#so here's the first half of what is now a quick two-shot!

[waywardxrhea]

Sólo mírame - Joaquín Torres

pairing: Joaquín Torres x fem!reader

you're an anxious flier and Joaquín comforts you

word count: 1,556

content: anxiety, thoughts of plane crashes, angst, fluff, Joaquín being a total sweetheart

a/n: this is super self-indulgent because i just took a plane trip and hated it, so out of it came my first Joaquín one shot! i just know that he would be comforting about this kind of stuff even though he's so used to it. this is also super unedited because i am and have been an anxious mess the last two weeks and just needed some comfort. enjoy :)

You had never been a good flier. The trips that you had taken across the country had been few and far between, but you remembered hating every single one of them. Hell, the last time you had flown was to Joaquín's Air Force Academy graduation ceremony!

Joaquín was the exact opposite. Clearly. He had joined the Air Force right out of high school and was just given the mantle of Falcon! The thrill he got when up in the air lit up his face, and it was hard not to share his excitement when he told you tales of dogfights and stealth missions alike.

If only that excitement could rub off on you as the two of you traversed through Miami International.

You listened with half an ear as Joaquín went on about what he could tell you about his new job. You wanted to listen, truly, you did, but the recent news of plane crashes took over your thoughts. As Joaquín animatedly talked about how excited he was to train with Sam, you pictured the wreckage of a plane in the middle of a field. As he talked about the rental place the two of you would be staying in until you could find a house, all you could think of was a flock of birds running right into the plane's engines. As he gently nudged you toward the TSA agent to show her your ID, all you could feel was nausea beginning to take over and you gagged a little as you took the step forward to show the woman your ID.

"You look a little pale, cariño. You need anything?" Joaquín asked as he steadied you from nearly falling over after bending down to put your shoes back on.

"I dunno…" you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak any louder than that at the moment.

"Hey, let's get to the gate real quick and we can figure it out from there," he said, kissing your temple gently before hooking your arm in his.

Your movement was almost zombie-like as he guided you through the airport, navigating through crowds of travelers excitedly getting ready for vacations or just coming home from long trips. Joaquín had already sat down his carry on containing his new suit before you even realized that you had made it to the gate. He sat down in one of the chairs and gently tugged on your hand, prompting you to shake yourself out of your stupor and sit down beside him.

Another kiss was placed on your temple as he put his arm around you and pulled you close, asking, "Nervous?" His tone was sincere and laced with concern as he asked it. His mom had warned him about what happened last time you flew, and he had anticipated some anxiety, but this was so unlike your usual self that he was concerned.

"Scared, more like…" you admitted, your voice muffled by his t-shirt.

"How about we try to get your mind off of it?" he asked, his hand running up and down your arm to soothe you. "Wanna catch up on one of your shows or get something to snack and drink on? Or both?"

"Food," you replied softly with a nod. "And now that we know the gate actually exists…"

Joaquín let out a hearty laugh at the comment, but nodded afterward and said, "Exactly. Now we know that. The flight is on time. There's a food court not too far from here. Let's go, mi amor."

"Thank you," you told him, snuggling closer to his chest for another minute and using the scent of his cologne to ground and calm yourself. It was something you had always done since he joined the Air Force. He would leave you with a few shirts of his while he was gone, and you would keep them close when you were really missing him. He hadn't changed his cologne much since you met him in high school, so even though there had been lots of changes over the years, that at least had been one of the constants.

The time to board the plane came quickly, between standing in line for your snacks and then stopping by a gift shop for some motion sickness pills. When the two of you got back to the gate, the woman was calling, "Now boarding Flight 2973 to DC! Priority boarding first! That is anyone who needs wheelchair assistance, those with young children, and active duty military! If that is you, please come my way with your boarding pass!"

"That's us!" Joaquín said, lacing his fingers in yours as the two of you rolled your carry-ons toward the desk.

Your heart rate picked up as you made your way toward the plane through the jetway, your grip tightening on Joaquín's hand the closer the two of you got. As you got closer, you began to hear music being played by the flight attendants. By some crazy stroke of luck, it was one of your favorite songs to get rid of anxiety. So, a small smile made its way onto your lips and you greeted the flight attendants as you passed them.

The plane had first come first serve seating, and while you were grateful that you didn't have to deal with that since you boarded first, unfortunately you had more time for your anxiety to build up once more. You hadn't even realized that you were zoned out and anxiously bouncing your leg until Joaquín's warm hand was on your thigh, putting gentle pressure on it to slow the movement to a stop. "Hey, te amo," he told you quietly, lacing his fingers in yours once more as he nodded his head toward the flight attendant who was starting the safety demonstration.

"I love you too," you whispered, voice breaking as you did.

The safety demonstration flew by in a blur, and before you knew it, the plane was speeding down the runway. Across the aisle from you, you saw someone crossing themselves a few times, and instead of it bringing you any sort of comfort, it only made the roaring in your ears worse as you tried to hold back your tears. As the plane lifted off, you quickly hooked your arm in Joaquín's and laced your fingers together, leaning your head back as you tried to control your breathing.

"Good morning everyone! Today we are expecting around a two and a half hour flight to Washington DC with some minor turbulence here and there," the flight attendant said, causing your eyes to snap open in concern as your heart rate spiked again. "The weather in DC is looking beautiful, and much cooler than it is here! So sit back, relax, and I will keep you updated on anything I need to."

Right as they said this, the plane felt like it dropped a significant amount and your eyes were snapping shut again as tears began building up. The turbulence didn't get any better over the next minute, and a sense of dread began creeping up your spine as the plane continued to violently shake.

You startled out of your panicked state when you felt Joaquín's gentle touch on your face, brushing away the tears from your cheeks as he whispered, "Hey, it's okay. This is totally normal." When your eyes opened, the drifted toward the open window and the landscape below getting smaller by the second. A dizzying feeling took over when you saw that, and Joaquín noticed the bob in your head and the heavy blink you did to try and combat the feeling, quickly turning and shutting the window before mumbling, "Sólo mírame, cariño."

You were finally able to drag your eyes away from the window shade a few seconds later, locking eyes with Joaquín's warm ones, a smile greeting you instantly as you did. His smile and concerned look were like balm on a blistering day, soothing beyond measure. You took a deep breath and leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck as the plane rode out the turbulence for just a few seconds more.

"I dunno how you do this…" you managed to get out when things finally seemed to calm down and the plane was flying smoothly.

"Because I know that when it's done, I get to see you," he said, the smile evident in his voice.

You jokingly scoffed, teasing him, "Right, and it's not because you're a total adrenaline junkie who likes to show off."

"Ahh, that's a pretty close second," he said, a quiet chuckle reverberating through his chest. A smile made its way onto his lips as your teasing humor returned, and he mumbled, "There's my girl," as he kissed the crown of your head.

The end of the flight was filled with the same anxiety as takeoff, but thankfully, the plane landed safely and the two of you were walking hand in hand through the airport once more. As you saw the driver holding up a sign to take you to your rental house, Joaquín squeezed your hand and said, "Ready Mrs. Torres?"

You knew that your life was changing once more, but as long as Joaquín was by your side, you could take on anything, so you squeezed his hand back and nodded, telling him, "Ready."

[matts-girlfriend]

It’s You I Welcome Death With- Chris Sturniolo

TattooArtist!Chris and MakeupArtist!Reader

chapter 5

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

warning this series will contain, substance abuse, angst, arguing,tension,swearing, mentions of absent family, blood, abuse (not from chris). smut, oral, this is a warning for all chapters

The text came in while Y/N was elbow-deep in books and essays.

Nick S:

hey need a favor if you’re not booked—photoshoot thing for the shop, you in?

She didn’t hesitate.

Y/N:

i’m in. send details.

⸻

It was kind of weird how easily she clicked with Nick. He was the least chaotic of the brothers—organized, sharp-tongued, stylish in a way that made her trust his skincare routine more than most dermatologists. His tattoos were minimal, well-placed. And most importantly: he gave zero fucks about flirting with her.

God bless gay men.

The shoot wasn’t anything major, just some new promo shots for the tattoo studio’s Instagram. She was blending foundation into some guy’s jawline when Nick perched on a stool beside her, sipping an iced coffee with three shots of espresso and at least two existential crises.

“You’re good at this,” he said, watching her work.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

He smirked. “Not surprised. Just impressed. That’s different.”

Y/N raised a brow but didn’t argue. The compliment felt genuine—like everything else about Nick.

When the last flash of the camera went off and everyone started packing up, Nick nudged her gently with his elbow.

“Hey. We’re throwing a party Saturday night. Kind of a big thing—grand opening slash shop launch slash excuse to get drunk and show off our new house.”

She wiped her hands on a towel. “You inviting me as the artist or the entertainment?”

“As the hot girl who made our models not look like sleep-deprived zombies,” he deadpanned. “Come on. It’ll be chill. Just a bunch of gays, tattoo guys, and questionable influencers. You’ll fit in.”

Y/N hesitated. Crowds weren’t her thing lately. Neither was pretending everything in her life wasn’t on fire.

But Nick looked so hopeful. And truthfully, she hadn’t been invited to anything in a while that didn’t involve cleaning up someone else’s mess.

She sighed. “Fine. But if someone plays Taylor Swift unironically, I’m leaving.”

⸻

Later that night, she sat cross-legged on her bed, tossing M&M’s into her mouth while Ava scrolled TikTok beside her.

“There’s a party,” Y/N said casually.

“Are you going?” Ava asked, not looking up.

“I think so.”

A pause. Then:

“Who’s throwing it?”

Y/N didn’t answer fast enough.

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Who’s throwing it?”

She sighed. “Nick. Chris’s brother.”

Ava dropped her phone. “CHRIS’S brother? Tattoo boy Chris? 2AM-blunt-sharing, sad-eyes, fine-as-fuck Chris?”

Y/N groaned. “Stop talking.”

“Oh my god.” Ava was fully sitting up now. “You’re going to his house. That’s basically Wattpad endgame.”

“I’m not even sure if he’ll be there.”

“But if he is, what are you gonna wear? Should I do your eyeliner? Do you want slutty or mysterious?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Ava sing-songed, already grabbing her makeup bag.

⸻

She got to the party late.

The backyard was lit up with string lights and half-empty bottles. Music thumped from inside the house, not quite loud enough to be obnoxious. People were scattered in small groups, drinks in hand, laughter echoing off the walls.

Nick spotted her first, weaving through a crowd of guys who looked like they could hear colors and girls who looked like they were on the verge of throwing up.

“You made it!” he grinned, pulling her into a quick side-hug. “You look hot. I’m telling everyone you’re here to scout models.”

She snorted. “Please don’t.”

Matt appeared behind him, a drink in each hand. “You’re the makeup girl, right?”

“Y/N,” she said.

Matt gave her a once-over that wasn’t flirty—more curious than anything. “Cool. Heard about you.”

“Hopefully good things.”

Matt just smiled like he knew something she didn’t.

Chris was nowhere to be seen, and honestly? That was fine. She made polite conversation, complimented someone’s earrings, pretended not to notice three different girls making out on the porch swing. It was all good.

Until she stepped onto the upstairs balcony and saw him.

Backlit by moonlight, blunt tucked between his lips.

Black hoodie. Rings catching the light.

No girl beside him.

Of course.

Chris turned just enough to catch her watching.

“You always stare like that?” he asked, voice low.

“Only at people who look like they’re about to drop the biggest breakup song of the year.”

He grinned, holding out the blunt. “Come judge me closer.”

She walked over. Took it. Smoked in silence for a second before speaking.

“You really always smoke at parties?”

Chris shrugged. “Better than being outside. Less noise.”

“Mm.”

Another hit.

Then he asked, “Why are you like that with guys?”

“Like what?”

He gave her a look. “Mean. Distant. Untouchable.”

She didn’t answer right away. She usually wouldn't've but the weed in her system made it all the more easy to open up.

“I haven’t trusted a guy since I was thirteen and got left to raise my little sister alone.”

Chris didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

But something behind his eyes changed.

He said nothing. Just passed her the blunt again.

She took it slowly, then asked, “What about you? Why all the girls?”

Chris leaned back on the railing. “Sex is just sex. It’s easy. No one expects anything. No one gets close. But kissing? Kissing’s different.”

Y/N arched a brow. “You don’t kiss?”

“Not unless I mean it.”

She laughed, breathless. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You think?”

“I think the opposite makes more sense,” she said. “I kiss all the time. But I never let anyone get further. Kissing’s just kissing. Intimacy’s letting someone in. Sex is the closest you can be with someone.”

They stared at each other then. Long and quiet. Something buzzing in the space between them.

Chris tilted his head, His tongue swiping by his cheek before he spoke. “So what you’re saying is… you wouldn’t fuck me.”

“Nope.”

“But you’d let me kiss you?”

“Depends where.”

He smirked. Stepped closer.

And instead of going for her lips, he dipped his head to the curve of her neck, warm breath ghosting her skin before his lips pressed right against her pulse.

Soft. Lingering. Petty as hell.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to.

But then—her phone rang.

Ava.

Her stomach dropped.

She stepped away fast, swiping to answer. “Ava?”

All she heard was sobbing.

“Ava. Talk to me. What happened?”

“Y/N,” her sister cried. “I’m sorry—I—I went to get food and he woke up and he was so mad—he threw a bottle—”

Y/N was already running.

⸻

She didn’t even remember getting in the car.

Just the red light blur of the streets.

Just the fear.

When she threw open the front door, her stepdad was half-passed out on the couch, a new bottle of beer in his hand.

On the floor—glass.

A shard streaked in blood.

Y/N bolted up the stairs two at a time.

Ava was in her bed, crying, her hoodie stained at the shoulder where blood had soaked through. Y/N pulled the fabric back and saw it—a gash just above her temple, still bleeding.

“Shit, baby. Come here,” she whispered, grabbing the first aid kit. “It’s okay. I got you.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Ava sobbed. “I just—I dropped a plate and he freaked—”

Y/N held her tighter. Pressed a clean towel to the wound and kept her voice steady even though she wanted to scream.

“I’m gonna fix this, okay?” she whispered. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

She kissed her sister’s forehead and bandaged the cut, tucking them both under the blanket like she could shield her from the whole damn world.

And once Ava was asleep, Y/N stared at the ceiling with tears in her eyes and just one thought looping in her head:

We need to get out. Now.

a/n: seriously debating on writting the stepdad falling into a ditch.

taglist: @courta13 @m4gz-png @lezleeferguson-120

@h3arts4nat @izzylovesmatt @sturnioliolo @hsemeria @sturniqloo

@venusbabysblog @chrisslut04 @crazy4weeed @chriscokewhore @chrisswaffles @urfavvvnyasee @sturnzluv @freshluvr @mattthemunchh @poolover123 @pleasantdelusionbear @carpentersturns @emosexyvirgin @emillionaireee @shamelessmilkshakefest @xoxochrissgf @sturniolodollx @joyfulheartwhispers @cutseylady @oopsiedaisydeer @steph1106

@laylaluvsu2000 @lvrsturniolo @chloe444 @yamommmasman @55sturn @whenlovesaround @luvs-booksss @vampyyluv @moth-feeet @cass-sturn

(dividers by @bernardsbendystraws)

[therentyoupay]

#24 JUST SAY IT JELLSAAAAAA ARTGHHHAHAHNSNNEMWMEMWJAJHAJAHAHHAHA

On July 1st, the lonely house at the top of the mountain was finally sold.

— In which Jack(son) Overland tries his best to befriend his neighbor, one woodworking project at a time. { neighbors-to-lovers!fic, modern-mountain-living!au }

Prompt from @aicosu: Three-word sentences: "Just say it."

ao3 ❆

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in. 

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed.  The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on. 

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you��your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had. 

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence. 

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too? 

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you. 

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

[sunderwight]

AU where there's no system (or a decidedly less restrictive one) and Shen Yuan transmigrates into an OC rogue cultivator before the start of the novel, and decides he's gonna steal the protagonist before Luo Binghe even gets to Cang Qiong.

The logic is sound -- he'll keep Luo Binghe from experiencing neglect and abuse at Shen Qingqiu's hands, raise him away from the pressure of the sects and the likelihood that anyone else might find out about his heritage and try to harm him over it, keep him fully away from the Immortal Alliance Conference, and then Luo Binghe's course will change trajectory because he'll have no reason to want revenge against the world and no access to Xin Mo. Shen Yuan will be able to spare Luo Binghe some suffering and possibly survive in a world less subject to the harrowing whims of a half-mad tyrannical overlord. Win-win!

