#so i was using my shoe to move the gravel

[jmkjournalblog]

"Soulmates" Part 2

Part 1

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

Summary: The Fem!reader, vampire with a penchant for dark humor and psychopathic tendencies, is sent to Nevermore Academy by her parents following an unpleasant incident involving the murder of a couple of triple students in her previous school. Despite their contrasting personalities, the reader and Wednesday form a complex bond, navigating their differences while facing challenges that threaten to keep them apart.

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes

Warnings: None

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Y/n POV

My boots clicked against the cobbled pathways as I trailed slightly behind Enid and Wednesday. The cold seeped into my skin, but it was a welcome chill—reminding me that I was awake, alive, and in the midst of something new and dangerous. 

Enid chattered on about classes, the cafeteria’s dubious offerings, and the school’s annual Poe Cup race. She walked between me and Wednesday, trying desperately to bridge the chasm of our conflicting energies. Her voice, warm and bright, seemed to wrap itself around us, a shield against the gloom. I tried to listen, but my senses were sharper than usual, picking up every rustle of the wind, every whisper of movement around the stone parapets.

And then I felt it—a shift in the air, like static before a storm. My eyes flicked upward, catching sight of a massive stone gargoyle teetering precariously on the edge of the nearest building. Time slowed. In that instant, I saw it lean, its shadow stretching long and ominous across the courtyard.

“Wednesday!” I shouted, already moving.

I didn’t think. My body reacted, faster than I’d ever needed to move before. In a blur, I lunged, tackling her to the ground. We hit the cold stone hard; I cushioned her fall, but it was far from graceful. The gargoyle crashed to the spot she’d been standing, splintering into jagged shards. Dust filled the air, mingling with the scent of crushed stone.

I was on my feet in an instant, senses searching for the threat. My eyes, now blazing, scanned for movement in the shadows above. Whoever had done this was either very bold or very stupid. When I felt no immediate danger, I turned my attention back to Wednesday, still on the ground.

Her dark eyes were locked on me, a mix of shock, rage, and—dare I say it—a hint of something else. She quickly masked it, but I’d seen it. Vulnerability. And it struck me more deeply than I cared to admit.

“Get off me,” she said coldly, her voice as sharp as the shards scattered around us. She pushed herself upright, brushing dirt from her clothing. I expected her to be grateful—or at the very least acknowledge what had just happened. But this was Wednesday.

“Not even a ‘thank you’?” I asked, my voice low but laced with something raw, something I couldn’t quite suppress. I’d just saved her life.

Her eyes met mine, unblinking. “I didn’t ask to be saved.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, stepping closer, my voice losing its playful edge. “Even if you’d prefer to be flattened by a gargoyle.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. But her breathing was slightly faster, her gaze searching mine. For what, I couldn’t tell. “If you think that earns you any kind of favor, you’re mistaken.”

I exhaled, a humorless laugh escaping me. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Her expression didn’t change. But there was a spark in her eyes—an acknowledgment that, despite her words, she’d felt something. She stepped past me, brushing my shoulder. “Don’t expect gratitude from me, Y/n. Your heroics are… unnecessary.”

I watched her walk away, every fiber of my being alive with tension. I had never wanted to both throttle and kiss someone more in my life.

Wednesday POV

Wednesday strode quickly, the sound of gravel crunching under her shoes grounding her. Her heart was pounding, and she cursed herself for the betrayal of her own physiology. Why did this girl, this aggravating, cocky newcomer, make her feel so… off balance?

In the distance, she heard Enid’s voice, calling after her with frantic worry. She forced herself to slow, to breathe, to appear unfazed. She needed control. Always.

“Wednesday! Are you okay?” Enid’s voice was frantic, and she gripped Wednesday’s arm with surprising strength.

“I’m fine.” The words were curt, but Enid’s grip tightened. Wednesday’s eyes met hers, softened slightly by the uncharacteristic display of worry. “Truly, Enid. It was a coward’s attempt.”

“Still, it could’ve—” Enid’s gaze flicked to Y/n, who stood a few paces back, watchful, tension evident in the set of her jaw.

Wednesday turned away, focusing on her breathing, on the anger simmering beneath her skin. She hated needing help. But she’d been seconds from a painful, possibly fatal end. And she couldn’t quite shake the way Y/n’s voice had cracked when she’d shouted her name.

“I’ll find who did this,” Y/n said, voice low and dangerous. It wasn’t a question. It was a vow.

“Do whatever you like,” Wednesday replied, refusing to meet her gaze again. “But don’t expect me to owe you anything.”

Y/n’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “I never do.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Wednesday with the realization that for all her careful plans, all her walls—there was a crack. A very, very dangerous crack.

******

The crowd had started to thin, curiosity satisfied for now. Some students whispered as they walked by, eyes darting to Y/n and then quickly away. The sound of crunching stone underfoot punctuated the silence, and as the commotion faded, Y/n found herself standing alone for a moment, watching Wednesday's retreating back.

