#like maybe….maybe this time it will perk me up…

[mattsundaes]

suna rintarou x f!reader — 18+, period sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, blood, and they were roommates

roommate!suna who never fails to notice when you’re upset. who’s all snark and flirting until the moment that the downturn of your mouth seems genuine.

who hates the dickhead you’ve been sleeping with.

who hates him even more when you try to wipe away the fresh sheen of tears that coats your cheeks when you quietly slip in the door just past midnight.

who doesn’t even have it in him to make a teasing remark about your late night booty call not even letting you sleep over, not when you collapse on the couch beside him in a heap of sniffles. not when he recognizes the sweatshirt you’re wearing as his.

and when suna asks what’s wrong, you find that you’re too tired, too annoyed, too flustered to make up any excuse other than telling him what really happened—you got your period, and he thought it was gross. gross enough to make it abundantly clear he didn’t want you spending the night in his bed, either.

and because it’s suna and the boundaries of conversation between the two of you are nonexistent on a good day anyway, you dig your hole even deeper as you pathetically lament into a throw pillow, “i’ve been so horny all week and my vibrator broke and i kind of feel like i’m losing my mind so now i’m going to have to go use the shower head so i don’t make a gross mess—“

maybe it’s just because you’re exhausted.

maybe it’s because you know the guy you’ve been hooking up with hates suna just as much as suna hates him.

maybe it’s because the ache between your thighs has reached a maddening fever pitch.

“—i have a better idea.”

maybe it’s because you’ve been fumbling beneath a suffocating blanket of sexual tension with suna for years.

whatever it is, when suna interrupts you, your mouth snaps shut, and you tilt your head with interest.

he huffs out a quiet laugh at the way you perk up, thumb wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “you’ve just got to trust me.”

trusting him, as it turns out, looks like you sitting on top of a towel on the couch with your legs spread, suna kneeling on the floor in front of you. and you don’t even have time to feel yourself burn with embarrassment over the mess he’s looking at, not when suna outright groans as he sinks a long finger into your soaked folds.

“stop covering your face,” suna murmurs, his gaze boring a hole into your own when he starts pumping two fingers in and out of your wet hole, every thrust met by the filthy squelch of blood and arousal.

you let your hands drop back down to your sides, head falling against the back of the sofa as he curls his fingers inside of you and strokes your swollen clit with his thumb.

“and don’t ever let anyone tell you this is gross,” he breathes out, free hand caressing your inner thigh as your blood coats his fingers.

“isn’t it, though?” you exhale, hips twitching as pleasure ricochets through your nerves, the coil in your gut winding tighter as you feel the towel beneath your ass grow wetter by the minute.

suna breathes out through his nose, an amused exhale, and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of the smear of blood that’s dripped all over it. “do you know how hard i am right now?”

you inhale sharply at the implication, and suna grins, pumping your soaked, filthy cunt even faster.

“if anything, you’ll think i’m the gross one for what else i wanna do,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your skin.

something bright and hot slides down your spine, and you swallow hard. “show me.”

if suna’s fingers in your blood-soaked pussy had you squirming, his tongue has you on the verge of sobbing, desperate tears clinging to the corners of your eyes as his name tumbles from your throat in gasping, hiccuping breaths.

fingers buried in his dark hair, suna moans as he eats you out, one hand clearly palming his dick through his shorts as he laves at your wet slit, sucks on your throbbing clit, and thrusts his tongue into your tight hole.

you think you’re begging for something, anything. you don’t even know what at this point. suna sounds just as wrecked as you feel, your blood smeared all over his lips and chin as he fucks you relentlessly with his tongue like he’s trying to devour your pleasure whole.

your orgasm tears through you, shoving a scream of pleasure past your lips while suna thrusts two fingers back inside of you and laps at your clit until you’re shaking and whimpering from the overstimulation.

—but it’s not enough, somehow.

not when you see the sticky, red mess all over his face and hands.

not when you watch him lick one of his fingers clean.

not when you see the wet spot of precum that stains the front of his shorts, his erection still straining against the material.

suna seems genuinely surprised when you rise from the couch and push him to the floor, eyebrows shooting up as you pull down his shorts and boxers and let his flushed cock spring free.

you stare down at him for a moment, the unspoken words written clearly across your face—but will you think i’m gross for what else i want to do?

suna smiles, hands sliding over your thighs as you straddle him, and he mouths, show me.

it’s filthy—the way you slide your soaked folds up and down the length of his cock. the blood and arousal that soaks his dick as you tease him until he’s gasping.

until he’s groaning your name and panting as you ease his thick cock into your aching pussy, his hips twitching with each wet, sticky inch.

you ride suna until you come all over his cock, until the feeling of your tight cunt contracting desperately on his length is what finally sends him over the edge, stuffing you deep as he fucks his cum up into you with sloppy, jerking thrusts.

you’re both a mess when it’s over, blood and cum sliding down his dick and dripping from between your thighs, the carpet somehow spared from it all as you reach behind you for the towel.

“shower?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

you raise a brow, “now you think i’m gross?”

“no,” suna smirks. “i was just hoping you’d show me how you were planning on using our showerhead.”

[sweetromanova]

Claw & Order: Part Two🐾

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is being accused of grand theft feline. The evidence? A very smug tabby. The problem? She kinda loves him now.

A/N: part three and four to follow👀

Chapter Two

“HEY! YOU- YOU- CAT-THIEF!” Natasha looked up.

You were storming down the stairs of your building like you’d been lying in wait, fists clenched, murder in your eyes, a crumpled flyer flapping like a war banner in one hand. You pointed at her with all the rage of someone who had been personally victimised by every member of SHIELD.

“I knew it.” You shouted, practically vibrating. “I knew someone stole my cat- YOU stole my cat!”

Natasha raised a brow. “Excuse me-“

“You kidnapped him! You cat-napped him! An Avenger CAT NAPPED MY CAT?! How righteous.” Your voice was borderline hysterical now, rising with every word. “You lured him with your fancy assassin snacks and your deceptively soft clothes and he fell for it like a TRAITOR!”

Liho meowed, completely unfazed.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” You snapped, jabbing the flyer toward her face. “This photo has been up in every coffee shop and bodega within twenty blocks!”

“I didn’t see it.” Natasha said evenly, trying to not escalate the situation. “He showed up at the tower and I thought he was a stray.”

“Oh yeah? Just conveniently stray enough to wander past all the fancy Stark tech and security guards and make himself comfortable on your designer duvet?

Natasha blinked. “He… has good taste.”

“HE HAS A MICROCHIP!”

“I didn’t scan him.” This was going no where, Natasha thought. “Look I fed him tuna once. Maybe twice.”

“TUNA?!”

“It was organic.”

“You seduced my cat!”

Natasha stared. “…I’m sorry. I what?”

“You seduced him with room service and shiny toys and now he thinks he’s too good for my IKEA furniture!”

Natasha glanced down at the carrier, where Liho was poking his paw through the mesh, entirely unbothered by your escalating volume.

“I didn’t plan this. I didn’t steal him. He just kept coming back.”

“Oh, right.” You scoffed, sarcasm dripping. “Like some furry little Mission Impossible agent, scaling compound walls and disabling Stark defenses to get a snack from a redacted Russian spy? That’s your defense?”

“…He’s very agile.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better be glad I don’t press charges.”

“I already brought him back.” Natasha pointed out.

“Too late! The damage is done! I’ve been crying into a $12 pint of oat milk ice cream for three days! Three! I thought he was in a gutter!”

Natasha said nothing. She could’ve explained, maybe. Apologized, awkwardly. But you were on a roll now, hands flailing as you listed her crimes.

“Do you know how many times I circled this neighborhood? How many hours I spent crouching in alleyways calling him like a sad ex at 2am? You stole my cat, you tuna-wielding homewrecker!”

“…That’s new.” Liho chirped like he found that accurate.

“I’m taking him back.” You snapped, reaching for the carrier. “And you- you can go back to your lonely, emotionally repressed murder-bed without him.”

Natasha didn’t fight you.

You took one last glance of anger at her and turned, muttering angrily under your breath as you stormed away.

Natasha watched you go. Under her breath, she whispered. “You’re welcome.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

There was something about the post-mission debrief that always felt like therapy with too many snacks. Except this time, no one had been on a mission. And Natasha was very much not planning to talk about feelings. Or cats. Or the fact that her apartment now felt weirdly quiet.

She sipped her drink slowly, eyes fixed on the news silently scrolling across the TV. Clint dropped onto the couch beside her with a grunt.

“You good?” He asked, reaching for a bowl of popcorn like it hadn’t been someone else’s hand.

“Fine.”

“Sure.” He said, unconvinced. “You’ve been brooding harder than usual. Even for you.”

“I am not brooding.”

“You’re brooding in HD.”

Sam strolled in from the kitchen, grinning. “Is this about the cat?”

Clint perked up. “Wait- what cat?”

Wanda entered right behind him, looking way too pleased with herself. “Oh.” She said sweetly, grabbing a sparkling water. “You mean Liho? The one Natasha definitely didn’t steal?”

Natasha exhaled slowly. “I didn’t steal him.”

Wanda flopped onto the other couch and crossed her legs. “Sure. He just ‘appeared’ in your room. Every day. For a week.”

Sam grinned. “With his own blanket and feeding schedule.”

Clint’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, you adopted a cat?!”

“I didn’t adopt him.” Natasha muttered. “He adopted me. And I gave him back.”

Wanda sipped her drink. “After the yelling.”

“What yelling?” Clint was nearly vibrating now. “Who yelled at you?!”

“Can I just say I’m never telling you anything again Witch?!” Natasha looked up, deadpan. “His original owner found me, in the street as I tried to return him. Yelled at me for ‘seducing her cat with premium tuna and fancy furniture.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Clint exploded. He doubled over on the couch, practically weeping with laughter. Sam dropped his drink. Wanda didn’t even try to hide her smirk.

“Oh my god.” Clint wheezed.

“No!” Sam shouted. “NO WAY! She really gave it to you? To your face?!”

“She accused me of ‘weaponising tuna against her.’”

Clint was now on the floor.

Wanda raised a brow. “…Did you?”

Natasha blinked. “It was organic.”

More howling.

Clint was trying to breathe. “You- you- an international assassin got publicly shamed for catnapping via affection. This is better than the Budapest file.”

Sam wiped his eyes. “Please tell me there’s security footage.”

“There’s probably footage from some security camera.”Wanda said smugly. “FRIDAY?”

“Would you like it on the main screen?”

“No!” Natasha snapped.

“Yes.” The team chorused, she was never living this down.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Natasha lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet, no soft grumbles, no light breathing or purring.

She’d already cleaned the corner where his toy mouse used to be, washed the blanket, closed the window Liho used to sit in.

She hadn’t realised how used to the soft weight of him she’d become. The purring, the judging stares when she didn’t finish her food.

She exhaled.

“…I am not a cat-seducing menace.”

No one answered.

Except, maybe, the empty spot at the foot of her bed.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

It was a couple days later and the morning had started like any other, mildly chaotic. Clint had stolen Wanda’s yogurt bowl, Steve was pretending not to notice and Sam was arguing with FRIDAY about music choices in the gym.

“Something’s going on downstairs.” Tony commented, looking at the security alert on his phone.

“Something as in nothing or something as in I’ve got to suit up?” Sam questioned, praying for the first part.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Some crazy woman shouting about a cat.”

Clint didn’t miss how Natasha’s tensed.

“Maybe we should ask Friday.” He suggested, still staring at the redhead that was looking everywhere but him.

“I mean sure, if you care so much.” Tony shrugged, clueless to the growing tension. “Friday, what’s the situation in the lobby?”

“It appears a civilian in the lobby is demanding to speak with Agent Romanoff. They’re… emotionally distressed and accusing you of cat theft. Again.”

Wanda dropped her spoon into her cereal.

Clint spun in his chair. “No. Way.”

“I don’t have the cat!” Natasha exclaimed.

“Wait- What Cat?” Tony was left ignored as the redhead stormed downstairs.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You were already yelling by the time security hesitantly opened the doors.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The receptionist blinked. “I- Can I help-“

“Don’t play dumb, I know she’s here! Natasha Romanoff! Red hair, dead eyes, probably smells like tuna and theft!”

You held up the flyer, crumpled, tear-streaked, freshly re-printed.

“Milo’s gone. Gone! And do you know what that means?” You shouted, spinning toward a confused security guard. “It means someone took him. And there’s only one person insane and manipulative enough to do that! THE CAT-SNATCHING, TUNA-BRIBING ASSASSIN HERSELF.”

There was a long pause as your words echoed through the lobby.

Then the elevator dinged.

Natasha stepped out and stopped. “…What the hell is happening?”

You turned slowly, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched like this was round two of a grudge match no one else was ready for.

“You.” You hissed, voice shaking. “You took him again.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “What—”

“Don’t play innocent. He was fine until you got your emotionally stunted hands all over him. Now he’s vanished. Again. Like a tiny, furry double agent with a jetpack.”

Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.

Behind her, Sam whispered. “Should we be calling, like, a professional?”

Clint leaned over the balcony. “Let them fight.”

You stomped closer, tears barely contained. “He slept in my laundry basket. He batted my toothbrush under the fridge! We cuddled! I thought he was safe and then I come home and he’s just gone and there’s only one person who’s ever made him leave before- you!”

“I didn’t take him.” Natasha said, quietly but firmly.

“You didn’t not take him either!”

Natasha stepped forward, voice low. “Do you really think I’d take him after everything? After what you said to me on the street?”

You faltered.

The weight of everything slammed into you, panic, sleep deprivation, guilt, missing fur and empty corners and all the soft little rituals that had vanished with him.

“I-“

“I don’t have your cat. I returned him the second I found out he was missing.” Natasha explained. “So I’m sorry he’s gone but I didn’t take him.”

“But-“

“Are you sure he’s missing?”

“I’m sure. He doesn’t do this, ever. We don’t have much but…” You faltered, tears springing in your eyes. “We don’t have much but we have each other and he’s never left for this long.”

Natasha hesitated.

“I just want him back.” You whispered, suddenly feeling just so so tired.

For a second, just one heartbeat, Natasha’s expression cracked, worry flickering through her cool mask.

“…Let me help.”

You looked up at her, startled. “What?”

“Let me help you find him.”

You blinked. “But… I- I shouted at you.”

Natasha sighed. “You did and maybe I deserved some things you said.”

“Not the tuna thing.” You muttered.

“No, definitely not the tuna thing.” She said. “I fed him. I didn’t brainwash him.”

“He chose you over me.”

“He chose whoever had snacks. Don’t take it personally.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

She held out her hand. “Let me help.”

You hesitated… then nodded.

Somewhere above you, Sam whispered. “So is this a rom-com now or what?”

Clint was already placing a new bet in the group chat.

[hearts4hughes]

With the leaked pics of Wheezie’s actress being on set that came out I request ex!Rafe and reader who’s close to Wheezie.

Maybe one day when she’s hanging out with him outside and they see reader. And Wheezie admits she misses reader but doesn’t think reader will hang out with the little sister of reader’s ex boyfriend.

wheezie’s sitting on the porch swing, knees pulled up to her chest, twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie between her fingers. the breeze is sticky with june humidity. she’s mid-rant about her calc tutor when rafe finally looks from his phone.

“you’re not even listening,” she mutters, catching it with a scowl.

“because it’s boring,” he says, not looking up from his phone.

“you’re boring.”

“you’re a child.”

“and you’re so annoying.”

he smirks, stretches, doesn’t respond. the porch creaks as he leans against the railing, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. that’s when wheezie sees you.

you’re across the street, head tilted, hand gesturing mid-conversation with someone she doesn’t recognize. there’s a tote bag over your shoulder, a pair of headphones around your neck. you look soft and so familiar it hurts.

wheezie goes quiet. rafe follows her gaze lazily. then the earth stops. his whole body stills, like a dog catching a scent.

“she’s with someone,” wheezie says after a second, voice low. “not with with. just…walking.”

rafe doesn’t say anything, but his jaw clicks. you haven’t seen them yet. or maybe you have and you’re just pretending you haven’t. you’re good at that—avoiding things, especially him. rafe watches your mouth move, eyes skimming the curve of your jaw, the way your fingers curl around the strap of your bag. there’s a flash of silver on your wrist—his. well, it used to be.

“you know,” wheezie says suddenly, sharp with the kind of honesty only little sisters get to use, “she didn’t just leave you. she left me.” rafe’s gaze flicks to her, unreadable. “she was like. she was there…all the time. she knew my coffee order. she let me borrow her nail polish even though i always messed it up. and now she’s never around.”

he blinks and scoffs, biting his fingernail. “what, you want me to fix it?”

“no,” she snaps. “i want you to not be the reason it’s broken.” that lands harder than it should. he straightens a little. wheezie sighs and picks at the label on the waterbottle near her. “she probably thinks i’d choose you.”

rafe’s quiet for a long time. “you wouldn’t?” he asks like it’s a shock.

“not if you’re the reason she cries every night.” she shrugs and scrunches her nose. he doesn’t reply. doesn’t move. just sits there and watches you laugh at something the guy says, head thrown back like rafe never existed.

when you finally glance across the street—eyes catching on the two of them, just for a second—wheezie lifts a hand in a soft wave. you smile and wave. a small, gentle thing. hand raised and real. it’s not meant for rafe, but he knows that.

wheezie perks up beside him, waving back with both hands like she’s twelve again. “see?” he says quietly. “she doesn’t hate you. i’m the one she hates.”

still, he’s frozen in place. your smile—it’s not nothing. it’s not for wheezie only. not the way your eyes linger on him, not the way your mouth tilts like you know he hasn’t stopped watching you. but, he doesn’t smile or doesn’t wave back. he doesn’t give you anything at all.

because if he does, he’s afraid he’ll walk right across the street and kiss you in front of everyone just to prove you’re still his. so he just sits there, mouth hanging open, ruined in silence, and watches you walk away.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[emilys-bangs]

courage, dear heart | e.p

Tags: established relationship (although reader isn't really in the fic), mom!emily, college graduate eloise, momily comfort, healthy dash of angst, lots of tears and lots of reassurances, no use of yn

Summary: Eloise comes back from college—adrift, spiraling, and slinking back into the safety of Emily's shadow. Emily helps her get things straight. Inspired by this ask.

Word count: 1.8k

Emily is not quite asleep when the door handle creaks. She expects the intruding figure to be Oliver, probably looking for a phone charger or a snack, but is surprised to see Eloise’s shorter silhouette against the hallway light. Emily perks up, her body half rising off the mattress on instinct.

“Sorry.” Eloise says, cringing as she shuts the door behind her. “Were you asleep? You got in not too long ago, I thought—”

“I was awake.” Her head meets the pillow again, her eyes tracking Eloise as she rounds the other side of the bed, void of your usual presence, and lifts the duvet up. “What’s up? You couldn’t sleep?”

Emily knows the restlessness that comes with moving house. Even if “moving house” is just going back from a college dorm room to the home you grew up in. Something changes, even though—in nearly every sense—nothing has. The puzzle pieces just don’t quite fit anymore; there’s a distinct discomfort lingering even when you come back to your childhood bedroom, squirming in your bed like maybe you’d outgrown it in an inch or two while you were gone. For Emily, there was never comfort at home, even before she left. Coming back after college only confirmed her need to break free, to leave the shackles of the embassy behind and go somewhere, anywhere, else. She knows that now, Eloise feels the same, a new version of her forced back into a house that’s gone virtually untouched by time.

