#and now I need a coffee break and to take a drag on my cigarette of self-negation

[honeyedwords111]

warnings: heavy angst. graphic descriptions of abuse. Mentions of blood. Extreme age gap (no smut but I intend to go in that direction) DBF

P1 ⬅️ here

Words: 1.5k

Description: You struggle with life as a young adult with a father who has a gambling and alcohol addiction, you seek comfort in the arms of your dads best friend

His arm is heavy over your shoulders—solid and warm. A stark contrast to the biting chill of the night air.

You don’t say anything. You don’t want to. You just lean into him, breathing in the scent of leather, tobacco, and something that’s just… distinctly Arthur.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel safe.

“Will you visit us soon?” Your voice is quiet, breaking the silence like a pebble thrown in still water.

Arthur pauses. Takes a long drag from his cigarette. Blows the smoke into the dark like he’s exhaling a secret.

“Yeah.”

Just one word. But it’s enough. A little ember of hope flickers in your chest.

Then he does something unexpected. He takes another drag—then holds the cigarette out to you.

“Wanna give it a try?”

You blink. Caught off guard.

Your father’s voice rings in your head like a warning bell: Girls do not smoke.

“My father would be so mad…” you eye the cigarette like it might bite.

Arthur smirks. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Your cheeks go warm. Not from the night air, but from how he’s looking at you—teasing, but patient. Like he’s letting you choose.

Slowly, you take the cigarette between your fingers. Bring it to your lips.

Inhale.

And immediately start coughing your lungs out.

Arthur laughs, a warm, rough sound, patting your back. “Ain’t as easy as it looks, huh?”

You’re still wheezing. “No. It is not.”

He grins, taking the cigarette back, puffing on it like a pro. You roll your eyes. But you’re smiling now, too.

“My father must never know about this,” you say, only half-joking. You know exactly what he’d do if he found out.

Arthur holds up a hand, mock-serious. “It’ll be our lil’ secret.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, kid. I promise.”

You hesitate. Then you stick out your pinky.

“Pinky promise me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You serious, girl?”

You nod. “Dead serious.”

He sighs dramatically but loops his pinky around yours. His hand is huge compared to yours. Calloused. Rough. But gentle.

“Break that promise and I’ll come for you,” you warn, half laughing.

He chuckles. “I’m a man of my word. Or—” he gives your pinky the lightest shake, “—a man of my pinky.”

⋆｡°✩⧗✩°｡⋆

Not long after, your father comes storming out of the station.

His face is twisted into a frown. His eyes lock onto you. He sees the jacket draped over your shoulders. Arthur’s arm still around you.

Something flickers in his eyes. But then he shakes it off.

You freeze. Is he mad you left the room? Or that you’re this close to him?

Arthur doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. If anything, he seems… calm.

Your father reaches you. Grabs your arm—hard.

“Y/N. We are leaving.”

His voice is tight. Off. He looks… hunted.

“Daddy? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Be quiet.” He yanks you away from Arthur, dragging you toward the carriage.

Arthur’s voice cuts through the tension. Low. Even. But with an edge.

“Whoa there, y/f/n. No need to shove the kid around.”

Your father doesn’t answer. Just: “Goodbye, Arthur.”

And then you’re gone.

⋆｡°✩⧗✩°｡⋆

The carriage ride is silent. Your cheek still stings. Your chest is tight.

He hit you. Again.

By the time you get home, you’re shaking. He’s still right behind you as you stumble through the door.

You make for the stairs—

but he yanks your hair so hard you cry out.

“Listen here,” he hisses. His breath reeks of whiskey.

His hands crush your shoulders. You wince.

You mention the debt.

And everything snaps.

His face twists in rage. Then—

He throws you.

You crash into the coffee table.

Wood slams into your ribs.

A vase shatters.

A sharp edge tears through the leather of the jacket.

Arthur’s jacket.

You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel locked.

Your ribs burn.

“LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE NOW!” he screams.

His hands are on you again.

You barely hear him—

whore.

dress.

ruined.

Then he throws you toward the stairs.

Your knees slam the wood.

Pain bursts.

You cry out.

You don’t look back.

You run.

Slam the door.

Collapse.

And cry.

⋆｡°✩⧗✩°｡⋆

You stay curled in bed for what feels like hours. Shaking. Trying to breathe.

Eventually, you pull yourself up. Stumble to the bathroom.

Blood. Bruises. A fresh cut on your ribs.

The jacket’s torn. Just a little.

You hang it carefully on the back of your door.

You step into the shower. Let the hot water wash everything away.

Blood swirls down the drain. Your cut stings.

It could’ve been worse.

If not for that jacket—

That thick, worn leather—

Even when Arthur’s not there, he’s still protecting you.

You get out,

wrap yourself in a towel,

slip on clean underwear,

crawl into bed,

and finally,

drift into a not-so-peaceful sleep.

⋆｡°✩⧗✩°｡⋆

Morning.

You get up early. Put on a red-and-white checkered dress. Start frying eggs and bacon.

Your father comes downstairs. Grabs a plate. Sits. Doesn’t even look at you.

You sit across from him. Your appetite is gone.

Then—

A knock.

Your father stiffens.

You both freeze.

“SIT,” he barks when you try to stand.

You do. But your stomach’s twisting. Because you already know who it is.

You hear his voice.

Low. Calm. Familiar.

Arthur.

You stand anyway. Your chair scrapes back, nearly tipping over.

Your dress shifts.

Your bruises are very visible now.

Your father turns to block the door—

but Arthur sees you.

His voice cuts through like a blade.

“I’m here for my jacket.”

Your father stiffens. Tries to laugh.

“Ah—just the man. Sorry, forgot all about it—”

Arthur’s eyes don’t leave you.

His whole body changes.

Like a switch flips.

He sees the bruises.

He sees the fear in your eyes.

“You alright, kid?”

Your throat closes. You nod. Then shake your head. You don’t know which one is the truth.

Your father steps in front of you.

“She’s fine. Just clumsy. Always has been—”

Arthur’s eyes narrow.

He walks right in.

“You touch her again,” he says, calm,

“and I’ll put you in the ground.”

Your father actually laughs. But it sounds wrong. Thin.

Arthur turns to you. Gentle.

“Grab the jacket, kid. You’re coming with me.”

Your father opens his mouth to object—

but Arthur’s already stepping between you.

A wall of leather and quiet rage.

You move. You grab the jacket.

You don’t even put on shoes.

You just go.

[subzeroparade]

Chapters: 12/12 COMPLETE (part 1 of 2) Fandom: Elden Ring (Shadow of the Erdtree spoilers) Characters: Messmer, Melina, Queen Marika Additional Tags: Messmer and Melina are twins and Marika is going at it single-mom style,  featuring assorted Shadow Realm NPC cameos (Black Knight Huw, Count Ymir, Inquisitor Jori, Rellana, Messmer’s assorted knights); the usual greek tragedy family dynamics, a frankly disproportionate amount of worldbuilding, Hornsent culture pre-crusade (is theocratic apartheid), some shipping as set dressing though not until later chapters

Summary:

Those who have never birthed something from a forge think all fires burn the same. Messmer and Melina know better.

*

Updated every week

[indouloureux]

chewing gum

— david!superman/clark kent x fem!reader

— synopsis: a lot of things can kill you: a burglary, a building falling on top of you, and clark kent's personal vendetta– cigarettes. 

— a/n: back after a while :D 

"how many cigarette breaks do you need in a day?"

you shove the cart back in your pocket as you sit back down on your chair. clark kent's curiosity makes you huff in bemusement.

he's turned in his chair so he's looking at you, blazer tight around his biceps, which you found–up until now–startling given his sheepish and clumsy persona. but his looks made up for it; blue eyes that look like a mosaic when the sun shines on them, a smile that can make a man look both handsome and pretty at the same time. a face like his deserved a good body.

the first two buttons of his undershirt are unbuttoned, a telltale that he's relaxed for today rather than losing himself in revisions.

"on a good day, two in the afternoon, one in the evening." you reply, toeing your heels off and kicking them beneath your desk.

"and on a bad day?"

you finally turn your chair towards him in favor. "four in the afternoon, around two to three in the evening."

clark sucks his teeth in, tapping his pen on his desk. his dimples grace his cheeks like they're kisses from angels. "smoking kills, y'know?"

"so i'm told."

"lois wrote an article about smoking," he points his pen at her, head tilting down to look at her direction from above his black frames. "i should send it to you."

you scoff, bemused at his fact and lean forward to place your elbows on your knees. "lois lane? famous journalist known for covering scandals of infamous politicians and humbling superman, wrote an article about smoking?"

"it's true!" lois pokes her head up from her computer, smiling at you. "it was some of the ones i wrote during my internship."

"you ever tried vaping?" jimmy suggests, sitting down on clark's desk, who's not so pleased at the sudden presence of an ass being placed on where he usually worked, showing it in a frown. "i've been vaping for years and i'm healthy."

your nose scrunches. "are you though?"

clark uses his feet to drag his chair towards you, tumbling forward slightly given that he barely fits in the office chair. you blush at his sudden approach, leaning back on your own chair to try and ease yourself when he settles beside you, a curl joining the clump of hair over this forehead. then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something green, and pulls out a thin, rectangular gum covered in tinfoil.

"try chewing gum," clark says. "maybe that'll help you quit."

"you want to help me quit?" your brow raises. "you don't think i've tried doing that for the past five years? you're cute, kent."

"come on!" he encourages, taking a gum out of his own and popping it in his mouth. "maybe you've been doing it wrong."

nonetheless, you take the gum he offers and chew it, mint engulfing your mouth and lightly burning your tongue. "nicotine gum helps, not regular gum."

you don't know whether or not oblivion is one of clark's quirks. you think it is, as he leans closer, close enough you smell the mint off his breath, but far enough to respect proxemics. his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his pretty blue eyes stare down at you like he actually cares about the ashes that char your lungs.

"how 'bout i find an alternative way to help you quit, hm?"

"like what?"

"don't wanna tell you," he finally leans back. "sometimes unconsciously doing it helps you quit."

"he actually has a point," lois interjects, sipping from her coffee before continuing, "not realizing you're in the process of quitting will help you continue it."

clark taps his fingers on his thighs. "i'll reward you, too."

your ears perk up at the mention of a reward. please be a date.

"you're not gonna let me know that as well?"

"nope."

"fine," you take your pack and shove it in his hand, chewing the gum in your mouth obnoxiously he visibly grimaces. "if your method doesn't work, you owe me dinner."

—

clark's method, did in fact, not work.

or whatever his method was.

maybe it was through the email he sent you about baked mac n cheese that urged you to make one of your own, or another one about how cleaning your bathroom also cleanses your spirit. he'd sent a lot of articles since work ended, and somehow, you've done it all in a span of five hours.

it did not help you take your mind off of smoking.

you think clark's method was trying to get you to do a lot of things enough to distract you from actually thinking of smoking. and if it is that, well, he failed.

you text clark. your method failed bud. you owe me dinner.

on the bright side, you get to go to dinner with clark kent. you just hope he's not too oblivious and decides to invite lois and jimmy thinking it was a group date.

so you take the pack you hide in your bedroom drawer and stride out of your apartment and up the rooftop. when you reach the open area, you stand by the edge and prop a cigarette between your lips, roll the fuse of the lighter, and cup a hand in front to stop the wind from blowing it away.

you wonder where clark's sudden interest at helping you quit had stemmed from. because lois, despite having written an article about smoking, had never offered to help you quit (because she had vices of her own). jimmy vaped more than you smoke. but clark, after being your friend for years, his sudden urge to help you quit makes you form thoughts only a younger you would:

that he's helping you quit because he likes you and doesn't want you to die so you two could get married and move back to smallville.

now that teenage thought warms up your cheeks even more. but as much as you wanted that, addiction does have its way of tying a rope around your dreams and dangling it from its fingertips away from your reach.

smoke escapes your lips. and then, a sudden quick breeze.

"so the smell came from here."

you yelp, dropping the cigarette off the ledge. you gasp and lean over to watch the poor thing clash on fire exits and plummet onto the sidewalk. you groan in dismay, turning around with your hands into fists.

superman is standing on your rooftop. well, more like hovering lightly, with his cape dancing with the wind, his suit clean, unbesmirched from the lack of misdeeds for the past few weeks. you gape a little, at the sight of metropolis' very own savior, who is standing upon you with a soft smile you'd think he's known you for a while.

"superman," you greet. "you made me lose my cigarette."

"that's good." his arms cross, finally lettimg his feet settle on the ground, yet he remains towering over you. "you should lose all your cigarettes."

your eyes narrow, and something feels like clicking in your brain. and then you remember that clark has an unusual friendship with superman— something he and lois like to banter about since they have opposing views.

"are you clark's method?"

"hm?"

"clark sent you here to help me quit, didn't he?" superman seems to stammer, as if caught off guard. his body relaxes a little, like he deflated out of your sudden realization. "tell him it's not working. although, since you're here–"

"i only speak to clark for interviews." his hands raise to stop you from pulling out your phone. "i'm only here to help you quit."

"i'll quit if you let me interview you."

"we both know that's a lie."

you curse beneath your breath. he approaches you, walking with such courtesy that you feel slightly ashamed from how you were talking to him. superman stops only a foot away from you, allowing you to rest your back on the wall.

"did you know that more than 7 million in the world die from smoking?"

you laugh a little at his conversation starter. "did clark send you one of lois lane's articles?"

"indeed he did," he walks closer and eventually settles beside you, copying your posture of relaxing against the wall and placing his elbows on the ledge. "so why are you smoking?"

you look up at him, unbeknownst that he'd already been looking down at you, city lights adding specks on his blue eyes. you lick your lips and taste the faint tobacco that's left on the crevices of your bottom lip. superman tilts his head like a curious puppy.

"it helps me relax." you reply. "being a journalist is hectic enough. can't imagine what it's like if i was a journalist in gotham though."

your jab at the city makes him chuckle. "you know, there are other ways that can help you quit."

"like what?"

"chewing gum."

you laugh again, but his brows furrow and his mouth smiles just a little from confusion. his arms cross, tilting his body to face you a little.

"what's so funny?"

"did clark tell you to say that?" you giggle, sniffling from the cold and laughter. "nicotine gums, to be precise. but he's already helped me with that method and it didn't help me at all. he's also sent me a lot of articles that got me doing things, but it eventually led me into thinking of smoking. so maybe he sent you here as a last resort."

superman pouts. "i wouldn't think of it as a last resort—"

"so what is it? are you gonna give me a motivational speech about how i have more in life, or trying to die at a young age would stop me from claiming my dreams?"

he huffs like he's exasperated at your sarcasm since your first encounter a few minutes ago. "i could just follow you whenever you take your cigarette breaks and take the pack from you."

"that sounds fun, but i don't think you'd want to add another journalist to the list of people who hate you, right?"

"i wouldn't want to. that would just hurt me." he puts his left hand over his heart, clasping his right over it. "i can't have you hating me now, can't i?"

this blush was different– not from the cold, or the previous thought of marrying clark kent, but from his bold comment. you huff out a shy laugh, placing your palms on the ledge and pushing yourself up to sit on it. superman panics a little, his hands immediately darting up to save you. but:

"i'm fine!" you assure him. "i've learned to balance myself."

you shiver from the breeze's constant caress beneath your thin sweater. superman notices. he looks away from you for a split second, a quick beam of red light and then smoke on your peripherals, and suddenly he's shamelessly taking your hands and putting them in his.

hot. him and his hands are hot.

"figured you were cold." he chuckles, dimples forming beside his lips.

"really?" you bemuse, smiling softly. "thanks though, i forgot to bring my sweater—"

suddenly, from constantly kicking your dangling feet, you unconsciously push yourself off the ledge, falling backwards. air suddenly pushes past you, a sudden drop on your pelvis, and fear drumming through every nerve of your body.

luckily, superman is quick to take a tight grip of your hands in one hand, and the other on your back. you hover both from the side of the building, his face so close to you that his nose bumps against yours. you don't hear the pack of cigarettes falling off the pocket of your sweatpants, but you do hear your heartbeat in your ears and superman's light panting from shock.

his grip on you is tight like he thinks you might die, and your legs find themselves wrapping on one of his leg.

his lips look soft and maybe they are. and you can't pinpoint where you've seen those eyes before other than the fact that it looks like an ocean with the sun beaming over it. superman slowly brings you back on the rooftop, old cement meeting your feet.

"thought you've learned how to balance?"

and your eyes never leave his, just enough to not notice that he's reaching for something behind his back and shoves something in between your close faces.

a chewing gum.

you look down at the tiny tinfoil between his fingers. "w-where did you keep that? you don't have pockets—"

"just take it."

"did you keep that in the garter of your underwear—"

"take the gum," he says, annoyed. "and please don't smoke anymore."

you take it off his fingers and open it, popping it into your mouth. he nods in appreciation, and you wonder if this was the same gum clark offered you earlier.

—

"i take it my superman method didn't work?"

clark never seems to startle you despite his sudden appearance at the office's rooftop. you turn, cigarette between your middle and index, seeing him shove his hands inside his pockets sans blazer. you sigh sornfully, like you're sad you've disappointed him.

"it's not lit," you say. "not yet."

"throw that away."

you whine and his brows raise, so you do. you throw it off the ledge and immediately reach for a pack of gum. clark's lips pull downwards in interest. "gum, huh?"

"i've been chewing them since this morning." you say sheepishly. you offer him. "want one?"

"sure." he takes it off the box, the tinfoil looking tiny in his fingertips. "how was your encounter with him, though?"

interesting. "kind of meh."

clark scoffs, like he's the one who should be offended. "meh? what the freak, dude?"

"i mean he saved me from falling off the ledge, i'll give that to him." you blow a bubble and pop. "he's really hot, though."

the tip of his ears turn red, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. clark approaches you, trapping you between the ledge's railings and his ridiculously buff frame. your head tilts up. "give me your pack."

"but clark." you whine petulantly.

