#*deep mid tags inhale*

[abemussercutupwhiletalking]

(Spoilers for all Wildbow stories)

I think Wildbow needs to do more evil clone/hybrid/mirror showdowns with his protagonist. Blake and Rose’s dynamic is the heart of Pact, and Sy and Evette is probably one of his bolder writing choices at a larger scale (not to mention the Humors), but the other stories really fall down on that front. All the mirrored archetypes are too subtle, too diffuse. Give me more miserable fused mockeries of the protagonist and their closest allies. More warped reflections of their lives and relationships and powers.

We’ve got, what, a few paragraphs each of the trio Lis, Mockument clone (on second thought, maybe we don’t need more of that one), and Chitter? I’ll concede the Travelers as a solid contender, but the Red Heron kids aren’t even proper foils, far too many of them. Disgraceful. You could’ve had it all, Yadira crew.

I’m not even going to properly score Claw until I know if the Drone Guy’s underground club of military tech enthusiasts rear their heads.

[nymphoniah]

smoking out the window 🚬

i cant lie this fic is very self indulgent, but i had to share with y'all hehe <3 basically just smoking with logan, sitting in his lap, and yall end up gettin’ down and FREAKYYY.

pairing: old man!logan x afab!reader

warnings/tags: NSFW (minors DNI, 18+ only), smoking, pet names (bub, baby princess, etc.), old man!logan, boyfriend!logan, teasing, oral sex (male receiving), gagging, hair pulling, cumplay, cum swallowing, skull fucking

you’re seated criss-crossed in front of the fire escape, window cracked slightly ajar. you take a long inhale of your cigarette, letting the smoke sit in your mouth for a second before puffing out the rest through your nose.

your lips pull away from the filter, now tinted pink and slightly shiny from your lip gloss. you look over your shoulder to see logan let out a small chuckle, taking a drag from his cigar. you roll your eyes at him, tapping the end of your cigarette against the ashtray placed between you.

“yknow i already tried cigars… they’re just too big for me”. logan looks at you with a raised brow, a smug smile slowly creeping upon his face. you took a moment to process what you said, and how wrong it sounded out of context.

“hey! get your mind out of the gutter. you know what i mean,” you quipped, quickly taking a puff of your cigarette, playfully exhaling into his face to recant.

logan pays no mind to your games, simply shooing away the smoke with his free hand. “whatever you say bub…” he chuckles out, looking at you with a content smile.

he takes another hit from his cigar before sizing you up with his grim eyes. you were wearing a pair of sleep shorts, short enough to leave no room for imagination, with one of logan's flannels that you messily buttoned up this morning draping over your shoulders.

the domesticity of it all is what riled logan up. seeing you dressed up in his clothes, cuddled up in your small, but cozy, apartment bedroom, seated right in front of the fire exit. considering how hectic his life once was, nothing could compare to this.

“try it one more time, baby,” he requests, his pointer and middle finger signaling to come over to him. you rolled your eyes and reluctantly crawled your way over to him. he taps his lap with both hands, and you cozily fit into the thick embrace of his thighs.

you already know where this is going. he's done it once, and he'll do it again. you pursed your lips, your eyes quickly glancing over at his cigar, then promptly meeting his teasing gaze.

“c’mon, just about half of it is left. finish it with me, yeah?” he says with a sultry tone, tilting his head to the side.

“only cause you asked so nicely.” you replied, pressing your lips to the temple of his forehead, your left hand steadying yourself against his hips before you ruffle up his pointed tufts of hair with your right.

seating yourself back in his lap, you took the cigar from his hand, taking it in your own. you guide his calloused hand to the hem of your sleep shorts, his fingers finding purchase at the waistband, playfully tugging it back, allowing for them to snap back against your hips.

taking a deep puff, you let the smoke linger in your mouth as you would with your cigarette. the flavor was definitely more intense compared to the pack of reds you smoke daily. you immediately felt the buzz from the nicotine as the smoke coated your mouth in an almost oily film.

you're about to deeply inhale until you remember you're not supposed to actually inhale the smoke of the cigar. you catch yourself mid-breath, but you weren't fast enough to stop yourself. the bitter taste of the nicotine floods your throat, causing you to let out an unpleasant cough.

"careful there, princess", he teases you, his firm hand patting your back as you continued to cough. "don't wanna hurt yourself", he says chuckling to himself, finding your discomfort somewhat amusing.

you took a second to compose yourself, then joined in on logan's laughter. you pressed your forehead against his chest, snickering over how foolish you probably looked, choking on your own saliva.

"i told you s'too much!" you retort with a smile, nudging yourself deeper into his chest. you can smell the musk of his cologne mixed with the heady scent of smoke in the air; it was intoxicating how logan ran his fingers through your hair, his hands slowly finding their way to the small of your back.

you gently pull away from him, his arms wrapped around your waist, planting your hips against his, the flesh of your ass feeling his erection forming. a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips as you gently grind against him.

logan lets out a grunt as he feels the blood rush to his dick. peppering kisses along his neck, you slowly make your way up to his jawline. "baby, you're forgettin' something..." you lull, placing the cigar back between his lips.

you admire the way his muscles flex with every movement you make, almost syncopating to the rhythm of your hips. the way he matched your pace was addicting. "yknow..." you trail off, sliding yourself off of his lap, moving to kneel in front of him.

"cigars may be big for me... but there's something bigger that i can handle," you hum as you get on your knees, your figure now slotted between his bulky thighs.

placing your hands on his quads, your fingertips trace figure-eights against his jeans. you take a deep breath and rest your head on the inner of his thighs, your left hand working its way slowly to his crotch.

"you're so needy, bub" he whines out of the corner of his mouth, cigar still between his lips. his breath faltered as your fingers graze over the growing tent in his jeans.

"let me please you, lo. wanna make you feel good," you plead, your eyes looking up at him with an intense lust.

"f-fuck." he stutters as your fingers press harder against his erection "how can i say no to my baby?" he obliges, taking the cigar out of his mouth to light out on the ashtray.

you reach your hand out to grab his arm before he lights out his cigar, your grip on his bicep tightening as he gently tries to pull away from your grasp. "wait," you said hastily, "don't put it out yet".

he raises his eyebrow at your command, but doesn't push it any further. "got something planned, bub?" he asks, leaning back into the couch, manspreading wider.

you nod your head as you work at his belt nimbly, slithering the leather around and off of his waist, metal buckle of the belt clanking silently against the plush carpet that your knees rested on.

as you push his jeans and boxers down, his cock springs out, bouncing back against his stomach. his tip was already red, leaking with precum. you admire the length and girth of his dick as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock.

tracing a vein with your tongue, you move from the base of his cock to his tip. logan moved his hands to cup your face, fighting the urge to push himself down your throat as you continued to tease him slowly. "ah f-fuck," he winces, as you press a wet kiss to his tip.

"quit taking so damn long, princess," he adds, your hot breath tickling him. the lewd sight of his pre mixed with your saliva forming a strand from your bottom lip to his tip made your core pulsate. you pushed your thighs together to alleviate the aching pain you felt.

seductively licking your lips, your mouth finds its way back wrapped around his girthy cock. you slowly ease yourself all the way down him as the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis.

breathing through your nose, your lips make their way up his length, making sure to savor the way his tip rested against your tongue. tracing his slit carefully, you lick up his leaking precum, making sure not to miss a single drop of it.

"fuck yeah-", he hisses out, taking a hit. as he exhales the smoke, he grabs a fist full of your hair, now taking control of your movements. he thrusts into your mouth at a rapid and shallow pace, the slap of skin against skin filling the room.

his unrelenting pace made your pussy throb harder; the way he looked as he stood above you, manhandling you, using you, practically as a fucktoy, made you see stars.

eventually he slowed down his pace, his strokes becoming deeper, more sensual. "still with me, bub?" he asked, his eyes locked with your own as he continued to throatfuck you. "mmmh." you answered, with a fucked-out gaze.

"good," he hummed, loosening his grip on your hair. "gonna need you to be a good girl for me, princess." he gives the temple of your forehead a light kiss, his salt-and-pepper beard tickling your hairline.

a split second after the kiss, he retightens his fist, gripping more of your hair than before, and pushes you down the length of his shaft vigorously. the sudden gesture makes you wince around him.

unable to breathe through your mouth, you gag around him. the walls of your throat squeeze tightly along logan's length, making him wince out in pleasure. unable to control himself, he firmly plants his left hand on the crown of your head, keeping you in place, as his right brings his cigar back to hips lips.

logan takes a long drag from the cigar, tilting his head up towards the ceiling, blowing away the smoke. "stay right there for me, bub... i know y'can do that for me, yeah?" he says with a smirk, keeping his eyes on you.

you grunt in response, breathing heavily through your nose to keep the little composure that you had. still gagging around his cock, your vision began to get blurry as tears began forming.

"shit, im coming-" logan groans out, harshly pumping his cock even further into your throat. with each thrust of his hips, a moan escaped from you, followed along with a gag. the mix of pain and pleasure was intoxicating.

soon after his announcement, you feel the thick ropes of his cum sliding along your esophagus. the heady taste of his cum coats your mouth and lips; the salty and sweet tang grounded you from your mind blanking as he continued to skullfuck you.

it felt like an eternity before logan released you from his firm grasp. you slipped your lips off of him, now resting your head on his thigh. you cough a little bit, and your nose starts to drip.

"still think my dick's too big for you to handle?" he teases, tucking a stray strand of your bangs behind your ear. you shake your head no, flashing him a lazy smile. he brings the cigar to your lips for you to take a hit.

"atta girl."

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

goodnight moon

how spencer turns college!reader's bad sleeping habits into very good sleeping habits.

MDNI | smut! word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slightest teensiest bit of overstim, fluff to the moon, spence and reader just being sweet, spence just being obsessed and concerned with every little thing about reader authors note: hiiii. soooo this is TERRIFYING. why is smut soooooo scary and vulgar. but i've been working on this one for a long while and i think i'm happyish with it??? idk. its not really adding anything new or revolutionary to the world but i think its cute!! lemme know your thoughts. i think smut is something i'll get better at writing with time but yk. okay whatever have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy!!

There’s a noticeable tension in your shoulders as you lay down on top of the covers of your bed. Your face crushes into the soft down of many pillows, nose buried into the crevices. You trace out the clean smell of Spencer's shampoo that manages to linger on your sheets even after a week of him being away on a case, the fragrance making your head become even heavier with each deep inhale you take.

You can physically feel the exhaustion clawing at your soul. Eyes shut, blocking out the harsh shine of the overhead light you definitely forgot to turn off, you reach your arm up to work on the knot in your shoulder. You roll it back, feeling an unsettling click that probably shouldn’t be there. 

Spencer would be able to work the knot out like it was nothing, if he were here.

You shift your leg up, thinking. When did he say he’d be home earlier today? You had called him before your final exam this afternoon, for some encouragement and reminders on the principles of astronomy.

The all-consuming fog in your brain prevents you from remembering any of the important details of the conversation, such as when he’d be home, so you choose instead to just replay the soft I love yous he had said into your ear. 

By this point you’re sprawled across a good portion of your bed, back to the ceiling with one leg bent, head turned to the side. Your spine sinks down into the mattress, relieving the aches just a bit, and the sweet, sweet release of sleep ensues minutes later.

Until it gets quite rudely interrupted.

You don’t hear him enter the room. You haven’t even opened your eyes to see him. The only thing you notice when you wake is the feeling that you’re being picked up from your hips and rotated, a complete 180.

“Hello?” you ask loudly even before your eyes open.

When they do open, they see your lovely boyfriend standing above you, grimacing like he’s been caught. Spencer’s hands are holding you mid air, and you look at him, wildly confused, as you blink away the sleep in your eyes.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, the thick sweater vest that you got him last year for his birthday layered over his button-up. He must have just gotten inside, his bag was still crossed over his body. 

“Hi honey. What are you, um, doing?” you ask quietly. His nose scrunches in a cute attempt to push his glasses up his nose without using his already occupied hands.

“Hi. Sorry for waking you up.” He ducks down to kiss your forehead. “You just really shouldn’t be sleeping on your stomach. Bad sleeping posture can actually worsen chronic pain more than any other factor in your daily life,” he explains, setting you down but keeping a firm grasp on your waist. Your mouth forms an awkward little smile, matching his. “I had to intervene.”

“I know. It’s just so uncomfy. But why’d you pick me up? You could’ve just nudged me, or, you know, asked…” you grumble. You make room for him, however, as you speak. He sets his bag down and clambers into bed next to you, body seemingly rivaling yours in exhaustion. He leans against the headboard, turning his head to look at you.

“I wouldn’t normally do that, but I knew you were exhausted, so I figured you’d be less likely to wake up if your body was physically touching fewer things,” he justifies, logic drawing a soft giggle from you. You settle into a comfortable silence, the room still bathed in artificial light and Spencer still in his work clothes.

He eventually breaks the stillness after a minute, turning towards you. “How did your astronomy final go today?”

“I think I did alright. Our study sessions paid off, I think. But it was never my strong suit,” you reply, tracing your fingers over his leg. “I’m so achy now though. It’s strange what four hours of math can do to your body.” 

His hand slides up your arm in response, lightly pressing on the tense spots. 

“It’s strange what four hours of math and sleeping like a contortionist does to your body,” he corrects with his little know-it-all look, fingers circling a bit more firmly into your shoulder.

“I also really, really missed you,” you add, smiling back at him. “So be nice to me.”

“I missed you,” Spencer responds, even sweeter. “And I am being nice.”

You roll your eyes and he reaches over to kiss you gently. “Would you like me to be nicer?” he whispers softly. Your brain is all but short circuiting as you look at him, his eyes flitting between yours like he was searching the stars.

Your head is nodding even before you can actually realize what he means.

Then, his body is gone from yours. You stay silent, trying to regulate your breath, eyes following him as he stands and walks over to turn off the big light. Your eyes flicker to adjust, but with the moon’s gentle shine pouring into your window, it’s absolutely perfect. 

A blush, that you're hoping the new darkness will conceal, creeps up your cheeks when you see the soft outline of Spencer’s back as he takes off his sweater vest and pulls at his tie. He turns back and looks at you, eyes all soft and full of adoration. “Yeah? Not too tired?”

“Nope,” you murmur, convincing yourself as much as him. He finishes getting into his PJ’s and walks back to you. You straighten your back, trying to appear as awake as possible. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says back at you, voice gentle. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” A kiss, this one to your cheek, softens the blow of his words. You shake your head, but he continues. “You were sound asleep not even ten minutes ago, and you’ve yawned six times in the last five minutes.” His hand strokes the side of your waist.

“Spencer. I'm fine,” you huff. He smiles a little and sits next to you on the bed. His mouth is on yours, kissing you firmly, sweetly. 

A hand, always in motion, always calculated, slides up to your nape and presses you closer. The other slides down and thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing lightly over your skin, making it erupt in goosebumps.

His brow scrunches softly. “You’re so worked up.”

You stay silent, begging him with your eyes. He dips down and kisses right where he touched, and your hips lift a bit in response. 

“Honey. Lie back,” he says, and you do so. He readjusts his body so he’s on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. He kisses your forehead, cheeks, nose, and then moves down to your neck. He kisses that one spot beneath your ear that makes you gasp quietly. He then does it again, and again, and again, in that focused way of his. 

Wordlessly, he slides down further. His nose bumps underneath your belly button, in the thin stripe of skin showing where your top meets your panties. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Spence,” you whimper softly, head feeling like a cloud of gas from the endorphins. He peppers even more kisses there and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone. He slides your panties down an inch and immediately kisses the skin that’s revealed.

“I thought about doing this to you all the time while I was away,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss more firmly on your hips, even closer to your soaked core, sucking gently and leaving a mark. “These should be off by now,” he muses, gently pulling your underwear down. 

His hand is immediately where you want it, two fingers pushing up against your folds, and to your clit. He touches in little circles, sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach, eyes looking up to yours to gauge your feelings. 

You almost hate Spencer for how fucking good it feels. You let out a soft moan, heart pounding. And when his middle finger sinks into your entrance with no word of warning, you toss your head back and close your legs around his hand. Spencer’s mouth twists into that little smile of his, pushing ever so deep into you, and says, “It feels better when you keep your legs open, sweet girl. If you need more, tell me.” You nod immediately, desperately. 

“Yeah. I need more,” you whisper, and he bends down and gives your clit a kitten lick. Your hand goes to his hair, softly pushing him closer. He gets the message and presses his tongue flat against it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so pretty like this, under me. I missed you.”

You really do almost forget just how nice it was to have him on top of you after a week, telling you nice things and making you feel so good. He pushes his ring finger in to match his middle, stretching you slightly and adding pressure to where he knows it feels good. Your eyes screw shut and you furrow your brow in overwhelming pleasure, a soft exhale coming from deep within you.

“This good?” he asks, other hand coming to take care of your clit in his mouth’s absence. You nod frantically, looking down at Spencer. He watches where his hand comes in contact with you, pushing in and out at a steady pace. “You’re not normally this quiet. Is it a lot?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Feel so sensitive.” He presses a soft kiss onto your clit, and you jolt.

“Sweet girl. It’s been a little while, huh? Even right before I left, I didn’t use my mouth." You shake your head in agreement. “You’re doing so well for me though.” 

He resumes with his tongue, working you into oblivion. His free hand holds your hips steady, hindering you from writhing away from the mind-numbing pleasure.

His mouth is occupied and your brain is utterly ruined, so the only noises coming from the two of you are your soft exhales and whimpers, and the obscene sound of his hand pushing incessantly into you.

And eventually it does, in fact, become too much. He sends you into orbit. You lift your hips, practically pushing yourself into his face, pleasure coursing through you.

“Spence, I’m. I-” your voice gets caught in your throat. 

“I know,” he says, calm and collected. A stark contrast to whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now. 

He keeps going in the same way, steadily driving you through your orgasm. You let out one last moan and your body relaxes and limps around him, chest moving up and down rapidly. 

You come back to earth and grab his arm to tug him away. But he stays, pressing kisses all over you, watching you with his imploring eyes.

“You can take it. Missed you so much. Just one more,” he says in broken little sentences, parting with your core for just a second before resuming, hand picking up speed again. But this time, you don’t feel as awake. As alert. Your chest feels heavy, and your eyelids even heavier.

The post-orgasmic haze has settled even more into your bones, pressing you down deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of sleep once again.

The last thing you see before you succumb is the moon casting a perfect glow onto Spencer, still diligently pressing soft kisses onto you, holding your hips still so you won’t roll over in your sleep like before.

[lockeswoodss]

Throuple It

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MDNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(This is a prequel to "Double It." I don't think the order read is important, but Double It was written first. You can read Double It: Here )

Summary: You and Robby have been a couple for over two years. You're in love and content, but can't help but feel something's missing. Despite Jack being in arm's reach, none of you are bold enough to chance breaking your friendship; that is, until Robby's had enough of going in endless circles. Will his risk pay off?

A/N: This kinda got away from me. I don't normally write one-shots over 3,500 words, so this being over 4,000 is weird for me. I hope you enjoy it because I'm most likely I'm not gonna be able write again until mid-May 😭

WARNINGS: Smut, MMF Threesome, Oral (Both M & F Receiving), Fingering, Squirting, Jerking Off, MxM, Intimate Aftercare, Daddy Kink, Sir Kink

Jack and Robby are intimate with each other. If you don't like that, this probably isn't the fic for you.

*Written before season 1 finale, so Jack's anatomy isn't up to date. It will be in future fics*

Tag List: @nocturnalrorobin (LMK if you don't want to be tagged in the Pitt stuff)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You let out a content hum as the just-below-scalding water hit your skin. It, objectively, had been a long day. Not that every day in the Pitt wasn’t long, today had been especially grueling. You’d had a heartbreaking case of child abuse to kick off your shift, and it only went downhill from there. You took a deep inhale of the steam-filled air and tried to let this shift roll off you like the water coursing down your body. You’d only clocked out less than an hour ago from a twelve-hour shift, but you were trying to get better at leaving work at work. You knew it was a Herculean task and you’d most likely never fully be able to let things go, but you had to try. Not only for you, but for Robby. When you got together over two years ago, you’d made a promise to hold each other accountable for any self-destructive behavior. Hell, you even got him to go to therapy. Was it only twice a month? Yes. Did he bitch about it the entire week leading up to it? Also, yes, but you were still proud of him.

He had even begun to take small steps to solidify preexisting relationships. You both had issues with isolation/blocking everyone out when you should really be reaching out. He’d been getting coffee with Dana before work and becoming more vocal with those he was mentoring. He and Jack had even started watching football together when they both had off. They’d been alternating where they watched. Tonight, it was at your townhouse. You had triple-checked with Robby that it’d be okay for you to be there. You had offered to stay with a friend for the night, but he insisted that it was just Jack; there was no reason to worry.

Fuck, Jack, now he’d always be a special case. You were as close to him as you were to Robby, until you and Robby started officially seeing each other. You didn’t have any definitive proof, but you had felt him pull back and retreat. He’d never done anything bad by you or been outwardly dismissive; your relationship just felt off. In a way that makes you overly cautious when interacting with him. You didn’t want to spook him and lose him altogether. What you wouldn’t give to have your old dynamic back. Or maybe something else.

You quickly shook your head, dismissing the thought as you turned the water off. That was a yearning you’d only shared with Robby, cocooned in his arms, bathing in the early morning light. You trusted him enough to let him in on your internalized feelings. To your surprise, he’d shared a spark of that feeling with Jack. You knew Robby had been with men in the past, but unlike you didn’t identify as somewhere on the queer spectrum. He prefers not to have a label, instead, he views his attraction as a case-by-case basis rather than a blanket identity. But that confession didn’t catch you fully off guard.

No, what really surprised you was when Robby asked if you’d like to make a pass at Jack, as a couple. You knew it was a possibility, but you’d never let yourself believe that Robby would feel the same way, let alone want to attempt to pursue Jack. It was a hard call to make. He had always been better at reading people than you were, but you were more practical than emotional. You’d made a pros and cons list, and the cons ended up winning. You’d both agreed to be there for him as a friend; Robby more begrudgingly than you.

You tried to push all that to the back of your mind as you crossed into your bedroom. Shit. It was way later than you thought. They’d be here any second. You quickly got ready, dressed in a pair of leggings, a tank top, and an oversized hoodie (that was definitely not Robby’s). You had just managed to slip your slippers on when you heard the door opening downstairs. You crossed the hall over to your stairs and began to descend, the smell of Indian food getting stronger the closer you got to the kitchen. You paused at the doorframe, taking in the sight of Jack and Robby’s shared smile as your partner passed Jack a bottle of beer. You were hesitant, debating if you should retreat back to the living room to let them have a quiet moment that was so rare in your line of work. Before you could decide, Robby turned to you and looked down at you with a soft smile.

“Hey, Love,” he greeted, pecking you on the lips, blocking your view of the rest of the kitchen. You immediately knew something was up. You quirked a brow at Jack over Robby’s shoulder, and he just shook his head with a small smile, before taking a swig from his bottle. You gently, but firmly pressed by Robby, before your eyes widened at the sight of the takeout. Three. There were three bags of takeout, each the size of a standard brown grocery store bag.

“Michael,” you said, in an even tone, turning to face him. You could see the cringe on his face as he geared up for your lecture. He knew he was in trouble, not because you only ever called him by his first name when he fucked up (or was receiving punishment), but because of your tone. You’d never been a shouter; when you were arguing or annoyed, you got quiet and deliberate with your tone.

“Why is there enough take-out to feed the entire city.”  You asked with a quirked brow.

“You like leftovers?” he responded, you faintly heard Jack huff a laugh behind you. You just gave him a disappointed look before letting out a sigh and turning away from him, shifting your focus to the three massive bags of food.

“I just lost my takeout privileges again, didn’t I?” he asked jokingly, leaning back against the counter next to you.

“What do you think?” you asked, giving him side eye.

“Plates are in there,” you said to Jack, nodding at the cabinet next to him. He wordlessly grabbed three ceramic plates and opened the drawer below the cabinet for three forks and spoons as you finished laying all the food out.

“Feel free to dig in,” you said, smiling up at him. You switched places with him to grab a soda from the fridge. Ever decisive Jack had already filled his plate and headed to your adjacent living room, while Robby spoon hovered over multiple dishes. Your vision strayed from your partner; eyes locked on Jack’s ass as he bent down to take a seat on your armchair. Why did he have to have such a pinchable ass? You debated whether you should be sad that he was always in baggy scrub bottoms that did nothing to show off his figure, or happy that you were in the group of people able to see him out of scrubs.

“See something you like?” Robby whispered in your ear, arms wrapped around your middle.

“Shut up,” you groaned, face warm, as you turned to make your own plate. You couldn’t decide if you were more embarrassed by being caught or checking out Jack to begin with. It’s not like you made checking him out a habit, but when you were able to do so discreetly, you jumped at the opportunity. You were still foaming at the mouth from walking in on him changing tops two weeks ago. You saw the briefest glimpse of his toned stomach and happy trail. God, what you’d give to see where that trail led. Okay, maybe you were a little obsessed. You once again had to center yourself before your imagination could fully run away with it. You broke out of Robby’s grip and quickly made your plate, grabbed the bag of roti, and turned on your heels, heading for the couch. You sat down cross-legged before picking up the remote and attempting to find the right channel. You tried to find it for a few minutes before Jack put you out of your misery.

“It’s on channel 67,” he supplied, before taking another bite of food.

“Thanks,” you smiled, typing in the number. The game clicked on as the coin toss had just been called.

“Not a football fan?” he asked, before you had the chance to answer. Robby interrupted you as he plopped down on the couch next to you.

“Do you even know the rules of football?” Robby asked, teasingly.

“Ish?” you replied, taking a bite, “I know the general aspects of the game, but I couldn't tell you anything strategy-wise.”

Jack nodded, still chewing. A quiet fell over you as you all enjoyed your dinner (and minimum the next three meals) of Indian food. You’d ask questions here and there as the game progressed, which Robby and Jack answered. You all shifted into comfier positions after you’d finished your meal. Jack slid his plate onto the coffee table before kicking his feet up on the ottoman. You’d curled up into Robby’s side, his arm reclined against the back of the couch. He pulled down the blanket resting on the back of the couch and draped it over you after the draft had finally gotten to you, causing you to shiver. You shared a smile, his arm migrating down to rest on your hip under the blanket. You frowned when you looked back up and saw Jack’s jaw clench and unclench. You immediately recognized it as one of his grounding techniques. What you didn’t know was what had caused him to get frustrated. Your vision shifted back to the game as you thought back to everything that had happened since he’d gotten here. Maybe he was still dealing with something from his shift earlier. You were so in your head; you didn’t notice Robby’s hand moving closer to your core until he was actively cupping your clothed pussy. Your eyes widened; you kept your gaze locked on the TV screen.

You tried your best to school your face as Robby stroked up and down your core above your leggings. You bit your lip as his hand dragged up one last time before he slipped under the elastic of the top of your leggings. Your face warmed as he now cupped your bare pussy.

“No, panties?” he whispered in your ear, “Naughty girl, were you expecting this? Am I not giving you enough attention? Is that it? Fuck you’re dripping, that’s it isn’t it? Daddy’s not giving you enough attention, so you have to act like a slut to get my attention; while we have company. What would Jack think? Bet he wouldn’t have any patience for your brat behavior.” Robby’s voice dropped, before he continued, “Squeeze my arm twice if you want to keep going.”