Emily can only hope that, unlike for her, the feeling fades.

Even in the half light, Eloise’s smile is tight. “Didn’t try.” She says, sliding in and making the bed dip, her dark head nestling on your pillow. Emily waits as she situates herself, scooting closer and closer to her own pillow until the brown of Eloise’s eyes shines bitterly in the small lampshade light on her nightstand. 

It’s a color she’s not quite used to. There’s blue shadows pooling in her irises, deepening the brown to a murky black that reflects light all too easily. 

Emily hadn’t noticed it right away; it had taken time, over the course of the few days Eloise has been back, to notice the dullness that blunts her usually sharp edges. Her smile, the corners of her eyes, her wilting posture. It’s all been sanded down.

Emily is reaching for the messy hairs strewn across her face when Eloise slots her head under her jaw, arm wrapping around her, hand curling around her side.

Oh.

Eloise gets comfortable against her, lifting the duvet up to her shoulders, shifting her legs this way and that, movement rustling the bedsheets. Emily lets her wriggle. She’d never grown out of her restlessness, even while stagnant; she barely lets herself settle into a comfortable position before shifting again, curling and unfurling her limbs, turning from one side to the other. 

Finally she stills, a warm weight at Emily’s side. Emily’s lips curl as her own arm loops over to her daughter’s side, her hand smoothing down her back.

“Hey, bug.” 

Eloise huffs softly, a warm breath at Emily’s collarbone. “You used to call me that all the time,” she says, her voice small.

Emily hums, her heart glowing. “’Cause you were my cuddle bug.” She murmurs fondly, kissing Eloise’s forehead. “My cuddly girl. You hardly left me alone. Remember that?”

When she still had baby fat clinging to her limbs, when her cheeks were rounded and full and always turned to her mother’s lips for a kiss. Eloise’s home had, for a too-short while, always been in Emily’s shadow, in her arms. 

Now, back in them again, she’s quiet. Emily frowns. She’s idly playing with her daughter’s hair when she feels something hot slide across her skin. Then Eloise gasps, a choked sound, and Emily realizes they’re tears.

“Eloise,” she says, alarmed. “Honey, what—”

“I wanna go back.” Eloise cries. She fists Emily’s shirt, her sniffles muffled in the crook of her mother’s neck, “I wanna go back, Mom.”

“What, to when you’d followed me around? You can still do that, sweet girl.” It immediately feels like the wrong answer, the first one that presses itself onto her tongue. Twenty one years of parenting, and she still fumbles it sometimes. “I promise you can. Ollie does, and he’s fifteen. He wouldn’t know personal space if it was an inch from his face.” She rambles mindlessly, the words pressing up against her teeth.

Eloise doesn’t reply. Her chest heaves against Emily’s, shaking with barely suppressed sobs that echo in the quiet room, the weight of her gasps heavy in her throat. Emily automatically shushes her, dry-mouthed as she rubs between her shoulder blades.

She wants to go back. 

Go back where? College? The Europe trip she just came back from? Away from home?

Emily swallows thickly. “El, baby, talk to me. Please. What is it? Where do you want to go back to?” She coaxes her up and away from her neck, heart aching as she wipes the hot tears on her cheeks.

Eloise’s face crumples. She leans into Emily’s palm, more tears dripping off her chin before they can be dried away. “To when I didn’t have to know what to do.” Her voice cracks, splintering off in the silence. “I don’t know what to do, Mom. I don’t know what I want or what I should do with my life. I thought I knew,” she sniffles, roughly wiping at her nose, “but I don’t. I don’t know anything. I thought—I thought I’d have it figured out by now, why don’t I?”

The corner of her mouth pinches like yours does when you’re trying to stop it from trembling. Emily’s heart twists—at your absence, at your daughter’s helplessness. She knows firsthand what that helplessness tastes like, how it feels to be tethered in place, cold shackles around her wrists dragging her down.

Her hand dampens as she gently swipes it along Eloise’s cheek, drying her tears. “Baby, you just graduated.” She says quietly. “You’re not supposed to know anything.”

Eloise shakes her head. Her nose is cherry red, lashes glinting with hot salt. “Everyone else does.” She whispers. “A-All of my friends, the people in my classes. Everyone knows except me.” Her voice pitches higher again, trailing into a half sob.

“So what if they do?” Emily persists. “That’s good for them. You’re not in any rush, Eloise.”

She shakes her head again, staunchly. “Why do they know?” The question is so fragile it nearly breaks her. Her eyes are saucer-wide and suddenly she’s five years old again, wondering why it is her mom couldn’t make it to her preschool graduation. “I loved studying and going to class. My professors said”—a sad huff parts her lips and Emily already knows, her professors said she had potential—“they said I was good, Mom. Promising.” 

The word shatters, and so does she. Eloise leans back, letting Emily’s hand fall, her own fists digging into her eyes. She curls in on herself, her normally pushed back shoulders collapsing into her chest. 

“Why don’t I know and everyone else does?” She rasps, the whisper compacting into a bullet that strikes Emily’s heart front and center. It starts to bleed, dark red streams pouring outward, dripping onto her ribcage.

Eloise’s dark hair shields her face. With her head bowed, knuckles poking sharply through her skin, Emily is looking into a mirror. A mirror, thirty something years ago, cracked in all the same places.

“Because you’re like me.” She finally says. “I didn’t know, either.”

Eloise lifts her head. She blinks her bloodshot eyes, pinning some of her hair behind her ear. “Really?” She whispers.

Emily nods, a sad smile tugging at her mouth. 

“But you know everything.”

She laughs softly. “El, honey, I was a kid too, once.” And a major fuckup for that matter. “I was clueless for longer than your grandma would’ve liked. I was good at the studying, and I loved college life. My major was fun.” She shrugs one shoulder. “But the moment I got my degree in hand it’s kind of like…everything stopped. I didn’t know what then.”

Eloise swipes under her eyes. Emily hands her a tissue. “What did you do?” She asks, shuffling back to her side. Her head returns to Emily’s shoulder; the breath somewhat returns to Emily’s lungs.

“I gave myself the time I knew I needed. You can imagine that wasn’t easy.” Eloise laughs wetly. Emily’s lips twitch; she shares her impatience. “But when I did, I realized I wanted to get my masters. I know you’re looking for a straight answer here, but there just isn’t one. It’s different for everyone, and you’re in no rush to figure it out. I know,” she murmurs, leaning back to look at her, “you’re restless, like me. You don’t like to sit still. But you’re gonna have to. You have to sit still and think and try new things and open yourself up to all kinds of different opportunities. But you don’t have to figure it all out by tomorrow.” Emily cups her cheek, her thumb sweeping across tacky skin. “You have so much time, baby.”

Eloise’s lashes flutter. The glaze returns to her eyes, but it stays contained this time; the tears don’t spill out. Emily lets out a breath and brings her into her chest for a lopsided, awkward hug, surrounded by pillows and limbs and foamy mattress. She squeezes and Eloise squeezes right back, exhaling shallowly into her collarbone.

“You’re twenty one.” Emily kisses her daughter’s forehead. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”

Eloise loosens all of a sudden, tension uncoiling like a spring. Her eyes meet Emily’s, once again childlike.

“You’re not…disappointed?”

“That you don’t have your life figured out fresh out of college?” Emily strokes her hair. “No, Eloise, I’m not disappointed. Quite the opposite—I’m so proud of you.” Emotion clogs her throat, a heavy lump settling there and numbing her tongue. Emily kisses her forehead again, again, still not quite able to believe that this is the same little girl who used to never leave her side. 

“You’re just like me, El, but you’re so much better. You’re everything I did right.”

Eloise shakes her head firmly, her mouth pressed in an all too familiar line. “I’m not better than you, Mom. Don’t say that.”

Warmth swells in her chest. She’s made of salt and heat and pride, her mouth twitching equally against both tears and a smile.

“Shh.” Emily stamps a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t argue with me. Mother knows best.”

It clicks after a second and they both laugh, a little damp, a lot shaky. Eloise sniffles after their laughter dies out, her arms tight again around Emily’s back.

“I love you, Mommy.” She whispers, the words breaking cleanly in the middle.

Emily knows her voice will bear the same crack before she even responds. 

“I love you too, bug.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic @wlwoceaneyes@yoyo-w @upsidedowndanvers

[orellazalonia]

Hello! Your works are so fun to read and i look forward to reading them everytime theres an update! Might i suggest shapeshifting cat reader that likes to hide themselves in Bucky’s jacket and refuses to leave? Imagine him huffing about all the cat fur yet he still carries reader around everywhere… a softy at heart, love your works!

Hello, dear! Thank you for the kind words. This was such a cute request, and exactly the type of mischief she’d get into. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Cat Uber

Summary: You shapeshift into a cat and wedge yourself into Bucky’s favorite jacket, refusing to leave no matter how much he grumbles or tries to remove you. However, he eventually gives in and ends up carrying you gently through the compound and letting you curl up nestled against his chest. (Bucky Barnes x shapeshifter!reader)

Word Count: 1.4k+

Main Masterlist | Shapeshifting Shenanigans Masterlist

You didn’t wake up today intending to be a menace.

Well… maybe a little.

The tower was quiet, warm, and full of lazy late-morning sunbeams. The kind of day that begged for soft mischief and petty victories. You stretched luxuriously from your perch on the windowsill, fur fluffing up with satisfaction as you blinked down at the bustling floor below.

Bucky was around here somewhere.

Probably brooding. Probably wearing that same leather jacket he treated like a second skin and holy artifact combined. You’d seen how he carefully hung it up, how he glared at anyone who touched it, how he once threatened Sam with “a very quiet funeral” when he tried it on as a joke.

Which is exactly why your ears perked when you heard heavy boots echoing down the hall. Then came the voice: low, muttering, unmistakably Bucky.

“Where the hell are my keys…”

You crept to the edge of the hallway like a shadow, tail flicking, and eyes sharp.

There he was. Jacket zipped halfway, hair pulled back, irritation already tugging at his brow as he pat down his pockets with one hand and held a granola bar in the other.

You watched him. Calculated. Waited. And when he turned his back to rummage through the side table drawer, you moved lightning-quick with deadly precision, like the fluffiest assassin in the world.

Launch.

You leapt straight up and burrowed into the soft lining of his open jacket, tucking yourself in against the warmth of his chest like you belonged there.

“WH–?!”

Bucky jerked back so hard he knocked into the wall, granola bar flying across the floor as he tried to figure out what, exactly, just attached itself to him.

He looked down. You looked up.

Your head poked through the slightly open zipper like a smug little goblin. One paw reached up and ever-so-gently batted his chin.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You purred. Loudly. He stood there, jacket half zipped, arms awkwardly lifted, and eyes closed like he was summoning patience from the heavens.

“I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

You stretched inside his coat, repositioned yourself against his ribs, and started kneading gently.

“…You are doing this on purpose.”

You blinked slowly and yawned. And Bucky Barnes, hero, former assassin, brooding king, just stood there in the hallway with a cat stuffed down his jacket and the haunting realization that his day was already ruined.

He waited in the hallway for a solid minute, unmoving, like if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation, you might… evaporate.

Spoiler: you did not.

Instead, you made yourself even more comfortable. You’d managed to wedge yourself halfway into the inner lining, your little body molded against the inside of his chest like a warm purring furnace. Every time he shifted, you dug in a little deeper, like a very smug parasite.

“All right,” He muttered, squinting down at you, “Let’s just… fix this.”

He reached inside his jacket carefully, like he was disarming a bomb. The moment his fingers brushed under you, you let out a dramatic trill and rolled slightly, tail slapping against his wrist.

Bucky froze.

“Don’t you dare,” He warned.

You yawned and shifted again. A fresh puff of fur exploded from your coat.

He coughed. “God, you shed like you’re getting paid for it.”

The hallway was empty now, but the sound of your purring filled the space like mocking static. Every attempt he made to unzip the jacket fully or pull it open resulted in you shifting, pressing your body weight just enough to throw off his balance or force him to readjust.

“I’ve fought in countless missions, but this–” He paused, gritting his teeth, “—This is the fight of my life.”

You gave him a blink. Slow. Confident. Like you knew he wouldn’t win.

He started walking, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. Let’s go. But I swear, the second we’re–“

You shifted slightly, nuzzling under his chin. His words died off mid-grumble.

“…Unreal.”

He grabbed his keys off the floor, along with the granola bar you'd startled from his hand earlier, and headed toward the elevator. Every step, your claws dug in slightly, not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind him: I’m still here. And I’m not leaving.

By the time he got to the lobby, he looked like a man on the verge.

Steve was waiting by the front entrance, arms crossed. “Ready to head to the training center–“

He stopped mid-sentence.

His eyes dropped to the unmistakable lump under Bucky’s jacket. Then to the two pointy ears poking out beneath the collar. Then the bright eyes. The purring.

Steve opened his mouth then closed it again.

“…You know what? I don’t even wanna ask.”

“She ambushed me,” Bucky said flatly.

Steve smirked. “Isn’t that your thing?”

“Not when it’s fuzzy.”

At that moment, you licked Bucky’s jaw.

Steve wheezed.

“You’re making this worse,” Bucky told you without looking down.

You blinked slowly, smug as ever.

“Don’t encourage her,” He growled at Steve, who was now doubling over with laughter.

But still… Bucky didn’t reach for the zipper again.

He just adjusted his grip, sighed through his nose, and walked out the doors with you still purring against his chest like a satisfied little gremlin riding first class.

By the time Bucky made it back from the training center, you were still very much in the jacket. Still purring. Still smirking with your whole face.

He was tired. His hoodie underneath the jacket was already a lost cause, covered in fur and faintly radiating your body heat. The jacket? That was sacred. Untouchable. Now it had cat fur all over it.

“This was dry-cleaned last week,” He muttered as he walked into the kitchen.

You yawned.

Natasha looked up from her mug and immediately raised an eyebrow. “That… new?”

Bucky grunted. “She won’t leave.”

“She locked herself in your jacket?”

“She launched into it like a goddamn torpedo.”

Nat sipped her tea. “Sounds like love to me.”

Bucky shot her a glare. You licked your paw and rubbed your face dramatically on the inside of the jacket like this was your five-star hotel suite.

“She’s not even light,” Bucky grumbled, opening the fridge with one hand while the other braced under your butt. “She’s like hauling around a twenty-pound hot water bottle with claws.”

From across the room, Tony poked his head in.

“Oh, so you’ve finally accepted the role of personal transport vehicle for the shapeshifting floof, huh?”

“She. Will. Not. Move.”

Tony shrugged. “Just let it happen.”

Bucky shut the fridge with his hip and grabbed some leftovers. You tucked your head against his collarbone and promptly fell asleep.

“…She’s purring again,” He muttered, deadpan.

“Then you’ve been claimed,” Tony replied. “Congratulations.”

Bucky stared at the microwave, jaw clenched. He was a soldier. A sniper. A man with seven confirmed stealth takedowns last month alone. And now?

He was a sleep mat for a smug, magical cat-goblin with attachment issues. His microwave beeped. You shifted slightly to readjust. Bucky didn’t even flinch.

“Fine,” He muttered, voice low but not unkind. “You win. Just… stay on this side of the jacket, and no more fur in my holster.”

You stretched in response, a paw pressed to his ribs, and started softly snoring.

He sighed.

“…Great. I’m furniture now.”

But he didn’t push you out. He even zipped the jacket a little higher so you wouldn’t get cold.

The compound had quieted.

Lights dimmed room by room. Conversations turned low and tired. Most of the team had retreated to their own corners of the tower, where walls were thicker and expectations faded.

Bucky stayed in the lounge.

He sat on the couch for a while, long legs stretched out, one arm looped carefully across the bundle nestled in his jacket. You hadn’t moved in hours, not since the post-dinner lull, when you curled even tighter against his chest, tail wrapped neatly around your own paws. At some point, your ear had pressed right over his heartbeat. Your purring slowed until it faded into something softer. Sleep, real sleep, took over.

He could feel the warmth of you through his shirt. Faint, steady. The kind of heat that seeps into bone, not just skin. The kind that keeps you grounded when everything else feels like it could vanish.

You always had that effect on him. Even when you weren’t a cat.

His fingers hovered over you. He was still wearing the jacket, the one you’d made your home for the day. Your fur was everywhere now. Embedded into the fabric, clinging to the collar, and floating in the air like glitter from a storm. The Bucky of this morning would’ve lost it.

But now?

He looked down at you. Tucked in, dreaming, and trusted him enough to fall asleep.

He exhaled quietly and pulled the jacket tighter around you.

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Seven) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.3k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: a second spring fling update in 2 weeks??? and a long one???? we're so back, baby. this one's juicyyy i hope you like it >:) <3 day two is finished! thank you for sticking around and being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You hadn’t exactly tuckered yourself out while mini-golfing, but you’d certainly exhausted your brain and your emotions while thinking through the sunset with Jake, so you’re eager to get your hands on a drink. 

It’s late, past what you’d normally call dinnertime, but not late enough to sleep after getting buzzed. Your only hope is the bar food, and you wonder if you’ll be able to choke down garlic knots after downing three drinks. That’s your plan for the night- three, no more, and hopefully no less. Three is the magic number, the one that will make you forget about your inner turmoil while still leaving you conscious enough to remember the night’s events tomorrow. You’re not the biggest fan of blacking out, but you’re glad you’re with Jake if you do.

You’re snacking on appetizers during your first drink, letting Daniel hand-feed you mozzarella sticks during your second, and by the third and final drink you’d planned for the night, you’re clumsily locking hands and arms with Danica, whirling around the small square of tiles they’re calling a dance floor. You’re whooping, cheering, and laughing as each of you stumble around each other, but you’re having fun, far more thrilling fun than you’ve had thus far and it’s pleasing your buzzed brain to not be thinking.

Jake’s tried to inject some Texan flair into your dancing, seizing the opportunity to teach you what he swears up and down is a ‘simple’ line dance when Fake ID begins blaring over the speakers. 

You think he’s full of shit.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen Footloose, you’re no Julianne Hough.

You and Danica both decide that the footwork is too difficult in your inebriated states, and your shoes just don’t click on the floor when Jake’s do, no matter how hard you try. Although, that might have something to do with how distracting he is, swinging his hips around while turning on his heels, extra pronounced to show you how it’s done.

Not that you’ve been looking at his hips moving, and if you have, it’s totally the drinks’ fault. And it’s especially their fault that- not that, if, it looks good.

You’re enjoying the atmosphere of the bar much more tonight than you were last night, which you feel guilty for, because Daniel had been a dream not even 24 hours ago. But things seem more solid now, more real, more comfortable despite your two left feet.

You’re not sure how, because your entire perception of Jake is widening, deepening, shifting. But one of the perks of being stuck together for years in a work environment where your lives depend on each other is that you happen to trust him, at least a little. 

He might not be the first person you’d choose for this particular endeavor, or the second, or the third, and maybe he wouldn’t have even been the last, before Danica had gotten to you, but you know you can fall back on at least being his friend while you’re trying to rhythmically peel your shoes off of the sticky floor of a bar.

Your brain had been buzzing with uncertainties last night, would Daniel kiss you, when would Daniel kiss you, how would Daniel kiss you, would it be as good as it was in the elevator, but here and now, you can predict Jake’s every move, even if Danica swears there’s new meaning behind it.