"please?" he puts his open palm between your chests. "look. i've lost a lot of people growing up, including my dad." his eyes soften, the sun revealing the crystals in his eyes. "and... you're really important to me, and i can't lose you early, too."

your heart aches at the sight of a sad clark kent, who's hair falls the same way his mood does. you reach for the pack in your pocket and put it on his palm, which his fingers immediately clasp around. and then you straighten:

he says you're important to him.

"clark, what do you mean i'm important to you?"

clark suddenly stammers, blinking rapidly; his nervous quirk. "oh! i-i- um-"

mint evades your mouth in a way that thrills you, and you wonder what it's like for him. clark's blushing profusely and you giggle, putting a hand on his chest. "can i have a cigarette so you could take me out to dinner?"

he shakes his head. "n-no. uh, i'll just take you to dinner." clark manages out an embarrassed smile. "by the way, my method worked."

your smile drops. "what method?"

clark walks away and crushes the pack in his fist before throwing it off the ledge. you follow him with large strides, disbelief radiating off your heel. "what method, kent?!"

a/n: the method was chewing gum. reader says it didn't work at first, but clark manages to actually make it work for her.

[youryanderedaddy]

When Life Gives Lemons

tw: female reader, technically non con because of stealthing, baby trapping, breeding, obsessive behavior, reader being a bit rude

You couldn’t believe the irony of your life. You were about to break up with your immature boyfriend, and he still managed to be grossly late to the date, unconsciously digging his own grave deeper. You had put on your best white shirt and the tightest skirt you owned, and you even went through the trouble of booking the latest hipster coffee shop close to the centre. He had been fifteen minutes late, to be exact, and when you brought it up, he simply shrugged a long sleazy smile, dragging his skeleton - shaped metal rings against the edge of the table.

“All in due time, princess.” He took a sip off his coffee - a single shot of espresso with no creamer, as always. “All in due time.” He repeated, reaching in his pocket for a pack of off - brand cigarettes. He really couldn’t afford any of the fancy ones. Once the cigarette was lit, he slowly brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting his head relax against the chair. His thick neck tightened as he swallowed the deadly smoke, and even the sun seemed to avoid his messy dark locks, instead keeping the man in the shadows.

“What does that even mean?” You threw your hands around helplessly, sinking into your chair. “Don’t you want to know?” Axel teased, taking another puff. Although his expression was one of mild amusement, his sharp blue eyes were carefully following your every movement - wondering what will tip you off the most. “You know, you’re so fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, mami.” He smiled in a playful boyish way that once would have made you melt, but now only served as a reminder of his unserious nature.

“Stop playing around. I need to discuss something imp–”

“Shhh, don’t talk, babygirl. I need to show you something.” Axel interrupted, gripping the big guitar closer to his lap. ”I wrote you a song.” His thin fingers grazed the delicate transparent strings, forcing a catchy, although not fully polished melody out of the old thing. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips so the lyrics would come out softer. 

My girl knows how to set me

on flames she goes through 

the motions of the wind she

is a fireball, a fireball, on fire

“What the fuck, Axy.” You pounded your fists at the table, shaking the glasses and spilling coffee all over the wooden surface. You could feel everyone’s judging stare across your back, all of the other patrons were jeering and whispering about the two of you, and your cheeks were heating up by the moment. “I’ve told you countless times to stop writing those shitty songs. They don’t even rhyme, for fuck sake.” You whined, suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness. He was never going to change, was he? “This is exactly why I want to break up.”

The music stopped entirely. His dark sunglasses ended on the ground. 

“You wanna break up?” The musician repeated slowly, suddenly appearing awfully composed - so composed it made you look crazy. After that question he remained silent for a very long time, taking long drags off his cigarette while studying your face for any sign of your true feelings bleeding out. “Real’ funny, babe, real’ fun joke.” He forced a crooked smile, reaching in to squeeze your hand all the way through the table. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with the song? I stayed real’ late to compose it just for our date today.” He winked, which only made you feel worse.

“I am being serious, Axel. Let go of me.” Your tone turned icy and your ex boyfriend quickly released you, eyes filling with raw fear. “Wait, baby, we can talk about–”

“There is nothing to talk about. You’re such a child!” You blurted out, too frustrated to spare energy on fluttery words and sweet apologies. “I want to do my masters soon. You know I’m applying to Metwyorth - I can’t be seen hanging around with a high school dropout who does Saturday gigs for a living.” You continued, pursing your lips together. You knew you were being harsh, cruel even, but this was the only way to push him away. The musician could be awfully clingy, so you needed to be firm.

“A highschool dropout who made you scream your brains out.” Axel responded bitterly through clenched teeth, eyes growing dark with anger. You shook your head bashfully, avoiding his fiery gaze. “Sure, we had our fun,” You gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, trying to hide the shame blossoming on your sides. “But it’s time to wake up. I mean, be realistic. We live in different worlds.” You began to collect your things quickly, standing up to leave.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, causing you to turn back just for a second - you owed him that much for all the good memories you knew you both would have trouble forgetting. “You’re making a mistake. Please, think it through.” The man took a hold of your hand, caressing your fingers gently. “I know I can’t offer you much right now, but I really love you!” His eyes dilated, honest and clear like an untouched sea on a quiet day. 

“Goodbye, Axel.”

***

You meet him sooner that you’d like.

Two weeks later you’re drunk off your mind, dancing the night away with some of your girlfriends when you catch a pair of familiar eyes fluttering across your body from the other side of the room. It makes you feel hot all over - despite what you said back then, you felt each agonising moment of the break up. Even if the logical part of your brain knows you have no future with such a man, your body needs him, craves him. 

Axel keeps staring at you intensely, burning holes through your neck, your thighs, your lips. His yearning gaze lingers, completely miserable, and yet as lustful as the night he first wrapped his arms around you and claimed you as his. He can still feel your nails scratching his back red and bloody, sending shivers down his spine and setting fire in his loins. This staring game of yours lasts for approximately thirty minutes before he gives in and comes over to your table. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t look at you or greet your friends, doesn’t even pretend to have any reason to approach you. He simply grabs you, swallows an airy pant, and drags you inside the bathroom.

You’re all over each other in no time. His hands are tangled in your hair and your nails are sinking into his warm flesh once again. You can’t breathe for a second, suffocated by a deep, longing kiss that he only spares you of once your lips start to turn blue. He licks your neck and bites at any spot vulnerable enough to steal a gasp out of you - and you return it by sucking on his collarbone until a purple hickey adorns his skin. You swiftly unzip his loose pants and start taking your dress off, but as you try to spread your legs, he turns you around facing the wall. 

“Fuck, I wanna do you from the back, princess.” Axel mumbles, one strong hand gripping your throat as the other gropes your breasts freely. You nod weakly, too turned on to comprehend any of the words he’s saying. “Ngh, wanna be able to pull your hair n’ shit.” His fist wraps around your ponytail, pulling slightly so you expose your neck to his teeth. You can already feel his throbbing manhood prob at your thighs, slowly moving towards your entrance. “Y-you have a condom on, right?” You manage to whimper through the little electric bursts of pleasure running through your whole body as he plays you like an instrument. He mumbles something like “yeah”, and in this state of mind that’s enough for you.

He starts sinking into your heat slowly, letting you adjust to his hard length inch by inch, then once you’ve settled, practically begging him to just give it to you, he begins thrusting painfully slow - really making you feel it going in and out, in and out in a perfect rhythm. Each time his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot, you’re reduced to a slick, desperate mess, but just as your thighs begin to go numb and you slip down, Axel catches both of your wrists and pins them to the wall, keeping you in place. You’re so wet you can hear the slap of skin on skin every time your gummy walls hug his member, but you’re too far gone to care about the nasty sound.

“F-fuck, baby, you’d be so fucking hot as a mother. Have you ever thought about it?” Your ex whispers against you, picking up the pace. You shake your head - kids have never been your priority, since you’re still so young and your education would always come first. “I thought about it. A lot, ‘n fact, when we were separated.” His heartbeat fastens. “Ugh, you’re still so tight, god…” His free hand dances at your hips, ogling and caressing any curve it can find. “When you dumped me, I was completely lost, ya know? Didn’t sober up for three days. But then I dreamt that I knocked you up accidentally. S-shit, did you just tighten up?”

Your whole body stiffens at his words. Your stomach fills with unexplainable dread - this whole conversation is turning you off, but somehow your body seems to have a mind of its own. 

“Q-quit it with the small talk, asshole.” You groan, pushing back so you’d get more friction between your legs. “Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need to hear your weird fantasies.” You hear yourself saying confidently despite the provocative position you’re currently stuck in - you can’t even see his face, but you know he’s probably laughing at your bossy comment. But instead he keeps blabbering on as if you’re not even there. “You were so beautiful, princess. So big and–” He bites his lower lip. “So fucking needy for me - just like now. You were dripping everywhere. You were so excited for our little baby.” He grunted hoarsely, reaching in to stroke your clit - and despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. 

“And we were a family - just you, n-ngh, me and the little guy.” Axel utters through clenched teeth, trying to hold out for as long as possible - savouring you in tiny little bites. “No stupid degrees or anythin’, just us two against the world.” He slows down further, now barely moving inside of you. It’s driving you crazy with anticipation - both his story and the way he’s fucking you. “And it made me think, we could really have all that - if it wasn’t for your stupid pride. All I need to do is knock you up. Just think about it.” The man grips your hips roughly, impaling you on his thickness. 

“Your tits will swell, your thighs will thicken; you’ll be so tired you’ll have to lay down all the time. You won’t even be able to touch yourself because of your belly.” He smiles at you gently, although you can’t see it. At this point you’re already so close to climax you can’t break through the cotton cloud haze that’s taken over your mind to truly focus. This is one of the reasons you had to break up with the musician - he could get you cockdrunk with a simple touch, and that vulnerability felt terrifying.

“And I will take care of you through every-” He kisses your cheek. “single–” He kisses you again. “step of the way.” He inhales deeply, thrusting in one final time before he spills inside you. “I love you, baby. I really can’t let you go.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Saftey Rail: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Robby isn’t coping.

Jack sees it at the end of every shift when he finds him on the roof, sitting on the safety rail, smoking a cigarette as he looks out across the city lights.

He’s barely taken any time off since losing the baby. Instead he’s throwing himself into his work, drowning himself in the misery of other people because it’s easier than facing his own heartbreak.

“You gotta stop doing this.” Jack tells the other man as his elbows come to rest on the metal railing. “You gotta go back home to your wife.”

“Allegra isn’t at the apartment.” Robby says taking a drag of the cigarette. “She’s at the beach house in Ohio, she needed to get away and I…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence but Jack understands the notion, he needs to be immersed in the chaos, to not think about his own tragedy.

“Pretending it didn’t happen, doesn’t make it so.” Jack tells him, shaking his head. “It only delays the inevitable. Your wife needs you right now, you are the only other person who understands what she’s going through, who shares her loss-”

“I know.” Robby says forcefully, blowing a stream of smoke out of his mouth. “I do, I just… If I go back there it means saying goodbye, it means letting go of that future I imagined for the three of us and I’m just not ready to do that just yet.”

He chokes back a sob and Jack’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder squeezing lightly. “If you don’t, if you keeping carrying this around with you, it’ll break you, it’ll destroy your marriage, it will take everything good in your life and shatter it.”

“It feels like it already did.” Robby says, using the back of his hand to wipe the salt from underneath his eyes.

“You still have Allegra.” Jack points out as he tucks his hands back into the pockets of his scrubs. “You still have a woman who loves you, who is alone and hurting right now, trying to grieve without her husband.”

This is Jack Abbot at his best and his worst, forthright and honest, never ever pulling a punch.

“Christ.” Robby says, tilting his head towards Jack. “You really know how to stick the knife in don’t you?”

Jack shrugs his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be there.”

“No.” Robby says, finally climbing off the safety railing and stubbing out his cigarette. “I really fucking shouldn’t.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[urcoolgf]

THE ROCKSTAR’S GIRL

pairing. rockstar bf¡rafe && reader

content. 18+. smut. fingering. oral (f receiving). unprotected sex. smoking. fluff.

summary. after rafe's show you decide to have a little fun in his dressing room p.s. this is my first time writing smut, so i apologize in advance. . . also not proofread

"awesome show, baby," you mouthed to your boyfriend while clapping, as he made his way toward you offstage. once he read your lips, he ran the rest of the way to you. picking you up, and spinning you around, giving you quick kisses all over your face and neck. your laugh was literally music to his ears. it was the last show of the american leg of his tour, and it was phenomenal— the crowd was insane and loud and full of energy, and it was obvious rafe and his bandmates had an incredible time.

"best show yet, baby," he said, finally setting you down with a seductive smirk on his face. the sound of the crowd—still cheering—rang through his ears, and it felt like a drug.

"yeah it was pretty amazing, huh?," you said as he placed his arm over your shoulders, guiding you backstage. the dimly lit hall had a red glow to it, making rafe 10x more attractive hanging off of you. you looked up at him as he navigated towards his dressing room—to grab a cigarette you figured—his slight scruff was amplified by the red hue of the hallway, and it was safe to say he was officially making you horny. it was almost embarrassing for you how he could do it without even trying, almost. the only thing that made it bearable was the fact you did the same to him.

once he opened the door, you immediately made your way to the black leather couch, laying your body across the worn out cushions, while he unhooked his mic and whatnot at his 'vanity'. rafe grabbed a pack and a lighter before heading over to the couch. he lifted your feet—which you had already ridded of your shoes—to sit underneath them, setting them back on his lap once he was situated. he grabbed a cig out of the pack and handed it to you, grabbing another for himself, and placing it between his lips so he could light yours first. you took a drag while he lit his own, doing the same. you had never been a smoker before you met rafe, and even now you didn't do it nearly as much as he did, but you liked sharing one with him every once in awhile.

you were just glad rafe wasn't into drugs anymore. when you met him he was just breaking the addiction—now he was over a year clean, you were proud of him. the whole 'rockstar lifestyle' was intense, but rafe said you made him take quitting seriously. to be honest, you didn't really care what motivated him to stay clean, so long as he did.

"fuck, that was incredible," he finally spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts, "can't believe this leg's already over."

"i know. it was an amazing time, though. fans loved you," you leaned forward to put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. like you said, not a big smoker.

"yeah. who needs drugs when you have an audience. fuckin' insane," rafe replied, taking another drag.

"y'know what else is better than drugs," you moved to straddle him, taking the cigarette from his lips, and putting it out next to yours.

"mm what's that?," he smirked because, of course, he knew the answer.

"sex," you whispered into his ear before attaching your lips to his neck. rafe tried to hold back the noises that threatened to escape his throat, but the faintest whimper left his lips. to silence himself he went into overdrive—grabbing you, and tossing you so your back fell against the couch cushions. the animalistic nature of it not only turned you on, but was aggressive enough to have your tits almost falling out of your small top.

"fuck, you have no idea what you do to me, princess," he breathed out, his voice raspy. all you could do was moan as his lips moved to your neck, and his hands began playing with your tits.

"this needs to come off right-the-fuck now," he said, eagerly stripping you of your shirt, leaving you in a black lacy bra. rafe stayed still for a moment, just admiring the woman he had underneath him. your eyes glossed over, hair already a little messy, seductive smile on your face, with perfect tits basically spilling out of your bra.

he finally moved back toward you, lips just barely grazing yours "definitely better than drugs," he whispered before he finally connected them to yours. the kiss was hungry and messy and made your head spin in the best way possible. the faint taste of nicotine on his lips as he slid his tongue into your mouth. the makeout didn't go on long before rafe got impatient. he lifted your back off the sofa to remove your bra, and your pants immediately after, leaving you in only your thong. rafe swore he would never get used to this sight—no matter how many time he'd seen it—it made his breath hitch every single time.

your dark hair was spread out behind you, complimenting your skin tone in the best way. your dark makeup was already starting to smear—your lipgloss already past that point. your perfect tits on full display for him as his hands traced the curves of your body, ultimately, resting on your hips. the feeling of your freshly manicured nails running up and down the length of his arms had his mind reeling. he was so focused yet so distracted at the same time. you drove him absolutely mad, and there was just no way you were his.

"having fun?," you laughed at your boyfriend who looked completely gone, eyes absorbing every inch of your body.

"oh, yeah," he smirked. you tugged at his shirt, signaling that you wanted it off, and rafe was happy to oblige. he quickly pulled the t-shirt over his head, giving you new area to run your fingers across. you traced his ab lines with the tip of your nail, making him shiver, "fuck," he said under his breath as if he didn't want you to hear him. luckily, you did.

"y'like that, baby?," your smile was mean, he knew you loved watching him fall apart.

"shut up," he was done with your teasing. so, naturally he shut you up by attaching his warm mouth to your tit. your head tilted back instantly, a desperate moan falling off your lips.

once he was done with one, he gave the same love to the other. the warmth between your thighs was almost unbearable, turning your moans into pleas.

“please… please, fuck,” your breath was shaky, and rafe was getting hard just from hearing you beg.

"please what, baby?," he taunted, looking up from your chest, still hovering over your tit, "don't know what you want 'less ya ask me," he smirked. that evil evil smirk that should not have done things to you.

"please jus' do something– touch me, fuck me, don't care. need you," you pleaded with him while he straightened his back so he was towering over you.

"yeah? ya need me, princess? how bad?," he was strained against his pants, but he wasn't letting this moment go—you did not beg often enough.

"bad rafe– fuck, so bad. please, please fuck me," you replied, breathless as he mindlessly played with your nipples. he knew every inch of your body—knew how to get you going, what made you weak. he was dangerous, but you didn't care. you needed him, maybe more than ever.

"well… since you asked so nicely," he slowly pulled down your panties, exposing your glistening core, "fuck baby, all this f'r me?," his voice was raspy, and desperate. even though he was acting like he had control—you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

"gonna take such good care of ya, yeah?," rafe slid his fingers between your folds, playing with the slick between your legs.