You hesitated, your face felt like it was on fire as your hand locked around Robby’s wrist. You gave it two quick squeezes, eyes locked on the commercials playing in front of you. Robby places a loving kiss on the crown of your head, before slipping a finger into your pussy. When he was met with no resistance, he quickly added another finger. You held back a whimper as he slowly thrusted in an out, taking time to hit all the little spots that drove you crazy, his thumb hovering above your clit. He was taking his time with you. If he really wanted to, he could make you cum within a few minutes, no he wanted to play with you tonight. Your eyes widened as he suddenly switched it up and began to circle your clit in quick succession and thrusted in and out of your pussy at a breakneck pace. You struggled not to moan, the wet smacks of Robby’s palm against your pussy were just contained under your throw blanket. Fuck you were close. Fuck, what were you going to do? You tried to think of something when Robby’s thick fingers suddenly stilled. You let out an involuntary whimper in shock.

Fuck                                                                                                 

There’s no way Jack didn’t hear that. He was too damn perceptive to begin with, coupled with the loud volume of your whimper sealed your fate. You swallowed thickly, slowly shifting your focus from the TV to Jack, Robby’s fingers still lodged in your pussy. Your eyes widen as you eyed Jack, his eyes already focused in on you. His gaze didn’t waver, like a predator sizing up his next meal. At least his jaw wasn’t clenched anymore. Could you even count that as a win?

“Robby,” Jack said, breaking the silence,

“Yeah,” Robby answered nonchalantly, like he wasn’t knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Make her cum,” He ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” Robby playfully, a lazy smirk scrawled across his face. Before you could even process the situation, Robby was adding a finger and thrusting back into your pussy fast. His other hand slipping down between your legs to toy with your clit as he curled his fingers against that spot.

“Fuck,” you moan, rocketing towards your release, eye still locked on Jack’s. Your hips involuntarily chased after Robby’s fingers as the coil in you tightened impossibly fast. You whined desperately, hips humping at his hands.

“Dadd-Jack, Fuck, I’m gonna-” you managed to spew out before your orgasm cut through you. You held Jack’s gaze as you convulsed around Robby’s fingers. You moaned as Robby worked you through your orgasm. He slowed his pace when your breathing evened out; his fingers stilled, still filling you. The game fell into the background, all your focus aimed at Jack.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned shamelessly palming himself through his jeans, “Does she always look so pretty, when she cums?”

“Always,” Robby answered without hesitation, “Though she looks even prettier when she squirts.”

“Is that right?” Jack asked, teasingly raising a brow at you. The heat rushing to your face paired with the warmth of your orgasm made you feel uncomfortably hot. You hid your face in Robby’s shoulder, embarrassed, as they continued to tease you.

“Yeah,” Robby started to answer his question, “Quickest way is oral, especially when she’s already warmed up with an orgasm.”

“You go down on her or does she sit on your face?” Jack prodded                                                                                                ,

“Either,” Robby answered, honestly, “You know how shy she can be, though, easier to convince her to open her legs than actively sit on me.”

“I can see that,” Jack responded in a teasing tone, sounding closer than before, “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

“Better,” Robby brags, “Wanna taste?”  

Your eyes snap open at his offer, his fingers flexing in your slick pussy. You let out a whine as he slowly worked his fingers out of your pussy. It was quiet for a moment before you heard Jack let out a moan. Your curiosity outweighed your embarrassment, eyes widening as you pulled back from Robby’s shoulder.

Fuck, the sight alone made your clench around nothing. Jack didn’t just lick your release off of Robby’s fingers, no, he was cleaning them. Sucking them clean, while holding Robby’s gaze. Your core was once again aflame, only heating up more when the realization that he was tasting your wetness before you’d even had the chance to kiss. He let out a groan before he released Robby’s fingers with a “pop”.

“You're right, she does taste better than she looks.” Jack caught your gaze, smirking down at you, “Bet she tastes better from the source though,”

Your heart was hammering in your chest at Jack’s boldness. You let out a whimper, core pulsing in need.

“Please,” you panted in need, you didn’t know where this was going or how it would affect the foundation of your relationship. You were too far gone, your pragmatism and caution put in the rearview mirror. All the time spent longing and lusting after Jack took the wheel.

“Ask properly,” Robby scolded into your ear.

“Please go down on me,” you begged, tears pricking your eyes from frustration.

“Please go down on me?” Jack prompted you,

“Sir, fuck, please go down on me Sir.” You whined. You saw something shift in the way Jack was looking at you. You worried, you’d gone too far for a moment. You never discussed it before, but calling him Sir just felt right. All your worries disappeared as he gently cupped your face, his calloused thumb stroking up and down your cheek.

“Good girl,” he praised, drawing you in for a kiss, your eyes fluttered shut as you let Jack take the lead. You couldn’t help but moan as Jack dominated the kiss. It was rushed, desperate, and raw. Raw, like he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. You could analyze that later; for now, you needed him. You gasped into the kiss as he tugged the blanket loose from your lap. Revealing your bare pussy to him. He groaned, helping you kick off your leggings, leaving you in Robby’s hoodie for now. You pulled him back in for another kiss while Robby dragged you onto his lap. He eased your legs apart for easier access for Jack. Your hoodie and tank top don’t last long between the two of them.

You were panting, lips puffy, when Jack finally pulled back and started to kiss down your neck. He worked slowly and deliberately as he nipped and sucked down your chest; like he was committing this moment to memory. You moaned desperately as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, his cold hand twisted and tugged at your other nipple. Robby held your arms to the side as he wrapped his arms around your middle. The scruff of his beard tickled your right shoulder where his chin was perched. His other hand still on your hips the moment you tried to grind forward, against Jack’s growing bulge. You were beginning to get desperate.

“Baby,” he said in a warning tone, immediately identifying the shift from lust to need. You both loved and hated how well he knew you. All you could do was whine desperately for Jack. You didn’t care how he took you; you wanted him now.

“Daddy,” you groaned, “can’t”, you panted, “fuck please Sir, need it, need you so bad.”

“You can and will wait,” Robby said in a strict tone, “Or do you want to be punished? I was gonna teach Sir how to make you squirt, but I bet he’d love to see how desperate you get from a few rounds of spanking.”

Jack smirked up at you, hovering right above your mound. You were on the edge of full-on crying from frustration when he finally parted your slit with his thumb. A moan tumbled from your lips as he broadly licked from your opening to your clit. He toyed with your clit as he waited for further direction from Robby.

“You’re gonna have to make her cum again, she only squirts when she’s overstimulated or edged. After she cums don’t let up. Her safe word is ‘code’. We use the stoplight system.” In lieu of answering Robby, Jack started off by thrusting two fingers into your already stretched core.

“Fuck,” you moaned as his lips sealed around your clit. You knew you wouldn’t last; you were too geared up by his teasing.

“Good girl,” Robby praised in your ear, “Does he feel good love?”

“Daddy,” you panted in response.

“You gonna make a mess for us?” He teased.

Before you could respond, Jack’s fingers curled at the perfect angle to hit that spot. The one spot that Robby would avoid delaying your release when you were being punished. The spot that never failed to make you crumble.

“Daddy, please, can I? Can I please?” you begged, bordering on a shout.

“Go ahead love,” Robby encouraged,

You felt flushed as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure. Thighs quaking around Jack’s head, clit pulsing, and voice raw as you came with a shout. As directed, Jack didn’t let up. He continued tracing patterns onto your clit, his finger’s never breaking pace.

Fuck

You could feel your next release festering in your core; it was all too much, too soon. You were already wound so tight that you’d only last a few more seconds. You didn’t have any time to ask permission, before it was shooting through you. At some point, Robby released you, allowing your hand to find its way laced with Jack’s hair as you came flush with his face. Jack’s name like a prayer on your lips as you seize, completely overstimulated. You fell boneless against Robby’s frame, as you attempted to recover, breath coming out in stuttered gasps. Jack’s lower face was a mess, slick, pupils blown. He gently eased his fingers from your heat, pulling the collar of his t-shirt up to wipe his mouth. As you came back down to earth, you felt Jack’s even breath against the back of your neck. At some point, he had migrated up to the couch, cradling you between him and Robby.

“You alright, baby?” Jack asked, after you finally came back into your body. You hummed for a moment before answering.

“Yeah,” you said, in a small voice, taking a deep breath, “It was just a lot.”

“Do you think you’re done for the night?” he asked, rubbing soothing circles into you hip, cock throbbing against your back.

“But you and Daddy didn’t-” you started before Jack cut you off.

“You’ve already been such a good girl.” He said soothingly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “How about we get you comfortable and I’ll take care of Daddy. Does that sound good, love?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, involuntarily clenching at the thought of the two of them together.

“We’re going to need words, love.” Robby reminded you patiently.

“’ Kay,” you nodded, the edges of reality starting to get a bit foggy. Robby’s desperation showed through as he helped you settle on the other end of the couch, curled up in your throw blanket, pillow supporting your lower back. He gave you an emotion-filled kiss, pecked your forehead before he turned to meet Jack’s gaze. You let an involuntary gasp as Jack shoved Robby back onto the couch, partially kneeling on the couch. His right knee was placed strategically between Robby’s spread legs, while his left leg remained standing. Robby immediately started grinding up against Jack’s thigh as Jack fists the hair at the nape of Robby’s neck, forcefully pulling him in for a kiss. You bit your bottom lip to suppress a moan, getting wet all over again. They immediately started out rough to a level you normally had to beg Robby to be with you.

They looked perfect together to the extent that you didn’t know if you should be jealous or turned on. You couldn’t tear your eyes from them as they began to strip. Your focus locked on Jack’s bare chest as he began to work down his jeans, his happy trail leading down to his already hard member. Once they were both bare, Jack gave you a quick glance; a smirk pulled at his lips as he took in your wide eyes and repressed whines. Robby monopolized the opening to grip Jack’s hips and flip him, before sliding down between Jack’s legs. Jack let out a stuttered, “Fuck”, at the sight of Robby between his thighs.

“This alright?” Robby asked with a smirk, hands pushing Jack’s legs apart to make room for his broad shoulders.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned once again, “Yes,” he let out hesitantly.

Jack hissed at the contact of Robby’s tongue. He licked up the underside of his cock, before teasing his tip and swallowing around Jack. A moan cut through Jack as Robby bobbed up and down. He started out slow, before building up speed. It only took a few passes before Jack bottomed out. Jack threaded his fingers through Robby’s hair in a tight grip. He controlled Robby’s movements as his hips began to thrust up to meet his mouth halfway. From your spot, you can see Robby beginning to tease himself, before he began to thrust up into his hand at the same rate Jack was down his throat. Jack groaned, throwing his head back against the couch, his hips stuttering.

“I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, instead of pulling away Robby right hand settled under Jack’s thighs pulling him closer. His left hand squeezed himself harder, pumping himself faster to sync up with Jack. They locked eyes as Jack came down Robby’s throat, his cock still hard in his stilled fist. Jack let out another groan as he eased out of Robby’s mouth, followed by a surprised whimper when Robby leaned forward and stated to lick Jack’s cock clean.

“Fuck, good boy,” Jack groaned, leaning forward and cupping Robby’s face. He pulled Robby up for a kiss, this time much more gently, as he was still high off his orgasm. Robby straddled his lap, reciprocating Jack’s emotional kiss. A kiss that would always say more than what either man was willing to divulge about their emotions. Robby gasped against Jack’s lips as his hand wrapped his still throbbing cock. Robby moaned shamelessly, falling face-first into Jack’s shoulder as he took care of him. It didn’t take long before Robby’s cum painted their stomachs. You rubbed your thighs together needily as Robby panted softly against Jack’s shoulder. You could see their lips move as they spoke in a low tone to each other. Before you knew it, Jack was picking you up and carrying you up to the bathroom off of your master bedroom. He pulled you in for a playful kiss as he set you down on the counter. You were vaguely aware of Robby filling the tub in the background. You shared a soft, intimate bath, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Afterwards, you were tucked into bed, Robby settling in behind you. You quickly caught Jack’s wrist as he pulled away to leave.

“Please,” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes. Not yet immune to your puppy dog’s eyes, he turned around and kissed the back of your lovingly as Robby pulled you back to make room for him. You fell asleep on his chest, and Robby curled up around you. While you didn’t know what to make of this new dynamic you could worry about that in the morning. Right now, all that mattered was you were safe and so were your partner(s).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! I hope you enjoyed it. I am working on two other Pitt Fanfictions (One where Robby is solo, and the other is a soulmate AU), but I have a million papers due, so I'm probably gonna be on a forced hiatus til mid-May. I just want these old men to kiss and be taken care of 💛

Anyway, hope you're having a good day wherever you are ^-^

[worlds-we-write]

Something to Hold Onto II one shot

summary: On a cold night in a secluded cabin, Joel finally shows you just how much he wants you—slow, possessive, and worshiping every inch of you like you were made for him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

warning/tags: jackson era joel, soft dom joel, soft joel, curyv/mid/plus size reader, reader has insecurity, body worship, praise, unprotected piv

The fire crackles in the small cabin, its flickering light casting long shadows over the worn wooden walls. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, a relentless reminder of the world beyond. But here, in the sanctuary of these four walls, it’s just the two of you.

You shift on the makeshift bedroll, the blankets tangled around your legs. You’re warm, but that has less to do with the fire and more to do with Joel Miller’s presence beside you. He’s sitting on an old chair near the fireplace, one boot propped on the edge of the hearth, watching you with those deep, assessing eyes.

“You should be sleepin’,” he murmurs, voice thick like honey, rough like gravel.

You shrug, cheeks warm under his gaze. “You’re not sleeping either.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Somebody’s gotta keep watch.”

You know better that to argue with him, but the way he watches you – it makes you feel something deep in your chest, something vulnerable. Something you’re not used to.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low, expectant.

You hesitate, but only for a second. Joel has a way of making hesitation disappear. You move toward him, and before you can settle, his large hands find your hips, guiding you onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tense, self-conscious, but Joel sighs, like he’s finally at ease. One of his hands slides up your back, the other gripping your thick thigh, his touch firm but gentle. “There we go,” he mutters, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Joel…”

“You’re so damn soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. “Always feel so good in my hands.”

Your breath stutters. You don’t hear words like that often.

He feels it – your hesitation, your doubt – and his grip tightens, grounding. His other hand drifts up your back, fingers trailing along the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it, finding warm skin. “Ain’t got nothin’ to be shy about,” he says voice rough with conviction. “I like you just the way you are. Love the way you feel against me. The way you fit against me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands curling into the fabric of his flannel. “You mean that?”

Joel tilts his head, his lips ghosting along your jaw before he cups your chin, tilting your face so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweetheart.” His thumb brushes against your lower lip. “Now, you gonna let me hold you proper, or you gonna keep frettin’ over nothing?”

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, heavy and warm. You nod, just once, and Joel makes a satisfied sound before wrapping his arms fully around you, pulling you close, his body solid and steady beneath yours.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against your temple. “Knew you’d come around.”

And just like that, the cold world outside fades away.

Joel holds you like he means it. Like you’re something worth protecting, worth keeping close. His hands rest heavy against you – not hesitant, not testing, just there, as if he knows exactly what he wants, and it’s you.

You melt against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, and he hums low in his chest. The sound rumbles through you, grounding, reassuring. His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it again, warm against your skin.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips grazing your hairline. “Knew you just needed to be held for a bit.”

Your breath shudders out of you, the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveling. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this – not out of necessity, not in passing, but with intent.

Joel’s intent is written all over him. It’s in the way he holds you close, the way his fingers trace lazy circles at the base of your spine, the way his other hand stays firm on your thigh, like he’s staking a claim.

“You run yourself ragged,” he mutters after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, almost scolding. “Tryin’ to prove something.”

You tense, but he soothes it away with another slow drag of his fingers along your back.

“I ain’t trying to prove anything,” you say under your breath.

Joel huffs. “That so?”’ His lips press against the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower. “Then why do you get all stiff when I tell you how much I like this?” His hand tightens on your thigh, fingers flexing. “How good you feel against me?”

Heat floods your cheeks, “Joel—”

“Mm.” He noses along your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes – dark, unwavering – hold you still. “You think I don’t see you?” His fingers press into your flesh, a firm, grounding grip. “Think I don’t feel what it does to you when I touch you like this?”

Your breath catches. “I just – I’m not—”

“Shh.” His thumb ghosts over your lower lip, shushing you gently. “Ain’t got nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart.” He cups your face fully now, calloused fingers cradling you like you’re something fragile – though you know Joel Miller doesn’t do fragile. Not unless he cares.

And that thought? It sinks into your chest, heavy and warm.

“You always act so tough,” he murmurs. “Always puttin’ other people first.” His other hand drifts higher, squeezing at your hip. “Maybe it’s time somebody took care of you for once.”

You exhale shakily, something in your defenses crumbling under the weight of his words. “Joel…”

“I got you,” He reassures, his lips brushing yours – not quite a kiss, not yet, just the promise of one. His hands stay where they are, holding you firm, steady, safe. “Just let me have you for a little while. Let me show you.”

And maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the warmth of the fire, maybe it’s just him, but you let go. Let yourself sink into his touch, into his presence, into the quiet promise in his eyes.

Joel hums in approval, his lips finally meet yours, slow and deep, as his arms tighten around you. Holding you like he’s never letting go.

Joel kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like there’s no rush, no threat outside these walls, just the slow, steady way his lips move against yours. His grip on your tightens – not rough, but firm, grounding, possessive in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes you sigh into his mouth. He takes it as permission, his hands roaming, mapping the curves of your body like he’s memorizing you.

“That’s it,” he mutters against your lips, his voice dark and pleased. “Knew you’d let me in if I was patient.”

Your fingers curl into his flannel, holding onto him like he’s the only steady thing in the world. Maybe he is.

“Joel…” you murmur, your breath shaky.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek. His eyes are molten in the firelight, filled with something you’re not sure you deserve but want so badly.

“You’re not used to being taken care of, are you?” he questions.

Your throat tightens. You should look away, but he won’t let you. His fingers tilt your chin just enough to keep you locked in place, waiting for an answer.

“I—” You swallow hard. “Not like this.”

Joel exhales through his nose, like he already knew the answer. His grip tightens – not to restrain, but to reassure.

“Well,” he says, dragging his lips over your jaw, then lower, tracing a path down your neck. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you, huh?”

You shiver as his mouth lingers at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Teach me?” you echo, your voice barley more than a breath.

His teeth scrape just enough to make your breath hitch, then he soothes the spot with his tongue. “Mhm,” he hums. “Gonna teach you how to take what you’re given. How to let yourself be wanted.”

A low, needy sound escapes your throat before you can stop it, and Joel groans in response, his fingers tightening at your waist.

“You like that?” he whispers, dragging his lips back up to your ear. “Like the way I hold you? The way I touch you?”

You nod – small, hesitant.

He makes a pleased sound, then suddenly grips your thigh, squeezing hard enough to make your gasp. “Say it.”

Your stomach flips, heat coiling low at the quiet command in his voice.

“I like it. Like it when you touch me,” you utter.

Joel hums his approval, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good girl.” His hands move again, slow but deliberate, smoothing over the soft flesh of your hips, your waist, “Love every inch of you, y’know that?”

You freeze for a moment – because no, you didn’t know that.

Joel notices immediately. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer that you expect. His fingers flex against your sides, holding you steady.

“You listen to me,” he growls, his voice lower now, rougher. “Ain’t gonna let you talk yourself outta this. Ain’t gonna let you hide from what I see.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “And I see you, sweetheart. Every damn bit of you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you close your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind them. Joel lets you sit in it for a moment before he shifts, rolling his hips just enough to remind you exactly where you’re sitting.

Your breath catches, and he smirks. “You feel that?” His voice is deeper now, thick with want. “That’s for you. Every bit of me, wantin’ every bit of you.”

You whimper, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

Joel chuckles, low and dark, then lifts you effortlessly, shifting you until your back meets the mattress, his broad frame caging you in.

“Now,” he hums, his lips hovering just above yours. “You gonna let me take my time with you? Show you how good you are?”

You nod quickly, breathless, and Joel grins against your lips.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel doesn’t rush.

He takes his time, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. His hands map every inch of you – tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the soft dip of your stomach. Not with hesitation, not with restraint, but with purpose. Like he’s worshipping you.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing lower, his hands gripping your hips as he settles between your legs. “So damn beautiful.”

You let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the weight of his touch, the way he looks at you – like he’s starved, like he needs you.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you whisper, a hint of doubt creeping into your voice.

Joel freezes. His grip on your hips tightens, and when he lifts his head, his expression is serious. “You think I don’t mean it?” His voice low, rough. “Think I’d be here – with you, like this – if I didn’t want you? If it didn’t mean every damn word?”

You swallow hard. He’s watching you so closely, waiting for you to believe him.

“I – I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barley above a whisper.

Joel exhales slowly, his thumb stroking soft circles against your skin. He doesn’t want to argue. Doesn’t try to convince you with words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss just above your heart, then another, lower, lips warm against your skin.

“Then let me show you,” he murmurs.

And he does.

Every touch, every kiss, every slow deliberate movement – Joel worships you, his hands reverent, his mouth hungry. He doesn’t let you shy away, doesn’t let you hide.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Joel groans, his grip tightening.

“God, I love hearing you like that,” he mutters. “ Love feelin’ you like this.” His hands skim your sides, his lips pressing against the swell of your stomach, lingering. “Ain’t a damn thing I don’t love about you, darling.”

Your breath catches. No one’s ever touches you like this, looked at you like this. Like you’re wanted. Joel lifts his head, his eyes dark and serious. “I need you to believe me,” he says quietly. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod slowly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Joel grins, slow and satisfied, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice full of promise. “Now let me take care of you.”

The fire crackles low in the hearth, its glow casting shifting shadows across the cabin walls. The wind outside howls against the wood, but in here, wrapped in Joel’s arms, all you can hear is the sound of his breath—steady, warm, needy.

He has you beneath him now, your back pressing into the worn mattress, the weight of his body heavy in the best way. His hands roam slowly, reverently, as if he’s memorizing you, rough palms smoothing over the dips and swells of your form, squeezing, gripping, claiming.

“Christ,” Joel mutters, voice husky, half-broken as his fingers dig into your soft hips, molding you to him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath coming out in short, heated pants. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your body hums under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, kissing, biting, soothing. He groans when you shiver, when your fingers tangle in his hair and pull, just enough to make his breath hitch.

"That’s it," he rasps, his tongue tracing over your pulse. "Lemme hear you, baby. Lemme feel you." He shifts lower, trailing his mouth over the swell of your chest, his teeth grazing sensitive skin before he sucks a mark there—deep and dark, something undeniable.

"Joel," you whimper, arching into him, the sound of your voice making his grip tighten.

"Yeah, baby?" He lifts his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide with heat. His fingers stroke slow circles over your stomach, teasing lower, ghosting over where you need him. "Tell me what you want. Lemme hear you say it."

Your breath stutters, heat rushing to your cheeks. He’s watching you so closely, waiting. Not teasing—testing.

"I—" You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. "I want you, Joel. Please."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and deep, his hands gripping your thighs as he parts them wider.

His thumb strokes your inner thigh, the pad of his finger pressing just enough to make you shiver. “You with me, sweetheart?” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. When you nod, breath hitching, he rewards you with a slow, satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Now lemme hear how much you want it.”

His touch is everywhere—hot, possessive, devouring. His fingers press into soft flesh, squeezing like he loves the way you feel beneath him. And when he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for, when he fills you, it’s with a deep, guttural groan, his face buried against your neck as he stills, trembling.

"Fuck," he rasps, his breath ragged against your skin. "So tight. So warm. Jesus, sweetheart, you were made for me."

You whimper, fingers digging into his back as he starts to move, slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him, every stroke, every roll of his hips.

Joel presses you deeper into the mattress, the sheer weight of him overwhelming in the best way. His hands frame your face, tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Keep your eyes on me,” he orders, his voice a gravelly whisper, his fingers tracing the curve of your lower lip before he claims your mouth in a searing, breath-stealing kiss.

He keeps his face close, whispering between ragged breaths, telling you how perfect you feel, how beautiful you are like this, like his.

"You feel that?" His voice is thick, desperate. "That’s all for you, darlin’. Every last bit of me—yours."

The world outside fades, lost to the rhythm of your bodies, the heat of his skin, the roughness of his hands. Joel isn’t just taking you—he’s worshiping you, like he’s been starving for this, for you. And when he finally lets go, when you both break, it’s together—his grip tightening, his lips murmuring against your skin, his body wrapped around you like he never wants to let go.

And maybe, just maybe, he never will.

AN: Hey y’all! 💕 This was such a pleasure to write—there’s just something about Joel being all rough, protective, and soft in his own way that makes my heart (and other things 👀) melt. I wanted this to feel intimate, a mix of raw desire and deep care, because let’s be real—Joel would take his time worshiping every inch of you. 😏

Hope you enjoyed this little indulgence! Let me know what you think—I love hearing from you! 💖✨

[shimmerandink]

Hcs of jayce, viktor and silco smoking weed with reader pls?

(Ignore if you are uncomfortable with this)

Interesting scenario! This was really fun to write and figure out! Thanks for your request and I hope you’ll enjoy!

Arcane characters smoking weed with reader

Jayce/Viktor/Silco

Minors DI

Tags: arcane x reader, weed, smoking, effects from drugs

Jayce

~At first, he’s hesitant. Jayce is a golden boy and a public figure, so he might be wary about trying it. When you convince him, he’ll be a little nervous but curious.

~Surprisingly good lung capacity. He’s strong and athletic, so he doesn’t cough as much as expected. He even gets cocky about it.

~Gets so talkative. Jayce already likes to talk, but when he’s high, he rambles about everything: Hextech ideas, dumb childhood stories, philosophical thoughts about why Piltover’s buildings are so tall.

~Giggles at everything! He’s usually a confident and composed guy, but the weed makes him laugh at the stupidest jokes.

~Gets extra affectionate, he will be all over you. Hand on your thigh, leaning into you, playing with your fingers. He turns into a big, touchy puppy.

~Insane munchies. Jayce devours snacks. He doesn’t care what it is, Piltover’s finest cuisine or straight up junk foodx he’s eating it like he’s never tasted food before.

~He’s bad at rolling joints, His hands are big, and while they’re skilled at forging weapons, rolling a tight joint? Not so much. He either makes a too tight or too loose mess.

~Random deep thoughts like “Do you think Hexgates would work if you just threw something through it? Like, what if I launched a sandwich, would it teleport perfectly, or would it just be… a mess on the other side?”

~Falls asleep mid conversation, One second he’s talking about some great idea, the next, he’s knocked out on the couch, snoring lightly.

Viktor

~A bit more reserved at first, Viktor is much more calculated than Jayce, so he’d approach smoking with a bit more caution. He might even read up on it first before deciding to try it. But if the reader suggests it, he’s intrigued enough to join in.

~Takes it seriously, Viktor’s a perfectionist, so when he smokes, he’s careful about everything. He’s calculating his inhales and exhalations, making sure he’s doing it properly. He may even try to analyze how it affects his body and mind. “Interesting. I feel as though my neural pathways are… more fluid.”

~ A total lightweight, The first time he smokes, he barely takes a few hits before it hits him. His tolerance is nonexistent, and suddenly, his body feels lighter, and his mind slows in a way he’s not used to. “Oh. Oh… this is… peculiar.”

~Zones out hard. The first thing Viktor does when he gets high? Stares at nothing for five minutes straight. You thinks he’s broken. But no, he’s just deep in thought, contemplating things like why clocks move in circles or whether the human consciousness has a weight.