“No, darlin’, that’s not- that’s not it.” Jake shakes his head, and the speakers nearly drown him out as he studies your form, “You’re trying to jump, all you need to do is pick one foot up. It looks fancy ‘cause you’re turnin’ too, but it’s just one foot up and a spin, then you’re landing on the raised foot and doing the same with the opposite side.”

He demonstrates, and you stare blankly.

“Like this.” He offers, reaching for your waist with both hands, “Right foot up, heel against the floor.”

You let him shimmy your hips into position, and prop your heel up against the linoleum.

“Good. Now step back this way with the other foot,” He instructs, tugging at your hips, “And you’re gonna turn yourself to the right. Quarter-turn-” He calls, when you give it all you’ve got and nearly end up backwards, “Just a quarter-turn, darlin’. And then you’ve gotta come back the way you came, do it all this way. Left foot now, kick-ball-change.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” You yell to be heard over the music, your shoe slamming against the floor when you nearly lose your balance trying to imitate Jake’s impressive footwork, “Jake, I don’t think I’m made for line dancing!”

“You’re not.” Jake concludes, his voice deepening as he watches you try to keep pace with the song, but it’s useless when the last chorus ends and the music dies down, “But that doesn't mean we can’t try again.”

“The song’s over.” You point out, out of breath and grateful for the single second of silence before the next one plays, “I guess I’ll never learn.”

“I’ve got it on my phone.” Jake informs you, “And if we aren’t gonna have sex we’ve gotta be gettin’ some other exercise. You and me, darlin’, line dance drills first thing in the morning.”

You stuff your face into Danica’s bare shoulder, the strapless cut of her dress giving you a perfect expanse of skin to groan into. She laughs and you feel it where your nose is pressed into her neck- her perfume’s really nice. Elegant but sweet, something you’d want as an air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror.

You rest there, feeling her hand make contact with your waist as she tucks you against her. You sway slowly to the much more subdued song over the speakers, something about love and marriage and babies in the carriage. 

You remember last night’s haze- as much as your brain allows, and you recall being spun in a barstool by Daniel. You’d enjoyed it at the time, but this slow dance doesn’t make you nearly as dizzy, which you give Danica a point for. 

Perhaps a scoreboard would help you figure out what to do here?

Your head’s no longer in the clouds from Daniel’s allure, but thanks to your drinks your feet aren’t firmly on the ground anymore, either.

It’s actually Danica that lists sideways, but the way you’re pressed up against her means that you lean into it instead of against it, and the both of you tumble with startled yelps. You’re not so far gone that you don’t know you’re falling, but you’re too tipsy to balance yourself, and you resign yourself to breaking your nose against the dance floor as you fall for the second time in 24 hours.

Deja vu is not being kind to you on this cruise.

Danica goes down first, and you’re both lucky that Jake is there to chase after you, because he manages to lunge and slip his hand beneath her head before she can crack it against the tile, and he winds up clutching your back to his chest, keeping you upright against his own body. He’s hovering over Danica on the floor, one hand beneath her head and the other wrapped around your middle. It seems almost effortless, the way he keeps you upright, and you find that none of your weight is resting on your feet with the way they’re limply resting on the ground between Jake’s own. You’re just- hanging there, saved by Jake’s strong arms. You can see muscles bulging in his forearms as he tries keeping his center of gravity grounded without dropping either of you, but Daniel’s made his way over by now, mere seconds too late to catch you, and takes Danica’s head from Jake’s palm.

“I got it.” Daniel mumbles, neutral as a combination of gruff to Jake and crooning to Danica. She looks just as shocked as you are at your sudden change of perspective, and she lets Daniel haul her up into a seated position, resting her weight against his side.

“Jesus. You two can’t handle the damn dance floor.” Jake pants, his breath puffing against your ear as he straightens up. He’d been crouched over, and you’re impressed that he’d been able to stay upright himself with the way he’d hung onto your languid form, practically dangling you from his chest.

“Are you okay?” Daniel ducks to meet Danica’s glassy gaze, his voice soft and his eyes concerned. 

She nods, scrubbing a hand over her eyes, “I think so. Jake- did you catch me?”

“I hope I did. Does your head hurt?” He frowns, and now that you’ve remembered how to use your feet again, you attempt to. You stand, trying to squirm out of his hold around your midsection but he doesn’t let go, only squeezing you tighter to his chest like a silent reprimand.

“Jake-” You grunt, trying to pry his hand off of your waist but he swats you away, eyes still worriedly locked on Danica.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” She decides, “I’m just dizzy. And- um, a little sick.”

Daniel moves much quicker this time, standing and bending over to meet her instead of having his entire body in the splash zone, “Can you make it to the bathroom? Or do you want to just sit for a while and see if it passes?”

She swallows experimentally, and grimaces, “Bathroom. Please.”

“I can take her,” You offer, but Jake’s other hand flies to your waist now, and he manhandles you around to face him. You nearly lose your balance again when he spins you, and you’re so intimidated by Jake’s eyes staring directly into your own that you don’t feel steady despite your feet being on the ground.

“Wait. What about you?” He asks, peering into your eyes like he’ll find signs of a concussion in them, “Did you hit anything?”

His scrutiny reminds you of earlier in the pool, when your bikini had come untied and you’d seen genuine concern from Jake for one of the first times in your life, unmarred by amusement, scorn, or his ego. It had been raw, real, and you see the near-permanent cocky glaze clear from his eyes like clouds drifting away from the sprawling light of the sun. Underneath is Jake, really, truly Jake, and you don’t know how to act when you find yourself met with nothing but sincerity.

“I’m fine.” You manage, your protests melting into a feeble hand on his wrist, not pulling, not pushing, just holding, “Jake, you can- you can let me go, I’m okay.”

He takes a breath, then releases the pressure on your waist, but his hands don’t lower and yours doesn’t drop from his. You stay there for a moment, by choice, and then a soft groan comes from Danica and you remember there’s things going on outside of whatever vortex you and Jake had been sucked into just now. The music comes flooding back into your senses, you remember you’re standing in the sticky remains of dozens of spilled drinks on the dance floor, and Daniel’s eyes on you and Jake blaze, not warm like Jake’s sun but scorching, burning, painful.

Jake drags his hands off of your hips and your arm falls back to your side.

“Come on,” Your voice is almost shaky, something weak and frail as you let Danica drape herself over your shoulders, “It’s not that far to the bathroom. You think you can make it?”

She nods, but her response is more of a grunt than anything else. You feel for her- there’s nausea roiling in your own gut from where Jake had inadvertently squeezed your stomach.

You help her move slowly and carefully into the bathroom, trudging under her weight as she rests her face in the crook of your neck. It’s comforting, but now you’re marveling even more at how Jake had kept you both suspended, your tired limbs sluggish and struggling to hold another person’s weight.

Jake hadn’t been knocking back drinks like you had, but you have to hand it to him; he’s got military muscles.

Jake watches carefully as you and Danica cross the threshold of the bathroom, feeling the same urge to barge in as he had the night prior. This all feels like a time loop, where each day gets more confusing and complicated than the last. Same bar, same people, same drinks, but wildly different feelings in the air.

He wonders if Danica’s advice has been paying off- sure, you’d been receptive enough on the golf course, but he’s unfamiliar with doing anything but needling you, and trying to puzzle out your reactions to things while also engaging in an entirely new set of behaviors is a lot for him to handle.

He wishes he could read your mind.

This cruise gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s an isolated environment that encourages sex without complications and people he’s never going to see again in his life-

Except for you.

Of course you’re here too. 

Of course he couldn’t have just taken Coyote’s advice in peace, of course he couldn’t have gotten away from all the buzz of the San Diego port and fucked his feelings out on some random woman, using her as an outlet for all of his conflicting feelings on getting older and settling down. He’s in his thirties trying to live at twenty-one, used to the bachelor life but watching all of his friends get married and have kids right before his eyes. Each one is a wake up call, and waking up to a stranger in his bed opens a chasm beneath his heart that he digs deeper every time.

And it doesn’t help that he’s found himself drawn to you. At a time he’d have called you enemies or rivals, and even just a day before this cruise he would have described your relationship as something pitted against him. But you’re his favorite to mess with, you’re the one whose side he drifts to unconsciously, even if it’s just to knock you around by your helmet, and he slides into a comfortable routine of giving you a hard time every time you work together. Perhaps it was born out of contempt or jealousy but as he’s grown, shifted, deepened, it’s become something he does by default. The actions have stayed the same but the man has changed, and Danica’s suggestion that the actions may have to change along with the man thrusts Jake into highly uncomfortable territory.

No one has ever called Jake Seresin a vulnerable man, and giving anyone the opportunity to do so now makes him feel like he’s spinning out behind the controls.

Luckily for him, an agitating snarl comes from over his left shoulder to oh-so-kindly snap him out of his reverie.

“Are you just gonna stand there and wait for them to come back?” Daniel asks, his voice rough and jagged, “You can relax- they don’t need their guard dog right now.”

Jake turns, his face hardening into the smirk he wears so often, “Well staying alert was what just saved the day, wasn’t it? I noticed you didn’t get there in time.”

Daniel’s eyes flash dangerously, something steely in them that Jake notices every time something interferes with his faux-chivalry.

“You know what else I noticed? I think you’ve got a problem with me.” Jake pushes, edging into Daniel’s space like he’s practiced with dozens of opponents before. His signature move- push just far enough to get the other person to start the fight.

“Now is it the height,” Jake inches forwards, looking down at Daniel with his shoulders squared, “Or the muscles?” He doesn’t even have to accentuate those, “Or, is it that you thought you were gonna be gettin’ it on with two women tonight, and it’s looking like you’re down to none?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Daniel seethes, “Neither of them do.”

And maybe he hits his mark, maybe it’s ‘like’ instead of ‘want’- love instead of sex - maybe it’s the way he believes what he says, the conviction in his tone and in his tensed shoulders, but Jake bristles, jaw tightening and muscles tensed.

“You’re a cocky, self-centered, arrogant douchebag,” Daniel declares, “And that persona’s a dime a dozen straight out of high school. She wants- she deserves something better than that. She deserves someone better than you. A real man, not some frat boy who thinks one smirk can win him whoever he wants. And even if you manage to ‘get her’, even if you wear her down and coerce her into giving you what you want,” Daniel exhales heavily, reminding Jake of a stubborn, vicious bull, seeing red in the apples of Jake’s cheeks, “You’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you made hers worse.”

Jake’s only silent for a few seconds, and then his voice is lower and more dangerous than it’s ever been, “Get out of my face before I knock your teeth out, son.”

“You know I’m right. And that’s why you’re mad,” Daniel goads, unafraid of Jake even if he should be, which is infuriating to the hotheaded pilot in and of itself. Jake leans forwards, fist itching, begging to drive itself into Daniel’s jaw but he restrains himself with the last shred of his self-control as Daniel keeps running his mouth, “You’re learning for the first time ever that some women won’t spread their legs for you just ‘cause you ask, and that you might actually have to care about them.”

“I do care about her!” Jake snaps, nearly shouting now, and the last thing on his mind is whether he’s drawing a crowd or not. It’s all-out, here and now, Jake vs. Daniel, onlookers be damned.

“No you don’t. You care about sex. You care about getting laid and you care about winning.” Daniel’s chest heaves, and Jake feels that almost insatiable itch to cock a fist back and slam it into Daniel’s nose so hard it breaks, “She told me that last night. She’s too good for you, man.” Daniel warns, the sneer on his face so disgusted you’d think Jake was a slug he’d trodden on in the middle of the sidewalk, “And whether you admit it or not, it’s true. Whether she forgets it or not, it’s true. So do whatever you want, fuck her or don’t,” Daniel scoffs, “But you’ll never deserve her.”

The only reason Jake doesn’t knock his teeth loose right then and there is because Daniel’s had the good sense to step back a few feet, and compose himself like he’s not about to fight back. There’s a few wary onlookers who eye them cautiously, edging away from the pair just in case they snap, but Jake’s not stupid- he doesn’t start fights, he wins them. He falls into old habits, abandoning sight of what the ‘new Jake’ would do and goading, smirking, pushing.

“And you do? You deserve her?”

“Maybe not. But I do more than you do.” Daniel’s clenched fist comes to rest on the back of one of the barstools, “And even she knows that.”

“It don’t matter what you think we’re worth.” Jake scoffs, breathing heavily, “She decides what she wants. Now who’s trying to win?”

“I am winning!” Daniel seethes, his voice roaring over the music as his fist slams into the upholstered cushion, “Just because neither of us have had sex yet doesn’t mean we’ve lost! All you’ve done so far is stepped on people’s toes and bullied your way into every conversation Y/N has with anyone. You think that’s attractive? She wants a real man, and you’re not one.”

“For once,” Jake narrows his eyes at Daniel, slits that ooze contempt and disgust, “I ain’t trying to win. And seeing you throw another one of your little temper tantrums about it makes me glad I’m not the man I was five years ago. If that’s what I looked like,” Jake spits, “No wonder she doesn’t wanna trust me now. But the difference is, Daniel, that one of us is changin’, and the other one’s punching a hole in a barstool because he’s coming in second.”

“Stay away from her.” 

Jake laughs, a dangerous sound that he hopes Daniel takes as a warning, “No, asshole. You stay away from her. I mean it. She may deserve better than me,” Jake breathes, his jaw clenched firmly, “But whatever that is, it’s not you.”

If Danica hadn’t let out a weak, slightly wet cough from the door to the bathroom, Daniel would have lunged at Jake. But he doesn’t, and they turn to watch you shuffling out with Danica still draped over your shoulder.

“She wants to go to bed,” You glance warily at Daniel, “Just- don’t jostle her too much. Walk slow and don’t take the elevators.”

“Come here.” Daniel hums, hoisting Danica’s limp form off of your frame and cradling her in his own, “Are you feeling dizzy still?”

“Just from the drinks.” She nods, “And- sick. But nothing more than that. I should have eaten better before this.”

Jake hums sympathetically, and you feel your own near-empty stomach roil in indignation that you’d sicced liquor on it before food. Nothing sounds good now, not that you’re full of alcohol, but eating will be better than not eating, so you let yourself drift to Jake’s side and wait for him to notice you.

When he does, his entire focus shifts, and he cranes his neck downwards slightly to peer at you closer, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just- a little sick, too.” You admit, “Can we get something to eat?”

“Of course.” Jake nods, his hand flying to the small of your back whether consciously or not.

“We could all go,” Daniel offers, but the way he leans towards you makes Danica whine in discomfort as her head spins. He’s quick to correct it, but you shake your head at his offer.

“No, she needs to get to bed. Do you want us to bring you something later?” You offer, “We can ask for to-go boxes.”

“You can order room service.” Jake grins, a sneer in intention but not by looks, “Danica, honey, feel better.”

“Thank you.” She croaks, and Jake’s hand around your waist tugs you pointedly towards the door.

You try throwing Daniel and Danica apologetic looks, but you’re dragged out of the bar too quickly.

You feel irritation rising in your chest at Jake, something he’d been getting good at not triggering in you for the last couple hours. You side-eye him, but you let him continue leading you to the elevators instead of wrenching yourself out of his grasp, “That was rude, Jake.”

“He’s rude.” Jake states, his eyes forward and refusing to meet yours, “You didn’t hear what he was saying about you while you were in the bathroom.”

Your brows furrow, and when you enter the thankfully-empty elevator, you turn to face him instead of standing by his side, “About me? What did he say?”

“The kinda thing I would’ve said a few years ago.” Jake frowns, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that’s meant to come off as lazy but really just shows his tensed muscles.

“That bad?” You laugh nervously, trying to diffuse the tension while being eaten alive by your own nerves. Daniel? Sweet, perfect, caring- okay, slightly complicated and anger-prone Daniel? 

24 hours ago you’d have called Jake a liar. Now you notice the stiffness in his jaw as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek and wonder how many times he’s tried to tell you something and you’ve assumed he was messing with you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You try, and he glances carefully at you where you stand across from him. Apparently he appreciates that you’ve dropped the subject, because his shoulders deflate slightly.

“I don’t know what’s open.” He checks his watch, finding the hour a little too late if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, “The restaurants stop taking reservations after 7. And all that’s left is fast food and ice cream. We might have to order room service.”

The thought of gorging on half-cold room service beside Jake, crammed into the same bed while trying desperately not to touch each other, makes your stomach hurt worse. There’s too many things happening, too many things to think about, and you regret having stopped yourself at three cocktails.

“I want another drink,” You groan, leaning against the wall behind you as the elevator climbs steadily towards the top decks, the ones with the most food service, “Can we go to the buffet?”

--

The buffet is closed, but the bar is not. Drink number four wasn’t planned, but neither were the revelations you’ve been having, and taking care of Danica had really sobered you up. You’re in need of a good old-fashioned margarita, and once you’ve got one in your hands you let Jake parade you around the pool’s deck, peering at menus to quick-service restaurants that are already closed for the night.

“Wings?” You ask, but the kiosk is closed.

“We could do sushi.” Jake offers, but the neon sign is no longer lit.

It’s several twists and turns to investigate every little storefront, and several sips of your margarita to bring back your buzz, but it quickly becomes apparent that there’s only one sign left lit this late at night.

“I guess it’s pizza. Again.” Jake hums, “Is that gonna be okay on your stomach?”

“It’s fine. It’s still better than room service.” You have visions of reheated buffet food, “Let’s just get different toppings and pretend we didn’t have this six hours ago.”

What you decide on is veggie, hoping that the bell peppers and greens might do something kind to your stomach even if they’re soaked in grease from the cheese and bread beneath them.

You beeline for the table you’d sat at earlier as a party of four, but Jake catches your elbow and drags you closer to the edge of the deck.

“Let’s look at the water,” He urges, “Now that the lounge chairs aren’t all taken.”

“We should-” You start unsteadily, having chugged half of your drink in order to not spill it while balancing your pizza as well, “We should get up really early tomorrow to get a spot.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be docked,” Jake reminds you, “We can go to a beach instead of a tiny swimming pool.”

“Oh, right.” You hum, cramming pizza into your mouth to soothe the ache in your stomach, “What are you gonna do once we get off the ship?”

“We can try some excursions,” Jake shrugs, folding his pizza in half so that it doesn’t droop, “The website said something about a golf cart tour, and snorkeling off the coast, if you wanna do that.”

“You don’t have to do everything with me, y’know.” You hum, onions leaving a bitter taste on your tongue, “If you want to do something you don’t have to do it with me.”

He rears back, faux-offended, “Yeah? And what if I want to?”

“Then we can,” You chuckle, “Just- don’t let me hold you back more than I already am.”

He’d been raising his pizza to his mouth to take a bite, but he stops short and watches you instead of eating. You’re turned towards the sea, stray hairs blowing around your face as the nighttime wind pushes across the deck. He’s not sure what you’re seeing in the waves, but probably something induced by your mostly-empty margarita.

“You’re not holding me back.” He hums, soft and low, “I like doing stuff with you. Remember? You’re fun sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” You nod, “Right. Well, I’m just letting you know.”

“I know.” Jake assures you, nudging his knee into yours, “And if I’m ever- y’know, too pushy? You can tell me to kick rocks and eat-”

“Dolphins!” You shriek.

“Dolphins?” Jake’s brows furrow, “Why would I eat- oh. Dolphins.”