"shit, rafe please," you moaned. he was teasing, and it was driving you crazy.

"alright, princess," he smiled softly as he lowered his head between your thighs. you felt his warm breath against your pussy, making you shiver with anticipation. you were about to beg again, pleading with him to do anything, until his tongue licked a stripe up your core. that one action alone had you rolling your eyes so far back you swore you saw stars. rafe eye's flicked up to admire your face while still working your pussy with his mouth. you could feel his smirk against your core, only adding to the pleasure.

he was eating you like a man starved. his tongue playing with your clit until you were shaking. just when you were ready to tap out, he slid two fingers into you, carefully curving them to hit your sweet spot—because, once again, he knew your body better than you did. loud moans fell from your lips as your hands found their way into his hair, and rafe was in heaven.

the feeling of his mouth on your clit, and his fingers working in and out of you had you coming undone embarrassingly quick. you came with a broken moan, but rafe didn't stop. he was lapping up everything you were giving him like it was his last meal.

"taste so sweet, baby," he finally said, lifting his head from between your thighs, your release glistening against his lips and chin, "taste," he pushed his wet fingers into your mouth, and you accepted with no resistance. he leaned down to kiss you, tasting yourself—again—on his tongue. he pulled away, a fucked-out smile present on your face.

"gonna fuck you now, 'kay?," he said, undoing his pants and pushing them and his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. you almost felt bad, the tip was red, and leaking pre cum—aching to be inside you. he ran the tip up and down your folds, through your slick before finally pushing inside. the stretch burned a bit, but you had done this enough to know the pleasure that was about to follow would have you forgetting about the pain.

"so tight, princess. fuck– so perfect f'r me," he slurred as his head tilted back, taking in the feeling of you. once he bottomed out he wasted no time pulling out so just his tip was in you, and thrusting back in roughly. the feeling of your soft, warm walls consuming his cock was intoxicating to rafe. no matter how many times he was inside you, he would never get enough of it, it's like you were made for him.

your moans filled the room as rafe moved in and out of you at a pace that had you seeing stars. the coil in your belly tightening, threatening to snap from the way he was hitting your g spot with ease.

“no one’s ever gonna fuck you this good, huh? make you feel this good? tell me, baby. tell me how good i make you feel,” it was almost desperate, like he needed the sound of your voice just to get off. it was hot—the way he was basically whining while inside you, hands moving up your body to play with the fat of your tits just to give himself something grounding. as if he needed to touch you everywhere to make sure you were actually real—that you were actually his.

your body was agreeing, sending him the message that he was right—no one could make you feel like this—but that wasn’t enough for rafe.

“say.. it..,” he emphasized his words with harsh thrusts that had your back arching off the sweaty leather.

“fuck! no one– no one can make me feel… this good, rafe. only you,” your words were broken, and breathless—interrupted by moans—but they were music to rafe’s ears. his thrusts became sloppy, a sign that he was as close as you were right now.

“g’na cum for me, baby?,” rafe said. his tone betraying him, the words coming out in a desperate whine. your brain wasn’t able to coherently respond when his hands moved to your ass. he lifted you off the sofa just enough for his tip to graze your cervix, leaving you a crying, babbling mess beneath him. the feeling was too much, and before you could even warn rafe, you were coming undone on his dick.

“there ya go, princess. jus’ like that,” he coaxed you down from your orgasm just as he was releasing inside you.

“fuck, you’re so perfect,” he said, pulling out and moving to lay beside you on the couch. all you could do was lay there smiling at him like an idiot. a fucked-out grin on your face. he littered your face and neck with little kisses as you laid there together, your quiet laughs filling the room.

music to his ears. he didn’t even need to get high, you were the best drug out there.

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[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

"She's a regular here..."

Drug Dealer!Seonghwa x f!reader

CW: mentions of drug dealing/usage (seonghwa smokes), drug dealers!seonghwa and hongjoong, slight fluff, !!SMUT!! (unprotected sex, pls stay safe!!!), reader n seonghwa are dating, seonghwa fucks reader in his fur coat lol , not really proofread?? Idk I tried

My first time trying to write a proper smut scene 😭😭 I hope its okay omg. Wrote this cuz @/ygswl on instagram (best ateez editor btw) brought up the concept of drug dealer! Seonghwa ARGHHHH. I wanted to write a more intense, concept-heavy smut scene but I js tried my best since I'm not familar with smut writing💔💔

Edit: Part 2 is out!!!

Part 3 is out!!!

"Fuck..." Seonghwa groaned, breathing out a puff of wispy smoke. He leaned his head back against the couch as he clocked in the sight of jumbled notes on his mahogany wood coffee table. Orders from customers. Usually, he would've been able to keep up with them, no problem. But there had recently been a huge surge of calls, requesting for the new, trending drug: ARRIBA. And as part of the most reputable dealers in the area, MATZ, he was well-expected to have the best supply. He irritably grinded his teeth together, pre-installed Grillz provided a light, screeching noise.

Taking another drag from his rolled cigarette, his ears perked up at the sound of the door opening. "Hwa, what are you doing?" Seonghwa's business partner, Kim Hongjoong, walked into the shabby makeshift office. Seonghwa didn't reply, merely staring blankly at the ceiling as he absentmindedly played with the blunt in his fingers. Meanwhile, Hongjoong's eyes lingered on the stack of order forms, and he gave a stern look to his tattooed counterpart. "I asked you a question, Park Seonghwa." "What? I'm fucking exhausted from taking calls and names. I've been at it since 11, give me a break." He jerked his head towards a wall clock behind him. A quarter past 3pm.

It had always been this way with the duo. Ever since they started their underground business as barely legal adults, Hongjoong dealt with supplies, and Seonghwa would deal with the customers and their orders. 2 young men in struggling financial situations, who were desperate to make ends meet, starting a drug-dealing business together, it worked out strangely well. This also, despite their constant bickering, formed a strong bond between the two.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the response. "Whatever, sure." He tilted his head, eyes settling on the faux fur coat that rested on a chair beside the couch. "Is that new?" "Yeah... I picked it up after getting the payment for that huge order earlier this week." "Ohh, the order for that college frat party?" Seonghwa nodded silently in response, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "Anyways, Yunho says we can expect restock within the next week. ARRIBA's selling out fast, but we can finish these orders right away once the new shipment arrives." Hongjoong rattled off an imaginary list, giving a reassuring pat on the shoulder to his partner. Seonghwa was unresponsive, clearly stressed out from the recent increase in workload, but Hongjoong knew he was listening. Although, that didn't stop him from doing what he was about to do. "You shouldn't keep using this, by the way. It's reaaaally bad for you." With that, he leaned forward and snatched the smoking blunt from his partner's fingers.

Seonghwa hastily whipped his head around, sighing internally at Hongjoong's classic shit-eating grin. He furrowed his eyebrows at the realisation that he had given the man the satisfaction of getting a reaction. "I'm stressed, man. Gotta relax somehow." "I don't think you'll need your weed when your favourite 'regular' is here, though." Hongjoong tilted his head towards the office door, calling out in a singsong voice. "Y/N, you can come in now~"

The mention of your name caused Seonghwa's eyes to immediately light up. He scrambled to snatch the cigarette back from Hongjoong, and quickly crushed it with his heel.

Just a quiet, veterinary student that he had met in a cafe 3 years ago, Seonghwa had adored you from the very beginning. You were the cashier taking his order, nervous on your first day, and fumbling a little with the cash register's buttons. Seonghwa had found your clumsy nature both alluring and endearing, and he had asked you out on a date right away. The two of you had hit it off, and a beautiful relationship bloomed from then on. Even when you found out Seonghwa's line of work, you understood his situation and never judged him for it. It didn't make you love him any less. He would often spoil you with gifts and spend as much time as possible with you. Your college classes and his odd working hours would clash often, but you still found time to drop by his office to visit him. After all, it was quite easy to locate your drug dealer boyfriend. He mostly stayed in his office, only occasionally going out with Hongjoong when they had a large shipment coming in or a customer that wanted to deal in-person. Thus the nickname that Hongjoong gave to you: Seonghwa's Favourite 'Regular'. Despite your support for his business, Seonghwa still hated doing or dealing drugs around you, especially cigarettes. It was part of his line of work, and he was used to it, but he would always quickly put out a blunt or stash away powdery white packets when you visited.

"Seonghwa~ I'm here to visit you! My class today was cancelled, so my afternoon is free," you hummed as you walked into the room in your red checkered pants and (Seonghwa's) oversized hoodie. You offered a smile to Hongjoong, who was already on his way out to give you two some privacy. He winked at Seonghwa just before he walked out the doorway, shutting the door behind him.

Seonghwa's gaze softened as you crashed onto his form on the couch, snuggling into his exposed collarbone. "I missed you..." "I missed you too, sweetheart... you've been so busy with classes lately, I haven't seen you for a full week. Do you even love me anymore?" He sighed dramatically, earning a muffled laugh from you. "My finals are coming up, Hwa. Been rushing my deadlines and finishing up on revision. I gotta do this to earn my veterinary certification, hm?" "Well, anytime you wanna quit your course and live with me 24/7, I'll take care of you. Nothing would make me happier to, actually. MATZ has been doing so well recently." He puffed up his chest. You found it cute whenever he was protective like this. "Okay, Hwa. I'll keep you posted." The two of you settled into comfortable silence.

The quietness and stillness in the air suddenly made him very aware of your movements. He raised his eyebrows when he realised you were being touchier than usual. Your hands were roaming his shoulders, tracing circles over his neck tattoo and gold chains that sat above his unbuttoned collar. The occasional shift of your hips didn't go unnoticed by the tattooed man, either. Seonghwa experimentally slid a veiny hand under your hoodie, blushing when he felt your bare back, marking the absence of a bra strap.

"Sweetheart, are you-"

"Mhm... needy for you, Hwa."

"Oh-- we're in my office now, though, Hongjoong could hear us..."

"Wouldn't you like that?"

Seonghwa's face heated up at the thought of his partner overhearing the two of you. The possibility someone else, especially his best friend/business partner, hearing the two of you fucking in his office turned him on. A lot.

His shy expression quickly changed to a dominant, cockier one. Quickly pinning you onto the couch, he connected his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He tasted like smoke and the cherry lip gloss you had bought him a month ago, and you loved it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, effectively hoisting yourself up, before pulling away from his lips to kiss and lick at the tattoo scrawled across his neck. Seonghwa groaned at the feeling, his eyes glazing over and landing on his fluffy, new fur coat that was draped on the nearby chair. A devious idea popped into his head.

"Sweetheart, wait... I wanna do something." You stopped sucking at the 'A' on his neck and tilted your head curiously at him. He tugged at the hem of your hoodie, his eye contact with you searching for consent. You let him, of course. You trusted him. He lifted off your hoodie right away, sucking in a breath at the sight of your bare torso. "My pretty girl," he sighed, making you flush a bright red hue. Seonghwa leaned forward to leave a kiss on your breasts and gestured you to take off your pants, before getting off the couch, seemingly to get something. You sat confused, naked except for your dark blue panties, until you saw him grab the fur coat on the chair beside the couch.

The faux fur brushed against your skin as Seonghwa helped you put it on. It was huge, heavy and fluffy, covering everything yet nothing on your bare figure. He stepped back to take you in, a guttural moan leaving his throat at the sight of you naked form practically drowning underneath the fluffy mass of fabric. You, on the other hand, were aching for his touch. A whole week of being apart from your lover, deprived of his love, his intimacy, deprived of him. He noticed your pouty lips and squirming, and chuckled teasingly.

"Can't wait, sweetheart?"

You were about to nod in response, but was cut off when you felt a long finger being pressed against your moist folds. A whiny gasp slipped out of your mouth, and your hands scrambled to find support on Seonghwa's strong forearms. He smiled as he lightly rubbed circles on your clit through the thin fabric of your panties, your whines sounding like music to his chain-adorned ears. "Hwa...hurry, I want your dick in me already," you panted out. Seonghwa scoffed teasingly at your impatient tone. "Patience, sweetheart, I need to prep you first."

His expert fingers tugged aside the fabric covering your pussy, exposing yourself to him fully. Two fingers were pushed into your aching hole, causing you to arch your back at the feeling. Breathless moans filled the room as he curled and thrusted his fingers into you at a torturously slow pace. He knew you were sensitive, and it was driving you crazy how slow he was going.

"H-Hwa..."

"Shhh, I know."

The building knot in your tummy snapped, and you came undone on your lover's long fingers. But just as you began to catch your breath, Seonghwa leaned down to lick up your juices. The cold metal of his grillz shot through your core, drawing out a high-pitched cry from you.

Blinking back tears from the overstimulation, you glanced down at your boyfriend. He was sitting comfortably between your legs, lips and grillz teeth shiny with your arousal, mouth spread in a loving grin as if he didn't just finger-fuck you to an orgasm.

He got up and kissed a tear rolling down your cheek. "I'm sorry, baby, I just had to tease you a little. I'll give you what you want now." Seonghwa picked you up and shifted you to a more comfortable spot on the couch, the heavy coat's fur swishing quietly as he did so. You shivered as the fur brushed against your nipples, perky from being exposed to the surrounding air.

There was a light clunk of a belt buckle, followed by a zipping noise, before Seonghwa finally pressed his pretty cock against your bare stomach, earning a sigh of relief from you. You licked your lips at the sight of his flushed, hard member. "Did you miss me or did you miss my dick?" Seonghwa raised an eyebrow when you stared for a little too long. You whined back, and he sighed in defeat before pressing his cock into your entrance, already wet and lubricated from him fingering you open earlier.

"F-fuck! So warm..." Seonghwa hissed as his cock sank into you. You cried out, reaching out to bury your face into his neck when he started to thrust in and out of you. Sloppy slaps of skin, whiny moans, curses and the occasional swish of faux fur against leather filled the room as Seonghwa fucked you into the couch. The air reeked of hot sex and cigarette smoke, but neither of you minded. He gazed lovingly at you through his lashes, admiring how you looked in his fur coat, with his dick in you. The possessiveness that you two had for each other always made him hard whenever it showed.

He winced when you clenched on him particularly hard. "Oh s-shit- you like my cock? You like your drug dealer boyfriend's cock?" You nodded hastily, drool beginning to form on the side of your lips. Seonghwa smirked, but was barely keeping his composure at the sight of you so cock-drunk. He pulled you in with his free hand for a kiss, heavy metal rings on his fingers squishing your face and making your breath hitch involuntarily. The lingering taste of tobacco on his lips made you moan, eyes glazing over from pleasure as his tongue pushed past your lips to invade your mouth.

It wasn't long before both of you came undone. You sighed breathily as your second orgasm formed a ring of white liquid around Seonghwa's dick, and he quickly pulled out to cum onto your bare stomach. Still panting from his orgasm, he gathered some of his fluids onto his fingers, and stuffed your mouth with them. You hummed appreciatively in response, suckling his fingers clean as he admired your flushed, fucked-out expression.

♡♡♡

"Yah, I was only out for awhile! What did you guys do??" Hongjoong snickered an hour later as he waltzed into the room and over to the couch. He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth when Seonghwa shot a stern look at him, index finger pressed to his lips as if to say "shut the fuck up you big-mouthed minion". His other hand was wrapped around your sleeping figure, still naked but bundled up in his fur coat and shielded from Hongjoong's eyes.

Hongjoong raised his hands, exaggeratingly mouthing a "sorry!" that his best friend scoffed quietly at. Seonghwa rolled his eyes and returned his gaze back to you. His heart warmed at the peaceful look you had in your sleep, but his dick stirred at the sight of you covered by nothing but his oversized fur coat. Needless to say, he was definitely giving you a round 2 once you woke up.

If you've managed to read this far, thank you so much for reading my fanfic! 🙏 I hope you enjoyed it 😭

[earier]

・ ROTTEN WORK 京谷 賢太郎 » ❪ KYOTANI KENTAROU ❫

word count. 667.

content warning. f!reader. angst - self deprecation. profanity. smoking cigarettes. bartender!kyotani. mention of one (1) ex-girlfriend.

Loving him is rotten work; he’s known that for years. He cusses, he fights, he’s mean, he doesn’t know when to quit, he doesn’t do the dishes after he’s done with dinner, he walks away, he leaves his dirty clothes wherever he wants to. It’s difficult to love him. He knows that because it’s been said to him time and time again.

“I didn’t even know you cared about me until we broke up,” his ex-girlfriend once said to him. His hands were clenched under the table, eyes roaming over her face. Her hair looked so soft, all he wanted to do was reach out and run his hands through it. “It’s difficult to love someone when they don’t . . . love you the same. Y’know?”

He didn’t know, but he nodded and stood up. Because he’s not a complete asshole, he threw twenty dollars on the table and promptly exited the coffee shop.

And now, three months later, he stands on the corner in front of the shitty bar he works at, resisting the urge to shiver as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. It’s a bad habit that he can’t seem to kick. Not when he gets to talk to you everytime he goes for a smoke break.

You’re nothing special, he tells himself, just a girl who happens to work at the same shitty bar as him. You’re his manager, a little uptight and a lot stressed out. And broke. Which is why Kyotani finds himself buying a pack of cigarettes twice a week, rather than once. Even though he’ll never admit it out loud, he doesn’t mind sharing.

“Hey, Mad Dog,” a familiar voice cuts through the icy air and he resists the urge to grin. He hates that stupid nickname, but maybe it’s not as bad when it comes from your mouth. He turns his head to find you clad in your too-big coat and a scarf. “Can I bum one?” You ask, nodding to the cigarette in his hand.

“You’re cleaning out my bank account with how many cigs you steal, asshole.” His words hold no malice behind them. He reaches into his back pocket and flips the lid of the box open. The tips of your fingers are red, he cringes as your hands shake.

You laugh and stick the cigarette between your lips, tilting your head. “Not my fault you keep sharing with me,” you mumble, grinning the best you can. “Lighter?”

He fishes out his lucky lighter—the one that he got in high school—and stares at the faded red swirls as the lighter flickers alive. You inhale a shuddering breath, letting your eyes close as the nicotine fills your lungs.