She clenched her jaw, feeling an unexpected weight in her chest. Annoyance, mixed with something far more complicated. She’d acted on pure instinct. She wasn’t sure what she had expected in return—gratitude, certainly not—but Wednesday’s cold dismissal struck deeper than it should have. She turned sharply on her heel, shaking her head, and made her way toward the forest edge. She needed air, space to think, and to cool the simmering heat of anger, frustration, and a hint of fear she still couldn’t shake.

The woods were thick with life, the scents and sounds amplified by my heightened senses. Birds rustled above, and small animals scurried through the underbrush. I took deep, steadying breaths, but my mind was restless, racing with everything that had just happened. That gargoyle wasn’t some random accident—it was deliberate. Someone had aimed for Wednesday, and that meant the stakes were higher than I’d thought.

But even as I replayed the scene, the sound of her heartbeat against my chest lingered. Her scent—a mix of pine, ink, and something uniquely her—clung to me. I cursed myself for noticing, for caring, when I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“You’re getting sloppy,” I muttered aloud. “Dangerously sloppy.”

The snap of a twig pulled me from my thoughts. I spun around, fangs bared. But it wasn’t a threat. It was Yoko, her dark eyes gleaming as she leaned casually against a tree trunk, arms folded across her chest.

“Rough day?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I relaxed slightly, though I didn’t let my guard down. “You could say that.”

She stepped closer, her gaze flicking over me with a curiosity that was anything but casual. “Word spreads fast here. You saved Wednesday Addams. Bold move.”

“I wasn’t trying to be bold,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Just doing what needed to be done.”

Yoko tilted her head, her smile a touch too knowing. “Still. Not everyone would’ve jumped in like that.”

Her words, though seemingly harmless, carried an edge of challenge. I chose not to rise to it. “What do you want, Yoko?”

She moved closer, and I noticed the faint glint of crimson at her throat—likely some concealed charm or ward. Smart, considering what she was. “Maybe I just want to see if you’re as interesting as everyone says.”

“And?” I crossed my arms, forcing my body to relax. It was a game, and she was playing it well.

Her smile widened, showing the barest hint of fangs. “Still deciding.”

She turned and started to walk away, pausing just long enough to throw a parting glance over her shoulder. “If you’re looking for allies, or just a way to blow off steam… I’m not hard to find.”

As she disappeared into the shadows, I felt a flicker of something resembling intrigue. But there was no time to dwell on it. I needed answers. Whoever was targeting Wednesday had just made this personal.

*timeskip*

The sun dipped low, casting the dormitory hallway in warm hues of amber and crimson. I walked beside Enid, her endless chatter filling the otherwise quiet space. She spoke of the upcoming carnival with childlike enthusiasm, her bright energy a welcome contrast to Nevermore's dark corners. It was amusing, watching her bounce from one topic to another like a hyperactive puppy, but my attention was elsewhere. Specifically, I could feel a pair of eyes boring into me.

Wednesday Addams walked just a pace behind us, her stare unwavering, analytical. The air between us was always charged, a pull of magnetic forces she’d never admit to feeling. I caught sight of my reflection in a cracked windowpane and couldn’t help but note the difference between us. Enid’s optimism radiated like a halo, Wednesday’s presence was a storm cloud of calculated indifference, and me? I was fire—dangerous, hot, and burning too brightly in all the wrong places.

“You know,” Enid said, spinning on her heel to face me, “I bet you’d look killer in one of those leather jackets they sell at the carnival. Add some chains, maybe a dark rose, and bam!” She gestured with her hands as if sketching the outfit in the air. “You’d make half the school faint.”

I chuckled, the sound low and throaty. “You think so?”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes playfully, her gaze flitting over my figure. “I know so. Trust me. You have the look.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’d always known my body held an edge over others, though I wielded it sparingly. My movements, whether deliberate or casual, were often accompanied by lingering glances or stammered words. Wednesday might claim indifference, but I’d seen her eyes travel across my silhouette when she thought I wasn’t watching—a barely perceptible flicker of interest she’d never acknowledge. I took a moment, stretching languidly, making sure my form spoke volumes in that fleeting gesture. Behind me, there was silence. I smirked.

“So, what do you think of the carnival?” I asked, turning slightly to catch Wednesday’s reaction.

She arched a single eyebrow, her voice cool and flat. “If you’re asking whether I find frivolous celebrations amusing, the answer is no.”

Enid nudged me with her elbow, eyes sparkling with conspiratorial glee. “Don’t listen to her. Wednesday just likes to pretend she hates fun. Deep down, she’s probably planning which rides to go on first.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath her pale skin. “The last time I attended a carnival, it ended with a burning Ferris wheel and at least three casualties.”

“Spoken like a true thrill-seeker,” I teased, stepping closer. “Why am I not surprised?”

For a brief moment, her dark eyes met mine, flickering with an intensity that made the air grow thick. She took a small, deliberate step back, as if to regain some semblance of control over whatever had just passed between us. I enjoyed the challenge far too much to let it go.

