#can i just get back to writing-as-usual now?

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?” 

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on. 

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless. 

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile. 

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

[lidiasloca]

hello!! I was wondering if you could write an azriel x reader fic where they've been best friends for centuries and one day the bond snapped for her. And she starts to avoid him because she thinks he doesn't love her so she doesn't show up to things they usually do together and whatnot (or however you want to put it!) but meanwhile Azriel is going crazy because he misses her and has been in love with her for years and then he confronts her and the bond snaps for him as well!! sorry if it's too long hahah but thanks

is it chill that you are in my head?

azriel x reader

friends to lovers

It was curious to think that no matter the strength you applied, no hit you made would ever hurt Azriel.

Yet, the Illyrian seemed intensely determined not to let you get to even touch him.

“Where’s your mind?” he asked as he dodged yet another hit. You took, at least, a bit of pride in his breathless voice.

You also took pride in how much you had made him sweat already, but you didn’t let your thoughts linger there too much—your eyes, neither.

“In trying to hit you.”

“Well, isn’t it frustrating you won’t satisfy your mind?”

“You get cocky—I’ll hit you down there,” you threatened, taking in his amused grin.

“There you can get?” he questioned as he circled you.

You held your fists up, following his eyes as he eyed you like a vulture. “You don’t want to find out.”

“I don’t,” he replied, just as you went to hit him.

He dodged it effortlessly.

And even had time, as you retracted your arm, to take it and pull you toward him, unbalancing you until you fell onto his torso.

As he prevented you from the fall he himself had caused, you found yourself close enough to his body to make out the intention written on his face.

A threat for a threat, you realized as you stared at those deep hazel eyes.

His face lacked any sympathy as he spoke, his voice death and sensuality all in the same honeyed spoon. “Don’t make threats you cannot back up, love.”

Your breath caught at the darkness that surrounded you. The darkness that you faced when you had his lips so close to yours, his eyes so focused on you.

Azriel was that: darkness. Both the dark that scared you as a child and the dark that now let you dream of him without guilt in the depths of the night.

“You’re right. No more threats,” you breathed as you drove your knee upward—

His hand was steel against the futile force of your movement. And a mocking grin on his lips was all you could think about due to the roaring in your ears.

Bastard.

The knee you were going to use to teach him a lesson was held in place with his right hand, which now moved down, and down until it found a place on the back of your thigh. He urged you nearer him.

Close enough. Until your surroundings vanished and you could only see his face, his never-faltering smirk when you made it so easy for him to mock you.

This was the Azriel you had only for yourself.

Not polite shyness, or quiet kindness.

But darkness.

All of it—all of him. Darkness.

Everything, but his eyes.

While you liked to have this flirtatious, dangerous Azriel—which you both called friendship—you still found yourself fantasizing about the light in his eyes and how soft they were, how romantic and intimate, and everything that he shouldn’t feel like.

Where all of him was dark, his eyes were golden.

Lightness.

Like a thread that led you through deeper parts of him, of his soul.

Too intimate.

You let out a long exhale. “I’m not in the mood,” you mumbled.

And it broke your heart the way he immediately released you. How gently he let go of you as a flash of… pain painted his eyes.

Then it was gone in a blink. And that smirk found its way to his face again. “I make you exhausted quite fast.”

“Mhmm,” was all you could mutter as you watched him—those eyes.

That thread.

What was that?

He held your stare with a bit of confused amusement. “What do you find so interesting?” he smiled.

You took all your bravery… and a step, and another, until you were back where you started: looking deep into his eyes, close enough to feel his breath on your face.

He didn’t dodge this time. And neither did he smirk as you placed both of your hands on his face to make him meet your eyes.

Those golden eyes.

There was something in them.

That lightness that guided you through the darkness—his darkness.

As a thread.

A gasp broke through you at the realization, at the feeling in your heart—your soul.

You took a step back, your hands sliding away from his face as gently as a wind’s whisper.

He eyed you worriedly, taking a step toward you as you kept walking away.

“What?” he asked, finally that mask off his face.

But you couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes again. The feel of that thread.

M-

“What is it?” he asked, desperation lacing his words.

Ma…

“Y/N?” he pleaded.

Mate.

You winnowed away before he could pronounce another word.

…

You knew hiding was not the solution. You knew you would have to face him eventually—he was one of your closest friends after all, yet…

“I cannot do it. I cannot see him.”

Another of your closest friends was there to make you think logically.

“Y/N,” Nesta said, taking a seat on the couch in your bedroom. “You’ve been hiding here for almost a month. You can’t hide from him forever. He’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, despite how stupidly childish it made you sound.

Nesta exhaled as if indeed, you were acting stupidly childish. “Mate? You cannot hear the word mate?”

There was a tinge of mocking in her tone that made you meet her eyes with fury in yours. “It’s very easy to look at me and judge me when you don’t know what this feels like.”

“What? Having an Illyrian as my mate?” she asked with a soft smile on her lips, and you knew your friend well—you knew it wasn’t mocking anymore.

Nesta, as if to prove you right, walked toward where you sat on the bed and made herself a place next to you, moving her hand to caress yours like a mother would.

She didn’t say anything, though, so you replied, emotion running your words slowly—unsteady. “You don’t know what it’s like to know your mate… doesn’t want you back.”

“You don’t know if Azriel doesn’t want you back.”

“Yes, I do. I know Azriel.”

“Well, I know him as well. And I know—actually—all the house, and probably all Velaris, knows he likes you. A lot.”

You shook your head.

Nesta went on, “He flirts with you all the time, Y/N. In all honesty, it was about damned time that bond snapped for one of you. It was clear you had something.”

“Exactly: something,” you rectified. “That something, Nesta, is flirting. Flir-ting. Nothing more, nothing else. That’s all he wants from me. Taunting and touching and provoking and friendship. But not love. And most certainly, not a damn mating bond.” You took a staggered breath, not able to meet her eyes anymore. “Not with me.”

Nesta watched you silently, then said, “You don’t know that.”

You shook your head, wiping a tear that slid down your face. “You don’t know either.”

“That’s true,” she replied, handing you a tissue with her free hand as the other drew circles on your wrist. “We won’t know until you ask him.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “So, I just ask him if he wants the mating bond with me? That simple? Thanks, Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed at you in warning to watch your tone, yet her faint smirk provoked one to bloom on your face. “Yes. It’s that simple.”

“And when he says no?”

She shook her head. “What if he says no,” she corrected you.

Your smile grew just a bit. “What if he says no?” you echoed.

“Then I’ll beat his ass on the training ground. And have Cassian beat him afterward.”

You chuckled lightly, imagining the scene.

But the question appeared in your mind, and you took the courage to ask her.

“And what if he says yes?”

By the warm look in her eyes, you knew she had understood. “It’s a long way to go. But one finally learns to let herself be loved, Y/N.”

And by one, you knew who she meant.

You were grateful that afterward, Nesta and you had a more lighthearted conversation. And when it turned dark outside, Nesta gave you a hug and left your bedroom.

You knew you had to also leave your bedroom at some point and face what awaited outside that comfort.

But love seemed to find you just where you thought you were safe.

“Can I come in?”

It certainly wasn’t Nesta’s voice.

Your hand trembled as you went for the knob and opened the door.

“Can I come in?” Azriel repeated, and you realized long seconds had passed of just you staring, unmoving.

“Yes,” you whispered, letting him through and closing the door.

You had prayed he stayed like that—backward to you, staring outside your window. Anything but have his eyes meet yours.

But he turned to you.

He was even more beautiful than ever, even if you couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around his eyes, his pale lips, or his eyes… almost lifeless.

Like the light had deserted him.

Like the bond had abandoned him… because he didn’t want it.

“It’s been weeks,” he eventually said, and his voice carried enough emotion you had to lean on the door, afraid to crumble to the ground. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

He took a step closer to you, making you meet his eyes again. “With what?” he demanded.

You weren’t fast enough to make up a lie before he said, “You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t quite a question. “You are mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he muttered, taking another step.

“I’m not, Azriel.”

He stopped his following step at the sound of his name. He looked like he had been slapped, and his face morphed into something unreadable.

“I’m sorry," he murmured.

“What?” you asked, walking towards him when he looked down.

You had to see his face, you had to understand him.

“Whatever I have done. I’m sorry. Forgive me and… be my friend again.”

You stopped in your tracks, not having quite reached him. Friends.

His words both broke and healed your heart. The desperation in them, the vulnerability.

You stared at the selfless male who cherished your friendship in front of you. Maybe you could take that and give up dreaming. Maybe you could convince yourself that friendship was better than nothing, even if it killed you.

“I miss you,” he said, and you decided that was the final blow.

A sob broke through you, raw and desperate, and his expression shifted instantly. He closed the distanced and his hands found your face, those scarred palms trembling as they cupped your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.”

Friends.

Mates.

“What are you even sorry for?�� you mumbled, shaking your head faintly.

“The last time I saw you - when you got… mad at me, we were doing what we always do. Well, what I always do. That stupid flirting, that… you know. And I know that bothered you. And I’m sorry. I never knew it made you uncomfortable before and… I’m sorry,” he said again. 

You quietly stared at him, at the sadness and guilt in his eyes. “It’s not that it bothers me...” you said because it never had, but maybe now—maybe now it hurt your feelings - but that was because of you. It was not his fault. 

Yet you couldn’t speak your thoughts before he went on. “It does. I saw it in your eyes… like you were disgusted.” His voice cracked. “And it broke my heart, because… I don’t want it either.”

There it was.

The truth you’d been bracing yourself for.

Friends.

That’s all he wanted you to be—a friend.

He took a deep breath, his hands falling away from your face as he stepped back, as if retreating from his own vulnerability. “It’s all a lie, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought that’s what you wanted—the only thing you wanted from me—and I tried to convince myself that I could settle with that. That it would be enough. But…” His gaze locked on yours, piercing and raw. “I can’t.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The world stopped turning.

“I love you,” he repeated. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay with only being your friend. I don’t want to keep pretending. I just… I just want you to know that I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember what life was before you.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

Mate.

“You love me?” you whispered.

He nodded as a tear ran down his face. 

Another sob tore from you and his hands were on your face again in an instant, pulling you close. “I love you, too,” you murmured, the words spilling out.

And at last, the color returned to his eyes again, hazel-golden shining in the dark room. 

And that was it; the light that you needed, the strength that guided you—that encouraged you to tell him. 

“I am… I am your mate.” 

A beat later you realized you weren’t the one who had spoken. 

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: thanks for requesting, i hope the fic is of your liking, though i took some liberties in the writing. thanks for your request, love!!

[gyaruhana]

Hi 🫣

A request for Choi Su-Bong and Cho Sang-Woo <3

They're both in the same game. (Sangwoo didn't die in s1 and came back to earn more for his debts) They both have eyes for reader, once they realise this, they both pair up and do whatever they can to get reader on their side. Flirting, helping them in the games etc...Eventually reader is won over by them.

You can make it smutty, if you like. I don't really know how to request smut, so I hope that this is enough for you to work with! Tysm 💞💞

Choi Su-Bong/Thanos + Cho Sangwoo - Three is, in fact, NOT a crowd

Synopsis: Cho Sangwoo and Thanos had nothing in common. Well, they didn't until you came around and stole their hearts.

A/N: I may have made this too smutty but i saw the chance for double penetration and knew nobody else would ever be writing dp with Thanos and Sangwoo so-

Warnings: smutty content, fingering, anal fingering, eating out, double penetration, use of whore,

Sangwoo and Thanos did not have anything in common. Sangwoo was a quiet, reserved man who has suffered plenty of loss while Thanos was loud and… very, very high. No one would ever expect them to be spending time together since they were oh so different. Not to mention the only interaction they had was a stare down when Thanos casually pushed somebody during Red Light, Green Light resulting in the death of three people.

However, when you came into the picture you caught both of their attentions immediately. They were drawn to you like moths to a flame. 

It started off small. 

Thanos would be close to you most of the time while Sangwoo would keep a watchful eye on you and protect you from a distance. Occasionally, when Thanos wasn’t around to keep you company, Sangwoo would swoop in instead and talk with you. It only became apparent to both of them that they shared the same romantic feelings for you when they both handed you their food at the same time while also telling you; “Take my food, you need it more than me,” in sync. 

From there, it started. An agreement was made between the two to protect you at all costs while also trying to steal your heart that they could keep for the two of them. At least one of them was near you all the time since then and they refused to keep you out of their sight.

As of now, the third game had finished and you were walking back into the main room. Thanos and Sangwoo were close behind you, maybe even a little too close. 

“Are you okay? No injuries?” Sangwoo asks as he leans down slightly to talk in your ear. “Of course she’s fine. After all, the great Thanos was here to protect our girl,” Thanos spoke as he threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to his side. Sangwoo shook his head at Thanos’s words before matching his pace with yours so he could be close to you too.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” you speak with a smile as you look over at Sangwoo. “Good,” he says with a nod. He probably would’ve gone crazy if you had gotten hurt somehow. Both of them would honestly. You were too important - too precious to get hurt. 

You all took a seat somewhere in the back corner of the place, away from the rest of the players so you could relax for a while and wind down from the last game which was actually rather stressful. Per usual, Sangwoo and Thanos were all over you. They were ridiculously close to you, making flirty comments, touching you in places that they know made you nervous. It was all planned. 

This went on long after the food was given and enjoyed. It’s like they physically could not have their hands off of you or they would lose it. Not that you were complaining. You didn't mind having two guys who you were definitely crushing on touching you.

You put your food down next to you before standing up making both of them look up at you immediately as their hands that had previously been on you fell to their side. It was clear neither of them were very happy that they weren't touching you now. 

“I'm just going to the bathroom before lights out, I'll be back,” you speak before walking off. Not once did their eyes leave you as you walked away until you were out of sight. 

“I think we should do it tonight,” Thanos suddenly speaks up as he looks over at Sangwoo with a confident smirk. Sangwoo turns his head to look at him with an eyebrow slightly raised. “Do what?” He asks although he already had an idea of what Thanos meant.

“You know what I mean, man. We can finally strike. C'mon, she's clearly into us,” Thanos spoke with a grin as he scooched closer to Sangwoo. He was confident that you had feelings for them now after all they had done for you.

“You sure? Wouldn't want you to scare her off,” Sangwoo replied as he looked away towards the door you last disappeared through. Of course, he was eager to finally make you his but he didn't make it obvious. At least, he thought he didn't.

“Me? Scare her off? You're the one with the dark and brooding aura. What are you? Batman?” Thanos joked as he kept his eyes on Sangwoo. All he got in response to that was a sharp glare before Sangwoo looked away. There was a brief silence as if he was thinking before he sighed and shook his head.

“Fine, we'll have her tonight. After lights out,” Sangwoo spoke as he looked at the timer on the wall. Thanos turned his head to also look and let out a frustrated groan upon seeing the time.

“There's still 20 minutes left, man. I can't wait that long,” he says with annoyance. He had been patient for the past few days and he couldn't wait any longer to have you in his arms. Sangwoo looked at Thanos with an unimpressed look, clearly not amused by Thanos's impatience.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he says with a barely noticeable smirk. Thanos let's out another sigh before running a hand through his hair. Fine, he could wait. Just a little bit longer. Then, he'd finally have you.

As the sound of a door opening reached their ears, they unanimously turned their heads toward it so they could see you again. You noticed them staring and waved at them as you started to walk in their direction. Thanos gave a rather excited wave back and gestured for you to come over.

When you sat down between them again, you could feel something was different. Was it the way they kept subtly glancing at each other? The way their hands instantly made its home on your body? Who knows. But there was certainly something different. 

“Hey, y'know I've been thinking about something,” Thanos suddenly spoke as he put his arm around your shoulder and looked over at you. “I feel like we haven't spent enough.. time together. You feel me?” He continues as he keeps his eyes on you. You didn't quite understand what he meant by that because you had spent the last few days together constantly. 

“Mm, I think you're right,” Sangwoo suddenly speaks up and you turn your head to look at him. Okay, they were up to something- you could tell that much. The question was; what were they up to? Before you can ask, Sangwoo's hand finds its place on your thigh.

“Maybe we should spend more time together. Do you agree, Thanos?” Sangwoo spoke again as he looked at Thanos. The grin on his face paired with the eager nod when Sangwoo spoke had your heart running in circles. You weren't entirely sure if they meant literal quality time or ‘quality time’ in the sexual sense but the idea of them wanting to fuck you was enough to make you nervous.

“C'mon, baby. Don't be shy,” Thanos speaks as he stands up and goes right in front of you. Sangwoo's hands move to your shoulders as he shifts behind you. Your face flushed at the premise of what they were suggesting. If it wasn't obvious before, it was now.

