he was writing were more forced and seemingly un-structured. You pant and moan in his ear with pleasure as you grind against him. James grew hard underneath you and had stopped writing, unable to focus, but still refused to give you even a shred of his attention. “James” you whined. At the sound of his name, the act was finally broken. He lifted your chest off of him and made you look him in his eyes. James scoffed at your state “don’t be such a needy slut Bunny. I told you to be good, but you’re acting like a dirty whore,”. You looked him in the eyes and felt your lip quiver. James stood, holding you in his arms, and walked over to his bed. He laid you on the side of the mattress “bend over whore”.  You listened to him, it was the least you could do after everything. There was a mirror on the wall in front of you and you immediately knew where this was going. James had joked around about fucking you in front of a mirror, but you always knew it was more than a joke. You were glad that it was finally happening, every time he would bring it up you could feel your panties dampen. The worst part was that James teased in detail. He would talk about how deep he would be and how you would take him so good as he watched your face in the reflective surface. Once he noticed how his dirty talk got you he would whisper things in your ear “aw. Poor bunny. One day beautiful”. But now it was finally happening and you were practically buzzing with excitement. You felt James lift up your skirt lightly and rested your face against the bed “please Jamiese”. He chuckled and lifted your face to look at him in the mirror “this could’ve been a completely different experience if you would have been a good girl,”. You whined and made sure to not look away from him “You wouldn’t have given me anything if I was a good girl.” as soon as you said it you knew it was a mistake. You immediately felt James’ hand reach over and pop yours, leaving pink tink on your skin. James kept eye contact with you as he spoke hash words, all of them going straight to your core. “You better be glad I'm giving you anything slut” you whimpered under his touch as he felt you through your soaked panties. You saw James smirk as he touched you, thanks to the mirror “You like it when I talk to you like the needy whore you are, don't you? Pathetic”.  You nodded “can't help it Jamiese” and you hear his chuckle at your words. He pushes your panties down your legs and you let out a shutter as you feel the cold air hit your soaking heat. James tosses your panties somewhere on the floor and returns his attention to you “you’ll look at me in the mirror until I tell you otherwise. Understood?” you nod and he shakes his head “use your words slut”. You let out a shaky breath and answer him “yes sir”. You cringe at how needy you sound and James rolls his eyes “you act like it’s a surprise. You know you’re needy for me, don't deny it”. You sigh and nod your head. You didn’t notice that James was touching you until you felt two fingers thrust inside of you quickly, causing you to moan. He pulled his fingers out and you whimpered as you saw him lick your arousal from his fingers. James ran his hands up and down your thighs, speaking softly in contrast to his filthy words. “You’re tight for a whore, but then again I'm the only one that gets to touch you. Isn’t that right?’ you let out a shaky breath you didn't know you had been holding and nodded “only you”. You heard James groan and watched as he stepped back slightly, undressing himself. Before you knew it you felt James’ cock against your dripping pussy and shuttered at the feeling. James gripped your hips with one of his hands and lined himself up. You struggled to keep your eyes on the mirror in front of you as James slammed into you, giving you no time to adjust. Soon the burning pain turned into pleasure and you watch his face contort from pleasure. The marauder opened his eyes and looked at you, watching your reaction as he pounded into you. One of his hands made its way to your hair, holding it away from your face, he wanted to see everything he was doing to you. James adjusted himself and barely lifted your hips with his free hand, causing you to moan. He groaned at your reaction “That's it. Take it like a good little slut.”. James’ thrusts became faster but still precise. It felt like he was getting deeper with each thrust if possible. Your boyfriend let go of your hair and gripped your jaw, still looking into your eyes “You can look away now. I need to show you what a whore you are”. You nod and James tilts your chin back and kisses you roughly. It almost felt like the two of you were having a moaning contest. The feel and sound of the moans he spilled in your mouth cause you to return the favor. Suddenly James pulled back and tapped your lips “open” you raised an eyebrow in confusion but obliged anyway. James spit into your mouth and you let out a shocked moan, clenching around him. He looked at you and scoffed “well…. What the fuck are you waiting for?! Swallow whore”. You immediately followed his instructions, earning yourself a few grunts from James. You felt so weak at the moment. Your legs were shaky, and your pussy was clenching tighter around your boyfriend, moans continuously slipping from your quivering lips. After a few more thrusts you felt the sparks in your stomach grow stronger “please let me cum Jamiese. M’ so close”. Your boyfriend chuckled “Does my little slut want to finish? Look back in the mirror and I’ll help my dirty girl out”. You look in the mirror and watch as James’ hand wraps around your throat, tightening little by little. He chuckled as he watched you struggle against your fluttering eyelids, his hand tightening more and making your breathing even more ragged. You finally felt the wave of relief crash over you and watched James’ reaction as your pussy squeezed around him. His eyes were shrewd shut and his lips slightly parted. It wasn’t just how he looked though. You could hear and feel his reaction too, making it so much better. His thrusts lost their perfect rhythm and he was struggling for breath as he moaned. James’s hand was now blocking a lot of air from coming in at once and you began to feel your mind become foggy. His hips shuttered against you and you knew how close he was “want me to cum in my slut’s tight little hole? Hm?”. You struggled to form words, but eventually let out a shaky whine “please J-James please”. There was something about the way you said his name. All whiney and ruined, he loved it. “Fuck y/n. So good” you moaned at the praise and the feeling of his cum spilling into you. Your boyfriend laid his body against yours and trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder until he gained the strength to lift himself and pull out. You whimpered at the empty feeling. James lifted you up lightly and laid you on his mattress. He climbed in right after he made sure you were comfortable laying on your back. James pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and you smiled against his lips tiredly. The boy pulled back and looked at your fucked out state. You felt the marauders gaze on you and listened to him as he spoke. “You did so good for me Bunny” James watched as you opened your eyes and beamed up at him with a lazy smile. You were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The look in his eyes was so sweet you were almost shocked that you were what he was looking at. You survey his face as a grin makes its way onto his lips “really?” you ask and James just nods sweetly. The boy kisses your cheek and rubs it with his thumb like any more pressure would break you “can I clean you up beautiful?”, you nod and he moves down to the pool all over your thighs and pussy. James spreads your legs gently licks your thighs clean of the liquid. You whimper and grip his hair in your hands, almost as a hint. James pulls back and sighs, placing a kiss on both of your thighs before speaking “I know bunny, I promise I'll try to be careful". You nod and mumble a slurred “mkay” and that was the only permission he needed to continue. Once James was finished licking you clean he laid beside you and pulled the covers over the both of you. You let out a sigh of content as the boy you loved pulled you closer to him and cuddles you. James placed a soft kiss on your cheek and you both share three words that go way beyond their definition. “I love you Y/N”        “I love you, James”    

TAGLIST: @harrypotter-whore​    ( @georgeswh0re​ I lost the message where you told me which characters you wanted to be tagged in, so I figured safe>sorry) @msmb​

[ifmywishescametrue]

#8 "Come here, I'll carry you." for WinterIron. Can you add some smut to it please? Thank you.

this took longer than expected, but it's finally done! thank you for sending one, and i hope you like :)

it is most definitely explicit lol

“This is why I don’t go hiking,” Tony complains, wincing when Bucky gingerly touches his left ankle. It doesn’t look too badly injured, probably not even a sprain, but it doesn’t stop Tony from telling him I told you so. “I said that I would trip and fall and roll down the mountain, and then I would die there, at the bottom of a cliff for birds to scavenge my body until I’m just a pile of bones.”

“You twisted your ankle on a root, baby,” Bucky says, amused in spite of all of the grumbling. It doesn’t help that Tony’s disgruntled, pouty face is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. “I don’t think you’re going to die.”

“There’s still a chance.”

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly, standing from where he was crouched next to Tony on the ground. He holds out his hand, and Tony takes it to get back to his feet.

Despite all the complaining, Tony doesn’t actually like looking weak. He hides pain and discomfort and doesn’t let himself get taken care of very often. Bucky knows that too well by now, after nearly a year together, and it’s why he easily notices the grimace Tony tries to disguise with each step.

He stops walking, making Tony turn back to look at him when he realizes it.

“Come here,” Bucky says. At Tony’s questioning look, he adds, “Come here, and I’ll carry you.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, “Seriously?”

“Seriously. We’ve only got about another quarter mile to the cabin, you’re in pain, and it’s not like you weigh much anyway.” Bucky takes another couple steps forward, hands on Tony’s hips, and he whispers into Tony’s ear, “I was strong enough to hold you up against the wall yesterday, remember?”

He smirks as Tony shivers, and he tucks a strand of Tony’s hair back, brushing his fingers against his skin to feel the goosebumps rise on it. “Bet I could carry you all the way back and still have the energy to do it again.”

Tony laughs, shoving playfully at Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright, I didn’t really need that much convincing. I was already going to let you do it.”

“Let me?” Bucky repeats, shaking his head with a smile. “I didn’t realize you were doing me favors here.”

He turns around and crouches lower to let Tony climb onto him, holding onto his thighs to support him when he rises up again with Tony on his back and his arms wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders. Tony’s legs tighten around Bucky’s torso, and he tucks his face into the side of Bucky’s neck to kiss him there. Teasingly, he says, “We both know you like this even more than I do. Being my big, strong hero. Pretty sure it’s a kink for you.”

Bucky grins as he starts back down the trail. “I ain’t admittin’ to nothing.”

Tony hums, and he loosens the elastic holding Bucky’s bun in place to tangle his fingers into his hair. He pulls a little, another thing he knows that Bucky likes, and his voice is seductively low when he says, “You don’t have to admit it, darling. I already know.”

“You keep that up, and I’m gonna drop you,” Bucky warns, and he can feel Tony’s smile against his skin.

“You’d never drop me.”

“Wanna test that theory?”

He lets go of Tony’s thighs for just a second, letting his legs fall a bit before grabbing on again, and he gets Tony’s screaming laughter in return as he clutches onto Bucky tighter.

“If you let me fall off a cliff, I’m coming back as a ghost to haunt you for the rest of your life. Not the nice Casper kind either. I’m talking full blown poltergeist.”

“The rest of my life, huh? That’s a lot of commitment.”

“Well, you’re already stuck with human me for that long anyway. Ghost me should get to have some fun too,” Tony reasons. “I’ll start with you, seeing as you’d be the one responsible for my untimely demise, but Clint’s really going to regret that prank he pulled on me last week by the time I’m done.”

“Can you haunt Sam a little too? He’s got a thing about ghosts.”

“Oh, I’ll get you all, don’t worry.”

Bucky twists to look at him and asks, “Why does it sound like you’ve thought about this before?”

“I’m naturally vengeful,” Tony grins, and Bucky laughs.

“Sure you are, honey.”

The cabin for their weekend getaway is back in sight through the trees, just a few hundred feet away now, and Tony seems to view its appearance as the perfect time to continue on the track of their earlier conversation. He twirls a strand of Bucky’s hair around his finger and says, “So are you really going to fuck me against the wall when we get back? Because I was leaning towards the shower first, then again in bed after, but I’m pretty flexible. Very flexible, actually, but you already know that, don’t you?”

Tony kisses the spot beneath his ear, mouth lingering there before trailing lower. Bucky groans, and his fingers flex on Tony’s thighs.

“Baby, can’t you be patient for just one more minute?”

“Nope,” Tony says lightly. He hooks a finger in the collar of Bucky’s shirt to pull it to the side to revisit a mark he left the day before and trace it with his tongue. “Maybe you should walk faster.”

Bucky does, carefully sidestepping the larger rocks and fallen branches and trying not to get distracted by Tony’s wandering hands. He takes the stairs up the front porch two at a time and clumsily fumbles with the handle on the door while Tony slips a hand into the front of his pants.

Dropping Tony back down to his own feet, he turns immediately and presses him against the closed door. Tony laughs into it at first, presumably at his eagerness, but it fades into a moan as Bucky grinds against him.

“Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” Bucky murmurs, biting down gently on the tendon on the side of Tony’s neck. Tony moans, hands finding Bucky’s hair again and tugging to spur him on.

“Can you really blame me when this is what I get for it?” Tony asks in stuttered breaths as Bucky puts his knee between Tony’s legs to push them apart.

Bucky hums in consideration, then pulls back abruptly when he gets the idea. Tony blinks at him dazedly with a noise of protest, and Bucky smirks as he traces the pout of his bottom lip with his thumb. “I should make you work harder for it, then. Can’t just keep rewarding you for bad behavior, can I?”

“Yes, you can,” Tony whines, grabbing at his t-shirt to pull him in again.

Bucky puts his hands on the door on either side of Tony’s, elbows locked to keep his arms straight, and doesn’t give Tony as much as an inch. “Don’t think so, honey.”

Tony gives him an indignant look, but it quickly morphs into another one that Bucky recognizes well. It’s his defiant, you’ll regret this by the time that I’m done look, but Bucky already knows he won’t have a single regret. Not when it starts with Tony popping the button on Bucky’s pants and sliding them down his hips.

Every movement is slow, and it’s almost graceful when Tony drops down to his knees in front of him.

“You want me to earn it?” he asks. His wide eyes give the illusion of an innocence they both know he doesn’t have, and he holds Bucky’s gaze while palming him through his boxers.

Bucky nods, carding his fingers through Tony’s soft, unruly hair, then letting them drift down to caress his cheek. Tony leans into the touch like it's a subconscious reaction, and he turns his head to kiss his palm. The tender moment doesn’t last long once Tony wraps his mouth around Bucky’s fingers and swirls his tongue like a preview.

Bucky’s hips jerk forward into Tony’s hand on their own accord, and he groans at the pressure. He’s been half-hard since Tony first started this back on the trail, and now he’s aching with how much he wants him.

Pulling his fingers out of Tony’s mouth, he drags them across Tony’s lips to leave them spit slick, then frees his cock from the confines of his boxers. Tony wraps his hands around Bucky’s calves to urge him forward, and Bucky guides the tip of his cock into his waiting mouth.

“So good, baby,” Bucky murmurs, pushing his hair back from his forehead to get a better view of his face, and he watches Tony’s eyes brighten at the praise.

He’s completely pliant for Bucky to use his mouth, and Bucky plans to take full advantage of the opportunity. He slides in a little deeper and groans at the feeling of wet heat around him, forehead hitting the wall with a loud sound as his head falls forward.

“Just pinch me if it’s too much, alright?” Bucky says, and Tony nods the best he can. “Once to slow down, twice to stop.”

It’s still a little careful and cautious at first. He tests the limits slowly, inch by inch, pulling back when he feels Tony’s throat contract around him. He does it again, then once more when Tony makes no move to stop him and instead moans around him. It’s the permission he was waiting for to completely let go, and when he has it, there’s no further hesitation.

His hand fists into Tony’s hair, holding him still, and he watches every rough thrust of his cock into Tony’s mouth.

He’s beautiful like this, and the visual is nearly as good as the feeling itself. Eyes watery with tears that threaten to spill over his lash line and spit wetting his chin from where his reddened lips stretch around him. He isn’t going to last long at all with Tony looking at him like that, and every sound that escapes Tony’s throat only pushes him even further.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky groans out. “So pretty on your knees for me.”

His nails dig at the wall as he tries to keep himself upright on shaky legs, eyes twisting shut. He loses himself in the moment for god only knows how long. Tony swallows around him occasionally, but otherwise doesn’t move so much as an inch, even with how obviously hard he is in his jeans.

The hand in Tony’s hair falls slack as he nears the end, and it’s apparently a mistake, because suddenly Tony’s mouth is gone from around him. He opens his eyes again, and Tony is wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he stands.

“Now that’s called being a tease,” Tony says, voice hoarse but entirely smug. He turns towards the bedroom and gives Bucky a smirk over his shoulder. “But since I’m feeling generous, you can still join me in the shower if you’ve learned your lesson.”

Bucky gapes at him, frozen in shock, but when Tony strips off his shirt and throws it his way, he’s all but running down the hall to follow.