You’re pointing frantically off the side of the deck, and Jake quickly maneuvers himself onto your lounge chair to grab you from behind before you can launch yourself over the railing. There is, in fact, a pod of dolphins beside the boat, weaving over and under each other, breaching the surface to showcase their silvery skin that glints in the moonlight. The rational part of Jake’s brain suggests that they’re feeding off of any sea life being churned up by the boat’s trajectory, but the margarita part of your brain seems to think they’ve come to show off for you. 

“Jake, look!” You gush, enthused, and then your ass is in his face.

Jake’s eyes widen when you prop yourself up on all fours, your knees now grating against the rough mesh of the lounge chair as you lean even further over the railing. It puts your ass right at eye-level, and the shorts you’re donning are loose enough that they offer him a rather salacious view of what’s beneath them. He tears his eyes away as soon as his brain comes back to him, even if he feels a rush of blood travel south. In order to stop you from tumbling he has to stand and grab you, rolling onto his own knees on instinct to grab hold of your shoulders and hoist you upright. It means that your ass is firmly, snugly flush with Jake’s crotch, and you don’t seem to notice because you’re too caught up in the dolphins swimming beside the boat.

“Jesus, please don’t fall.” He begs, his lips beside your ear as the wind blows cold against both of your faces.

“I won’t fall! But look, they’re jumping!”

Jake ensures you’re secure in his grip before peering down over the railing, and it really is a sight to behold. There must be five dolphins visible, jumping and diving through the churning water caused by the boat’s motor. They’re not vocalizing much, but every once in a while a click or a screech floats up on the ocean breeze and Jake hears you laugh the way that only someone who’s had four cocktails in a row can laugh.

As nervous as he is that you were going to plummet into the sea, he can appreciate the way you’re leaning into the wind and watching the dolphins below. You’re genuinely excited, something he hasn’t seen on this trip so far, and rarely gets to see on the tarmac. He catches a glimpse of your eyes when you turn your head to watch a dolphin to your left, and they’re shining like the moonlight is on the water. He doesn’t miss the way you melt into him, either, and he’ll take credit for this one instead of letting the liquor.

You let him hold you around the middle, though he’s sure you haven’t noticed that you’re nearly grinding against him when you stick your ass out to lean further over the railing. He’s trying really valiantly not to let himself be affected by this, but he’s fairly certain that at least half of something is going on downstairs from physical stimulation alone. Hopefully it won’t be visible when you pull away, and if it is, hopefully you won’t notice.

“This is like,” You start, your voice nearly lost to the wind as you face away from Jake, “-that scene in Titanic.”

You throw your arms out, and Jake has no problem curling his further around your belly.

“I’ve never seen it.” He admits, shouting to be heard over the noise of the ship and the whipping of the breeze.

“Me neither!” You laugh, and you fall back against him, nearly knocking him off of the chair altogether.

“Hey!” He yelps, but he’s laughing when you squirm at the way his fingers dig into your side momentarily. You’re not a fan of being tickled, and he knows this from painstakingly earned experience, (a kick to the balls), but he tests a few gentle squeezes at your side to get you giggling again.

“Stop! Stop,” You gush, laughing and panting, and he does, his fingers stilling on your waist. He’s on his butt now, with your weight against him, and he reclines the wrong way against the lounge chair to let you rest comfortably.

“That pizza was cold.” You muse, “But it did help. I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

“That’s good. Drinking on an empty stomach,” Jake scoffs, “Are you trying to black out?”

“Kind of.” You admit, your voice taking a quiet, somber turn, “I’ve had… a lot to think about, recently.”

Jake nods slowly, carefully, “Yeah. Me too.”

“And you’re not drinking about it?” You crane your neck to chance a glance back at him, that shimmer in your eyes dulled but not gone, “You’re braver than I am, Jake.”

“No, I’m smarter than you are.” He teases, “Someone has to make sure we don’t fall over the side of the deck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall!” You whine, “You’re so dramatic. And besides, that’s not fair. I should take a turn being sober so that you can drink.”

“You should, Miss Margarita.” Jake agrees, “Just don’t let me get too smashed before snorkeling tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to try and befriend a stingray.”

You giggle at the imagery, your cheeks flushed and hot where they brush against his bicep briefly. Your grin is toothy and infectious, carefree from the liquor and- dare he say love.

Not for him, of course, or- not like that for him, it’s just that he’d like to think that eight years by your side constitutes some feelings of fondness towards him, and that maybe you could perhaps, possibly say it’s love. Even if it’s completely platonic. Just- you could use the word love, probably.

He wishes he was drunk.

“We should go to bed.” You hum, sounding almost sad, “I’m tipsy and I want to be up early tomorrow for the excursions. We can beat the morning rush and get a head start on exploring.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He lets your waist go as you stand from his grip, righting himself after you’ve proved yourself steady on your feet. You gather your trash slowly but surely, and you only miss your shot at the garbage can with one balled-up napkin stained with copious amounts of pizza grease.

Neither of you say anything about the way his hand gravitates towards your waist again while he’s walking you back towards the elevators. Maybe it’s because you’re too buzzed to have a meaningful conversation, or maybe it’s because he’s doing a good enough job at pretending it’s just so that you don’t tip over again. Whatever the reason, Jake’s grateful for it when you pass by a closed piano lounge, and the tune of your favorite song makes its muffled way through the doors.

“Jake,” You breathe, that same shining excitement in your eyes as before, “I love this song.”

“I know. You put it on in the car every time we drive somewhere,” He grins, letting the hand on your waist serve as a leader as the other grasps at one of your hands, “You’re into them cheesy love songs, aren’t’cha?”

“Not all of us can be line dancers, cowboy.” You inform him smartly, your feet a slight second out of tune with your brain as you begin a slow, clumsy waltz. You reach for his shoulder, letting your other hand melt into his own,“Some of us enjoy the quiet things in life.”

Jake’s never been quiet for a second. He’d ridden saddle bronc in rodeos since he was old enough to, and even then he’d refused to use the smaller, more tame horses that they’d offered him. No, he wanted the biggest, the meanest, the best, and he’s always tried emulating those same characteristics so that no one can ever tame him.

But here, now, you’re swirling him around outside of a closed bar, tipsy and dizzy, stumbling over his feet and your own alike. Your eyes are closed and your face is curved in a soft, serene smile, and he feels your grip on his shoulder loosen comfortably as you ease into a rhythm with him that you’d failed to achieve only hours prior.

Perhaps, like Danica had been suggesting, Jake’s fast-paced, cocky routine might have to wait for a slow dance first. Maybe you’d both be better off waltzing before grapevining, in case one of you twists an ankle or breaks a heart. 

Maybe he needs to appreciate the quiet things in life, if you’re willing to share them with him.

Your nose nestles into his neck at some point, and he feels your breath puff warm down the front of his shirt. Your arm is draped lazily over his shoulder now, not a grip but a presence all the same, your fingers ghosting feather-light over the nape of his neck. It tingles, gives him the urge to shudder but he doesn’t dare, not now that you’re sighing against him and swaying like you’re dancing at a ball animated by Disney.

He’s quiet, and so are you.

When the song ends you keep humming lazily against the collar of his shirt. It takes a solid ten seconds and the beginning of the next song to realize that you’re not harmonizing with anything anymore, and your eyes flutter open as you lift your head from his shoulder.

You’re close.

Very close. 

Your nose nearly brushes his chin, and when he angles his face subtly, almost imperceptibly downwards, your lips are on a crash course. It’s a perfect trajectory, a little down for him and a little up for you. But you’re frozen in time, your eyes locking onto his and getting lost in what they reveal.

There’s vulnerability swirling in both of your gazes, and it’s so striking to see that you’re each rendered speechless. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing that could properly convey your feelings on what’s happening to you both, there’s only your eyes and his, and your interlocked hands.

Then Jake sees something eerily close to stone cold, sober fear flash through your stare, and you slowly detach yourself from him.

Your hand slips out of his own, you step backwards to free your waist from his grip, and your hand is no longer raking through the wispy hairs on the back of his neck.

You step away, one foot at a time, and stare at him with that almost-petrified gaze, your chest heaving visibly.

Then your face falls into something more neutral, and you back towards the elevators, “We should go.”

“Right.” Jake murmurs, following behind you with lead feet that would very much like to stay planted right where they were a minute ago, with yours stepping all over them. But he follows, because he thinks he might be magnetized to you, even if sometimes you’re oppositely charged.

The elevator ride is silent and awkward. The type of silence that you thought was gone between you and Jake, the thick, tense kind that you’d suffered for years up until just hours prior.

Despite having years of experience sitting in heavy silence with Jake, this bout makes him feel like a stranger compared to the man you’d just been slow dancing with.

You’re sobered now, from the shock of being a second away from kissing him, and from staring at the floor in the elevator until it had dinged and let you out on your cabin’s floor. It gives you enough hand-eye coordination to dig your keycard out of your pocket, and you push first into your room, Jake hesitantly, silently on your trail.

You duck into the bathroom to change and Jake doesn’t tease you like he did yesterday. He doesn’t try to break in once, which is a comforting thing, but your reality check had reminded you that eight years of irritation can’t be solved in a few hours worth of chivalry.

Still, you’d had fun tonight. And you’d felt safe, secure- happy in Jake’s company, comfortable with his arm around your waist and giddy when he’d held you in his lap by the railing. Are you caving? Are you doing the one thing you’d sworn only a day prior to not do? Are you giving in and letting him win?

That’s why you’d stopped yourself. In that moment, you’d wanted nothing more than to press your lips to his and let your fingers sink into his hair, let his hands grope at your waist. And it scared you. You’d wanted to cave, to give in, to betray yourself, and all of the fear that had been momentarily silenced by Danica’s token live advice roils fiercely in your gut like liquor has been all night.

If he’s trying to win, you can’t lose. And he’s doing a good job at convincing you he’s not trying to win anymore, but old habits die hard. How can you be sure he’s not?

You stuff yourself numbly into a nightgown, the most chaste one you’d brought, and you avoid meeting Jake’s eye when you step out of the bathroom.

You’re reminded now, standing barefoot in the walkway, that there’s only one bed. Last night had been a blur, and you hadn’t woken even when Jake had changed you into your nightclothes. You’re still mortified about that, really, and remembering that you’re going to have to crawl into bed beside Jake, who’s already there waiting for you, doesn’t help.

“Um,” You start, your voice dull, “I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” He asks, trying to tamp down some of the brashness that typically inhabits his tone, “That’s silly. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t. I’d better-” You try, and he kicks the covers off of himself, standing and revealing that he’s once again wearing nothing but boxers.

“No, I’ll take it.” He mumbles, not surly, just subdued, “You can have the bed.”

“No, that’s not- that’s not fair.” You finally look at him, your eyes wounded and guilty, “Just- you take the bed.”

“Only if you do.” He looks similarly defeated, standing there in just his underwear, “C’mon, Y/N. You know I won’t do anything to you.”

And even despite the hesitation that had clawed at your heart only minutes ago, puncturing your lungs and making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay, you do know that. Because it’s always been true of Jake; he’s cocky, but he’s not a monster. You knew it last night, and you know it tonight. So you cave, you give in, you betray yourself, and you trudge towards the side of the bed you’d been laid in last night.

You feel restless as Jake buries himself under the covers again, and you know sleep won’t come easy. So you keep yourself upright, lounging back on two pillows stacked behind your back and reaching for your book.

“Mind if I keep a light on?” You hum, and Jake shakes his head, peering at your book.

“Late-night reading?”

“Can’t sleep.” You admit, “I’m not even gonna try.”

He inhales- it’s an audible thing, not a gasp but a long, steadying breath. Then he lets it out, and you tug your book so close to your face that it obscures him from your vision.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He hums, his voice barely more than a whisper. You can’t see it, but he keeps himself turned towards you, studying the way your fingers twitch against the cover, wishing he could see the face obscured behind it.

You speak into the pages of your book, hoping your words get lost there, “Goodnight, Jake.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[sincerelystarry]

( ☆ ) . * if u saw my tears wld u touch me . . . kiss me on the mouth say u love me !!

modern au — f!reader x best friend!steve harrington

starry’s sweets — order #007

ask : “Hello, I'd like to place an order. Could I get a medium caramel tea cake with strawberry puree, oreo crumbles and rainbow sprinkles?

Thank you!” — @xplrnowornever

summary : “king steve” always knew how to throw a fucking rager, and who were you to miss your best friend’s party? things only get a little complicated when he sees you with some other guy’s tongue shoved down your throat.

warnings : hurt/comfort, reader and steve have liked each other since middle school  but they’re both fucking cowards abt it, suggestive content aka they make out and also there’s tit grabbing, what can i say steve harrington likes boobies, i’m not writing the smut part but it’s basically all the shit leading up to them having sex, steve and reader are both inebriated DONT HAVE SEX WHILE INEBRIATED

word count : 1.2k

You didn’t realize grad parties could become absolute ragers so fast, but those might just be the perks of parents never being around. Music is blaring, some sort of upbeat song everyone knows the words to about snorting coke that you think is fine, just a bit too loud. You shove through the crowd of drunk teens (though most would probably argue they’re adults anyway, being freshly 18), attempting to find the host, your best friend from childhood, none other than Steve Harrington. 

Attempt is the key word here, as you don’t see him anywhere. Instead, you’re taken aside by some guy, who you don’t really care enough to remember the name of. He flirts with you for a bit as the two of you stand in the kitchen beside the bowl of vodka-spiked Hawaiian Punch. You hadn’t been dating for ages, so, bored and slightly pent up, you reciprocate.

You can hardly remember what words were exchanged between the two of you. Maybe something along the lines of the guy calling you pretty and you picking invisible lint off his shirt as an excuse to touch his chest before you’re pressed up against the kitchen counter, red solo cups and your original goal of finding your friend forgotten as the guy kisses you messily. Not the best makeout session you’ve ever had, but not the worst either. Being a bit tipsy also helped you bear through it a bit. 

Lost in the stranger’s tongue down your throat, you don’t notice as Steve walks into the kitchen, searching for you. You don’t notice the way his face falls, the way the plastic cup crumples in his hand as he squeezes it a bit tighter. You don’t notice the way he turns and pushes through whatever girl was flirting with him, touching his arm, tearing his gaze away from you and the guy. 

You and the stranger swap saliva for a few torturous minutes before you break apart and you excuse yourself with a slightly condescending pat on his cheek, thanking him for the distraction from your currently-stale love life. Refilling your cup with punch, you remember the goal you previously had before being distracted by a hot guy that was a bad kisser (as most of them unfortunately are), resuming your search for Steve.

The party really is amazing. You’ve acclimatized to the noise, LEDs flashing colors making you all giggly as you continue to sip at your punch. You get distracted a few more times, dancing with a few girls, making out with some other guys, accepting a mystery gummy that was definitely an edible, but it’s also pineapple flavored, so you mark it off as okay, taking a second strawberry flavored one to give to Steve when you find him.

Some girls tell you they saw him heading upstairs as you dance around with each other, so you excuse yourself from the crowd. You to easily make your way up after refilling your drink and getting one for him, knowing the layout of his house by heart. You assume he’s in his bedroom and enter without knocking. Luckily enough, it’s Steve sitting at the edge of the bed, looking extremely dejected, and not some couple bumping uglies.

“I come bearing a gift,” you say, shutting the door behind you and setting your drink on the nightstand before sitting next to him, handing him his cup of punch and fishing the ziploc baggie with the gummy in it out of your pocket, holding it out for him to take.

He accepts the gummy, popping it into his mouth with a quiet “Thanks.”

“You good?” you ask. “Shouldn’t the host be downstairs fucking it up with everyone else? I heard there’s a keg contest about to happen soon. Aren’t you the king of those?” You poke fun at him in some attempts to lighten the mood, but some of it is due to how giggly and spacey you feel from the weed and the alcohol.

He chews and swallows before answering. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a breather,” he says, sipping at the punch. 

Despite your state, you can tell he’s lying. “That’s a cute story,” you say, patting his knee in a patronizing manner. “What’s wrong? The doctor is in, tell me what’s up.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he argues petulantly.

“Well, then you’d be acting like a baby,” you point out. “Come on, Steve. We tell each other everything! If you tell me what’s wrong I’ll tell you about how bad of a kisser a guy I made out with earlier is.”

“Please don’t,” he practically begs.

“Why not?”

He doesn’t respond for a minute, maybe two. It feels like an hour. “Because that’s the exact thing that’s been bothering me.”

You snort. “Trust me, it’s been bothering me too. You’d think at least one guy at this party would be a good kisser but no, apparently not—”

“Stop—!” he cuts you off abruptly. “Sorry— God—”

You stare at him for a bit, a bit perturbed by his tone. “Sorry. I’ll go if you want.” You move to stand when his hand grabs at your wrist, tugging you back. 

“Don’t go— Just— Fuck.” It happens in a blur. You’re not sure when he puts his cup of punch on the nightstand or when you end up under him on the bed, your tongues and teeth clashing.

You welcome him in eagerly despite your slight confusion at his change in demeanor, sucking on his tongue, nipping at his bottom lip. “Steve,” you mumble through the haze as you feel his hands start to creep up your shirt, warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips, voice hoarse and breathing ragged.

You laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, man, I love you too—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No. I love you. I’m in love with you. Fuck— I think I’ve been in love with you since freshman year.”

“Why freshman year?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his declaration.

“It was homecoming. You didn’t have a date and mine stood me up. You offered to dance with me for the slow dance. That— that was it. Slow dancing in a high school gym to Taylor Swift. I don’t know why that was it but—”

It’s your turn to cut him off as your lips press against his in a softer kiss than before. “I love you too,” you speak softly against his lips.

The kiss becomes heated again quickly as his tongue seeks entrance into your mouth and you allow it, Steve’s lips trailing down your neck before he pulls back to pull off your shirt, eyes not leaving your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Harrington,” you tease, even as his hands go to grab at your tits. 

Your lips meet again and you both forget all about the party downstairs, some CharliXCX song as the background to your drunken fucking, muffled through the walls. 

Maybe twenty minutes later, the two of you are naked, curled up against each other.

“What time is it?” you ask sleepily. 

Steve glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Midnight.”

“You should kick people out. So we can sleep.”

He smiles at your usage of the word ‘we’. “I’ll do that in a second. Just wanna stay here for a bit.”

You don’t argue. “Will we forget about this tomorrow?”

“I hope not,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Will you regret this tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” you say honestly.

“Good.”

A beat of silence passes between the two of you before you speak again. “Steve?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: she's short but sweet and also a little horny

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 2

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 2.0k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

summary: liora, a quiet student at westburn college, becomes increasingly drawn to her enigmatic professor, billie, after billie reads her writing aloud in class. subtle glances and intimate conversations blur boundaries, leaving liora shaken and longing. by night, she writes about the feelings she can’t name—haunted by billie’s presence, and unsure if what’s growing between them is safe, or inevitable.

masterlist

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thursday came like fog. slow, quiet, cold at the edges.

liora stood outside the classroom door for a second longer than she needed to, pretending to check her phone, pretending her palms weren't a little sweaty. it was silly. it was just class. just a room. just a woman who had only said her name once.

still, her fingers tingled as she pushed the door open.

billie was already there.

this time, she sat on the edge of the desk, one foot resting on the seat of the chair in front of her, her elbow on her knee. she wore a dark crewneck and soft gray trousers cuffed at the ankle. her hair was loose today—longer than it looked when tied back, falling in lazy waves across her shoulders.

she looked up when liora walked in. didn't smile, didn't speak—just watched her.

liora swallowed and took her seat in the same row as before. second from the front. close, but not too close. not enough to be obvious.

a few more students trickled in. someone bumped into liora's desk and muttered sorry. she didn't answer. her attention stayed locked on the front, even though billie wasn't doing anything except... existing. which somehow still managed to occupy all the space in the room.