However, the tricky bit is that he's not sure exactly how far ahead of the novel he is, and also Airplane didn't specify where Luo Binghe grew up. This means that Luo Binghe could be any age younger than twelve and in any number of places along or near to the Luo river.

Shen Yuan decides he's going to approach this by pretending he is looking for the long-lost son of his sister, traveling through the likeliest areas, asking after abandoned children who might fit the protagonist's description. It's a long shot, he knows, and he's mostly relying on the existence of Narrative Destiny. But eventually he is directed by several people towards a particular city, which is not as close to the river as he'd have expected Luo Binghe to grow up, but then again he only knows that was where baby Binghe was found, not where the washerwoman who took him in ultimately lived.

It becomes clear to him, though, that he's been sent to the wrong target. But also why he's been sent astray is apparent in nearly the same breath, because among the slave children living in this area is a little boy who could be his much younger clone.

Seriously, this kid looks just like him! Or, well, close enough. He looks a lot like Shen Yuan's actual nieces and nephews from his past life. It's uncanny.

Also, because of his search, the slave kids get wind of what he's looking for (his long-lost nephew) pretty quick. The boy with the obvious resemblance to him greets Shen Yuan's own assessment with wary cynicism, but he's just a little boy. So it's not difficult to notice the way he's also practically vibrating with hopefulness, half-hiding behind a protective older kid and looking at Shen Yuan with big dark eyes like he expects to be rescued or destroyed with whatever he has to say next.

Shen Yuan has a big problem now. He just knows that if he says something like "actually no this boy is too old to be my nephew" or whatever other excuse, no one will believe him, and also this poor kid is going to be permanently scarred by it. He's going to think Shen Yuan is lying just so that he can reject him. On top of that, he's not in a good situation here. None of these children are even remotely well cared-for.

Shen Yuan's rogue cultivator self isn't rich on the level of being like a wealthy sect leader or anything, but he's made some money since transmigrating by doing random cultivator jobs and quests along the way here. He uses it all to purchase two little slave boys (Do Not Separate), then takes another job and uses that coin to acquire a somewhat rundown manor which used to belong to the local gentry. The Qiu family (rings some bells but that's not exactly an uncommon name) kept it up for a while in case a branch family sprung up in need of a residence, but they've been in decline and the place is downright decrepit, so they had been looking to sell it instead. It's too big for a wandering bachelor like SY to ever need on his own account, but that's sort of the idea. He makes more money taking on cultivator work, at first taking his boys along with him for lack of any alternative. Nerve-wrackingly dangerous! Eventually he hires workers to start restoring the manor, particularly setting up a yard to be a school area, and then starts taking on any freelance jobs he can get in order to steadily buy out the contracts on all the other kids. He gets it nice enough to house and care for as many orphans as he can acquire.

Not because he's a big old softie though!

His story of looking for his nephew is a bust now, since he's apparently "found" the kid. So he's got to change tactics! If he can't find baby Binghe and the washerwoman, the next best approach is to create an opportunity for them to come to him. So once he's got his new household established, he starts offering free lessons to all the local kids. Not just the ones he's taken in, but also any who come by and want to learn some things. It's a tempting setup for anyone who wants their child to get education but can't afford a tutor, and Luo Binghe's mother had been entirely the sort of person who would have packed up and left her situation if there had been an opportunity for it.

On that note, SY also starts hiring single mothers to help look after his new gaggle of children and do the work he doesn't know how to do in these times, like keeping house, laundry, cooking, actually raising kids, etc.

His "little school" is not universally popular. A few groups try and ruin him, because the poverty in the region provides a basis of business for them. The ringleaders of the human traffickers in the area don't want their trade to dry up, even if it means selling all of their merchandise for this round, so when they find out that their underlings let Shen Yuan buy off all the kids they try and intimidate him into returning them (it doesn't go well for them). The Qiu family also isn't thrilled after it becomes clear what he's doing, and get him investigated by the local authorities (read: use their bribed officials and local goons to try and interfere.)

When that doesn't work either the sects get involved, because the Qiu go crying to Huan Hua Palace that Shen Yuan is sketchy and is trying to establish his own sect. So Shen Yuan talks his way around the matter, and frankly the Qiu are small fish even if they're the biggest ones in the local pond, so HHP doesn't care to pursue things much further. (Read: SY could mop the floor with the disciples they sent to investigate him, and it's not worth it to piss off someone this mysterious and powerful just to bully some impoverished children.)

Shen Yuan is appalled by all this bullshit though. Trust the world of PIDW to make it so hard just for a guy to teach some poor kids how to read and do math!

It makes him dig in his heels about it, because he is at heart a stubborn bastard. The fires that once fueled a thousand angry screeds on zhongdian literature site is now aimed at the local magistrate. One of the women he's hired on has some dirt on the Qiu family, which leads SY to dig up some more until he eventually has enough to turn the tables on them. Local officials won't investigate because they've all been bought, but that in and of itself is of some interest to their superiors closer to the palace, and so SY arranges an investigation of his own that goes way further than he thought? Turns out there are some ugly skeletons in the Qiu closets, and the imperial investigator comes down on them hard.

Well, he can't say they didn't have it coming? Though he does feel bad for the children in the family, especially the oldest son, who gets hauled off to jail along with his father. At least the girl is sent to live with relatives. Maybe he should have done more to shield the minors in the situation...?

His kids tell him not to worry about it, though, that apparently young master Qiu was known to run people down in the streets and beat his servants and do other cartoonishly awful things. SY's not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is his little flock of fluffy sheep trying to ease his conscience, though they do all seem to take a lot of vindictive delight in the whole affair. Especially Nephew, who clings to his sleeves and loudly declares that the investigator should have publicly flogged the discredited nobles so that everyone could go watch, and then begs him for sweets as if that wasn't a creepy thing to hear come out of an eight-year-old's mouth. SY just sighs and tells him he can have something good when he finishes his calligraphy practice.

Of course, it's not exactly easy running what is basically an orphanage-slash-school (and maybe a budding sect...?), especially when pretty much all of the kids have been traumatized and faced stuff like rampant dehumanization, food insecurity, abuse, and neglect. Hiring single mothers soon becomes not only a plan to try and lure in Luo Binghe's mom, but an absolute godsend of an idea because SY has no clue WHAT he would do on his own about the discipline issues or emotional breakdowns or acting out that some of the kids get up to once it registers that they're in a safe enough place to unpack their baggage.

Apart from Nephew, SY's favorite kid is the one who came with him, the oldest of the flock of former slave children. He's the big brother of the group, the one who tries his best to look after the others and to not make any trouble himself. But even poor Little Yue is still just a kid who has been through too much, and he also eventually starts having some meltdowns and struggles with processing everything that has happened to him as a vulnerable child in an unkind world.

SY really didn't mean to start a trauma center for mistreated children!

Though, that's still not necessarily a bad thing for Luo Binghe to one day come across, provided he ever actually shows up...

Eventually, Shen Yuan does figure out that he must be ahead even of Luo Binghe's birth, though he still doesn't put together that he's interfered in the scum villain's backstory. Probably something even more amusingly obscure, like the creation year of some random artifact Luo Binghe used in some wife plot or other, tips him off and he mentally throws his hands up in the air. He's got to wait DECADES? Maybe he ought to try and find Luo Binghe's biological parents and just follow them around at this point!

Not that he can, now, though, because he has to make sure no negative IQ villains (who will probably just be cannon fodder for a subplot one day) decide to send goons to literally burn down his orphanage. Also if he's gone for too long his kids get upset. Probably because no one else is as weak to their puppy dog eyes and pleas for treats and toys as he is.

At least it gives him time to shore up his position, and train Nephew and Little Yue more extensively in cultivation. Despite his initial assurances to HHP that he was but a humble orphan wrangler who was only incidentally a cultivator, Shen Yuan does also teach the other kids some basic cultivation exercises. There are a few reasons for that.

One is just the principle of the thing. No, these kids don't all have the potential to become great immortals or anything, but they can still learn some of it and it's good for their health if they do. The only trouble is if they try and push too hard or attempt things beyond their range, and that's a risk with everyone who cultivates. Or even just exercises!

Another reason is that it helps stave off the jealousy that some of the kids have towards those with more cultivation potential. Teaching a lot of the basics all around makes it into just another topic at school. Some kids might not be as good at it as others, but those kids might also be better at math, or memorization, or board games, and while cultivation can open more doors to people as adults, for the children this is generally enough to satisfy their sense of fairness. Or at least reduce outbursts and fights.

Finally, the impression that any of SY's kids might be a cultivator also makes wicked people more reluctant to try and abduct or interfere with them. Cultivators are revered and nearly mythological figures in the public consciousness. It isn't difficult to see why, if even a rogue cultivator NPC like SY* can mop the floor with most random muggers (*Shen Yuan is not a normal rogue cultivator). Not many people want to risk bringing SY's ire down on them, but of those who might chance it if he wasn't around to immediately react, even fewer want to risk that the kids themselves could kick their asses.

Not knowing that only two of the orphans probably could in fact mop the floor with them helps keep all the rest safer, and is more believable when all of them can conduct themselves enough like disciples to fool anyone who doesn't know what to really look for.

Developments that surprise Shen Yuan but wouldn't surprise anyone else who is paying attention:

People start leaving unwanted babies and younger children on his doorstep. Not all the time, but more than once has he had to frantically find wet nurses and worry that he's changed things enough that some fishermen might just randomly drop the protagonist outside his gate, and he wouldn't even know because Binghe would be a literal infant??

Nephew (SJ) and Little Yue (Yue Qi -- only Shen Yuan calls him "Little", especially when he gets taller than SY by the time he's sixteen) are prodigies who get really good at cultivation, really fast, and between that and Shen Yuan's OP skills they completely warp Shen Yuan's ideas for what normal cultivation potential looks like. This would probably cause more problems if he wasn't teaching all the kids how to cultivate anyway, but means his students actually do kinda run the usual range of skills for a small sect.

SJ and YQ swiftly reach the point where they need more advanced equipment than just SY's teaching can provide, if they're going to keep building their skills. Gaining access to certain tools, aids, and materials (like spiritual swords) is a real hurdle though, and usually is for rogue cultivators (one of the major disadvantages of no sect affiliation.) Shen Yuan is hesitant to use stuff from the plot, since it's For Binghe, but he eventually caves and starts going after some things that he doesn't think the future protagonist will miss much. He also ends up buying stuff from HHP, since they're willing to sell things like spiritual tools and weapons if the price is right, whereas most other sects like Cang Qiong reserve them for members only.

They get an invitation to the Immortal Alliance Conference. Not the one where the Abyss opens up, obviously, the one where (originally) Shen Jiu reunited with Yue Qi and killed Wu Yanzi. Shen Yuan debates on going but the boys really want to, and things have calmed down enough that no one's trying to burn down the school whenever he leaves these days, so eventually he figures it'll be interesting to see some of the Cang Qiong characters and should be safe enough if he keeps his disciples close.

They don't run into young Yue Qingyuan or Shen Qingqiu on the trip, but Wu Yanzi does show up and get killed, and SY only hears about it and assumes they just missed all that action. (WYZ just got caught by some senior cultivators who recognized him and killed him to avenge some disciples he murdered.) Nephew and Little Yue do meet young Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, and Su Xiyan though! Which gives Shen Yuan the opportunity to tell them all (mostly Su Xiyan) that if they're ever in trouble near his school, they can come to him for help. Hint hint.

This open invitation ends up being accepted broadly by a lot of traveling cultivators after the conference, who from then on treat Shen Yuan's school like a free motel whenever they're passing through. Plenty aren't even people SY met, but it seems his statement was taken as a general one to fellow righteous cultivators all around! Luckily, this has some advantages. Shen Yuan has no qualms running off anyone who tries to take unfair advantage of him or especially his kids or staff, and no shame in conscripting anyone who is decent enough to help teach his students, even if it's nothing to do with cultivating, and somehow word gets around and people start bringing school supplies, medicine, food, or other useful things along with them as gifts to help repay the hospitality. Young Liu Qingge comes by a lot on his way to and from various quests, or even seems to just turn up randomly sometimes (he comes to challenge YQ and SJ to fights), and SY's just like "I guess this is happening now" and teaches him to recognize the early signs of qi deviation and advises strongly against meditating in caves.

At one point a young Shang Qinghua turns up in one of the spare rooms, very obviously hiding an ice demon. Shen Yuan again is just like "I guess this is happening now" and shelters them until Mobei Jun has recovered, and sends a message to Cang Qiong that one of their An Ding caravans was attacked and their disciple is recovering under his roof but isn't well enough to travel yet. Much less stressful situation for Airplane (who is desperately trying to figure out what he did to manifest SJ's benevolent uncle from somewhere???)

Su Xiyan seems like the only person they met at the Immortal Alliance Conference who doesn't turn up at their door in a state of emergency at some point.

A few years later, there is a big scandal involving her and the demon emperor. Su Xiyan disappears, Huan Hua Palace accuses Tianlang Jun of plotting against the righteous sects, and Shen Yuan is even invited to the meeting where they try and rally everyone to go kill Binghe's dad. Naturally, he declines to participate in the witch hunt, but the major sects agree to it. By luck (or narrative fortune) Shen Yuan comes across Zhuzhi Lang on his trip back home, and mentions the ambush and his distaste for it (not knowing who ZZL is). ZZL warns Tianlang Jun and the confrontation goes very differently, especially since there's no Yue Qingyuan wielding Xuan Su.

It doesn't go well for the sects involved. Huan Hua Palace gets decimated. The Old Palace Master gets killed. Shen Yuan is like uhhhh that's... whoops? Didn't Luo Binghe need that in the future?? Fuck.

But the sect isn't wiped out completely, they just take a massive beating. Some of their younger disciples end up leaving and turning up on Shen Yuan's doorstep, for some reason. The manor house is becoming too small to account for all of these foundlings! They have to expand. Though the expansions would be a stretch to term a "palace" they end up occupying a much larger chunk of territory, and even investing in farmland and some storehouses to help support the sect. That's still not really a sect, of course. Even if a lot of the business that would have normally gone to Huan Hua Palace starts coming to them instead. Once HHP is back on its feet the stream will probably dry out. Probably?

Zhuzhi Lang starts hanging around. He's actually looking for Su Xiyan or their baby, dead or alive and per Tianlang Jun's instructions, but he uses Shen Yuan's school as base camp for his kind of hopeless efforts to find any traces of them, while also looking for ways to try and repay Shen Yuan. All the kids are just like "oh great, another weird man has fallen in love with Shizun -- someone go run interference" about it.

Some years later, an older woman and her young son turn up. Shen Yuan's off on a quest at the time, so SJ receives them. As is standard procedure he gives the woman a job and places the boy in classes, after giving him the aptitude tests. The kid is cute and precocious, so SJ uses him to distract YQ while he himself sneaks out to go join LQG on a monster hunt (and claim the valuable parts of the beast's remains for himself), and neither SY nor ZZL notice anything until SY's going over the paperwork for stuff he missed while he was gone. Since he procrastinated, it takes him like a week to find out that Luo Binghe is finally under his roof. He's going over the admission form right when SJ arrives with The New Adorable Child to try and distract SY enough that SY will let him go on a solo hunt -- as far as being distracted goes, it is way more effective than even SJ anticipated.

Then he has to figure out how to let ZZL know, so that ZZL can let Tianlang Jun know, so that Luo Binghe will have more family than just his mom and more resources than just a shabby little not-sect! But even once he figures it out and sets up the dramatic reveal, TLJ is just like "great! so can he just stay with you? he's probably fine there" which... irritates SY.

SJ fully conscripts Luo Binghe as a minion in his many cons. He never lost his street kid conman tactics, although he now uses them less as a ruthless survival tool or weapon and more to just get things to go his own way. LBH has the face and disposition of a little angel, which SJ no longer can pull off as a full grown adult, so he fills a gap. LBH also knows full well what's going, especially since a lot of SJ's tactics involve throwing LBH at SY like a smoke bomb.

Luo Binghe inevitably still develops a big fat crush on SY, so this is fine by him. Especially when he gets older, he starts bringing SY tea and making him breakfast and running his errands until even SJ is like "wait a minute, this little brat's stealing my job!" and by then it's too late. Luo Binghe is SY's personal assistant, the disciple at conman puppydog eyes has surpassed the master! While SJ was busy being like "I'm going to trick this idiot into doing my chores" LBH was going "I'm going to trick this idiot into giving me his job".

SY takes too long to officially name his school so everyone calls it the Shen Sect, much to his embarrassment.

