#bouncing around in the timeline again

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #2

He loves animals.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

---

Dart wasn't afraid to admit it aloud: ever since the regime change, he had been utterly, out-of-his-mind bored.

His fellow pilots refused to agree publically lest they get assigned scutwork, but Dart would rather spend three hours chasing down Senator Whatshername's pet tooka than sit on his ass in the hangar. He could only spend so long pining at his ship, wishing his boots weren't touching the ground, before the inactivity drove him crazy.

There used to be plenty for off-assignment Guard pilots to do, back when old Wrinkly McSithface was around. Datawork needed filing, senators needed babying, the Coruscant Security Force needed their asses wiped and their jobs done for them. But with the signing of a ceasefire with the Separatists and Bail Organa officially sworn in as Chancellor, instead of their work increasing, the Guard actually had less to do and actual free time.

(It was mandatory. Breaks and downtime were official edicts and viciously enforced by the medics. Dart hated it, but when he'd expressed that opinion he'd been dogpiled by his fellow pilots and informed in no uncertain terms to shut the fuck up.)

So, to keep busy, Dart started volunteering to do a lot of the odd jobs most troopers didn't enjoy. Not datawork--he would rather die--but anything that kept him moving was fair game. Commander Stone started tossing him the low-priority assignments and Dart happily took them on, doing anything from delivering packages clear across the district to hunting down senators who kept 'forgetting' to put their signatures on important documents.

Unfortunately this sometimes led to such undignified situations as Dart tumbling out of an access shaft, his armor covered in dust and scratches, to land on his ass right at the feet of one Commander Vertex. 

Vertex, cup of caf in one hand and a datapad in the other, looked down at Dart and tilted his head slightly to the side.

Dart blinked owlishly back up at him.

The tooka in his arms yowled its displeasure.

Dart scrambled to his feet, keeping the murderous feline squished against his body with one arm as he offered a slightly-unsteady salute with the other.

"Commander Vertex, sir!"

"Dart," Vertex greeted. The Commander had been with the Guard for just under two months now and had proven himself a certifiable badass, and Dart was absolutely mortified getting caught looking like an idiot. "I see you've found Mr. Tinkles."

Dart stared at him. Then he stared down at the squirmy white tooka trying to dig its claws through his armor.

"The fuck kind of name is Mr. Tinkles?"

Vertex snorted, and while his expression didn't change, his eyes crinkled with laughter.

"You'd have to ask Senator Veph, though I believe she inherited him from her predecessor."

He reached out to stroke between Mr. Tinkles' ear cones, the almost-smile softening to a real one as the tooka happily accepted the petting--all nice and docile as if it hadn't just spent the last three hours trying to gnaw Dart's helmet off.

The gossip network that Dart definitely wasn't part of had mentioned seeing Commander Vertex feeding the stray tookas that skulked around the commissary, but he hadn't actually believed them.

"She'll be happy to see him back," Vertex continued. "She usually gives sweets to whoever returns him."

Dart perked up, abruptly much more interested in this assignment. He, like most clones, had a sweet tooth a parsec wide, but more importantly: candy meant bribery material.

Vertex's eyes glinted like he knew what Dart was thinking, but he didn't say anything; he just patted Dart on the shoulder before continuing past him.

"As you were, trooper."

So cool.

Later, when Dart was busy with his self-appointed duty delivering caf to the poor sods stuck doing datawork--and certainly not trading sweets for intel or collecting gossip at the same time--he spent a little more time finding the best mug for Commander Vertex. It was tucked in the back of one of the cabinets and he had to dust it off, but when Dart carried it into the commander's office, Vertex's eyes immediately zeroed in on it.

"Here, sir," Dart said proudly, setting the steaming cup on his desk. "You like animals, right?"

Vertex reached out slowly, wrapping his hands around the mug with a soft, wondering expression on his face. He pulled it toward him, looking down at the engraved motif cupped between his palms.

The mug looked like it belonged there.

"I suppose I do," Vertex said softly. "Thank you, Dart."

Dart beamed.

He made sure to keep bringing the Commander his caf in the red vulptex mug from then on.

[yapperina]

prisoner sylus x queen reader, spoilers for all myths, anecdotes and basically everything, canon treated very loosely, no beta we die

cw: heavy-ish topics discussed, some blood, mostly G-rated

For a while, it almost seems like the promise of hope come spring held some actual merit – which was never a guarantee with Xavier, you learned – and you spend your days restless, chest strangely tight, while the world rights itself around you. Putting the crown on your head is so easy it's uncanny, restoring the Order is easier still.

So many are eager to bend the knee for the new Queen, with a promise of a future finally in reach.

Then the harvest fails, and another. The floods come further north. Rivers slow down to a trickle in the south afterwards and the tech gives out everywhere at once.

It starts so slow and spreads even slower, each century worse than the one before, time molasses-thick on your tongue. No one can name the reason, but sometimes you think you can hear it. Philos, hollowed-out and hungry, calling out for you at the edge of hearing. String pulled taut from the Forest to the center of your chest.

You wonder if you actually left it at all. If it's one empty thing reaching for the other, finding it's match after having a taste.

Were you saved, in the end, or was it another of his lies?

Centuries blur the edges of your memories, chipping them off little by little and when you return to them, almost nothing is left and of you, too.

Your people are dying.

There're very few places left to feel safe, now, whole villages up and leaving to try and squeeze into whatever cities are still standing under protection of the Lightseekers' Order, but it's not enough and the crown feels more like a set of shackles with every passing day, pulling you down.

No one even looks at the stars anymore, for there's no one coming to save you, the promise you carry with yourself for centuries without believing in it tasting like ash, and your people are dying, so you might just as well��

You almost miss the arrival of the starship. A guard bursts into your sitting room early in the morning – Antony, or something, too young to actually justify the familiarity, but you're so tired lately, too tired to care – and his voice cracks halfway through the sentence:

"A ship, your Majesty! A ship landed north of the city!"

You startle, fingers curving into loose fists atop your desk, the hollow of your chest filling momentarily with a vicious hungry ache that almost feels like hope, but,

"They say they're envoys from the neighboring system and have a proposal to discuss, we, uh," the boy, the guard – or was it not Antony but Xander? Surely you'd be able to remember – wilts as you stare at him, motionless. "We promised them to arrange an audience with you. Surely we can?.."

An audience it is.

—

People do not just visit Philos. You recall it faintly, the time before: interstellar travels and Lightseekers' expeditions, prosperity and abundance built carelessly on top of the rotting core – figuratively and literally – when there were no hungry children on the streets. Wanderers, for the common people, were the horror story they didn't have to face if they just chose so. The sweetness of this memory makes your teeth ache.

Now you're just a small, forgotten world, fading quietly on the outskirts of the universe, forever grounded. There's no place for aimless wonder when you're almost dead. Apparently, this is exactly what the visitors are looking for.

You hear them in the throne room, high on the dais, exchanging pleasantries half-heartedly. Whatever it is they want – you'll give them, and everyone in the room knows it, but keeping up pretenses is still nice. The envoys talk insistently of a great debt it will put them in, gold and silk and treasures offered freely, but you ask for grain and cattle and simple tools and your face doesn't betray your feelings, but it's a close call.

Such a small favour, really, for months and months you'd keep you men going, on time for once borrowed from someone else. You listen to the tale of his crimes, unending – he seems more like a monster from a bedtime story, really, whole fleets overtaken, regiments crushed under the heel of his boot – more blood spilled than even you've lost, with your world turning to dust. But last night you had to watch a father being prosecuted, who stolen to feed his children, and you don't think if this Sylus is really a murderer will make a difference.

The crowd in the plaza is cheering when they bring him out – more for the grain and steel than for a crime being punished, presumably, but even if not, you cannot begrudge them that. Excuses for celebration are few and far between, were for years, and the white noise of it somewhat settles the dread in your stomach.

In the end, you almost overlook him. Guards from the ship are crowded tightly around the man, chained and collared and absolutely filthy, blood matted into the shock of his white hair, as they shove and drag him past the walkway to the palace. The image makes you queasy, eyes sliding off to pass the people on the street below, the cracking cobblestone, the dried-up fountains. There's a split moment when you contemplate leaving altogether, disturbed for some unfathomable reason, but you unlearned listening to your gut a long time ago.

When you look up again his eyes are on you.

You wondered briefly, dismissively, while the envoys listed atrocities committed by him against countless worlds and people, if it could be some kind of set-up. But there's nothing left to take on Philos, nothing to surrender if it comes to that, and you cannot recall the last time you feared for your life, not like it held any value.

There's is no threat in the way he looks at you at all.

Instead, the vicious satisfaction lights him up like a torch, eyes glued to your face, unwavering. You feel as if on a butcher's block under the weight of his scrutiny. Pinned down and flayed open, suddenly faint, sweat prickling at the back of your neck as you take a step away.

Before you're able to compose yourself, unbalanced, the guards stop in front of you, one of them kicking Sylus roughly under his knees, making him drop heavy on the marble. He doesn't even blink.

It's like a tether between you pulling insistently, making you sway forward as he keeps looking, hums low in his throat, almost a purr,

"The crown fits you well, Majesty."

You barely gather indignation at disrespect, before he flicks his eyes to the tiles under your feet, knees shifting on the floor. And then he bows.

Sylus bows low, the curve of his back almost reverent. Lower than incessant shoving from the guards could make him, their hands grasping air above his shoulders, unprepared.

There's a beauty spot on the nape of his neck and in startling clarity you can almost recall how it tasted under your mouth, though it doesn't make any sense. Your thoughts turn heavy and hot in your head, the stones left out in the sun for too long.

He smiles, then, in the quiet surrounding you, quick and content for some reason, and the ravenous emptiness you've been carrying in your heart for centuries, the one untouched by time, and death, and lies, and anything at all, howls.

[iggyywrites]

Keep Up!

Pairings: Wolverine/Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Summary: Logan knew moving in with Wade was going to be a bad idea….his next door neighbor doesn’t help with that either

Warnings: 18+ fic, fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s), mentions of alcohol, male masturbation, Logan listens to reader getting fucked, daddy kink, Logan fingers reader, p in v penetration, creampie, making out, nipple play.

An: No one make fun of me for not being able to do Wade’s witty remarks justice, I am just a girl.

Logan knew this wasn’t a good idea.

There was virtually no timeline that existed currently where living with Wade fucking Wilson was a good idea for Logan. He could barely handle speaking to him for thirty minutes, let alone sharing a living space with him.

However, behind the man’s rapid fire tongue that had a copious amount of shit talking to go with it, he was genuine, and as much as Logan hated to admit it…

He didn’t really have anyone in this timeline but Wade.

So, after quite a bit of groaning and grumbling under his own breath, he finally agreed to moving in with Wade, which didn’t take long at all, seeing as he came to this timeline against his will with nothing but his bright yellow hero suit on his body.

To Logan’s surprise, things weren’t terrible his first week there. Wade was annoying, that much was true and inevitable, however he had his own shit to do, which had him out of Logan’s hair most of the time, leaving him all on his own in the tiny two bedroom apartment.

Logan was starting to realize that maybe all of this wasn’t as bad as he cut it out to be. Things started to feel particularly good on the Friday night following the end of his first week there. Wade was nowhere to be found, he had the living room to himself and a nice bottle of whiskey to grant him the sweetest dreams (or lack there of) meaning he could simply enjoy his own company in the comfort of silence that was rare living with Wade. He sighed softly as he sat back, legs spread wide as he took a sip of his drink, sinking down into the couch in a pool of pure bliss-

A knock at the door ripped him away from all of that almost immediately.

He groaned softly, lifting his head as he turned to look at the door, brows furrowed for a moment as he silently threatened whoever it was behind it to knock it again. When they did, he turned his head in the opposite direction to face the clock on the wall, noticing that it was already going into the later hours of the night.

No one should be knocking their door this late.

By the third round of knocks to the door, Logan was fixing his posture, annoyance coursing through his veins at the disruption of his night. Whoever it was that was choosing to knock this many times on their door was in for it at this point.

However, Wade was beating him to it. The man swiftly slipped past Logan, pushing the older man back down into the couch, forcing Logan to fall back with a low groan, the gesture not helping with his growing annoyance.

“She’s here! She’s here!” Wade squealed out like an excited child, skipping and clapping his hands together as he made his way to the door.

“Who the fuck is that-“ Logan’s words were cut off but Wade practically hissing at the man as he whipped his head around to face him.

“Keep your fucking voice down! This is one of the only things I look forward to and I will not let Arthur Morgan ruin this for me. So shut your mouth, and drink your go-go juice, alright angel?” Wade seethed out as he gestured towards Logan’s bottle of whiskey before he turned around, tucking a strand of invisible hair behind his ear before he sighed softly, reaching forward and opening the door.

That’s when you walk in.

Behind the door is you. You’re pretty, young, bright smile plastered on your face, cheeks beaming with happiness as you bounce on your heels, snacks and drinks practically spilling from your arms as you struggle to hold them. Logan doesn’t stop himself from craning his neck forward to get a look at you, watching as you stare up at Wade like he’s your favorite person in the entire world.

Both you and Wade squeal in a way that sounds way too similar, and if Logan wasn’t so fucking confused right now he’d most definitely comment on it.

“There she is! Come to Daddy my little buttercup!” Wade groans as he lifts you up into his arms. A noise that’s a cross between a groan and a giggle leaves your lips as he squishes you to his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you let him squeeze you tight.

“Wade! You’re…crushing me..” you wheeze out, all while having a bright smile on your face.

“Crushing ensues when you don’t visit me for two weeks. I was planning on shimmying my tight little ass down the air ducts to land straight into your bedroom so we can finish these last two episodes” Wade hummed our matter of factly, casually keeping you pressed against his chest as he kicked the door shut and carried you into the house before setting you down.

Logan’s watching the entire thing play out from the couch, eyebrows raised as he watches someone finally match the man’s hyperactive energy levels.

“I had a cold! I didn’t want to get you sick” you giggle out softly as you turn to face him as you walk into the apartment, still completely oblivious to the other man sitting on the couch.

“Princess have you taken a look at this mug? Influenza sees me and it runs” he grins at you whilst pointing at his face, which only earns a gentle nudge to his side with your elbow.

You finally turn towards the man on the couch, a look of surprise on your face as you take in his face, his form. It doesn’t take very long for you to come to the realization that whoever it is that’s been sitting here this entire time, is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen.

You never thought in your entire life that you’d see the Wolverine in person.

“Oh! How rude of me…I didn’t know you were busy Wade” Your voice is soft as you apologize, eyes wide and worried that you’d interrupted something you had no business stepping into. Logan can already see the way your sneaker clad feet are turning to leave, giving both him and Wade an apologetic smile.

“Oh no you don’t. You aren’t using that sweet little understanding bit with me. If Wolvie wants to join in on our weekly Vanderpump Rules watch party, then he can. If he doesn’t, then the honey badger can kick rocks” Wade bends down a bit, giving you an assuring nod as he places his hand on the small of your back.

Logan rolls his eyes as he throws back the rest of his whiskey. “I’m way ahead of you asshole” Logan grumbles out, annoyed with many things already.

“Hold on there beautiful, don’t be rude. Everything that is good and pure in the world is standing in the middle of our apartment and you aren’t going to introduce yourself?” Wade scoffs out in disbelief, his words making you roll your eyes as you give him another nudge.

“Wade it’s fine, he doesn’t have to-“ you try, seeing just how little patience the man had from the few words he’d given you since you walked in.

“My name is Logan, I live here now” he nodded, his words short and brief.

You hate yourself because him acting this way is only making you want him more.

You inhale deeply before you give him a soft smile, the snacks you’d brought still clutched close to your chest, fingers pressing against the crinkly material of the various packages as you nod.

“It’s nice to meet you Logan. My names (y/n). I hope to see you around the building more often” you beam, your response a bit too bubbly and excited for someone who’d been hit with the driest, most bland introduction from a man probably ever.

Logan watches you closely for a bit, eyes taking in your bright expression, your excited eyes that are practically shining with stars in them. You’re young, and eager and Logan knows exactly what kind of girl you are just by the way you’re smiling at him. He’d run into a million different versions of you at bars and clubs, out on the streets when he was on missions, anywhere that he was able to be perceived, he ran into someone like you.

That in and of itself lets Logan know that he needs to stay far away from you.

He gives you a nod before pushes himself off of the couch, lazily grabbing the bottle of whiskey as he begins walking out of the living room towards his bedroom.

He can already hear your feet stepping forward on the wooden floor, so he braces himself for what he knows what’s coming next.

“You’re more than welcome to stay! I know it’s corny but the show is actually very entertaining” you giggle out softly as you offer yours and Wade’s tradition to Logan as well.

“I’m good sweetheart” he mumbles out without even turning around, raising his hand up as he gives you a back handed wave, rounding the corner to his bedroom. “Was nice meeting you” he makes out before slamming his door shut, the noise making you flinch.

You frown softly as you turn to face Wade. “Was it something I said?” You whisper out, worried you might have offended the man

Wade rolls his eyes at his roommates reaction, turning towards you as he extends his hand out, his palm going nearly rigid as he gives you a stiff pat to the head. “We can’t all be as excited about life as you are, angel. Life sucked the fun out of that one before you probably learned how to drive” he sighed out before he pulled you over to the couch.

“Now! If I don’t have Lisa Vanderpump meddling in the love lives of her alcoholic lounge employees in the next five seconds I am going to blow this entire complex up. Let’s get to it sugar plum” he nodded to himself as he forces you down into the couch, grabbing his remote and getting right down to the festivities of that fine Friday night.

You however, had a particularly harder time than usual paying attention to the shitty reality tv show that you and Wade bonded over, and there was only one person to blame.

Logan.

Logan is shocked to be the only one awake the next morning.

His head is pounding from all the whiskey he drank, and he knew he’d be nursing quite the hangover from it all. What he didn’t know however, was that Wade would be slumped in his bed much longer from a night with you than he was.

He’s alone in the kitchen for maybe two hours when Wade finally emerges from his bedroom, a long drawn out groan following as he massages his temples, eyes screwed tight due to the bright sun spilling in.

“Jesus fucking Christ….can’t anyone afford some fucking curtains here? I feel like I’m staring into Satan’s asshole” He groans out, eyes finally opening to watch the mountain of a man standing over a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.

“Why hello there sunshine, did the whiskey bottle tug you out of bed early this morning? You’re almost never conscious while the sun is still up” Logan rolls his eyes at his roommates words, bringing the bowl to his lips and slurping up the rest of the milk before he put the empty bowl into the sink behind him, large hand going down to wrap around his coffee mug.

“Look who’s talkin’….you and your friend seemed to have just as much fun as I did” he sighs out, voice gravely and rough.

Wade smiles brightly as he nods, making his way into the kitchen as he lets out a happy sigh. “A (y/n) hangover would bring you to your knees grandpa….although I have the feeling you might not be too opposed to that with how your filthy eyes were eating her up….shes cute isn’t she? Single too. If Vanessa hadn’t swept me off my feet and stolen my heart I would have been ten toes deep into her by now” Wade rambles out as he searches the pantry for something to fill his stomach with.

Logan isn’t shocked to hear that you’re single, and in the best way possible of course. You were very very attractive, however the way that you looked at him let him know everything he needed to know about you.

“I don’t think I asked. She’s not my type” Logan sighs out softly before taking a sip of his coffee.

That wasn’t true at all, not entirely at least. Logan found you attractive from the moment he laid eyes on you. Only an idiot could look at you and try to convince themselves that you weren’t a beautiful girl. However, Logan knew what kind of girl you were. You were a young girl who probably had some sort of fantasy to fuck a ‘dilf’ (as Wade called them) and you’d bat your pretty lashes and pout your lips to get Logan to melt for you, but that was only the half of it. You only wanted to fuck him, to have someone experienced work on your body just to leave and venture out on your own once you were done with him.

Logan was old and miserable and hard to deal with, all things that he was very aware of. Being with him was not a fucking cake walk, and he knew that those twinkles in your eyes when you saw him were all driven by raging hormones that would dissipate once you realized how much of a piece of shit he was.

Logan was too old for this, and he was too old for you.

“Not your type? Of course she’s your type! She’s everyone’s type. That’s like saying Beyoncé isn’t your type and I will not allow you to disrespect the queen…the bee hive is fucking scaring” Wade practically whimpered out before he let out a groan.

“Is it the age gap? Because if it is, they sell pills for that sweetie. It’s a normal part of life that we all go through! There’s nothing to be ashamed of and I’m sure she would understand-“ Wade’s words are cut off by Logan lifting up his hand, the sharp sound of his claws shooting through his knuckles filling the air, making Wade yelp and flinch.

“Keep talking and I swear to god I will cut your dick off every single day so that you don’t even get the chance to use those pills” Logan practically growls out.

“Relax! Jesus Christ you are violent. I’m starting to rethink giving you my spare room asshole” Wade breaths out before he sighs, lifting his hands up in defense before he speaks again.