"okay," billie said finally, pushing off the desk and stretching her arms slightly. her voice cracked the silence like warm water on cold glass. "anyone want to volunteer what they wrote?"

silence.

a few people shifted in their seats, avoiding her gaze. someone in the back coughed. billie gave it a beat, then raised an eyebrow.

"cowards."

soft laughter. liora smiled without meaning to.

billie glanced at her notebook, flipped it open, and scanned something with a faint nod.

"fine," she said. "i'll read one."

the class perked up slightly. she looked around the room, pausing for a beat before she said it:

"liora rai."

liora blinked. she felt her stomach drop in the way it does when the rollercoaster starts moving and it's too late to get off.

"you mind if i read yours?" billie asked. "you didn't mark it private."

liora didn't remember marking anything. didn't even remember breathing properly when she turned it in.

but now billie was waiting. so was the whole room.

"sure," she said quietly.

billie nodded once, then began to read. her voice low, unhurried, like she was reading a letter.

"some songs don't need lyrics. they're already saying too much. maybe that's why i like the sound of strings. they don't try to explain anything. they just feel. and sometimes, that's all you can do. feel. even when you're not ready to."

liora couldn't look up. she stared at the edge of her desk, tracing the grain of the fake wood with her fingertip. the room was too quiet. no one laughed. no one whispered. just silence.

billie cleared her throat.

"i liked this one," she said, voice softer now. "not because it was polished. it's not. but because it's honest. and you'd be surprised how rare that is."

liora finally looked up.

billie was looking directly at her.

and something in her expression—something small, something unreadable—shifted.

"thanks for letting me share it," she said.

liora nodded, barely. "yeah. sure."

but inside, her pulse was a wildfire. and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or terrified that billie had seen so much.

class let out five minutes early.

people took their time gathering their things, maybe because they were shaken by how personal everything felt. maybe because billie had read aloud from someone's soul like it was nothing. liora moved slowly, unsure if she felt exposed or seen—or if there was a difference.

her notebook was still open on her desk, the edges slightly curled from her grip. she reached for it, but stopped when she heard footsteps.

"liora."

she turned.

billie stood next to the front row, arms crossed loosely, voice quiet.

"can i talk to you for a sec?"

not a question, not really. but soft enough that it felt like one.

liora nodded. followed her instinctively toward the side of the room near the windows, out of earshot from the few students still packing up.

billie didn't speak right away. she leaned against the sill, looking out for a moment like she might say something else entirely. then her eyes flicked back to liora.

"i didn't mean to catch you off guard with that," she said. "i should've asked you first. properly."

liora shook her head quickly. "it's okay. i just wasn't expecting it."

"no one ever is," billie said, almost to herself. "but you handled it. people don't always."

liora looked down. "i just wrote what came out. i wasn't trying to be good."

"that's exactly why it worked."

a pause. long enough for liora to feel the silence stretch between them like thread. thin, taut.

billie shifted slightly. she wasn't looking at her like a professor would. not like someone older trying to teach or correct. it was something gentler. more curious. like she was trying to read her again, the way she had read her words.

"do you play?" billie asked suddenly.

liora blinked. "music?"

"yeah."

"a little. mostly violin. not well."

billie smiled, barely. "i doubt that."

liora felt something in her throat tighten. she looked at her feet, then back up. "why?"

billie met her gaze. "you write like someone who hears things deeply."

liora didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to respond when someone saw through her so fast. she just nodded, heart stuttering.

someone called out a goodbye across the room. billie waved a hand in return, but her eyes stayed on liora.

"you ever want to talk music outside class," she said, softer now, "i'm usually here early. before nine. or in the practice rooms after hours."

liora's breath caught.

"okay," she said.

billie's mouth curved into something close to a smile—but only for a second. then she turned, walked back toward her desk, and picked up her bag like the moment hadn't just changed something.

liora stood there a second longer than she should have.

then left, carrying a silence that felt heavier than words. liora didn't go back to her dorm right away.

instead, she wandered. across campus, past the edge of the quad where someone was setting up folding chairs for a student film screening, past the old music building with its ivy-covered windows and faded paint. her boots scuffed softly over the stone path, every step somehow echoing.

everything billie said replayed in her head, not in order, not even clearly—just little shards of sound:

you write like someone who hears things deeply. if you ever want to talk music. before nine. after hours.

she didn't know why it stuck the way it did.

maybe it was nothing. maybe billie said that kind of thing to everyone. maybe it was just encouragement. professional. polite.

but it didn't feel like that.

it felt personal. not inappropriate. not obvious. but intimate, in a way liora couldn't explain without sounding ridiculous.

she ended up sitting in the music building stairwell, notebook in her lap, pen hovering.

the building was quiet. not silent—there was a soft hum of a cello from somewhere upstairs, distant and slow. but the air itself felt still. like the walls were waiting.

she opened to a blank page. started writing.

sometimes the words are fine. sometimes they say exactly what you mean. and still, it's not enough. not because they're wrong. but because they're too quiet. or maybe i am.

she paused, tapped the pen against her chin. then, lower down the page, she added:

i think she hears the quiet parts, too. i don't think that's fair.

her pen stopped moving. she closed the notebook. her fingers pressed into the worn cover.

on a whim she hadn't planned, she stood and walked quietly down the hall.

just to see.

the door to the faculty practice rooms was closed, locked as usual after hours—but the light under the door flickered faintly. someone was in there.

she didn't knock.

she stood there for a moment, just listening. waiting. hoping—for what, she wasn't sure.

then turned and left, the sound of a piano key lingering like a held breath behind her. friday morning came slow.

gray light filtered through liora's window as her alarm buzzed quietly at 7:43. she stared at the ceiling for a while, then sat up, heart already pulling toward something unnamed.

her roommate mumbled something in her sleep, still cocooned in blankets. liora didn't bother saying goodbye. she dressed in silence—black leggings, oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a soft, low braid that hung between her shoulder blades.

she didn't know why she was going in early.

she told herself it was to use the printer. or to revise her notes. or maybe to drop off something at the front office, even though she knew she wouldn't.

she just wanted to see her. maybe not even talk. just... see.

the classroom door creaked when she opened it, just before 8:50. she expected the room to be empty.

it wasn't.

billie was there. alone. sitting cross-legged on the floor by the whiteboard, back against the wall, earbuds in. her laptop rested beside her and a coffee cup balanced on a thick novel she clearly hadn't touched yet. her head was bowed, long hair falling around her face in a curtain, fingers scribbling in a composition notebook.

liora froze in the doorway.

billie looked up.

there was a second of recognition. then—

a soft, lopsided smile.

she pulled one earbud out. "morning."

liora swallowed. "hi. sorry. i didn't mean to interrupt."

"you're not," billie said. she set her pen down, eyes soft but unreadable. "just journaling. i do it before class, otherwise my brain doesn't shut up."

liora nodded. "same."

billie quirked a brow. "what time does yours usually stop talking?"

liora gave a quiet laugh. "hasn't yet."

"mm. dangerous."

liora's heart stuttered at that. not the word. the way she said it—low and casual, but weighted, like it meant something more.

she walked to her usual desk and dropped her bag slowly. billie watched her the whole time. not staring. just... noticing.

"you're early," billie said.

liora shrugged, fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. "couldn't sleep."

billie leaned her head back against the wall, looking at her upside-down. "you write anything last night?"

liora hesitated. "some."

"was it honest?"

liora nodded. "too honest."

a beat of silence passed. billie tapped her pen against her knee.

"that's the best kind," she said again, softer this time.

liora's fingers tightened around the edge of her desk.

billie sat up straighter, stretched her legs out, and glanced toward the clock. "we've got ten minutes."

liora blinked. "until what?"

billie met her eyes, and something in her expression was quieter now. more careful.

"until the room stops being just ours."

liora couldn't answer. not really. not with words.

so she just sat there. breathing, listening to the clock tick, watching billie lower her gaze back to her journal like nothing about that moment was dangerous.

but it was. and she knew they both felt it. the rest of the day passed in pieces.

liora moved through it, but not in it. she answered questions when people spoke to her. nodded at professors. ate half a sandwich she barely remembered ordering. but everything felt a little off, like her body was two steps behind her thoughts.

her mind kept circling back to that morning. to billie. to the way she'd said: until the room stops being just ours.

she had meant it as a joke, maybe. or maybe not. maybe that was the whole problem — it was impossible to tell where the edges were with her. nothing about billie felt standard. nothing about her felt safe.

and liora wasn't sure if that scared her, or made her want more.

she spent that night curled up at her desk, the soft hum of music playing from her speaker — something instrumental, no lyrics. she couldn't handle words right now. hers were already too loud.

her notebook lay open beside her laptop. blank page. staring back.

she didn't know what she was trying to write. she just knew it was there, somewhere under her skin, and it needed out.

after a while, she started, slow:

i'm not trying to want this. i'm not even sure what this is. but i know how it feels. like walking toward thunder. like the space between two notes where silence is too loud.

she said it like it was nothing. but i think she felt it too.

her hand stilled.

she didn't finish the page. didn't close the notebook, either.

instead, she leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, the soft glow of her desk lamp casting blurred shadows on the wall. outside, it was raining — the kind of quiet, steady rain that made everything feel further away.

except her.

billie.

she was still too close. in her thoughts. under her skin. and now, there was no unfeeling that.

[npookie0]

Hello fellow mootie >:3 GUESS WHO'S WRITING THE SAJA BOYS!! 🫵🫵 Buttt it you wanna can you write romance saja x shy reader when it comes to flirting? ヾ(＾-＾)ノ

A Shy Soul

You've been hanging out with your demonic idol for a while now, what if one day instead of a casual meeting, Romance did what a romantic soul would do and asked you out on a date? And what if... you agreed? But uh-oh! There's a catch! You're totally weak when it comes to flirting and your weakness might show when your date is the biggest flirt you've ever known.

words [ 985 ]

cws: headcanony ah Romance, spoilers for KDH probably,

You were used to your meetings with Romance, hearing his tales about the demon world, about being in a boys band. You really loved hearing his stories, even if at first believing that your bias and friend is a demon was taught. You didn't fully believe him until he showed you his demon form.

Instead of running away or acting scared, like any person in your place would, you just sat there and stared at him and then as if it was nothing you just asked about his patterns. You didn't know that in that exact moment he fell for you and started to hint on it.

Sadly you were rather obvious to his flirting.

"Okay darling, I see that you have a hard time catching the message." Romance said after you blew yet another one of his flirting attempts. Romance took you by your hand and held it to his cheek. "Y/n, my darling soul, go on a date with me."

"What?!" You jumped in your seat when you heard his words, your face turning red and your eyes widening. "Me? On a date? With you?' You didn't know if he was joking or not. "Are you serious? You're not joking?" You were in shock, but there was also this small hope that maybe he was serious.

"You're so adorable, you know?" He chuckled and brushed a hand through his hair, destroying the heart shape of his bangs. "Yes. I'm serious and I want to go out with you, so please, go out with me."

His words flustered you. "Okay, I will go on a date with you Romance." You replied and looked away sheepishly.

The man perked up, grabbing you by both of your hands and closing them between his. "Really?" You nodded. "I'm so happy, I just can't wait to sweep you off your feat, cutie."

A day passed and you stood in front of the Heartwarming Cafe, it was a popular spot for couples. A small blushed creeped on your face at the thought of Romance seeing you as a couple, your heart beat faster when you thought of him as your boyfriend.

"I hope you didn't wait long, aegi." Romance whispered into your ear, appearing out of no where.

"Gosh! Don't scare me like that, you idiot. I could've hit you."

"And scar my pretty face? I don't think you'd do that. C'mon! Let's go in." He outstretched his hand to you.

"Your ego as almost as high as Abby's, are you sure you're not becoming him?" You asked teasingly and took his hand after a second of hesitance.

Upon entering the cafe you were hit with the warm embrace of sweetness and softness wash throughout your whole body. There were clouds, strawberries and hearts everywhere you looked, the theme was very heavenly when you wrapped your head around it.

"Why are you giggling, hm?" Romance whispered to you.

"Oh? I- um sorry!"

"Oh, no, no. Don't apologise. Your giggled are like music to my ears, I could listen to them forever, just want to know what caused my beautiful soul to giggle so sweetly."

"Ack! Don't say stuff like that!" You covered your cheeks with your hands.

"What's the matter? Are you flustered, aegi?" He had that mischievous spark in his eyes that said that he enjoyed this.

"No, totally not. C'mon let's sit down, I'm starving." You ruched him to look for a table with you.

You found one in a corner of the cafe, it had a cute heart decor hanging above it and that's what made your decision to pick it. Your desserts just arrived. You chose a strawberry cake and boba while romance picked a cheesecake and a raspberry matcha.

"So, will you tell me what you giggled about?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached for his drink.

You looked at him confused mid biting a piece of your pie before you realise what he was talking about. "Oh! That! Well, it was just funny to me how this place is so heavenly and you're, you know, far from that." You giggled.

Romance smirked and brought his voice down. "Oh, I reassure you, you will soon learn that I can be heavenly."

Your face felt like it was on fire. "Romance!" You exclaimed and looked around to see if someone heard him.

"What? I just said that you'd be happy. What did you think about, sweetheart?" Oh that bastard. He knew what he was doing and he enjoyed every second of it.

"I didn't think about anything. You! You! Ugh." You sent him an angry look and took a sip of your boba.

"Awh, you're just adorable when you're annoyed. I'm glad I can see it, my darling soul." He happily took a bite of his cake, watching your cheeks burn up and the blush reach your ears.

"You're so." You mumbled, circling the boba in your hand.

"I'm what? C'mon, use your words~." He winked at you.

"It was nothing, you must've heard wrong." You smiled innocently.

"Sure, sure. Let it have your way, aegi."

The date was going smoothly, as smoothly as getting flustered by Romance's words could go. The more you listened to him and looked at him the more your heart weakened and you just couldn't hold back the reactions he was causing. You were sitting with your cheeks covered by your hands halfway through the date because the warm pink of your cheeks was probably too noticeable for your own good.

"You know, we should go out on dates more often if I can turn you all cute and blushy like this." Romance said, reaching his hand out and taking one of yours into his, pulling it to his lips and placing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Maybe on our next date it would be your lips, instead of your hand. I will hope so, my beautiful soul."

Can you tell that I'm aroace and didn't really flirt with anyone? I hope not shhshs

It was fun to write I kinda love this guy.... but wahiooo next saja boy done! I will try to write mystery x reader after I'm back from work, but no promises my pookies </3

Hope you enjoyed!

Nathan

[tiredandsapphic]

꩜ ON HER KNEES

pairing ꩜ lottie matthews x femreader

summary ꩜ where lottie takes her gf on one of her family’s over the top vacations. where the poor girl can’t seem to take her hands off you either.

an ꩜ please ignore my little knowledge of italy, nsfw

if there’s one thing that the matthew’s have mastered, it would be how to plan an over the top vacation. in which they claimed were just pocket money. gratefully, they always invited you—well more through lottie—“you can bring…your friend, if you must.” and who were you to turn that down?

now you find yourself in a stupidly luxurious villa they just happen to own along the amalfi coast, italy. you’re a little out of place, in another country, with lottie—thank god for lottie.

although, even she has her limits. between the silent judgement and backhanded compliments from her family, the poor girl was at her limit. in a moment of peace, lottie pulled you into the bathroom of the room you shared. perks of being ‘close friends’ to her parents knowledge.

the bathroom itself has to be bigger than your room at home. marble floors, gold accents, some fancy clawfoot tub that definitely has not been used. the windows are open, welcoming a soft salty breeze, along with the polite chatter of her family downstairs—clinking glasses and ocean air whisking through sheer curtains. it’s warm, too warm, or maybe thats just lottie.

her grip on your wrist is firm, guiding you thoroughly. she presses you up against the cool marble counter.

“i seriously might go crazy. they're driving me insane.” she grumbles, a crease in her brow.

you give her a soft empathetic frown. lottie hiding her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“you’re the only good thing here.” she whispers against your skin before leaning back to look you in the face.

a soft breathless laugh leaves you, reaching up and cupping her face. “and the food.” you tease.

she laughs in response, airy compared to her earlier tension. “and the food.” she nods.

before you can utter anything more she closes the gap, pressing her lips to yours with burning urgency. you gasp softly before melting into the intensity, hands falling to grasp her shirt. she lodges herself against you, pushing you further against the counter.

after a short moment you part briefly. lottie in front of you, breathing heavy. mix of lingering frustration and something new. want. your lipstick lingering on her lips, her silk button-down halfway open. her hands firmly on your hips, keeping you in place. it’s not like you were willing to slip away anyways.

your dress—she so generously bought—is hiked up, thanks to her thigh pressed between yours. she trails warm and messy kisses along your jaw, making your fingers tighten on her shirt.

"lottie,” you breathe, biting back a moan as her fingers skim up your exposed thighs.

“mhm?” she mumbles, distracted with her teeth grazing your neck.

“they’re literally downstairs.” you half whine.

she lifts her head just enough to look at you. her eyes are flushed, dark, and nearly begging. she looks starving.

“you really think i care?” she hums, not an ounce of worry in her tone.

“your mom already thinks im corrupting you.” you laugh, giving her an unsure look.

“baby,” she drags her long and slender fingers further up your thighs, “you are.”

your breath catches. her nails dig into your waist and you instinctively pull her closer, lips brushing hers.

“you’re gonna get us caught.” you swallow, face warm.

“then be quiet,” she grins, mouth ghosting yours, “or don’t.”

you weren’t going to deny a starving girl, lottie clearly needs this—hell so do you. so just like that, she drops to her knees in front of you. her hands are hot on your thighs, dragging your shamefully wet panties down your legs.

she wastes no time with you, her mouth going straight to your dripping cunt. you tilt your head back, biting your lip to keep from making obscene sounds. you thread a hand through her dark hair, something to ground yourself. “oh fuck.” you whimper.

she eats you out like a starved woman, not shy, not sweet. it’s hungry, needy. like shes punishing you and worshipping you at the same time. her tongue works your throbbing clit in perfect motion, challenging you to keep quiet.

“can’t—god, i can’t.” you choke out.

“yes you can. i know you can.” she nearly growls, giving your thigh a squeeze.

your free hand clutches the counter. the cool marble bites into your spine. shes got your thigh over her shoulder, her hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. you can’t help but chase her mouth, rolling your hips slightly, desperately. sounds of her family still rising through the breeze.

and every time you make a sound and grip her hair a little tighter she moans against you, sending delicious vibrations.

she’s ruthless when she feels your thighs tighten around her head, both of you too far lost to stop. your moans grow louder as you get closer. and lottie just works harder.

you come with your hand over your mouth, and her name choked on your tongue. she doesn’t stop, she helps ride out your orgasm, lapping up everything you’re giving her.

you collapse back against the sink, breathless and dazed. she finally stands up like she hasn’t just made you see stars. she looks so proud and 10 times less tense, blissed out on your high. her lips and chin glistening with your arousal.

she kisses you slow and deep, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“you’re impossible,” you whisper, dizzy, wiping her face with your thumb.

“you love me for it.” she smiles, turning to kiss the tip of your thumb.