“Yeah, don't be shy,” Sangwoo whispered into your ear. Right on cue, the lights go off and the three of you are consumed in darkness. Usually, the darkness scared you because of the fear something else was lingering. This time, you were much less afraid because you knew what was in the darkness. Them.

“We'll make you feel good. You can trust us,” you hear Thanos's voice ring out as he crouches down in front of you. His hand slowly places itself just below your neck before trailing down to the hem of your shirt. Meanwhile, Sangwoo didn't waste any time and immediately started leaving kisses on your neck. 

You can feel your shirt slowly lift up before being pulled off of you. “Fuck, you're even prettier underneath,” Thanos says quietly before he leans forward and starts to leave kisses along your chest. The contrast of Sangwoo's soft sucking on you neck with Thanos's harsh bites across your chest was overwhelming. Even though their styles were different, it was clear they both wanted to devour you.

Sangwoo's hand slowly slides down to the waistband of your pants before he pushes his hand into them. You tense up slightly when you feel his hand push your underwear to the side. “Relax.. no need to be so tense,” Sangwoo speaks quietly into your ear. He teases your entrance causing a moan to escape you but Thanos quickly covers it with a harsh kiss. 

“You gotta be quiet, babe,” he says in between the kiss. His hand goes over to your neck and squeezes it slightly. While you were distracted by Thanos's rough kissing, Sangwoo slid a finger into your hole and slowly started to thrust it in and out. The feeling made you moan into Thanos's mouth and, in response, he shoved his tongue into your mouth to make you keep quiet.

Sangwoo continued to thrust his finger in and out as he whispered words into your ear. “You're so wet already. You're just a whore for us, aren't you?” He whispers before pushing a second finger inside. He knew exactly what he was doing when his thumb started to rub your clit. All his movements were nothing short of rough. 

“Fuck, when's it my turn? It's not fair if you're the only one who gets to touch her,” Thanos spoke with slight annoyance. He didn't appreciate having to wait. “You can have her when she cums on my fingers,” Sangwoo says as he begins to thrust his fingers faster. While part of him wanted to take his time with you, he wasn't opposed to skipping right ahead and ruining you.

“After you cum, you're gonna sit on my face and I'm gonna taste it, yeah?” Thanos speaks into your ear with a smirk on his face. His dirty words were enough to bring you to the edge as you finally released on Sangwoo's finger with a moan. Sangwoo's fingers continued to thrust into your hole for a few moments before he pulled out.  

“Christ, you're so fucking dirty. Releasing all your cum on my fingers like a whore,” Sangwoo spoke as he brought his fingers to your mouth. He shoved them in and made you lick him clean before pulling them out. “Your turn,” he said as he looked at Thanos.

Thanos practically jumped on you the moment he was told he could. He pulled you up before sitting down where you were originally and then pulling you down on his lap. “You're gonna ride my face, yeah? Let me taste you?” Thanos says as he looks at you with a small smirk. When you nod your head, he immediately grinned in a way that made you feel you were nothing more than prey for two predators.

He quickly stood you up to tug your pants off before laying back on one of the beds and pulling you on top of him. He grabbed your hips and forced you to hover over his face. “Fuck, look at your cunt. You're so wet for us, huh?” Thanos says mockingly before pushing you down onto his face before you could respond. You let out a high pitch whine and Sangwoo is quick to kiss you to hide it. The feeling of Thanos's tongue dipping in between your wet folds was was amazing. He clearly knew what he was doing.

Sangwoo pulled away from the kiss before walking behind you. “Your ass looks a little lonely” Sangwoo speaks as he brings a hand down to your ass and gently teases your hole. You certainly didn't expect him to try anything with your other hole but you were poorly mistaken when he suddenly starts putting a finger there. His other hand goes to cover your mouth to keep you quiet as you grow accustomed to the feeling of a finger entering your ass while Thanos continues to eat you out like he'd been starved.

Sangwoo slowly started thrusting his finger in and out of your ass to loosen you up. “You know why I'm doing this?” Sangwoo suddenly asks. When you don't respond, he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. “Answer me,” he says firmly as he glares at you. 

You shook your head no and he immediately let go of your chin roughly. “you'll see,” is all he says before thrusting a second finger in and once again covering your mouth. The feeling was enough to tip you over the edge for a second time as you released onto Thanos’s face. 

“fuck..” Thanos mutters quietly before pulling you off his face. Sangwoo pulls his fingers out so as not to overstimulate you as Thanos sits up. “God, I need to fuck your tight pussy. You're gonna let me, yeah?” Thanos says as he moves you off of him and starts pulling his pants off. 

“She's going to let both of us fuck her,” Sangwoo spoke up making Thanos pause for a moment. “..You're dirtier than I thought,” Thanos spoke with a smirk before taking off his boxers too. You weren't sure what they were planning but they clearly had something up their sleeve with the way they glanced at each other. 

“come here,” Thanos said as he grabbed your hips and pulled you on top of him. He leans back before lining himself up with your entrance. “I'm gonna fuck my cock into you and you're going to take it, yeah? You're gonna be a good girl for me,” he says before slowly lowering you onto his cock. He lets out a groan as he feels you squeeze him - practically choking his dick.

He barely gives you any time to adjust to his length before starting to rock his hips up into yours. While you were distracted by the pleasure of having Thanos’s dick inside you, you didn't notice Sangwoo taking off his own pants right behind you. He pulled his boxers down just partially, enough to reveal his cock before he crawled behind you. His hands went to your shoulders and pushed you forward so you'd fall onto Thanos’s chest. Thanos didn't stop thrusting as he smirked. Oh, he couldn't wait to see you come undone.

Suddenly, you felt something press against your ass and you immediately knew what it was. You were going to say something but Thanos thrust into you deeper making you moan instead. Sangwoo’s tip caught against your hole and he took the opportunity to push in slowly. Thanos’s hand went to your throat as he squeezed it to keep you quiet. “shushh, you can take our cocks, baby,” he spoke as Sangwoo let out a grunt at how tight your ass was.

“fuck, loosen up. I can barely fit this tight cunt,” he spoke as he continued to push in. Running out of patience, he thrust the rest of his length in harshly making you cry out. Thanos was still thrusting up into you and it was so overwhelming to have two cocks inside of you. 

Sangwoo pulled out slightly before thrusting back in and he began a slow pace to try to ease any pain. “God, she's so tight, huh?” Thanos mumbled as he kept slamming his hips into yours. “It's perfect. She was fucking made for our cocks,” Sangwoo responded as he began to pick up the pace. Thanos laughed at Sangwoo’s words, finding them amusing.

“she's such a fucking whore. Our whore,” He spoke as he let out a grunt. “fuck, I'm gonna fill you with my cum, baby. Take it,” Thanos spoke as his thrusts became sloppy. “hold fucking on. If you cum, she will too. I'm not close yet,” Sangwoo said with annoyance as he started fucking into your tight ass faster. 

Thanos let out a groan and tried to slow down his pace to prolong the release. As much as he wanted to cum right now, he knew it's feel a million times better for you if he just waited. “I'm almost there,” Sangwoo says before he starts leaving kisses on your neck- biting and sucking at it. “fuck okay. You ready baby? Ready for our cum?” Thanos spoke as he began thrusting quicker again. All the confirmation they needed was the nod you gave while you cried out from the pleasure. 

With one final hard thrust, Thanos and Sangwoo release their cum as deep as they could inside of you. You creamed on their cocks as you went limp on Thanos. He laughed at you before patting your hair gently. “what a good whore. Taking our cum like that,” Thanos spoke as Sangwoo slowly pulled out. “So good for us,” Sangwoo reaffirmed before sitting up next to you. He rubbed your back soothingly to help you come down from your high as Thanos slowly pulled out of you.

“I think we should do that again soon,”

[mimimui]

how they spend nights with you

includes: bakugo, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, shinso, monoma

tags: gn!reader, you're in the same class as them, established relationship, fluff, i used to strictly be a bnha author (??!) and i just missed them so much

a/n: it's been over a year i think (ᵕ—ᴗ—) my writing might be ass rn but i promise i'll lock in soon!!!!!!!! i genuinely miss writing, but as soon as i entered a higher level of education, i lost all free time and couldn't continue writing. but ur fav hc writer is back!

katsuki will not stay up later than 8pm on a school day because he cares a lot about his rest, but if it's a weekend or you're on break, he'd be willing to stay up later with you.

he doesn't care much for the dorm rules, especially since you're his partner anyway, so he will definitely stay in your room past curfew. curse those who catch him in your dorm late at night. what are they going to do?

he's up for whatever you want to do, honestly. movie marathon? self-care night? cleaning your room? he'll do it all. he might jokingly complain here and there, but he's truly relaxed around you. he'll spend nights however you'd like.

everyone knows that izuku isn't one for sleeping early. your nights consist of watching him train outside the dorm building, or sitting on the floor of your room exchanging notes.

if you wanted to do something fun, he wouldn't refuse, but he'd be going back to his own room at the end of the night. not because he doesn't want to sleep with you, he just does it out of respect. your rooms' beds can only accomodate one person comfortably, and he doesn't want to disturb you!

he's more of a morning person, really. so if you'd like a jogging partner or a breakfast buddy, he's up bright and early with you.

he knew that getting into a relationship meant spending a lot of time together, but shoto hasn't received much affection before, so he wasn't quite sure where to start.

when you first suggested spending nights in either of your rooms, he didn't see any problems in it. he quickly got used to this routine, and he always expects to see you at his door after dinner time. you mostly only talk about the happenings of the day and your plans for tomorrow.

neither of you initiate sleeping together at the end of the night, but he isn't opposed to it. he's thought about it, of course, but he won't say anything until you say something first.

denki will match your energy in anything. if you want a quiet night, he'll just be by your side as you both scroll through your phones. if you want a more fun night and do something, he'll be up and at 'em as much as you are.

he is the best person to try new things with because he's just as curious as you. if you want to sneak around the kitchen to make up a new snack, he would be your little flashlight to help you out.

he definitely glows a little in the dark, so if you want to sleep with him, you have to cover him completely with a blanket. he jokes that it's because he's the light of your life, and even if that's true to you, you'd never let him know it. he might glow even brighter.

hitoshi has a hard time falling asleep, so he's grateful for your company every night. he usually asks you to come to his room, but if he feels especially awake, he'd go to your room. you mostly just watch movies together until both of you feel sleepy enough to lie down on bed.

the first time you asked to sleep in the same bed, you didn't think it'd be the last time you'd ever have to. sleeping together is a must now. you have no choice, he loves sharing a bed with you. he thinks it's a good thing to have someone warm next to him as he tries to sleep. it's comforting.

fyi, he has one pillow on his bed. just a single one. so... good luck!

neito needs to see you every night. every time, without fail, he will always end up at your door. you don't even need to do anything together, he just wants to be in the same room as you.

he won't sleep with you if you don't want to, but he's always excited when you ask him to. not because he's planning anything malicious, he's just really happy to be so close to you. to hell with the rules, he will stay in your room if it's the last thing he'll do.

he will probably get in trouble for staying in your room more than in his own, but he wouldn't care much for it. you're his partner, so it's worth getting into a little trouble.

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[aespecte]

baby i like the way you move !

when a nightly rendezvous with the l&ds men turn into something…more

to celebrate the new l&ds update, i wrote this based on the new card trailers :p they’re short stories so there’s not really smut but it’s HELLA SUGGESTIVE… (psst minors look away !!) i’ll write more in depth when the cards come out 😼😼

not proofread bc i may or may not have had procrastinated writing this 😭😭 lmk if i missed any tags etc !

also reader is a TEASE and a half 😭😭

minors dni as usual !! ily pookie but this is NAWT for u 💗

XAVIER - misty silhouette… of his dick !

this work contains: semi-public exhibitionism, use of “slut”

𓆩♡𓆪

“what are you suggesting?”

arms looped around xavier’s neck trail lower to brush against his toned pecs, his shy, slightly confused navy eyes follow your movements intently.

“i don’t know.” xavier leans into your touch, nuzzling his face into your neck. seeing the opportunity, you gravitate towards him, biting slightly on his earlobe, earning a soft gasp.

“heh. two can play at that game.”

in the blink of an eye, xavier lifts you off his lap, and faces you towards the window that was originally behind you.

it was now your turn to gasp. a soft blush dusted on your cheeks, you stared out into the pale snow adorning your garden with newfound shock.

“now let the neighbours hear how much of a slut you are.”

ZAYNE- absolute zeal? more like, absolute leg opener !

this work contains: zayne being drunk, TEASING

𓆩♡𓆪

“i’ll admit, there’s something… addictive, about stepping out of line.”

“zayne, darling, you’re drunk, let me get the hangover pills~” you giggle. not used to seeing this side of him, you’re quite taken aback at his… behaviour.

cheeks scattered with a shade of soft scarlet, zayne grabs both your arms, pressing you against the sheer cold of the frost-covered window. hazy dark eyes glazed over while leaning into you, he becomes a slip of breathless words.

“you keep saying im drunk… so do you prefer me when im sober?”

he stumbles into your arms in a drunken daze, heavy breathing accompanying his movements.

“because of you… everything about me is spiralling out of control… how can you pretend you’re not affected?”

you feel zayne’s grip on your arms tighten, firm, but not yet painful. his unfocused gaze locks onto yours, the sheer intensity sending a shock through your body.

“but… i am affected… in a different way,” smirking, you guide his hand between your thighs. zayne’s breath hitches.

grabbing the back of his neck, you lean into a deep kiss with him. in that moment, the rest of the world falls away, nothing exists besides your intertwined bodies.

kissing you back, zayne brings you to his desk, shoving aside the mess of books and paperwork.

you can’t help but giggle at his more aggressive side, “now eat me like you ate that alcoholic chocolate… lightweight.”

RAFAYEL - intertidal zone? insatiable zone !

𓆩♡𓆪

this work contains: reader being a bit silly/ a tease, “personal stress reliever” used

“the guest of this room is unable to answer.” comes the automated voice of the receptionist robot.

rafayel’s heavy breathing down your neck. the flush of your cheeks. the heat radiating off your interwoven bodies.

why was this so addictive?

pushing him onto the pillows and flipping you both over, you carefully place an open mouthed kiss on the lobe of his ear, one of his most sensitive spots.

“you… are you sure?”

“hey, don’t get me wrong, i love the care and consent, but right now i just need you to stop focusing on work and pound me silly !!” you joke, “… use me as your own personal stress reliever”

his heavy breathing catches in his throat, surprised at your bold statement.

“you sure you can take all of it?”

SYLUS- night of (scream)acy !

this work contains: TEASING !!

𓆩♡𓆪

you grasp sylus by the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, your cool fingertips a contrast to his warm skin. he felt like he was set ablaze, desperate and hungry.

“looks like we’re on the same page… no time will be wasted.”

he caresses your cheek, touch so featherlight and gentle. sylus makes you keen every time he shows this soft, vulnerable side of himself.

the warmth in his gaze made your throat tighten. your gaze flickered up to the ruby eyes piercing into yours. you quickly glanced away, the intensity too much for your blushing face to bear.

“come on love, stay focused.”

you had no time to react to the cute nickname, as sylus covered your eyes as well as bringing you into a deep, open- mouthed kiss. his fingers trailed up your arm and found yours as they intertwined, further deepening your passion.

“let’s see how long you can last tonight.”

(★‿★) me and my demons after writing this

[sweet-s0rr0w]

in the greek tradition

a little something silly for @peachydreamxx, after our chat about statues in British stately homes! with art by the lovely @faiell!😘

***

“Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy!”

Weasley’s shout is unexpected and yet somehow typically obnoxious, shattering the end-of-summer stillness as effectively as a Bludger through a window. Draco closes his novel carefully around a finger, optimistically keeping the page. “What is it?” he hisses – via Patronus, of course, since he refuses to screech back across the Manor’s gardens like an oik.

Of course, Weasley doesn’t get the hint. “Malfoy!” he bellows again, from somewhere behind the box hedge, sounding ominously full of mirth. “C’mere a moment, would you?”

Playing to an imaginary audience, Draco rolls his eyes heavenwards, testing the weight of his book in his hand and briefly considering the merits of telling Weasley to fuck off. Of course, in the end his curiosity gets the better of him, and so with a beleaguered sigh he gets to his feet and follows the sound of laughter all the way down to the herbaceous garden, where Potter and Weasley are loitering incongruously, their Auror uniforms a garish blood-red amongst the muted pastels of the foxgloves.

“Course your Patronus is a bloody great swan,” says Weasley, stating the obvious as usual, yet grinning away like he’s told the world’s funniest joke.

Beside him, Potter looks a bit sheepish. “Alright, Malfoy?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“What’s going on?” asks Draco, determinedly ignoring their antics.