“God,” you groan, exhaling heavily. “I needed that. Tonight has been fucking terrible. Two bachelor parties? Who the hell even gets married in winter?”

He snickers and shrugs, shoving one of his hands into his pocket and glancing around the busy street. “Chicks at the end of the bar keep asking guys to buy them drinks,” he says. He turns to look at you and smirks. “They’ve been rejected every time.”

You laugh and Kyotani feels his knees weaken. You’re nothing special, he repeats to himself. Just a coworker—the only coworker that he can put up with.

It finally dawns on him that maybe you’re more than just a coworker, and he almost throws up right then and there. His eyes flit to you; your lids are hazy, lips puckered around the end of your cigarette—his cigarette. Your nails are a pretty color; red, his favorite. He looks away and drops his cigarette, digging the toe of his boot into it until only ashes remain.

“Gotta get back,” he says quickly, turning before you can say anything.

Loving him is rotten work, he reminds himself. He cusses, he’s mean, he walks away. Oikawa tries to talk to him, and Kyotani can only sneer at him. Loving him is rotten work, because Kyotani is rotten from the inside out.

[zablife]

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ screeching in here now that my coffee has kicked in and I can type sentences again. Very excited that your requests are open again!

Please could I have something based around ‘Are you jealous?’ with Tommy?

Sorry I know you’ll get a million Tommy requests but I’m just a girl 🙈 I am not immune. Ideally the filthier the better 🤭 but just wherever the muse takes you babe! xxx

Thanks for the request, Alex! I've combined your ask for smut with another lovely anon's request for a Cillian character w/ breeding kink. I hope this is ok! (Slight warning for hints of dark, possessive Tommy, but not to worry bc it turns to fluff at the end.)

All Mine 🔞

Tommy x gf reader

Tommy's nails dug into your forearm as he dragged you away from the party you were hosting. "Where are we going?" you whispered, stumbling slightly to keep pace with his strides. Taking one last glance over your shoulder, you flashed an apologetic smile to your guests, realizing they were as confused as you were.

Once out of earshot, Tommy's composure shattered, rage melting his icy blue eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you'd fucked my new business partner?" he seethed.

You shook free of his hold with an indignant look. "Jesus, Tommy! That was five years ago!" You rolled your eyes as he began pacing the long corridor. In his haste to leave the table, he'd forgotten his cigarette case and without the distraction, his agitation grew.

Throwing your hands up, you exclaimed, "Yes, I have a past! But I didn't think someone like you would hold that against me."

He stalked toward you, narrowing his eyes as he came close enough for you to smell the whisky on his breath. "But I do, especially when you spend half the fucking night whispering in his ear!"

You gathered your long skirt over your arm in preparation to leave, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Every conversation you'd had that evening was in promotion of Shelby Company Limited. Frankly, you were fed up with all the business talk and ready to scream at him for his ungrateful attitude. However something stirred inside when you glimpsed the tortured look in his eye. Your shoulders relaxed, backing down from the fight when you realized he was nothing more than a hurt little boy lashing out.

"Are you jealous?" you asked incredulously, an irrepressible giggle bubbling up from your chest at the idea of him pouting like a child.

"You're the one making a fool of yourself," he grumbled, not in the mood for teasing.

Caressing his face with your hand, you attempted to bring back the confident man you knew. In these moments he needed you to quiet his inner voice of inadequacy. "Where do you get these ridiculous notions and when will you give them up?" you scolded with a peck to his lips. You only intended a brief moment of affection before returning to your guests, but Tommy had other ideas.

Leaning down to hook a strong arm beneath your knees, he lifted you off the ground. Yelping in surprise, you threw your arms around his neck to brace yourself. You couldn't be sure, but you thought you detected a hint of a smirk tug at Tommy's lips as he carried you toward the staircase and away from the noise of the first floor.

Alone in the quiet of the bedroom, Tommy's intentions were clear. Hands roving your body, he hitched up your skirt, squeezing the flesh of your ass appreciatively. His body pressed into yours insistently, slamming your back against the vanity mirror with enough force to break it.

"Tommy, slow down," you begged, unable to keep up with his feverish kisses. However, his ministrations did not stop, his large hand encircling your throat possessively as the other dipped between your legs. He unexpectedly forced your underwear aside to push two fingers into your sopping heat.

"Is this for him or me?" he demanded in a low voice, pumping his digits into you the way he knew drove you wild. You could scarcely think as he worked you into a frenzy matching his own, but you knew he expected an answer.

"You...always you, Tom," you huffed out in uneven breaths, gripping his shoulder for support when he began biting and sucking near your collarbone. With that declaration Tommy abruptly stopped, staring into your eyes to determine the truth. Finding them glossy with unshed tears and feeling the flutter of your desire around his fingers, he was satisfied you were being honest with him. He rewarded you by hooking his fingers against the achingly delicious spot within you that set stars dancing behind your eyelids.

"So perfect," he praised, pressing his forehead to yours. "And loyal?"

"Yes," you whimpered as his thumb grazed your clit, sending sparks shooting through you.

"Then there's one more thing you need to do to prove it," he pronounced, withdrawing his hand and denying your pleasure so as to have your undivided attention. You whined at the sudden loss of stimulation, tears nearly spilling onto your flushed cheeks in protest.

The hand at your throat stroked your delicate skin gently as he fed you his soaked fingers. You sucked wantonly on your own juices while he nuzzled his nose against yours and whispered to you softly. "If you give me a child, there won't be any more doubts."

Your eyes went wide at his request, but he scarcely noticed, rubbing himself against your thigh to show how eager he was to begin. "Take off your dress," he commanded in a low voice.

"Now? We have guests," you reminded him, but he wouldn't hear any arguments.

A growl of frustration rumbled in his chest as he answered, "I don't give a fuck. Take it off now or I'll do it for you."

Apparently you didn't make your decision quickly enough because you heard the snag of fabric before catching the rapid motion of his hands out of the corner of your eye. Within moments the slit at your thigh was torn to your waist, exposing your lower half and sending shivers through your entire body.

With a harsh gulp, you removed the damaged garments as Tommy watched with lust filled eyes, stroking himself before you shamelessly. "That's better," he hummed in satisfaction, palming the globe of your breast. You nodded, biting your lip. You'd learned long ago you were powerless against Tommy's will, his desires becoming your own.

"Have to show that bastard who you belong to," he said through gritted teeth as he pushed you onto the mattress. You could only nod in agreement as he entered you swiftly, setting a brutal pace from the start. It was unlike anything you'd experienced before with Tommy rutting into you with reckless abandon. His hips slammed into yours with punishing force, fingers at your hips wrapped tightly enough to leave crescent shaped bruises.

Your cries soon echoed through the room and he did nothing to quiet you. In fact he spurred you on, demanding to hear how much you wanted his seed. You had no trouble complying, cries falling from your lips with each deep stroke. "Please, Tommy," you pleaded in a high pitched whine you barely recognized as your own, needing his comforting warmth within you instead of spurting across your chest or stomach.

The sight of you with half lidded eyes, begging for his cum was all Tommy needed to tumble over the edge. Quickly losing rhythm, he clutched your waist mumbling, "Going to fill you up." Suddenly his hips stuttered to a halt as he seated himself deep within you. You moaned at the intoxicating feeling of rope after rope of hot cum coating your insides, his release triggering your own. While you rubbed your clit to prolong the waves of pleasure, you heard Tommy moan at the way your cunt continued to milk him. "Such a good girl, taking every last drop," he praised.

He took a moment to admire you, watching your ample chest heaving and plump lips parted in ecstasy. He'd never felt so satisfied, but he soon collapsed upon you in contented exhaustion.

The enormity of what you'd just done came rushing toward you, but you were calmed by the weight of his body holding you down. Running your fingertips through the soft, shorn sides of his hair you mused, "Tommy, what is it you really want?" You could still feel the way his heart beat against his ribcage, transferring vibration through your body. It felt as though you could share anything with each other in this moment, while you were still joined as one.

He raised his face from the crook of your neck to place a tender kiss to your lips. "You," he stated simply. Running a hand down your body to rest over your stomach, he added, "Can you blame me? You're the most incredible woman I've ever met. Of course I want you to have my children."

You beamed at him, heart swelling with pride at his admission. He wasn't normally so effusive. Leaning in to kiss him, he withdrew from you and you let out a whimper at the aching emptiness. As sticky white rivulets of his spend ran down your inner thighs, Tommy scooped it up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you.

You sighed contentedly as he placed a kiss to your temple, aftershocks from your orgasm causing you to clench onto his fingers, drawing his cum further inside you. "Good girl, keep it in," he instructed, peppering your face with kisses as you grew sleepy.

However, one thought lingered in the back of your mind. "How could you have thought I wanted anyone else? You know I'm all yours," you declared, hoping to dispel any lingering worry he might have. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt Tommy's cock stir against your thigh.

Removing his fingers from you, he replaced them with his cock and began slow, gentle thrusts against your opening until he was hard enough to bury himself into you once more. He groaned at the sight of your tightness split around him, looking as though you were made just for him. Leaning down to cradle your neck and shoulders under his arms, he held you close. Hot breath fanning over your ear, he murmured, "When I see your beautiful body swollen with my child, then I'll know you're all mine."

A needy cry escaped your throat as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls, your nails clawing at his back to urge him back inside. "S'alright," he hushed, "I'm going to keep you full," he promised with a snap of his hips. You wrapped your legs around him, heels eagerly pressing into his back to accept everything he could give.

------------

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[drewizz]

THIRD TIME - 03. fortuitous

pairing ꕀ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS. none. (but the tension thickens increasingly fast)

WC. 1.8K

TAGLIST. open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. previous next

fortuitous. (adj) happening by a lucky chance; fortunate.

Luck wasn’t necessarily supposed to come in arrogance and trouble. But it seemed to be the case for you in the span of three consecutive days.

This time, it wasn't in the warmth of a coffee shop or the chaos of a party, but it was a pleasantly quiet stretch of the waves. Where one could note the scent of fishy saltwater hanging in the air, and how only the sound of the occasional cry of a seagull could be heard.

It was a late afternoon, and you had been walking along the docks – thoughts heavy as the gray clouds gathering on the horizon. The docks had always been your special place to think. A spot where the world felt a little less inordinate. Peace. Solitude. Tranquility.

And after many days being alone here at the docks, you didn’t expect anyone to be there before you. At least least not him.

But there he was. Rafe Cameron, sitting on the edge of one of the docks like he had all the time in the world. His legs dangled over the edge, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, and his gaze fixed on the water as if he were waiting for something – or more specifically, someone.

Your first instinct was to turn around (like last time) and leave before he noticed you. But the creak of the dock beneath your feet betrayed you, and his head turned, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you two was thick with tension, unspoken words hovering like a raging storm waiting to break.

Breaking the silence, he spoke first. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mystery girl,” Rafe remarked, his voice laced with that infuriating note of charm.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Do you plan to appear every part of this town this entire week, or are you just trying to follow me?”

He smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette into the water. “Neither. I'd like to rather think of it as fate.”

“Fate? You think you’re poetic now?”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk widening. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.”

“Surprise me then,” you challenged, eyes narrowing at him.

Rafe’s expression shifted slightly, the teasing edge softening as he studied you. “Never mind that, what are you doing here?”

Your brow furrowed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first,” he said, leaning back on his hands, looking completely at ease.

You hesitated, taking a seat carefully next to him. “I just like coming here time to time. I like having my own time to think about stuff. The bits of silence here eases me.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded, as if your answer satisfied him enough.

“What about you?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

He shrugged, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Needed some air. Couldn’t stand being around people for a while.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “You? Needing space from people? That’s hard to believe.”

“Don’t act like you know me,” he said, his voice carrying a sudden edge.

“I don’t,” you admitted, tone getting softer. “But you make it pretty easy to assume.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and for a wild moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You said that last time, but fair enough.”

Silence. It started to lightly drizzle, the droplets cold against your body. You shivered but stayed where you were, the thought of walking away feeling strangely wrong.

“So when you said you like to come here and think,” he said, breaking the silence. “I'm guessing that means you like to think about how you think you're better than everyone else.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes beadily staring at him. “Excuse me?”

Rafe smirked, but there was something darker behind it. “You’ve got that look on you. Thinking as if you’re too good for this place, all snotty and haughty.”

You laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “That’s rich coming from you. Having no worries about life, money, and other shit. Looking down at everyone else.”

The smirk faltered, just for a second. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” you pressed, being unable to stop. “Life's easy because you have the money. You have lots of friends. You think the world owes you something just because your daddy’s loaded.”

He stared at you, his jaw tight, and for a moment you thought he was going to fire back. But instead, he let out a short, bitter laugh.

“You think it’s that simple?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost bitter.

You frowned, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What are you talking about?”

Rafe stood, brushing his hands on his jeans as he turned to face you fully. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? The spoiled rich kid who’s never had a real problem in his life.”

“Well, am I wrong?” you challenged, though your voice had lost some of its heat.

He shook his head, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “You have no idea.”

For the first time, you noticed the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than they should. Though it didn’t excuse his behavior (certainly not), it certainly made you pause.

“Then?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “I wanna know. Tell me about it.”

Rafe hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the water. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like he didn’t want you to hear.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live up to someone else’s expectations? To know that no matter what you do, it’s never going to be enough? And you always have to do something fucking reckless to get someone's attention?”

Your breath caught, the rawness in his voice catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing, letting the silence stretch between you two.

“Didn’t think so,” he said finally, his tone sharpening again as he turned away.

“Wait,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Rafe paused, glancing back at you.

“I didn’t know.” You hesitated, unsure of what to add. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, the motion almost dismissive. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he let out a long breath and sat back down next to you.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “you act like you’ve got it all together in life, but I don’t buy it. And it’s obvious you don’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong at all.

“What’s your point?” you asked instead, your voice was much more defensive than you intended.

Rafe shrugged. “No point. Just saying it takes one to know one.”

Silence fell again, the rain now falling hard, soaking through their clothes.

“I come here to breathe,” you admitted over the long stretch of silence. "Not just to think."

Rafe glanced at you, his expression softer now. “Breathe?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes it just feels like the world’s too loud for me. It expects too much out of me, and I can’t give what it’s asking for. And if I don’t get away once in a while, it’s going to swallow me as a whole.”

For the first time, he didn’t have a quick reply. Instead, he nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant.

“I get that,” he said finally.

You turned to look at him, your curiosity growing. “You do?”

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. I do.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“To be honest, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

“Maybe,” he said, his tone lighter now, “you’re starting to like me.”

You laughed, the sound genuine despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smirked but didn’t press, and you two sat there in companionable silence. The sounds of the drizzling rain washing away some of the tension between you two.

The wind started to pick up even more. You glanced at the clouds, then back at Rafe. “You should probably head inside now. It’s going to pour soon.”

He smiled, a lazy, lopsided grin that sent an unwelcome warmth through your chest. “Is mystery girl seriously getting worried about me?”

“Not even a little,” you uttered, though the corner of your mouth betrayed a slight twitch of amusement.

Silence fell over again, the kind that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t entirely hostile either. It was strange, being here with him like this. It’d been only three consecutive days where you had short conversations with him, yet now you were here having a conversation you could barely get out to anyone.

The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, and you glanced at the sky again. “Seriously, you should go.”

“And leave you out here alone?” he asked, feigning mock concern. “What kind of gentleman would I be?”

“You? A gentleman?” you scoffed. “That’s a wild stretch.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “But I’m working on it.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you stayed silent, letting the silence stretch once again. This was okay. Silence and peace.

Rain started heavily pouring, the droplets cold against your clothes. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You’re really going to stay out here?” Rafe asked, standing and flicking the stub of his cigarette into the water.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

He shook his head, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to you.

“I don’t need it,” you said, your pride flaring (but failing).

“Take it,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, you accepted the jacket, the fabric warm and surprisingly soft. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Without a reply, he gave you a curt nod.

For a moment, you two were just there - under the rain, the tension between them shifting into something quieter, something neither of them could name.

“You know,” you started off, carefully standing up. “My house is nearby, you can dry off until the storm subsides.”

Rafe glanced down at your face with a teasing grin. “Inviting me to your house already? I don’t even know your name, mystery girl.”

With a quiet mumble you answered. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N. Well now I won’t have to call you mystery girl,” he chuckled.

Rolling your eyes, you asked in a more casual tone. “You coming?”

Rafe nodded with a smirk, following you.

As you two walked (quite quickly), your steps were falling into an unspoken rhythm. You realized something strange.

For the first time, being around Rafe didn’t feel like a battle. It felt like something else entirely.

And that terrified you.

NOTES. we finally get to see some rafeyn development 😊😊😊😊 THANKYOU for all the love and support omg. it hasn't even been a week and i've been already getting so many love for this series :') so excited to write the most false hope giving chapters ever..!

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell @rafesfavouritegirl @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

Missing Pieces/ Part 3

Estranged uncle! John price X Neice!reader

Masterlist

Tw: sexual tension , uncle/niece incest

Muddled

You stare at the wet spot on his chest, dark against the light grey of his t-shirt.

“Would you like to go for dinner tomorrow , We can talk, anything you like to know about —my br- your Dad”

John’s voice deep and low and soft, and you can’t look at him because if you do you might break apart again, so you stare at the ground, at the untied shoelace of your left foot—feeling the residual heat of his chest on your cheek, his hand big and heavy on your back, and this queasy warm , twisting feeling in your belly that you know is—

Embarrassment , that’s it—it is embarrassment because you had a breakdown in front of, no ,on a man who a week ago was a complete stranger and now, now you know who he is to you, so you nod, a weak, unsure thing, still looking down—

“Hey… look at me”, he says, steady and low, his finger tips brushing, featherlight, under your chin urging you to look up.

Your stomach fucking twists, and you don’t want to think about how pathetic you look to him, don’t want him to see your wet eyes and god you are sure there is mascara streaking your cheeks—

But you do.