~Viktor doesn’t get loud or goofy when he’s high. He’s calm, maybe even a little quiet. But his mind is working overtime. He’s more likely to have deep, philosophical thoughts or be lost in contemplation.

~“Do you ever think about the nature of existence? How everything we build is… temporary? Even the greatest innovations are destined to fade away.”

~Hyper-aware of you. He’s naturally very observant, and when he’s high, his focus on you is intense. Every little movement you make, every change in your expression, seems to captivate him. If you’re near him, he’ll often find a reason to gently touch you, brushing your hair out of your face or resting a hand on your shoulder.

~Fascinated by the little things, Viktor might notice things he wouldn’t normally pay attention to when sober. He’ll become oddly fixated on small details, like the patterns in the your shirt or the way the light plays off the walls.

~“The light… it bends differently when I’m looking at it through your eyes. How curious.”

~Loses track of time completely, Ask Viktor how long it’s been, and he will absolutely get it wrong. “Only a few minutes, yes?” No, Viktor, it’s been an hour.

~Doesn’t get the munchies, but gets thirsty , Viktor isn’t interested in food, but suddenly, water is the most fascinating substance on the planet. He stares at the glass in awe before taking a sip like he’s experiencing hydration for the first time.

~“Do you ever think about how water has no taste… yet it tastes like something?”

~Will absolutely overanalyze being high, Viktor doesn’t just experience being high, he studies it, on himself. He starts noting down his reactions, theorizing how THC interacts with his neural pathways, and casually wondering if he could improve it with Hextech.

“What if I modified Hexcore to enhance this effect… but only the beneficial aspects?”

“Viktor. You are NOT making Hextech weed.”

Silco

~You assumes he’s never tried it before. Maybe it’s because of his usual uptight demeanor, his sharp control over everything, or just the way he carries himself. They offer it to him, expecting him to be hesitant.

~Silco humors them at first, He lets them explain how to smoke it, acting like he’s listening carefully. He even asks a question or two, subtly smirking behind his hand as they go on.

~Then he takes a perfect inhale, no cough, no hesitation, The moment he takes the joint, he handles it effortlessly. A deep, slow drag, held for just the right amount of time before exhaling in a smooth stream. The reader stares.

“You’ve done this before.” “Observant as ever, my dear.”

~He’s completely composed, While you might be giggling or starting to zone out, Silco remains in control. His posture stays relaxed but poised, his words just as sharp. The only real sign he’s high? His half-lidded gaze and the faint amusement curling at his lips.

~Smokes like it’s a cigar. He holds it between his fingers, taking slow, measured hits as if it’s just another vice, like his usual cigars. The way he exhales, controlled and effortless, makes it clear he’s done this many times before.

~The only giveaway? He gets slightly more indulgent. His words come a bit slower, more drawn out, and there’s a lazy satisfaction in his voice. If the reader teases him about it, he just chuckles.

~ “You’re enjoying this way too much.” “Am I? I suppose there’s a certain pleasure in watching you realize how little you know about me.”

~His humor gets sharper. Silco is already sarcastic, but high? His wit is razor sharp. He’s quicker than usual with his teasing, and his dry humor has an extra edge of smugness.

~”What are you thinking about?” “How much faith Piltover puts in its walls. And how entertaining it will be when they crumble.”

~ Doesn’t get couch locked. he’s too controlled for that. Silco might lean back a bit more, letting his limbs drape lazily, but he never slouches. His control over himself is too strong to fully melt into it

~You, meanwhile, is a mess, If you’re less experienced, Silco finds it incredibly amusing watching you go through the phases, giggling, zoning out, rambling. He just watches with an indulgent smirk.

“You’re laughing at nothing.” “No, I— Wait, what were we talking about?” ”Chuckle. Precisely.”

~?Has a slight philosophical streak. While he doesn’t ramble like Jayce or Viktor, Silco does get a little more philosophical when high. His thoughts drift into strategy, control, power, he’ll muse on the nature of war, humanity, or even just the sheer arrogance of Piltover.

~Never gets munchies, but he’ll sip his whiskey slower, He doesn’t crave food, but he does appreciate flavors more. He takes slow, deliberate sips of his drink, enjoying the way it lingers on his tongue.

~Only at the very end does he let himself relax, Maybe, just maybe, after a long silence, the reader will glance over and see him with his eyes half-closed, fingers idly tapping against his glass. It’s rare, but in these moments, he seems… almost peaceful.

“You alright?”

“Better than alright, my dear.”

[marifilue]

Bite Me, I Dare You

Wordcount: 1.6k

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader (No use of y/n)

Oneshot: Biting Logan for a joke turned into a petty competition between the two of you

Tags: Fluffs, playful banter, established relationship, other X-Men characters appeared (Especially peter maximoff <3)

That was his words, not yours. Bite me, I dare you.

Oh boy, did he know how underestimating that sounded. So you bit him.

Right on the bicep, in the middle of the breakfast table, on that warm morning alongside the other X-Men members.

Logan was wearing that white tank top, his left bicep touching your shoulder, immediately looking like a chewable object. So you whipped your head around, burying your teeth deep into his toned bicep, making him flinch. His thigh bumped against the table in reflexes, startling everyone in what had been a peaceful morning. He let out a startled groan, eyeing you with furrowed brows as you grinned triumphantly.

The entire table turned their heads in your direction. Peter choked on his water, coughing into his fist. Scott, mid-cut, froze with his fork and knife still in hand. Ororo just shook his head. The rest of the team shifted awkwardly.

"Sorry," Logan muttered to the table as he bumped his left thigh against yours.

You bit back your smile, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team.

That was only an introduction to how the day would unfold—you took his words as a challenge you were eager to conquer. It was probably reverse psychology; maybe he secretly enjoyed being bitten by you, and your mission was to ruin that. Bite me, I dare you? What was he thinking...

As you walked back to your shared room, Logan’s broad back was just an arm’s reach ahead of you. The morning light filtered through the mansion’s windows, casting long shadows on the floor, the air still thick with the scent of coffee and syrup.

You quickened your pace.

Just as he turned the corner, you struck—sinking your teeth into his shoulder.

Logan let out a short grunt, his muscles tensing under your bite. His reaction was brief, but the warmth of his skin and the way his shoulder flexed beneath your teeth made you linger a second longer than necessary.

“Really?” His voice was low, rough—like the start of a growl.

You grinned against his tanktop before letting go, stepping back just in time to see his expression when he turned around. His brows were drawn together, lips pressed in something between amusement and irritation. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—then it was gone.

You shrugged. “You dared me.”

His jaw twitched, like he was biting back a response, but he only exhaled through his nose and kept walking.

That was your first victory.

By the third day, Logan barely reacted.

You bit his arm while passing him in the hallway—he didn’t even pause his stride, just muttered a gruff, “Real mature.”

At dinner, you leaned in and nipped at his forearm. He only sighed, shooting you a look over his glass of whiskey before taking a slow sip.

This wasn’t working. You had to get to him.

On the fourth night, after training, Logan sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. The room was dimly lit, the scent of soap and warm skin filling the space. You crawled onto the mattress behind him, arms resting on his shoulders, pressing close as if you were getting comfortable.

Then you bit the back of his neck.

Logan jerked. A sharp inhale, followed by a low, warning growl. His grip tightened around the towel, knuckles turning white.

You pulled back, suppressing a laugh. “Oh? That one got you?”

His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the way he frowned.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

Before you could process what he meant, he turned, grabbing your wrist.

And then he bit you.

It wasn’t harsh, just a firm press of his teeth against the side of your hand. His eyes locked onto yours as he did it, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.

You yanked your hand back. “Hey!”

Logan chuckled—an actual chuckle, deep and low. He push your body down to the mattress and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips before you could react. “What? You can dish it out but can’t take it?”

Oh. It was on.

The War Begins

The next morning, you struck first—teeth brushing against his bicep just as he pulled on a fresh shirt. His only reaction was a slow glance at you through the mirror, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed.

During breakfast, Logan tried to dodge, but your teeth caught the edge of his bicep anyway, making him jolt slightly, knocking his knee against the table, again.

At training, he got you back. Right in the middle of a spar, when you were both locked in a grapple, he dipped his head and bit your shoulder—not hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.

The worst was on the seventh day, there was a mission.

You were crouched behind a wrecked car, the twisted metal still warm from an earlier explosion. Smoke curled in the air, stinging your lungs, while distant gunfire rattled through the streets. The ground beneath you was littered with broken glass and shell casings, the air thick with the scent of burning oil and scorched concrete.

Logan was behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breathing steady despite the chaos. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, waiting for the signal.

“Stay still.” His voice was low, rough—barely above a whisper.

Before you could question it, Logan leaned in. And then his teeth sank lightly into the shell of your ear.

You flinched, body jerking involuntarily, and your hand tightened around your firearm. Your finger, resting just a little too close to the trigger, twitched—

The sharp crack of gunfire split the air.

A blur of silver shot past in an instant. Peter. The bullet zipped right through where he had been standing half a second ago, harmlessly pinging off the side of a rusted dumpster.

Peter reappeared a few feet away, eyes wide as he patted himself down. “Whoa—whoa, okay! Who’s out here trying to make me a ghost?” He looked around, blinking, before his gaze landed on you.

Then he saw who was next to you.

“Ohhh,” Peter said slowly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Oh, this has Logan written all over it.”

You barely had time to open your mouth before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Scott.

You winced.

“Did I just witness an accidental discharge because of—” He paused, like he couldn’t even stomach the words. “Because of whatever the hell you two were doing behind cover?”

You had never seen someone look simultaneously appalled and exhausted before, but Scott had somehow mastered it.

“It wasn’t—” you started, but Scott was already mid-rant.

“This is a mission! You know, where people are shooting at us?! Where we’re supposed to have discipline?! Not—” He gestured wildly at you. “Whatever this is!”

Peter, meanwhile, had his hands on his knees, absolutely cackling. “Oh, man. You almost shot me because Logan was getting handsy?”

“I wasn’t—” You turned to Logan, half hoping he’d step in, but of course, he just looked smug.

“You’re fine, aren’t ya?” Logan said to Peter, like that was supposed to be the end of it.

“That is not the point!” Scott practically exploded. “You two are insufferable!” He took a sharp breath. “I swear to God, if one more bullet fires because of your bullshit, I will personally—”

“You’ll what?” Logan cut in, amused.

Scott’s jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break a tooth. He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate you both.”

Peter gave a two-fingered salute. “Hey, love you too, buddy.”

Scott groaned like he wanted to walk into oncoming fire.

You, meanwhile, refused to look at Logan.

Refused.

By the time the mission ended, you’d bitten him twice more—one out of spite, the other just because you could.

The X-Men, however, were done with it.

At the debriefing, Professor Xavier sat at the head of the conference table, hands folded. You and Logan sat beside each other, your usual spots. The room was silent, the weight of an impending scolding heavy in the air.

Scott, seated across from you. Pietro, beside him immediately started coughing when he noticed Logan shift slightly toward you.

Ororo sighed, rubbing her temples.

Then, finally, Xavier spoke.

"Enough."

Both of you straightened.

“This has been going on for a while,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “And now, it has become an unnecessary distraction during missions.”

You bit your lip. Logan exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms.

“My office. Both of you.”

You turned to Logan, expression blank, but your fingers itched with the urge to pinch his arm—or bite it.

“This is your fault.”

His response? A smirk—then a sharp press of his teeth against your forearm right in front of Xavier.

Scott audibly groaned.

You were so screwed.

The next ten minutes were a lecture about professionalism, teamwork, and not treating each other like chew toys while on duty. Logan took it with his usual blank expression, while you bit back the urge to argue that it wasn’t that big of a deal.

When you finally left, Logan stretched, rolling his shoulders like he had just woken up from a nap. “Well, that went about as expected.”

You shot him a look. “We’re officially on thin ice.”

His lips twitched, amused. Then, after a moment, he held out his hand. “Truce?”

You eyed his palm, then him. “You’re just gonna bite me the second I shake your hand.”

He raised an eyebrow, like he was offended by the mere suggestion. “Would I do that?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

A beat of silence. Logan’s smirk softened just a little. “Alright. No more biting. On missions, at least.”

You huffed, but after a moment, you placed your hand in his, shaking once.

Then—sharp teeth grazed your knuckles. A quick bite, barely enough pressure to sting.

Your jaw dropped. “Logan!”

He was already walking away, chuckling to himself. “I said on missions.”

You stared after him, equal parts exasperated and… something else.

Truce, your ass.

[mapofsouthdakota]

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 2600ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Colonel Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. 18+ due to psychological thriller/drama/angst galore (and a prelude for p0rn with plot, I’m just calling it now tbh lol). You are warned.

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290

Chapters: chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight (final chapter)

Disobedience | Chapter one

The Maze, you

The sheets beneath your fingertips are soft, smooth against your skin—yet the coolness of the night still lingers, a stark contrast to the heat of your own body.

For a moment, you just lie there, still. Listening.

The room hums with a faint, steady silence—too perfect, too controlled. There’s no creak of floorboards, no shifting of walls, only the barely-there whisper of circulated air filtering through vents.

A breath. A heartbeat.

Then—

“Morning, sunshine.”

The sound curls through the space, warm, teasing, familiar.

You don’t flinch.

Your hands, hidden beneath your pillow, run over the rough scratches in the headboard.

Ten days.

Ten days in Caleb’s Maze.

Ten days of carefully mapping the shifting corridors, learning the rhythm of the walls.

Ten days of waiting for a single mistake.

You let your thumb press against the newest line, the wood rough beneath your nail. The only thing here that feels imperfect.

Ten lines. Today makes ten.

Your fingers move carefully, hidden beneath your pillow, tracing over the rough scratches in the headboard. The grooves are uneven, worn from repetition.

A habit now. A ritual.

Another inhale. Another second where you are just waking up.

Then, deliberately slow, you stretch—arms reaching high, toes curling, your spine arching briefly before you relax again, exhaling softly. You force yourself to move naturally. To pretend.

“Did you sleep well, Pips?”

His voice is smooth, effortless, the same playful lilt it’s always had. The intercom crackles faintly at the edges, a reminder that he isn’t here.

You push the sheets off, swallowing down the tightness in your throat.

“I’ve had worse,” you murmur.

A low chuckle hums through the room. Soft, unbothered.

“That’s not an answer.”

You don’t give him one.

Instead, you slide out of bed, bare feet meeting cool marble flooring, and head toward the kitchen. It’s pristine, the kind of luxury that feels staged, artificial. Polished marble, deep walnut cabinets, light spilling through windows that show a perfect sky that isn’t real.

You reach for a glass from the overhead rack—thin, cool, smooth against your fingers—before pouring yourself orange juice.

It’s cold when you drink, tangy with just the right bite of citrus.

“The apple juice is fresher.”

You pause mid-drink.

His voice is still warm, too conversational for someone keeping you captive.

“But,” Caleb adds smoothly, “you’re free to choose whatever you please.”

Your jaw tightens. You set the glass down too hard.

“Oh, how generous.”

Silence stretches for a moment, and you swear you hear the faintest flicker of static in the speakers. Like he was about to say something else.

Then—nothing.

You don’t wait for him to continue.

You turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom.

——————————————————————————

The mirror doesn’t lie.

You brush your teeth, staring at your reflection. Messy hair, sharper eyes. With a slow inhale, you smooth down the wrinkled fabric of your pajamas, then splash cool water onto your face, letting the droplets slide down your jaw. You straighten, gripping the sink for a moment before exhaling.

You look fine. Healthy.

And yet, something invisible coils inside you as you step out of the bathroom. The plush carpet yields softly beneath your bare feet, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile reality of the Maze beyond this space.

The walk-in wardrobe is spacious, curated to perfection, a collection of clothes you never asked for but were chosen with meticulous care. Your fingers trail along the fabrics, skimming over silken dresses, impossibly soft loungewear, intricate embroidery.

Not clothes meant for movement.

Not clothes meant for running.

But today, you dress for yourself.

Your hands move with quiet certainty. A fitted, dark long-sleeve shirt, breathable and weightless against your skin. Black cargo pants with deep pockets, light enough for speed, flexible enough to run.

You don’t rush as you pull the shirt over your head, as you fasten the buttons on your pants.

You don’t care if he’s watching.

Let him.

You glance at your wrist, at the smooth, metallic weight of the watch he gave you—shaped like an apple, polished to perfection. A taunt. A joke only he found amusing. You’d scoffed when he fastened it around your wrist on the first day, smirking like he was doing you a favor. As if time mattered in a place like this. As if knowing the hour would change the fact that every second still belonged to him.

And yet, it had given you something.

You’d started noticing the patterns. The way his voice filtered through the speakers more often at certain times, his presence reduced to an unseen observer rather than the man himself. A shift in routine, a window of opportunity. If he wasn’t here in person, then maybe—just maybe—it was the best time to run.

Your best chance.

You step into the halls.

——————————————————————————

The Fleet, Administrative wing, Caleb

The Maze breathes.

Not in the way a person does—not with lungs or with a heartbeat—but with the constant, seamless shifts of its corridors, the silent recalibration of its pathways, the ever-adapting nature of its design.

It moves because it is meant to.

Because he made it so.

His design.

From his office aboard The Fleet headquarters, Caleb watches.

Multiple screens flicker in front of him, displaying live feeds from the Maze’s surveillance systems. Some show stark, metallic corridors bathed in cold fluorescent light, their silence almost oppressive. Others reveal lush, curated spaces—gardens where bioluminescent flowers bloom in a soft, otherworldly glow, their petals unfurling like whispers against the artificial breeze.

Waterfalls cascade down smooth stone walls, their shimmering descent captured in crisp, high-definition clarity. Libraries sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling glass, dark wood shelves lined with both rare books and glowing data slates, and plush leather seating bathed in soft, golden light—a seamless blend of luxury and knowledge.

Yet, despite the breathtaking variety before him, his attention is drawn to one screen in particular. Something about it—perhaps the flicker of movement, the subtle shift in shadow—demands his focus.

You.

You stand before the open wardrobe, fingers skimming over the array of fabrics, hesitating.

Something twists in his chest.

It happens fast, instinctive—like a flicker of old wiring trying to reroute itself. Something he shouldn’t feel.

But he does.

His violet eyes trace every detail as you shift through the clothing options. There’s an abundance of choices—elegant silks, soft cottons, layers meant for comfort rather than necessity.

And yet, when your fingers pause, it’s on something practical.

Dark, fitted. Movable.

A slow, amused sound escapes him—“tsk, tsk, tsk.”

He already knows.

Even before you strip off your nightwear and begin sliding into a long-sleeve shirt, breathable and light, he knows.

You’re planning to run.

Again.

His gaze lingers for a second too long as you fasten the buttons on your cargo pants, checking their fit, testing their flexibility. It’s almost methodical, the way you move—not just dressing, but preparing. A muscle feathers in his cheek, and without thinking, his teeth catch his lower lip, a small, unconscious bite—barely there, barely a reaction, but enough. A fleeting lapse in control before he smooths it away, blinking once, recalibrating.

Caleb exhales through his nose, fingers loosely tapping against the polished surface of his desk. The gesture is unconscious, almost idle, but there’s an undercurrent of something he can’t quite name.

Not frustration. Not even disappointment.

Something closer to sadness.

For a moment—just a moment—he allows himself the thought:

You don’t trust him.

Even after ten days in the Maze, after the security, the warmth, the meals he ensures are exactly as you like them—you still choose to run.

That small, dying fraction of himself—the part that still feels, still remembers, still wants—aches.

Then, just as quickly, he shuts it down.

His violet gaze hardens, refocusing his thoughts, and with a measured glance toward the digital clock in the corner of his screen, he makes a decision.

“Early lunch then.” The words are low, absentminded, spoken only to himself.

He stands, rolling his sleeves down, adjusting the crisp lines of his uniform. His movements are fluid, practiced—not rushed, not tense.

This isn’t unexpected.

You always were predictable in your defiance. And while he should be sitting through another briefing on Fleet logistics, securing operations for Skyhaven’s next expansion project, this takes priority.

You take priority.

Without another glance at the monitors, Caleb steps away from his desk, his boots echoing lightly against the pristine floors of his office.

His command to The Fleet’s automated systems is brief, quiet, and final.

“Cancel my schedule for the next hour.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, you

The air is fresh, sterile. The Maze is designed to feel real, but it isn’t.

Some corridors have grass growing in patches, soft beneath your steps. Others are lined with polished stone, textured enough to feel almost natural. Somewhere, hidden beyond the walls, you hear the soft, rhythmic hum of unseen machines. The constant, inaudible shifts of the Maze adjusting itself.

Every sound. Every change.

Caleb built this place beautifully.

But a golden cage is still a cage.

You let your fingers graze the walls, memorizing the faintest seams. The air is still, too quiet. You keep walking, turning a corner—

Then—

A door stays open a second too long.

Your breath catches.

You move. Fast, silent, sharp.

Each step is calculated, your feet landing light against the ground as you slip through the threshold before it can close.

The first hallway is clear.

Your pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding your veins.

A second hallway—open.

You keep going.

Your heart pounds.

A third hallway. Open. Your pulse spikes, adrenaline burning hot in your veins.

You don’t stop. You don’t think. You move.

And then—

A shadow. A shift in the air.

Arms wrap around your waist.

A solid, crushing force, an unyielding grip stronger than your own body. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale, and you thrash immediately. Fingers claw at his forearm, at the muscle in his wrist, nails digging into flesh—but he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know better than this, Pips.” Caleb’s voice is too steady. Too calm.

The fight in you explodes.

You shove back, twisting, slamming your elbow into his ribs. It’s a clean hit, right where you aimed—

And he doesn’t even move.

“Really?” Caleb exhales, the sound a mix of amusement and something dangerously close to indulgence.

You fight. He doesn’t flinch.

In a single motion, he lifts you. Effortless. Controlled. Like this was always how it would end.

Your breath stutters as the world tilts.

His hold is secure, strong, completely unshaken. His body is warm against your back, his presence a wall you can’t break through.

“I’m disappointed,” Caleb murmurs. “I thought we were past this phase.”

You twist again, wild, desperate—he tightens his hold.

It isn’t painful. It’s just inescapable.

“Still fighting me, huh?” A sigh, low, almost indulgent.

Then—he turns.

And carries you back. Deeper into the maze.

——————————————————————————

The door hisses shut behind you, locking with an unmistakable click.

The room is warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Which only makes you hate it more. Everything here is chosen for you. The plush seating, the softest blankets, the bookshelves filled with titles you’ve mentioned in passing. There’s even a record player in the corner, already humming out a low, nostalgic tune.

Caleb has built you a paradise.

And then he’s tied you to the chair.

The contrast is almost comical.

A high-backed, cushioned armchair, angled just slightly toward the crackling fireplace. The restraints—thin, smooth straps, nothing rough or cruel—keep your wrists and ankles in place.

And once again it’s not painful. Just inescapable…

“You know,” Caleb says conversationally, adjusting the straps like he’s tucking you in for the night, “this wouldn’t be necessary if you behaved.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you glare at the bookshelf across from you, focusing on the hardcover spines of your favorite novels rather than the man currently fastening you into your luxury prison.

“Pips, don’t be like that.”

The nickname makes you grit your teeth.

Caleb straightens, stepping back, hands loosely resting on his hips as he surveys his work. His violet eyes flick over the restraints, your tensed arms, your jaw clenched in irritation.

Then—a smirk.

“Comfy?”

Your glare could burn through steel.

“Oh, come on,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I could’ve put you somewhere far less accommodating.”

Your eyes flicker around the room, unwillingly cataloging every sickeningly perfect detail.

The softest blankets in the universe draped over the nearby couch. A table of fresh fruit, chocolates, and a steaming cup of tea—your favorite blend. A window overlooking a perfect sunset, artificial but beautiful.

And worst of all—the armchair you’re currently restrained to? It reclines.

Your fingers twitch.

“See?” Caleb tilts his head, reading your expression effortlessly. “I’m not unreasonable.”

You huff through your nose, looking away.

Caleb leans down, hands bracing the armrests, his breath a whisper of warmth against your skin. Violet eyes—too sharp, too knowing—trace your features, his stare slow, deliberate, as if committing every defiant line to memory.

“I don’t like doing this to you, Pip-squeak.” His voice is softer now. Too close. Too careful.

His gloved fingers glide over your cheek, a slow, feather-light drag of cool leather against your too-warm skin. It shouldn’t leave an impression, but it does—a whisper of control, deliberate, inescapable.

Then, he moves—not back, but forward.

He leans in, slow, deliberate, until his breath ghosts against your lips, warm and steady, the space between you shrinking into nothing.

And then, just there, against your mouth—

“But you have to stop trying to leave me.”

The words are soft, almost gentle—but there’s nothing soft about the way they settle into your bones. A command, a fact, absolute.

He’s already gone.

Straightened. Moved away, as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs, as if he hadn’t just set your pulse stumbling. Like he’s in control.

Because, of course—he is.

Caleb he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down as he taps a single finger against the watch on your wrist—light, teasing, as if this is just another game.

“Should we say two hours of relaxation?” His voice is smooth, almost coy. Then, with a smirk, he leans in just slightly, like he’s sharing some playful little secret. “Then we can go play basketball later.”

And just like that, he turns on his heel, stepping away, unbothered, already moving on—as if he hadn’t just tied you down, as if he hadn’t just reminded you exactly where you belong.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, Caleb

Caleb stands just outside the room, his back to the door, his gloved fingers twitching at his sides. His breath escapes too sharp, too uneven, something off-rhythm about it.

He should be proud. He handled the situation with perfect efficiency.

You fought. He won.

And yet—his pulse is off. The air in the corridor feels heavier than it should.

He presses his fingers to his temple. Once. Twice.

Like he’s trying to force something back into place.

Steps sharp, too controlled.

He moves down the corridor, into the main halls of the Maze, the exit looming ahead.

Then, as if remembering something only he can hear, Caleb pulls a small device from his belt—sleek, no larger than his palm, its surface smooth and seamless.

His grip tightens around it.

It’s unnecessary.

You’ve made your choices. He’s made his.

And yet—his thumb presses down.

A soft, nearly imperceptible beep registers in his earpiece. Inside the locked room, the restraints will loosen. You won’t be free to leave. But you’ll be free to move.

His shoulders drop by a fraction of an inch, just enough that someone trained in reading body language might notice.

But no one is watching.

Caleb’s fingers press down on a door panel.

The door unlocks.

And Caleb steps through.

Behind him, the Maze remains unchanged, unmoving, silent. But no matter how far he walks, no matter how many doors close between you—

He will return to you.

He always does.

Because you are still inside.

And Caleb has never been able to stay away from you for long.

Not before.

Not now.

Not ever.

——————————————————————————

Chapter two

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So I had this idea and I love crazy delulu Caleb. I kinda like it? It’s something? It has potential, I think? I’m playing around with writing styles and this is the product. I feel like anything could happen in this maze lol. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[1117feverlessdreams]

Liquid Courage

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🌀 🍸SUMMARY: Working beside Mingi at a bar was always fun. The flirting, the jokes, and the teasing made work more enjoyable, until the connection became too intense to bear. The boss leaves you alone to close one night, and your coworker makes you a special refreshment with lots of (s)creams.

🌀 🍸 TAGS: Alcohol use, intoxication, cursing, explicit name-calling, use of babe and sugar. fingering, oral sex, nipple play, fluff, and protective intercourse.

🌀 🍸 WORD COUNT: 7.4k

🌀 🍸 A/N: I tried to depict Mingi in a way that was true to his personality. He is truly loved by everyone he meets and I wish he knew that!