“Come on,” Enid chirped, dragging us toward the room we shared. “We need to pick outfits! And yes, Wednesday, you’re coming too. I already got us matching wristbands!”

Inside the dorm, Enid’s whirlwind energy took over. She flitted around, pulling clothes from drawers, and chatting about the carnival’s attractions—the haunted house, a shooting gallery, some wild fire-breathers rumored to perform. Meanwhile, Wednesday settled into her usual corner, methodically preparing for whatever tasks her peculiar routine demanded. I moved with a certain feline grace, feeling their eyes on me. I could almost hear Enid’s excited thoughts and Wednesday’s more guarded curiosity.

“Y/n,” Enid called, tugging a black leather jacket from her side of the wardrobe and tossing it my way. “Try this. It’ll suit you.”

I caught it mid-air, feeling its weight against my hands. As I shrugged it on, the material hugged my form perfectly, accentuating curves and lending a dangerous edge. Enid clapped in approval; even Wednesday’s gaze lingered for a second longer than usual. My lips curled upward.

“How do I look?” I asked, spreading my arms slightly. The question was meant for both of them, but my eyes found Wednesday.

She tilted her head, lips parting as if she were about to offer a cutting remark. Instead, she hesitated. “Acceptable,” she said finally, her voice devoid of emotion.

Enid laughed. “Acceptable? Please. You look like you just stepped out of a gothic romance novel.”

“Perhaps a dark tragedy,” Wednesday corrected, her voice low. “A fitting choice for her, don’t you think?”

“Tragedy, romance, it’s all the same,” I replied, stepping closer to where she sat. “And you, Wednesday? Will you blend in with the crowd or haunt the carnival like one of its ghost stories?”

She stared at me, unblinking. “I don’t blend. Ever.”

“Good,” I murmured, leaning back against my bedframe. “Neither do I.”

*Later that Evening*

The grounds were transformed, strung with twinkling lights and bustling with life. Music thrummed from hidden speakers, blending with the laughter and screams of students on various rides. Enid dragged me past vendors selling everything from candied skulls to twisted metal trinkets. Her excitement was infectious. But all the while, my attention remained divided. Wednesday walked a few paces ahead, her dark aura unbroken by the revelry. I wondered what she thought of all this—a chaotic mix of joy and hidden danger.

“Y/n!” Enid’s voice cut through my thoughts. “This way! There’s a mirror maze! You’ll love it!”

I let her pull me along, glancing over my shoulder just in time to catch Wednesday watching me. I gave her a playful wink before disappearing into the maze's gleaming hall of glass.

The air within the mirror maze was different—cooler, more distant from the vibrant sounds of the carnival outside. The walls stretched around me in reflective splendor, distorting every angle of my form. My image twisted and elongated as I walked past each mirrored surface, creating endless copies of myself. A faint smirk tugged at my lips; there was something poetic about the illusion of infinite versions of me, each gaze equally challenging the world.

Enid had dashed ahead, her laughter echoing faintly through the labyrinth. I let her voice guide me for a few moments before deliberately slowing my pace, the thrill of isolation too enticing to resist. My senses sharpened, honing in on every small noise. The flicker of carnival lights outside cast shadows that danced on the glass, creating shifting patterns that felt almost alive.

I took a step forward, and there she was—Wednesday, standing perfectly still amidst the sea of reflections. Her dark hair framed her pale face like ink spilled across porcelain. For a brief moment, I thought it was another trick of the mirrors. Then she moved, her gaze cutting through the maze to find mine.

"Lost already?" I called out, my voice bouncing through the mirrored walls.

"Hardly," she replied, her tone sharp. She moved closer, her steps silent against the polished floor. Each reflection of her was as precise and menacing as the real thing.

As she neared, I leaned casually against one of the mirrored panels, my body language deliberately relaxed. "And here I thought you avoided carnival nonsense."

Wednesday stopped a mere breath away, her eyes narrowing. "I am simply observing how quickly people lose themselves in meaningless distractions."

I tilted my head, tracing her silhouette with my eyes. "Is that what you think this is? A distraction?"

She didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a measured step closer. We were surrounded by endless versions of ourselves, each silent and expectant. “You tell me, Y/n. Why are you here? Is this another stage for you to perform your games?”

Her words hung between us, a challenge I couldn't resist. I closed the distance, letting our reflections align behind us in perfect symmetry. “If it is a game,” I whispered, “then you’re playing too. Deny it all you want, Wednesday. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

For a second, her gaze softened. Something unspoken lingered there, in the depths of her stormy eyes—something raw, uncertain. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by the iron control she wielded like a shield. She stepped back, the tension snapping like a taut string.

“You give yourself too much credit,” she said, voice cold again. “This is merely a test of your predictability.”

I chuckled softly, the sound echoing in every direction. “Predictability? Oh, Wednesday, you haven’t even begun to know me.”