His eyes are soft, warm , almost wounded, brows furrowing a little, as John shifts his hand from your face to your shoulder lightly squeezing it—

Raising his eyebrows to emphasise as he looks down at you “tomorrow 6:30, I will pick you up, right here, Okay.”

You nod again, “good—” , he hums pleased squeezing your shoulder one last time , giving you another one of his eye crinkling , gut twisting, smiles, before getting you a cab home.

(With a belly full of warmth and a too quick heartbeat that you tell yourself is something it isn’t. )

——

The thing is you have no precedent of how this situation, this relationship is supposed to progress—

You tried to find your biological dad, more of a sperm donor really and he is dead, and logically this—you meeting your uncle, should have ended in a few meetings, with John telling you— sorry my brother knocked up your mum and died, and now I know you exist, bye sweetheart.

But not, this.

Dinners, lunches, going for coffee, picking you up after work and getting you take out, because he doesn’t think you eat enough, and later taking you to get ice cream.

It’s so easy to slip into this role, where you know who you are to each other and don’t at the same time—

“Why do you smoke? It’s just so bad for you” —you huff, more agitated by the him just getting you icecream, and not himself.

“Because” he pauses taking another drag of his cigarette “I am old, and have responsibilities and need something to take the edge off”

“You know …you are not that old”—you say your nose frozen, licking the double scoop of strawberry cheesecake icecream that he bought for you.

“I am double your age sweetheart”, he states, looking at you, then away, jaw tensing then un-tensing.

“Almost” you mutter mindlessly, as you swirl your tongue around it trying to get as much in your mouth without getting a brain-freeze.

“Yes, almost,” he repeats like he has thought about it too—

His gaze flickering to you as he absently swipes his thumb across the corner of your lip, wiping away a smudge of ice cream, bringing it to his mouth licking the pad of his thumb, murmuring, low—

“Messy girl”

And it’s because you know who he is to you that in the dead of night when it’s just you, and the thoughts you can’t run from —confined in the pillowy purgatory of your bed, where you cannot deny the warmth in your belly, a mix of hunger and need and longing—

Where you slip your panties to side, rubbing your slick sex to parts of a man— a forearm, beard, a shoulder, a chest—

Because imagining him whole feels too much like admitting.

——

You fundamentally know that it’s out of a sense of obligation, a duty to you da- his brother, that he takes you out, feeds you, pays for your meals no matter how much insist on paying just one time please John—

But every time you see him, find him waiting outside of your work, university , you can’t help the little trip of your heart, the sunshine spread inside of you as you cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle, cheek pressed to his chest as you inhale the leathery, smoke tinged smell that lingers under his cologne, exhaling a hi-

And every time, his hand big warm, wide spread across the middle of your back, a whispered, love, so soft, because it’s just for you to hear.

It feels like relief wrapped in wrapped in comfort wrapped in familiarity.

And well,

There are boundaries after all, like there are these invisible lines drawn on your body that he doesn’t cross—below the middle of your back, the curves of your waist, your thighs,the ache between them.

And It’s not like you two have ever done anything wrong.

But —when he tugs you down, your world tilting a little, pulling you beside on a bench, quietly, deliberately, wrapping his hands big and warm, on your calf shifting your left leg onto his lap as he rubs a warm hand down lingerie a moment too long , until he reaches your ankle, you breath hitching, stuck beneath your ribs—

Fingers brushing your ankle, before he ties your open shoelace, tight, knotting it twice, his eyes flickering to yours, voice, low and a little dark—

“Can’t even tie your shoelaces, hmm, need me for everything”, his gaze a dark, laced with something that is mutual.

You know that these boundaries these invisible lines, are transient, temporary, that your fate was sealed the day you sent that email,

So in the dead of night, when your fingers are buried inside your cunt, you imagine the whole man—

Because you know who he is to you, and you don’t fucking care anymore.

[lucydixon]

Neighbours Part 5

Euro Masterlist 𐴱 Lords of Chaos Masterlist 𐴱 Rory Culkin Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog A/N: This is part five of my Neighbours miniseries PARTS: 1 𐴱 2 𐴱 3 𐴱 4 𐴱 5 𐴱 6 Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Øystein share a cup of coffee on the stairs, and somehow, it spirals into a messy break. (Very angsty and sry friends, but no smut. I need plot with my porn. You’ll get it in the next chapter, I swear.)

Words cannot describe how surprised you were to find Øystein sitting on your stairs in the morning. 

You paused at the top of the steps and blinked at him, tightly clutching your coffee and cigarettes. 

“What are you doing here?” You frowned, slowly lowering yourself to sit a few steps up from him. 

“Hoping for Jan?” he scowled, not missing the way your hoodie was bunched up around the dark bruise on your neck, covering it. 

“Oh, my god.” You groaned, “You’re here to scare Jan off?” 

“I can’t sit here?” 

“Sure you can.” You were still suspicious. “You’re waiting for me?” 

“No.” He sounded far too defensive. “You made Jan coffee, are you going to make me any?” 

“You know, everytime I see you, you’re a little less of a dick,” you smirked into the brim of your coffee cup, taking a sip before holding it out to him “Very nice of you to ask.” 

He looked at the cup for a moment, like he didn’t understand. 

“You wanna feel special?” You nodded towards the cup expectantly, looking amused. “I’ll share my coffee with you. I wouldn’t do that with Jan.” 

He took it, grumbling under his breath, but you could see the cracks forming.

They’d started the second you’d told him you wouldn’t fuck anyone else and you could tell that the rest of him was splintering. 

You lit your cigarette and took a drag, leaning back against the railing while he sipped your coffee.

“You know, sharing means you give it back, right?” You asked after a minute, biting back a smile. 

Øystein rolled his eyes but reached out to hand it back to you. 

“Are we going to have a conversation, or are you really just out here to keep Jan away?” 

“A conversation about what?” he scowled. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Regular stuff? I don’t really know anything about you.” 

“I already told you, I’m not your boyfriend.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Believe me, I have no interest in being your girlfriend either.” You scoffed, “I’m just trying to be civil.” 

Øystein couldn’t deny that hearing you say that irritated him, but he did what he could to hide it, looking away. 

“Yeah, well, don’t.” He muttered, shaking his head, “I don’t want to talk to you. I told you, it’s just fucking.” 

“I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to come in,” You sighed, taking one last drag off your cigarette. “But if you’re gonna be like that, then have fun with your sulking, asshole.” 

“Why would I want to come in?” He snapped, glancing up at you as you stood. 

“I was going to take a shower, but I think I’d rather take it alone now.” You shrugged, trying to sound as casual as possible, knowing he’d fold at some point. “I’ll leave the door unlocked in case you decide you’re done being a dick.” 

“Someone’s gonna walk in and murder you if you leave your door unlocked!” He shouted after you, unwilling to admit that he was very much struggling not to chase you up the stairs. If you just locked it, he wouldn’t have to fight the urge to go up there. 

You didn’t.

You’d finished washing your hair by the time he yanked back the shower curtain. 

Even though you knew he’d come, you still jumped. 

“Fuck!” you shrieked, instinctively crossing your arms over your chest to hide your tits. “Couldn’t have just gotten in?” 

“I’m not getting in.” He shrugged, leaning back against the counter, fully clothed and staring at you with a smug look on his face. 

“Then why the fuck are you here?” 

“You’re trying to fuck with my head.” He said simply, sipping from a fresh cup of coffee. 

“Did you make yourself a coffee before coming in here?” You asked, in disbelief. 

“Yep,” he smirked.

You sighed in defeat, shutting off the water and reaching for a towel. 

Øystein snatched it off the towel rack before you could touch it and threw it into the hallway. 

“Very nice.” You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the tub, dripping water everywhere. “Real mature of you.” 

It only bothered you a little that you were completely nude while he was still dressed. It wasn’t like he’d never seen you naked.

He was obviously trying to make a power move, and you weren’t going to allow it. 

“So, what do you want then?” You challenged, looking up at him. “Just felt like watching me shower?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Quite the contradiction to the ‘just fucking’ claim you made outside.” you scoffed, heading for the door, still soaking wet. “You don’t get to watch me shower then say its just fucking.” 

“Why not?” He stepped out into the doorway, blocking it, only inches away from your face, as he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t get to share your coffee and lure me up here, then say you don’t want to be my girlfriend.” 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” You groaned, “That’s what this is? You’re mad I don’t wanna be your girlfriend?” 

“No.” He snapped harshly, “I already told you. I don’t want you.” 

You visibly flinched, a little surprised by how much it hurt to hear him say it like that. 

‘I don’t want to be your boyfriend.’ is one thing, but ‘I don’t want you’?

Ouch. 

Your face fell and he immediately knew he’d fucked up. He opened his mouth, not sure what he would have said if you hadn’t looked away immediately.

“Get out,” you breathed, shoving him when he didn’t move.

You slipped past him and snatched the towel off the ground, wrapping it around yourself. 

“Seriously,” you said louder, watching him just stand in the doorway with your coffee mug. “Get the fuck out of my house, Øystein.” 

Finally, he sighed and brushed past you, hesitating before reaching for the door. 

He looked over at you, and the blank look on your face, but you just shook your head at him. 

“Go.” 

So, he did. 

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes the second the door slammed shut, and angrily wiped them away when they fell. It all felt so stupid. Crying over a man whose last name you didn’t even know? You hadn’t even known his first name till a few days ago and were pretty sure you still hated him a little!

Yet, there you were.

Upset because he didn’t want you.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Øystein stood at the top of the stairs, so fucking confused and angry with himself. 

He didn’t know what he wanted, but he did know for sure that it wasn’t this. 

For the next three days, Øystein glanced out the window at the stairs leading up to your door every morning, but he didn’t see you once. 

He thought maybe you’d gone back to smoking out the window, but he’d popped his head outside a few times and hadn’t seen it open. 

He tried to convince himself that he didn’t care, but that had stopped working the second he’d seen you with another man, even if it had been your brother-in-law. 

There was no denying the way he’d felt the last time you’d fucked. The way he’d held you after, even if it was only for a minute. He’d been thinking about it just as much as you had. 

On the fourth day, he caught you coming home from work. 

It hadn’t even been intentional. 

He’d just gotten back from the studio and had stopped by the stairs to light a cigarette. 

You both froze. 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath. 

You’d done all you could to avoid him over the last few days. Leaving earlier than usual, when you knew he’d still be asleep, and peering around the corner before stepping onto your street just in case he was hanging out outside. 

He looked about as shitty as you felt. 

His hair was greasy, and there were light, but still there, bags under his eyes. 

He didn’t seem to you like the type to say sorry, but he sure looked it. 

You’d done a lot of thinking over the last few days and decided that you shouldn’t be allowing this to affect you as much as it was. He was just the guy who lived downstairs. An asshole who you’d fucked a whopping three times and hadn’t said a single kind thing to you since you’d met. 

You decided to keep walking and went for the stairs, but he grabbed you by the wrist before you could pass him. 

“Okay, wait.” He said it far softer than you’d expected, setting his guitar down so he could use both hands to keep you from fleeing. “Just wait a minute.” 

You didn’t even struggle a little bit. 

Just stood there and let him hold you by the arm, blinking at him.

“I don’t know why I said that.” He muttered, gazing down at you like it pained him to choke out anything that even resembled an apology. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“Whatever, Øystein.” You breathed shakily, looking away. 

He’d completely killed your confidence in a matter of seconds the other day and you were so pissed at yourself for being so ruined by a single comment that you felt like you were going to start crying all over again.

It was weird seeing you so upset. 

Usually, you were angry and yelling, but now, you looked so defeated and small that it made his chest hurt. 

It was his fault you felt so shitty and he hated himself for it

You weakly pulled your wrist from his grip and were surprised to find that it made you feel worse when he let you. 

It all seemed to hit you all at once, and you couldn’t stop the few tears that escaped your eyes. 

You wiped them away angrily, but he saw them. Of course he did. 

“Aw, fuck.” He felt a pang in his chest. “Don’t cry.” 

You started climbing the stairs before you could break out into full-on sobs, leaving him standing there.

 

Before you could get your key in the lock, he seemed to snap out of it and grabbed his guitar case. He jogged up the stairs and made it to the top just as you were turning the knob. Before you could shut the door on him, Øystein pushed his way inside and let the door slam shut behind him. 

You groaned tiredly, throwing your bag on the floor. 

Now, he was starting to piss you off. 

“Øystein, get the fuck out.” You looked up at him, looking annoyed, but no longer crying, which was progress as far as he was concerned. 

“No.” he set his guitar down. 

“How the fuck could you think I don’t want you?” He asked you, suddenly equally as annoyed when he realized that he could spin this on you at least a little. 

“Because you fucking told me you didn’t!” you shouted, throwing your arms out in exasperation.

“Of course I fucking want you!” He spat “I want you so bad that I just chased you up the fucking stairs!” 

You were quiet, breathing heavily only a few feet away from him. You looked sad and confused,  like you might start crying again, and he really didn’t want that. So, he closed the distance and pulled you into his chest abruptly, shocking both of you.

“I want you so bad that everytime I see you, I just need to fucking have you.” He muttered into your hair, wrapping his arms around you while you stood there, stunned. “I’m sorry. Okay?” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” your voice was muffled by his chest, but your arms wound their way around him too after a minute. 

“I know.” He cracked the tiniest, relieved smile, glad you couldn’t see it. 

Part 6

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

[tightjeansjavi]

knead

A/N: so after rewatching Narcos all weekend and staring at the screen with big ole heart eyes for the infamous Javier Peña, I decided that he, like Joel, deserves nice things 🤍

~word count: 1.2k~

Summary: Javier Peña desperately needs a fucking break and to be kinder to himself <3

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of guns, cigarettes, implied death(s) due to an unsuccessful raid, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort, Javi is incredibly hard on himself, takes place during season 3 of Narcos, both Javi and the reader speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

Lo entiendo, hermano. - I understand, brother.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende - You don’t understand, brother. No one does.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, cariño. - You don’t have to wait up for me every night, querida. Your sleep is important too, baby.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa. - Jav, I always want to make sure you’re home safe

Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor. - Javi, please don’t apologize for this. Please, my love.

Siempre tan bueno conmigo - Always good to me

Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño - I love you with everything that I have to offer, cariño

Te quiero más a ti, Jav - I love you most, Jav.

When he comes home, he’s still in his olive green tac vest. His hair is strewn about in a sweaty mess across his face. He reeks of gunpowder, stale tobacco, and disappointment. It drips from his pores and lands in a puddle at his shoes, once shiny, now dull, scuffed and speckled in blood. A failed raid. Innocence lost, and disappointment. So much fucking dissapointment that swallows Javier Peña alive.

An anonymous tip leading to more fucking bloodshed. So much for things being done differently this time around.

A hero? Hardly.

Javier doesn’t feel like a hero. Not when all he’s done is failed over, and over again.

We’ll get them next time, Javier.

Will we?

Of course. You know the Cali Cartel like it’s the back of your hand, Peña. We’re this much closer to bringing them to justice.

Justice? He laughs. If there was any justice in this world, I would be in fucking jail right now.

Lo entiendo, hermano.

Javier laughs, voice rasped in bitterness. He swings his keys around on his pointer finger, jaw ticked, muscles aching beneath the sweat stained fabric of his shirt.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende. Javier responds coldly and unlocks his car door before climbing into the driver seat.

He thinks hard on his failure the entire drive home. He doesn’t listen to the radio. He sits in silence, puffing away on a stress cigarette even though he swore he was trying to quit.

In the lowlight from the hallway, Javier is able to make out your sleeping mass under the colorful patterned quilt on his couch. He swings the door shut softly behind him and quietly locks it.

His back and shoulders are tense, aching with each step he takes. Another jab and painful reminder of his failure tonight.

Despite Javier’s protests, you always wait for him to return home. He appreciates this more than you realize. It’s his one sense of comfort that he feels he’s undeserving of.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, corazón.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa.

The worn couch cushions gradually press down from the weight of his body as he slowly sits down in the unoccupied space between your covered feet. He winces when he feels that annoying pinch in his lower back and brings his hands over his face, dragging them down over his alquine nose with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his gun, badge, cigarettes, and lighter. He tosses them onto the coffee table and leans back just as you begin to stir awake from the sound.

“Jav?” You murmur softly and subconsciously reach for him over the blanket.

“Its me, cariño.” He rasps. His hand reaches towards you in the dark, finding you soon after. He laces his fingers through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, sitting up and facing him.

“No. I’m not okay.” He admits.

“What happened?”

He looks over at you through the darkness and shrugs his shoulders. “What didn’t happen.” He clarifies. His thumb skates across the back of your hand gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?..”

“No. I just..I’m tired, querida. I’m tired of failing all the fucking time.” He sounds exhausted. You know just how much his job truly weighs on him.

“Javier, my love, you are not failing all the time. You aren’t. No one thinks that you are a failure, Jav.”

He makes a snuffling sound through his nose that comes across more like a scoff. His movements cease when he feels your freehand grasp his jaw and pull him in close. Even in the dark, your eyes are soft, gentle, and laced with concern.

“Everyone tells me that I’m a hero, cariño. I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero.”

“Javi, you don’t have to be a hero. People mean well with their words. I know they do, but you have to try and not let it get to you this much. Okay? Javier, you have one of the toughest jobs out there. No one but yourself is going to understand how you feel. Whatever happened tonight, does not make you a terrible person, or a failure. You’re doing everything you can to take down the Cali Cartel.” You reassure him.

“I feel like I have to be the hero. Javier Peña, the dashing DEA agent that took down Pablo Escobar.” He laughed. “Cariño, I was told that this time things would be different, but they were wrong. Everytime I try to ensure that innocent lives won’t be lost, someone gets caught in a crossfire. A civilian. A child. An unsuspecting bystander. It weighs on me. It fucking weighs on me more than I’m willing to admit.” He said in an exasperated tone.