“Right, yeah,” says Weasley, tugging his hand out of his pocket to gesture roughly past the alliums. “What we were wondering was – who’s this guy?”

Draco follows his gaze – and – ah. Weasley’s talking about the sculpture, then. The very striking, very buff, very naked marble sculpture, which towers over the garden with his wand caught dramatically mid-flourish, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed in some kind of ecstasy. Draco probably should have realised sooner, what with all the time he’d spent alone in the herbaceous garden as a sexually frustrated teen.

“What?” he asks, having now forgotten the question entirely.

“Because, right, I reckon it’s some ancient hero. Like Merlin, or something–”

“Really, Weasley? You think that’s what Merlin looked like?”

“–but Harry says it must be a Malfoy.”

Draco blinks.

 “The hair,” Potter says, quickly. “It’s the same as – you know, you’ve all got all that, like, loose, flowy, glossy… you know. Also,” he adds, “no offense, but having a sculpture of yourself in your own garden seems like kind of a Malfoy thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Plus you’re all dramatic as fuck. So who’s right?”

Draco considered the statue for a moment: even moss-stained and weather-worn, it did have excellent hair. Also, pleasingly muscular thighs. “Potter’s right,” he’s forced to admit – at this moment, his second least favourite phrase. “This is a young Xanthus Malfoy the second. An excellent hunter, by all accounts, and one of the last Malfoys to sit in the… what?” he demands, interrupting Weasley, who’s giving Potter what can only be described as a meaningful look. “What’s going on? Why are you both giggling?”

Weasley says nothing. His ears are turning pink: Draco hopes he’s getting sunburnt.

“Well,” begins Potter, nodding vaguely back towards the statue. “We were just saying that he’s… well. That he’s – that it’s a little–”

“You got that right,” Weasley mutters.

“What?”

Potter presses his lips together, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Well,” he says, delicately. “The thing is. While I’m sure he was an excellent hunter, this particular Malfoy seems to be, well. Lacking something. Deficient, you might say. In one certain – area.”

“His cock, Malfoy,” Weasley adds, helpfully. “His cock’s miniscule, and while we’re at it, his bollocks aren’t much to write home about either. The whole package’s rather… unfortunate, I’d say. What’s going on? Are micropenises a family trait, or did they just run out of stone?”

“Marble,” Draco says, faintly. “It’s marble. And by the way, you two are children.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” says Potter, grinning. “You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s deliberate, you philistine! It’s sculpted in the fucking Greek tradition!”

“Right.”

“And while we’re at it, it’s symbolic! The… diminutive penis represents mastery over one’s baser instincts. The triumph of intellectualism over… animalistic urges.”

Weasley frowns. “What you on about now?”

“I think, Ron,” Potter says, “that what Malfoy’s suggesting is that the bigger the dick, the stupider the man. Explains a lot, you know.” He smirks, eyeing Weasley in a manner that makes Draco’s brain feel like it may be the wrong size for his skull.

“Oi,” Weasley laughs, reaching out gleefully to whack Potter, who dodges sideways, then turns his ankle on the edge of a flowerbed and falls neatly into a lavender bush.

“It half makes sense,” Weasley says, offering Potter a hand to tug himself up. “The tiny prick thing. I mean, Malfoy certainly thinks he’s clever.”

“He does,” Potter chokes out, clearly on the verge of hysteria. Draco throws up his arms in frustration.

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley!” he cries, as Potter wobbles dangerously close to the ornamental fountain. “Just because the statue’s got a–”

“It’s alright, Malfoy,” Weasley cuts in, soothingly. “I’ve heard some people are into that kind of thing. Tiny dicks, I mean.” He turns back to Potter, voice strained. “Not that I’ve met any, obviously.”

“I don’t have a tiny dick!” Draco cries, outraged. “I’ll prove it! I’ll show you both! I’ll show you both right fucking now–”

It’s unfair, and unconscionable, and somehow Draco’s hand is down his pants before he can even help himself, and that’s when Weasley finally stops laughing. “Alright, alright!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Keep your fancy knickers on, Malfoy. We believe you. Right, Harry?”

Potter’s not laughing either, now, and he doesn’t reply; he’s too busy staring, as, jaw set, and mustering all the dignity he can manage, Draco releases his grip on his (perfectly decent sized) penis, and slides his hand carefully out from beneath his waistband. He glares at them both, tugging his robe tightly shut.

“Right?” Weasley repeats, louder this time. “We don’t need to see proof, eh, Harry?”

Potter’s eyes are still fixed on a point somewhere below Draco’s navel, and his cheeks are now stained a most fetching pink. The sun is rather strong today, Draco thinks, feeling his own face heating.

“Harry?”

***

tons of thanks to @tackytigerfic for looking it over 😘

[nixthisis]

—#I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS ; VIKTOR ( ARCANE ) x NEUTRAL!READER

PAIRING: Viktor x Neutral!Reader (arcane) &. GENRE: Fluff &. WARNINGS: eepy sleey viktor and like one tiny passing comment about spiders, nothing insane in this one &. WORDCOUNT: 0.6k

prompt from this list!

nixnote; I just love him so much he makes me wanna eat concrete and be a devoted housewife ykwim, just something short and sweet to hopefully get me back to writing! (loosely proofread)

You find him facedown in his research that evening, like many others that have come before— pushing aside the hefty lab door to be greeted by a waft of stale air that's laced with a dusty undertone, it makes your nose scrunch in disgust before you can turn to coax the room back into a silence that's become synonymous with the four walls; tongue swiping across the suface of your lips to rid them of the unsavoursy taste lying there.

Viktors tucked into a desk over in a cramped corner, not his usual work space but a one he retreats to when books are calling his name and his research becomes more written than practical- evident in the way the aged books have disturbed and clouded the space he's residing in.

"Vik?" you call as soft as you can, praying not to disturb the scene before you too much. His face is smushed into the page below him in a way that makes you want to reach out and tug at the meat gathering on the apples of his cheeks.

"How long have you been lay there?" you question, beginning to cross the room when he sighs— opening his lungs to speak for the first time in god knows how many hours, purpled lids fluttering slightly with the movement.

"I can't feel my legs..." he speaks, words slurred by the way his position distorts his mouth, "...infact, I can't feel anything"

It's nothing out of the ordinary but it does force a click to ripple off the tip of your tongue in disagreement- worry settling in your mind as you start to drag the tips of your fingers down the center of his back, bumping along the rivets that line your path in a way that makes his shoulders shiver and a hum reverberate deep in the back of his throat.

"yeah, your starting to blend into the furniture" you jest, cringing as you pull a cobweb from his shirt— hoping it’s from the shelves above him and he hasn't genuinely lay there for long enough to become home to a family of insects.

"You need a hand to stretch out?"

It's an open invitation, completely within his power to turn you away and do it himself but he shakes his head anyway- which you take as a signal to remove yourself from his personal space so he can slowly straighten his limbs back out.

"No..." he huffs, "...come back". It's definitive—almost a command rather than a plee but you can’t help but oblige when his unruly hair bounces around his scalp with another slight toss off his head.

Moving to his side you crouch down to be slightly below his eyeline, knee cracking loudly as you settle and awkwardly stretch an arm out to thread your fingers into the ducktails at the base of his skull- tugging ever so slightly to persuade him to open his eyes.

"You need to move Viktor" you point out the obvious.

His eyes are warm but lazy, slow blinking like a cat in pure exhaustion. The pair of you stay there for a while, knowing that you’re only delaying the inevitable ache caused the blood rushing back to Viktors legs- you own now numb from squatting by his chair but the silence is too familar, his person to homely for you to move just yet.

He breaks the trance first when he lifts his cheek from the words he was clearly so focused on previously, only for his face to twist in confusion when you burst out laughing- hand transitioning from a pat to a grab, twisting at his neck to give you the full view of his face.

"You studied so hard it sank into your skin?" you giggle, your other thumb caught between your lip—dampening the skin so you can reach out and rub at the pencil markings decorating the hollows if his cheek.

[asph-phell3]

So what are we now?.. like lovers?

⠀⠀× Oh my g! I think I can finally have motivation ⠀⠀⠀⠀to write, I feel amazing right now.

⠀⠀× The reader I used kinda sounds a bit ⠀⠀⠀⠀nonchalant because I love sun x moon ⠀⠀⠀⠀dynamics. Sorry ><

⠀⠀× Reader does not have a stated job, their job will ⠀⠀⠀⠀remain ambiguous; takes place in tulpar

⠀⠀⠀Today was tiring, like the rest of the previous days. Jimmy was always asking for you to do this, do that, and do those! Like at this point, it's getting really exhausting even for you. After doing the job that Jimmy assigned you again, you felt like rest was at your door. The urge to crawl into your quarters and sleep for weeks on end was engraved on your mind; somehow you couldn't bring yourself to actually rest despite being so tired. Maybe you were getting used to getting less and lesser sleep now.

⠀⠀⠀You sat at the common room, dazed as you stare at the floor. Your mind projecting random shit for you so that you wouldn't fall asleep or something— the train of memories just ended when you felt something move next to you. Oh, it was Daisuke.

⠀⠀⠀You didn't really interact with other than much, on the flip side, it was mostly Daisuke doing the talking and you just replied with some nods and short phrases but you did listen to him. I'm sure he wouldn't take it as an offense if you found him weird (technically) but still, it feels comforting to talk to him. Out of everyone in the freighter, Daisuke seems the most approachable and friendliest!

⠀⠀⠀Some problems were just starting to bubble up as Jimmy bosses you around, mentally and physically exhausting you to your limit; it was obvious from the look of your face after all. Daisuke looked at you with a big fat hint of worry, the way he stared felt more to you. You just can't seem to point it out, and it's not like you'll say it out loud either.

⠀⠀⠀“..You good? Just asking since you seem tired as fuck.“ Said the sunshine. You just sighed, not knowing how to process your troubles that's mixing in with your exhausted form. “Absolutely deadbeat.“ was your reply. You can't even fathom to reply properly from the overwhelming ache in your body.

⠀⠀⠀“Ooh, how about you go to my room?“ He said. It was a weird thing to ask when both have separate quarters, and not like there was a reason for you to not accept. Not that you'll decline, the company you've wanted has been itching for a while. “Eh, sure why not.“

⠀⠀⠀There in you are in Daisuke's room. Daisuke was just ranting per usual about anything really: his gameboy, Swansea and his work, past events back on earth. The way he talks was slowly getting to you, something about him talking gives you comfort.

⠀⠀⠀“You know, you're really pretty like the Oirase Gorge back in Japan!“ Daisuke just blurted out. It was obvious that blatant that Daisuke often speaks before he thinks— You were a bit confused, not knowing much spots in Japan nor were you the geographic type. You also felt flustered, mostly focusing on the "you're so pretty!" part. Somehow it got to you, why did it get to you?

⠀⠀⠀“Ah- Uh, alright.. I'm sure that place is pretty!“ You tried to strive in confidence while you were breaking down from the embarrassment, you've never been complimented like this before. Somehow you find it endearing. Daisuke doesn't seem to notice the undertone of his words, he just continued on with his compliments with you. Pointing every aspect of you in an endearing way.

⠀⠀⠀Somehow, and I mean SOMEHOW. Somehow, the little complimenting propaganda Daisuke was doing? Oh it ended up turning into a damn ass confession that's what! Now you don't know how to respond; you need to say yes, yet the words aren't processing in your head which led you to just stay as solid as a statue...

⠀⠀⠀“Oh- Oh shit, yeah! Yeah.. I like you too!“ You blurted out, it was more a spur in the moment. It was like that was your automatically reply— Dare I say the ending was just you getting pounced on by your new boyfriend!

omg excuse me for being a lazy on the ending. I'm actually like tired asf!!! Hope this can satisfy you IM CRYING 💔💔

[steddieas-shegoes]

coming in clutch

@starrystevie asked two days ago for someone to write enemies to lovers Steddie on the same hockey team and one of them gives the other his stick from the bench and so I volunteered and yesterday afternoon started writing this and it got to almost 6000 words by this morning. Oops?

This is therapy for me, as a Bruins fan, who is suffering tremendously this season. I can't believe some people live like this all the time. I am so, so sorry. I promise you fixing it with Steddie helps ease the ache a little. It's bitch4bitch, what's not to love?

rated e, minors dni | 5801 words | also on ao3 | cw: mention of injury, hate making out for the drama | tags: modern au, hockey au, enemies to lovers, feelings realization, sorta love confessions, anal fingering, anal sex, handjob, life is a series of connections

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

If there’s one thing Eddie Munson knows, it’s that Steve Harrington will steal the show.

With less than two minutes left in the game that will determine if they clinch the wild card spot for the playoffs, it could still go either way. They need a goal to tie it, and the point will be enough to get in, even if they lose in overtime.

The Rangers don’t even get anything if they win this one except a pat on the back, yet they’ve pulled their goalie in hopes of ruining the only chance the Bruins have of getting into the playoffs. If Eddie wasn’t seething with rage about potentially starting his offseason much sooner than expected, he’d respect the hell out of them for it.

How they got into this much of a mess is beyond him…or really it isn’t. It’s well within reach.

He knows from the beginning shit was hitting the fan and then it just…kept hitting the fan.

They started bad and they don’t play well from behind in games, so how could they catch up when their entire season went to shit so early on?

It should never come down to one win, not for them.

But he knows that some of the issues are that Steve was handed this captaincy before he was ready, and Eddie’s done nothing to truly help him. He wears an A, but it’s more for Asshole or Annoyance than Assistant. He knows it, Steve knows it, the team knows it.

It’s making everything harder.

Coach already lit him up a few times over stupid shit this season, things he can’t get away with for much longer. His time will be cut short on this team if he can’t-

The whistle blows and there’s a penalty on Hargrove. Not surprising, but it’s enough to get Eddie out of his own head and focus. There’s barely a minute left and they’re facing a long offseason if they don’t get their shit together.

He won’t see more ice time today. He’s third line right now, a demotion from his usual first line after a string of shitty, stupid penalties. Coach will send the first line back out for the last minute to increase their chances of scoring.

The puck drops and they make the fastest line change they’ve managed the entire game.

Steve’s skating to the puck, eyes on the prize. He’s good at it, despite Eddie hating that he feels constant competition with him. They don’t even play the same position. Eddie’s a defenseman for fuck sake. Steve’s a center. The only competition is what’s made up in his own head.

Steve gets there first, manages to pass it to Sinclair, who passes it to Hagan. It’s beautiful, but it’s not enough.

The puck is cleared out and they have to rush to it to start setting up again.

They don’t have time.

And then Steve tries to shoot it to center ice and his stick breaks. It’s the worst timing. Eddie feels his heart sink in his chest at the realization that this is it. They’re done.

Steve’s skating to the bench, yelling about needing a replacement when he should just get off the ice, let someone else out there. They’re gonna lose anyway.

Eddie throws Steve his own stick. It’s not the right curve, and not the right length. It’s not even the same brand.

But if there’s one thing Eddie can respect about Steve, it’s that he’s a damn good player. He makes shit happen, even when no one else can. He’s been their saving grace this season, arguably the only reason they’ve managed to even have a shot at the wild card spot.

He may hate his guts, and he may be annoyed that he got picked as captain, and he may also find him impossible to be around most of the time, but he can see that he’s one of the best players in the league.

Steve’s never skated harder than in this moment, and Eddie can’t feel his face as Steve sneaks the puck between the legs of Wheeler, winds back, and shoots.

None of their players get to it in time.

It goes in their empty net.

The bench is so loud, Eddie can’t even hear himself think.

They’ve tied it up.

The clock says 24 seconds.

It’s as good as done.

They’ll have overtime, of course, but they squeaked in the playoffs. They get at least four more games.

Steve skates to the bench and hands Eddie his stick, but doesn’t say anything.

That irks Eddie a little.

“Not even a thank you for getting the assist on that one?” Eddie asks because if he’s one thing, it’s a shithead.

“Shut up, Munson. Could’ve scored an empty net from the locker room,” Steve replies with an eyeroll, his smile dropping in annoyance.

A for annoyance, after all.

“With a broken stick?” Eddie pushes because he loves to push and because Steve always pushes back.

It’s their game.

Steve sits on the bench, catches his breath for a moment while the arena celebrates his goal.

“How about a thank you for getting us to the playoffs?” Steve says back.

It’s unlike him to be self-centered like this. It throws Eddie off.

For once, he doesn’t have a damn thing to say.

The goalie gets back in the net and the Rangers finish off the regulation game with their tails tucked between their legs.

Eddie doesn’t get sent back out, but neither does Steve.

Coach leans down to say something in Steve’s ear and he grits his teeth together, jaw clenching painfully.

When they’re about to start overtime, Coach taps his back and tells him to go.