[goldfades]

Please please please protective Joe over postpartum wifey 👏🏻

ofcc!! here it is, my love <3

There was a time when life felt like a perfectly thrown spiral — smooth, certain, easy to catch. Joe made everything look like that, honestly. Sundays on the field, Saturdays back home, even the lazy Tuesday nights when he’d crawl into bed still smelling faintly like grass and laundry detergent and something that just was him.

You built a whole life on those little certainties. A white house with black shutters. A golden retriever named Beau who never quite grew into his paws. And now, tucked into the curve of Joe’s arm, a baby girl with his sleepy blue eyes blinking up at the world like it was brand new and way too bright.

It was supposed to feel perfect — or at least that’s what all the books and well-meaning advice said. But nobody really warned you about this part. About how raw it would feel, the way your body and mind would shift like continents no one could map. About how tired your bones could get, or how sometimes you looked in the mirror and hardly recognized the girl staring back.

Joe saw it, though. He always did.

He moved through the house like a man on a mission lately, whisper-quiet but everywhere all at once — refilling your water bottle before you realized it was empty, pulling you in tighter at night like he could keep the world out with just his arms. He was careful with you in a way that wasn’t suffocating, but fierce, like he was guarding something sacred and breakable.

And maybe you were, in a way.

Joe was a patient man. He had to be — quarterback wasn’t a job for the impulsive, the hot-headed. It was a role built on timing, on seeing a flash of movement and trusting it, threading the ball through chaos with an almost stubborn kind of calm.

But nothing had ever tested his patience like today.

Because today, for the first time, the guys were coming over to meet her. His daughter.

You were curled up on the couch, fresh out of the shower with your hair damp and your skin soft and flushed. The baby was snuggled against your chest, making those small, content newborn sighs that Joe swore he could listen to for the rest of his life and never get tired.

And he was on edge. Not because he didn’t trust his teammates — they were his brothers, in every way that mattered. But because this — this little piece of the life you built together — wasn’t game film or post-win beers or locker room jokes.

This was you. This was her.

And Joe Burrow, the man who could stand in the pocket while a 300-pound linebacker bore down on him without flinching, suddenly found himself running scenarios in his mind like some half-crazed security guard.

He adjusted the throw blanket over your lap. Checked the thermostat again. Made sure the baby’s little hat was pulled low enough over her ears, even though you were sitting inside with the heater humming low. He hovered, adjusting pillows, bringing you your water bottle with a bendy straw tucked in so you wouldn’t have to move too much.

“You’re fussing,” you murmured, voice lazy and warm with affection.

Joe just shrugged, standing above you with his hands on his hips, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was gearing up for a press conference.

“They’re not gonna hold her unless you say it’s okay,” he said, dead serious. “They’ll wash their hands first.”

He ticked it off like a checklist. “No strong cologne. No loud voices. And if she gets fussy—”

“She won’t,” you interrupted, smiling because you could tell he needed it.

But Joe wasn’t so sure. Babies were unpredictable. Teammates even more so. And Joe? Joe didn’t like unpredictable when it came to the two people he loved most in the whole damn world.

The doorbell rang.

Beau barked from his spot by the window, tail wagging excitedly. Joe shot you a quick look — a silent, are you good with this? — and only when you nodded did he open the door.

Ja'Marr was first in, grinning from ear to ear, a pack of diapers slung under one arm like a football. A few others trickled in behind him — Sam, Tee, a couple of the offensive linemen — all of them with that same reverent, wide-eyed look guys got when they saw a newborn up close.

Joe moved fast, intercepting the herd before they could even make it two steps inside. “Shoes off,” he said briskly, nodding toward the mat. “Wash your hands.”

He pointed toward the powder room like a dad corralling a team of unruly Boy Scouts. There was a second of stunned silence — and then laughter, low and easy, but respectful.

They knew better than to mess around with Joe right now.

One by one, they complied, teasing each other about it but following orders all the same. Joe hovered by the couch while you adjusted the baby's position, brushing a kiss against the top of her head before you offered a soft, “You wanna come say hi?”

Even then, Joe stayed close — a silent wall between you and the door, the human equivalent of a velvet rope.

The guys took turns, keeping a cautious distance, most of them too nervous to even ask to hold her. Ja'Marr cracked a few jokes under his breath about Joe looking ready to deck anyone who breathed wrong.

He wasn’t wrong. Joe’s eyes stayed sharp, tracking every movement, every laugh, every time someone leaned in a little too close. His hand hovered near your shoulder the whole time — not touching, but there, a steady reminder that you weren’t doing this alone.

When the baby whimpered once, just a little squeak of protest at all the unfamiliar voices, Joe reacted before you even had the chance — plucking her gently from your arms with that easy, practiced motion he had already mastered.

“She’s good,” he said, voice a shade softer now, one hand cradling her tiny head as he pressed her to his chest.

The room went still.

It was one thing to see Joe Burrow command a huddle. It was another to see him sway, slow and absent-minded, in the middle of his living room with a baby tucked against his heart like she was the whole playbook and the end zone all wrapped up in one.

You leaned back, your heart stretching wide and aching with it — the fierce, stubborn tenderness of this man you married.

The visit didn’t last long. Joe made sure of that. An hour, tops. No overstaying. No “let’s hang out awhile.” When the goodbyes started, Joe stood by the door again, thanking each of them with a handshake.

After the last car pulled away, he locked the door, turned, and exhaled like he hadn’t breathed properly all afternoon.

You were still on the couch, baby sleeping against your chest again, your head tipping back into the pillows. Joe crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of you like he needed to be eye level, like he needed you to feel it when he said: “You did so good, baby.”

It wasn’t just about today. It was about all of it.

The way your body had carried her. The way you endured the long nights, the painful moments nobody talked about. The way you fought to smile when your heart felt shaky and raw.

He reached out, cupping the side of your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek with infinite gentleness.

“We’re good now,” he whispered, like a promise. “We’re good.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of it — the safety of him. Of knowing that no matter what storms came, no matter how unpredictable the world could be, Joe would be right here.

Arms up. Heart open.

Always, always guarding the things he loved most.

[notsodelirious]

Double Trouble — Roy Harper and Jason Todd

This was actually supposed to a Dick x Kory x Reader fic but one thing lead to another (I got high) and now we have this! Enjoy!

Synopsis: your friends abandon you in a bar, and you end the night by going home with two fine men

Notes: NSFW MDNI, this one was a doozy, I usually try to limit my drabbles to 1.5k but clearly that didn’t happen here — also mild CW for a slightly creepy dude at the beginning

tags: threesome (m x m x f), double penetration, two penises in one hole, vaginal sex, mentions of alcohol (but nobody is drunk), sub space (not named), fem! reader, 3.7k words, no use of y/n

Part 2 here

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

It was supposed to be a regular night out with friends. A regular bar crawl, getting progressively more and more drunk until you eventually circle home. 

After your first beer, you dip to the bathroom, promising your friends that you would be fine alone for the 5 minutes it would take you to relieve yourself. Only when you come back, not a single one of your friends is to be seen. You leave messages, check the smoking area, even call but nothing. Not a single text or call answered and they were nowhere to be seen. 

They left you. Stranded you alone in a bar, with no warning or indication of where they had gone to next. Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you tuck yourself into a corner, scrolling on your phone as you try to determine your next move: you could just cut your losses and order a taxi home, but the other half of you was tempted to keep drinking and burn off the anger and hurt of continuously being treated like an afterthought. 

You don’t have time to come to a conclusion however before a shadow looms over you, caging you into the corner you had nestled yourself in. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” the man smiles as you look up at him. He’s boringly unremarkable, hair a little greasy and skin pale even for the sunless Gotham climate. He leans against the wall, crosses his arms, looks you up and down, “What’s a thing like you doing standing alone?”

“Oh, I umm…” Your brain freezes as you try to find words, an explanation, an excuse, anything to not make yourself the target of this man’s interest. “I was umm…” You look around the bar, looking. You don’t know what for, until you see a man sitting at the bar, absently nursing a whiskey. His dark hair interrupted by a solid white streak and hunched over frame catches your eye, even if he looks like he’d rather disappear into the decor. It’s a shot in the dark—he could be arguably worse than this creep but you’re desperate. 

So you plaster on a fake smile as you try to inch away from the man. 

“Texting my boyfriend, but it’s fine, I found him, thanks!” You slip past him, squeezing in the space between him and the wall before you begin trotting off towards the man you had spotted earlier. “Babe!”

Most heads snap up to look towards you as you call out—making everyone witness to you and the man quickly walking behind you. The man at the bar looks up towards you too, frowning slightly when he notices you bee-lining towards you. 

“Hi!” you say with a forced smile when you reach him, resting a hand on his forearm, “Please pretend,” you breathe through clenched teeth. 

His demeanour flips on a switch—he sits straight as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you as close as is appropriate considering he’s holding a stranger. 

“Hi, princess,” he says, giving you a quick smile before he turns to eye the other man, “Who’s that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrug as you nervously inch closer, “I’ve never met him before.”

“I was just trying to have a conversation,” the guy frowns and he steps forward but the stranger tugs you back. 

“Hey, man,” he says as he stands, shielding you from sight with his body. He’s so much taller than you expected, and bigger—you could see his impressive physique even when he sat, broad shouldered and muscular arms but stood and looming over that creep, your heart fluttered a little. “Don’t talk to my girl, got it?”

“Fuck, dude, I was just being friendly,” he backpedals quickly, stumbling backwards until he’s supposedly out of the stranger’s reach. “Ain’t do nothing to her.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want your sorry ass snooping around her, got it?”

“Everything okay, here?” Everybody looks back towards the new voice. A small part of you withers in embarrassment when you see a third man, just as tall and buff as the stranger you had run to shelter for, but painfully ginger. You’re the only person you know who can dig yourself into such a situation between three different men.

“This bitch is hitting on our girl,” your fake-boyfriend says. Our? You think, brain already running at 100 miles per hour to try to figure out how you’ll disentangle yourself from this mess. 

“I wasn’t doing that shit!”

“Yeah? Cause it sure looked like you were!”

“Listen, dude,” Ginger-stranger says as he rests a hand on the creeps shoulder, “How about you just fuck off before we punch your lights out for messing with our girl, okay?”

“Shit, you fuck the same bitch?” the man sneers at you as he steps away from the two other men, “Have fun with that whore.”

The stranger’s fists clench.

You grab your fake-boyfriend’s arm before he can actually swing—his friend seems to come to the same conclusion, placing a hand on his chest as he shoves the creep back. 

“Fuck off.”

The man looks between the three of you, mutters something before he turns tail and flees, leaving the three of you standing, tense and anxious. 

“You okay, doll?”

You startle out of your thoughts as you look up at the first stranger who’s now looking down at you, a vaguely worried expression on his face. He steps aside to let you out from behind him, where you wedged between his body and the barstool, and heat flushes through you again when you realise how close you had been standing to his back. 

“Oh, yes!” you slip away, nervously tugging on your top’s sleeve. You look up at both men, a shy smile playing on your lips, “All good. Thanks for that. Scaring him off.”

“No worries.”

“Glad we could help,” Ginger-stranger says with a crooked smile, “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised that my boyfriend had suddenly acquired a girlfriend, though.”

“Oh, haha,” the boyfriend in question says mockingly as he rolls his eyes. But your own eyes widen as you look between the two of them. 

“Oh shit! Sorry!”

“You’re alright,” he smiles, “I’m Roy, by the way,” he adds before thrusting a thumb towards the other man, “And this is my boyfriend Jason.”

“Hi,” you smile shyly as you wave. 

Jason just gives you a non-commital grunt as Roy gently nudges your shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, kid, but how about we walk you back to your friends?”

“They left,” Jason says before you explain the embarrassing truth yourself. Your face warms as Roy looks at his boyfriend.

“Wait, what? Why?”

Jason just shrugs, shuffles back into his chair before picking up his whiskey tumbler, “Dunno. Saw them giggling and shit and looking at the bathroom before they all decided to dash. Didn’t pay the bill, by the way,” he adds, looking at you. The mortification only grows and you can only nod as the lump in your throat returns.

“Oh,” you say, as if you had been expecting anything more from people who ditched you, not even a single beer into the night, “Right, thanks…” You rub your arm, almost as if you could trick yourself into believing somebody else was trying to comfort you. “I’ll just umm… I’ll get that. It was nice meeting you both.”

You step a little to the side, out of their way, as you try to wave down the bartender so you could ask for the bill. You almost miss the concerned glance Roy and Jason exchange, and the silent conversation that seems to be happening.

“So that’s $70 for 6 beers and 10 shots?” the bartender double-checks with you he reads off his screen.

“$70?” You don’t mean to be so loud–you’d already been dreading the price of the six beers alone but the two additional rounds of shots that you didn’t even get to drink made your heart sink into your gut. The bartender just looks at you sheepishly with an awkward smile, as if his training hadn’t accounted for the possible duping of some poor college girl.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have served them if-”

“No, no, you’re all, I umm…” You dig out your wallet as you consider your options–you had $12.53 in cash and about $20.46 in your bank account and even with all the wills of the earth, you couldn’t stretch that remotely far enough to cover half the tab they had left you with.

“I’ve got it.”

Jason slaps two bills on the counter and you turn just in time to see him slip his wallet back into his back pocket.

“What-? No, no, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, but you don’t have the wherewithal to take the cash before the bartender takes it. You hesitate when you see his mildly triumphant smile, probably the most expressive he’s been all evening aside from his righteous anger on your behalf and you find yourself fumbling for words again. Your heart is pattering behind your ribcage as you finally manage to spit out your words, “I get paid in a week, I can pay you back, I promise-”

“Woah, hey, I’m not trying to extort you or anything, it’s fine,” Jason pats you on the shoulder.

“Trust me, he has more money than he knows what to do with,” Roy snorts as he grabs Jason’s drink to down it, which only made his boyfriend scowl at him, “He’s constantly spoiling my daughter–he’s going to make her a menace.”

Your shoulders relax the slightest bit when you recognise the offered out of the current topic of conversation.

“You have a daughter?”

You hadn’t planned on staying to chat with both men for so long but well you got caught up in the good time. The three of you sipped on ice waters as you chatted, about everything and nothing, until they knew way too much about you and you learned select things about them: Roy had a daughter named Lian (no info on the mother though) and she’s currently with her godfather, Jason’s brother; Jason is a Gotham native, Roy isn’t, but after moving around so much, he decided to settle close to his boyfriend so his daughter could have a stable life; they’d been together for a while (but you never learn how long) and they’re both bi (which is important because they find your ass really fucking cute).

Which is essentially how you ended up stumbling into Jason’s apartment at midnight, laughter muffled by lips and hands groping at each other. Despite how sober you were, you felt giddy and a little light-headed, being sandwiched between two blessings from God; strong and kind and sweet and they’d chosen you to bring home, despite the fact that they’d never brought anybody home before as a couple.

“Does that mean I’m the lucky first?”

“The only one, baby,” Roy says as he moves up to bite your ear, enough to make you gasp, but not enough to hurt badly. “We’re keeping you.”

“We’re not kidnapping you,” Jason clarifies as he wraps his hands around your waist, fingers inching beneath your shirt as he strokes the bare skin there, “But we’d like to have you around.”

You hum as you nod, reaching forward to grab Jason’s t-shirt, tugging him forward so you could kiss him, almost sloppily, pushing your tongue into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you hear Roy mutter, “You two are so fucking hot.” You break away to breathe, smiling, shifting to give space to Roy who appeared behind his boyfriend, lips immediately finding the man’s neck.

“Shit,” Jason groans and all you can think to do is kiss him again, overwhelm him with affection. Hands tug at your shirt, eventually shucking it off your body, which temporarily paused all activity.

“Well, damn,” Roy wolf whistles when he sees you topless. Jason snaps the strap of your bra.

“Wanna take this off for us, doll face?” Your hands tremble as you eagerly reach back to unclasp your bra, letting your tits spill free. Jason’s hands are on you as soon as you drop your underwear, and Roy moves close enough to kiss you.

You can barely keep track of whose hands are whose, as clothing is pulled away from your body and you’re guided to a bedroom. Roy’s the one to drag you down onto the mattress. You giggled softly as you landed on his chest, straddling his thighs as he held your hips. Jason kneels behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You moan softly when his hips grind against your ass, rubbing his clothed bulge into you. The chain reaction leads you to thrusting against Roy and dragging your panty-clad pussy across his growing dick too.

“Fuck, I- please…” you moan as your pussy soaks your panties. It’s a joint effort from both men to pull them off you and then they’re standing to discard their own boxers. They kneel on either side of you, and Roy reaches out to cup your face to kiss you softly.