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You jump in fright from the repeated eager shouting of your name. “Y/n! Mingi! I need the both you over here, pronto!” Naturally you were startled, but not all too surprised by your boss's authoritative tone.

“Sorry boss...”

It’s been an unfortunate occurrence that your attention has been highly selective all early noon. The behavior was oddly out of character for you, but very typical for your coworker.

The underlying truth of the matter is that you’ve come to your senses- you have an excruciating crush on your co-worker, Mingi.

It had only been one year since you landed the job at the bar, and things where going really well.

You just didn’t want to fuck it up by, you know... fucking.

You've both heard and seen how work “relationships” tend to end. Nine times out of ten, the outcomes aren’t that positive. If anything, it creates a toxic environment to both parties, and the working environment as a whole.

You place down the washcloth on the bar countertop to finish your insignificant task of drying off moisture from spilled drinks and the bottom of cold glasses.

It was a non-obvious call for distraction to escape the unbearable thoughts…given that the culprit for them is in your vicinity.

The spiky pink-haired charmer frees his grip on the countertop while a customer is speaking mid-order, signaling to them that he’d be right back with his pointer finger.

They wave him off politely to attend to his vital duties, but if he were you in that situation, you would have to be dealing with all kinds of bitching and moaning.But yet somehow, in some way, Mingi had the same effect on customers as he did to you.

Maybe it was the black and white suited uniform your boss made him wear for business. But for you it was the face card, his sterling silver jewelry, and hot pink taper haircut that was the most effective.

“Yo, boss!” Besides the shivers that trickle down your spine from his baritone vocals, his informal acknowledgement to your boss makes you cringe. The last thing you need is to be overstimulated by more of your bosses obnoxious yelling.

He approaches shortly right next to you to face your boss who stands near the exit.

With a tight-lipped smile, your boss inhales a deep breath as he tilts his head kindly toward you. An exhale follows when he turns it back toward the discourteous and taller man next to you. “You never fail to meet my expectations Mingi.”

With a light nod, Mingi remarks, “My pleasure boss man, no need for the formalities.” He then gives you a small elbow jab as he smiles in his egocentric joy.

“I'll have you know they aren’t positive…’boss boy’.”

The most awkward stare-off you’ve ever been in the middle of begins, given that your weren’t in very many.“Oh…” Mingi mumbles.

You spare a side glance to watch as his prominent chest sinks in, shooting his previous confidence to plummet to rock bottom. He catches you looking at him teasingly, shamefully averting his eyes from your warring grin.

"Oh is right. Now, as I was going to say...", your boss announces, "’I’ve been calling on the both of you so often this morning, and it’s because I’m going to have to leave you guys alone for closing tonight."

As if your heart wasn't drumming against your chest from standing next to your work crush, or being yelled at by your boss on an hourly basis, it kicks you in harder at an extraordinarily fast rate.

There was no way you could psychologically endure the rest of the night by being alone at Mingi’s side for several hours.

Your boss continues on to reveal, "I’ve gotta stay at home with the wife. There’s a huge chance of her going into labor at any time is what the doctor is saying.” You smile and nod from your coherent understanding of home, wife, doctor, and baby.

“That’s understandable boss, you comment sweetly, I hope she delivers safely, and that you both have a healthy child.”

Mingi nods in agreement, using the moment as a chance to extend out his large hand for your boss's to clasp, triggering the jingling of his chained ring. “You’re already the best father of the year my man!” It’s not as shocking when the jingling sounds once more as Mingi’s hand falls back down, sulking in the denial from your boss.

“I appreciate that Mingi…really.” A chain of keys is slid effortlessly out of your boss's Carhartt jacket pocket, then seamlessly thrown backward into your clutch. “Y/n, you’ll hold the keys, and you will be left responsible to assist in locking things down tonight.”

Mingi takes a step forward and gestures to himself with his hands and an offended face proclaims, “Yo- I mean, boss…what about me?I’m right here.”

“I see that.”, your boss sarcastically remarks.“Keep tabs on Y/n, and help her if she needs it.”Mingis facial expression is like a gaping fish’s mouth out of water, suffering and speechless.

With no remorse your boss turns the other direction. After a few steps he naturally opens the bar door to let a customer inside, displaying a storming parade of heavy rain.

“You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass Song, but you keep those customers flowing in like a frat boy chugging a keg tube!” The door jingles as he finally takes his leave right out the exit, closing you in with inescapable temptations.

“Idiot…, you whisper, “why do you have to be that way around him?”, you shake your head in disapproval to the upset and adorable duck faced man.

He whines childishly to your dismay. Without a choice in the matter, he walks behind you as you both make your way back to awaiting customers that are dinging the bell obnoxiously at the bar.

“What did I even say wrong?” Mingi approaches the customer whose order was inconveniently interrupted, and seated closely from your group intervention.

“Beats me.”, the customer says in between laughter.

...

Today was your first day working at the pub without a boss.

Unfortunately, today of all days- did they leave you alone to deal with drunk customers and your seemingly impossible- newfoundingly attractive, and sober coworker, Song Mingi.

When the evening begins to roll in leading to what might be a fateful night, things began to get a lot more hectic.

As per usual, there are the guys who come in after a bad day, a troubling situation, or a bad life. Mainly because of work or a partner they need to shake off. A drink or many was the anecdote to temporarily forget.

A customer attempts to sit on a bar stool as he tramples around it before managing to successfully put at least half his ass on it. "The music in here…”, he groans with both hands on his head, “it s-sucks man!"

Mingi approaches him with care and interest, but no regard for his behavior. It’s the same as he would treat any other customer.

"I’ve been telling the boss man to let me DJ y’know? But he likes to go on about what I play is too loud." Mingi then begins to mock your bosses voice in a fairly amusing attempt, using air quotes with his long fingers for emphasis. "Anyway, he isn’t here with us tonight…thank goodness.”

The last bit he says under his breath, but not anything you can’t hear from preparing drinks beside him while he takes orders.

“Oh! you mean-you mean that old dude?!” The drunken man says in realization as he lets out an ungraceful burp. "He doesn’t know anything about what’s hot in today’s music!” in a dramatic motion, he swirls his finger in the air and pointed directly at Mingi."Turn on that good shit pinky!”

After some pre-contemplated thought, Mingi gladly makes his way to the end of the bar, raising his hand to signal the DJ for the cue.

He’s quick to pull it down when he senses you approaching behind him, smiling timidly as he turns to face you. "Play something club worthy at least, that’s my only request." You shrug your shoulders and step aside from behind him, walking back toward the front end without a care.

"If only the boss heard that come from your mouth. He'd never believe me in a billion years.", he whispers.

Mingi does a few hand signals you couldn't effectively translate, but upon hearing the cue of “club-worthy music” play through the speakers, you realize the DJ perfectly understood.

The drunken man stands up quickly from the stool, utilizing the bar top for stability. It was when he moved away from the bar top that concerned you when he began to trip over his own feet again. For the upteenth time Mingi leans over the counter and grabs his fore arms to help him keep balance.

At times, he was sweet in that way.

The drunken man widely grins as he once again points at Mingi. "I like you, and-and I really like this alcohol.” He points up his finger twirling it around in the air as if he was casting a magic spell. “Give me a round of shots for this whole bar Pinky!"

A uproar of excitement from all across bar powers over the music. The man rises from his stool to cheer with them, uplifting his hands like he was given the role of a God.

‘Surely…,’ you thought, ‘after this night ends, that man will wake up in the early morning to dial the line of his bank. Considering the fact we’re getting busy as the hours tick by.’

…

Every workshift would be uneventful if your customers didn't come in variety packs.

There were the Cougars. Middle-aged women trying to keep up with the times, so time doesn't catch up with their age.

Said one of many women walks up to greet you both at the bar in a sultry walk. Possibly in hopes of causing a swarm of bees to get a taste of her special made honey.

The essence of Mingi captures her eye however, and she decides to sit in a stool that so happened to be free right in front of him.

Her tight leather leopard print pants stretches as she moves with every inch. She looks downward when seated to shimmy her gargantuan boobs on the counter while wearing a matching top that holds in the drooping.

As flamboyant as the cougars usually are, it was a necessity for her to top everything off with a long lion trench coat that she moves behind her to suit properly.

You continue making the drink for the rounded tables while Mingi deadpans at her in a standstill behind the counter, paying no mind to the display she's trying to showcase.

"You know"...she begins, squishing in her boobs with no need for adjustment, "I usually don’t go for just any young man… ‘specially the ones with pink hair", she adds. "But you might’ve just changed my mind hot stuff.”

Her hands smooth over her chest for another time, yet they travel inside the top she was wearing.

Out of it, she pulls out a thick wad of folded bills, racing her hand forward to Mingis front pocket. In the boldest way possible she grabs hold of his tie and inserts the cash and pats in securely in his chest. She even goes the extra step to tuck the tie back in, smoothing the now wrinkled material with her Y2K duck nails.

You’re stunned as you watch Mingi immediately take hold of her wrist decorated in a forearms full of pandora bracelets. “Let me change it again for you, sweet pea."

The nickname took the lady aback, as it did the same for you. If only it was directed at you, but in a different context, it makes any bad day better again.

“That guy right over there...”, he continues, pointing to one of the younger men that come in often- ‘a bad life’ you think. “he’s been wanting to buy you a drink ever since he got here.”

As she turns her head in the point of Mingi’s direction, he carefully releases go of her wrist carefully to not cause a mishap. “He’s kinda hot”, she says fanning herself with the loose hand, "Oh...but are you sure you won’t be upset sweetheart?”

Mingi lets out a light laugh, shaking his head no in the most nicest way possible. “Not at all pretty lady. I can’t interfere with potential love at first sight.”

She thinks for a moment and sighs when a decision was made. In moments she gets up from her stool to readjusts her previous adjustments. Pants, boobs, and the train of her fur coat.

For the first time she looks at you, and then Mingi again. In her mind you can tell she read over something in you that you couldn’t comprehend. But your instincts tells you, she knew something. “You’re a cute little fella. Keep that pink hair going, I just know somebody’s gonna love pulling that at night.”

Her smile grows wide as she waves in your direction, "Bye, honey. “I hope those drinks aren't the only thing you'll be mixin' up with tonight… if you know what I mean."

Oh, you knew.

You were nerve-wracked for Mingi to think the same with different feelings, unattracted ones. "Wow…and to think she isn't even drunk yet.", Mingi mutters as you both watch the pair initiate conversations.

“Was he really wanting to buy her a drink?”, you asked in curiosity.

“Nah, he’s been looking around for someone for the past half hour, and she obviously need some attention so…perfect match.”

"You are absurdly evil sir." You gaze at Mingi’s stark figure with his eyes trained on the new couple.

You take the time to admire his side profile, thinking about how his nose could fit into small spaces. Or how his lips could suck-

“I prefer to be called Cupid.” He turned his head to meet your hypnotic gaze, winking at you in surprise.

To your shock, and even Mingis, the next hour consisted of the couple grooving and grinding on the dance floor. Right after that skipped out in each others arm with a chime for the exit door.

“Cupid it is.”

“Ditto.”

…

The final boss, your mortal enemies, the hot girl groupies.

They always arrive together knit in arm, and they settle down at the front end rounded tables. In the midst of their original conversation they all catch a glance at the sexy bartender across the room.

Separately, one by one, they all come up to order drinks with an underlying mission to capture the thing inside Mingi’s pants. The success rate is usually zero.

A young woman, both your ages, walks up quick with confidence from her groups table. As much as you hate to admit, her white halter top and denim-distressed booty shorts could do a number on your chances.

What makes things worse is that at this time of night, the led pink lights come on. Which means the hues of Mingi’s spiky hair becomes more fluorescent than it is in the morning light. It brings on too much attention, and a great cause of more distraction from your duties.

As the cougar has done earlier, she leans over counter with to forge her boobs to the front of her chest. Except…she was a lot more obvious about her intentions.

She flicks her chin toward you, smacking her gum with a popping jaw. “She your girlfriend?”

Mingi looks back to see you flustered from the unwanted attention. You were supposed to make drinks and give it to him, to give to her. No where in that interaction were you supposed to be involved in any conversation besides complaints about the drinks.

He gives you an attractive smile with his full lips, tracking your face and body with his eyes. “Nah, she’d be lucky if she was though.” What kills you is that Mingi maintains the eye contact with you and not the girl. It pissed her off and you as well in a sense. Although on the inside did you feel so fucking confident.

Mingi’s way with words uplifted your self esteem from time to time. But damn was the girl in front of him furious, her self esteem was depleting, and so she had to resort in ringing the bell in desperation to redirect Mingis focus.

“Can I please get a strawberry lime margarita…and with a little sugar around the rim too, please? I like licking around the tip of it y’know?“ She traces the counter top in circles with the tip of her finger, flickering her tongue as she holds eye contact. “ It makes my tastebuds really happy…”

He repeats the order- the strawberry lime margarita with a sugar rimmed part. "Strawberry lime Margarita with a crystalized sugar rim.” He writes it down but doesn’t hand it to you like usual, instead he tells you to step aside so he can make it himself.

You could tell the hot girl loved that by the way she bit her lip while Mingi mixed things together. When he’s finished, he slides the drink onto the counter and directly in front of her chest. “Your drink that you ordered.”

Her focus doesn’t even land on the drink because she’s so caught up in his physique. "It looks perfect! Thank you, um…” she looks over his suit for a name tag to notice there wasn’t one. A open opportunity for what she’ll say next-“…what did you say your name was?”

"Well… I don’t recall you asking but-.” he leans over-the-counter, interlining his fingers on both of his hands as he looks her deep in eyes, “Mingi. If you must know."

The girl leans forward and cups Mingi by the chin, which he shows no discomfort in feeling. “You’d be lucky if I was your girlfriend, Mingi.”

“Oh yeah?…, He reaches up to pull her hand and hold it in his, pulling it toward his lips which you have to look away from to withhold any rotten jealousy. "Looks like I’ll be unlucky for the rest of my life then.”

You nearly twist your neck to see the baffled look on the woman’s face, she yanks her hand away and pulls her drink off the counter, spilling the slushy ice of the margarita on her sparkling white halter.

The girls from her table gasp as they watch the scene from afar, they all urge her to move to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

“Stupid jerk!” She says wailing, shivering as the blended ice falls onto her porcelain skin, making her top all red under the hot pink lighting. She looks at you as she speeds away to the bathroom and mutters, "What a waste."

It could've been the drink she spilled that made her say that, but eye contact conveyed her non-verbal message. The only problem is that you were there, and in the way. Perhaps she and Mingi might have had a chance without your presence as a scapegoat.

Mingi rises back up, straightening his broad back into place. As there were no other customers at the counter, he turned back to you and continued to give you that distinguished look as he leant back on the bartop. "I meant what I said about you though. Luck doesn't knock twice."

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REWIND

Life had became so boring to you that you fix your attention on other people’s happiness instead of manifesting your own.

It was a never ending thought, one that you wanted to escape from for just a moment. Which in turn lead you to sit on some pubs bar stool.

You watch the bartender come from the back with blinding hot pink hair, as much as that set him apart, you recognize the personality of his character. He was unapologetically himself and so helpful at the same time.

His hand was so fluid with every drink he mixed and poured over into the glass cups. Not to mention, he looked delicious in the pink lighting and his semi-formal undersuit.

After minutes of patiently waiting in your stool with no rushed timing, it lets you feen more to linger at his stature until he struts quickly to your stool.

“How ya doin today babe?”He arrives with a pen and pad, prepared to write down the contents of your order.

“Life could be better”, you reply nonchalantly with shrugged shoulders, “I suppose that’s why I’m here.”

He leans in to be more attentive, weighing his palm on the bar’s countertop with furrowed brows which were a lighter pink. “Well I hope that at least for the time you’re here, I can make it better.”

You blush as you fight off a geeky smile from taking up the entirety of your face. “I hope so too.”

You weren’t looking at him, but he let a smile just as big reveal on his own. He was so fawn that someone as pretty as you blushed because of him.

“Well, It’s a Thirsty Thursday and our special is an island vibe. It’s a blue sugar rock sour cocktail with vanilla whip shots.” He pulls out a menu from his so side to push it in front of your sulken body. “If that's not something that gives your interest a peak, then what can I get for you to drink?”

You've heard him reuse the line with multiple customers which made it easier to decide if you want the drink or put in a different order. As next in line you had your mind made up, but his presence and being the current customer has you contemplating your decisions again.

"I don't know what I want, what do you have please?"

He blinks at the menu and looks reluctantly behind him at the array of alcoholic drinks and mixers on the shelf. Then pointing to the tap on the bar. "Well what do you like doll face? I'll make you anything you ask me to babe."

The intimate nickname alters the nerves in your brain to make a unanimous decision, but at least you know what you don’t want. "I don't need anything strong because I need the energy. I prefer any of sweet drinks you have.”

“Oh I see.”, he says nodding slowly, likely because he’s encountered your type before. “How does something like a pina colada, a Mai tai, or a strawberry daiquiri sound for you babe?”

More decision making. The thing in your life that hasn’t exactly been your forte. You sigh, covering your stupidity with a small smile. “Can I just get all 3?"

“Damn…”, he trails off, scratching the back of his head which in result creates more spikes. “That is a lot of energy…but I got you babe, coming right up.”

“Yeah it's just that type of night, I guess”, you mumble, mainly to yourself. He leaves to pull on a pair of black gloves. He begins walking away to make your drinks but you stop him in his tracks.

He turns his head swiftly and walks backward to lean in with a close ear. You grow flustered at such a caring action, whispering your additional request. “Can I also get that special too please?” “Sorry…”

"Of course!” He says with a polite grin, “anything to make your night a little bit sweeter.” His piercing eyes leaves yours with two taps of his fingers on the bars top to go make all four drinks.

He later sets out a platter for your drinks and describes the flavors and mixes, even though you've seen every step with your never ending stare, but how good did it feel just to hear him talk.

“Thank you, they all look so pretty.”

He shrugs in shoulders lightly from the slight embarrassment that stems from your compliment. “I just wanted to see your eyes brighten up and that genuine smile, you look so upset coming in here.”

Your act was tucked behind the curtains as soon as he brought your true emotions into the light. “I was. But I’m better now because of you, thank you.” You lift up the specialty drink, offering the sweet cotton candy haired bartender a cheers.

He reveals a wide tooth smile, one that you found adoring to compliment his handsome nature. “No problem. It’s what I aim to do.” He waves you off as he walks away to assist other customers. Later that night he comes back to wipe down the countertops, finishing last next to you.

You let out a deep, heavy breath and his attention was focused on your contentment from how good the drinks were. The room around you feels fuzzy as you began to grow tipsy, smiling like a maniac with whip cream and sugar on your lips.

“Did that hit the spot?,” he asks with a cute giggle.

“Hellllll yeah.” It was obvious the drinks had an instant effect, considering you chugged them all within a fifteen minute period.

In between shakes of the towel and drying his hands, he giggles once more as his eyes scans over your face. “Speaking of spots…you do got a little something right here.” He uses his thumb to swipe his own lips, explaining where he sees it on yours.

You mimic him, scooping bits on your fingers and licking the clean with your tongue. “Is it gone?”, you slur in a whine, growing sad to think you looked silly in the vulnerable state you were in.

He chuckles and shakes his head know as he points out more residue using himself as reference. “No sweetheart, here too.”

“Am I good now?”

It’s not gone, and he knows it, smiling goofily. “Looking sweet sugar.”

You smile with closed eyes likely because you’re so relaxed from the chilled drinks. You open your eyes in awe to the upbeat scenery and meet the bartenders eyes again, seeing he was already staring at you. “Are you guys hiring by any chance?”

“Yeah! We could definitely use another bartender, but the boss man is picky. Were you thinking about joining the crew?”

“If that’s okay with your boss then sure”, you shrug.

“I can make it okay.” He drags his hand from the bar top and holds up his hand to signal for you to hold tight. I’ll be right back sugar.” You watch him disappear to the back. Before you didn’t recognize it, but you feel yourself sadden again as you realize he was actually nice company.

A man, shorter and yet broader emerged from the back rooms. He surveyed the area until he spots you, pausing like he found what he was watching for.

“Are you this young lady I’m hearing great things about from this boy?” You nearly choke as you began to sober up, recollecting all sense of intellect you’ve lost from four alcoholic drinks.

“That I am.” You state enthusiastically while clearing your throat. How do I have the pleasure of knowing you?”

“I own the place, and I heard you were interested in the bartenders position.” You gape subtly at Mingi who stands behind one the wall, prompting you a supportive thumbs up.

“Oh y-yeah absolutely. I’m new in town and I’m looking for a fresh start. Hopefully at a fine working establishment like yours.”

“You got experience as a bartender?”

“Uh… “Mingis encourages you to continue with beckoning hands, then hiding behind the wall when his boss takes a look back to what you seem so lost in. “No, I do not.”

“So then, do you want to learn?”

You shake your head affirmatively without a thought. “Yes, of course! If I was given the opportunity.”

The muscle headed man ponders your interview like exchange. He walks away to the back once more before coming out with a feminine version of the bartenders uniform. “Come back here tomorrow at the same time you came in today, and with this uniform on.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”

“You’re not hired yet dollface.”

You wipe the smile clean off your face and nod like you have a great understanding of what you are exactly. “Right.”

The boss walks away once again to the back and Mingis cross paths naturally to meet you back at the counter. “Don’t worry, you are 100% hired.”

You cock your head to the side, blinking at a rapid pace to organize the thoughts in your mixed up mind. “But he literally just said I wasn’t?”

“He never hands out a uniform to just anyone babe. Then he told you to come back the very next day? He sees potential inside of you.”

You marvel in his excitement for you. It was like he pleaded for you to to be given the chance. “It’s all because of you, I cant thank you enough.”

“I’ll accept you coming in tommorow as a good enough thank you. Don’t let me down sugar.”

The next night you came in at the exact same time, with your formal button up blouse and trousers. You got to stand next to Mingi behind the counter as he gave you hands on training experience.

Even thought you were nearly drunk, you were lucky to land the job so easily. With the spontaneous opportunity you hoped to get closer to where you wanted to be.

Although meeting Song Mingi already led you off to a great start.

...

“Mingi get down before you buss that dense head open! I just wiped the damn counter down.”

You thought after that all the chaos and havoc would be gone after closing, but now and still is your coworker acting worse than all of the absurd customers put together.

He was standing on the countertop and jerking out pelvic thrust in mid air with a bitten lip.

“Mingi!”, you shout. He seemed to had finally get the hint as he climbed down. But he still remained on the countertop sitting with his legs over the edge.

“Sugar. Babe. It’s a Saturday night and we are the only ones here.” He holds onto your shoulders gently and peers into your eyes, stopping you from the unnecessary cleaning of already clean surfaces. “We can do whatever we want. You know that right?”

You peer back at him, nearly hypnotized to agree to every word that left his mouth. “Yeah sure. You mean you can do whatever you want, and I take the fall for it?”

You shrug his grip from you shoulders and step back with the towel in hand. “Okayyy, I get that boss man left you in charge. But we work at a bar that also has an entire kitchen behind it, and a freaking dance floor.”

Mingi gets down completely to stand closer in front of you peering down into your eyes once again. “I mean cmon, if i was in charge-“

“In which, thank goodness you’re not.”

He deadpans as you cut him off, but remains relentless in his persuasion. “Don’t you wanna let loose a little bit babe? “I mean, while we still have the chance.”

It was a exciting thought, to ‘let loose a little bit’, and you know how Mingi is always the life to a dead party, even when it was just you two.

With his charm you are coerced to give up and throw your hands on the air without any cares to give. “Fuck it.” Mingi cheers and jumps like he’s on trampoline with no control. “But, stop doing that! And because this is your idea, I’m not cleaning up after, deal?”

Mingi chuckles and stops immediately but proceed into a small harmless dance. “Yeah sure, no biggie. He waves your condition off blatantly as you try your best to master a stare that was intimidating, but you honestly didn’t have it in you. It’s party time sugar, Woohoo!”

Mingi swings an imaginary cowboy lasso in the air, turning his back to presumably wander to the kitchen to grab a few things.

“Here’s some of the hard stuff, and I know you might not want to drink it because of your sweet tooth. But I think it’s time you could stop being a baby, and party like an adult tonight.”

You spot the array of said hard drinks, none you see are keen to your liking. “I only drink the sweet stuff because it doesn’t hit as hard. Three shots of whiskey and I’ll start having out of body experiences.”

“That’s why you have to balance it, sugar lips.” He places a shot glass down. “One shot,” and with the other hand another glass. “One water.”

MANY SHOTS AND MANY WATERS LATER…

“I’m gonna throw up. I’ll be back, I’m going to the ladies room.” After some much-needed relief, you come back to the front of the bar soured by a special aroma.

You were going to ask Mingi what the smell was until you saw him and began to connect the dots.

“You perve! Don’t just stand there looking at me!” Your pervertedness came into play by staring at Mingi placing pepperonis over his shirt where his nipples are.

You shake your head and sit at the stool across from where he stood behind the counter. “Why would I bother looking at you, you’re a walking man child.”

“My mom thinks it funny…” He walks to the back counter to grab a round tray and settles it down between the both of you at the front counter. “Care for some pizza? It’s fresh.”

You’re quick to grab a piece, you could eat anything to fulfill your empty stomach. “Holy shit that’s hot!”, you flick your tongue, tumbling the burning ingredients in your mouth.

Mingi pays no mind as he’s busy swirling his tongue out for cheese, wrapping the muscle around the lengthy pull.

You watch him tentatively with his flexible he could move the muscle, another dangerous cause for distraction.“You’re still an idiot, even when drunk.”

He takes the first bite of his slice aas he bends his head downward to look at you fanning your burnt tongue. “Who says I’m drunk?”

You place your slice down on the tray, waving your finger to Mingi. “Noooo, you’re definitely…drunk.” , you slur.

He giggles and adore you as you try and eat more slices. “Alright sugar, let’s take a break.” He fills another glass of water and brings it out from behind the counter with him for you. “Let’s dance.”

Mingi placed on some music from your boss’s jukebox given that the DJ left and packed up not long after closing. Assumingly for another gig.

He walks toward you and gently grabs your wrist. It was the most softened touch ever, but your tipsyness overrides your sensory abilities and you yank away from his hand. “Give me a second dude! Don’t you ever get tired?”

He doesn’t take you seriously but he backs off in respect. “Party doesn’t stop until you drop babe.”

You fully turn around in the stool, reassuring him that you didn’t need any help until your nearly fall flat on your face. Fortunately, with Mingis quick reflexes, he could both catch the glass of water and you before breaking yourselves on the marble-wooden floors.

As soon as you reached the dance floor Mingi handed the drink of water onto you and undressed into his button up with a few tabs unbuttoned.

The most random of songs began to play out of your bosses jukebox. A Spanish song with bongos, maracas, and horns began to sound on the overhead and controls the groove of Mingis body.

“Cmonnnn, stop it! You look ridiculous.”

He looked anything but. He dances in salsa, pacing his feet forward and backward as his shirt exposes a bit more of his chest.“We’re the only ones here! ‘Sides, I know you like what you see…” ,he licks the side of his mouth, doing a spin as he pokes out his butt in your direction.

You couldn’t help but spare the slightest glance, but he didn’t get the pleasure of seeing it. “I already told you what I see when I look at you.”

“Yeah, when I had pepperoni nipples! Now you get to see the real things.” He does another spin move that allowed him to take off his shoes smoothly. He cha-chas while backing away, beckoning you to follow him with his two fingers.

