#like oh well i will think of something later

[lovebugism]

i’d love to see what you’d do for a holiday spent with rockstar!eddie 🙂‍↔️ maybe a quiet night in decorating or just smitten with each other’s company after time spent apart?? a suggestive ending maybe 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

ty for requesting :D — you and rockstar!eddie spend the holidays together after coming back from tour (rockstar!eddie universe, established relationship, allusions to smut 18+ | 1.2k)

You wake that morning to a heavy and familiar weight on top of you. 

Eddie Munson — rockstar, heartthrob, and world-famous dweeb — is sprawled along your back like your own personal blanket. You swear you can feel his heart beating softly against your shoulder blade while his mouth rests on your cheek, pink and softly parted to exhale little snores in your ear.

You let him for a while, until you think you feel drool on your jaw.

“Wha—?” Eddie slurs when you shift slightly to shove at him. He makes no move to get off of you, though.

“You know we aren’t in a bunk anymore, right?” you mumble into the pillow. “So you don’t have to sleep directly on top of me now.”

“Well, jokes on you, ‘cause I love being on top of you,” he quips, voice heavy with sleep.

You raise a feeble hand to swat at him. “You’re such a perv,” you grumble.

Eddie laughs quietly in your ear, then brushes his lips along your cheek in a chaste kiss. “Want breakfast?” he mumbles against your skin, soft and warm with a lingering slumber.

You nod lazily against the cushion. “Yeah. But I also wanna sleep for, like, five more hours…”

“How 'bout I do a bagel run, and after we fall asleep on the couch? Like old times?”

The mention of old times makes your chest feel all sparkly. Back when you swore you’d hate each other to the grave, but Eddie still had your breakfast order memorized, and you’d still have his favorite T.V. show on by the time he got back.

You’d doze off together, on opposite sides of the couch, but under the same blanket — like some kind of old married couple. Until Steve inevitably found you both there, and you’d go back to hating each other all over again.

“Deal,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Eddie pats your ass twice and slides off of you.

You grieve his warmth the moment he’s gone.

An hour or more later, the two of you are sufficiently full with breakfast, passed out on opposite sides of the couch, with Scooby Doo re-runs playing quietly across the room.

That’s precisely how Steve finds you — his roommates turned world-famous rockstars — snoring with their mouths wide open, at one in the afternoon, after months of being away. 

With his arms full of groceries, he slams the door shut with his foot. The resounding thud startles both of you accordingly. You and Eddie lift your heavy heads like waking zombies, wincing as you stretch your aching backs.

“This is really humbling to see, by the way,” Steve quips as he hangs his keys by the door.

Eddie scowls. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “It’s just— while you guys were halfway across the country, people wouldn’t stop gushing about the two of you... But it’s a really nice reminder to know that you guys are still a bunch of slobs.”

“Asshole…” Eddie grumbles.

You wipe the sleep from your eye and sit further up. “What are those?” you ask, nodding to the paper bags he holds in both arms.

Steve’s lips jut softly out as he peers over the tops of his groceries. “Ornaments, garlands, tinsel… And some condoms, ‘cause we were running low.”

“Who’s we?” Eddie scoffs.

“Me and your mom—”

“I love you, Stevie,” you say. “But there’s no way in hell I’m decorating this place today.”

“Yeah, Harrington,” the wild-haired boy beside you squints. “We just got home. You’ll have to peel me off this couch if you want me to help.”

“Oh, please,” Steve scoffs.

“What?”

You flash him a knowing grin. “We all know you’re gonna watch Steve do it until he inevitably puts something in the wrong spot and pisses you off until you just to do it yourself. You do it every year, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his chocolate eyes. “I’m not that predictable, doll.”

—————

The apartment is fully decorated by nightfall, by Eddie’s own stubborn volition.

Steve helps you bake a batch of cookies, then promptly leaves after taking a phone call you weren’t allowed to spy in on. He shoves on his coat and mumbles something about an old bootycall that was back in town for the holidays.

You break into his good liquor accordingly, and spike your mugs of hot chocolate with his expensive whiskey.

“C’mere,” Eddie waves from his spot by the glowing Christmas tree.

You let out an immediate whine from the couch, made sluggish from the long day and the spiked cocoa. “What?” you call back in a dramatic mewl.

“You gotta put the star on, doll— You do it every year,” he mocks with a lopsided smile, slick with alcohol.

“But I’m comfortable!”

“Stop complainin’ and get your sweet ass up here.”

You comply, though not without a series of inaudible grumbles as your feet shuffle along the carpeted floor in subdued protest. Eddie guides you up the small step ladder with his palms splayed on your ass.

“What? I’m helping you!” he defends when you flash him a knowing look.

His hands jerk instinctively to your hips when you rise to the tips of your toes, leaning slightly over to hang the shining star upon the highest bough, as it were. You don’t seem to notice how the old wood wobbles slightly beneath you. Eddie does, though, and his chest stings with a fleeting panic as you smile widely down at him.

“It’s so pretty, Eds,” you marvel, only partially tipsy. “You did such a good job.”

“I know,” Eddie hums, all proud of himself, as his palms smooth back over the plush of your ass. “So pretty…” he echoes in a distracted murmur.

“Stop being a perv. I’m trying to compliment you.” You roll your eyes and descend the creaking ladder.

The tree looks best from far away, you think — a chaotic mess of lights and tinsel; of shiny new ornaments and old ones the three of you have collected since childhood. It’s nostalgic, homey, warm. All the feelings you’d nearly forgotten about after spending months on the road.

“Thank you for doing all the work, by the way,” you lilt sheepishly, resting your head on Eddie’s shoulder when he stands at your side. You inhale the sweet scent of his cologne until your chest glows with it.

“How’re you gonna make up for it, huh?” he quips, obviously playful, as he presses a chaste kiss to your hair.

“By cleaning up the mess you made.”

Eddie only then seems to notice the piles of boxes and ripped-open plastic littered along the floor. “Okay, well, what about after that?” he presses.

“Um… Getting in the shower, probably,” you continue with a feigned obliviousness. “‘Cause I smell like sweat and booze.”

A pleased sound rumbles in Eddie’s throat as he smiles down at you. “Mm… Can I join?”

You meet his grin with your brows raised in question. “Only if you’re gonna shave my legs for me,” you answer.

He’s grown strangely fond of doing it for you, which you noticed after months of sharing showers to save water on the road. Not only does it save you the grueling work, but it’s always sure to end with his mouth between your thighs. 

So it's a win-win, really. 

Eddie knows it, too, and he smiles wider than he realizes.

“Deal.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batboys and reader doing the hear me out cake trend and reader pulls out a picture of Bruce when he was in his prime.

Apologies anon but this trend…Do not get me started on how misconstrued the phrase ‘hear me out’ is. I’ll rant about how a lot of ppl should look up the definition first. I’m very passionate about how butchered the trend is that every time I see one I can’t help but think ‘not a hear me out, try again or don’t to save my small remnants of sanity.’ I hate it so much.

Dick

Pouts.

‘My dad? Really?’ He’d ask you.

‘Yeah, what can I say he was a total hunk.’ You shrugged.

‘Was?!’ Dick replied, looking at you as though you had grown a second head. ‘What is he now then chopped liver? Do you not like older men?! Do they loose their charm the moment they have a few grey hairs and lines on their face?!’ He exclaims.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when doing this challenge because now you were being grilled by dick on whether you’ll still feel attractive to him when he himself gets old and grey.

‘I don’t have anything against older men dick, I just find your dad hot in this specific picture.’ You defended yourself and dick only puts his hands on your shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze as he presses his forehead against yours.

‘Sweetheart I don’t think you understand because what do you mean you find him hotter in the picture?! It’s Bruce the man is just naturally photogenic!’ Dick tells you. ‘You could’ve chosen a recent picture of Bruce and say the exact same thing.’

‘Eh, it’s not the same thing.’ You say and dick felt as though he might as well rip his hair from his head because what do you mean it’s not the same thing?! He was now more certain that you didn’t like older men if Bruce was only appealing to you in his youth, his supposed prime.

Needless to say the conversation diverted from the fact that you found his dad hot, to one where dick was trying to prove to himself that you just didn’t like older men/ silver foxes for whatever absurd reason.

Jason

He’s oddly silent.

You feared you did something the moment you pulled the picture of young Bruce Wayne out to put on the cake.

The wait was over the moment he did decide to say something but it was nothing like you’d expect to come out of his mouth;

‘Out of all the pictures there are of Bruce, that’s the one you picked? Nothing about that picture is flattering to him in any way whatsoever.’

‘Oh you’re just jealous.’ You’d tell him and Jason only raises his brow at you.

‘Jealous, babe have you seen me? What’s there to be jealous of that old bat.’ Jason replies as he gestures towards himself before pinching your cheeks. ‘I just think it’s adorable how you consider Bruce in his prime as a hear me out, it’s laughable really but you do you chipmunk.’ He adds.

However when you weren’t looking, he’d take the picture of Bruce from the cake and throw it over his shoulder, for there was no way in hell he was going to have a picture of Bruce on a cake. No sir, Jason would much rather die again than allow his own father to overstay his welcome on the damn cake.

He’d even act innocent when you would ask where the picture went as though he didn’t set it on fire with a lighter after plucking it off the cake. ‘It must’ve grew legs and walked off.’ He’d shrug but it wasn’t hard to know the truth.

His dad can fuck off away from the cake and you.

Damian

Another one who’s not so amused by the fact that you added his father on a ‘hear me out’ cake.

He doesn’t partake in such stupid trends that’ll sooner or later long forgotten by the public consciousness in favour of a new trend that’ll run itself to the ground just as quickly as the last. He questions the publics attention span if it was this short and unreliable, he really does and fears that the age of stupidity has begun with people who think a conventional attractive man with a Roman nose or any other unique feature is a ‘hear me out.’

As if they were any less attractive than a man with a plain featured, and rather unappealing and basic appearance. They’re weren’t, if anything people with romantic noses or any other unique features were just as attractive as the plained featured ones, and Damian found it rather ridiculous that is what is being considered a secrete that many think they’ll be judged for finding appealing.

‘My father? Really?’ He’d say as he looked between you and the picture of his father.

‘Yeah.’ You shrugged.

Damian only sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A conventionally attractive man is you hear me out?’

‘Not just any conventionally attractive man-‘ you tried to explain but Damian didn’t allow you the space to do so.

‘My father in his prime doesn’t count, you should really do better research before putting random people on a cake, or better yet don’t partake in a challenge you don’t understand.’ Was all Damian said before he leaves the room, he’s not impressed and feared that there was too many people who for some stupid reason also though his father in his prime is a ‘hear me out.’

It freaks him out and disappoints him greatly of what the future of Gotham and humanity as a whole would look like if these people were to be at the helm.

Tim

Not amused.

He’s sick and tired of people putting conventional attractive people and anthropomorphic animals who are drawn in a specific way to elicit such emotions out of people.

So to see that you had put his father, more specifically Bruce in his first steps as the dark knight, he couldn’t help but look at you disappointedly.

One, you obviously didn’t understand the concept of a hear me out and Tim is more then ready to educate you on what one is with his long ass PowerPoint presentation. And two, really? His dad? What was wrong with his dad in his current old age? Did you have something against older men?

Wait- why was he so suddenly concerned whether or not you find his father less appealing now than how he looked in his prime? He should be more focused on the fact that you found such pristine picture of Bruce during that time, he’s tried multiple times but the resolution was god awful and didn’t do anything to flatter Bruce.

You’re still getting lectured on what a proper hear me out is though. Tim’s got fucking tons.

[saturnscafe]

͙˚ ༘✶Primal | Werewolf Boyfriend (Female Reader)

Smut Below

A/N: did I write something similar before? Yes. Do I just love this concept? Yes lol

-🪐

Thinking about telling your werewolf boyfriend about having a primal kink. He takes you out one day driving you to a spot you always go for picnics. Then telling you, he’s giving you a minute to run before he comes after you. You blink looking at him as if he’s not already started the timer. When you realize he’s not joking you bolt, running fast through the woods.

You find a nice place you think he won’t find you only for a few seconds later to be pulled from your oh so well hiding spot. He has you pinned to the ground in no time ripping your clothes from you. He puts you on all four pushing your head into the dirt before pushing his fat cock into your dripping cunt.

His claws digging into your hips as he lets out low grunts and growls. His cock stretched you his tip kissing your cervix. His tongue sticking out as drool dripped from his mouth. “Such a dumb little human, you really thought you could out run me?” He’d growl his body coming down against yours. His muzzle pressed against your neck before sinking his teeth into you. You were cumming hard around him only making him want to bring another one from you.

He fucked into you like the animal he was until his knot pushed into your dripping cunt. His cum spurting out coating your walls white. He grunted trying to catch his breath as you moved under him. He chuckled gripping your thighs harshly once more “you’re not going anywhere until I know you’re full” he’d growl.

When he was shooting blanks, his cock raw he’d scoop you up in his arms taking you back to the car. He’d grab a blanket out nuzzling into your body as he left soft kisses all over.

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON - finding you again

x FEM!POGUE!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +2.8k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

the boarding process was chaotic, as it always was. you adjusted the strap of your backpack and shuffled into the cramped airplane aisle, eyes scanning for your seat. 14B. a window seat would’ve been nice, but you weren’t complaining—after all, this trip had been a splurge, something you worked overtime for over the past few months.

you reached your row, stowing your bag beneath the seat and tucking yourself into place. as you fastened your seatbelt, you glanced at the other seat, wondering who your seatmate for the next several hours would be.

a moment later, someone bumped into your row, muttering an absentminded “excuse me.” you looked up, and your breath got caught in your throat. he was tall, with tousled dirty-blonde hair, a strong jawline, and piercing blue eyes that momentarily made you forget how to speak. he wore a fitted polo and expensive sneakers that looked like they’d never touched dirt.

“i’m in seat 14A,” he said, glancing at his boarding pass and then back at you.

you slid out to let him in, offering a polite smile.

“guess we’re seatmates,” he smiled back at you for a split second, trying to move smoothly into his seat.

“looks like it,” you replied, sliding back into your seat.

he barely spared you another glance as he stashed his carry-on and pulled out a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

charming, you thought wryly, sitting back down. the plane filled up quickly, and soon the flight attendants were going through safety protocols. you fiddled with your seatbelt nervously as the plane began to move.

you’d flown a handful of times before, but the thought of being 30,000 feet in the air still made you jittery. as the plane picked up speed and lifted off, you gripped the armrest tightly, staring straight ahead.

“not a fan of flying?” a voice drawled beside you.

you turned, surprised to see your seatmate watching you. his headphones were draped around his neck now, and the amused tilt of his lips made you feel both annoyed and flustered.

“not really,” you admitted, forcing a shaky laugh. “it’s the turbulence. feels like the plane’s going to fall out of the sky.”

“it’s not,” he said with a shrug. “just air pockets. completely normal.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you sound awfully confident.”

“i fly a lot,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “you get used to it.”