“Look…all I’m saying, is that a bit of a crush is starting to brew, and she’s a sweet girl! I know for a fact that baby making factory is filled with dust and fucking cobwebs, don’t you think it’s time to get those gears runnin’ again?” Wade rolls his arm like a train as he puts on his best southern accent, which only further annoys Logan.

“She doesn’t even know me. She’ll get over it” Logan nods confidently, ignoring every word that leaves Wade’s mouth as he finishes his coffee, putting it in the sink where he put his cereal bowl earlier.

Wade groans in annoyance. “I am being such a good wing man right now, hooking you up with her? Most people’s friends hook them up with Freddy fucking Krueger and they still end up getting married. I’m giving you a real life fairy from a fucking Barbie movie and you’re turning her down??” Wade practically pleads with the man as he watches him starting to leave the kitchen.

“Hook her up with someone else. I’ll be back later” Logan groans out, not at all wanting to continue this conversation with his roommate any longer.

“Yeah fuck you too grandpa. I hope you get hit by a fucking bus on your way out” Wade groans out as he shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, the man clearly taking offense to Logan not wanting to get to know you better.

“We’ll see if she lets you off this easy…” Wade mumbled under his breath, a soft smirk on his face.

Wade knew you better than anyone, and he knew that you were a whole different ball field of sweetness that Logan was most definitely not ready to handle.

And sweet you were.

By the end of the week, Logan was honestly starting to forget about you and the small cyclone you’d set off in his head ever since he’d seen you that night. He was busy with things around the neighborhood and trying his best to get used to the new world that he was living in. His plate was full and he had no time to think about the silly girl that lived next door to him.

However you didn’t let him forget for much longer.

Because come Friday night, your knuckle is rapping against the door like clock work, interrupting Logan’s alone time in the same way you had the week prior. It’s a silent gesture that it is his cue to leave and give you and Wade the living room for the night.

Logan just about catches a glimpse of you when Wade opens the door, and he notices very quickly how different you look from last time.

Last time, you’d opted for a pretty casual look. Wade had mentioned that you worked at a bar in the city, so he could only assume you came straight from there. Your denim shorts were cute, fit your ass well and he was sure you got many tips from those alone, and your purple halter top went well with your skin tone, but it was nothing fancy or out of the ordinary, just simply a girl in some clothes.

Now? Now you were putting in some effort.

The linen white dress you wore fit you snug at your middle, pushing out your tits a bit, hugging you in all the right places before falling down and flowing out right above your knees. You even went as far as to wear a bit of makeup, your eyelids sparkling a bit, lips glossy.

You’d put in all that effort, just for him.

“Jesus Christ…” Logan mumbled under his breath in disbelief, hating that you’d gone this far for him.

“Are you kidding me! I get your sweaty work clothes and he gets this?? You know he takes the animal thing seriously right? Pees to mark his territory and everything. I am much more pleasant, I promise” Wade complains as he leads you into the apartment, eyes falling down to the small container of cookies in your arms.

“Are these….fuck off. I have been begging you for weeks, and suddenly Jacob from twilight moves in and you’re making them??” Wade gasps out, face slowly turning up to look over at Logan as you giggle softly.

“I made them when you first moved in so I wanted to do the same for Logan…I hope you have a sweet tooth?” You questioned carefully, giving Logan a shy smile as you outstretch your arms to hand the cookies to him.

Wade is watching Logan like he’s your fucking guard dog, ready to pounce on the man the second he even tries to say something mean to an angelic soul like you.

It makes Logan sigh softly, eyes drifting down to the cookies before looking back up at you. “My doctor said I’m not allowed” he lies before bringing his glass of whiskey to his lips, acting as the biggest contradiction as he finishes the remnants of it before he picks up the bottle and turns around to leave.

“Don’t make any noise. I’m going to bed” he mumbles out once more before he slams his bedroom door much like he did the first time you arrived.

Wade groaned as he brought his hands up to pinch the bridge of his nose, quickly reaching out and placing a hand on your soft, exposed shoulder.

“Thank god. I was getting worried I wouldn’t have all of these to myself. Come on, Tom Sandoval doesn’t wait for anybody” he nods his head towards the tv, urging you to sit with him and distract you from how utterly stupid that lie was that Logan spit at you without a second thought.

Wade sighs as he notices the soft pout on your face, your fingers nervously toying with the ends of your dress as you struggle to relax, your head probably overflowing with every reason why Logan would hate you. He reaches out, tugging you closer to rest your head against his shoulder.

“Hey, he’s just a tough one to crack. He’ll come around soon peanut, I promise” he assured you before he shoved his hand into the bowl of cookies, pressing one to your lips.

“Now, say ahh. You deserve to eat one after all the hard work you did, little Betty Crocker” he teases you, making you giggle softly as you shoo his hand away before taking the cookie to eat yourself, finally relaxing into the couch as you let out a gentle sigh.

Logan really hoped that it would stop there, but it doesn’t.

He knows you aren’t stupid, everyone on the entire planet knows that the Wolverine doesn’t go to the fucking doctor. He could drink battery acid if he wanted to and he’d be fine, so him using the excuse of his doctor telling him he couldn’t eat sugar to not eat your food was a crock of shit, but he did it for two reasons.

One, because he didn’t want to have to accept anything from you, it would only had fuel to a fire that Logan knew he couldn’t put out once burnt too brightly. Two, was to kill any glamorizations you had for being with someone of his age. He was an old man, despite being a fucking killing machine, he was an old man. All he wanted to do was drink, smoke, fight a bit when the time called for it, and sleep, and he really could not fit a little girlfriend into that schedule, nor could he rob you of what you wanted and deserved with someone your own age instead of him.

Logan was starting to come to the conclusion that you probably weren’t as smart as he thought you were.

Because unfortunately, you don’t stop there.

For about an entire month, the weeks are filled with you constantly knocking on the door. It slowly goes from you bringing treats on your Friday nights with Logan, to you popping up on various days thought out the week instead.

Logan quickly learns that your love language is food, and you show that by constantly trying to feed him.

First it was the cookies, then you were knocking on his door way too early in the morning, beaming with a bright smile as you shoved a container of breakfast sandwiches into his naked chest.

“These are for you! I made enough for both you and Wade” you smile brightly, plump bottom lip tugged beneath your teeth as you give him a wave before he can deny the food or give it back.

After that, you were dropping off lunch for him. He wasn’t entirely sure how you were doing it, but you managed to always knock whenever Wade wasn’t around, most likely because the two of you were so close you had Wade’s schedule practically memorized, which meant that you were forcing Logan to interact with you whether he liked it or not.

“I’m off to work and I made too much! I hope you like spaghetti” you giggle softly before giving him another one of your signature waves, skipping off down the hallway to leave for work, once again leaving Logan dumbfounded as he stares down at the Tupperware of warm food in his hands.

It was getting to the point where you were practically keeping both him and Wade fed almost completely, rarely failing to share the food you’d made for yourself with them, and always sprinkling in some of your freshly baked pastries and desserts throughout all of that.

The worst part about it? Logan isn’t sure he’s ever had anything so tasty in his entire life.

You seriously knew what the hell you were doing behind a stove or at the oven, and it almost pissed Logan off to admit how much he appreciated the literal meal plan you’d set up for him.

As much as he likes it though, Logan could see exactly what accepting all of this was doing.

He saw it in the way that you’d linger longer and longer every time you dropped something off. What was once a shy little smile and a quick goodbye had now turned into you going into lengthy rants about work or the latest recipe you were stuck on, which Logan found himself always sticking around and listening to despite the fact that he rarely spoke.

That alone made your eyes twinkle, and he could hear how quickly it made your heart beat every time he leaned against the opposite side of the door from you, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he prepared himself for the words that would come out of your mouth on that day.

Logan gave an inch, and you took a mile, and that was the problem. Any attention he gave, he knew you’d take to the extreme, looking far too deep into the details of him being slightly less of an asshole that he usually was.

And on a night where Logan was laying in his bed, his mind replaying the countless times you’d stood at his door to give him food, using it all as an excuse to talk to him for a few minutes and get his attention on you, he knew it was time to cut you down from the root, and stop any dreams you had of the two of them ever amounting to anything more than next door neighbors.

He knew you’d be back eventually, it was only a matter of time until you were back with your latest meal for him. He found himself reciting what he’d say to you over and over again, cementing it into his brain as he pressed his palms against the island top one morning, eyes staring off into space as he mindlessly grabbed his coffee and took a sip.

knock knock knock!

The sound is familiar and it practically haunts Logan in his fucking dreams, the soft sound of your fists rapping against the door. He sighs softly because he knows you’re behind it, big bright smile on your face as you hold god knows what in your hands to gift to him.

“Morning Logan!” You beam, bright eyed and bushy tailed as you give him a small wave before you look down at the container before stretching your arms out to hand to him.

“You seemed interested last time I mentioned that breakfast quesadilla recipe I was working on…and I think I got it!” You’re so excited, and Logan lets out a soft sigh as he eyes you carefully before he pushes his hand gently against the container so that it’s back against your chest.

“I…look kid….I don’t…” his words trail off, feeling bad as you simply stare up at him with those big eyes and that happy smile, looking at him as if he’s the only person you want to see right now, waiting for him to say whatever it is he can’t do.

“You’ve gotta stop this” he tries to reason with you, his forearm pressed against the top of the door as he stares down at you.

You furrow your eyebrows as you watch him, shaking your head a bit as your voice goes low. “I….what?” Your voice trembles a bit, because you know what’s happening, you’ve been here before. You’ve gotten yourself into this same fucked up mess of liking someone so much that you couldn’t even see that they didn’t like you back, going on a power trip of showering them with so much affection that you didn’t even realize they’d been trying to stop you from the very beginning.

It was happening again.

Logan knows that he can’t let you down easy. You’re too sweet, too understanding, and he knows that if he isn’t blunt with you, giving you the harsh truth, that you’ll just feed into the nice things that he says rather than looking at the bigger picture.

So he sighs, looking over your head for a moment before he finally looks back down at you.

“You’re just…you’re not my kind of girl, alright? Someone like you, could never be with someone like me and that just is the way it is….so quit it with the food deliveries, alright?” He’s stern, speaking to you like a child who refuses to listen, voice growing louder and rougher as he towers over you.

“There’s nothing you can make for me or do for me that will make me want you” He adds salt to the wound with that one, wanting his words to get through to you loud and clear

Logan knows it’s already coming, those big eyes filling with tears that make your eyes shimmer like swimming pools, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the words to respond with before you give a slight nod, quickly looking away once the tears spill out into your cheeks, your hands coming up to wipe them away roughly.

“I…fuck…I’m sorry..” is all you say before you quickly rush away from the door, mortified as you open your own apartment door and slam it behind you, the sound making Logan groan softly before he closes his own door.

Of course you apologized. Here he was, crushing your dreams for his own sake and you fucking apologized. It only further cemented how wrong you and him were if he were to ever give you a chance, you were too good, too nice, and Logan could only hope that you found someone else who could give you what you wanted and what you deserved.

As for him? He wanted to focus on the relief he’d soon feel settle in now that he didn’t have to face you every other day anymore. He could only hope that you little stunts would come to a halt after all of this.

Logan doesn’t really have to hope for you to not come around, because he doesn’t see you for a long time after that.

At first he assumed it would just be a day or two until you were back for Wade, the two of you never going long without at least chatting in the hallway for a quick recap of your day or your week, however it’s the end of the week and neither Logan nor Wade have heard from you at all.

There are no knocks at the door, no more pastries or yummy meals with your name written all over them, it’s almost as if you don’t even live in the same complex anymore.

And when that Friday rolls around and you never show up either? Logan knows he’s fucked up.

Logan is thankful that Wade isn’t too freaked out over you being absent that week, seeing as he’d explain that this wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for you. Although Logan knew what it was that pushed you away from the apartment, he was more than willing to let Wade believe work had drained you a bit more than usual that week, pulling you away from him.

By the third week though? Wade is pissed.

It’s Friday night, and he’s pacing the living room in front of Logan, his arms crossed as he shakes his head.

“I don’t get it! She’s only ever gone two weeks without coming by and that’s because she had a cold, and she told me! I haven’t heard from her in so long, I feel like I’m a fucking military wife waiting for her husband to write her back!” Wade whined out, desperate for an answer behind your disappearance.

Logan couldn’t even look at Wade, guilt eating away at him as his fingers wrapped around the ice beer bottle in his hand, simply letting the man walk around searching for answers when the reason behind his friends absence was sitting right in front of him.

“Fuck this. If she wants to stop being my friend she’s going to have to man the fuck up and tell me herself. Im going over there myself” he huffs out in annoyance, moving towards the front door.

Logan is on his feet before Wade can make it any further, stepping between him and the door as he shakes his head.

He knew that what happened needed to come from him, not you.

“Slow down…I…I know why she’s not coming around anymore” Logan makes out slowly, his words makes Wade raise his eyebrows.

“Anymore? What the fuck did you do, kill her or something??” Wade’s eyes are wide, and it makes Logan roll his eyes at the dramatics before he shoves him over towards the couch.

“Go sit down” he orders before he follows behind, singing softly as he sits next to Wade, avoiding his eyes as he speaks.

“She was coming around a lot and I…I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea so…I just…I told her she needed to stop” Logan shrugged nonchalantly as he gave a horrible retelling of what happened between the two of you.

Wade on the other hand, knew you very well, and he knew that you were probably the most understanding person on the entire fucking planet, so Logan had to probably say some fucked up shit to make you avoid them like the fucking plague, so bad that he probably made you-

“You fucking idiot. You made her cry, didn’t you” Wade visibly gets angry when he comes to this conclusion, making Logan snap his head in his direction quickly because how the fuck did he come to that conclusion so quickly?

“I…so you did talk to her?” Logan questions carefully, his words making Wade groan loudly as he stands up, pressing his face in his hands.

“You are….oh my god you are probably the dumbest person I have ever fucking met. Charles Xavier would be very ashamed of this behavior Logan!” Wade practically sobbed before he shook his head once again.

“You do realize she’s just a girl, right? She’s not some villainous asshole trying to do experiments on you or something. A simple ‘I’m not interested’ would have sufficed” Wade groans out in annoyance before he walks back towards the door.

“I am going to try and save one of the only friendships I have, and leave you here to think about how you are going to save ours, because after this stunt I am not sure I will ever let you touch me again” he huffs out softly before whipping his head away from him in disgust before he swings the door open, slams it shut and leaves to your apartment, leaving Logan there by himself.

Wade’s words echo in his head, making him realize that you really are just a girl, a girl who had an innocent crush that he brutally stepped on and smashed into a thousand little pieces when he could have easily told you he wasn’t interested in you.

Logan hated it, but he felt guilty.

He’s happy to hear that you and Wade were able to mend things together, the two of you opting to spend weekends in your home rather than his from now on, leaving Logan to the peace and quiet that he’d always wanted.

Although, it isn’t what he wanted, it isn’t what he wanted at all because he finds that he’s missing something. He’s missing the smell of your cookies or cinnamon rolls or whatever the fuck it is that you bring over, he’s missing the sound of yours and Wade’s laugh across the way as he tries to sleep, and he especially misses the little front door chats you and him would share whenever you stopped by for him.

Because over the course of the time that he’d lived there, he’d see you at least once every week, your bright smile filling his days and making him feel warm inside.

But now the last memory he had of you was you crying in front of him before running away.

Logan tries to drown out those annoying thoughts as he usually does, with alcohol. He comes home drunk on a Saturday night, stumbling in through the front door as he tugs off his leather jacket, kicks off his boots and stumbles into his bedroom to fall face first into his bed.

He’s able to forget about you for a bit, annoyed that your pretty face had been plaguing him for days on end. Right now he just wants to sleep and enjoy the warm floaty feeling that comes with a good cup of-

“Oh my god” Logan makes out the faint sound of your voice through the thin walls of the apartment.

He realized the first night he’d moved in that his bedroom was adjacent to yours when he was going to sleep and he could hear you shuffling about your bedroom.

Every night he’d hear little things, sometimes he’d hear the small sound of your music while you got ready, or he’d hear you giggling softly to someone as you spoke to them on the phone, he’d even heard a loud thud followed by an annoyed groan from you, which he could only assume was you stubbing your toe or running into something.

Logan had heard you a lot, and while most times he was too drunk or tired to ignore it, the sounds he was hearing now were….they were foreign for you. He’d never heard your voice pitched that way, high and whiny…he wondered if you were okay, were you crying?

“Fuck…fuck!”

There it was again.

It had Logan frowning as he turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he squinted a bit, straining to hear more of what was going on.

“That’s it baby…so good for me…” another voice groaned out, muffled and lower, too deep to have been your own. That, paired with a slow rhythmic thumping, and Logan wasn’t confused anymore.

You were getting fucked.

Logan tried very hard not to think about you this way, splayed out on a bed in front of him, eyes red and glossy as you beg for him to give you more, needy for any sort of attention that he'd give you. He knew that you were something he couldn't feed into...

Because he knew he'd like it too much.

Yet here you were, moaning so pretty for another fucking man with a bit of dry wall separating the two of you, and it was making Logan's head spin.

His chest swelled with different emotions, anger, annoyance, jealousy, envy.....

Lust

You sounded so fucking pretty, and as much as he hated that it was someone else making you feel that way, subjecting him to a fucking audio porno, he couldn't deny the tent that was growing in his jeans.

Logan groaned softly as he propped himself up, eyes low as he stared down at his throbbing cock through his jeans, begging to be touched, begging to take the place of the idiot that was in your bed making you moan like that.

Another loud moan rumbled through the walls, making Logan's eyes flutter shut and roll to the back of his head as he took in your noises.

He wondered how you'd sound for him, what you would say, if you would beg for him. God, you probably sounded so fucking good when you begged, so pretty, so fucking sweet for him. You were so eager for him, so eager to please, there was no doubt in Logan's mind that you would be the perfect girl for him.

You were practically begging him for it the weeks prior.

His hand made its way to his jeans, undoing his belt and popping them open before tugging his cock out, hissing softly as he laid back, head resting against the pillow as his fist wrapped around his length, slowly working on his sensitive skin as he let his mind travel to more thoughts of you as your moans sang him the symphony that matched perfectly with it.

His fist moved up and down over his length, spreading his precum as he thought about what you'd taste like, how you'd feel pressed against his tongue while he did just this. He imagined you'd taste perfect, the best pussy he's ever had if you'd ever let him.

Another string of moans makes its way into his bedroom, and it has him bucking his hands up into his fists, growing closer as he chases his orgasm to the sound of your voice.

Logan felt like a fucking pervert, stroking his cock while you were getting fucked by someone else right next door. That could have easily been him had he not fucked things up with you royally, he thought.

"Im gonna cum..." you mewl out, Logan can practically hear the pathetic little pout on your lips as you announce it, and he can't stop himself from groaning out softly as he bites back a moan in fears that you'll hear him too.

"Me too baby..." He growls out between gritted teeth.

He's fucking his hand at this point, the sounds of your moans and visions of you under him driving him closer to where he needed to go, he finally cums when he hears you moan loudly, knowing that was it. Thick ribbons of his pearly cum fly out of him, making the man sigh softly as he slowly rides out his orgasm with a few strong strokes from his hand.

Logan is old and gross and truly can't be bothered with the clean up, so he opts to grab a nearby t shirt and clean himself off before he tugs his jeans off, tosses them into the corner with the rest of his clothes and turns onto his side, pulling his pillow over his ears in fears of you and that jackass going another round while he sleeps.

He wants to sleep before embarrassment can take over, because he knows what he's done is beneath pathetic. He would much rather deal with it all in the morning.

Because despite how embarrassed he feels, he needs to orchestrate some sort of plan to speak to you.

Logan knew that getting you to talk to him was not going to be an easy feat. You ran from him any time you two ended up in the hallway together, and you made it a point to never be in the same place with him for two long.

So he had to be smart with this, and he needed a full proof way to get you to speak for him for more than a few seconds.

He figured trying to convince you as himself was a lost cause, there was no way you would even give him the time of day to ask for a bottle of water let alone talk to you about his feelings.

However, you would most definitely listen to him if he were Wade.

Now, Wade most definitely would not do this for Logan. There was no way in hell Wade would risk your feelings for that, he was way too protective over you for that. He was weary of Logan when it came to you now, and rarely brought you up unless Logan asked....

Which he did quite a bit now.

He was able to snag Wade's phone while he was taking a shower, getting ready for one of his little dates with Vanessa (they were going to meet up at a bar and then fuck the entire weekend).

Logan had limited time, because Wade was already on Rewrite the Stars off The Greatest Showman soundtrack, so he had to work fast.

He stood outside of the bathroom with the door cracked to swiftly put the phone back when he was done, the man groaning in annoyance as he clicked through Wade's endless screens of stupid games with clickbait-y ads that are designed to lure children in to find his messages.

When he finally finds them, he's quick to click the icon with a picture of you and Wade and the contact name angel baby.