“Like what you see, baby?” You can only nod dumbly as you look up at them; fat, pretty cocks, hard and throbbing. You reach out to touch both, slowly stroking each cock in hand, feeling soft skin and pre-cum under your fingertips. 

“Just like that, baby,” Roy groans as he rolls his hips into your hands all while Jason buries his fingers in your hair. Roy slips out of your grasp when he shifts to press his chest against your back. “Want to bounce on Jason’s big cock for us, sweetheart?” You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. Roy’s hands wrap around your waist as they help you up, and then down onto Jason’s cock, leaving you both moaning softly as he pushes into your cunny, opening you up. You’re so wet he barely meets any resistance even with his thick size and soon you’re begging them for movement. You spear yourself on Jason’s cock happily, your tits bouncing in tandem with your thrusts, fuelling a couple of Roy’s lewd remarks. 

“There’s a good girl,” he purrs as he noses the shell of your ear. “Want more?”

“Y-yes please,” you moan out, a punched sound leaving your throat as you drop back down onto Jason’s cock, bruising your cervix. The next time you rose, Jason hooks his hands under your knees, holding you aloft as Roy holds your thighs up too while he slides close behind you. 

The tip of Roy’s cock nudges your entrance and you whine softly. 

“Relax, doll face,” Jason mumbles as they tease your already stretched opening with Roy’s cock, threatening to properly split you open and ravage you. “You’ll feel so good.”

“A-ah-! Fuck…”

“Do you want to stop?” Roy asks kindly, dick retreating a little, but still rubbing against your pussy, promisingly. “It’s okay if it’ll be too much.”

You barely think about it before you’re shaking your head—you don’t want to stop, you want to take them both. But they’re so big-

“It won’t fit,” you hiccup as both men hold you steady. Only the tip of Jason’s dick is inside your stretched-out pussy but Roy’s nudges in next to Jason, pulling you open that much further. “Roy…”

“Shh… baby,” he hushes softly as he kisses the back of your neck, gently easing his cock past your opening. You keen loudly, the stretch burning through you. Your legs twitch as you fight the other to clench down as the second dick split you open. “Good girl…”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jason grunts. His hands around your thighs tighten as he begins to help you down over their cocks when gravity stops playing its parts. You yelp as you’re pulled down, until you’re all the way down to their hip. You tremble in their arms as your pelvic muscles struggle weakly, trying valiantly to squeeze down around the fat cocks nestled in your stretched out cunt. You moan weakly, head backwards against Roy’s shoulder, desperately trying to regain control of your body. 

“Doll face?” You blink away the tears as you sit up ever so slightly to look up at Jason, whose eyes scan your face for any sign of trouble. “Okay?”

“So much,” you mumble out, the arm that wasn’t clutching onto one of them desperately, dropping to your lower stomach where you can feel their cocks inside you. 

“That right, baby?” Roy says, his voice almost teasing as it strains while he desperately tries to not fuck into you right then and there. 

“Uh huh,” you mumble as you nod weakly. “M-more…” Jason absolutely doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips, just enough to grind his cock against Roy’s inside you. They both groan softly before beginning at a gentle pace, fucking into you one after the other, making you moan soundlessly. Your pussy grows impossibly wetter as your body finally accommodates the stretch. 

“F-fuck doll face, so fucking good for us,” Jason whispers into your neck as he bites and sucks your skin, staining it a soft purple. Somebody’s hands find your chest, playing and tugging at your nipples, pinching and pulling harder the louder you whine. Jason’s mouth ventures down, until his lips find your tits and begin to lavish them. The fingers disappear in favour of Jason’s mouth—you arch your back into his touch, fingers running through his hair, tugging at it. Whoever hands were just on your tits are now playing with your pussy, rubbing your clit and teasing it softly, pulling the rubber band in your belly tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. 

You pretty much come then and there, body going tense as you cry out, clear cum squirting out of you onto the boys and the sheets. 

“Fuck, look at you, baby,” Roy grunts as he and Jason simultaneously increased their pace, thrust meaner than before, your cunt struggling to keep up. You whimper weakly, trying to clench down, relieve some of the overstimulation but you’re spent, body limp as they continue to fuck you like a doll. You only grow damper at the thought, leaving your body in their hands as you feel the coil in your belly tighten in preparation for a new orgasm. 

“Ngh~ fuck,” you moan when whoever was playing with your pussy pressed down on your lower belly with the heel of their palm. “Too much. Ah, I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can,” Roy whispers into your ear. Their hips are punishing, fucking into your puffy pussy, widening you open further than you’d ever been. No man or dildo would be able to fill you the same way after tonight, every other man spoiled for you. You don’t know when your mind goes blank, barely able to make more than punched out moans, a soft rhythmic “ah, ah, ah,” as they both fuck you with reckless abandon. “Cum again for us, baby girl. That’s it.”

You’re sure they’ll receive a noise complaint after how loud you cry when you come again, soon followed by the boys who flooded your cunt with cum. It bubbles around the base of their cocks, as they give a couple more thrust to fuck their cum deeper into you before finally pulling, leaving you gaping and leaking. 

Your vision blacks for a short second before you’re being transferred to a single set of arms and rested against somebody’s chest. 

“Easy, doll face,” Jason’s voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, heaving chest mirroring your own as you both try to catch your breath. Roy ducks down to kiss your cheek, gently cupping your other before he pulls away to look you over. 

“With us, baby?”

You mumble something incompressible to his question: you understand the general sentiment he’s trying to convey but your head is still too foggy. You’re also vaguely aware of the conversation happening over your head as you half-sleep against Jason’s chest. 

“Stay with her. I’ll be right back, gonna go grab some stuff.”

Jason hums as he meets Roy with a chaste kiss. “Mmh, okay.”

You feel Roy leave and the mattress shifts to fill his absence. Your breathing eventually eases, and you almost fall asleep against Jason’s chest as he rocks you pack and forth, whispering soft words of praise and kindness. 

Only to jolt at the rough feeling of a warm, damp towel against your pussy. You whined uncomfortably as Roy began to wipe off your gaping cunt, still too weak to fully squeeze closed, raw and fluttering weakly instead, loose from having taken two fat cocks. It would probably ache for the next few days but you didn’t doubt that the boys would take care of you during then. Almost cheekily, he brushes his fingertips against your swollen and exposed inner walls, only to make you whine louder and complain. He chuckles softly, mumbling an apology before he moves on to the rest of his tasks.

He wipes down your thighs and tits too before helping Jason wipe off. The opening of a bottle presses against your lips and you drink slowly, but eagerly, trying not to choke while the cold water soothes your throat, clear your mind a little more. After the bottle is pulled away from you, Roy kindly coaxes you to eat, placing a bowl of apple slices in your lap. They both chat quietly above you, checking with each other and talking about other random stuff as you all eat and recuperate. 

“Feel better, baby?” Roy asks softly after you’ve finished the bowl. You nod sleepily, nuzzling against Jason’s neck even as you try valiantly to keep your eyes open. “Pick her up for a sec?” Roy asked Jason, “Lemme change the sheets.”

Jason complies and you’re hoisted up into his arms before he moves to stand, effortlessly cradling you in his arms while Roy quickly moves to change the sheets. 

You don’t realise you had began to doze until you’re laid down onto fresh sheets and two warm bodies slide in on either side of you and you’re properly tucked in. 

“Good night, sweet thing.”

A sense of peace washes over you, as you lie sandwiched between two men you hadn’t met until a couple of hours ago but trusted more than anybody. A small, terrified but excited part of yourself, your heart, realises that you’ve never felt more content than right here and now. But that isn’t a realisation for your fucked out brain to process. You curl up against them before properly allowing yourself to fall asleep, satiated and exhausted.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

a/n: yeah, I have nothing to say for myself, I just want them both — don’t hesitate to leave an ask or a request if you have one <3

[ouffyikes]

Still Single

Eddie Munson x Reader

18+ MINORS DNI

Summary:

You and your group of girl friends have taken your best friend out to a dive bar for the first night of her bachelorette weekend!

You quickly get sucked in by the bartender's charm though, and your gaggle of supportive, and woefully happily partnered up, girls are quick to push you to flirt and maybe get his number.

His number isn't what you end up getting by the end of the night though.

Content warnings: AFAB reader, alcohol, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, protected PIV sex, descriptions of anxious feelings

Word Count: 5K

A/N: So sorry if Eddie is super out of character (I feel like I didn't do my boy justice). I'm super new to this, thanks for taking a chance to read this! I've let this blog sit empty for a few years, and been to nervous to reblog or make my own posts. But, I want to engage! Let me know if I missed anything, feedback, etc. Just dipping my toes in!

--

The girls squealed around you, crammed in a booth with phallic objects strewn about. A penis shaped straw in every drink, finished or half full, littering the table, confetti that you feel a slight pang of guilt about covering the ground beneath all of your heels, and of course a large inflatable penis with a jarringly cute smile drawn on it that was being passed from person to person at various times throughout the evening. An odd-look for the dingy, small town bar that the group found themselves in, but none of them seemed to notice that they looked out of place compared to the serious, just-clocked-out clientele that took up the other tables in the building.

At the center of the group, the bride-to-be glowed in all white with a sash proclaiming her soon-to-be marital status sitting proudly across her chest. Had the white, the sash, or the tiara that adorned her head, not been a dead giveaway as to the type of party that was being had in that booth, then the giveaway could maybe have been the matching buttons with various slogans betraying your status in the group.

You were comfortably snuggled into the left side of the bride, your two buttons (“maid of honor” and “still single”) proudly on display. Another squeal rang out as you pushed a shot towards your best friend. She grunted her disgust at the offering before downing it like a champ, foregoing the lime you had also procured for her.

“Alright!” She slammed her hands on the rickety bar table. It wobbled slightly, sloshing some of the drinks and causing some wayward penis straws to teeter dangerously at the edge of the table. “We need to dance! I need to move!”

The other girls tittered about the music in response, claiming the need for something more to get them on the dance floor. So, the executive decision was made to make use of the dive bar’s jukebox. The honorary DJ? Well the honour was bestowed on you after a rousing round of “not it” rang around the table, and you were a little too slow on the uptake.

“Just none of your angry shit!” The bride screwed up her face in disgust, making you laugh before you shuffled ungracefully below the table to escape the booth.

You made your way to the bar in order to exchange your bills for some change. And maybe to grab another shot to loosen up your shoulders before shaking them on the dancefloor. You couldn’t help feeling a little tense, even during such a happy occasion. You were so happy to be here celebrating your closest friends’ love, but you couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy, sitting as the only single woman in the midst of a gaggle of happy marriages and long term relationships.

Your last relationship had not so much fizzled, but rather blown-up in your face. A rude awakening that you did not know your worth.

You reach the bar just as you shake off your self-pity. Now was not the time to wallow in what-ifs and past failures. It was the time to get shit-faced, dance with your best friend on one of her last night’s as a “single” woman, and maybe cheekily flirt with some of the grizzled regulars. Then you came face-to-face with the bartender.

You had come up to the bar expecting the same older gentleman as when you’d bought the first round – his mean scowl and gruffness was kind of charming as he sent you off with a tray of tequila and a “Don’t have too much fun, sweetheart.” Instead of a kind-hearted grump, you were met with a sly smirk, it dimpled and creased the new bartender’s cheeks, crinkling warm brown eyes. His curls were messy, hanging by his shoulders, begging for a yank as he leaned on his elbows over the bar towards you. His biceps flexed deliciously with the motions, framed by the rolled up sleeves of his black t-shirt. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and the wiggling of butterflies trying to escape their cocoons, having been dormant so long, began to overtake your stomach.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” His voice was a low rumble, that wiggling feeling becoming more intense as butterflies began to bloom. The way he said the nickname felt different than the other bartender, and you didn’t want to think too hard on how a nickname could make you feel. You swallowed, trying to bring the saliva back to your mouth in order to answer him, knowing you were taking far too long. Your eyes bounced between his face and the splashes of ink that trailed down his neck and arms, keeping you attention away from the question he asked though your brain desperately grappled for coherent words.

“A shot and some change for the jukebox,” you managed, wincing at both the squeak in your voice and the knowledge that you took a beat or two too long to answer the simple question.

His smirk only seemed to slink further across his face, seemingly amused at your obvious fluster. “For sure, for sure, but what should go in the shot, cutie?”

You felt your cheeks grow hot at the second pet name. “Tequila, please.” Mixing the liquor of your shots at this point seemed like sacrilege, and you would suffer the taste now rather than make yourself sick later.

The bartender pursed his lips, still amused at your reactions, nodding at your choice as you slid a bill onto the countertop to cover both the shot and to get some change. Pushing off the barm he started to rummage around for a glass and the bottle off the barrail. You took these precious moments to continue gawking at the man, less than subtly to those sitting at the bar around you. The way his broad shoulders were covered by a patch strewn denim vest, displaying some shared taste in music between you, as well as the tight fit of his dark denim across the top of his thighs (not big, but not scrawny either) visible after he took the step back from the bar, stole your attention away from the amused gazes of the bar patrons. Too preoccupied in your admiration to notice.

If the bartender noticed your blatant interest, however, he did not let on beyond a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He slid the shot and a slice of lime towards you, along with your change. “Tequila and tokens for your music choice, princess”

You bit your lip at the newest nickname, staring down at your shot to compose yourself as your face heated all over, spreading down your neck and up your ears. Shrewd brown eyes took in the reaction, filing it away for later and deciding he had a winner.

A long sigh was your psych-up after your moment for composure, picking up your shot off the bar as you exhaled. You lifted the shot into the air, making brief eye contact with the bartender before tapping it back on the bartop once more and tipping your head back. You cringed as you held the bitter liquid in your mouth just a little too long before it finally slid down your throat. Dropping the glass back on the bar, you did your best not to make a face after swallowing as you met the bartender's eyes again. You shared a smirk this time as you pushed the unused lime back towards him. He chuckled softly at your prideful move, then pushed both lime and glass aside to lean towards you on the bar again.

“Thanks,” you hushed, pulled in by his amused gaze and proximity, unconsciously leaning forward yourself.

“My name’s Eddie, princess, and I’m here all night.” His eyes flicked behind you for a moment before returning to yours. “Tell your friend congratulations for me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment, but you were interrupted from your confusion by a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see the lady of the hour, mischief alight in her eyes once you turned to meet them. Suspicion curled in your stomach, but you only had enough time to snatch the change from the counter, leaving a couple dollars as a tip, before you were being pulled away toward the jukebox on the far wall.

Over your head, the bride-to-be sent a wink towards the man behind the counter, and his amusement only increased.

“Interesting conversation?” she hummed at you, not pulling any longer, but rather draping herself along your side as you made it to the music machine.

You scoffed in embarrassment, once again feeling heat begin pulled towards your face and the tips of your ears. You fed your coins into the machine, glazing over your shoulder to catch brown eyes staring back at you across the bar. “Please. It’s his job to be charming.” You turned your gaze back to the machine.

Your friend just hummed again with a noncommittal shrug before pushing you to the side with a hip in order to make her own choices on what to play. No worries about the wrong vibes from your questionable (in her eyes) taste in music. “Let’s dance!”

With a beckoning wave toward the booth, you were pulled toward the space in front of a low, empty stage that served as the dance floor. The previous song ended, dropping into a second long lull, before the opening beats to Super Trouper filled the space. You scoffed at the choice in amusement while the DJ of the moment cackled. Despite this reaction, you bounced along with the other girls, belting out the lyrics; your brain pleasantly fuzzy from your previous shot.

The song changed, and your hips began to swing as the music choice moved from your group’s middle school playlist into the more sultry music of your university years. Your eyes flashed towards the bar unbidden, once again catching chocolate watching on with interest. Butterflies, all free from their cocoons, fluttered deep in your core under his gaze, and your hips took on a little more swing. Your small skirt sliding up your hips in a way you hoped was enticing.

Lace covered hands ruffled the raising hem of your baby tee as your best friend slid behind you. Her amused giggle huffed in your ear, catching easily onto the show you were trying to provide. Her hands continued to slide up and down your sides slowly as she danced with you, and you watched as the bartender’s, Eddie’s, eyebrows crawled up his forehead under his bangs at the sight.

“The girls and I were thinking,” she began to whisper in your ear, and you tilted your head towards her attentively, “We would like to live vicariously through you.” You hummed for her to continue, urging her to go on. “Go flirt with the bartender.”

You turned towards her fully at that, breaking eye contact with who you know knew to be the focus of the conversation. “It’s your bachelorette party! I’m not ditching you guys to maybe get the number of a kind-of cute guy.”