[storiesbymads]

TOUCH TOO MUCH ( jj maybank . )

gif by @phoebejays

It was one of those nights.

warnings: smut, pwp, female receiving oral, protected sex

wc: 1.7k

You could see JJ sprawled out across your bed in the bathroom mirror as you finished up your night routine. He was clad in black boxers and, oddly enough, a pair of white crew socks as he absentmindedly scrolled through instagram. Every once in a while, he’d glance up from his phone to see you still doing whatever it is you did in the bathroom for forty-five minutes before bed and would sigh before adjusting himself and continuing down his feed.

It wasn’t the first time JJ had convinced you to let him stay the night after spending more than a month on John B’s pull out and you knew it wasn’t the last. He liked to tell you that he was staying with you to give his friend a well earned break from him but you knew the real reason. It was one of those nights.

“Y/N, baby, are you almost done?” he asked for the third time since you stepped into the connected room.

You let out a soft laugh in response, “Why? Got something big planned at 10:30?”

“Maybe. If you don’t hurry up in there you’ll never find out,” he said, tossing his phone somewhere onto the bed and trudging over to where you stood. He looped his arms around your waist, intertwining his fingers with yours and resting his chin onto your shoulder.

“Lucky for you, I just finished,” you whispered as he began placing open mouthed kisses along the base of your jaw. Subconsciously, you tilted your neck to give him better access to the skin as one of his hands moved to trace the hemline of your— his —shirt.

“Perfect,” he breathed into the tender skin just below your ear, biting down on the lobe ever so softly. The hand on your thigh trailed up higher, hiking the shirt up in its path, to fiddle with the flimsy fabric of your panties. He snapped the waistband against your skin.

“J,” you moaned. You made eye contact with him through the mirror before he abruptly pulled away. A whine slipped past your lips at the loss of contact. He grabbed your hand to pull you towards him as he backed himself up to the bed. His knees hit the back of the comforter forcing him to sit and pull you down to straddle him.

He was taking his time peeling the flimsy t-shirt off of you, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake as he slowly pushed the fabric up your torso. You were losing your mind.

“J, if you don’t hurry up I am going to scream,” you sighed, lifting your arms above your head so that he could fully remove the shirt. He complied, thankfully, slipping it over your head in one swift motion.

“This damn woman’s going to drive me insane,” he said, jokingly looking up at the ceiling with the shirt still in his grasp. You quickly grabbed it and tossed it behind his head before slapping his shoulder softly.

“Shut up.” You grabbed both of his cheeks with your hands as you pulled him in to smash your lips against his. The joking atmosphere vanished as soon as it started as JJ’s hands moved to rest on the backs of your thighs.

You hadn’t even realized you had started to grind down on JJ until you felt the wet patch that had started to grow.

“See what you do to me,” he pulled away to growl into your ear, his hard-on extremely evident to you now.

“Why don’t you do something about it, then,” you said. He groaned at your response, digging his fingers into your thighs so hard you were sure there’d be bruises when you looked in the morning.

It wasn’t long before JJ moved the pair of you to the center of the bed, flipping you over so that he was now hovering over you. His breath felt hot against your skin as he trailed kisses down the valley of your breasts and past your navel. One of his hands was resting beside your hip, supporting his weight, while the other was roughly groping at your left breast.

“Fuck, JJ,” It was too much for your body, too much for your brain to focus on him.

“Baby, I’ve barely even started,” he chuckled when he noticed the very obvious wet spot on your underwear that only seemed to grow as he continued his actions. You were practically losing your mind and he hadn’t even touched you where you needed him most.

“J, please,” you whined. His face was centimeters away from your clothed heat at this point. He placed a soft kiss on your clit over the fabric before he hooked his fingers into the waistband and slipped them off.

He was slow moving back up your legs. It felt as if he were literally pressing kisses to every inch of your skin, starting at your ankles and ending at your thighs. The anticipation for him to just touch you grew each time you felt his lips press against your skin and your mind was spinning with the thought, I just need your touch.

“Baby, please,” you begged. He let out a dry laugh in response.

“Tell me where you need me, princess.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss just above your folds and you swore you were seconds away from screaming.

“You know what I need, J,” you said, running your fingers through his hair in an attempt to push him closer to your heat. You felt him hum, his nose now dangerously close to pressing against your clit. “I really need your touch. Your fingers, your tongue, something.”

“As you wish,” he mumbled against you, placing a final kiss against your thigh before licking a full stripe through your folds.

“Oh my fucking God,” you groaned as he inserted his tongue into you. He had to place one of his hands on your stomach to keep you from bucking your hips any further into his mouth, the other securely wrapped around one of your thighs to keep you spread open for him.

His nose rubbed up against your clit anytime he so much as moved his face. You didn’t even know if he was doing it on purpose but God, if it didn’t feel amazing. You knew your orgasm would be hitting you in a matter of seconds.

“I’m so fucking close, J,” you said. He nodded as he sped up the rate at which he pumped his tongue in and out of you. A loud moan fell from your lips as you felt your high wash over you, your fingers desperately tugging at JJ’s blonde locks. His movements slowed as he helped you ride it out before he pulled away from you completely to hover over you once more.

You took a brief moment to admire him in the dim light. He had the face of an angel smiling with sin. His chest was heaving slightly and his body had a slight sheen to it that glistened as the moonlight hit it.

“You’re so gorgeous, angel. Taste even better,” he said as he connected his lips with yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue. If you weren’t so desperate to have him inside of you, you would’ve returned the favor. But, seeing as you were that desperate, you dipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your hand around his throbbing length.

“Patience,” he tutted, pulling away enough so that your hand slipped out of his underwear. One of his hands moved to rest on your jaw, his thumb resting on your bottom lip, “Open.”

The second you complied to his instructions, his thumb was resting on your tongue and your head was being tilted back. You thought JJ was moving closer to kiss you again but he surprised you when he spit directly into your mouth, spreading the saliva with the pad of his finger.

“Good girl,” he said before finally taking off his boxers and tossing them across the room with your t-shirt. He reached towards the bedside table to grab a condom before he quickly tore the packaging open with his teeth and rolled it onto his cock.

“Are you going to fuck me or what, Maybank?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t get bratty on me now, princess. You were doing so good for me.” He lined himself up with your entrance causing the both of you to groan simultaneously. The tip of his cock pushed into you ever so slowly, his pace agonizingly slow as he bottomed out.

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” he said. You giggled softly at the comment, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth seconds afterwards as JJ pulled almost all the way out of you before slamming back in.

The only sound in the room was a mix of your pornographically lewd moans and JJ’s hips snapping against yours at an ungodly pace. He placed one of your calves over his shoulder which allowed him to go even deeper, his tip grazing your g-spot.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you whimpered as JJ slowed his pace slightly in exchange for harder thrusts. You felt your stomach starting to burn as your second orgasm approached.

“Hold it for me, baby. I’m not that far behind,” he said, placing a delicate kiss onto the ankle that was over his shoulder. You grasped onto the comforter in an attempt to ground yourself. You honestly had no idea if you’d be able to hold it for any extended period of time at the rate JJ was pounding into you.

“JJ, I-“

“I’ll count it down for you, princess. Okay?” You nodded, clenching around him when you felt his movements stutter slightly.

“Five.” He removed your leg from his shoulder so that he could bend down and nip at the skin on your collarbones.

“Four.” His grip on your hips tightened and his movements started to get sloppier.

“Three.” His left hand slipped between your legs to rub circles against your clit.

“Two.” Your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders, your fingernails digging crescent shapes into the skin there.

“One.” His hips stilled as he came in thick ropes into the condom, you having come undone at the same time. After one or two more thrusts, he pulled out of you and left for a second to discard the condom in the bathroom.

You were left panting on the bed when he returned with a damp washcloth. It took a few minutes for him to clean you up, making sure to rub lightly on the sensitive nub.

“I am never gonna get enough of that,” he sighed as he pulled the covers back so you could both slip under them.

This is the third installment of my favorite song series. you can find the rest of this series as well as any of my other works on my masterlist!

tagging: @ptersparkers​ bc she gave me the encouragement i needed to finish this. go check her out if you haven’t already!!

[huihuiheart]

She Drive’s Me Crazy - Switch! Yuta (Redone)

Kinktober Day 22

Pairing: Yuta x Female Reader - Honey Moon setting

Warnings: Dom/Sub themes, unprotected sex, bondage, sex toys, teasing, denial, marking kink, spanking, hair pulling, switch themes, spit, cursing, oral (f! receiving).

Word Count: 1,666

Summary: Turns out Yuta’s a switch. He just doesn’t know it yet.  

Tag list: @hyunsungcore​

Your eyes flutter open slowly as sunlight slowly seeps in, pouring over your sleeping forms. It’s early than you’ve been waking anytime this week, enjoying staying in bed with your now husband, Yuta. Today was the last of yours here though and you intended to make the most of it. Though that didn’t necessarily mean you intended to leave the bed or go anywhere other than your room for a good while. Slipping out of bed you grab the golden, silk robe you’d used to seduce Yuta the previous evening. Something he’d appreciated more than expected, not that it stayed on long. You slipped it over your shoulders as you stepped into the bathroom to freshen up just a bit, knowing you’d both be a mess again rather soon. A shaky sigh leaves your lips, already feeling turned on again seeing the marks littering your skin from the weeks excursions. You’d both tried just about everything this week, from sweet lovemaking to the filthiest fucking. The one thing you two had yet to try in bed, is you taking control. You knew it’d be no easy task though. Not with how dominant Yuta could be in bed. Which is why you were up so early, you’d have to get things ready while he was still sleeping. 

Silently leaving the bathroom again you slipped over to the bed, grabbing a few things along the way. You’d been paying close attention to how Yuta’s been tying you to the bed as well as learning other ways, not that he needed to know that.  Carefully tying the rope to each of the bed posts and slipping his limbs into each of the loose openings, trying to be as subtle as possible as you pulled them tight. Though he stirring made you a little antsy. Yuta’s eyes fluttering open, brows furrowed in confusion as you pulled the last tie tight. He was still dazed from sleep though, until he tried to move anyways, eyes instantly snapping to his binds before glaring at you.

“Baby girl what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Yuta’s brow raises as his limbs test the restraints, obviously expecting to be able to easily slip out. You simply smirk moving to straddle his hips, the robe opening a little further and exposing more skin to his eyes.

“Oh, me? I just thought I’d return all the favors you’ve gifted me this week.” Your fingers trace down the expanse of his chest as it raises and falls, his breath quickening, “Though I’m not baby girl right now.”

Yuta scoffs rolling his eyes, “ Baby girl I’m going to give you one last chance, let me go and I’ll act like this never happened. If you don’t though then I hope you know you’ll be in for a hell of a punishment.” 

You moved off his lap and slapped his inner thigh, “I told you that wasn’t my name baby boy. You better address me properly.”

Yuta smirks up at you, despite flinching slightly at your slap, cock twitching a little, “Or what? You’re gonna make me?”

“Oh that’s exactly what I’m going to do baby boy.” Your own smirk grows as his fades at the sight of the vibrator in your hands, the very one he slipped into your panties before going out to dinner a few nights prior, “We’ll get to that though, for now.....I think I should repay you for some of these beautiful marks you left on me baby.”

Yuta lets out his first moan as your hand tangles into his hair tugging it back to expose his neck to you, kissing down it. You don’t leave any marks behind though. Not yet, you had something special in mind for that. Open mouthed kisses and nips working to just beneath one of his collarbones, where you truly get to work, leaving mark after mark in your wake until you’re satisfied with the product. A heart shape having formed, not that Yuta could properly appreciate it from his position, that wasn’t currently the point though and you were rather pleased with what you accomplished.

“Last chance to behave for me baby boy~” You coo turning on the vibrator, smirking up at him, knowing he wouldn’t give in so easily. Especially as he glared down at you right now. 

“It’s your last chance to untie me and let me show you how to really take charge. If you don’t right now, then you better not expect any mercy.” Yuta hisses causing you to tsk quietly.

“Such a shame, I really did want to spoil you.” You mock disappointment letting some spit dribble down to the tip of his cock, mixing in with the beading precum, before bringing the vibrator to it on low. Teasing his slit slightly and enjoying the little sounds that come out as he tried to hold back his moans. You move it over him slowly, letting it get messy in the mix of fluids leaking down and helping spread them with the toy, watching his thighs tremble just slightly and cock twitch just a little.

“Feel good baby boy? You can have more if you ask for it politely.” You prompt, tilting your head as you watch his face, where his brows are knit and bottom lip between his teeth.

“F-Fuck off.” Yuta pants out breathlessly, you clicking your tongue and turning the toy up. Earning a broken moan from his before he could stop it, thinking you were actually going to keep going, but you don’t. As soon as the signs of him being right on the edge make an appearance, you turn the vibrator off, removing all touch from him. 

“WHAT THE FUCK? Baby girl, you better get back here and finish me off if you know what’s good for you.” Yuta growls out, eyes pitch black as he glares at you hoping to intimidate you into throwing him over the edge.

You simply slap his other thigh now, “You can have it, if you ask for it properly.”

Yuta rolls his eyes, licking his lips, “And I told you that you’ll have to fucking make me.”

So  that’s what you do, denying him two more times as he still doesn’t give in. Edging him once again, watching his chest rise and fall in pants, a thin layer of sweat glistening over his skin. It’s then that you finally hear him break for the first time, giving in to you.

“Please..... f-fuck I’m so close. L-Let me just cum.” Yuta pants out between moans, knowing you were probably just about to take it away from him again. You turn the vibrator down, slowing his impending orgasm just a little bit.

“Ask for it like a good boy and you can have it baby.” You assure him, watching him hesitate only for a moment longer before he’s begging you.

“Goddess, please~ Please let me cum.” Yuta gives a weak attempt, but he gives in to addressing you properly, and so for his first time as the sub you let it pass. Yet you still turn the vibrator off and toss it aside, leaving him to whimper and squirm a little.

“You-You said I could cum though!” Yuta whines and you smack his thigh once more.

“And you will baby. You’ll cum inside of me for being so good.” You smirk at him as he licks his lips, eyes raking over your form as you finally slip the robe off entirely. Moving to straddle his hips once again and slowly sinking down onto him. You stay unmoved for a moment, until he’s rutting his hips up and you have to pin them to keep him still. Starting to move above him his moans and cries of goddess spur your actions on, yet Yuta’s getting close faster than you after all the edging you put him through and you both notice. Yuta struggling against the ties, once again trying to get out.

“G-Goddess, untie me. I’m being good aren’t I? Let me help you feel good.” Yuta bargains between moans, batting his eyes innocently up at you. Convinced you slow down, leaning back to undo his ankles first, before his hands. In an instant Yuta’s flipped you around, pressing your front into the mattress and gripping your hips to lift them some, so he can sink into you once again. Setting a relentless pace that has you gripping desperately at the sheets.

“S-So good for me goddess, y-you made me feel so good. N-Now I’m going to do the same for you.” Yuta whimpers into your ear, cries still high-pitched and broken as he stays in a subby state despite how his hips snap into yours. 

“G-Good boy, y-you’re going to make goddess cum for you aren’t you? Before giving her every drop of your cum?” You spur him on until he makes your mind go fuzzy as his finger dip down to rub at your clit.

“Y-Yes, yes please cum for me, so I can give it to you.” Yuta’s voice is begging again along with his words and it has your cumming, clenching around him as pleasure spreads through your body like fire. Yuta not far behind, body pressed against yours despite the heat of you both, panting and sweaty as you try to catch your breaths.

“Fucking hell, that was amazing.” Yuta chuckles out breathlessly, running a hand through his hair to brush it back out of his face where it was sticking.

“I told you that you’d like it.” You giggle lightly in response turning to look at him, “Want to take a shower together?”

“I would, but it seems kinda of pointless.” Yuta smirks at you moving to hover over you before pinning your legs open and licking a stripe through your folds, earning a moan and soft tug to his hair as you brush the long locks back and out of his face.

“After all I warned you there would be a punishment, so I better deliver.”

[seancekitsch]

Intended: Chapter 1

Warnings: uhhhhh slight witcher spoilers??? yearning bullshit, kidnapping, implied canon things that happen when an army sacks a city, none of my usual smutty bullshit?