You saw the tears begin to brew along his waterline before he even realized he was crying. You detected the strain in his voice, and sprung into action. Your hand dropped from his face only to then pull him into a hug with your hand gently cradling the back of his head and your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently in hopes to soothe him.

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap so he could be closer to you. His warm palms slid under the thin fabric of your shirt along your lower back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I don’t want you to see me like this, cariño.”

“Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor.”

“You’re so good to me.” He kisses the exposed skin on your neck, the tips of his mustache tickles you as you hug him tightly, rubbing your hands up and down his back and shoulders in a soothing motion.

“And you’re good to me, Javier. Siempre tan bueno conmigo.”

He nuzzles you affectionately, wishing he could crawl inside of you and live there forever. “Cariño, can you do something for me?” He asks softly, dragging his lips across your skin once more.

“Anything, Jav.”

“My back and shoulders are fucking killing me. Can you—” you cut him off before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

“Of course I can.”

He breathes a sigh of relief through his nose “Gracias, cariño”

He slowly drops his arms from around your waist so he can remove his shirt. He undos each button with meticulous precision and slowly slides the fabric down from his forearms. He lays his shirt along the side of the couch while you slide into the space behind him, with your thighs wrapping around his torso. He leans back into your touch, lashes fluttering shut when your hands work their way up from his lower back, kneading the tender strained muscles there.

You work your way upwards and pay close attention to the areas where he’s feeling the most pain. He murmurs praises in both Spanish and English under his breath when you slowly and delicately work through a particular nasty knot between his shoulder blades.

Your gentle, yet firm touch sends the DEA agent into a state of bliss, and he’s putty in your hands in no time.

Your chin comes to rest along the crook of his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss along his jawline. He hums and tilts his head to the side, finding your lips in a gentle kiss. A thank you. An I love you, and an I appreciate you can be tasted through the kiss. He rests his hands along your thighs that are wrapped around him, gently kneading the soft flesh with his strong, yet gentle hands.

“Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño”

You smile against his lips, kissing him deeper while your fingers gently brush through the wispy tendrils of hair along his forehead.

“Te quiero yo más, Jav.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications.

[thetriumphantpanda]

i only wanna worship you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Seven

Chapter Summary | When a promising lead for your story turns to dust, you find comfort in the only person you know can make you feel better these days.

Chapter Warnings | mentions and discussions of drugs, drug consumption and the drug trade, swearing, flirting, explicit smut, oral sex (f), protected piv sex but nothing else.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Authors Note | GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Thank you so much for being so patient - my new job and the festive period kicked my ass, but we're back, and it's the one you've all been waiting for! I'm having so much fun weaving in the story along with these guys' relationship, and I hope it was worth the wait for you. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

You’ve been sat in the parking lot for what feels like ages. Turning up at the office that morning, you’d stared blankly at the article you’d written, listening to your managers voice in your head telling you that you could go and get your story, swirling the dregs of your coffee in your mug. It was almost like a switch had flicked in your brain and before your head could catch up with you, you were stuffing your supplies into your bag and swiping your car keys off the desk.

Now, your car is surrounded by others in the parking lot of Laredo’s biggest factory - one of the towns biggest employers of people who hadn’t gotten sick of it and left for college and never come back - waiting for Tyler Johnson to appear out of the front doors for his lunch break.

You watch the clock on your dashboard, counting exactly seventeen further minutes until his tall, lanky frame comes through the door. He’s fishing in his jeans pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He leans up against a brick wall just down from the front door, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. It’s now or never.

You get out of your car, deciding against taking your notepad and pen, you don’t want to spook him before you’ve had a chance to talk. You can feel the familiar nervous bubble in your stomach, something that hasn’t gone away when you blindly go up to someone to interrogate them.

“Tyler?”

He turns his head towards your voice as you come to a stop a few steps away from him.

“Depends who’s asking,” He looks you up and down, “But for you honey, sure thing,” He puts the cigarette into his mouth, reaches his hand out for you to shake which you do, “What can I help with?”

You take a deep breath, the speech you’d rehearsed in the car suddenly blanked from your mind as you try and figure out how to explain to him why you’re here.

“This is so strange, but can you remember hosting a party a few months ago?” You ask, “It was in town?”

You watch him think for a second, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Yeah I think so, was pretty wild if I remember, were you there?”

You reply with a nod, “Yeah, with my friend Liv,” You sigh, “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but you know that place was raided a few days ago, right?”

“Whole place knows it was raided,” He shrugs, “Been the talk of the town.”

“Right,” You’re thinking, how can you catch him in the act? “So, why were you hosting a party in a house that was empty, that was then raided for drugs?”

“Family own it,” He shrugs again, “Guy who rented it died and it needed doing up before we could get someone else in, so seemed like the best place to do it.”

“And the drugs?” You push.

“Listen, lady,” His tone sharpens but he doesn’t move towards you, you don’t feel threatened, “I haven’t got a clue as to why there were drugs there, okay? I haven’t been there since the party.”

“So you have no idea how they got there?”

“Not the faintest.”

“So it wasn’t you?”

“What the hell is this, twenty fucking questions?” He sighs again, flicks his finished cigarette to the ground, stamping on it with his boot, “I don’t know anything about the drugs, I’ve never taken drugs, I can’t even if I wanted to, we get tested here for them.”

“When was the last time you got tested?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Tyler snorts at you, “You and everyone else in this fucking town are so predictable,” He shakes his head, “Just because I’m not a golden boy like my brother means I take drugs?” You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he started talking again, “I got tested about three weeks ago, and then probably six weeks before that too, clean as a whistle, always have been.”

“Do you have the test results?”

“You think I’m gonna show my drug test results to a random girl?”

You nod your head because it his trepidation makes sense, “I’m a journalist,” You finally let on, “I wrote a story about the drug bust but figured there was probably more to it than first meets the eye so I’m just digging around a little,” You shrug, “If you show me, it puts you in the clear though, means people’ll stop talking about you.”

Tyler rolls his eyes but starts walking towards a car. You follow behind him, waiting as he unlocks it and looks through the glove compartment, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. He hands them to you, which you look through and just like he said, there are the result of his last three random drug tests, everything negative. Fuck. You try not to let your disappointment show as you hand them back.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”

“S’alright,” Tyler responds, putting everything back in order to lock his car back up, “I know how it is, but just…” He trails off, “Be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s happening either but this could be dangerous.”

“I’m a big girl,” You counter, “I’ll be fine,” You take a few steps back, “Sorry for bothering you though, I hope the rest of your day is alright.”

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to roll over, push your face into your pillow and scream. When did having meltdowns like that become frowned upon? You’re sure when you were little they were cathartic, but what use was that at three years old? You needed to be able to scream at this age.

Instead, you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, frustrated that the one lead you had turned out to be a dead fucking end. Were you wrong about this whole thing the entire time? Were you barking up the wrong tree? Did you just need to cut your losses and publish the story as is, without needing to dig around further? You had no fucking clue.

Before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach over, pluck the phone off your nightstand and press the redial button. You don’t even need to tap in his number anymore, he’s the only number you really call these days. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Javi?” You ask, although you don’t need to, you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“You alright, cariño?” There is just a sigh that you let out in response, then his voice is back in your ear, “I’ve had enough bad days in my time to know that sigh, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Is your response, you know you can’t tell him what’s really up because you know the deeper you dig into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get, “Just work stress.”

He’s silent for a moment, “What can I do? I can listen.”

“Can you come over?”

Even over the phone, you can hear him thinking it’s a bad idea. You can hear him thinking about how weird it will look if your parents find him in the house with you on your own, how you’d explain it, even if they didn’t necessarily catch you doing anything.

“They’re out at the moment,” You offer, “Dinner with some people on the force, and I won’t make you stay long, I promise.”

You can hear him do that thing he always does when he’s thinking - clicking his tongue against his teeth. He’s done it for as long as you can remember - a real tell that he’s battling with something in his head.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” You hasten to add, “We can just talk like this if you’d rather.”

“Need someone to make you feel better, huh?” His tone is lower now and it makes you squirm, all you can reply with is a small mmhmm sound, “I’ll be there soon.”

Then all you can hear is the dial tone. You lie there for a moment, listening to the sound through the phone, then glance around your room and panic. You slam the handset back onto the receiver and hop out of bed, dragging the sheets up to make the bed properly, aimlessly throwing abandoned clothes into the laundry basket, shoving half-read books back onto their shelves and generally tidying up enough so as to not look like a total slob.

Once you’re sure there’s nothing on display that you wouldn’t want Javi to see, you pace around the living room, drawing the curtains a little whenever you can see headlights bleeding through, until one set of those headlights are Javi’s truck. He pulls into the drive and sits there, before he’s reversing back out and driving off. Your heart sinks a little, until you can see his frame walking back up the street. You let the curtains fall back into place and stand by the front door, smoothing your hair and your clothes when he knocks twice. You don’t wait, just tear the door open.

“Waiting for me, huh?” He asks, stepping across the threshold, one hand slipping around your waist, the other letting the door close behind him.

“N-no, I was just by the door when you knocked.” You breath, so close to his mouth.

“That so?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Someone else looking out the curtains then?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he dips his face to yours, lips pressed softly to yours. You can feel the aches and the stress leaving your body as he does, you bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, as Javi’s palm on your lower back presses you into his body fully.

“Y-you wanna m-maybe go upstairs?” You ask, lips still a hairs breadth from his, you don’t want to look at him whilst you ask.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, free hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

“I think so, yes.” You breathe.

“Well then, lead the way cariño.”

I don’t deserve this, is all Javi can think as your hand is clutched in his, leading him into your bedroom. He doesn’t deserve the flutter in his stomach when he looks at you, or the way your eyes look at him like he’s the best thing the world has ever offered you, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the opportunity to do what he thinks you’re going to let him do in the next few hours. All of the bad he’s done, veiled as something good, all of the shit he’s fucked up before, the people’s he’s hurt, the people he’s killed, whether at his own hand or as a knock on from his actions, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.

You’re stood at the door to your room, back pressed up against it, hands clasped behind your back as he stands in the middle of your room. He knows you’re nervous, you always are around him, and he wishes he could say something, express that he feels exactly the same around you, that you make him nervous too, but he thinks it would sound wrong if he tried to explain it, so he doesn’t, just holds out his hand and beckons you over to him.

The warmth of your hand slipping into his, the way he knows those hands feel when you touch him, the way your lips are soft when you kiss him, all of it makes him a weak man, a man who knows you need someone with less baggage, because he can’t say no to you, he doesn’t want to say no to you.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, manoeuvring the two of you so you’re sitting on the edge of your bed.

He watches as you shake your head, “No, it’s honestly nothing, it’ll be fine.”

“What do you want then?”

You lift your head, flash those beautiful eyes at him and instead of fighting the strength to stay upright, he takes a single step towards you and drops to his knees, settled on the floor with your thighs spread to accommodate him. He puts his hands on your knees, looking up at you, and spreads them a little wider.

“This what you want?” He asks, trailing his hands up to your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up with his hands as he goes, “Something to take your mind off things for a while?”

“Y-yes,” You gasp when his hands hit the material of your underwear wrapped around your hips, “Yes please.”

Javi hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, watching as you lift yourself off the bed a little so he can pull them down. He’s slow with it, making sure that the hem of your dress keeps you covered as he can. It strikes him now how much he wants this, how much he’s craved the opportunity to get you like this so he can really hear you, really see you for once, without having to worry about getting caught.

“You wanna show me that pretty pussy, hermosa?” He speaks lowly into the skin of your thigh he’s nuzzling at.

He watches from between your thighs as your cheek drops to your shoulder, trying to hide how bashful you’ve become, but it does nothing to help the growing bulge in his jeans. Javi lets his fingers push the hem of your dress up your thighs, pooling at your waist, your legs widening.

Javi thinks he might audibly gasp at the way you’re already glistening for him. He leans forward, puckers his lips and presses a single kiss to your clit. It’s gentle, he revels in the small gasp you suck in, then he’s on your properly, tip of his tongue flicking gently against that little bud. He can feel your hand gripping at his hair already, hips moving in time with his mouth, and he wonders if anyone has ever blessed you like this. He needs to know.

He pulls away, letting his thumb gently replace his mouth, looking up at you, “Anyone ever done this for you?”

You shake your head, “No, but even if they had,” You’re biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t think it would have felt like this.”

He can’t help but smirk as he brings his mouth back to you, suckling your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, listening to you the way you whine for him, the way you start moving your hips in time with the movements of his mouth again. You taste divine, he thinks, as his tongue drops a little lower, drinking up the slick you’re creating for him, dragging it back up to run over your clit again.

“T-that’s so g-good.” He hears you moan.

“Yeah?” He replies, barely pulling off you.

He hears a noise in reply, lets one of his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh until he’s slowly pushing it inside of you, amazed at how easily you let him in just like he had been in the alley. He slips another in, curls them up gently, moves them until you tip your head back and really cry out for him this time. Javi can tell you’re close - he’s made enough women in his life feel good this way to know the signs - the way you’re tightening around his fingers inside you, the way your hips are moving but your thighs are starting to tighten around his shoulders and the way your moans are louder but more breathy, he’s addicted already, he knows it’s bad, but right now he can’t find it in himself to really care.

“J-javi,” You breathe, fingers gripping at his hair, “I’m gonna-”

“Go on, cariño,” He urges, “You can come for me.”

And you do, God alive you do, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever been party to. Your cunt goes tight as a fist around his fingers, slick drooling down into his palm, he can feel the way you flutter around them as you say his name over and over again in some sort of fucked up prayer, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock. Your entire body convulses as he works you gently through the aftershocks with his mouth, fingers slipping from inside you to rest, wet and sticky, on your thigh.

All of a sudden, he can feel you gripping his shoulders, pulling at the material to try and drag him up to you.

“Slow down, baby,” He says, but he moves anyway, pushing you back onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs, “We’ve got all night.”

“Javi, please,” You beg, and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything nicer in his life, “I want you,” Your fingers are fumbling with his jeans, trying to move his belt, “Inside me.”

Javi moves, taking your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, letting his hips grind into your own, front of his jeans grinding into the soft wet of your sensitive cunt.

“Do you have anything?” He breathes right into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.

“Top drawer.” You say quietly, whining when he pushes himself up onto his knees to reach into the draw.

Javi fumbles around a little until the familiar crinkle of foil hits the tips of his fingers. He pulls it out, places it into his mouth as he works to undo his jeans, pushing them down only far enough to free his aching cock. In an ideal world he’d strip the two of you off, but there’s something about this image of you, laid out on the bed in your sinful little sundress, tits heaving as you breathe, that means he just can’t wait.

He almost cries when you reach up, smooth palm stroking at his cock, so slowly he thinks he might die. Tin foil packet between his teeth, he tears it open, rolls it into his cock like it’s muscle memory. He leans back down, feeling the head of his cock nudging at your aching pussy, gathering your wrists back into his hands to pin you down again.

Javi is looking right into your beautiful eyes now, looking at the very soul of you as he stills. He’s damning the both of you to hell with this. He thinks if he’d been stronger, he could have stopped this - sure your mouth around his cock in the bar had been like silk, and the way you’d let him touch you against the brick wall had him seeing stars, but he knows, once he’s sunk himself deep inside you, he won’t be able to come back from this.

“You sure?” He asks, lips pressing softly to your own.

“Please.”

And it’s all he needed to hear to start slowly sinking into you. He watches closely as your eyes flutter closed, head tipped back, throat exposed to his mouth. He listens as he inches in slowly to your panting breaths and your little moans, until he’s buried fully inside you. His hands are gripping at your wrists tightly as he stays still, your hips wiggling underneath him.

“Hermosa,” He pleads, warns with his tone, “Don’t m-move, please.”

Like the devil himself, you don’t listen, and when he pulls his face from the crook of your neck, you’re smirking, you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Javier,” You use his full name and he swears he feels himself throb inside you, “Fuck me.”

He should have known the whole time that this wasn’t going to be a shining star performance, it’s been too long since he’s felt like this, felt the warmth of someone like this, but he knows this is different, he knows that look in your eye, not quite love, definitely not quite love, but it’s something different to the girls of Colombia. He can’t offer you a lifeline, he can’t offer you money to get yourself out of a country that’s trying to kill you, they needed him for something, and he needed them for something in return. But here, he just needs you, no whistles, no bells, just you.

Pushing himself up a little, letting go of his grip on your wrists, he puts his palms on the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs back, folding you underneath him as he starts moving a little faster, fucking you a little harder, you let out a proper moan into the air of the room and he finds himself smirking.

“That what you needed, baby?” He coos as he fucks you, feeling himself reach the very end of you with each thrust, “Just needed me to fuck whatever was in that pretty head of yours away?”

He can feel you tightening around his length, can feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, and that tell-tale tightening he feels when it’s almost time. He wishes he could hold on, wishes he could string this out, make it better for you, but god he needs to feel you again, he needs to feel the way you come around his cock.

“Touch yourself,” His tonne is demanding, but he watches down at you as you smirk, bringing your hand to your pussy, finger circling your clit as his hips start to falter, “Come on baby, one more just for me.”

It happens all of a sudden, the way your body snaps under him, and that feeling he’s been chasing, the feeling of you clenching around him, arching your back into him. He can feel the effect it has on him, just seconds later he’s following you over the edge, stilling inside of you as he finishes, banishing the tiny thought in the back of his head that says he wishes he was filling you up without a barrier between the two of you.

Once he’s caught his breath a little, he pulls out of you, groaning into your skin, listening to you whine at the loss of him. He takes off the condom, ties a knot in the top, wrapping it along with the packet in a tissue to put in the bin. He puts his clothes right, before crawling back onto the bed with you, pulling you into his chest, sighing at the feeling of your arm draped over his stomach, your leg entwined with his own. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did that help?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You reply softly into the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”

“You feel okay?” He’s slightly worried he was too rough, maybe that you didn’t enjoy it, “Was it okay?”

You move your head, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, “Javi, please,” You whisper, “Stop worrying, it was perfect.”