“But it’s first line?” Eddie asks.

“I said go, Munson!” Coach says, leaving no room for argument.

So Eddie goes. He’s not gonna argue with the coach, and he’s damn sure not gonna be the reason there’s a delay in starting.

He skates to the blue line and sees the focus on Steve’s eyes.

This game can end either way to him and he won’t care, but Steve wants this win. He wants the two points, not just one. He wants to say they overcame a shitty game to pull off a win.

He would never admit it, but his effort is for Steve. His speed and hits during the first shift are to give Steve every opportunity to pull off this win.

If Steve wins, they all win.

Eddie should have had that mindset for every game. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to fight for their lives just to get a shot at the playoffs.

It’s not a great shift, but they manage to shut the Rangers down a few times.

Steve is red-faced on the bench, watching the second line move with a fire they were lacking for much of the first 60 minutes. That’s been a pattern this season, something Eddie isn’t sure they’ll get over with this group.

It ends during the third line’s shift.

The Rangers get a breakaway and score.

It’s a loss, but they’ve still won something. They aren’t leaving completely empty-handed.

The walk down the tunnel is interrupted by the broadcast person yelling for Steve to stay back to do the post-game interview and accept third star of the game. It always sucks accepting a star away from home ice, but Steve’s used to it by now.

He’s the guy who comes in clutch. He’s always a star.

Eddie’s only a little jealous over it.

The rest of the team is pretty quiet despite their playoff spot.

Coach stands in the center of the room.

“We got lucky,” he says. His tone is calm, but there’s something hidden beneath it that Eddie can sense is anger. “We won’t get lucky in the first round. Get your shit together before next week or you might as well start scheduling your tropical vacations.”

He leaves the room.

No one says anything as they get undressed. No one speaks when Steve comes in the room and wordlessly undresses. No one utters a word when he’s the first to leave, even though that’s the first time that’s happened in the history of ever.

Eddie follows him.

He should give him space. Now isn’t the time to work him up more.

Now is the time to be a good teammate, a good alternate captain. Behave and follow the rules and be a good example off the ice. Leadership saw something in him to give him the A in the first place, now’s his chance to prove he respects them for it.

“Since when do you walk out without a speech?” Eddie calls after him when they’ve exited the building. This arena is relatively normal, but there’s a lower level of parking just for VIP. He doesn’t see anyone else yet, but that’s not surprising. Their bus is parked a few rows away, doors up to start loading equipment for the haul to the airport.

“Since there isn’t a damn thing I can say to get this team motivated and I’m done trying!” Steve yells back without turning. “If you’d like to try, go right ahead.”

“Doesn’t seem like something a captain would do.”

Steve freezes, turns.

His face is bright red and Eddie knows immediately he pushed too far.

“Maybe you should be the captain if you know so much about what it takes, hm? Maybe instead of passing me your stick to score you could score one once in a fucking while. Maybe,” Steve takes a shaky breath, exhales it right into Eddie’s face. He didn’t even notice how close he was before. “You could start acting like a leader and less like a fuckin’ nuisance.”

Eddie scoffs.

“I’m sorry I helped? Was I supposed to let the opportunity to score go? Would you rather have not tied the game? Do you wish we were going home for the summer instead of just the next few days?”

Steve’s chest is brushing against Eddie’s.

Neither of them showered, so there’s a faint scent of sweat clinging to his nostrils, but Steve must’ve freshened up with deodorant and cologne before getting changed. Cedar and pine overtakes the locker room smell as Eddie’s eyes dart down to Steve’s lips.

“Did you want me to do all the work for you?” Eddie grins.

It’s painful, when their lips crash together. Eddie doesn’t care.

Steve’s mad, he’s loud, and he tastes like victory. It has nothing to do with their game.

“C’mon,” Steve says against his lips, and Eddie isn’t sure exactly what he wants. They’re kissing in public, in a place that could be filled with their teammates any second. Steve’s hands are against his chest, pulling him impossibly closer by his shirt. “More. You want more out of me, take it.”

Eddie’s not always the smartest guy in the room. He’s, like, smart, but sometimes he misses some obvious shit. Unobservant, his uncle calls him.

But he can read people pretty well if he has a second to really see them and he thinks he’s seeing something Steve didn’t mean to show. He knows what Steve’s really asking and he knows he can give that to him.

“No.”

Steve stills. He pulls away, hurt clear on his face before he manages to school his features. It’s eery how quickly he was able to do it.

“Knew you weren’t up for it, anyways,” Steve mutters, but Eddie doesn’t let him walk away.

His grip on Steve’s wrist is tight enough to cut off circulation, tight enough to bruise. Steve doesn’t react at all.

“I’m not taking anything from you. You’re gonna take what you need from me.”

Steve’s brows furrow, and Eddie allows himself a moment— just one— to think that he’s cute like this. If they weren’t teammates, and if Eddie could stand him for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe they could do something.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“No? Like how you didn’t need my stick to score earlier?”

Steve’s mouth snaps closed, but Eddie doesn’t feel as smug as he normally would. He can hear voices coming and he knows that if they leave here now without something worked out, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.

“When we get back, come to my place,” Eddie orders.

“And if I don’t?”

Eddie laughs.

Steve likes to win. He’s gonna come just to see what his prize will be.

He boards the bus and ignores his half-hard dick in his slacks.