Logan knew he had to put on his best Wade impression for this, so he inhales deeply before his fingers slowly tap across the screen.

me: Hey baby cakes! Wolvie's gone for the night, vanderpump at mine? Like old times?

angel baby: Hi! You sure? I don't mind doing it here!

me: I have wayyyy better drinks here. See you soon!

angel baby: fineee I'll be there after work

Logan lets out a breath he was holding for what felt like forever before he quickly slips Wade's phone back into the bathroom on the sink counter, closing the door slowly before rushing out of there to make himself seem as casual as possible.

Wade is out about twenty minutes later, a clear pep in his step. It makes Logan chuckle softly, bringing his beer to his lips as he nods towards his roommate. "Hot date tonight huh?" Logan hums out.

Wade hums softly as he nods, biting his bottom lip as he gives Logan an excited smile. "You bet I do. I am getting laid tonight buddy, I refuse to be the roommates that everyone thinks fuck...unless" his words trail off as he gives Logan a look, wiggling his eyebrows (or lack there of) as he opens his hands and gives him a little spin, shaking his ass at the end.

Logan chuckles as he puts a hand up. "Im good" He refuses before taking another sip of his beer, watching as Wade reaches down to grab a shot glass and a bottle of tequila, pouring some out for himself as he throws it back. "Liquid courage how I love you...its your loss man. I'll go give myself to a woman who actually knows how to fuck" He nods to himself before pouring out another shot, throwing it back and giving Logan a wave as he makes his way to the front door.

"See ya Monday Wolvie!" He chirps out as he leaves with a peace sign, his antics making Logan chuckle softly as his eyes drift over to the bottle off tequila.

He could use some of that with having to face you.

Logan sighs as he gets up, pouring himself a shot and throwing it back before he pours one more and throws that back before he tosses the bottle back into its reserved cupboard, moving to the couch to wait for your inevitable arrival.

knock knock knock!

It comes almost an hour later, the sound making Logans heart seize up, recognizing the familiar knock as if it were his own fucking heartbeat. He inhales deeply, stopping by a nearby mirror and checking himself out before he exhales deeply, moving to open the door.

"I'm a little late! I had to stop at the store to get the proper necessities-" Your words are cut off when you finally look up to see Logan instead of Wade, your face dropping as your mouth hangs open for a moment.

Logan want's to die just from that look in your eyes because you look fucking terrified, you even go as far as taking a step back as you give a nervous laugh.

"Oh...sorry Logan..is umm...is Wade around? He told me to come over..." You quickly explain, quickly fearing that the man will have more mean words for you for knocking on his door again.

It breaks Logan's heart because you don't have that twinkle in your eye anymore, nor do you have that excited smile on your pretty face when you see him and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"No he actually just left, you just missed him" He explains with a shrug and a soft apologetic smile.

You clear your throat awkwardly as you nod slowly. "Uhh...No worries! He probably had something to do....could you maybe tell him I was here when you see him? Sorry for bothering you" You mumble out before giving him a tightlipped smile and an awkward wave before you sigh, turning to leave at that.

Bothering him? God, he had really fucked up, hadn't he?

"Wait!" Logan calls out, stepping out into the hallway to catch you before you've made it into your own apartment.

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows at the man. He groans softly as he stares at you for a moment before he looks back into the apartment, inhaling deeply as he remembered Wade's words

She's just a girl.

"I don't uh...know much about that Vanderpump thing but...I'm not busy, if you wanted someone to watch with tonight?" He sighs out sheepishly, giving you a small smile.

You stare at him for a moment, a soft frown on your lips as you clutch your snacks closer to your chest, using them as somewhat of a shield for your poor heart. You couldn't trust Logan, and you weren't sure if your heart could take anymore of the mean things that he said to you.

"You don't have to pity me or anything....I'm not a child, Logan" You explain to him, voice small and quiet as your frown deepens, your hand coming down to grip your door knob as you let out another sigh.

"Have a goodnight..." You try your best to end it, and it makes Logan groan softly as he quickly rushes towards you, putting his large hand over yours on the doorknob, stopping you from opening it further.

The sudden closeness makes your eyes widen, staring up at the man as his large hand squeezes over yours, the feeling making your heart flutter with excitement.

“I….please….let me makeup for being such a dick the last time we spoke…you deserve it” he nodded, eyes staring deeply into yours as he gives your hand one more squeeze.

You swallow nervously as you stare up at him, hating how warm you feel with him being so close, especially after he was so fucking mean to you all those weeks ago.

You sigh softly before your hand slowly falls from your doorknob, giving Logan a small nod.

“Yeah….okay” you agree with him before you look over to the opened door of his apartment, giving the man a small smile.

“Lead the way Wolvie” you tease him gently, the sound of your playful voice making Logan chuckle softly with you as he sighs in relief, leading you back to his apartment.

Logan can kiss his lucky stars over the fact that you actually agreed to coming back to the apartment with him. Wade was right when he said you’re the must understanding person on the planet.

He finds it hard to focus on the show when you’re this close to him, head resting against the back of the couch as you babysit a bag of sour patch, giggling softly whenever one of the insufferable Los Angeles characters complain about their boyfriend of their girlfriend cheating on them with someone else in their friend group.

It’s hard to focus when you’re this close to him, because he’s never been with you this way before.

You had been on Logan’s mind almost 24/7 since he first met you, and now that he had you with him alone, he didn’t know how to talk to you or how to interact with you. He felt nervous that he would open his mouth and say something stupid.

To sum it up, he was almost 200 years old yet a 20 something year old girl knew how to communicate her feelings better than he did.

You hum softly as you finally look up at him, pouting softly at how stiff the man looked in your presence. "You alright Logan? We can watch something else if you want" You hum out softly as you move to sit criss crossed on the couch, turning your body to face his.

Logan shakes his head as he reaches for the remote, knowing that he would not be able to focus with the sound of three Californian girls fighting over a man named Todd. "Let's talk for a bit....I wanna get to know you more" Logan sighed out softly as he turned to face you a bit more as well, watching as your face beams with excitement over his interest in you.

"Im an open book....what do you wanna know?" You open up as you take a sip of your beer, giving Logan a soft smile.

That was all it really took for you and Logan to actually hit it off, the mans anxiety melting away at the thought of talking to you once he realized how easy going you were. He was able to learn so much about you within the hours that you and him spoke, and before he knew it, it was almost 2 in the morning and you two had been talking since around 9.

"College sucks...Im literally either there or at the bar....its why I find nights with Wade so important" You sighed softly as you explained, your face falling as you pouted a bit.

Logan smiled fondly at you, the many easily seeing how you wore your feelings on your face, you were so expressive, so clear with how you were feeling and open with your emotions.

You truly were an open book.

Logan licked his lips as he brought his beer to his lips, taking a sip as he watched you carefully. Something burned inside of him. something that desperately wanted to grill you about what it was he heard that night through the wall, who it was you were with, if you were still seeing him or not.

"Yeah? Any time for dating then?" He hums out, pink tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips as he settles back into the couch. One of his legs were trapped along the couch, caging you in as the other rested on the floor, knee bent as his hand rested on it, legs spread right in front of you.

His question catches you off guard, eyes widening a bit as you try to register if he's asked the question that you think he asked, and if he is, does he mean it in a friendly way?

He has to, right? A man doesn't tell you that he doesn't want you just to grill you about your love life.

You inhale deeply as you try to find the right words to say, wondering how deep you should get into the current state of your love life.

You give Logan a shrug as you take a sip of your beer. "I try....my love life is in shambles though....I truly can't remember the last time I had a decent date" You frown, your words honest as you scrunch your nose in disgust as you think back to the horrible men you've dated.

Logan raises his eyebrows in disbelief at your words before he nods slowly, taking a sip of his drink before he sighs. "Mm...the things I heard through the walls would beg to differ Princess" Logan shoots back without a second thought.

Your eyes widen as you think back to a few nights ago, throwing your head back as you find yourself cringing in embarrassment over the fact that Logan had fucking heard you.

"You heard that? Logan oh my god that is....that is so disgusting on my end I am so sorry, I promise it won't happen again" You ramble, making a mental note to never fuck in your bedroom again as long as Logan was living across from you.

You were going to be having shower sex only.

Logan chuckles softly as he shakes his head, holding his hands up in defense before he speaks. "Oh no need, you sounded like you were having quite the time....don't stop on my account" He smirks at you.

Knowing that you had not the slightest inkling that he was stroking his cock to the very sound of you getting fucked.

You groan softly as you take a healthy swig of your drink, Logan watching closely before he hums out once more.

"New boyfriend?" he questions again, eyes growing darker as he uses the conversation as a gateway into more important things.

You scoff softly as you shake your head. "God no....he's just a guy from my psych class....we met at a party and he took me home and...im sure I can spare you the gory details" You giggle softly before you sigh, moving to rest your head against the back of the couch as you watch the man across from you.

Logan nods slowly, bottom lip tugged beneath his teeth as he listens to you before he speaks.

"Just a guy hum....interesting" Logan nods slowly as he tosses back the rest of his beer before he sets the empty bottle down on the coffee table in front of the both of you, strong hands resting along his denim clad thighs, eyes never leaving yours.

"Forgot about me already baby?" he drawls out, voice low and gruff, dripping with lust as he watches you closely for your reaction.

His tone and words make you perk up, breath hitching in your throat as you face the man completely. His words shoot straight down to your core, making you swallow back a whine as you stare at him with a dumfounded expression.

"I....Logan..." You sigh out softly, your hands resting on your knees and balling into fists as you physically try to stop yourself from doing something you knew you couldn't do.

Logan chuckles softly as he shrugs. "It's true....you forgot all about me princess....it's okay though, I deserve it don't I?" he questions, watching as you silently watch him from across the couch.

When you don't answer, he's quick to pull it out of you. "Answer me baby" His demand makes you flinch softly and you quickly nod before you respond.

"Yeah...you did deserve it..." You agree with him.

Logan nods with you, a soft hum leaving his lips as he watches you. "I did...was so mean to you and you were just being the sweetest thing to me..." He hums softly, watching as you slowly grow softer for him with every word he spoke.

"It's alright baby....did he at least make you cum? I heard you, you know....when you said you were there? sounded so pretty...." He groans softly, a prominent tent forming in his jeans at the mere thought of your moans.

He's shocked when he hears a tiny one leave your lips, your eyes shooting down to his growing cock. It makes him smirk softly, pride filling his chest as he moves his hand down to palm himself before he nods at you.

"Eyes up here baby...thats it..." He nods slowly when he finally has his eyes back on yours.

"Now...answer my question" He urges you once more, his voice deliciously low and gravely, the sound making you squirm in your spot on the couch.

You inhale deeply before you shake your head. "I faked it..." You mumble under your breath, fighting the embarrassment that threatened to creep up your spine.

Logan felt like he had died and gone to heaven.

Because not only were you here with him, but that idiot that got the chance to be with you couldn't even make you cum properly...which only left more room for him to come in and do the job properly.

"You poor thing....I was afraid of that..." He groaned softly before he pat his hand along his lap, calling you over to him.

"C'mere peach...let daddy show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel..." He hummed out softly.

It was all you needed to come crawling over to him like a bitch in heat.

You moaned softly once you were settled down in his lap, either one of your plush thighs straddling his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as you stared down at him with needy eyes, bottom lip tugged between your teeth.

Logan groaned softly, strong hands coming down to grip your waist, tugging you closer as he leaned in, pressing his nose against your collar bone and growling at how fucking good you smelled.

"Atta girl....go on then baby, give daddy a kiss..." He ordered once more.

You wasted no time in pressing your lips to his, moaning softly into his mouth as you tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You're so...fucking sweet, and sugary, and the dulcet sounds of your moans drives Logan absolutely insane, the older man gripping your waist tightly as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, tainting you for anyone who ever dares to kiss you after he has.

Logan groans into the kiss when he feels you rocking your hips back and forth, grinding your pussy against his bulge.

"Needy huh? Want daddy to help you baby? Yeah?" He groans out, your forehead resting against his as you nod, breathing heavily as you continue grinding down onto his bulge.

Logan chuckles softly as he nods, his hand going around your middle before he flips you around, tugging you down so that your back is pressed against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as he hums softly.

His hands trail down your body slowly, the little top you have on has a tie at the front, one that if Logan so much as flicks, will come undone. It makes him smirk softly as he takes one of the strings between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging at it slowly until your boobs bounce free, making him hiss softly.

"Fuck, look at that....such a pretty girl...." His hands look so rough along your soft skin, calloused fingers running along either one of your tits, cupping and massaging them delicately before he brings your nipples into his finger, twisting them slightly before he goes back to cupping them all over again.

You're so sensitive, so responsive to his touch. Your hand goes up to cup your hand over his thats working on your boobs, your hips bucking up into nothing as your other hand goes up and around Logan to hold onto his head.

"Logan...please..." You moan softly, your words making Logan smirk softly as he nods, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Im here baby....just enjoying all of you first" He explains before his hands go down your body.

Soon enough, he's unbuttoning your denim jeans, one of his hands coming up to raise your hips as he tugs them off your legs with your panties in one swift move before tossing them somewhere else in the living room.

Logan lets out a low gasp when his neck cranes down against your shoulder to look down at the mess between your legs, his strong hands creeping down to where you need him the most, your own hands pressing against his thigh.

"Fuck princess....so wet already....all this for me?" He hums out softly.

Either of his hands go down between your legs, pressing right against either one of your lips as he massages you softly, the feeling making your eyes roll back as your head falls against Logan's shoulder.

He smirks softly, his head coming down to attach his lips to your neck as one of his hands comes up to hold your hips down, pressing you flush against his body whilst the other starts rubbing your clit slowly.

"Such a good girl...letting daddy apologize for being so mean...thats it baby...fuck...thats it...." He urges you on further as his skilled fingers slowly works on your clit, your moans like music to his ears as he gives you exactly what you needed.

"Daddy...im....fuck....don't stop" You whine softly, gripping his wrist as he continues playing with your pussy, the feeling making your eyes roll. You're damn near drooling and all the man is doing is rubbing your clit for you.

It makes Logan chuckle softly, his fingers speeding up as his lips unlatch from your neck so he's able to look down at you, not wanting to miss the fucked out state of bliss written all over your face that's coming to you all because of him.

"Come on baby....cum all over your daddy's fingers, give it to me princess" He growls, picking up the pace as he begins grinding his hard on into your ass from behind, matching the way your hips roll to chase the rhythm of his fingers.

You're squirming so much at this point, a moaning mess as Logan holds you down by your hip, forcing you to take what he gives you, not giving you the chance to run away from the pleasure he so desperately wants to give to you.

"Oh my god! Im gonna fu-ahhh!" You moan loudly, back arching off of Logans chest as you cum hard all over his fingers.

Logan moans with you, watching in awe as you become a puddle of nothing but moans and gasps as you come down from your high, his fingers working slowly on your swollen pussy as your arousal drools out onto his fingers, forcing them to slip around and lose their place as he works on you.

"That's a good girl...thats daddy's good fucking girl....thats it....im right here baby...daddys gotchu" He praises you, soft whines and moans leaving your lips as his rough hands move from your pussy to instead run along your body, holding you, massaging you, making it known that he was indeed there with you.

It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath properly, when you do, you finally feel Logans very large bulge pressing into your ass.

He's too busy pressing kisses along your throat and jaw, working his way up to your cheek and the corner of your lips to make sure you were there with him and comfortable.

"Logan..." You mumble softly before you roll your hips down against his cock, your eyes locking with his as you stare up at him with a needy glint in yours.

Logan raises his eyebrows at your actions, holding onto your hips as he guides you to grind down onto his lap.

"You want daddy's cock baby? Is that it?" He questions, his words alone making you moan softly as you nod, your hand coming up and tugging his head down to press against your lips.

"Please fuck me daddy..." You moan against him, pushing your tongue into his mouth as you swallow his groans.

He nods against you, silently reaching between the two of you to undo the button to his jeans and pulling his cock out, tongue playing with yours as he sits you both up a bit before he grabs both of your thighs, lifting you up and making you gasp softly.

"Don't worry princess...Daddy's got you..." he assures you before he slowly sinks you down onto his cock.

Both of you moan softly in unison, his length filling you up completely, making your eye roll back as as he settles you down onto his lap.

"Logan...L-Lo...you're so big...fuck" You gasp out, struggling to even form words properly as Logan's arms wraps around your waist, holding you close against his chest as he slowly starts to fuck up into you.

"You can take it baby...fuck...such a tight little pussy...so fuckin' good for me...takin' me so well angel" Logan growled against you, lips pressed against your back as he found a steady rhythm in fucking you.

You're a moaning mess. Logan is so big, and he fills you up so well, better than anyone ever has, and it makes you feel like you'll fucking cry because of how good it feels.

Logan growls every time your pussy tightens around him, wrapping him up and keeping him so warm. He’s forgotten how fucking good it feels to be this close to someone, hearing such pretty moans….

Logan thinks he could get used to this….

Logan thinks he could get used to you.

“Come on baby….give it to me…cum all over my fuckin cock” He urges you, wanting nothing more than to feel your pretty pussy spasm on his length.

You gasp softly, struggling to hold your head up as he defiles you from down below, making a mess of your pussy as he pounds into you like a wild fucking animal, the feeling foreign to anything you’ve ever experienced for. He’s like a machine, and his skilled cock as your head spinning.

“Daddy…daddy I…I can’t…you’re gonna make me cum-“ your words are cut off by just that, a loud shriek ripping through your lungs as you cum hard all over Logan’s cock just like he asked of you.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl, fuck yeah…you want Daddy to cum inside you baby? Yeah? Want Daddy to fill up this pretty pussy?” He growls out, his own eyes fluttering shut at the mere thought of cumming inside your pussy, filling you up and making him as your own.

You’re nodding like an idiot, all dumb and cock drunk as the pleasure fades and the overstimulation takes place, making your mind fuzzy and the world around you dull, the only thing you’re able to focus on being Logan.

“Please…want you to cum inside Daddy….wanna be yours” you moan out softly, your eyes rolling back as you allow Logan to continue fucking up into you mercilessly, turning your brain into mush with every thrust.

“All mine baby…all Daddy’s…fuck…that’s it baby…let daddy fill up this little pussy….fuckfuckfuck” Logan growls out, his moans strangled as he pulls you down roughly onto his lap, his cock twitching with every spurt of cum, painting your insides with his seed as his large hands press your sweaty body flush against his.

You both sit there like that for quite a while, his hands massaging your skin, thumbs rubbing small circles into your abdomen as you both try to catch your breath, the come down sucking all of the energy out of both of you while you enjoy the warmth of being connected to one another.

After a moment passes, you’re finally the one to break the silence, a gentle smirk on your face as you turn around a bit to face Logan.

“So….I guess it’s safe to say I am your type of girl after all?” You tease the man as you recall the words he’d said to you all those weeks ago.

It makes Logan groan softly as he cringes at himself, finally giving in and resting his chin against your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he nods.

“Yeah….I guess you are princess…”

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[hysteria-things]

CANNN YOU MAKE A CHRIS FIC LIKE THISSS

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the hatred you have for chris sturniolo is ungodly… well; until you guys are alone, at least.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, p in v, hair pulling, spanking, orgasm denial, dumbification, fingering, semi-public, stomach bulge, breeding, praising, low key toxic

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,475

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i kind of want to make an enemies with benefits chris universe… like not a series but some more fics in the same timeline/backstory does that make sense😪

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you've hated since childhood.

"i hate you, chris." you whimper, wiggling in his gamer chair that you’ve been sitting in since you got here. “i hate you! i hate you!”

while repeating your hateful words, you tried your best to push his head away that was feasting on your insides. he doesn’t budge, his tongue flicking rapidly against your puffy cunt. legs draped over his shoulders, he eats you out so good that your toes curl. it’s like you’re the best meal he’s ever eaten, arousal coating your inner thighs and around his mouth. some even drip down his chin, the squelching sound turning you on even more.

blabbering out bits and pieces, you finally find words to let out a coherent sentence. “i-i wish i never met you. you— f-fuck.” slouching more into the seat, chris sucks on your clit, your eyes fluttering and mouth wide open with whines leaving it. you tug on his messy hair, letting out a cry when he sticks a pointer finger into your drenched hole to stretch you out more.

“i’m gonna cum!” you sob, a tear trickling down your cheek. he hums, intensifying the way he’s suckling at your swollen bud. shaking from the pure overwhelming sensation, your cum leaks beautifully onto his tongue.

“such a pretty pussy.” he whispers, collecting the sticky mess. “tastes so fucking good.”

all you do is sit there. panting with your eyes crossed, twitching when you try to get back to your senses, and nothing more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… would pull your ponytail every chance he got.

