#but yeah this is technically a peek into something im working on

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

Would Mrs S play Pizza Tower? Askin’ cause I feel like she would

well actually its funny you say that considering ive been messing around with figuring out how she'd look in the pizza tower artstyle

i think she could have an interesting pizza tower style boss fight tbh

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

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

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, ok? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Ok, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, ok?” Your eyes are shining.

“Ok,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, ok?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you ok?” he asks after a second.

Ok? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[agaypanic]

Headcannons on being the Davenports bestfriend 💗

Being Best Friends With the Davenports Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: this is probably asking for being best friends with all of them at the same time, but i’m gonna do individual headcanons. also even tho it says davenport, im also adding leo (i know he’s technically a davenport but idk i dont see him as a davenport i see him as a dooley)

***

Adam

You always enable and encourage his silly ideas

Which his family doesn’t like much

But you and Adam have fun, so you don’t care much

You help him with his homework a bunch

He doesn’t like asking Chase for help bc he makes him feel really dumb

Your favorite activity is probably going to the zoo bc he loves all the animals

You peeked through the front door of the Davenport’s house. When the coast was clear, you opened the door wider and waved for Adam to come in. How he was gonna hide this when his family saw, you didn’t know.

“What is that?” Leo’s sudden voice made the two of you jump. He had come from down the hall, and was staring at you with an incredulous look and pointed finger. 

“Lunch,” Adam answered, pointing at the bag of food in your hand. Leo rolled his eyes, furiously trying to make where he was pointing more obvious.

“No, that!” 

You and Adam looked at the alpaca that Leo was pointing to, knowing you were unable to avoid it any longer.

“Oh my gosh, how did that get there?” You asked dumbly, as if you didn’t help Adam break it out of the zoo and bring it home.

“This is definitely the first time I’ve seen this,” Adam said in a faux shocked tone, petting the alpaca’s head. “But since it’s here, we can keep it, right?”

Bree

You guys become extremely close extremely fast

Being surrounded by guys all her life, you’re very refreshing to be around

The two of you love to gossip

About who’s with whom, her siblings’ antics, everything and nothing

You guys like going to the mall to shop, eat, and catch up

Even though you hang out literally every day

“Oh my gosh, did I tell you what happened with my brothers this week?” Bree asked as she looked through a rack of shirts.

“You probably have, but tell me anyway.” You laugh, looking at the clothes with her.

“So Leo likes this girl, right? And Chase comes up with some plan to get her to fall for him- oh, this is cute. Well, anyways, it completely backfires, and she ends up going after Adam.”

“No.” You gasped.

“Yes! And that’s not even the craziest part.” Bree took something off the rack and held it up to you, wanting your opinion. You nodded furiously at the sight, and she grinned, adding it to the try-on pile of clothes she was carrying. “So Chase tells Leo that he’ll talk to the girl for him, and guess what.”

“What? Does she start liking Chase?” You ask jokingly. Bree raised her eyebrows at you and pursed her lips, signaling you were correct. “No!”

“Yes!”

Chase

Yall are that duo at school

Smart, sassy, and pretty

You guys sign up for extracurriculars like science fair and debate club together

Even though he’s literally the smartest man in the world, he likes having you go over his work

Very occasionally, he’ll miss a detail, and you’ll point it out

But he mainly just likes the validation

But you also never hesitate to put him in his place when needed

“Hey, can you read this over for me?” Chase asked as he handed you his laptop. You decided to come over to watch a movie when he suddenly remembered he needed to revise one of his papers for a class. 

Pausing the TV, you set the computer on your lap and read the essay. You didn’t comment until you were finished, handing the laptop back to Chase.

“Pretty good.” You said, playing the movie again.

“I knew it.” Chase gloated, reclining on the couch next to you. “Perks of being the smartest guy ever.”

“Yeah, well, you also misspelled ‘and,’ genius.” You laughed as you watched him scramble for his computer, looking through every word to find the mistake. “Perks of not knowing how to type, I guess.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, fixing the error and crossing his arms with a pout.

Leo

The blind leading the blind

You encourage all of his delusions, mainly because you think it’s funny

You two are a comedic duo tbh

You guys bounce off each other really well

Before the bionic trio, you always defended Leo from bullies

You still do sometimes

Leo was currently talking your ear off about his current crush, some girl named Danielle. This was part of your guys’ routine. He’d tell you about someone he liked, you’d tell him that the two of them were meant to be, something would go wrong, you’d laugh about it, and then Leo would find someone new the next week.

“We’re so close to being boyfriend and girlfriend; I can feel it!” He said excitedly.

“Oh yeah.” You nodded, trying to suppress a laugh. “I know that if I had a boyfriend, I’d want him to be my human footstool because it’s what I deserve.”

“Exactly! You’re like the only one who gets it.”

“Ooh, there she is now.” You said, looking over his shoulder to see his girl of the week at her locker. “She came into the same hallway you’re in, so she clearly wants to see you. You should go talk to her.”

“Really?” Leo asked, slowly standing up. You nodded and pushed him in Danielle’s direction, waiting for everything to unfold. 

Leo somehow found the courage to talk to Danielle, but it was a pretty short conversation. When she walked away, she looked at him from over her shoulder and said goodbye.

“See you later, Lenny!”

The name made you bust out laughing, almost weak in the knees to stand up and go over to the now somewhat sad boy.

“Better luck next time, Lenny.” You said, patting his shoulder and laughing some more.

[punmonster]

Absolutely cannot wait until the day we see even a teeny tiny lil bit if Dante's backstory. Given how there are multiple factions with magic-adjacent tatoos, I wonder if Dante has anything similar, where even a peek of their skin would be enough to know entirely too much about them - like their former identity. Or perhaps it is there to further some part of Dante's development, good or bad. Or simply just make them seem more androgynous as well making it hard to tell their age, both things would help for hiding an identity for an extended period of time.

Additionally, when they first wake up in the forest [I think it was in D corp? Something about the trailer] and as their name on the UI still says 'Me', the place in which the word 'Manager' would soon be instead had three squares, the same ones used to censor anything else they say that we shall not yet know of - like how the word 'Aspect' seems to be replaced by six squares in their first line. This then leads me to two conclusions.

1] The organisation of which they first belonged is either a three letter word or a three letter acronym in a place of high authority, as where one would assume the word 'aspect' to be in the text keeps the same number of boxes as there are letters within the word. As of such, these should be noted if any creep up in any upcoming intervallos or cantos - especially any regarding the Head - but to make a guess, if the theory of them being part of the Head holds true, perhaps they held the role of 'Eye' or similar. The three squares are also later used in the context of a location, so perhaps they worked in a certain sect or office.

Plus there's the line from Lion regarding how what their master has planned technically isn't breaking any taboos of the City - this may then relate to how Dante turning back the clock is technically not breaking the Head's rules on reviving people, namely that it's very illegal. But does this then imply that their master has some affiliation with Limbus company? The three beasts [as I've taken to calling them] make no reaction at the sight of the sinners, so presumably not any of them, and they wear clothes with Iori's theming as well as being told by Vergie to report back to the serpent, which is more evidence in favour of Iori being part of LCs inner workings. Though this does present the question of her hypothetical endgame,but that can wait til another time.

2] I believe Dante's head has a self-censor in some of their thoughts, or at least has some effect on what exactly they think. The info about three and six-squares obviously is important, and presumably why exactly Dante had to get memory-wiped, but as they talk about it before their name reads 'Dante' I do worry about if they even remember it. Will we have any more moments of Dante's nametag going back to 'Me' where they're just an asshat for a bit then remember none of it? Their ability to only talk with the sinners may have also been planned with this in mind, to limit their options of conversational partners to only those they can't ask unwanted questions around, and to at least delay them getting back that information for an unknown purpose.

Those are then again my Dante Rambles and I am feeling a tad sleepy, so I shall be resting for the night. Good day!

-[⏰]

perhaps they even hath a birthmark in the shape of a spade on their hip

dantes censoring can also be seen in the observation logs (mostly those written by heathecliff). dante has also started being a bit sneaky and hiding information about how their memory retention works and what lies beyond the mirror doors. personally, i think the censoring is an engrained habit and that if shits bad enough theyll break out of it. from how im interpreting it... maybe its not that they need to actually censor those words. maybe its more show that concealment is a large part of their character.

god so much happened at the start that i don't remember. i was absorbing a lot at the time. yeah it looks like it was D corp, not A corp :p (though they are next to eachother i think)

[foxymoxynoona]

i have to tell you something. it’s important.

listen. i have read about close to 200 romance books this past year alone. (trust me im not exaggerating. you can take a peek at my storygraph and see for yourself the number ‘194’ on my read books list, and they’re all romance).

so you can trust and believe when i say that you’re by FAR the best romance author. the most insane thing about that? i read your writing for FREE. meanwhile i paid MONEY for those 194 books, and still, nothing on that list can top your writing.

the technical aspect of your writing ALONE is by far superior. i swear. i read these books and i wondered to myself, “does this author actually know how to write?” and i DID say that in my reviews once i was done with a book. but NOT YEW, miss foxy. oh no, not you.

not to mention your PROSE. your DICTION. good fucking lord. you know the term “page-turner”? yeah not only is your writing a page-turner, it’s also “eye-widener”. i just made that term up but it essentially means every WORD you write makes me want to quickly devour the next one. and the next one. and the next one. oh, did i mention that when i found your writing for the first time, i literally had to call in sick to work because i could NOT STOP READING SUGAR FAIRY??? I HAD TO CALL IN SICK TO WORK. BECAUSE MY EYES REFUSED TO SLIDE SHUT FOR SLEEP. THEY KEPT SCREAMING FOR ME TO DEVOUR EVERY FUCKING WORD IN THAT FIC.

and then your sense of humor. your dialogue. flowing and natural and never stilted. your characters actually talk like human beings. like us in real life. like i could actually HEAR them. because let me tell you something: A LOOOT of these published romance authors know jackSHIT about dialogue. got me questioning whether these authors actually ever spoke to a real person in their lives. it’s THAT bad. BUT NOT YEEEW. oh no, not you, miss foxy. your characters TALK LIKE REAL PEOPLE WITH TOP NOTCH HUMOR. YOUR HUMOR? UNMATCHED. AND YOURE SO GREAT AT TRANSLATING THAT HUMOR ON TO PAPER. meanwhile a lot of these romance authors attempted at humor and it just made me cringe. i cannot tell you how many book reviews ive done where i said “please don’t attempt at humor ever again”.

bottom line: you’re actually the ONE romance author who actually knows how to USE and WIELD words. you’re like THEE word-bender. (get it? avatar? sorry ill see myself out)

sorry. i just had to get this all out of my chest.

Sometimes I don't want to respond to an ask because I just want to keep it in m yinbox and read it over and over when I'm needing reassure. But this is also so flattering that I almost can't read it because it is crazy to me you'd have such nice things to say about my writing!

So thank you, thank you. Comments like this motivate me to work towards my hope of transitioning to a full time writer within the next couple of years... Maybe I can do it haha.

I love the dissection and analysis of writing. I think I'm probably miserable to talk about books with lol because whether I like a book or not is related but not the main focus of how I chew on them, I look at the sorts of things you mentioned and see what I can learn to do or not do. I think it's so cool how people's writing styles are so different and how there are so many ways ot be "good" but I do think I am finally feeling more like I have a style that works for me. I'm just relieved folks enjoy it 😅

Anyway all that's to say, thank you thank you. Your words of encouragement mean a GREAT deal to me and I will hold them close as I keep at it!

[agentstarkid]

Ohmygod!!! Ok hear me out.

The part that said “he’s the more famous one with her”

So I was listening to a song from Sabrina Carpenter called opposite, idk if you’ve heard it or not, but on the second verse she sings “Does she say nothing so you feel good? Does she step out of the spotlight so you bathe in it? Does she get up on top of you more than I would? Does she just love the picture 'cause you're painting it?”

Im not even joking when I say that your fic immediately popped into my head “oooh my girl would murder if she put this out”

I think you should listen or read the rest of the song (unless you already heard it) and maybe try to add it, I just feel like maybe it describes queen’s thoughts of “I just wanted to be the one”

I also think it would give fic Daniel like this eye opening moment, because the song kinda has a resignation sound to it. Like, “yeah it’s over and I should’ve seen this coming” and I kinda think it would be the kick in the butt he needs. Well in regards to queen the rest of his issues are something he’s gonna have to work on himself”

Sorry, I’m getting involved in your writing. I know you already have your own plot and songs you’re gonna use. I just got sooo excited when my thoughts kinda aligned with your writing intent already.

Again, phenomenal writer. If there was a fanfic academy awards, I would nominate you and give you all the awards. 🥇🏆💐

no no no, you don't have to apologize, nonnie!! I love reading people's thoughts and analysis about my work! it's truly the fuel that keeps me going lmao

and are you, perhaps, peeking into my ideas' board??? 👀👀👀 i've heard the song and it might or might not already be in my list of songs for this fic 👀

I mean:

So y'all are in Paris now? Guess it's public (...) You knew I would see that, you knew I would notice. <- when Danielito posted that Miami photo with Heidi and going—technically—public 😭😭😭

and and and aaaand

She looks nothing like me, so why do you look so happy? Now I think I get the cause of it, you were holding out to find the opposite <- the whole song breaks my heart over and over again but this part in specific... I wanna dive into the mariana trench with boulders tied to my feet 🫠

Im not even joking when I say that your fic immediately popped into my head “oooh my girl would murder if she put this out”

this part made me giggle, kick my feet and twirl my hair omgggg did it really?? that's a biiiiiig compliment 🥹 oh ya know Girlie is cooking something great!! my girl is in her idgaf era and she ain't taking no prisoners this time, she is coming for everyone's head 😤

btw, I love how you refer to her as Queen 🥰 and thank youuuu ❣️ you are so kind 🫶🏽 there are a lot of things to improve still but I'll try my best to keep getting better. It's fun to let you guys read in detail the way I saw things developing between them in my head, apart from the smau chapters that sometimes don't let me fit inside them everything I want to 🫡

[bristark616]

daydreaming - part 2

pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader (again, I had andrew in mind but any of the three could work)

word count: about 1.6k

warnings: occasional swearing. mentions of blood. kissing ??? idk if that’s a warning pls im new at this

summary: spider-man needs attention. the medical kind and the affectionate kind. who better to give it to him than his lifelong best friend, who’s clueless to both his secret identity and his feelings

a/n: so much for a slow burn because this is IT my duuudes. the end. anyways ! please let me know what you think. this could probably be read as a standalone fic too, but maybe read the first part anyways :)

Peter didn’t know where else to go. He was hurting – bad. His suit was torn right at the chest, where the lizard had slashed him with his claws. Blood was dripping down his stomach, sticking to him underneath his suit. Peter was in pain. He was tired, cold, hungry, and in desperate need of attention – the medical kind and affectionate kind. That’s how he ended up at (Y/N)’s house.

He used the last of his energy to crawl up the side of her building to the fire escape right outside of her bedroom window. He peeked inside and found her fast asleep. She looked so peaceful – she always did when she slept. Peter almost left without waking her, feeling an immense sense of guilt for even thinking about disturbing her at this time of night (well, morning, technically). But the jabbing pain in his side and the blood coating his chest was enough for him to get over it. He first tried to open her window to see if it was unlocked. It wasn’t, so he instead took to knocking– loud enough to wake her but quiet enough to go undetected by anyone else who may be home. A few knocks and (Y/N) was stirring. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her lips forming a pout as she looked around for the source of the sound. When she saw Spider-Man outside, she jumped to her feet and opened her window.

“Hi,” he whispered, his voice at a deeper timbre so she wouldn’t recognize him. “I’m, uh – “

“Bleeding,” she gasped, staring down at his chest. “Come on.”

With a hand at his lower back, she guided him in through her window. The moment he stepped down into her bedroom, he got woozy from the blood loss, and stumbled into (Y/N)’s arms. He sat down on the floor, leaning up against her wall.

“I’m gonna go grab some stuff to take care of this,” she said, motioning towards his bleeding chest. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” he mumbled, head back in pain.

She disappeared into her bathroom and began the search for anything that would be of use at the moment. She emerged with gauze, wound disinfectant, Neosporin, a towel, and some bandages. The masked hero offered her a thumbs up as she plopped down on the floor in front of him.

“I’m gonna have to take this off,” she said gently, motioning towards the top half of his suit. “That all right?”

“Yeah, yeah – do what you gotta do, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the rosiness rising to her cheeks, she leaned into him slightly to grab ahold of the hidden zipper at the base of his neck and pull it down to his lower back. A groan in pain fell from his lips as she helped him slip his arms out of the sleeves. When she saw the state of his body, her heart nearly stopped.

“You gotta get to a hospital,” she whispered, looking down at him in awe. “You need stitches.”

“Nah, nah. It’s fine; I’ll be healed by tomorrow. I just need some help with the blood.”

“Are you sure? I’m not exactly sure I’m qualified for this.”

“I’ll guide you through it, baby. You’re okay.”

Something inside of her twisted at the nickname, but she pushed that weird feeling down and started to take care of the injured superhero in front of her. He was in a lot of pain. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to hide it; she could tell. She was being as gentle as possible as she rid his skin of his blood, but he was still wincing slightly. His fists were clenched at his sides, clearing putting on a brave face for her sake.

“I’m sorry but it’s about to get a lot worse.”

“Yay,” he said dryly.

“You can squeeze my arm or something, if it’ll help.”

(Y/N) coated a clean cloth with some rubbing alcohol and very gently dabbed at the three large slashes at his chest. One of his hands immediately came down to hold her thigh.

“Mother fu – “

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she cooed, one of her hands running along his shoulder soothingly. “Almost done. You’re doing great, sweetie.”

Peter’s mind went foggy – partially from the pain, but mainly from the feeling of (Y/N) caressing his bare shoulder and the sound of her voice. It was gentle, but still croaky from her slumber. And the way she called him sweetie. . . He was puddy in her hands.

He watched her longingly through the whites of his mask as she started to cover up his wounds. She had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth in concentration, her hands brushing gently over his skin as she tended to him. She had blood on her too, now, from when Peter collapsed into her arms. It was all over her shirt and her arms – she even had some on her face.

“I got blood all over you,” he said apologetically. “I’m so sorry – “

“It’s fine,” she said with a chuckle.

“No, it’s on your face. Here.”

With another groan in discomfort, Peter leaned over to grab one of the clean, unused towels. He held her chin between his thumb and his index finger ever so gently, holding her face up to eye level. He cleaned the blood from her face, his thumb running along her skin lightly. Her eyes fluttered shut, taking in his touch.

“You got a name I can use?” She asked softly. “Or am I just supposed to call you Spider-Man?”

“You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart.”

His tone was a lot flirtier than he had intended. There was something about the mask that gave him an extra boost of confidence – the boost he craved as Peter. The fact that (Y/N) was responding well to his actions added another layer of comfort for him.

A smile made its way to his face behind his mask when he saw her shift nervously in front of him, a warm tint rising to her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispered, a smile at her face. “Bug boy.”

“What did you just call me?” He laughed.

“You said I can call you whatever I want, and I wanna call you bug boy.”

“All right, all right.”

“So bug boy. . . do you do this every night?” She asked, motioning towards his bandaged-up chest. When he nodded, she frowned. “Do you ever take a break?”

“Nah. . . This city needs me, ya know?”

There was something in his voice that hit (Y/N) like a ton of bricks. He sounded exhausted – as if he wanted nothing more than sleep and –

“What are you doing?” He whispered, watching (Y/N) as she crawled closer to him.

“Giving you a hug,” she said, as if it were the most obviously thing in the world, “because you sound like you need one.”