Steve always finds a way into his brain. And now he’s found a way into his bed.

~~~~~

The bus ride is quiet, but most of the guys are busy texting significant others and coming down from the adrenaline of the game. The flight is silent, everyone taking a power nap before they have to get back home. They’ll have a day off tomorrow, but most of these guys are married and have kids, or fiancées who haven’t quite figured out that a day off is needed for recovery, not for filling the calendar with other events.

Steve is far away from Eddie, barely even visible unless Eddie leans into the aisle and squints.

He doesn’t do that more than once, doesn’t wanna draw attention to whatever it is that’s happening between them.

Eddie is the first off the plane, but he walks slow enough to his car that a few teammates catch up and tell him his quick reaction saved their asses. He laughs and thanks them, tells them they’ve got some work to do if they’re gonna win the first round, and gets in his car.

Somehow, Steve’s already at his door when he gets home.

“Eager?” Eddie asks.

“You tell me,” Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and places it over his crotch. He’s already hard.

“Did you touch yourself on the way here?” Eddie feels like he’s been struck by lightning, energy zapping through him at the speed of light. Realizing Steve’s into this is rewiring his brain.

“Obviously,” Steve rolls his eyes.

Eddie unlocks his door and pushes Steve inside. He pushes him down the hall and right onto the bed. He pushes until Steve pushes back.

“I thought I was taking from you,” Steve says as he sits up, taking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

“You are. But only when I’m ready to give. I need a second,” Eddie says as he strips his own shirt off. He walks to his bathroom to throw some water on his face and pretend for a second that the sweat dripping down his spine isn’t a ridiculous reaction to Steve.

“It’s been a second!” Steve calls to him.

Eddie smirks at himself in the mirror before heading back to the bed.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I assume you’ve got something specific in mind?”

Steve eyes him up and down. “Take everything off.”

Eddie does as he says. Steve’s surprise that he didn’t argue is obvious.

“Get lube and condoms.”

Eddie reaches into his bedside drawer and gets out his unopened bottle of lube and the only three condoms he has that may or may not be expired. He doesn’t have time to fuck around much, and most of the time he does, it never gets far enough to need a condom.

His traitorous stomach swoops at the thought of Steve being inside him.

Steve looks at him like he’s starving and Eddie’s a five course meal on a table in front of him, and Eddie likes it. He likes that Steve wants to devour him.

He’s pulled into a bruising kiss, can taste blood on his tongue when he swallows spit that’s just as much Steve’s as his own. Eddie knows if they kiss like this for long enough, Steve will barely have to touch him at all to get him there.

As if reading his mind, Steve’s hand is on his dick, stroking it slow enough to drive him insane. Eddie blushes, but doesn’t let it hold him back from pushing Steve more.

“You gonna take your clothes off or are the lube and condoms just for decoration?”

Any hand is better than his own, but Steve’s hand might be the death of him. He tightens his grip around him, leaning in to bite Eddie’s collarbone.

He’s sensitive there and somehow Steve knows it, and Eddie might die tonight, but he can’t let Steve know he’s making him feel this fucking good. He wants Steve to take what he wants, but he doesn’t wanna give it easily.

“You like this with everyone or am I special?” Steve asks before he licks a stripe up Eddie’s neck.

It’s gross. It’s hot as fuck. Eddie’s lightheaded.

“Just you, sugar. Or should I call you Captain here, too?”

Steve pulls back like he’s been burned.

“I’m not your captain right now.” He’s glaring at Eddie, making him wish he could shrink into the mattress, down through the floor. “I’m Steve. Got it?”

“Got it,” Eddie’s nodding along, but he feels like he’s teetering into uncharted territory, some kind of rough terrain that most people don’t get past the fence to explore.

Steve starts taking and Eddie lets him.

First, it’s rough hands pushing him around until he’s in the position Steve wants him: face down, arms under the pillows, legs spread so Steve can see him.

Then, it’s teasing touches, laughing when Eddie gasps and moans, nipping at his skin after a soft brush of his fingers.

It’s hot and cold, it’s hard and soft, it’s push and pull.

It’s the first time Eddie feels like he understands who Steve is.

The lube is cold as Steve spreads it around his entrance, more teasing, more taking. Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s always loved the build-up as much as the finale.

Steve’s quiet, focused, as he works his fingers into him. He’s meticulous about it, looking for the best reactions.

When Eddie whines into the pillow, spreading his legs further apart to make more room for whatever Steve wants from him, he realizes that this will change everything. He should’ve realized it sooner. He may regret it tomorrow. He may not.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels empty. Steve’s fingers aren’t there anymore, aren’t stretching him and prodding every sensitive part of him. He whimpers pitifully at the loss.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve’s cock is pushing against his entrance, and Eddie thinks he was severely mistaken about Steve before.

Because why is Steve being gentle? Why is his hand rubbing Eddie’s spine as he pushes into him slowly? Why are his lips against Eddie’s shoulder, not kissing so much as resting there, his hot breath a comfort that he’s right there paying attention to everything Eddie’s doing?

Why is this the best Eddie’s ever been fucked and why does it feel less like getting fucked and more like making love with every passing moment?

Steve’s big, which Eddie knew already. There’s just a difference between seeing it and feeling it. He fills him up, makes him wonder if he’ll be sore tomorrow.

Kind of hopes he will be.

“Take it,” Eddie mumbles against the pillow.

Steve grabs his hair, strong grip, but gently pulling. “What?”

“Take me.”

Eddie’s not sure where those words come from, but he feels the way Steve responds. His cock twitches inside him, his hands grip his waist harder, and Steve moans against his shoulder.

His own cock is trapped against the sheets, but it’s fine. He’s in no rush. Steve will take what he wants and Eddie will wait. He’ll wait all night if he has to.

He feels good like this, at Steve’s mercy.

He didn’t think he’d be able to relax under him. He thought the fight he always has to assert his own dominance with Steve would carry over here, too.

But it’s easy to let Steve have this.

He knows that Steve needs this just as much as Eddie needs to be used.

“You’re quiet. Everything okay?” Steve whispers against his skin. A check-in to make sure Eddie doesn’t need to stop.

“I’m good. Feels good. Keep going.”

The softness never goes away, but Steve’s moving faster, breathing heavier, putting more weight on Eddie’s back. It’s almost too much, the pressure inside him, surrounding him. The scent of Steve, the scent of both of them mingling together and staining his bedsheets.

He’ll have to wash them tomorrow. He won’t.

“God,” Eddie says as he fists the pillow under his head. “Right there.”

Steve’s nailing his prostate, almost more than he can handle. It feels like when they reach their groove on the ice, like despite their disagreements and different styles of play, they’ve meshed together for this moment to make something happen.

“Yeah? You like letting me have you like this?” Steve asks.

It feels out of place here, but Eddie’s allowing it all. If this is what Steve needs, if this will help, then he’ll let Steve have everything.

“Mhm. C’mon, want you to come,” Eddie begs.

He doesn’t want this to be over, though. He finds it shocking how much he wants Steve to keep fucking into him for hours, finding new positions and ways to make Eddie question his existence. He wishes Steve wasn’t wearing a condom, wishes he could fill him up with his cum, plug him up so he stays filled until morning.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking these things. He’s never wanted that with anyone, let alone Steve.

Steve’s hand covers the back of his neck, applies just enough pressure that Eddie knows it would be hard to move.

He’s coming before he even realizes the tug in his belly is there, moaning into the pillow as Steve’s hips meet his ass with every thrust. It’s too much, but Eddie’s giving himself.

That’s all this is.

It’s everything now, but tomorrow it’ll be nothing.

And the day after that, when they have team meetings to review tape for their first round matchup, it’ll be even less than nothing. It’ll be like nothing ever happened and Eddie never let Steve fuck him into his mattress. It’ll be back to tolerating each other for their job, and Eddie poking at him until Steve is riled up and the coach is yelling at both of them to get their shit together.

And then when they inevitably lose in the first round, they’ll go all summer without speaking and Eddie may get traded to a team that will put up with his antics.

Eddie sniffles.

“Eddie? Shit.” Steve pulls out, which is wrong and terrible and not at all what he wants. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much?”

“No,” Eddie’s voice is shaking and he feels stupid. How did this happen? How did he get to this point? Over Steve Harrington? “Sorry, I’m okay.”

“You’re clearly not okay.” Steve turns him over so he’s on his back and that makes everything so much worse.

His release is sticky across his stomach and the head of his cock, and he’s flush from his cheeks to his toes. Tears have fallen, leaving tracks down his face.

He doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

“What’s this about?”

“I didn’t expect this,” Eddie admits.

It can’t hurt. Honesty is only a small vulnerability compared to letting a man fuck you.

“Expect what?”

“This. You to be soft and caring. You don’t even fucking like me. I thought you’d be quick, come on my back, and then find a reason to leave,” Eddie says, covering his face with his hands. It sounds even dumber out loud. Jesus.

“The thought did occur to me,” Steve says.

Eddie peeks through his fingers to see Steve smiling with an eyebrow raised.

“What the fuck is happening.”

Steve snorts. “You threw me your stick during the play so I could score the goal that sealed us a shot at the Cup. I’ve been hard for, like, six hours now, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude while you’re staring at my dick!” Eddie argues.

“You annoy the shit out of me,” Steve rolls his eyes. “More than anyone else I’ve ever played with.”

“Okay. My dick’s already soft, you don’t have to talk me down, Steve,” Eddie groans, covering his face again.

Steve pulls his hands away, laces their fingers together, squeezes. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“But you’re good. And you know you’re good. That’s why you’re as frustrated as I am about how this season’s been. It has fuck all to do with me being captain, and everything to do with nothing going right for us.”

Steve’s right. He’s always right, even though Eddie rarely acknowledges it.

“Does this kind of talk get you off or should I do something for you?” Eddie tries to joke, to push.

But Steve doesn’t push back this time.

He cups Eddie’s jaw and leans in, kisses him soft, so gentle it feels like a whisper of something Eddie’s absolutely terrified to name.

“Let me take a little more,” Steve says against his lips.

He lifts Eddie’s legs and slides back into him, and Eddie moans at the overstimulation. He’s definitely gonna be sore when he wakes up, but he doesn’t mind so much right now.

“That’s it,” Steve groans as he moves in and out, holding Eddie’s legs apart so he can make sure he gets as deep as possible. “Let me have it.”

Eddie’s never come twice like this, without his cock even being touched properly. But here he is, barely even hard again, and cum is leaking onto his stomach as he whimpers his way through another orgasm.

“Fuck, so good.” Steve’s hips stutter as he tenses his hands around Eddie’s thighs. “That’s it, baby. Let me fill you up.”

It’s not real, but for a second Eddie can picture it. He pretends he can feel it inside him, and his cock twitches, but otherwise doesn’t act like it can do anything else tonight.

Steve lets his legs drop as he pulls out, and Eddie winces at the feeling of emptiness it brings.

Eddie closes his eyes, tries to figure out how he’s gonna ask Steve to stay.

“Is it okay if I stick around?” Steve asks before he can think of something.

“Yeah, of course. Shower’s all yours if you want it,” Eddie offers, sounding breathless still. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels like the world around him is spinning.

“You wanna join?” Steve asks him, seriously.

“Showering together doesn’t seem like a teammate thing to do,” Eddie replies.

“Neither is watching a teammate come twice.”

“Point made.” Eddie groans as he turns on his side, reaching a hand out until he makes contact with skin. He thinks it’s Steve's thigh, but he can’t be sure with his eyes closed. “Go on without me. I can’t feel my legs or my…anything.”

Steve doesn’t get up, and he doesn’t say anything. After at least a minute of silence, Eddie blinks his eyes open to see Steve staring at him.

“Are you gonna be fucking creepy all night? I rescind my permission to stay if you are.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s just. I’ve seen you mostly naked so many times, but I never noticed this scar.”

Steve gently brushes a finger across the scar on Eddie’s abdomen. It’s barely an inch in length, and you can’t even see it unless the light hits it just right.

Eddie looks down at it, at the way Steve’s fingertips graze the outer edges. He doesn’t think about it much anymore, but he remembers when it happened.

“Junior hockey. Kid’s skate got me just as I was falling. My chestie rose up too high and didn’t protect the spot,” Eddie shrugs. It could’ve been a lot worse. He was back on the ice within three days. “Accidents happen.”

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from curious to confused and then shocked.

“That was you?” Steve asks.

“What do you mean?” Eddie leans up on an elbow, looks back at Steve as if he’s lost his mind.

“I…holy shit. They never told me the player’s name. Just said he was getting stitches in the locker room and would be fine,” Steve is rambling, gesturing wildly and shaking his head. “They wouldn’t let me check on you. I tried as soon as the game was over.”

“I’m still confused.”

“It was my skate. I tripped over a player’s stick as you were falling. I didn’t even realize it actually hit you until I saw the blood on the ice.” Steve scoots down so he’s eye level with the scar and then he does something that changes Eddie’s DNA.

He presses his mouth to the scar, his lips parting just enough for his hot breath to cause goosebumps to break out across Eddie’s skin.

“Why did you give me your stick?” Steve whispers.

Eddie swallows. He feels heavy, weighed down by whatever this is.

“You had a chance. You just needed a stick,” he whispers back.

“Eddie. You would rather lose than help me any other time.” Steve tilts his head to look up at Eddie. “Why did you pass me your stick?”

“I-” Eddie breathes in. “I wanted to do something right. I wanted you to look at me and not see someone failing for once. I wanted to be good enough to wear the A.”

Steve’s forehead drops to his hip, and it takes a moment for Eddie to realize he’s laughing.

“What’s funny about that?” Eddie’s ready to pull away, kind of wants to make Steve leave now that he’s feeling like he’s being made fun of.

“I just cannot believe that you would think you aren’t good enough.” Steve looks back up at him, grinning, eyes shining with amusement. “Who do you think chose you for the A?”

Eddie thinks about it. He always assumed that the coaches just picked the guy with the most NHL experience out of the few options they had. He never thought he’d be A or C material professionally, so he accepted the offer, grateful to be given the chance.

He felt like an idiot for wasting the opportunity this season.

He didn’t produce the way he knows he can, and he let his stupid jealousy of Steve get in the way of everything. It’s not like he wanted the responsibility of being captain. He knows now he probably isn’t cut out for any type of leadership role with the team.

“I thought the coaches?” Eddie frames it as a question because now he isn’t sure.

“They wanted to name Hagan. I suggested you instead.”

Eddie’s breath catches. “You suggested me? Why? You fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Steve raises a brow and gestures at their current state. “I don’t sleep with people I hate.”

“I thought it was spur of the moment! Like you were so mad at me that the only thing you could do to get it out of your system was fuck me!”

Eddie’s head is spinning.

“I mean, it was spur of the moment. I never had any intentions of acting on anything I felt for you.”

Eddie’s head is going to explode.

“Harrington. You’re really making my head hurt. Like, I have never felt this confused after getting fucked.”

Steve laughs, which doesn’t help anything. It almost makes it worse.

He crawls back up so he’s only inches from kissing Eddie.

“I chose you. They said I had to pick someone who would compliment me on and off the ice and you were the first and only choice I could make. You’re an incredible player and the only defenseman I trust on this fucking roster,” Steve leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Eddie’s. “If I’m annoyed with you, it’s because I’m annoyed at myself. I’m making your job harder by losing the room. I don’t even know how it happened.”

“You haven’t lost the room,” Eddie interrupts, placing his hand on Steve’s hip. “They love you. You’re the hero.”

“I don’t wanna be the only guy who comes through, though. I want everyone to succeed.”

“They will. It’s just not our year. It happens. We started off bad and we never got back on track.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “It’s my job to make it work.”

“It’s everyone’s job to make it work. You can’t do it by yourself. They don’t hand Stanley Cups to a player, they hand them to a team.”

Steve smirks. “They do hand them to a player first, though.”

Eddie smacks him. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve had my brains fucked out of my head.”

They stare at each other, both of them smiling fondly.

It’s such a stark difference to everything they’ve been this whole season. Eddie doesn’t know how to handle the electricity between them. He thought it would fade once they were done, once Steve cleaned up and they got dressed. In the morning, he’d leave, and they’d go back to being a mediocre team and he’d probably end up traded or losing the A.

But now, he’s looking at Steve with something he’s pretty sure is affection, maybe even love. It’s ridiculous, which is why he isn’t gonna say anything.

“So, are we good?” Steve asks.

It’s such a jock thing to say. It throws Eddie off yet again.

“Um. Yeah.” He pulls away slightly, considers turning around and getting under the blankets. “We’re good. Hit the showers or whatever.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Eddie has got to figure out how to get a read on this guy. Seriously, the whiplash he’s getting from Steve’s words and actions might break his neck.

“You want to?”

“I don’t kiss people I don’t want to kiss.”

“Alright, then.”

It’s so soft, it practically melts what little brain Eddie has left. He’s not sure he’s ever been kissed like this, like he’s precious and like this moment needs to be cherished.

“Are you still gonna be a bitch?” Eddie ruins it.

Or, he thinks he does. But Steve is just smiling at him, amused, like he wants nothing more than Eddie’s attitude.

“Depends on if you’re gonna keep giving me problems.”

“Oh, so this is like a thing for you.”

“What?”

“You like disciplining me. Oh, this will be so fun.”

Steve shakes his head and falls against the pillows. Eddie turns his own head to smile at him.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says after a minute of just watching Steve exist in his bed.

“You answered yourself.”

“You’re irritating.”

“So are you.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Everything is a competition,” Steve turns his head to look at Eddie, smirking. “And I’m winning.”

“We’ll see about that.”

[amkyor]

Can you write what the mha guys would do if reader slapped them during a heated argument?? Its no problem if you dont wannaa also happy new yearr🫶🏻

MHA GUYS REACTING TO...

GETTING SLAPPED IN THE FACE DURING A HEATED ARGUMENT ᡣ𐭩

Katsuki Bakugoᡣ𐭩

The argument was heated, voices echoing through the apartment as you and Bakugo exchanged sharp words.

Neither of you had intended for it to escalate, but tempers flared, emotions running high after an already stressful day.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a mix of anger and frustration, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

His crimson eyes burned as they locked onto yours, but there was something vulnerable beneath the fury—something you both were too stubborn to acknowledge.

And then it happened.

In a moment of frustration, your hand moved before your brain could stop it. A sharp sound echoed as your palm connected with his cheek, both of you freezing in the aftermath.

The room fell eerily silent.

Bakugo’s head turned slightly, his eyes wide for a split second before narrowing.

He didn’t touch his cheek, didn’t move, just stared at you with a look that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger or resentment—it was a deep, quiet hurt masked by his usual brash exterior.

“...Did you just slap me?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

Your hand trembled as you realized what you’d done. “Katsuki, I—”

He raised a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. “Don’t.” His tone was firm, but his expression softened slightly when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he paced the room.

You stayed rooted in place, guilt washing over you. “I didn’t mean to... It just—everything got too much, and I—”

Bakugo stopped pacing and turned to face you, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel too much?”

He took a step closer, his voice still sharp but quieter now. “You think I don’t get mad, frustrated, or wanna punch something half the time? But I’d never—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whispered, tears now spilling freely.

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he stepped closer. “I know,” he said gruffly. “But we don’t solve shit like this.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from sobbing outright. “I’m sorry.”

Bakugo hesitated before reaching out, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I know you are,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “But we gotta talk, not... hit. Got it?”

You nodded again, leaning into his touch. “Got it.”

He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you. “We’ll figure it out,” he muttered into your hair, his voice steady. “But don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t,” you promised, clutching the back of his shirt.

For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you, holding on to each other and working through the storm together.

Izuku Midoriyaᡣ𐭩

The air was thick with tension, your voices rising as the argument escalated.

Izuku rarely raised his voice, but tonight was different. Both of you were exhausted and overwhelmed, and emotions were running dangerously high.

“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, your frustration boiling over.

“I am listening!” Izuku shot back, his green eyes wide and filled with equal parts determination and confusion. “You’re the one who won’t let me explain!”

The words cut deep, anger clouding your judgment. Without thinking, you raised your hand, the sound of the slap ringing out in the small apartment.

As soon as it happened, regret washed over you like a tidal wave. Izuku stumbled back a step, his hand instinctively going to his cheek. His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he just stared at you, frozen.

“Izuku, I—” you began, your voice shaking.

He didn’t say anything at first, his hand slowly dropping from his face. His expression wasn’t angry—if anything - it was hurt.

Deeply hurt. The kind of hurt that came from someone who would never expect that kind of action from the person they loved.

“You hit me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tears welled in your eyes as you stepped toward him. “I didn’t mean to! I was just so frustrated, and I—”