FUCK FACE

you’re fucking irritating

i’m a big girl and you’re not the boss of me

i don’t even know why i do what i do with you

is that right?

yeah, asshole

fuck off

i never want to see or speak to you again

who do you think you’re talking to?

can’t be me because you weren’t talking shit when you were screaming on my dick last night😂

womp womp life’s tough

you ain’t all that anyway

i’m sick of your fucking attitude

get over it

you’re not going to do shit about it so🤷‍♀️

it’s like your scalp is on fire. the stinging makes you hiss, eyes shutting from the pleasurable pain. chris has you stiff under his weight, your ponytail wrapped tightly around his fist to keep your head in place. your ass is arched against his pelvis, meeting his brutal thrusts that are pounding into you with no mercy. his balls slap against your clit as your cheeks bounce back onto him.

guiding your head down, he gives you a smack on the ass. you moan and grip the pillow for dear life, your body pushing against the corner of your l-shaped couch. ironically you’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the hem being scrunched up at the small of your back.

your knuckles are white, feeling like you can rip the pillow in half at any second if you’re not careful. the couch bangs against the wall, and you thank god that both of your parents had work today.

“said i wasn’t going to do anything about it.” chris mocks with a chuckle. “now look at you. fucking stupid in the head.”

the tip of his cock hits that spot repeatedly inside you, causing a moan louder than the others to leave your lips. “oh, right there!” you scream, it being muffled before he starts to go impossibly faster. you try to crawl away from his grip, but instead, he grabs your chin to lift your upper body to where your head rests on his shoulder. at this angle, he thrusts upward into your pulsating pussy.

eyes rolling back, you bite your lip that’s wet from spit. “you need to cum? hm?” he coos, moving a piece of sweaty hair out of your face. you nod, unable to get words out.

he tuts before pulling out, making you gasp and fall forward. “that’s too bad. should’ve thought twice about that before picking up an attitude with me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… at family parties, you’d never liked to see.

different aromas of cookout food flood your nostrils, the plate in front of you still full. you fidget the steak with your fork, your other hand gripping the edge of the picnic table. you’ve been trying to avoid eye contact with everybody since you sat down. what you are looking at is what’s happening under the tablecloth.

chris’s fingers pump deliciously into your sopping pussy, knuckle deep and covered in your wetness. originally, you weren’t wearing panties under your dress — upon his request.

fighting every fiber in your body to not make it obvious, you lean your head on his shoulder and exhale. “looks like you two sorted out the childhood banter.” one of your relatives jokes, looking at you cuddled up in the crook of his neck.

he continues talking nonchalantly to the guests when all of a sudden his fingers curl. it makes you jolt, the boy adding his thumb to rub on your clit for more pressure. that alone took you by surprise. giving him pleading eyes, you started to tremble, and before you knew it juices smeared all over his digits.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you would scream at so loud that he'd have to cover your mouth when people were around.

patience runs thin with him, as you’re fully aware of. first, he snuck you in, and now he’s fucking you on his bedroom floor. matt and nick are home, having no idea what their brother is up to.

jesus. the way he’s fucking into you is different this time around. your legs wrap around his waist, and his thrusts are deep and hard. you engulf his dick perfectly, and he adores that.

covering your mouth with his hand, your sounds of pleasure are muffled, and you still seem to be too loud. your back is arched halfway off of the ground, his cock slamming into you at just the right spot. he removes his palm, taking your wrists and pinning them above your head. chris kisses you hungrily, your moans going down his throat. “shit.” he drags out, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “you’re so fucking pretty.”

whimpering loudly, he kisses you again to swallow it. “shush, baby. you have to be quiet. you don’t want matt and nick to know how much of a cock whore you are for me.”

“but you feel too good!” you whine, eyes crossing when your g-spot starts to get abused with his length. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, releasing your wrists from his grasp to grip the back of your hair instead, pulling you as close as possible to him. your body lifts off of the floor slightly.

clenching repeatedly around him, it makes his dick twitch. “fuck, do that again. atta girl.” letting out a choked moan, you feel ropes of cum paint your insides. that alone sends you over the edge, a ring of white smearing around his girth. you clasp your hand over your mouth to silence your scream.

although, he doesn’t stop. he lays you back flat on the wooden panels, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. your feet dangle beside his head, his throbbing cock still pumping deep inside you. you cry out his name before he shoves two fingers into your mouth for you to suck on, but most importantly to shut you up.

eyes scanning your body, he’s taken aback. there’s a bulge protruding in your abdomen each time his skin slaps against yours. your belly is swollen from his previous orgasm, his hips stuttering at the sight. it’s insanely hot to him.

face all fucked out, your brain starts to fog, stars overcoming your vision. “take my cock. just like that.” he says, glancing down at where you’re conjoined. you’re cumming once again without warning once he hits your cervix, too brain-dead to even realize what’s going on anymore. you slobber around his digits, moaning and whimpering around them.

“might have to fuck a baby in you.” he blurts out, groaning as his muscles tense. “stuff you full of me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

nodding, even though at your state you don’t truly know what you’re nodding to, he pushes fully into you and stays put. his seed fills you for the second time now, and you can feel every drop on your insides.

with each string, he groans as he milks himself dry. he empties your mouth from his fingers and collapses next to you on the cold floor, his cum oozing beautifully out of your used sex.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… all this time had a crush on you… but you never have to know that.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 5)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

⯎series masterlist⯎

Rafe slammed his lips into yours, prying them open with his tongue, and you immediately allowed him access. Still holding your forearms, he lifted them so you would wrap your arms around his neck. He lightly tapped your lower back and you took it as a signal that he wanted you to jump. You sprang up and he caught you, like he always has. Hands firmly on your ass, he walked the two of you towards the living room.

He dropped you onto the couch roughly, making you yelp as you bounced off the plush cushions. You smiled at Rafe but he didn’t smile back.

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded.

Your smile faded, the tone of this interaction was so far from the playful, affectionate intimacy the two of you used to share. But something in the way Rafe looked with his jaw clenched and his eyes fierce made you want to comply with his request. You removed your clothes quickly as he watched, stopping when you were left in only your panties. Rafe crawled over you, causing you to lay back on the couch, your hair fanning around your head. You watched him with rapture as he took off his own shirt, he had clearly been working out quite a bit in the last few years. You didn’t think it was possible to be more attracted to him than you used to be, but you were wrong.

He hovered over you and kissed you again. You could feel him through his sweatpants, ready for you. You moved your leg so it would rub against him and he groaned into your mouth. He moved his lips to your ear and bit down on your earlobe as he grabbed your boobs hard. He’d never been this rough with you, and you were a little frightened by how much you were enjoying it. You couldn’t hold back your words any longer.

“I missed you, ba-” you tried to say.

Rafe lifted his finger to your lips and slipped it inside, silencing you. You were stunned for a second, before wrapping your lips around his finger and sucking, surprised at how hot you found it that he was shutting you up.

“Shhh,” he whispered in your ear as you swirled your tongue around his finger tip. He added a second finger and you welcomed it gladly.

Rafe used to encourage you to be as loud as possible, loving how you talked to him, praising him, confessing how much you loved him when he was inside of you. But if he heard one more word from you then he’d start thinking about how much he loved you, and if he thought about how much he loved you, he’d start thinking about how much you hurt him. This would only work if there was no thinking involved. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and trailed them down your body. You gasped when he finally made it down to the waistband of your panties. He bent his fingers and rubbed two knuckles over the lacy fabric, the pressure too light, making you buck up when they ghosted over your clit. Your eyes shut and a soft “please” escaped your lips, the sound shooting fire straight through him. He pressed his knuckles in with a little more pressure, and you started writhing, your wetness soaking through your underwear.

“That feels so good,” you whispered. He thought he didn’t want to hear you talk, but the words sounded so good that he figured he’d make an exception. So long as he could keep your words focused on how your body feels and not how your heart feels, he was still in safe territory.

Rafe was holding himself up with one arm, hand next to your head, forearm veins deliciously prominent just a few inches from your face. You looked over at his arm as he continued his work on your lower half. You knew the look of his arms so well, you could probably draw them from memory, but your brow furrowed when you noticed something you hadn’t seen before - a partially healed, blotchy pink scar on his forearm, just above his wrist. The skin was barely healed over, so the scar couldn’t have been too old. 

Rafe looked up from your lower half to catch you looking at the scar on his arm, a prominent frown tugging at your lips.

“What happened?” You asked him, still studying the wound. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged. He hated the empathy he saw in your eyes, despite his hard heart softening slightly at the sight of your concern for him. 

Needing to pull your attention away, he suddenly pushed the fabric of your panties aside and rubbed the pads of his fingers from your entrance up to your clit. Your hand shot down to grab his wrist, stopping the motion.

Your eyes didn’t leave the scar, unable to enjoy this moment and the feeling of his hands on you until you knew where it came from. It could’ve been an accident, maybe he burned himself in the kitchen, or while working on his bike. But something told you that wasn’t the case. There was that eerie intuition you’ve had since you were kids. Despite not having the facts, you still knew him in a way that didn’t make sense to anyone, including you. The idea that he had been in pain, that something had broken him and you weren’t there to fix it, was almost too much for you. Without really thinking it through, you leaned closer to his arm and placed a soft kiss to the scar.

The second your lips met his skin, Rafe pulled his arm away from your head and his hand from your heat, pushing himself off of you.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, not entirely sure what you were apologizing for, but afraid you had hurt him somehow.

Rafe stood from the couch and stalked over to the window, facing away from you and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“You can’t fucking do shit like that,” he said so quietly, you wondered if he was talking to you or to himself. 

You reached down to the floor and grabbed your shirt, holding it over yourself as you sat up on the couch, suddenly feeling extremely exposed.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you explained.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he snapped defensively. You wondered if he was talking about the scar, or something much bigger.

Rafe shook his head, his hand instinctively rubbing over the scar on his arm, as though he could wipe away the feeling of your lips against the marred flesh. You pulled your shirt back over your head and searched for your shorts, the moment was clearly over and you felt like an absolute fool sitting there naked. 

“I should go,” you say as you pull on your shorts. 

The muscles of his bare back tensed but he forced himself to keep his eyes off you, afraid if he saw the hurt look on your face he’d crumble.

“Yeah, you probably should.” 

You weren’t necessarily expecting him to disagree with you, but there was a tiny sliver of hope that he’d ask you to stay. You still had some delusional dream that he’d finally just explain himself to you, hold you and tell you he’d never let you go again. God, you really were a fool.

Rafe winced as he heard you sniffle. You scrambled to find your shoes and pulled the first one on as you ran out of the room, desperate to get out of there before your crying got any more pathetic. 

You ran out the front door, one shoe on and one off. Your mother’s car was gone, the tow truck must’ve pulled it off the property while you were inside. You realized you never even asked Rafe where they were towing it to, meaning you had not only stolen your mother’s car, but now had no idea where it was. You’d really thrown away any hope of ever reconciling with your mom for whatever the fuck just happened in that house. Hot tears began falling down your face, no strength left in you to hold them back.

What a sight it must’ve been to the neighbors - you running away from Tannyhill, clothes askew, tears streaming down your face. It was mid-morning now and a beautiful day, you passed at least a dozen people as you ran directionless down the street.

Two Years Earlier…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. 

Rafe rapped his knuckles against your front door hard, wincing at the pain. His hand had slammed into the steering wheel hard when he crashed, it was probably sprained, but that was a problem for later. The only thing on his mind at that moment was seeing your face. Maybe once he touched you he’d wake up and realize the whole thing was just a terrible nightmare. 

His heart jumped as the door slowly creaked open, but fell when he realized it wasn’t you on the other side of it.

Your mom had never liked him. In fact, most moms didn’t like him. But he didn’t understand what exactly he had done to make this particular mom hate him so much. They had exchanged plenty of angry words before, Rafe never being one to just sit and watch when someone he loved was threatened. Everytime your mom raised her voice at you, he’d step in, yelling at her to back off.

“This isn’t about you,” she’d say to him, all three of you knowing it was a lie.

He expected her to say something about how he should leave, that you were grounded and he couldn’t see you. But instead, she smiled politely and said, “hello, Rafe.”

“I - uh - hi,” he stammered back, the speech he had planned on the way over about how you were an adult now and she couldn’t keep you from him dying in his throat. “Is y/n here?”

Your mother just looked at him, but he couldn’t read her expression. Rafe never saw the resemblance between you two, perhaps blinded by his own hatred for her. But in that moment, there was something oddly familiar in the way her eyes softened when she looked at him. 

“No,” she said simply.

“Okay, well do you know when she’ll be back? Because I-”

“She’s not coming back, dear.”

Rafe just blinked, the words so confusing his brain couldn’t process them.

“What- what are you talking about?” 

“Maybe we should talk later,” she said, condescendingly touching his arm for a second before he ripped it away from her. 

“I don’t want to talk later,” he raised his voice. “Talk now, where is she? What did you do?”

Your mother narrowed her eyes at him, all of the fake softness she was trying to show brushed away immediately at his accusation.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “She left.”

Rafe shook his head, none of this was making any sense.

“What are you fucking talking about, she left? Where did she go?” He was yelling now and your mother gave him a poisonous look.

Rafe stepped back into the yard, looking up at your bedroom window.

“Y/N!” He yelled. Your mother looked around, checking to see if his volume was drawing the neighbors’ attention.

“She’s not here!” She snapped once she had confirmed no one was watching. “She didn’t want to be here anymore. She left!”

Rafe looked at her with fury in his eyes, his chest rising and falling in angry pants.

“You’re lying,” he accused through gritted teeth.

Your mother approached him silently, and he stepped back, not sure if she was gonna hug him or slap him. She did neither, instead pulling a small object from her pocket and holding it up to him.

“She wanted me to give you this,” she said.

His world slipped out from under him and his face went pale. This really was a nightmare. Why the fuck couldn’t he wake up?

“She wanted me to tell you goodbye for her,” your mother said.

Her arm outstretched, she gave Rafe your promise ring.

Now…

Rafe waited to hear the front door slam before finally turning around and taking in the spot on the couch where you had been just a minute ago. His thoughts were a knotted mess he couldn’t detangle. One thread of guilt, the sounds of you crying like an arrow through his chest. One thread of anger, how dare you try to be sweet to him after all you’ve put him through? One thread of shame, surely if you found out the truth about what he did to get that scar, and the even worse things he had done since then, you would never be sweet to him again. 

You said you still loved him. But you didn’t really know him anymore. If you really knew everything, there’s no way you would’ve said all of that.  

His senses return to him slowly, still in disbelief that he’d just had you naked beneath him, after all this time. He needed to wash this morning off of him, to clear you from his head. He needed you off of this island so he could return to the plan he had been executing- sell the gold, keep the house, take over the company, be the man. It was an equation you just didn’t fit into anymore.

Dragging his lifeless body up the steep spiral staircase, he forced himself into the shower. He held his hand under the scalding hot water, watching it turn red and splotchy. He let the heat burn away the lingering feeling of you as his eyes grazed over the scar on his arm. He had never really treated it, delusionally believing if he ignored it then it would just go away. 

Even as he held his face under the steaming water, he couldn’t wash away the image of you placing a gentle kiss on it. No one had looked at him with genuine concern like that in such a long time. 

Fuck. His bottom lip quivered and he placed his hand on the wall of the shower to steady himself. Something sharp ran through his chest - he ached for you. He couldn’t believe he had you so close to him, telling him you still loved him, and he’d let his pride fuck it up.

He thought about Shoupe’s comment that there was nobody left who cared about him. But clearly, you did. And he was going to push you away - for what? Because he’d fucked up so badly two years ago that you had to leave? After all, it was his fault wasn’t it? Most things were. Now you were back, ready to love him again, and after all he had done, who was he to push away love when it was offered?

He turned the shower off and dried off quickly. He needed to find you. 

You had been on foot, so you couldn’t have gone far. You wanted to avoid your mom so desperately that you had slept in your car last night, so clearly you hadn’t gone home. As he was pulling on his clothes, it dawned on him - he knew exactly where you were.

There were a few families on the beach, though the chilly autumn air had sent most of the tourons packing for the year. He hadn’t been to this part of the beach in over two years, unable to stomach the site of the abandoned Lifeguard tower without you under it. But this time, you were standing on it, hair whipping in the wind as you leaned against the decaying railing. He couldn’t help but smile when he realized you had climbed over the “condemned structure, no trespassing” signs to get up there.

Rafe walked quietly around the tower and appeared in front of it, causing you to jump when you looked down and saw him standing there.

“Jesus, Rafe!” You said, quickly wiping the tears from your face. “You scared me.”

“Whatcha doin’ up there?” He squinted in the sun, reminding you of how he looked when he was younger. Like the boy who you’d given your first kiss to under this very tower was standing in front of you now. 

The sight made you long to go back in time. You looked away from him, another round of tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. Rafe didn’t hesitate to climb up the tower, avoiding the parts of the old wood that had rotted away.

When he got to you, he pulled you into his chest, holding the back of your head to him as his shirt absorbed your tears. You didn’t exactly hug him back, but you didn’t push him away either.

After a minute or so, he pulled you back, hands on either side of your face, wiping away your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“I’m having a really bad week,” you told him.

He chuckled, “I know what that’s like.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and swollen. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I just can’t stand knowing you’re in pain.”

“I know what that’s like,” you repeated his words back to him.

“It was easier when you were gone,” he admitted without thinking.

Your lips parted like you were going to say something, but nothing came out, your heart shattering at his words. You turned away from him, afraid the tears you had finally gotten under control were about to return.

“No, that’s not what I- I just,” Rafe sputtered, mentally kicking himself for making you cry again, the opposite of why he had come to find you. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. If he said another word, he was afraid he’d officially lose you forever. But if he said nothing, you would never know what he was really feeling.

Rafe grabbed your shoulders and turned you around forcefully, immediately pressing his lips to yours. You didn’t kiss him back right away, so he ran his tongue over your lips gently, trying to show you that he wasn’t giving up. After what felt like forever, you finally sighed and began kissing him back, no denial left in you.

The two of you kissed for a long time, arms wrapped around each other, holding on for dear life. The old wood of the tower creaked under your feet every time either of you shifted your weight. You thought the floor might fall out from under you any second, and you didn’t care. You’d go down with him.

Suddenly, you heard the low hum of an engine in the distance, and you opened your eyes, keeping your lips on Rafe’s. When you realized what you were looking at, you tapped Rafe's shoulder, trying to signal to him to pull back.

“Mmm Rafe!” 

“I know, baby, me too,” he mumbled before continuing to kiss you.

“No,” you pulled away from him, “look!”

Rafe followed your pointed finger to see the Kildare Beach Patrol ATV driving down the beach towards you.

“Shit,” he said. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here.”

You eyed the many “No Trespassing” signs and laughed sarcastically. “What makes you say that?”

“C’mon,” Rafe grabbed your hand and your heart sank in disappointment, thinking he was going to lead you off the tower, that the moment was ruined.

But instead he turned to the door of the Lifeguard tower’s small office, wrapped in yellow “do not enter” tape. He shook the handle but it didn’t budge.

Rafe looked down at the beach, the patrol vehicle getting dangerously close.

“Fuck it,” he said, ramming his shoulder into the door as hard as he could. It flew open with a CRACK and you gasped, a thrill running through you at his reckless show of strength. 

Rafe pulled your hand and you giggled as you flew through the door behind him. The door closed and you were quickly pressed against it, his warm body invading your space. 

“I can’t believe you did-” 

Rafe’s hand flew over your mouth, silencing you. He leaned his ear against the door over your head, listening for any sign that the patrol officers had seen his breaking and entering stunt.

He was so close to you, your face nearly pressed into his chest, that you could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through his shirt. You couldn’t help yourself, feeling like a woman possessed as you leaned in and took a deep breath through your nose, breathing him in.

He looked down at you with an amused face, his hand still covering your mouth. Your eyes widened, feeling foolish.

“Did you just smell me?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

He moved his hand from your mouth so you could answer, and you immediately missed the roughness of his skin against your soft lips.

You couldn’t think of words to explain how badly you had been craving the sight and smell of him, the feeling of him, for so long. Ever since you could remember, being in his vicinity had always consumed your senses. You had only been shut in this room with him for a minute and you already felt drunk off of his presence, the cloudy fog that was once your greatest addiction slowly filling your head. You decided that was the problem - you’d been clean for far too long, you needed him in your system again. You thought for a long time, afraid to attempt the words again after the aggressive way he had declined them earlier. But you desperately needed to get them off of your chest, even if he didn’t want to hear them.

“I missed you.” 

Rafe looked down at you, the hand that was just over your mouth finding its way to your hip. The image of you somewhere far from here, missing him and thinking you would never see him again flashed across his mind. The thought was so painful that he had to close his eyes, a lump of anger clotting in his throat. He gently set his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

You didn’t understand why your words had upset him, and you immediately wished you could take them back. Something about what you said had clearly caused him pain, and you couldn’t bear it. You reached up, grabbing at his shirt, his arms, the back of his neck. You were pawing at him like you could somehow pull him into you, absorb him and take away any pain he’d ever felt. 

“Hey, hey,” you whispered to him, your hands finally landing on either side of his face, pulling back so you could look him in the eyes. He blinked them open into yours and you brushed your nose against his lovingly. “Talk to me.”

Rafe swallowed hard, looking at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were floating.

“Tired of talking.” He slammed his lips into yours before the words had even fully left them. Both his hands were on your hips now, pushing you back against the door. Your chests were pressed together, the power of his body crushing you so sweetly. You inhaled deeply into the kiss, realizing you had been holding your breath. As you released your breath, you let out a little moan that set his blood on fire.