“well, lucky you,” you muttered, clutching the armrest harder as the plane jostled again.

he chuckled. “relax. i’ll tell you if you need to worry.”

“oh, thanks,” you said sarcastically, but his teasing smile made your nerves ease—just a little.

“i’m rafe, by the way. rafe cameron” he offered after a moment, holding out his hand.

“y/n, y/n l/n,” you replied, shaking it. his hand was warm, his grip firm but not overpowering.

“well, y/n, if it helps, i’ve flown through way worse. one time, i swear the plane dropped a hundred feet out of nowhere. people were screaming and everything.”

“wow, that’s so comforting,” you deadpanned, glaring at him, letting go of his hand.

he grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “hey, you’re not screaming yet, so i think we’re doing okay.”

despite yourself, you felt your lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “you’re the worst.”

“so i’ve been told.”

“you heading home?” he added.

“yeah,” you said, nodding. “you?”

“same.”

that was the extent of the small talk for a while. but as the plane leveled out and the seatbelt sign dinged off, rafe turned to you again.

“vacation or work?” he asked, nodding toward your book, which you hadn’t yet opened.

“vacation,” you said, brightening at the topic. “i saved up for months. it wasn’t anything fancy, but it was nice to get away. what about you?”

“vacation or work?” he asked, nodding toward your book, which you hadn’t yet opened.

“vacation,” you said, brightening at the topic. “i saved up for months. it wasn’t anything fancy, but it was nice to get away. what about you?”

“bit of both,” he said vaguely. “you were saying something about working hard for your vacation?”

you blinked, surprised he was picking up the conversation. “yeah,” you said with a small smile. “it’s not easy juggling two jobs, but it’s worth it. i needed the break.”

“two jobs?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “what, are you some kind of workaholic?”

you laughed. “not by choice. life’s expensive, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“can’t relate,” he quipped, a lopsided grin forming.

you snorted. “gee, must be nice.”

he chuckled, leaning a little closer. “so, where’d you go on vacation? Somewhere fancy?”

“not exactly,” you said. “it was just a little beach town. quiet mornings, lots of reading. nothing fancy, but it was perfect.”

“sounds nice,” he admitted. “i could use a quiet beach day.”

“yeah? you don’t strike me as the ‘quiet’ type,” you teased.

rafe smirked, his eyes narrowing playfully. “what type do i strike you as?”

you paused, tapping your chin dramatically. “hmm… definitely a bit of a troublemaker.”

he laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made your stomach flutter. “fair enough. but you don’t seem like the type to mind a little trouble.”

your cheeks warmed, and you turned back to your menu to hide your grin. “anyway,” you said, clearing your throat. “i’m starving. what’s good on here?”

when the flight attendants began serving meals, you opted for a sandwich and a soda, while rafe got some kind of pasta dish. you were mid-bite, listening to him tell an exaggerated story about a “friend”—who you strongly suspected was actually him—accidentally starting a fire while trying to cook.

“i’m telling you, the pan just caught on fire out of nowhere,” he insisted, grinning.

“uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “and the fire department just happened to show up because they missed you?”

“exactly,” he said with mock seriousness. “small-town charm.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “remind me never to let you near my kitchen.”

as you spoke, you reached for your soda but accidentally knocked it over, sending the can tumbling onto rafe’s tray. a stream of cola splashed across his shirt and onto the seat between you.

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry!” you gasped, grabbing a handful of napkins from your tray.

rafe looked down at his soaked shirt, then back at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “well, there goes my clean look.”

“i’ll fix it!” you said, hurriedly dabbing at the fabric, your face burning.

he laughed, holding up his hands. “relax, it’s just a shirt. don’t have a heart attack.”

but you were already in damage control mode, muttering apologies as you tried to blot out the stain. rafe leaned back, smirking. “if i didn’t know better, i’d think you planned this. just wanted an excuse to get your hands on me, huh?”

you froze, wide-eyed, before realizing he was joking. “oh, please,” you shot back, swatting his arm. “if i wanted to touch you, i’d at least come up with a better excuse.”

“fair point,” he said, laughing as he grabbed some napkins to help.

for the next few minutes, the two of you worked together to clean up the mess, your hands occasionally brushing as you both reached for the same spot. each accidental touch sent a little jolt through you, but you tried to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.

when the seat was finally cola-free, you sighed in relief, sitting back. “crisis averted.”

“barely,” rafe said, grinning as he peeled off his damp hoodie to reveal a fitted white t-shirt underneath. “guess this’ll have to do.”

you tried not to stare at how well the shirt fit him, opting instead to focus on your tray. “i owe you a soda,” you mumbled, still embarrassed.

“nah,” he said, waving it off. “you can pay me back by telling me more about your vacation. sounds like you had a better time than i did.”

as the flight continued, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. he had a knack for making even mundane stories sound exciting, and his occasional self-deprecating humor made him surprisingly endearing.

“so, let me get this straight,” you said at one point, barely containing your laughter. “you jumped into a fountain because you thought someone threw your wallet in there?”

“it looked like my wallet!” he said defensively, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “how was i supposed to know it was a dead fish?”

you doubled over, tears forming in your eyes. “i can’t believe you—wait, no, i totally can.”

“careful,” he teased. “you’re starting to sound like you like me.”

you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at his words. “you’d wish that.”

“maybe,” he said, his voice low and playful.

the banter flowed easily, the hours slipping by without you noticing. by the time the plane began its descent, you were half-convinced this was the most fun you’d ever had on a flight.

that was, until he asked the question that ruined it all.

“so,” he asked casually, leaning back in his seat. “what do you do for work again?”

you hesitated for a moment, unsure if he’d be impressed or dismissive. but there was something about his casual curiosity that made you answer honestly.

“i work at the library part-time, and i help out at the wreck during the evenings. It’s busy, but I don’t mind.”

“the wreck?” he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly.

“yeah,” you said, smiling. “best fish tacos on the island.”

“you live near the wreck?” he asked, though his tone had lost its earlier playfulness.

“yeah,” you said, still smiling. “over in the cut.”

rafe leaned back, his expression unreadable now. something in his demeanor shifted, like a door quietly closing.

“you live near the wreck?” he asked, his tone suddenly more clipped.

“over in the cut,” you said, still unaware of the change. “why?”

and just like that, the bubble burst.

there it was—the flash of recognition in his eyes. the name of the cut was like a cold bucket of water thrown over whatever budding warmth had been building between you.

“you’re a pogue,” he said, his voice low.

the word hit you square in the chest. it wasn’t a question; it was a fact, said with a mix of disbelief and something else—something bitter.

“is that… a problem?” you asked cautiously, your smile faltering.

rafe shook his head, but the tension in his jaw told a different story. “no,” he said flatly, turning his attention to the window. “no problem at all.”

the conversation died a swift, painful death. every time you glanced at him, he was staring straight ahead or out the window, his body angled slightly away from you. the easy banter and gentle teasing were gone, replaced by an invisible wall that felt insurmountable.

you tried once or twice to reignite the conversation, asking about his vacation or his favorite spots back in kildare. but his answers were curt, bordering on dismissive. eventually, you gave up, sinking into your seat with a knot in your chest.

when the plane landed, rafe was up and out of his seat before you could say goodbye. he muttered something that might’ve been “see you around,” but it was drowned out by the noise of disembarking passengers.

as you watched him walk away, a bitter pang of embarrassment settled in your stomach. you’d thought, just for a moment, that you’d made a connection with him. but apparently, the line between kook and pogue was still as unyielding as ever.

the wreck was in full swing, the clatter of plates and hum of conversations filling the air. you had just clocked out for a break, grabbing your sandwich and heading to your second-hand car parked at the edge of the lot. it wasn’t much—a little beat-up around the edges and prone to overheating—but it was your sanctuary.

sliding into the driver’s seat, you let out a long sigh. the noise of the restaurant faded as you closed the door, leaving only the quiet hum of the parking lot. you unwrapped your sandwich and sank into the seat, scrolling idly through your phone as you ate.

for a brief moment, the world felt peaceful.

back inside, rafe cameron walked through the door, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. dressed casually but still managing to draw attention, he hesitated by the counter before making his way to kiara, who was wiping down the counter.

“where is she? where’s y/n?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

kiara froze, looking up at him with a glare that could cut steel. “why do you care?”

“i just need to talk to her,” rafe said, running a hand through his hair.

“talk?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “like how you talked to her on the plane? because that worked out great, ” she crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

“so, no. you’re not talking to her.”

“come on, kie,” rafe said, exasperated. “i just want to apologize.”

“you want to apologize?” kie scoffed. “what’s the catch, rafe? did your dad send you to buy her silence or something?”

“you don’t get to ignore her and then show up like it’s no big deal. you kooks are all the same—thinking you can just waltz in and fix everything with some half-assed apology.”

“it’s not like that,” rafe said, his voice softening. “i know i screwed up. i just—i panicked, okay? i wasn’t sure how my dad would react if i told him i wanted to take a pogue on a date.”

kie’s eyes narrowed. “so instead, you made her feel like crap? real smooth, cameron.”

“i know,” rafe admitted, his tone filled with frustration. “i messed up, but i want to make it right. please, kie. where is she?”

kie hesitated, her glare softening slightly before she sighed and gestured toward the parking lot. “she’s on break. but if you hurt her again, i’ll make sure you regret it.”

rafe nodded, already heading toward the door.

you were halfway through your sandwich when you heard footsteps on the gravel. looking up, you saw rafe approaching, his hands shoved into his pockets.

you groaned internally, setting your food aside. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said, stopping just outside your car.

“i’m on break,” you said flatly. “this better be good.”

“what do you want?”

he took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “i’m sorry.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “for what?”

“for being an idiot,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “on the plane, after i realized you were a... pogue… i panicked. it wasn’t fair to you, and i hate that i made you feel like you weren’t worth my time. you are.”

you stared at him, your heart warring with your anger. “you panicked?”

“you panicked? that’s your excuse for acting like a total jerk?”

rafe nodded, his expression earnest. “i wasn’t sure how my dad would react if i… he’s… not exactly open-minded, and i wasn’t... sure—”

you raised an eyebrow, your voice edged with disbelief. “so instead of handling it, you decided to shut me out and act like i didn’t matter?”

“i know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “i know i messed up. i just—i’m not used to this.”

“this?” you repeated, your frustration bubbling over. “what, treating people like equals?”

rafe flinched, shaking his head. “that’s not what i meant. i mean… ”

“i’ve never felt like this before.”

the quiet sincerity in his voice gave you pause. you studied him, your anger softening just a fraction.

“we were having a good time, and then you just… shut me out. like i wasn’t good enough for you.”

“i know,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “and i hate that i made you feel like that. you are good enough—better than i deserve, probably. i just… i didn’t know how to deal with it.”

you looked away, unsure of what to say. part of you wanted to yell at him, to tell him he didn’t deserve another chance. but another part of you—the part that remembered the easy laughter and connection you’d shared—wanted to believe he meant it.

“i don’t know if i can believe you,” you said finally, your voice steady but soft.

“i get that,” he said, his tone steady. “but let me prove it. i’ll do whatever it takes.”

you hesitated, the silence stretching between you. finally, you sighed. “you’ve got a lot to prove, cameron.”

a small smile tugged at his lips. “i will. i promise.”

“good,” you said, brushing past him. “now go. my break’s over.”

as you walked back toward the wreck, you glanced over your shoulder. rafe was still standing by your car, watching you with a look that made your chest ache.

maybe, just maybe, he meant what he said.

[trentsgirl]

pairing: jude bellingham x girlfriend!reader

synopsis: you’re a bit crazy when your boyfriend pisses you off.

notes: suuuper short, just something i came up with in like five minutes. srry for not updating, life is crazyy

playing: it’s okay, i’m okay by tate mcrae

masterlist.

“and then she goes, in the absolute nastiest tone, ‘well, you had plenty of time to do it,’ and i’m just sitting there like, what? you see what i mean? she’s so self-centered, she doesn’t even stop to think that people have lives outside of work!” you vented, your frustration spilling out as jude listened.

the two of you were sprawled out on the bed after a long day apart—him coming back from training, you from work. it had become your nightly routine, sharing the highs and lows of your day with each other. he lay back with his head resting on the pillow, while you propped yourself up on your elbow, turned toward him, still mid-rant about your impossibly annoying boss.

“how much time did you have?” jude asked casually.

“a week, but—”

“then she’s right. you did have plenty of time.”

his words hit you like a slap in the face. your eye twitched. was he… not taking your side? he was supposed to back you up! instead, it felt like he’d just shoved a metaphorical knife into your back and twisted it. how could he?

you sat up abruptly, glaring down at him with narrowed eyes. “she’s right?” you repeated, slow and deliberate, as if giving him a chance to backtrack. maybe you’d misheard. maybe the world wasn’t crumbling around you after all.

but no. jude nodded, sealing his fate.

“wow…” you muttered, your voice dripping with disbelief. “do you hate me?”

the abrupt question made jude’s brows knit together in confusion. “what? what are you talking about?” he asked, his tone baffled.

you shook your head, refusing to meet his eyes. “you hate me… my boyfriend hates me,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, though loud enough for him to hear.

jude blinked at you like you’d lost your mind, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “are you serious right now?” he asked, staring at you like you were the most dramatic person alive.

“don’t talk to me,” you muttered, almost theatrically, as you slid off the bed. “i need some time alone… to process what just happened.”

jude watched you go, biting back a laugh. he knew this routine all too well—your flair for the dramatic, the way you needed to make a scene before inevitably calming down. shaking his head with a silent chuckle, he let you have your moment, fully expecting you’d be back soon enough, probably with an even more dramatic follow-up.

15 MINUTES LATER…

caption: i don’t want him anyway, girl take him 🖤

comments:

judebellingham: baby, as much as i don’t like telling you what to do, please take this down.

urbestfriend1: oh what did he do this time? 🙄

urbestfriend2: slay and girl power, but all that stuff aside, what the hell? 😭😭

jobebellingham: i always thought you were too good for him.

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

Simon Riley is an enigma—a brooding, complex man with a shadowed past that he can’t escape. You’re just an ordinary person until he claws his way into your life and you can't help but give in to him. The only problem is that you try to keep things casual, while Simon's never been one to settle for that.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 3

(He longs to be) Close to you

***

You freeze, heart pounding, the moment shattered. Who the fuck is that? You think to yourself, panic creeping in. Another knock then a familiar, playful voice from the other side of the door.

“Bitch! I know you're home!”

“Oh my God. Ishta.”

You completely forgot about your little watch party with her. This can't be happening now. Of course it's happening right now.

“Hm, that a girlfriend I don't know about?”

Simon murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck.

“You need to go.”

Your voice is low, urgent, but it only seems to amuse him. His hands wrap around your waist, pumping his hips upwards, rubbing himself against your soaked underwear.

“What, you're kicking me out? Just like that?”

He nips at your neck, making you yeep. He tightens his hold, long arms locking you in.

You tense, trying to wiggle from him but him and his stupidly defined arms aren't budging.