Eyes rolled at your dismissal. “This is day one. We’re at the cabin all weekend. This is a multi-day affair which will need scandalous behaviour for amusement.” She turned you around and pushed you toward the bar. “Now, go talk to the “kind-of cute guy” you’ve been shaking your ass for.”

You stumbled towards the bar from the push, throwing a dirty look over your shoulder that was met with a cheeky little wave. Turning back forward, you steeled yourself to continue your short walk towards the bar. But the closer you got, the more the heady confidence you felt that allowed you to dance under his gaze began to fade. A heavy ball weighed down your gut as you got closer, and your throat was tight. Thoughts, half-formed and mean, raced in your mind as you finally reached the dinged up wooden ledge. You sat on a nearby stool, suddenly feeling much smaller and much more sober than you had moments ago across the room.

It was only a moment though before a short glass of bright coloured liquid was placed gently in front of you, disrupting your thoughts about fleeing back towards the group. You raised your gaze to meet Eddie’s disarming smile. “You seemed like you might be thirsty.”

You hummed back shyly, choking on the butterfly wings that now crawled up your throat with vengeance. You brought the small straw, thankfully not penis-shaped at this time, to your mouth to take a tentative sip, unable to keep the delight from lighting up your face afterward. The drink was sweet, but contained enough tartness to cut it from tipping into something sickening. Eddie’s smile shifted from a little into a smug satisfaction at your clear enjoyment.

You set the drink down and smiled back at him, allowing him this moment of arrogance. “That’s awesome! How much do I owe you?”

Eddie waved off your question with a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it, princess. This is the least I can do when you’ve brought so much life into this place tonight.” He let his gaze drift over you lazily, stopping at the buttons on your shirt for a moment and looking rather pleased with what he found. “I have to ask, why’d you girls choose to celebrate in this dump? You’re not locals, I’d definitely remember seeing you around.”

You scoffed a little at his obvious flirt, but smiled – charmed all the same. “We rented a cabin to celebrate for the weekend. Much cheaper out here, not too far from the city, we can be louder because there’s no one around, and it’s a change of scenery.”

Eddie weighed your answer with a quick tilt of his head back and forth, a smile still firmly in place. “A change of scenery, huh?” He chucked a little lowly as he continued his thought, “I’ve lived around here so long that it’s hard to see the charm.”

You nodded back thoughtfully while continuing to sip on your drink, stopping only to pose a question back to him. “So, have you lived here your whole life?”

It was surface level at best, but the man in front of you seemed to soften a little at the genuine ask. “Yeah, kind of…”

And so you talked. The bar wasn’t too busy, but when duty called him away from your bubble of conversation it would always be with the promise of being right back. He kept you drink full as you slowly sipped through the night, though your previous tipsiness waned as the hours stretched on and your intake declined rather than ramped up.

Your group left about an hour ago, piling into the lone cab the town had to offer, in order to continue the night back at the cabin. Before they left, of course, they were sure to pile on quiet teasing and join your conversation whenever they sidled up to the bar for a new drink or a round of shots. They also secured promises of safety (and details) before leaving you behind at your request.

You had no guarantee of a night beyond this bar, but you were hoping the conversation and heated looks led to something more. You hoped that your refusal to pile in the cab with them wasn’t hubris on your part.

Eddie’s yell of last call towards the last patrons caused the doubts you had of what was to come for the night tearing at the fabric of your consciousness. Butterflies fluttered slightly, but that heavy ball of nerves anchored you in your gut, and bile felt like it was bubbling up to push at the back of your throat. You cleared it softly, meeting Eddie’s gaze as he sauntered back over to you with an easy smile.

You smiled back, hoping it didn’t seem as shaky as how you were feeling. “I,” you started, choking a little on the thought then trying again, “I suppose I should call a cab.”

Joy leapt through you at the surprise that lit your companions face. He frowned a little as he leaned towards you over the bar again, his voice betraying his own hope. “I suppose, but, if you want, I could give you a ride?”

The butterflies were back again stronger, this time joined by your heart that thumped loudly in your throat. Around these sensations, you managed a breathy, “Yeah?” in response.

He smiled again, the easy charm from earlier in the night still present, but tinged with a shyness you wouldn’t have believed possible a few hours ago. “Yeah, I could take you back to your cabin, or…” he trailed off, shyness turning coy at the obvious interest in your eyes at the suggestion.

You felt giddy, the tipsy feeling coming back to you from excitement at the images brought to mind from the leading phrase. “I won’t be missed tonight.”

Eddie beamed back at you, paired with a dark gaze that caused the back of your neck to prickle with anticipation. He pushed off the counter, drumming his hands on it briefly before turning away. “Don’t you go anywhere,” he called back cheekily before moving towards the last two lingering customers, giving them the bum’s rush out the door.

You hummed to yourself contentedly as you waited patiently for Eddie to close down the place. He checked on you regularly throughout this period, just as attentive as he’d been throughout the night. Now though he was freer in his attentions, trailing his hand down your back whenever he passed behind you, lingering in his touch on your arms when he came to check on you, rumbling his questions quietly in your ear as though there was anyone left to overhear.

By the time he strolled out of the back office, done with his final tasks, you were practically vibrating for a more lasting connection.

“All done, princess,” he cheesed in a slightly mocking tone. You’d hopped off the barstool as he came closer, leaning against the bar, He took advantage of this position, caging you in by placing his hands on the bar on either side of you, leaning in to be a breath away. “Only have one more responsibility tonight.”

The butterflies that had taken up residence inside you all evening seemed to be spurred on to a frenzy once more. They desperately fluttered in your throat, aching to bask in the light of the bartender's charming smile. You whispered around them, made shy by his proximity and your own yearning, “What’s that?” He leaned closer, moving to the right of you so that his lips lined up with your ear as he lifted his hand off the bar to push your hair on that side away, ensuring he grazed the skin on the side of your face and neck as he did so, before resting it back on the counter. His words, along with the warmth of his breath caused a shiver of desire to race down your spine.

“Making sure you’re treated right.”

It was cheesy, but so was calling you “princess” or any of the other pet names, and the way he did it, with such a mix of confidence in himself and seemingly genuine sincerity, made you melt. And melt you did, tipping your head languidly to display your newly bared neck to him, vulnerability that he took as the invitation it was meant to be.

His lips fell lightly on your flesh at first, gentle brushing that did little to quell any of the desire you felt for this near stranger. Your head lolled a little further, exposing more of the line of your neck, and he took that as a green light. His attentions gained more force, his mouth opening, bringing in tongue and teeth.

When he stumbled upon a particularly sensitive space, nearing the corner of your jaw, a soft moan broke free, startling you slightly and once again shifting the mood. His lips left your neck to crash upon your own, taking advantage of your slack jaw from the relaxed leisure you’d been reveling in from his softer ministrations on your neck.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the remnant sweetness of the drink he’d made just for you. Unbidden, your enjoyment of his lips' new destination on yours was made known through another rumble from the back of your throat His hands moved from where they had been resting on the counter to grab at your waist, pulling your body flush against his, causing a satisfied grunt to leave both of you.

The kiss devolved into something more carnal as he shifted his body and yours, pushing a thigh between your legs and pulling you by the waist to drag your panty-covered core along the jean covered muscles he raised for your enjoyment. Your low moan, straight into his open mouth, confirmed your enjoyment of this move. His excitement over this was evident as well, both from the enthusiastic way he delved his tongue deeper into your mouth, rolling it against your own, as well as by the decidedly hard tent in his denim that he dug into your hip each time he moved you along his thigh.

Your mouths parted with a string of saliva that was broken as he panted out his thoughts, “God, I’ve been waiting to do this all night.”

You giggled at his breathless confession. “In between our small talk you were thinking of me grinding on your leg?”

He smiled cheekily at your comment, pushing his thigh firmly against your rapidly dampening panties, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yes.”

You laughed again, but were cut off by his lips on yours again, bringing you into another open mouthed kiss. After encouraging you to continue to grind yourself along his thigh, Eddie’s hands strayed away from your hips. They grabbed and groped over your clothes, smoothing at times along the planes of your back, your thighs, wherever they could touch, spreading warmth and raising goosebumps in their wake.

They soon wandered beneath your t-shirt, pushing up the fabric as he slid his hands appreciatively along the soft skin of your sides before also pushing beneath your bra, moving it out of its supportive role. All the fabric bunched higher up your chest, freeing your torso for his wandering hands. You let out another soft sound as he began to massage your breasts, paying extra attention to the tight buds pressing against his palms – taking moments to pinch and tease.

He released your lips again to slide his open mouth down to your exposed chest, sucking and nipping at one tight bud, then the other, one hand helping to ensure neither was left unattended. As he lavished this attention higher, you continued to grind minutely on his thigh, not receiving nearly enough contact to lessen the ache that was building between your legs.

Your own hands, which up until this moment had been loosely hanging at your own sides or gripping his shirt at his sides, began to wander now. One pushed beneath his shirt to paw at his firm chest while the other slowly made its way down to palm at the hard length straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Eddie pulled away from your chest with a groan at your touch, kissing his way up to your ear as he pushed his need into your hand. “We’re not going to make it out of the bar,” he panted hotly as your head once again lolled to invite more attention from his mouth on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That’s okay,” you breathed, melting once more as he lavished the skin you bore to him with further sucks and nips. You were bound to have a dozen little marks for all to see tomorrow, but the teasing you’d ensure tomorrow from the gaggle of girls you’d abandoned tonight was far from your consciousness.

You sucked in a gasp suddenly, having not registered one of Eddie’s wandering hands making its way to the band of your skirt until he pulled his thigh away from its place between your legs, a noticeable wet spot now adorning his jeans. You whined, the minute satisfaction you gained from grinding on his denim wrapped muscles taken from you, but you didn’t have to complain. Eddie’s hand pushed beneath the waistline of your skirt and panties, quickly taking a moment to cup your sensitive mound, rubbing his fingers and palm over the significant wetness that had built up in the midst of your previous ministrations.

“Fuck, your soaked,” he marveled, leaning back to look down into the gap his hand created in your skirt before looking up into your eyes with a self-satisfied smile painted over his features. Heat built back up beneath your face, hot on the back of your neck up to your ears, trying to wrestle your brain into coherence in your embarrassment, but he cut off your defense before it could stutter out of you with a hard kiss. “It’s fucking sexy,” he stated point blank after pulling back, before diving in to taste the inside of your mouth again.

His fingers slid against you once more, gathering your wetness before he easily pushed middle and fore into your waiting need, curling just so once inside to stroke the textured patch he found waiting for him. You moaned softly into his mouth, feeling the pride that sent through him as he grinned against your lips. He kept it slow and steady, moving out and in with that wonderful curl, all while grinding the heel of his palm into the bundle of nerves at the top of your mound.

It was maddening.

The ache between your legs grew steadily, a twisting sensation beginning low in your pelvis creeping up in intensity. You hand, while was loosely cupping Eddie’s crotch since he slipped his hand into your panties and effectively sapped away all rational thought, came up to clutch at the shoulder of his denim vest, the other gripping his chest beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. Your soft moans grew in frequency, and you broke the kiss to lean your head back as the sensations began to ramp up along with the pace of his hand.

Eddie stared at your heaving figure in awe as he brought you to your peak on his fingers. Taking in the breathy sounds you made with pride, along with the death grip of your internal muscles on his fingers as they pulsed in the waves of your pleasure. You eventually pushed at his wrist, telling him silently to remove it from your skirt, before pulling him into another kiss, this one filled with gratitude for his skill.

He pulled away from the kiss with a grin, which you returned as your hand slid back down to the crotch of his jeans. He groaned as you pushed your way inside his pants and boxers to slide your palm along his considerable length, spreading the precum that had built up along his cock. “Now it’s time for your turn, yes?”

Eddie grabbed your wrist with one hand to stop it from continuing, pushing his curls back with the other as he exhaled. “I’d love to see what tricks you have in that head of yours, but I’m desperate to get inside you – turn around for me?”

He didn’t need to ask twice, His blunt delivery was a little startling, but did nothing but ramp up the excitement you felt. The ache between your legs, sated a moment ago, burned again as you turned, bending forward onto the bar and pushing your ass towards the bartender. Eddie pushed your skirt out of the way with one hand, slipping a thumb beneath the crotch of your soaked underwear to tease at your still twitching entrance. You heard the teeth of his zipper release as he eased it down, some rustling, then that thumb was pulling your underwear aside as the length of him, hard and scorching, rubbed along your sensitive flesh and between your thighs to briefly pass along the most sensitive part of your, causing you to sigh.

“Condom?” you croaked out, a moment of sanity finding you as your chest pressed against the wood of the bar.

“Shit, yeah!” Eddie didn’t sound put out by your request in the slightest, minutely rocking his hips against your ass as he rustled behind you for his wallet.

There was a moment of cold anticipation, wet and sacred parts of you exposed to the open air of the bar as he put on the rubber. But the moment was quick, and soon his hands found your waist and his covered cock slid within you with little warning. A gasping moan left you, out of slight surprise and satisfaction, as he easily buried himself inside of you, your chest sliding slightly against the smooth counter.

Eddie seemed to take a moment behind you to compose himself. “Jesus christ, you’re tight,” he groaned, squeezing his hands at your waist once before beginning to move his hips back.

He started off slow, seemingly catching his breath from the initial penetration, muttering a continual stream of praise for your pussy, it’s grip, the view he had of your ass (“It’s fucking perfect!”), and then about your sounds. He went on about how hot he finds your breathy little moans, your delighted squeaks, the way you beg in whispers to keep going. Your body responded to the continual praise to his increased delight, your internal muscles contracting with pleasure as you hid your warming face into the bar as your hands gripped the edge to keep you from being pushed too far into the wood as his slow grinding into you picked up speed.

As his speed increased, his mind lost coherency, settling for pressing his chest into your back, wrapping his arms around you to cup your breasts, saving your nipples from their continuous rubbing against the lacquered surface of the bar. His voice was rough, mouth pressed to the side of your face, your neck, your ear kissing and swearing as he took pleasure from your willing body.

It became clear that he wouldn’t last much longer. His groans were becoming more incoherent, more frequent. He let go of a breast to bring a hand down between your legs, rubbing skillfully in tight circles around the tight bundle of nerves he found there with relative ease. The increased sensation caused you to tighten further, moans increasing again even as your position against the bar became increasingly uncomfortable.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed as his thrusts stuttered into a grind, indicating his release.

His attention to your clit didn’t stop at the peak of his pleasure though. His fingers continued with a slight hiccup in rhythm for a moment before he found himself again. He continued to build up that twisting pressure within you, grinding his softening length within you, until you reached the pinnacle again, legs shaking against him.

Eddie removed himself from you slowly after a couple of moments panting together on top of the bar. He replaced your ruined panties back to their proper place before moving your skirt to cover up your bareness, caressing it as he did so. He removed the condom, quickly fixing himself up as you stood straight on your shaky legs to right your bra and t-shirt.

The silence felt deafening as you stood beside the bar you’d just desecrated. You looked anywhere but at the wooden structure as Eddie strode behind it, presumably looking for a trashcan. You really hoped that somebody would sanitize the surface of the counter before they open tomorrow, but you have serious doubts about whether that will happen.

“So,” you start, and Eddie’s head snaps to look at you, a smile still beaming on his face. “Can you still give me a ride, or…” Your nerves had begun to creep up, the heavy feeling in your gut back to weigh you down to the spot, bile and butterfly wings once again rising in your throat, threatening to choke you. Behind your eyes began to sting as you catastrophize in your head – you’d given him what he wanted to easily, without any effort, And while you didn’t regret what happened, you couldn’t help the thoughts that raised through you in the aftermath. Why would he need to keep being nice to you when he’d already got what he had wanted to do “all night” with you?

Eddie frowned, those brown eyes questioning as he listened to your half-formed question, the slight distress in your voice. “Of course!” He made his way back to your side of the bar, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure whether he could reach out to comfort you physically, or if you'd reject his touch now. “I can take you back to your cabin, or…” He trailed off, bouncing on his heels restlessly, looking unsure of himself, nothing like the confident bartender that had charmed you all night, or the man who just made you cum twice in fairly quick succession.

He didn’t seem keen on continuing, and this new nervousness from him helped comfort you some, so you pushed. “Or…?”

Eddie blew out a breath, swiping his curls back off his face again, looking anywhere but your eyes. “Well, I’d really like to take you out for breakfast in the morning. There’s this diner in town. Doesn’t look like much on the outside, but…”

He continued to stammer, laying out the positives of this local establishment, and you relaxed in his nervous blabbering. Eddie’s obvious continued interest easing your post-coital anxiety, You took a couple steps forward, reaching out to grab one of his restless hands with your own.