She turned, a fluid movement that sent her raven hair cascading down her back. “Then stop wasting my time.” Her footsteps were precise, deliberate. I watched as she walked deeper into the maze, becoming a shifting ghost of mirrors and reflections.

Wednesday’s POV

As I moved through the maze, the glass surfaces reflected Y/n’s form—always watching, always following, even if she stood still. It was irritating how her presence lingered, carving out space in my mind where none should exist. She was a paradox; a being I wanted to avoid, yet always found myself confronting.

She’d gotten too close. Not physically—there was always some distance I could claim. But with words, looks, her damnable confidence. It gnawed at me that my composure had faltered, even if briefly. The carnival’s noise and chaos outside seemed to amplify what I refused to acknowledge.

Focus. The word repeated itself in my mind like a mantra. I turned a corner, scanning the mirrored path ahead. This maze, this ridiculous charade, was a distraction. I needed control, not confusion. Yet every step brought her voice to mind, every reflection a reminder of the tension neither of us would name.

Footsteps approached. I stiffened, ready to parry another round of words. But it wasn’t Y/n who appeared—it was Enid, her bright smile glowing under the carnival lights that crept in through slits and cracks. “Found you!”

She grinned, unaware of the storm raging in my mind. I nodded and allowed her to take my hand, leading me away from the maze’s grip. Before stepping fully into the open air, I glanced back one last time. In the distance, one reflection of Y/n lingered, a silent promise of more games yet to come.

[iicraft505]

i had a very autistic moment about the plastic bag i use to carry my work shoes in today

[zephyrchama]

“This isn’t what I had in mind.” You hesitated to even stand on the rocky shore.

“Whaat? C’mon! Humans love swimming!” Mammon was not going to give up after driving you all the way out here. He tugged on your wrist, hoping you would follow. “Try it!”

“I’m good. I think I’ll stay here. Mammon, go have fun and I’ll watch.” You didn’t even want to sit down. It was enough to stand in place and watch the lake.

“What’s a matter with it, huh?”

“It’s too hot,” Satan stated matter-of-factly.

“Butt out! Nobody asked you.” Mammon kicked a cloud of gravel and stones towards his smart alecky brother, who just shrugged. “Why’d you even tag along anyway?”

A vein above Satan's eye twitched. “You came into my room, interrupted us, and dragged them away. Of course I was going to follow.”

Mammon dismissed Satan with a wave of his hand and shifted his focus back to you. “So the temperature, that's really it? Don’ worry, you’ll get used to it in no time!”

“It is too hot, yeah. I’ll die,” you responded.

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

“Mammon. I’ll die.”

The lake was gorgeous, with views like you had never seen before. Truly breathtaking scenery that you never dreamed of witnessing in person. Shame that it was a lake of magma.

“Just dip your toes in. Do somethin’ fun.”

The message clearly wasn’t getting through. You exchanged glances with a sympathetic Satan while Mammon took charge, splashing into the lake with exaggerated fervor. “Woo! Yeah, this is it! You two, get over here!”

Satan took a few steps forward and let the slow-moving waves ooze over his toes.

You were content to stand your ground. Heat seeped through the bottom of your shoes. While things were shallow at the shore, this volcano was pretty tall and you were all rather close to its peak. The magma in this crater must go down deep.

“How is your swimsuit okay?” you suddenly called out over the bubbling gases.

Mammon managed to hear you from some distance away. He stopped splashing around and began floating on his back. “Whaddya mean?”

You gestured at his shorts. “Wouldn’t those burn up?”

Mammon gazed at the clouds and let the lava push him back towards shore.

Satan was able to provide a satisfactory explanation. “They’re imbued with our magic. If we took them off and threw them in, the residual magic would first burn up over several minutes and then the fabric would catch fire. Want to see?”

You considered it. This science experiment sounded better than swimming in a billion-degree sea, but then somebody would be lacking pants for the drive back home. “That’s okay.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[maxlarens]

hello jack doohan lovers. pls excuse any weird characterisation etc, i’ve never written jack before and am writing this because @coff33andb00ks gave me brain worms about this idea for jack x oscar’s childhood bsf!reader:

Oscar’s your friend. Your oldest friend in fact.

Which is to say you’re proud of him and his big boy job as a Formula One driver. And, of course, you’re endlessly grateful for the opportunity to follow him around the world in return for your services as his social media lackey. It’s a job you enjoy even. Which is not to say that you’ve got any kind of ulterior motive to show up on race weekends—

Nope. None at all!

It’s certainly got nothing at all to do with the fellow Australian Flynn Rider-lookalike that hangs around Alpine hospitality. Nothing whatsoever.

Jack Doohan isn’t even on your radar. And you certainly don’t keep an eye out for a flash of warm brown hair or that Roman nose of his. The familiar Australian accent in a crowd, grey-blue eyes shining in the sun, the tooth that often catches on his bottom lip—

No. You don’t pay attention to Jack Doohan at all.