“Do you think we would be like this?” Cahir mumbles, his lips pressed against your shoulder as you watch the smoke from the fire drift into a starless sky. He embraces you around the waist, as close as he can have you. As much as you are the object of all of his affections, he knows that you are something from a dream and nothing he ever thought he could have. As a child, he dreamed of being a great knight, a relic from the stories he’d read, chivalrous and true of heart, winning the favor of a lovely woman and leading his men into noble battles for causes that are just. Earning honor on his name.

“Mmm, what do you mean by that?” you hum, snuggling closer into his embrace on the bedroll, loving how he feels warmer than the fire you'd made, warmer than even the hearth in your chambers in Cintra, the home you'd been rescued from during its burning. You'd been on the run when Cahir in his mighty helmet had found you in your attempt at escape and brought you out of the chaos. He had saved you, and now treated you with the most chivalry as you traveled, on foot because his horse had been lost, to an out skirting kingdom you could start over in. You spent the week learning each other, your fears, your innermost desires, dreams you'd never shared with anyone. Felt more yourself than you ever did in Cintra. While your family fretted that you'd never make a wife, to imagine their faces now as you'd found someone you would easily marry. Your family. If only they were still here.

“Do you think we would be like this,” he says, his lips brushing against you again, “had I not captured you?”

Cahir lifts his head as soon as the words leave his mouth, seemingly recognizing his error immediately.

You rip yourself from his embrace, jumping to your feet as he quickly follows, scrambling to a stand in confusion as you fume. You find a pace, your gait that of any warlord he’s seen, wild and quick. You mutter under your breath, not quite believing what you heard but repeating it to yourself over and over until you whirl around on your heel. You round back to him with anger in your tone as you shout your summation.

“Captured? Pardon me did you say captured? As in, not rescued like you've had me believe for the past week?” Your voice was shrill, and of course you had caught his slip up. Your hands shake as you speak, refusing to look up at his fucking face. The face of a liar. Of course you had. You are sharp as a whip and he had learned this week it was best not to lie to you, unfortunately the entire nature of the events that had brought you together were a lie crafted by Cahir on the fly. Cahir that had guided you out of the piles of bodies, the debris and the destruction. Cahir who told you he was safe, not like the other Nilfgaardians burning your city. Cahir who had given you the contents of his canteen and had stolen a bedroll to sleep on so he would be the only one to sleep on the ground. Cahir that had listened to you as you told him of all of your secrets, things only revealed to a diary that was now probably nothing more than ash. Cahir who taught you how to use the dagger you shared, the man who praised you and was excited at the progress you made in a short week. Cahir that promised you a sword once you mastered the dagger. Cahir that you had stolen a kiss from, and then continued to kiss and kiss and kiss while you traveled further east, hoping to come upon a new home in an allied kingdom. Cahir that had apparently lied to you the whole time. Stolen the kisses you thought you had stolen, reveled in affection that would not have been given to a captor.

“Did you capture me, Cahir? That was my home you stole me from!”

He hesitates, then mumbles. Refusing to meet you in gaze and in words. He bows his head, like a man praying for forgiveness for a grave sin. Like a man at the altar at his most desperate hour. You now realize that sin is yourself, you are stolen and every moment he spent with you was coveting of something he could not possess himself. He took what wasn't his and dared to spit into the wind and the wind blew your intuition back to the forefront to see him for what he truly is.

“Speak, knight! I know you aren't mute you've done a fair share of moving that tongue since I’ve met you.” your eyes burn holes into his skin, and when he looks up into them it's like looking into hell itself, but he would rather blind himself than look away. Before you is not the man you’d tasted in kisses and between baring your soul talking until dawn the entire week you'd been in the woods. Before you is a villain, a wretch who did not give you the dignity of dying in your home, the dignity of fighting to the death with whatever you'd find once you were eventually cornered. Truthfully, to die in battle seemed like a nice way to die, to die with bloodied hands and passion alight beneath your skin.

“I did, I stole you away,” his voice is ragged, panicked, you've never heard it like this, “but you were not who I meant to take.”

“So you meant to kidnap someone? And should that comfort me? Bring me joy that I was not the intended target?” You’re right. That isn't comforting at all. Instead of completing his quest he steals the first woman he sees near the castle who’s not clearly a terrified peasant. What a mess he’s made of his knighthood. He refuses to meet your eyes as he nods, still downcast eyes into the fire beside you.

“I should not have. I just did not want to let you die.”

Cahir pursued the billow of skirts that trailed behind the form in the alley. Could this be the Princess Cirilla? Had he truly gotten this lucky to find her so easily? He chases on foot, abandoning his horse at the mouth of the alley he’d spotted her ducking into.  As the form turns a corner, so does he, hot on the trails of his perceived target. But the woman he pursues surprises him. She turns on her heel, and armed with a letter opener decorated with jewels, she lunges at him, swinging wildly as a feral tears from her throat. As he  dodges her efforts, he realizes this is not Cirilla. This is a woman; a noblewoman, one with fire and courage at that. She’s beautiful. He admires her immediately, even though she has a lot to learn about handling a blade.

“Watch it with that, you will stab me if you aren't careful,” he jests, removing his helmet as he moves from her swinging range.

“And who says” she lunges again, “I don't want to stab you?”

She wont go down without a fight, but is a fight something she could handle? No. certainly not against his men. She doesn't stand a chance. She won't make it out of here, he realizes. With what his men do to women. No. She does not deserve that fate. He could bring her in Cirilla’s place, he thinks. Whatever Nilfgaard needs her for, they need her alive and healthy. They would take care of her, even if her identity was false.

“You will not want to stab me if you want to make it out of here alive, I’m your only chance,” Cahir blurts out, before he can think about the weight of his words. Looking back here he realizes that he threw away any chance in finding the real Cirilla, any chance at not being tortured and executed if his deceit would be found for a woman whose name he did not know at the time. A woman who was swinging a blade at him, howling like a cornered animal. He leads you out of the city in the shadows that night, pilfering some supplies he can find before you make it past the walls of the now engulfed Cintra. Something about that night had clouded his judgement, changed him, but he did not yet understand why that was so. He did not even understand it when he kept up the charade of savoir, taking her east instead of south to where he would be rewarded for the imposter Cirilla.

“I demand the dagger,” you state, hand outstretched and conviction firm. He blinks up at you in confusion. To Cahir, you look like a blazing angel, the light of the fire making your hair resemble a halo. He would hand over the dagger, and should you wish to plunge it into his chest he would not move a hand to stop or delay you. He sighs as he relinquishes the one dagger to you, the only form of protection, your fingers brushing his as your grasp curls around it, a transfer of power and the last touch of your skin he may ever feel. His hand chases yours involuntarily, ever so slowly. You do not trust him anymore. You are not his to touch.

“I also demand the bedroll. We shall not share.” Not like we did last night hangs silently between you and he, and he silently concedes that to you as well. 

“In the morning, I’ll be gone. Do not attempt to search for me.”

“Please, don’t go,” his voice is weak, far away and parchment thin. Walking away from him will be hard, you realize. Knowing everything he told you… the kind of man he is. But also that he lied to you. He lied about your circumstances and interfered with your life. No, you must be strong. You must leave before dawn. If he wakes before you there’s still a chance you would fall into his arms and concede to this fate. You must stay cold. He is no different that all of the intended men you had turned down in the courts of Cintra. He was not a marriage prospect, like the lot of them were not suitable. Man after man you had rejected, scorned, and he will be just another. He will fade away soon like the others.

You tuck the dagger into the bedroll with you under the thin sheet, wrapping it around yourself as you lay down, facing him. He taught you never to turn your back on an enemy, and you guess he probably isn't the only person to say that so there probably is some truth to it. Sleep finds you soon after a half hour of forcing your eyes closed, but it always did in times of stress. Your body seems to know what you need more than you do, and right now its rest for the journey ahead. You slip downward quickly into a night as dreamless as the sky is starless tonight.

Cahir sits at the fire, staring into it, looking for clues, answers, the already fading memory of what it felt like to have you in his arms and have you kiss his face. Already, it slips from him. he steals glances to you every few minutes, to make sure his mind isn't playing tricks on him, to make sure you aren't already gone. You look peaceful, angelic in the same way you did when screaming at him but an hour earlier; the same way you did in the alley swinging a letter opener at his face. If only he could lay down next to you, to sleep peacefully. Had he known last night was his last beside you, he would have savored it more. Buried his face in your hair, held you tighter, kissed your eyelids and tried to will himself into your dreams. Everything feels heavy, as he fights to stay awake, resolving that to go without sleep is better than to sleep cold, without the feeling of you in his arms. If he has to, he won’t sleep ever again. To spare his heart. Now that he knows what it means to sleep with another, to sleep with you by his side, sleeping alone seems like a fate worse than whatever might greet him in Nilfgaard when he returns empty handed. Cahir doesn't notice falling asleep, he’s too consumed in his thoughts.

When Cahir wakes up back aching, the fire is dead and you are gone.

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Five) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: mentions of injury

a/n:  type of injury is purely speculation since the details were never released, also his injury happened at an away game but for the sake of the story let’s pretend it was a home game. im thinking there will be 3 more parts but dont quote me on that and ofc feedback is always welcome, i hope you enjoy! 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

January 2019 - Loveland, CO

It was like the second you had Tyson back, he was gone again. The day they got back from their Eastern Canada road trip, he was on his way to Loveland to start working with the Eagles. He hadn’t been able to spend much time with you, his schedule being just as hectic as always. Especially with the additions of the extra workouts Tyson had started to partake in. You rarely saw his car in the driveway of the Rookie House when you were over at Caitlyn and Jack’s.

His hair had been extra messy the last night you saw him the day he went back down to Loveland for the first time this season. You assumed it was due to his hands continuously pulling at it from being stuck in his head about his new playing situation. Since then, the image of your best friend being down in the dumps hadn’t left your mind. Throughout the time of knowing Tyson, you only really knew him as the cheery guy with a smile on his face 24/7. He was the most strong-willed person you had ever known.

A week and a half later and he still hadn’t seen any NHL ice time, still working his ass off at the AHL level to earn his roster spot back. You’re sitting in one of the many conference rooms at your office, listening to an executive give their monthly project updates when your phone rings. You see Tyson’s face covering your screen, begging to answer his FaceTime. You hit the lock button on your phone, stopping the vibrations, and turn your phone over, turning your attention back to the presentation in front of you. 

The vibration stops momentarily before it starts again, to which you ignore. The third time your phone rings, you know it must be important, so you excuse yourself as you push out of your rolling chair and leave the room.

As you slide to answer, Tyson’s face pops up onto the screen. His hair is wet and the lighting is terrible, so you assume he had just showered at the practice facility.

“What did you need? I was in a meeting.”

“Sorry, I’ll be quick. I know I was supposed to come over to your place later for my pre-game meal but I’m really tired,” He whines.

“And you couldn’t have just texted me that?” You ask a sharp bite to your tone. He knew you worked the third Saturday of every month. He had even admitted to you one time that he’d check your Snapchat location to see where you were when you weren’t answering, so you were even more confused when he called not once, but three times.

“I need a favor, I’m gonna take a nap on one of the guy’s couches. Can you bring me my game-day suit?”

“Sure, just text me the time you need it by and the address,” You agree. “I really need to go, though, so I’ll text you later.”

“Thank you, Y/n! Love you.”

You spit out a quick ‘love you’ before hanging up and shoving your phone into your dress pants pocket before walking back into the meeting and apologizing about the disruption.

You park your car in Caitlyn’s driveway before making a bee-line across the street towards the Rookie House. You lift your hand to knock on the door before you remember Tyson telling you that no one was home and you needed to find the spare key. You jog down the stairs to his bedroom in search of his game-day suit. 

You look on his bed, which is a mess and un-made, causing you to roll your eyes, not seeing the suit he said he had laid out this morning when he left for practice. You move to his closet, hoping to see a suit in the front that had been previously picked out, but still no luck.

Instead of shooting him a text or calling him to ask where it is, you let your hands slowly pass over the multiple blazers he has hanging up. Your hand lands on a navy blue blazer with slightly exaggerated lapels, being unfamiliar with it you pull it out. Granted, you rarely say Tyson in suits, and even when you did you always noticed his love for different shades of grey. You smile to yourself as you pull it out and lay it over the bed smoothly before going back to his closet to find a dress-shirt to match.

A few minutes later you have a white-shirt with small polka dots on it picked out with his navy suit. Alongside that, you picked out his brown belt and grabbed his brown dress shoes, and started looking for a pair of socks. You pull open all of his drawers, finally finding the one that holds his socks and you end grabbing a pair of simple grey ones.

You set the suit and shoes in the back seat of your car once your back at Caitlyn’s before she’s walking out in a Colorado crewneck and jumping into your passenger seat.

“Can you look for a place we can get dinner after I drop this off to Tyson?” You ask of her as she buckled her seatbelt and you back out of her driveway. The two of you make banter and eventually find a wing place to eat as you drive down the highway to Loveland. 

Once you arrive at the apartment Tyson had texted you the address of, you’re climbing up the stairs to the front door, suit, and shoes in hand, before rapping at the door. You kind of knew you were cutting it close with his suit delivery, so you were anxiously tapping your foot as you waited for the door to swing open.

Tyson opens the door a tired look on his face as he’s taking a bite of what you see is a home-made sandwich. “You’re a lifesaver.” He groans, stepping to the side to let you in.

“It’s not a problem,” You assure, folding over the suit over the tops of your arms. “Here’s your suit.”

“Where’s the one I had laid out?” He asked confused as he reaches for your outstretched arms to take his clothes from you. You knit your eyebrows in confusion as you think back to how you didn’t see a suit set out anywhere in his room.

“There was no suit laid out in your room, which is a mess by the way,” You point out quickly. “So I just picked one out from your closet, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Tyson smiles, rubbing his thumbs over the lapel of the blazer. The image of you browsing through his closet popped into his mind, a rather domestic image that caused his smile to grow wider. The thought of you doing that without being asked to caused butterflies to slight erupt in his stomach and his cheek started to heat up with the thoughts racing through his mind.

“I think you need some new socks, all of them were so boring.” Tyson laughs at your statement. “Get some striped ones or ones with polka dots, I don’t know, just not plain grey and black ones.”

He nods his heads stifling a laugh at your odd request before the owner of the apartment appears from a hallway in his suit. Tyson quickly introduces the two of you before he’s pushing you out the door so he can get dressed and head to the game. As you turn your body to head back to your car, Tyson stops you.

“I have exciting news before you go.”

“Yeah?”

“This is my last game,” He beams, his eyes squinting from how wide his smile is. “I’m playing against Vancouver after the all-star break in a few days.”

You shriek at the news your best friend is sharing with you, “Oh my God! That’s amazing!” You open your arms welcoming Tyson in a congratulatory hug. “Told you you were a superstar,” you whisper as you pull away. The two of you share a soft look before you finally let go of your friend saying you’ll see him later.

You and Caitlyn are sitting in the lower bowl of the Budweiser Event Center, enjoying your beers and each other’s company while also focusing on the two teams in front of you. The both of you had agreed how nice it was to be back at a hockey game, both of you not being able to attend any in a little over a month with how busy you were. It was especially nice seeing Tyson play, you could see the jump in his body as he floated around the ice seamlessly.

It’s late in the game when it happens. Tyson’s skating down the far half-wall about to cross the blue line to enter the zone with the puck when an opposing player plows through his lonesome figure, sending him into the wall with a very loud thud. You gasp, leaning forward in your seat and reaching out for Caitlyn’s hand. You watch him as he stands up, grateful for the fact that he’s even able to do that quickly given the harshness of the hit, but watch him as he skates away back to the bench slowly.

He immediately walks down the tunnel to the locker rooms and you lean in your seat further, bringing your free hand to your face to bite on your cuticles out of nervousness. Caitlyn squeezing your hand combined with the loud voice over the arena speakers announcing the penalties brings you back down to earth. Your fingers stay at your lips for a moment longer until the sudden urge to scratch at your elbow envelops your mind.