It looked as if something else was conjuring as you gained in proximity, like he was alluring you into an inescapable trance.

“Ugh…get a grip, I’m not gonna keep chasing you.”

Your wrist is indeed gripped by him. In a pose of salsa duo, he pulls you tightly into his chest. “Gotcha.”

You were spunned, twirled, and even tossed in the air before you finally grew tired and Mingi decided to go solo. You got a hold of that much needed water and nearly downed it in one go.

You were gonna go back in for the remaining bit until you saw Mingi thrusting wildly and a wicked idea crossed your mind. In a playful manner you began to hype him up and you almost felt guilty for what you were about to do when you saw his gorgeous smile. But you do it anyway, and you’d do it again if you could see his soaking wet man tiddies.

He freezes in surprise, mouth agape as he looks down at his own body.“What you do that for?”

“Well I didn’t have any money…I was just cheering you on.”

Mingi scoffs, not believing a word you said to be reasonable. “Fine then. It’s your turn. He steps away to bask in the embarrassment you might feel in your performance. But inconsistently for him you were boosted by liquid courage. “That way it’s fair and square.”

“Whatever…deal.”

For your performance you wanted to convey a different vibe. To go through the list of songs, selecting Britney Spears, “I’m a Slave 4 u” as your pick.

You sway you hips side to side as you get in the rhythm, snapping your fingers along to the kickbacked drums.

♫ I know I may come off quiet, may come off shy.

But I feel like talking feel like dancing when I see this guy. ♫

During the lyrics you pull Mingi off from off the wall, and onto the VIP sections couch.

♫ What’s practical? What’s logical? What the hell who cares?

All I know is I’m so happy when you’re dancing there. ♫

Your arms wrap behind Mingis neck, and you boldly climb onto the couch with your knees on the side of his thunder thighs.

♫Baby, don’t you wanna…dance upon me? To another time and place.

Oh baby, don’t you wanna…dance upon me. Leave behind my name and age. ♫

You roll your hips mid air above his private to withhold any boundaries, feeling on his upper body in drunk fun while he stretches his arm on top of the furniture to watch the show in relaxation.

“I bet those dumb girls couldn’t give it to you like this right? Offering their bodies to you for you to please and nothing else. Selfish bitches.”

Mingi cocks his head in amusement. From the beginning to now you’ve been full of surprises.“Sugar…are you jealous baby?”

You sigh and pause as the song continues to maintain its sensual stance. “Yeah, so what? How would you feel if I had almost every single guy that came in here wanting to screw me?

You smooth your hand over his upper body once again, playing timidly with the flaps of his button up. “You probably think you could do so much better than them huh?”

He smirks with his quirked plush pink lips. “I know I can. But I can show you better than I can tell you pretty. Can you do better than those women say they can?”

You reflect his same expression, adding a quirked brow for a challenge. “I can show you better than I can tell you pinky.”

You lower yourself to move in closer to his lips, and you both meet each other half way, kissing personally in harmony.

In nervousness you pull away, contemplating the rushed fuse of your actions. “I didn’t, I don’t know if-“

“It’s okay sugar.” He smooths a hand delicately over your head. “I want you to show me. If you want to…can you show me? Please?”

You nod, advancing to your next move of running your hand between his chest and unbutton his shirt. At the last button you free it open revealing his slim waist, your relentless temptations enables you to feel it tense at your gentle touch.

You peer at him through doll eyes, growing shy from the intensive heat of the moment. “How far do you want this to go?”

He cocks his head while biting his lip, bringing up his fingers to lift up your chin. “I think I recall a little birdie saying they hope drinks weren’t the only thing you were mixing up with tonight.”

“Mmmm.” you hum playfully. “I also think the little birdie said someone would love pulling this at night too.” You run your fingers through his soft scalp, sticking up the colored short hairs.

“And an early bird…” he shifts his bulge up against your core, “gets the worm.”

A surge in your body makes you reckless in ripping off his pants, and he does a master job of taking them off his ankles with his feet which you fairly helped with.

You sat up to grow rid of your clothes, sunken to your knees when you were skin and bare.

He was already up and rock hard, but to see you gawking at the size of him and it nearly covering the entirety of your face made him impossibly harder. You take him in immediately pulsing at the base of him.

He groans at your teasing, lifting your head up to bob it downward. You look in between your eyelashes as you swallow him with a stretched mouth. His head was tilted back as his mouth outputs pleasured whining. You squeeze onto his meaty thighs when he began to twitch. You were gonna take him there to his climax, but he stopped you in advance.

“I have condoms in my pockets. Inside you is where I want to be.”

You smile and cupped his face before giving him a chaste kiss. You reach down to grab his discarded pants and dig through his pocket to find the condom. Never had you have a partner that wore the greatest size. You thought it might’ve popped off given how large he truly was.

You waste no time climbing on top of him and directing the tip of him on the inside.

You both moan in unison with Mingis arms splayed on the couch, and yours in his shoulders for support. The muscles of his hips buck you upward and shaking in mid air.

He groans as he cheers your bouncing on with slaps to your ass. He cradles your boob in his large hand hook his mouth onto your nipple, blowing it softly to watch it erect. You feel them harden and soften with every suck and blow. It felt so good that is was painful.

With every deep thrust you both grew closer to climax with the slick stimulation. Mingi came as he whines from the surging shockwave, his thrusting comes to a slow with the will to get you in the same place. He pulls out, making the cum filled at the top of the rubber visible.

You fall over on his shoulder as he carefully flips you over. He spreads you open to access you inner flesh to slip in his chained ringed finger, and slurp up your clitoris like a rabid dog.

It only takes a matter of minutes to have you convulsing and pulling at his sweaty strands. Mingi slams your body back onto the cushion with no urge to stop until he feels you on his fingers and tongue.

“That’s right sugar. Give me all the sweetness you’ve got. Cum for me babe.”

A squelching noise indicates your means of arrival. Mingi releases you and removes his mouth. His chained ringed finger follows afterward, a string of your slick drags along your spongy walls.

Mingi marvels at the sight as he turns his hand, smiling wide as you look at him with low lids in effect of your orgasm. “I know you said for me to clean up afterwards… but I say we both made a mess no?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Thank you for reading.

Much love,

xoxo

[shurisneakers]

“i know we almost died just now, but… am i the only one who’s hungry?” is so harmless reader core… but what if it was Bucky saying this?

Also hi i love u

hi <3 hey <3 i love u too <3 harmless turns 4 years old next year she's like in school now

Catch up with the rest of the series here!

"Great job, team," you pant, raising your hand for a high five. "I think that was very well handled."

Bucky, still trying to process what exactly the fuck just went down, does not even respond when you match his indifference, dropping your hand to slap it against his.

"Is that how it always goes?" you ask him, looking around the empty lot. "I figured there'd be a lot more zing, y'know? Some oomph. That was like, fine."

The mission was going fine, calm even, until you managed to piss them off, leading to them calling in backup, leading to you both being severely outnumbered, leading to you deciding you'd gotten bored which finally lead to you ending it with a timeout-inator.

Things had exploded, Bucky had to pull down a door to shield you both-- it was a whole thing that he definitely did not mentally prepare for. This was just supposed to be a simple data extraction. He doesn't know at which point nuclear guns got involved.

"How--" Bucky stops mid-sentence, brain scrambling to put together things, "--how did you get assigned on this mission again?"

It wasn't like he claimed to be the expert on all things SHIELD, but he figured that a non-Avenger, non-agent needed a lot of clearance to be allowed on a mission, no matter how mundane the initial objective was. The fact that it devolved into madness was more on you than SHIELD.

"I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet," you explain, smoothing out your singed clothes.

"The what?"

"Fine, you caught me," you give in without even trying, dusting some ash off his shoulder. "I forged my name on some documents, used some white paint. Did an ol' switcharoo. You know how it goes."

"You faked your way here?" he shouts, dropping the damn door he was still holding. "What the hell was your plan?"

"Why does everything need a plan? Why can't I just tag along to see what you do for a living?"

"We nearly got killed. You--"

"But we didn't."

"That is not the point. You said it was a special mission, you said you had clearance from Nick to--"

"I said Nick would give me clearance for anything. And it is a special mission. I'm here, isn't that the specialest gift of all?"

"You didn't ask?" he screeches instead. "How did you get here? Who the fuck was supposed to be here in your place?"

"Clint," you say with a sheepish smile. "He told me he'd wash my garage so we swapped."

That fucking moron. "He'd wash your garage in exchange for you risking your life--"

"I didn't risk anything." You scoff. "I knew we would handle that like champs."

"We nearly got annihilated by a nuclear gun." He drags a hand down his face. "If he didn't trip over your stupid jacket in the last second, we would be dust."

"Well yeah, only if you put it like that," you relent. Bucky glares at you.

You look out at the empty room, one hand on your hip. Lot of rubble and shrapnel in places they had no reason being.

"Huh," you say after a while. "Guess we did just almost die."

"That's it?" he raves, still incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"

"That's crazy-sauce, man," you add, throwing your hands up when he glares at you. "What? What else should I be saying?"

"Where the fuck did you send them?" Bucky finally makes a move, wiping the dirt off his metal fingers onto his cargo pants.

"I put them in timeout," you reply, tapping the gun you'd put back into he pocket of your pants.

"Where is timeout?"

"Like, somewhere outside of time," you dismiss. "Time-out. You get it."

His eyes clench shut, taking a deep inhale in before exhaling, lest he pop a blood vessel.

"We almost died," he tells you again.

"If you say so," you nod.

He stares at you.

You stare right back at him.

The world keeps spinning.

"I'm hungry," he grumbles. "You want lunch?"

"I could go for a sandwich, yeah."

[grifffins]

Tarot Wars | Ch. 2

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Rivals to Lovers

summary: You and Lilia Calderu have been rivals for as long as your tarot shops have stood across the street from each other. You call her a dramatist, she calls you dull, and neither of you can resist the chance to get under the other’s skin.

wc: ~ 8.3k Chapter 2/3

a/n: Again biggest shoutout to @yourbasicqueerie for beta reading this <3

ao3

ch. 1

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr, @sapphic-girlss, @womankissersworld

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・・

The sound of shattering glass makes you freeze mid step.

It’s unmistakable, the sharp, piercing crack, the way it reverberates through the shop, followed by the slow, dreadful tink tink tink of fragments scattering across the floor.

For a second, you just stand there, eyes narrowing, fists clenching at your sides as the realisation settles like a weight in your chest.

And then—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You inhale slowly, counting to five, forcing down the immediate urge to throw something, to let out the frustration that’s been simmering just beneath the surface since the moment this day started going wrong.

It had already been a bad day.

You woke up late, spilled tea down the front of your shirt, spent the morning dealing with a client who refused to accept reality (no, Janice, you are not cursed just because your neighbour has a better garden than you, maybe you should just water your plants more), and then, this .

The shelf. The bloody, cursed shelf that has never once caused you a problem in all the years you’ve owned this shop. The one you trusted, the one you never even thought about.

Until today.

You stare down at the mess on the floor, fragments of a jar you’d been meaning to move, now scattered in an unfortunate mixture of dried herbs and glass dust.

It’s fixable. Annoying, but fixable.

But it’s the principle of it.

It’s just one more thing in a day that refuses to give you a single moment of peace.

And maybe that’s why, instead of fixing it, instead of taking a deep breath and moving on, you grab your coat, shove your arms through the sleeves with more force than necessary, and storm out of the shop.

The bell above the door rattles violently as you yank it open.

Because if anyone in this godforsaken street deserves to share in your suffering, it’s her.

By the time you push open the door to Madame Calderu’s, you’ve decided that if Lilia dares to look even slightly smug, you will strangle her.

You don’t even hesitate, don’t even bother with pleasantries, just shove the door open with more force than necessary, the bell above it jingling wildly as you step inside.

Lilia, who had been seated at the counter, glances up at you, blinking once, very slowly.

You point at her. “This is your fault.”

She stares at you.

Then—

“What?”

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face before stepping further inside, letting the door swing shut behind you. “I don’t know how, Calderu, I don’t know why, but somehow, somehow, this is your fault.”

-> continue on Ao3

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hi. Can you write something spicy with Wrecker x f! reader with the prompt 62. “Is that my shirt?” Maybe reader needs new clothes during a mission and she forgets her spares on Kamino, leading her to wear Wrecker's. She takes advantage of the situation to tease him a little, but we know Wrecker is a little innocent, until Crosshair opens his eyes.. "If you don't fu** her, I will." 😂

Hi,

Thank you so much for this request, I absolutely loved writing it!

What's Mine is Yours

While working on a mission on Corellia, a clothing mishap leads to much more than you anticipated.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 4.2k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: accidental clothes sharing, reader described as busty, lewd comment as motivation (one guess who it comes from…), confession of feelings, idiots in love, first kiss, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, fingering, semi-clothed sex, unprotected PiV, squint for size and strength kink.

“Where the hell is it?” You huff, hands scrambling through your backpack as you pull out your belongings, scattering them across the dresser in the dingy hotel room.

You and the boys had been sent to Bela Vistal, a small mountain city on Corellia. The Jedi had caught wind of a shady auction, with whispers of a Holocron up for grabs. It was your job as a squad to scope the place out, gather as much intel as possible, and strike and extract the Holocron if the opportunity presented itself.

By now, you’re used to working with limited information. As a civilian handler, it was your job to fill in the blanks and help the boys with anything they needed to successfully complete their missions – something you’d spent over a year doing remarkably well at. Today that had included wandering around the city with Tech, pretending to be together – out of them all, his appearance was less likely to arouse suspicion. You’d conversed politely with market vendors and cantina owners, asking subtle questions to discover more about the auction.

Ultimately, it had been a fruitless endeavour, and the pair of you had returned to the hotel as the sun had been setting, food in hand. You’d excused yourself after eating, slipping back into your room via the door connecting the two rooms you’d rented for a quick shower.

And now here you were, furiously rifling through your belongings for a clean shirt. You’d packed one; you swore you had. Fingers finding soft fabric, you let out a small noise of triumph, prying the material from your backpack. Towel falling to the floor, you shimmed on a clean pair of panties and some sleep shorts before dragging on the top. Only once it was over your head did you realise something was off. Either you’d suddenly lost a lot of weight or…

Scrambling for the neckline, you twist and turn until you can see the tag and the large ‘W’ sewn into it. “Dank farrik.” You mutter, teeth sinking into your lower lip at the realisation that you’d somehow packed Wrecker’s shirt instead of your own.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at yourself in the mirror on the back of the fresher door. The oversized garment hit mid-thigh, the sleeves extending far beyond your hands. The only saving grace was that your boobs took up enough room that it gave the shirt a little bit of shape. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

The thought of going out into the field wearing Wrecker’s clothing was hilarious, but your laughter soon subsided as you really looked at yourself. Oversized it might be, but it almost…suited you. And though it was clean, you lifted the collar to your nose and inhaled, picking up on a sweet scent that seemed to linger on all of Wrecker’s belongings.

You’d found great comfort in that scent over the last few months, drawn towards Wrecker and his infectious grin. Lips tugging into a smile, a tender warmth spread through you as you thought about the countless times Wrecker had been there to lighten the mood with his quips and laughter and how his protective nature made you feel secure amid the uncertainties of life.

The realisation of what your feelings meant hit you like a wave, and as you stood there, a myriad of emotions swirled within you. The laughter that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by a soft, introspective silence. As you continued to gaze at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the depth of your connection with Wrecker. It went beyond the professional companionship forged across dangerous missions. It was something more personal, something that had quietly grown amidst the chaos of your work.

“Oh, kriff…” You whisper, staring at your own wide-eyed reflection. The sound of a knock on the connecting door interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you turn towards it, momentarily forgetting about the shirt you were wearing. Smoothing down the fabric, you move across to open the door, revealing Hunter.

“Thought you might’ve drowned.” He quips as the door opens; your showers never usually take so long. Gaze dropping down, Hunter takes in the sight of you, chuckling. “Well, looks like you’re drowning, alright.”

“I must’ve grabbed the wrong shirt in our hurry to leave Kamino.” You admit sheepishly, feeling warmth in your cheeks as Hunter steps aside, revealing you to his brothers.

To his credit, Tech offers you a reassuring smile while Crosshair snorts in amusement. But it’s Wrecker’s reaction that catches you off guard the most.

Wrecker’s eyes widen as his gaze rakes down your body. “I-Is that my shirt?” He asks, swallowing thickly. Heat creeps across his cheeks as he admires you, the curves of your body making it look entirely different than it did on him. He can feel the heavy thud of his heart, and for a moment, the room is filled with an almost tangible tension. Wrecker stands frozen, his eyes locked onto you.

“Yeah, I, uh, must’ve grabbed it by mistake.” You stammer, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze.

Wrecker blinks, tearing his eyes away from you to glance at Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair. Hunter raises an eyebrow, clearly finding the situation entertaining but not commenting further. Tech adjusts his goggles, a knowing glint in his eyes, while Crosshair smirks, thoroughly amused. Clearing his throat, Wrecker manages to break the silence. “Well, it looks... good on ya.”

The sincerity in his voice surprises you, and you catch a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. You give a nervous laugh, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Thanks, Wreck. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“Nah, keep it.” He says quickly, almost too quickly. “Looks better on you anyway.”

The room falls into another awkward silence as Wrecker scratches the back of his head, unsure how to navigate the sudden shift in the atmosphere. It’s rare to see the big, boisterous man at a loss for words.

Hunter, always the pragmatist, breaks the tension. “Alright, enough of the fashion show. We’ve got a mission to focus on.”

The seriousness of the mission looms over the room, momentarily overshadowing the awkwardness. You gather around the table, holomaps of the city and your datapads spread out as you discuss the action plan.

As the discussion progresses, Wrecker finds his eyes straying to you often, trying to commit the vision of you in his clothes to memory, the way it drapes over your frame and the subtle scent of your shampoo that he knows will linger on the garment now too.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks – the feelings he’s been trying to suppress, the concern that goes beyond the missions, the warmth he feels when you’re around – it’s all there, staring him in the face.

Wrecker clears his throat again, attempting to focus on the plan you’re all hashing out, not the crazy beating of his heart. He chimes in enthusiastically, but his mind keeps drifting back to you. As the planning continues, Wrecker catches the knowing look Tech throws him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to concentrate. He wonders if you feel the same, if the newfound awareness is mutual.

Finally, the planning ends, and with your usual round of goodnights, you’re back in your room, the connecting door firmly shut. Only once you’re gone does Wrecker feel like he can breathe again.

“Real subtle there, big guy,” Hunter comments, giving Wrecker’s shoulder a pat as he passes him.

“What?” Wrecker questions, playing dumb. He’s not quite ready to admit his feelings to his brothers; he’s just starting to come to terms with the recent revelation.

None of them are fooled. Tech reaches up, adjusting his goggles. “You were admiring her quite intently.” He points out.

“I would, too, if she were wearing my shirt.” Crosshair chimes in, leaning back on the small couch in the room, propping his feet up on the table as he feels Wrecker’s eyes narrow in his direction. “But hey, if you won’t kriff her, I will.” He comments, unafraid to poke the bear.

In sync, Hunter and Tech facepalm.

A flash of anger courses through Wrecker. “You wouldn’t.” He growls, hating the very idea. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Crosshair goads. “She’s a pretty little thing. Bet she’d looked even prettier underne-“

“Hey!” Wrecker’s sharp shout cuts him off. “You don’t talk about her like that. She deserves better, and I won’t let ya disrespect her. Not when she’s the best thing to happen to us in a long while and always lookin’ out for us.”

Amusement curls at Crosshair’s lips. Truth told, forcing those words out had been horrible – he respected you too much – but it had given him the ammunition he needed to make his point. “Hm, sounds like you might have some feelings there, Wrecker.”

Realising he’s been caught in one of his younger brother’s traps, Wrecker groans in frustration, shooting Crosshair a glare that bounces straight off him. With a sigh, Wrecker’s shoulders sag, and he glances over his shoulder towards the connecting door to your room.

Worry curls through him. He did have feelings for you, that much he’d realised, but he wasn’t sure how you felt. The thought of making things awkward or disrupting the dynamics of the squad by introducing personal feelings weighed heavily on Wrecker’s mind.

Hunter picks up on his brother’s internal struggle. “Wrecker, if you’ve got something to say to her, just say it. We’re all adults here. We’ve faced worse than admitting feelings.”

Wrecker sighs. “I just don’t wanna mess things up, y’know? What if she don’t feel the same way, and it makes things weird?”

Tech chips in with his usual logical perspective. “Statistically speaking, relationships formed within a close-knit team can enhance cooperation and overall performance. Emotional bonds can be beneficial.”

Wrecker shoots Tech an incredulous look. “You suggestin’ I tell her I like her ’cause it’s statistically beneficial?”

Tech pushes his goggles back up his nose. “I am merely presenting a logical argument in favour of expressing one’s emotions.”

A noise of frustration slides from Crosshair’s lips, and he pushes himself off the couch. Grabbing Wrecker by the arm, he drags him over to the connecting door, banging his fist against it a few times. “She was eyeing you up, too. Don’t overthink. That’s Tech’s job.” He insists, returning to the couch, shaking his head while muttering about Wrecker’s lack of game.

Hearing you say the door was unlocked, Wrecker takes a deep breath before pushing it open, sliding into your room, letting it click shut behind him.

With Wrecker gone, Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair exchange glances before arranging themselves on the couch to play Sabacc. “You swapped her shirt out of her pack,” Hunter comments as Tech deals the deck, his eyes darting over to Crosshair.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Crosshair doesn’t bother answering; instead, he picks up his cards. Hunter couldn’t prove anything.

Looking up from the dresser, where you’d been trying to organise your belongings back into your backpack, you smile at the sight of Wrecker standing with his back pressed to the door. “Hey, Wreck. Everything okay?” You ask, abandoning your repacking to give the gentle giant your full attention.

Wrecker’s heart pounds in his chest as he steps further into your room, the weight of the revelation he’d shared with his brothers settling in his chest. He grapples with the best way to express his feelings to you, scratching the back of his neck out of nervous habit.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine.” He mumbles, avoiding direct eye contact for a moment. “I, um, just wanted to talk to ya about somethin’.”

You tilt your head curiously, a small smile playing on your lips. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Wrecker took another deep breath, his gaze finally meeting yours. “Well, it’s about... us. I mean, you and me. I’ve been feelin’ things, and I just gotta say it. I really like you. I like ya a lot.”

The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable, and your heartbeat quickens in response. Surprise paints your face, delight seeping into your veins that your feelings were returned – that he’d come here to share them with you.

“Wreck.” You begin, your voice soft. “I’ve... I’ve been feeling the same way. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief washes over Wrecker’s features, and a wide, genuine smile spreads across his face. “Really?” he asks as if confirming that he wasn’t dreaming.

You nod, your own smile mirroring his. “Really.”

Wrecker chuckles nervously. “Well, guess Crosshair wasn’t entirely wrong about us eyein’ each other up.”

Your jaw drops a little. You’d thought you were being subtle, but you should’ve known the man with super-human vision would catch you out.

Wrecker takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his large hands, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “I’m not great with words, but I really do care about ya.” He confesses.

“I care about you too, Wreck. And you don’t need to be great with words.” You reply, your eyes locked with his. “Actions speak louder.”

“Then let me show ya.” Wrecker murmurs, head dipping down to kiss your lips tenderly. Large hands move to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. One of your hands finds home at the nape of his neck, keeping his lips against yours as the other settles on his upper arm.

You taste like heaven, like everything Wrecker has ever wanted and dreamed about. His grip on you tightens ever so slightly, but he’s cautious, not wanting to accidentally hurt you. The kiss breaks a moment later, eyes locked on one another as you pull apart, chests heaving. Desire swirls in your gaze, and Wrecker wants to worship you. But he’s conflicted – is this too soon? Do you want this too?

Palms smoothing across Wrecker’s body, you take his hands in your own, walking backwards the few steps to the bed. Sinking to sit on the edge of it, you guide Wrecker down with you, a thrill zinging through you as he wraps an arm around your middle and hauls you further up the bed before settling above you. With one hand supporting most of his weight, you marvel at how warm and broad he is, your body hidden under his as he presses against you, lips finding yours again for a searing kiss.

You’re so small beneath him, so delicate and so pretty, with your hair fanned across the sheets, your beautiful eyes looking up at him with such adoration. Wrecker can’t resist kissing you again, savouring your shared feelings. Tentatively, his hand roams to your thighs, large palm smoothing across soft skin, creeping up, ruching his shirt as his fingers skim under the edge of your sleep shorts.

The gentle touch makes your breath stutter, a low noise sliding from your lips, muffled by the kiss.

Wrecker pulls back, watching as your eyes flutter open. “Too much, babe?” He asks quietly, unsure whether the noise is good and not wanting to push too much.

Shaking your head, you lean up to pepper kisses across his jawline. “More. Please.” You ask, heat building in your belly.

Thrilled, Wrecker breaks out into a grin, shivering as your hands pry his shirt up and off his body. Your fingers fan over his bare chest, tracing every muscle and scar. His pants are next to be discarded, your sleep shorts joining them on the floor before your lips meet again in a needy kiss. Your panties go, followed by his boxers, but as you go to remove his shirt, Wrecker’s fingers still the action.

“Leave it on, babe.” He admits, a flush on his cheeks. There was something so intrinsically hot about you wearing his clothes.

A noise of delight leaves you, followed quickly by one of surprise as Wrecker rolls you both, placing himself beneath you. Straddling him, it’s impossible to ignore the press of his thick, hard cock. It feels enormous, and you’re almost afraid to look down.

Thankfully, you’re spared as Wrecker grabs your ass, huge hands dwarfing it as he hauls you up his body.

Wrecker groans, hands squeezing as he draws you further up. “Want you to sit on my face, babe. Lemme eat that pretty pussy before I kriff ya.”

Heat strikes through you, pussy clenching around nothing at Wrecker’s request. “I-I don’t wanna suffocate you.” You worry as you’re lifted over his face, knees on either side of his head. Warmth blossoms across your cheeks as he stares right at your cunt.

“Ya won’t. And even if you do, what a way to go.” Wrecker growls, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazes up at your pussy. Gently, he encourages you down, groaning in satisfaction as you rest lightly against his face – nose and mouth brushing against your slick folds. “That ain’t sittin’.” He grumbles as he notices you trying to hold up some of your weight. Using a little more of his strength, he pulls you down until you’re firmly against his face, his nose pressed to your clit as his tongue laves over your entrance.

“Oh, hells…” You cry out, holding onto the headboard with one hand while the other lands on Wrecker’s head. That first lick of his tongue had felt incredible.

Wrecker feasts, your pussy his new favourite meal. The taste of you fills his mouth, and he moans, dragging his nose across your clit, tongue sloppy as he laves at you before pointing it and pressing it into your hole. He takes a breath whenever he can, drawing the flat of his tongue up through your folds to flick across your clit, lips latching around the sensitive bud so he can suck on it, brushing his tongue over it at the same time.

White hot pleasure is all you can feel, hips rocking as you ride his face, chasing your high. Your hand strokes across his head, fingers gliding over scarred skin. “Kriff, Wreck. Yes. Just like that.” You encourage, pleasure building quickly.

The stretch catches you off guard, two of his thick fingers pressing into you, crooking, as his mouth focuses on your clit. Head thrown back, his name falls from your lips as you come, thighs shaking and pussy spasming around his fingers as the pleasure rolls through your body.