She was right, of course. That was the whole reason why he came to her house instead of his own. He nodded her on, so she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders and pulled him into her. His hands fell down to her waist, holding her as tight as his injured body would let him. Peter let out a shaky breath as she rubbed her hands along his back of his neck, holding his head to her gently.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled into his neck. “I got you.”

“I know you do, ladybug. . . I know.”

(Y/N)’s entire body froze. She pulled away from him slowly, her eyes wide and her heart pounding against her chest.

“What did you just call me?” “Hmm? I uh – I called you (Y/N) because that’s your name,” he said nervously.

“I never told you my name – and that’s not what you called me. You called me ladybug. W - wh – why – why would you call me that?”

“I – I’m, uh – I’m a spider, right? And spiders. . . ya know – they like. . . ladybugs? – fuck it.”

Peter pulled his mask off of his head and tossed it aside. (Y/N) barely had time to register the fact that her lifelong best friend was sitting in front of her, because Peter had grabbed her by the sides of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Her hands were cemented at her sides, in too much shock to realize what was happening. Peter separated from her slowly, allowing his forehead to fall gently against hers.

“Peter –“

“I know, baby, I know.”

“You – you – “

“Are Spider-Man – “

“Just kissed me.”

“I – well, yeah. H – how was it?”

“Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice; he immediately crashed his lips back to hers once more, this time, with more force than the first time. (Y/N) scooted closer to him, bringing her hands up to rest over his. They were still resting at her neck, tilting her head back by her jaw. A quiet whimper in approval fell from her, muffled against Peter’s mouth as he slipped his tongue past her lips. There was a sense of urgency in their kiss, as if they’d never be able to do this ever again. Peter was riding a high so intense that his injuries went forgotten. It was Peter who pulled apart once more, needing to catch his breath. (Y/N) opened her eyes and immediately laughed. Peter’s hair was a mess.

“Jesus, Peter,” she whispered, her hands coming up to fix his fluffy brown locks. “Every goddamn time. . .”

TAGLIST <3

@mell-bell @pinkybee926 @alijulia87 @alexaaluvr @strangermarvels @hauntedwitch9 @kamalakhnas @goddess-of-lies @dinfarrik​ @dracoismydramaqueen​

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.   ��

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[danganronpa-oneshots-headcannons]

May I request how korekiyo, ryoma, soda, and gundham would react to their s/o stealing their hat/scarf <3

☁︎︎~Of course! Here it is! Btw, IM BACK!

☁︎︎~Korekiyo, Ryoma, Kazuichi, and Gundham with a s/o who steals their hat/scarf!

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

☁︎︎~Kiyo

•Kiyo never had the problem when it came to people stealing his clothing wear.

•Not a lot of people wanted to due to the fact how intimidating the anthropologist was.

•I mean, he knew it was a human thing to do when two people were in a relationship.

•Clothing in the relationship was frequently shared to his research.

•Does that mean he should start doing that with you?

•He didn’t bother asking. If you wanted to steal his clothing he had no problem with it.

•Once again, it was a normal thing to do.

•He had just came back from work when he had peeked through your guys shared room to see you messing with his hat and mask.

•Bandages were loosely wrapped around your arms while you stood tall in the mirror examining yourself.

•He softly giggled, murmuring to himself of how fascinating you could be.

•Slipping around the door he laughed,

•”Ah my dearest... I see you’ve taken interest in my everyday wear... how about I show you how to actually wrap my bandages?”

•Nodding, you sat down on the bed and let him do his work.

•While he was wrapping the bandages and adjusting the mask, he went on about how hats and bandages came to be.

•He never failed at teaching you things like these.

•When he was done you looked up at him,

•”So your not mad at me for taking your stuff?”

•With a smirk he shook his head,

•”It’s only natural for you to do so my dear. I am your significant other after all.”

•Pressing a kiss to your forehead, the two of you spent the last sun hour talking about history and former times.

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

☁︎︎~Ryoma

•One thing Ryoma hates is when people steal his hat.

•It’s one of his most valued things besides his cats

•and you-

•He likes it on his head and on his head only.

•You two are in his room messing around with facemasks, soaps, acne cream, all of that fun stuff.

•Ryoma is 100% down to do these with you don’t get me wrong but…

•This means it requires him taking his hat off.

•He’s hesitant at first saying things like,

•“Are you sure it has to come off? You can’t avoid it?”

•Or,

•“I can push it back if you’d like.”

•Don’t get me wrong, he trusts you and all but it’s HIS hat.

•You sigh and give up, shrugging your shoulders and nodding,

•“I guess you could push it back…”

•Oh god not the pouty face-

•He instantly feels bad.

•Smirking he takes his hat off and places it upon your head.

•“Fine you win. Take care of it for the time being.”

•There’s that smile he loves!

•Watching you adjust it, he feels somewhat vulnerable without it.

•However, he knows you won’t damage it or destroy it.

•God he thinks you’re precious

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

☁︎︎~Kazuichi

•As you may know, Kaz needs to tamper with things constantly.

•If he doesn’t have something to tinker with, he’ll go all out to destroying your alarm clock just for him to fix.

•Thankfully he didn’t go after the alarm clock for the 5th time today.

•One of his clients came in with a vehicle that had problems with the breaks.

•Kaz wasted no time on the project and dug straight into the vehicle.

•Getting his tools ready, he took his beanie off and instead tied his hair back.

•Sometimes the beanie was uncomfortable when he was sweating constantly and around hot machines.

•The material constantly rubbed against his forehead leaving a rash.

•So instead he stole some of your hair ties and solved his problem-

•Throwing his beanie on the counter he slid under the car and got to work.

•You were on the couch relaxing and scrolling through the media when you slowly became bored.

•Kaz had been downstairs for about 30 minutes now fixing this damn car.

•Boredom got the best of you and you decided to walk down the stairs to the garage.

•Looking over at Kaz who was still under the vehicle jamming out to the music, you spotted his beanie nearby.

•Taking this chance to put it on, Kaz just so happened to slide out from under the vehicle and stand up.

•Noticing your arrival, he smiled before realizing you were wearing his hat.

•“W-Woah! Y/N! Are you wearing my hat?!”

•“Yeah.. Is that alright?”

•He rushed over to you, quickly embracing you while filling your face with kisses.

•”Of course! You look frickin hot!”

•This man is still not good with words-

•Man thinks you're adorable in it. Whenever he sees you wearing it now, his eyes twinkle with Awh.

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎��~☁︎︎~

☁︎︎~Gundham

•Just like Ryoma, Gundham hates when people touch his scarf.

•It’s his main clothing piece after all.

•If anything he’s worse then Ryoma.

•No one touches his scarf...

•No one-

•Then again who can blame him? Technically it’s where the Dark Devas Of Destruction are anyways.

•The hamster themselves hate when people go to grab their masters scarf.

•Before you two started dating, you remember him telling you this fact at the very beginning.

•.. and you had no problem with it.

•You were the first person that didn’t ignore his wishes.

•And he was mighty grateful for that.

•You two were at your home, sitting in your bedroom and talking about animals.

•All while your pet P/N sat beside you.

•When you asked about his hamsters, he blushed and tilted away.

•”I-I see... you want to meet them...”

•With a heavy sigh, he nodded, commanding the hamsters to come out.

•One at a time the hamsters head popped out from his scarf.

•They looked at you with unease, not sure if they could trust you or not.

•After 10 minutes of Gundham trying to convince them to come out, they still shook their heads and quivered away.

•Seeing your upset face, Gundham took no time to slip the scarf around your neck.

•You looked at him with confusion.

•He looked at you with eyes full of trust.

•Seeing the hamsters come out from the scarf once again they even had the face of confusion.

•Almost like if they were questioning if their master was alright in the head.

•”It was the only way for my hamster to arise from their hole. Don’t think of it as anything else.”

•Aka,

•”I do really trust you so wear this-“

•Nevertheless, the rest of the night contained you wearing the scarf.

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

[beigehearts]

Yandere adult trio: college AU These are drabbles for when they lose their mind and kill the people around you... and kidnaps you

These are going to be a little longer than usual but I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did when writing it (also im trying out the beta version of the new posting system so lemme know if anything is weird)

Sorry this took me forever bro

CW: murder, blood, physical abuse, alcohol

Hisoka

It's getting quite annoying to be completely honest. He just won't leave you alone, constantly flirting and making passes at you. And yet at the same time he makes fun of you and is actually very mean. It wasn't so bad in the beginning but this is just getting out of hand. You made sure he was aware of this. ---- He's looming over you as he corners you against the wall. You refuse to look up at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

While you aren't looking at him, you can feel him looking at you. You already know he has that annoying grin on his face that makes you want to punch him square in the nose.

He brushes his long fingers against your face, making a quiet humming noise. "Are you ready to give up my pet?"

You ignore his words and slap his hand away from your face. "I need to get to class, move Hisoka."

He frowns though you aren't looking at his face. He opens his mouth to say something when someone from behind him calls out to you. "Hey y/n! Are you okay?"

She walks towards you but before she can get involved you shove the man away and huff. What a nuisance. You turn towards him once you're standing next to your friend and glare at him.

"Leave me alone. It's annoying and it's scaring people. Got it?" Before he can respond you turn on your heels and drag your friend down the hall by her wrist just hoping to put distance between the two of you. ---- You're pretty sure you made it clear that you don't want him near you anymore. But by now you know he doesn't give up so easily. One can only hope that he gets bored of you and finds someone else to bother.

You and your friends went out for brunch earlier, and all was well until Chelsea handed you something. She said that she found it in her bag but it was addressed to you, so you put it in your own bag.

You pour yourself a rum and coke and make yourself comfortable on the couch of your shared apartment. All of your roommates went out for drinks but you were too tired to go out.

After taking a sip of the sweet liquid in your glass, you examine the letter you were given earlier. It's a typical white envelope with your name written in pen. There's no address on it or return address so you assume it was just supposed to be handed to you.

You rip open the letter with your finger and pull out the singular loose leaf paper. It's folded in three sections so you pull it open. The handwriting is messy but in an aesthetic sort of way.

Dear y/n, I strongly suggest that you go to class 406B in the technical building tonight. Don't be late or you'll miss the whole party. 10:45 pm - see you then. I almost forgot, if you don't come I have some revealing pictures of you that I can share with anyone I wish to. XOXO

This is the strangest letter you've ever received. It's probably a prank by one of your roommates or friends. You've never sent nudes to anyone so obviously they're bluffing.

Though perhaps you should entertain your friends and go. Who knows, maybe there will be drinks. But you are tired... Maybe you'll just go to bed. You peek over to the time on your phone, it's 9:12 pm. Yeah, you'll just go to bed after you finish your drink.

'bzz' 'bzzz'

Who is texting you so late at night? You sit up and realize you fell asleep on the couch. You wipe the drool off of your face and grab your phone with distain for whoever woke you up.

It's a blocked number.

ur late

Late? Late for what? Your phone displays the time, 11:27 pm. Are your friends really this committed to their prank? They must be trying to get Tik Tok famous or some shit. Well you're awake now, you might as well head over there.

----

The moment you step into the building something seems off. If all of the lights including the emergency lights wasn't enough, the ground seems sticky. Though you can't bring yourself to use your phone flash light to see what it is.

Eventually you find the room 406B in the darkness. The door is closed and no lights are on in the room. It seems as if no one is inside. As you reach for the handle of the door, you notice something on the window of the door. You can barely make it out, but there's what looks like a hand print. You chuckle, this must be a prank.

Now feeling a little better, you open the door and step inside. It's too dark to see anything but you can make out some figures in the dark. It must be your friends thinking they're being sneaky.

You roll your eyes and look for the light switch, finding it and switching it on. You squint at the sudden light, and your eyes begin to focus. Which you wish they never did.

There is blood everywhere, on the ceiling, the windows, the floor, the tables... But that's not the most jarring part. Your friends are sitting in chairs, one of them sitting on the ground against the wall.

There is your friend Chelsea, sitting in a chair with her head tipped down. You can't even tell what color her clothes originally were, they're covered in red, a dark dark red. Next to her is Derick, he's sitting the same way except his head is tipped backwards. His eyes are wide and his face is left in permanent horror- expressing the brutality of his end. You can't bare to look anymore, you drop to your knees and cover your face with your hands.

You scream and scream until your voice is hoarse and throat is raw. You're left coughing while you are drowned by your own tears.

"Are you ready to give up yet?" A deep voice asks from in front of you.

You can't stop the flow of tears as you look up at this monster. He's also covered in blood, and some is splattered on his face. He wipes a thumb across his face in the blood, and brings it to his lips. Sobs rack your body, you can't even make sense of this.

Hisoka squats down so you're face to face and grips your jaw bone tightly in his hand. You can feel the now cold substance being rubbed against your jaw by his fingers and it makes you want to puke.

"I got tired of waiting for you." His grin is nauseating, forcing you to stop yourself from puking.

His nails dig into your skin, mixing your own blood with that of your friend's. He brings his face close to yours and in a gentle but menacing tone he croaks, "Let's stop this childish game, alright y/n?"

Illumi

It's easy to miss things when you're caught up with the rush of classes and friends and love. All of the parties and hangovers are enough to satisfy your needs for entertainment and drama in this boring life. If you didn't fill up your daily life with these acts, you would probably sleep every day away until you fell into a coma.

To put it short, you're a busy body. And busy bodies don't have time to stop and look around at what is happening. For example, how were you to notice the key under your doormat was missing, or how your dresser drawers were left slightly open when you know you closed them before leaving. Noticing these small things are definitely not on your agenda.

It's 10 am, Saturday, and you don't have any classes or work today. You're sitting at the kitchen bar, drinking coffee and chatting with your roommate. It isn't often that you have a free day, and sometimes it is nice to have even if you want to get moving. The sun is peeking through the curtains and the aroma of espresso beans is a delight. It's a bit chilly so you have a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. What a peaceful morn-

'BANG BANG'

Your roommate eyes you when someone bangs on the front door, already knowing the events that are about to take place. She rolls her eyes and stomps up the stairs to her room, not wanting to get involved. You always feel bad that your roommates have to listen to this but you're really not sure how to end it.

You take your last peaceful sip of coffee and call out, "Come in!"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he storms inside and slams the door behind him. Your boyfriend of course is mad about something you've done. He trudges towards you and moves the stool next to you out of the way, and leans towards you so his face is next to yours.

"Are you kidding me y/n?!" He yells in your ear, but you don't flinch because you're used to this.

He rips his phone from his pocket and shoves it in your face after pulling up a screenshot. It's a conversation between you and his friend.

"Can't you learn to shut your damn mouth? This is our business and you have no right to tell anyone about it!" He's practically seething with rage.

You take a last sip of coffee and set your mug down on the counter. You continue facing forward and not facing him. "It's not our business, it's yours. And I asked him if it was true that you were cheating on me." You turn your head towards him while grimacing and mutter, "Again."

Ah but you've just lighted a bomb with your words.

His face has gone red and he looks like he's about to explode. You begin wondering why you were ever attracted to him.

"Maybe if you weren't such a prude! I can't even kiss my girlfriend whenever I want, it's ridiculous. You know full well that you're so... so... Ugh! You know what? Fuck you!"

As quickly as he came, he runs out of the house, slamming the door once again.

You whisper to yourself, "Fuck you too."

God he's such a child, you don't even want to be with him anymore. But every time you decide to break up with him he suddenly becomes Mr.Perfect. "I'm so sorry." "I love you." "Let me make it up to you." And then he does make it up to you only to tear down all of his hard work.

----

It's been a few days since your big fight with your boyfriend. He hasn't talked to you at all but this isn't uncommon for him. You promised your roommates that you would break up with him, not just for yourself but for the sake of their peace and quiet.

You texted him a few times while you were at work but he left you on read. He's so petty. So you text him one last time.

Come 2 my place at 8 tonight, We need to talk

He answers immediately which surprises you.

Can't, flat tire Come to my place

It doesn't make a difference to you where it is so that's fine. You wonder if maybe he's come to terms with the fact this needs to end. Hopefully so. If there's one thing you want him to be mature about, it's this.

Your shift ends at 6:30pm. You drive home, shower, get dressed, eat something and get ready to leave.

You send one last text,

OMW

It's read immediately but there's no response. Well, it's not like you expected much from him anyway. You drive to his house at 7:45 pm, and arrive around 7:58 pm. All of the lights in his town house are on. He's a few years older than you so he has his own house due to somehow being able to hold down a job. With his anger issues it's hard to believe that he can hold onto anything. Damn, he really is an unattractive person isn't he?

You step out of your car and lock it. Now that you're out of the car you realize that it's very quiet. This is unusual for when you go to his house, normally you can hear music or the sound affects of a shitty video game. But it's silent. Maybe he's waiting for you? He must be taking this well.

You step up the creaky stairs of the house, and knock on the equally as creaky door. No response. Maybe he's sleeping? You peek into the mail box and take out the extra key for the house from it. But when you go to unlock the door, it's already unlocked. This is becoming very strange.

You push open the door and peer into the dark living room. It's not too dark that you can't make out the furniture in the darkness. You step inside and shut the door behind you, it's still quiet. Not quiet, absolutely and undeniably silent. You flick the light on and look around again, nothing seems out of place. It's messy, with empty beer cans and bottles on the ground per usual. The stains on his carpet remain untouched, including the vomit stain in the corner.

"Jay?" You call out into the still atmosphere. Nothing. Is he not home? That can't be, his car is in the driveway.

The sound of his old floor boards being stepped on echoes through the house. What the hell is he trying to pull? You look up the stairs, but it's only darker up there than it was down here. He must be drunk.

Each step you take up the stairs, your heart begins to pound faster. Something feels off, this doesn't feel right. This isn't like your boyfriend, he's simple, he wouldn't try scaring you like this. On the top step, you feel your shoe touch something soft. You lean down and pick it up, and raise it up to your face. A pair of thongs that definitely aren't yours. So that's what's happening. He couldn't even pull himself together for one night.

Your pounding heart is no longer caused by fear but anger. He's cheated too many times to count on your hands, but this time makes you angrier than you've ever been. He's never been in bed with another woman knowing that you were coming over. This is fucking ridiculous.

You stomp towards his room and kick the door open. It's dark but you can tell that there are two people in bed. Your vision has gone red, you've never been this angry in your life.

You don't bother turning the lights on, you storm over to his side of the bed and rip the covers off. Just barely you can make out a woman sleeping next to him. You grab his shoulder tightly and shake him violently to wake him up.

"Get the fuck up Jay! Get! Up!" He doesn't respond, you lean down and yell in his ear like he always does to you. "You're such a childish piece of shit!"

He still doesn't move or speak, for fuck's sake. You stomp back to the entrance of the room and flick on the light. You turn around and begin walking back towards the bed, when you're stopped in your tracks.

Everything is red, but it's not your vision anymore. The bed has been dyed red, and his naked body is covered in it. Your mouths falls open but no screams come out. The woman next to him is splayed out on the bed, naked as well. Covered in red. You look down at the hands that touched your boyfriend, they're also red.

You rush over to the bed and shake your boyfriend again.

"Jay? Jay! Can you hear me?" You put your ear to his chest but you don't hear anything. You put your finger under his nose but don't feel anything.

"Hey! Hey! Wake up! This isn't funny!" Tears stream down your face as you pull him to your chest, cradling him.

Your sobs make it hard to speak and your chest begins to hurt. "J-... Jay... This- isn't-" You gasp between each word, "Funny..."

It's only when you hear a noise coming from behind you that you stop to think about what's going on. It doesn't matter to you though, they could kill you too if they wished.

"People are strange." You turn your head to see where the voice is coming from.