“Hey, he’s probably fine and just got the wind knocked out of him.” Caitlyn reasons. You both know she has no idea what she’s talking about, but the thought behind it is welcomed. The remainder of the game feels like a lifetime as you anxiously check your phone for texts from Tyson, tweets from the team, anything that may give you insight on what’s happened.

At the same time as the final buzzer sounding throughout the arena, your phone vibrates in your hand where you’re holding it tightly. A text from Tyson pops up.

Tyson: im okay

Tyson: sorry it took so long to text you i was going through concussion protocol

Y/N: so you’re fine?!

Tyson: no

Tyson: i have a concussion

You groan at the response, showing Caitlyn your conversation before typing out a response saying you’ll meet him by the locker room shortly.

Tyson emerges from the locker room, holding an ice pack to his left shoulder. Upon seeing the ice pack, your shoulders drop out of sympathy for him and you feel a pang in your chest. As he approaches you, head down to avoid the bright, white, LED lights in the hallway, you let out a low ‘Tyson’.

“Hey.”

“You said you just got a concussion,” you point to the icepack on his shoulder.

“It just hurts.” He winces, eyebrows knitting in pain. You give him a side-hug, careful to not aggravate his shoulder.

“I, uh, I’m going to need a ride back to Denver,” Tyson starts. “I can’t drive.”

You rub his good shoulder, trying to comfort him as you look back towards Caitlyn. “Can you drive my car home and I’ll drive his car home? You can just park it at your house.”

Caitlyn agrees, the three of you walking out to the parking garage making small talk before you go your separate ways. The hour-long drive is spent in quiet, Tyson leaning his head against the window with his eyes closed for the most of it. He only lifts his head when he feels the car drive over the junction between the black asphalt of the street and the concrete of his driveway.

The two of you walk into his home, him instantly making way down the stairs to his bedroom while you opt to go to the kitchen to get the both of you glasses of water. Another few moments pass before you decide to venture down to his room.

He’s in the dark, only his bathroom light illuminating his vast bedroom. He’s laying on his back in the middle of the bed, his legs dangling off the edge. He groans a little at the noise of your feet padding along the hardwood before sitting up and leaning back on his hands. 

“You feeling okay?” You ask, moving to sit down next to him and hand him the other glass of water.

“I’m fine,” He mumbles and you know he’s just processing the injury and everything going on with his career so you stay quiet, letting him be the one to decide when to speak. Instead, you too lean back on your hands, resting yours right next to Tyson’s, pinkies touching. His hand flinches at the touch but he doesn’t move away.

“I just can’t catch a break it seems,” He breathes out barely above a whisper. He lays back onto the bed, falling into the fluffy comforter and rubs his face with hands. 

“Tys,” you drag out. You twist your body around, tucking your legs underneath you on the bed to face him. There’s a pull in your body that wants you to reach out and move his hands from his face or even put a reassuring hand on his thigh but something in you stops you. “Things like this happen to everyone, you just have to get healthy and play just like you were when you got the call saying you were going back to the Avs.”

“But if I would’ve just been skating with my head up I could’ve avoided the hit.”

“That guy absolutely blew into you, I don’t think much would’ve stopped him from doing that. It was a dirty hit and he knows it.”

Tyson mumbles out an ‘I guess’ before sitting up abruptly with a groan. “You want ice cream? I want ice cream.” He decides, standing up and reaching out for you. You grab his hand, standing up from his couch and following him up the stairs to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t think you health nuts even knew what ice cream was.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. Throughout the whole time you knew Tyson and his roommates, the most unhealthy thing you had seen them eat were chocolate almond butter cups and those were from Whole Foods so it barely counted as junk food in your eyes. Tyson pulls out a pint of ice cream and you look to inspect it, noting the words ‘dairy-free’ on it. 

You roll your eyes, “I take that back because of course you have the ice cream that’s considered healthy.”

Tyson laughs at you as he grabs two spoons from the drawer across the kitchen from you. He smiles instead of responding right away, and your face mirrors him, a large smile now playing at your lips. 

He places the two spoons on the island next to the pint, going to the edge of the kitchen and turning the light off so the only light in the kitchen is the light from the entryway and the light on off the back door creeping through the large kitchen windows. Tyson takes a seat next to you on the barstool opening the ice cream and digging his spoon in. 

The two of you eat the first few bites in silence before Tyson sticks his spoon into the pint one last time. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course, I do have one request though.” You start, Tyson raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “Can I help pick out your suits more often? That was fun.”

“That just means me bugging you more about my colorblindness, ya know.” He jokes. “But, I’ll take it.” 

“I think you need to incorporate more prints into your closet, all of your suits are so plain.”

“I have two striped ones, what are you talking about?” He asks incredulously with a laugh.

You put your spoon in your mouth, eating the bit of soupy ice cream that’s still left. As you chew you mentally go through his closet. “Yeah, but you need some plaids and checks.”

“We’ll see about that.” 

You laugh at his inability to stray away from solids, even though you’ve seen him in some crazy printed t-shirts before. You dig your spoon in the ice cream for one more bite before clasping the lid back on. Tyson moves to put it back in the freezer, but you stop him and do it yourself, also placing the two spoons in the dishwasher. 

“So, what’s next?” You ask, talking about the next steps of his concussion injury and training. 

Tyson leans back in his chair, running one of his hands through the hair on the back of his head. “Pretty much just rest until it goes away, then play some more in Loveland, then hopefully get the call to come back to Denver full-time.”

You watch him as he speaks from across the kitchen, focused on the softness and uncertainty in his voice. He was not only in physical pain from the hit a few hours prior, but also clearly mentally beating himself up. Tyson was one of the hardest workers you had ever met. He was someone that went to practice early and stayed late if it meant more ice-time and reps, someone that put in those extra miles on his morning runs, someone that watched and studied game-tape until his eyes were strained from the blue light of the screen. Knowing how hard he worked day in and day out only made your heart ache more at the circumstances the brunette found himself in.

You walk quietly over back to Tyson, standing next to him where he’s sitting. He turns around to gaze up at your face before you begin speaking.

“You’re the hardest worker I know, I believe in you.”

Tyson, in a moment of both vulnerability and bravery, lens his head forward and rests his head on your chest. You’re surprised by his actions and your movements are stuttered before you wrap your arms around his neck and run a hand through his curls. He lets out a hum, his eyes fluttering shut at the newfound comfort you’re giving him. 

The two of you stand for a few more moments, reveling in the contact and the quietness surround you due to the late night and emptiness of the home. Your eyes glance to the clock, noting how late it’s gotten. You want to pull away to tell him you should head home soon, your breathing starting to slow due to being tired. Your early work morning combined with the whirlwind events that happened over the past two hours pushed your mind to the point of exhaustion. 

However, you don’t move away, knowing this is what your best friend needs most right now. The feeling of comfort and being with someone that knew him as deeply as you did being something he desperately needed. An itch on your elbow pulls you out of your thoughts and Tyson whines when you slightly pull away to scratch at it, to which you chuckle.

“I had an itch,” You pause, leaning back away from Tyson so he has to sit up straight. “And besides, it’s starting to get late. I should head home soon.”

Tyson doesn’t whine again but slouches his shoulders and puffs out his lower lip, giving you a puppy dog look that you haven’t seen much when he’s sober. “Please stay.”

The request surprises you. Sure, the two of you are insanely close, but the two of you never really had sleepovers due to your schedules and only ever stayed over on drunken nights when it was an easy decision to make. Come to think of it, the last time you guys even slept in the same house was before you dated Aiden, when you shared a hotel room at the Landeskog wedding.

You contemplate the thought, being one that usually didn’t mind driving home at the late hours of the night. His eyes were puffy, a sure sign from how tired he’s been lately, the scrape underneath it from his visor bright red, and his overall aura was screaming please, so you give in. “I need sweatpants then.” you motion to the jeans adorning your legs and he jumps up.

“You got it.”

You follow him down the stairs back to his bedroom and watch him move around his room, cleaning up some of the mess and tossing you a pair of sweats.

Once you reemerge from the ensuite bathroom, you see Tyson laying down in bed, covers up to his armpits. He turns his head towards you then pats the emptiness beside him, gesturing for you to lay down. He’s got this dopey look on your face that melts your heart and you smile, holding your jeans to your chest tightly.

“I can sleep on the couch, it really isn’t a big deal.”

“It isn’t but why sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly comfy spot for you in a bed?” He jokes. You can barely see his facial features now that you’ve turned the bathroom light off and you flip the flashlight on on your phone, being careful not to shine it towards his face. You smile nervously as you set your jeans down by your shoes at the foot of the bed and carefully climb into bed next to him.

“Maybe leave a little room for a girl, jeez,” You comment, trying to maneuver around Tyson’s sprawled out body. You miss the way he rolls his eyes as he dramatically pulls his body into a plank-like position. You set your phone down on the dresser next to you before getting comfortable despite the anxiety you’re starting to feel. Your stomach shouldn’t be in knots right now, should it?

“I know I said it before, but I really appreciate you coming tonight.” Tyson starts, sighing out a large breath of air. He’s twiddling his fingers in front of him, occasionally bringing them to his lips to bite on his hangnails. “It means a lot having someone by my side through all of this. It can be hard talking to Kerfy and JT sometimes.”

You turn your body to face him, still leaving a substantial amount of space between the two of you in the expanse of his king-sized bed. “That’s what best friends are for, Tys. Don’t ever hesitate to talk to me. It can be about anything, hockey, family, music, whatever you want and I’ll listen. Just know that you can talk to JT and Alexander too, they’ve been in your shoes being in the AHL and they just want to see you back with them just as much as the rest of us. Well, maybe not more than your family and me. We’re your biggest fans.”

“Biggest fans, eh?” he quirks an eyebrow up.

“Yeah, didn’t you know? We’re all in a group chat and it’s called Tyson Jost’s Fan Club. We just send pictures of you back and forth.” You joke, causing a loud, boisterous laugh to escape from Tyson’s mouth.

“You’ve never even talked to any of them besides my Grandpa, shut up.” He lets out once he’s calmed down from laughing, a loud yawn following.

“We should go to sleep, it’s been an exhausting day for both of us.”

“But I’ve missed talking to you.” He admits. And honestly, the statement has you thinking. This probably is the most time the two of you have spent alone together in months, so you give in and talk with him about anything and everything until he suddenly stops responding and you see his mouth droop open with heavy breaths of air coming out.

Sleep didn’t find you as easily, though, as you gazed at your best friend across the bed, thoughts consumed your brain. The two of you had nowhere near a physically affectionate friendship and all of the small touches and long gazes that happened throughout the day have a smile forming on your lips as you continue to look at the brunette in front of you. Yeah, the two of you laid soft touches on the other but it was usually when you had alcohol in your system or when you were especially tired. The look he gave you in the kitchen moments prior is what stuck with you as you drifted off to sleep.

The next few days for Tyson were spent just like that night. You would go over there after work and stay until you headed home later that night. As the days passed those late-night drives were spent with more and more yawns but it was worth it if it meant seeing Tyson and keeping him company. 

That was until today. You had gotten behind on your project at work from being at Tyson’s so much recently so you had told him last night when you left his house that you’d see him in a few days. As your phone rang during your lunch break with Tyson’s face filling the screen, you should’ve known what he was about to say was coming.

“Please come over later, I’m going insane being by myself. The guys don’t get back from the all-star break until Friday and I can’t look at any screen or sleep because of my concussion so I need you to entertain me.” Tyson rushes out. 

“Aren’t you supposed to see the team doctors today?” You ask confusedly. It was barely 1:30 in the afternoon so you thought he would be at the training facility still.

“I already did, I still have a concussion,” Tyson confirms. “I just have to go back every other day to get checked. They said it’s looking better and it’s less serious than they thought which is good.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” you nod. You really do want to see him later, getting used to seeing him every day for the past few days. Part of you knows that one day won’t hurt either of you and that you know you’ll just be at his place tomorrow, but something in your mind is telling you to go over there after work. “If I come over later, I’m bringing my laptop, I need to get some stuff done to prepare for a meeting I have on Thursday.”

“That’s fine, I’ll order us food even, as a thank you.”

You want to argue with him, not wanting him to spend his money on you but the two of you have had that conversation a hundred different times all ending with the same result. You usually said you made ‘big girl’ money and were proud of it to which he said he was proud too, but he also made ‘big boy’ money and had enough leftover to comfortably spend it on his closest friends. 

“Sounds perfect,” You smile. “My lunch break is about to end, so I have to go but I’ll text you when I leave later.”

Tyson says goodbye and the rest of your workday flies by and next thing you know, you’re pulling your car into Tyson’s driveway. You see the garage open so you walk thought it, closing it as you enter the door inside. Once your dinner is consumed the two of you migrate to the living room couch where you pull your laptop on your lap to start working on your meeting notes.

“What’re you doing?” Tyson inquires, leaning towards you to get a better look at your screen.

“I have a meeting to kick-off a project later this week so I’m just making sure I have all of my notes done.” You explain, typing away at the keyboard. “It’s a bigger one, so there are a lot more steps and handoffs and stuff you might not understand.”

“No, tell me, I wanna know.” He urges, scootching his body closer to yours so your thighs touch. As he stops moving, you think of how easy it would to just fall into him and rest your head against the broadness of his chest. You focus more on the screen in front of you, dimming the brightness so it doesn’t hurt Tyson’s eyes and explain it to him. Before long, his head plops onto your shoulder, snores escaping his slightly ajar mouth. You gaze at him, noticing the cut that was once bright red on his cheekbone is now just a scratch and you reach out to run your finger over it. He stirs at the touch, and you freeze out of panic before focusing back on your laptop and continuing to work. 

The stillness around you makes your eyes start to droop and you slowly start to slouch more and more on the couch before resting your head atop Tyson’s and joining him in sleep. 

Your phone ringing on full-volume next to you pulls you from your sleep. You see Caitlyn’s name as you grab it and slide to answer the phone.

“Are you still at Tyson’s? I was closing my garage and saw your car across the street.” She asked in way of a greeting.

“Uh, yeah, we fell asleep.” You say, voice groggy and laced with sleep. You open your eyes more, looking to Tyson’s still sleeping figure and noticing the movement the two of you have made. His head isn’t on your shoulder anymore, as it fell in his sleep to use your chest as a cushion. His hand that’s closer to you is draped across your thigh the other outstretched along the couch. “What time is it?”

“Almost 10:30. Wait, what do you mean we? Like, you and Tyson sleeping together?” She asks, almost in a shriek-like voice. Your body jumps awake at the notification of how late it’s gotten, Tyson sliding off your body from the movement.

“I was working and he fell asleep next, well on me, and then I fell asleep. Shit, I didn’t think I’d fall asleep for this long.” You curse. Tyson stirs next to you, slowing opening his eyes and groaning at the disruption in sleep. “I gotta go though, I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“Who was that?” 

“Caitlyn, she was confused since she saw that my car was still here.” You respond, sitting further up and moving your laptop to the coffee table in front of you. Tyson looks at his phone checking the time before letting a ‘holy shit’ seeing that it’s also pitch black outside.

“I’m gonna head out soon, I think.”

“You can stay, ya know.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t have any of my work stuff for tomorrow and I don’t want to have to rush around in the morning.” You explain, rubbing your hands along your thighs. You lean forward, pushing a hand through your hair to fix the mess that was caused from your nap and stand up. He sits up further on the couch before joining you in standing, a loud sigh coming from his mouth.

“I’ll still see you tomorrow though, eh?” He checks.

“Yes, I just have to make sure my work is all done since I clearly didn’t get much done here.” You laugh. He follows you to the front door of his house, unlocking and opening it for you. Once your coat is slipped on you open your arms to hug him, “Such a gentleman.”

“For you? Always” He jokes cheekily. You smile at the comment before pulling back, but Tyson doesn’t let go of you so easily. You look up at him, then back to your feet, then back up to Tyson once more.

“Okay, I really gotta go,” You yawn.

Instead of letting you go, Tyson moves one of his hands from around your shoulders to the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips land on the curve of your forehead before he whispers out a bye. You smile and close your eyes in content at the gesture, before you walk down the sidewalk to your car, turning once to wave to your best friend. The smile didn’t leave your face the entire drive home, and you honestly probably fell asleep with the same glee-filled smile plastered onto your face thinking of the new addition of the physicality of your friendship and how you could really get used it.