“I'm serious; you need to leave, now.”

You twist in his arms, your anxiety growing as Ishta's knocking gets louder. She's never been patient.

You can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“You're tense, should relax a bit.”

“Relax?! Oh my God, I'm gonna kill you.”

You snap in a hushed tone, yanking yourself free (well, more like he finally relents and lets you go). You tug your shorts up while he follows suit, much more leisurely than you. He quips while letting you drag him towards the fire escape,

“Can't believe I'm the other woman, thought I was special, angel.”

“You're not making this easy.”

“Mistresses rarely do.”

Simon smirks, while you pull him to the window. Ishta knocks again, louder this time.

“Stop jerking off, the ice cream is melting!”

Simon snickers and you push him through the window onto the fire escape. His large frame steps out, stretching out while he turns to you.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

“Simon!”

He doesn't budge until you lean out the window, planting a quick, chaste kiss on his scared lips. His hand cups the back of your neck, practically shoving his tongue down your throat, before you wrench yourself away.

“Bye.”

The words come out harsher than you mean while you shut the window, watching him slip into his place, not trusting him to sneak back into yours.

Ishta's voice whines from behind your front door. You smooth out your clothes, pasting a sheepish, wide smile. You take a deep breath before opening your door.

“Hey girl! Sorry I-”

“Was jerking off thinking about your neighbor? I know girl. Get that nut in friend.”

She empties her tote, sets some wine bottles down and grabs two cups from the kitchen before bending to sit on the couch. You wince watching her try to sit where his bare ass was.

“Oh! No don't-”

She looks at you curiously, frozen mid-squat— your brain scrambling to find something remotely plausible.

“I spilled tuna juice there earlier.”

She narrows her eyes at you, searching your face. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she shrugs and moves to the other side.

“Can't smell fishy. Got a date later.”

She pops open a bottle, pouring a generous amount into each cup. You grab the one she offers and take a seat on the arm of the couch.

“A date, huh? Is it that finance guy from last month?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on the TV.

“Oh God, no. He was so fucking annoying, trust fund baby.”

You laugh a little, grateful for her not pressing you on the couch thing.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

She waves her hand vaguely, her attention already on the TV, looking for a show.

“Met him at the park. He was jogging—shirtless, obviously—and tripped over his own fucking shoelaces. Adorable. Total himbo vibes.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling into your glass.

“Thought you liked nerds.”

“That's the thing,”

She turned to you, grinning like a fool.

“Ok so, we were talking about showers,”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. Anyways, he starts going on about different hypotheses of 'the shower curtain effect' with this dumbass smile on his face. I'm trying not to stare at his tits and just ask him if he wants drinks before I start drooling. Obviously, he says yes, and here we are!”

She finishes her glass and helps herself to another. You lean closer to her.

“So what's the plan? Drinks, talk about nerdy shit, and then stumble into his place and ogle at his star wars figurines?”

“First off all,”

She raises a finger.

“He’s an artist, so get it right. And secondly, he's Scottish. So like, the accent makes everything hotter.”

You hum curiously.

“My apologies, I clearly underestimated his international flare.”

“You did. Also, you're welcome for letting you live vicariously through me, by the way.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, oohh my goodness. Thank you for your graciousness.”

You say in mock appreciation, hand over your heart. Her eyes twinkle when she winks at you.

“Freely granted, my dear. I'll text you all the juicy details.”

“Lucky me.”

You say dryly, swirling your wine glass. Ishta lightly hits your knee.

“Look at us. You got your English guy, I got my Scottish one. Just gotta snatch up an Irish and Welsh one, and we've got a whole set!”

“Please be serious, girl. Also, he's not ‘my guy’, he's just a neighbor.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. We'll see how long that lasts.”

***

You've been more moody lately. From Ishta unintentionally cock-blocking you, to work being particularly demanding, and finally, Simon terrorizing you relentlessly.

Ever since ‘the incident’ he's been on you like white on rice. He'll stop you in the mornings in the foyer and casually talk about how he came to the thought of you last night or stand behind you in the elevator and grind up against you, laxly apologizing.

“Sorry. It's just such a tight fit here, right angel?”

You silently thank God Simon has the sense to pull these stunts when no one else is around to witness his brand of debauchery (he doesn't, you just got lucky no one's there when he pulls that shit).

You're barely holding onto your patience. Every word he says, every deliberate touch grates on your nerves. He has you on edge, dangling by a thread. A simple nudge could send you tumbling— yet he never quite gives it. Instead, he leaves you like this, toeing the line.

Waiting. Waiting on you to make the jump.

It kind of surprises you, given the whole…incident. You expected him to follow you into your apartment one day and finally consummate whatever twisted, simmering thing you had going on. But he didn't. Seemed to enjoy making you squirm.

***

You could almost forget about him during the day. Almost. Work has been a circus lately, thanks to your boss—the museum curator who seems to thrive on chaos. She’s brilliant, yes, but she’s also impossible. Barking orders, demanding perfection, treating every missed detail like a personal betrayal. You spend your mornings running errands and your afternoons fielding phone calls from artists who need their egos stroked. The only moment of reprieve is when you’re in the gallery itself, away from the madness, the artwork pulling you into a quiet, timeless space.

But even that doesn’t last. Today, you spent hours installing a new piece—a massive, fragile sculpture—and as soon as it was in place, she decided it needed to be moved six inches to the left. Six inches. By the time you got home, your nerves were frayed, your patience long gone.

He’d been waiting in the lobby when you arrived, as if he knew you’d had a long day. His presence suffocating, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he stood too close, his hand brushing your hip when you reached for the elevator button.

“You look tense, angel.”

“Simon, please.”

“‘Please?’ Wow, must've been really bad today.”

He chuckles to himself, like he's so fucking funny.

You rub your eyes, the tired dryness a reminder of the day you'd had. He sees this as an invitation to step behind you and wrap his arms around you. Large frame towering over you, long arms sliding around you.

“Not in the mood for this today, Simon.”

You mutter, void of its usual bite.

You don't even have the energy to push him away when he plants a kiss on the side of your neck, softer than the last time his lips touched your skin.

“So sweet when you're tired out. Wonder if you're like this after-”

The elevator dings and you pull away, pushing his head off your shoulder and trudging to your place. At this point, you're too drained to care about his games, too tired to rise to the bait.

If he wasn't going to stop playing, wasn't going to do anything but pussyfoot around, you had better things to do—like collapse on your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

You reach your door and fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when they decide now is the perfect time to be elusive in your bag.

“Need help?”

You don’t jump. You’re too used to that voice coming from behind you, low and amused. His words echo in your head more than you’d like to admit these days.

“No.”

You say, sharp enough to bite through the air as you finally fish the keys out and shove one into the lock.

It sticks. Of course, it sticks.

He says something you ignore while he leans against the side of the doorframe, watching you struggle. Your head lands on the door with a soft thud, forehead pressing against the cool metal.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Not like you to let me have the last word.”

“I’m too tired for this.”

“For what?”

“For your bullshit.”

You spit, jiggling the key rougher than necessary.

Simon hums, entertained.

“There she is. Was worried I lost you for a minute.”

The key refuses to turn. Between him looking over your shoulder and the fucking door mocking you, your patience starts to shred, gossamer-thin.

When the door finally opens, you turn to him.

“Do you ever shut up?”

He shrugs.

“Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Watching you fight with a door? Yeah, a little bit. Had my money on the door though, unfortunately.”

You swear his grin is almost audible under that mask.

Your eyes narrow, heated.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He doesn't miss a beat.

“No, actually. Not tonight.”

“Of course not, when do you ever?”

You mutter, yanking your keys out of the lock.

“Just keeping the schedule free for you, love.”

“Free to annoy me?”

“Something like that.”

Your eyes drift from his face down to his arms crossed over his chest. His compression shirt doesn't help, the material stretching in a way that feels obscene.

Then while he watches you stare, he flexes subtly.

It pulls a laugh out of you, the sound slipping out before you can help it,

“Whore.”

He pulls his mask down, showing off his own smile. His canines sharp and slightly crooked, but somehow it makes him more attractive. Like he doesn't just accept his imperfections, but wears them proudly, fully aware of their charm.

“Just for you, angel.”

“Your persistence is coming off pathetic.”

You huff half-hearted, crossing your arms.

“Doesn't seem to bother you much.”

Simon goads. You think this is the happiest you've ever seen him.

“It does.”

You lick your teeth, feigning irritation. He mirrors the movement, finishing it off with a smile that makes your face hot.

“Go on then,”

His voice drops lower, thick and languid, molasses poured slow on a hot day.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

It's quiet for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes glinting and the edge you've been teetering on crumbles underneath you, all reservations and restraint gone. You grip the strings of his hoodie and pull him down to your face.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yes.”

“A tease.”

“Mhm.”

“Worst neighbor I've ever had.”

“Ouch.”

He says, though his tone is anything but wounded. If anything, it sounds downright gleeful.

“Makes me wanna do awful things to you.”

You say in a hushed tone, a newfound energy pumping through your veins. The space between you grows smaller as you tug him even closer, his hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you.

“Yeah,”

His voice is low, molten. A scorching heat that flows from his mouth down your chest and stomach.

“Probably use those pretty little hands, leave marks. Bruises I'd feel every time I breathe.”

You twirl the strings around your fingers, leading him into your place. It feels like tugging on a leash tied to a dangerous dog— wild and unpredictable, tethered to you and you only. He catches the door before it slams shut, closing it without looking, dark eyes honed in on you. Makes your stomach do flips.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

His silence is answer enough, a smirk playing on his face. You muse, shoving him toward the couch with a playful push,

“Maybe I'd keep it simple, knife to the heart. If I could find it.”

He spreads out on the cushions, pulling you to him, making you straddle one of his thick thighs.

“Sounds painful, tell me more.”

“Maybe I'd tie you up. Make you beg for your life.”

When you say that, he groans— an honest-to-god groan and his grip on your hips tightens.

“It’d be hard, getting through all that muscle and bone,”

He grabs your wrist, making you press two fingers on the hard, fast pulse right under his jaw.

“Be quicker and easier to hit it right here. Faster way to go out.”

You cock your head to the side, biting back a moan feeling the beat of the vein under his skin go impossibly fast when you hum.

“Think I'm gonna go easy on you?”

His response is instant, almost desperate if you thought he was capable of that emotion.

“I hope to God not.”

He wraps himself around you, pressing you up against his solid frame like he's trying to meld his body to yours.

***

He's been at this for long, too long. He hasn't even taken off either of your pants, all too happy to have you grinding your pants against his denim. It's got you so pent up, you're half crazed, panting in the crook of his neck and mumbling pleas for relief.

“Want you, Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you groan in frustration.

“Been a real brat lately, can't reward that kind of behavior.”

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Sound so pretty, begging for me.”

You're trying anything at this point. Anything but ripping his clothes off. Or yours.

“Don't you wanna feel good too?”

Your tone is so dulcet, it's almost too sweet in your mouth, words dripping with a carefully calculated innocence. You play with the waistband of his jeans, before you can get too far he takes hold of your wrist.

“I know what you're trying to do.”

There's a pause while you pull back to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Is it working?”

“Hmm…”

“Simon!”

You huff, almost whiny. He relents, only a little, bouncing you on his thigh once before forcing your hips to grind down harder on him. It makes you lean into him again, he presses a soft kiss on your temple, the kind of gesture that feels almost like he's mocking you with a false sense of soothing. As if he feels bad for you—his touch gentle but somehow condescending.

“Poor thing, could've gotten it sooner if you wanted to. Closed mouths don't get fed, you know?”

He sounds amused, lips still brushing against your temple. Your mouth finds its way to his neck, he lulls his head back, giving you more access to it. It's sweet, tender, starting at his collarbone and moving up slowly until you get to the artery he made you press up against earlier. The moment your teeth press up against it, he comes undone.

“Gaggin’ for it that bad?”

The sound of his belt clicking makes you downright giddy, you lick his neck, feeling his heartbeat under your tongue.

“Mhm…”

He grabs your hand to shove it down his pants and your brain goes static for a moment.

“Had me waiting all this time, and now you want it?”

It's growled into your ear, something about the way it's almost spat out, mean—it sends jolts of electricity between your legs.

“C'mon, show me how much you missed it.”

Your face heats up at his words and he lets out an entertained huff.

“He missed you too, ya know.”

A breathless giggle escapes you when he flexes, making his dick jump in your hands. You pull him out of his pants, eyes going wide. You've felt how big he was before, but seeing it was a whole different thing. Made it all real. Something about the way his pink tip peeked out made you laugh a little, a fleeting thought of him blushing everywhere, even on his dick.

“What?”

He furrows his brows a little, curious.

The truth tumbles out of you before you can stop it. You think you've made a mistake until you see him. His face is unreadable at first, and you brace for some sharp quip or a look of annoyance.

But instead, Simon’s reaction is… different. His ears go pink first, followed by a deep flush creeping up his neck. You want to laugh again but he creeps a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, guiding you into light kisses. You still manage to slip out a few giggles in-between, a smile creeping up across his face. It's such a warm moment, you almost forget about holding him until he twitches in your hands.

“Got the prettiest laugh.”

“Is there anything that you don't think is pretty about me?”

You ask, teasing him.

“No.”

His answer is quick, unwavering, and so serious that it makes your breath catch. You search his face, expecting the usual smirk or a sly remark, but there’s nothing there but honesty. He clears his throat, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he tries to mask it.

“Right, let's get these off.”

He guides you off him so you can stand, he shimmies your pants and underwear off. Once you kick off the fabric pooled around your feet he leans forward, breath hot on your mons.

“Missed her.”

He says so quietly, almost to himself.

“Your pretty girl?”

You run a hand over his buzz cut, and he grips the sides of your bare thighs.

“Yeah…my pretty girl.”

A wet kiss on your most sensitive spot makes your legs tense up. He traces slow, indulgent circles, like this was more for him than you. The tension in your body mounting with every flick of his tongue.

He goes on like this until your knees almost give way from a quick, hard suck. He holds you up with a strong grip under the crease of your ass.

“Think you can stand on your own for a minute, love?”

You’re far past the point of throwing a smart remark his way, your body humming with the tension he’s left simmering under your skin. Instead, you nod quickly, eagerly.

“So good for me, angel. How'd I get so lucky, hm?”

It’s less a question and more an indulgence, the kind of thing he says to soak in the moment while he shoves his pants down to his thighs. When he pulls you towards him, guiding you to settle on his lap, just brushing his tip over your slick entrance, you follow without hesitation—soft, pliant, docile.

“Such a sweet thing. Only for me, right?”

Before you get to answer, he drags your hips down, pushing himself inside you. The stretch borders on discomfort—not just because it's been a while, but because he's thicker than anyone you've ever had before.

It's all so overwhelming— his voice, his touch, his body—all glut and heavy with want. The weight of it crashes over you, leaving you dizzy, untethered. Every word he speaks seeps into your skin, warm and lingering, while his hands, firm yet reverent, treat you like something both fragile and fiercely desired.