“Breakfast sounds great.”

Eddie stopped mid-yammer, a wide smile taking over his face, crinkling those dark eyes the way you found so charming when you first saw him. Using your connected hands, he began to pull you towards the bar’s entrance, now yapping even more quickly about where he would be taking you in the morning. This time, less a sales pitch and more an oversharing of his own feelings and experiences. You nodded along, smile bright and loud, butterflies softly fluttering within your stomach at this new start.

The girls were going to have a field day when you saw them tomorrow morning… After breakfast.

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part II

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: Y'all... I'm just trying to get back into writing after disappearing off the face of the earth... so here's part II! Y/n's cat is about to play a huge role in all of this

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Y/n had gone to bed hoping she’d been drugged at the club (that was the first and only time she would ever think such a thing). That alone might explain how she’d been persuaded to bring three grown men home, decorated with enough weapons to arm a small battalion. But perhaps it had all been some acid-laced dream and she would step outside her bedroom to the sight of an empty living room and a very disgruntled Jefferson at her heels. 

But alas, she had gone to bed sober, and woke up to two Illyrians passed out on the floor and one Shadowsinger thumbing through her bookshelf.

“What is this?” Cassian squatted in front of the microwave, nose pressed up against glass as his breakfast spun in lazy circles. Steam shot out from beneath saran wrap and he watched mesmerized as tingles of electricity sang through the air and set the hair on his neck alight. He could taste the energy on his tongue, along with leftover chicken tikka masala from the one Indian restaurant fifteen minutes away. 

Y/n shot him an odd glance from the kitchen table, pouring herself a cup of coffee with a sigh. It was becoming easier and easier to believe that they were from another world as they fawned over her kitchen appliances, beaten and used as they were. Just this morning, Rhys had taken an hour-long shower, content to stand beneath the assault of boiling hot water until his skin was red and spotted from heat. “I need this in the River House,” he’d declared with an air that spoke of royalty, standing in the hallway with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist. Y/n’s face had burned brighter than the sun and Azriel had growled so low Jefferson scowled and scampered away.

“It’s a microwave,” Y/n explained, rubbing at her temples.  

“What does it do?” Cassian opened the small door and hissed when the dish burned his fingertips. A common mistake — though he wouldn’t know that. 

“Heats up food. Pops popcorn. Blows up if you put metal in it.” 

Azriel grabbed his brother’s wrist before he could get any ideas about tossing a spoon into the microwave. “That was not an invitation to try,” Azriel hissed in warning. He was embarrassed enough about his conduct the night before. The last thing he needed was for one of his brothers to blow up his mate’s home. 

Cassian hummed in curiosity, shoving a spoonful of leftover takeout into his mouth and groaning at the taste. He sank into a plastic IKEA chair beside Y/n with a strangled sound of contentment. Nothing in Prythian tasted like this, and unlike the Human Lands, the food here had flavor to it, albeit of an artificial variety. 

Azriel was quick to fill up his plate. He didn’t want Y/n to stand up and offer him anything. Gods, he’d have a heart attack if she offered him so much as a teaspoon of sugar. He even managed to heat it up all by himself, fumbling with the buttons before finally setting the timer for 2 minutes, as she continued to eye him warily over her cup. 

He’d given her a sheath to accompany the knife he’d gifted her and she wore it now slung across her hip. It did not suit the sweatpants and old college t-shirt she wore, but she couldn’t deny she felt better with it close by. Soon he’d have to teach her how to use it properly. 

“If you really want to conduct that experiment, I could probably find a half-usable microwave down at the landfill for you to blow up.” 

Cassian’s eyes lit up with eagerness and Azriel scowled at him once more. Rhysand stalked into the kitchen, hair still dripping onto last night’s clothes. Violet eyes recklessly appraised her house, but if he was judging her 70s floral wallpaper dull with discoloration and time, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it. With a lazy flick of his wrists the stovetop burners lit up with a click and a flare of fire. First he applied his magic too strongly and the hiss of gas tinged the air. But after a strong-worded reprimand from Azriel, he tempered his control over the new, unfamiliar magic. 

Rhysand touched the flame without fear, capturing a flicker in his palms before letting it fizzle out. It was a strange magic the humans used. It touched everything without them even realizing that’s what it was. Y/n had used it to start her car the night before, and had used it this morning to brew her coffee and answer the flurry of messages that appeared on the little black box she carried everywhere. Rhysand couldn’t help but reflect on the strange world they’d arrived in once again. 

Azriel ate standing and Y/n sensed he was not one for relaxation. Constantly vigilant, the twisting of his shadows betrayed what his rock-still body did not. He was searching with his golden eyes, and Y/n found he was the one her eyes stuck to like a mouse on a glue trap. 

His nails were cut short and clean, but his hands were cracked, dry, and horribly scarred — his one and only glaring imperfection. He leaned casually against the wall, content to hide in the shadows of the fridge, but his jaw was clenched. He seemed like he was doing everything he could not to meet her gaze, but everytime she moved, his eyes followed her. Hands twitching by his side or against his breakfast plate as she twisted in her seat or poured another cup. 

“So,” she began carefully. The pouring of coffee splintered throughout the room. “What the fuck am I meant to do with you now?”

Rhysand chuckled, as if he too recognized the absurdity of the situation as he took the remaining chair at the table beside Jefferson and Cassian. Two Illyrians, a half-breed, a human, and her hideous feline companion. If only Feyre could see them now… 

The fat cat hissed, maw split open in a dark scowl. He leapt off his seat cushion, settling precariously in Y/n’s lap as he eyed his three victims. Just one taste. He reminded himself. And I will know their devices. It was the gift that had been bestowed upon him by Master. 

Normally, Jefferson the Cat would find an hour or two to disappear into the night and answer to Them, but the arrival of such dangerous guests had stolen that opportunity from him. He longed to slink into the darkness, to chase after the tendrils of power that lingered in the woods and to reveal all that he knew, for he was a good spy. But he was a better protector and could not bear to leave his Y/n in such horrific company. 

The three brothers looked at one another cautiously and Jefferson could only reflect on how they were so similar in their colorings, yet so different. 

“We don’t… we don’t have a plan.” Cassian admitted, finally giving his spoon a rest and rubbing the back of his neck. “We were hoping you might think of something.”

“Me?” 

“Elain told us there would be a Maker of some kind waiting here for us. Someone who could expect our arrival and arm us with what we need to defeat Koschei.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s so fucking vague.” 

Rhysand smirked. “When considering interdimensional travel, what more could you expect?”

“So what’s stopping you from using your magic to find the Maker.” She wiggled her fingers in the air and Rhysand tried not to be offended. “Surely a High Lord or whatever you are is powerful enough to find him.” 

Rhysand’s expression soured. “The magic of this world is different from ours in a way that’s… interfering with our usual abilities.”

“Like?”

“Like how I can’t read your mind.” 

Y/n immediately reared back from Rhysand’s violet gaze, finding a patch of silver fur on Jefferson’s coat to distract herself with. “Well excuse me for finding that a relief.” Jefferson hummed in agreement, pushing his head into her open palm. “So your magic’s on the fritz and you’re stuck in an unfamiliar world with nothing but the name of “the Maker” to guide you home.”

“Do you know anything about him?” Rhysand leaned forward expectantly. 

Y/n remained unsmiling. “No. Sorry to disappoint. The uh… Maker is not someone I know personally.” 

He combed through his hair and somehow the strands fell perfectly back into place. It was annoying how handsome he was, like he belonged on the cover of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. Y/n blinked, suddenly glad that he couldn’t hear her thoughts. He seemed like the kind whose arrogance would scarf up a comment like that. 

“Anyone else you could direct us to? Lords, Ladies, Kings, and Queens, or—”

“Life doesn’t work that way here. We’ve all but done away with royalty.” 

“Then someone else. Whoever governs this place.” 

Y/n snorted. She gathered Jefferson in her arms and disappeared to her bedroom, reemerging with a slender tablet in her hands that she opened like a book. The screen glowed ominously before transforming into a host of words jumbled together. Azriel got a glimpse of the word “Google” before she was slamming her fingers on the keys faster than he could register. 

She showed them the man who governed this place — America, she called it — and all three frowned deeply. 

“I see.” Rhysand grumbled. 

Their disappointment did not go away when she showed them Congress. It got worse when she actually got around to explaining everything. 

“No gods?” Azriel asked. He leaned over her shoulder, one arm planted on the table so she could have turned around and kissed his stretched neck if she wanted to. 

“I mean… yes and no? We have gods, but it’s not exactly like we can speed dial them.” 

“What does—” He shook his head, “Nevermind.” 

Jefferson flicked his tail. Master was a god. Is a god. He put all his weight on his front paw, sinking it deep into Y/n’s stomach until she was grimacing in pain and lifting him into her arms. 

Jefferson eyed the curve of Azriel’s neck, claws inching forward out of his velvety paw when the doorbell rang. Then rang again.

Y/n swore, shuffling the Illyrians into the kitchen and out of sight of the front door before opening the peep hole.

Azriel snuck up behind her quiet as night, and slid a knife into her palm. “Just in case,” he murmured.

She startled at the heavy weight of the blade and looked at him incredulously, fighting to suppress a smile. “I’m not about to murder a Mormon. Now hide.” 

What’s a Mormon? Cassian mouthed. He held a broadsword in a loose grip, bouncing on his feet as he prepared for what may come. An uninvited guest was a threat, and Cassian was all too familiar with the kinds of dangers that liked to visit the homes of young women.

Azriel shrugged, joining his brothers around the corner and out of sight. 

“Hello!” A cheery, male voice called from just out of sight. Azriel couldn’t help but seethe. His hands twitched around the handle of his knife as the soapy, clean smell of the stranger invaded Y/n’s home. 

A thin, lanky frame stood straight as a needle in the doorway, crisp clean shirt and black tie decorating an otherwise bland and pale figure. Sandy blonde hair was brushed back from a freckled brow and framed a long face with a brilliantly white and straight smile. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so uniform. 

“How are you doing today?” The male touched his hand to his chest, clutching a leather-bound book in the other, “I’m Brother—” 

“Hey,” Y/n dropped her voice low and sweet, “I have company over and can’t listen right now. Come again later?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I—” 

“Yes, yes, apology accepted.” She could hear the fake politeness in her own voice — plastic and lifeless. But she had more pressing concerns at the moment.  

She gently ushered the man down the walkway, watching carefully as he made his way down the street to the neighbor’s place before shutting the door with a definitive thud and declaring, “I need another coffee.” 

Azriel sprang forward, “Allow me.” There was an extra touch of eagerness to his voice. He snagged the empty coffee cup from the table before she could protest and poured her a cup adding in sugar and cream exactly to her liking. He even stirred his spoon the way she liked — three times counter clockwise, once clockwise, before tapping the lip of the mug twice. He’d been paying careful attention to her all morning, and it paid off when she took her first sip and realized, with shock, that it was perfect. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes and sighing. 

He tipped his head forward in the ghost of a bow, eyes catching on the swish of tail and acid-yellow silts narrowing in contempt at him as Jefferson wrapped around Y/n’s legs. Then the cat pounced. 

Jefferson leapt into Azriel’s arms with a howl, swiping at the Illyrian’s face and neck with vengeance. There was a flash of claws and a thin line of blood appeared on Azriel’s cheek. 

“JEFFERSON!” Y/n shouted. Azriel calmly held onto the cat’s thick torso, holding out the spitting creature at arms length as it writhed and screamed. “I’m so, so sorry.” Apologies continued to spill from your mouth as you hauled Jefferson away. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

The cat only hissed with his eyes locked firmly on the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel swore there was satisfaction in the cat’s gaze as Jefferson brought one paw up to his mouth and licked the drop of blood from his claws. 

Immediately the cat’s slitted eyes blew open until they were nearly black. 

Oh… Master would not like this. Beyond the Master, he did not like this. 

The cat began to whine, clawing at Y/n’s clothes like he was convinced she would abandon him. You cannot have her, Shadowsinger! He thought with venom. You cannot take her away! He meowed desperately, crawling into Y/n’s shirt through the neck hole. 

Rhysand cocked his head to the side, reaching out with his magic at the cat that was acting very un-cat-like. There was something there, some magic, clinging to the creature like a piece of armor. Rhysand could feel it wrapping around the beast, coiling and uncoiling and burning with light. Breathing.

“Y/n?” The High Lord asked carefully. The young woman was too busy soothing the beast to hear him the first time around. “Y/n.”  

“What?” 

“Where did you get that cat?” 

“Really, Rhys? That’s what you’re focused on right now?” Cassian scoffed, crossing his arms.

 “Please answer the question, darling.” 

Azriel and Y/n both frowned at the use of that pet name. 

“I got him the way most people get cats.” She shrugged, “I found him in the backyard.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I found him a week after my previous cat died. Jefferson was scratching at the window frame for hours until I finally woke up and let him inside. He’s been with me ever since.”  

“Interesting.” Rhysand poked at where Jefferson bulged under her shirt. If he didn’t know any better he would say Jefferson was protecting Y/n with his body, covering her heart with his own. “Could I see the cat please?” 

Reluctantly, Jefferson let Y/n pull him out of her shirt and present him to the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand held him loosely in the crook of his arm and pulled out a knife, pricking the tip of his pointer finger before presenting it to the cat. 

“No claws necessary.” He said as the cat took a tentative lick, then bit down for good measure. 

Y/n watched all of this with a mixture of fascination and detached horror as Cassian did the same. Jefferson licked his lips, regarding them with less suspicion and more disdain. He would need to go see Master. Now. He was in desperate need of revelation if he was to care for Y/n. But this time, he could rest easier knowing Y/n was in good hands. Although he only possessed the brain of a feline, incapable of grasping the enormity of a mating bond, he knew that so long as Y/n was with the Shadowsinger, she would be safe. At the very least she would not be the first to die. 

Jefferson jumped down Cassian’s arms with a firm kick to the warrior’s chest, slunk towards the front door and with startling dexterity, unlocked, then opened the door all on his own. 

“Jefferson…” 

The cat turned, tail high in the air like an antennae and meowed his goodbyes, blinking slowly at his charge. 

Fear not. He purred, although he knew Y/n was not so enlightened as to understand him. I will not leave you to these plebeians for long. 

He took off for the woods, his form warping and changing as he went. He seemed to grow, then shrink. His fur turning black, then gold, then back to silver. But before Y/n could fully comprehend what she was happening to her fucking cat, he melted into a beam of sunlight and flickered out of existence. 

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[emmaxdelicate]

THE GREAT WAR | op81 x reader

summary: you and oscar fight about the growing distance between you two

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!girlfriend!reader

warnings: angst, swearing, use of y/n (2 times only), intentional lowercase (lmk if i missed any!)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i felt so bad writing this idk why😭, i already have a part 2 in my drafts lmao

masterlist

rain came in sheets of water, a downpour. it had been this way for days now: gray skies, unending clouds, heaviness that settled upon your chest like a lead weight.

you stood in the kitchen of yours and Oscar's shared apartment , staring blankly at the half-filled mug of tea on the counter. the liquid had long since gone cold, untouched in the chaos of the evening. you could hear Oscar moving in the living room; his footsteps quick and agitated, not as usual, each step was a subtle reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

the fight had started hours ago, even thought "fight" felt like the wrong term. it wasn't just one argument, not really. it was more of a culmination of days and weeks, months, even, of little fractures, cracks in the foundation of the house you had built together. and now, you weren't so sure if the pieces could be put back together.

you gatered some bravery and walked to the living room. Oscar was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and his hair slightly disheveled, you stood at the door.

"so what? you think i don't care?" Oscar's voice cut suddenly, sharp and defensive. it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question tonight.

you watched him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. "that's not what i said."

"it's what you're implying tho," he shot back, his tone cutting. he rarely talked like this with anyone, let alone with you. this wasn't the oscar you spent days cuddling with, the one who whispered reassecurations in your ear each time something was wrong.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "i'm not insinuating anything, oscar. i'm telling you how I feel. and how I feel is—forgotten."

his expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it was replaced by frustration. "forgotten? that's ridiculous, y/n. do you have any idea how much i think about you? how much i care about you?"