It's someone you don't recognize, he's tall, pale, has long hair, and hypnotizing eyes. Your sobs cease for a moment and you hug your boyfriend tighter to you.

"All of that fighting... You were even coming here to break up with him and yet... You're sad that he's gone?" He makes his way towards you slowly, "I've done you a favor, haven't I?"

He looms over you but all you can do is stand there, frozen by fear.

The man grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you violently from Jay. You try to run back to him, but the man pulls you to him, hugging you tightly. No matter how much you flail in his grasp you can't get away from him. You're left sobbing into his shirt, your body limp in his arms.

"Why?" You manage to whisper.

He holds you to him with one arm and pets your hair with his other hand. "You were miserable. He was making you miserable."

He sighs and kisses the top of your head. What is going on?

"Come on, don't waste your energy on human garbage. I'm here, so it's fine." He states it so 'matter of fact'.

"Who?" Is all you can ask, unable to finish your question.

"I guess I haven't introduced myself yet. Illumi is my name." With ease, he grabs you by your shoulders and lifts your face up to his. "Your future husband."

Chrollo

What more could you ask for? You already have easy college classes, fun parties, a good part time job, great friends, and an amazing best friend. Tonight you're going to hang out with a bunch of friends and have drinks at one of their apartments. It's a pretty normal Thursday night, nothing odd about it.

You're waiting for your best friend to pick you up, he's always there to pick you up on the dot. If he doesn't come early that is. You shove all the essentials into your bag and hear a honk outside. Must be him.

But of course you're always tardy. You lace up your shoes and run out of the dorm room, tripping out of the building. He's watching as you stumble towards the car since one of your shoes is already unlaced. When you finally flop down in the passenger seat he shakes his head with a knowing smile.

"Oh y/n, will you ever be organized?" He asks with amusement.

You click your tongue and straighten out your clothes, "Don't ask such stupid questions."

He turns his body towards you as much as possible and pats his lap. You instinctively know what that means. You hike your foot up above the console and put your foot on his lap. He begins tying your shoe, his smile is unmoving. He's always smiling.

"Chrollo, you don't need to baby me." You roll your eyes and groan.

He laughs and pats your leg, signaling that he's done. "If not me then who?"

You swing your leg back over to your side and buckle up. The two of you hang out a lot. Since you're both going to the hangout tonight, you decided to car pool. But first you're going to go get the alcohol. Everyone has to bring something for everyone, that way you guys can get wasted with no qualms.

You plug your phone into the aux and play your shared playlist. The first song that comes on is "The Cult of Dionysus" by The Orion Experience. Something that he added.

Finally you feel like you can relax, it always feels that way around Chrollo. His presence is just, comforting, in every way. You feel like you can do anything, say anything, ask for anything. He's always there for you with no exceptions and honestly you think you may have feelings for him. But it's a question of are you confusing comfort and friendly affection for romanticism. It's just that he's so perfect, he doesn't have a single flaw. Not one that you've ever seen at least. You probably never will see one of his flaws.

You sink into the seat and sigh.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, but quickly looks back at the road. "What's the matter?"

"Oh nothing... Just, everything is good."

He knows you better than anyone, so it's an obvious lie when you say this. "But what?"

Anytime he calls you out, you surrender and tell him everything. "Everything is so great you know." He nods with your statement. "I go to a good school, have good friends, have a good job." This has been on your mind for quite some time.

"Something is missing, you know? The excitement, the... the..." You chuckle and turn towards him and put up jazz hands, "The pizzazz!"

He doesn't turn to look at you but you know he saw you when his smile widens. "I get that. Maybe you just need to step outside of your comfort zone. Do something different."

Do something different? Yeah, maybe that is what you need.

----

All eleven of you are sitting in a circle on the ground, drinking and playing never have I ever. You take a long drink of your Mike's hard lemonade, which is just something to get the night going.

Dina wipes hair from her face and smiles, "Okay okay my turn. So never have I ever.... Uhh." She pops up when she thinks of something, "Never have I ever jumped out of a window."

DJ leans forward and raises an eyebrow, "Okay what kind of window we talking? High up? First floor?"

Dina answers, "Any kind, any kind of window." The majority of you put a finger down which makes the group burst out in laughter.

Your friend Zoey finishes off her bottle and slams it down on the floor. "Let's play something else."

"Like what?" One of your friends ask.

Zoey thinks for a moment, "Like... Truth or dare, spin the bottle. Or maybe eleven minutes in heaven."

Dj interjects, "I think it's seven minutes in heaven, not eleven."

"Oh whatever DJ, they rhyme." Zoey spits back.

Lex answers, "Let's play seven minutes in heaven!"

Of course DJ huffs and rolls his eyes, "What are we? Middle schoolers?"

Guac (which is his nickname) speaks up, "Oh come on, are you shy DJ?"

Finally the quiet Chrollo sitting next to you says something, "I'm not really interested. Right y/n?" He looks at you to back him up.

The group coos at the two of you and someone says, "We get it, you got something going on. The game is just for fun, don't be so serious Chrollo."

Chrollo opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, "Hey, you told me to do something different. Maybe this is the first step."

His face shows betrayal and you feel a squeeze in your heart.

He stands up and glares at the group, "Whatever." He storms out of the apartment, and everyone mumbles to each other. Chrollo has never acted like this so this is quite a shock to everyone.

In order not to kill the mood you speak up, "Alright, let's pull names out of a hat!"

All of you write down your names on a small piece of paper and put it in a baseball cap. Dina pulls two names out of the hat and of course makes it a dramatic event.

"Alright so first we have the most lovely of people..." She looks at the group like a teacher waiting for an answer from her class. "Gracie!" Everyone claps and she stands up in front of all of you, taking a bow.

Dina pats her thighs rapidly, "Drum roll please!" Everyone obeys her, "The next hot piece of ass is y/n!"

You stand up and curtsey, taking Gracie's hand and leading her to the closet. Dina stands in front of the closet once both of you are inside and grins, "Timer starts now kids." She shuts the door on you two and all of your friends cheer from outside.

Here comes the awkward part. It's too dark to see her expression but you already know she's blushing.

You lean towards her and in a low voice so no one else can hear say, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

She shakes her head, and you brush a hand through her dark coils. The both of you giggle when your finger gets stuck in her hair. She leans in for a kiss, but before your lips meet you're interrupted.

The front door is opened and slammed shut, you hear the lock click as well.

"Hey Chrollo, you feeling better?" "What are you doing?" "Holy shit, please, what are you doing?!" "Are you fucking crazy? This isn't funny!"

Something slams against the closet door and Gracie yelps.

"Whoa whoa, we can work something out." They sound desperate "Back up!" You hear a loud thump and then screams. "Grab him guys!" It sounds like people are running around, but soon the screams become not those of only fear but of pain. There are gargled pleas and pathetic whimpers for mercy.

You and Gracie hold each other, gripping onto one another for dear life.

Soon the screams, pleas, thuds, gurgling, all of it ends. The apartment goes quiet and you try to silence your heavy breathing.

There's a loud thud right in front of the closet and then the doors are opened abruptly. There Chrollo is, covered in blood, and you can see the bodies of your friends behind him. Before you can react, he pulls Gracie away from you, slams the doors closed and there's another thud.

Gracie's screams are blood curdling, screeches and cries for help. You try to open the doors but something is blocking it, keeping them closed. As her screams get louder you throw yourself against the doors, trying to push whatever is there out of the way.

Before you can even imagine of getting out, the screams fade out into whimpers, and into nothing.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

You're given no time to think when the doors fly open and you're face to face with Chrollo. He's blocking out the light and his usually neat clothes are crumpled and bloody. You look down to his hands, a sledge hammer hangs from his fingers, dripping with your friend's blood.

"Ch-Chrollo... Please don't." You whisper.

The sledge hammer drops to the ground and he wraps his arms around you gently. "Oh y/n. I would never hurt you."

He's so gentle with you, so gentle. It almost makes you forget what just happened, because he feels like home. "Why? Why did you do this?"

He steps back and grabs your shoulders, he leans down so he's eye to eye with you. "They crossed a line, a line that should not be crossed."

You begin to speak but he grabs your cheeks with one hand and dawns his usual smile, "You don't need them. You have me." He kisses your squished lips as if it were normal. "Right y/n?"

Slowly you nod, you don't need them. If Chrollo says it, it must be true.

"Good girl."

[andysbubba]

friends [ one ]

-> steve’s your best friend. you know damn well that won’t change. [ also you’re really stubborn in this au and steve has to deal with that ]

AKA two idiots in love but one doesn't want to admit it

warnings: mentions of sex but no sex because im a tease

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

link to chapter | one | two | three | four |

-

Steve’s been your friend since the day you were born. Your best friend, to say the least. He’s been there since day one, stumbling and tripping with you as kids, late night drives the moment Steve got his license, and then he was your date to prom.

Steve’s been there for you through everything, when that senior Brock Rumlow guy tried to bring you to the one of the bedrooms at some party, Steve landed one huge punch on the guy’s face. And then he was there again when you went through your first heartbreak with some other guy named Peter Quill.

You’ve been there for him too. Everything that happened in his life after he learned the word ‘hello’ always had you in it. He was diagnosed with asthma when he was 4. You comforted him and told him that “You’ll be okay, Steeb.” And then when he was insecure about being the tiniest boy in eighth grade, you said “It’s alright, bubba. I’ll always be your friend no matter what.”

And then he got giant when puberty hits. And hot, and probably the best looking guy in senior year.

The two of you won king and queen at prom. You friends said that you both would make a good couple whatsoever. And then the teachers just predicted that you both would get married to one another in about ten years. The two of you just laughed- because really, Steve's your bestfriend and you're his.

When his first girlfriend cheated on him, you came over immediately to cheer him up. It took a while but he did stop crying. So you went down to the kitchen to grab some snacks for the impending Harry Potter movie marathon.

Steve’s parents were working the night shift so it was just the two of you. Not that you mind. After all you’ve only known Steve for a good 18 years.

You climb up the stairs with some ready to eat popcorn and those drinks that Steve really likes in your arms. You drop all of those beside his sulking figure.

“C’mon bubba, stop frowning.” You settled on his bed and pulled him into your side. “You’ll be okay. She doesn’t deserve you anyway, Stevie.” You ran your fingers through his hair.

Steve only clinged on to you tighter and looks up at you with some puppy dog look. “Was I not good enough?” HIs voice cracks.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, bub. She’s the giant bitch, okay?” You continue scratching his scalp. 

He looks like he was thinking hard before he took a deep breath and sat up.

Your eyes widens when he softly placed his lips on yours. You stayed still for a moment before your palms moved to his chest and you started kissing him back.

His hands slide under your shirt when he pulls away.

“Steve,” You say breathlessly.

“Should I stop- No, do you want me to stop?” His big palms were on the bare skin of your waist, rubbing gently in circles with his thumb.

You thought for a second before you shake your head.

Steve grins and then he goes back in to kiss you.

That was the first time you slept with your bestfriend.

It got awkward a couple of days after that. You slipped away from his bed very early in the morning to go back to your house.

You thought of Steve as a friend. Your bestfriend, to say the least. So when he came knocking on your front door and you told mom that you didn’t feel like seeing him, she knew something was up.

She didn’t bother prying it out of you because she knows you're the most stubborn teenager alive so she just lets Steve in.

“Hey,” He knocks on your door.

You cleared your throat, “Come in,”

You sat up on your bed when he peeks in. “Hey,”

“Hi... again.” He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. “We should probably talk about it,”

You chuckle lightly and pat the space beside you on the bed. “We should.”

Steve made himself comfy beside you, though you could sense that he was still pretty tensed up. “I’m sorry,”

You turn to him in question. “What for?”

“Because I initiated the whole thing,” He shyly looks at you.

You moved closer and snuggled into him, clinging on to his arm. “It was consensual.” You rest your head on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for leaving in the morning.”

“Is it gonna be awkward?”

“It shouldn’t be. You’re my bestfriend, Steve,”

A tiny smile forms on Steve’s face. “Yeah, okay,”

-

“It shouldn’t be. You’re my bestfriend, Steve,”

Steve’s heart shattered a little.

Yeah, just bestfriends. As if that damn term didn't just give him his first real heartbreak. Or third. The first was because he realised that you don't feel anything for him- that's the only reason why he went ahead and dated Kira... who cheated on him and broke his heart. Technically, that part was kinda your fault too since you're the reason why he started dating the girls in school. The third- well because he's just your best friend.

He smiled through the ache in his heart, “Yeah, okay.”

-

You went through your first real heartbreak at 22. The first person you ran to was Steve, because really- he's the only person you got. He opens the door to let you in and the next thing you did was to slam your lips on his.

He was stunned for a moment and started kissing you back before he pushes you away. “Wait, Y/N. What about Peter?”

“We broke up.” You pushed him inside the house and kicked the door close behind you.

He held you away by your shoulders when you leaned in to kiss him again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He looks at you worriedly.

“I am talking about it,” You tiptoed and pulled his lips towards yours by gripping his jaw.

“Fuck.” Steve pulled you into him. Hands gripping at the back of your thighs and lifting you up.

That was the second time you slept with your bestfriend.

-

like comment subscribe follow reblog? anything’s appreciated my loves!

-haney

[wonderlustlucas]

jack pot ; part 3 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 6.4k ⇢ genre fluff & angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way) ⇢ warnings (18+) drug use, a suggestive make out & the mention of a boner twice maybe ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n AAAAAAAA omg im so excited to post this, this by far is my fav part of jack pot & i cant wait to hear what u all think!!! sorry its a bit shorter than the other parts, & technically this is the *last* part, but there will be an epilogue where you will see how everything comes to be!!!! have fun reading!!! <3

⇠ part 2

five.

“Oh, fuck, he’s good,” Yeji gasps, shoving her phone into Maddie’s hands before faceplanting into the table.

“Are you H-T-T-P because I’m colon-slash-slash without you,” Maddie reads with a chuckle, thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. “Quick, YN, look up some pick-up lines.”

Closing the tab on the article you should be reading but has been long forgotten, you promptly do as you are told and open the first link from your search, Minho and Jisung leaning in to help. “There,” Jisung stops you, pointing to one, “’Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.’”

The table can’t help but burst into laughter at such a sentence. It’s stupid, but ever since Yeji and Kim Sunwoo began texting, their conversations have been full of tacky puns and emoji-filled compliments.

“Damn,” Maddie whistles, setting the phone back into Yeji’s limp hand, “he’s already typing back.”

“Gross,” Ryujin teases, busy typing away on her laptop. How she manages to multitask so well is a skill you certainly lack. “Why don’t you just like, I don’t know, ask him out?” Jisung asks and when you glance up, he’s looking at you. “Because that’s the guy’s job,” Maddie quickly saves the day, winking to you when you send her a grateful smile.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin scoffs. Everyone, even Ryujin, stops to look at him.

Did he just curse?

“I mean, like,” he stammers, cheeks turning rosy at all the attention, “it’s 2020. Guys have insecurities, too.”

“I agree,” Minho hums, looking to Maddie with hearts in his eyes, “that kind of confidence is enough to make any boy fall in love.”

“Yeah, but—”

Lia rebuts, but your attention quickly falls elsewhere when a text message first appears on your laptop, then your phone.

hwang hyunjin🦔🕺🏻💞🧻 [now] Where r u rn?

Unable to fight your smile, you quickly type back.

[3:39 PM] YN: outside hollin st café [3:39 PM] YN: why? :)

“Have you seen their new house, YN?” Minho asks, prompting you to click your phone off and set it back on the table. “Whose house?”

“Changbin’s parents.”

“Oh,” shaking your head, you distantly curse Chan for keeping your friend busy today. Unlike Jisung, Changbin likes to write lyrics and do whatever other music stuff during the day at a normal time instead of the middle of the fucking night while stoned and trying to finish his computer science assignments at the same time. “No, he forgot to send me pictures.”

“Dude,” Jisung sighs dreamily, “it’s huge. So nice. I think the front door alone could cover tuition.”

“Is it really that nice?” Maddie asks in awe.

“He started to show me pics the other day but couldn’t finish but the kitchen… unnecessary,” Ryujin quips, pausing her work to check her phone. “Yeah, it’s insane. The whole place is unnecessary but the kitchen is like, a house in itself,” Jeongin hums, head shaking in disbelief.

“Damn, now I really want to see it,” you sigh, making a mental note to hunt Changbin down so he can show you. “It’s like Hyunjin and his rings,” Minho snickers, “he has so many. Whenever we’re out, if he sees a ring, boom. It’s his.”

Well, he’s not wrong but… You bite your tongue no matter how badly you wish to defend Hyunjin and his affinity for rings and jewelry in general. The boy has taste, what can you say? You certainly are not complaining about Hyunjin’s long fingers and the way he chooses to decorate them.

“I never thought I’d hear Changbin’s parent’s kitchen be analogous to Hyunjin’s jewelry collection, yet here we are,” Maddie chuckles, leaning over Yeji to peek at her conversation with Sunwoo.

“Wow, speak of the devil,” Jisung pipes up of course as soon as you have reopened the tab to your assignment. Changbin or Hyunjin, you don’t know, head whipping up to find out and a peculiar mix of relief and panic settling over you once you spot the latter. “Uh oh, YN’s gonna go into cardiac arrest.”

As subtly as you can, you elbow Jisung in the stomach and smile at Hyunjin as he nears. “Hey,” keeping his eyes on you, Hyunjin approaches your table and stops behind Maddie opposite from you, “I’m sorry, I should have asked if you were busy.” His cheeks, already flushed, burn pinker once he looks away to smile weakly at everyone else.

“I’m not busy!” You squeak, scrambling to close your laptop and shove it in your bag. “Are you sure? I can come back later?” He offers, tilting his head and this is when you realize he is holding a bubble tea in each hand. And from the looks of it, one seems to be your usual order. “No, she’s not,” Jeongin answers for you, recognizing your stupefied expression.

“I was just – yeah. No,” rushing to stand and swing your legs out around the bench, you nearly fall flat on your face, “I wasn’t doing anything, actually.” Steadying yourself with a hand on Minho’s shoulder, you heave a labored breath before carefully walking to meet Hyunjin.

“Okay,” he beams, either oblivious to how flustered you are or simply choosing to ignore it. Turning to wave to your friends, he hands you one of the cups and you realize it is, in fact, your favorite boba. Oh boy. “See ya later,” you wave to them as well, nose wrinkling when both Jisung and Maddie wink in return.

Following after Hyunjin, you finally allow yourself to take notice of his attire and can’t help but feel confused. He looks good. And not in the good attractive way—he always looks good. But good as in formal. It’s four o’clock on a Tuesday in October and he’s out here looking as if he just got out of a business meeting. White button-down tucked into fitted black slacks, dress shoes, black tie, and he even has a black suit jacket draped over his arm. His hair is styled, too; ever since he dyed it back to black, he’s been growing it out long enough for his bangs to cover his eyes. Now, however, it’s parted down the middle and seems as if he’s ever so slightly curled it away from his face.

Suddenly, you feel ridiculous walking beside him in mom jeans and a baggy sweatshirt from high school.

“Thanks for the boba,” you mumble around your straw, brain still preoccupied trying to get over how utterly handsome he is. “Why do you look so fancy?”

The side of his mouth twitches up at your words, but his eyes stay glued to the sidewalk as you continue to your unknown destination. “I had an audition,” Hyunjin admits, voice devoid of emotion as if it’s not important at all. “An audition?” You echo. “Why do you sound so not super mega excited? How did it go? What was it for?”

“Well—”

“Wait!” You interrupt, stopping your walk once you realize he had an audition and you didn’t know. “You had an audition? What – why didn’t you tell me?”