“yeah,” you breathe, “i really, really do.”

and yeah—maybe you’re a bit out of place—but with lottie, anywhere is bliss.

[hartleychristopher]

Okie I have a request for a josh and Chris meeting the reader in highschool for the first time and they became friends through like comic books or like the newest game that came out because they are nerds just for fun

If you don't want to do this it's Okie

Issue #1: First Encounter

Parings: Chris x gn!reader, Josh x gn!reader (either platonic or flirty 😏 you decide) (no prank au)

Warnings: cheesy banter bc it’s fun! Okay? sue me.

Summary: you go to the comic book shop in search of a back issue, what you find are new friends in the shape of two dorks that come as a package deal; Chris and Josh. It seems you’ve been adopted as the third wheel in their bromance whether you like it or not.

A/N: hiii I love this! My two favorite boys 🥹 I hope it’s okay they’re in college in this, I know you requested high school but I prefer to write about them as adults :) (dating a lot of (only) nerds and having a base knowledge on comic books came in handy for this ask!)

You’re halfway through flipping through the back issues, elbow-deep in plastic sleeves and crossovers, when someone bumps into the end of the display with a soft thud.

“Ah, crap—sorry. I didn’t think anyone was back here.”

You look up to find a tall guy with glasses and a beanie, shoulders hunched like he’s startled himself as much as you. He’s wearing a Watchmen hoodie, already slightly pilled at the cuffs. Definitely a regular.

You give him a quick once-over and shrug. “It’s fine. no casualties”

He gives a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cool. That’s… good. Uh, I wasn’t, like, creeping or anything, I just—” He gestures vaguely at the boxes. “I’m on a mission.”

“Let me guess: Green Lantern?” You smirk.

His face lights up, almost embarrassingly so. “Rebirth! Yes! You get it”

Before you could respond, another guy steps around the corner—leaner, with that kind of practiced casualness that probably made him popular without trying. He takes one look at the two of you and raises an eyebrow.

“Chris, are you harassing strangers in the wild again?” he asks, smirking. “Can’t take you anywhere” he teases him.

Chris makes a noise that was half protest, half panic. “What?! No! I just bumped the shelf! I wasn’t—th-they were already here!”

“Relax, man, I’m messing with you,” the new guy says, shooting you a quick, easy smile before he sticks out a hand. “Josh. That’s Chris. He’s harmless. Socially clumsy, but harmless.”

You hesitate a second before shaking his hand.

Josh’s eyes wander to your bag when he lets go of your hand. “I like the Moon Knight patch. Taste.”

Chris nods quickly like he was just now noticing. “Oh—yeah, that’s awesome. Moon Knight’s underrated. like, so many people just watched the show and bailed, but if you actually read—sorry, I’m rambling”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you guys do this often? Corner people in the back issues section?”

“Corner?” Josh repeats, mock offended. “No, this is mutual proximity. We’re just friendly.”

Chris looks like he wants to crawl into a long box and close the lid. “we—we’re not trying to be weird. I swear. We just—uh, like comics. And your patch’s cool, that’s all”

You glance between them. Both clearly nerds, but in wildly different flavors. Josh had the confidence of someone who knew he could talk his way into or out of anything. Chris looked like this was the most intense social interaction he’d had all week. Maybe month. But neither of them gave you that creepy gut feeling. Just… harmless dorks. Maybe even kind of funny, in a secondhand embarrassment kind of way.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You two always come as a set?”

“Unfortunately,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Josh ignored him. “Usually. Trivia nights, midnight releases, occasional accidental arson in the microwave when someone tries to reheat pizza on foil…” Josh gives Chris a pointed look.

“That was one time,” Chris mumbles, visibly dying.

You tilt your head. “There’s trivia?”

Josh perked up. “Yeah—The Kettle Café, Thursday nights. Comics, movies, all the nerdy stuff. We bombed last week because someone forgot the name of Thor’s Second Hammer.”

“It’s called Stormbreaker, and I had brain fog,” Chris shoots back.

You look down at the issue in your hands. You had fully intended to be in and out of this place in under ten minutes. But now you had two dorks standing in front of you; one melting, one grinning—and for some reason, you weren’t quite ready to bolt.

Josh raised his brows. “You should come, we could use someone who actually reads Moon Knight”

you considered. “If it turns out to be just the two of you playing against each other and quoting The Big Bang Theory for two hours, I’m walking out”

Chris looked genuinely disgusted. “We quote Firefly, actually.”

Josh grinned. “So that’s a maybe?”

You sigh, “It’s a ‘give me the address and I’ll think about it’”

Josh pulls a sharpie out of his jacket pocket like he does this sort of thing often. “that’s a victory”

As he scribbles the address on a receipt from his pocket and hands it to you, you catch Chris looking down at his shoes, trying not to smile too obviously.

You tuck the receipt into your bag. “Alright, nerds. Enjoy your Rebirth… don’t burn anything down”

Chris gives an awkward little salute, “No promises”

<3

taglist: @fritzhardt @avwade69 @maiiuelle @avrells @fordthegamelord819 @xoxocher @sweetcalebb @z0mb1epuzzy @dnpo1son

Wanna join my taglist? Click here!

[bewitched-hours]

Hello! Yeah me again asking abt the noli and 07 yandere thing (lord I feel weird asking again I don’t want to be a bother) It’s just the last one you wrote was really and I mean really WELL written and I was hoping to ask for a part 2 of how things go? Hacking together, speaking, debating life—just quite cool! I already sent you the link of the past one I was talking about so I hope thats alright!

HI- YEAH- I SAW IT LOL I only saw it at school tbf so I'm starting it with this and have the story opened in another tab to make sure I don't forget anything (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

The reader's pronouns are once again She/They-

Pre-Forsaken

All three of you sat on opposite sides of 007 as you looked at the child in his arms.

"It's kinda cute..." You tried to end the silence comfortably as you could see the man soften. Noli didn't look so tough either for a change.

Though the red bundle of joy was giddy now, you knew it was only a matter of time until it got hungry...

"What are we meant to do with it..?" Noli asked quietly, watching as the baby held onto 007's fingers with glee. It honestly melted your heart a bit.

"I say we keep it." You state bluntly, surprised eyes meeting your own as you went to quickly explain yourself. "Think about it. If we drop it off somewhere else it would probably reach the same path as us if it survives anyways."

The two of them gave each other an unsure look before you gently lifted the child out of 7n7's arms with a huff. "I'm not saying we'd be great parents or anything but it'd definitely be better than the foster system or death." Your tone was firm but they could tell you were empathising with that little red face giggling up at you.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself. That you were better than your family? Maybe that you can actually take care of something meaningful?

Whatever, it wasn't like either of them could say no by the time you started cooing at the baby all motherly.

"Heh, guess you're right." 007 perked up first, getting you to smile a bit more.

Wether it was to make you happy or they actually liked the idea, you couldn't care less. What mattered was that this child was safe with you.

"We should totally call it after the c00lgui." You commented with a chuckle, having Noli cackling and 007 trying to suppress his laugh.

"Yeah- no- this is good- So c00lkidd?" He suggested, letting out a laugh at your grinning nod. It was silly, it was unusual...

It was perfect.

"It'll be the perfect addition! Plus, I have some experience back when I had a babysitting gig to save up some money as a kid myself. We'll just need to get a few things and c00lkidd is gonna be spoiled with love!" You practically beamed and placed a gentle kiss on the little one's head, going back to cooing at it as it giggled in your arms.

Being a family might just be easier than you thought...

Post-Forsaken

For once, 007 probably appreciated being an outsider.

It meant more time with you. More time with Noli.

You were quick to figure out a spot to all meet in where neither killers nor survivors would even hear you.

It was perfect, especially whenever Noli decided to bring along c00lkidd and you could just talk for a while.

CK loved you. He loved the idea of having a big family like this where you could be his mom. You played nice and fair and actually managed to tire him out at times.

Though he didn't understand why it was such a taboo to play tag outside of rounds, he trusted your explanation that it was because it was less fun with only you four and the other survivors wouldn't be willing to listen to you or 007.

And CK knew the other killers were even less willing so...

But you'd always promise that once you get back home, you'll be the best mother to c00lkidd. And he took it as a good promise to make before saying his goodbyes and waiting for the next round.

You were committed to being the mother c00lkidd needed and the 'wife' that 007n7 and Noli deserved...

A bit disappointed with how this turned out but I tried my best-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[nineteenninety-six]

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Across the Kitchen Table [2]

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Ex-Wife!Reader

AN: Still suffering from lack of inspo but this just came to me and I kinda like it. This is technically a 2nd part to ATKT but it's also not, it can be read alone. Also just try your hardest to ignore an inconsistancies lol

TW: medical inaccuracies, kids injuring themselves, divorced parents.

ACROSS THE KITCHEN TABLE

When the school couldn't get in contact with either you or Robby, they asked the paramedics to go to the one place they knew the both of you would be.

Unbeknownst to either of you, your daughter's school had been trying to call you both for the past thirty minutes. Gwendolyn had injured herself during gym class but with Robby in the midst of a critical case with Collins and you elbow deep in a surgery and so neither of you had access to your phone.

You remain blissfully unaware until a call comes into the OR. A nurse gratefully holds the phone up to your ear as you pause in your actions, your heart stopping as you listen to Perlah on the other end of the phone.

"Page Walsh, she needs to take over." You call out after Perlah hangs up, "My kid is downstairs."

Everyone knows what you mean by 'downstairs' and so they don't waste a second as they call for Walsh and prepare for a switch.

Your mind was racing with guesses of what rendered your daughter in the emergency room. It could be something as simple as a sprained ankle... or something else, something worse but you were determined not to think about it. You didn't want to needlessly worry yourself but the worried mother in you was rearing its head.

Once Walsh was scrubbed in and was caught up, you were quick to leave the OR. You had just about exchanged your scrubs before you were hurrying down the hallway to the stairs, tightening the drawstrings on your trousers as you sped downstairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

You don't even stop once you reach the emergency department. Perlah calls out the room number as you pass the nurses station and you nod in thanks as you make your way to the room.

Robby was already there no doubt. The ED was his department, his home away from home and you knew he'd be by Gwen's side the moment she arrived. Meanwhile, it had taken you almost forty-five minutes to get out of surgery, clean and downstairs. You could only hope the silence from the ED meant it wasn't a serious emergency.

Habit leads you to knock on the door before you step in and the sight that greets you makes you pause in your steps.

Robby was on the hospital bed, shoes kicked off as he relaxed back, half asleep as his shift catches up with him. Gwen is cuddled up with him, one of her ankles propped up by a series of pillows. They're talking to each other in low murmurs, Robby trying to make Gwen laugh to cheer her up.

Despite being divorced for a year and a half, it wasn't weird or awkward to see Robby as you saw him multiple times a week. Not only did you work at the same hospital, you also met every Sunday evening to pick up/drop off the kids, not to mention to the children's sports practices that happened multiple times a week that you both attended. The only difference is that you don't live together anymore.

"Mom!" Gwen perks up at your arrival.

"Hey baby!" You coo as you approach her, you press a kiss to her forehead and brush her hair behind her ear, being careful not to dislodge the glitter-pink glasses that rested on her face. "How did you land up here sweetheart?"

"We were running in gym class and I tripped and fell," Gwen sniffles and you wipe her tears with a soft coo, "Then they took me here."

You give her ankle a glance before you turn your attention over to Robby, "Is it a sprain? Why haven't they wrapped it?"

Robby shifts from the bed, standing up before stretching his arms over his head with a soft groan, "Not sure, I think fracture. We're waiting for an x-ray."

"Still?" You pull back, ready to go storming around for answers and maybe cash in a few favours to push Gwen to the top of the waiting list.

Robby stops you in your tracks, "No you stay here, I'll go see what I can do."

You thank him and watch as he kisses Gwen on the cheek, promising her he'll be back soon before he departs from the room. You climb into the space on the bed that Robby had vacated, Gwen snuggling up to your side.

"Sorry mommy took so long honey, I was busy upstairs. I didn't have my phone." You tell your daughter.

"I know, daddy told me that you were helping someone." Gwen murmurs, "It's okay, you're here now."

Robby returns with two cups of coffee from the cafeteria, a muffin for Gwen and both your phones in his hands.

"Gwen is next in line," Robby tells you as he passes you a cup and your phone, "And I called your parents, they're gonna pick Carter up from school and bring him here."

You hated to admit it but you had completely forgotten about your son. The panic of hearing that your daughter was injured and in the ER, along with the frustration of her delayed care had all but consumed you.

"He'll be out in about an hour. We should be done by then…hopefully." Robby continues as he gives Gwen her muffin, smiling at the happy wiggle she did at the baked good.

You both watch as Gwen begins to eat her muffin, taking a small bite before she offers you both a bite, which you both reject, encouraging her to have it all for herself.

Robby stands next to you and opens his mouth but before any words could come out a knock sounds on the door as it opens, Dana poking her head around the door.

"Pulled a few strings and got the portable x-ray machine," Dana winks at you as she makes her way over to Gwen, a x-ray tech trailing behind her wheeling the machine in.

"Hi auntie Dana," Gwen greets the nurse.

"Hi sweetheart," Dana waves at the girl with a smile, "My friend here is just going to take a picture of your ankle so we can see what's wrong."

"Are you going to stay here?" Gwen turns her wide eyes over to you and Robby and you're both quick to answer her.

"We aren't going anywhere," Robby reassures her, "We'll be right here."

You nod along, "You'll be able to see us the whole time baby."

Gwen gives a brave nod to Dana, "Okay, I'm ready auntie Dana."

It takes mere minutes, the x-ray is completed and the tech is out of the door ten minutes later, promising to be back within the hour. Dana lingers for a while longer, catching up with you and Gwen and giving Robby an update on his critical patient from earlier.

With neither you or Robby allowed to be Gwen's doctor, it's assigned to Collins. Robby mutters about it, not because he thinks Collin's isn't good enough, he knows she's one of the best already but Gwen is his daughter and so he's particular about her care. His first choice would of course be him but you are a very close second.

Collins confirms Robby guess of a fracture to Gwen's ankle and Robby sticks by her side after the young girl reaches for him. 

You look down at your phone when it dings with a notification, it was your mom, telling you they had arrived at the hospital with Carter. Once you meet them outside, you invite them to join you in the hospital room but they refuse, not wanting to overwhelm Gwen, but promising they'll visit on the weekend once everything calms down. 

You carry Carter back to the hospital room, asking him about his day at school as he babbles in your ear in response. Carter waves to everyone as you walk through the hospital, calling out 'hello's' and 'byes' from his position on your hip.

The hospital was a common setting for the children, they were regular visitors since birth. When Gwen was born and you were on maternity leave, you often popped in to visit Robby after he returned to work from paternity leave. Carter didn't visit the ED until he was one year old, when lockdown was lifted and it was safe to do so but the sunshine boy made Robby's days in the hospital just that little better.

The memory of those days brings a smile to your face as you enter your daughters room. Carter's eyes land on Gwen first and burst into an excited grin, always happy to see his big sister but then his eyes catch on to Robby right beside Gwen and he is spoilt for choice, eyes flickering between his father and his sister unable to choose but once he spies the cast on Gwen's foot, his choice is made.

He wiggles out of your hold and darts over to Gwen as soon as his feet touch the ground, though he's not big enough to climb upon the bed by himself, so Robby lifts him up, settling him next to his big sister.

You noticed how Gwen still clung to Robby, perhaps because it was your week and she had spent more time with you than with him. You were pondering on whether to ask him if he wanted to take Gwen for his time a day early. You were working the weekend while Robby wasn't so he was going to collect them in the morning regardless.

You catch Robby’s gaze and point towards the corner of the room, suggesting you want to chat with him.

When he comes over, you ask, “Would you mind if she goes with you tonight? She seems a bit attached.”

“I was actually thinking of asking if I could take them tonight,” Robby says, agreeing with your suggestion. “I’ll take Carter too.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile.

Robby turns to the kids, “You’re going home with me tonight, how does that sound?”

Gwen peers over at you with a worried furrow on her face, "What about mommy?"

"Mommy will be fine. I'm working tomorrow so you'd be going to daddy's anyway remember?"

Gwen looks unconvinced. She loved both her parents equally and always wanted to split time equally, not liking when things got skewed even just a little bit.

You lift Carter from his position and take his seat, settling him on your lap as Robby sits on Gwen's other side, "Especially with your ankle sweetie, going back and forth might hurt you some more."

"Mommy come?" Carter asks, looking up at you.

Gwen brightens at the suggestion, "Yeah can mommy come to yours daddy? We can have a sleepover!"

You look over at Robby who's already looking at you. 

"It's up to daddy." 

Robby shrugs, "What hell…sure."

Gwens squeals in excitement and Carter copies her, clapping his hands as he cheers along with her. You and Robby exchanged amused looks over the heads of your children and it almost reminds you of your life together before the divorce and for a moment, you can't remember why you split up in the first place.

[shadamyheadcanons]

Total Recall

For the 2025 Shadamy week prompt: Forgotten. Kindly beta’d by the lovely @shadowsfascination.

Shadow wakes up in an unfamiliar bed with amnesia and finds that a vaguely familiar pink hedgehog took him in, promising to take care of him until he remembers everything. He keeps a journal while he’s there so he can at least remember some things over time. 5.8K words.

Cross-posted on AO3.

Day 1

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache, a bump on my head, and not a single memory of how it happened...or who I was. Who anyone was. I must’ve grunted in pain, because a pink hedgehog dashed into the room to check on me. She was fretting and worrying over me, but I couldn’t really focus.

She introduced herself as Amy and said we were friends, but I don’t know. She feels more important than that, somehow. She must mean something else to me. Whatever it is, it must be positive, because I instantly felt better once I saw her. Safer.

Amy promised she’d take care of me until I got my memories back, and she gave me this journal so I could write things down as I remembered them. When I asked her why she’s helping me, she said she’s always there when a friend needs her. She also mentioned she felt guilty, but she wouldn’t tell me why.

Day 2

The stabbing pain in my head this morning was just as bad as yesterday, maybe worse. I couldn’t even leave bed, so she fed me soup and pet my head for a while. It felt...nice. I kind of want to fib and tell her I need to stay in bed more often, but the idea of lying to her makes me feel sick for some reason.

Day 3

I tried walking around the house today, but I was too dizzy to make it far. Luckily, Amy was there to help guide me to a seat in her kitchen, and she talked to me while we ate lunch, telling stories about all our friends. A couple of names sounded vaguely familiar, but the details escaped me. She didn’t seem to mind.

When I asked if looking after me was a nuisance, Amy instantly denied it, saying it’s nice to have someone else around for a change. Apparently, she used to live with her friend Cream, but then Cream moved back in with her mother, leaving Amy by herself.

It looked like she was trying really hard not to look sad. I wonder if she’s lonely. Maybe I’m lonely, too.

I told her I liked being with her here so far, and she looked really happy. I think I’ll mention that more often.

Day 5

I remembered something today. She was playing music while she made us breakfast. I recognized the chords, the words, the tone...I spoke some of the words, then sang a few lines as the lyrics came to me.

Amy was thrilled. She instantly perked up and started talking a mile a minute about the band—Hot Honey, she called them—and how she’d brought me to a concert with her, how much fun we’d had together, how much I liked it. She played song after song of theirs, excitedly chattering away.

But I didn’t understand. I told her that although I recognized the songs, I didn’t like them.

I wish I hadn’t done that. She went quiet and looked really sad.