When he slides you down more, you tense up. Thighs flexing, clenching around him. It draws a curse from him,

“Fuck…yeah, only for me.”

The moment is so much softer than you imagined it to be—aside from him trying to lick the inside of your mouth. It's coos and words of encouragement,

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,”

“Bet you needed this as much as I did,”

Big, rough hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing gently. Slow, deep strokes sink into you until you're a shaking mess, arms wrapped around him, clinging onto him like he's your lifeline, mumbling nonsense into his neck. He's taking full advantage of the moment, of course, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he watches you come undone for him.

"Gonna be like this all the time now, pet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only like this for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You whisper, the words spilling out as easily as your control.

“No one else gets to touch you like this, huh?”

“Uhn-uh.”

Your lips brushing against his neck, your heartbeat hammering against his chest, sweat slick against the skin.

And it goes on like this, making empty promises with the devil. Signing yourself away with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Because he kisses you so tenderly it makes you flutter everywhere. Because the way he lifts you up just to buck his hips up into you makes your brain leak out of your ears. Because here, pressed against him, drowning in his voice and touch, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

He hits that spot that makes your nerves taught. You're a string wound up too tight, his name spilling from your mouth again and again, each time more ragged, a little more whiny and desperate, until it finally snaps. You shatter, the force knocking the air from your lungs while he throws his head back, your name leaking out like it's the only word he knows. You're overstimulated, thighs burning and shaking while he ruts into you. You're pushing him with flimsy arms, whining about how ‘it's too much’. That only seems to egg him on, though, spurring him to murmur filth between honeyed kisses,

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,”

“Split you apart everyday and you'll fucking thank me for it, won't you?”

He doesn't even look for an answer from you, more than happy to bask in the mess he made of you. A few more strokes has him choking mid-sentence, sinking so deep inside you think he might've been serious about splitting you apart.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breaths shared between the two of you

“You with me, angel?”

He sighs, his lips press against the skin right over your heart. He lingers, sucking softly, the kind of pressure that's going to leave the skin tender for days—a reminder of him.

You nod, barely able to find your voice, but he waits-patient, his hands wrapping around yours.

"Yeah…”

You finally manage, squeezing a hand that completely engulfs yours, brushing against it with your thumb.

"Good,"

He whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

"That's all I need.”

And in the back of your mind, as his touch lingers, there's a small fleeting thought:

Oh, you're fucked.

prev |

[nmakii]

must be love

— you find sae’s phone opened, and you decide to snoop.

or; sae gets exposed for being a fake idgafer. this is too sappy. 2.7k words, this is my longest fic in my whole life… what life feels like as a girl who loves too much core

tags: @narcjsistx

— for rhi. love ya, partner.

‘she seems really eager to please,

but she has quite the backbone.’

you huff out in frustration. “ah!! ugh…” you scowl. sae raises his eyebrow. “my groupmate never started on her share of the work… ugh, now i have to cram it..!” you explain your sudden outburst. sae scoffs. “then tell your teacher or something. it’s not like i can do anything about it, im not your teacher.” he, quite obviously, points out. “wh… ugh, i’m gonna… i just— needed to let out my anger.” you groan, face planting and screaming into your textbook. and he hums in response. although he didn’t show it on his face, your outburst was quite out of character for the person he had grown to know. it was… weird, to say the least. and it had caused him to make a mental note not to anger you.

‘her generosity knows no bounds.’

“sae, this is for you. merry christmas!” you hand him a wrapped box. “hm..? i don’t take christmas gifts.” he bluntly states. “i haven’t gotten any gifts since i was 10 years old.” you scoff to yourself. “maybe that’s why you’ve always got that stick in your ass.” you tease. “excuse me?” he glares daggers at you. “aaaanyway! open it!” you shove the box into his hands. he looks at the box, and then at you, and he decides to open it. “new cleats.” he acknowledges. yes, mhm. these were indeed cleats..! “i didn’t need these, i was going to buy them myself.” he states.

“i know, you could probably buy them yourself. but, i thought i’d save you the hassle, y’know?” how thoughtful of you. he eyes the cleats up and down; it’s an expensive brand, but it’s worth the price for the quality. “…thanks.” he says, at last. he didn’t expect a gift from you, he doesn’t have one prepared for you. he’ll make sure to buy you something you’ll love later. “oh! hold on, i wanted to give you some other things ♪~” you fish a keychain and envelope out of your bag and hand it to him.

“…cinnamoroll..?” he questions. “it’s cute right? i thought you’d like it.” what an odd way of thinking… never once has he mentioned anything about cinnamoroll. but then again, it is pretty cute. “…well, i won’t say i hate it. thank you.” he thanks you as he eyes the envelope. “ah, don’t read it in front of me..! i got a bit sappy, it’s pretty. embarrassing…” you awkwardly laugh. “ah, got it.”

later that day, he opened the envelope. there was a letter; it had cute doodles all over. and, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel your affection radiating off the letter. it was… really sweet.

‘what a beautiful human being she is.’

itoshi sae is what you like to call a shy lover, if you were to put it kindly.

you know for a fact that he loves you, he just isn’t good at verbally expressing it. words of affection are too sappy for him. he prefers to show it through the thoughtfulness of his gifts, and the longing touches of his hands, which seem to never leave your’s.

you know he loves you. but, you can’t help but wish for him to say it more often.

it wasn’t many nights lately that the two of you would have a date night. with sae’s rigorous training schedule and endless interviews, the only thing he wants to do at night is to fall asleep beside you.

however, today was the end of the season. meaning, sae would have much more free-time for you.

with sae’s last game for the year completed in 0-4, the first thing he had to do was call you. even though you weren’t far away at all, sitting in the VIP lounge with the relatives and girlfriends of sae’s teammates.

“s/o?” he calls your attention. “mhm? congratulations on your win, babe! i knew you’d win.” you congratulate him. “they could barely keep the ball when they had it. is it really an achievement for me to have won this match?” he says, almost sassily. “pssh— alright. i get it, mr. ‘tepid.’.” you tease.

“don’t call me that.” he huffs. “stay where you are. i’ll go to you.” he commands. you hum in acknowledgment, and he hangs up.

he doesn’t keep you waiting too long before showing up. “there you are…” he sighs in relief, kissing you as his hands automatically find themselves on your body— one tangled in your hair, and the other resting on the curve of your spine.

once he finds the will in himself to finally pull away, he’s breathless.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, his fingers flowing through your hair. “…get ready for our date later tonight, yeah? formal wear.”

you nod, and his lips curl upward. “i’ll see you later.”

you decided to go all out, pull all the brakes. and when sae picks you up in his car, he can’t help thinking that you look like a dream. ‘are you sure you aren’t a model?’ he muses to himself. his heart twists, and the fat of his cheeks redden with affection. your hair flows like silk, and that glimmer in your eyes was once a star, handpicked from the skies, he’s sure of it.

everything about you encourages him to keep staring, but he manages to get ahold of himself. “…you…look beautiful.” is the only thing he can get himself to say. but, beautiful doesn’t seem to encapsulate it, not at all. it’s not even close. beautiful is only a fraction of what he thinks. “heh, you think so?” you ask. “yeah; beautiful.” he assures. “let’s go.” he says, barely turning his attention away from you as he turns to the road.

the drive to the restaurant is quiet, but sae’s mind is screaming at him. his eyes can’t stop moving back to take sneaky glances of you. he drinks up your beauty like a serpent, and he still hasn’t had his fill.

“…we’re here.” he pulls the shift into its’ brake. he gets out, and hands his keys to the valet boy— his words are inaudible through the car door, but he quickly finishes his conversation and moves to open your car door.

you take your first step out, and his hand immediately moves to help you out. god, you might be even prettier under the gleam of moonlight, shining like the pearl of the planet.

his arm moves and snakes around your waist, guiding you into the restaurant under the flash of paparazzi cameras. he grimaces at the loud, pitchy voices of news interviewers, begging for a comment; anything for a headline quote.

the gentle touch of his fingers tighten, as he silently encourages you to walk faster, and lose the crowd. the two of you hurry up, and dash into the restaurant, where you’re greeted with a dim candlelight, mahogany walls, and the rhythmic trumpet of jazz.

“welcome, mr. itoshi.” the receptionist greets. “your table for two is right this way.” she quickly guides the two of you into a secluded part of the restaurant, just like he’s always done as to make sure neither of you are spotted and harassed in public.

lamps hang on the walls, creating a romantic atmosphere. and the curved dark-brown leather booth couch perfectly complements the dark oak roundtable.

the date isn’t too different from the others. the two of you chat about anything that comes to mind. but, it’s actually more like it’s just you chattering on, and sae listening as he admires that excited grin on your face.

on the outside looking in, it’s obvious how he has heart eyes when he stares at you. he’s in a trance as he listens to the rich honeying sweetness of your voice; his finger traces the lines on the roundtable, wishing that it’d be the crinkles of your smile he’s tracing when he blinks and opens his eyes again.

his trance is broken though, when his phone rings. damn it, he forgot to put his phone on do not disturb… “something wrong?” you ask sae, and he takes his phone out of his pocket. “not sure. there shouldn’t be a problem, i cancelled everything for tonight. ugh… just a second, amor…” he remorsefully takes your hand in his as a silent gesture of apology. he took too long to pick up the phone, it already went out…

he opened his call app, and saw that it was from his publicist, dabadie. he groaned before picking up.

“sae! you didn’t mention that you’d be going out on a date today, your paparazzi shot is already all over social medias..!” he worriedly stammers. “i didn’t? well, whatever… it’s just a date photo anyway.” sae shrugs, speaking quietly to ensure that you don’t hear. “right— but… you know the internet… they might criticize you, and say that she’s distracting you from soccer…”

sae is about to correct him— he’s about to say that you aren’t distracting him from his career, but he holds back once he remembers that you’re right beside him, eagerly waiting for his attention to be back on you.

“i… have to speak to you for a second, im already outside the restaurant… the paparazzi didn’t censor out the location well enough either… so, the agency’s security car will follow you two home…” he adds on. sae sighs. “i have to speak to you too. i’ll meet you outside.” he hangs up. he huffs in exasperation and shallowly drops his phone, making it clatter on the table; the screen is left open on his call record. “im sorry, amor… i have to quickly take care of something, i’ll be back soon, i promise.” he kisses your hand.

“hmph, don’t worry. it’s dabadie, right? he’s always worried about something…” you laugh. of course you’d be understanding about it. you always understood. “heh, that he is.” he sasses before leaving the table.

…and you can’t help but notice that his phone is still open.

his phone is practically yelling at you, “check out what’s on me, s/o! check it out right now!”, and you simply can’t resist the temptation to!

first, you simply scroll around at his call record; nothing too interesting, it’s filled with calls from dabadie, and you. as well as occasional calls from his mom. how tepid, as sae would put it. you exit the app, and find his home screen wallpaper to be a picture he took of you; you’re looking out into the distance, the large castle of sleeping beauty in the background.

you smile to yourself at that cute photo, and move to his photos; it’s filled with photos of you, and almost none of him— not unless you were beside him. you scroll down to check out his older photos; they’re childhood pictures, only a few of them are with rin included.

…

…anyways, ‘what is in sae itoshi’s notes app?’, you ponder. you open his notes app.

‘things i want to eat: 1. omelette, 2. paella, 3. pesto pasta’

‘onitsuka tiger mexico - kill bill/grey, new balance 2002r - grey, asics gel NYC - oyster grey’

‘laundry’

‘i love you’

you laugh at the randomness of his notes, quickly scrolling through them. it’s true when they say that a boy’s notes is truly random.

but that last note catches your eye. it’s a pretty odd note that just says ‘i love you’ with no additional text. and, it makes you wonder.

sae’s an organized person, more or less. so, his notes must be filed too. and, you’re correct. there are three files; ‘lists’, ‘important documents’, and a file with your initial as its’ name.

the other two don’t seem as interesting, nor seem as mysterious. so, you click on the mysterious file.

and, the file is filled with everything about you; he’s written down your birthday (including the time…), your family members’ names, foods you like to eat when you aren’t feeling well, shows that you like to watch… everything.

and, there’s a note that catches your eye. it’s a cut-off sentence, since it was too long. you decide to feed your curiosity and click on the note.

‘she talks to everyone, even the people she doesn’t like.

it takes a lot to piss her off.

she’s always kind to me, after all.

she seems really eager to please, but she has quite the backbone.

she works really hard, but i don’t think many see it.

her generosity knows no bounds, and she always knows what kind of joke to make.

i didn’t think it was possible for a soul to be so beautiful.

nor, that someone like i would meet a soul like her’s.

but, im grateful to the stars above that i met her.

someone as kind as her deserves to receive all the love she gives.

i don’t think she knows how loved she really is though.

what a beautiful human being she is.

there simply isn’t enough words to describe the way her dimples crinkle when she’s happy.

the day she was conceived, the gods must’ve tenderly sculpted her heart out of ivory and gold.

the way she enamors everyone in the room simply by walking inside, and the way her personality shines in her rushed, yet sweet handwriting.

one day, i hope she’ll finally be perpetually happy.

so, that she can always shine that enchanting smile of her’s.

she deserves all of it.’

was this a poem..? it didn’t seem like it, it didn’t rhyme, and the stanzas didn’t have equal amounts of lines… but, the way he worded it out almost made it seem like he was a poet.

you don’t… even know what to think at such a romantic confession. it’s certainly much more than sae has ever verbally said to you. but, the fact that he had written this with you in mind makes your heart pound like crazy.

you’ve always known that sae loves you, but seeing his private thoughts all written out for you to read was… overwhelming.

“going through my texts, amor? i’m not texting any other woman besides you.” sae nonchalantly jokes. shit— time went quicker than you’d thought. “ah, nn… just got a bit curious, babe…” you hum. “what were you looking at..?” he asks, and his eyes widen the moment he sees what you were reading. out of all the things on his phone, that was the last thing he wanted you reading.

he embarrassedly closes his phone. “so… what was all that writing about..? were you trying to be a poet?” you jokingly ask; you knew that sae wasn’t mad, per say… he was probably just embarrassed. “n..no… it was, ah…” he clears his throat. “it was just… something i typed out when i realized i had many observations about you that i needed to write down. i just got sidetracked while i was typing.” he explains.

you smile, your entire body feeling like you’re on fire. the love you feel for sae itoshi feels like too much to contain in your heart. “it was really sweet, sae…” you assure him. for some reason, you have the odd incentive to just… cry right now. you love him so much.

“i know. but, it’s also too sappy.” he huffs. “aw, don’t be so shy… i know you’re just a huge softie under that tough surface…” you tease, moving closer to cuddle up to his side. “im not soft. i just love you, okay?” he groans. “don’t make me say embarrassing things.”

your smile widens, making him look at you with that lovesick look in his eyes. “aww… well, i guess i know how much you love me now anyway, so that’s good enough..!” you mentally fist pump at this small victory.

the atmosphere suddenly feels light again as you start to chatter again, teasing him slightly before going back to what you were speaking about before he had left. and still, sae’s looking at you like you’re the world cup trophy, like you’re all he’s dreamed of.

and sae thinks…

‘…you’ll know how sappy i can get when it’s our wedding day.’

but he should save that for another 5 years, or so.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

My Favorite Thing

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Your comfort item gets lost on a hunt, and the boys try to help you

“Stop the car!”