Izuku raised a hand, not to stop you but to take a deep breath and steady himself. “I would never hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Not even when I’m upset. I... I thought you felt the same.”

“I do!” You cried, tears now streaming down your face. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry, Izuku.”

He exhaled shakily, his hand running through his messy hair as he turned away for a moment. You could see him struggling to process what had just happened, his shoulders tense as he tried to compose himself.

After a long pause, he turned back to you, his expression softer but still pained. “I love you,” he said quietly, his voice steady but firm.

“And I know we’re going to have arguments—we’re human. But we can’t let them get to this point. Promise me... promise me we’ll talk it out next time.”

You nodded furiously, reaching out to take his hands in yours. “I promise. I’ll never do something like that again. You didn’t deserve that, Izuku.”

He gave you a small, hesitant smile, squeezing your hands gently. “Okay,” he said, his voice still a little shaky. “Let’s move forward. Together.”

As he pulled you into a tight hug, you felt the warmth of his forgiveness and his unwavering love. It was a lesson learned the hard way, but one that strengthened the bond between you.

Shoto Todoroki ᡣ𐭩

The argument had been brewing all evening, tension simmering under the surface until it boiled over.

Shoto’s calm demeanor clashed with your fiery frustration, creating a volatile mix.

“You’re always so cold, Shoto!” you yelled, your voice breaking with emotion. “I’m trying to have a real conversation with you, and you’re just shutting me out!”

Shoto’s mismatched eyes narrowed slightly, his tone even as he replied, “I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to stay rational, which is more than I can say for you right now.”

The words stung, and in a moment of heated frustration, you raised your hand and slapped him. The sound echoed in the room, and immediately, regret coursed through you.

Shoto’s head turned slightly from the impact, his expression unreadable. He didn’t touch his cheek or react with anger. Instead, he stood still, his gaze slowly shifting back to you.

The silence was deafening.

“Shoto, I—” you started, your voice trembling.

He held up a hand, stopping you gently but firmly. His face was calm, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “Why?” he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with pain.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “I was just so angry, and I—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone still calm but firmer now. “Being angry doesn’t justify hurting the person you love. I would never do that to you.”

Your heart sank at his words, guilt crashing over you like a wave. “I know,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry, Shoto.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, the hurt was still there, but so was the warmth that you had come to love.

“I forgive you,” he said softly. “But we can’t let this happen again. If we’re going to be together, we need to handle our disagreements without resorting to this.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face. “I promise. I’ll never do something like that again. You mean too much to me.”

Shoto hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his hands gently cupping your face. “I love you,” he said quietly, his mismatched eyes searching yours. “But love means respecting each other, even when things are hard.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

The tension in the room began to dissipate as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. It wasn’t an easy moment, but it was a turning point—a promise to communicate better, to lean on each other without crossing boundaries. Together, you vowed to move forward stronger.

Denki Kaminariᡣ𐭩

The argument spiraled out of control, voices bouncing off the walls of your shared apartment. Denki, usually carefree and lighthearted, was now visibly frustrated, his golden eyes flashing with emotion.

“Why can’t you just listen to me for once?” he snapped, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard.

“Because you’re not making any sense, Denki!” You shouted back, your patience long gone. “You’re acting like a child!”

The tension in the room reached a boiling point, and before you could stop yourself, your hand flew up, the sound of the slap echoing in the silence that followed.

Denki froze, his cheek turning slightly red where your hand had connected. His wide eyes flicked to you, shock written all over his face. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

“I... I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, your voice trembling as the weight of what you’d done hit you.

Denki blinked, his expression softening as he raised a hand to his cheek. “That was... unexpected,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. There was no anger in his tone—just a mix of confusion and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, stepping closer, tears welling in your eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was just so angry, and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Denki interrupted, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. His smile, though faint, returned to his face. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but I get it. We were both pretty heated.”

You stared at him, guilt gnawing at you. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not thrilled,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I know you didn’t mean it. And honestly...” He gave you a sheepish grin. “I think I might’ve deserved it a little. I was being kind of a jerk.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you. “You didn’t deserve that. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

Denki stepped closer, gently taking your hands in his. “Let’s just... not let things get to that point again, okay? We’re supposed to be a team, not enemies.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands. “Okay. No more slapping.”

He chuckled softly, his playful demeanor starting to return. “Yeah, I’d like to keep my face intact, thanks. It’s one of my best features.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he teased, pulling you into a hug. “Now, how about we forget this ever happened and grab some ice cream or something? My treat.”

As you leaned into his embrace, you knew that while the argument had been intense, it had ultimately brought you closer. Together, you’d learn to navigate the storms—one spark at a time.

Eijiro Kirishimaᡣ𐭩

The argument was louder than either of you anticipated, emotions running high as words flew back and forth.

Kirishima wasn’t the type to lose his temper, but tonight was different. His frustration was evident in the furrow of his brows and the tight set of his jaw.

“I’m just saying you could’ve talked to me before making a decision like that!” he exclaimed, his voice strained but not shouting.

“And I’m saying I didn’t think I needed your permission, Eijiro!” You shot back, crossing your arms.

The tension in the room was palpable, and before you knew it, your frustration peaked. In a moment of heated emotion, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face.

The sound echoed, and you froze immediately, regret washing over you as you saw Kirishima’s head turn slightly from the impact. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, his expression stunned.

“Eijiro, I—” you began, tears already forming in your eyes.

He turned back to face you, his crimson eyes wide but soft. His hand dropped from his cheek as he looked at you, not with anger, but with a mix of hurt and confusion. “You... hit me?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I was just so angry, and I—”

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer to you. “It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, but...” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head. “I know you didn’t mean it. We were both heated.”

You looked at him, guilt overwhelming you. “I’m so sorry, Eijiro. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He sighed, giving you a small, understanding smile. “We all make mistakes. But we can’t let things get like this again, okay? It’s not... manly.” He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood.

You nodded quickly, tears streaming down your face. “I promise. It won’t happen again.”

He reached out, gently pulling you into his arms. “I know it won’t,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve just got to work on talking things out better. Together.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as he held you close. “I love you, Eijiro,” you murmured.

“I love you too,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Now, let’s figure this out without any more slapping, okay?”

You laughed softly, the tension easing as you both took a step toward healing. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

FANFIC RECOMMENDATION ᡣ𐭩

Adult Bakugo x Female Reader

[lottiesgrl]

I hope your the right blog to send this to but can you do your headcanons of having sex with a completely feral shauna in the wilderness? How she fucks hard and rough, and how she likes to bite you like a wolf holding its pray still. ( bonus points if Lottie’s the one who’s shaunas fucking 🤭)

𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹

summary: drabbles about having sex with feral shauna

cw: heeavy nsfw, biting (r!receiving), scratching (both receiving), oral (r!receiving), vague strap on usage (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), primal dynamics, roleplay, general filth and smut

an: i usually don't put comments on my fics but this was right up my alley and WHEEEW. i enjoyed writing this one. wrote this all while listening to romeo's daddy by ethel cain so i linked it below for the best reading experience 😇 happy new year y'all

: ̗̀➛ you had already known that shauna had a tendency to be rough during sex, but you had no idea how intense it would get the longer the two of you spent isolated in the wilderness

: ̗̀➛ the first sign that something was changing was in the way that she held you. when she dug her nails into your skin, her grip was so tight that it was almost painful, crescent indents forming in your skin. you didn't mind the pain - if anything, you found it hot

: ̗̀➛ this is especially true whenever she catches one of the girls even looking at you in a funny way. you've always known her to be mildly possessive, but she would usually just sulk away, simmering in her insecurities until you'd reassure her that she was the only one you wanted, not anyone else. but now?

: ̗̀➛ now, shauna's jealousy is fiery. it's angry and red-hot, and the second she catches someone's eyes lingering on your body for too long, her fingers will curl around your thighs and grab at the flesh so that everyone can see

: ̗̀➛ she especially loves to feel the way your flesh molds around her hands when she's fucking you. when you take it from behind, she's got your hips in a vice grip, grabbing you and pulling you back in time with her thrusts. you're sure that there'll be bruises from where her fingertips pressed into your skin

: ̗̀➛ speaking of bruises, shauna absolutely loves to leave her mark on you any way that she can. whether it be fingerprints on your skin, hickeys all over your neck, or bite marks along your collarbone, she can't get enough

: ̗̀➛ her and biting oh my lord... she is a biter. she loves the way that your skin feels around her teeth, and she'll bite any inch of skin that's exposed

: ̗̀➛ going back to what i said about taking it from behind, she loves having you right where she wants you. when she fucks you from the back, she'll have a hand around your neck, tilting your head back, and her teeth will dig into the place where your neck meets your collarbone

: ̗̀➛ all about messy and nasty sex. she's sooo messy when she goes down on you, spit everywhere - all over your thighs, your stomach, and most importantly, your cunt

: ̗̀➛ she'll switch between kissing and biting your thighs as she makes her way up to your pussy, arms wrapped around them to make sure that there's no way you can escape from the pleasure she's about to bring you

: ̗̀➛ her hands force your thighs apart when they try to close around her fingers or her head, growling at you to "be fucking patient", while she continues to tease you and make you beg

: ̗̀➛ and shauna growling at you? yes. the words are coming from somewhere deep inside her chest, somewhere raw and primal and animalistic, and every time she growls in her ear you can feel a wave of arousal shoot through you. she chuckles low in her throat whenever she's fingering you and she can feel you gush when she growls

: ̗̀➛ SCRATCHING WITH SHAUNA. she's so turned on whenever she's fucking into you and she can feel your fingers raking down her skin leaving angry red lines in their wake

: ̗̀➛ she's a scratcher herself, running her nails up and down your chest hard enough for it to leave a mark. it starts as mindless groping and turns into her leaving scratches all over your chest and your stomach, something to remind you of her even after the two of you are done

: ̗̀➛ if you'd allow her, she'd 100% love the idea of a more primal dynamic or roleplay. it thrills her so much to chase after you, knife in hand, knowing that once she catches you, you'll be hers

: ̗̀➛ you're running from her and panting both from exhaustion and excitement, your pussy absolutely throbbing with every step you take. she's always been ridiculously fast, and it takes no time at all for her to catch up to you and tackle you

: ̗̀➛ you're both panting as she presses her knife to her throat, leaning in to kiss you. it's so messy and you can feel the cold metal of the blade and the wet earth around you and lord, it's so hot

: ̗̀➛ begging her not to hurt you and you can see a shine in her eyes as she quickly fumbles with your clothes to get you undressed and get her fingers in between your thighs

: ̗̀➛ who doesn't love a woman who's batshit insane?

[seancekitsch]

hellooo hello, can I request Viktor with journalist!reader?

“Hello?” A soft low voice calls from the doorway of your workspace. You do not have to look up to know who it is, but you still do, your smile widening as you see the scientist darkening your doorway. He looks deadly serious, but when does he not? He’s out of his usual academy lab wear, opting for a thick wool coat that he drapes on your coat rack and a deep burgundy shirt. 

“Oh, Viktor! Come in! Did you see the article?” you usher him in as he shuts the door behind himself, getting up to turn on your kettle for him. You turn your back as he rests his cane against your writing desk, sitting himself in the cozy upholstered velvet chair you had dragged into the room once it was finally announced this would be an office for you instead of shared space. You get his tea bag ready and grab a lemon so he can have a fresh slice in his cup, having memorized exactly how he takes it. 

“I did,” he pauses, and you stiffen, lemon in hand and little knife glittering untouched. 

You inhale deeply, already anticipating the rest of his sentence.

“…But I do have some notes.”

You sigh deeply, turning around without a teacup in hand. He sits smugly, perched upon the chair as if it was made to be his throne, looking better in it than you ever have. Without a further word, you sit back down at your desk and pull out your original draft of the article from your files. Your handwriting is penned neatly across the pages, edits in the margins and additional notes pinned meticulously to the edges. Viktor reaches across the desk and snatches them from your hand before you can begin to read them out loud. You huff, but it falls on deaf ears, Viktor now pouring through the draft of the article. 

“I believe I gave you due credit, despite the fact that my bosses told me it was about the Man of Progress himself and only his contributions,” you argue, though he has yet to say anything. He gets to the sixth page of your draft before looking up at him. You remember the tense conversation you had with the editors, their disdain for his “undercity upbringing” and yet you had to remind them of where you had also come from. It was work to get Viktor mentioned in the article, but it was effort he deserves.

“Men of progress, I liked that," he tells you, and flips a page, "And this part? You described the color of the Hexcore incorrectly, it is more of a... cyan," he smirks slightly as he criticizes one of the notes, and pulls one of the additional notes off the corner of the page, "You refer to Jayce as handsome three times. Why is this? The words you use for me are maven, mastermind, sage. Why? Am I not also handsome?”

Any nerves you have dissolve at the playful smile that graces his hollow cheeks. His lips pale and chapped, but still a thing of great beauty. 

You giggle, and snatch the notes back from him. 

“Do you really think I’d use my writing to tell all of Piltover that you’re mine? Thats quite a large personal bias, it would detract from my ethics. I’m a professional, you know,” you joke with him as you’re getting up from the desk to move around it, now resting your ass on it as you lean in front of Viktor. You reach your hand out, fingertips outstretched and quickly met with his own, dancing in the space between you. 

“No, I am just… messing with you,” Viktor winks as he finishes his sentence, his other hand coming up to brush against your hip. 

“The article was good, I am glad you spoke about the ways our research can be used for medical progress,” he admits, “So many of the Councillors have their own agendas they’d like to slap onto my work.”

You lean into his touch, your fingers curling around his as you slide off the desk and perch yourself instead on the arm of the chair. You hope that the article portrays your pride for him, albeit hidden within the punctuation rather than out loud. 

“I know what the geniuses intentions are,” you tell him, "And that you two are the key to our future."

"Is that so? Maybe you should be the one in charge of our funding then," he looks up at you, eyebrow raised as he continues teasing.

"Please," you gently slap at his chest as you lean further into him, "on my salary? Your lab is nicer than my apartment."

"Speaking of which..." he trails off, looking at you now expectantly.

"You want to come back to mine?

"Unless you'd rather I sleep in my lab tonight. You did say it was nicer than your apartment."

The kettle whistles, and you lean down to kiss him.

[xtangerinefilmx]

a drink

summary: a patrol shift with Joel ends a lot better than you could hope for

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cursing

The snow crunched under your boots and you could see your breath puff out in front of you. The Wyoming winter chilling you to the bone despite all of your layers. As pretty as all the snow and quiet in the woods was, your favorite part of the patrol was being paired up with Joel Miller. Resident Grump of Jackson. At least that’s how you saw him. Everyone else stayed clear of him… besides a good chunk of women after they’d had a few at the Tipsy Bison. 

Others were scared of Joel. You… you wanted him. There was over two decades between the two of you, a dark past clouding him, and you still couldn’t kick the feeling of butterflies any time you saw the man. The worst part was that you’d barely spoken in the months he showed up back in Jackson with his daughter/not daughter. Joel wasn’t much of a talker in general, outside of his family. You’d be embarrassed to admit that you’d try to walk by their table in the dining hall just to hear his voice. To put it short you were down bad in the most humiliating way. Even if nobody else knew. Or at least you hope nobody did. It was rare the two of you were alone anyways. You’d take the silent companionship found out on patrol, taking in beautiful sceneries like the one in front of you: Joel riding through the peaceful forest on horseback in front of you. 

“We can stop up ahead before we head back for today,” Joel’s gruff voice said, his head slightly turning back to you. You only hummed in response. 

A few moments later Joel stopped his horse in a small clearing, a shed covered in snow stood in the treeline. Joel hopped off his horse and moved towards it, going to retrieve the log book to record your patrol. Usually you’d stay on your horse to wait for Joel to finish, but this time you hopped off and followed behind him. 

“No need to get off your horse, darlin’. I’ll be done in a minute,” Joel said.

“I just wanted to see the view, I haven’t done this route since the snow started sticking,” you explained, moving past him to look down the hill behind the shed. The ravine was a pretty sight in the winter, but in reality you knew you were just stalling for more time with Joel. 

“Five minutes, then we need to head back before it gets dark,”  he sighed, much to your surprise. You’d expected more grumbling before he allowed you to indulge in the view. 

You stayed there to soak it in for a moment, listening to the scratch of him writing your names in the logbook before turning back towards him. There were a few flecks of snow stuck in his greying hair, now quite a bit longer than when you’d met him. Still just as hot.

“You keep staring long enough you’re going to bore holes into my face, babydoll,” Joel said, obviously trying to hold back a chuckle at your expense as he closed the logbook. Okay, so maybe you were more obvious than you’d previously thought. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, turning your face to hide the blush creeping across your face. 

“Don’t be,” he said, putting away the logbook as you started to move back to the horse. Trying your hardest not to seem embarrassed. “It’s not like I haven’t done my fair share of staring at you.”

That got you to stop in your tracks, only furthering your embarrassment at how eager you became after hearing that. You didn’t say anything, but you heard him approaching slowly behind you. 

“Couldn’t stop after my jackass of a brother pointed out that a certain someone had a little crush on me,” his voice was quieter now, coming closer. You stayed still, fearing if you moved a muscle you’d wake from a dream. Or you could be in shock. You weren’t sure yet. “Didn’t believe him, but then I kept catching you in the dining hall. You’re not very subtle.”

“Hmm, maybe I was just waiting for you to notice. Was worried your eyesight was already going bad, old man. Thought you’d pick up on the 20 something year old giving you googly eyes quicker,” you joked, finally able to form words as you felt the heat of him at your back. This was definitely not how you thought your little detour would go, but you were determined to see whatever was going on through. 

Joel was silent for a moment before you felt his hands on your shoulders and him moving you to face him. “Well, now that I’ve noticed, will you actually stop to talk to me when you see me? Or are you going to keep sneaking glances like I’m the last cookie?” 

You took a moment to respond, to entranced by finally getting to see his face up close and personal. All the finer details of the face you were so fond of; his crow’s feet, the grey in his facial hair, the scars. If you were braver you’d reach out to touch him.

“Where’d you go in that pretty head of yours?” Joel asked, and you could see how smug he was about the effect he had on you. You replayed moments in your head where your paths had crossed, wondering when Tommy had made his brother aware of your infatuation with him. If Joel had seen how you’d gone soft at the way he’d keep Ellie under his arm during community bonfires, or if he’d seen the way you blushed when he’d help you onto your horse for patrol. Each moment building up his courage to call you on it. 

“I think I have a better idea, you should take me for a drink at the Tipsy Bison. Then, I’ll get to stare at you all I want,” you blurted out. He already knew about your crush, so you didn’t have much to lose at this point. That caused him to actually laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard yet. You wanted to keep making him make that noise. 

“I think I like that idea, but are you sure you wanna be seen with an old man like me?” Joel tried to make it seem like he was joking, but you could see the slight shift in his eyes. He was self conscious about the age difference.

“I’d like to see someone try to say something,” you said. You were a grown adult, and there was nobody in Jackson who could tell you what you could and couldn’t do when it came to this man. Not when he was looking at you with the softest eyes, cheeks brushed with pink from the cold. You wanted to… to kiss him. 

So you did. 

You lifted yourself up onto your toes and quickly pressed your lips against his cold cheek. An urge from deep inside pushing you to give the man reassurance. You could smell leather and soap on him, a little sweat. You wanted more already. 