Hyunjin frowns, avoiding your gaze and dragging his bottom teeth over his top lip. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he finally says before reaching for your hand and tugging you away from the walkway and into your campus’ main courtyard. “Why? Is it some sort of secret or something, Hyunjin?” You scoff, sounding way more annoyed than you intended. But you are annoyed; why didn’t he want to tell anyone?

“No,” he sighs, finding an empty area in the grass and lowering himself to sit, “I just… didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, visibly softening for him and settling down next to him, crisscrossing your legs, “it is a big deal. I don’t know what it’s for, but if it’s important enough for you to audition, then it’s important to us, too. You don’t need to be humble twenty-four-seven, you know. I’m sure you could have used our support.”

“I didn’t get it, though,” Hyunjin whispers, “they just – I didn’t get in. I wasn’t good enough.” Sensing the sadness in his voice, you find a lump forming in your throat when you notice the way his bottom lip trembles. “Hey,” panicking, you set your boba down and sit up on your knees to wrap your arms around him, cradling his head into your chest once tears start falling, “no. Don’t ever say you’re not good enough, Hyunjin.”

“But if I did better, practiced more, than I would—"

“Stop,” you hush, combing your fingers through his hair and brushing strands away from his eyes, “I’ve never met someone who works as hard as you do. You can’t beat yourself up over this. Everything happens for a reason. You don’t know what could have happened if you got in. You could have hurt yourself eventually, or maybe met someone who’s a real asshole.”

“Yeah,” is all he says, quiet and muffled when he turns to press his forehead into your sternum, body still trembling as he lets out all his tears. You stay like that for a while, holding him against you and soothing a hand up and down his back until his sniffling falls quiet. “Listen,” you finally sigh, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back. Your heart sinks once you take in the wet trails down his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyes. “Forget about it. Was it something for dance?”

When he nods subtly, you cup his face in your hands and swipe his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are an amazing dancer, Hyunjin. You can’t let this get to your head. And I don’t want you working your ass off more than you do already. Practice makes perfect, sure, but you need to rest. What about the idea Changbin came up with?”

“The YouTube thing?”

“Yes! Filming dance tutorials or just posting your routines is a really good idea,” you remind him, wiping your hands on your jeans once he falls back onto the grass with a gentle thud, hair flaying around him like a halo. Your limbs twitch with the urge to lie beside him, maybe throw an arm around him and rest your cheek on his chest, fingers tracing the soft features of his face, stroking through his hair and reminding him just how innately perfect he is, inside and out. You, of course, resist such a temptation, flopping down beside him and staring up at the clouds with a heavy heart.

“I could do that. Maybe,” Hyunjin huffs. Tilting your head to look at him, you find yourself knee-deep in that familiar longing feeling, pausing simply to appreciate how pretty he is in the evening sun, cheeks rosy from crying and hair begging to be touched. Shaking your head to rid such daydreams, you remind yourself how fragile his emotions are right now. Now is no time to get caught up on a fantasy. Reaching for your tea, you lean up on an elbow and redirect your gaze to the trees, the promise of winter having turned what was green burnt sienna and butterscotch, leaving trees barren and branches swaying gently in the crisp breeze that leaves you curling into yourself. “You should,” you hum, distant, mind clawing to come up with the words you want to say.

“Come here,” Hyunjin says now, voice stronger than before and when his hand wraps gently around your wrist, you can’t find it in yourself to resist. Allowing him to pull you back down beside him, you curl into his side, resting your head a safe distance away from his own and onto the curve of his arm. “Thank you for being so good to me,” he expresses. You squeeze your eyes shut when the arm you lie on wraps around your shoulders and pulls you substantially closer. “I need to tell you something.”

A long stretch of silence falls upon you and for a moment, you are unsure the words even left your mouth. What are you thinking?

“Wait! I have something first,” Hyunjin sighs, missing the way your breath hitches. “Okay,” you whisper, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt and focusing all your attention there.

“I just – I think… I owe you an apology,” he finally says, “I need to apologize for something that I did a while ago that I know probably hurt.” Your chest tightens. There’s a lot that has hurt you when it comes to Hyunjin, but none that he’s done purposely. None that are his fault. None that he should be apologizing for.

“I feel like we came to some mutual understanding to not mention what happened when we were freshmen, but it kills me to know that – that something happened, and we never talked about it,” Hyunjin starts, grip tightening on your shoulder and suddenly, you think you are dreaming. This cannot possibly be real. “I know it was awkward but, I also know me and Yiren dating was… ah. I don’t know.”

When he falls silent, you are unsure of what to say or do. You have no idea what the end goal of this conversation is. Hardly a minute ago, your heart and your brain decided it was time to tell him. Now, you’re not so sure you can do that until he finishes, and you are not about to give him your two cents if his reasoning for bringing it up is not the same as yours.

“I just want to apologize for not being brave enough to talk to you about it. I know I was confused, but I’m sure it was worse for you when they told you about her,” Hyunjin continues, sensing your rendered silence, “and it’s been so long since that happened, and now, you’re one of my closest friends.” Ouch.

“But I’ve been thinking,” when he picks up again, your eyes fly open in a panic. He’s been thinking. Hyunjinhas been thinking. You think you are going to pass out. “And I just feel like we… me and you, I mean—"

The standard iPhone alarm blares from beside you, promptly cutting him off and you think it is the biggest cockblock known to man. “Shit,” he hisses, leaning up to tug his phone from his pocket and in the process nudging you from your comfortable position. Sitting back up, nerves aflame and heart racing, your brows shoot up in confusion when all he does is stare at the number calling him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the studio I was just at,” he scoffs in disbelief, barely glancing at you before looking back to his phone. You have never wanted to shrivel up and die as much as you want to right now. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”

Hyunjin makes a noise of acknowledgement before tapping the green icon and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Sitting quietly beside him, you watch with a forced smile as his hummed responses and subtle nods morph into enthusiastic laughs and wide, beaming smiles. Hyunjin notices your confusion when you tilt your head, mouthing a ‘What?’ to him.

“They made a mistake,” he whispers, covering the speaker of his phone, “read off the wrong Hwang. I’m in.” When he grins excitedly at you, your response isn’t as cheerful as it could be. As it should be. “Yay!” You whisper, clapping gently but quickly turning to your boba when the other line begins speaking again. Looking away, you take a hefty sip, nearly choke on a tapioca ball, and build the walls around your heart up all over again in a matter of seconds.

“I’ve gotta go,” whispering, you manage one more pained smile before getting to your feet and wiping your butt of any possible grass stains, “good luck!” When he shines you one more breathtaking smile and waves excitedly, you hastily head in the other direction, wrapping your arms around yourself and swallowing past the lump that threatens to form the farther you walk.

It must be nice, you think, frantically wiping at your waterline. Must be nice to put yourself out there and have things work out the way you want them to. Must be nice being told you’re ‘in,’ you’re wanted, you’re desired.

It must be nice.

six.

Pick up food, you said. Ask Jisung, you said.

Your conscience is a big fat oompa loompa ass bitch. You would have never called Jisung to ask him if he wanted anything from Taco Bell if you knew he was with Changbin. And not just Changbin, you realized four minutes into your call; Seungmin and Hyunjin, too. Apparently he went over their place to record, or something, and didn’t care to let you know. Not that you’re his mom and he has too—but it would have been nice, and would have saved you from spending almost fifty dollars at Taco Bell.

“I tried calling Jisung but he didn’t answer,” you snap once Seungmin answers your call with a muffled hello. “Can one of you please come out and help me carry this in?” You glance at the five large sodas and two bags full of food in your passenger seat with a grimace. “Sure,” he agrees and you make a mental note for the umpteenth time just how much you love Seungmin, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

True to his word, you spot him making his way out of their apartment and across the small courtyard to meet you by your car not even a minute later, hauling each bag under his arms. “Thank you,” left only with the cupholder, you hurriedly lock your car and follow after him. “No problem. Thanks for being our Uber Eats,” then, pursing his lips, “how much was this?”

“Forty-seven something,” you grumble unhappily, knowing this was a big hit to your debit. “We’ll pay you back, don’t worry,” Seungmin smiles, leading you up the final flight of stairs and kicking open the ajar door.

Immediately, you’re hit with the smell.

“Dear, fucking hell,” making a face, you rub your nose to keep from sneezing, “it reeks in here. How have you guys not been kicked out yet?”

The stench of weed generally does not bother you anymore, but still—they could light a candle, or something. Seungmin shrugs, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Luck, I guess.”

“IS THAT YN?” From another room, you hear Changbin shout, followed by an excited shriek from Jisung. “They’re high. Very high. You’ve been warned,” Seungmin whispers just as tweedle dee and tweedle dum themselves come flying around the corner. “YN!” Jisung grins, engulfing you in a dramatic hug. “Watch,” you hiss, regarding the blunt held between his fingers that comes dangerously close to your hair.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then, without warning, sticks the thing right between your lips. “I didn’t even offer.” Well, when life gives you lemons…

You hesitantly take the hit and blow the smoke away from him. You weren’t planning on getting high today, but here you are. “Thanks,” shaking your head as if that will clear it, you turn to Changbin and snugly wrap your arms around him. Every day you thank the heavens that he is a chill, calm high, unlike your maniac of a roommate.

“Thanks for the food,” fishing into his pockets and pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill, he slaps it into your palm. You only hum in reply, shoving it into your own pocket and praying you don’t lose it before you remember to put it in your wallet. “Where’s Hyunjin?” You ask, no longer caring about being slick.

“In his room,” Seungmin answers, rummaging through the bags to find what he ordered. Then, “HYUNJIN!” You jump, reaching for your soda and standing away from the other three until they have claimed whatever belongs to them. No sooner than Seungmin calls for him, you hear a door being cracked open and out comes Hyunjin.

He looks extremely disheveled. Like, just woke up from a two-month hibernation, disheveled. In the blink of an eye, however, he rakes a hand through long blonde hair and promptly sets a baseball cap backwards to keep the strands away and suddenly, he doesn’t look so disheveled anymore. You force yourself to look away, cursing the way your gut twists.

“Gimme my crunchwrap,” you say around your straw, snatching the blunt from Jisung’s fingers and moving around him to fetch your dinner. He doesn’t even protest.

He knows you need it more than he does.

“That’s a lot of food,” Hyunjin says once he has finally entered the kitchen, voice groggy and eyes puffy from sleep. Or from being high, you can’t tell. Pressing his chest to your back, he wraps one arm around you to keep you against him while the other reaches into a bag to take what’s his. Swallowing past the desert dryness of your throat, you manage a thick inhale from the blunt before tilting your head to look at him and mentally thanking the other three for taking it as their cue to head out.

“Not my fault you guys eat like animals,” you chuckle shakily, trying to ignore the firmness of his body against yours, veins prominent on the arm that holds you against him and the ripple of muscle along his abdomen noticeable even through his shirt and yours. Dear god, it is too early for this. Not even seven o’clock and you are already drooling in more places than one.

Hyunjin pouts as if it is not true. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, finally moving away to grab his drink and you can’t help your disappointment, quickly finishing the blunt before tapping it out into one of the many ashtrays. “Don’t worry about it,” you wave off, digging through their drawers for a paper plate.

“YN,” Hyunjin deadpans, regarding you with a raised brow once you come up and begin unwrapping your food. You refuse to look him in the eye. “What do I owe you?” He repeats, firmer this time and it sends a chill down your spine when it most certainly should not. Sighing, you retrieve the receipt from your pocket and count everything he got. “Thirteen.”

Humming in content, Hyunjin reaches for his wallet on the counter and pulls a ten and five out. “There,” he beams, tucking the bills into your pocket himself. Rolling your eyes, you pray he does not notice how you flush and hurry out of the kitchen to join Seungmin on the sofa.

“House Hunters?” You ask with a laugh, looking at the TV once you have settled next to him. “I told you HGTV is the best.”

Seungmin hums in agreement. “I thought it was stupid at first, but Hyunjin was watching Fixer Upper and I got addicted,” he says, nodding to the older boy doing a little dance in the kitchen as he eats one of his tacos. Your heart does somersaults at the sight. “They’re all so good,” you agree after taking a few bites of your own food, eyes trained on the television, “House Hunters is a classic, though.”

“I like the international one,” Hyunjin adds on his way over, crashing unceremoniously next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Seungmin wrinkle his nose when Hyunjin sets his free hand casually on your thigh. “Shh,” he grumbles, vaguely gesturing to the screen and chewing a mouthful of food, “I wanna hear what the house has.”

One episode turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to four, and suddenly you have been watching House Hunters with Seungmin and Hyunjin for almost three hours. It definitely is the weed, always making time perpetually slower, and it did not help when Jisung and Changbin reappeared sometime during your binge with one of Felix’s bongs. Not necessarily how you intended to spend your precious Friday night, but there is no sense in complaining when you are with your buddies and Hyunjin, of course.

Taco Bell long gone, you watch with blurry eyes when Hyunjin gets up from his slumped position against you to head into the kitchen and open the freezer. This, as well as the realization that House Hunters has ended and gone to some other, not-as-cool show, brings both you and Seungmin somewhat back to reality.

“It’s almost ten,” Seungmin announces, staring dazedly at the time on his phone. You hum in acknowledgment, certainly sober enough to reply but simply too lazy to. “I think I’m going to bed. Or play something. Don’t wreck the place,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face before standing up. “G’night, Minnie,” you smile, watching with a furrowed brow as he continues down the hall and into his room. It isn’t until you hear his door click shut does the weight of being alone with Hyunjin settle on your chest.

It’s not like you haven’t spent time alone with Hyunjin before. In fact, that usually is the way it’s been in the past three years; whether the two of you decided to do your own thing or the rest of your friends eventually left or went to bed, you are used to this feeling. Used to ignoring the butterflies in your gut when he does something particularly cute and used to tampering down the mental images you conjure up knowing it’s just you and him.

But that doesn’t make things any easier. No matter how hard you try, you simply can’t help but feel this way around Hyunjin, especially when you’re alone. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

“Whatcha wanna watch?” Hyunjin asks around one last spoonful of ice cream before setting the pint back into the freezer. “Uhh…” You drone, blinking heavily at the TV and back to him as he makes his way back over. “I dunno, I’m sure you’ve been watching some drama. You can put that on.”

“You sure?” He asks with a raised brow, collapsing next to you and slumping dramatically halfway down the cushions. “Yes,” laughing, you find yourself reaching out to tuck messy strands of hair back behind his ear without hesitation, “also, why are you wearing a hat inside?”

Hyunjin pauses, straining to look up as if he will be able to see the back of his cap against his forehead. “I’m wearing a hat?”

“Yes, you idiot,” in comes the endless weed giggles and you find yourself unable to stop laughing, watching with teary eyes as he sits up and takes his hat off. “I don’t remember putting this on,” he chuckles airily, flipping the cap back and forth in his hands before tossing it onto the coffee table. “Should I cut it?”

“No!” You shout a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Shrinking against the arm of the couch, you ignore his amused smile and look to his long hair, freshly bleached strands falling down to his neck and shorter pieces brushing against his cheeks. Fuck, it should be illegal to look this good. “I like it long. It really suits you.”

“It’s annoying,” Hyunjin grins despite his complaint, lifting his legs onto the couch and flopping onto his side, head now resting on your lap. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Now that he’s offered playing with his hair on a silver platter, you don’t hesitate combing your fingers through it, tugging out pieces stuck under his head and brushing it out completely. “You could pull the sides back,” you hum distantly, separating a section of hair near his temple to pull back, “or make a bun with what you can. You just have to play around with it.”

Humming in agreement, Hyunjin resituates himself after reaching for the remote and switching to Netflix. When you go back to simply raking your fingers from root to tip in irregular directions, you don’t miss the way his eyelids flutter at the motion and make sure to pay extra attention to his scalp. When this turned into a head massage, you’re not entirely sure.

The drama Hyunjin puts on is unbearable. You stopped paying attention a while ago, focusing more on him and how he seems to enjoy it, fingers busy braiding random sections of hair, taking them out, and then braiding them again. With two finally done the way you want them to, you are midway through the third when your fingers begin to cramp up.

“Why’d you stop?” Hyunjin asks seconds after you drop the braid and stretch your fingers out. “Fingers are cramping,” chuckling at the disappointed pout of his lips, you crack what knuckles you can before going back and undoing the unfinished braid. “Oh,” he mutters, cheek still pressed against your leg, “feels good.”

Humming in response, you ignore the way his words make your heart swell and begin gathering all his hair into a ponytail, pressing the braids to lay flat and finally tying it with a hair tie once you have combed up all that you can. Immediately, his bangs and hairs closer to the nape of his neck fall out, leaving the ponytail spikey and messy. At least the braids look good. You can’t help but giggle.

“What?” Hyunjin asks, pausing his show and leaning up. “What’d you do?”

“Go see for yourself,” pointing to the bathroom, you comb out a looped piece of hair before he stands to do just that. His ponytail bobs the entire walk there.

When he reaches the door and flips the light on, you watch from your position as he checks himself out, brushing away his bangs and flicking the pony. You frown when he accidentally yanks at a braid.

“Come here,” you say, sitting up, “you messed up the braid.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin considers his reflection one last time before skipping his way over, “it doesn’t look half bad.” Expecting him to sit back next to you, your pulse quickens when he anchors a hand to the armrest and leans in front you, only inches away from your face. “No, definitely,” you say once you have gotten over the shock of him being so close so suddenly, “I like it in the ponytail. You’d really impress the girls if you braided your hair yourself.” Reaching up to tuck hair back into the braid and press it down flat once more, you don’t miss the way his brows draw together and lips twitch down. “What?”

Time ceases to exist as Hyunjin begins to come closer. In reality, you know it simply is a matter of seconds, but all of space and time seems to still once he leans forward. It feels as if an eternity goes by, allowing you to count each individual eyelash, memorize the details of his skin, take note of the smoothed lines on his plump lips. The way time slows is cruel; it allows panic to set in, the realization that he most certainly is looming over you with his eyes on your lips sending a spark of excitement and anxiety through your veins.

And then, just as this realization and this panic has set your nerves aflame, a gentle hand comes to cradle your jaw before Hyunjin’s lips press against yours.

It is so easy to surrender to the taste and touch of him. Instantly, an eruption of emotions and thoughts spiraling out of control fills you, yet your brain focuses only on Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin. This is not the first time you have kissed him, nor the first time simply having him so close, but the feeling that radiates from your heart outward is unlike anything you have felt before. This is uncalled for. This is not like two years ago. You were not expecting this.

Hyunjin sighs into the kiss when you lean up to loop your arms around his neck. No sooner have you done this, he breaks away to sit beside you once more, hands reaching for your waist and guiding you to sit over his lap.

You could kiss him all day, you think, palms lying flat by his collarbones before fisting the material of his shirt when his tongue prods at the seam of your lips. Blood seemingly coming to a boil and nerves sparking dangerously, you find yourself quickly sobering up as the minutes tick by, completely and utterly addicted to him and this feeling, this feeling you have craved but never crossed the line for. And now, it’s yours to keep.

Forgetting the braids, you seize the opportunity to rake your fingers through his hair. Different, than how you did earlier. Desperate. Combing it away from his face once, twice, swallowing his groans when you tug at the roots, you realize with a whine that his hands have left your face in favor of dragging down your sides, circling back to squeeze at your breasts, rubbing at your thighs and finally sliding back to your ass, situating you more comfortably on his thighs.

When Hyunjin finally breaks the kiss to journey elsewhere, littering chaste kisses across your jaw, below your ear, down your neck, the weight of your actions finally hits you. It is overwhelming, the way you come spiraling back to reality, and you are not sure if the quiet moan that leaves you is due to the press of something else against your thigh or simply the realization that you are making out with Hyunjin.