Dean slammed on the breaks, turning the Impala to the side of the road before whipping around in his seat to see what was wrong.

“What happened? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Willow!” You exclaimed. “We have to go back to the motel!”

“Jeez, kid.” Dean let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought you were dying or something. Don’t scare me like that!”

“We have to go back, it’s an emergency!”

“Kid, your little toy thing is not an emergency,” Dean said.

“Are you sure you didn’t just leave it in your other bag?” Sam asked.

“Yes I’m sure, I always put it right here, and it’s gone!”

“It can’t be at the motel,” Dean argued. “I remember you had it right before we went after that vamp. You must’ve lost it on the hunt.”

“Well then we have to go find it. Please, Dean,” you begged.

Dean sighed, swinging the Impala into a u-turn. “Let’s see if we can find it.”

…

Two hours later, and still no luck.

“Kiddo, we’ve gotta get going,” Dean spoke up reluctantly. “There’s a case in the next state over and we really should try to get there before dark—“

“We can’t just give up!” You cried.

“We looked everywhere honey,” Sam cut in. “There’s nothing else we can do. Maybe we can find you another—“

“No, no you can’t just find another one!” You yelled. “You don’t get it, you don’t even care!” You were racing away from the boys before either of them had a chance to respond.

“What was that?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “But she was headed toward the Impala. Let’s go.”

…

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean’s greeting did nothing to pull you out from the way you’d cocooned yourself in the Impala’s backseat.

Sam eased the door open and slid in next to you, patting your knee that was curled up against your chest.

“N/N, talk to us. You ok?”

“Dad gave it to me.” Your voice came out in a high-pitched whimper. “And I lost it.”

“Oh kid…” Dean climbed into the front of the Impala, reaching over the back of the seat and tilting your chin up. “Dad would understand, ok? It’s ok.”

“No it’s not!” You sniffled. “You have the Impala, and Sam has dad’s journal…I don’t have anything of his. I wanted to at least keep something he gave me.”

Dean suddenly slipped out of the Impala, but you didn’t have time to notice it because Sam spoke up.

“Honey, it’s not about the stuff he left behind. He taught you so much that you’re gonna carry with you, and you don’t need a toy to remember that.”

“I…I guess,” you sniffled. “But I wanted it.”

“Commere…” Sam pulled you into his arms, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find it. I know that meant a lot to you.”

“Here it is—“ Dean’s voice caught your attention as he returned, holding a bundle that he’d retrieved from the trunk. “I think dad would want you to have this.” Dean pressed the fabric into your hands, and you held it up to reveal John Winchester’s favorite jacket.

“It’s never gonna fit,” you argued dubiously.

“Who cares?” Dean shrugged. “I heard jackets six sizes too big are the trend now.”

You giggled through your tears as you slipped your arms through the massive sleeves. The sleeves hung down several inches past your fingers, but you didn’t seem to mind as you hugged the fabric around you.

“Thanks, Dean,” you said.

Dean grinned.

“Any time, kid.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[grimaldiapologist]

dealing you this like radioactive contraband before I go back to pretending I can't draw

[kamil-a]

feature on the all new seraphimagent 8 operating system, december 2056

wips:

[clemswinecorner]

I get satisfied [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: Chris’ camera woman- and by now, also the boys’ friends- and Harry get teased about their dating life. No one seems to notice they’re saying exactly the same, though. 

Wordcount: 661

Warnings: swearing probably, nothing major

This is third person instead of reader pov, but it's still x reader :))

Main Masterlist

It was were in-between takes of Chris’ latest video, Chris figuring out some things with the team that had to do with the challenges and editing. As one of the camera people she wasn’t too involved, the setup being clear from the get-go, so she was leaning against the fence sipping from a water bottle. She was listening to the conversations happening, occasionally laughing at the boys messing around and their idiotic tendencies, but mostly just looked at Harry. Seeing Harry with his friends was one of her favourite things, seeing him be his carefree, unhinged self. The conversation starts with Danny commenting on Harry’s sex life, saying “Oh, you’ve been getting it good recently, haven’t you,” with a laugh. Harry looks down embarrassed, but with a grin on his face, and shoots the girl a look before answering. “Yeah, yeah, I have, actually,” he confesses, and a slight blush appears on her face. None of the boys are looking her way, which she’s especially grateful for when they ask Harry to specify. “Yeah, mate, you know. Just a nice girl, absolutely beautiful and very much does the right things,” the boys all cheer, surprised Harry’s let out something about a possible relationship, with the girl's cheeks only growing redder. “So, you’ve got a girlfriend now or what?” Joe asks, and Harry frowns, subtly looking her way. The two make eye contact as he talks to boys about his situationship. “No, right now I don’t, we’re just messing around. But potentially, in some time, I could see something more happening,” Harry admits, looking her way to catch her reaction. A small smile appears on her face, though she’s surprised at what he’s saying, since they’d never really talked about it like that. It was very casual, on the low, friends with benefits, but you’re not close friends outside your little thing type of thing. She sort of hoped for something more, but was also happy where she was— she just didn’t know Harry felt the exact same. She’s too distracted thinking about what she should say to Harry later that day when her name was being called. She wasn’t even sure how the conversation got to that point, and she was especially confused how she all of a sudden got involved. Yes, after working with Chris for ages she’d befriended some of the boys over time, and yes, she’d rant about her dating life, but they’d never asked— not in a way like this, at least. “What about you, Y/N, you still looking for a man?” Ethan nods her way, and a grin appears on her face. “Not really, no,” she simply says, not elaborating any further. “What, you’ve found someone?” All you can do is shake your head before Ethan continues, “Or are you saying you don’t need a man to get off?” He laughs as some of the boys groan at his bluntness, her eyes widening. “I get satisfied just fine, thank you,” she just says, and Harry has to hold in a smile. “Just fine, is the bar that low?” George jokes, making the girl chuckle as she moves away from the fence. “No, he's more than fine, I can assure you I’m very well taken care of,” she declared, and Ethan's laugh changes from a joking to a somewhat surprised one. “Oh alright then. We’ll see him when you’re ready,” he comments, and she sucks in a breath. “Don’t think that’ll happen yet mate, very on the down low still, don’t want him intimidated by you lot,” Harry lets out a suspiciously loud chuckle, and looks her way with a daring look in his eyes. She shoots him an innocent smile back, before shifting her attention to Chris, who came her way. “Bet you’re jealous of that lad, huh, Bog,” Ethan teases, having seen Harry checking out their friends more than he could count. Harry simply shrugs, “Seems like we’re both happy how it is, mate.”

[winchesterwild78]

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters:  Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Self esteem Issues, Light Smut, Pregnancy,

A/N: Day 11 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

I gave Ben’s mom a name in this even though she’s not named in the series. 

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I sat on the couch touching my swollen belly. Feeling the little kicks of my baby girl growing inside me, I smiled. 

Ben and I had been married for over three years and I finally convinced him to try for a baby. 

I desperately wanted to have his baby. I’d wanted to since the moment I met him. Well, maybe not the exact moment, but pretty damn close.

He and some of Butcher’s team showed up at my office to take care of some business and he was focused on my co-worker, April most of the time. She’s gorgeous, long legs, thin, long blonde hair and very busty. 

I’m the complete opposite, well I do have boobs, but many exes said it was because of the extra weight I carried around. 

I was a little jealous of April, especially when Ben finally asked her out. She giggled and said yes, then they left. In the middle of the day they left to go on a “date”. 

Hours later when she came back her stockings were gone, makeup smudged, and her hair was really out of place. 

I felt a pang in my chest and couldn’t figure out why. I heard April giggle at her desk as Ben whispered something in her ear. 

I sat at my desk trying to focus on the mountain of work I had to finish before I left for the weekend. 

I grabbed my coffee cup and sighed, it was empty. I stood and walked to the breakroom. Hearing her giggle over and over in my head made me feel worse. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never formally met him, but everyone knows who he is. There was something about him that made me want to be with him and only him. It was crazy. 

I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how to push him out of my brain. This feeling of wanting him was crazy. I’d never even spoken to him. I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind me as I bent over to grab the creamer from the refrigerator. 

“Damn, now that’s a gorgeous view, doll.” My eyes went wide and I stood and turned. There he was, looking incredible. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Which he noticed because of the smirk it drew on his face. 

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to say or do. I turned back to my coffee and started to finish making it. 

“What’s your name, doll?” “Y/N, and you’re Soldier Boy.” “Ben, you can call me Ben.” “Nice to meet you Ben.” By this point I was turned and facing him. 

Taking in his perfectly trimmed beard, his strong jaw, his piercing green eyes, plump lips. Oh god I could feel myself getting aroused and my heart rate picking up.

He stepped closer, “You okay, darlin’? Your heart is pounding.” I just nodded and my breathing became shaky. 

He stepped closer, inches from me, “You sure about that?” I made eye contact with him and held my breath. Oh god I would have his babies right now.

He asked me questions about myself and my life, and I just freely gave him everything he wanted. Hell I would have given him anything he wanted right there in the breakroom. 

His hand gently touched my cheek and I leaned into it. I bit my lower lip. I’d never felt like this with anyone. 

As he was closing the distance between us, April walked into the breakroom. She gasped, “What is this? Soldier Boy, what about us?!” She didn’t call him Ben, interesting.

He turned and looked at her, “There is no us doll. We were just having a little fun.” Her face turned red and her jaw clenched. 

She looked at me, “So you think you can seduce THE Soldier Boy? Girl please. I’m half the woman you are. Why would he want you when he’s had me?” 

I felt the pang grow in my chest. The cruelty of people making fun of my weight wasn’t something new to me. It's been happening since my teen years. Even now as an adult the judging looks, the snide comments and sideways glances seemed to be a constant. This time however, it hurt to my core. 

She was right. Why would he, a man built like a Greek God want me when he’s had her and so many other beautiful women. 

I felt the sting of the tears in my eyes. I turned away as I felt the tears fall. 

Ben crossed the room to her and grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again. She’s gorgeous and twice the woman you are, and she’s mine.” 

I lifted my head and turned to look at him. His eyes met mine and instantly softened. Did he really just call me his? What the hell?!

He let April go and she left the room. Ben walked back over to me and his thumb gently wiped the tears away. “God you’re beautiful, Y/N. Even with a red splotchy face.” He chuckled and I smiled. 

“Ben, why did you tell April I’m yours? I’m not.” “I know, darlin’. I want you to be mine. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We did just meet and I did just fuck your co-worker.”

There it was again, that pang of jealousy filling my soul. I couldn’t ignore it.

That was over 4 years ago, and the day I took a chance on Ben. Fast forward to now, and here I am sitting on our couch in our house, watching him fight with the Christmas tree and lights on Christmas Eve. 

“Why the fuck do we need a damn tree up, Y/N? It’s Christmas Eve.” I rubbed my belly, “It’s for her, Ben. Plus a Christmas tree with twinkling lights is beautiful at night and I can’t do it alone.”

“She’s not here yet, why does she need a tree?” I rolled my eyes, he could be stubborn sometimes, but I knew he was in trouble once our daughter was born. That rough, tough, grumpy man will turn into mush when she’s here. She already has him wrapped around his finger. As evident by the extravagant nursery he created for her. 

I tried to get off the couch, but being almost 9 months pregnant it was proving rather difficult. Ben stopped what he was doing and walked over to help me up.

He helped me stand and chuckled, “What’s so funny, Ben?” “Nothing, I love seeing your belly swollen with my baby. Even if you can’t stand on your own anymore.” 

Emotions and hormones got the better of me and I started to cry, “I know, I’m fat. I’m so sorry I look like this and you don’t want me anymore.” 

Ben’s eyes shot back to mine, “Don’t say that! You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re giving me a baby. I love every (he kissed my lips) inch (he kissed down my neck) of (he kissed my collarbone) your (he gripped my hips) body (he kissed the top of my breasts that peaked out of my shirt). 

My cheeks flushed red and I felt my arousal growing. Sex with Ben was always amazing, but since I’ve been pregnant it’s been different and at times primal. 

As soon as Ben found out I was pregnant a primal instinct in him took over. His need to protect became stronger. When we had sex he was gentle but dominant at the same time. As my pregnancy has progressed we’ve had to be creative with positions due to my growing belly. Ben’s favorite recently was me on top or he behind me, cradling my belly. 

Ben began kissing me deeper and walking me backwards towards our room. “Ben, we really should finish the tree.” “Nope, I’m gonna finish what I started.” He practically growled. 

Once in our shared room Ben began removing my shirt and pants. His hand slid between my legs. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.” I smirked as I felt my arousal running down my thigh. 

Ben began to undress as I sat on the side of the bed. I tried to grab the blanket to cover myself, but he pushed it away. He lifted my chin, “Please don’t, you’re so beautiful and I love every inch of you.” 

I bit my lip. He always had a way of making me feel so beautiful and desired. One of the many reasons I fell in love with him. 

Ben undressed and laid back on the bed, motioning for me. I laid beside him, the best I could and his hands trailed up and down my body. 

“Ben, I need you.” He grinned, “I need you too baby.”

My hand slid down his torso and to his thick, hard cock. My thighs clenched together. 

He helped me up and I straddled him. Taking his length in my hand and I lined him up to me. We both moaned as he bottomed out. 

His fingers are holding onto my hips and digging into my skin. I moved my hips as he thrusted up. Each thrust pushed me close to the edge. I knew I wasn’t going to last long. 

“Ben..I’m so..close.” “Mmm, let go baby.” My body responded to him and before I knew it I was cumming hard. 

“Damn baby, you soaked me.” He chuckled. I felt the warmth of my release all over me and him. The bed became soaked under Ben and I kept feeling it. 

I stopped moving. “What? What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Ben, I think my water broke.” 

Ben helped me up and I could still feel the liquid coming out of me. “Y/N, you’re not due for about 2 weeks.” “I know, I just think we should go to the hospital.” 

Ben cleaned off and helped me get dressed then got himself dressed. He helped me to the car and I climbed in. 

Arriving at the hospital we saw a ton of people waiting to be seen. Ben stormed up to the front desk, “We need a doctor NOW! My wife is in labor and she’s not waiting out here with all these sick people.” Ben growled. 

The nurse looked up at him then over at me as the contractions started. 

She grabbed a chair and had me sit. Ben was by my side as they pushed me to the labor and delivery floor. 

Once I got changed and hooked up the doctor came in and confirmed I was in labor. 

Ben began pacing the floor. “Isn’t it too early?” Ben asked the doctor. She shook her head no and told him everything looked perfectly normal. 

“Normal?! She’s having a supe baby and she’s 2 weeks early. There’s nothing normal about that!” 