One of his hands fell to your ass while the other cupped the back of your neck, pulling your face into his, making it impossible for you to pull back. You wouldn’t have broken the kiss if this building was on fire, but the idea that you couldn’t, that he had you, was exhilarating. In your excitement, you bit his bottom lip.

“Shit, sorry,” you said, watching as his bottom lip began to swell.

“Do that again,” he demanded. 

Your eyes widened at the darkness in his voice and he worried that he’d scared you. But his worries faded when you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to reach his mouth, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth again. 

You bit gently at first, but increased the pressure when he left out a broken groan that was so hot you found yourself clenching around nothing, already impossibly wet.

After a moment, you released his lip with a ‘pop’. You watched proudly as it turned purple, and he didn’t miss the mischievous flicker in your eye. His eyelids were heavy as he looked at you, a heat between you that was more electric than anything you’d ever felt. You thought back to a few nights ago when you first saw him. You still hated the way he talked to that waiter, hated how viciously arrogant he sounded when he hit on that woman at the club just to piss off her date. But right now, all of that passion and ferocity was aimed directly at you like a laser beam, and you wanted it to cut straight through you. But you had to know something first.

“Did you miss me, baby? You whispered, still watching his lips, afraid if you looked him in the eyes and didn’t get the answer you wanted, you’d break beyond repair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did he miss you? He’d been walking around a shell of a man since the night you left him sitting on that curb. Did he miss you? He hasn’t slept in two years. Did he miss you? He has to stay high every minute of the day, afraid if he’s sober long enough to remember everything you’d been through together, he might not survive it.

Your ability to read his mind still hadn’t fully returned, and you couldn’t quite understand the look on his face. His brow was furrowed, but you didn’t know what emotion was behind it. You were suddenly afraid that asking the question was a mistake, but you couldn’t let this moment with him slip through your fingers. 

When he opened his mouth slightly to respond, you abruptly reached up and placed your fingers over his mouth, silencing him. You shook your head ever so slightly and Rafe wasn’t entirely sure what you were saying no to, him now being the one afraid of the moment ending. But then you slid your hand down, over his neck, his chest, down his abdomen, until you reached the outline of his erection. You palmed him through his jeans, pressing firmly as you rubbed back and forth. His eyes rolled in pleasure and a breathy moan left his lips.

Thinking you had gained all the power, you went to slide your hand under the waistband of his pants, but he grabbed your wrist hard, stopping you. You gasped as he grabbed your other wrist too, holding them firmly to the door behind you, bending down to get his lips next to your ear.

“You didn’t let me answer,” he snarled.

It all happened so dizzyingly fast. Rafe suddenly pulled you off the door and backed you towards an old desk that sat on the other side of the small office. He held you there with one hand while he used his other arm to push all of the old papers and office supplies off of the desk. Once the surface was cleared, he lifted you up from under your arms and set you down on it. He kissed you hard as his hands worked on the buttons of your shorts, ripping them down your legs along with your panties. There was no time to undress either of you slowly, he needed to be inside you, and you were thinking the exact same thing.

He unzipped his jeans and took himself out of them, not even bothering to pull them off all the way. Rafe pumped himself as he neared you, rubbing his tip through your soaking folds before sinking himself into you.

Your mouth fell open at the feeling of him entering you. The stretch hurt a bit after two years without him, but you welcomed it, clawing at his flexing arms as he started moving in and out of you. You looked down, watching where he entered you with your eyebrows knit together, too engrossed in the sight to make a sound. Rafe grabbed your chin and pulled your gaze up to meet his. 

“Did I miss you?” He repeated your words incredulously as he slammed into you hard, finally pulling a strained moan from your throat. 

Rafe started fucking you like he never had before. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving marks as you whined and mewled. Your whole body shaking from the impact every time he bottomed out. You wanted him to give you all of his passion and fury, and now he was. 

Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. When the first one fell, Rafe placed a kiss on it, wiping it away with his lips. Still holding onto your chin, he moved his lips over and kissed the other side of your face, the gentle action in such stark contrast to the way he was pounding into you. 

He pulled back and looked into your eyes again, and said in a startlingly clear voice, “you are the love of my fucking life.”

You broke into a sob.

“Rafe!” You cried as he somehow sped up his thrusts even faster. 

“It destroyed me when you left,” he kept going. “Never gonna let you leave me again. Never losing you, baby.”

The passion in his words and the intensity in his movements were almost too much. It was all so perfect, so exactly what you’d wanted for so long, that you almost couldn’t bear it. Your orgasm crashed into you out of nowhere, and you came with a loud cry of his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed you through it. “Give it to me, give me everything.”

The feeling of you clenching around him mixed with the sound of you screaming his name pushed him over the edge and emptied himself into you. He flinched when he realized he was completely uncovered, but as he made to pull out, you wrapped your legs around him, holding him in. 

Rafe stayed inside of you for a moment, holding you with your head resting against his chest and his hands in your hair. When he finally slid out, he put his hands on either side of your face and kissed you one more time, both of you groaning at the separation.

Once he had tucked himself back into his briefs, he kneeled down to get your shorts off of the ground. He pulled them over your feet and up your legs, helping you down so you were standing as you buttoned them. This time, it was you with your hands on either side of his face, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs as he knelt before you. 

Rafe reached into his pocket and pulled something out you couldn’t quite see. You eyed him curiously and he slowly opened his palm to reveal something small and gold. Your promise ring.

(chapter 6)

a/n: I told you the smut was on it's wayyyy! but those of you who are here for angst, never fear.... 👀

as always if I left you off the taglist i'm sorry and please lmk!! Idk why but tags aren’t working in the post so I will put them in replies! I may be switching to a notification account soon because these tags give me such a hard time everytime I post 😭

[baby-tini]

Mikey brainrot 😍

OG Timeline Mikey with a serious breeding kink even though he’s always busy, he takes any opportunity to fill reader 😭

oooo Mikey with a breeding kink 🤤🤤🤤

-OG Manjiro Sano is definitely a creampie kind of guy, he keeps you filled to the brim constantly. Where ever he can, whenever he can. He thinks it would be a waste too just you wipe it off or for it too go into a condom. He's always liked fucking your pussy raw better anyway. -He likes you nice and messy for him, he also likes too watch it leak out of your pretty cunt, just so he can push it back in with his fingers, he won't be too happy if you let any of it leak out. -He doesn't care which position he fills you in, but, if he had too choose, it would most likely be missionary. A little basic, but, he prefers too watch your facial expressions as he cums in you. The way your back arches when he rubs tight circles into your clit has his eyes rolling back. Especially when he cums in you and you squeeze him tighter, trying too take him for all he's worth. -Mikey can be so fucking nasty sometimes, because it's not just your pussy that he likes too keep filled, he likes too keep that smart little mouth of yours full too. He'll fuck his fingers into your sloppy cunt, only too pull out his fingers, coated in his own cum, and yours. Only too slip them in your mouth, keeping his cum on your tongue until he's done with you, and you better not swallow any of it either, unless he tells you too. Because he'll just fill your mouth up again, but double the amount, until it's spilling from your between your lips. -He likes having you bounce on his cock as you beg and plead for him too fill you up makes him feral, he looses it when you tell him how much you love when he cums in you, how he always fills you so nicely. Begging for his cum too fill you up until you physically can't hold anymore, until it's quite literally spilling out of you in a thick stream, getting your thighs all sticky and messy with the thick liquid. -He loves fucking you in doggy too though, he'll spread your ass cheeks apart so he can watch his cock fuck into you as he spits, adding more lubricant so he can fuck you more efferently. Wrapping your hair around his hand as he pulls your back flush against his chest, whispering the most fucked up shit your ear as your mouth hangs open, nothing coming out as tears slip down your cheeks. -He takes videos of your little... sessions. He's away quite a lot, meaning he can't fuck you as much as he'd like too, but that's okay, because he makes sure he takes enough footage too hold him over until he makes it back to you, so ha can fill you in person. He'll have you hold your legs open, each arm under one of your thighs, holding them still so he can spread your lips open, zooming in on the white cream spilling out, only too spread all over your pussy. Using his cum too make easier for him too rub your clit as he catches yet another of your orgams on camera. -As I've stated, he likes too keep your mouth quiet when you're not using it too scream for him, but he likes too turn it into a little game. If you can manage too keep every single drop of his cum in your mouth, he'll let you cum as much as you want, however you want. But, if you do fuck up, he's not gonna be very forgiving, you won't get too cum at all. Bad girls don't get rewarded with orgasms, you should know that by now pretty baby, did you forget, huh? Speak up, he can't hear you... oh wait, your mouth is full, huh? It's okay, he'll remind you. -He also likes too cum in your panties as your wearing them, pulling you to somewhere barley discreate, he'll have you pull down your panties a little bit as he pulls his cock, pumping it too get him hard as he watches your pretty face as your lips form into a pout as you plead with him too cum in your panties, whining at him too please rub his tip on your clit as you feel his cum already soaking through the thin cloth as he sends you away with a pat on your ass. -It's a privilege too be filled and thoroughly fucked by the Invincible Mikey, so you better say thank you when he's done with you, yeah?

[joelsmochi]

come get this pollen - joel miller

pairing: beekeeper!joel x f!reader summary: with tommy hosting the bbq this year, that leaves joel in charge of one thing: you. inspired by this tweet | can be read by itself, but if you crave more beekeeper!joel read parts one & two ;) warnings: 18+ bc smut duh, not proofread, reader being reckless & gross in front of Sarah (let us pls remember & acknowledge how unrealistic this dynamic is 🙏🏽🙏🏽), joel is a perv what’s new?, honey play (yeast infections don’t exist in this timeline heheheheheh), brief breeding kink, oral (m+f), overstimulation, unprotected rough piv, pet names, sort of? established relationship, catching people and getting caught, joel "disciplining" you and absolutely slutting you out!!!!!!!, a little bit of corny humor at the end word count: 3.7k a/n: erm... ik it's late but i literally started writing this the morning AFTER the fourth ijbol. final part i will plan for this series for now but i’m always open for requests <3

series masterlist | main masterlist

♡

You greeted Tommy and Maria at Joel's door with smiles and hugs, noticing the pair of chubby cheeks attached to the woman's hip.

"And who's this little fella?" You cooed, reaching for the baby once Maria held him out for you.

"This is Jackson," Maria answers. "He'll be six months in a few days."

With wide eyes you smile at the gleaming baby now resting on your waist, cooing little praises at him and bouncing your body to earn a few giggles. "Well you are just the cutest little thing I've ever seen, yesyouare."

You catch up with the couple and walk around Joel's house for just a few minutes until Jackson started reaching for Maria; you said bye-bye and made your way up to Sarah's bedroom.

"Sarah do y—EW!"

You slammed the door shut and stood frozen in the hallway, ignoring Sarah's protests for you to knock on a closed door next time.

"Sorry, I forget you can't exactly white-sock-it at your dad's house," you begrudgingly joked.

Sarah whipped the door open with a pissed off look plastered on her face, her boyfriend having a seemingly more embarrassed look.

"What do you need?"

With a grimace you asked, "Do you still have that dress that I left over here last weekend?"

She rolled her deep brown eyes, knowing you were just trying to catch her father's perverted eye, and stomped away, leaving her distressed and disheveled boyfriend in your view. He awkwardly smiled and offered a wave that just made you want to crawl into a hole and die, but you opted to stiffly smile back.

Before you could register anything else the dress was being thrown into your face and the door was slammed shut again.

"Bitch," you mumbled underneath your breath as you walked into the bathroom.

You shimmied out of your American Eagle shorts and tank top; slipping into the short dress, you couldn't help but notice how bunched up your underwear looked beneath the fabric. You tried pulling them up higher, folding the hem, hell you even gave yourself the world's deepest wedgie just to fail at concealing the grey article of clothing.

You grunted, really not wanting to wear those shorts again because your thighs seemed to swallow the hems whole every time you sat down, but what else would conceal your seamless panties that decided to appear as granny panties today?

You could ask Sarah for a pair, but that was just weird. You could just deal with it, but you knew you wouldn't stop thinking about it. You could just go commando, but...

"Fuck it," you mumbled when you couldn't think of a con to go without undergarments.

You slithered out of your panties and wrapped your clothes around them, discarding them in Joel's room on your way back downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Hey, 'bout time you found me," he greeted.

He glanced out of the patio door, sneaking a kiss with you when no one was watching.

"Sorry. I was saying hi to Sarah and Alex," you lied.

"Mmm, you smell good," he said against your lips after catching a whiff of your shampoo. "Look good too. You want somethin' to drink?"

You trailed behind him to the fridge, wrapping your arms around his soft waist. "Yeah, but it's not gonna be in there," you teased.

He chuckled, pulling out an iced tea for you, and not responding. He’s playing hard to get.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping onto your tippy toes to brush your lips against the shell of his ear. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

He chuckled, poker face in full effect. “Good girl,” was the last thing he said before walking into the hallway towards the backyard, leaving a disappointed you in the kitchen alone.

The day went by slow enough, and yet you were unable to find that window of opportunity to get Joel alone. He was constantly helping or talking to someone — holding the baby so Maria could go get the door. Preparing more burger patties for Tommy. Offering a smile or two to women who expressed interest in him, or a laugh about golf with the men.

You were stuck listening to Sarah’s friends from college rant and rave about… Whatever they were into. You genuinely tried to listen but it was hard to keep up with how many like’s and literally’s and bro’s and duh’s they felt the need to use.

Alex called your name, catching your attention. “Why don’t you and my boy Johnnie hang out sometime? You’re single right?”

A stiff smile tugged on your cheeks, and your eyes flickered to Sarah for help, but her’s only widened slightly.

“Uh, no. No. Not single,” you blabbered. “Sorry.”

“Oh— well, who’re dating?”

“Uhhhhhhhh… He’s an older guy, you wouldn’t really know him.”

“Oh,” Alex said.

“H-how much older?” Johnnie chimed in, looking a little bummed.

You accidentally laughed, unable to contain your nerves. “Like… Fifties,” you said too quietly.

“Huh?”

“Firework time!” Tommy shouted.

“Thank, God,” both you and Sarah said to each other.

“Sorry!” She said after jogging to stand next to you. “I totally fucking blanked.”

“It’s fine,” you exhaled, “I just couldn’t come up with a better lie.”

“Wait, so are you dating my dad?”

You shrugged. “Eh. It’s not official if that’s what you mean.”

“I just wanna make sure I’m not gonna have to choose between my best friend and my dad,” she explained.

“You’d totally pick me though. Right?” You asked hopefully, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Totally,” she repeated with a warm smile.

You looked through the small crowd in seek of Joel, finding him standing on the left side of whatever explosive his brother was packing into the ground. His eyes found yours and he gave you a subtle smile, eyes trailing over the dress that squeezed your breasts and hugged your waist. He shot you a wink before reluctantly looking away, playfully flicking the lighter in his dominant hand.

“Is it cool if I stand go see your dad?” You asked.

“Don’t leave me with them, they’ll ask questions,” Sarah quietly pleaded with a strong tug on your arm.

“Then go with me!” You whispered back. “Tell them you wanna be in the family videos.”

She deadpanned you. “Now you manage to come up with a good lie?”

“Oh! Just do it!”

Your body apologetically moved through the small swarm of people, unsuspectingly making your way over to Joel with Sarah right behind you.

“Light ‘em up,” Tommy told Joel.

Soon after there was that familiar loud whistle rutting against your eardrums, a hissing sound traveling into the sky before the different colors spiraled into a nonsensical design. Kids shouted joyfully, aside from the Jensen’s baby who let out a small cry, and scattered conversation filled the remaining space of empty sound.

You felt more comfortable in Joel’s presence, even when his attention wasn’t completely on you, and even more with your best friend by your side.

You could smell the cheap body spray you picked out for him when you were at Walmart alone a few weeks ago. It took some convincing, but eventually he promised to wear it for you at some point.

It smelled even better being mixed with his musk and pheromones and the layer of sweat he always seemed to have in the Texas heat.

His brown t-shirt proven too tight around his biceps, nestling against his broad shoulder blades with a thin stripe of sweat resting along his spine.

You felt a small gush, suddenly regaining awareness of the fact that you had no panties on right now. Your cheeks beamed a deep red, legs clenching as you tried to smear the precum instead of letting it trickle down your thighs.

Right now your perfectly clean, soft, cum catching Victoria’s Secret cheekies were collecting Joel’s dust in Joel’s room next to Joel’s bed, and you felt absolutely agonizingly exposed even though the only person that knew you were commando was you.

But then Joel’s laugh caught your attention, eyes being drawn back to the curve of his soft tummy, and you decided to use your naked dilemma to your advantage.

But how could we get from point A to point Tease?

“Sarah, you wanna light a firework?” Tommy shouted.

“Hell! No!” She yelled, gaining a couple of disappointed looks from people but a chuckle from you. “I’ve seen people blowing their hands off. Unh-unh, no thanks Uncle Tommy.”

“Agh. Come onnn,” Joel urged. “Don’t be a pussy.”

“Name calling won’t work this time,” she retorted.

“What about’chu?” Joel asked, a daunting look in his dark eyes.

Bend over, give him a little show just to risk losing a limb? Sign me up, you thought.

“Sure, why not?”

You gently pulled the yellow lighter from Joel’s hot hand, brushing your ass against his lower belly as you went to stand in front of him.

“I just light the red thing?” You asked Tommy.

“Yeah, ‘n do it at an angle so you don’t blow your fingers off,” he said nonchalantly.

“O…kay?”

You bent over, slow enough to ensure the skirt of your dress not popping up. You flicked the lighter, forcing a flame to appear, and held it to the red string sticking out.

Just as the string caught the flame, you felt a breeze ghost over your slick cunt, and Joel let out a strained sigh loud enough for you to hear from where you were.

You took a few steps away and backed into Joel’s frame “accidentally”. Everyone watched in awe as the red’s and blue’s filled the black sky for a few seconds, while Tommy set up another firework for you to light.

You bent over a little more subtly, but still enough to give Joel’s something to look at.

After hopping back between Joel and Sarah once the next explosive went up, you gave Joel’s his lighter back and grinned real wide at him.

But when you turned back to face your best friend, all but a pleasant look wore her face.

“You guys are disgusting,” she spat. “Where are your panties?”

“I had to take them off because they looked like a dirty diaper.”

“Ugh, you are so lucky I love you,” she said with her face in her hands.

You kissed her cheek and behaved yourself for a few more minutes, but as the night grew darker the wetter you became. You needed to get Joel alone now or you would become inconsolable.

“Can I light one more?”

Joel nodded, offering you the lighter once more, and Sarah had to fight the urge to throw her hands up in the air.

You bent over once more, this time leaving a hand on the crease on your ass.

Come on, Joel thought, give me a peek of that pretty hole.

And you did just that; while everyone was watching the firework spiral into the air Joel watched you tug your ass to the side, revealing your small hole that glistened.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself, fighting the growing bulge in his Levi’s.

You told Sarah to try lighting one, and she reluctantly agreed to; you stayed until it went off before excusing yourself inside the house.

Making your way into to the kitchen, you tried your best to quickly wipe up the mess that covered your inner thighs, but a hand gripped your forearm.

You screeched, but let out a sigh of relief when you saw it was just Joel.

Without hesitation you got on your knees and looked up at him as if you had no idea what you’d done. You reached for his pants, but he swatted your hand away and carried you onto the island counter, pushing your chest to make you lay down.

Before you could question it his lips inhaled your clit, sucking it a little too hard and making your body jolt.

You searched for his eyes, but the darkness in the room swallowed every fine detail you sought whenever Joel landed between your legs, forcing you to just focus on the feeling.

His heavy tongue licked a quick line from the bottom of your sticky slit to the hood of your clit, pulling the little nub into his hot mouth again. Suckling it until you threatened him with a breathy moan.

He pulled back and popped his rough hand on your clit, the stinging causing you to bite your lip and quiet yourself.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he harshly whispered.

“Need you—“

“Shut up,” he repeated firmly before diving back into your heated core again.

You tried reaching to tug at his hair but he swatted your hands away once more; you were blindly searching for something along the slab of marble to grip onto, accidentally knocking over a jar of something sticky.

You frantically tried to put the jar back up but Joel was sucking your pussy to hard and deliciously. Eventually you fixed the spilled issue, recognizing the texture as Joel’s silky honey from his beehives.

“Here,” you moaned, shoving your fingers beneath his swollen lips.

He hummed in approval, slurping up the remnants from your trembling digits. You gripped the edge of the countertop and bucked your hips, Joel’s nose nestling into the throbbing edges of your clit.

Shaking his head to intensify the pleasure, his nose tickled your little bundle of nerves, that orgasmic tingling climbing the edge of release.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” you moaned softly.

That made him groan and eat you more sloppy than ever before. The obscene noises between his thick tongue and your slobbering pussy was filthy, disgusting almost.