February 2019 - Denver, CO

“Do you want to go get lunch together? I haven’t eaten out for lunch in so long.” Caitlyn asks, barging through your office door. You peer up at your friend, abandoning the email you’re working on in front of you.

“I actually have lunch plans with Tyson, we’re getting poke.” A slight frown playing at your lips, as you decline her offer. “What about margs sometime this week? It can be a girl’s night.”

She smiles at your suggestion nodding her head, “That sounds perfect! Do you want to go out for them or stay in?”

“Hmm,” you hum. “Let’s go out tomorrow? Taco Tuesday at Aztecas?”

“Ooo, yes! Meet there at 7?” She asks, moving further into your office and sitting in the chair on the opposite side of your desk. you nod your head in agreement, turning your focus into the computer screen in front of you again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him haven’t you?”

“Who?” You ask, directing your attention back to her from where you started typing at your computer again. 

“Tyson.”

“Oh, yeah.” You say, quickly typing out the details of your email so you can focus on your coworker in front of you. “I guess we kinda have. When he got his concussion two weeks ago I was one of the few people that were in town with the timing of it all and stuff.”

“Every time I looked out my window, your car was in his driveway.” She notes, eyebrow quirked. 

“I would just go there, like, right after work and then I’d leave when I wanted to go to bed. We would just get food and hang out, just like we used to.”

“You mean like back before you had a boyfriend?” She asks. “Like last season when you guys were always getting dinner together or like all summer when he was constantly calling you?”

As Caitlyn concludes her questions, you lean back in your office chair thinking back on the past few months. You hadn’t really paid attention to your new habits with Tyson, but you were spending way more time with him than usual, but you just thought it was the extra free time the both of you have had lately. When you were with Aiden you only saw Tyson maybe once a week and most times it was in a group setting.

“I guess, yeah.” You smile. You had thoroughly been enjoying all the time you spent with him lately, all the laughter and banter was welcomed and the two of you knew exactly what to do to annoy the other one without ever crossing a line. “Do you think we were touchy before, me and Tys?”

Caitlyn crosses one leg over the other, “I don’t think so? Like you guys were just always with one another when we were in groups. When you were drunk, though? That’s another story.”

With Caitlyn answering the question the way she did, you knew you had to address the newfound physicality and affection between you and Tyson. Before you can get into more detail on why you chose to bring that up Caitlyn asks you,

“Have you guys been more touchy lately?” 

“We take naps together now, which is like, kind of a lot in a way? I don’t know,” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath as you try to gather your words to describe the feeling. “You know me, I don’t take naps but it’s like, we’ll be watching tv or something and he’ll just fall asleep and it’s not like he’s on the other side of the couch, Caitlyn. He’s right next to me and then he’s asleep with half his body weight on me and the feeling like, lulls me to sleep and we’ll wake up in the same position and not talk about it.”

Caitlyn watches you as you avoid her gaze as you talk, unsure of what she’s going to say about the new information. Especially when she was the one friend you had that really made you dig deeper as to why you felt certain things. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together outside of work lately, with her and Jack living together and you spending so much time with Tyson after his concussion.

“I also spent the night when he got hurt, like, as in I spent the night in his bed.”

“What?” She exclaims, jumping forward to the edge of her seat. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Nothing happened,” You assure with a chuckle. “We fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed and woke up that way.” You think back to that night and how when you woke up, you would’ve assumed the two of you would’ve moved positions throughout the night, but you somehow didn’t and woke up face away from him, back inches away from his. 

“How do you feel about those changes in your guys’ friendship?” 

“I think I like it. Part of me kinda thinks I just like the extra attention I’m getting, but the other part just thinks that’s just how we are now, ya know?”

“I see what you mean about the just liking the extra attention part, but I think it’s just how you guys are. Even if the two of you weren’t being physically affectionate through your friendship, the two of you were still affectionate in other ways.”

What she says makes sense, as you think about all the small quirks your friendship consisted of. He was always getting you refills at parties and the bar, offering to be the one that drove, grocery shopping together, while you helped make sure he kept his room clean and urged to him to let loose with you every once in a while. He kept you young while you grounded him. 

“All I know is that I haven’t even realized how much time I’ve been spending with him lately, which I’m really grateful for.” You smile softly. “He’s actually gonna be playing again in a few days I think.” 

The two of you continue talking about Tyson being able to return to the team and solidify your plans for tacos and margs tomorrow before she’s bouncing out of your office.

A few days later, Tyson was thankfully cleared to play again. Spending the first few days back in Loveland before getting the call to return to Denver. A call you hoped, primarily for Tyson’s sake, that was a more-permanent decision the coaching staff had made. You hadn’t seen him much in those few days, letting him get acclimated to the pace of the NHL once again. 

The three of you settle into your seats, feeling at ease from being back at the Pepsi Center for the first time since Tyson’s call-up. This time, however, you didn’t complain when Tyson offered to get the three of you tickets. You all hadn’t been able to go to any of the other games since Tyson’s call-up due to work events, Valentine’s Day, and your mom’s birthday, but as Tyson said the date didn’t matter as long as you’d come to one sooner rather than later.

It happens fast, you look from Caitlyn next to you to the ice in front of you due to an increase in cheering and you watch as Tyson catches as a pass on the edge of his blade before slapping a one-timer at the goal from the slot, goal horn sounding as the puck passes the goal line. You jump, arms thrusting in the air and loudly cheering ‘that’s my fucking best friend’ into the expanse of the crowd.

The next two periods flew by, Varlamov getting the shutout while Calvert and Agozzino added to the scoresheet. You all head out, walking towards the parking garage down the street you parked out as you send a great goal text to Tyson and telling him to call you when he gets a chance. 

An hour later, when you’re back in you’re apartment getting your stuff ready for your workday tomorrow, your phone finally rings, notifying you of an incoming call from Tyson. When the facetime call connects, you see him, a wide-smile and wet curly hair all over the place.

“Hey! Great game!” You exclaim, the happiness behind your words coming though with the wide smile that’s filling your face.

“Thank you! I’m glad you guys were able to catch this game.” He smiles. His phone is shaking from him walking around his house, as you watch the background change from his kitchen to the stairwell to his bedroom before he’s plopping down onto his bed. “It was so good to score, y/n, I want to bottle that feeling.” 

His eyes twinkle in the dim lighting of his room as he speaks, the sight of it making you feel more than elated for your best friend. “I’m really proud of you, I know I tell you that a lot, but you deserve feeling that way all the time, Tys.” You say softly, voice laced with sincerity. 

“I just have to continue to play the way I did tonight, and then there’ll be no doubt I’m supposed to on the roster. I know my roster spot isn’t a given any night and it never will be, but I want everyone to be confident in the decision to put me in the line-up every night.” He rambles. As he speaks you’re making your way to your bathroom, ready to start your nightly routine. 

You set your phone against your mirror as you put your hair into a low bun before grabbing a washcloth to wash your face. He starts talking your ears off about how happy he is to be back with the guys and the team chemistry as you finish getting ready for bed. You miss the way he looks at you as you brush your teeth since you’re too focused on the movements of your actions, but what you don’t miss is the ding on your phone with a new text message. 

Once you’re done spitting out your excess toothpaste and wiping your mouth, you grab your phone and head to your bed before looking at the message. “Tyson, what did you just send me we’re literally on the phone.” You laugh before fully opening the text and seeing the picture attached. It’s a screenshot from your call taken only a few minutes ago. Tyson’s dark smiling face in the top right corner while your face fills out the screen. At first glance, it looks like an accidental screenshot but with closer examination as well as Tyson’s muffled laughs on the line, you see the toothpaste dribbling down your chin and your eyebrows are knitted with determination.

You groan loudly as you swipe back to your FaceTime call, “Tyson, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know that, maybe I’ll just hang up and stop coming to your games” you stick your tongue out. 

“No!” Tyson interrupts. “You have to at least come to my games, you’re my good luck charm now.” He pouts, mouth quivering from trying not to smile.

“Fine.” You huff, a smile cracking on your lips. The two of you talk for a little while longer, both in bed, eyes drooping and words slurred with sleep. You’re not sure when you fall asleep and you’re more unsure if you even hang up your call before you’re snoring.  

You end up going to his next game two days later against Winnipeg, where he scored once again and recorded two assists. After that performance, he continued to insist that you were his lucky charm, to which you laughed and brushed off the comment.

tag list: @reavenedges-lies​ @oilers2997​ (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

[carrioncrows-readers]

You may not be good at a lot, but damn if you don't know business and numbers.

Content Warnings: major content warning for sexual harassment, explicit violence

When Jacob first brought you to the brothel, you thought he'd genuinely lost his mind — you made it quite clear you weren't interested in fucking him for money. With his arm around your shoulders, you were prepared to make quite a lot of fuss if he tried anything — but he didn't. Instead, he offered you a bookkeeping job for steady pay, with room to take "freelancing" on commission should you so desire. It was unexpected. It was — nice. The place is nice. A bit gauche, and good lord, those curtains are tacky, but you didn't expect prostitutes to be so…

Well.  Nice.

Come to find out, the woman who left a lipstick stain on Jacob's cheek (you aren't jealous; you aren't) is named Jenny. Jenny is in the elected position of being madame (you didn't know madames were elected?) of the establishment. Which also happens to be the name of the brothel itself. The Establishment. Tongue-in-cheek, but effective.

She's full-bodied and impossibly soft, brown hair piled into curls on top of her head. The pearls she wears are gifts from clients, apparently, and it's become so much of a running joke that for her birthday, the girls saved up to get her a new set of pearl earrings for fun. You have no idea why she wears them all at once.

She peers over your shoulder as you scribble in the ledger, writing down dates and numbers, trying not to get a headache putting it all together. Unfortunately, you haven't had time to sharpen up your sums.

"Ms. Jenny," you glance at her from the corner of your eye, looking for a way to fill the silence since no one is murdering the pianoforte, "can I ask why you haven't done the bookkeeping yourself?" She hums and smiles at you. You notice dimples in the roundness of her cheeks, like craters on the moon.

"Well, dearie, it's because I can nary read nor write. Neither can any of the others — been meaning to hire a bookkeeper for a bit, just never got 'round to it, I suppose." Suddenly and for, of course, no reason at all, you want to disappear into the floor. You should have guessed. Now you feel awful.

You look at your notes. You had all the girls tell you a rough estimate of their earnings for the past six months; some were more accurate than others, but you get the feeling that Jacob just wanted to find you something to do. He doesn't take a massive percentage anyways; usually, it fluctuates depending on how much they've earned that month. Always enough for a comfortable living after expenses, always favorable towards the brothel residents. You've no idea why, just that he somehow manages to supplement his own income enough that it doesn't put him in the red.

"I see," you say, pausing to add up all the earnings for July, minus overhead. Jenny leans in with her eyes narrowed and pokes your side, making you jump so high your ass almost hits the ceiling.

"You're a right hard one to read you are; what's that supposed to mean? Hm?" She pokes you again, and you feel your cheeks burn bright red.

"Nothing! Nothing, I just — felt terrible for asking, I suppose.  Ow."  You rub your side — does the woman have knives for fingers, or is your skin just made of paper? She pokes your arm — definitely knife fingers.

"Well, no harm done."

You sit quietly, shuffling papers in the ledger until everything is tight and up to date — it's not doing too terribly for a Whitechapel brothel. Still, there are some improvements to be made — namely, the settlement of customer debts.

How ironic that you have become the creditor now.

You set your pen down and lean against your steepled fingers, a plot crawling up the back of your mind and settling in. You ask Ms. Jenny, since she is much more familiar with the Rooks than you, to find you a few burly men. And to tell them to bring weapons. Blunt ones.

This is your job now — you'll be damned if you're not going to do it well. Besides, this isn't something you should bother Jacob with.

It isn't tricky to track down your debtors; one look at you smiling in your silks and velveteens, a train of rugged brutes behind you, and people scrape the ground to tell you where your targets live. They know what's coming, and they're not eager to try and quell the storm. You knock very politely on the door to an apartment in a run-down shack of a building, watching it crack open a hair's breadth. That is all the opening your boys need — they muscle in and push Mr. Curtis to the ground. You ignore him swearing to shut the door, folding your hands in front of your stomach.

"Mr. Curtis! I believe we have business."

"I don't know what you're fucking talkin' about," he spits. A simple nod of your head is all the excuse one of your enforcers needs to start walloping Mr. Curtis about the head until he begs you to stop him. You do, the smile on your face ever so slowly becoming a genuine manic grin.

"You owe my employer quite a bit of money. Do you have a wife, Mr. Curtis? I assume not if you visit brothels so often, but I wouldn't put it past you to cheat, either." Curtis rolls onto his side and covers his weeping nose, and you're fascinated by the slow drip-drip-drip of red into a puddle on the floor. "You have one month, which I find very generous. Can you read?" You don't receive an answer, just a low groan of pain that sends a tingle up your toes; you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket, the ink already dry as you sit it on a side table. On it is a sum of money, a date, and Curtis' name.

You leave him to lick his wounds, damn near skipping out into the darkened street. You visit three more houses in short order before returning to the brothel to see Jacob leaned over the intake desk, talking with Jenny. They both have lit cigars between their fingers. You had no idea Jacob smoked. He turns his head, and you suddenly feel self-conscious of where you've been.

"Done terrorizing the whole of Whitechapel?" He asks, but he doesn't sound unangry. Not that it doesn't stop you from worrying that he's simply putting on an air of calm. You quail and fiddle with the ends of your gloves, staring at your shoes.

"I apologize-"

"Think nothing of it," he says and comes over to pat your shoulder. "Debts need to be paid, and I appreciate you looking after my people. Your people now, too, I guess." Your people. You stare at Jacob and his toothy smile around his cigar, his hand still settled on your shoulder like it belongs there. You clear your throat and shrug it off, hurrying to the desk to note down when your debtors are supposed to send in their payments. It's mostly just to keep your hands busy.

Your people.

You've never really belonged to a group before. You exist in the gray strata between the middle class and the aristocracy, scathingly referred to as the  nouveau riche  by your would-be peers and mistrust by the working people of London, you belong nowhere. Unwelcome in the clubs and symposiums of the genteel, nor the pubs and coffeehouses of the mercantile caste. You didn't even have that many friends among the newly rich, either. Even for them, you were too…  off.  Violet Morvell was someone who tolerated you enough to call you acquaintance. Or so you thought.

The idea of having people is foreign and exciting, and terrifying all at once.

***

Your time at the brothel is well-spent. You buy yourself a math primer with the salary you get and brush up on your sums. With that knowledge in hand, you are brutally efficient with the finances of The Establishment. You set up a sign-in sheet and record every name that comes through the door, much to the patrons' shock and chagrin. The burly doorman you recently hired on is insistence enough they give you their real names, which in and of themselves are insurance. Occasionally he has to throw out a tirading customer, but they usually come back for their fix of unfortunate women. Sex, you suppose, is at the root of most vices.

At the end of the month, all four of your debtors turn their money into your capable (you hope) hands. You didn't have to visit them a second time — they either respect Jacob Frye too much, or they're too terrified of him to keep skimping on his money.

You begin educating a few of the girls on manners, etiquette, and how to properly play a pianoforte without sounding like they're torturing a cow. When you suggest that the brothel start serving tea and coffee to waiting customers, Ms. Jenny happily converts one of the rooms into a small kitchen. It makes more overhead, but in the end, the payout is astounding — it makes the patrons feel special, and men who feel special are pleasantly inclined to give more in terms of tips. Pun intended. Jacob would be proud of that one, you think.

It also attracts wealthier clientele, whom you are more than happy to charge extra for the pleasure of pretty company. The Establishment prospers with you holding the purse strings; you almost dare yourself to feel proud. The Rooks have taken to calling you  bookie,  of all things. Sometimes they even invite you out for drinks.

You've never had a nickname before. You think you might like it.