You have to stop before you get hurt again.

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, shuddering when his soft lips brush against your jaw, “wait. We need to talk.”

He pauses at this, fingers digging into your sides and you feel his frown against your neck. “What’s there to talk about?” He murmurs, arms sliding around you and tugging you closer, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close and pretend like his boner isn’t digging into you.

It’s your turn to frown. “About us,” whispering, you lift one hand to stroke through his hair, “we need to talk about us.”

“I thought my feelings were very clear,” Hyunjin scoffs, all tenderness in his voice gone. Instinctively, you lean back, blinking at him in surprise. “Unless this is just another one of your games? Does this not mean anything to you, YN? I don’t think I could stomach you running off to Changbin or fucking Chan again.”

His words pierce your heart before you have even fully processed them, hurt flashing across your features and your body goes numb. “What?” Is all you can manage, scrambling to get away from him, chest heaving and eyes suddenly burning with the brine of tears. “What are you talking about, Hyunjin?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” He shouts. You flinch, not from the way he raises his voice, but from the genuine sadness in his eyes. “The past three years have been a constant battle with you. We’re best friends, for fucks sake, I figured out a long time ago that you have feelings for me. Feelings more than best friends. Yet every fucking time we started moving in the right direction, you turned your back on me.”

You can do nothing but stand there and let the tears fall. All the words and bottled emotions you wish to say are right there on the tip of your tongue, but you simply cannot bring yourself to voice them. Not when he’s right. Not when you have turned your back on him time and time again.

And then, he hisses more to himself than you, “Is this just sloppy seconds? You never once thought about my feelings in all of this?”

The anger brewing within you suddenly bursts from the dam and hisses through your body like deadly poison. “Sloppy seconds?” You snarl, fists clenching. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Your feelings? You just said you know how I feel about you, so why didn’t you ever do anything about it? How was I supposed to know you felt the same?”

“I thought it was pretty fucking obvious,” Hyunjin spits back, gaze narrowing, “didn’t think I had to spell out the fact that I like you, YN. You’re a smart girl.”

“Do not treat me like a child,” clenching your jaw, you have to look away for a moment, pacing one, two, three steps, hands raking through your hair and wiping away the stream of tears from your cheeks. You have never been filled with such rage. Having finally reached its boiling point, it now consumes you whole, sweeping off in waves and destroying all boundaries. “Confessing is not an easy thing, as you apparentlyknow, so don’t make me seem like the only idiot here. But maybe I was wrong about you if you think of me as just sloppy seconds.”

“I never said that!” Hyunjin barks, standing up to grasp your wrist when you turn away to grab your keys. “Don’t put words in my mouth! I would never, never think of you that way. I just don’t understand why you never spoke up after all this time. I’ve been dying, YN, you have no clue how badly I have been—”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” you snap, yanking your arm away from him, “I told you, Hyunjin. Telling someone you love them isn’t as easy as learning to ride a bike. You’re right, I have turned my back on you. But not intentionally. I’ve been scared, I’m a pussy, whatever.” Biting your top lip as if it will stop the tears that continue to fall freely, you avoid looking at him and glance back to find not only Seungmin, but Jisung and Changbin, too, peeking out from their doors with eyes blown wide with shock. Once you have noticed them, however, they panic and scramble to get out of sight.

Sighing shakily, you look back to Hyunjin and cannot ignore the way your heart sinks at the sight of him. Even upset, he is beautiful. You wonder how much you will see him after this.

“You don’t have to tell me you like me back to make me feel better, Hyunjin,” bouncing on your heels, you suddenly feel exhausted, body and soul heavy with the words you not only spoke, but heard, too. “We can figure this out another day, but for now, I need to go home. I’ll see you.”

Turning away once more, you do not make it very close to the front door before he stops you once more. “Wait, YN,” Hyunjin huffs, smiling softly when he reaches for your hand and you do not pull away. Running his tongue over his lip, he seems to hesitate for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Did you mean it when you said you love me?”

⇢ epilogue

[ladybugsfanfics]

The Case of the Blue Sweater | Tom Hiddleston

Pairing: Mob!Tom Hiddleston x cop!reader

Style: one shot

WC: 10.7k 

Warnings: crime, alcohol, drinking, implied sexual content (very much so), uhh, theres no blood, also NB: THIS STORY IS INCOMPLETE AND I WONT BE THE ONE TO FINISH IT! (story is also unedited to please dont hate me for any mistakes)

Summary:  Hey so I read your Mob!Tom x reader and it got me thinking.. Could you write a Fic where Tom is in the mob but the reader is a cop? And like they’re secretly dating but technically the reader has to make it look like they’re hunting him down but they really aren’t? (If that makes sense) Idk I feel like I just need this in my life rn 😂😂

A/N: i got this ask back in january i think and i jumped on it right away, but at some point tumblr deleted it so i cant tag who asked (and i know this wasnt anonymous bc i remember but i never put it in the doc annoyingly). anyways, i started writing it, got to 10k words and lost motivation and never finished it. i really like the AU but nothing ever really happened.... im so sorry.  I hope you enjoy what i have ^_^

A loud ringing paired with the loudest on and off buzzing from your phone vibrating on the nightstand is what pulls you out of your slumber. The sounds screech in your ears and you reach over to stop it, to just slide the button over so that your ears can stop bleeding. However, as you lean out of the arms wrapped around you, their grip strengthens and you’re dragged back into the chest of the man sharing your bed. 

“Tom,” you say. A smile plays on your lips, the set of events not unusual for an early morning.

He nuzzles into your hair, places a wet kiss at the base of your neck. “Five minutes,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You shake your head slightly, as much as you can with the limited space. “Can I at least turn the sound off?” 

His grip slackens, making you able to reach the little way over to turn off the blaring alarm. The silence that comes with is welcome in every way, but the relief isn’t long-lasting when Tom drags you back into his chest, his nose quickly nuzzling back to where it was. 

Two seconds is what it takes before he’s pressing kisses to your neck. Rough, slender fingers graze up the side of your body until they reach your neck, where they brush away your hair. With Tom’s easy access, the soft kisses slowly turn into something more, something rougher, and the use of his tongue causes a slight tickle to trail through your body. 

“Tom.” You shift a little where you lay, taking away his access as you turn your head. In the shift, the man easily moves to trail kisses up your jaw, and as you whisper his name again, his lips connect with yours. 

It’s a hungry kiss. He sucks at your bottom lip and his hand grabs your jaw, holding your head in place. You lean into him, kissing him back with equal fervor, however, you’re quickly dragged out of the bliss, when your phone goes off again. 

There is no mistaking the death glare Tom sends the mini-computer. You chuckle slightly and push him off you to reach it. This time, it’s not an alarm, but a phone call. 

Your boss’s call ID lights up the screen, and you give Tom a stern look as you press to accept the call. With the phone to your ear, Tom shrugs and moves under the covers. His hands trail down your body, teasing you as his fingers trace up your inner thighs. 

“Y/L/N,” you say. 

A grunt is heard from the other side first, then, “I need you to come in ASAP.” Your boss’s voice sounds urgent, desperate. 

You check the clock. “I’m not supposed to come in in another hour,” you reply. “Is it that important?” 

“Yeah, wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” It’s like you can hear him nod and roll his eyes at the same time. “We got a lead in the case.”

“What kind of lead? And which case?”

As your boss answers, you can feel Tom’s tongue on the inside of your thigh. In surprise at the feeling you barely manage to suppress the squeal that works up in your throat, and you miss your boss’s reply. (You don’t miss Tom’s smug laugh from under the duvet, nor how he continues to work his way closer to your clit.)

“Y/L/N?” comes from the other end of the line when you gain back… well, really some of your dignity, but mostly your mind. 

“I’m here, sir.” You sigh. “Just something that happened that caught my attention. Cat nearly knocked down something made of glass.” 

(You don’t have a cat, why was that the first excuse you could come up with? Your boss doesn’t know that, though, so it’s safe.)

“Didn’t know you had a cat, but that could happen to the best of us.” Your boss clears his throat. “The lead’s pretty good, but can’t say it over the phone so you gotta come in. It’s on the case about the Blue Sweater.” 

You roll your eyes at the nickname of the case. One of the major criminals you were trying to take down is often seen wearing blue sweaters, and at a briefing you’d offered it as a code name; who knows who listens in on phone calls―they do seem to have a knack for being one step ahead of you, too. 

But you don’t mention that to your boss. “Alright, sir, I’ll be on my way as fast as I can.” 

“Make it less than half an hour and we’re good.” 

“No problem, sir.” 

Your boss is the one to hang up, and as you throw your phone down on the bed, Tom peeks his head up from under the covers. You send him a glare. “You should be happy you didn’t get started whilst I was on the phone.” 

Your boyfriend smirks up at you. “Oh, you wouldn’t have liked that?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it.” 

Tom shrugs. “You got time, right?” Though before you can answer he slides back under the cover, uses his hands to steady your hips and dips his head low. God, if only you had more time. 

--

The moment the elevator door opens and you step out into the crowded office space of the police station, you hear your name being called. You wish you weren’t the head detective on the, currently, biggest case pertaining to crime bosses. Just once you wish you could come to work and not have at least five people at a time want to ask you a question or pepper you with information you already have. 

You kind of wish you weren’t the head detective for another reason, too, but that’s a minor detail. Actually, that might be the reason you need to be the head detective; way easier to steer an investigation when you’re leading it. 

Nonetheless, you have no choice in which cases you lead or not. And that’s usually the reason why there’s three people cluttering your desk as you sit down. You’re not entirely sure that’s the reason today. 

You plop down in your chair and stare up at the talking men in front of you. The three of them notice you quickly (after all, it was them that yelled your name) and the chatter dies out. 

“I’m here half an hour early and I would love to know what made me skip my morning shower.” (It would have been morning shower sex, and you are a little very annoyed that you had to skip it.)

Your boss coughs, gaining your attention. “Briefing room. Five minutes.” The man looks slightly uncomfortable, but that’s not a big surprise. You’ve been told many times that you have that kind of face that makes people squirm; just something about you is, apparently, intimidating. 

“Okay.” 

And he walks away. 

“You two doing at my desk then?” you ask your coworkers. The two men are your right and left hand in most cases, but this one especially. You wouldn’t even be half the way you are now if you didn’t have them. (Though how much that says, you’re not sure, because you really have nothing.)

“Well…,” starts Mackie. His hand goes up to scratch his neck. “...really we just naturally gravitate here.”

You squint at him, and divert your gaze to Evans (who you know is a shitty liar). Even though you’re not opening your mouth to say anything and he isn’t looking at you, you can see the big man trying to make himself smaller. 

“We were gonna try and see if you’d left a hint to who you’re sleeping with,” he says, and despite the way he doesn’t meet your gaze, he says it so casually you’re actually taken aback. 

“Excuse me?” You let out a huff, and shake your head. “My sex life is my sex life. You two” ―you point at both of them― “have no business with it.” You stand up from your chair and shake your head yet again. “And if you really think I’d leave evidence lying around, I gotta figure out how to let you know that’s not something I’d do.” 

(And if you had, well, your career would for sure be over. If not worse.)

But with that out of the way, you make your way to the briefing room. Captain Cheadle, your boss, stands at the head of the table. In his hand, he holds a wireless presenter, and a few papers are scattered on the table in front of him. You take your place at the table, and as you do, your phone buzzes to signal a new message. 

The captain gives you a shrug and that’s all the permission you need to fish your phone from your pocket and check the text. 

[08.38] twh darling, you left something at your flat

[08.38] you you talking about yourself? that doesnt count

[08.39] twh that too but no, you left your keys

[08.39] you you doing anything today?? 

[08.39] twh you know i am, but i can get them to you

[08.40] you gtg but yes please or there are other solutions…

You let out a slight groan knowing you’ll have to figure out how to get your keys without actually meeting Tom. You can’t meet in public, and there are few places where you can meet without being discovered; there’s a reason you’re always at your apartment and never at his house. (well, you’ve been there once, but that was with work and it doesn’t count.)

Whatever his reply is to the latest text you sent, you don’t get to read (though you do feel the vibration on your thigh). Captain Cheadle has called for your attention, Mackie and Evans having seated themselves in the room as well, and you can’t do anything but pay attention to your boss. 

“The tip we got is an inside tip.” The captain steps aside to let the projector show a photo of the biggest crime boss currently in New York City, Tom Hiddleston. As with every other photo he’s in, he’s wearing a fucking blue sweater. “The source is reliable, as we know of their work with Hiddleston, but we’re not sure if the tip is.” 

He clicks to another photo, which is of the same man getting into a car. Only, he’s getting into the driver’s seat, something that is unusual for someone that has his own driver. “We can’t know if the tip is true or not, but we’re guessing there’s some truth to it.”

You roll your eyes slightly (not enough for the captain to notice). “Can you tell us what it is yet?”

Captain Cheadle nods. “There’s been a mystery woman in his life. None of his men know, but based on a lift in spirits and an increase in nights gone from his own house, they believe he has to be seeing someone. Rumor amidst his men, according to our tip, is that it's been going on for a few months.”

A knot tightens in your gut. A few months is a little less than correct, but yeah… It’s been six months since you started dating Tom Hiddleston. Off work, on a weekend, you met him in a bar, you got drunk and your mind didn’t work in any other way than tell you how hot he was and how good he made you feel. There was little persuasion needed for Tom to get you in a bed, naked, and screaming out his name. And so far, he’s managed to do it most nights since. 

(The case had been assigned to you a month after your first encounter. You’d known his name well before you met him, but that hadn’t stopped you. And, even as his girlfriend, you had no evidence on him whatsoever.)

Yet, after six months of no one knowing anything, you’d been fairly certain you’d get away with it. At least until either one of you got enough of pretending. Tom has enough money for you to quit your job should it come to it, the only problem being that you don’t want to because you love your job. 

“Did your source say anything about who the woman could be? Where to find her?” asks Evans. 

You wait patiently for the reply. Your gut stirs with the thought that they’d know, that just your face (usually a poker-face no one could read no matter how much you panicked on the inside) would reveal you. But you aren’t revealing anything but being deep in thought, as you can feel Mackie’s eyes on you as your own flicker across the room and a frown has pronounced itself on your face. 

“The tip was slight, but the source believes that there might be something to check at a bar. It’s one Hiddleston frequents, High Rise.”

Oh, if only the name didn’t chime with recognition at the back of your mind. There isn’t much to do but accept your fate and follow up on the lead, only try your best to avoid being recognized as the girl who left with Tom Hiddleston half a year ago. That could be rather easy, seeing as the bar was dark and you’d been wearing more make-up than usual and the dress you wore hadn’t stood out in any way, and it being six months ago.

You nod at captain Cheadle. “Anything else we should know?” 

He nods slightly. “There came one more thing with the tip, but this wasn’t a written message.” He roams around his papers for something and eventually fishes out an evidence bag. Inside is an envelope and something small you can’t see from far away. He slides it across the table to you. 

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of what lies in the bag. The envelope easily recognizable as one you’d written yourself (though you’d used a typewriter―fancy―so there isn’t any handwriting to check), and the content a barely visible silver and gold wristband inscribed with a phrase Tom has whispered time and time again in your ear (the most intimate you’ve been outside of sex); my safe spot is with you in my arms. 

Your fingers graze over it as you look at the inscription. “That’s pretty intimate,” you say, and an agreed murmur comes from your captain. 

“You traced it?” asks Mackie. 

“Untraceable. Paid in cash, no receipt, and might even have been done illegally.” 

At least you know that that’s not true, and if they’d tried just a little bit harder, it wouldn’t be that hard. 

“Fingerprints?” you ask, though not sure exactly where it comes from. (Or, well, it comes from the fact that you’ve touched the wristband on several occasions and that, unless wiped, there should be fingerprints all over it.)

You look up from the evidence bag to see captain Cheadle shake his head. “A few around the clasp, but none enough to make a full print, and any other we could find are only Hiddleston’s. The envelope’s the same”

“The question is whether Hiddleston sent it to someone or if someone sent it to him.” Evans motions for you to slide the evidence over to him, and you do. 

“He’s the biggest crime lord in New York, he’s gotta be real smitten if he’d make that to send to someone.” Mackie shrugs, not sold on the idea that Tom Hiddleston, crime boss extreme, could be sappy enough to send it apparently. 

Well, if only you knew what Tom would do for the one he loves, if only you knew.

“Well,” you say and clap your hands together, “seems we have more to do today than reports.” 

A slight chuckle comes from the three men in the room with you. 

“I want you, Mackie, with me on a trip down to High Rise. Captain, is it possible to talk to our source other than written communication?” 

A nod. 

“Then I want you, Evans, to have a little chat with Hiddleston’s ex-buddy. Let’s see if he doesn’t have more information, and if you can’t get much, try a little harder on the wristband. There’s gotta be something to look for there, maybe mention it to our source?”

“On it.” Evans gives you a thumbs up, grabs the evidence and walks out the door. You and Mackie move to do the same, and on your way there, you fish your phone out from your pocket. 

[08.41] twh i’ll have to get back to you on that, but you can probably count me in have a good day, darling

[09.27] you sounds great but, on some not so good news, you got a snitch amidst you and i have smth that belongs to you in evidence

You don’t wait for a reply, certain he’s busy and also because Mackie is a nosy asshole and you’re not gonna get caught on a text message. 

“You know where High Rise is?” asks Mackie as you make your way to your desk. 

“GPS exists, but I have a hunch,” you say as you grab your jacket. Unfortunately, that hunch is more a hunch that your relationship is getting threatened by your work. 

(“A hunch. Yeah, right, you’ve probably been there.”

“Careful what you say there, kiddo.”

“I’m older than you!”

“And yet, I’m driving.”)

--

[09.53] twh name? and what might that be?

[11.16] you i didnt get one but one of my guys is questioning him smth i bought you

[11.17] twh ill figure it out, and that has to be my wristband. how? 

[11.17] you you tell me

Mackie nudges your arm with his elbow as you make it inside the bar. It’s mostly deserted, highly unlike the life that was there the last time you set foot in the place. A man sits in the booth in the back sipping what looks like whiskey based on the glass and the brown liquid inside. By the entrance, a woman and a man sit across each other at a table. Each of them have a beer, though only the man looks to have touched his, and the woman doesn’t look too happy with him. 

However, you turn your attention to the bar, and the bartender behind the counter. Fortunately, he’s not the same one that was here when you were. Making your way over, you note the exits (the one you came in through, a backdoor in the kitchen, and―one you noted the first time you were there―the window in the ladies’ room). You also note the man sitting at the edge of the bar counter, back hunched over and an old fashioned placed in front of him. Untouched. 

“How can I help you?” asks the man behind the counter. A bushy beard covers his chin, ruffled brown hair the top of his head, and tattoos cover his upper arm, visible where his t-shirt sleeve ends. In his hands he holds a cleaning towel and a glass, but as you sit down, he slings the towel over his shoulder and puts the glass down. “Guessing beer for you, sir, and maybe a scotch on the rocks for the lady?”

You shake your head, and roll your eyes at Mackie’s almost nod. You’re at work, you’re not gonna drink. “Sorry, mister, but we’re here on other business.” You pull out your badge and give him a peek. 

The bartender’s eyes go wide. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t know. You could've fooled me.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Tom Hardy, co-owner of this shithole.”

“Shithole?” Mackie eyes the man. 

“Can’t say there’s a lot of good going on in here, really. Nothin’ illegal, though.” Hardy winks at Mackie and you roll your eyes. The last thing you care about is the tiny illegal things going on at the bar. “What can I help you with? There’s not been any complaints, right?”