Well, at least not as far as Oscar is concerned.

Cootie-ridden, annoying, pain-in-your-arse, Oscar.

Who as far as you know, thinks you’re still seven years old and pushing him into the sandpit in your parent’s backyard. Who honestly thinks all boys look at you and still see the little girl with pigtail braids who used to play race-cars with him. Which, well, is the same way you look at Oscar and see the kid who used to pick his boogers and spend hours reading his favourite racing magazine to you when you just wanted to play Barbies.

So whatever, you’re even—

You think his girlfriend is crazy for being in love with him and he doesn’t think Jack Doohan has a crush on you.

Oh yeah: you think Jack Doohan has a crush on you. Or you might have a crush on Jack Doohan, who’s to say?

It’s really not some baseless accusation you’re spouting with no evidence. Again, Oscar just thinks you still have cooties. And, okay, y’know what, see for yourself—

You swear this time you’re only outside Alpine hospitality on accident. Oscar and Lando are wrapped up in some McLaren PR thing and you’re filming B-roll of the paddock to use in a reel you’re thinking about making. Ending up by Alpine was a total mistake.

Not that it bothers you much when the object of your affection turns up regardless.

You hear the scuff of shoes against gravel and feel a presence hovering at your back before you know it’s him. Somehow, you know it’s him anyway. As if you’re linked by some cosmic thread. As if you’re attuned to his very aura… Not that you believe in that stuff. But it is weird. The way you know him without sight.

You feel his hair tickle your cheek as he leans over your shoulder, all up in your space.

You don’t mind.

“Hard at work, huh?” he teases into your ear, his breathy laugh making you suppress a shiver.

“Mm hm,” you answer, tight lipped, trying to keep the camera stabilised despite yourself, “Doin’ my job.”

He moves away and you finally hit the button to stop recording. You spin around to face him, trying not to let a full-blown grin appear on your face. He’s doing something similar, half-grin, that snaggletooth you like so much on display. Eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“Was that a jab at me?”, he raises his eyebrows (can’t raise just one, you’ve discovered).

You make a face, shake your head, “No, I would never,” you tell him in an exaggerated tone that says you’re taking the piss.

He scoffs, points a finger at you, “I’ll have you know that I was on the sim until three in the morning.”

You laugh this time, loud, tucking your phone into your back pocket and trying to resist the urge to lean into him like girls do in the movies. Hand on his shoulder, folding in half, like he’s just said the funniest thing ever. Like he’s not just some guy with brown hair and pretty eyes.

“Yeah, I know, Jack. You don’t let anyone forget it.”

His eyes widen impishly, “People need to know.”

“Sure do,” you smile broadly; meaning it, also taking a bit of a jab at Alpine’s chronic ‘middle-of-the-pack’-ness without being too mean, “Where would Alpine be without you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “In the gutter, with Williams, probably.”

You both burst suddenly into a fit of laughter. Neither one of you leaning on the other, but close to it. You’re sure it looks suspicious— Oscar Piastri’s known best friend and Alpine’s reserve driver bent over and giggling with each other— but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Being around Jack is intoxicating.

He makes your head spin and your heart race and your chest feel like it’s got some yawning sun inside of it. When you’re with him you always want more. To hear him talk, to watch his expressions shift, to feel him, warm and there and next to you. It’s never enough.

You want you want you want,

He occupies your mind when he’s not around. You think back on your texts. Interactions that the two of you have had. How he looked on a certain day. If you’re being too annoying by replying to his Instagram stories—

It shouldn’t matter. It does anyway. You want him to like you, so desperately that there’s an ache pulsing in the middle of your chest. Right in the centre of your ribs.

Sometimes, you think he wants you to like him too.

You’re drunk on it— him, the laughter— it makes your fingers tingle when you look at him. Not sure if this is the Moment exactly, but feeling something in the air anyway. The way his mouth is parted, the way the corner of it lifts. It’s not the Something, but it is something. Or at least it’s something until,

well, until Oscar—

Oscar who comes barreling over like there’s not palpable electricity between you and Jack right now.

“Hey man,” he says, as you’re watching them dap each other up like Oscar isn’t totally ruining any chance to flirt further with the Alpine reserve driver. You roll your eyes covertly. Huff audibly when Oscar drags you away for PR duties. Send Jack a beaming smile over your shoulder anyway, get one in return that makes you all warm and fuzzy and hopeful.

Oscar side eyes you, “Why do you look all red?”

You raise an eyebrow, hair flicking into your own face as you snap your head to look at him, “Excuse me?”

He gestures at his own face, then points at yours, “Dunno. You’re all red. Did you say something embarrassing to Jack? He probably doesn’t care—”

“Oh my god,” you cut him off, “Are you that blind?”

He frowns, furrows his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

You jut a thumb at Alpine hospitality in the distance, careful to keep your voice low, “You don’t think there was something back there? Like between Jack and I?”