The English winter drudges on and turns into an English spring, and you settle into a rhythm. You moved into an apartment in Whitechapel, a nicer one (in comparison — it's still poverty when set beside how you used to live, but you think you're slowly acclimating to it) closer to work. You spend most of your time with Ms. Jenny and the girls anyway — most nights, you find yourself passed out at your desk until Ms. Jenny shoos you to a couch in a dark corner by the stairs. She begins to insist that you call her Jenny, just Jenny — but that seems like a breach to you, a line you're just not ready to cross yet, no matter how many times she covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep in the receiving room.

At the end of every month, you meet Jacob in a pub to hand over his cut and go over the ledger. He always lingers to talk with you after, and you've gotten to know him, you think. As much as you can know someone who somehow manages to head both a crime syndicate and an alleged, shady reactionary freedom movement. At least that's what you can glean from the whispered conversations he's had with you when you ask after it.

"I think I know that look," he says, pointing his glass at you, "what are you thinking about?"

Damn him and his sharp eyes — you really must be more careful about your expressions.

"I realize that I don't actually know you at all," you say, swirling your glass around in your hand to slosh the wine inside. Frye's response is a dry chuckle and little more than that, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his own cup. You know he's not partial to wine. You know he prefers milds to bitters and finds that lager doesn't have the malty taste he enjoys, but he drinks it when he goes to Evie and Jayadeep's. But beyond that? He may as well be a ghost to you.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he says. You watch him chug half his cup before he sits it down again, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat. You sit your glass down, a companion piece. You'd threaten to kick him over not savoring it, but the wine they serve here isn't worth savoring.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" He seems utterly baffled by the idea.

"You know — things you enjoy. That you do on your off time."

"I think it's so incredibly, endearingly bold of you to assume I have off time." He smiles and then leans his chin on the heel of his hand and makes a show of thinking. "I do enjoy a good game of cards."

"Does that count as a hobby?"

"Why wouldn't it? Not everyone can afford to learn croquet or whatever they teach at Fancy Lads and Lasses School for Fancy Lads and Lasses." That stings — you take a drink of wine to lessen the bruise that puts on your ego, and Jacob visibly softens with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That was unkind of me."

"No — no, you're right." You look down at your hands, smooth and uncalloused, and rub your thumb against your palm to keep them busy. "I'm coming to learn that the world is very different from what I thought."

You don't know why you said it. Or why Jacob Frye touches his fingertips to yours after a long, pregnant pause. You startle, and you look up to see him with that softened smile.

"It's a lot to take in." He pulls his hand away; you find yourself missing the brush of it. Your fingers curl into your palms of their own accord.

"When did  you  first learn about all this Assassin and Templar business?" You ask.

"About four minutes after Evie, right out of the womb. We were raised in it. Our parents were both Assassins, so were our grandparents, probably their grandparents too. It's a good thing we keep dying young; otherwise, we'd be twice as inbred as Her Majesty and company." You gasp.

"That is the queen you're insulting!"

"She's a right shit old bird, is what she is," he plants a hand on his chest, looking wounded. "She almost took Evie's knighthood! Because we dared ask politely for her not to steamroll over all India and probably gleefully kick puppies in the process."

"Evie was knighted?"

"Henry and I too, but I didn't want the damn thing."

"You're a  knight?"  He curls his lip, topping up your glass and sighing. He nods his head as though it's a burden, and you snort into your wine glass. The dismay strangely suits him — he doesn't seem the type to want or even know what to do with a knighthood. You can't imagine him in a suit and medal either, no matter how hard you try.

You're about to ask him what his parents thought about him being here when someone grabs a chair and muscles their way to your table. You're pushed damn near into the wall, scowling and moving if only to keep your wine from spilling. You recognize the idiot who stuck his nose in — his name is Smith, and he's a bastard.

You've had to throw him out of The Establishment more than once; you'd entertain the idea that he has some sort of vendetta against you, but he's not worth the effort of thinking about. He downs his bottle of lager and sits it down onto the table, swaying in his seat. His eyes are bloodshot under the greasy, unwashed blond mop of his hair. He grins at Jacob with all his teeth after he greets him warmly. Loudly.

You cow in the corner as the whole bar turns to look at your table, trying to hide in your skin. For the most part, Jacob seems annoyed. Still, he greets Smith with the impatient smile of a father whose child interrupted an important meeting. You can see a muscle twitch in his cheek when Smith leans on you, his hand wrapping like an uncomfortable snake around your waist.

Your heart freezes, and every muscle you own goes rigid like stone as he spreads his palm over your hip.

"Didn't know you visited the Judies, boss! How much does ol' bookie go for these days? Gold or silver?" You grip your wine glass until your knuckles threaten to split, hot behind the ears as he leans in. His breath smells like a month's worth of stale beer. You fix him with your eye and pull your lip away from your teeth, speaking through a tight jaw. Usually, that is enough to get the handsy ones to back off; not tonight, apparently.

"You know very well that I work the desk. Nothing more, Mr. Smith."

"Yeah, with that stick up your arse, I bet you don't get many Johns. No room." He winks at Jacob, who simply sits and lets you wallow in your misery, the smile gone from his face. You look at him, pleading, as Smith leans even further in and plucks your wine glass out of your hands. You can't move. You can't stop him.

"Aw, c'mon, poppet! Give us a smile." Jacob grits his teeth until his jaw is white, a warning snarl curling his lip away from his teeth.

"That is  enough,  Smith."

"What? Boss, I'm jus' havin' a little fun. Hazin' the greenies, you know how it is." Smith turns back to you, leering ever closer, the rank of his breath falling across your cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you, darling?" The world melts away, candle wax as his hand travels down to rest on the outside of your thigh. You can only think of  Thomas Fucking Morvell.  His hand around your waist. It feels so suffocatingly like he's there instead of Smith, and something-

Something in you.

Snaps.

You think you might be seeing yourself outside your body, your hand wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as you slam the motherfucker into his big mouth. It explodes in a haze of glass. The force pushes him backward, out of the booth, onto the floor, and he covers his bleeding face with his hands and screams, screams, screams.

"You stupid fucking cunt!"  Smith wails more obscenities at you, but you aren't listening. Your ears ring. The bottle feels oh-so-right in your hands, perfect. Jacob stands when you do, eyes wide and eyebrows high, but he's not quick enough to stop you from straddling Smith's chest and grabbing his lacerated jaw with your hand. Glass cuts into your fingers. He stares up with one eye swollen shut with blood and the other ballooned in horror. You raise the shattered, razor-sharp bottleneck over your head. You feel like an animal.

You wish you could say something clever — but your teeth are pressed so tightly that your words wither and die at the pass. Smith shrieks when your arm falls towards his eyes in a violent arch.

Aren't you having fun, poppet? Gimme a smile.

Something firm and solid stops your arm and wrenches you up with so much force you spin, and the bestial part of you uses the momentum to try to punch out at whatever's caught you. You've never thrown a punch in your life, but by God, are you going to throw one now. Something grabs that arm too.

You force yourself to refocus, panting hard and covered in blood from a million tiny cuts, splattered in Smith's gore and stale beer.

Jacob is staring at you, holding your wrists tight and firm to keep you from hurting someone else — or yourself. Then, finally, the horror dawns on you that the bar — the entire bar — is staring at you. You drop the bloodied bottleneck; your chest feels like it's going to implode. And yet Jacob keeps staring.

"You," he says, more to himself than you, "are full of so many interesting surprises."

***

You are cleaned up, bandaged, and taken to a private room above the bar. You spend minutes (hours, feels like) pacing. Back, forth — back, forth. You chew at your bandages and lament that your nails are covered, gnashing like a beast to try and bite them to the quick.

When Jacob opens the door, you want to throw yourself at his feet.

"Jacob," your voice wobbles, your breath coming out in short gasps, "I am so, so sorry-" He cuts you off with a raised hand.

"No, I'm sorry."

...What?

Whatever for?

You stare in stunned silence while he rubs the back of his neck. "You were obviously uncomfortable, and he just — kept touching you. And I didn't stop him. I'm sorry."

"You — You told him to stop." You want to laugh. This is a trick — this has to be a trick.

"That is not enough." He sighs. "Considering I know what it feels like." He grimaces at the floor, arms crossed, and you collapse back to sit on the bare mattress, hearing the frame creak its protest under your weight. The two of you exist in oppressive quiet until Jacob pipes up from the door.

"But — that was impressive, back there. And you've shown a lot of initiative and drive these past few months. I think you should join us — the Creed." It sounds like a speech he's rehearsed for months, shocked into pulling it out now at the most inopportune of times. It's damn-near comical, but you can't bring yourself to laugh.

"Again, with your crazy cult of conspiracy theorists." You sag, running a hand over your face. "Fine. I'll join you. What else do I have to lose?" The silence that follows is awkward and strange, so you try to fill it with conversation. "What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like?" Jacob leans against the wall, watching a patch of the floor behind you with great interest. It takes him a moment to speak, but he sounds distant. Weather vaned to a place in history far away.

"His name was Maxwell Roth."

"The old leader of the Blighters? The one that set fire to the Alhambra?"

"The very same." You try to conjure him in your mind from what you remember. You come up with a shadowed figure in a mask and a cruel grin; you only know that he was much older than the two of you. You pull your knee to your chest and block out the thoughts as Roth slowly mutates into a figure you know far, far too well, and hate far, far too much.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"Don't be — it was a lifetime ago."

"A year," you smile; it doesn't reach your eyes. "But those can feel like lifetimes, can't they?"

"Sure as the sun shits gold, are you right." He moves to sit beside you, his hands folded between his knees, back bent. "He — I loved him. At least I think I did, afterward. After he died. He'd call me  darling  and  my dear,  and he made me feel so — so damn good about myself — all the things I'd accomplished like I was special. But I think we both loved a man who was," he trails off, trying so hard to find the words. You finish for him, hauntingly familiar with the feeling.

"Different from who the real man was," you say. "You loved the image you had in your head." And afterward, Jacob fell in love with the nostalgia.

"Right." He pauses and then coughs, the tips of his ears red. "We never had sex. I mean, afterward, shit — yeah, there were men. But for Roth and me — he was just touchy-feely. I thought I didn't mind then, but looking back on it now…" You feel nausea coil in your stomach; it's like looking in a mirror.

You never would have known. Or maybe he's just not as broken as you.

But to hear that you're not alone — you can find some measure of comfort in that, even if you're horrified to see your doppelganger sitting by you. You ask Jacob if Evie knows — she doesn't. She never will, if he has anything to say about it; all she knows is that something changed when he killed Roth, maybe for better or maybe for worse.

You don't know what to do — so you hesitantly lean against him, hoping that you're a comforting weight. He lets you. You stare straight ahead to keep from crumpling like a paper crane.

"I'm glad you said yes," he says. "This isn't — it's not a life I ask you to join lightly."

"What do I have to lose?" You repeat yourself, finally feeling brave enough to glance up, watching Jacob light a match and catch fire to the end of a cigar — the same one he's been smoking for a week, you realize. He must be saving it. "Does your mother know you smoke those things?" Not that it'd make much of a stir — they're meant to be healthy for the lungs anyhow. It's just unfortunate about the smell.

"Didn't know her," he says, almost as a throwaway comment as he takes a deep drag of smoke. You jolt, the shock of it filling your bones. "What?"

"Nothing," you say, fiddling with the selvage of your bandages. "I simply realized that we have much more in common than I thought."

[lochrannn]

AU-gust: Walk a mile in my red boots

Read on AO3

No warnings

prompt no 8: Character Swap

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves, Five Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

-

“Five, I have to find him! I just don’t understand why you can’t see that!” Lila throws her hands up in the air, exasperation with her oldest brother hitting a boiling point.

She’s been having this argument for days now.

After they returned to 2019, to an empty mansion, no mom, no Pogo, they had spent a good few days talking about what they had experienced and how they would go on. It didn’t take too long for them to split up, though. Allison wanted to get to LA as quickly as possible to see Claire and Vanya decided to travel with her. Having left Sissy back in Dallas and learning about how her life had been leading up to her causing multiple apocalypses had been tough on her, and she said she needed some time to re-evaluate where her life should go.

Lila isn’t ready to let go of her experiences back in Dallas yet, though. She feels like it’s her responsibility to find Diego and see if he’s ok.

“Lila, he’s a lunatic who manipulated you and tried to kill our siblings. Really, really wants me dead! Why are you so desperate to go after him? What are you going to do if he tries to hurt you? You know there’s not that much you can do if we're not there for you to copy our powers. And Diego’s a highly trained assassin!” Five is trying to be understanding, but Lila can tell by the way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet that he’s going to try any tactic he can to dissuade her.

“God, Five, why don’t you get it? You told me all about the loneliness you experienced in the apocalypse. Diego’s just lost everything. Everything he believed in has been taken away from him, I can’t imagine a place more lonely than that, except for the apocalypse, maybe. And I know he’s dangerous, but I don’t believe he’ll hurt me. And wouldn’t you rather know where he is and what he’s up to than have to wonder whether he might not come back to finish the job?” Lila knows that’s a low blow but she’s desperate. She can’t quite put into words why she feels so strongly that she has to find him, she just knows that she does.

“I’d like to see him try,” Five mumbles off to the side, but Lila can see that she’s slowly getting through to him.

It’s not like she needs his permission. She helped the little gerbil from the Commission, she’s sure she can wangle a favor out of him, she doesn’t need Five. But after everything they’ve been through, she’d much rather he was on her side on this one.

There’s a tense moment between them and then Five lets go of a long breath and nods once and Lila smiles broadly at her brother.

Before leaving the kitchen she ruffles his hair and earns herself a pretty hard slap to the hand in return.

-

In the end it’s not hard to find him.

Of course Herb has been keeping tabs on him. Not only is Diego a rogue Commission agent now, but the new interim head of the board is genuinely sympathetic towards the catastrophic loss Diego’s experienced and when Lila makes contact with Herb, he presses a pre-programmed briefcase into her hands and wishes her good luck.

-

Lila studies the sign outside the cantina. Her Spanish is a little rusty but she’s quite certain that it says no women are allowed inside.

Well, fuck that.

Usually she’s not too concerned about local customs, different strokes for different folks and all that. And it’s not like she’s traveled, really, outside of missions with the Umbrella Academy when they were children. But this sign can fuck right off. She hasn’t come all this way to find Diego to be turned away by outdated gender norms.

So she walks in holding her head up high and instantly draws everybody’s attention.

But all she can focus on is the figure that scrambles in a blur to what seems to be the back of the large room with its wooden ceilings.

He’s out of sight before she can even start running, but in her pursuit she swipes a knife off of a table and flings it out of the back door before she sprints through it herself.

She hasn’t had any real opportunity to practice using this power as she only found out Diego had it when he had repelled Vanya’s attack and had toyed with Five by whizzing a knife fractions of inches away from his head when they were fighting in the barn. At least that’s how Five tells it.

Well, Lila decides to simply wing it. Intuition has always served her quite well in copying her siblings’ powers, so why not now?

And at the same time as she bolts out the back door, she hears the sound of a knife imbedding itself in a clay wall and a loud yelp.

She turns to the noise and there he is, knife pinning his jacket to the wall, a line of blood welling up along the tear in the material - oops - and he has her leveled with a deadly glare. But he doesn’t move, just stares her down.

“Gotcha!” Lila says, trying to ease the tension between them, she thinks she deserves at least a bit of co-operation from him, seeing as she de-escalated the fight between Diego and Five back in Sissy’s barn. With her words no less!

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Diego spits out at her, his expression still murderous, but he also still hasn’t moved, so Lila continues approaching slowly while she says, “Oh you know, I’ve been jonesing for a bit of a holiday so I thought to myself ‘Where’s that bastard who played and manipulated me while I was at one of the lowest points of my life? Would really like to know what he’s up to these days.’”

For a second something almost a bit like guilt flashes across Diego’s face, but then his scowl deepens and he doesn’t say anything, nor does he make a move.

So Lila chances it and steps up to him, only to regret that the second he pulls the knife pinning him out of the wall, launches himself at her, slams her back against the wall and presses the knife to her throat.

Shit, she may have misjudged this. Maybe snark wasn’t the right choice after all.