Mackie shakes his head. “Relax, man, it’s got nothing to do with you. We’re looking for information on a man, also named Tom, but with a different last name. Hiddleston, heard of him?”

The scoff Tom Hardy comes with is barely audible, but you catch it and cock your head to the side. 

“Who hasn’t heard of Tom Hiddleston? Supposedly a big mafia boss, but the police has got nothing on him.” 

“We got word he frequents this bar. That true?”

Hardy nods. “He’s by at least once a week, sometimes more.” 

You try to drown the ache that falls over your heart knowing he still comes by. “You know what he’s here for?” 

The bartender shrugs. “Don’t get into that shit, but I know he has a deal with my co-owner, Luke Evans.” 

Mackie pulls out a pad and a pen and writes down the name. “Hiddleston ever leave here with a girl in the last few months?” 

Hardy shakes his head. “Nah, leaves with the same men, though he has gotten different. Before he used to indulge a little more with the women, but now he seems to not want to. They want him, though.” 

The ache fades a little at that. He’s loyal, he’s trustworthy, he’s yours. “Did he use to leave with girls before?” you ask. 

“Dunno. He’s usually here when Luke works, only some shifts we got together.” Hardy shrugs. “Though the times I have been here, he’s never left with a girl. He’s followed some into the bathroom, but never left with one. Gotta be some special girl for him to leave with her.” 

You suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Thank you, mister Hardy. Could you get us in touch with your co-owner? We wanna have a little chat with him, too.” 

“He works tonight. Sorry, can’t give you anymore.” The man picks up a glass again. “But if we’re done here, you’re gonna have me excused. I have a job to do.”

“Thanks for the cooperation,” says Mackie and pushes away from the counter. “We might come back for more.” 

You say a small goodbye as you follow after your coworker. On the way to the door, your eyes stray to the man in the back of the bar. Something about him seems off, and even more so when he holds up his glass and tips it your way with a slight hint of a ‘cheers’. The creepy smirk that places itself on his face sparks no comfort, and you let out a sigh as you walk through the door Mackie holds open for you. 

“Something wrong?” he asks. 

“Got a weird feeling from one of the dudes in the bar. Might be nothing, might be something.” You shake your head, slowly, as your thoughts whirr around in your head. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s here tonight, I might check into it, but it’s probably nothing.” 

Mackie shrugs. “We didn’t really get that much here either, though. Hope Evans got better luck.” 

“Yeah, gotta hope. But I have a feeling our source might’ve changed his mind on talking.” You open the car door and get in, Mackie following your lead. “I have a feeling Evans might not have been very lucky.”

“You thinkin’ we might end up with… homicide?”

You shrug. “Can’t be sure, but wouldn’t be surprising. Don’t believe we’re gonna be able to connect it to Hiddelston, though.” You start the engine and pull out on the road. “Don’t believe we’re gonna have any connection other than the guy’s snitching.”

“Good enough to talk to him.”

“Good enough to blow what we have if we do.”

--

The police station became a place of chaos in a matter of seconds. One moment, you’re talking to Evans on what he could find (the source had disappeared without a trace), and the next, it’s like the station is on fire. 

Evans, Mackie and yourself are out of the loop. You lean against your desk, your coworkers leaning against the neighboring ones, and look at the chaos erupted around you. People run from one place to another, screaming for help or otherwise. 

Then silence consumes the crowd as someone turns up the sound of the TV in the background. You turn to see the screen. On it, there’s a picture of a fire and countless dead bodies, burnt crisps until there is nothing recognizable left to see. 

“In just a few minutes the house, that belongs to the infamous crime boss Tom Hiddleston, went up in flames. Whether the man himself was in the house or not, we do not know. Police have yet to arrive at the scene, and the firemen are doing their best to put out the blazing fire. So far, we have no witnesses and no way of knowing what caused it. We’ll be back soon with more updates.”

You lock eyes with Evans and Mackie. 

“Our source was in that fire, wasn’t he?” Mackie makes a grimace, and then shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “You called it. You fucking called it.”

“I didn’t want to call it.” You shake your head. “And we’re not the force to go out there either, so we’re gonna need someone to talk to Hiddleston about this, about his source, without it being suspicious.”

Evans gets up from his place. “I’ll ask Sebastian.”

“That buddy of yours?” you ask. 

“This is the kind of case he gets called out on.” 

“Go ahe―”

“Y/L/N!” You’re cut off by the sound of your captain yelling your name. “You’re going out with the team. Take one of the boys. Don’t alert Hiddleston, but he’ll know why you’re there.”

“You got it, sir.” You turn to Mackie and Evans. “Looks like we got some luck after all. Which one of you wanna join me?”

--

When you pull up to the scene, the fire has been put out. But the fire that is the press and the countless people that’ve decided this is something they need to see live, that has yet to be handled. 

You and Evans walk up to the police barricade tape and shove it aside. An office tries to stop you, but you easily walk past after a flash of your badge. The head officer on the case is easily recognizable where he commands what looks like some junior officers. 

“What’s the deal?” you ask. 

He turns to you, and there you find Evans’s and Mackie’s friend, Sebastian Stan. He smiles at the two of you. “Got five casualties, one critically hurt on his way to the hospital. Medics think his fate’s been sealed. Other than that the fire’s been put out, and the owner of the house arrived about five minutes ago.” Sebastian points to a male figure pacing up and down the sidewalk. “Don’t know if I’d wanna talk to him though.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “We haven’t got much choice.” You’re about to walk from the officer, but you have one last question. “You got any identities on who died?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, and so far it seems the fire was an accident. No fuel used of any kind, nothing weird about the source, and the six that were in the house weren’t close to it. Three of them were asleep.”

“Didn’t the house have a smoke alarm?” asks Evans. 

Sebastian shakes his head. “Nope. And you’re not gonna believe what they, as of now, believe to be the source.”

“What?”

“A hair dryer. Wasn’t turned off.” 

You frown. “A hair dryer? Nothing else? It’s a pretty big house. Seems like a long shot.”

Sebastian shrugs. “So far we’ve ruled out arson, and seeing how annoyed the owner is over there, safe to say he wasn’t planning on burning his house down.”

Don’t say that. He wouldn’t care, seeing as that isn’t the house he uses mostly―that’s just the public one. 

Even Evans knows that, and you give him a look as you move away from Sebastian and towards said owner of the house. 

“Hiddleston,” you say as you near him. 

The man turns around. His expression is curious rather than angry, but something tugs at his lips as his gaze flickers over to Evans. “Miss Y/L/N, what do I owe the lovely pleasure?” 

“Your house burned down. Five of your men dead, and a sixth one just holding on. We’re thinking he’ll die, too, medics said it was critical.” You shrug. “But you already knew that, right?”

Tom smiles, and takes a step closer to you. You have to hold out a hand to stop Evans from coming in between, knowing you have somewhat of a bodyguard in the man. “Darling.” Tom’s hand comes up to cup your cheek and you have to fight the urge to lean into his touch. “How could I know that? No one wants to tell me a bloody thing.” His voice changes fast at the last sentence, the annoyance creeping in. 

“Did you set the fire?” asks Evans. 

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t mean to ask that. But we would like to know if there are any of your acquaintances missing?” 

Tom nods. “There’s one I wanted to talk to. Name’s Aaron Taylor-Johnson. Haven’t been able to contact him since last night, and that’s unusual.”

“You think he was in the fire?” 

The male shakes his head. “I don’t believe he was there at all, but I do believe he would do this. I got the impression he isn’t quite happy with me, or my decisions lately.”

He’s the snitch. 

“We’ll let you know if he was in the fire.” You use your hand to push Tom’s hand away from your face, his touch lingering a little too long to be a play (but you weren’t going to complain.) “I have one other inquiry.”

“Go on.” 

You take a deep breath before the words leave your mouth. He should be prepared, considering you told him what was in the evidence bag, but you can’t be sure. “Any girlfriends or women in your life we should know about?” 

He smiles (god, that smile). “Other than you, love?” 

Smooth. You can practically hear Evans roll his eyes behind you. 

“Yes, other than me.”

“Then no. I have a far too busy life to deal with girlfriends,” he says, and winks, “though you shouldn’t hesitate to contact me.” Tom leans in close, his lips grazing your ear and his hand taking yours―something cold grazes your fingers. “I can give you a night you won’t forget.” 

You don’t let the hitch in your breath show, and when he places a kiss to your cheek, you only stare at him as he pulls away (and let your hand find comfort in your jacket pocket where you let go of your keys).. “Don’t leave town, Mister Hiddleston.” 

“I won’t, darling.” 

And then you walk away together with Evans. He keeps glancing behind him, and the confusion is written on his face. 

“Just ask,” you say as you reach the car. 

Evans opens the door. “How are you not fazed by that?” he asks. 

You get into the car and shrug. “Because I don’t let it. He thinks it’s fun to play with me because I don’t have a reaction―” (ehehe, yeah right) “―I think it’s fun to let him. Eventually, something has to slip and we’ll be able to catch him on the spot.”

“But you gotta allow yourself to be harassed to do so?” 

You chuckle. “I wouldn’t call it harassment, hon. I call it work.”

Evans frowns as you start the engine and pull out of the parking spot. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed? When it comes to sexual harassment, Tom Hiddleston is the least of my worries.”

--

It’s supposed to be a brief stop; get into your apartment, change into something that doesn’t drag attention at a bar on a Thursday night (probably not going to be too crowded anyways), and get out. 

But when you walk in through the door, you see a pair of shoes kicked off in the entrance hall. A coat lies draped over your living-room armchair―a coat easily recognizable. 

You hurry to close the door, and kick off your own shoes. The trail of clothes leads you further into the apartment. A dress shirt folded together and placed on the cupboard in your living room. Pants lie discarded on the floor in the doorway to your bedroom. And the man who it belongs to, you find tangled in your sheets, buck naked with the exception of the tie around his neck. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, an amused smile plastered on your face as you shake your head. 

Tom lifts his head a little. A smirk colors his face and he shrugs. “Thought I could surprise you a little, before I have to get going.” He checks the wristwatch on his arm (which you first now noticed he hasn’t taken off either). “But you’ve used quite a lot of time to get here, and now we barely have time for anything.”

You shake your head, smile gone. “Sorry, babe, but I haven’t got the time.”

“What? You have plans for the evening?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but it still slightly hurts seeing as you barely get out of the apartment when you get time off. Really, six months ago was a chance meeting unlike any other.

“I have work.” You move to open your wardrobe. “But if you want, you can help me figure out what to wear.” You turn your head to cast Tom a glance, eyebrow raised. 

He turns a little, enough for the sheet that had covered him to fall off and leave him fully exposed. And with just the tie as a piece of clothing, you have to turn back around. God, what that man can do. You grit your teeth as you open the door and file through the few dresses you own, patiently waiting for his response. 

“What is it for?” he asks, and his velvet smooth voice does nothing to ease the growing arousal in your gut, not with the image of him and that tie the only thing on your mind. 

You swallow before you reply, but you don’t dare turn around. “Gotta talk to the owner of a bar, and don’t wanna drag attention with people there so we agreed to act less like police. Might have to have a drink or two.” You sigh, and close your eyes. “You should have waited with this until then.”

“What?” His voice is in your ear, warm breath fanning your neck. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. “You don’t like it? You’re not enjoying it?” His hands find the hem of your shirt. Fingers graze up along your skin and you find yourself complying when he makes a move to drag it off. 

“Tom,” you whisper. You lean into him, into the fingers tracing along your bra and the way his lips ghost over the skin on your shoulder, up your neck. “I don’t―” You shudder as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Ba― Babe, I don’t have―”

He tips your head back and his lips find yours. Barely touching, you close your eyes, and the image of Tom in bed and you using the tie to drag him to you has you swallow, almost succumbing to the pleasure you know you’ll get. His voice is low when he speaks. “Don’t have what?” 

You don’t answer as your hand shoots up to press his head closer to yours, to push your lips together. Everything you can think about is him, your boyfriend, and in a matter of seconds your clothes are off as well, and you sink into the mattress as Tom throws you down on your bed. Your eyes open briefly, to see him study the contours of your body and, even as you do give into Tom and your desire, the haste is still on your mind. 

With determination etched into you, you drag him to you with the tie and capture his lips in yours. There is no limit to what this man does to you, and there is no limit to what you let him. 

--

With the already extra time you used with Tom, you didn’t have the time to shower. You’d tried your best to fix your hair and do something extra with your make-up, but Tom didn’t have it in him to let you dress and time was wasted. 

Evans and Mackie pick you up outside your apartment complex in Evans’s car. As you approach, the two of them lean against it, deep in conversation. They barely notice you coming, but when they do, both give appreciative looks. 

“Looking good,” says Mackie, eyes travelling up and down your body. Evans remains quiet, the way his eyes dance over you the only comment you get (and you have to admit, you’re not really complaining.) 

You’d opted for something nice, but nothing too much. A skirt that stops mid-thigh, knee high boots with a thick heel, and a slightly revealing shirt. (You’d also opted for a thigh holster so that you could still bring your gun. 

“You’re wearing that.” It’s more a statement than a question from the naked man resting on your bed. 

You nod, and glance his way. “Problem?”

Tom’s eyes graze over you, hunger evident in them. “I would certainly like to take it off.” 

You lift the hem of your skirt, revealing the thigh holster with your gun. “This too?”

“Yes, and right now.”)

In your hand, you have a clutch and you’re also wearing a coat to keep some warmth in the cool evening air. “Shall we go?” you ask. 

And the two men both get off from where they’re leaning against the car. Mackie easily offers up the passenger’s seat to you, even though whenever it's him and Evans fighting over it, it’s first come first serve. You smile a thanks and then you’re on your way. 

Evans parks a few blocks away from the bar (his expensive Audi with tinted windows certainly drags some attention), and you use the walk there to go through the course of action. 

“Mackie’s the cop-cop. He’ll talk to Luke Evans, try something else. We try to talk to some of the people there. Whether that’s as a cop or not, I don’t really care. All we really need is a lead. If anyone sees any of Hiddleston’s associates, please alert the others.” 

The two nod. “Sure, but before we go in there, you have to fix your hair.” 

You raise your brow at Mackie. “Excuse me?”

“You got sex hair.” He gives you a ‘sorry’ smile and a shrug. “Like, we’re not judging you for having it, but if you’d told us you had a visitor we would’ve waited to come to give you more time.”

“Fuck.” You shake your head and stop. “One, help me fix my hair. Two, I wasn’t planning on it. I was ambushed.” Something that isn’t really that far fetched, it’s not like you knew Tom would be there when you came home.

Evans stops in front of you and asks with his face if he can help, and you nod. His hands move to brush a little through your hair, and fix a little on what probably stands out. 

“How could you get ambushed?” asks Mackie. 

You roll your eyes. “I got home, there were some clothes lying around, I followed the trail to a naked man in my bed and seeing as it’s the guy I’m currently seeing it wasn’t a bad sight. I tried to tell him I didn’t have the time, but he can be quite persuasive.”

As you talk, Evans tugs a little harshly on your hair and you let out a pained sound. He apologizes, but continues to try and fix your hair. 

Mackie shrugs. “How long have you been seeing him?”

You shrug. “Few months.” 

“How many months are a few?” asks Evans, his hands letting go of your hair and an approving smile on his face. He steps away to get Mackie’s blessing and the man nods affirmative. 

“Uhh, six.” 

Both Mackie and Evans stare wide-eyed at you. 

“You’ve been dating a dude for six months and not told anyone?!” If you didn’t know better (and you’re not always sure you do), you’d think there was a layer of accusation in Mackie’s voice, but you don’t believe there is. 

You shrug and begin to walk again. “What does it matter? It’s not like there’s a need to know about those things.”

“I thought we were friends.” Mackie shakes his head, a small friendly glare sent your way. 

“What made you think that?” you ask, but the same friendly feel to your words as there was to his glare. “But can we let it go? I don’t want to talk about my private life.”

Evans nods. “We’re here anyways.”

And you sure are. You look up to see the blinking neon sign of the bar. The bass from the music drifts to where you stand by the door, and with a quick glance inside, you can see it’s fuller than you expected for there to be another work day of the week left. Though you do notice the age of the people; it's possible the college kids don't have class tomorrow, or don’t care. 

The three of you make your way inside, gaining a few glances as you step in, but everyone quickly turns back to their own lives. You give a small sign to the two men you came with and move away from them. 

It’s easy to step up to the bar, and you easily recognize the bartender as the one who was there when you met Tom. You’re guessing he’s Luke Evans, and you take a breath before you signal him for a drink. Hopefully, you won’t be recognized. 

“What can I get you?” he asks. 

“A whiskey, thanks.” 

He pushes away from the counter, and easily grabs a glass and a bottle and pours. When he puts it down in front of you, his gaze lingers. “Have I seen you before?” 

You shake your head. “Has to be somewhere else than here in that case.” 

“First time?” 

You nod. 

“Recommend not drinking a lot. We get some sleazy people in here.”

“I hear you also get crime bosses. This the place to meet the Tom Hiddleston?”

Luke chuckles. “Hon, if you want to meet Tom Hiddleston, I suggest you start being careful what you wish.” He nods to the back of the bar. “Best luck is sitting down in that reserved booth. It’s his usual.”

You cock your head. “He’s coming here today?”

The bartender nods. 

“Ain’t I lucky,” you whisper and smile at him. You easily get away from the counter and make your way to the empty booth in the back. 

Sure enough, a sign reading reserved is placed on the table. Who it’s reserved for doesn’t say, nor is there a time stamp. You make for sliding into it, but a hand grasps your wrist and pulls you away. 

As you fall into the chest of the stranger, you turn your head. The man who you’d seen earlier today is the one holding you back. Up close, you notice bags under his eyes and he reeks of alcohol. You pull away from his grip and raise a brow his way. 

“I wouldn’t sit down there if I were you,” he says, and slides into the same booth he had earlier. 

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Tom Hiddleston isn’t a man to mess with.”

“And how do you know so much about Tom Hiddleston?”

The man pats the seat next to him. “Sit and I’ll tell you.”

You hesitate, but eventually slide in. You leave room between yourself and the stranger. If anything were to happen, you do have a gun.

“You got any relation to Hiddleston?” you ask (you have to admit, no matter how much you want your boyfriend not to be caught, you wish you knew more about what he did do). 

“Name’s Aaron.” The snitch. 

You motion for him to go on.

“I was hired by him three months ago. He felt the cops were gaining and wanted something, or someone to try and put a stopper to it.” 

“So, Tom Hiddleston hired you to snitch on the cops?” You want to laugh, seeing as you snitch enough for Tom to never know exactly what you know, but enough to cover his tracks. 

Aaron shakes his head. “He hired me to snitch on a cop. A specific one.” 

You frown, sure if he was hired to snitch on you you’d know and he would have recognized you. Perhaps he had. 

“The cop’s here today.” Aaron’s gaze travels into the crowd of people in the bar. You see where he looks. Evans. “His name is Chris Evans.” 

“Why did he want you to spy on him?” 

Aaron shrugs. “He never said. And eventually, I got sick of it. The guy’s obviously not a threat to Hiddleston and his business. Y/N Y/L/N is, but it’s impossible to find out anything about her. Don’t even know what she looks like.”

You try not to let it show that you flinched at the mention of your own name. And you find it weird that he can’t find anything on you. Tom did so, easily. But there’s no need to dwell on that. You glance at Aaron again, unsure how to ask. 

“You say you got sick of it. What did you do? Just stop doing his bidding, or something else?”

A smile colors Aaron’s face. “Snitched to the cops. Left a message. Anonymous, but I gave them a way to contact me for more information.” He shakes his head. “Got contacted today, but never replied. But I saw you here this morning, talking to the bartender.”