Oscar stares at you for a long moment. Dumbfounded. Utterly confused. So much so that you begin to get annoyed at his silence. What does it say that your boy-best-friend can’t even imagine a guy having a crush on you? Are you really that insane for thinking Jack might?

“You and Jack?” he asks.

“Jack and I,” you repeat, tone clipped.

He’s quiet for another long second. Then he’s shaking his head like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard,

“No,” he’s saying in that way that’s trying to sound like a maybe but betrays his true feelings on the matter.

You scoff indignantly, then shove him hard enough that he stumbles into a wall. He’ll eat his words one day, you know it.

hope u guys enjoyed🥺

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Blank Spaces [Javier Peña]

a/n: she’s done it, she’s written smut. y’all can blame the couch. yeah, that couch. be gentle with me. it’s my first time.

pairing: javi peña x reader

word count: 5.1K

warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, mastrubation, strong language, references to violence and trauma, drinking & smoking, infidelity, pining

The crime scene is a blood bath and it looks as if every police officer in the city is here. There are red lights and blue lights, flashing through the jungle, and the cicadas screaming into the acrid night. There are loud voices and sounds, and there is silence, loudest of them all. 

You crouch over a body.

Or… well, what’s left of one before the narcos had their way with it. 

They like to send a message, and this one couldn’t be clearer if they’d painted it in ten-foot high letters with all the blood that’s pooling around your scuffed boots: no one fucks with the Medellín cartel. Not judges who can’t be bought. Not politicians who don’t know their place. Not innocent bystanders who get caught in the crossfire of this endless, senseless drug war. And sure as shit not some insignificant DEA agent from America who can’t mind his own fucking business.

Adjusting the focus with hands that tremble from exhaustions and other things you don’t care to examine too closely, you try to remember the last time you slept.

It’s been days, but it feels like weeks; months. A fucking year.

—

You hear him before you see him, the sound of his footsteps as familiar as your own heartbeat. Even in the chaos of the crime scene, with the crunch of gravel under dozens of boots and crackle of police radios, you would know him anywhere. It’s in the way he moves, the cadence of his walk. Authoritative. Unhesitating. Like he’s going somewhere important and he knows exactly how to get there. 

Even with your eyes on your work, you can’t help but track him from the corner of your eye. Watch him as he exchanges greetings and handshakes with other agents and members of CNP. You catalogue the details like you’d do when staring at the surveillance photo; you just can’t help it. The hair that’s just a tad little too long, curling slightly against the nape of his neck. The moustache that should look sleazy but instead makes him seem rakish. Dangerous. The ever-present cigarette dangling carelessly from his fingers. 

His gaze lands on you and your breath catches in your throat as you fumble with the rewinder. And then he’s walking through the sea of uniforms and grim faces until he’s standing next to you. Zippo between his fingers flicks to life and he inhales a lungful of smoke, exhaling through his nose seconds later. 

“Tell me you got something,” he says by way of greeting. 

You stand, joints protesting, and turn to face Javier Peña.

“And good evening to you too,” you reply, aiming for sarcasm but landing closer to weary resignation. “I got plenty, but you ain’t gonna like any of it.”

He squints at the tarp-covered lump that used to be a human. Clenches his jaw. Rubs a hand over his face and you watch his throat work as he swallows. He looks how you feel, you think. Wrung out and nauseous.

Catching yourself staring, you quickly look away, heat crawling up the back of your neck. You then snap a few final shots of the scene, just to have something to do with your hands, and pull the camera strap over your head.

"Buy you a drink?" he asks, already turning to leave, confident you'll follow.

So, you do. Just like always.

—

The bar is a dive, but that's nothing new. It’s the kind of place where the floor sticks to your shoes and the air tastes like stale cigarettes and broken dreams. Javi sits with his back to the wall, one booted foot resting on his opposite knee, his posture seemingly relaxed. You know better. 

He knocks back two fingers of bottom-shelf whiskey like it's the water. You do the same. It burns going down but you almost welcome the pain. Anything to feel something that isn't the cold, creeping despair.

You don’t talk much, but that suits you just fine. There is no energy left for conversations. Or empty platitudes about how you’re fighting the good fights, how your work matters. It’s all so goddamn futile.

Still, there are worse ways to spend an evening than getting wasted with Javier Peña, you suppose. Even though you’ve heard the rumours about him. That he’s a cowboy. A hothead. Quick with his fists and even quicker with his dick.

But, you’ve also seen another side to him these past months, ever since you got assigned to assist DEA as the body count rises and the streets run red. You’ve watched him sketch portraits of the victims so their families will have something to bury. Seen how he never flinches from the brutality of his job, just squares his shoulders and wades back in. Seen him wrap a trembling, half-naked body of a young girl with his jacket, shielding her.

He's a good man, Javi. Rough around the edges, sure, but who isn't in this place? You’re all hip deep in shit creek without a paddle,  just trying to keep your nostrils above the stink, long enough to do some good.

“Another one?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer, just signals for another round. His knuckles are bruised and you wonder who he hit this time. 