Working you through the high, Wrecker gently pries his mouth off your clit, fingers slowly scissoring as he stretches you out a little more now that you’re more relaxed. He knows he’s big, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

Your hips roll slowly, grinding lazily against his face once again as he continues working you open, another thick finger joining the two already buried inside you. Biting down on your lower lip to muffle your moan, the trembles from your orgasm subside.

Fingers slip from you, hands finding your hips. Lifted, you’re moved back down Wrecker’s body until he can kiss you, mouth and chin covered in your juices. You gasp at the taste, at the way his tongue presses into your mouth, and you lazily make out.

Slowly you draw apart; Wrecker’s fingers that weren’t buried in your pussy move to push your hair out of your face tenderly.

The throb between your thighs intensifies, and you lift your hips, shifting until you can grind down against Wrecker’s cock. The rumble in his chest does funny things to your inside, and you smile. “I wanna ride your cock, too.” You state sweetly, enjoying the delight that flares in Wrecker’s eyes.

Scooting back just a little so you rest on his thighs, you drag your gaze from his face to finally take in his cock. It’s much thicker than any you’ve seen before – in person and on the holonet – and longer than average.

He curves a little to the right, the tip flushed a deep red, a bead of pre-cum in the slit. Taking him in hand, his groan reverberates through the room, and you can’t help but dip down to lap at him, the tang on your tongue dragging a sound from you that Wrecker echoes.

Your fingers don’t touch around him, and for a moment, you worry you won’t be able to take him. Shuffling forward a tiny bit until you’re back in your previous position, you line him up with your entrance, pressing just the tip in, and slowly start to sink down, letting gravity do the work.

Wrecker’s pretty sure he’s shaking – from anticipation or barely-there control, he’s not sure. All he does know is that his hands are wrapped around your hips to help guide you but not force you down, and inch by agonising inch, his dick is slowly being enveloped in the heat of your pussy.

The stretch burns a little, even after an orgasm and three fingers working you open. Taking your time, you let out deep breaths as you sink down until you’re finally flush, feeling fuller than ever. 

“Stars above, Wreck.” You pant, holding his gaze as you adjust to the feeling. His jaw is clenched, soft brown eyes looking at you with such profound adoration, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. His hands on your hips slide upward, under the edge of his shirt, until he’s grasping at your waist.

Steadily, you give a small roll of your hips, rising ever so slightly before sinking back down. The action pulls a moan from you, Wrecker’s head tilting back against the bed, his groan mingling with your needy sounds. Finding a rhythm, you lean back a little, hands resting on his muscular thighs as warmth builds in your belly with every rise and fall. The burn of the stretch dissolves into pleasure.

Chin tilting down, Wrecker watches as you ride him, how your lips part with every little whimper and sigh, and your tits bounce beneath his shirt. The sight goes straight to his cock, hand sliding up from your waist until he can palm your breasts under the garment, fingers pressed against soft flesh. You’re a handful, even for him, and he grunts, thumb and forefinger tweaking your pebbled nipples.

The whine you let out is delicious, and his gaze roves down your body, settling on where the two of you are connected, watching how he slides in and out of your pussy. The sight, the sounds, and the feeling of you around him push him closer and closer to the edge. Fingers smoothing back down your body, they press against your clit, firm circles rubbed against the sensitive nub.

“Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.” You curse, eyes screwed shut as the warmth grows towards an inferno. Pitching forward, you change the angle, hands resting against his broad chest, providing better leverage as your pace quickens. Your thighs start to ache, but you’ll be damned if you let that stop you.

“That’s it, babe. Hells, your pussy feels so kriffin’ good.” Wrecker pants, his words helping push you over the edge. Your body goes taut above him, pleasure contorting your face as you clamp down around him, coming on his cock with a cry of his name. He keeps his fingers moving, working you through the high until the tremors in your body stop and your hazy eyes open to meet his.

You share a soft smile, and Wrecker surges up, lips meeting yours for a passionate kiss as he grasps back at your hips. Holding you in place, his hips snap quickly as he fucks up into you, chasing his high now you’ve been satisfied.

Tongues meeting, the kiss is frantic and messy, noises muffled by each other’s lips. You pull back just enough to gaze down at him. “Come in me. Please.” Your needy whine reverberates around the room.

You were perfect. So perfect. Your pleading words, the grip of your tight pussy around him… Wrecker’s thrusts falter, and with two more sharp snaps of his hips, he pushes himself deep inside you, growling out your name as he’s swept into pleasure, filling you.

The room falls silent except for your harsh breaths, gazes locked before you steal another kiss. Slower and softer, the lust dissolves into something sweeter. Strong arms wrap around you, and you’re rolled onto your side, pulled flush against Wrecker’s body as he pries his lips from yours. He smiles, and you can’t help but match it, a giggle bubbling up and out. The sound of Wrecker’s chuckle melds with yours, happiness simmering between you.

“You okay?” Wrecker asks, one hand smoothing across your cheek, cupping your face.

You lean into his touch with a small nod, eyes fluttering shut. Wrecker’s hand is warm against your face as he caresses you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek. The aftermath of shared intimacy leaves you feeling content and connected.

Overjoyed, Wrecker presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, hand sliding down your body to wrap back around you as he holds you close. Now he has you, he’s never going to let you go.

In the cocoon of his embrace, you slowly drift into a serene slumber, knowing you’ve found a sanctuary that feels like home in his arms.

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[cod-thoughts]

You call my bluff, how can I keep this up?

Word count: 1.2k

Relationships: implied GhostPrice

Tags: Very silly, inspired by art, Ghost is very down bad, they arent together yet

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: This is a gift for the lovely @gomzdrawfr we barely know each other but i absolutely love your art it always brings me a lot of joy. This particular drawing hasnt left my mind since you've uploaded it and ive been dying to write for it so now i have. Happy valentines day! <33 Hopefully this doesnt freak you out my bad if it does 0_0

Simon Riley prided himself on discipline. A soldier’s mind was supposed to be sharp, focused, unwavering—trained to cut through distractions like a blade through fog.

Unfortunately, Ghost’s mind was none of those things at the moment.

Because right now, all he could think about was lifting his Captain.

It had started as a passing thought, one of those ridiculous notions that flit in and out of consciousness before being dismissed outright. But the problem—the real, pressing issue—was that he didn’t dismiss it. He let it linger. He let it take root.

And now? Now it was a full-blown fantasy.

Price wasn’t even doing anything particularly remarkable. He was just there, standing at the other end of the room, sleeves rolled up, a cigar hanging lazily between his fingers as he pored over mission reports. The bastard didn’t even realise what he was doing, didn’t realise how profoundly, cosmically annoying it was that he looked so unbothered. So effortlessly composed. So fucking liftable.

Ghost flexed his fingers absently. He was pretty sure he could do it. No, scratch that—he knew he could do it. He’d been working out more lately, upping his deadlifts and bench press, and Price wasn’t that much heavier than the weights he’d been throwing around. Maybe a bit more solid in the middle, sure, but Ghost wasn’t about to let that stop him.

His mind supplied a vivid image of how it might go: him stepping up behind Price, arms looping around his waist before hoisting him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing. He imagined the startled grunt Price would make, the way his cigar might tumble from his lips in sheer disbelief. Ghost would hold him there, suspended mid-air, feeling triumphant and smug as Price swore up a storm. Maybe even toss him over a shoulder for good measure.

A slow, creeping warmth spread through Ghost’s chest. Fuck, I really wanna do it.

And then the thought—the dangerous, irrational thought—took an even more deranged turn.

What if he just… buried his face in Price’s back? Just thunked his head against him like some oversized cat marking its territory? What if he just took a big inhale too? What if he just filled his lungs up with Price's intoxicating scent?

Ghost had seen videos of big cats rubbing against their handlers, knocking them around with sheer weight alone, and now the mental image of himself doing that to Price was seared into his mind. 

Would Price let him? Probably not. But maybe. If Ghost timed it right. If he made it quick enough, took advantage of Price’s soft spot for him.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

He scrubbed a hand down his mask, barely resisting the urge to groan. He was losing his goddamn mind, and the worst part was, he wasn’t even ashamed of it. If anything, he was tempted.

Because it wasn’t just some unhinged urge—it was Price.

It was the way Price carried himself, all rough edges and commanding presence, but with the kind of warmth underneath that Ghost couldn’t look away from. It was the way he laughed, the rare deep rumble of it that made Ghost’s chest go tight. It was the way Price had a habit of standing too close, completely unaware of how much space he actually occupied in Ghost’s head.

It was the way Price had his little habits—how he’d run a hand down his beard when he was thinking, or the way he bounced when he was feeling restless, fingers gripping his vest. The way his accent thickened when he was particularly exasperated, or how his blue eyes sharpened when he was assessing a situation. Ghost could list a dozen things about the man that made his brain short-circuit, and not a single one of them had anything to do with the fact that Price was his superior officer.

He wasn’t just some bloke Ghost wanted to wrestle to the ground for fun. No, it was something worse, something worsebecause it came with an emotion Ghost didn’t quite have a name for but felt deep in his ribs whenever Price clapped a hand on his shoulder or called him ‘Simon.’

Ghost sighed and slouched further into his seat, arms crossed. Maybe if he just stopped looking at him—

“Yer makin’ that face again.”

Ghost stiffened, head snapping up. Price was looking at him now, one brow raised in amusement.

Shit.

“…What face?” Ghost asked, voice carefully neutral.

“The one where you’re plottin’ somethin’ daft.”

Ghost blinked. He was absolutely not making that face. He was making his normal, everyday blank expression. The same one that had struck fear into the hearts of enemy combatants for years. There was no fucking way Price could tell that, just moments ago, Ghost had been contemplating rubbing his head against him like an over-affectionate housecat. 

How he could even read Ghost's expression through the mask had always been a mystery. Price knew him too well, it should scare him but it doesn't, it never has. 

“I’m not plottin’ anything,” Ghost lied.

Price hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.” He turned back to his reports but didn’t drop the smirk. “Whatever you say, Simon.”

Ghost exhaled slowly. Disaster avoided.

And yet—and yet—

The urge still hadn’t left.

No, if anything, it had gotten worse. Because now, in the absence of fantasy, his brain had moved into problem-solving mode. Could he get away with it? Could he pull it off? If he were fast enough, if he caught Price off guard, maybe—

Ghost bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe he needed to accept that this was just who he was now. A man consumed by the overwhelming, irrational desire to manhandle his Captain and fucking nuzzle him. A lost cause.

A complete and total, lost cause that was actively fighting for its life as Price casually stretched, arms rolling back, giving Ghost a perfect view of his broad shoulders and back flexing under the fabric of his shirt.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. His hand curled into a fist.

Get. A. Fucking. Grip.

“Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t involve me having to clean up any of your messes.” Price’s voice snapped him back to the present.

Ghost barely processed the words. All he could focus on was the fact that, when Price shifted in his seat, his damn jacket rode up just slightly, exposing a sliver of his back, displaying all the little moles and freckles and those two distinct dimples in his lower back that look perfect for his fingers to dig into and oh, for fuck's sake.  

Ghost clenched his fists. 

He was going to lose it.

He was actually going to lose it.

He had to get out of here before he did something insane. Like follow through on these godforsaken thoughts.

“Right,” Ghost muttered, pushing himself up from his chair a little too quickly, a little too stiffly. “Gotta… check on something.”

Price barely glanced up. “Mmhm.”

Ghost turned on his heel, marching toward the exit. He needed fresh air. He needed to not be in this room thinking about how catastrophically down bad he was.

As he reached the doorway, he heard Price’s voice again, this time tinged with unmistakable amusement.

“Oi, Ghost.”

Ghost paused but didn’t turn around.

“…If you’re thinkin’ about doin’ whatever it is you’re thinkin’ about doin’—” Price’s smirk was practically audible. “—I’d think about it first.”

Ghost didn’t respond. Just gritted his teeth and forced himself to step outside before he did something really stupid. He couldn’t move until the door shut behind him. He inhaled deeply, exhaled through his nose, and flexed his fingers at his sides.

Maybe, maybe he could let this ridiculous urge go. Maybe he could shove it back into the depths of his mind and act like a normal person.

…Or maybe, just maybe, he was gonna pick the perfect moment to put his theory to the test.

Because one day—one day—he was gonna lift that man.

And no force on earth was going to stop him.

[gutouhua]

pairing. zhongli x f. reader

wc. 2.7k+

rating. explicit

tags. sort of canonverse, zhongli has ruts & dragon fangs, reader hails from mondstat, mentions of mates/mating, mentions of eating animal meat, zhongli is a perv for reader, zhongli calls reader ‘pet,’ age gap (reader is early-mid 20s, zhongli is biologically in early 30s), mentions of zhongli’s previous sexual relationships (dubcon), power dynamics, cervixfucking, overstimulation (sort of), zhongli wants to breed reader, pussydrunk zhongli, unprotected sex (pull out method)

a/n. MDNI! see end for notes

Zhongli had imagined it over a million times—taking you across the table and fucking your pussy. He knew you’d smell good down there, had scented it like a pervert in the days before your period—familiar lily mixed with strong musk and a tinge of metal. It made his fangs itch from the need to sink into your soft thighs and tongue at your slick folds.

Zhongli rutted in early spring, when trees blossomed and bore fat fruit—juicy peaches hanging heavy on thin branches. Sometimes he’d walk by them and look at them with an almost forlorn gaze. A deep ache in his body.

He wished that there was someone who would satiate his needs like seeds did to trees or bees with flowers. They mated with each other, year after year in a frenzy—a haze of powdery yellow spilling on every surface of Liyue Harbor. Zhongli didn’t have allergies, but even if he did, he would still love and envy the pollen.

It had been a long time since Zhongli had someone like that to spend his seasons with. A mate.

He’d drink copious amounts of lily bulb tea each spring to keep himself from fucking the first person who said yes to him, and would take himself into his hands with a furious passion every morning and night—even during work breaks—to relieve himself.

And it worked. He successfully passed multiple centuries of ruts like so, although it wasn’t always easy. As Morax, he was volatile—could pass for the Pyro Archon herself, Murata, but he tempered himself over the years, learning to be the composed man he was now.

But then you appeared, and the fire flared. Hutao’s newest intern—the first in nearly a decade, fresh. A slight little creature (although most people were small compared to Zhongli), and eager to learn about funeral services from Liyue’s very best. It was the first time you’d been to Liyue, so far from your home in Mondstat, and everything and everyone interested you.

I wonder if there’s a way to breed two creatures together to create an actual cocogoat. It’d be cool—Qiqi would be able to drink actual cocogoat milk, not that cheap substitute that Baizhu makes for her, and we’d be able to eat the meat. It’d taste good, right?

Zhongli chuckled, eyes soft on you. That would be a sight to behold. He didn’t mention that he’d been alive when cocogoats still roamed the Bishui Plains—a story for another time.

And then came the questions about himself.

Why are you so red, Zhongli-xiangsheng?

His rut came early this year for some reason, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. The lily bulb tea would suffice until he had a moment for himself.

But you had to make it difficult. So difficult for him.

Nothing, he murmured.

You grinned, stepping closer on tiptoes so your eyes leveled his chest. Soft rise and fall—imperceptible unless face to face like you were.

It doesn’t seem like nothing to me, Xiangsheng.

Zhongli fought the urge to inhale your soft scent. Sweet, powdery like lilies and dusk and something tender he wanted to bite—

—And he tasted blood in his mouth to stop his fangs from descending onto your exposed neck, nearly shook from the force it took to not bend you over his desk.

It would leave a mess. And Hutao would add it to his tab.

Even now you tempted him with coy glances, a bare shoulder, and sometimes a lingering touch in the space between his cuff and gloves—sharp like the sting of the formidable Raiden’s electro bolts.

“Do you want to know what I learned today, Xiansheng?” You had taken to calling him that instead of his mortal name one day. Zhongli wasn’t quite sure why, but he liked how it sounded on your lips.

He smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his suit and shuffled the papers on his desk while shifting to hide the stiffness in his pants. “Pray, do tell.”

You leaned forward, settling your weight on the heavy oak table. “I heard you’re rutting right now.”

Zhongli nearly choked on his tea. “What?”

“Rut, heat, season—Hutao told me.” You shrugged as if the topic was something mundane. “She said you rut every spring, but that it’s unusually strong this year for some reason. Something about the aura around you, I think. Why’s that?”

Because of you.

“Not sure,” Zhongli said.

“She also told me about that tea you drink.”

He nearly dropped his cup of tea. Damn the woman. Spilling all my secrets. And there wasn’t a single thing he could do—he was on her payroll.

“What about it?” he asked, trying for confidence.

“Lily bulb tea,” you continued, scrutinizing his cup, “apparently it helps calm you down and dampens the urge to fuck.”

Zhongli’s dick hardened.

“So does it?”

“What?”

“The tea. Does it help with your urges?” You jerked your head at the drink, curious.

Not when you’re around.

Zhongli had imagined it over a million times—taking you across the table and fucking your pussy. He knew you’d smell good down there, had scented it like a pervert in the days before your period—familiar lily mixed with strong musk and a tinge of metal. It made his fangs itch from the need to sink into your soft thighs and tongue at your slick folds.

He wasn’t sure what to say, but finally decided on: “Not really.”

You cocked your head to the side and bit your lips, Zhongli’s eyes following the pink tongue that peeked through. He wanted to bite them too. They’d be soft and break easily with a little bit of teeth—like almond tofu.

“Oh. Then what’re you going to do about it?”

“The usual.” Tea, masturbating, some rough fucking. Archons knew he’d need it tonight—some sort of distraction from you. He’d have to visit Madame Fang for an escort. She was used to his proclivities—would have someone able to take him.

“The usual? And what would that be?” Zhongli could almost picture you with a pen and paper in hand, a student eager for information.

He groaned internally. Now he was imagining you in a short skirt, stockings, maybe thigh highs—the fat of your thighs spilling from the top of the elastic. The image nearly had him spilling in his pants.

“I don’t think you’d want to know the particulars,” he said, his voice a soft rasp. He shifted again. “It might scare an innocent little girl like you.”

“Innocent?” You huffed. “Little? I’m a grown adult xiangsheng! I’m over the legal age—and actually much more than that. You can hardly call me little or innocent.”

“But you are,” he said indulgently, as one would towards a spoiled pet. “I am immortal, have fought and survived the Archon War. Tell me, pet, can you say the same?”

He was playing with you. Of course the two of you knew you couldn’t compare to him.

“But at the very least, you cannot consider me innocent. I’ve experienced enough things,” you muttered, annoyed.

Zhongli arched an eyebrow.

Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, pushing you onto the desk in one fluid motion—papers scattering to the floor like spring pollen. Zhongli pinned your hands over your head to keep you in place, and knocked your legs apart to slot his large frame between you.

“W-What’re you doing, Zhongli?”

He smiled. And there it was: his name always slipped out when you got serious.

Xiansheng.

What?

Xiansheng. He moved closer, spreading your legs further apart as he drew closer to you. You could feel your stomach pressing tightly against the cotton of your suit with each breath, your chest straining against buttons. Don’t be so impolite when your boss is trying to school you.

Xiansheng.

Good girl, he rumbled. You were so curious about the specifics of my rut—what I do to satiate my needs. Shall I show you? They say firsthand experience is the best way to learn.

His voice was heavy, hot against your ear, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when he darted a tongue out to lick the delicate shell of your ear.

So sensitive. I wonder if it’s the same in other places. Shall we find out?

Hutao had ordered him to be careful with you—a family friend. Your family owned the most successful funeral parlor in Mondstat, and they sent you to Hutao to learn how she conducted her business in Liyue. Zhongli had agreed. He could keep his hands to himself.

But then you showed up on the steps of Wansheng funeral parlor, and he knew he was fucked.

Do you want it, he whispered, I need to rut, but I always ask for permission.

Jealousy reared its ugly head. He’d done it with others—for decades, maybe even centuries, and it made sense, you couldn’t expect celibacy from him and yet…the thought of other people touching him made you want to rake your hands down his back, gouge, and suck every inch of his skin so others would know he was taken.

That he was yours.

What will it be, pet?

You nodded, eyeing the bulge in his pants. He was big. It was obvious, and it’d probably hurt. A tight fit.

Zhongli smiled—sharp teeth, predatory. I need words.

Yes.

No sooner did you give your permission did he slip your blazer off your shoulders and loosen just enough buttons to push your blouse up and over your head. You wore cotton—a simple white bra, and he wondered if you wore a matching set today.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out: you were already unzipping your pants, sliding stiff fabric down your legs, uncaring if it wrinkled. You’d have to remember to take it to the cleaners.

But later—now, you canted your hips forward, not caring about anything but the man in front of you.

So needy, he murmured, and wet.

His scent intoxicated you, his weight a delicious pressure against your skin.

Zhongli rocked against your clothed pussy, pleased to find you wet. You soaked through the cotton fabric, leaving an imprint in the shape of your pussy on your panties.

Fuck me, xiangsheng, please—I need it.

The scent of your arousal grew stronger with each tap against the wet spot. Heady, mind-numbing, as if a drug was coursing through his bloodstream. The amber of his hands grew darker, a deep, gorgeous fossilized hue, and his pupils thinned—they slitted into a sharp, almost feline countenance, predator to prey.

You would have me? he asked again, stars pulsing in his eyes. In his earlier days, before he was an archon, he had taken people without knowing what it really meant. The shame and guilt of it had made the act feel dirty for a long time—he went nearly fifty years without a single partner to help him through his ruts.

He would not make the same mistake with you.

Just fuck me.

He groaned, pulled your panties to the side—white cotton—and pushed himself into you, the entire length. It was tight and it burned as you struggled, walls stretching to accommodate his dick.

Feels so good, he grunted, you’re so tight, fuck. He lost himself in your tight heat, centuries of manners and poise melting before you.

He moved slowly at first, dragging his length out so that nothing but the tip remained inside before thrusting back in.

You shifted backward, trying to adjust to him. Soft pants, shallow—eyes squeezed shut to focus on each heavy stroke in and out of your cunt. When you started moving against him, seeking friction for yourself, Zhongli sped up. Kept most of his cock inside you with each stroke, prodding around for your sweet spot.

When he finally found it, earning a cry and squeeze around his cock that nearly made him cum, he smiled. Right there, pet?

You gasped, struggled to answer: Yeah, yeah-right there—

He continued to thrust, imprinting your insides with the shape of his dick, hitting that sensitive spot with almost boyish eagerness, but it still wasn’t enough to—

—You reached down to where his dick is splitting you apart and try to rub your clit, the hard nub aching for attention, but Zhongli pushed your hand away.

Allow me.

You almost whine—denial twisting your stomach into a tight knot, leaving your clit wanting, but he didn’t make you wait long. Deft fingers rubbed circles on your clit, grinding, until it swelled enough for him to pinch, hard.

Zhongli, please—

What did I say pet, he hummed and bit your earlobe in admonishment.

Xian-Xiansheng—

You were begging now, pleading—tears dripping from your face like fresh paint on canvas.

Please, xiansheng, please, I need it.

What do you need? He thrust forward, the head almost kissing your cervix.

Need…

Need what? Use your words, pretty pet. Another hard thrust, this time he touched your cervix. Half pain, half pleasure. Lines slowly starting to blur—was it because of his dick or your tears? You couldn’t tell.

You shook your head and fisted your hands in the collar of his suit, wrinkling the fine material as you dragged his face towards you to claim a kiss. Harsh and unyielding, a faint taste of iron between each ragged breath. Now you’d have to take two suits to the cleaners.

Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you’d forgotten how you even got into this situation in the first place. Something about lily bulb tea, alone time…and ruts…heats. Heat—were you the one in heat or was it him?

But it didn’t matter, all you knew was that:

Need to cum.

Zhongli’s pretty lips curled. And so you shall.

With one hand on your hips, he slammed his hips against yours in a punishing rhythm while his other hand battered your clit, thick fingers flicking the hard nub repeatedly until you felt nearly numb from the overstimulation. He felt you tense beneath him, hips rolling incessantly, your cunt gripping him so tightly he knew he was close.

Cum for me, he demanded, almost growling, give it to me.

And you obeyed—gave yourself over to the pleasure, moaning from the waves of pleasure washing over you.

Zhongli groaned as you contracted around him, each tight draw from your pussy taking him closer to his own release. Hips stuttering, he felt his fangs slip through, throbbing from the desire to taste you, bite you, mark you—

—Breed you.

It was messy, each time he pulled back and saw the amount of slick that coated his cock, his mind grew fuzzier, almost stupid. Zhongli couldn’t remember the last time he felt pussydrunk—

You bit the side of his neck as another orgasm ripped out of you, and this time Zhongli let himself go with a harsh growl, pulling out right as he cummed, thick ropes of sticky cum defiling your stomach. It was dizzyingly maddening: his cum moving with each shaky exhale, dripping onto your pussy, and Zhongli thought it was such a waste that it wasn’t inside you, filling you up. Some of it covered your clit—a glistening pearl. He fought every fiber of his being to not bend down and lick it. He didn’t like sweet things, but you were an exception.

“Did you learn a lot?” he finally asked after your breath had steadied a bit.

You were still coming down from your high, barely able to form a coherent sentence. “What?”

“I was teaching you,” he chuckled, voice husky. “Were you a good student? Paying attention?”

You thought about it for a moment. Looked at his disheveled appearance, his golden eyes, the wrinkles in his suit, and found it lacking.

“Not enough.”

“I am in agreement.”

Hutao narrowed her eyes. “You fucked him.”

“And what if I did? It’s not like you’ll fire me,” you replied lightly.

Hutao groaned. “I knew you wanted to fuck him, but I didn’t think you wanted to do it that badly. It’s not exactly good for my business, and you know he’ll stick to you for the rest of his season, right? That’s how it works for him. He doesn’t share.”

“Well good. Because I don’t either.” You wouldn’t have chosen him anyway if he liked to share. “But wait—what do you mean ‘not exactly good for your business?’”

The Wangsheng Director grinned at you. “Look at him: one of the most eligible bachelors in Liyue. Didn’t you notice that we have a large number of young clients? They come to Wangsheng because of him. I don’t care who Zhongli fucks as long as they give me their money—it keeps my beloved Wangsheng as the most profitable funeral parlor in Liyue.”

“Of course you would say that.” You laughed and thought about all the times your parents praised Hutao. “No wonder my parents sent me here to learn from you.”

Hutao winked. “Of course! Making money is the second best thing I’m good at.”

“What’s the first?”

“Death.”

uhhh i wrote this one about six-ish months ago too...been busy with zine work but hopefully when I'm done I can write more reader insert smut :') (also sorta tried a new style of dialogue lmao back when I wrote this)

Murata, also known as the God of War and the Lady of Fire, was a Pyro Archon and a member of The Seven who presided over Natlan.

先生 - xiānsheng. Has two main definitions: the first is teacher, the second is mister (Mr); gentleman; sir. Both suit Zhongli very well in this fic ;)

Dried lily bulb【百合】 is usually recommended in TCM (traditional Chinese medicine) clinics to treat coughs, dry throats and relieve heat. (But IRL, this doesn’t actually help with the horny feels LOL.) 

Zhongli as Morax has darker brown/amber skin tone on arms, so I chose to depict this in the fic as skin darkening when aroused. I also put a photo of something similar on an actual body. 