Your moans were silenced behind your gritted teeth, legs burying Joel’s face deeper into your pulsing core, and he ensured his nose would continue rutting against your clit.

Your cry of euphoria was covered by a loud firework; Joel recognized that moan. You were cumming, leaking juices and honey into his mouth like a dam being released for the first time ever.

He lapped it up like a thirsty dog, not even savoring the taste before he found the urge to start slurping up your already sensitive clit again.

You whined, arms flailing in a poor attempt to remove his head.

It hurt it hurt it hurt so fucking bad.

But you couldn’t fight the grip Joel’s had around your thighs. The more you wiggled the more sensitive you became. You whined, accepting your fate and allowing your legs to tremble against his touch.

He made you endure the worst of it: the pain that swallowed you whole and antagonized every nerve ending in your body.

You’d fight harder if it were anyone else, but Joel elicited submission from you. You’d have him punish you anyway he deemed justified if it meant you got to have him.

You gurgled on your saliva, choking on your strained moans.

It was only until he’d had lost too much oxygen that he finally alleviated you from your suffering.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees,” he huffed, dropping his pants and boxers to his ankles.

You eagerly listened, feeling his hand grip your hair and force your eyes to look into his.

“Little fuckin’ slut wants to tease me in front’a everybody? Hmm? You thinks it’s okay to spread your fuckin’ pussy like that?”

He found the glass jar that was coated in the sweet nectar, holding it up in the moonlight for you to see.

“Look at the mess you made, baby,” he said in a mocking tone. “Gonna have to clean it up.”

Joel tipped the jar, pouring more than enough honey all over his painfully hard cock.

Your mouth watered, saliva pooling at the corners of your lips at the mere thought of the taste.

“Clean it up with your mouth for me, baby… Hands behind your back.”

You listened to his instructions, waffling your fingers together against the small of your back and curling your tongue against his velvety mushroom cockhead.

The salty taste made you moan, eyes narrowing up at his own. The slight glow of moonlight showing off the teardrops of honey dangling from his girthy shaft.

After you licked your yearning lips you took him into your mouth, gagging at the sickly sweet taste of too much honey.

“Ah, baby,” he whimpered. “Want me to fuck that cute little face a’yours?”

“M—mmhm,” you gurgled.

“Yeah?”

He held your head in place and thrusted into your drooling mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat with a lack of mercy.

Tears stung your eyes, excessive amounts of honey glossing over your trembling chin.

“You poor thing. Was that pretty little pussy dripping for me all day?”

You gurgled again, gagging on your hums of confirmation, nodding your dizzy head as he continued to fuck your face.

“Awwwh, such a needy little slut,” he cooed. “Need this cock deeper in that mouth, hmm?”

You nodded even more assuringly than before, moaning around his thick shaft. You blew bubbles of spit around his cock, keep his cock slippery enough to glide down your throat.

His breath was shaky, both hands now on your head, and soon after your throat was being stretched beyond its limits. You gagged around him, tears now flooding your puffy cheeks.

You reached up to give his heavy balls a decent tug, then squeezed them until you received a moan from his strained throat.

He growled when he yanked his cock from your throat, holding your head steady as you worked your way through your coughing fit.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he moaned throat gritted teeth, squatting to be eye level with you. He smacked your jaw once, twice, three times before licking the honey and tears from your face, sloppy kisses being shared occasionally. “Such a fucking good little slut.”

“Just for you,” you whimpered.

“Oh really?” He laughed cruelly. “That why you were showin’ the world your pussy?”

“Jus’ you,” you assured.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.”

He stood you up and bent you over the counter, stretching the fabric of your dress from pulling it up to hard.

He pinched your pussy lips and leaned onto your back after you screeched.

“Who else you tryna show this pretty little thing to?”

“Ah— fuck. Ju— you, baby. Just you.”

Joel released his grip on your cunt, pushing his tip between your sore lips. Despite the slight burn, he filled you quickly and smoothly.

“Look at this fucking pussy,” he moaned. “Mmhmm. Fuckin’ swallowing my cock like a good little thing. This pussy’s all mine?”

“Yes!” You cried out.

Your weight rested entirely on your stomach, feet swinging in the air, head bobbing and hip painfully bumping into the corner of the surface.

“She’s all mine, baby?” He asked again.

“YESyesyesyes!”

His wrapped a hand around your open mouth, muffling your cries before they turned into screamed.

“Good job, babydoll,” he smiled. “Good job. You’re doing such a good job takin’ this fucking cock.”

“S’big,” you muffled into his clammy hand.

“Goddamn. I got you this wet, baby? Oh, you musta been clenching those pretty legs all day thinkin’ ‘bout me.“

You knew he was talking to himself, using you like a fucktoy. You loved when he fucked you hard, opposing his usual routine of being gentle. He always made you feel good, but when you really needed it he knew how to wear you out.

And it was dumb, really — him forcing you to keep quiet though if it were even just a little more quiet outside everyone would hear the sound of your ass clapping against his tummy pudge.

But it wasn’t about being quiet, it almost never is. It was about keeping you disciplined.

Joel’s thick fingerpads found your clit, pinching the sensitive nub before rubbing big, deep circles.

You clawed at the hand on your mouth, legs looping around his tense hairy legs to balance yourself.

“Yeah, take that cock, slut,” he whispered against your earlobe. “Actin’ all desperate for me. Gonna fuckin’ breed this perfect pussy.”

His filthy words made your knees buckle and your eyes roll back. Your gummy walls clenched around him, thick white cream coating his honey drenched cock.

Joel could feel your clit throbbing between his clumsy fingers, he watched your back rise and fall quickly as your pussy squelched around him from your orgasm.

He gave you one final hard thrust, a rope of his cum shooting into you, his cock throbbing, begging for more release.

“Tell me it’s mine,” he said tiredly.

“It’s all yours, baby. Fu- it’s yoursyoursyours! I belong to you. I fucking belong to you, my pussy was made for you!”

He started thrusting somewhere in the midst of your cock drunk babbles, grunting loudly as he filled you with his warm seed.

“I’m all yours, Joel,” you repeated softly as he finished.

“Yo, Joel, what the— fuck?!”

You ducked below the counter and held your mouth while Joel fixed his pants. Of all people that could’ve walked in it had to be his brother?

Actually, the more you thought about it the better it seemed.

You stared up at Joel’s blank expression and rolled your eyes before standing up.

“Sorry,” you grimaced. “I stole him. Just tell everyone I got sick and he was making sure I was alright.”

“Why is their honey all over the fucking counter?!” Tommy asked as he picked up the sticky jar.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Joel said.

“No,” the younger man said in disbelief.

You both just stared at him and shrugged.

“How long were we gone?” You asked after Tommy finished berating Joel.

“Like twenty minutes, why?”

“We said we were gonna try that one position next time,” you reminded Joel.

Joel frowned for a moment before remembering the complicated position you stumbled upon a few days prior. He looked to Tommy with a smile.

“No,” he firmed answered.

Joel sighed turning back to you. “Tomorrow, baby.”

“Fine. I’m gonna go get a shower.”

You gave Joel one last kiss and said goodnight to Tommy before heading upstairs.

“Sarah’s best friend?” Tommy questioned as the two men made their way back outside.

Joel, who was still wearing that big smile said, “I know. She’s hot, right?”

[demonic0angel]

Another On Sight Speedsters prompt.

Clockwork and/or Jazz meet and make a deal with the speed force(s). In exchange for not killing their avatars, the speed force(s) will no longer grant them enough power to create temporal distortions, for a certain period of time.

I say speed force(s) because I don't remember how many there are lol

(Man, idk either 😭 I barely know anything unless it's about the Bats)

Bart looked around at the place eagerly, nearly bouncing. Wally had to grab him by the shoulder or he would've run off to look at the many portals into other timelines and universes.

Clockwork and Jazz stood in front of them, looking calm. Jazz was decked out in her full Wolf attire, helmet included. Shadow was by her side, standing guard as a dog.

Barry nervously coughed. "Hello, uh. Clockwork. And Wolf. So how can we help you?"

Clockwork hummed. "In the past year, there have been over 1,781,312 incidents where you and your family have used the powers of the speed-force. By doing so, you have altered other worlds and created multiple timelines, often of which collapse due to the strain and instability. It had been up to us to fix your mistakes, but this has gone on for too long."

Barry gulped and Wally asked, "What does that mean?"

Jazz said, with her mechanical voice, "It means that you're going to fix your behavior and control the speed force."

Barry said carefully, "Or what?"

Jazz pulled out her gun, making all of them flinch backwards. "Or I'll solve the problem once and for all."

Shadow growled and Barry cried out, "Jesus Christ!"

Clockwork tapped his staff. "And don't bother trying to attack her either. I can stop all three of you."

Wally said placatingly with his hands up, "We weren't thinking of attacking anybody!"

Bart muttered something that had Wally stomping on his foot.

Barry quickly nodded. "We'll do it. And sorry for the trouble, we... we really didn't know that it would create so many problems for you."

Jazz tilted her head. "Did you think that Phantom, Wraith, and Spirit just attacked you all without cause?"

Wally scratched at his hair. "Honestly? I thought Wraith was just jealous I was Nightwing's best friend."

Clockwork gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "Just sign these papers and we'll discuss further plans to prevent this again."

Bart saluted. "Yes sir! I'm just glad Spirit won't be tackling me anymore!"

"Just sign the damn papers."

[pedrospatch]

snapshots | masterlist

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Moments of Joel Miller’s life in Jackson, Wyoming with his girls. warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. GIRLDAD!JOEL. established relationship. NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE, she is a childbearing adult woman so do what you will with that information, however at one point it will be vaguely mentioned that she is younger than Joel. no physical description of reader. slight physical description of Rosemary (she has Joel’s hair color and type as well as his eye color). Joel and Ellie are fine because i said so. angst, fluff, some individual works centered around Joel and reader may also contain smut. please see individual fics for warnings and tags. *MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. a/n: i fell in love with this little family and would love to write more for them when the inspiration strikes, so i decided to just go ahead and make a masterlist for them. i have no specific plan, the drabbles and one shots will most likely not be in order. i may bounce around the timeline and even go as far back as to when joel and reader find out they’re going to have a kid. to those of you who have shown this universe some love, thank you! 🤍

flutter

When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

softness

Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.

safe and sound

Your daughter has a nightmare—her daddy makes it all better.

splash

You come home from your first day back out on patrol and find Joel giving your daughter a bath.

divider credit to @/saradika 🤎

[acotarxreader]

Mirror

Rhysand x Reader and Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: You were gifted with the ability to mirror other fae's magic with a simple touch and your free spirit nature leads you to cross very close to the borders of a hidden city, where your future best friends and soulmate snatch you out of the sky to protect their border.

Warnings: ANGSTY AF, a lil fluff, action, mentions of injury and breaking bones, silly Rhysand, high drama

Inspired by Tolerate It & My Tears Ricochet by Taylor M.F Swift

A/N As voted for by you friends! (Kinda fitting you choose the taylor inspired fic when I'm off to have her change my life lol) Okee this is a long angsty buddy. I used the timelines from this website and I hope that translates well.

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

1692

You had met your three best friends including your soulmate by pure luck of the Cauldron. Lost along a long mountain road, you wandered through the hills of a stretch of Night Court long-forgotten, as the Spring snow settled. You moved through the overgrown coastal trail, the shadows of the trees allowing you to shield yourself from the elements as you used your ability to shapeshift into the ease of the eagle cutting through the air. 

A bloodcurdling roar left your hooked beak, plummeting through the canopy of trees, using a strike of power to change to your Fae form, the arrow split through your upper arm where a wing had once flown. You rolled as you hit the ground, absorbing the force and pushing it away again, splitting the soil. You lay for a moment looking up at the night sky you had just cut through, gaining your bearings, your skin fusing around the arrow and pushing it out of your skin without your intervention. You sat up at the sound of light feet crossing the undergrowth before forcing yourself to stand, a hand hovering over a blade strapped to your leg. A knife sailed through the air, darting past your head, missing you by millimetres to sink into an oak tree. 

“Look, I’m not super into this covert ambush nonsense” You called out, your voice bouncing off the flora. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes lightly before spinning on the ball of your foot, releasing your knife from your thigh through the air, the sound of sharp groaning your reward. You followed the path of the blade to find a young Illrian, one wing pinned to an ancient tree, blue syphons shimmering to match his hazel eyes. 

“Damn, I’m rusty, I was aiming for your shoulder” You mused quietly, Azriel’s eyes scrunching before he reached for the blade, only to have you do it for him, freeing his flesh. The act of freeing someone you intend to hit confused him. His hand went to cover the spurting blood, a glow seemingly radiating from your energy, Azriel wishing to bask in it for the rest of his days.

You outstretched a hand to pull him to his feet, Azriel entirely confused but equally enchanted. He contemplated taking it until you spun back away from him to send your knee up and into the stomach of another hazel-eyed Illyrian. 

Cassian took the brunt of your knee but was mostly unshaken, stretching to catch your throat with crushing force. You managed the lightest of light laughs through your shrinking windpipe before flexing your fists. Cassian suddenly felt your neck seemingly harden against the strength he exerted on you. Your muscles almost looked to toughen in his grip before he released a single drip of pressure on you, enough for you to winnowing to behind him, sending your elbow into the back of his head with a crunch. Azriel’s shadows shot forward the action causing an obvious smile to decorate your face, the Shadowsinger’s eyebrow raising as he attempted to stand again as you dodged his dear smokey friends, only one crossing your hand. 

Rhysand flew into your side as Cassian reached the ground, the two of you rolling briefly, matching your winnowing course with unrelenting precision. You felt a grin grow as a slight stream of blood sprang from your forehead, mirroring the one from Rhysand’s lip. An onyx shadow darted from one of your flexed fists, knocking Rhysand backwards from on top of you, his wings splaying to rebalance. Azriel jumped to pull Cassian back to his feet, not quite sure he had truly seen what he had from your fists. 

“Oh, another High Lord’s son” You half laughed as you managed to stand to put space between you and the three warriors. 

“Who are you!? Who sent you!?” Rhysand barked, his two brothers now flanking him, syphons gleaming in the moonlight. 

“I’m just out for a leisurely trip through the Night Court, your Lordship” Your opal eyes shimmered briefly, stunning the three for a microsecond, your smile daring them to play with you. “No such thing as leisurely in the Court of Nightmares” Cassian matched the tone of his brother, the voice that boomed through legions. 

“You don't think I actually believe that?” Your amusement had Rhysand seething as Azriel studied you carefully, his shadows leaping to his ears with the rapid relaying of information, his eyes widening. 

“Enough” Rhysand’s hand raised to turn you into the same mist that decorated the hillside, Azriel suddenly leapt in front of the son of the High Lord of Night, causing Rhysand to flinch. 

“Stop, she’s mirroring our magic!” You licked your bottom lip before a deep smirk etched into your face, the three males not releasing their fighting stance. A matching expression painted Rhysand, his violet eyes reflecting sharply. “Rhys! Don’t go into her hea-” Azriel’s warning wasn’t fast enough, Rhysand sank to the ground with a thud, his hands gripping his head with white knuckle force as he screamed out in pain he hadn’t felt in decades, not since his shields had been reinforced beyond breaking. You stood, head tilted, unblinking and beaming at the sight, one fist in a ball. Cassian dropped to his brother’s side, trying to think of any possible way to relieve even an ounce of Rhysand’s pain. 

“Stop!” Cassian shouted, feeling a whole new level of useless, Azriels eyes unable to pull away from yours. Rhysand forced his eyes open, the violet glinting before dimming ever so slightly. You released the hold instantly at the sight. Plum flushed across Rhysand's face as Cassian helped him to stand again on trembling legs, oxygen flooding his starved muscles. 

“Should have listened to the Shadowsinger” you mused. 

“Who sent you?” Azriel tried again, your eyes fixating on Rhysand.

“No one sent me, I'm just passing through” You brushed the dirt from your tumble with the High Lord's son from your sleeves, the mark of the arrow healing to a scar. 

“Wh-at do y-ou want?” Rhysand rasped out, Azriel's shadows slowly slipping towards you, darting back to their master with a simple glance from you. 

“I just want to continue on my travels” You looked between the three, sinister smiles now long gone, your truer gentle demeanour taking shape, your shoulders relaxing. 

“Where are you from?”

“Look, I'm not on trial here, I'm just passing through-”

“-My Court”

“-Your Father's Court” You tease, a glint crossing Rhysand's eyes, he pulled from Cassian's grip, striding closer to you. 

“Rhys-” Rhysand only lifted a hand to silence his two brothers' caution. 

“Remarkable” he did a small circle of you, your hands now relaxed at your side, ready to flex if necessary.  

“And so what? Are we to really believe you have no goal on this side of the Night Court?” Rhysand continued.

“I'm just trying to see the world” 

“Remarkable” within arms reach of one another the both of you stilled your movements. 

“What Court are you from?” Azriel met Rhysand's side, your examining of one another breaking. Cassian remained further back, waiting and watching, the strong sense something had been borrowed from him still sticking to his skin. 

“I'm not from a Court per say, I am tied to no land, no home” the two brothers share a brief glance before returning back to Cassian to form a huddle. You didn’t feel it necessary to go into your heritage, The Middle frightened most into another attempt on your life at the mention of it. 

“We should just direct her back”

“As if she'd go Cassian”

“How'd she even get this deep in the Court?” Azriels shadows felt heavy with the lack of information they had on you.

“We’ll figure out that later, she's too close to…you know where to allow her to keep going onwards” The three whispered to one another as you rocked back and forth on your feet, hands finding their home on your hips.

“If the ‘you know where’ is Velaris-” the three males face shot towards your almost bored tone “-I have no interest in exposing your little city, like I said, I'm just trying to see the world” That was all you remembered. Shadows swarmed you with such precision in overwhelming volume it caught you entirely off guard. Their control swaddled you with some air of comfort before pulling you through the space they occupied, Rhysand's tendrils curling around your mind compelling you to sleep, unable to fend off the power of the three combined without formal training. 

–

“What are we going to do with her?” 

“I’m not sure Cassian but she knew about Velaris somehow and we need to find out” Rhysand whispered his reply while looking at your body flop down in the chair they had strapped you to. 

“She said another High Lord son to you Rhys and she was shapeshifting, what if she’s from Spring?” Cassian circled you, matching Rhysand’s pacing, Azriel watching pensively from his comfortable shadowy corner. 

“It's hard to know what she meant. I’ve never heard of someone with her abilities”

“Do we tell your father?” Azriel replied, slipping from his corner to join his friends standing in front of you. You groaned slightly as a shadow traced around your ankle. You rolled your chin along your collarbone, managing the strength to force your head into equilibrium once again, eyes still weighing heavy.

“We don’t tell him unless necessary, he’ll destroy her for this ability” Rhysand squatted down to reach your eye level, a hand landing on knee, rocking it gently to bring you around. The sudden loud banging of doors above the basement had Rhysand standing again.

“I think he knows” Cassian looked to his brothers. Sure enough the High Lord of Night had felt the energy shift even when you were kept deep within the bowels of the House of Wind. The door banged off the hinges as pure power stormed into the small chamber in the shape of his father, Cassian and Azriel standing to attention. 

“Who is that?” he bit, no reply from the males as he stalked closer to you. 

“Who brought her here?” he barked, Rhysand moving to lift his hand only to have Azriel get there first, forever defending his brother. 

“You bring a stranger to my city? I’ll deal with you later” Members of his own inner circle arrived on the scene. 

“Wha-t is happen-ing?” You whined out, eyes adjusting to the light as they widened to the audience in front of you. 

“How did you know where to find it?” Rhysand’s father’s tone dripped with cold as you looked towards Rhysand, a somewhat sympathetic look gracing his face. 

“I’m just passing through” You practically yawned out, hands working their way out of their bounds from behind the chair out of view of your spectators. 

“Well, I’m not sure how much you’ve seen, only that it’s all too much” He leaned inwards as he spoke mere inches from you. Your foot slid along the floor to touch against his foot, his head looking down at the action. He grasped your throat then, forcing a similar pressure Cassian had applied. 

“You-You just took something from me” The slithering feeling of your tendrils dancing around the High Lord’s head had him dropping the force he held on you. 

“You gave it” The thud of your bounds hitting the floor was all you needed, balling your hands together behind you and pushing deep within the High Lord’s head.

“Watch her hands!” Cassian shouted, the room's guests all overwhelming you, Rhysand fighting through your shields once again to send you to sleep as you kept a grip on his father's mind preventing him from misting you. 

-

The next time you woke up you cried out into the dark room. Through blurry eyes you found one of your hands nearly completely crushed, with both of them pinned down flat on a table in front of you with metal bindings, unable to flex. You roared out until your skin tinged blue in mourning.

“Ple-please don-t struggle” The almost quivering voice had you lifting your head towards the darkness. Azriel stepped out into the strip of light the rising sun had provided, his face marred with its own punishing wounds. He had tried to stop the cruelty shown to him from being projected at you. You attempted to move your hands once again, the metal seemingly tightening around you more, causing your lungs to rattle air out in pure pain. Azriel rushed closer to you, dropping to your level as you gritted your teeth, vibrating against the restraints that bound you to the chair. 