When you lift your gaze, you find his eyes are already on you, dark and glittering in the dimness of the bar. And it feels as if he’s pinning you down, flaying you open. Reading. Observing. Trying to see right into the marrow of your bones. It sends a shiver down your spine and you look away. Wrap your trembling fingers around the cool, rigid surface of your glass, condensation dripping onto the scarred table.

Javi’s hand then reaches for yours, and for a reason you can’t explain, you don’t pull away. Don’t tell him to fuck off, to keep hands to himself. Instead, you let him. Let him trace idle patterns across your wrist, each point of contact searing you like a brand. You should stop this. Should make an excuse and leave before you do something stupid. 

But you’re tired. So fucking tired. Of death and of ugliness; of feeling numb. You want to feel alive, if just for a little while. Want to feel something. Anything. 

When he speaks again, his voice is low, suggestive. “Wanna get out of here?”

Warning bells clang in your head like a distant echo of self-preservation, but you ignore them as you nod once, decisive. “Yeah.”

—

Javier’s apartment is bigger than yours but darker. The AC-unit rattles but it barely makes a dent in the oppressive heat as you stumble inside. Sweat prickles along your hairline and between your breasts as he crowds you against the door. 

His mouth is on yours before you can overthink it. Whiskey and smoke. Tongue and teeth. It’s not gentle but that’s okay. You don’t want gentle. You want to be consumed. Want to forget. And he is ready to give you what you want because his hands are like a fever on your warm skin, pushing under your shirt to palm and cup your breasts—callouses rasping against your nipples. You arch into him. Shameless. 

Fumbling with his belt, you get a hand into his underwear and take him into your fist. He’s hard, and hot, and throbbing against your palm. You stroke once, twice and he groans into your mouth. 

“Fuck. ”

Moments later, Javi’s boot slams against the doors to his bedroom. Walks you back to the bed; a graceless tangle of limbs as he bears you down into the mattress. Rips your shirt as he yanks it over your head. Still, you can’t care less. Because it’s what you want. What you need.

Heat. Fever. His skin against yours. 

After that, everything narrows to physical sensation and a handful of filthy words. The slick slide of your tongues. The ache between your thighs as he wrings orgasm after shuddering orgasm from your willing body. You scratch angry marks down his back and he hisses but doesn’t stop you. Just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and thrusts into you harder. 

It’s messy and it’s desperate. Artless. There’s no finesse, just a furious coupling. An exorcism. You cry out his name over and over again and for a few blissful minutes the rest of the world ceases to exist. 

Afterwards you lay side by side, not touching. Chest heaving. You stare up at the nicotine stained ceiling and will yourself not to cry. It’s just sex, for fuck’s sake. A means to an end. You don’t need it to mean anything more. 

You’re still telling yourself that an hour later as you hunt for your underwear in the golden glow of his bedroom. They’re a lost cause, ripped and unwearable. You ball them up and shove them in your pocket as a memento of Javier’s impatience. 

Behind you, Javi lights up a cigarette. Clears his throat. 

You ignore him. Focus on the task of getting dressed; of putting yourself back together piece by piece.

But then he says your name. And it's so foreign coming from his mouth that it stops you in your tracks. It's as if he's tasting your name on his tongue for the first time, savouring the way it feels; the way it sounds.

You tense, your back to him as you button up your jeans with shaking fingers, trying to brace yourself for the inevitable brush-off. 

“This can’t happen again.”

Even expecting it, the words still land like a punch to the gut. You force yourself to turn around and face him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet pooled around his waist, looking as wrecked as you feel, and it would be funny if it didn't hurt so fucking much.

“I know,” you say.

And you hate how small your voice sounds, how pathetic. Hate yourself for even thinking that this could be anything other than what it was — two broken people using each other to feel something other than despair for a little while.

So you leave without another word. Walk home in the hazy dawn light, feeling emptier than ever. Later, in the shower, you stand under the spray until the water runs cold. Let it wash away the smell of him on your skin. You place Javier Peña and the ghost of his hands on your body into a box in your mind and lock it tight, throwing away the key.

Tell yourself it's for the best.

And if you slide your hand inside your panties night after night to thoughts of his mouth between your thighs and his fingers digging into your hips, well. No one needs to know.

—

Six months later…

"So I hear congratulations are in order."

The words startle you so badly that you nearly drop the tongs you're holding. 

You've been hiding out by the grill for the past twenty minutes, using the excuse of tending the hamburgers to avoid making small talk with Steve's DEA buddies from Miami. It's his birthday cookout, and it's the last place you want to be, but Connie had insisted, and you couldn't think of a believable excuse fast enough.

You paste on a smile that feels more like a grimace and turn to face Javier Peña, smirking at you over the rim of a sweating bottle of Corona. You've barely seen him in weeks, your paths crossing only when strictly necessary, and even then, you've done your best to avoid being alone with him. Still, you can’t deny that he looks good. Too good. The bastard.