He lies there for a while, wishing he could strip the two of you down, press your warm bodies together and fall asleep like this is all normal and you aren’t younger than him, or the daughter of one of his closest friends.

“I should go,” He muses, “Not that I want to,” He adds quickly, worried you’ll think he wants to make a quick escape, “Just need to leave before any eyes are around to ask questions.”

You move slightly, letting the warmth of your body drag away from his own, “One day we’ll be able to do this properly, I hope.” You say, pushing yourself up on your palm as he rises from the bed.

“I promise the next time I have you like that,” He’s looking at you now, chin held in his hand, “I’m going to strip you down, take my time and fall asleep next to you, I promise.”

He kisses you then, slipping his tongue into your mouth and it takes every inch of his strength to pull away.

“Go on,” You smile at him, “Before my dad comes home and shoots you.”

“He wouldn’t shoot me baby,” He smiles back at you, “He wants me back on the force too much.”

“Before he gives you a black eye then.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, giving you a small salute as he turns to leave, but there’s something niggling at that back of his mind as his hand reaches for the handle of your door, something he needs to ask before he leaves, “If something was bothering you,” He asks, turning back to you, “Or you were getting into something at work, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

He’s looking right at you as you answer, searching for anything that says you’re not telling him the truth, and as you answer, he doesn’t find a reason to doubt you, “Of course I would.”

When he’s gone, twenty minutes later your parents are falling through the door, laughing at each other, too many glasses of God knows what over dinner have made them jolly and you find yourself smirking, biting at your bottom lip in the dark, that the two of them have no idea that Javier Peña left just twenty minutes ago after fucking you better than anyone else ever had.

It’s something that keeps you smiling, even as you fall asleep, eyes closing, any thought of work and dead-end leads forgotten and replaced by dreams of what else that man might be able to show you.

[abusivegymrat]

North Pierre

part 1: North Pierre

wc: 3172 (8-13 min silent read)

cw: alcohol consumption, swearing, tense/stressful situation, a following panic attack

series masterlist

The wind grazes at your soul, drying out your tongue. 

All those years have passed, yet you’re reminded again that some things don’t change. They’re not meant to. Fate or God, certain things make time freeze. 

Every crack in the road, every painted rock, every broken brick is engraved in your mind like cuneiform. Sometimes, when you miss home too much, those memories wrestle with the threads hanging off the edges of your consciousness, nagging at them until you have to light a cigarette to either remember or to forget.

Your boots weigh you down, dragging against the gravel, against the softening yellow lines of the road no one crosses. Its pigments break down like the slums littering the streets. 

You feel the tug and roll of every pebble under your feet, dribbling one as you walk the streets that once raised you. 

You smack your lips together. The taste of your city sits heavy on your tongue. The only thing that has yet to abandon you. Not when you’re deployed on the other side of the globe, not when you’re right here, at home. 

Soot, rust, grime. 

Coal, plastic, dump. 

Rubber, exhaust, blunt. 

Oh, and dog shit. 

It’s suffocating. You need to get out of here. All those memories come back and hit you like a tsunami. But you never learn your lesson, do you?

You knew. Fuck, you fucking knew taking up Laswell’s offer was a terrible fucking idea. ‘Personal time’, she said. Give me personal space first you bitch. 

You’d rather be doing paperwork, sipping petrol-coloured, gasoline-tasting cheap instant coffee on base and listening to one of your teammates' unfunny jokes without moving a single muscle on your face. 

Why did you even agree? 

Oh wait. Right. You didn’t want to be the only one looming around the base. Didn’t want them knowing the badass soldier was actually a lonely freak. You acted like there were people waiting for you back at home like everybody else. A warm hug and a warmer dinner. 

Now, you’re half a bottle of vodka too deep because you’ve convinced yourself years ago that inexpensive stale beer doesn’t count as alcohol, having forgotten because it tastes like sparkling dog piss. 

You don’t even remember where or how you got it, so much that there’s a chance you might’ve downed two-and-a-half cans of homeless person urine. 

You grimace at the thought, reaching for your phone in your front pocket, begging for your attention with the annoying ass ringtone you couldn’t be bothered to change.

Your thumb hovers over the screen because you want to give the impression that you’re busy doing something, anything except getting drunk on the streets. Not the impression that you’re available any time. 

Though you’re not sure who you’re showing off to, because the screen blurs, and you miss the green button multiple times before answering it. 

It feels like it’s from a distance when Laswell calls your name. You can’t tell if you’re being dramatic but the voice echoes, reverberating through your eardrums as it grows more frantic the more you stay silent. 

“That’s—“ you hiccup, “that’s Slick for you, love.” 

“Where is your radio?!” She scolds, “I’ve been trying to reach out to you over the comms for 20 minutes!” 

“I uh,” you smack your lips. “I left my gear at the base. What’s up?” 

“An emergency. And we need you at the base immediately.” 

“I don’t think I can do that, sweetheart. See I’m very far away—“ 

“I have someone coming your way to pick you up. Don’t move.” 

“How the fuck do you know where I am?!”  

“I placed an AirTag in your sweater pocket.” Your hands fly to the said place and you curse under your breath for not noticing it earlier. 

You’re then blinded by the headlights of an expensive looking car, one that whoever Laswell knows, you’re sure can’t afford. 

“Kate.” Her name comes out like a question from your lips as the car comes to a stop, headlights fading, leaving the spotlight to the street lamps once again. An unidentified weight sits on the pit of your stomach. “Are they supposed to be here yet?” 

“Why?” 

“Answer me.”

“Let me ask.” She goes silent for a few seconds. “No. He still has an 8 minute drive.” 

“…”

“…” 

A mutual connection, and realization dawns on both of you at once, and you suddenly forget you’re drunk. 

“Run.” 

But you’re frozen in place. 

A single drop of rain falls on your cheek as if mocking you, and you look up to see clouds looking like they’re about to burst. 

For a second, nothing follows. You wait for another drop to make sure. It comes, landing right in your eye. 

You blink it away, and before you know it rain is pouring down on you. You take a step backwards, then another, backing away from the very suspicious vehicle. It follows. 

That’s when you’re reminded to run. 

Your combat boots thump against concrete, matching the velocity of your heartbeat. Hard enough to crack the concrete. 

Your lungs expand to make room for air, lactic acid filling every dent in your body, it feels like gasoline poured over you. It burns. Everything burns. 

The wind separates a few strands of hair from the rest of your bun, unable to hold onto the shitload of hair wax you had put on earlier. 

Your heart feels like it’s about to combust, beating frantically instead of being elevated like a healthy run. 

A group of men get down from their vehicles to sprint after you, you don’t dare look back. 

Your injured knee and your sprained ankle scream in pain, you ignore it, pursuing your flee through the avenue. Your eyes dart to detect something, any surrounding you can use to take cover or to climb on. 

Your dilated iris finds a crumbling pile of bricks, a petty excuse for a building, and you speed the corner without a second thought, arms flailing to keep your balance. 

You wince when your forearm scrapes against the wall, then a nail sticking out of a pipe, creating a nasty friction burn. 

You feel adrenaline pumping through your veins and you speed up, rounding corner after corner, unable to keep track of where you’re going. 

Your boots slip on the wet ground, rubber soles fighting for grip. The rain is drowning you, seeping through your sweater. Your footsteps echo through the moldy tunnel like gunshots, and you feel bile rising up your throat like a warning: both a threat and a promise that it will happen eventually. 

You gag once, then twice, keeping up the pace. You vomit into your mouth and have no choice but to swallow it down, you mewl like a hurt kitten under city lights. 

Your throat carries the residue of the incident and the aftertaste lays heavy on your tongue. Every desperate breath coming from you sounds like a dog panting and growling. 

A dog in the distance struggles against its chains, and you understand that they’re dangerously close.  

Rats scatter under your feet, some squeaking out a cry of pain after being squashed under your boots when you slid over a dumpster lid. 

Something metal clanks in the distance. Someone kicked a bin. They. Are. So fucking close. 

You sob, clambering over a wire fence, falling hard into a puddle of pitch-black mud so deep it could’ve been a swamp. Wet soil and dirty water, both seep into your sleeves. You’re limping now. 

You don’t know how many minutes, maybe hours you ran for, but you eventually reached the highway, the city center instead of a clutter of nasty dumpster, tents and slums. One problem, you don’t recognize this place.

The sidewalks are a blur of clacking heels and subtle taps of soft sneakers, the scent of exhaust fumes clash with expensive perfume and cologne, everything pulses with life, shimmering neon lights flood your senses and you realise that you are truly lost. 

Before you can register and digest the sensory overload, you hear shots being fired. 

Your eyes dart around frantically, you see the two doors and the hood of a black Honda Civic open, as if winking at you from above. 

You debate hiding, but then you remember: they want you cornered. 

So you push forward, your hands tremble so hard you can’t squeeze them into fists. You climb on the back of the car, jumping down an alley. 

Your chest heaves as your senses dawn back on you, alcohol reminding your system of its presence. You immediately take your phone back out to talk to Laswell—

Your pocket is empty. 

Fuck, you must’ve dropped it. 

At least hope the AirTag in your sweater pocket survived. 

It didn’t.

Great. So you have no way of communicating with each other when you have your life on the line and this. 

You whine. Your heart, previously trying to claw out of your ribs, retreats as your legs give out and you collapse against a wall, on the sidewalk where people pass. 

You don’t even have her phone number memorized, why would you? How the fuck are you supposed to reach out to her?

At least they can’t shoot you in public. Can still chase you, but harder to find. 

Though a woman covered in mud, growling like a mutt, sobbing and limping is not so hard to recognize. 

You’re utterly defeated, letting your head fall into your knees.

You feel something wet on your cheek. Are you crying? 

You are. 

Jesus, what’s going on with you? Wipe those tears off right now— 

Fuck it. Just sob. Who’s gonna hear? Who’s gonna care?

Your mascara runs down your face painting a flag of shame, leaving a trail of desperation, your desperation behind. 

You raise your head, and lock eyes with the police station on the other side of the road. 

Everyone passes by, without paying so much as a glance. It doesn’t strike much attention: the paint is wearing off the walls like dead skin, the doors look creaky and unstable, its sign buzzes weakly, as if blinking in and out of consciousness. It’s clearly abandoned. 

It has no active security, looks like it’s either being used for storage or left to rot. No active staff, the cameras are dangling from their wires like dead bodies, their sockets cracking. The guy at the front desk is fucking sleeping, jaw slack, head tilted resting on his arm. He looks like he’s there just for the sake of being there. Just so that the government can say no police station is empty and no citizen is in danger. 

Then it hits you. 

A fucking awful idea. 

Next thing you know, you’re leaning over the front desk, one hand planted on the wood as the other trembles with the weight of a stolen brick.

Your eyes lock on him, unblinking like a predator’s. He stirs awake to the sound of your raspy, shaky breathing. Too fast. Too loud like a starving mutt, the only thing missing is saliva oozing and tongue out. 

Your head and fingers twitch uncontrollably in sudden jerking motions, tightening around the brick like it’ll crumble into pieces if you let go. 

Your sweat burns the crack on your lips, your clothes stick to your skin like glue. The brick digs into the palm of your hand like a mighty sword, and your throat feels like it was struck by it. 

Breathing feels difficult, blood and vomit lingers on your tongue. You mumble something incoherent, switching between whispering and shouting like you’re unhinged. 

You spit fragments, never a full sentence. Murmuring, talking to yourself a little too loudly, laughing at the wrong moment. Then you practice a few times, before gathering the courage to speak to the man in front of you. 

You wipe the spattered mud on your neck, clawing at it with your dirty nails. Alcohol is really kicking in now. 

Some people pass by, clearly avoiding you. Changing their direction and taking a wide step sideways, then slipping away like you’ll break their necks if you see them.

“I need to reach out to Laswell.” You croak, voice trembling as if the angel on your right shoulder was playing violin with your vocal cords. Your fingers fidget with the strings of your hoodie. You whisper the phrase again to yourself to do a double check, repeating it like a prayer. 

The cop looks up at you, eyes wide and horrified. He has no idea who Laswell is, unbeknown to you but not it’s not the hardest task to take a guess. 

He raises his hand reluctantly, you take the chance to snatch his radio, fumbling with it in a frenzy. 

“It’s local dispatch, woman! It won’t get you to whoever you’re looking for, fuck’s sake!” You freeze. 

“No…” you whine. 

“Yes.” He says sharply with no pity in his voice, and you let out a small sob. 

“I’ll… I’ll leave then…” you whisper, lugging yourself wherever, ending up further into the station. 

You register sharp pain before the cool of metal on your forehead, a thud rings throughout the station. Your timid fingers find where you hit, filthy fingertips caressing the skin as you push the heavy door open. 

ARCHIVE, 

the sign writes. 

Inside, you find an overwhelming amount of drawers and shelves flooded with paperwork. It’s dead quiet: your every breath, every cough, every sneeze is deafening. Every creak, every squash of mud under your boots feels louder than it ever did. 

The fluorescents flicker to life as ventilation hums softly to assist you through stillness. Every step moves a floorboard, dust sticks to every crack  like cling film. 

It’s overall disorganized. The papers have yellowed, rodents munching holes into some resembling a caterpillar. A musty odor hangs in the air like the spider in the corner, mingling with expired cheap air freshener trapped in this jungle of overwork. 

Dry paper, stale glue, old ink, all attack your nostrils at once. Everything has a tag and a label, but most of them are unreadable. Some cabinets stand half-opened, shelves dangle slanted, bowing under their own weight, moments away from breaking down. 

Every compartment is overstuffed, giving you an idea on how old this station actually is. This room especially, is a time capsule. Flickering fluorescent illuminates the dust flying in the air when looked at the right angle. Silence oppresses everything. 

The clutter makes you feel claustrophobic, like the walls are closing in each second, like the room is shrinking every step you take.

The surroundings repeat and stretch until infinity, like a maze with no exit you’re now trapped in. 

Then, a sudden bang hurdles in the room, your neck snaps back to see what’s up. 

A shelf has collapsed. 

You let out a deep, relieved breath. Though it doesn’t take much time for realization to hit you like a truck. 

You’re not looking back at where you came from. 

You’re lost. And everywhere looks the damn same. 

A paralyzing sense of dread falls upon you like a bed sheet, your lips part and breathing becomes a chore. There’s an elephant in the pit of your stomach, your heart beats fast and you sulk. Eyes growing droopy. 

Your heart feels like it’s trying to tear its way out of your chest, recognizing your ribs as bars and not protection, pounding its fists against it like a wounded prisoner. That prisoner is wringing your tongue dry like a kitchen towel. 

Helplessness washes over you as your tongue gets stuck in your throat. And suddenly, you can’t breathe. 

Your blood pounds in your ears, hands trembling more violently as your vision disfigures, feeling like you’re looking at the world through a fish-eye lens. Everything becomes distorted, the walls close in, your surroundings blur together. 

You sway around erratically, hitting wall after wall, knocking down shelf after cupboard.

Your limbs flail around, slapping documents and cause them to go flying all over the place. 

You keep moving, motions growing more hysterically as you lose track of your progress. 

You take a sharp turn, then another, sprinting towards whatever source of light. 

There stands a single desk lamp forgotten in its open state, illuminating the documents beneath. 

“This document presents the transcript of the interrogation conducted by Kate Laswell of the CIA of Kazimir Volkov on May 27, 2025, with assistance from the British Police. This interrogation pertains to the investigation into the deaths of 23 soldiers on March 12, 2017, and concerns suspicions of arms trafficking across multiple borders.”

Interesting. Kate was here two weeks ago? 

You flip the pages, coming across multiple mugshots and police reports. 

You jump when someone bangs on the door, the panic rushing back into your blood. The huge wall of metal is burst open and police barges in, hunting for you. Without a second thought, you hop into the nearest locker, damp and moldy.You have no other option but to inhale moisture as you wait for them to leave. 

You try to steady your breathing as footsteps inch closer, holding it when you feel like you should. Your pulse hammers, palms sweat and every breath catches in your throat like an anchor.

You brace yourself for the return of adrenaline but something unexpected happens. Blood drains from your brain and your knees wobble, the familiar dizziness comes back to you but not for the same reason. 

The locker feels deserted all of a sudden, temperature rising high, sweat starting to form on your forehead and slick your back. Your eyelids flutter, and silence follows.

God knows how many minutes later, you wake up to cop chatter, disappointed and almost snappy. 

“She was never here.”

“Stupid old man. Can’t believe we drove all the way here to relieve his dotage episode.”

“Fucking hag.”

Their radios buzz to life,

"Hotel India Two-One, be advised—noise complaint reported at Flat 3B, 17 Haversham Road, Brixton, London. Caller states loud music and shouting ongoing for over an hour. Please attend and assess.”

Grunts and groans come after, one speaks “copy”. 

Their steps fade, and their breathing stops. Eventually the door creaks. 

It can’t be opened from inside. 

You need to get out now. 

So you trail behind them stealthily, slipping a folded envelope where the door closes so it doesn’t lock in place. You wait for a few moments, before sprinting out of the station. 

And here you are again, in the streets, running. But you see something this time. Hope. 

Green lights flicker, the sign writes “Motel”. Motel North Pierre. 

If anything goes south, find North Pierre on 16th Avenue, behind the abandoned police station. State your call sign. I have a friend there who can help. 

So now you’re banging on the door like a wild animal, before a voice speaks up, muffled behind the material. “Name?”

“Slick.” You breathe, praying that he’ll open up. 

You hear him dial a number, your heart skipping a beat every other beep.

“Hey Laswell,” he speaks. “I think I got your girl.”

Fucking finally.  

[goodnightandgo777]

Do you miss me, dear? [h.c]

Summary: Stuck at a graduation party, surrounded by memories of your past relationship and your own loneliness, your night takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself dialing the number of the one person you vowed you wouldn't contact.