"thinking about me is not the same as being here, oscar," you said, your voice trembling despite your best attempts at keeping it even. "you're always somewhere else, with the team, on the track, doing interviews. and i get it, okay? i really do know how much your career means to you, and that's amazing. but when was the last time you really saw me? when was the last time we had a conversation that didn't revolve around your schedule or your next race?"

oscar winced with your words; his jaw flexed. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?"

the question just hung in the air, heavy and unanswered. oscar slumped slightly into himself, his frustration giving way to something more subdued. "i'm doing my best," he said quietly.

your laugh was bitter, like a knife across the silence. "your best? oscar, your best is killing me." you took a step closer to him.

he recoiled as if you had hit him, his eyes wide with hurt. for a moment, you almost thought he might walk away-that he might turn around and leave the room, leave you standing there with your heart in pieces. but he stayed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

"what do you want me to do?" he asked finally, his voice strained. "tell me, because i don't know anymore. i'm trying to balance everything-my career, my life, you. i'm trying so hard. but it feels like no matter what i do, it's never enough."

"you never call me when you're away, only text me to tell me stupid shit instead of checking up on me. i can't be the only one doing that"

you felt the well of tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "i don't need you to be perfect, oscar. i just need you to be here. to show me that i matter, that we matter." you sat next to him.

"you do matter," he said, facing you, his voice breaking on the words. "more than anything."

"then why don't I feel it?

the question came out a whisper, but it was enough to shatter whatever fragile truce had existed between you. oscar turned away, raking a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"i don't know," he admitted, his back to you. "i don't know how to make you feel it. i thought i was doing everything right, but clearly i'm not."

you took a shaking breath, hands trembling at your sides. "it's not about you being right, Oscar-it's about us, about what we're losing."

he turned back to you then, his face open and raw. "i don't want to lose you," he whispered.

"neither do i,"you told him. "then fight for me," you shot back, voice breaking. "because I'm tired of being the only one fighting."

the words hung in the air, a challenge, and for one second you thought oscar might rise to it. but instead, he looked away, his shoulders sagging under everything that was left unsaid.

"i don't know if i can," he finally said, barely in a whisper.

that was your final blow. it was a punch in the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. you stared at him, heart breaking all over again, feeling for the first time the full weight of what this fight had cost you.

"then what are we doing, oscar?" you asked, voice shaking, a tear falling from your eye. "if you can't fight for this-for us-then what's the point?

he didn't say anything, and the silence that followed was deafening.

you looked away, hands grasping onto the edges of the couch. outside, the rain again picked up, its sound a harsh backdrop to the chaos inside your head.

"i think i need some air," you said finally, your voice barely above your breath.

oscar looked at you, his face contorting with something almost like panic. "y/n, wait-"

but you were already in motion, snatching your coat from the chair beside the door and out into the rain, wich was heavier than you expected. maybe it was the wrong choice, going out there and leaving oscar alone. or maybe the wrong choice was even trying to confront him in the first place. maybe you should've just dropped him. cold drops pelted your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you didn't care. the storm inside was far worse.

you walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you down the empty street without any real direction. your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each one louder than the last.

how did you two wnd up like this? how had the love you once shared, the kind of love that felt undestructibl, turn into something so uncertain?

you remembered how oscar used to look at you, as if you were the center of his universe; you remembered your deep talks late at night, stolen kisses, and quiet times that made you believe you could go thru any storm as long as he was by your side.

but now, you thought of the missed calls, lonely nights, and the growing distance between you two. and no matter how much you tried, it was difficult to remove that feeling.

you didn't know how long you had walked around the neighborhood, but by the time you made your way back to the house, the rain had soaked through every layer of clothes. your hair was drenched and plastered to your face, and your fingers were numb from the cold.

oscar had been waiting for you when you walked through the door, watching as you came inside. he was sitting on the couch, still in the same position from before, looking up at you with a mix of relief and concern in his eyes.

"you're soaked," he said, quick to his feet to help you.

"i'm fine," you said dismissively, pushing past him toward the stairs.

"wait," he said, catching your wrist gently. "please, don't just walk away."

you turned to him, red-rimmed and tired, and said, "i don't know what else to do, Oscar."

his grip on your wrist tightened somewhat, his eyes pleading. "stay. talk to me. let's figure this out. please."

"we've been talking all night," you said, "and i still don't know where we stand."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but his hand fell instead to his side, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"i love you," he whispered. "but i don't know if that's enough anymore."

it felt like someone had stabbed you in the chest, and for that moment, you weren't able to breathe. you looked at him, your heart breaking all over again, before you turned and went upstairs without saying another word.

you closed the door behind you and pressed your back against the wood. the tears came then, silent, without oscar to wipe them away, and you let them fall, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you'd brobably lost.

and for the first time ever, you weren't so sure if you and oscar would make it through.

© 2025 emmaxdelicate

[notquitecanon]

Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong." 

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

 Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’. 

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous. 

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night. 

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year.  Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes.  Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical. 

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.  

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess. 

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old. 

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there.  Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey.  Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist. 

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-" 

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?" 

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you. 

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon. 

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?" 

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military.  You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here. 

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late." 

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia. 

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important." 

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?" 

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?" 

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.” 

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside. 

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in. 

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed. 

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?” 

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically. 

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.” 

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.” 

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.” 

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind. 

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter… 

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.” 

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm. 

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.” 

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.” 

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet. 

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine,  "A lot nervous, actually.” 

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him. 

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?” 

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again… 

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.”  His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth. 

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart.  God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to? 

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night. 

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?” 

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“ 

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process. 

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all. 

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: They are technically yours. But he owns them.

Warnings: Tiddie obsessed Jeongin. No plot, just Smut🔞. Sucking, fingering, pet names, touchy and kinda whiney Innie. Hand kink(???)

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I'm on a writing rampage right now, did I just post like 4 one shots in a row?!

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.5k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Jeongin is the sweetest gentleman, the walking green forest, the best boyfriend when he’s with you.

Surprises you with the cutest dates, refuses to let go of your hand when walking through the aisles in the grocery store, snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, literally wanting to merge you into his soul. He’s just that devastatingly in love with you.

And this is the same gentleman, lover boy Jeongin who is obsessed with your boobs. And not just obsessed. He possesses your tits. 

The way his face brightens like a thousand suns when he catches you not wearing a bra, has him giggling, if he could deadass replace that piece of clothing with his hands, he would do it without hesitation.

But during some mornings—like today—you have to physically push him away from your chest so that you can get ready for work which only has him sulking the entire day.

He'll act like it's the end of the world, as if the universe is being cruel to no one but him, refusing to do anything, be an emotionless robot at the studio that half pisses Chan off. 

And once you come back, does he greet you with a hello? Hey baby, how was your day? No.

“Get here before I rip that top off.” His eyes burned, hungrily. Arms were crossed as he sat on the couch, waiting for you to get back home. 

“Well hello to you too,” You said, kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket. Sometimes you wondered if he dated you for you or your boobs but deep down you could feel a blooming sense of pride how Jeongin basically survives just because of your pretty mounds.

"Don't start," he warned, his foot tapping against the floor like he was holding himself back from pouncing on you.

"Innie, you behave like you haven't seen them in years," you teased, crossing your arms under your chest just to test him. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dropped straight to where you wanted them.

A low growl rumbled in his throat before he was up on his feet, closing the space between you in two quick strides. His hands found your waist, firm but gentle, tugging you closer until you had no choice but to tip your head back to meet his gaze.

He scoffed, shaking his head before he pulled the neckline of your top enough to get a peek. His eyes darkened as he hummed in approval.

You smacked his hands away. "At least let me change first!"

He arched a brow. "Change into what?" He looked like you had just insulted him in the face.

His pout was almost convincing, but you knew better. He was the same guy who’d whined dramatically when you wore a turtleneck last week, claiming it was "the worst betrayal known to mankind" because he "couldn’t even get a glimpse" the whole day.

A strong hand cupped your right breast over your top, a dimpled grin deepening on his cheek. “I'm reclaiming what’s mine."

“Huh, excuse you!” You swatted his hand away again playfully and he lost it. 

Jeongin let out a frustrated groan, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you again. His jaw clenched, and that all-too-familiar spark of mischief flickered in his dark eyes.

"Come on, baby," he whined, begging you, dragging his hands down his face. "I've been deprived. Starved. Look at me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest just to taunt him. "Oh, please. You're acting like you haven't had your hands on me all week."

Jeongin tilted his head back, literally one second away from throwing a tantrum. "Yeah, but that was all in moderation. I need full access, no limitations."

You narrowed your eyes at him and he whined again shamelessly. “Please pleaseeee baby,” he cupped your breast again and you didn’t swat him away this time. “I need it…please...” 

Dear god how can you say no to that voice and those eyes? Big, pleading, glimmering with just enough desperation to make your stomach twist in the most delicious way. That whine in his voice, the way he squeezed your breast in his palm like he’d die without it, had you sighing in mock defeat.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your fingers threaded into his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

Jeongin grinned, a triumphant smug, before his lips brushed your jawline, pressing slow, teasing kisses down your neck. His hand flexed over your breast, massaging, thumb flicking lazily over the clothed peak.

Then he was suddenly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, walking into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the mattress. A surprised squeal left your lips as you landed, but he was already hovering over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.

“Mmm, I missed these,” he murmured, nosing along your collarbone before nipping at your skin. “Missed you.”

Your breath hitched, heat curling low in your stomach. “Jeongin—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with that lazy sympathy as he sucked a mark right where your shoulder met your neck. His free hand slid down, touching the hem of your top and pushed it up, before you knew he had removed it and your pink bra had found a new home on the floor. 

His brain short circuited when his eyes landed on your pretty tits, his huge hands, long fingers closed over the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over the now hard, sensitive peaks, before the tip of his tongue painted ghost circles over your areola making your thighs clench instinctively.

His lips brushed over the swell of your breast, latching his mouth onto your exposed skin, leaving another mark on you. His tongue flicked, teeth grazing your nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your back arch into him.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, making him groan against you. His hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, like he had to feel every inch of you at once.

You gasped as he continued sucking greedily with just enough pressure to have your stomach flipping. Jeongin hummed, laving his tongue over the sensitive bud, before moving to the other one, giving it just as much attention.

He couldn't get enough. If he could have his mouth where it "deserved" to belong, he'd stay where he is right now forever. His breathing was erratic but he didn’t care. His slurps and wet groans rumbled through his chest, sending pleasuring shockwaves through you. 

"You're so soft," he murmured, voice husky, lips pressing teasing kisses over the marks he’d already left, his hands kneading, squeezing and playing with your tits. 

Sure, his slender hands, warm mouth gave you ounces of pleasure but touching and tasting you just gets him off and so down bad.

His lips were swollen from the continuous sucking and your nipples were slick with his saliva and still he dragged his mouth across your chest, leaving behind a wet trail of warm, open mouthed kisses.

“Innie,” you gasped when he rolled and lightly pinched the bud. 

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, a smirk evident in his tone. “I’m listening, baby.”

He wasn’t. Not really. He was too caught up in you, too obsessed with the way your body reacted under his touch. His long fingers slid down the valley of your stomach before it slipped in your skirt, tracing his fingertips over your soaking panties. 

You couldn't make out words. A long moan slipped past you when he pushed the drenched fabric to the side and thrusted two of his digits inside your cunt while his mouth was reattached on your breast.

It felt like heaven. To you and him.

His fingers curled just right and his mouth worked just right that had you squirming beneath him, your hands tangling the strands of his hair. 

“More…Innie,” your voice was breathless, pleading, and it sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Jeongin’s smirk deepened at the way you gasped his name, his hands never stopping their slow, torturous exploration. 

His thumb pressed on your clit right as he hit the sweet spot, your release gushed down your thighs and his fingers, the purring hum of him vibrating over your skin as he released your now swollen nub with a pop!

You looked up at Jeongin who's now half groggy gaze never left yours, lips glistening with a lazy smile tugging the corners.

He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean and rested his head back again on your chest, his other hand closing possessively over the flesh. 

“Mine.” He commanded, a feather light kiss brushing past your skin, his eyes closing as he laid his head on you, falling asleep under the sound of your heartbeat.

You had held him gently, threading your fingers through his hair, soothing him into his slumber as he slept on his favourite pillow but you couldn't help but wonder if what he meant was you or your boobs. 

But again, you couldn't have it any other way. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[mysterymachine67]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x M!reader

Summary: Fucking Dean on the hood of the Impala. Yes, the hood.

NSFW. Minors DNI.

It was dark out. Crickets and other insects spoke among the two of you. The shine of the moon hit the Impala that Dean was currently laid on, and the air was cool. Not too hot, not too cold.

Speaking of Dean, before you guys stopped on the side of the road, the two of you had been driving to pick up food. You both were pent up (more so Dean but we don’t mention that); giving each other suggestive touches along the way. And then it became to much. The both of you couldn’t wait. Now, you guys are here.

Dean huffed and squirmed as you unbuckled his belt. Lifting his hips up just to try and get some type of friction. But you slapped his thigh and told him otherwise. “Quit squirmin’ or else I’m gonna leave you like this, all needy and pathetic. You wouldn’t want that, right?” And all you got for a respond was a long groan.

Once his pants were down and out of the way, you moved onto his shirt. Helping him take it off. “Shirt too? God, you can’t get enough, can you?” Dean teased. And once the cold feel of the impala bit at his back, he let out a hiss. You couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. In which he shot you a glare. “I can’t help it, pretty boy. Look at you, beautiful all over.” You replied while your hands ran over his chest. The warmth of them mixed with the cold sensation on his back caused him to shudder. A groan falling from his lips and his eyebrows knitting together before speaking up.

“‘M not beautiful, don’t call me that..” He mumbled. Turning his face to the side just to be met with the cool feel once again. “Want me to use a more manly term for your beauty, Mr. Winchester?” You teased, but soon brought it to an end once he bucked his hips again. You didn’t want to keep him waiting for to long.

You leaned down, bringing your mouth to his for a kiss. Distracting him from yet another cold feeling. You popped open the lube and squeezed some onto your fingers. Cringing once you realized you should’ve warmed it between your hands first before opening. Before you pushed your finger into him, you whispered a small warning about the cold, then pressed another quick kiss to his lips.

“Shit! What the hell?” Dean grumbled. Hips shifting in attempt to get more comfortable, but you told him to stay still.

—

Once Dean was stretched enough and prepped, which was hell with all of his complaining, you pressed the tip of your cock against his wet hole. Giving him a moment before pushing in.

Considering you were indeed fucking Dean on the hood of the Impala, there was a chance a car would drive by and see you both. But, those chances were low because for one it’s dark out, and two it’s not really a main road. Yet the thought of you two getting caught only turned you on more. Once you were bottomed out, you started to move again. When you looked up at Dean his face was twisted into a look of pleasure. His hands balled into fists—not knowing where to grab, and his jaw was clenched shut, not daring to let out any noise.

“How’re you feeling, baby?” You asked, while slooowly dragging your cock from his hole. You moved his legs just as he was about to answer, holding them up by the back of his thighs. It gave you a clear sight of seeing your cock disappear into him. Before he gave you an answer he let out a broken hum. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “Good—feel s’good.” Dean blinked and swallowed the spit that formed in his mouth.

“Yeah?” You whispered. Speeding up your pace and finding a rhythm that made him see stars. “Mmm!” Is all Dean could manage. He clenched and arched his back oh so beautifully. His eyebrows nearly drawn upward while his eyes closed. You took in the sight of it, watching his mouth drop as he couldn’t keep his jaw shut any longer. It all felt good. To good. And when you hit his prostate dead on? He let out a looong moan that silenced half off the bugs that were chatting previously. With how tight and warm he felt, you couldn’t help but let out a moan yourself. Continuing to bully your cock into him. And finally, that familiar feeling rose in both off your body’s. Deciding to help him out, you wrapped one of your hands around his dick, starting to pump. In response to that he threw his head back against the Impala, quick. A loud ‘thud’ noise coming from the impact. You winced, but still stifled a chuckle.

You asked if he was okay, and he responded with a nod of his hurt head. Seemingly to only care about cumming at the moment. Even though you, yourself knew damn well that hurt. But with one more stroke of your hand, and another hit to his prostate is all that it took for him to cum. You soon following after.

You both stayed there, breathing heavily and panting. And once the both of you calmed down you spoke up. “How’s your head?” You asked, and his response was, “Just a little bump. I’ve had worse.” Shaking your head while beginning to move, Dean’s phone started to ring. He sat up on the hood, letting out a soft groan before grabbing his phone and answering it, putting it on speaker.

“Yeah?” He asked. It was Sam. “Where the hell are you guys? You only went out on a food run.” You both looked at each other like a deer in headlights.

Shit, the food.

[harryhighkey]

183.

hi! this is my first ever Lee Byung-Hun/The Frontman one shot! I hope u like it! this man has taken over my life !!!!!!!!!!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

183.