The doctor looked at Ben and then back to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “The contractions aren’t that bad yet, but they are getting closer together.” 

She glanced at the machine tracking my contractions and nodded. “Well, let’s check to see how dilated you are.” 

Propping my legs up in the stirrups she checked my cervix. I winced in pain and Ben was at my side holding my hand. 

“Can’t you be a little more gentle doc?” Ben’s voice boomed in the room. 

“Ben, it’s okay. She didn’t hurt me. It’s just uncomfortable. Baby, you have to calm down a little. I need you, she needs you.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, “I know. I just don’t like to see you in pain and I caused this situation.” 

“Benji, look at me, please. She is worth all the pain in the world. Before too long we will be holding her in our arms and all of this will be over.” Ben’s eyes softened and he kissed my forehead. “Sorry doc. I know I can be a dick sometimes. She’s just everything to me.” 

The doctor nodded and smiled, “I understand, and your reactions are perfectly normal. I promise you I’m going to take care of your wife and baby.” 

He nodded and she left the room leaving us alone. 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us as we listened to her heartbeat fill the room. She was less active as the contractions came closer together. 

A few hours later the doctor came in and said it was time. I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben’s hand. 

“Are you ready to meet our daughter, Ben?” He smirked and nodded. 

After what felt like forever the sound of a tiny cry filled the room. The doctor laid our baby girl on my chest and Ben cut her cord. It was love at first sight. 

She had a great set of lungs, sandy blonde hair and piercing green eyes like her father. 

When the nurses took her to clean her, measure and weigh her, Ben was standing over them. 

He kept asking questions and the nurses were so sweet answering him and even let him help. 

“Why are you wrapping her so tight? She looks like a burrito. That can’t be comfortable for her. Is she breathing? Why’d she whimper?” 

I giggled seeing him hover. The nurse handed the baby to Ben and he walked over to me with the biggest, proudest smile on his face. 

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him. His softer side not many people get to see. 

He sat down beside me and smiled down at her then at me. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Look at what we made. She’s perfect, just like her mama.” 

My heart filled with so much love and joy, seeing him hold her. He was made to be a father. 

“Ben, we have to name her.” “Yeah, we do, but how do you give a name to someone so perfect? I can’t think of one that does her justice. It has to be perfect.” 

I smiled, looked over at the time and realized it was Christmas Day. “Ben, how about Noelle?” 

He looked at me and then down at her and smiled. “It’s perfect. Noelle Grace” 

I smiled. Ben didn’t talk much about his mother, but I knew her name was Grace. “Perfect” I smiled at him. 

He handed her back to me and I held her tight. “My little Noelle Grace. Merry Christmas, baby girl, and Merry Christmas, Ben.” 

Ben leaned down and kissed me and then her, “Best Christmas present ever. Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

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[voxslays]

HOLIDAY SHOPPING

Featuring >>> Alastor x Reader; In which, Reader struggles to find presents for the hotel residents and finds both comfort and a helping hand in Alastor.

It was only a few days before Christmas. You had been so busy all month doing paperwork and chores for Charlie, that you had nearly forgotten about Christmas shopping—and it didn’t exactly help that you had no idea what to get some of the hotel residents. Yet, you carried on anyways as you put on your winter coat and scarf, grabbed your wallet and purse and headed out the doors of the hotel lobby.

As you stepped outside, the crisp winter air hit your face, making your breath visible. Snow was lightly falling, dusting the streets and rooftops of the hellish landscape. You zipped up your coat and pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, thinking about the long list of gifts you still needed to buy. You quickly headed towards cannibal town, hoping Rosie may have some ideas. You were in such a rush you didn’t even notice when you bumped into someone. “Sorry!” You mutter as you are knocked to the ground. You look up to see Alastor.

Standing tall over you, Alastor adjusts his bowtie as his ever present smile grows, "Careful there, darling.” His deep, staticky yet smooth voice carries a hint of amusement as he extends a hand to help you up. “Thanks.” You say has he gently hoists you to your feet. “Are you okay?” His smile never wavers as he studies your concerned expression, a glint of something mischievous shining in his eyes "Perfectly fine, though I must say… you seem rather distracted. Christmas shopping?" He gestures to the packages you're carrying.

“Yep.” You confirm. His grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, isn't this a delightful coincidence? I happen to have a knack for finding…unique gifts. Perhaps I could lend a hand, guide you to shops you might not find on your own." Alastor’s smile brightens. “You would?” Your smile grows wider. “Oh thank you, Alastor!” He chuckles, the staticky sound like velvet wrapped around a diamond, as he takes one of the packages from you and begins walking alongside you. "Consider it a holiday favor, cher. Now, tell me, what's on your list this year?"

You quickly tell him both what you have gotten so far—a bug capturing kit for Niffty, expensive booze for Husk, a duck mug for Lucifer, and a unicorn squishmallow for Charlie (much to Alastors confusion)—and who you hadn’t gotten anything for. Pentious would be pretty easy, his only hobby was inventing, so how hard could that be? Vaggie and Angel were much harder though, and Christmas was only three days away. You had no time, but atleast you had Alastor’s help. Alastor listens intently, giving a hum of approval every once in a a while. "A…squishmallow?” Alastor asks, mildly confused. Though his curiosity about Charlie is now piqued, he keeps that aside for another, later conversation.

The two of you stop right outside a large shop with the sign ‘Rosie’s Emporium’. You knew exactly who this shop belongs to. You and Rosie go way back. She was the first soul you met in hell, and you quickly became friends. Having lunch or the occasional brunch together once a month. So as you stepped inside, it was only natural that she rushed up to the two of you. “Oh Alastor, Y/N.” She pauses as her arms envelope you in a motherly hug. “Long time no see ya two!”

Alastor allows Rosie's hug, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles warmly. He's always had a soft spot for the cannibal, and her motherly affection is something he secretly cherishes and reminds him of his own mother. "Rosie, it's been far too long," He says as he breaks the hug. “Well how can I help ya today?” Rosie asks, her cheeky southern accent popping. “Oh, we’re just browsing.” You say softly. Alastor gestures for you to go off without him, and you do.

You stroll around the store, making sure to stay far away from any of the more acquired tastes, such as chocolate covered pinky fingers or toes. You stroll to one of the antique curio cabinets, which has plates of fine China and glass sculptures inside. Next to it, a glass cabinet with expensive jewelry. A sapphire broach, a pearl necklace, and in the very middle, a gold and silver watch with a crimson leather strap. A perfect gift for your overlord friend.

Meanwhile, Alastor is standing by the entrance with Rosie. “So ya came in as an escort?” Rosie jests playfully. Alastor chuckles, his eyes scanning the eclectic assortment of items in Rosie's Emporium. He spots a few things that catch his eye, including a beautifully crafted bronze pocket watch and a rare, antique ruby necklace. "Actually, Rosie, I could use your expertise."

“Of course. What do ya need?” She asks, adjusting her hat before giving him her full attention. He gestures to the necklace he spotted, "Do you have anything like that necklace over there? I'm looking for a gift, and I think it might be perfect." He pauses, "And could you wrap it nicely too?" Rosie smiles, her huge white demonic teeth on display. “Of course Alastor. Is it for anyone in particular?” She asks as she carefully takes the Ruby necklace out of its case, places it in its box and wraps it.

Alastor clears his throat, glancing away briefly before meeting Rosie's gaze with a playful smirk. "Well, let's just say it's for someone who's very dear to me." He winks.

Time had passed so quickly. The next thing you knew, it was Christmas morning. Thanks to Alastor, you had managed to find the perfect gift for everyone, including him. You carefully pull yourself out of the covers and walk to the bathroom, the cold wood flooring freezing your feet as you walk to the sink. You splash some water on your face, towel drying it as you get ready for the day.

Once dressed, you make your way downstairs to the present-filled lobby. Under the Christmas tree is an avalanche of presents with bright wrapping paper and bows, surrounded by the hotel guests who are slowly opening their presents. You sit among the guests, a steaming cup of hot chocolate in your hand, watching as everyone opens their gifts. You notice that there's one present left under the tree, wrapped in shiny gold paper with a red bow.

It has a tag with your name on it. You carefully unwrap it, revealing the very Ruby necklace you saw at Rosie’s. You’re about to turn around to look for Alastor when you hear a staticky voice behind you. "Merry Christmas." You turn to see Alastor standing behind you, a mischievous grin on his face. You hug him tightly. “Merry Christmas.”

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about how fast logans hair grows and how naturally thick and shiny it is (lucky fuck) and while it started as something small, Wade mentioning how fluffy it is when tuffed out.

"Guess you're gonna cut it then?"

But his voice is kind of hoping he doesn't. It's not hard to tell either. Wade can't hide his adoration for Logan. He's never been able too. (And probably never will)

"Mmh.. Nah." Is all his says, but the brightness in Wade's eyes is everything.

He lets Wade take care of it. He lets him completely groom him, wash him, condition it, oil it, braid it, try different looks on him, like blowouts and curls. It makes him wonder how he knows these things. I mean, he's bald.

But he wasn't always bald, right? Duh. Vanessa mentions something about him doing her hair sometimes, helping her curl it and would help put her curlers in, etc.

It makes him wonder why he doesn't have an actual set. Why doesn't he get one glued or professionally put in. Cancer patiants got fake hair all the time, so what was the problem? It's not like they didn't have enough cash to pay for an installation.

As it gets longer, Wade is obsessed, showing it off and bragging how beautiful he is. He likes to drag his fingers through it, pull on it COUGH, pet him.

And don't get me wrong, Logan doesn't mind much, but it's getting a little too long than he likes. So much so that Gabby has started joking that Laura and him look the same. This isn't his issue, though. The problem is that it's touching his back in a way that makes him feel like someone is touching him. The curls at the ends brushing against his shoulder blades and makes his body hair raise from sensory.

Logan tilts his head, laying on the couch with Wade on his chest watching some trash tv.

".. Im gonna cut my hair later."

"What?"

"It's too long for me." He says.

"Oh... okay." Who was wade to tell him what to do with his body? Esspecially when he was engaged to a stripper. It would be hypocritical.

Before Logan leaves, Wade blows him a kiss. "Bye bye beautiful."

"Heh. Thanks."

"I was talking to those lushious locks, but you too gorgeous."

Logan rolls his eyes, scoffing softly, but stops.

"Change your mind?"

".... you were jealous of other yous hair... why don't you... you know?"

Wade blinks. "...well... wolvie.. when a daddy cancer and a mommy cancer-"

"That's not what I meant. I mean.. they have hair that you can glue on, right? Or.. does this universe not have that?"

"It does. I just... feels weird. You know? Itchy. And hurts. And.."

"You don't have to explain. So.. do you like clips or something??"

"...whyy?" He asks, becoming skeptical.

"Nothing.. just curious." Logan mumbled, leaving ".. Bye."

"See ya 'just curious'."

____

When he finally does return to the apartment, his kitty ears are clean, leaving his hair a bit thicker than when they met but not long enough to surpass his ears or chin.

From the kitchen, Wade whistles. "Well, Hello, sailor! Where's my husband? Whos this hot tom cat?"

Logan blushes, embaressed. Keeping his hand behind his back as he hugged him when glomped out of excitment. It wasn't uncommon for Wade to do this. To kiss the shit out of him when he got home, but the way he pulled at his lapels made him chuckle, pulling away.

"Okay okay, wait wait. I got something for you."

"Clip ins?" He asks, gasping softly and lit up when presented with a small box. "Oooh!! Presents! Peanut you shouldn't have!"

He shrugs. "Yeah.. well.. you liked it too much to not."

Pausing, Wade stares up at him with a sparkle in his eyes. "...You..."

Logan nods. Instantly, he begins to rip open the box, smiling widely before squealing. "Oh my god! Loagie!! Is this why you took forever? I thought you got lost on the way there or something..."

"Oh, I did, but.. that's besides the point."

"How much did these even cost to make?" He asks, looking at them fondly as he checks the quality.

"Don't worry about it. They're nice aren't they? I was actually shocked I could find someone to do it so quickly."

"Yeah! Its almost as if the writer is super lazy and didnt even research the process or how long it takes to make these! Oh- but...How am I going to wear them? You have to clip them. I can't really clip them to my scalp." Wade mutters, pouting.

Immediately, Logan frowns. "Oh shit.. I..i guess I didn't think about that. I thought you.."

Wade giggles. "I'm just kidding! Ill go clip them. I got a wig that'll look perfect with this!" He smiles, giddy as he runs away.

Logan grins, watching how excited and happy he was. Sighing, he glanced at the food Wade was starting to make, picking up where he left off.

____

"Sooo.. what do you think?"

Turning around, Logan smirks, eyes softening at the pure joy on his face. They fit perfectly into his already existing wig, making it thicker and shiny, soft and the it flowed the way real hair would.

"Ta-da!" He giggles. "And watch!!" He shakes his head around, flipping his hair and posed a few times. "I tried the halo extentions before, and they flew off! But they stay!"

"Yeah?" He asks, leaning back against the counter, so lovingly looking at the pure glitters in his excited eyes.

"Yeah!! Isn't it so cute? And its so soft!"

"And water resistant." He comments. "Soooo you like'em?"

"Yes!!! Of course I love them! And I love you." He comes to logan, hoping up as he grabs him, pulling him up to kiss him agaisnt the counter. Between kisses, giggles, groans and affectious compliments, Al crossed her arms, sitting at the table.

"Really? In front of my salad??.. nasties.."

[itwdoris]

tw; piss.

yuta didn't even know why he was at that party, with the loud music making his eardrums vibrate as much as his body and the bright colored lights flashing and making him slightly dizzy, or maybe that's the result of the drink...

anyway, he's right there with a packet of snacks he found in the kitchen under his arm and one of his hands occupied with a empty cup, just watching people dancing and drinking in front of him, his dry throat straining to swallow the saliva, maybe it was time to get some more of the drink which seems more alcoholic than anything, but it's still pink and he doesn't know why.

but he doesn't care about that, in fact, he doesn't care about anything but you, when you walk by him with your face so red and your clothes almost showing parts that maybe shouldn't be showing. but he doesn't look, nah uh, even though your boobs are shining so brightly and your panties are his favorite color right now.

yuta just squint his eyes at the way you try to find a cup that isn't full across the messy table, looking so nervous, could something have happened? maybe he can help. please, he wants to help so bad.

"something happened?" he asks in an attempt to get closer without you thinking he's a loser. then you lift your face and look at him, wich makes his whole skeleton shake. you understood what he said, and that's good, because he doesn't know if he could say it again without stuttering.

nhg! "need a cup-" you bite your lips, furrowing your eyebrows because you're about to leak, your knees pressed together like the last salvation. you can see an empty cup in his hand, your eyes long for it. "yuta... can i take your cup, please?"

"oh yes, for what?" he's not trying to be inconvenient, it was an innocent question, it's just that the way you said his name is stuck in his head. but now your face is redder, because you only meant to take the cup and you couldn't even give it back, how to explain... "you look nervous... hum.. you can tell me if you need-" but his voice stopped when you came closer to him, holding his hoodie and looking at him with those desperate little eyes. oh lord.