There was a time when she thought he was quite charmed by her sharp tongue, but right now she remembers that she can’t actually be too sure about anything concerning Diego. However, there’s a feeling deep down inside of her that still believes that he won’t actually hurt her, but maybe Five is right and she’s just desperately naive.

Diego is towering over her breathing heavily, not from exertion, but clearly from rage.

“Why the fuck are you here, Lila? Is that little murderer you call a brother with you? Cause he can see what he gets for hunting me down!” he snarls.

Entirely out of options Lila decides the only way forward is with the truth. “Five’s not here. I came alone.” Oh you idiot, the voice in her head that sounds a little too much like Five chimes in. “Came to make sure you were ok,” she says, staring up at him imploringly.

That’s clearly not what he expected as she can feel his forearm twitch where he has it pressed to her collarbone and his grip on the knife at her throat falters for a second.

“Why?” he whispers. For the first time she feels like there might be a tiny bit of uncertainty in his voice.

“Cause you’re all alone, Diego, and I made you a promise and I’m not sure you really heard me… you know, the whole family thing?” Lila had made an impassioned speech back at the barn, but even though every word had been completely sincere, she feels a little awkward about the whole thing now.

A nasty grin stretches across Diego’s lips and he sneers, “I don’t believe for a second that all of your siblings feel the same way. Doubt they’ve forgotten about how I tried to kill them. Came pretty close, as well! And what the fuck makes you think I’d even want to be part of your family, anyway?”

He’s leaning against her heavily now and Lila knows he’s trying to intimidate her, but if he wanted to hurt her he would have already done so. Clearly he’s not actually willing to just leave this conversation either.

“They’ll get over themselves,” she says with as casual a shrug as she can manage with a knife to her throat, “and I care about you, Diego, the same way I think you care about me. And I don’t believe you actually want to be alone. But beyond that, it’s up to you.”

At her words she sees something crumble behind his eyes and suddenly they seem to fill with unshed tears. “Jesus, Lila, I drugged you and took you to the Commission against your will. You’re fucking crazy to be anywhere near me!”

“Yeah you did. And maybe I am. But what can you do?” Lila just says gently.

Apparently that’s how easy it is. Diego closes his eyes, presumably to stop the tears from falling, tips forward, and knocks his forehead against hers.

Then the knife is gone and Lila uses the opportunity to wrap her arms around him and he melts into her hug.

And while they stand there, Lila with her back against the wall, slightly struggling to hold a sobbing Diego upright, she rubs soothing circles into his back and whispers into his ear, “It’s gonna be alright! We can make it alright, I promise!”

[toomuchtv95]

Struggling Chapter 3

Characters: Jay Halstead, Hank Voight, Antonio Dawson

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Eventually)

Word Count: 3k+

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, drowning, badly written medical talk, fluff

A/N: So I am going back to work on Tuesday, which means updates will be slower. I will try to get update as much as I can but I can’t promise anything, but I promise I will try my hardest. 

Series MasterList

Slowly opening your eyes, the bright light coming from the light hanging over you, caused you to squint your eyes. As you tried to move, your hands were tied to a rusty old radiator along with your ankles tied together which you lead you to be immobile. A sharp pain cut through your head and it felt like your whole body was in pain. Every movement you made causes some bone or muscle to ache. You started to feel something trickled down your face and once it reached your mouth, you tasted blood. The kidnappers must have busted your head open when they hit you over the head and knocked you unconscious. 

You heard the kidnappers talking in the hallway, “why the hell would you kidnap a cop?” 

“She’s been threatening to file my arrest. I had to do something.” It was all coming back to you now. You were meeting up with your CI and when he didn’t want to do what you asked, you threaten to file his arrest, and he decided to knock you over the head. But who was the other guy he was talking to? “Look this can work in our favor. We can make demands. Get what we want.”

“I should have arrested you the moment I picked up at that drug bust.” You finally manage to find your voice which was hoarseness from the lack of water and dehydration. “It will never work. Making demands in hopes they will give you something. They won’t give you anything.”

“Well it’s worth a try and if they don’t give us what they want we can just kill you.” Sam, who was your CI, pulled out a phone from his back pocket

“Hey, have you heard from Y/N this morning? I tried calling her on my way, but she didn’t answer.” Jay walked up to the crime scene with coffee in hand and concerned in his voice.

“She called me letting me know she was meeting up with a CI about something.” Antonio turned around to see Jay walking towards him. “She said she would meet us back the district.” 

Just as Jay was about saying, his phone went off and to his surprise, your name popped up on the screen. “Y/N? Where are you?” 

“Y/N is a little busy right now.”

“Who is this? Where’s Y/N?” Jay stopped dead in his tracks which caused Antonio to stop also. Jay put the phone on the speaker so that Antonio could hear the other person.

“You don’t get to ask questions.” You wanted to call out to Jay, but Sam had tied a handkerchief around your mouth. “The only way your going to see Y/N again is if you give me what I want.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Antonio ran off to go find Voight.

“Well, then I guess we have no business left to discuss.” 

Sam was about to hang up, “okay, wait. First off, I need proof that Y/N is okay, then we can make a deal.” With that said both Hank and Antonio approached Jay.

“Fine.” Sam removed the handkerchief from your mouth. “Talk.” 

“Jay! Whatever you don’t listen to him he’s a drug addict!” You screamed out which caused a slap to the face and a whimper escape your lips. Sam replaced the handkerchief and took a few steps back.

“Okay, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her.” Hearing you cry out anger flooded through his body. Jay glanced up at the Voight who was, of course, worried for his daughter. “Tell me what you want, and I will see what I can do.”

“I want my drugs back. The ones that were taken from me that night of the drug bust. Y/N took them away from me and now I want them back. I’ll call back in 1 hour with a location and you better have my drugs and if you don’t Y/N is dead.” With that said the line went dead. 

Jay felt sick to his stomach when he heard you cry out and Jay will do whatever he has to get you back. “He was using her phone we can ping it. He wasn’t to smart on that part.” 

“Jay’s right. You two go back to the district ping her phone and get a location. Keep this between the three of us and we will bring the rest of the team if we need too.” Voight was, of course, worried that his daughter was taken but he knew that Jay and Antonio the situation could handle the situation. Hank didn’t want to worry the team considering that this lowlife drug-addicted was stupid enough to use your phone to make demands.

Sam had thrown you into a trunk of a car and drove for about a half-hour until you reached your destination. Sam’s partner in crime disappeared when he realized that Sam was insane for kidnapping a cop and making demands. Once Sam pulled you out of the trunk, you notice that you were at a much nicer house then the last one. Sam carried you through the house and into the backyard considering that both your ankles and wrist were bond by zip ties. Once outside, you saw that there was an inground pool and you had a bad feeling that if Jay didn’t show up something very bad could happen. Even though you told Jay not to do anything, you knew that he would do anything to save you.

“Well looks like your boyfriend isn’t going to make it.” Sam looked down at his watch realizing that the hour was almost up, and Jay was nowhere in sight. Sam removed the handkerchief from your mouth as he set you down on one of the patio chairs.

“Why are you doing this?” The zip ties dug into your wrist and they started to bleed from you struggling to get out. 

“Because I’m taking back what’s mine. I never wanted to be your CI, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go back to Jail not again.” Sam waved a gun around as he paced the patio as you could see that he was clearly high on something. 

“If you kill me then that will definitely put you back in prison.” Sam looked down at his watch again before pulling you up from the chair and stood you at the edge of the pull. “Times up.” 

“Sam listen don’t do this.” You struggled against Sam’s hold, but he had the upper hand. 

“Let her go.” The two of you snapped your heads to the right to see Jay standing there with a duffle bag. “Look I brought you your drugs. That was the deal.”

“Your late.” Sam decided to make another stupid move by putting the barrel of the gun to your head.

“Well, you’re the one who changed locations last minute. I was on my way to the other location when you decided to call and change locations.” Jay dropped the bag to the floor as he took a cautious step towards the two of you. 

“We had a deal. I bring you your drugs and you let Y/N go.” Sam gripped his hand around your arm which you knew would leave a bruise. You tried to get out his grip, but it was no use, so you stopped trying.  

“Like I said it’s too late.” Next thing you knew it, Sam threw you into the pool and the moment your body hit the water, you tried to move, but you couldn’t because of being bond. The water whirls around you, trapping you from the oxygen you needed. Your entire body started to throb as your lungs start to feel like they are on fire. Slowly, blackness begins to surround your visions and you knew you couldn’t hold on much longer. As you lost consciousness, you still felt someone, or something grab you and pull you out of the water. 

Jay had jumped in the water shortly after attacking Sam and putting him in handcuffs. The moment Antonio stepped into the backyard to see Jay giving you chest compressions, he called into his radio for an ambulance and backup. “Come on Y/N.” After a few more compressions, you started to spit up water and you slowly opened your eyes. 

“Jay.” Jay sighed in relief when you spoke up. Once Jay sat you up, he cut the zip-ties with his pocketknife and instantly pulled you into his chest.

“What’s the verdict doc?” Will stood in front of you finishing up with stitches on your forehead as your father walked into the exam room. 

“She’ll live.” Will chuckled as he removed his gloves. “She’s got a couple of stitches, a few cuts and bruises, and a concussion.” Will grabbed the tablet from the tablet and started punching in things. “You’re lucky you didn’t suffer any permanent damage.” 

“Thanks, Will.” Will gave you a soft smile as he patted your dad on the shoulder while leaving the room. “Where’s Jay?” Even though you almost just died all you cared about was Jay and how he came to save you.

“He’s in the waiting room.” Your father stood in front of you with a soft smile on his face. Even though your father didn’t like in house relationships he would make an exception for the two of you if it ever came to that. All he ever wants is for you to be happy again and if that means bending the rules a little, he would do it. “You know it’s okay.” 

“What are you talking about?” You slowly got off the examining table and started to change into the pair of dry clothes that your father had brought you.

“You and Halstead.” You turned around as you pulled on your jeans followed by your sweatshirt. You looked up at your dad shocked considering that he wasn’t a fan of in-house relationships.

“There’s nothing going on between us.” That wasn’t a complete lie. You had no idea what you and Jay were. Since telling him about Ryan and then kissing him and him not kissing you back, the two of you haven’t talked about it. To be honest, you have been avoiding him because you weren’t ready to talk to him about it.

“All I’m saying that it’s okay to be happy again.” Your father had a small smile on his face, as he walked out of the room with you. 

“Okay, here’s a prescription for some anti-nausea medication” Will handed bottle with the prescription. “And here are your discharge papers.” Will then handed you the rest of the paperwork. “Now go home and get some rest and take a few days off.” 

“Oh, trust me, she’s taking a week off,” Hank spoke up from behind you which earned him an eye roll from you.

After thanking Will again, the two of you walked into the waiting room to see Jay slightly pacing. Once Jay saw you, he practically ran over to you and pulled you into a hug. “I’m so glad you're okay,” Jay whispered against your hair before pulling away just enough to see your face.

“According to Will, I’ll live.” You chuckled as you still hand your arms slightly wrapped around his waist.

“Jay take her home and take the rest of the day off.” As Voight appeared behind the two of you, you both took a step back. “And make sure she takes it easy. Will said she needs her rest.” Jay nodded his head as your dad hugged you. “Alright, I got to get back to the district. Take care of her.”

“Thank you.” You sat on the couch with an icepack pressed against your head as your headache started to rise again.

“I’m just following orders.” Jay around the couch and sat down next to you.

“That’s not what I meant.” You removed the icepack and tossed it into the coffee table. “I meant for saving me.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about saving you.” Jay reached over and squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“For what? Getting kidnapped and almost drowning?” Jay looked at you with a questionable expression.

“For kissing you the other night. I was just caught up in the moment.” You pulled away from his touch as you started to feel uncomfortable about bringing it up, but it had to be done. The room got quiet making things more awkward and uncomfortable. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.” 

“I didn’t kiss you back because you caught me off guard.” Jay completely skipped over the fact that you basically told him that he could leave. “Believe me when I saw that I regret not kissing you back, but I don’t want you to think that I did it out pity because it wouldn’t have been.” Jay reached over to cup the side of your face and lightly stroked your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You laid your hand over his as you leaned into his touch. “You are the first guy I’ve kissed since Ryan died.” 

“Really?” Jay removed his hand from your cheek along with yours and rested them in your lap. 

“I’ve been struggling the last two you to regain my life back and then I realized that the only way I was going to move on with my life is by letting go of Ryan.” Without thinking you turned his hand over and begin to run your finger over the lines of his palm. “I will always love him, but I need to move on and be happy again.” You looked down at your conjoined hands and whispered, “you make me happy.” You looked up only to get caught by Jay’s lips. After a moment, you pulled away to catch your breath. “What was that for?” You whispered against his lips.

“Regret for not kissing you back the other night.” Jay moved a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled.

“So, what now?” Without realizing, you leaned forwarded and rested your hand on his chest which took Jay by surprise but didn’t show it. 

“I don’t know. But I do know that you should get some rest. That concussion won’t heal itself.” Jay rested his hand on the back of your head before leaning forward and place a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

You smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Will told me that shouldn’t be alone for the night.”

“If you wanted me to spend the night again all you had to do is ask.” Jay chuckled as you pull away from and playfully slapped his chest. “Well, I guess if it’s doctor's orders then I’ll stay.”

You woke up the next morning to the soft sunlight hitting your face through the curtains. Last night, was tougher than you thought it would be. You woke up twice last night feeling nauseous along with a piercing headache. The first time you got up you sprinted to the bathroom and threw up all the contents from the pizza you and Jay had ordered for dinner. After the second time you woke up, you asked Jay to lay in bed with you until you fall back asleep. As you rolled over in bed you came face to face with a sleeping Jay and you couldn’t help but smile. At this moment you realized that this was the first time in two years that you shared a bed with a man and there wasn’t a single ounce of regret or guilt.

“Your staring,” Jay mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Well, when a good-looking guy is lying next to me, I can’t help but stare.” You scooted closer to Jay only to be a few inches away from him.

“How are you feeling?” Jay rolled so that he was now on his side fully facing you.

“My head still hurts, but the nauseousness has subsided for now.” You reached over and lightly stroked his cheek with your thumb. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Jay reached up and covered his hand with yours.

“For being you.” You whispered as you leaned forward landed a soft kiss on his lips. When you kissed him, your brain lit on fire, and warmth spread throughout the rest of your body. Your whole body craved more, and for the first time in a long time, you were happy. Since kissing him the other night all you could think about was kissing him again and now that you have it was intoxication and you never wanted to stop. 

“As soon as you’re feeling better, I am taking you out to dinner.” Jay breathed out as he pulled away. 

“Is Jay Halstead asking me out on a date?” You smirked at him as you popped yourself up on your elbow resting your head in your hand.

“Yes, I am.” Jay smiled at you as he sat up in bed going for his phone that was going off. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, the smile on his face disappeared which meant one thing. “We caught a case.”

You sighed as you gently fell back on the bed. “Go save the city. At least one of get to go to so that.” Jay chuckled as he stood up from the bed.

“Well, I manage not to get myself kidnapped and then thrown into a pool.” Jay leaned down slightly hovering over you. “I’ll call you later.” Jay was inches away from your lips as if he were about to kiss you but ended up kissing your forehead instead. 

“Such a tease.” Jay chuckled as you tossed a pillow hitting him in the back as he left the room. As you laid on the bed staring at the ceiling you let the happiness soak into your bones. This was the moment you have been waiting for. Happiness. It’s been a long time since you felt this happy and you weren’t letting it go. As you heard the front door close, you slowly got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom.

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[ejzah]

A/N: Based of a post were I suggested that the team competes in various events during the downtime created by the lockdown. A full story was requested by someone. If you would like to claim it, let me know in the comments.

As you might expect, this is filled with ridiculousness.

***

“That’s it, you’re disqualified, G!” Sam declared as he yanked a throwing knife out of the wall, the handle still shaking from being recently hurled.

“Why am I disqualified?”

“You almost hit me in the head!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been standing so close to the target.” As they continued to bicker, Eric, Nell, Kensi, and Deeks sat down on the bleachers set up in the gym.