When you pulled back you chanced a look up at his reaction. It took a moment for him to process, but you were rewarded with a gentle smile and a shine in his eyes. 

“We should get back around 3, how about we clean ourselves up and I’ll come to yours around 7 and we can walk there together?” Joel suggests. Already moving you both back towards your horses. 

“Sounds good, old man,” you teased. “Now, how about we race back and try to get to those drinks a little faster.” You tried to beat him getting onto your horse, but as soon as the man heard the word race he was already swinging himself up onto his. 

“That’s not fair!” You called after him as he took off ahead of you. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have called me an old man, honey,” Joel laughed over his shoulder. “Loser has to get the drinks.”

You couldn’t wipe the cheesy grin on your face the whole way back to Jackson, looking forward to a drink or two with Joel Miller.

a/n: I'll be adding more parts to this one shot to make it a little series, need some winter fluff in my life. written at work and not beated, so yell at me if there's any issues with the fic <3

[marksbear2]

Could we get a Peter Parker (Tom holland) x mentor reader? The reader is already an experienced hero and he’s taking care of Peter new injuries and giving him advice.

Peter Parker x Mentor male reader

Tom holland is my favorite Spider-Man so I loved writing this. I also added a title a friend of mine recommended it.

⚠️Warnings — Father figure reader, stitches, patching up, lecturing, canon Peter Parker, mentions of pain and etc.⚠️

Stitches and Lessons

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, casting a cold, sterile glow over the cluttered room. Peter Parker sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, his Spider-Man suit peeled down to his waist, revealing a web of fresh cuts and bruises across his torso. He winced as you dabbed at a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder with antiseptic.

"Ow, ow, ow! Could you, like, *not* dig into my soul with that cotton swab?" Peter whined, squirming under your grip.

"Stay still," you said firmly, your voice calm but commanding. You didn't flinch as you pressed the swab deeper into the wound. "If you’d actually dodged instead of playing hero with your face, we wouldn’t be here right now."

Peter huffed, crossing his arms but obediently staying still. "I did dodge! Mostly. I mean, you try avoiding all those guys when their charging at you like a truck with legs."

"That's the point, kid," you said, setting the swab aside and reaching for the needle and thread. "The bad guys you’re fighting are brute. Their predictable. He charges, you move. You don’t have to be faster; you just have to be smarter."

Peter watched as you threaded the needle with practiced ease. His usually chatty demeanor gave way to a rare moment of quiet. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," you replied, though your tone softened. "What’s not simple is you thinking you have to take every hit for everyone else. That’s not how this works, Peter."

You started stitching the gash, your hands steady despite Peter’s occasional flinches. He bit down on his lip, suppressing another yelp. "I can't just let people get hurt," he said after a moment. "Isn’t that the whole point? 'With great power...' and all that?"

You paused, needle hovering mid-air, and looked him in the eye. "That quote doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself to save everyone else. Great power, great responsibility—it means knowing your limits. Knowing when to fight and when to step back. You’re no good to anyone if you’re out of commission because you thought you could take on everything by yourself."

Peter's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, but... what if stepping back means someone gets hurt? What if—what if I fail?"

You finished the last stitch and tied it off with a firm knot. Setting the needle down, you rested a hand on Peter's uninjured shoulder. "You’re going to fail, Peter. It’s inevitable. No one saves everyone, not even the best of us. But it’s not about how many people you save or how perfectly you do it. It’s about trying your best, learning from your mistakes, and coming back stronger."

Peter looked down at his hands, his fingers playing with a loose thread on his suit. "How do you deal with it? Failing, I mean."

You leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. "You remind yourself why you started. You let the people you save—the ones you can save—be your anchor. And when it gets too heavy, you lean on the people who’ve got your back." You gave him a pointed look. "Like me, for example."

A small, sheepish smile tugged at Peter’s lips. "Thanks... for patching me up. And for the pep talk. Even if it did feel like a lecture.""Anytime, kid," you said, standing and stretching your arms. "But next time, try to get fewer holes punched into you, alright? My stitching skills aren’t for free."

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll try, but no promises. It’s kind of my thing, you know?"

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the first aid kit to clean up. "Yeah, yeah. Just remember: you’re not alone in this. You’ve got a whole team—and me—to help you figure it out."Peter’s grin grew a little wider, a little brighter. "Got it, mentor dude."

You shot him a mock glare, but the warmth in your eyes betrayed you. "Go home and get some rest, Spider-Man. The city can survive a night without you swinging through it."

As Peter slipped his mask back on and headed for the window, he paused. "Hey," he called over his shoulder. "You’re not as scary as you look, you know." Before you could respond, he shot a web at the nearest building and disappeared into the night, leaving you shaking your head with a quiet chuckle.

"Kid’s going to be the death of me," you muttered, though the faint smile on your face said otherwise.

THE END

[pintrestgrl]

write more about roxy getting jealous of some girl eyeing rafe at a party, what happens. I want details of the angst and smut please and thank you

RAFE ‘ND ROXY 💫

hi so i actually hate how i wrote in this but we live laugh n love

roxy n rafe weren’t together. as of now, if you asked them a week ago the answer would have been different. they were currently, in the off stage of their off n on relationship. however, there was a party tonight.

neither roxy nor rafe ever missed a party. usually they would go together, really. but tonight they weren’t together. it wasn’t gonna be like that. but, they both still got ready n went. it was a pool party, a kook one.

roxy was praying that rafe wouldn’t show up. that he would be too upset at home about her, too high to even function. however, pulling into the function, he was the first thing she saw. she rolled her eyes, takin another hit off the passed around blunt in the car.

she was pissed. she didn’t wanna see him. she wanted to get drunk, n forget about the breakup. so, that’s exactly what she attempted to do. she sat by the pool, takin shot after shot of patron. frankly, she wouldn’t mind a good fuck too.

but everybody knew not to talk to roxy if rafe was there. not if they didn’t want to get kicked out n a hit out on them. roxy was probably 6 shots deep when she observed the party around them. most were out of the water, playin beer pong or smoking.

however, her eyes unwillingly landed directly on rafe. again. then, slowly moved down to look at the bitch standing right in front of him. she scrunched her face up in disgust, looking the girl up and down. she wasn’t cute, far from it. her tracks were showing, n she looked like a 2 dollar whore. if she was just a lil bit drunker, she’d probably hit her.

she watched them closely, tensing up the minute she touched his chest. she raised her brows, not even believing what she saw. she snorted to herself, she knew what rafe was doing. he probably flirted with her first to be petty. she downed another shot, chasing it with a lime before standing up.

she made her way over there, standing to the side of rafe with a smug smile on her face. one that looked genuinely amused at his attempt to make her jealous. rafe looked at her, obviously irritated. she gave him a look, obviously testing him. to see what would do. however, she knew deep down exactly who he’d pick.

he sucked his teeth, looking roxy up and down before nodding his head. he followed her into the party, her takin him to a bedroom found in the large house. he shut the door behind them, the music muffling.

she turned around, looking at him before planting a harsh slap to his cheek. “you fuckin’ stupid, rafe? you just embarrassed me in front of that whole party.” he rolled his eyes. he knew what she meant.

everyone knew him and roxy were like this. so for him to talk to another girl at that party? he made her look stupid. “i didn’t do shit. she came up to me.” she laughed, he was seriously comical. “no she didn’t, you dumb fuck. you’re so annoying.” he took a breath at her words.

“can you just shut up? you’re overreacting, rox. seriously.” she raised her brows, rolling her eyes. “no. rafe, i seriously fuckin’ hate you. everything about you.” her words registered in his mind, and he didn’t think before grabbin the back of her head n planting a wet kiss on her lips.

she tried to push him off her, before he held her wrists together infront of her. he picked her up n carried her to the bed in the room, while planting kisses down her throat. he laid her down, trailing his kisses to her tummy.

she sucked in a breath. “rafe— stop. i fucking hate you— ohhh, fuck.” he planted a kiss on her bikini covered clit, moving it to the side to lick a long stripe up her slit. she was truly upset with him, really. however, she was also truly horny.

he sucked her clit into his mouth for a minute, releasing it harshly. he prompted a serious of moans from her, before she spoke. “i’m so done with you, deadass. fuck you.”

he nodded against her folds— he was so used to those words. the same ones he’s heard so many times from her lips. he moved his body upwards, crawling on top of her. he untied the bikini top adorning her skin, hands planting on her tits.

“quit, just fuckin— god, just hurry the fuck up nd put it in already.” she moaned, watching as he grinned n unbuckled his belt. “thought you ‘fuckin’ hated me’, huh? now you want it?” she slapped him again, as he pushed inside of her, both of them letting out a moan.

he thrusted in n out of her, before speaking. “i hate you too, y’know that? you’re so fuckin— god, insufferable. i fuckin’ hate you.” she ignored his words back, wrapping her legs around his waist. she moaned, his head hanging by her ear.

“nnmph— i’m gonna cum, ray. fuck, right there.” she whimpered, his tip hitting her cervix repeatedly. he nodded. “yeah, i know, rox. i know.” he grunted, before cumming in her as she came, the fluids combining.

he stopped his movements, staying inside of her— sweaty, sticky skin becoming one. labored breathing filled up the room, as he moved his position next to her. she swallowed, glancing at the figure next to her.

“that girl wasn’t even cute.” she spoke, gauging his reaction. he nodded, rolling his eyes. “yeah. i know that, roxianna.” she sat up, leaning back on her hands. she got off the bed, him watching her. she tied her bikini back on, slippin her sandals on too.

“this doesn’t fuckin’ mean we’re back together, rafe. just— stop talking to those random, slutty ass girls.” he nodded. he looked disappointed, that she left so fast. maybe a part of him that didn’t find her so annoying felt like that.

she looked him up and down once more. “i still fuckin’ hate you, cameron.” she spoke, before turning around n leaving the room. and maybe she did, really. but that didn’t make a difference.

she’d still go back to him every single time. so this game, of seeing who can do and say the worst to eachother didn’t matter. they both would somehow end up in eachothers beds again.

n she would always find her way back.

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt 3 ⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: tension...lots and lots of tension ⎜make out ⎜ mild grinding ⎜ slut shaming ⎜ jack's a dick ⎜ quinn being protective ⎜ luke being a cutie patootie as per usual ⎜ not a lot tbh ⎜shoving ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 6.6k authors note: this is the much anticipated Quinn chapter - there will be one more part after this one that will tie everything together, there hasn't ended up being much actual smut in this series cause it's just not fitting as I'm writing so apologies - btw who do people think the reader should be ending up with?  (p.s. i will be posting chapter aesthetic pics at the bottom so you can get an idea of what I was picturing :) )

(unedited)

“He’ll come around eventually.” Luke sighs as he watches your gaze follow his older brother around the backyard. 

“You’ve been saying that for days, Lukey—” You let out a long sigh, pushing your sunglasses onto the top of your head as you adjust your position in the sun-chair, “We all know that if there is one thing Jack is good at, it’s icing someone out.” Luke just nods his head along - having also been on the receiving end of Jack’s frosty attitude. 

“Look Jack and I are going back to jersey from some promo stuff, give me that time to try and settle things with him.” Luke suggests, shooting his older brother a glare as he notices him looking over at the two of you sitting side by side at the pool. “Just enjoy your time with Quinn and try to relax a little.” He adds and you nod along, pulling your sunglasses back down to your nose, lying back on the sun-chair. 

“You know what, maybe I will.” 

+

+

Luke gathers you in his arms for a quick hug, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he and Jack get ready to leave for their trip back to jersey. “It’s only two days.” Luke whispers and you nod, squeezing him back just as hard — Luke and you have become almost inseparable since your date with him to the fair, something lingering between you since you had kissed that night - but things in the lake house had become increasingly tense since Jack had stormed away from you that same night - refusing to hear your side of the situation. 

“Okay, you can let go, Luke.” Quinn chuckles as he steps forwards, tugging you from his younger brothers arms, Luke looking at him with a pout before huffing and making his way out of the house. Jack still stand by the door looking between you and his little brother with a roll of his eyes. 

“Have a safe flight.” You peep, Jack eyes shooting to you as he gives you a stern nod before following after Luke, shutting the door closed behind him, leaving just you and Quinn in the big house. 

“Guess it’s just you and I now.” Quinn teases, his mouth right besides your ear, his hands tight on your hips. You shiver at the feeling of Quinn’s warm breath against your ear, his teasing tone making your stomach flip. His hands linger on your hips, sending a tingle up your spine as you glance up at him.

“Guess so,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tension between you is undeniable. Quinn’s eyes search yours, his lips twitching into a small smirk that makes your heart race.

“You gonna miss them?” he asks, his voice softer now, though the playful glint in his eyes remains.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Of course. But… it’ll be nice to be able to breathe for a little bit.” Quinn chuckles, his grip loosening as he steps back, though the warmth of his touch still lingers. 

“You’ve earned it,” Quinn says, breaking the moment as he steps back, his hands finally leaving your hips. His touch lingers in your mind, though, as he walks toward the kitchen, casually tossing over his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s make the most of this—I'll cook dinner tonight. Unless, of course, you’re still holding a grudge about the whole grill incident?”

You smirk, trailing after him into the kitchen. “Grudge? Quinn, you almost set the deck on fire.”

“Details,” he quips, opening the fridge and pulling out a few ingredients. “I’d call it a learning experience. Besides, I’ve been perfecting my skills since then. Tonight, you’ll see. Gourmet chef Quinn Hughes in action.”

“Should I alert the fire department ahead of time?” you tease, leaning against the counter. His lips twitch into that familiar smirk, and the way his eyes flick over you as he sets the ingredients down makes your stomach flutter.

“I think you’ll survive,” he shoots back, handing you a knife and a cutting board. “Now, sous-chef, make yourself useful and chop these.”

You take the knife, raising an eyebrow. “Bold of you to trust me with this. I could sabotage your big redemption arc.” Quinn steps closer, his presence making the small kitchen feel even smaller. 

“I’m willing to take that risk.” His voice is lower, a little softer, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours, holding your gaze longer than necessary. Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he steps back with a teasing grin. “Just don’t lose a finger. I’m not great with first aid.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck as you focus on slicing the vegetables. Quinn moves around the kitchen with ease, his arm occasionally brushing against yours as he reaches for spices or utensils. Each touch feels intentional, sending a spark through you that you can’t quite ignore.

“So,” he says, leaning casually against the counter as you work. “What’s the plan while Luke and Jack are gone? Binge some trash TV? Go for a swim? Or are you just gonna sit here and miss my brothers?”

You glance up, smirking. “And what makes you think I won’t be enjoying you instead?” The words are out before you can stop them, and Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. For a moment, you worry you’ve overstepped, but then his lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile. 

“Careful,” he says, his voice dropping just slightly. “Say things like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.” Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look back down at the cutting board.

 “Don’t let it go to your head, Hughes.”

“Oh, too late for that,” he says, laughing softly. But there’s something in the way he looks at you now—something darker, more intent—that makes your pulse quicken. As the two of you work together to prepare the meal, the atmosphere shifts. The teasing banter is still there, but it’s layered with something heavier, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. Every glance, every accidental touch seems to linger, leaving you hyperaware of his presence.

By the time you’re sitting at the table, plates of food in front of you and glasses of wine in hand, the tension feels almost unbearable. Quinn raises his glass, his eyes meeting yours across the table. “To a quiet house and good company,” he says, his voice warm but his gaze steady, almost challenging.

You clink your glass against his, your heart pounding as you murmur, “To good company.” The conversation flows easily as you eat, but there’s an undeniable pull between you. Quinn’s leg brushes against yours under the table, and neither of you moves away. His fingers linger on yours for a moment too long when he hands you the wine bottle to pour another glass. Every laugh, every shared look seems to bring you closer, the space between you shrinking bit by bit.

After dinner, you find yourself leaning against the counter again as Quinn washes the dishes. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and you catch yourself staring before quickly looking away. He glances over his shoulder, catching you in the act, and his lips twitch into that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

“Something on your mind?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s a flicker of something more in his eyes.

“Just surprised you didn’t break any plates,” you quip, trying to keep your voice steady. He turns off the faucet, drying his hands before stepping closer, his proximity sending a jolt through you. 

“You’re always so quick to underestimate me,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’m just realistic,” you counter, your breath hitching as he leans in, one hand bracing against the counter beside you.

“Is that so?” he asks, his voice a near whisper now, his face inches from yours. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. For a moment, the world seems to pause, the air between you crackling with anticipation. But then, just as quickly, Quinn steps back, a playful grin on his face as he grabs a towel to finish drying the dishes. 

“Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong,” he says lightly, as if nothing had happened. You let out a shaky breath, your heart racing as you watch him. Something tells you this won’t be the last time Quinn Hughes leaves you breathless.

Later that evening, you find yourself sprawled on the couch, a movie playing on the TV as Quinn settles in beside you. The warmth of his body next to yours is both comforting and maddening, every slight movement sending your nerves into overdrive.

“You okay there?” Quinn asks, glancing over at you with a smirk as he notices your fidgeting.

“Fine,” you reply, your voice a little too quick. You shift slightly, putting a bit more distance between the two of you, though the effort feels futile. The space doesn’t help when his arm stretches out across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says softly, leaning closer, his voice barely audible over the movie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shoot back, refusing to meet his gaze. You can feel his eyes on you, though, studying you with that same quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You’ve been jumpy all night,” Quinn continues, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?” You let out a laugh that comes out shakier than you intended, finally turning to look at him. 

“Quinn, you’re not nearly as intimidating as you think you are.”

“Oh, really?” he replies, raising an eyebrow. His hand drops from the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your arm, and your breath catches. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you say, though the quiver in your voice betrays you. Quinn’s smirk deepens, and he leans in just slightly, his face so close now that you can see the flecks of blue in his green eyes.

“I think you’re lying again,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. His hand lingers on your arm, his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles against your skin.

“Quinn—” His name comes out as barely a whisper, your heart pounding so loudly you’re certain he can hear it. “Why are you doing this?” The words come out of your mouth before you can even think about them, Quinn jolting away from you, a look of panic and confusion clouding his eyes, his mouth opening and closing as he thinks of what to say. 

“This whole stupid bet, why did we let this happen?” You clarify, barely noticing the way Quinn relaxes a little the concerned expression falling from his face.  

Quinn exhales slowly, his shoulders easing as he looks at you, his hand still lightly resting on your arm. His gaze softens, his usual teasing demeanour melting away. “Because I think we all wanted it to,” he admits, his voice low and uncharacteristically sincere.

Your breath catches at his words, the weight of them sinking in as the charged air between you becomes almost unbearable. “But what about Jack? Luke?” you ask, your voice trembling as you search his eyes for some kind of reassurance.

Quinn leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Jack’s... complicated,” he says with a small, wry smile. “He’s protective and he has a lot of things going on in that tiny brain of his, but he’ll come around. And Luke—he just wants you to be happy, that’s all he’s ever wanted.” His eyes meet yours again, and for a moment, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

“And you?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “What do you want?” Quinn’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but his gaze is intense, serious. “I want what’s best for you,” he says softly, his hand moving from your arm to gently cup your cheek. The touch is so tender it sends a shiver through you, and you instinctively lean into it.

“Quinn...” you start, but the words get caught in your throat as he leans closer, his forehead brushing lightly against yours.

“This bet has clearly gone further then any of us intended and I think we all have a lot to think about but it’s supposed to be fun.” Quinn says, his older brother tone kicking in, his words almost seeming like a reprimand as he adds, “You’re supposed to be having fun but it doesn’t seem like that happening anymore.” 