Pairing: College!Hazel x College!Fem!Reader 

Contains: smut 18+ only, explicit language, drinking, smoking, mutual pining, slightly toxic reader I think, fingering (r! receiving), oral(r! receiving), break-up/make-up sex, idiots in love, this one gets straight-up MUSHY I’m not gonna lie

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: I just need to say I am deeply obsessed with all of you who interacted with either of my last two fics. reading your comments/ replies seriously makes me SO happy you have no idea. Got me giggling and shit fr! I don’t know why my writing always ends up including partying and drinking but maybe it’s because I just graduated college and am having an existential post-grad crisis. Anyway 💀I hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading!!!

Also, this is inspired by this song by one of my favourite bands:  

“I don’t know what I’m still doing here.” You say out loud to yourself, standing up from the musty green couch you were sitting on. An empty beer bottle falls from the cushion onto the ground, shattering into pieces beside your foot. 

This party sucked. Pushing your way through the crowded, stuffy kitchen, you couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation. Tipsy couples entangled in each other's arms seemed to be everywhere, a painful reminder of what you once had and lost. The memories of being that annoying person in love at a party flooded back, amplifying the ache of your loneliness.

The thumping music in your ears only made your head pound harder. Desperate for a breath of fresh air, you stumbled toward the door, ignoring the intoxicated laughter and clinking glasses that filled the air. As you stepped outside, the cool night breeze hit your face, offering a momentary rescue from the overwhelming atmosphere inside.

The darkness of the night sky above seemed to swallow you whole, but it felt strangely comforting. Leaning against the porch railing, you closed your eyes, trying to regain your composure. In the silence outside, you could hear distant laughter and the faint sound of music, muffled by the walls of the house.

You settled into a seat around a glass table, next to a guy you recognized from one of your classes. You exchanged a quick nod of acknowledgment before reaching into your purse, retrieving a box of cigarettes. Smoking was not a regular habit for you, but you reserved it for moments like these—after a few drinks and a growing sense of irritation. 

You lit the end of the cigarette, watching it crackle, and took a long drag. As you exhaled the smoke, you tilted your head back, noticing the full moon glowing brightly above.

"Full moon tonight," the boy beside you remarked, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They say some crazy shit can happen on full moons."

You chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, well, that could explain why I'm stuck at this party right now."

He leaned back, studying you intently. 

“I wish I could be an astronaut and get the fuck out of here.” You mused, gaze fixed on the bright glow of the moon. "I only came to this party because she said she would be here." Another drag of the cigarette punctuated your words.

"Who's she?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"My ex," you replied, trying to seem nonchalant. His gaze was fixed on you, "Hazel."

-

Until today, you hadn't spoken to Hazel in over three months, choosing to cut off all contact in an attempt to speed up the process of moving on. You're both surprised that you managed to endure the silence for so long, and disappointed that she hasn't made any effort to reach out, not even once. 

That was until about six hours ago when you were sitting at a coffee shop on campus with your roommate, Brittany, studying for your upcoming statistics exam. 

"Don't look now, but Hazel just walked in," she whispers, her tone hushed, and her eyes widening. "And she's with another girl."

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. You were seated with your back to the door, and you watched as they both approached the corner, heading in your direction.

"Brittany!" the blonde girl accompanying Hazel exclaims, leaving the three of you momentarily stunned.

Hazel follows a few steps behind, clearly taken aback by the encounter. She looked annoyingly hot, her disheveled brown hair, baggy white t-shirt and black jeans, adorned with her signature silver chains and rings. It takes all your strength not to stare. 

"Hey, Amanda," Brittany replied, forcing a polite smile. "Hazel."

Hazel offers a nod in greeting to Brittany and then to you. You feel like a middle-schooler again, awkward and unsure of how to act around your crush.

"Did you manage to finish that paper for Professor Sharpe's class?" the girl asked. 

As Brittany carries on the conversation with Amanda, you can feel Hazel's gaze on you, catching her eyes occasionally. 

You never anticipated the aftermath of your breakup with Hazel to be this awkward. All those nights spent tangled up together, where you both believed you could read each other's minds, now reduced to this.

"So, Hazel, are you going to Emma’s graduation party tonight? All of us are going," Brittany chimed in, attempting to steer the conversation away from the obvious tension.

Hazel smiled sheepishly, replying, "Yeah, I’m going."

"Cool," Brittany replied, her smile masking the underlying awkwardness in the air.

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung between you all.

"Will you be there?" Hazel asked breaking the silence, turning toward you, her voice almost hesitant.

"Yeah, I'll be there," you said, mustering a small smile. "Wouldn’t want to miss it."

Hazel smiled, "Cool," she said, her voice soft, "I'll see you there then."

Just as the atmosphere began to ease, Amanda abruptly intervened, her grip firm on Hazel's hand. "Hazel, let’s go, I forgot something in my car," Amanda said, her tone strangely possessive, and she dragged Hazel away before you could utter another word.

-

This breadcrumb of information has led you here. You spent the first fifteen minutes at the party searching for her like a lost puppy. When you couldn't find her, you contemplated leaving but opted to drown your thoughts with tequila shots instead. Now, you're clinging to any scrap of attention you can find, desperately trying to purge her from your mind.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the male voice beside you. "D’you have a light?" he asked, his cigarette aimed in your direction. You stare at him for a moment, deadpan, still frozen in your thoughts from the events that unfolded earlier today. 

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath, reaching for your phone. You’re calling her.

-

“You’re soaked,” Hazel says as you climb into the front seat of her car, her tone a mix of concern and annoyance. “Seriously, you’re getting mud all over the floor of my car.” While you were waiting for Hazel to pick you up from the party, It started raining, you thought enduring it outside would be better than being stuffed in that small house full of people you didn't even really know. 

“You lied.” You retort back. 

“What?”

“You said you were coming to the party.” 

“Yeah well, my plans changed. Put your seatbelt on.” As she shifted the car into reverse, she placed her hand on your seat to steady herself. With a quick glance over your shoulder, she backed out of the driveway in one brisk movement.

You attempted to keep your composure, trying not to make it entirely obvious that you were basically drooling over how hot she looked doing that.  

“I can tell that there’s someone else,” You say after a few moments of silence, trying to disguise your jealousy with innocent curiosity. “Come on, tell me,” You finally click your seatbelt into place. “I can take it well.” 

"Oh, I know you can," she replied, shooting you a smug look, trying to divert this conversation from getting too deep right now.

“Hazel.” You groan at her dumb attempt at an innuendo, throwing your head backward and hitting the headrest. “Just be honest. Is it the girl from the coffee shop earlier? Or what about the girl Isabel saw you with last week at the library? Or both? Who am I kidding, there’s probably even more than that.”

“Do you have like, personal spies assigned to watch over me?”

You don’t respond right away, deciding to avoid her questions like she’s avoiding yours. You crank the window open and throw your head out. The spring wind cool on your face. 

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

Look, I know I wasn't where I said I'd be, but I was busy, doing stuff," she replied defensively.

"Yeah," you scoffed, your words tinged with a hint of anger. "I'm sure you were."

You sit the next few minutes in silence, wondering if this whole thing was a bad idea. You couldn't pinpoint why you had called her in the first place. The intensity of seeing her earlier mixed with the disappointment of the lackluster party had left you missing her, even though you weren't entirely sure why.

"So, where am I taking you?" Hazel asked, her gaze shifting from the road to you. Strands of her brown hair were tousled by the wind.

Your buzz had faded, and with it, your initial courage waned. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before speaking. "Can I sleep at yours? Not— not like that," you hurriedly clarified, feeling a sudden need to explain. "It's just that Brittany has her new boyfriend over, and I could go back there, but I don’t really want to."

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” 

After a moment, Hazel hesitantly rested her hand on your thigh, both of you aware of the significance of the touch, even if neither acknowledged it. Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze, the subtle pressure made your tummy flip. Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding lingered, hinting that this night might entail more than just a ride home.

-

Hazel's apartment is full of brown moving boxes, an aching reminder of why you broke up in the first place. 

“Wow, this place is pretty much all packed up.” You say, slowly walking through the place, eventually landing at the doorway into her bedroom. 

She nods in response, her face reflecting a mixture of anticipation and sadness, settling down at the end of her bed.

"So, when do you leave?" The question weighed heavily on your heart as you voiced it. You wished you didn't have to ask these questions, yearning for a time when you were part of her plans, not just a spectator.

“Two weeks. My Aunt is gonna meet me at JFK and help me move into my new place.”

You sighed, feeling brave, "I wish I had the date circled on my calendar, helping you move, or going with you." You say the last part quiet, mostly to yourself.

The conversation lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

You walked over to her dresser, where a mirror was propped up, decorated with photos of you two from a photobooth, still clinging to the glass. Your heart swelled with mixed emotions.

Hazel says your name, breaking you from your trance. 

“Come here,” she says. 

You walk over slowly, standing between her legs. Your hands rest on her shoulders and you take a deep breath.

With both of your gazes locked, her hands came up behind your thighs, gently grabbing them and pulling them on either side of her one by one so you’re straddling her. Her hand comes up to brush a piece of hair from your face. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby” Her voice is barely a whisper as she stares up at you, her eyes practically shimmering with your reflection, Her hands settle on your waist, the warmth of her touch sending a pang of guilt through you. This breakup was unlike any you'd experienced before, and the raw emotions lingered, making you hesitate for a moment.

Your hands move up to cradle her face, your thumb dragging on her bottom lip. Still maintaining intense eye contact, you slowly slip your finger into her mouth, watching her with a mix of awe and longing.

The silence as you stare at each other is anything but awkward. It was charged with the weight of shared mourning, each of you navigating the complexity of a relationship's end.

You removed your finger, and in response, she grabbed your head gently, guiding it down towards her face, her eyes locked onto yours. Your lips barely grazed each other, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear your rapid heartbeat. Hazel kissed you slowly at first, the touch of her lips sending a rush through your entire body. It quickly escalated, and there was a certain neediness to the way you both kissed, scared it could be the last time.

"Missed you," She whispered against your lips. Your mouths slid together, tongues pressing and exploring. The intensity of the kiss speaks volumes, like you were making up for lost time. Her lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses, setting your body on fire. 

“Fuck, Hazel.” It was almost embarrassing how quickly you melted beneath her touch. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” You say, your voice strained, a soft moan escaping your lips. You very much wanted to be doing this, you just thought you should at least try to seem like you had stronger breakup morals than you did. Her hands found the curve of your ass, and you instinctively started to rock your hips slowly back and forth, seeking some much-needed friction. 

"Do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I'll stop, pretty girl," she murmured against your neck, her open-mouthed kisses and gentle suction on your pulse point sending shivers down your spine. You didn't reply with words, but your fingers found her hair, silently urging her to continue. "I need an answer, babygirl," 

"Don't stop," you breathed, your voice catching in your throat. "Please, don't stop." Your hips still lazily moving on her. Her mouth was back on yours, deepening the kiss as she guided you both down, her hands roaming over the back of your legs and your ass. She tugged at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of it and leaving you in your black lace bra.  

"So fucking perfect. Missed you so fucking much," she confessed, 

"I missed you too, Haze, every day," you whined, 

"You ever think about me? she asked, breathless. "About this?" she continued 

You nodded, your breath hitching as you confessed, "All the time. Couldn't stop thinking about you, your hands, your mouth."

Her eyes darken as you sit up and effortlessly unhook your bra, leaning back down, your lips finding their way to her collarbone, marking a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. Your hands slowly creep their way up under her shirt, seeking permission. She nods, a silent affirmation, and you gently peel her shirt off over her head. Your stomach flips as you feel her arms effortlessly turn both of you over, trading places, landing on your back as she hovers over you. Her silver chain dangling above your face. It felt like your first time all over again, you felt a sense of shyness creeping over you under her gaze. Anticipation and excitement blooming in your chest.

“Fuck, look at you.” She says. The way she’s studying you makes you feel like the most beautiful thing to ever exist, as if every curve of your body is a masterpiece deserving of praise. Unable to contain your impatience, you pull her head down to meet your lips, your hips instinctively bucking up, frustration showing in the heated moment. Her fingers start to trail downwards under your skirt, meeting your clothed cunt. “You want me to fuck you? Hm?” She whispers in your ear, “Is that what you want baby?” She taunts, her fingers slowly grazing over your underwear. 

You nod vigorously, your enthusiasm evident. She responds by sucking on your neck again, sending shivers down your spine, your face flushed with heat. Your hands instinctively tug at her hair.

“Yes, Haze, please, fuck.” You arch your neck, pressing it firmly into the softness of the pillow beneath, a small gasp escaping your lips as you surrender to the moment. “Want your fingers inside of me.”

She makes a noise of desperation, her warm breath fanning over your face. “Gonna make you feel so good baby” She moves your underwear to the side, running her fingers through your slick folds. You gasp and she groans. “Wanna make it up to you.”

She tugs at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips as she guides it down along with your underwear. Hazel curses under her breath, “You’re so wet, it’s so fucking hot.” She plants kisses all over your chest, each one feeling like it could set you on fire. 

She slowly fucks you with her middle finger, the touch leaving you reeling. She adds her ring finger, her free hand snaking under your neck. Her fingers gently grab the side of your face while she fucks you, slightly tugging and grazing them against your parted lips. It's an intimate gesture, conveying both tenderness and desire.

Your hips buck up to meet her fingers. “Holy fuck” you groan as she pumps them faster into you. “Like that,” your voice is completely shot. Your entire body fizzed from the contact. You gently bite down on her fingers near your mouth while she places kisses all over your cheeks and your lips. Your head spun with thoughts of her - her mouth, her hair, her scent, Hazel was everywhere, all-encompassing. 

“Fuck, you’re so good” She half slurs, her voice wrecked, pupils blown and her lips parted. “So good for me.” She whispers, keeping her pace, dragging her digits through the wetness at your core.

Her mouth makes its way down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses until she’s on her stomach between your thighs. Pumping faster, her lips suck at your clit. Her other hand presses down on your abdomen, holding you in place. You cup your aching tits, feeling them move with every motion she makes.

“Hazel,” you whine, “Haze, I-” Her fingers pick up the pace, curling inside of you. You tread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, the coil in your tummy growing tighter and tighter. 

“I know, honey, I know,” She says in response to your moans. “You sound so pretty baby, missed those sounds so much.” She keeps babbling, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look for her. 

“Fuck, don’t stop” you moan as she continues fucking you with her mouth and fingers, her pace alternating between teasing and fast, pushing you toward the edge. The contrast in her movements intensifies the pleasure, almost giving you want you want but flaking at the last moment, it’s torture.

“Shit, you’re almost there sweetheart” Hazel swears under her breath, voice laced with her own arousal. Her words drive you closer to the edge. You swear you can see stars as the overwhelming feeling shocks through your body. Your heart rate picks up immensley, pounding in your chest.

“Gonna come for me baby, yeah?” “Want you to come all over these fingers.” 

And you did. Your body clenches around her fingers, trembling, moans and curses spilling from your lips. Your eyes form with tears from the overstimulation. Her face landed in the crook of your neck, planting sloppy kisses and whispering reassurances as she guides you through the climax.

“Good girl, that’s it, honey. That’s it,” she murmurs.

Her fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you, riding out your high.

“Holy shit," you say once you've caught your breath. "Haze, c'mere." She lifts her head back up and you yank her face down to yours, tasting yourself on her lips as she lets out a soft moan. When you eventually pull away, both breathless, you lock eyes before bursting into disbelieving laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You whisper.

"I can," she says smugly. You playfully shove her before she collapses beside you. Both of you lie face to face, studying each other's features, committing them to memory, afraid you might forget what they look like. Her hand rests on your waist, mindlessly grazing up and down.

"What's the real reason you didn't come to the party? You ask. Were you with someone else?" Hazel shakes her head.

She pauses before speaking, "I thought if there was any chance of you being there, that I was gonna walk in and maybe see you with someone else. There was no way I could've handled that. I've been distracting myself with other girls, yeah, but..." Her voice trails off. "You have no idea how in love with you I still am." Her voice cracking with emotion. You can see a tear forming in Hazel’s eye, glimmering in the low light of the room.

“Hazel..” Your own voice slightly breaking. You reach out and drag your thumb delicately against her cheek, wiping the stray tear away. Your heart is breaking with a mixture of guilt and longing for the girl lying beside you.

“I still play pretend, in my head.” She whispers.

You smile, your hand resting on her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze, a signal of encouragement for her to keep going. 

“I picture us, living together in our apartment in the city.” 

Hazel was moving to New York City to work for her aunt after graduation. The reason you broke up, neither of you wanting to do long distance.

“Waking up next to you everyday, cooking you breakfast, fucking you on the countertop for hours” You both laugh at that. “Ever since I met you, I’ve always pictured you just being there. And these past few months…” 

“Absolute hell.” You finish for her. 

“Absolute hell.” She agrees. 

You take her hand and squeeze it, a silent form of reassurance. 

She shifts slightly and hovers over you again, brushing your damp hair off your forehead with her hand, and scans your face. “I don’t want this to end” she whispers. 

You wish you could capture this moment, tuck it away, and replay it whenever you wanted. You’ve been waiting for her to say these exact words for the past three months, you just never thought it would happen. The reason for your break-up still heavily taunts the back of your mind. 

“I love you” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. Taking her face in your hand and capturing her in another kiss. She kisses you sweetly and desperately.

You pull away, gently coaxing her back towards you, and cuddle her into your chest, assuming the role of the big spoon.

She nestles into your arms, finding comfort in the warmth of your body. With a soft sigh, she murmurs, "I wish we had more time.”

You tighten your hold around her, "We'll figure something out, I promise," you whisper, though you aren’t even sure of the reality of your own words. You choose to let go of the uncertainties, preferring to revel in the present moment. She looks back at you, and you kiss her forehead, a silent promise to cherish what you have, even if time feels fleeting.

“God damn full moon.” You mutter to yourself, remembering your earlier conversation at the party.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing.” You say. “Don’t worry about it.” You kiss her shoulder, settling into the softness of the moment.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

tagging @astroph1les @vster0769