"i really need to pee, but someone's having sex in the toilet..." you squeeze your eyebrows tighter because you feel it leaking, oh no, it's dripping, your panties must be stained. "yuta, please-"

it was enough, because now yuta's heart is about to burst out of his chest and his cock is waking up needing attention between his legs.

he sighs, winking before throwing the snacks on the table and pulling you with his free hand, the other struggling not to dent the red plastic cup as he pulls you, obviously careful not to hurt your pretty little arm as he pass through the people with you.

there are people everywhere, it's hard to find an empty corner, but he won't look any further when you make him stop, moaning because you can feel it running down your thighs. okkotsu's mouth tingles because he knows very well how he could help right then and there, a tent forming in his pants.

even so, you struggle, holding on, pressing your pussy as he pulls you by the hand into the emptiest room you've found before, you squirm internally at the thought of having to do this in public, but then, your eyes capture your true salvation in the middle of the race;

a broom closet.

you pull him back and push him inside, without thinking twice before closing the door quickly, it's tight and dark, smelling of sex and you can both feel it, but doesn't matter now.

you feel your hips being pulled against yuta, gasping at the feel of something hard, his nimble hands pull your clothes up and rip the side of your panties like they're nothing. you'll miss it, but he has a better place to curl it up later on. you can only hear the rushing noises, the rustling of fabric, your hands on the shelves around you because he's doing everything so fast that your brain can barely process it.

he glues your back to his chest with his arms pressing you, holding you in place, he places the cup right below your pussy, resting his chin on your shoulder, long fingers go down to your folds to open them up. "go, let it out " he asks softly, too close to your ear, you hold a moan. "please, pee f' me..."

and he don't even have to ask twice, because the piss pours out of you and splash on the cup below you with force, making your knees almost fail as a moan up your throat, completely relieved and pleasurable, your eyes rolling. he keeps holding the glass, nothing getting lost, pulling your lips to aim the flow better, sighing so hard.

"hmn... " yuta bury his nose in your shoulder, his warm breath hitting your skin. his mind keeps thinking about how he could be there in the place of that cup, licking up all the piss that ran down your legs and so many more things...

thinking about how pretty you must look, how he could do this all the time, wondering if you'd piss yourself while he buries his cock inside your wet cunt. if he only knew how much you thought about him too.

but the flow gradually slows down to an end, he passes the glass through your folds just so that nothing drips out and let you go slowly so he don't spill the glass. it was difficult to move around in that cramped closet, dark enough that you could barely see.

dark enough for you not to see that oh- yuta was drinking your piss?!

im cumming so hard with these ideas i-- LORD, thanks to tigeri anon <3 i was so excited and for this one that i think i've lost the main idea a bit, forgive me! but anyway, hope u guys like it too =( <3

( im trying to get better i swear guys

[chicgeekgirl89]

A/N: @lemonlyman-dotcom. My darling. I HAVE CONNED YOU!! This is like in the Hallmark movies when you find out he/she was really a prince(ss)/secret millionaire/the owner of the evil corporation all along. YOUR SECRET SANTA IS MEEEEEEEEE!!! The Christmas tree fic is a FAKE!! I pretended to moan and groan about how I couldn't get this fic written BUT REALLY I WAS DELIGHTEDLY CRAFTING IT FOR YOU THE WHOLE TIME!!! Oh the evil joy it brought me every time I posted a little snippet of complete malarky and you reblogged it MWAHAHAHA!! 😈 How did I do? Were you fooled by my outstanding acting? Hehe, I hope you were and that this is a complete surprise! I took your @tarlos-santa prompt idea about Owen and Carlos teaming up to get T.K. the perfect gift and ran with it. It's full of holiday shenanigans and little easter eggs for you, good luck finding them all! (Also I hope you like this badly photoshopped header, I am delighted by the low quality badness of it lol!)

Read on AO3

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Carlos freezes, his lips pressed against the soft skin that lies just below T.K.’s bellybutton. His left index finger is hooked into the elastic waistband of T.K.’s boxers and  he’s already pulled them down low enough to see the sharp jut of his husband’s hipbone. He lifts his head, slightly alarmed. “Am I sure I want to give my husband a pre-work blowjob? Well I was, but now I’m not.”

“No, not that. Please keep doing that,” T.K. says, shifting a little bit, his hands going up behind his head. “I meant are you sure you want to go Christmas shopping with my dad today?”

“Oh, that.” Carlos presses another kiss into him. “Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

“Because my dad is…a lot,” T.K. says, then sucks in a breath when Carlos scrapes his teeth over that sexy hipbone. “And he’s terrible at Christmas shopping.”

“I know,” Carlos mumbles against T.K.’s skin. “That’s why I’m going.”

A week ago Owen had given him a call and invited him out for lunch and Christmas shopping. Surprised, but also pleased, he’d readily agreed and they’d made plans to meet at a restaurant in The Domain and hit up some of the stores afterward. Owen had texted Carlos last night to remind him to wear comfortable, practical footwear and bring reusable bags. 

“Maybe,” he says, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crux of T.K.’s thigh so that he squirms, “if I go, you’ll actually get something you like this year.”

“You really think that you can convince my dad to buy something normal for Christmas?” T.K. scoffs. “Good luck.”

Carlos looks up at him again. “You underestimate the cow eyes?”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad to stop him from buying me a fifteen pound block of imported cheese from Italy because the salesman tells him it’s a good deal? Or a decorative, three foot tall, hand carved horse statue that he thinks matches the aesthetics of the loft? Or—“

“I will take care of it,” Carlos assures him.

“What if he—“

“T.K.!”

“What?”

“How about we stop talking about your dad while I’m trying to blow you?”

He tugs T.K.’s boxers down, freeing his morning wood and T.K. lets out a hiss as the cool air of the loft touches his skin along with Carlos’ fingers. “Okay, yeah,” he says, his voice tight with the beginnings of pleasure. “We can do that.”

Two hours later Carlos is showered and dressed and pulling into the parking lot on the north side of the Domain. He checks the mall map and heads toward Flower Child, a restaurant with great vegan options and fresh ingredients.

Owen is sitting at a table outside, a Yankees hat on his head, and he stands when Carlos gets close, excitement on his face. “Carlos, good to see you,” he says, pulling him in for a brief hug.

“Thank you for the invitation.” 

Owen looks at him sympathetically as they sit. “I know this year is going to be hard,” he says. “And I know Christmas shopping with me isn’t the same as doing it with your dad, but I want to help where I can.”

Carlos bites back a snort of laughter. He and his dad never once Christmas shopped together. His dad hated shopping. It’s very sweet that Owen—who loves shopping and would consider an afternoon at the mall with his son a highlight of his week—thinks Gabriel and Carlos would have enjoyed doing the same, but honestly the idea of trying to drag his dad around for hours buying presents is hilarious.

“That’s very thoughtful Owen, thank you,” Carlos says, hoping with all his might that his dad is watching down from somewhere and laughing too.

“I took the liberty of ordering us both their seasonal rose petal lemonade,” Owen says. “Have you had the Glow Bowl here? The shiitake combined with the sunflower sauce is di-vine.”

“That sounds good,” Carlos says, flipping the menu over to take a look.

“The last time I brought T.K. here he had the roasted beet and organic apple salad.”

“I think I remember that,” Carlos says with a smile. His father-in-law has a penchant for taking menu items very seriously, a fun quirk that has carried over to T.K. His husband gets very excited anytime they try a new restaurant. Although he usually ends up liking Carlos’ meal better than his own, stealing bites until Carlos offers to switch. 

He ends up ordering the Glow Bowl and Owen decides to go wild and try the Brussels sprouts and organic kale salad after some banter with their server. “So,” Owen says, taking a sip of his lemonade. “How’s the new job?”

“Not so new anymore,” Carlos says. It’s been almost eight months at this point, but he and Owen really haven’t spent any significant time together since he started with the Rangers outside of professional reasons. He’s barely had time for his husband let alone anyone else. “I feel like I’m starting to find my place though. It’s different from beat work.”

“I’d imagine so. The hat and the belts alone are quite the change,” Owen comments.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah it’s definitely a look.”

“Well, it’s one you wear quite well. How’s your mom?”

His smile dims. “She’s okay. The holidays are hard. She and my dad had a lot of traditions. But my tías and my sisters have been around a lot, so that helps.”

“And she has a son who is carrying on his father’s legacy,” Owen says. “I’m sure that helps too.”

Carlos shrugs, letting his fingers hug the glass in front of him, the condensation making them slick. “I guess.”

“You are humble to a fault Carlos,” Owen says. “I’m sure both of your parents are proud of you. I know I am. The way you’ve handled things this last year is impressive.”

“It doesn’t feel impressive.” Vulnerability slips into his tone. It’s not something he allows often, but his father-in-law pulled him back from the edge of making one of the biggest, most irreparable mistakes of his life. He’s already seen Carlos at his worst; admitting that he’s been struggling won’t do any damage. “It feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water most days,” he admits.

“The first year of marriage is always challenging,” Owen tells him factually. “I would know, I’ve done it several times. You and T.K. have faced some unique circumstances that have made it even more difficult. But you’re still together, working on yourselves, your relationship, your careers. That is impressive. Don’t forget to let yourself celebrate it.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes as his cheeks flush. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” Owen taps the table, his face serious. “Now, let’s talk about T.K.’s birthday. I have some ideas.”

They eat and talk with companionable ease. Carlos steers Owen away from the idea of hiring a mariachi band and circus performers for the party, but does concede to hiring a DJ. They also decide to have it catered by Carlos and T.K.’s favorite taco truck; the one that makes homemade churros that are to die for.

When they finish eating they throw away their garbage and Owen looks at him with renewed vigor. “So,” he says, “where should we start?”

“Well I have a few ideas—” 

“So do I! Come on, let me show you!”

Carlos follows his father-in-law down the line of stores. Even though it’s seventy-five degrees outside the place feels festive. There are windows decked out with wreaths and snowmen and Christmas trees, and Mariah Carey is blasting over the speakers. Families walk by, some smiling, others arguing. There are little kids dressed in their holiday best, ready for family photos, and a few melting down over toys that Santa won’t be bringing for several more weeks.

They walk into a store selling fitness equipment and Owen gestures grandly to a large black tub. “An ice bath!”

Carlos tries to school his face into something neutral. “An ice bath?”

“They are all the rage in the health and fitness industry right now. They boost your metabolism, provide stress relief, reduce inflammation, and improve your mood.”

“Mhm,” Carlos says, fully aware of the ice bath craze, but seeing for the first time just how difficult it might be to sway his father-in-law away from some of his more zany gift ideas.

Owen’s face falls in a way that is so reminiscent of T.K.’s disappointed face that Carlos feels a pang of guilt. “You don’t like it.”

“No, I—it’s a great idea,” Carlos says. “I’m just…I’m not sure where we’d put it in the loft.” He tries to emphasize how small and unsuited the loft is to this kind of gift without saying it aloud.

“Ah!” Owen says. “That’s the thing! This one is completely collapsible. Store it in the closet until you want it and then inflate it with one of these pumps in less than twenty minutes.” He grabs one off the shelf and holds it up to show Carlos. “It’s a cinch!”

“It…yeah. Seems…easy,” Carlos says, wondering how the hell he’s going to steer this ship to something more appropriate for T.K.

“And,” Owen says, “it’s really two for the price of one. Because you both can use it. Not at the same time obviously, it’s a very small tub.”

“Right,” Carlos says.

Owen eyes him critically. “Hm…you don’t seem to love the idea.”

“Oh no, I mean, if you think T.K.—“

“No, no, I can see it in your eyes. This isn’t the one. Not to worry, I have other options.”

He marches down a few aisles, but before they can find whatever it is he’s got his mind on, a smiling employee blocks their path. “Hello gentlemen. Finding everything you need?” she asks.

“Ah, not quite yet,” Owen tells her. “We are shopping for my son. This is his husband, Carlos.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says and something in her eyes hooks onto them. “You know, I’m not sure what exactly you’re in the market for, but we are having a sale on our elite face shape massagers.”

“Face shape massager?” Carlos asks in confusion.

She whips out a white box with a circular shaped device on the inside. “Yes! This little piece of technology can help reduce the appearance of double chins and improve skin quality! Would you like to give it a try?”

“Um, no, that’s okay,” Carlos says. “You know I really think we need to be moving on, right Owen?”

“No, no!” Owen says. “Give it a try. It can’t hurt. We Strand men have strong jawlines and I’m sure T.K. would like to keep his intact as the years go by. Let’s see how it works.”

Before Carlos can protest further the woman is looping the device over his head, his jaw clamping shut at the pressure. She pushes a button and red light illuminates his skin while the entire thing begins to vibrate. “Can you feel how the photons lift and firm the skin?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” Carlos says, the sound vibrating along with the massager.

“That is incredible,” Owen says, taking a step closer so he can get a better look. “It has red and blue infra lights?”

“It does! And it works even better when combined with our Cleopatra LED Light Mask,” she says, showing them a plastic mask that would make even Hannibal Lecter flee in terror. Carlos can only imagine how T.K. would use that to torture him, leaning over him in the middle of the night, his face lit by the red glow of the lights…

Carlos rips the massager off his face and hands it back to the woman. “Thank you so much for your time, but I think we’re going to go a different direction.”

"I don’t know Carlos, these both seem very reasonably priced,” Owen says, checking out the tag.

“You know what, I actually think T.K. already has both of these,” Carlos says in desperation. He mentally casts around for a believable lie. “…Marjan got them for his birthday… last year.”

“Oh, well, in that case—“

“What about for you, sir?” the woman asks Owen, her skills at capturing her prey honed to perfection after years of retail work. “I can see you take excellent care of your skin. Your pores are nearly non-existent.”

Owen beams and fifteen minutes later they walk out the door with two bags of “me-gifts” for him to put under his own Christmas tree. “Are you sure you don’t want some of these under eye de-puffers?” Owen asks, “They come in a two-pack.”

“I’m good,” Carlos says. “Thank you though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Will do.”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands. “So we’ve struck out on T.K. so far, but I have another idea.”

“Great!” Carlos says.

Owen looks at him with great confidence. “A hat.”

“A hat?”

“A hat.”

Forty-five minutes later Carlos loses the hat battle and they leave a Western wear shop with a brown leather cowboy hat for T.K. that he is going to love, but will have no practical use for outside of their bedroom. Owen is thrilled that his son can now match with Carlos, and Carlos is just glad they got the brown one and not the shiny blue one with silver stars.

He offers to take their bags to the car since they’re starting to get in the way and he’s on his way back, trying to figure out how he’s going to convince his father-in-law to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods and buy some batting gloves that are actually on T.K.’s wish list. Owen will probably dislike this idea because it is both practical and reasonably priced.

Carlos is plotting his plan of attack when a hand reaches out and grabs him, jerking him behind a sign with a map of the mall on it. “Whoa, hey!” he says, before realizing it’s Owen who has latched onto his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Look. Over there.”