“I am having fun.” You say quickly, “well kinda having fun.” The tension continues to sizzle around the room, Quinn’s hand still warm on your arm, his thumb still tracing soft circles.  

“I’m sure we can make things more fun.” He says teasingly, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as you scoot forwards on the couch, your eyes meeting his before dipping down to his lips. 

“I’m sure we could.” You agree, your mind screaming at you to stop and walk away - this is what got you into trouble in the first place. “I’ve already kissed two of you, why not get a hat trick.” You whisper, Quinn letting out a breath of laughter as he leans a little closer. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off.” His voice is steady, but you can see the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the hesitance he’s trying to hide.

But stopping is the last thing you want.

Instead of answering, you close the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters. Quinn responds immediately, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. The world around you fades away, and all you can focus on is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand anchors you to him like he’s afraid to let go. When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, Quinn rests his forehead against yours, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Luke is still the best kisser.” You tease, Quinn’s smile dropping as he shoves you off the couch, a big pout on his face as you let out a bark of laughter, wishing you could take a photo of the oldest Hughes. 

“Well that was barely a real kiss, just you wait.” Quinn says, his words holding a promise that sends a tingle down your spine. 

+

+

The next morning, you wake to the sound of Quinn knocking softly on your door. His voice is muffled through the wood, but you can hear the teasing edge in his tone. “If you’re not up in ten minutes, I’m leaving without you.” You groan, dragging yourself out of bed and cracking the door open. 

“What are you talking about?”

Quinn leans against the frame, an infuriating smirk on his face. “We’re going to the beach. Pack a bag—towels, sunscreen, whatever you need. I’ve got the rest.”

“You planned this without asking me?” you tease, though the thought of a beach day makes your heart lift.

“Spontaneity is good for you. Come on, move it!” he urges, tapping the doorframe before heading back down the hall. It doesn’t take you long to pack, and before you know it, the two of you are in his car, the lake house disappearing behind you as Quinn navigates the winding roads toward the coast. The windows are rolled down, and the salty breeze filters through as the scenery shifts from lush greenery to sandy dunes.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he remarks, glancing at you as he changes lanes. “Second thoughts about spending the day with me?” You smirk, turning toward him. 

“Just mentally preparing for the endless teasing I’m sure to endure.”

“Oh, you know me too well,” he says, his grin widening. “But you’ll survive.” The drive takes about an hour, the two of you falling into easy conversation as the miles pass. Quinn insists on singing along—badly—to a playlist he made, and you can’t help but join in, laughing so hard at his exaggerated falsetto that you have to wipe tears from your eyes. When you finally arrive, the beach sprawls out before you, the sun glinting off the waves and the sand warm underfoot. The sight is breathtaking, and you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

“Not bad, Hughes,” you admit as you step out of the car, taking in the view.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” he says, grabbing a cooler from the trunk. “Now, help me carry this stuff before you get too impressed.”

The two of you find a spot near the water, setting up a colourful umbrella and spreading out towels. As you kick off your shoes and dig your toes into the sand, Quinn sets to work unpacking the cooler.

“You ready to relax?” he asks, pulling out a couple of drinks and handing one to you.

“Ready to win at whatever dumb competition you’re planning,” you counter, taking the bottle from him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you can beat me?”

“Absolutely,” you say, tossing your sunglasses onto your towel and sprinting toward the water. “Race you!” Quinn lets out a laugh and takes off after you, his long strides quickly closing the gap. Just as you’re about to dive into the surf, he catches you, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You squeal, pounding lightly on his back.

“Put me down, you oaf!”

“Not until you admit defeat,” he teases, spinning you around as he wades into the waves.

“Never!” you cry, laughing as the cool water splashes against your legs. Quinn wraps his arm tighter around your legs as he wades deeper in the water taking in one deep breath before letting the two of you fall backwards the water engulfing you both. Quinn surfaces first, flinging his wet hair off his forehead, his hands reaching for you in the water, helping you steady yourself against the moving sea. 

“You suck” you say, your voice lighter than you feel. Your hands clearing the water from your face as Quinn reaches forwards, gently pushing your wet strands away from your face, trying to tuck them neatly behind your ears. 

“Maybe,” he replies, stepping closer. “But you like me anyway.” You roll your eyes, pushing him away lightly, though the moment lingers, the air charged with something unspoken.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of laughter and sunshine. You challenge each other to frisbee and volleyball, Quinn smugly claiming victory each time, though his moves are anything but fair. When you finally collapse onto your towels, exhausted and content, the sky is streaked with hues of pink and orange.

“Worth the drive?” he asks, handing you another drink as the two of you watch the waves lap against the shore.

“Definitely,” you admit, leaning back on your elbows. “Even if you cheated at literally everything.”

“Cheated? I think you mean ‘strategically outplayed,’” he counters, smirking as he leans closer, his shoulder brushing against yours.

You glance at him, the teasing words on the tip of your tongue fading as you meet his gaze. The playful banter dissolves, replaced by a quiet intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“Quinn…” you start, but he shakes his head, his voice soft as he interrupts.

“Let me guess—you’re going to tell me Luke’s still the best at something?” His lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes search yours.

“No,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was going to say… thanks. For this.”

His expression softens, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime,” he murmurs, his hand lingering by your cheek. “We should head back, it’s getting dark.” He says as he clears his throat, making quick work of packing up your stuff, insisting he can carry everything as you trail behind him, the situation almost identical to your date with Jack. 

As you follow Quinn back to the car, a mix of emotions swirls inside you. The day had been perfect—a much-needed escape from the tension back at the lake house. But now, with the sun setting and the beach fading into the distance, you can’t help but feel the weight of the situation creeping back in.

Quinn loads the car in silence, his movements efficient but unhurried. When he finally settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, he glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” He doesn’t push, but you can feel his curiosity. The drive back is quieter, the earlier laughter replaced by a comfortable, contemplative silence. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic passing of streetlights become a soothing backdrop as you lean your head against the window, the cool glass grounding you.

When you finally reach the lake house, the porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the front steps. Quinn parks the car and gets out, coming around to open your door before you can move. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?” you tease, though your voice is softer than usual.

“Not on my watch,” he replies, offering you a hand. You take it, the contact brief but electric.

Inside, the house is quiet, the absence of Luke and Jack palpable. Quinn sets the cooler down in the kitchen and stretches, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned skin. You look away quickly, your cheeks heating.

“You hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just tired.”

Quinn nods, leaning against the counter. “It’s been a long day.” He hesitates, his gaze flicking to you before he continues. “You know… if you ever need to talk about—well, anything—I’m here.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you offer a small smile. “Thanks, Quinn. That means a lot.” You wipe your hands on your shorts your bikini still wet underneath your clothes. “I might go shower, maybe we can watch another movie?” You ask softly, Quinn nodding quickly as he insists on making your a sandwich cause what kind of date would he be if he didn’t feed you. 

As you climb the stairs to your room, you can feel his eyes on you, a warmth in his gaze that lingers long after you’ve closed the door behind you. Slipping out of your swimmers and under the scalding water, you replay the day in your mind—the teasing, the laughter, the quiet moments that spoke louder than words. Quinn Hughes was proving to be more than just the easygoing, confident guy you thought you knew. 

And that realisation is as thrilling as it is terrifying. All three of them had proven to be so different from what you always thought you knew. You’d known them since you were kids and yet they each had shown you a completely different side of them over the past few weeks. 

As you slip into your pyjamas and brush your drying hair, you let out a long huff, you straighten out your sleep shorts, and tug on your extremely oversized New Jersey Devils training shirt you had stolen earlier in the summer from Jack, before creeping back downstairs, the wafting smells of a grilled cheese floating from the kitchen. You pause by the entryway as you watch Quinn move around the kitchen, his shoulders dropped forwards as he mumbles to himself under his breath clearly frustrated with something. 

“Quinn?” You question softly as you take a small step further into the kitchen, his head flicking towards you, his eyes immediately dropping to the t-shirt your wearing and your exposed legs before flicking back up to your face with a frown. 

You step closer, your heart pounding as Quinn runs a hand through his hair, his body tense in a way that you've never seen before. The faint sound of the grill sizzling in the background seems to fade into the quiet air around you, as though the whole world has slowed to a crawl. You catch his gaze, and there’s something raw in it—something that makes your breath catch.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice quieter than usual, as if any louder tone might break the fragile moment that feels suspended between you two. “You don’t look fine.” Quinn glances at you, eyes dark with something unreadable, before dropping his gaze to the floor, shifting uncomfortably. He doesn’t immediately answer, and you step even closer, this time reaching out to touch his arm. It’s almost electric, the heat from his skin seeping into your fingertips.

“I’m just... not sure about some things,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of the words is too much for him to bear. “Things with you... this summer... us.” You swallow, trying to steady the rapid beat of your heart. This isn’t just a conversation about friendship anymore, and you both know it. You lean in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body but not quite close enough to make the leap into whatever’s building between you.

“What do you mean?” you ask softly, the words barely above a whisper. Your hand slides from his arm to the side of his body, where it lingers, testing the waters. Quinn’s breath hitches. He seems to hesitate, eyes flicking from your face to the floor, then back again, like he’s fighting an internal battle. 

“I’ve always cared about you,” he says finally, his voice a low rasp that sends shivers down your spine. “But lately, it’s different. I don’t know... I don’t know what it is, but every time you’re near me, I—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if he’s trying to hold back. But it’s too late. The tension between you two is palpable, thick like the heat of the kitchen. You can feel it humming in the space between you, making everything else feel irrelevant. “And Luke and Jack—” He pauses again. 

“You don’t have to explain,” you murmur, moving even closer, your body now mere inches from his. Your voice is soft, but your words are firm, giving him the space to breathe without the pressure of clarifying himself. “I feel it too. But it’s hard, isn’t it? This... whatever this is.” He looks at you then, his gaze searching, raw with something deeper than just desire. 

“Yeah. It is,” he admits, his voice rough, husky. His hand twitches as though it wants to reach for you but holds back, like he's unsure whether he has permission to cross that line. “They’re my brothers, I’m supposed to take care of them, put them first but this time—” 

You take another step forward, your chest brushing against his ever so slightly, feeling the heat radiating off him, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. Your breath catches, and the air around you both seems charged, heavy with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings.

“Quinn...” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, but the weight of his name on your lips feels like an invitation.

“This time I don’t want to put them first.” He resolves. His eyes darken in response, a flicker of something dangerous and thrilling flashing across his face before his hand finally, finally, reaches up to cradle your cheek. His touch is soft but firm, the warmth of his palm grounding you as his thumb gently strokes over your skin. The tension between you two is almost unbearable now. Every inch of your body screams for the contact you’ve both been avoiding all day.

He leans in slowly, his breath mingling with yours, and the world seems to disappear in that instant. Your heart hammers in your chest as you lift your hand, brushing lightly across his chest, feeling the hard line of his muscles beneath his shirt. His lips are just a breath away, and for a moment, neither of you moves. It’s as if the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for one of you to give in.

“Are you sure about this?” Quinn’s voice is thick with want, but there’s still hesitation in it, like he’s asking for your permission, even though his whole body is screaming the opposite.

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his shirt as your other hand slides up to rest on his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m sure,” you whisper, the words barely audible but full of certainty.

And then, it happens.

His lips find into yours with a fierce urgency, his hands immediately cupping your face as if to make sure you’re real, that this isn’t just some fantasy. The kiss is hungry, full of pent-up desire, a perfect storm of longing and need. You kiss him back with equal intensity, the heat between you growing exponentially as your lips move together, desperate and demanding.

His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and without a second thought, you open to him, letting him deepen the kiss. He groans softly against your mouth, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the restraint slipping away as he presses you against him, your chest now flush with his. 

This kiss, the one that Quinn has promised you yesterday when you teased him… was so worth the wait. 

Your hands roam, pulling him closer, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his shoulders as you move your lips from his mouth to his jaw, to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He hisses in response, one hand moving down your back to fist in your shirt pulling you even tighter against him, as he gives you a boost to sit on top of the counter, his lips finding yours again as he pulls your pelvis against his, his hands firm on your hips as he pushes the two of your together tightly. 

“This is crossing a line.” Quinn hisses as he detaches his mouth from yours, resting his forehead against your own as he lets out shuddered breaths. His hands slipping under your shirt as he glances down at it, a soft growl leaving his throat. “This stupid fucking shirt, you should be wearing mine not his.” Your mouth drops open in surprise at the possessive tone in Quinns words, the older brother usually much more in control. 

Quinn takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, your head falling back to give him better access as you let out a soft breath, your hands tangling in his soft curls, his hips rolling against yours as he sucks harshly on your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful, but you’d look so much better if there was no doubt about who you belong with.” Quinn whispers against your skin, moving his lips lower before beginning to suck again. 

Your hips roll against his as he sucks a particularly sweet spot, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on the skin of your abdomen  - the two of you jolting at the sound a suitcase hitting the floor. Quinn pulls away from you, the two of you shooting a glance over at the stunned hockey player standing in the entrance to the kitchen, a frown growing on his face as he takes the two of you in. 

“Honey, we’re home— oh shit.” Luke’s voice carries through the silence, being the second body to make an appearance, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he takes in the sight, his smile turning in a smirk as he cocks his head to the side. “I know I said have fun but this seems like a little more then I was anticipating.” Luke lets out a soft laugh, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder who just shakes it off, his glare moving from his older brother to you. 

“Fun?” Jack lets out a humourless laugh, his eyes dark as they lock with yours. “If you call whoring yourself out fun then she’s great at that.” You can’t help the way your body flinches at his words, Quinn letting out a scoff as he helps you slide off the counter, fixing your shirt before tucking you behind him, facing Jack with a frown. 

“You wouldn’t be acting like this if she was doing it with you.” Quinn spits back, his arms crossing against his chest as he blocks Jacks sight of you, your hands gently gripping the hem of his shirt. 

“She’s not better than a puck bunny at this point - look at her, she’s got fucking hickeys and she’s using this stupid bet to the best of her advantage.” Jack spits back, Luke elbowing his older brother in the side, telling him to ‘shut up’ as subtly as he can manage. 

He’s not wrong. 

Not entirely anyway. 

“No look at them Luke, are you really okay with the fact that the girl you’ve been head of heels for is dry humping our brother.” Jack continues, your grip getting tighter against Quinn’s shirt as Jack’s words sink in. “This bet has become a way for her to act no better then a common slut.” Jack’s words are the final nail in the coffin as you let out a small whimper, your hands knotted in Quinn’s shirt the only thing stopping him from taking a step towards his younger brother. 

“What the fuck man.” Luke says first, stepping away from Jack as he looks down at him in disgust. “Why would you say something like that, she’s our friend.” Luke continues, shaking his head in disbelief as he makes his way over to you, his eyes meeting Quinn’s for a fraction of a second as he scoops you up in his arms at the same time as Quinn rips his shirt from your grip, stalking towards his brother. 

“Don’t listen to him, he’s being an idiot.” Luke whispers against your hair as Quinn’s words cut through the room.

“You’re just mad that this whole bet was your idea to try and get close with her and it hasn’t gone how you planned it to.” Quinn starts, Jack standing his ground as his older brother shoves harshly at his chest, “News flash Jack, not everything revolves around you, not everyone falls at your feet just because you want them to.” Quinn takes in a long breath, “She is a grown adult and can do whatever the fuck she wants and whoever the fuck she wants, so don’t get mad at her just because you can’t handle that you have feelings for her and she might not have the same feelings for you.” You’re almost choking on the anger radiating from the two brothers, Luke keeping your head buried in your chest as he strokes your hair. 

“I wish we never did this stupid bet.” You whisper against his shirt as you pull yourself out of his arms. 

“I… I don’t want to listen to this,” you mutter under your breath, your voice shaky, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. Your hands tremble as you try to push away from Luke again, the reality of the situation crashing down on you in waves. Every part of you wants to lash out, to make Jack understand how much his words hurt, but all you can manage is to turn away from the chaos, retreating into yourself. Luke’s protective instinct kicks in immediately. Without a word, he steps forward, his expression fierce, eyes narrowing as he places a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you in front of him as he guides you towards the staircase.

“Enough,” Luke snaps, his voice low and threatening, but the kind of warning that makes even Jack hesitate. “You don’t get to drag her into this. Not like this.” His gaze flickers over to you, his eyes softening with concern. “Keep walking, let them sort their shit out,” he says, his voice soft but firm, reaching out for your hand. You meet his gaze, your eyes searching his face for a moment, before nodding weakly. The hurt still lingers in your chest, but Luke’s presence is like a shield, blocking out the venom of his brothers’ words to you and to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Luke adds quietly as he leads you up the stairs. “I should’ve never let it get this far.” His grip on your hand tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him if he lets go. You follow him, your feet dragging as the anger and frustration churn in your stomach. You want to say something, want to confront Jack for what he said, but the words seem to die on your tongue, swallowed up by the sadness in your heart.

Luke doesn’t stop until you’re safely inside your bedroom, the door shutting softly behind you. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “Just... breathe, okay? You’re okay. You’re not what he said, and I’m sorry for all of this.”

“I didn’t... deserve that,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. Your hands move to cover your face, but Luke gently takes them in his own, guiding them back to your sides.

“You’re right. You didn’t,” he says, his tone firm but caring. “Jack’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But we’ll fix this, alright? I promise you.” You nod slowly, the tears finally escaping, sliding down your cheeks as Luke wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat, is the only thing grounding you as the weight of everything finally catches up to you.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “This is a mess but we can fix it.” Luke keeps his arms around you as he walks towards your bed, only letting you go to let you slip under the covers, his hands making quick work of stripping off his shirt and kicking his shoes off before sliding onto the bed besides you, pulling you back into his arms as he lets out a long breath. 

“Jack was right with some things.” Luke whispers, his warm breath fanning against the top of your head as he rests his chin there. “I am head over heels for you, and I think a part of me always has been, but I know my brothers feel something for you too and I’m not mad at you for exploring what you might feel for them.” Lukes words sink your heart into your stomach, your mouth dry as you think of what to say. 

“I just hope that maybe whatever is between us is a little bit stronger, and I know that makes me selfish but a man can dream.” He lets out a bitter laugh as his hands stroke against your back. 

“Luke…” you start, your voice getting caught in your throat as you feel him shake his head. 

“I just needed to put that out there - I don’t expect anything but you deserve to know.” Luke cuts you off, his head moving slightly as he drops a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just sleep, we can deal with everything tomorrow.” Luke’s heart thunders in his chest, his hands steady on your back, his breath steadying out before yours does. 

“I think I need to leave.” You whisper into the dark room, only brave enough to say the words once you’re certain Luke has fallen asleep.