That was the number that ticked over on the screen as the final vote was casted by Player 001. The people who voted to stay had won. You were in disbelief. Standing on the side of people who voted to leave this hell you were positive that this was the side that was going to win the vote.

How wrong you were.

183, this number was going to haunt you during your time here, which was ironic considering it was also the one that was labelled on your green tracksuit.

Now you stood in utter shock at this outcome. All 183 of them had witnessed the same brutal deaths that had only happened hours earlier, so how could they choose to stay?

You were frozen and your eyes were trained on the man who had been the 183rd vote. You kept watching as he turned to face everyone else. Half the room cheering and the other half disappointed. However, his expression was unique, a sinister smirk adorned his face that sent shivers down your spine.

------

The guards had demanded you had spent too much time in the bathroom and were making you return to the room the vote had taken place. It had been a long time, but you weren't doing anything wrong, you were so desperate for a moment alone to cry over your terrors which is exactly what you had been doing. You cursed yourself for not trying to do anything productive in looking for any chance to escape, there was a vent in the roof that you wanted to have a closer look at later.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself as you walked back through the doorway, you kept your steps quick & quiet. You were about half way back to your bunk when you got stopped.

"Hey, now look at this pretty girl, I didn't notice you in the game today." Thanos. The purple haired, Player 230 had certainly let himself be noticed by everyone today.

"I was laying low, wouldn't you expect you to get it." You quipped back, keeping your head down due to the fact you could feel your eyes were puffy & were positive your nose was red from crying and you didn't need it pointed out.

"Why lay low, baby? We're here to have fun. We should have fun together!"

You scowled at the pet name and instantly snapped back, "I'm not interested in joining your tiny dick parade."

"Such a dirty mouth on a pretty girl! I'd like to know what else that mouth-"

Just as you were about to raise your voice and interrupt the unwelcomed comment by telling him to fuck off, someone beat you to it.

"Enough." It was another man's voice, this one much more commanding, not as loud but it was dominant.

Yourself & the purple haired man turned to who spoke up. It was him. The final voter. Player 001. You stood there with the only red 'X' on your green tracksuit out of the three of you yet he was coming to your aid, going against a fellow blue 'O.'

His eyes briefly landed on yours and you inhaled a sharp breath, you were so hyper-focused on him that you swore you noticed his face contort into a display of sympathy. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone just as fast and Player 001 was stone faced once more as he looked back to Player 230.

You watched the interaction between the two men, had something happened whilst you were in the bathroom? They were only saying a few words to each other but the tension was so high.

"Leave her alone." Was how Player 001 ended the moment and this man shocked you yet again as he caused the most bold player to follow his order and walk away from the two of you. Once Thanos was gone he turned back to you. Your chest going tense at the eye contact. "Are you-"

"I don't need your help." You quickly cut him off, already walking away from him so he didn't get a chance to answer. This unknown man had just come to your rescue, but he was also the deciding vote for staying in this hell. If you hadn't of rushed off so quick maybe you would have paid more attention to how his face softened when looking at you and maybe paid attention to the fact that part of you noticed how nice that felt.

------

"There you are."

You were laying on your side and the voice came from behind you, but you already knew who it was without seeing them. You'd heard that same deep voice hours earlier when it had come to your rescue. The only difference this time it was more hushed and closer to your ear.

"Go away." You didn't turn over to look at Player 001, you stubbornly stayed in place.

"I would like to talk to you."

"I'm sleeping."

"And conversing?"

"Sleep talking exists."

"Yours is quite advanced." His tone was light-hearted, but you were still on the defence. It wasn't lost on you that you had to protect yourself, being a female and much younger than a lot of the other contestants here. Player 001 included.

"Wait until you see how I sleep hit." You suddenly waved an arm back towards his direction, only for a firm grip of his hand coming around your wrist that quickly halted your movements.

He used his hold around your wrist to pull you so you were flat on your back. The movement was so fast, your strength was no match for his and now you were face to face. If you lifted your head the slightest bit from your pillow, your nose would graze his and that had your heart racing. Surely just because you were scared, not for any other reason.

Acting fast, you went to grab his hand with your spare one to try and free yourself, but he was faster and easily caught your second hand in his own second hand, trapping them both.

"If you are going to make it out of here alive, you need to keep that attitude of yours under control." His tone was serious now, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. You were so vulnerable right now, your breath was coming out in quick pants, your wide-eyed gaze had become frightened as you were forced to look into his stern one.

"Please let go of me." Your voice came out shaky, tears began to well in your eyes. He had scared you. Your hands were freed and you swiftly moved to sit up and move to a corner of your little bed to put some space between you and this man.

His face softened, the same way it had when he looked at you earlier and would have noticed the after effects of crying being present on your face. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well you did."

"I'm sorry." He apologised and you didn't know what to say. "May I sit for a moment?" He asked so politely, his tone now gentle. You took a second before nodding your head and he sat on the side of your bed, facing you. "I don't want you to die in here."

"I don't want to either. That's why I voted to leave." At that response, his eyes fell to the red 'X' labelled on your outfit before lifting to find your gaze once more.

"Let me help you in here."

"I don't need your-"

"You do." He cut you off, his words were impactful. You clenched your jaw.

"No I don't."

"Yes."

"No."

He huffed and dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his fingertips into his temples. "Stubborn girl."

You watched him silently, a million thoughts running through your head. Part of you still felt afraid, but another part of you was curious about him, you almost felt drawn to him. Your eyes were trained on his fingers massaging his own head and before you had a chance to think about what you were about to ask, you already blurted it out. "Can you rub my head like that?"

"What?" He paused his movements and looked at you again, an expression of confusion present on his face.

God, he had a handsome face.

"I know it's a weird request but I can't sleep and I'm exhausted. I'll never able to sleep here and I will obviously need energy for tomorrow and my head getting rubbed always makes me sleepy." You spoke fast, rambling your words out and you could feel your face heating up in embarrassment as he continued to stare at you in surprise. Which only got worse when he let out a quiet laugh which made you put your head in your hands and let out a little whine. "Forget it-"

"I'll do it." Yet again he cut you off and his response made your heart beat harder.

The two of you sat there looking at one another in silence. You were memorising the details of his face when he snapped you out of it.

"Are you going to lay down?"

"Oh, yes." You returned to your original position of laying down on your side, this time your back was leaning against his leg as he stayed in his spot.

When his fingers combed into your hair and made contact with your scalp, you took a deep breath at the soothing movements he began making.

"Like this?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Close your eyes." You finally listened to him without arguing back and fluttered your eyes closed.

The more you focused on the feeling of Player 001's fingers dancing such peaceful patterns along your scalp, the more you relaxed back against him and forgot about where you were. In your mind, only the two of you existed in this moment.

Maybe the next time he offered help, you wouldn't be so quick to fight back.

[melosliving]

I have a request. First real hook up session with Aaron. Just sexy sexy making out, grabbing and etc. Both breathless. Nothing much

so sorry for the delay !!!! I felt free to begin the ask with an argument, I hope you’ll like it bb !

Aaron pierre x reader

warnings : argument, heavy make out session, sexy sexy

The argument had been brewing all day, and you’d finally had enough. Aaron leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders tense, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. He hadn’t said much during dinner, just short responses and sharp glances, and you could only take so much of the passive-aggressive energy.

“Do you have a problem, Aaron?” you snapped, slamming the cabinet door shut after grabbing a glass. You filled it with water, taking a moment to steady yourself before you turned to face him. “You’ve been in a mood all damn day. If something’s wrong, just say it.”

He scoffed, a short, humorless sound that immediately set your teeth on edge. “It’s Aaron now ? It’s not like you’d actually listen, though, is it?” His British accent made the words sound calm on the surface, but the sharp edge in his tone cut deep.

You froze, your glass pausing halfway to your lips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said,” he bit out, his eyes narrowing as they met yours. “You’re always so quick to jump in with your opinions. Can’t ever just let me talk without getting defensive.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it. “Defensive? Aaron, you barely talk at all. You shut down, brood, and act like I’m supposed to read your damn mind. And I’m the problem?”

“Because every time I try to tell you something, you act like it’s my fault for even bringing it up!” His voice rose slightly as he pushed off the counter, his tall frame towering over you now. “It’s exhausting. I’m trying to have a real conversation with someone who won’t even meet me halfway.”

Wow. Your eyebrows shot up, your anger rising with every word. “Meet you halfway?” You slammed the glass down on the counter. “You never say what’s on your mind, Aaron! You hold everything in, and then when you finally let it out, you act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“And you don’t make it easy!” he shot back, stepping closer. The heat in his voice was matched by the intensity in his eyes. “Every time we argue, it’s like you’re trying to win. You don’t even stop to think about what I’m saying. It’s always about proving a point with you.”

“Because you make me feel like I have*to,” you fired back, the words coming faster now, fueled by the frustration bubbling over. “You walk around with this whole ‘I’m too cool to care’ act, and then the second I call you out on it, you flip the script and make it about me!”

His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling as he stared you down. The air between you was thick, electric, like a storm about to break. “You think I don’t care?” he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m just walking around here not giving a shit about you, about us?”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it!” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “Half the time, I don’t even know what you’re thinking. You just shut me out, Aaron. And then you stand there and blame me for not knowing what’s going on with you.” There was a long pause, the two of you locked in a silent standoff. His jaw ticked as he stared at you, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You drive me mad,” he said finally, his voice rough. He took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on yours. “You push every single one of my buttons, and then you wonder why I can’t just sit here and smile like everything’s fine.”

“Maybe if you didn’t bottle everything up until you exploded, we wouldn’t have to argue like this,” you shot back, but your voice lacked the venom it had before. His presence was overwhelming, his warmth radiating off him as he closed the space between you.

“And maybe,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he stepped closer, “if you stopped trying to control every damn thing, you’d see how much I’m trying.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a single word out, his hands were on your waist, pulling you into him as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hard, almost bruising, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then your body melted into his. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, hot and demanding, and a low groan rumbled in his chest when you tugged on his curls.

His hands slid down your waist to your hips, gripping tightly as he backed you against the counter. His body pressed firmly against yours, and you could feel the heat of him, the hard lines of his chest and the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

“Baby,” you whispered when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw and to your neck. The soft scrape of his beard sent a shiver down your spine, and your head tilted back, giving him more access.

“I’m baby again now ? What do you want ?” he murmured against your skin, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to grip the bare skin of your waist. His thumbs stroked slow, teasing circles, and your breath hitched as you arched into him. “We’re still arguing,” you managed, though your voice came out shaky.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough in your ear. “Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear before biting down gently.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he lifted you onto the counter, his body slotting between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your legs apart as his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, like he had all the time in the world.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. His hands stayed on your thighs, warm and steady, grounding you.

“You make me crazy,” he admitted, his voice soft but raw. “You’re the one making me crazy,” you shot back, though your voice had no heat left.

His lips twitched into a small smile, his teeth still appearing as he leaned in, his breath brushing against your lips. “Guess we’re both mad, then.”

And as his lips met yours again, softer this time but no less consuming, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the heat of the moment and the undeniable pull between you.

@ melosliving 2025

[moonlight-alexia]

17 years old | a.p.

alexia putellas x teen!reader | 1.3k | you make your senior debut for barcelona

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. i hope you enjoy it :)

Standing on the sideline, waiting for your number to be put up on the board, you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You’d been ready for this day to come since you’d been invited to train with the first team. Though it still feels like time has gone by so quickly. It felt like just yesterday you were in the stands watching your mami on this very same pitch.

But that was four years ago now. Now you were older, your siblings were older, you weren’t that 13 year old watching her mami play. You were 17 now, about to step onto the same pitch that you had only dreamt about playing on. A world of responsibility was about to unfold the minute you stepped out, you weren’t just playing in the youth teams anymore, but about to play with the same players you’d grown to idolise.

It was a surreal feeling but one you were sure you were ready for. You’d watched your mami for years and everyone knows Alexia would’ve done everything she could to make sure you were as prepared, mentally and physically, as you could be for this moment. 

You knew you’d be making your debut in this match, despite having been on the matchday squad list for a fair few matches before this one. You also knew that your mami had been told as well, considering that you’d overheard her trying to get as many people as she could to come support you today. Your Tia Alba on the phone asking your mami what was so special about this match and then your mami’s hushed whispers were a dead giveaway to anyone who was overhearing.

The club saved Alexia’s number just for you, everyone knew you would definitely make your way through the teams to the first. There was never any doubt. Your passion for the game and your work ethic was identical to Alexia’s. There was a moment where you had second thoughts about taking the number eleven. But it was your mami’s legacy and you couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else wearing that number at this club.

Standing on the sideline, the number eleven with your name this time on your back, it didn’t feel as daunting as you always imagined it would. You were nervous, yes, but you knew no matter what happened today your mami was proud of you. Your family, your teammates, your mami’s teammates, the club, they were all already proud. Yes you had some big shoes to fill, you knew the expectations of the fans were going to be high, but you are a Putellas and you know you can do it.

You almost missed your number being shown on the board, being brought back to reality when arms were wrapped around you tightly, ‘Show them what you got kid. You’ve got this,’ Whispered in your ear during the embrace. A little nod of your head and a smile plastered across your face you ran onto the pitch. 

‘Pollito! Pollito!’ You didn’t need to look back at the stands to be able to hear Mapi’s voice over everyone else's.

‘Pollito, one day they’ll be chanting like that for you here,’ Mapi leaned over, pointing at the crowd that was chanting your mami’s name, ‘And I’ll be the first one,’ 

Coming on in the 80th minute, you really didn’t expect to be able to add a whole lot of importance to the match. You were just happy to be stepping onto the pitch, getting your first senior appearance. Though whoever was in charge of your script had other plans for you. Not many 17 year olds making their first appearance would have the confidence to take a shot like you did. 

Intercepting the ball midway between the half and 18 yard box, one quick glance up to see the keeper off their line and you didn’t take a second to think about taking the shot. Everything was a massive blur, your first touch was a goal and you hardly had any time to even think about it before you were being pulled into hugs and head pats by your teammates.Finishing the match with two goals in twelve minutes, a debut that no one was going to forget. 

‘Ale, watch out our little pollito already starting her goal count. Coming to take your top spot away from you if she keeps going like this,’ Mapi slung her arm around your shoulder bringing you in for a side hug. You laughed a little, shaking your head playfully. Your mami rolled her eyes. They’d all made their way down after the match, not wasting a second to come see you. You who was still in shock and not believing everything was real and ready to wake up realising it was all a dream. Eventually it would sink in.

‘You suck at celebrating,’ You laughed at your little brother, ‘All the time you seen me and my celebrations, I’d thought you’d learn a thing from me,’ Your brother was just like you and your mami, going through his own La Masia journey now, and you’d often found yourself practicing and playing football in the backyard together. You were both quite competitive with each other and Alexia has had to break up her fair share of fights and arguments between you both. But your closeness never faltered.

‘Hermano, you gotta teach me how you backflip,’ You smirked looking mostly at Alexia when you spoke to your brother within the group. You knew that if you even thought about trying something like that it would send your mami into a slight panic, the look in her eye now and the slight falter of her smile. You liked winding her up. A backflip celebration was definitely in your future, already planning it for a match you know your mami would be at.

‘Sí, celebrate in style pollito,’ Your tía Alba encouraging it, anything to annoy her sister

‘Eh, you’ll figure it out,’ Your mami pulled you in for a hug, you could see just how proud she was of you, ‘Maybe a less dangerous one, por favor,’ You laughed but made no effort to promise your mami that.

‘Hmm, I guess can’t have you growing more grey hairs,’ You playfully squinted while looking at your mami’s hair, Alexia gently slapping your hand away before you could point any out. 

‘If any, you lot are the reason for them,’ Alexia pointed towards the entire group that surrounded you. You all laughed, and somewhere during all the banter and the teasing you realised just how lucky you were. Seeing them all here together, you wouldn’t have made it this far without them.

Your mami turned you around so you were looking at her now front on, her hands gently holding the side of your head, ‘I’m so proud of you pollito,’ Words that you often heard from your mami but this time it felt different hearing it. A good kind of different. Alexia gave you a kiss on your forehead before, reluctantly, letting you go. Your mami still wishes you were that four year old who still fell over every time you tried to kick a ball, you grew too fast for her liking but she’s excited to watch your journey. She knows you’ll go far, mother’s intuition as she likes to tell you when you call her biased. 

Your little sister tugged at your shirt and you picked her up, she was small for her age so she still sat nicely on your hip just like she always has. You eventually broke away from your family, still holding your little sister while you went back to your teammates and went to some of the fans that were trying to get your attention.

Your mami watched from afar. Her little pollito wasn’t so little anymore, ‘The world is yours pollito,’