“They tighten when you move, the High Lord-he did that, I-I tried to stop him” he managed, your glare heating him, his shadows beginning to swirl around you, their cooling nature giving the smallest drop of relief. One graced past his ear before he nodded, it then flying to the base of your wrist where the knot of locks lay, beginning to attempt to free you.

“We’re gonna try to get you out, tell them you overwhelmed my powers, I’ll deal with whatever that brings” The shadows span frantically, the subtle sound of the lock clicking meeting your ringing ears. You hauled your hands back to your lap, face contorting in anguish. Azriel retrieved a wrap from within his jacket, spinning it like a web around your brittle bones, your eyes tracing over the deep fissures that decorated his own hands before beginning to work on the bindings at your back. You stood as they hit the ground, Azriel hesitating slightly to rest a hand on you to steady your step. 

“Please tell me you’re okay?” He looked down at your marred hands, unable to keep the curiosity to himself. 

"My-my hands" the voice that left you didn't belong to any part of yourself you had met before, your destroyed digits cracking through your heart. Azriel took no further hesitation in holding you into him, no longer caring if you took every cell of power from him, only wanting to provide you some shelter from a similar fate he had faced

“Az, I think I agree we gotta get her ou- oh” Rhysand stood in the doorway, violet eyes illuminating the room, almost pulling you into them. 

“We tried to-to stop him” he repeated Azriel’s earlier plea, your eyes looking back to your withering digits. 

“Cassian, the one you tried to coldcock earlier, will meet us with a healer” Azriel spoke softly again, Rhysand moving towards you.

“Just stay out of my head” Rhysand offered with a smile, trying to take the edge of the air out of the room. He nodded to Azriel who left the room to alert the Night Court that you had escaped. Rhysand wrapped an arm around your waist, your brain screaming at you to not trust him, your heart deciding it was worth it. 

—-------------------

1700

You looked down at the long table in the long-forgotten room deep within the House of Wind, your fingers traced over the deep holes in the table, their slightly crooked nature catching in the divots. The War had ended and soon this table would be used to begin to forge a new path to peace. After the three had freed you, you met them at different intervals over the years, Rhysand requesting your help at various stages, saving them on a few occasions in the trenches of the War that ripped through Prythian. 

“Oh, I was coming in here to get rid of that table” Azriel said from behind you, a smile growing across your face as you turned to him. 

“I think we should keep it, let it remind them what they did to me before they saw use in me” Azriel nodded, the war ageing him to almost unrecognisable from the twenty-something-year-old who had helped shoot you down in the woods. 

“Poetic my love” Rhysand called out from the doorway, equally aged by the horrors of war, he planted a kiss on your cheek, Azriel averting his eyes at the action, ignoring whatever twinged through him. You weren’t sure when Rhysand had gone from your enemy to your ally to your partner. Somewhere between him providing you with a place to plant roots in the depths of the Night Court hidden from his father and you saving him from being blown to bits in the ditches of war maybe. 

“We should move this table upstairs with the other things going to Hewn City” Azriel suggested, wishing to take his mind off the both of you, Cassian entering the room with his usual ease. The three gathered around the gigantic table, attempting to lift it. 

“YN, help Azriel with his end” you nodded to Rhysand’s instruction, Azriel fighting the urge to glare at him.

“YNN, please be careful of your hands” 

“I will Az” You smiled softly at him, Rhysand pursing his lips briefly at the action.

“Do you mind Cass?” He shrugged his shoulders, offering his hand for you to hold briefly before removing your hand to flex it, the bones creaking in the action as your strength felt as though it doubled. You caught hold of the corner adjacent to your partner, your new strength aiding the three.

“Does it hurt mirroring?” “Sometimes it hurts my brain-” you laughed to Azriel next to you“-it really is a matter of tactics, the last fae I touch and choose to mirror pushes out the last power I mirror away from me” he nodded in understanding before Rhysand and he winnowed together with you, Cassian and the table. 

The landing came with a hard thud, the gigantic ancient table weighed down with centuries of cruelty. You groaned as you released your corner, hands contorting in a spasm. Azriel released his section, almost instantly meeting your side.

"YNN, come on let's get a soak made up" "She's okay Az, it happens to her all the time, she has to get used to working through it alone if she is to return to the battlefield alongside us" Rhysand reprimanded the Spymaster for his close proximity to you, his own arm wrapping around your waist in an almost possessive nature. Azriel's eyes searched yours as you held the weaker hand in the other, the spasm unending, releasing another painful breath from your mouth.

"Start tomorrow" Azriel bit, looping his arm through your elbow, taking you from the High Lord's grasp to seek out Madja.

"I'll go Az, you take the table" Rhysand slipped his arm back to your waist, half pulling you back into him, the pain taking your attention away from the tension-filled air.

—-------------------

1800

“It's our home my love, surprise!” Rhysand pulled his hands from covering your eyes, they lit up instantly at the sight of The Town House. You turned to hug him so tightly he thought his ribs may crack. 

“I can’t believe you” you laughed hysterically before practically skipping up the driveway. Roots you never thought would grow from your heart that was born to see the world sprouted through Velaris. 

"I've never had a home like this Rhys" A small flow of salty water threatened the rims of your eyes before they fell parallel to your smile.

“I love you YN” the roots sank deeper with the words.

—-------------------

1850 

“YN? I thought you and Rhys had plans tonight?” Azriel asked from the entryway to the Town House, you sat alone at the dining table, candles sinking to the end of their wick.

“Oh Hi Az, eh yeah, he got- he got called away” Your soft voice was tinged with tears that threatened to fall, the plate of untouched food adjacent to you now stone cold. You stood, taking the plates into the kitchen, scraping them off before sinking them into bubbly water. 

“Oh, sorry to hear that” you just hummed in agreement to him as you polished the plates.

“The House looks great,” he offered quietly.

“Thank you for noticing” You saw a tear fall from your cheek into the suds, you lifted the ornate plate from the water, something seizing in your hand as you did, the plate falling to shatter into a thousand pieces as your hand cramped.

“Fuck!” You shouted, kneeling directly down into the shards, gripping your contorting hand with the other, the tears now freely flowing.

“YNN! Hey hey it's okay!” He met your side, his hands tracing over yours gently. You looked up to meet his eyes as they attempted to coax you through your unsteady breaths. His thumbs traced circles around your palms, massaging the seizure until it gave in. Azriel pulled you back to your feet, ceramics crunching underfoot as he brought you into the living room.

-

“You did not” The laugh left you loudly at one of Azriel’s happier stories from his time at Windhaven involving pulling Rhysands trousers down in front of the whole camp. The two of you sat on opposite ends of the loveseat, curled up in the warmth of the Town House. 

“True story, Gods, we got up to some trouble” he smiled down at his lap and then beamed to you.

“You must have your own stories YNN?” “Not really” You shrugged.

“C’mon now, you travelled a lot before we met you, no great stories?” “None that I can share in the company of gentleman” His foot slipped to tap against you playfully before bending back up to his chest beneath his blanket. 

“Rhy’s thinks I talk too much about that time” You shrug.

“I want to hear every story, at least twice-” You rolled your eyes at his genuine smile "-Do you miss travelling? Flexing that wonderful power of yours?” “I think, I think I was looking for something back then, I thought I found it” You looked at hands as they flattened out as straight as they could.

"What you found was trouble" Azriel grinned and you nodded in agreement.

"Do you enjoy mirroring?" His head tilted, his greatest interest was your greatest asset.

“It can be difficult now, I think I returned too quickly to it after...what happened but Rhys needed me in the war and...I'd break myself for him"

"You already have YNN, you owe him nothing, we owe you everything, if a return to exploring the world is what you want you should have it" He watched you inspect your hands as he had for centuries since his own battle wounds.

"I just want to be happy Az" A single tear fell from your cheek to meet one of your scars, the fissure in your skin like roots in a tree.

"I want you to be happy YNN-" You looked to his sincerity, it enveloped you in kindness "-and if that means never mirroring again, then so be it" "Mirroring Rhys sometimes is the only way I feel close to him” You admitted, curling your fingers back, a full fist still not easily achieved by the hand that was totally crushed.

“It gets easier-” he gestured to your wicked scars “-dealing with the cruelty of others but... No one YNN, and I truly mean no one, should get to treat you with anything other than love” You just nodded softly in reply, the sound of a click of a lock sending your head in the direction of the doorway.

“Rhys!” You leapt from the couch, sweeping away any trace of tears, Azriel hating how easily you compartmentalized it all away in front of Rhysand. You ran into the arms of your partner, a battle hero's welcome as he seemingly brushed you off like a little kid.

“I’m going straight to b- Az? What are you doing here?” “Just keeping YNN company, I’ll see you both tomorrow” He didn’t allow for further questioning, dissolving into shadows. You fixated your stare on the space, Rhysand brushing past you and straight up the stairs. Alone in the living room that you had painstakingly decorated for the two of you. You looked around, a small shadow you created leaking from a fist you managed to ball together before you outed the light. 

—---------------------

1900

“YN could use her abilities” “YN deserves rest Rhy’s, she is eager to travel to the continent” “I won’t risk her abilities Az-” Azriel’s head tilted slightly to the misspoken word “-Her, I won't risk her” 

“But you’ll risk her to expand your border?” Cassian spoke with his own concern similar to Azriels. Rhysand rolled his shoulders, brushing off the question before standing from his chair.

“Needs must”

“She's not your weapon!”

“But she is my partner!” Azriel sat further back in his chair in shock, Rhysand hadn’t spoken with such sharpness since he tried to convince Azriel to allow his father to handle your future centuries ago, his darkest secret. 

“Enough” Rhysand walked to look out the window down to you in the courtyard of the House of Wind, happily stretching in the sun. 

“Are you going to go out to her? She doesn't know you've returned from your trip yet, she misses you” “No, I have more important things to attend to right now, she’ll wait for me” He dismissed himself from his own meeting, flashing out of the room.

“Green is not your colour Az '' Cassian laughed from the table as Azriel found himself watching you from the window, sinking into shadow to join your side in the sun.

—----------------------

2158

“Rhys! Take me with you, please!” “No YN. Enough!” He pulled the tie around his neck until the knot sealed delicately. His eyes met yours in the mirror as you sat on the bed behind him. 

“I-I never get to be around you much anymore” You admitted, your head dipping as Rhysand turned to face you. 

“YN, this will be a boring political ball that Hybern’s emissary is hosting, you’re not missing anything” “I’m missing you” You looked up, the glint in his violet eyes you saw so many years ago had not been seen since. His hand traced along your cheek with such tenderness you hadn’t felt from him in so long.

"You'll wait for me" The words hung between you as he kissed the top of your head and walked out the door without looking back. 

—-----------------------------------

2201

“Wait YN! Hear me out!”

“NO!” you span on your heels, allowing Rhysand to bounce back from you before pushing him away further into the chest.

“YN, I don’t want to hurt you but-” “But! Exactly! You are! Fifty fucking years I waited for you! And what's the first thing you say to me?! She’s my mate! And now you’re going to go and get her and bring her here! To our home!” Rage-hot tears flooded your face, every nerve standing on edge at the feeling of this cosmic betrayal. 

“What do you want from me YN, I just-I just love Feyre!” Rhysand caught your wrists as you went to hit him further, equal despair painting his face. You felt yourself tense in his grip, a very old injury still reminding you of how you got here.

“YOU USED TO LOVE ME!” the roar left you in a blind fury, never had you raised your voice at Rhysand but never had he betrayed you so deeply.

“I can’t make this better! I want to but I can’t, please” he found himself crying now too. You stopped pulling against his hold, two sets of wild eyes landing on one another for what felt like the first time in a long time. 

“You don’t love me, Rhysand. You tolerate me, tolerate me for everything you used to love me for” A fresh set of words like knives fell through the space between you.

“YN-” “-Tell me now, tell me If it's all in my head. Even on my worst day, did I deserve this, All the hell you gave me? Because I loved you, I swear I loved you until my dying day and all you do is TOLERATE ME! TELL ME OTHERWISE!” Once the last voice crack had Rhysand averting his gaze from you as you shook your head, slipping your wrists from him. 

“I can’t tell you that” you backed away from him and the words you always knew but never thought you’d hear.

“I really hope she’s everything you need her to be” The words broke him further through your rattled voice, rage turning to mind-numbing sadness you hadn’t felt since hearing of his capture. You took steps back from him in the foyer of the Town House, seemingly unable to lift his heavy limbs from the marble.

Your feet nearly separated the cobblestone road as you trudged along, passing fae trying not to gawk at their almost High Lady. You stopped once your toes touched the wall protecting the city from the Sidra. 

“YN?” Azriel called out from the end of the bridge as he crossed, quickening his pace to you with your lack of reply. 

“Hey hey what’s going on, more plate smashing?” You huffed slightly into his chest through your tears at the absurdity of the memory. 

“I’m leaving Az” you muffled through the soft fabric, his tough hands finding your arms to push you back from him, deeply inspecting your opal eyes, hands still heating your sides. 

“Leaving? But-but we only just got Rhys back-” Your head dropped to his feet instantly, pushing the rising vomit in your throat away.

“YNN, please tell me, just tell me how I can fix it?” 

“Bring me back in time and leave me to keep flying away” You stepped fully from his grip, his shadows swirling around you, now mingling with the ones you created. You took the deepest breath, pushing a smile through your muscles, tears outlining them. 

“Bye Az”

“YNN, please where are you going?” He pleaded, your arms slipping from his grip,

"Anywhere I want to, just not home" You dissolved into shadow, leaving the Illyrian with his wings dipping to the floor.

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

Okeee friends what do we think?

P.S Did you catch that only Az calls reader YNN? hehe. Also, I have part two written and she's based on Who's Afraid of Little Old Me and My Tears Richochet so if you think that's something you'd enjoy please let me know hehe

[urhoneycombwitch]

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill. 

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days. 

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place. 

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you. 

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite. 

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge. 

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs). 

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue. 

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties. 

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.) 

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course. 

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you. 

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school. 

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before… 

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend. 

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event. 

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room. 

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh. 

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space. 

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts. 

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise. 

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals. 

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily. 

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form. 

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are. 

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda. 

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes. 

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak. 

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet. 

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel. 

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.  

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours. 

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here. 

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?” 

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds. 

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude. 

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him. 

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there. 

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours. 

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone. 

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you. 

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you. 

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside. 

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks. 

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year. 

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in. 

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

[gothcsz]

part eight of the neighbors series. soooo my angsty little brain just couldn’t leave these two alone 😫 i think we all want to see javier navigate through the consequences of his actions, and thus this was created. this takes place after part six since i’m finally starting to curate a timeline for this. enjoy the angst muñekitas (gn) 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~2.2k word count. nothing to tag except the angst that comes with this pairing 😭 oh and some allusions to like porn but even then it’s not a lot.

Now it’s Javier’s turn to feel the absence.

It’s a slow, creeping ache that nestles into his chest every time he notices your purposeful distance.

Since that night when he stumbled to your door, drunk on bourbon and drowning in guilt over disappointing two women in different, disastrous ways, it’s like you’ve vanished, retreating behind walls he helped you build with his own selfish hands.

The way you breeze past him at work, your gaze fixed on anything but him, your expression carefully neutral, like he’s just another face in the crowd.

He lets his eyes linger on you when you’re not looking, tracing the set of your shoulders, the curve of your lips as you smile at someone else. He tells himself it’s just a habit, but the truth is uglier: it’s longing.

He misses you, and it’s eating him alive.

He doesn’t push it, doesn’t call your name or try to stop you. What would he even say?

This is why he thinks, maybe, it’s best to let you go. To step back and leave you to a life that doesn’t revolve around his mess of baggage and excuses. You deserve that—someone consistent.

But Javier is nothing if not selfish.

You make him feel good about himself, make him believe, even for a fleeting moment, that maybe he isn’t as broken as he thinks.

He knows it’s fucked up to want that back, to keep you in his orbit when all he’s done is take and take and take.

He tells himself he’ll change, that he’ll be better for you, but the lie tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s said it too many times before.

He’s never changed. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

Even your apartment feels like it’s given up on him.

The sounds of your life—the muffled hum of your TV, the groan of the pipes when you shower—have vanished. There’s no scent of your cooking wafting into the hallway, no warm glow of your living room lamp spilling onto the street at night.

The first time he knocks on your door and you don’t answer, it’s to apologize. For everything. For being him. He knows you’re tired of his apologies, but he doesn’t know how else to fix things.

The second time, he’s worked himself into a dumb excuse just to see you. Borrowing sugar? Too cliché. Asking you to water his plants? A lie—his plants are fake, courtesy of the furnished apartment.

He settles on a half-baked story about needing your phone because his isn’t working. But you’re not home, or at least you don’t answer.

The third time, he’s drunk again, and missing you has become unbearable. Work is getting worse, and the pressure is pushing him toward old, ugly habits. Temptation whispers in his ear to drive across the city to the familiar brothel.

He’s fighting it—fighting himself—but losing. He mutters nonsense against your door, forehead pressed to the wood, cursing himself for every way he’s managed to screw this up.

By now, he feels pathetic, like a ghost haunting your door with no purpose.

Has he been so self-absorbed that he missed the signs of you moving out? No, he’d have noticed that. He’s sure.

Are you pretending not to be home, just to avoid him? No, you’re not the type. Even thinking it makes him feel more desperate.

He’s grasping at straws, trying to make sense of your absence, but the truth gnaws at him: this is what he deserves.

Javier’s knee bounces impatiently as he watches the clock in the office. The minute hand finally ticks past twelve, and he’s up, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. His movements are quick, borderline desperate.

Steve doesn’t even look up from the report in his hand, but his coffee mug tilts lazily in Javier’s direction. “Where are you goin’?”

“Out,” Javier snaps, already tugging on his jacket.

Steve smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Gettin’ your dick wet in the middle of the day is impressive, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t dignify the sarcastic comment with a response, brushing past him and into the hallway.

The elevator takes its sweet time, and he jabs the button repeatedly, as if that’ll make it arrive faster.

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Just the hope of catching you on your lunch break, cornering you long enough to get a word in.

He doesn’t care if you tell him to fuck off—it’s very warranted. He just needs to see you, hear your voice, anything to bridge the unbearable silence that’s imposed between you.

When the elevator doors open, he’s out like a shot, weaving through the hallway until he makes it to the courtyard.

He picks a bench partially hidden by shrubs, knowing full well that if you spot him beforehand, you’d turn on your heel and walk the other way.

On cue, you appear. Lunchbox in hand, you push open the glass door and step into the sunlit courtyard.

The way you breathe in the fresh air, as if it’s the first real breath you’ve taken all day, does something to him—something he can’t explain and it warms him up inside.

You settle at a table, pulling out your lunch with that same careful precision he’s always found maddeningly endearing.

He calls your name softly, stepping out from his hiding spot.

You’ve been proud of yourself lately, weaning yourself off of him little by little. It’s been painful, sure, but necessary.

Spending more time at Mateo’s penthouse has helped. What started as a few overnights has quietly turned into something more—a drawer in his dresser, a spot on his bathroom counter, a spare key on your keychain.

You’ve unofficially moved in, and with it has come a tentative sense of peace.

The man dotes on you, showers you with affection and thoughtful gifts, and you’re starting to let yourself feel something for him. How could you not? He treats you well, and after everything with Javier, that feels like a revelation.

So you’ve given Javier the cold shoulder. It wasn’t easy at first—cutting him off, ignoring the drunken mess who showed up at your door that night, all guilt and bourbon fumes.

But you’ve stayed firm. You let him crash on your couch, sure, but only because you didn’t have the heart to turn him away entirely.

After that, you swore you wouldn’t let him back in—not until he showed up with a real apology instead of the hollow ones he always throws your way.

Javier doesn’t understand apologies. Not really. His are more about smoothing things over, dodging guilt, than actually taking responsibility for how he’s hurt you.

You’re tired of being the balm for his bad choices.

“Javier,” you exhale sharply, a hand flying to your chest as your heart races from the scare he’s given you. He always had a knack for sneaking up on you, but now, it’s more irritating than endearing. “You scared me.”

His expression twists in discomfort, a cringe already tugging at his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, the words reflexive.

Your brows pinch together at the sound of them, suspicion creeping into your tone. “Can I help you with something? I’d rather take my lunch alone today.”

There it is—the cool detachment, the way your voice wraps around the words like barbed wire, leaving him no easy way in. He hates it. But he knows he’s earned it.

“I just…” He hesitates, shifting his weight like the words are hard to carry. “How are you?”

Your eyes narrow, scanning him like you’re trying to find the angle, the ulterior motive buried beneath the surface. “Fine,” you say crisply. “What do you want, Javier?”

He takes a step closer, his voice low and almost pleading. “I haven’t seen you around. Things have been tense between us, and I—”

“I wonder why,” you cut him off.

He grits his teeth, the frustration crackling in his chest like static. “Can you just talk to me? Please?”