I wanted to make her feel better, so I admitted that although I didn’t really like the songs, they felt meaningful. Important. She smiled a little.

She hasn’t played Hot Honey since then.

It was grating. It was sappy.

But I kind of miss it anyway.

Day 6

Not too much happened today. My head’s been feeling better and I can walk now, so Amy said we can go out tomorrow.

I noticed she had blankets and a pillow set up in another room, so I asked if she always slept there. She said it was just temporary, that she usually sleeps in the bed I’m using. She told me she was fine sleeping there and it wasn’t a problem, but I don’t know. It looks uncomfortable to me. I told her there was probably enough room for both of us in the bed if we slept close enough, but her face went bright red, and she got all flustered and said no.

Not sure what that’s about, but I kind of want to see her do it again.

Day 7

I’m apparently a fan of flowers, so she took me out to a public garden today. She must be right, because I remembered all of their names—lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, magnolias. It’s weird what my brain hangs onto; little facts are fine, but whenever I try to think of details about people or my past, it’s like there’s this weird bubble in the back of my head stopping me. If I try to push it, I get this sense of wrongness, like I’m snooping somewhere I shouldn’t be.

But flowers are easy. I even told her scraps I remembered about their supposed “symbolism,” whatever that means, and she looked happier and happier the more I shared. Memories came back in bits and pieces: times when I’d seen each flower for the first time, the books I’ve scoured to learn more, the feeling of soil passing through my fingers, and the joy of raising my own flowers and watching them bloom. Upon remembering I had a garden myself, I immediately stopped and asked Amy about it. Luckily, she’d asked a friend of hers, Silver, to look after it while I was under the weather. She really does think of everything.

Halfway through, she spotted some bright yellow daffodils and gasped. She brightened up and told me I gave her a bouquet of them once to cheer her up. I can’t remember doing that, but the smile on her face was warm and familiar. If she always looks that way when she gets flowers, I’ll have to get them for her more often.

At the end, she lamented that it was too early in the year for lavender, saying those were my favorites. But I don’t think they actually are. They aren’t right now, at least. I pointed to a patch of roses we’d already passed and said those were my favorites, especially the red ones. She looked confused, but then she smiled again and told me she loved them, too, and that “Rose” is her last name.

It suits her.

On a whim, I asked if I could call her that, and her eyes widened. She smiled shyly and agreed. Her cheeks were pink.

Rosy, even.

Day 9

Today, Rose introduced me to two of her friends, a fox with two tails and an...echidna? I think that’s what he’s called...named Tails and Knuckles.

Two people named after body parts. Not exactly creative, but it does make me wonder where my name came from. What am I a shadow of? I tried to think back, but all it gave me was an unsettling sensation in the back of my mind: a gentle voice, followed by a stabbing pain.

I decided the answer could wait.

I’m not sure why Knuckles was there. It seems like Rose doesn’t always have a reason for bringing people over, she just does it. He mostly lounged around and pestered me about what I did and didn’t remember and seemed disappointed with how little I knew. But when I called Rose by her last name, he lit up and started hounding me about her instead—how “close” we were, how much I liked her, how long I was staying with her—smirking obnoxiously the whole way through. Rose eventually got him to back off.

Tails asked about my headaches. How frequent they are, what triggers them, that kind of thing. He talked to me about amnesia, too, saying this kind usually only persists for a couple weeks in Mobians and my memories will probably be back soon. The others seemed relieved, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.

After checking on my health, Tails showed that he’d brought a two-wheeled vehicle with him, saying he’d been in the process of tuning it up when my...incident happened. He encouraged me to take a seat and start it up, explaining that I’d been built with what he calls “vehicular intuition,” so I’d know how to ride it even without my memories. He’s awfully smart for a kid. Smarter than Knuckles, at least.

At first, I didn’t recognize it. The striking jet black and sharp angles called out to me faintly, but it wasn’t until I sat down on the seat and started up the engine that it clicked.

Powerful sensations and images flashed behind my eyes—wind whipping through my quills, scenery blurring past, the growl of the bike beneath me, the simple joy and freedom of it all—and my heart pounded.

My bike. Mine.

I almost shed a tear. I’ve missed it that much. Luckily, I regained focus in time to blink it back. I think I’d be okay if Rose saw me cry, but the other two? Not a chance.

After they left, Rose begged me to take her on a ride with me, and I immediately said yes. She’s a difficult person to say no to.

The familiar thrill of racing returned to me, but the feeling of someone clinging to me was fresh. I don’t think I’ve ever given Rose a ride before. I’ve been missing out. The way she held me made my chest feel warm and light, and whenever I sped up or turned a tight corner, she’d let out a cute little squeak.

I kept driving her around until the sun set. Once I brought her home, she finally explained why she’s been feeling guilty about my amnesia. She said I was helping her build a new addition on her house and she accidentally knocked me on the head with a hammer. Said she felt awful, should have been more careful, all of that. I didn’t like seeing her so unhappy, so I hugged her and told her it was alright, and she calmed down.

To be honest, I bet there’s more to the story than that. Tails mentioned I’m supposed to be some kind of “Ultimate Life Form,” so I highly doubt a sweet, silly, petite girl could knock me out with a hammer, especially by accident. She’s probably being too hard on herself for something. She does that a lot.

But she does have a hammer she keeps by the door, this giant yellow and red thing. Just looking at it does make my head hurt.

Day 11

Rose invited over an obnoxious blue hedgehog this afternoon—Sonic, I think? He wouldn’t shut up and kept sprinting around making dumb jokes, saying he ‘would race me if I were feeling better.’

As if I’d need to be at full power to beat that buffoon in a race.

Rose seems...fond of him. She has terrible taste. I didn’t tell her that.

She asked me if I remembered anything about him, and I told her that she must have hit me pretty hard if I managed to forget someone that annoying. I thought she’d be upset, but she laughed instead and said that some things never change.

Day 14

Today

Day 15

Yesterday I

Day 16

Rose and I went to a city two days ago called Westport Westopolis to run a few errands. While we were there, we ran into a man in a military uniform with two differently colored eyes. He started to snap at me about my “extended vacation.” Rose got mad and stepped between us, maybe to defend me, but I couldn’t hear what she said to him because I caught sight of a weird logo on his chest that spelled out “G.U.N.”

It felt like my head was splitting in two.

Unsettling, terrifying noises ricocheted in my mind—panicked voices, pleading, screams—ending with a deafening bang.

I don’t know what that sound was, but it made my stomach turn.

After the bang, my vision went black, and my legs gave out. I don’t remember hitting the floor, though. Maybe Rose caught me. She did say she carried me home, and I’ve never caught her in a lie. She must be stronger than she looks. I couldn’t even leave bed until today, so I’m sure I was no help.

I think something bad happened to me, and I’m scared of finding out what it was. Is it possible to just bring back the good memories? Am I wrong to want that?

I hope I never run into G.U.N. again.

Day 17

Rose thought we could use a nice day off after what happened, so she brought me to the city park with some food and a blanket so we could eat outside on the grass. She said it’s called a “picnic.” The word wasn’t familiar, not even a little. Rose got really sad when I said so. She thinks I’d probably never been on one, even before I lost my memories. She immediately turned determined, scrounged up some food—bread, strawberry jam, peanut butter, chips–and brought me to the city park.

I don’t think this will help me regain any memories, but I don’t mind. She’s cute when she gets all determined like this. Are all female hedgehogs as pretty as she is? I asked her, but she told me to stop embarrassing her. She was as red as the strawberry jam.

I figured Rose would find us a table somewhere, but instead, she spread out the blanket right on the grass. We were halfway through our meal when Rose’s friend Cream hopped over to us with a small blue creature in tow who she calls “Cheese.” She let me hold him. He has an odd texture, warm and soft but jiggly. Not sure what to make of that, but it’s comforting somehow. A few other Chao stopped by, too. They’re clingy, but I like them.

The afternoon passed with no discussion of who I used to be; Rose, Cream, Cheese...all they cared about was who I am now. The temperature and breeze were relaxing, and it was nice to see them laughing and enjoying the comfortable weather. Their voices and the natural sounds of the park were gentle. I would’ve gladly spent all day there.

Rose once told me I’d promised her years ago that I’d keep everyone safe, that I’d made it my life’s mission to protect the Earth and everyone on it. I think I’m starting to understand why.

Day 20

We went grocery shopping in some square today—Station Square, I think it’s called. She had a pretty long list. She’s going to teach me how to make cupcakes. It’s another one of those things I know I’ve never done before. Is she still avoiding my past because of what happened with the commander, or is she just as reluctant to dredge up my memories as I am?

Taking a look at the list, I recognized enough items that I’m sure I could have dashed around the store and cut the time in half; I’ve experimented with my strength and speed here and there, and they’re both returning to me. Even as I thought of it, though, I lost all desire to rush. If I ran, I wouldn’t get to walk by her side. I’d miss the cute way her nose wrinkles when she’s comparing prices. I wouldn’t have gotten to reach the cake mix she was too short for and enjoy the smile it earned me.

Maybe you don’t need a reason to spend time with someone. Maybe the right person is worth it all on their own.

Day 25

Today, Rouge and Omega stopped by. I don’t remember everything about them, but their names are the only ones I’ve known right off the bat so far, and I felt better having them here.

Before they came in, Rose poked her head out the door and whispered something to them about not mentioning “assignments” around me right now, and every so often, she or Rouge would steer the topic away from something. Omega didn’t like that very much. They cut him off when he started mentioning something about target practice, and his internal motors made this disgruntled rumbling noise.

I get the feeling Rouge and Omega—and me, by extension—don’t visit Rose. Rouge didn’t know where the bathroom was, and Omega was analyzing the house’s structural integrity like he’s never been here. I can apparently teleport when I’m at full strength, so distance isn’t an issue, and she clearly needs the company, so why don’t we visit her?

Rouge apologized for not checking up on me sooner, saying they’d been really busy. Whichever “assignments” they’re being sent on must be stressful; Omega was grumpy, and there were bags under Rouge’s eyes. I told them to look out for themselves.

When Rose stepped out to bring in the cupcakes we’d made together, Rouge asked me about her—whether I felt comfortable here, if I wanted to stay somewhere else, all that. I told her I was happy here with her. When I called her “Rose,” though, Rouge stopped. She didn’t respond like Knuckles had. She and Omega exchanged a nervous glance. I asked what was wrong, but they both stalled out. Rouge just said that I was welcome to come back to live with them anytime, especially if I “needed some distance” after I got my memories back. Rose came back with the cupcakes before I could ask what she meant.

Distance from what? From Rose? Why? I like her. I like her smile. I like her cooking. I like how she laughs, even if I don’t always understand why. I like the warm feeling I get when she holds my hand to lead me places. I like hearing her hum when we’re doing chores around her house. I like how she says my name. She puts an extra...something into it that no one else does.

What miserable version of me would want to avoid her? What was I afraid of?

Day 31

It’s been a month now, and I think I need to talk to Rose.

The longer this goes on, the less and less I want to know about whatever darkness is lurking in my past. Every time I think back, all I feel is pain and dread, and I can’t help but wonder if I was ever as happy as I am now. I like the world I live in. I’m not sure I always did.

It feels like almost everyone wants to pull me backwards, but I’m tired of looking back. Why can’t I move forwards instead? Why can’t this be me?

Rose has put in so much time, so much effort into helping me regain my memories, but if anyone will accept my decision, it’ll be her.

I’ll tell her tomorrow.

Day 32

I did it. I told her...and she accepts me!

She said she’d noticed how nervous I was about it, and she understood why. She even told me she loved me—every version of me—memories or not, and that she’d be happy to let me stay here no matter what I choose to do about my amnesia!

But...something odd happened. I can’t explain it, but she said this one phrase that echoed in my mind, and my brain...lurched, as if something was settling into place. She said, “I don’t care what you choose, Shadow. I want to give you a chance to be happy!”

My head’s been spinning ever since. Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.

I don’t know how I’ll break the news to everyone else, but with Rose by my side, I’m sure I can do it.

This is who I am.

Shadow sat on the edge of his bed—Amy’s bed—feeling his muscles shake. His jaw clenched harder with each cheesy, embarrassing, lovestruck journal entry his ignorant self had written over the past month.

The immense weight of his agonizing past had lifted for scarcely a moment, allowing him just enough room to drop his guard...and let her in.

And by the time he’d awoken that morning, the entire world had crashed down on his head once more. Raw and honest and unforgiving, leaving him broken like a neglectful Atlas.

His fingers tightened, wrinkling the pages, and his chest clenched. All the years I spent keeping my distance, and she breaks it all down in an instant. And as if that weren’t enough...

Vivid images of the massacre flashed behind his eyes, the gruesome tragedy that had taken everything from him.

Shadow’s heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing grew rough and unstable. His eyes went wide and his expression strained as he stared at nothing, but no tears dared fall.

Energetic footsteps, heavier than expected for a silly, petite hedgehog, bounded around the corner. Amy poked her head in. “Shadow, do you want—”

Shadow choked and threw the journal aside, feeling his face shift into that of a cornered animal. “A-Amy—!”

At the mention of her first name, Amy gasped, and her brow wrinkled in concern. “Shadow? Are you...”

He tore his gaze away.

Shadow heard Amy’s footsteps grow closer, and the bed sank next to him. Her hand hovered for a moment, then rested on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Her light reached out to him. He panted and tried to pull away as he always had, only to fall even further.

The ARK.

Gerald.

MARIA.

Amy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, desperate yet reassuring. “Shadow, it’s okay! You’ll be alright! I’m here.”

Shadow clenched his jaw until it hurt, and he grasped the sheets on either side of him. He could see Amy’s expression pinch out of the corner of his eye, and she rubbed his back. “Is there anything I can do?”

He met her gaze. Try as he might, Shadow couldn’t lock out her warmth, not the way he could just a month ago. He stared for a long moment at the woman he loved—the one he could never have because she was so enamored with someone else—and he sighed. Shadow looked down and shut his eyes. “Take out your hammer.”

A baffled noise escaped Amy’s throat, but she summoned it. “Um...okay...?”

Shadow took the hammer from her hands and held it to his forehead. “Right here. Just...”

After a moment of silent confusion, Amy gasped and ripped the hammer from his hands, throwing it aside. “SHADOW! That’s not funny!” There was a pause, and then her vitriol faded. “Shadow...?”

He felt the tears hit his knees before he even knew he was crying. “Take it back,” he croaked, voice cracking. “Take it all back.”

“Oh, Shadow.” Pain was evident in Amy’s voice, too, and she wrapped her arms around him fully, gentler this time. “I know it’s hard. You’ll be okay.”

“I was h-happy...for once...” he managed through shuddering breaths.

“Shh...it’s alright.”

Shadow turned in Amy’s hold and clung to her, letting himself break down in the arms of the only person left who was allowed to see his tears. He wept for Maria. He wept for Gerald, flawed though he was. He wept for the Shadow of yesterday who’d never known pain or loss or inhibitions, and he wept for the innocence he’d lost yet again.

Brainwashing, amnesia, time travel, and now I almost forgot all over again...only to remember every time. How many times will I be forced to lose them?

Shadow wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, mourning pain both old and new. Amy didn’t falter, not even after his breathing slowed and his muscles stilled.

At last, he lifted his head, vision bleary and head aching. Amy was gazing up at him, eyes watery with tears she’d shed on his behalf. “I’m so sorry!”

Shadow pulled back, baffled, but he held onto one of her hands. “Why?”

“Because I’m the reason you got amnesia in the first place!” she insisted. “I feel awful.”

Shadow was shaking his head even before she finished. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Amy glanced back at the hammer she’d left on the ground, then shot him an incredulous look.

“...Not on purpose,” Shadow added.

Amy groaned and hid her face. “You told me to use a regular hammer, but I got impatient and used mine!”

“In your defense, it was faster.”

“But you told me to be careful!”

“I got in the way,” he fibbed.

Amy yanked at her quills and scrunched her eyes shut. “I should’ve just done the job myself! If only I’d—”

“Amy.”

She peeked her eyes open a crack. Shadow threaded his fingers with hers and pulled them away from her quills. “Stop trying to make me blame you. It’s not going to work.”

Amy stared up at him and sniffled, but she remained silent.

“You’ve been taking care of me. Feeding me. Housing me. Helping me. Making me happy. And it worked.”

As he said that, though, he felt his face fall. It worked...just not forever.

Amy squeezed his hand. “I don’t know everything you’ve been through, and I know it can’t be easy, but you have good memories, too,” she insisted. “Whenever I hear you talk about Maria, it never sounds like you regret meeting her.”

“Of course I don’t!”

Amy jumped, so he averted his gaze and quieted down. “I would never regret meeting her. I couldn’t. Not for a second.”

Amy nodded, encouraged. “And think of all the adventures you’ve been on! Think of your friends! What about Rouge and Omega?”

Shadow’s chest warmed, then instantly tightened. “They’ve been covering for me. All this time. That’s why they were so exhausted.”

“Huh?”

“They’ve been keeping Team Dark going without me this entire time. How much longer would they have kept doing that? A month? Two months? Forever?” All so I could keep playing house with you, happy and ignorant?

I nearly threw away everything we’ve been through together.

The thought repulsed him.

“Because you would have done the same for them,” Amy countered, learning forward to get a better look at his face. “You’re kind. You’re dedicated. And if this had happened to either one of them, you wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.”

There was silence for a moment. Shadow just stared, sensing she had more to say.

Amy’s lower lip trembled. She held on for a few moments before blurting out, “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place!”

“What?!”

“No, no!” Amy spluttered, holding her hands up defensively. “I mean you shouldn’t have been there the day I...” She glanced back at her hammer and cringed.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “You were putting another wing on your house, and no one else would help. Of course I showed up.”

Amy scratched the back of her head and looked down at her feet. “Ah...not quite.”

Shadow’s ears perked up.

Amy bit her lip. “See, I actually...didn’t ask anyone else,” she murmured. “I had it handled. I could have called Tails if I needed help with construction, and I could have asked Knuckles if I needed more strength...but I didn’t. I can do all that by myself.”

With anyone else, Shadow would have snapped in irritation. He kept his tone gentle. “Why did you ask me?”

Amy looked up at him, fidgeting with her fingers. “Promise you won’t get mad at me, okay?”

Shadow nodded. I don’t think I could if I tried.

She paused, then let her head drop, resigned. “Because I wanted to get to know you better.”

Shadow’s heart pounded. “Really?”

Amy nodded, peeking up at him shyly out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve wanted to get to know you since we talked on the ARK, but you’ve always kept your distance. I could never get close.”

Shadow’s heart ached. I never meant to hurt you. He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat.

Amy twiddled her thumbs in her lap. “But I knew one thing that would work. No matter how busy you are, you’ve always found time to help me. Every single time I’ve asked you for help, you’ve been there.”

Memories of Amy’s voice drifted into his head.

“Thank you so much for coming with me to this concert, Shadow. I never could have gone alone. It’s so much better with you here!”

“Ah, Shadow, I’m so glad you’re here! Cream went into this weird-looking castle, and she hasn’t come back out! Will you go in there with me to look for her?”

“Shadow, please help us! Give them a chance to be happy!”

She’s right. I really will do anything for her.

“Shadow!”

He didn’t know he was grasping at his chest until Amy threaded her fingers with his. Her voice pulled him out of his stupor. “I’m sorry! I know it was wrong. It’s just...you’re so sweet, and brave, and kind...and you don’t hear that often enough. I wanted to know more. I—”

Shadow stalled out as she rambled, at a loss for words. His heart fluttered.