“I wonder how long this argument is going to take.” Nell said, sounding mildly disinterested. Over the course of the day, they had competed against each other in various events, including completing a hundred pushups, a 100 meter sprint, non-dominant hand shooting, and miniature basketball.

The day long competition was the result of them all having far too much idle time while most of the state was in some form of lockdown.

Sam, Kensi and Deeks had been neck and neck for the pushups. Nell had given up after 10 in favor of watching Deeks and Sam finish. In the end, Sam had beat Kensi by three. Kensi and Deeks had tied in the sprint, which had resulted in a mini argument over whether or not they could have two winners and Sam had easily won in the shooting event. Callen had won the mini-basketball round.

“Well, I’d say it depends on how quickly Sam figures out that Callen is messing with him,” Deeks said, settling in for a good half hour of debate.

“How do you guys wear this stuff all the time?” Eric asked, doing a weird half lunge thing as he frowned down at his under armor shorts. “I always feel like it’s squeezing me to death.”

“Well, it does have its perks,” Deeks commented, wiggling his eyebrows at Kensi as he glanced pointedly at her strappy black sports bra.

“Mm, yes it does,” Nell agreed, eyeing his chest appreciatively. Deeks looked down at his skin tight tank top and shrugged.

“Anyway,” Kensi said, rolling her eyes. “We should probably intervene or we’ll never get to the next event.”

“You just want to get your trophy,” Deeks teased her.

“Hey I won the knife throwing competition fair and square. No one else even came close.”

***

“C’mon Deeks!” Kensi shouted, clapping her hands as Deeks and Callen went up against each other on the climbing walls. “You can do this! Climb faster!” She’d already lost against Callen earlier and had taken sides. Nell had also joined Deeks’ side, but Eric seemed torn.

“G, don’t do this to me again!” Sam shouted over Kensi’s encouragement. Deeks thought he heard Callen mutter something sarcastic about not being a show monkey.

Deeks was about 2/3 of the way up with Callen several feet under him. He grabbed the next two handholds, propelling himself another two feet. To the sound of Nell and Kensi’s combined shouts, he climbed the last few feet and touched the top.

“Yes baby!” Kensi cheered as he dropped onto the mat below. Callen let himself fall too and said,

“Well, thank god that’s over.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam said, sounding deeply disappointed. “How could you let him win again?” Callen stood up, breathing heavily with his hands on his hips.

“Once again, he’s got longer arms and have you seen his muscles these days? His arms are like freaking trees,” Callen pointed out. “Besides, I beat you.”

“I have more weight to lift.” Before Callen could respond to that, Nell cut in.

“I believe it’s time for the three-legged race.”

“Ooh, I won the three-legged race every year at my summer camp,” Eric said excitedly. He extended his arm to Nell. “Shall we, M’Lady?”

***

“How are you this uncoordinated?” Kensi shouted at Deeks as they tumbled to the ground for the third time in a minute. Sam and Callen were only doing marginally better; if he’d been less focused on not falling, Deeks would have found the sight of them fumbling around hilarious.

“I don’t know, maybe because one of my legs is tied to yours?” he suggested sarcastically, groaning as he Kensi tried to stand up and ended up yanking at his bound leg.

“As the only married couple, we should be better at this.” Kensi sounded ready to kill him and he tried to sync his movements with hers.

Ahead of them, Nell and Eric were somehow managing to move at an impressive speed despite their vastly different heights.

Kensi growled as they fell yet again.

“This is a cruel, cruel sport,” Deeks sighed. In the time it took them to get back up, Eric and Nell crossed the finish line and immediately hugged, jumping up and down in excitement.

Deeks released the Velcro brace wrapped around his left leg, rubbing at the sore spot the rough material had left as they slowly walked across the field.

“Congratulations,” Kensi told Eric and Nell, managing a smile despite her disappointment.

“Thanks, but it was all Eric,” Nell said, giving him a proud look. “He’s a great leader.”

“Oh, I’m only as good as my partner,” Eric insisted, one arm wrapped around her waist.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam commented, trying to brush grass stains off his clothes.

***

“Nell, how often do you play mini golf?” Callen asked, sounding suspicious as Nell tapped her bright blue golf ball through a windmill and straight into a hole marked with a white 16.

“I may or may not have lived near a course when I was a kid,” Nell answered with a grin. She sank another ball with a single tap. “We played every weekend for a couple summers.”

“I should’ve known when you insisted we include it in the competition,” Kensi commented. She was a few strokes behind Nell and one in front of Deeks.

“Hey, I play to my strengths.” Nell shrugged, not seeming in any hurry to get to the next hole.

“At least the rest of us are doing better than Eric and Sam,” Deeks said, nodding to where Sam and Callen were struggling to get past a river that kept swallowing the ball and spitting it back out on the other side.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam this angry,” Callen said, his voice filled with poorly concealed humor. As they watched, Sam shouted something and threw his club across the course where it landed in the middle of a small sandpit. “I better go calm him down before we get kicked out.”

“Maybe we should cancel this event. I mean, this is just supposed to be for fun,” Kensi said, watching Sam stalk away as Callen tried to talk to him. Eric was still futilely whacking at his ball.

“Not a chance,” Nell said fiercely, pausing to line her club up to the ball. She swung, the blue tennis skirt she’d chosen to wear swishing with her movement, and smiled in satisfaction as she got another hole in one. “I won this trophy and no one is taking it away from me.”

“Nothing like a game of mini golf to foster familial goodwill,” Deeks commented wryly.

***

Beep beep beep.

“Alright, pencils down,” Nell announced to the sound of frantic scratching. Deeks leaned back, having finished his 10th Scattegories list several seconds early.

Kensi swore under her breath and tossed her pencil down, glaring malevolently at him.

“Ok, starting with Eric, gifts/presents, terms of endearment, kinds of dances, things that are black, vehicles, tropical locations, college majors, dairy, products, things in a souvenir shop, and world records,” Nell said. “And they all must start with the letter L.”

By now her voice was hoarse and she sounded like a teacher who had spent all day corralling misbehaving students. It wasn’t far off.

“Alright, I have Lady Lark, locket, love, nothing, nothing, Land Rover, Latin, nothing, leg warmers, lip balm, and nothing,” Eric rattled off, looking a little stressed. He’d taken his jacket off half an hour ago, apparently overheated by the pressures of the game.

Nell sighed, crossing a couple things off her list.

“Ok, Callen?” He’d been toe to toe with Deeks for the last five rounds and seemed pretty confident. Clearing his throat dramatically, he started reading off his list.

“Lewis and Clark, lima beans, lima beans, lima beans-“

“Wait a second, you just said ‘lima beans’ three times in a row,” Sam interrupted.

“Lima beans would make a great present in my opinion,” Callen said, leaning back in his chair and twirling his pencil carelessly.

“Well, I don’t. Besides, you can’t use the same thing more than once.” Callen sighed and tossed his paper on the table.

“Then you’re probably not going to like the rest of this list.”

“You seriously wrote down lima beans 11 times?” Kensi asked and he shrugged again.

“At this point, I just want the game to be over,” he said, earning a disgusted sound from Sam.

Kensi, Nell, and Sam all read off their lists, scratching of a word here and there. Deeks had insisted that he go last for each round, to give them a better appreciation of his brilliance. No one had argued, but that might have been more for the sake of expediency than that they actually cared. When it was his turn, he noisily cleared his throat.

“Lincoln, as in Abraham, lingerie,” he paused to glance at Kensi who rolled her eyes. “Ladybird, lap dance, lemurs, Lamborghini, Laos, law, low fat yogurt, a license, and liquor,” Deeks said, dropping his board on the table with a smug expression. “Boom.”

“Damn,” Eric muttered. “Why didn’t I think of lap dancing?”

“Because you have an ounce of self-respect,” Kensi said a little meanly, which Deeks put down to her losing another round.

“Ok, so Deeks is officially the winner,” Nell announced, to no ones surprise.

He took a bow, dodging Kensi’s elbow.

***

“G, that’s not a word,” Sam sighed, gesturing for Callen to move the letter tiles he’d just laid down. The board was covered with a grid of words. Deeks had most recently added “erotic”, built off of Kensi’s “elbow”. Sam hadn’t liked Deeks’ word either, but didn’t have grounds to protest it.

“Yes, it is,” Callen insisted. “And now I’m out of tiles too and since that’s 7 with a triple word score, I win.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Kensi argued, crossing her arms as she glared at him. She’d played extremely competitively, contesting almost as many words as Sam. “You used an already existing word, so you can’t use the ‘s’.”

“And it’s not a real word.”

“It’s in the Harry Potter books.” Callen lifted his hands like that was definite proof, leaning back with a grin. “So I’d say it’s a real word.”

“Actually “lumos” is adapted from the Latin word “lumen”, Deeks explained, “so it’s really a made up word and even if it wasn’t, foreign words aren’t allowed or I would have killed this game.”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“Let’s never do this again,” Nell said to Eric from where they were sitting off to the sides as Sam pulled out a giant dictionary.

“But we’re still getting trophies, right?” he asked worriedly. Nell snorted.

“Of course. I am the champion of mini golf after all.”

***

A/N: Just for fun little side note, I really dislike mini golf. One of the first times I played (I was a teenager), got so mad that I had a similar reaction to Sam’s. Ever since my family has been very cautious around me while playing the game.

And Callen with the lima beans is also based on a real-life anecdote.

[desert-dyke]

Never Fight a Woman with Spurs - Part 1

Working on Jackal’s backstory for the Vegas Vampires collab, starting with how Jackal became a vampire

content warnings: blood, broken bone, dislocation, guns, blood drinking, loss of consciousness  Idk how to write content warnings so lmk if there’s anything else 

A bullet rips past him, sinking into the wall. Jackal’s luck pointed in his favor yet again. A grin fills his face. He is heavily unsteadied by the whiskey in his gut, holding the same wall as he turns towards the woman who failed to shoot him. 

There she is, revolver in hand, standing in the dusty road. Her with dark hair pulled into a ponytail beneath her ten-gallon hat. Her with her trousers - such a peculiar woman, and he was already starting to like her. 

“Need to work on your aim,” he taunts her. 

She moves nine yards in a blink of an eye. The shock further unsteadies him and he holds onto the wall tighter. It was just his mind playing tricks, thoroughly saturated in the drinks, and maybe some other substances as well. 

She grabs him by the collar of his shirt, shorter than him, but having the strength to throw him against the wall. 

“That was a warning shot!” The air is crushed from his lungs. Jackal knows what little else to do but laugh, thinking lady luck was still going to smile on him. 

“You lost. Accept it,” He tells her. He had a knack for cards, for gambling, and he seldom lost. 

“You cheated.” Her dark eyes narrow with the accusation. She throws him to the ground, before digging the spur of her boot into his ribcage. He grunts at the pain, no longer laughing, but he could take a beat down. “I want my fucking money back!” 

Jackal rolls onto his back. Her face is entirely blacked out, backlit by the moonlight. “Or what?” He taunts her. He knew a bluff when he saw one. ‘Warning shot’ his ass. She wasn’t going to kill him. He wasn’t afraid of her. 

She spits on his face. Jackal laughs. He sees the sole of her boot rise above his face. She brings it hard down on him, smashing her heel against his face like he was a venomous viper. He closes his eyes, turns his face away, but the battery continues until her heel collides with his nose. He hears a snap. Blood fills his sinuses. He can taste it in his mouth. 

“Not laughing now, are you mister?” Jackal is quiet. He would wait this out. Not the first person he pissed off, and she wasn’t going to be the last. 

His vision is blurry by the time she stops. He blinks a few times to clear the blood from it. She is gone. It was one of the worse beatings, he would give her that.

Jackal is slow to sit up. His head feels like hell, blood pounding in his ears. He hears horse hooves on gravel. It halts before him. Jackal looks up. His stomach drops as he sees that it is her again.

He should have ran when he had the chance. 

She dismounts as Jackal rolls onto his stomach, attempting to crawl away, though he knows it will be futile. She grabs his ankle, holds tight on to it. 

“I’ll give you the damn money! Just-! Leave me alone!” He shouts. She declines to answer. He hears a ‘Ya!’ in time with a flick of reigns - peculiar, given that there is still pressure around his ankle. 

He makes the connection a moment too late, as suddenly his entire body is yanked along by his ankle. His leg pops from the socket at his hip as Jackal is dragged along the dust by the horse. He claws into the ground, attempting to gain purchase. Dirt wedges beneath his nails. It cuts his finger tips. 

He quickly learns that his best defense is to go limp. Any movement causes him to roll, banging his elbows on hard earth passing too fast underneath him, or worse, his head. 

The pain steadily increases in his leg where bone had split from joint. The weight of his body resting on it, he could feel himself slowly ripping apart, sinew by sinew. And just when he thought he was going to lose his leg entirely, the horse came to a stop. 

He smells a burning fire smoldering to coals. There are two other horses tethered at this makeshift camp. Two other dark figures rising from where they sat by the fire to take attention to their newest addition. 

“He’s bleeding,” One states. Though he cannot see faces, the voice sounds feminine. He also notices that despite her words, she did not sound concerned. 

The woman from the bar unties his ankle. Jackal quickly collects himself. His leg hurts with every movement, bone still disconnected. His chest hurts, his skin felt raw, yet still he willed himself to move. 

“Drink up, girls,” She grabbed him by his hair, dragged him a little bit closer to the campfire before letting him fall prone again. “Though I must warn you, this one has been drinking.” Jackal had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Aren’t you going to drink, Nisha?” The other asks. Nisha mounts her horse, shakes her head. 

“I have business to take care of,” Nisha answers, her horse begins to trot in place. “Mabel...Clem...Don’t drink too much. I need him alive.” The horse gallops, ferrying her away. 

Jackal reaches for his revolver. He was still soggy from the alcohol, disoriented from the dragging, but this was his last hope for freedom. He draws, fires two shots just as the women were turning back towards him. He watches as the shots ripped into their torsos, blood bursting from the entry spot. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Jackal stands, shaky, like a newborn calf. Any weight put on his leg hurts horrifically. He makes no progress towards the two other horses before he notices the women were still coming closer. They were bleeding, yes, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the gunshots. 

“W-what?” His eyes squint, as if he were just not seeing things right. Maybe he was higher than he originally thought.

They speed towards him, nearly jumping from one spot to the other, like he had seen Nisha do. The one named Mabel grabs him by the hair. The other, Clem, digs her fingers into his dislocated leg. Jackal cries out in pain. He feels his revolver leave his hand as one of the them take it while the pain is at the front of his attention.

“It’s alright. We’ll take care of you,” Clem says. Jackal’s vision is marred by the flaring pain. She leans into his neck. He thinks she might kiss it, but instead he feels a sharp pain cutting into his skin.

“Ah!” 

“Shh…” Mabel hushes him. His eyes move wildly about him, unable to comprehend, unable to see a way out of the trap. He feels added pressure to the wound she had given him and realizes that she was sucking, pulling out more blood. Jackal groans in discomfort. He wants it to end. His hand twitches as he remains held by both women, now weaponless and severely weakened. He would not underestimate them again. 

Clem’s lips are red and bloody. She laps the extra from them, like a cat after drinking milk. “Nisha was right. A bit boozy, but it does in a pinch.”

Mabel was already eager and reaching for him for her turn. “I’ve gone hungry long enough, I don’t care what it tastes like!” She latches on to the same wound Clem bit into him, with a new pressure that earns a noise from Jackal.

“What’s…wrong with you!?” Jackal gasps out, eyes meeting with Clem’s, as she watches her partner drain him. 

“Are you just figuring it out now?” Clem answers. The smile she gives him is wicked. Mabel drinks with much more enthusiasm. He can almost feel the blood being pulled from his veins. Excess blood drips from around her mouth, dripping hot down his neck and onto his shirt. He groans again. He is starting to feel a little lightheaded. “She’s new. Don’t mind her,” He hears Clem say, though that made just about as much sense as everything else did. He feels a heaviness in his head. Clem says something else but he can’t make out her words. The night grows darker. The fire seems nonexistent now. Gravity is calling him back to the ground, and as Mabel releases her hold on him, he obeys.