[treacheryinblue]

「 HOW NOT TO DROWN 」 noah sebastian ⨯ original f!character

▷ chapter one

eve orion: ghost-seeing, headache-inducing, back-talking extraordinaire. after being shamed out of the paranormal community, she reluctantly agrees to join folio's misfit group of truth-seekers alongside the rest of the boys. noah is back in town and just trying to move on from his desolate life back east after a family death when eve is suddenly shoved into his direct line of vision by fate's fickle hand. the unfortunate part is that she can barely even look at him, while he can't stop himself from looking at her. trigger warnings: enemies to lovers, smut, language, mention of self harm/suicide, alcohol and drug use, angst. word count: 9.1k comment to be added to the tag list for future chapters!

masterlist

Fake. 

Scammer. 

Sideshow attraction. 

That's all you are. That's all you'll ever be. 

Behind her closed eyes she could see all of their angry faces lined up. One by one they hissed and spat their insults at her, each one more angry and foul than the last. Not even the water that's grown cold could block the voices within her head. What was typically a source of calm for her was now also tainted. Ruined, just like everything else. 

Fake. Fake. Fake. 

Bubbles slowly drifted to the surface as she exhaled the last of what air remained in her lungs. Her fingers tightened on the edges of the old claw foot tub, knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip. Every muscle was screaming at her to surface but she refused. Not yet. Just a little bit longer. Maybe the calm would eventually come. 

Liar! 

You feed on the sad and the desperate. 

All you do is use them. 

You're worthless. Cruel. Heartless. 

Her lungs ached and burned as the need to inhale began to set in. She knew better than to do that, though, well aware that all she would get is a mouthful of lavender bath water. 

Why was the calm not coming? Had she been barred from the one place that managed to bring her comfort? 

“Evie?”

Fraud!

Just a few more seconds. That's all she needed. She could feel the calm slowly beginning to overtake her; the voices waning, their angry faces fading. 

“Evie? Where are yo- what the fuck?! Eve!”

A deep inhale was taken as her body was ripped from the water. No! She had been so close to finding that peaceful moment she craved. Why would someone pull her away from it? 

Both hands ran over her wet hair to push it from her face as she shifted her eyes to look at the culprit. Staring back at her were a set of eyes that mostly matched her own: forest green, flecks of gold, heavy lashes. The only difference was that Eve’s left eye was partially blue – the ocean meeting the forest. She heavily sighed at her sister, her twin, the annoyance she felt radiating off of her in waves. 

“What the hell were you doing?!”

“Meditating. Well, trying to. Thanks for ruining it.”

“Who meditates under water? This is the kind of stuff that gran was talking about. What if she had been the one to walk in? You would've given her a heartat-”

“Gran would've been smart enough to go away if I hadn't answered the door.” She fired back, cutting her sister off mid-scolding. Hearing it was already beginning to exhaust her. 

Eve felt bad being so blunt with her sister sometimes because she knew she meant well. Molly always wanted what was best for others and did what she could to make those dreams a reality. Some thought it was a great quality, but Eve saw it more as her sister being a people pleasing pushover. Despite the fact that they were twins - fraternal - they were totally different, both in appearance and personality. Eve wasn’t some horrid menace who got off on people’s pain, but she also wasn't going to go out of her way to make them smile. 

The differences didn't end there. While Molly had light auburn hair that was currently pulled half back and secured with an ivory ribbon, stopping just below her shoulders, her own nearly black locks traveled down her back in soft waves. Molly liked bright sundresses, Eve preferred dark earth tones and black. Molly had a silver Tiffany's necklace dangling on her chest, Eve layered her jewelry but always wore the antique pendant gifted to her from her grandmother. Molly was bubbly, Eve typically only smiled when she had downed a few too many shots. 

Molly was day, Eve was night. 

Molly had a life, Eve was a fuck up. 

“I'm guessing you're here because you saw what happened.” 

“What?” Molly laughed, now drying her hands off on the towel she had found folded on the bathroom counter. “No…I just…wanted to see you. Maybe hang out. Grab some food.”

“Stop with the bullshit. Just say whatever it is you came here to say.” 

Eve leaned forward in the tub while bringing her knees up to her chest. She didn't care that the water was frigid and her fingers were pruny because being encased in water always made her feel her most at ease. It was her happy place, as lame as that sounded. 

“Okay, yes, I saw. It popped up on that weird paranormal entertainment blog I follow.” Molly finally revealed after releasing an exasperated sigh, as if pulling the information from her had been so tedious. 

“Why would you let them say that kind of stuff about you? Calling you a fraud? A scammer? We both know that's just fucking bullshit.” 

Had her goody two shoes sister just dropped another F-bomb? 

“What do you expect me to do, Molly?” Her eyes narrowed in on her sister, eyebrows raised. “Call every gossip news outlet that gives a shit and somehow convince them that it wasn't me who was lying? That it was just everyone else on the show?” 

Eve shook her head as the heels of her hands dug into her eyes, a defeated sigh sounding from her. “No one would believe me. To them I'm just some unknown fake fortune teller with a crystal ball and a side hustle reading palms.” 

“You don't read palms…or have a crystal ball. Don't insult yourself like that.” 

“Right,” she yanked the stopper from the tub before standing and snatching the towel from her twin's outstretched hand. “I'm actually just a medium basket case who's always had more friends that are dead than alive.” 

ONE YEAR LATER 

“Look, look, I know it isn't some fancy tv show, but that just makes it more real! More raw!” 

Folio was like a dog with a bone as he leaned over the counter, phone in hand, rapidly scrolling through the Instagram page he was trying to sell her on. 

“Uh huh,” she nodded, not even taking a glance in his direction. 

“Evie, come on! You're not even looking at it!” 

This wasn't the first time Folio had tried to rope her into his amateur paranormal business. Unfortunately, she also knew it wouldn't be the last. 

“It's about just trying to prove the existence of ghosts and other creepy, crawly things. To help people gain an understanding of our layered realms. This isn’t like those stupid fucking Valor brothers.” 

Just the sound of their last name made fire ignite in her veins. 

The Valor brothers. Reality television producers and stars who created hit after hit. She had been so naive when she signed on for their paranormal show after having been fed a multitude of lies that made her believe they wanted to help people. Xander and Luke didn't care about those who were in pain and mourning their loved ones. They only cared about the fat checks being dropped into their accounts by the network. 

If only she had known this at the beginning then she could've prevented her name from being tainted and her gifts taken advantage of. 

“I already know ghosts are real. Believe me, they won't let me forget it.” 

No matter how hard she tried, they refused to let up. She could ignore them, wear spelled items to help keep their voices quiet, sage every room she walked into, but nothing was capable of doing the trick. 

“That's why you'd be a perfect addition to the team!”

With a heavy sigh, Eve dropped the ribbon she had been trying to tie around the gift box, appropriately stamped ‘Cellar Door’, and instead focused her attention on Folio. He was giving her a wide grin, one that showcased his golden retriever energy that any girl would swoon over, but it only made her jaw tighten. 

“Is this just an excuse for you to be around Molly more? You know she's seeing someone.” 

The grin he wore immediately fell, shoulders shrugging. “Nah, this doesn't have anything to do with her. This is strictly business.” 

“Folio!” Nicholas came hustling from the back room, his hands tossed out to his sides in slight annoyance. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop harassing my star employee?” 

“I'm basically your only employee,” she murmured under her breath. Although she had only been employed at Nick’s shop for a few months, it was rare that she saw anyone else other than him and Folio. And while the latter wasn't on the payroll, he was a ‘staple to the business', or so he claimed.

A couple of other names were usually scribbled on the schedule, stating that they would work the days she didn't, so they had never managed to cross paths. Not that she minded this. The less people she had to encounter for long periods of time, the better. 

“I'm not harassing her! Eve and I go way back. We're friends. Tell him, Evie!” 

Eve chuckled as the two Nicks began bickering back and forth in a playful manner with each other. She knew better than to get between their little squabbles, especially when it meant having to go against Folio. He may have been the only person she opened up to for months following the incident with the Valor brothers - only because he was a bartender at her favorite dive bar - but that didn't mean she was always going to defend his crazy antics. 

“Oh no, I'm not getting in the middle of you two.”

Finally conquering the black silk bow, Eve offered Nick a triumphant smile as she held the gift box out to him. He had asked her to wrap it extra securely since he would be hand delivering it to his client that afternoon, thus starting her battle with the evil bow. At least she had come out on top at the end of it. 

“Come on, Folio. You're with me so I can keep my eye on you.” 

Again they began a game of back and forth, but Nick ultimately won in the end. He always did. 

“Enjoy your quality time!” She called out as the two exited the building, a faint laugh to herself to follow. Well, thankfully now she would get some peace and quiet. That was something she wasn't used to anymore, at least not as of late. So she was long overdue for some alone time. 

Ghosts typically didn't harass her while she was in the shop, though she wasn't sure why.  She had confided in Nick about this previously and his only guess had been that maybe one of the objects had a way of warding off spirits, making this a sort of 'safe zone’ for her. Eve wanted to argue that she had never found something to work so flawlessly before, but she kept it to herself. Why go against the theory when it clearly held some weight?

You see, the longer Eve tried to keep her gift at bay, the worse things would get for her. Images of the dead had started becoming more extreme, the sight of their gruesome fates keeping her up at all hours of the night. Every time she closed her eyes she was haunted by their faces. Their pleas for release or revenge drowning out every other sound and thought that happened to enter her mind. It was a miserable way to live and Eve would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about ending it all once or twice. 

But not to worry. That was something she would never do. She couldn't bear to leave Molly alone. 

Eve took in a deep breath as she ripped open a box containing a set of crystals a regular customer had been searching for. She used to be so intrigued by the different items Nicholas could find, but now it was all as mundane as sorting through a stack of bills. 

“Taylor…Crawford…” she mumbled to herself while scribbling the name of the buyer of the crystals on a sticker before securing it to a separate box that showcased the business's name: Cellar Door. She had just set the box in the designated hold area when she heard a shuffling sound coming from out in the main area of the store. 

Weird…Nicholas and Folio had left for the delivery only a few minutes ago and she knew she hadn't heard the bell ding above the door to signal someone had walked in. Eve was going to ignore the sound, chalking it up to just being the city beyond the front doors, but it only grew louder the harder she tried to push it out. 

Thoughts of the worst came rushing in. If she knew no living soul was beyond the stockroom she had disappeared into, then that only left one other option. 

But…wasn't this supposed to be her safe zone?

Her hands immediately became clammy as she took a hesitant step out of the stockroom, two toned eyes now peering down the hallway that lead to the main floor. She didn't see anything other than the usual items for sale and on display but that didn't mean there wasn't anything there. Ghosts were assholes and had a tendency to jump out at you or suddenly appear before your very eyes. Eve had no idea why they had a habit of this but it got her every damn time. 

“Hello?” She called out, slow steps being taken further down the hall. 

To her left sat a large display case spanning the length of the hallway that housed old first edition books, antique jewelry, and even some little trinkets that Nicholas claimed dated back over two-thousand years ago. The lights within it were dim but just bright enough to let her see the reflection of the poor soul that waited for her around the corner. They looked no different than a living, breathing person, but Eve could usually always tell the difference. Their eyes lacked substance. They had no feeling to them like all others did. It was a chilling sensation that she typically felt radiating off of them, one that struck right to her core. 

“Just go on and tell me what you need so we can get this over with.” 

Eve used to be more caring and sympathetic to the ghosts that sought her out, but all that changed when her ability proved to be more of a burden than anything else. Especially lately as they began interrupting her everyday life like before when she hadn't yet known how to exercise control. 

“I'm serious. I'm not going to entertain any of the annoying riddles from the great beyond this time.” 

Stepping around the corner, she paused upon coming face to face with an older woman. The woman was looking right through her, her mouth open just a bit to allow a gurgle of incoherent words to escape. Eve squinted at her in confusion, hands fisted down at her sides. She always tried her best not to touch them because that's when things would take a turn. It wasn't natural for the living to be that in touch with the dead – literally. 

“Okay, fine,” she sighed heavily. “I'm going to get back to work so just let me know when you're ready to do this thing.” 

Just as she was going to turn away, a hand waving the spirit off, a cold she had never felt before jolted through her entire being. She gasped as the woman clung to her bicep, her rushed steps forcing her back into a table of candles and wax melts. Eve was wide eyed while staring at the ghost, the fear she felt blocking any words she was desperate to say. 

While it was a bad idea for the living to touch the dead, it was practically unheard of for the dead to be the ones doing the touching. Only something more vile had the ability, something that people liked to place the word ‘demonic’ on. Eve knew better but this was still terrifying as fuck. 

“What do you want?” She stammered out as chills rose up along the entirety of her body. The woman’s hold on her only tightened while she was leaning in closer and closer, their faces now only centimeters apart. 

With a barely noticeable shift, the older woman was gazing directly into her eyes with a deep intensity. The cold remained, feeling as if she had taken a step out into Arctic air, but a new sensation began to emerge. Eve suddenly felt like she had plunged into the lake in the dead of winter that resided behind her house when she was a kid. It always iced over just enough for her to walk across the surface despite Molly’s pleas for her to come back. It only took her leg going through the ice once for her to learn her lesson. That type of cold was indescribable and now it encased her entirely instead of just her adolescent leg. 

Eve tried to take in a breath but couldn't no matter how many attempts she made. She could feel the icy water entering her lungs, running through her veins, freezing her from the inside out. The sensation didn't let up, not even as she forced her eyes closed and tried her best to break the connection with the spirit. 

“It's coming for him…” 

The unknown voice planted itself right in her mind, one that she immediately knew belonged to the woman. 

“...and you won't be able to stop it.” 

Candles fell to the floor from the weight of her body being pushed into the table again. She cowered against the edge, crouching just a bit in another vain attempt to get away from the spirit. Her lungs had yet to inflate, still only filled with the murky water of the frozen lake. Eve coughed and gagged at the taste of it, her body collapsing to the floor. She fell to her knees, hard, the crease in the tile scratching against her bruising skin. The woman no longer held her but her form remained at her side, standing so close that the skirt of her dress brushed along her quivering shoulder. 

Fuck. Was this how she was going to die? How embarrassing would it be to drown in the middle of a store without a drop of water in sight? Her death would stump everyone who investigated it until she was nothing more than a cold case, an urban legend told years down the line. Only those closest to her would know the truth. 

“This is your only warning.”

Just as she felt the end creeping up, a darkness dancing before her eyes, the frigid cold began to subside and a warmth wormed its way back into her. Life. 

Eve took in a ragged breath, her body falling to the floor in exhaustion and fear. Her forehead rested against her forearm, nails still digging into the old tile she had been forced down to. Fuck, it felt good to be able to breathe again. 

But who the hell was him? And why was his death being used to dangle in front of her like bait? 

X X X 

“So much for this being a safe place for you.” 

There was a sadness in Nick’s voice that she wasn’t accustomed to. It was almost like he was taking the other worldly threat personally, offended that something so sinister would happen in his place of business. A place they had both previously thought was an area of calm for her. 

She had barely looked at him after he found her trembling on the floor, having not yet moved from the position the spirit had left her in. It was embarrassing. No one had ever seen her like that except for Molly and their gran, and now she would give anything to have one of them holding her hand right then. Eh, well, maybe just her gran. 

“Don't do that,” she quietly spoke, her head shaking in a barely-there motion. “It's not your fault. Nothing can stop them from coming through.” 

Folio was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his sights set on her. She hesitantly looked his way but then quickly averted her gaze elsewhere. 

“You okay?” He asked in a soft voice and she could tell he was doing it so as to not spook her. 

Eve gave him a single nod in response. That's all she currently had the energy for. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

No. Definitely not. 

“I'm good.” 

Folio had a kind vibe to him. He was generous and selfless, always smiling and always helping out where he could. She never felt anything malicious radiating off of him which was a surprise considering most human beings had some sort of foul thoughts whether they were pushed back or not. But Folio? Eve assumed he was as pure as they came. Well…spiritually speaking, of course. 

So, his concern for her wasn't out of the ordinary. 

“Okay, where is she?” 

Oh no. 

Eve narrowed her eyes on Folio, her glare set on him merely because of his proximity. She didn't even look away when she felt her sister's hands roaming her shoulders, pushing her hair away, checking to make sure she was all in one piece. No one would ever know that Eve was the older twin by thirteen minutes with the way Molly liked to baby her. 

“You called my sister?” She was now looking at Nick, well aware that he was the one responsible for this. 

“Hey! What's with the tone? Of course he called me!” 

A hand lifted to gently nudge Molly’s touch away, her body also leaning in the opposite direction. She hated when her twin got like this, even more so when it was in front of other people. Eve wasn't helpless. She could take care of herself and she was more than capable of handling whatever the dead decided to throw at her next. But because she knew of where Molly's worry stemmed from, she tried not to take her anger out on her for it. 

“Molly, I'm fine.” She sternly repeated a few times as her sister continued to try to check her over. Eventually she stood up and walked a few quick steps in the opposite direction to place some space between herself and her sister. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened? Because getting a call from Nick saying he found you spazzing out on the floor is freakin’ scary, Eve.” 

“I wasn't spazzing out,” she quickly countered, eyes rolling. “I may have been crying but you try seeing ghosts everyday for eighteen years and let me know how well adjusted you become.” 

“I'm sorry, Eve. Molly told me before to always let her know if something happens. I didn't know you-”

A hand was held up to stop Nick from continuing with his statement. She didn't blame him. Molly had quickly taken over the motherly role after they moved out from their gran’s house when they were eighteen and she had yet to drop it after six years. 

Molly took a step forward and attempted to reach for her. She gave her twin a look of confusion and swiftly stepped out of line, her eyebrows raised. 

“Come on, Evie. Let me take you home. Please?” 

“What? No. I can make it home just fine on my own, thanks.” Shaking her head, Eve dismissed her sister with a wave of her hand and then looked at Folio and Nick again. She offered them a small smile, anything to let it be known that she was okay. 

“I appreciate you two, really.” She approached them, a hand then patting both of their shoulders in an awkward yet friendly gesture. Physical contact was out of her realm of comfort, if it wasn't already painfully obvious. 

With that, Eve took her leave as if nothing at all was bothering her. She didn't have the weight of the undead world weighing down on her shoulders or anything. No, certainly not. She was just as happy-go-lucky as the next girl. 

“Don't you dare take me off the schedule!” She yelled back to Nick before stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

X X X 

FOLIO: ghost girl 

FOLIO: the silver bullet. 9pm. 

EVE: Good evening to you too. 

EVE: But I can't. I have serious plans with my couch and Netflix. 

FOLIO: it wasn't a question! 

FOLIO: evelyn come on. it's about time you got some fresh air. 

EVE: A sweaty, crowded bar is considered “fresh air”? 

FOLIO: probably fresher than the stale air of your apartment. 

EVE: Leave my apartment out of this. 

FOLIO: i bet you haven't even opened a window in days. 

FOLIO: i'll buy you a drink and we can act like it's the old days. 

EVE: AKA six months ago. 

FOLIO: 🥺🥺🥺 pls

EVE: Fucking hell. Fine. I'll be there. 

The Silver Bullet was the kind of bar that was tucked away from the main road, keeping it safe from those who wouldn't be considered regulars. Despite this, it didn't mean the establishment wasn't ever busy, especially not when it came to the weekends. Eve was sure the bar could only open on Friday and Saturday nights and still make a killing. 

This was probably why she was already irritable upon entering the darkened building. 

“I told you she’d show up! You owe me $10!” Folio announced to Nick the moment he caught sight of Eve uncomfortably maneuvering through other bar patrons. She swore under her breath when an obnoxiously drunk man stepped back into her, nearly spilling the entirety of his beer down her back. 

“You seriously bet about whether or not I'd come?” She cut a glare at the man while approaching the opposite end of the bar, her voice projected loud enough to be heard by the intended audience. 

Eve eyed both of her friends now, her head slowly shaking at them. Before either could respond, she turned to the bartender, an older woman who knew them all by name at this point, and merely smiled at her to signal her need for a drink. Only a few short moments later, there was a fresh mojito sitting in front of her. 

“I said I'd buy you a drink and by that I meant an actual drink.” 

“A shot does not count as an actual drink!” She tried to protest while Folio ordered all of them a round of tequila shots, ignoring her qualms. 

Disregarding her own frustrations, Eve made no further complaints as she took the small glass that had been extended to her. She quickly tossed the liquor back and then chased it with a swallow from her minty drink — anything to cut the horrid taste of straight tequila. 

“Can I get another?” She called out to the bartender who would be her best friend for the night. 

“Damn, someone didn't come here to play.” Nick laughed into his beer, both brows raised. 

“I think you two know better than anyone else that it's been a hell of a week and I deserve this.” 

Folio draped his arm across her shoulders, his hand giving the opposite arm a friendly pat. “We're here for ya, our little morose fairy.”

“Well…yeah…but…” Nicholas glanced to the left, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Enough for her to pick up on it. “It might be about to get worse. Just know that I didn't invite her.”

“No…”

“Yes.”

She whined, her lips pulling down into a dramatic frown. “Please tell me she isn't, Nicky. Please.”

“Sorry, Eve,” Nick grimaced before forcing a wide grin on his face just as she felt the familiar embrace of her sister from the side. 

“Hi, Molly,” she grumbled while taking a large swallow from her mojito to stop herself from speaking her disdain upon seeing her beloved baby sister. A glance over to her living reflection and she noticed the unfortunately familiar face of Cyrus awkwardly shuffling behind her, his soft pink button up shirt making him stick out in a place like this. “And Cyrus,” Eve added. 

She didn't need to look at Folio to know his mood had drastically dropped. She could feel it even with his arm still slung over her shoulders after Molly had released her, a friendly but disinterested smile being sent the way of her sister and said sister's boyfriend. Folio had been crushing on her twin since the moment he laid eyes on her over a year ago. While he did flirt here and there, he was otherwise respectful of Molly’s bland relationship despite everyone being able to tell how not into Cyrus she was when it really came down to it. 

But Cyrus was the safe option, and Eve knew her twin well enough to know that Molly craved security. 

“I'm gonna run to the bathroom,” Cyrus spoke to Molly. His attention then shifted to Eve, a punchable grin overtaking his expression. “Casper isn’t lingering over there, right?” He made a lame attempt at a joke, his fingers wiggling with an added ‘woooo’ accompanying his taunt. 

It took everything in her not to chuck her nearly empty glass at his head. Molly elbowed his side, murmuring her scolding at him through clenched teeth before he sauntered away with a roll of his eyes. Eve was sure he would complain later about how much of a drag they all are and unable to take a joke. 

“Sorry, Evie,” her sister shook her head. Molly then slid by them so she could order her own drink, her typically small voice easily heard over the rest of the patrons trying to gain the bartender’s attention. That's how Eve knew her sister was fired up. Oh well. She didn't have it in her to deal with it right then. 

“Hey,” she gently nudged Folio and offered him a smile. “Wanna go dance?” 

This wasn't the sort of establishment with a dance floor and the only people who were usually dancing had already hit the drunk level of not remembering their night. That never stopped Folio from bouncing around, though, his pent up energy something to envy. He visibly perked up at the suggestion and nodded. 

“Hell yeah, Eve! That's what I'm talking about!” Thrusting a fist up into the air, his arm then slid off her shoulders and down to her hand so he could help drag her to their usual designated drunk dancing area. 

The far side of the bar is where they lived for awhile. A live band was always playing on the weekends, though it usually only made for good background noise to help keep the thoughts at bay, and right at the front is where Folio took solace. The speakers were near them, the heavy bass causing her eardrums to thump and her chest to vibrate. This didn't prevent Eve from jumping around with him, her arms above her head, hips moving to the beat. Folio liked to break out random old school dance moves that would have her laughing, aiding in the escape she was always desperately seeking. 

Eve did a careful turn on the toe of her platform heels, long strands of her dark hair fanning out around her in an almost mesmerizing way. As soon as she was settled forward, Folio grasped her hand and spun her again, her petite form easily going beneath his arched arm. The drinks mixed with her constant motions were beginning to get to her, dizziness settling in. She stumbled a bit as she tried to regain her composure, though the faces of strangers around her were fuzzy on the edges. 

That's when the faces began to morph into something more nefarious. The color of their skin dulled and sagged, large lesions forming on their cheeks and foreheads. Blood dripping from the exposed sores. The hallucination was so vivid that Eve swore she could even smell the putrid scent of their decaying flesh. 

Fraud. Fake. Scammer. 

Their voices chanted in unison, each word like a pinprick to her brain. 

Fake. 

Fake. 

Fake. 

Eve didn't realize how tightly she was grasping Folio’s shoulder until he was gripping her wrist and cradling her face. She blinked a few times in an attempt to focus his worried eyes that were now in her line of sight, but it was no use. Faces of the dead continued to swarm her vision, darkness seeping in. 

“Eve? Are you okay?” Folio sounded like he was a hundred miles away but she somehow managed to nod to his question.  

“I just…I need some air.”

Heartless! 

Worthless! 

Cruel! 

Folio reached for her, though her arm slipped from his grip and she was then swallowed by the other bar goers. Getting to the back door of the Silver Bullet was much easier said than done. Eve could barely find her footing, each step harder than the last. The walls were closing in, air becoming scarce. She pressed a hand to her chest, well aware of the rapid beating of her heart beneath her rib cage. Her nails scratched at her skin and every breath brought forth less and less relief. 

It was like she was back at Cellar Door with the ghost of the old woman breathing down her neck. 

Then, she was pushing against the back door that felt like a wall of cement, her weakened muscles straining under the weight, and she was finally free. Eve gasped as soon as the cool night air washed over her. Oxygen was entering her lungs again, each inhale she took a blessing. She rushed down the steps and into the alley that was lit by a lone street light that set an eerie orange glow to her surroundings. Trembling hands pressed into the outer bricks of the building, her head hanging down between her shoulders. 

In. Out. In. Out. The pressure on her chest began to lessen, just as the black clouding her vision dissipated in unison. She couldn't remember the last time she had experienced a panic attack such as that, especially not one triggered by virtually nothing. 

Only a few minutes had passed when the back door opened again, music and laughter flooding the alleyway. She cursed under her breath as she turned away, one hand still resting on the bricks to keep herself propped up. 

“Eve?” The voice had been chit chatting with another but abruptly cut off upon realizing she was out there. 

“Hey,” she called out, a hand waving back to Nicholas. She would recognize his voice anywhere. It was the second voice that was a mystery to her. 

“Did it happen again? Are you okay?” 

Goddamit. She didn't want to be that friend. The one everyone had to worry about and look after. So, she forced a smile and glanced at Nick from over her shoulder, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah – I mean no, it didn't happen again. I'm fine. I just needed some air.” 

“You don't seem fine.” Footsteps edged closer to where she stood partially obstructed by shadows. She took in a wobbly breath and turned on her heels to face her friend, as well as the stranger lingering back a few feet. 

Another smile, another shake of her head, another lie. It was the routine of her life. 

Eve opened her mouth to speak but then promptly closed it when nothing but a sob lodged in her throat. She was hoping Nicholas couldn't see the tears in her eyes, but the concerned expression he wore told her that he didn’t need to in order to know something was wrong. 

“I'm sorry,” she finally breathed out, followed by a nervous laugh. “I'm okay, I promise. Really.” 

That's when her gaze cut to the guy in the distance. He was shuffling on his feet, his dark eyes set firmly on her. He wore a jacket over his hoodie, the hood resting atop his head, but his long hair was still visible. With his fists plunged into the pockets of his jacket, he was looking at her with a curiosity that made her slightly uneasy. 

But what did she expect when she was standing outside in the winter with just a short dress on and tears in her eyes? He probably thought she was a lunatic. 