Carlos follows the line of his finger to a kiosk selling cellphone cases and accessories. “Owen, what am I looking at?”

“That guy.”

“The one that looks like Santa?” The jolly, bearded fellow is talking to the seller at the kiosk, smiling and laughing.

“And the other guy.”

A shifty looking man, younger than the bearded grandfatherly type who is talking to the salesperson, is lurking near the stand too. “Okay…” Carlos says.

“I’ve been following them since you left. I’m pretty sure they just shoplifted from Bath and Body Works. And it looks like they’re about to do it again. We need to stop them.”

“Owen, that’s a pretty serious accusation. Are you sure that’s really what you saw?”

“The jolly one was distracting the workers with his holiday charm and I’m pretty sure the shifty one put several hand sanitizers in his pockets.”

Carlos barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure?”

“There was a stand of candles in the way, but I know I’m very sure he was shoving them in by the handfuls.”

“Then let’s go tell a mall security guard.”

“All they’re going to do is call APD. You can arrest them now and prevent more crime from happening before APD can even get here.”

“I can’t arrest them because you think you saw them do something,” Carlos says.

Owen sighs. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

As they watch the shifty guy moves away from the stand and slinks toward another store a little further down. Carlos relaxes his shoulders. “See? Nothing happening here. Let’s check out—“

He’s interrupted by a huge crash as an entire shelf of the cellphone kiosk hits the floor, sending things flying everywhere. Everyone in the area stops and stares as the kiosk worker reels backward and falls to the floor.

Owen and Carlos move simultaneously. “Whoa, easy there,” Owen says as the kiosk worker tries to sit up. “That was a nasty fall. Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” he says, wincing as he pushes himself upright. “I don’t know what happened.”

“It looks like someone removed the pins from this shelf,” Carlos says, examining it. 

“Removed the pins? Why would someone do that?”

“Could have been a prank of some kind,” Carlos says.

“Or it could have been someone trying to create a distraction,” Owen says, giving Carlos a meaningful look.

“A distraction?” The guy looks confused. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos tells him. “Here, we’ll help you clean this up.”

They spend a few minutes picking up cellphone bits and bobs and helping the guy get the shelf back into place. “Is that everything?” Owen asks.

The guy looks around. “Yeah. I think so. Thank you guys for your help, I’m sure you have other things to get back to.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot Owen shakes his head. “Told you. Shoplifters.”

“Owen…”

“I know, you think I’m crazy. But where are that Santa guy and his shifty elf helper now, huh? Did they stick around to help? No. I bet you that shifty guy loosened that shelf on purpose and then he and Santa grabbed things from one of these nearby stores while we were distracted.”

“Or,” Carlos says pragmatically, “the shelf was never installed correctly and fell on its own.” He smiles and nods toward the sporting goods store. “How do we feel about some batting gloves?”

Owen does buy the batting gloves, but Carlos suspects it’s only because he’s preoccupied with his fictional shoplifter case. He keeps looking around, trying to be casual about it, but failing miserably. Strand men are great at a lot of things; subtlety is not one of them.

“You’re still thinking about those guys, huh?” Carlos asks as they walk out of Dick’s Sporting Goods.

“I know in my gut that they’re up to no good, Carlos,” Owen says. “You see a lot of shady people in my line of work.”

“More than in mine?” Carlos asks skeptically.

“Okay, fair point. But are you really telling me you don’t think they looked a little suspicious?”

Carlos mentally reviews what he saw earlier. “They definitely looked like they could be trouble. But we have no proof. Unless we see something else, there’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m so glad you agree,” Owen says. “I think it’s time for further investigation.”

Carlos stops walking, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Further investigation?”

“Come on. We’re making a little detour. I hope you know what you want for Christmas.”

Carlos follows him toward the center of the mall where a giant Christmas display has been set up and fake snow flurries from the sky. There’s a large gingerbread cottage, fake reindeer, a candy-cane lined path, mounds of cotton acting as the only snowfall Texas will see this year, and the centerpiece of it all is a gigantic throne upon which sits a jolly Santa who is holding two screaming toddlers while an elf attempts to get a picture worthy of a Christmas card. 

“Owen, what are we doing here?” Carlos asks. Two men hanging around a kid-friendly area sans children is not a good look.

“I heard that Santa guy talking earlier. He doesn’t just look like Santa, he is one of the mall Santas. The scrawny guy is an elf. And I know where their green room is.” He takes a look around and then ducks under one of the candy cane striped ribbons that line the area to keep pedestrians out. “Follow my lead,” he says and then drops out of sight into a mound of cotton snow.

“Owen!” Carlos hisses, dropping to his own knees instinctually so that both of them are now hidden in the piles of fluff. “Owen what are you doing?”

“Investigating. This way,” Owen whispers over his shoulder, beckoning Carlos forward. 

He really has no choice. Owen is going to do this whether Carlos follows him or not. So Carlos crawls on his hands and knees after his father-in-law, past reindeer legs and lollipop stems, until they reach the base of the gingerbread house. 

Owen points silently toward a cutout window and, like something out of a cheesy, 90’s Christmas film, they both rise up underneath it, trying to listen and peek over the sill without being seen. 

Sure enough the Santa look alike and his scrawny elf partner are both inside. “Ugh. Only like fifteen hand sanitizers and a couple hand lotions,” the scrawny guy says, shoving merchandise into a large blue duffle bag. “Got some decent jewelry from Kendra Scott while everyone was distracted with that cell phone kiosk though.”

“I told you. We have to keep it small. Otherwise people will get suspicious. Besides, we got that laptop last week and all those clothes from Anthropologie. Those are worth a lot on resale.” Santa takes a sip from his coffee cup. “I made almost ten grand off a mall in El Paso last year. Trust me. This’ll be worth it if we can make it a couple more weeks.”

“It had better be. This elf costume itches,” the scrawny guy retorts, reaching for a red and green costume hanging from a hook on the wall.

Owen motions to Carlos and they crawl back out toward the regular part of the mall. “There you have it,” Owens says as they stand. “Proof. Let’s bust in there and arrest them.”

“You aren’t authorized to arrest anyone. And I’m off duty,” Carlos says. “There are lots of bystanders around. This isn’t a violent crime. We need to call it in first.”

“Okay, so call away.”

“I will,” Carlos says. “Keep an eye on them, let me know if they go anywhere.”

“You got it,” Owen says.

Carlos sends a mental apology to his dad. He’d been really annoyed all those times Gabriel had gotten caught up in one of Owen Strand’s schemes. But now he can see that it’s a very slippery slope and once you start sliding you can’t stop.

He places a call, explains the situation and confirms that officers will be arriving shortly. Relieved that this is almost over, he turns back to tell Owen they need to stick around until APD arrives, but Owen has vanished

Frantically Carlos scans the area, his eyes landing in horror on the line of children and parents waiting eagerly to meet Santa. Sometime in the last ten minutes their suspects have taken center stage, Santa on his throne and Scrawny taking photos. Owen is up next in line, the woman behind him eyeing him suspiciously as she holds tightly to the hand of an eager little boy in a sweater with a T-Rex wearing reindeer antlers on its head. 

Before Carlos can even move, Scrawny, now dressed in full red and green elf regalia, calls Owen forward and he marches up toward Santa’s throne. “Oh no,” Carlos whispers under his breath as he jogs over to the line. “Excuse me,” he says, trying to push toward the front.

“Hey! No cutting! Get in the back!” an irate father yells.

Another elf with a headset puts both hands out to stop Carlos from moving further. “Sir! Sir! You have to wait at the end of the line!” 

“This is official Texas Ranger business,” Carlos tells her, his heart pounding as he watches Owen step right up to their suspects.

“Right, sure it is,” she scoffs.”

“Buddy, what do you want?” Santa asks, suspicion in his voice, despite the smile on his face.

“Owen, stop!” Carlos calls desperately, pushing past the headset elf who immediately begins calling for security.

Either Owen doesn’t hear or he doesn’t care, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd. “What I want to know is, why you think it’s acceptable to use the good name of Santa Claus for criminal activity,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santa tells him. “Ho, ho, ho, is this some kind of joke?”

“It most certainly is not a joke,” Owen says. “Santa is supposed to give gifts away, not steal them for himself.”

“Okay, get out of here,” Scrawny the elf says, marching toward him.

“I will not get out of here,” Owen says hotly. “The two of you are robbing the stores of this mall and I won’t stand for it. Not at Christmas.”

“Buddy, you knock it off right now,” Santa says, his twinkly persona dropping away as he gets to his feet.

“You don’t deserve to wear this suit,” Owen tells him, poking a finger at his chest. “We have evidence of what you’ve done. Let’s not make a scene in front of all these families. The respectable thing to do here is to calmly turn yourselves over to the authorities.”

Owen is right. That would be the respectable thing to do. But this is not a respectable Santa. 

Instead, he runs. And Owen goes after him.

“Owen! Wait!” Carlos yells, vaulting a gumdrop fence to try and get closer.

It’s too late. Owen takes a flying leap and tackles Santa into a snowbank, knocking a fake reindeer’s head off in the process as the crowd around the display gasps in shock and Run, Run Rudolph begins to blast over the speakers.

“Stop! Texas Ranger!” Carlos yells, and then ducks as Scrawny grabs a giant candy cane and swings it at his head. 

Carlos catches the candy cane in both hands and grabs on tightly. “Drop it!” he orders. 

Scrawny refuses to let go and they wrestle over it for a minute until Carlos manages to rip it out of his hands, chucking it to the side. “Get on your knees,” he says, but Scrawny is scrappy. He lunges forward and catches Carlos around the middle, sending both of them sprawling onto the floor.

Carlos grunts as he lands flat on his back, the air immediately knocked from his lungs. Scrawny takes advantage of that to deliver a devastating blow to his jaw that sends pain exploding through Carlos’ face. 

On instinct more than skill he manages to hook a leg around Scrawny and roll them both over, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. “Stop moving,” he orders between gritted teeth. “Turn over.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Scrawny yells.

“Yeah well, you can tell the officers all about that when they get here,” Carlos huffs out, shoving the man onto his front and pinning his hands behind his back. 

His assailant subdued, he looks up and find that Owen has Santa in a headlock. “Get off of me!” Santa yells.

“You, are a very bad Santa,” Owen says breathlessly as blood pools in a cut on his lip and a black eye begins blooming around his eye socket.

“He’s hurting Santa!” The yell of a small child catches Carlos’ attention and his face heats as he realizes how many onlookers are gaping at them, cellphones taking video that is likely going to break the internet at some point later today.

“Owen let him go!” Carlos calls as mall security appears in the distance, one of them cruising in on a Segway that has been decorated in red and green tinsel garland.

Owen releases Santa, both of them doubling over in pain as Carlos pulls Scrawny to his feet. The Segway security guard skids to a stop and approaches him warily. “I’m Carlos Reyes, a Major with the Texas Rangers,” Carlos tells him. “These two have been stealing from stores in the mall all day. I have APD on the way.”

“We’ve been getting reports of items missing,” the officer says. “Didn’t ever think it would be Santa and his elf though.”

“Do you have somewhere to hold these two until they get here?” Carlos asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Carlos hands off Scrawny as another two guards grab Santa and plop him down into the back of a golf cart, securing his hands with zip ties.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks Owen. It’s hard to get the words out, his jaw aching more and more with each syllable as it begins to swell.

“He got a couple good shots in,” Owen says, swiping at the blood on his lip. “I’ve had worse though.”

“You should have let me handle it,” Carlos says.

“Sorry Carlos, I know you’re good. But you’re not good enough to take on Santa and his elf,” Owen tells him. 

Someone from mall security gets them ice and then APD finally shows up. Carlos has just finished giving his statement to an officer when EMS arrives. He groans when he sees who it is. “We’re in trouble.”

Owen follows his gaze and winces. “Oh yeah. We are.”

Tommy, Nancy, and T.K. are moving toward them and Carlos can spot the exact moment they get close enough to realize who they’re going to be helping today because all three of them freeze on the spot. T.K.’s eyes go wide and then a mixture of worry and fury crosses his face as he picks up the pace and beats his partner and his boss to their sides.

“What happened?” he demands, kneeling down and putting a hand on Carlos’ thigh.

“There was a situation that needed to be dealt with and we handled it,” Owen says and T.K. shoots him a look of fury. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means Santa was up to no good and we stopped it,” Carlos says, suddenly feeling very tired. 

T.K. opens his mouth, but Tommy and Nancy reach them at that point and they have their own questions. “Well this is a bit of a surprise,” Tommy says, reaching for the ice that Owen is holding on his eye. “What on earth have you two been up to today?”

“Yeah Captain Strand, I thought you had worked through the anger issues,” Nancy says, attaching a pulse oximeter to Carlos’ index finger.

“This wasn’t anger. This was holiday related justice,” Owen says primly.

“More like holiday related shenanigans,” T.K. mutters under his breath, but the concerned eyes he shoots at Carlos and the steady rubbing of his hand up and down Carlos’ thigh for comfort bely that his anger is really just worry.

“Okay, both of you, tell us what hurts,” Tommy commands.

In the end they get taken to the hospital for x-rays. Owen is pronounced fine, no damage done to his eye socket, although he’ll have one hell of a black eye, and Carlos’ jaw isn’t broken, but it is badly bruised. Scrawny really packed a punch. He’s relieved when he’s finally back home in bed, T.K. fussing over the comforter and the ice pack he’s holding to his face.

“Is the ice too cold?” T.K. asks. “Are you hungry? Of course you’re hungry, it’s like eight o’clock. I’m going to make you some soup.”

Carlos has a feeling he won’t be eating solids for several days, and soup does sound good; lunch with Owen feels like weeks ago at this point. But he catches T.K.’s hand and tugs him down onto the bed instead. “In a minute,” Carlos says. “Sit with me for a bit first.”

T.K. perches on the edge a frown on his face as he brushes a hand through Carlos’ curls. “I shouldn’t have let you go with my dad today. I knew something like this would happen.”

“How could you possibly have known something like this would happen?” Carlos asks, cracking an incredulous smile and then wincing when it sends throbs of pain through his face.

“Because that’s how it always is with my dad. If there’s trouble, he’s going to find it. He’s almost gotten us killed twice. He went undercover with a white nationalist group. He bought a horse and kept it at the firehouse for weeks. It’s like he literally can’t help himself.”

“He did the right thing today though,” Carlos says. “Those guys had stolen thousands of dollars worth of stuff from the shops in the mall.”

“I know, but I wish you hadn’t been in the middle of it,” T.K. grumbles, his hand coming up to gently cup Carlos’ bruised jaw. “Did you get any shopping done? Or did you spend the entire time playing detective?”

“Oh we got some shopping done,” Carlos says. “And I tried. I really tried babe. But your dad is…”

“Stubborn? Difficult? Unpredictable?”

Carlos nods. “All of those things.”

“So? What should I look forward to getting for Christmas this year?”

“How do you feel about hats…?”