Does she...?

Every word died in his throat. Instead, he grasped her hand with both of his and held it to his chest, letting her feel his racing heartbeat. Her ranting immediately stopped, and one solitary tear faltered, nearly falling from her eye. A voice from fifty years ago, quieter than Amy’s but clear, floated in from the back of Shadow’s mind.

“You have a big heart! It may be difficult for you to express it, but I know that deep down you really do care. About me. About everyone! What you do is what defines you. I know you’re having a hard time finding answers, but I’m certain you will one day. Then, you’ll find even more people you can trust.”

Shadow found his voice at last. “I really wish you could have met her.”

Amy’s confusion lasted for only a moment before melting away, but she remained silent.

He brushed away the tear she’d almost shed, breathed in deeply, and let it out. “She would have loved you almost as much as I do.”

Amy’s eyes bugged out. Shadow slid his hand onto her cheek, making his intentions clear. He waited for a few terrifying seconds that felt like years, praying he hadn’t misinterpreted.

Finally, Amy glanced at his lips...and leaned in to meet him.

Her lips were warm and soft, and Shadow’s eyes fell shut at the pleasant sensation. His motions were tentative from nerves and inexperience, just as hers were, and he lingered for only a few seconds before pulling back. Amy leaned in to follow him, apparently just as reluctant to end the contact, and he pressed their foreheads together to stay close. Her breath tickled his lips, and a shy smile spread across her face. He couldn’t hold back a small grin of his own.

“So does this mean you’ll forgive me?” Amy asked, hesitant but hopeful.

Shadow scoffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “The girl I’ve had a soft spot for since the beginning resorted to subterfuge to spend more time with me, then pampered me for a month? I’ll live.”

Any last trace of hesitation vanished from Amy’s face, leaving behind cheeks dusted pink. Shadow tilted her head down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before aiming a smile her way. “Thank you, Amy.”

“Ah—”

She snapped her mouth shut. He raised a brow. “Hm?”

Amy pursed her lips, deliberating, and then her expression turned sheepish. “You know...you can keep calling me ‘Rose,’ if you want...” Her eyes shot open. “I mean—you don’t have to, but...”

Shadow perked up. “I can?”

Her smile was small and secretive. “It’s...nice. No one else calls me that, so...it feels special when you do.”

Shadow smirked roguishly. “No problem. ‘Rose’ it is.”

A happy little noise escaped Amy’s throat, and he knew even before looking that her tail was wagging. As he kept looking around her room, though, Shadow’s stomach churned with nerves once more. “So...I know I’ve recovered by now, but...is your offer from last night still valid?”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

Shadow tugged absently at the blanket underneath him. “I know you’re lonely, and I’ve found a lot of happiness here. More than anywhere else.” He squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the way his stomach flipped, and met her eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”

Amy’s face barely had time to light up before he was pulled into an enthusiastic embrace. “Of course I want you to stay!”

Shadow choked from her strong hug, then laughed and quieted down when she loosened up. He listened patiently, happy just to hear her rant excitedly about all the new ideas she had for the house.

At last, she retreated, showing the exhilarated, post-rant expression he knew most were never patient enough to see.

Their loss.

Shadow ruffled her quills. “In that case, you’d better have supplies ready when I get back.”

Amy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Shadow stood up and adjusted his gloves. “I really do need to talk to Rouge and Omega, but if I’m moving in, then you’ll need that extra wing on your house more than ever.” He smirked down at Amy. “And it’s been established that you can’t handle that yourself, right?”

Amy leapt to her feet and gave a grumpy pout, cheeks puffing out in irritation. “That wasn’t—! Oh, you—!” He chuckled, and she crossed her arms. A few seconds later, though, she stood up straight and snickered. “Are you sure about that? You’re not just going to ask me to sleep in the same bed with you again~?”

Amy giggled, clearly expecting him to get flustered just as she had. Shadow raised a brow.

There’s nothing you can say that’s more embarrassing than that journal.

Shadow snaked an arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head, showing his own smirk when her eyes shot open. He pulled her close, closer than before, and pressed their lips together. He lingered longer this time, deepening the kiss and feeding more passion into it. He tilted his head and lightly scratched her scalp. Inexperience be damned, he kept going even as her fingers dug into his biceps, only pulling back when she whined quietly against his lips.

Shadow broke contact, unable to hold back a smug smile at her wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He leaned up to whisper in her ear.

“Not yet.”

Amy squeaked quietly. He released her and stepped back, unable to hold back a lighthearted laugh. She briefly stumbled, face even redder than before, and he felt his smile turn more genuine.

“I’ll see you later, Rose.”

She held a hand to try and hide her face, but her bashful smile showed through. “O-okay.”

He took a moment to enjoy the sight before teleporting away.

I never want to forget this day.

[mikkomacko]

moose feeling so betrayed after nico came home smelling like another dog (he went to check in on luke at the dog shelter and happened to pet a dog on his way out) so he refuses to wrestle with nico when he gets home

It’s even funnier because he goes to the dog shelter sometimes with you, especially when you’re first getting the contract done and Moose doesn’t react to you smelling like or petting the other dogs.

But one day when you’re not feeling good, you’re begging Nico to just go check on Luke please and to take him lunch so of course he goes. And of course him and Jack hang around, get the full tour from Luke on their little sticker/magnet shop and the website he set up for donations and all that good stuff. And then of course they have to meet the dogs because Luke is very excited about it.

Nico didn’t think about Moose at all because he knows his dog and his wife have been here before. It’s not a big deal that he plays fetch with a golden retriever for a minute or two. Except it is because as soon as he gets home, finds you and Moose cuddled into the couch, he’s trying to sit next to you and Moose won’t let him.

The dog pauses when he first sits down, ears flattened suspiciously as he sniffs at Nico’s jeans and hands. And then he shoots up, moving into your lap even though he’s far too big to be doing that.

“What’s up Müsli?” Nico asks curiously, trying to move after him but Moose keeps backing away from him until he’s practically sat on your head. “Why won’t he let me let him?”

Patting at Moose’s butt, you give Nico a flat look. “I don’t know. I’m more concerned with trying to breathe here.”

So Nico slips off the couch and into the floor, patting at the rug and reaching for a tennis ball to try and get Moose to come play. The dog moves, but only to curl back up by your feet. Then he just stares blankly at Nico.

“Baby,” he whines, “tell Moose to come play with me.”

You nudge Moose with your foot. “Go play with dad,” you say cheerily, and Nico squeezes one of his squeaky toys. Moose’s ears perk up, head tilting like maybe he’s going to go join Nico but then he sniffs the air and slumps back into your legs.

“Oh no,” you laugh, sitting up to pet Moose who is looking at Nico longingly.

“What? What happened?” Nico begs, squeezing the toy again.

“He’s mad at you,” you giggle, “watch give me the toy.”

Nico tosses it to you, scoffing in offense when you give it to Moose and he immediately latches his teeth around it, pulling and shaking his head with exaggerated growls.

“Moose?” Nico gasps, “Come on that’s mean! I want to play!” Then he looks to you, eyes all big and begging. “Why is he mad at me?”

You giggle again. “You smell like the shelter dogs. That’s why he ran when he sniffed you and again when I tried to push him down there.”

Nico’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “He doesn’t do that to you. You go to the shelter all the time.”

“Yeah but I’m not you. He’s not used to his dad being friendly, especially not with other dogs.”

Oh, Nico thinks a little happily. Moose is possessive over him. Sure Nico was the one to pick him up off his flight from Switzerland when he was just a puppy, and the shirt of yours he sent to Bern for Moose to be trained with probably smelled like him too, but he always thought you were Moose’s number one. After all, the dog was literally bred to be your best friend and protector.

But he’s jealous over Nico too and that’s- well it’s nice actually.

“I didn’t know,” Nico murmurs, scrambling to his feet. “I wouldn’t have touched those stupid dogs if I did.”

You laugh. “Hey they’re not stupid. Don’t be mean to the shelter dogs.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Really? They’re pretty stupid compared to him.” He motions to Moose.

“Well they didn’t go to two fancy doggie schools.”

Which no Nico guesses they didn’t. His dog is just better like that though. And he can happily brag about it now because you and Luke are trying to give the shelter dogs a similar life now.

“They just don’t have the Hischier genes,” he says, “we’re natural smarty pants.”

You laugh when he moves to pet Moose, the dog leaping away from him again and curling into your torso. “Go shower or something Schao. You’re freaking him out.”

Nico does, but not before leaning down to give you a kiss, even if it makes Moose leap across the couch again.

[camficdiner]

Hi, could I request [1.5] [1.6] [2.1] (older reader), [3.4] [4.2] maybe with Will being cocky about his ability to pick up the reader and Mack betting that he won't be able to score (but it turns out the reader wants both of them)

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 048 

🍒 Thank you, angel — this one’s setting the kitchen on fire already. Age gap tension, cocky rookie energy, and the slow-burn hallway setup? Just the appetizer. Main course coming soon. 💌

💬 “You think I won’t pull her? Watch me.”

✨ Description and prompts (Part 1):

characters: Will Smith, Macklin Celebrini

prompt: hallway kiss setup; Will bets he can pull the reader (older, PR staff); Mack says he can’t

type: age gap tension, cocky-flirty energy, hallway build-up

tropes: bet, “older woman x cocky rookie,” mutual pining, hallway proximity

⸻

It starts with a clip.

You’re not even in it — not really — but it circulates all over Sharks TikTok within an hour. It’s from a light post-game interview, some rookie banter. Macklin’s half-drenched in sweat, hair curling against his cheekbones, grinning wide like the kid he still is.

The reporter asks, “What’s something about Will fans don’t know?”

Mack doesn’t even hesitate.

“Oh, he’s got a thing for cougars. Loves older women. Like, can’t shut up about them.”

You laugh when you hear it in the hallway.

Will does not.

⸻

You’re part of the Sharks PR team — not technically involved with the players, but close enough to manage them when they mouth off in front of a mic. You’ve been with the franchise long enough to be known — sharp suits, high heels, tight NDAs. You walk fast, talk straight, and make even the front office nervous when you raise an eyebrow.

And you’re not blind.

You know Will’s been watching you since camp.

You’ve seen the way his gaze tracks you through media days. The way he calls you “ma’am” with the dumbest smirk on his face. The way he adjusts his backwards hat when you walk by like he’s suddenly aware he’s twenty and you’re… not.

You’ve ignored it.

You’ve ignored him.

But that changes when you walk into the players’ corridor and hear your name.

“She’s not gonna look twice at you,” Mack’s voice is smug, cocky in its own right. “She’s older. She’s hot. And she knows it. You’re a kid in her eyes.”

Will snorts. “You think I can’t pull her?”

“I know you can’t.”

You pause just around the corner.

Hold your breath.

Listen.

Will’s voice drops, low and lazy. “You’re underestimating me, Mac. I’ve seen the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”

“She’s paid to look at you, dumbass.”

Will laughs. “You’ll see. She’s gonna fold.”

Mack claps him on the back. “Sure. And I’m winning the Rocket next week.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Bet what?”

Will doesn’t hesitate. “If I pull her before the end of this month, you owe me dinner — real dinner. Nice place. You wear a tie.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I pay. And I’ll wear whatever you want.”

Mack hums. “Even that ugly-ass turtleneck from media day?”

“Even that.”

They shake on it.

And you turn the corner like you weren’t just eavesdropping.

Both boys stiffen when they see you.

You smile — slow, sharp, professional.

“Gentlemen,” you say.

Will opens his mouth. Probably to flirt.

You don’t let him.

“Will, tuck your damn jersey in.”

He sputters. “It’s — it’s practice—”

“And Macklin,” you add, “next time you want to share my name in an interview, run it through me first.”

Mack grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk away, heels clicking, eyes forward.

But your smirk gives you away.

Because for the first time…

You might be curious what would happen if you let one of them try.

Or both.

Will Smith is down bad.

And you? You’re thriving.

It starts the morning after the bet. You come in early for press coordination — sleek black blazer, heels sharp enough to kill. The boys are still milling around the lower hallway, sticks in hand, hair wet from morning skate.

Will perks up the second he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, jogging over. “You need help with that?”

He nods to your work tote.

You don’t even look up. “No.”

“I mean, I got time. I can carry it to the office—”

“I’m not walking into a press meeting trailed by a rookie carrying my bag like a puppy.”

He blinks. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a never.”

You keep walking.

Behind you, Macklin cackles.

⸻

Day two: Will brings coffee.

You’re already at your desk, flipping through credential requests when he strolls in like he owns the building.

He sets the cup on your desk.

You look at it.

Then at him.

“You don’t know how I take my coffee.”

“I took a guess,” he grins. “You seem like an oat milk kind of woman. Balanced. Professional. A little sweet.”

You blink once.

“I’m allergic to oats.”

Will turns red. “Shit. Wait, seriously?”

You slide the coffee back toward him without breaking eye contact. “Try again, and I’ll consider not reporting you to HR.”

He sputters.

Mack, walking by with a protein bar in his mouth, just wheezes and slaps the wall.

“You’re 0 and 2, man,” he says through laughter. “She’s burying you.”

⸻

Day three, Will holds the elevator.

You’re in a rush. Your phone’s buzzing, your earpiece is in, and your hands are full of clipboards and folders.

Will sees you coming and jams his arm between the doors. “Got you.”

You step in. “Thanks.”

He smiles. Victory.

Then you add, “For once.”

Mack, leaning against the back wall of the elevator, loses it again.

Will glares at him. “Shut up.”

“She just bodied you in 4K,” Mack says. “Again.”

“She said thanks!”

“Pity thank. There was a tone.”

“There wasn’t a tone.”

Mack leans toward you. “There was a tone, right?”

You arch an eyebrow. “He’s adorable when he tries.”

Will makes a strangled noise.

The elevator dings.

You step off without looking back.

⸻

That night, Mack tosses his keys on the counter and yells before he even sets down his gym bag:

“Still losing the bet?”

Will, lying face-down on the couch, groans into a throw pillow.

Mack laughs so hard he nearly trips over his sneakers.

--

You’re still in the office.

The lights are low, the halls are empty, the silence thick in that post-game hush. You’re packing up final notes for the press team when Will’s voice breaks the stillness.

“You’re always the last one here,” he says from the doorway, casual, too smooth.

You glance up. “And you’re still here because?”

He steps in, hoodie half-zipped, damp curls falling into his eyes. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

“You,” he says.

You close the folder. “Cut the act, Will.”

He pauses. “What act?”

“The bet. The smirks. The stupid coffee attempts. You think I’m flattered by attention from a rookie who’s still got tape burns on his chin?”

That hits.

His jaw tenses. “You think that’s what this is? A game?”

You stand. “Isn’t it?”

Will steps closer — voice low, shaking. “You really think I’m doing this for clout?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t built your whole thing on it.”

“I want you.”

His voice cracks.

You freeze.

“I don’t give a shit about a bet,” he says. “Mack can roast me all he wants. I want you because you walk into a room and make me forget what I’m saying. Because you’re older, smarter, hotter than anyone I’ve ever met, and you don’t even see me.”

Your chest rises, slow.

Will exhales. “And yeah. I’m a rookie. I’ve never done this before. Not with someone like you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

You stare at him. His face is flushed, eyes wild. He means every word.

So you step forward.

“You’ve never done this before?”

He swallows. “Not like this.”

You hum. “Good.”

Then you grab his hoodie and kiss him hard.

He whines into your mouth, body folding into yours like he’s starving for it. His hands hover, unsure where to touch. You guide them — hips, waist, thighs — and moan when he finally grips you like he means it.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so— I’ve thought about this so many times—”

“You gonna let me show you how it’s done?” you whisper.

“Yes—”

The hallway door creaks open.

You both turn.

Mack freezes in the doorway.

Will’s flushed, lips swollen, hoodie rucked up. You’re breathing heavy, blouse wrinkled, one hand still on his chest.

Mack blinks.

“Well, shit.”

You don’t flinch. “You here to gloat?”

Mack steps in, cool as ever. “Didn’t think you’d crack this fast.”

Will groans. “It wasn’t— I didn’t—”

You cut in. “What if I said I wanted both?”

They stare.

You glance over your shoulder, voice honey-slick.

“If I can have one rookie…”

You look Mack dead in the eyes.

“Why can’t I have two?”

---

Your office is dark now — just lamplight and silence and heat pulsing in the air.

Will’s on you first — fast, breathless, cocky, like finally tasting you has scrambled his brain. His mouth is rough against your collarbone, hands skimming your hips like he still can’t believe he’s allowed.

But then Mack closes the door behind him, and your whole body shifts.

You look at him over Will’s shoulder, blouse half open, lips kiss-swollen.

“Mack,” you say, voice low. “You’ve been watching all week.”

He hesitates — flush already blooming up his neck.

“I—yeah.”

“You wanna learn something, rookie?”

He swallows. “I’ve never— I mean— I haven’t… not yet.”

Will’s head snaps up, surprised. “Wait—seriously?”

Mack glares at him. “Yeah. Problem?”

You smile slowly. “Not at all.”

You lean back on your desk, skirt bunched around your thighs, and crook a finger.

“Mack. Come here.”

⸻

You undress him slowly.

He’s shaking. You kiss his jaw. Unbutton his shirt. Tell him he’s perfect. That you’re going to make him feel everything. He nods like he can’t speak.

Will watches from the couch now, shirt off, breathing hard — dick in his hand and zero shame as he watches you touch Mack for the first time.

You sit Mack on your desk chair and straddle him.

“You ever had someone ride you, baby?”

He shakes his head, wide-eyed.

You press your hand between your thighs, fingers slick, and guide him in slowly — watching his entire body shudder when he feels you.

“Fuck—” Mack gasps. “You’re so— I can’t—”

You stroke his face. “Shh. You’re doing so good.”

You move slow, grinding down just enough to make him twitch. His hands clutch your hips like he’s afraid to move. His mouth falls open.

Will mutters from the couch, “Jesus fucking Christ—”

You glance over. “You want a turn?”

He’s on his feet in seconds.

⸻

Mack’s still inside you, trembling, overstimulated and glassy-eyed, when Will kneels in front of you, and buries his mouth between your thighs.

You moan loudly — one hand in Mack’s curls, the other tangled in Will’s.

“Such good boys,” you breathe. “Letting me use you like this.”

Will groans into you.

Mack moans brokenly. “I’m— I can’t hold it—”

You cup his jaw. “It’s okay. You can come. You did so well.”

His whole body jolts — shuddering release, forehead pressed to your shoulder, whispering your name like a prayer.

Will stands, hard and leaking, panting. “Please—me next—”

You shove him onto the couch, straddle him, slide down in one slow, soaked motion — and ride him until he’s gasping, whimpering, kissing every inch of your skin he can reach.

You come with both of them whimpering underneath you. Ruined. Shaking.

Exactly how you like them.

⸻

After, Mack sits on the floor, dazed, flushed, a total mess.

Will lies shirtless on the couch, still breathless. “That was insane.”

You sip from your water bottle like nothing happened.

“I think I blacked out,” Mack says.

You smirk. “You did perfect.”

They stare at you like you’re unreal.

You fix your hair in your reflection.

Then: “Next time, I want to see what you two look like when I’m the one watching.”

Will chokes.

Mack just groans. “I’m not gonna survive next time.”

You smirk. “That’s the idea.”