You cock your head. That could be an easy way to draw the connection to you as a cop, not necessarily as Y/N Y/L/N, but you had been seen with Mackie, and usually Mackie and Evans were seen with each other. 

“I have a proposition for you,” he says. “One that means getting close to Hiddleston, and that includes spying on him. Mics, cameras, whatever. I need him in jail.”

“I’m gonna have to say no. I was just hoping for a night, a friend of mine told me he was real good in bed.” You shrug. “But if you have angered him, I got told by the bartender that Hiddleston comes in today.”

Aaron smiles. “You’ll have to excuse me, then. I hope you don’t anger him with only the intention of a one night stand. Based on how you look, I’m pretty sure you’re his type.” The male slides out of the booth, downs his drink in one go, and waves goodbye. You watch as he moves to the restrooms, and you roll your eyes when he winks. 

[10.47] you snitch is alive, in the restrooms hiddlestons supposed to come in today

[10.48] evans no snitch in the restrooms, window’s open tho guessing it was the guy that slipped past me just now

[10.48] you guess so mackie u got anything from the bartender

[10.50] mackie that hiddlestons coming in that their deal is just renting of the venue from time to time

[10.50] you well just have to do the best of it then im sitting in his booth so if he comes hell notice

[10.51] evans sure thats a good idea??

[10.51] you would very much like to know why he put someone to spy on you evans snitch was hired to keep tabs, got annoyed he wasnt keeping tabs on me

[10.51] mackie dam i wanna know that too be careful

You look up and meet the gazes of your coworkers. Evans looks uncomfortable, worried almost, judging by the crease between his brows. Mackie gives you a look of understanding and a pair of thumbs up. 

You down your drink, try to cover the hiss as pain sears down your throat, and make to sit down in Tom’s booth. On the way in, you knock over the reserved sign, making it fall to the floor. Now, it’ll look like you didn’t know. 

[10.57] mackie Incoming

The front door opens slowly. Heads turn to look who comes through, and unlike when you arrived with Mackie and Evans, everyone’s eyes stay on the man who weaves his way through the crowd. 

Tom stops by the bar, has a small chat with the bartender and turns his head to look your way. A smirk grazes his lips as your eyes lock, but he quickly turns back to the man he was talking to. 

You swallow. You have to steady your beating heart, have to shove the thought of the night’s previous events to the back of your mind, and kill the deep swirling feeling in your gut at the sight of Tom in that blue fucking suit. God, if there was something Tom Hiddleston was made to do it’s wearing suits.

The blue color suits his very being. It’s tailored to fit him perfectly; long legs encased in blue fabric that shows off his bum, suit jacket that fits his shoulders and back in a way that has you swallow. You can see his broad shoulders and some of the tightness that drags at his muscled arms. What you can’t wait to see, is how well the shirt underneath fits him. You simply can’t wait for him to pull off the jacket. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to wait very long. With two drinks in hand he makes his way up to where you sit. He doesn’t say anything as he places them on the table, nor does he say anything when he pulls up the reserved sign from where it lies on the floor. He places it back on the table, eyes you warily, and sides into the booth. 

Long arms grasp for the drinks. He pulls them in and pushes one to you. “Can you drink, darling? You’re working, right?” 

You take the glass and swirl the liquid around inside it. “I can, actually.” And you take a sip. “But I won’t drink a lot.” 

Tom moves closer to you, knocking his thigh against yours. You take a deep breath at the touch, the only one you can return―Tom flirting with you whilst you work is no news, but it would be quite different if you did the same. “Have you been waiting long, darling?” 

“No, I haven’t. I managed to preoccupy myself.” 

“Oh, can I hear?” 

You shake your head. “What good would you have of that?” you ask. When you get a shrug in return, you roll your eyes and take another sip of the whiskey. “I have a question for you, though.”

Tom cocks a brow. 

“Why did you need someone to spy on Evans?” 

Your heart beats fast as Tom moves even closer, lips coming up to ghost across your cheek. You can see that the two in the crowd of people keeping a close eye on you flinch, but you don’t make a gesture to show any discomfort. “Have you not noticed, love?” 

You push him away by placing a hand on his chest. “Noticed what?” You try to pull your hand back but Tom places his over yours and keeps your touch on him. A small hint of the love he usually offers you shows through the blue of his eyes. 

“The man likes you, darling. A little too much. Can’t have another man try anything with my woman.” Tom’s gaze flickers out to the crowd, and as you follow it, you see how it lands on Evans and how your coworker squirms. “Now, if only I could show him.”

“Tom,” you say, voice bordering on affectionate. His eyes flicker to you in surprise; he’s only ever been Hiddleston in public. “There’s nothing to worry about, and if you try anything, anything at all, you will have a gun to your head.” 

Tom chuckles. “Are you threatening me?” 

“You know where the gun is.” And the hand that travels up and under your skirt, grazing by the thigh holster, has you swallow. You take a deep breath as his hand travels a little further, and the only way to stop him is to grab his hand. “I didn’t say you could check.” You push at him a little, creating more distance between you two (even though you would like to sit close to him). 

“I didn’t think I needed permission, love.” He smirks and you shake your head. 

You smile innocently at him. “Usually you don’t.” You go to slide out of the booth. “Bye, Hiddleston.” 

Tom grabs your arm and pulls you back to his chest. “Have you really made that big a dent in the case of the Blue Sweater?” he whispers in your ear. You writhe in his grasp, but a firm hand turns your head to him and his face draws closer to yours. “Tell me what I need to do to have the lead again, darling. I’ll do anything.” 

And you can’t stop the sound of surprise that escapes you when Tom presses a chaste kiss to your lips. The surprise is so big you only stare wide-eyed at him, not able to kiss him back (and good is that seeing as you’re in public), and when he pulls back, you push away from him and shake your head. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say (no teasing or play in your voice), and then you walk away. You rush out of the bar, feel Evans’s and Mackie’s eyes on you, and when you get out of the front door you lean against the wall. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re panting, and you can feel the rush of adrenaline making its way through your body. 

You may like to play with fire, letting him flirt and show affection in public, but you wouldn’t ever go this far. You wouldn’t ever think he’d even risk it. 

“Are you okay?” comes a voice from next to you. Evans and Mackie have made it outside, and you push off the wall to start walking to the car. 

“We’re not talking about it,” you say. 

Neither of them make a move to say more, and you can hear them follow after you. Tom might be the worst person in history to be in a secret relationship with. Or maybe the best. You haven’t decided yet. 

--

It’s no surprise to see the people surrounding your desk when you get to work. Your two usual pests sit at their own, and though not a part of the group waiting for you, they shoot you glances as you sit down. 

You try not to glare at the group, but when they all just quietly stare at you, the anger bubbles. “What?” you ask. 

A small murmur goes through them, until your impatient glare becomes too much and one voice squeaks out, “did Tom Hiddleston kiss you?” 

He has more than once, you think. 

You don’t reply, only giving them an unamused look in return. They quickly scatter, and you can hear the chatter that bubbles up amongst them. 

Not only do you not have the patience for stupid pestering (and annoyance at Evans and Mackie for spreading the word), but your morning was the worst in a while. It’s almost become a usual for Tom to sleep over, whether because he falls asleep after sex or if he just wants to cuddle, but when you came home yesterday, there was no Tom. 

And no Tom means no morning cuddles, or a goodbye kiss as you leave out the door. On top of that, he hasn’t texted either. No saying why he didn’t show. No explaining why he risked a kiss in public. 

A text you did get in the morning, was a journalist asking for an interview. Especially interesting was the lack of respect for an ongoing investigation, and the bold way to ask whether or not you were secretly helping Tom not get caught (you want to know how they would even guess it. That’s a pretty bold assumption to make about the lead detective on a case). 

Tired, you rest your elbow on the desk and lay your head in your hand. You massage your forehead slightly, and there’s no mistaking the groan that leaves your lips as your thoughts swirl. 

A knock on your desk pulls you out of it. You look up to see Mackie leaning against it. “You okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. We gotta talk about what information we got, though. But I don’t trust… I don’t want to talk out here, so, briefing room in five minutes. I don’t know if Evans heard, but make sure he did.” 

Mackie scrunches his nose slightly and presses his lips together. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Briefing room’s occupied.” 

You curse under your breath and shake your head. “We got a meeting room, that occupied?” 

Mackie shakes his head. “Not that I know.” 

“We’ll meet there.” And as he gives you a thumbs up, you get up from your desk and move to the captain’s office. With a knock and a mumbled ‘come in’ you walk into the room and close the door behind you. 

Cheadle looks up at you. “I heard what happened.” 

You nod. “Yeah, but there’s something else I’m here about.” 

He quirks a brow. “Oh? Important?” 

You pull out your phone, ignore the new message you’ve gotten and find the text from the journalist. You hand the captain your phone. “Got this this morning. I want to know how they got my number, what made them think I’m colluding with the guy I’m trying to catch, and what the hell made them believe I’d ever talk to a news source about an open investigation.” 

“That is weird.” Captain Cheadle hands you back your phone (just in time, too, because a message chimes in from twh). “When you have time, come back in here. I know you’re gonna talk to the guys now, but I’d like for it to be soon. And check if they haven’t gotten the same one.”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh and walk out again. You head for the meeting room and on your way you pull open your text thread with Tom. 

[08.18] twh darling we need to talk i think i have some information you’d like to have

[08.23] you gonna talk about smth else too or just your problem??

[08.23] twh im sorry, darling, i got caught up in work we can talk about both tell me when you have time and ill show up at your flat

[08.23] you tonight, 8 

The reply goes by you as you open the door to the meeting room. Evans and Mackie already sit down, Evans with papers in front of him and Mackie with his phone out on the table. You frown, but sit down across from them. 

“I don’t know who wants to start.” You look between the two men, and when neither say anything, you shrug. “Guess I’ll go then.” You take a deep breath. “Our snitch’s name is Aaron Taylor-Johnson, the man Hiddleston mentioned yesterday when we questioned him about the fire. He isn’t dead because he was in the bar. He says he was hired a few months ago to keep tabs on Evans, but he got sick of it because, according to him, you’re not the threat. On the other hand, I am, but he didn’t know he was talking to me.”

“Did you find out why Hiddleston got him to spy on Evans?” asks Mackie. 

You shake your head. “Hiddleston didn’t answer that. Snitch didn’t know himself, but he said he tried to keep tabs on me, too, only he couldn’t. He didn’t have anything to go on, no information, no way to know what I look like. And I find that interesting. Why would Hiddleston go out of his way to make sure they couldn’t do anything to make me a culprit or anything?” 

“Maybe because Hiddleston has the biggest crush on you?” asks Evans, and there’s no mistaking the hint of spite in his voice as he says so. “Or, he finds you that big enough a threat he can’t have his guys going around doing stuff to hinder you because you’re smart enough to be able to connect it to him?” 

“I hope the last,” you mumble. “But there was definitely something he wasn’t telling me. He seemed to know more than he let on, but I couldn’t push like I usually do because then he’d know. I want to see if we can contact him again, because he knew we tried yesterday without luck.”

“We’ll try, but I don’t think we’re gonna get much either.” Evans nods, and all three of you let out sighs. 

You motion for them to start talking instead. Evans slides you a piece of paper. Not much is on it, but the words are clear. You look up at him. 

“There were some regulars there that have witnessed Hiddleston many times. The man I talked to said that.” Evans coughs. “‘He’s always alone, at least when he sits, but he leaves with men. Never has a girl around him unless they come up to him, hasn’t had one in a long time. Only once did he leave with one. She was pretty, looked rather intimidating, actually. Don’t think it lasted.’ The man also went on to ramble about how after that, Hiddleston hasn’t been seen with a girl. Well, before you.” 

“So he has left with a girl once.” Mackie confirms. “Luke Evans said the same thing. A pretty little thing that edged in on the man unlike no one he’d seen before, and that surprisingly got to leave with him. He’s never seen the woman again, and he found that odd. He doesn’t believe Hiddleston’s got someone in his life, though.” 

You bite your lower lip. “Well, that is something. Any descriptions?” 

Both shake their heads.

“There is one thing I noted, though,” says Mackie. “If Hiddleston does have someone he likes, is with, whatever. He so openly flirts with you that that woman has got to be furious, and he probably wouldn’t have kissed you either. I think the wristband was sent to him, not from him.” 

You nod. “I believe you’re right there.” You know he’s right, but that’s details you’re not sharing. “But I have something more interesting.” You fish your phone out of your pocket (ignore the new messages from Tom) and open up the one you got this morning. 

“What’s going on?” asks Evans as you place your phone in front of them on the table. They read over the text and cast eyes up to you. Something in the look both send, they’ve seen something similar before. 

“Got it this morning.” You snatch your phone back, seeing the almost pop-up about a new text and not risking who it’s from. “I need to know who believes I’m colluding with the enemy.”

Mackie nods as he opens up his own phone and slides it across to you. “We got the same text, though slightly altered. They’re asking if we know anything about you colluding with Hiddleston.”

[06.53] unkown Hi, I’m a reporter from New York Times. I was wondering if there would be released more information pertaining to the Hiddleston case, and what you know about Hiddleston and Detective Y/L/N’s relationship to the man. I heard last night that they kissed, and maybe the reason you haven’t caught him yet is something entirely else than him being good at what he does.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. You slide Mackie’s phone back to him and let out a loud sigh. 

Things are not looking very bright. 

--

A/N: thats what i have. if you want to, reblog this with a continuation, but please dont steal any of this and act like it’s your own. i worked a lot on this when i still had motivaton but i wanted to at least share it even if i wont finish it, to which im deeply sorry

would always want to know what you guys think... 

[deniigi]

I WOULD LOVE A DAVE FIC !!!

Excellent. Here’s for you and  @dudewhereismy-tardis

I am putting most of it under the cut because it is LONG

Dave (Daredevil copycat from Inimitable Verse) POV. Reminder that Dave is not his real name, but one given to him disdainfully by Wade in this verse.

Title: rises in the east

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

“Dad.”

What?

“Dad.”

What time was it?

“Your phone’s ringing,” Charlie said. “It’s the boss.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Give it here,” Dave rasped, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Mom said you’re gonna hurt your back sleepin’ on the couch,” Charlie reported as she shoved his phone into his palm.

“My couch, my rules,” Dave said. He crammed the phone to his ear. “Ansel here,” he said.

Charlie wanted to stay home and if she was a year older, Dave would have let her. But alas. The last time he’d let her stay home, she’d texted her friend Jesse who had become unspeakably jealous and had appealed to her own parents for such freedoms, and now the whole block thought that Dave recklessly abandoned his daughter when he went to the goddamn grocery store.

All that for a can of Sprite, man.

This neighborhood was off the fuckin’ charts sometimes.

Case in point: Dani standing in front of him in the lobby with her hands on her hips, telling him that he needed to wear a tighter t-shirt or to start flexing because they were losing business.

“Dani, I’m an instructor,” he reminded her. “I’m hired to do classes.”

“It’s two hours,” Dani said. “Take the damn fliers.”

But he didn’t want to?

Dani blinked at him slowly from under her headband.

 --

 Charlie was having a great time and Dave was glad for that because he was not. He was being stared at by every person in the street as if they’d never seen a dude with muscles before.

It was the shirt.

He knew it was the shirt.

And possibly his nipples. Smashing the brochures high enough against his chest to cover them wasn’t going well and the highlighter teal underarmor Dani had forced upon him left very little to the imagination here.

There wasn’t anything else to do but let the poor things live their best lives.

“Dad, gimme more,” Charlie said.

She tugged at the brochures covering what was left of his dignity.

Blessed child, who hurt you?

“Where did the others go?” he asked her.

Charlie pointed across the road to a gaggle of ladies leaning out from their stoop, smiling.

Ah.

Yes.

Them.

“Let’s try for someone who looks more like a bro,” he told his offspring.

Charlie blinked up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

Oh, baby.

“Because they’re an easy mark,” he said. “Go up and say ‘my dad can take you’ and send ‘em my way, okay?”

Charlie’s face went from confused to ready to kill instantly.

This was her game face. This was her ‘I’m gonna wreck this goalee’s teeth’ face.

Dave shouldn’t have been proud of her, really; her teachers said that she was becoming argumentative and obstinate in the classroom. But there was just something there in the fact that his kid sure as shit wasn’t no sheep that made his chest feel big, wide, and full of hot air.

“I’m on it,” Charlie said.

He gave her three brochures and let her scramble off to the other side of the sidewalk and then turned to meet the eye of a family with a father with neat hair and the beginnings of triceps peeking out from under his sleeves.

“You lookin’ for a gym, sir?” he asked.

The guy looked his way and eyed him up.

He took a flier on his way past.

 --

 “Excuse me?”

“One second, man,” Dave said, doing the rock-shuffle to keep all the fliers on the table from blowing away.

“Excuse me.”

“Hey, I said just a sec,” Dave snapped.

He turned back and found himself staring into the dark eyes of a bald man with olive skin and deep wrinkles in his forehead.

And Dave knew him.

Holy shit.

Dave knew him.

Fuck.

God.

Jesus, Lord.

“I am so sorry,” he started.

“DAD.”

Ch—Charlie?

He looked down and sure enough, holding Rudolph ‘Diamond’ De Luca’s massive bearpaw was his very own daughter. De Luca made her wiry, suntanned limbs seem like unbaked pretzels.

He was so much bigger than he’d seemed on TV all those years ago.

“This your kid?” De Luca asked.

Jesus.

“She is. I’m so sorry,” Dave said, “Did she—she didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“Dad,” Charlie whined. “Don’t tell ‘im that.”

“I’ll pay for whatever damage—” Dave continued.

De Luca blinked at him impossibly slowly with long dark eye lashes. He turned his face slowly back down towards Charlie.

“You sure this is your old man?” he asked.

Wh—

Wait.

What the hell did that mean?

“That’s him,” Charlie moaned. “He’s just bein’ dumb. Dad. Stop bein’ dumb. This dude’s the real deal. He’ll fight you in a heartbeat.”

Dave grabbed his child before she could cause any more damage. She made a fuss, but let go of De Luca’s mitt. Dave shoved her behind him, just in case this situation got any more tense than it needed to be.

De Luca lifted an eyebrow at that and then brought his face back up to Dave’s.

“Who’s gym?” he asked.

What?

Oh.

“Spitfire,” Dave said. “We’re, uh, just about there, on the—”

“I know where you’re about,” De Luca said.

Dave didn’t know what to say. De Luca held his eye.

Oh, god.

This wasn’t going well.

“How old are you, son?” De Luca asked.

FFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffuck.

“38,” Dave said.

“And your baby girl?” De Luca asked, gesturing with his chin down at Charlie.

“I’m 12,” Charlie told him brightly.

“Hm,” De Luca said.

He shifted his weight back and wrapped a few fingers around his chin, surveying Dave’s whole body like he was the statue of David with a knee injury.

Dave became intimately aware of his nipples again.

“Not bad,” De Luca said.

Oh, thank god.

“Thank you, sir,” Dave said. “Is there, uh, somethin’ I could help you with?”

“You got an accent,” De Luca noted.

Uh?

“A good accent,” De Luca said. “Whereabouts did you grow up?”

Oh.

Well.

Dave could actually just point to it from here. The condo was still standing, despite all building codes and actual alien invasions. At this point, the only thing that was gonna take it down were the rampant, rapidly mutating, borderline feral gangs of chickens that roamed its halls.

Not that anyone spoke about them.

No, that was inviting trouble to your doorstep.

“The chicken coop?” De Luca said.

The one and only.

“Bless you, you poor fuck.”