You straighten in your seat, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s no softness there, only a resolute weariness. “Why?” you demand. “Because you’re upset? Because you’re sad? Why is it always on me to be there for you, but you can just disappear when the roles are reversed?”

The soft gurgle of the courtyard fountain fills the silence that follows, a gentle backdrop to the storm brewing between you.

“I never…” He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words and finding none that feel adequate. “I never intended for it to come off that way.”

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Intention or not, you’ve been a terrible friend. And honestly? I’m done putting energy into something that only drains me.” You lean back, crossing your arms with finality. “So please, just leave me alone.”

He stares at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of softness, any opening he can slip through. But all he finds is resolve, the hurt buried behind it making the air between you feel suffocating.

Finally, he nods, the movement stiff and reluctant. “Okay… okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned, the words a pale shadow of what he wants to say.

There’s a thousand arguments, apologies, and pleas clawing at the back of his throat, but none of them escape.

All he can do now is give you what you’re asking for—the space he let get too vast.

He lingers for a second longer, like he’s memorizing the sight of you, before turning and walking away.

You keep your eyes trained on your lunch, refusing to watch him leave. It’s only when his footsteps fade into the background that you let out a shaky breath, your head falling into your hands.

He’s so damn frustrating.

The days pass in a haze, Javier’s life tumbling forward at its usual relentless pace.

He doesn’t mope by your door anymore, no longer knocking with some feeble excuse or lingering in hopes you’ll let him in.

At work, he doesn’t glance your way when you pass. Doesn’t try to engage.

Conveniently, the streets are rife with bullshit, and his job gives him more than enough to drown in.

Between navigating corrupt bureaucrats, dodging the cartel’s web of influence, and wrangling informants who can’t keep their stories straight, there’s no time to brood.

Or so he convinces himself.

Instead of facing the weight of his loneliness head-on, he starts seeing Vanessa more often. She’s sharp, witty, and knows how to keep secrets—a working girl turned informant turned... something else.

Lover feels too strong, too sincere. What he has with Vanessa isn’t love. It’s relief. A salve for the parts of him he doesn’t know how to fix.

He doesn’t feel the same about her as he does for you—or as he did for Helena. But that doesn’t stop him.

She doesn’t ask questions she knows he won’t answer. When he talks, she listens, offering the occasional hum or sly smile as he dumps his thoughts on her like she’s a therapist.

Vanessa plays the part well, whether it’s for his money or because she genuinely gives a damn, he’s not sure. The nights spent with her—whether tangled in sheets or sharing cheap whiskey and broken conversations—leave him feeling lighter.

Until he’s alone and the crushing intensity of his life presses down again. It amplifies the parts he tries to ignore: the failures, the detachment, the void left behind.

He’s currently standing in the VHS section of a raunchy sex shop, the bright pink neon lighting casting a faint glow on his face.

His hip juts out as he stands in front of the display, one hand braced there while the other dangles loosely at his side, his fingers twitching absently.

The provocative covers blur together in his mind: exaggerated poses, bold fonts, and overly made-up faces.

His gaze roves over them, a bored sort of interest in his search for something to take home. Something to tide him over on the nights he can’t visit Vanessa or doesn’t feel like picking someone up.

Then he sees it.

At first, he thinks it’s your face staring back at him from the glossy cover. His breath catches, his heart stopping like he’s been sucker-punched. He leans in, blinking hard to clear his head.

The resemblance is uncanny, but not exact. The eyes aren’t quite the same, and the curve of the smile is just a little off

It’s enough to shake him. Enough to make his stomach twist in knots, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

For a moment, he hesitates, stroking his mustache as his mind races.

The rational part of him knows better. But the other part—the desperate, reckless part that hasn’t quite let you go—pushes him forward.

His gaze flicks around the shop, paranoia creeping in like he’s a teenager sneaking a dirty magazine under his bed, and finally, he gives in.

He grabs the tape quickly, his gaze darting to the image on the back—a sultry, obscene shot of the actress who looks so much like you. That seals it.

Before he can second-guess himself, he’s heading to the register, slapping a few bills on the counter and ignoring the clerk’s bored, knowing look.

He rushes through his apartment door, not even bothering to kick off his boots before fumbling to pop the tape into his player.

His knees spread wide as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, remote in hand.

The screen flickers to life, static giving way to the image of this woman who isn’t you but is just close enough to hurt.

His heart pounds as the film begins, anticipation mixing with shame.

He tells himself it’s nothing—it’s just a distraction, just something to pass the time.

But as he watches the you-lookalike pleasure herself, he realizes it’s not just about getting off. It’s about pretending, for one fleeting moment, that he still has a piece of you.

Even if it’s a lie.

“¿Estás segura que necesitas ese collar, lindura?” (Are you sure you need that necklace, darling?) Mateo’s voice drips with indulgence as he parks outside your apartment building, glancing at you with an amused smile.

“Sí,” you reply, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “It goes perfectly with this dress. I’ll just be a second, and then we can go.”

He sighs lightly but doesn’t argue, his smile widening when you lean over to kiss his cheek.

Swiping your keys from the console, you push the door open, your heels clicking onto the pavement as you hop out.

The night air is cool, and you feel radiant in your cocktail dress. It clings to your curves just right, the rich hue of the fabric practically glowing against your skin.

You’re on your way to dinner with Mateo’s boss and his wife. Somewhere too expensive, probably, given how you’re dressed.

You stride into the building, the sound of your heels echoing in the quiet corridor. But as you approach your door, your steps falter.

There, slumped against your apartment door, is a figure you’d recognize anywhere. His head is tilted awkwardly to the side, soft snores rumbling from his chest. Javier.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. You weren’t expecting this—not the sight of him disheveled and vulnerable, slouched like he’s been there for hours.

He’s a piece of work, truly. It’s almost laughable how he can show up uninvited and still manage to pull at your heartstrings.

This is the first time you’ve seen his face so… relaxed. Without that signature scowl or smug grin. He looks so at peace, your heart begins to flip in your chest.

“Javier,” you say sharply, crossing your arms. He doesn’t stir, his head lolling slightly.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the headlights of Mateo’s car spilling into the hallway through the windows.

“Javi,” you try again, stepping closer and nudging his foot with the toe of your shoe.

That finally does it. He stirs, blinking groggily, then rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to erase the remnants of sleep.

“Mierda,” he mutters, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“What are you doing asleep at my door?” you demand, trying to keep your tone firm.

He squints up at you, his eyes widening as they adjust to the sight of you.

For a beat, he just stares, taking in the sweep of your makeup, the soft shimmer of your perfume, and the way that dress clings to you like it was made for your body.

You see his throat work as he swallows, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “I—um…” he starts, fumbling for words as he plants a hand on the floor to hoist himself up.

He winces, groaning as he stretches out his back, his body protesting after the long fucking day he’s had.

Perhaps he should lay off the cigarettes, his lungs still aching from the intense foot chase he had engaged in earlier in the day.

It had been one of those situations that really resonated with him, and his cruel mind had shoved a memory of you two to the forefront in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

It’s why he had sought refuge by sitting outside of your door, as absurd as it looks.

“What are the odds of both of us getting locked out?” you say, breaking the silence with a sigh as you lean your head back against the wall.

Javier lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he sinks down to sit across from you, his legs stretched out lazily. The flickering hallway light casts soft shadows on his face, and you try not to notice how effortlessly handsome he looks, even while stranded outside his apartment.

“Maybe this should incentivize us,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the locked doors,“to finally get spare keys made.”

You slide the takeaway container across the carpet toward him with your foot, nodding for him to dig in.

“What are you feeding me, anyway?”

“Chicken stir fry. I was craving it all day so I stopped to get some after work and now here we are.” You say with a dramatic sigh. “Figured it’s only fair to share. For the sheer cosmic injustice of tonight.”

He smirks, spearing a forkful of food before taking a bite. “How thoughtful.”

The two of you have been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes already, waiting for the locksmith to arrive.

Takeout had been your plan for a quiet night in, but now it’s turned into an impromptu hallway picnic.

“You know,” you start, a teasing edge to your voice, “you could always use your agent strength to bust the door down.”

He pauses mid-chew, one eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Agent strength?”

“Yeah.” You grin, uncapping your water bottle to take a sip. “Don’t you guys get superpowers at the academy? Like, enhanced strength? X-ray vision? Maybe even the ability to charm your way out of literally anything?”

His laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at coaxing it out of him. “You’ve got a wild imagination, cariño.” He leans back, the fork still dangling from his fingers as his smirk deepens. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not exactly the X-Men over there.”

“I don’t know, Javi,” you quip, pretending to inspect him. “You’ve got the smolder, the mysterious backstory, the leather jacket. Sounds pretty superhero-esque to me.”

He scoffs, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies. What I do is… significantly less glamorous.”

“Less glamorous, sure,” you counter, “but I bet it’s still got its moments. Like when you bust down a door or take down a cartel big shot. Or when you dramatically light a cigarette while walking away from an explosion.”

The laugh that escapes him this time is louder, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He hands the container back to you, his eyes soft with mirth as he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” you shoot back, grinning as you take a bite of your own. “Admit it, you’ve thought about the superhero thing before.”

He tilts his head, as if considering it for a moment, then leans forward slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Alright, maybe once or twice.”

“See?” You point at him triumphantly, though the warmth in his gaze as he watches you makes your breath hitch.

There’s a moment of quiet as the two of you sit there, and you suddenly wonder if you’re imagining how much smaller the hallway feels with him in it.

The banter continues as you kill time, the two of you sharing bites of dinner and passing the container back and forth.

But when the locksmith still hasn’t arrived, the night stretches on, and you find yourself shifting closer to him. Eventually, you slide down the wall until you’re sitting side by side, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

Javier freezes at first, his breath catching as he glances down at you.

He notices the curve of your lashes, the way your lips part slightly as you drift off, and—god help him—the faint trace of sauce smudged at the corner of your mouth.

He swallows hard, his jaw working as he debates waking you, but the quiet weight of you against him is oddly comforting.

His fingers twitch, the urge to brush a strand of hair from your cheek almost too tempting. Instead, he exhales slowly, willing himself to stay still. He doesn’t need to touch you to feel the pull you have over him.

For now, just watching you sleep—so close, so serene—will have to be enough.

“Well?” You raise a brow, folding your arms tighter across your chest as you snap him out of his reverie.

He looks away briefly, dragging a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says finally, his voice gruff. “Just… had one of those days. My place felt too damn quiet, and I couldn’t get out of my own head.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t want to care, but there’s something about the way he says it that gives you pause.

Behind you, Mateo’s headlights flash once, a silent reminder of the evening waiting for you.

Javier notices, his gaze flicking toward the light, and his expression shifts.

“You look nice,” he says, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let the compliment sink in. “Javier, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to hold you up.” But the way his eyes linger on you for a second longer says otherwise.

You shake your head, brushing past him as you unlock your door. “You need to figure yourself out,” you say, not unkindly but firmly. “I told you to leave me alone. That includes sulking outside of my apartment.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you disappear inside, his jaw tight and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You’re gone for only a minute, returning with the necklace in hand, and his eyes meet yours as you lock the door behind you.

“Goodnight,” you say pointedly, brushing past him again as you head for the exit.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, barely audible, watching as you slip back into Mateo’s car, the door shutting behind you with a decisive click.

The car pulls away, leaving Javier standing there alone, the glow of the streetlights casting his shadow long and weary against the pavement.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @94namkooksworld . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[enidette]

THE PERFECT DRUG

warnings :: both are 18+, this doesn’t follow canon timeline but who cares, riding, unprotected sex (they’re so dumb don’t do that)

carl met you when you were brought back to alexandria, battered and bruised and shaking like a leaf from presumably trauma. his father, daryl, and rosita had gone scavenging and found you, and after some questions and your worrying state they brought you back.

he was drawn to you immediately. he was intrigued by how you held yourself. your normal behavior a great contrast to how shaken up you were when he first saw you.

he liked how similar you held yourself compared to him, independent, confident even if it was a facade. he liked how when you met him you just shook his hand and looked into his eye with kindness in yours. one of the first people to not look too long or overreact and interrogate him about the bandage.

but it was the little things that made carl's brain short circuit. tying your shirt up when it got too hot, exposing the skin of your belly. offering to care for judith, unknowing to how carl's mind ran wild about how you would do as a mother. maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but this crush he’s developed has become deeply rooted in the two years you've been here. despite never acting on it.

but you act so nonchalant around him. he's starting to understand how glenn and maggie fell together like puzzle pieces so quickly, but you don't seem to spare him a glance anymore. it drives him insane.

as of now the group is huddled together, brainstorming their next scavenging trip to satisfy negan. you're standing right in front of him, clad in cargo shorts and a white top tied in the front. you stood with your hand over your eyes, blocking yourself from the blazing sun as much as you could.

it's the little things.

you feel eyes on you and turn around, laughing shortly with no surprise that carl was behind you. "hey carl," you walk up to him, flicking his hat with a smile.

he hums in response, squinting his eye to see you clearer. "hi."

you shift your weight on your hip, "it's a little hot out to be wearing a flannel and jeans, huh?"

carl shrugs, "not much choice." him and those short answers, making it hard for you when all you want to do is listen to his pretty, raspy voice. it’s too bad he just doesn’t trust himself to speak around you.

you huff and start walking towards his house, a slight smirk setting on your lips when you hear him shuffling behind you "you're not going to help?"

"they're sending daryl and a couple of others, not me." you wait for him to speak again, ask you something else maybe. "they want me to watch after judith though."

"i got it." you say and open the front door of his house. you take judy away from olivia with a smile and a thank you. you bounce judith on your hip, carl standing behind you after he closes the door. you heard olivia say something about judith's nap time so you head up to her room to put her down.

no surprise carl followed you. you put judith down for bed, smiling at her sweetly.

“you’re good with her,” he observes allowed, following you as you walk out. you mumble a ‘thank you’ and turn to face him, leaning against the door of his bedroom. silence falls between you, the awkwardness growing when carl tries to get into his room.

you giggle nervously when you realize you’re in his way, moving to the side a bit before looking up at him. his eye flicks from your eyes to your lips. you don't miss it, silently gasping and put your hands on his chest to prevent him from coming closer.

his hand comes up to one of yours, guiding it up to his hair. you blink your eyes away from him. his head dips down to look into your eyes that are hellbent on avoiding him. you look up at him now, breathing out heavily. "i want you." it's a mumble under your breath, barely audible.

he laughs breathlessly, inching his face closer to yours. "i want you too." he mumbles before pressing his lips against yours. and his imagination is vivid, no doubt. but all of the noises he had you make for him in his head didn't come close to the pretty, honey-like sound of the ones escaping you now.

it didn't compare to how soft your lips felt against his, how perfect your skin felt on his fingertips. he pushes himself against you, chest to chest and deepens the kiss. you let out a small whine, using your free hand to grip his shirt.

his lips go to your jawline, sucking and biting and kissing at the skin. he's careful to not leave marks, saving those for the places only he could see. his hand goes behind you to open the door, pushing you inside clumsily before laying you down on his bed and hovering over you.

he bites his lips while he takes you in. you're breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. he sees the sheer shine of sweat on your skin, how plump your lips are from your kiss, how pretty your skin looks with the little light seeping from the window.

he pushes your shirt up and kisses along your abdomen, leading up to your chest and taking it off completely. his hand goes to your back, lifting you off the mattress slightly to rid you of your bra. he sighs with satisfaction when he finally sees your tits for himself.

his fingers lazily roll your nipples, the small action causing you to whimper and buck your hips. he looks up at you curiously, taking in everything that caused a reaction. he was going to prove to you that he could make you feel good.

he motions for you to take your clothes off and groans at the wet patch on your panties. he grinds against your clit and you gasp, his jeans causing friction that feels so good. the embarrassment of you being nearly fully naked while he's still dressed adding onto the fire in your belly. he whimpers in your ear every time he moves his hips, his hands holding yours in place against the mattress.

“wait,” you breathe out, hands coming up to his chest to stop him. you gesture for him to lay down before straddling him. you unzip his jeans, tugging them down his legs. your impatience gets the best of you leaving you to abandon them at his mid-thighs. he laughs at your desperation, helping you pull your panties to the side and guide yourself onto his cock.

you whine at the intrusion, going down slowly. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, throwing his head back. his hat falls off as a result and with a smirk you pick it up and set it on your head.

"you look perfect." you look down shyly, trailing your hand up his shirt to reveal his slim figure. you breathe out shakily as you force the rest of him inside of you, sitting still for a bit to adjust and get used to feeling him inside of you.

all the while carl is looking at you like you’re a goddess, half lidded eyes raking along your body. your hands are unsteady on his chest, trying your best to steady yourself and bounce on him properly.

you find a rhythm and your head falls to his neck. but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you, finally getting you to himself the way he wanted. not to mention how crazy you drove him wearing his hat.

your arms wrap around his neck and you move your head to kiss him. it's soft, carl wants to savor this as long as he can. his arms go around your waist, leaving you to grind on him instead. the kiss is messy, mostly heavily breathing into each others mouths trying to stay as close as possible.

his hips attempt to buck into yours, thrusting into you fast and messily. his lips lock with yours and his right hand cups your chest. he pulls out with a groan and your hand comes up to wrap around his cock. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast causing whimpers to fall from your lips. his brows furrow and his mouth falls agape while he watches your pretty hand finish him off.

taglist :: @carlslvr @hiro--aoki @carlsangel @mozzeralla-stix @carlmipololo

[1800titz]

I’M IN MY PRIME | Best friend's dad

age gap. 4.8K on patreon

Third and final part to LIQUID SMOOTH & COME TOUCH ME TOO

Fucking an older man feels like every ugly, broken part of you shuddering to the surface. Buoying, dredged up from his broad hand on your shoulder, lugging you down to meet his pelvis in a wet slap. It feels… Heavy. Overwhelming. Raw— your rim smarts on the sheer stretch, and every bludgeon into you (you, being yanked back to envelop the root of his cock, again, and again, and again) feels like it’s cudgeling something sharp and deep. Bruising something awful. And you like it. Chase it, the same way you’ve been chasing him. Because when he resorts to softer grinds, just as deep, and palms at the sides of your skull, thumbs prying into the soft flesh under your cheekbones, with his fingers interlocking in the gentle arch of your nape— And he holds you like that, by the back of your neck, by your face, all withered adoration, lust in worn fatigue, it feels like he’s piecing you back together. Like he can cup his hands around you and make you whole. Your lower lip quakes. “There you go,” Harry tells you, hardly over a whisper (a rasp in ironclad passion), like he’s breaking with every rut, like this moment— fragile, flimsy— will break apart in his hands if he speaks any louder, “There you fucking go. Take it, baby. Just like that.”

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You don’t ask him about nice boys. What he meant about nice boys, and what it means for him now. Now, that you’re naked, and bare, and sweaty, stretched across his chest, tracing ink and freckles with your fingertip like coasting the shape of a foreboding asterism. 

Those constellations, spelled out in the horoscopes, on a webpage that was laid out like it was scraped straight off the wayback machine from the windows 2000 era, made your brain rot for years. Cheap, flimsy justification in the shade of cobalt blue and the distant sister of comic sans. You always reverted to the same page because it told you the pretty things you needed to hear, or rather, gave you enough space to pick out what you wanted to see; digging diamonds out of kimberlites. Because the brecciated rock was the bigger picture, maybe— mundane, aversive, your eyes listed, gnawing into the core— but if you picked in enough—

It doesn’t matter anymore. Not with his heartbeat humming in your ear like a perfect iambic pentameter. An unspoken love sonnet. 

(Your naked leg slotted over his bare thigh tells you as much.)

He laughs when you roll your hip forward and grind your wet cunt into the smattering of hair there. Your slick coagulates against his thigh. He feels it, and gives you this low, airbrushed sound in the hummingbird angel choir rippling across the little, vibrating bones in your ear. You hear it under his soft chest before you hear it from his mouth. Then, he tells you something about his knees not being what they used to be. 

Don’t start. Don’t start again— 

You feel like you’ve got your fingers on a winding key. You’re playing with cinders. Rolling live coal in your palms, but you’re waiting for the firework of the blaze reigniting. Waiting for the gear to click. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Push and pull. 

(You wonder if he’ll break. If the flame will swallow you whole, if you’ll hump his leg like a pitiful dog long enough, and he’ll lug you over his lap to bounce you dumb all over on his fat cock again. You wonder if he’ll give in when your knees start to ache.)

Undying devotion doesn’t get crushed under a maelstrom, never mind under a coasting cumulonimbus. You rock your hips a little, more into him, against him, so he knows you don’t care about his knees, or what they used to be, so he doesn’t think that you regret the disconnect in timelines; that yours didn’t overlap with his, enough, to indulge in what his knees used to be.

(You think you’re getting somewhere when he shifts his thigh against you, rigid musculature, granting you access to a better ride. And you wonder if, instead, he’ll mistake your placation for misbehavior. The thought knocks something ugly and wanting up from the settled sediment of your hunger.)