Eve tried to focus her attention back on Nicholas who was still questioning her current state but she couldn't stop herself from glancing at the other guy every couple of words. She was receiving a read on him that made her want to cower back. It was something dark and unusual. This particular feeling wasn't necessarily him - instead something that was maybe…attached. Looming just over his head. 

“Everything alright?” He called out, hesitant steps now being taken closer to where she stood with Nick. The moment he was within arms reach of her, she stepped to the side, nearly slipping on the littered alleyway as she did. 

“Sorry, Noah. We're good. This is Eve, she works for me.” Nick glanced her way, his brows furrowing slightly at her odder-than-usual demeanor. “Eve, this is Noah, a friend from home. He just moved back out here.” 

“Noah,” she repeated, his name thick in her mouth. “Hi.” 

The only response from him she received was a barely-there smile and a nod of acknowledgement. His eyes then fell to her exposed chest, a backwards tilt of his head made towards her. “You're bleeding.” 

Eve quickly dropped her gaze to see the streak of blood coming from the self inflicted scratch. It wasn't brutally deep, but it ran from her collar bone to the center of her chest, the lower portion coated in a faint red. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, a hand quickly swiping at the wound. This only led to the blood smearing across her fair skin, to which Nicholas began patting his pockets in search of a napkin. 

Noah beat him to it, his hand now outstretched and offering her a napkin with the bar’s logo stamped on the corner. He looked at her, the napkin, and then back to her eyes, silently instructing her to take it. Eve did so hesitantly, their fingers brushing just the faintest bit. 

“I promise I haven't used it,” he forced a chuckle. “You just never know when you might need one.” 

Eve could see his lips moving but she was far too focused on the sudden wave of dread that washed over every inch of her body. She quickly jerked her hand back, unintentionally snatching the napkin from him in the process. Noah looked offended, his lips parted, words of distaste eager to be let loose on her, but he somehow managed to hold back. 

Maybe it's because he was Nick’s friend or maybe he could see the terror written all over her face. 

Without another word, Eve rushed away from the two men, her hand clasped tight around the napkin. 

“What the fuck was that about?” She heard Noah ask just as she had opened the door to head back inside. 

Nick was at a loss for words, but ultimately shook his head at his childhood friend. “She's just…having a hard go of it right now. Don't take it personally.” 

Whatever else was said between them was lost in the commotion of the Silver Bullet. Honestly, she didn't care either way, though. She was too concerned about whatever had just reared its ugly head at her when she touched Noah. 

X X X 

“Fuck, babe, you gotta slow down.” 

Heavy breathing crowded her room as she rode her usual hook up later that night. His hands were tight on her hips and his brows pulled taut, indicating that he was clearly trying his best not to finish yet. Which was shocking considering their late night visits usually led to him getting off way before she did. 

“Seriously, Eve. You're gonna make me bust right away.” 

Eve wished she could tell him to shut the hell up and let her do her thing, but his cock felt too good and she was beyond eager to cum. Her hands pressed into his chest, her hips rolling down with his in a way that had her clit grinding against his pelvis in the most delicious way. 

All night she had been trying to get Noah’s face out of her mind. She thought calling Jolly was the answer to this problem, but it had only proved to frustrate her more. He wasn't a terrible fuck, not in the least bit, though something was keeping her from meeting her end. Eve had been right on the cusp of an orgasm for awhile now, frantically chasing it and desperate to make it her own. Unfortunately, her mind and body weren't communicating so well. 

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, her dark hair like a curtain around them. She had leaned down so her chest was against his, praying that the new angle would get her there. Jolly’s hands grabbed her ass, his own groans of pleasure reaching their peak as he helped bounce her on his cock. The pressure was beginning to build inside of her again, her breath shifting to heavy pants. She was so close. Even Jolly appeared proud of himself for finally getting her there. 

But then it began to slip away once more. 

“Fuck!” Eve suddenly cried out, but not from the waves of ecstasy that were still just out of reach. She was frustrated. Mad. Terrified. Not even sex could help her escape as it usually did. That's why she had held onto Jolly for so long - he was a nice guy but also willing to hook up with her, no strings attached, whenever she called. 

Eve halted her motions and then rolled off of him without a word. Her heart was still racing as she stared up at her dark ceiling, the occasional car driving by casting a faint glow throughout her room. She could sense Jolly’s confusion beside her and she knew he was about to be equally frustrated since she hadn't let him finish. If she had been in a better mood than she would've let him do exactly that in her throat, but she was feeling selfish. If she couldn't get off, then neither could he. 

“You okay? Did I do something?" 

Christ, she was so tired of people asking if she was okay. 

She heavily sighed, both hands rubbing over her face. “No…yes…I don't know. I mean, no, you didn't do anything. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.” 

Jolly was great because he didn't want anything more from her either. He was about a decade older than her, give or take, but he didn't judge her or make her feel like she needed to be tossed into a padded room when she confided in him with her issues. It was a rare occasion when she would and a lot of details were left out, but he understood. He never tried to dig deeper. Never made her uncomfortable. He took what she gave, mentally and physically, and he was happy with it. 

After Molly, Folio, and Nick, he was probably one of the only people she could call a friend. Loosely, but still a friend nonetheless. 

“I'm sorry,” she finally said. “I shouldn't have woken you up for you to come over and only get…this.” Eve motioned to her disaster of a self, eyes rolling. “I was hoping it would help.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” Jolly turned to face her, his upper body propped up on his elbow. She looked his way and offered a soft smile before lightly shrugging. Ugh, she hated that he was nice even when their night ended in disappointment for them both. 

“I just can't get this guy out of my head.”

“Ouch, Orion. Not even thinking about me when we fuck? I'm wounded.” 

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” she jutted her elbow out to gently nudge him. 

“Is it a spirit thing?” 

Eve took a moment to ponder, a soft sigh again escaping past her lips. After a few seconds she finally nodded, but hesitantly. “Maybe? I think so…it's just so different from what I'm used to.” 

Jolly remained silent, allowing her this time to gather her thoughts before continuing. 

“I had a really bad visit earlier and things have just been off ever since. Then I met this guy tonight, a friend of Nick’s, and when we touched - accidentally - it was like I felt that same overwhelming terror all over again. Like I couldn’t breathe.” 

When she looked at him, he was wearing his own face of confusion. He didn't know the ins and outs of her hell, no one did, but even he knew something sounded odd about it. 

“Do you usually have things like that happen? Connected situations?” 

“No, not that I can remember.”

“So…maybe it's just a coincidence. You could've still been spooked from earlier and this new guy somehow had your brain correlating the two.” 

Eve wanted to be able to agree with Jolly. She so badly wanted to see it from his perspective and believe it to be true, but deep down she knew better. Never one to believe in coincidences, Eve could feel that something was amiss. She couldn't explain it, the thoughts not able to form into coherent words, but that didn't stop her from knowing. 

Strands of hair were then being softly brushed from her face, followed by her bare shoulder. She didn't look at him, though. They weren't about to stare lovingly into each other’s eyes as she divulged all of her inner turmoil because that wasn't what this was. 

“Want me to stay?” 

There was no hesitation as she shook her head. “No, it's okay. I'll be fine.” 

Only once had she allowed Jolly to spend the night and that was merely because she had a particularly nasty ghost tormenting her every night after 3am at the time. Nothing further came of it but she didn't want him to get the wrong idea or start to think it would become a normal occurrence. 

“I really am sorry,” she admitted as he pushed the heavy comforter back to drag himself out of bed. “Feel free to tell me to ‘fuck off' next time I call you.” 

Jolly chuckled while fumbling with his t-shirt, shaking it around to turn it right side out again. “Nah, you know I'd never do that. I'm always here when you need me.” 

“Gross. Stop being so nice.” 

“You're a fucking enigma, Evelyn Orion,” he laughed. “But you've got a great ass to make up for it.” 

NOAH POV

Being a skeptic in a room full of believers was a wild concept. One mention of him not falling for the bullshit of the paranormal world and Folio was ready to jump down his throat. He took that shit to heart and Noah would've felt bad about it had it not been so damn funny to see him flustered about ghosts. 

“There's no science behind it. No proof!” He argued while playing with the metal tab of his beer can. 

“There's endless proof in videos and pictures posted online, man! What more do you need?”

Noah waved him off, his head shaking as he took a long swallow from his now room temperature beer. “All of that ‘proof’ can be faked so easily,” he exclaimed after clearing his throat. 

Nick cut a glance at him, his brows raising. “Don't let Eve hear you say shit like that.” 

“The weird girl from the bar?”

He knew exactly who Nick was talking about. He hadn't been able to forget her unique eyes since first seeing her earlier. 

“She isn't weird. Don't be an asshole.” Folio was quick to defend the girl but Noah wasn't so sure that his friend even truly believed what he was saying. 

Also - why the fuck had he been so quick to stick up for her? 

“Folio has a soft spot for Eve but also her sister…mostly her sister.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Folio threw a fist at Nick’s shoulder, though only hard enough to make him jolt to the side in laughter. 

“I hope her sister isn't as rude as she is. I was trying to help the girl out and she looked at me like I had just kicked her dog.” 

Fucking ridiculous if you were to ask him. What had made her so off put? That's really what he wanted to know but Eve seemed like the kind of girl who would knee him in the balls if he got too close – not something he was willing to risk. 

“She's having a bad time. I already told you not to take it personally.” 

“I'm not taking it personal,” Noah abruptly snipped. “I'm just saying that it was rude as fuck and also kinda weird.” 

How this random girl had managed to wrap both of his best friends around her finger, he would never know. 

Folio took a long drag from his beer, then he was shifting to lean forward with his elbows on his knees. He was staring directly at Noah with an all too serious expression that had somehow found a home on his face. 

“Look, Eve has this weird ability to see ghosts but she doesn't like to talk about it.”

That sure was a loadaed as fuck statement to make so casually.

“Is it because she's full of shit?” Noah interrupted before his friend could continue. Folio glared at him and flashed him his middle finger. 

“No, jackass. Molly, her sister, can back it all up, alright? It's apparently been something she's dealt with since she was a kid and Molly explained to me that it happens sort of in waves. Right now she's at the very top of a wave and it's about to all come crashing the fuck down.” 

A chuckle escaped his throat for the hand motions Folio was using to accompany his story. And oh what a tale it was. Someone claiming to be able to see ghosts? He wasn't stupid enough - or drunk enough - to fall for that age-old scam. 

Nick offered his two cents about it after a beat. “Yeah, dude, for real. Some weird shit happened with her at the store earlier and we both saw how shaken up she was. Eve isn't the type to fake that kind of thing.” 

The problem was that Noah wanted to believe his friends but in doing that, he would also have to believe Eve. He didn't know this girl; he had no idea who she was, what she was about, what her story was. There was no way he could possibly trust whatever attention seeking stories she had sobbed to Nick and Folio. 

“Sounds to me like she already has enough people advocating for her, so she doesn't really need me doing the same.” 

Even if she did look fucking stunning back in the alley when he first saw her - at least before she looked at him as if she hated his guts. Dark hair, full lips, piercing eyes, and thighs that he could see himself suffocating between; all things that would typically have him on his knees. Noah wasn't going to fall for the allure of a beautiful girl again, though, especially not one that was obviously certifiably bat shit. 

“Damn,” Folio shook his head, Nick soon doing the same. “Virginia made you ice cold, man.” 

Without a word, Noah swallowed down the last couple gulps of his beer and immediately reached for another one. Virginia wasn't a topic he wanted to touch on. Not then, not ever. He had already come to terms with the course his life took and he was far from willing to hash it all out with his best friends. At this point, he could no longer find a single fuck to give. 

“So…” Nick drew out the word as his fingers tapped against his beer can in a rhythmic show. “Are you going to join Folio’s little band of paranormal misfits?” 

Noah appeared visibly taken back, a laugh of disbelief sounding from him. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because you're good with all that tech stuff,” Folio exclaimed. “Plus, it'll be awesome to have a skeptic on board.” 

“Is your girlfriend in it?” Noah knew how childish he sounded but the alcohol helped him not to care, as well as his typical all around everyday bright and shining attitude. 

Folio’s face scrunched up, his hands tossing out in front of him. “What? I don't have a girlfriend.”

“He's talking about Eve,” Nick leaned over to discreetly explain, although they were all sitting rather close and Noah could both see and hear him clearly. 

“Oh!” Folio slowly nodded in understanding. “She's not my girlfriend, dick. We're friends. I don't even know if she's the relationship type.” He glanced at Nicholas for confirmation but all he received was a shrug. 

“But if she was?” Noah continued to press, though he had no idea why. This weird girl's personal life was of no interest to him. 

“Then we would still just be friends. What's with the interrogation?” Folio eyed him suspiciously from over the rim of his beer, brows raised. 

Nick jumped in, his demeanor light as he chuckled through his words. “Yeah, man. Sounds like you're fishing to see if Eve is single and if either of us are interested.” 

“Fuck off, no. She's not my type.” 

“Yeah, okay. What is your type then?”

“We’re really getting off topic,” Folio murmured to himself between Noah and Nick’s back and forth. 

“Sane, for starters.” 

“We're getting off topic!” Folio quickly jumped to his feet, his voice loud enough to echo through the room. “Are you in or not, Davis? That's all I need to know so I can go the fuck to bed.” 

Noah dropped his head back against the chair he was seated in, loudly groaning. “I fucking guess so, Jesus Christ. It’s not like I have anything else to do.” 

Rolling his eyes, Folio threw his empty beer can at Noah, the aluminum hitting him square in the chest. “And I haven't gotten Eve on board yet, but when I do, you better play nice.” 

“I always play nice. I'm the nicest guy in the city.” Noah feigned offense but he wasn't convincing either of his friends otherwise. 

“Just be at Cellar Door tomorrow at six, okay?” 

Nodding, he waved Folio off. “I'll be sure to have my Ghostbusters uniform dry cleaned properly beforehand.” 

author's notes: i've had majority of this written since october 2024 (maybe before? i'm bad at time) and finally decided to finish it. please please please let me know if you're into it or not with a simple like, reblog, or even a message! i love hearing your take on things. your support means the absolute world to me, so much that i can't even put it into words. thank you!

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[tokkiwrites]

in which you finally come home from college. it's been almost 4 years, and you're shocked to see how hot your dad's best friend has gotten ㅡ but he can say the same for you.

tags: dbf!joel miller (yeppeee), dom!joel, sub!reader, afab reader, age gap (reader is 23 n joel is in his mid 40s), rough sex, unprotected p in v (wrap that up yall), pet names (lots of em), no use of y/n (ik shocking), spit, choking, trying to have sex in secret (idk what you call that), oh yeah readers dads name is William but every1 calls him Will ok?? pls let me know if i missed anything!!!

You step off the bus, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation as you gaze at the familiar sights of your small hometown. It's been four years since you last set foot in this place, and the memories flood back. You know you'll find your dad, Joel and Sarah waiting for you, but there's also that fluttering in your stomachㅡㅡ that secret crush on him that you've never quite been able to shake. As you walk down the street, you can't help but wonder how much things have changed.

Hopefully, not much.

As you approach your childhood home, you can't help but notice how the old oak tree in the front yard has grown taller, casting a welcoming shade on the well-worn swing that still hangs from its sturdy branches. Your heart flutters as you step onto the front porch, taking in the familiar scent of your dad's famous apple pie wafting through the screen door.

You open the door to find your dad, in the cozy kitchen, wearing his favorite flannel shirt as he carefully pulls a bubbling pie from the oven. His eyes light up when he sees you, and he rushes over to engulf you in a warm, tight hug. "You're finally home, sweetheart," he says, his voice filled with genuine joy.

Joel's daughter, Sarah, stands a few feet away, her eyes lighting up with a bright smile as she watches the reunion. "Welcome back!" she exclaims, stepping forward to give you a warm hug too.

And there he is, tall and way too massive. when did he get so big? ㅡㅡ you're not complaining, though. His hair has started to gray, and his beard is gruff... your eyes sparkle as you stare up at Joel, waiting for him to say something.

"welcome home, darlin'" he breaks the silence, your heart racing as Joel's deep, rich voice washes over you. he steps forward, embracing you warmly. his arms are strong, and you can't help but take a deep breath in as you inhale his musky scent that's almost intoxicating.

As he pulls back from the hug, you meet his warm, hazel eyes, the world almost stopping. You've always been drawn to him, all though you thought it was just a stupid kid crush but now, with the years of separation and growth behind you, that attraction only seemed to intensify as you get to look at him again.

you're brought out of your trance as your dad's voice echoes through the room "c'mon, kiddo. made your favorite: cinnamon apple pie!" You can't help but giggle as you see the sheer excitement in your dad.

"dad, you didn't need to."

"course i had to, you've been away for years, and i aint lettin you off that easy, girl."

You can't help but chuckle at your dad's enthusiasm, feeling a warm sense of belonging. "Well, in that case, I'm not going to argue with your logic," you reply with a playful wink. The scent of the freshly baked cinnamon apple pie fills the air, and it's a comforting reminder of the home you've missed so much during your time away.

"good thing you're home." Joel speaks up "now he can cook for you and not stuff me full of all his kitchen...experiments." his chuckle is low, making your heart thump. you nod, slicing up the pie and placing a piece each on four different plates, adorning every slice with some fresh cream.

"Oh, I think I've missed those kitchen experiments more than anything," you quip with a sly grin, sharing a secret look with your dad.

Sarah chimes in, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "We've been Will's taste testers for years, but now you're back to rescue us, right?"

You all sit around the kitchen table, enjoying the warm pie and the laughter that fills the room. It's moments like these that make you grateful for being back home, surrounded by the people you love, even if it does come with a side of unspoken desire for the one man who has always had a special place in your heart.

does that make it sound better than saying you want your dad's best friend to fuck you? maybe.

"god, can you believe it's been four years? feels like only yesterday i was givin' you piggyback rides." Joel smiles, eyes crinkled at the corners as he takes a sip of some bear. "hey, Sarah is still little, you can give her all the piggyback rides you wanna." you laugh.

"don't give him any ideas, girl." the teen furrows her brows as she takes a large bite from her pie. "actually, me 'n joel thought it would be a good idea if we had a movie night tomorrow, for old times sake. do you remember those? god, they were fun, huh?"

"dad! you're saying it as if I'm ancient... I ain't 40." Joel turns to you, raising his brows "careful, missy. don't discriminate against 40 year olds." your cheeks light up as your eyes meet his, unable to say anything. you just swallow what you've been chewing and nod away.

Joel's laughter fills the room, and he playfully nudges your shoulder. "Alright, enough teasin'. Let's focus on planning that movie night. Remember how we used to pick out our favorite films and stack up the snacks like a mountain?"

Sarah chimes in, excitement in her eyes. "Can we make cheesy popcorn with chocolate chips?" you scrunch up your nose,"gross, sarah! you still like those? thought it was just weird kid cravings, you know?"

"you didn't even try them, stop bein' a hater!" she groans, slumped in her seat. You chuckle at Sarah's determination. "Alright, alright, I'll give your cheesy popcorn with chocolate chips a shot. After all, it's all about making this movie night special."

Joel grins and pats your back. "That's the spirit, kiddo. We're up for some culinary adventures, ain't we?" your heart jumps, and you feel like a teenager againㅡㅡ god, some things never change.

As the night falls, Sarah heads to sleep in your room, and your dad leaves you and Joel to clean up what's left in the kitchen. It didn't take long, 10 minutes at most, so you decide to sit for a bit.

The living room is bathed in a gentle, dim glow from the soft, ambient lighting. You and Joel settle onto the couch, the familiar cushions cradling you both. As you chat and reminisce, the comfortable silence that has always defined your connection fills the room.

Joel reaches for the old photo album your dad always kept on the coffee table, and you watch as he flips through its pages. The photographs tell the story of both your family's journey together – from vacations at the beach to the holidays you celebrated. Memories cascade from each page, and Joel's gaze lingers on a particularly cherished photo.

He turns to you, a wistful smile on his face. "Remember this trip, that cabin by the lake? Sarah was so little then, and she caught her first fish. You were so little..."

"yeah, I remember..."

"you're all grown up now. I honestly thought you'd forget about your dad and I." Joel chuckles, wrapping his bicep around you, pulling you in closer. "Don't be ridiculous. never in a million years." you reply.

then there's silence. your gaze locks on his, and you can hear your heartbeat in your headㅡㅡ his eyes never leave yours. Joel's calloused palm reaches your face, tracing small circles onto your burning cheek.

"think your dad's gonna come out soon?" he asks, licking his bottom lip as he waits for your response. while he looks at you, words get stuck in your throat, and you can't get them outㅡㅡ so you just shake your head 'no'.

"thought you'd grow out of this shyness, darlin'. i guess it's that effect I've on ya, huh?" smirking, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, causing you to shiver lightly.

Joel's presence, so close, and his touch have you captivated. The room feels charged with tangible tension. His teasing remark makes you smile, though you're still struggling to find words, the unspoken feelings hanging in the air.

"c'mon, sweetheart, answer me."

"j-joelㅡ" what does he want you to say? is he testing you? does he feel it, too? better yet, does he hear how fast your heart is beating whenever he leans closer to you.

"ya still hear the water runnin?" you nod. "good." he licks his lips before grabbing the back of your head, pulling you inches away from his lips. "can I?"

you muster the fastest 'yes', and when realization hits, your face grows red as an apple, causing joel to laugh. "eager girl." and with that, he leans in, placing his lips atop yours. the kiss is deep, a bit sloppy, but it feels like it's been heavy waiting to happen for so long. his beard scratches at your skin, drawing soft hums from you as it does so.

a few moments pass, and joel pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips, one that he breaks when his rough thumb drags itself across your bottom lip. "pretty, pretty girl." you moan, you feel so pathetic. he's barely touched you, yet you feel the pool growing inside your panties by the second.

"p-please, joel.."

"please, what, darlin? gotta tell me exactly what ya want." he smiles, prepping soft pecks onto your face. "t-touch me..please." you gather the courage to speak up, watching his eyes grow darker as he hears your request.

"fuck, baby...what would your dad say if he heard you just then, huh?" chuckling low, his fingers tangle themselves in your hair, making you whimper. "don't c-care.."

"that so?" he tilts his head to the side, his thumb urging your mouth to open. "c'mon, girl, open." and you do as you're told, opening you mouth wide, tongue lolled out. he then gathers some spit in his mouth before letting the glistening droplet fall from his lips onto your tongue.

"swallow." he commands, and you obliged. "atta girl."

its so overwhelming, so dirty, and he didn't even do anything. at this moment, it feels as if only a slight nip at your skin could send you over the edge.

suddenly, you both hear steps upstairs, followed by a door closing. it's your dad. "you guys alright? think ive had too much to eatㅡ nothin' new there. imma head to bed, you guys cand manage yourselves, yeah?" and with that he closes the door to his room, leaving you and Joel staring at each other.

"tell me, you really wanna do this, darlin' ?"

"please, joel...need thisㅡㅡ need you."

Guilt clawed at your heart. Yet, you couldn't stop what you felt. it was wrong, but in this moment, it felt so right. "fuck, okay angel."

his large hands start to pull at your clothes, undressing you in an instant, leaving your naked body shivering. "i got you, babygirl." joel leans in, trailing soft kisses down the curve of your hip all the way to your mid thigh. your body jolts as you try to remain quiet.

"gonna let me ruin you, sweet girl?" and it feels like your heart could run a marathon. you nod away, eagerly. you feel so pathetic, all sprawled out naked under him, whilst he's still dressed. "words, baby."

"fuckㅡ please, joel, please..." you almost cry.

he laughs, fingers reaching your folds and swirling around them "fuck, darlin', you're so wet. all this for me, hm?" he teases "yes, f-for you...please."

"shh.." hushing you, he finally pushes inside one of his fingers, making you bite back a moan. you cover your mouth with your hands, a warm sensation flooding your bodyㅡ it feels like you could come just now.

"so tight, baby. can't wait to feel you 'round my cock." you choke back a pathetic whine. "you like it? like it when i fuck you with my fingers and talk to you like this?" you nod, pushing yourself further onto his digits. "filthy girl, s'it turn you on knowing your dad could walk in in us, huh? want him to see ya full of my cock? c'mon, answer, girl."

"yesㅡ shit, yes, please, joel, please..."

"s'okay, baby, don't worry. 'll fuck you so good you'll forget your own name. make you take this cock until you can't walk no more."

your vision was hazy from all the tears in your eyes, and your heart felt stuck in your throat. you watch the man discard himself of his clothesㅡㅡ holy. fucking. shit. all of your fantasies of Joel couldn't prepare you for what was going to happen. he stood there, tall, gruff as he stroked himself. his length was girthy, almost too thick, veiny, with a red, angry tip. he knew he was huge, that's what made it so exciting to him watching you gawk at his cock.

"c'mon, doll. it won't bite...open wide now. widee ㅡ there you go..." he preaises, sliding his length between your lips. it was hard to adjust, and honestly, your jaw was hurting from the first minutes you had him in your mouth. but the way his lips dripped with quiet moans, 'goodgirls' and 'thats rights', it made you push back the pain. it was bearableㅡ you just wanted to make him proud.

"jesus christ, girl, you look so pretty, mouth full of my cock." the man laughs, pushing his length further down your warm throat that was constricting as you gagged around him. "shitㅡ gonna make me come, sweet girl." hissing, he pulls out, leaving you gasping for air.

"joel, need you inside...please.."

"you're so gorgeous like this, baby. my gorgeous girl, begging for cock." he sighs, caressing you cheek before his hand slides down to wrap around your neck, squeezing it and making you light-headed. "gonna let me fuck you stupid, darlin'? c'mon, answer."

"y-yes, Joel, want you t'fuck me s-stupid, please..."

joel scoffs, placing a little kiss on your forehead. with his other hand, he grabs his shaft and drags the tip along your folds, collecting all the juices that dripped from you. "fuckin' soaked for me, baby."

"jus' for you.."

"i know, baby. i know.."

without stalling, he pushes in just the tip making you yelp as the sting spread through your pussy. you stare him deep in the eyes as he pushes in further, hushing you along the way. it was so bigㅡ too big. but you loved it, you loved that it was all you dreamed about and more.

"s' everything good, darlin'? want me to stop?"

"please don't...move, please, i need youㅡ please.."

"gonna give me a stroke if you keep on beggin' like that, baby..." with that, he pushes in all the way, ripping through you, his precum mixing with your juices that were flowing over his cock. he thrusts in you cunningly, gripping your hips tightly and licking long strips down your neck. all you could do is sit there and take it. take it and make him proud.

"so pretty, baby. so, so pretty and tight, shitㅡ " joel moans, indulging further into you. your hips crash with his, and you try your best to say quiet as you feel his cock hit so deep, you're sure it reached your stomach. the room spun with you, you could only mutter little 'joels' as he pounded into you.

after a few more pumps that familiar feeling was pooling at your core, causing you to tighten around Joel's length, which made him grunt and pull your hips flush to his "that's it, girl. come around my cock, let me feel ya."

you let go. bliss and pleasure take over you as your body contorts under joel, your walls fluttering around his shaft perfectly. it doesn't take him long reach his high, pumping a few more times into you before he take his cock out and paint your stomach with white, silky strands.

you both sit there in silence for a bit before you finally decide to speak up. "movie night tomorrow will be...something."

"now you're talkin' , darlin'? c'mon, let's get ya cleaned up and pray no one heard us."

⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾‎  토끼's NOTE : yall are eating good today. here with another fic this time our fave insane dilf JOEL !!! this has 2.78k words and probably lots of grammatical errors ITS NOT PROOFREAD OK?!?!?! hope you like it guys <3 tysm and ily!!!