Yeah, that tended to be the usual reaction.

De Luca laughed.

“You’re a funny guy, uh,” he squinted at Dave’s nametag, “Ansel?”

How could a word sound so wrong in someone’s mouth?

Where had Dave’s life gone wrong that his own name sounded so foreign and distant to his ears?

“Actually,” he said, swallowing, “My uh, my friends call me ‘Dave.’”

De Luca’s head snapped right up and slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, now, that’s a good name for ya,” he said. “You look like a Davy.”

Hng.

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Welp.

Time to get that birth certificate changed.

“Listen, Davy,” De Luca said casually, “Your baby girl there was tellin’ me that your boss has you out here like dancin’ monkey; is that true?”

Fffffffffff.

Technically yes?

“It’s even his day off,” Charlie whispered.

Dave wrapped a hand over her face.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It happens. Folks’ve been sick lately. I don’t normally do this kinda thing.”

De Luca’s face said that that was real cute. Real, real cute, honey.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s just say it like this. Where you work don’t gotta be where you train.”

Oh.

Was he offering--?

“If you decide to drop by, tell the guy at the desk Rudy sent you,” De Luca said. “Your kid’s real sweet, Davy. She can come too, lord knows the damn place is a daycare at this point.”

“Thank? You?” Dave stuttered.

“Don’t mention it,” De Luca said.

He left. Dave watched him waltz down the block and wave at the gals collected on the stoop at the end of it and felt a little lightheaded.

“Dad?”

Not right now, champ.

“Dad? Is he famous or somethin’?”

HHHHHHHHHHNG.

 --

 Back when Dave had been 14 and scraping the tips of his fingers into callouses on the old guitar he’d found tossed into a dumpster in the Upper West Side, he’d had to compete with the sound of the couple fighting in the apartment next door and with the radio the old man downstairs always had playing on his fire-escape window.

The old man downstairs was a real hard-ass. Always slammed a broom into the ceiling, scaring the shit out of Mom and Dad and sister and auntie. Dave had never seen him not smoking, nor had he ever seen him without suspenders.

The man was a retired plumber, apparently. And while Jim Beam was his main vice, his passion was boxing.

To the tune of chords picked out of an out-of-tune guitar, Dave had listened to tinny commentators oohing and awing over match after match, until finally, when sleep wouldn’t come one night, Dave had snuck out of the room he’d shared with Flora. He’d settled down on the living room couch, next to his old man splayed out in the recliner.

Dad had lifted his eyes slowly his way and told him that he should have been in bed.

Dave had told him that he couldn’t sleep because the couple next door was makin’ up from their daily afternoon argument and Dad had just sighed.

He’d let Dave stay up with him and the TV in the living room had fuzzed and rattled away, making sounds really familiar to Dave at that point.

Boxing was a sport that he had, up until that night, left to his father. But for the lack of anything else to talk about that wouldn’t make his dad look at him with disappointment in his eyes for all that damn music-playin’ and eyeliner, he’d asked who the guy on the screen was.

And that was how he’d learned about Diamond De Luca.

About Kenny Varga. Bert ‘The Albatross’ Kleinfeld.

But there was one guy who Dad had mentioned was his favorite rookie and, now it felt both kind of silly and surreal that the name had been spoken so casually in Dave’s home growing up.

Dad had been puttin’ money on Battlin’ Jack Murdock back when Dave had been a little kid.

He told Dave, disappointedly, after a few weeks of Dave getting up at 12:30 to come out and watch boxing with him that he’d really thought that Murdock was gonna be the next big thing.

Guy was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Dad had said, shaking his head. But wolves that got too wily got put down and Battlin’ Jack had been found in an alley, bled out in the arms of his reason for fighting.

Dad said it was a fuckin’ shame that Murdock had gone out with a slug in his head.

A fuckin’ shame, he said.

Dave didn’t remember him every saying that Murdock’s reason for fighting was a blind ten-year-old, but the thought was now merged with that memory.

That, in itself, was merged with the memory of Dave’s phone ringing one night was Addie’s name on the Caller ID. Her voice was shaking when she told Dave that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just called her from an unknown number.

He had their baby.

He’d snatched her and Jesse out of the arms of two men looking for girls to be used in businesses Dave didn’t want to think about.

He’d saved them.

The devil had heard their screams when no one else had and he’d come flying out of the dark.

He’d held the girls in the light of a bodega and he’d coached Charlie through typing Addie’s number into his phone and then he’d taken it from there.

Addie was too scared to go meet the devil on her own. Mason hadn’t been around yet and so Dave had thrown on his shoes and had meet her on 46th.

The devil was on 48th, swinging his boots with both girls in his lap.

They were all singing. The devil had pretended like he didn’t know the words to Britney Spears’s ‘Toxic.’

Matt Murdock was under that mask.

Knowing that this whole time, he’d been the one dragging a stick against the fences and bricks of Hell’s Kitchen was almost impossible to digest.

And Dave had worked with him now.

He’d seen that smirk and that notorious jaw unwrapped from its red armor and that didn’t make reconciling the murdered boxer’s son with the man who’d saved his daughter any easier.

Charlie hadn’t remembered him.

She thought that Matt Murdock was a weird fuckin’ dude, and granted, he was a weird fuckin’ dude, but Dave had to say: he was grateful.

Matt Murdock not only brought home his baby, but he’d given Dave purpose in a life that had become consumed by the daily grind.

Matt Murdock had smiled in his direction, never quite into his eyes, and he’d passed along the baton with next to no fight.

Dave wasn’t him.

Dave would never be him.

Matt Murdock wasn’t just some poor murdered boxer’s blind son. He was the product of some serious poverty. Some serious violence. A whole fuckin’ cult induction, if he was to be believed. And Dave wasn’t so sure if he was always to be believed.

But he still appreciated Matt Murdock for what he’d done and what he’d made for this part of the city.

He’d made Daredevil.

And he shared that with Dave.

Dave’s own dad’s approval hadn’t felt like the honor that had come with Matt Murdock’s covered eyes and curled lip slowly relaxing as he’d lifted his face up from Dave’s knees.

He hadn’t been inspecting.

He’d been listening. Dipping his fingers into the blood in Dave’s heart and deciding if he was worth his salt.

Matt Murdock, son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym in the Kitchen.

Diamond De Luca, retired heavyweight, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym.

The stars had aligned. And Dave had stood in their path.

And he wasn’t wasting the chance that they offered him.

--

Charlie was stoked to be allowed to come to the gym with him. She usually went to Jesse’s house, where Rubes would look after both girls for a few hours.

But De Luca had said that it was okay for her to come along, and so he figured, why not?

Fogwell’s was an institution in the Kitchen. All kids deserved to know their own history.

“I’m gonna fight Fogwell himself,” Charlie announced halfway down the block.

“You will not,” Dave told her. “Because I’m not tryin’ to get thrown out before we even get started here, alright?”

Charlie whined.

He ignored it.

 --

 This wasn’t the first time he’d been to the gym. Matt Murdock slipped in and out of it when he was in the city and he’d taken the whole team there once or twice. But it was different to be there in the presence of the daytime crew.

Dave felt very small in their presence.

The whole place was full of people pounding bags and swearing and shouting at kids who were tumbling all over the rows of benches set off to the side of the bags.

It was not what Dave had been expecting.

He told the guy at the front that ‘Rudy’ had recommended that he stop by and got a nod and a wave.

“He’s probably upstairs,” the receptionist said. “Go pick a bag, I’ll give him a buzz.”

 --

 Charlie refused to join the kids on the benches because apparently that was ‘only for babies, Dad.’ She wanted to hold the bag.

She was not, in one thousand years, holding the bag.

Dave wrapped her hands and let her go at it first to ‘soften it up’ for him.

De Luca caught him adjusting the demon-child’s thumbs before they ended up at the hospital again and laughed.

“Davy-boy, you made it,” he said.

Dave snapped up straight to attention.

“I did,” he said.

De Luca laughed again.

“Relax, kid,” he said. “Damn, you’re tight wound. Don’t worry, we won’t tell no one you’re sleepin’ with the enemy.”

Ahahahaha.

Please don’t.

These people were jacked. Dave was but a kickboxing instructor.

“Here, bub, lemme see what your pops has got,” De Luca said, shooing Charlie out of the way.

And this was the moment of truth.

 --

 De Luca seemed surprised when Dave finally laid off the bag. And Dave couldn’t read his expression for a million bucks.

“Uh?” he tried. “Not good?”

De Luca blinked himself back to earth.

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s just uh, you fight a little like someone I know.”

Please don’t say a mobster.

Please don’t say a mobster.

“Kid used to live around here; name’s Matt Murdock,” De Luca said. “You know him?”

Did—

Did he know him?

QUICK. Answer the question.

You’re takin’ too long.

He’s gonna—

“S’alright if you don’t,” De Luca said. “I was just sayin’. Kid was like one of my own.”

He—

What?

“Yeah, boy fought like the devil like his daddy before ‘im,” De Luca said. “He’s the only one Fogwell lets call him ‘Grandpa.’ He’s about your age, actually. God, I’m old.”

AHAHAHAHAHA.

Please change the subject.

“You’re not that old,” Dave said. “I think I might have heard the name.”

Charlie looked up at him, baffled at the hedging.

He pleaded with her with his eyes not to say a damn word.

“Yeah, he’s somethin’, left here for San Francisco. Didn’t even say good-bye, the little shit,” De Luca sniffed. “Came back last year all ‘I’m gettin’ married’ and I swear to god, he’s picked up some kid. Just between you and me, pal, the old guard here have been talkin’, and we think that someone missed out on the sex ed talk, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Oh.

Poor Sam.

He wasn’t even there to scream from the mountaintops that Red was a last resort for him at best.

“I’m just sayin’,” De Luca said with a shrug that spoke far more of supreme irritation than nonchalance, “He coulda just told us. I’m just sayin’.”

Any more ‘just sayin’s’ and Diamond De Luca was gonna go find a wall to bury them in.

“Did you, uh, have any feedback?” Dave blurted out as the guy started mumbling.

“Hm?”

“Feedback,” Dave repeated, waving a gloved hand at the bag.

“Oh. Yeah, loads, kid. You got all the muscles and not a damn lick of memory, here, lemme show you.”

Crisis averted.

Thank god.

 --

 D2: hey uh, DD?

SM: DAVE

S2: DAVEEEE

S3: DAVE

SM: what’s up man?

D2: nothing I was just trying to get ahold of DD?

BT: He’s trying to get Kirsten to give up her dreams of an indoor office pond rn. Can I help?

SM: I want an indoor office pond

S3: omg same

D2: uh yeah actually could you just tell him I met a guy named De Luca the other day and he might want to give him a call?

BT: de Luca?

D2: yeah

BT: okay sure thing

D2: thanks

BT: I’ll go see if I can get a word in edgewise.

SM: good fucking luck

S2: I hate fish

S3: leave this place and never return

S2: I HATE FISH

DD: WHAT

SM: oh shit that was quick

D2: oh. I was just saying that I met Diamond De Luca the other day?

SM: ?? Who’s that?

DD: oh no

S2: ??????????????

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): who the fuck is that?

DD: are you still with him?

D2: no?

D2: he caught me out fliering and invited me to Fogwell’s

D2: and when I got there he mentioned my stance was like yours and he uh

D2: got a little distracted

DD: what kind of distracted?

D2: He thinks Sam’s your bastard kid

BT: GODDAMNIT

DD: FOR FUCKS SAKE

BT: First Mrs. Jones, now this guy?? TEACH.

DD: These people have zero faith in me I swear to god.

DD: like come ON man. I did sex ed in the same class as Angie he knows I’m too catholic for that shit

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): I looked this man up and he looks like an Italian nate with less hair

SM: wh

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): okay you’re right he looks nothing like nate

SM: that

SM: that’s not even slightly helpful, wade, thanks not at all. Hey who’s angie?

DD: long story. Rudy’s daughter

S2: RED YOU FUCKED A BOXERS DAUGHTER?? That’s a million dollar baby man

DD: I

DD: what?

DD: no? Why would I fuck angie she’s like my sister?

S2: oh nvm

SM: 😬😬😬

S3: I am confused ❤

D2: you should probably call him, friend

DD: on it. thanks for the notice

DD: hey what’s your fuckin name again?

S2: f

S3: f

SM: f

D2: It’s Ansel

DD: Adams?

D2: not the photographer. Ansel West.

SM: WEST

S2: OMG

S3: guys don’t

SM: I BET YOURE A SUNSET DAVE

S2: YOU EVER FEEL CALLED TO THE PRAIRIE DAVE???

SM: YOU’RE A&W, DAVE!!

S2: ROOT BEER ROOT BEER

D2: ah yes. Middle school. I remember this feeling.

--

Dave laid his phone on his chest and stared back up at the ceiling.

It was never dull, this new life he’d settled into.

He said a prayer for Murdock and rolled onto his side.

It was still his goddamn couch.

 --

[queenmendes]

things are changing | pt 1

shawn x reader x connor

Summary: you are Shawn’s best friend and on tour with him but how will things change after he starts dating Camilla? Lucky for you, a certain videographer is your shoulder to lean on.

Word Count: 1800ish

A/N: wow, so a lot of you enjoyed the sneak peek I posted! Thank you all for the love on it and I hope you enjoy the first part of this! Let me know what you think! I was going to write so much more but decided to do a small little series instead Xxxx p.s I think I spelled her name wrong but i don’t really give a fuc ✌🏼

                              +++++++++++++++++++++ 

“Sorry, maybe next time.”  

“I’m with Camilla.”

“Actually, I have plans with Camilla later.” 

Those were a few of the many excuses you have heard since you rejoined Shawn on tour. Shawn has been your best friends since birth practically. Your parents were close so naturally, you two became friends early in life. Since the beginning of his singing career, you have been there. Flying out to see him as much as possible to waking up at 2 am to help him through his anxiety, to even enduring many late nights in the studios, despite having no musical talent, because he wanted your opinion. Shawn was your shoulder to cry on; the one you had movie marathons with every time he came home. The one that helped you study for exams, despite not knowing what any of it meant. Shawn was one of your people. It’s always been him, you and Brain.

But things have changed since you came back on tour. His constantly hectic schedule wasn’t the problem. Shawn was caught up in his new relationship and was leaving you behind. You weren’t necessarily jealous or envious, but it hurt that he didn’t seem try and find time for you, his best friend. It hurt even worse that he didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. Someone else did though. Since Shawn was constantly busy, Connor has taken it upon himself to fill the gap.

“I don’t know how you do this every day.” You said, leaning your head against his shoulder as you helped him edit the new footage from the past previous shows. Well you say help, but really you just made comments on everything he did to mess with him. His video was amazing; he truly was talents with a camera. Currently, you two in his hotel room in Miami before the show.

“Trust me, this is the worst part.” Connor said, eyes glazed over from staring at the computer screen for too long. His stunning blue eyes still bright as ever though. You stood up and flopped down on the bed, that was next to the desk Connor was working at. “Hey, hey. We don’t rest until we finish.” Connor stood by the bed now.

“But, I’m sleepy. And technically, this isn’t my job, so there is no ‘we’. ” You tease. Connor raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is that so?” Before you could say anything else, his fingers attacked your sides, sending you into a fit of loud laughter. Despite your attempts, he did not stop tickling you. The only thing that saved you was the knock on the door that echo throughout the room. “You got lucky.” He smiles before walking over to answer; you took the chance to wipe the tears from your eyes and catch you breathe. The smile bright and big on your lips, however.

“Hey man. It’s time to go to the arena.” Brian said at the door. Connor nodded and the two walked further into the room. “What did I just walk into?” Brian smirked at your currently place on the bed. Your hair and clothes were disheveled from trying to get out of Connor’s attack.

“Shut up.” You pushed the red head playfully as you stood up, straighten out your clothes and smooth your hair. “He decided to attack me.” Connor gasped in horror.

“I would never do such a thing.” His hand on his chest, a fake insulted expression on his face. Brian rolled his eyes at the banter between you two but smiled. It was good to see you laughing again; he knew how much it affected you that Shawn wasn’t hangout with you.

“Hey, no one has seen Y/N in hours. Do you guys know where she is?” Shawn frantically walked into the room. The singer paused, sighing in relief at the sight of you. “Thank god. Where have you been?”

“With Connor. I was helping him edit his footage.” You said, and the playful mood changed into something more serious when you saw the way Shawn eyed Connor.

“Oh please, all you did was eat my candy and question my decisions.” Connor teased you. You stuck your tongue out at him, like the child you are. Shawn just stiffly stood there.

“Well, we need to leave to the arena.” Shawn said after a moment of just staring. You awkwardly nodded, grabbing your bag from the chair as Connor got what he needed. Brian silently watching the exchange, as Shawn left without another word.

“Hey, don’t think too much about it.” Brian whispered to you, as the three of you followed the tall, curly head. Your expression reminded him of a kicked puppy as you stared after your best friend. Nodding and placing a smile on your face, Brian wrapped his arm around your shoulder  as walked to the elevator where some of the team was waiting.

Connor winking at you when you made eye contact, causing you to make a goofy face back. The two of you laugh lightly as the elevator doors opened; neither noticing the Shawn’s envious eyes watching.

+++++++++++++++

The next day was a free day in Miami. A bunch of the team decided they wanted to spend the day at the beach, and you were completely fine with a relaxation day. A knock sounded throughout the hotel room you were in.

“Open up, open up.” Brian repeatedly banged on the door. You rolled your eyes at his impatience’s but still let him in. “Finally. Come on, I am starving. I’m withering away as we speak.” Brian dramatics were amusing.

“I only wish to be as dramatic as you one day.” You mocked but grabbed the bag on the chair and walked out the door with him following.

“Not possible. I’ve been perfecting it all my life.” Brian played along as you stopped by Shawn’s room, to see if he wanted to eat with you. You knocked on the door, much more gently than Brian did previous. It only took a few seconds before the door swung open, and there stood the tall rockstar. He smiled at you, which you returned.

“We’re getting food before we head out with everyone else. Wanna come with?” You asked cheerfully. Shawn didn’t answer, staring at you instead; the happy, bright look in your eyes made you glow, and look absolutely stunning. “Shawn?” You asked, knocking him out of his trance.

“Uh, sorry, what?” Shawn asked, glaring at Brian, who gave him a knowing look.

“Do you want to go eat with us?” You asked again, your tone hopeful. Shawn gave a small, regretful smile.

“Oh, I’m actually going to eat with Camilla.” Shawn confessed, his heart hurting at the look of disappointment on your face. You tried your best to conceal it though, but he knew you too well. You just nodded.

“Next time, man.” Brian said. “We’ll see you at the beach.” The red head led you down the hall, where Connor was just coming out of his room. Shawn watched longingly as your face brighten  when the LA native hugged you. An unfamiliar feeling filled his body at the thought of someone else making you smile like that; someone that wasn’t him.

“Hey, actually, I can raincheck with Camilla.” Shawn said, rushing down the hall to joining the small group. He already knew this was going to piss Camilla off, but he didn’t care once he saw how your eyes gleamed of happiness at him joining.

“Are you sure?” You politely asked, not wanting to make him feel obligated. Shawn had never been surer of anything.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Shawn smiled a million-dollar smile, before grabbing your hand and leading you into the elevator. Shawn and Connor made eye contact; the normal,friendly banter between them was gone. May the best man win. 

Tag List: @turtoix @physicshawn @im-a-stranger-thing @shawn-youth @dreamersseeincolor @spn-marvel-nerd @someinsanefangirl @tinycertain @unsolvedhearts @ykicantbefoundwithyou @marissje @mae-petite-etoile @michellemxndes

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.  

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.  

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”  

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”