"Excuse me?" you say, trying to keep your tone light. Casual. Like your heart isn't suddenly pounding in your chest. Like your palms aren't slick with sweat that has nothing to do with the heat of the grill.

Javi leans a hip against the table, his body loose and relaxed in a way you never see him at work. "You and Golden Boy. Connie says it's getting serious."

Golden Boy. That's what they call Michael Whitman, the attorney sent to DEA from the Langley office that the Murphys have been not-so-subtly throwing in your path for months. You'd finally agreed to a drink with him just to shut them up, and had been pleasantly surprised to find that you actually have things in common beyond a mutual love of cheap tequila and bad action movies.

He's not the kind of guy you usually go for — too clean-cut, too earnest, with a boyish charm that makes you feel old and jaded in comparison. But he's funny and smart, and most importantly, uncomplicated. There's no baggage there, no messy history. Just easy conversation and the promise of something simple. Something you can control.

"I don't know if I'd call it serious," you say carefully. "We've only been on a few dates."

Javi takes a long pull from his beer, his throat working as he swallows, and you look away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of char marks on the hamburgers.

"He's here today."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway.

"Yeah, Connie invited him." Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, like it's coming from somewhere far away.

Javi makes a noncommittal noise, a hum that could mean anything or nothing at all. You risk a glance at him, and immediately wish you hadn't. He's looking at you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. Then, his gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there for a moment that stretches into eternity, and you feel heat crawling up your neck. 

"He seems nice," Javi says finally, his tone carefully neutral, and you almost laugh at the banality of it. Nice. The ultimate kiss of death, the faint praise that damns with its very blandness.

"He is." The words come out more forcefully than you intend, and you punctuate them by flipping a burger with a vicious twist of your wrist. Hot grease splatters your bare arm, and you swear under your breath, reaching for a napkin to blot at the stinging pain.

But Javi is already there, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist in a touch that is achingly familiar, a sense memory that transports you back to that night, to the heat of his skin against yours.

He examines the angry red welt rising on your forearm, his brows drawn together in a frown of concern. "You need to run this under cold water."

You try to pull away, but his grip is implacable, his fingers like bands of steel around your wrist. "It's fine," you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Your name falls from his lips, low and serious, and the sound of it sends a spike of heat straight through you, pooling in your belly. 

Memories of the last time he spoke to you in that voice, mouthed your name into the sweat-slick curve of your neck as he moved inside you, threaten to overwhelm you, and you ruthlessly shove them aside. 

That way lies madness, a rabbit hole of longing and regret that you can't afford to tumble down.

"I said it's fine, Javi." You finally manage to twist out of his grasp, taking a deliberate step back. 

Hurt flashes in his dark eyes. It’s brief, but there nonetheless. Then, he nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. Message received.

"I'll leave you to it, then." He turns to go and you exhale shakily.

But then he stops, his back to you, his shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

"I'm glad you're happy," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of conversation and the sizzle of grease on the grill. "You deserve it."

And then he's gone, striding across the lawn without a backward glance, leaving you staring after him, your heart in your throat and a hollow ache in your chest.

Are you happy? You’re not unhappy, that’s for sure. 

So why does it feel like Javi just ripped the scab off of a wound you thought had long since healed, exposing the raw, festering hurt beneath. You shake your head in disgust at your own weakness. At the part of you that still years for his touch, his taste. The way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before. 

This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous. It was one night, months ago. A mistake. A moment of weakness that meant nothing. Less than nothing. And you need to get over it. Need to move on.

So, you focus on the task at hand, determined to push all thoughts of Javier Peña out of your mind. And as your brain struggles to do so, a pair of arms circle your waist from behind. You stiffen for a moment, but then relax, recognising Michael’s clean scent of soap and aftershave. 

“Hey you,” he mumbles, nuzzling your ear, blissfully oblivious to your inner turmoil. 

“Hey yourself,” you answer. Force yourself to relax into his embrace. Tip your head back onto his shoulder and let him press a chaste kiss to your cheek. Curse your traitorous body for yearning for another man's touch, a man who made it clear he doesn't want anything more from you than a quick fuck.

You just need time, that's all. Time and distance. A chance to let the wounds Javi inflicted heal properly, without constantly picking at the scabs.

And if your heart feels like it's breaking in your chest, if every breath is an effort, a reminder of the emptiness that yawns inside you... well. That's no one's business but your own.

—

You join the others at the picnic table and you let the conversation wash over you. Laugh in all the right places. Deflect Connie's good-natured ribbing about your cooking skills. Studiously ignore Javi where he sits at the other end of the table, a pretty secretary hanging on his every word. You think the girl's name is Maritza. Or Mariana. Something with an M. You try not to care.

It doesn't matter. You and Javi are ancient history. You were never even history to begin with. Just two people seeking oblivion in each others' bodies for a few hours. Hardly the stuff of epic romance.

So you smile and nod and make a show of enjoying Michael's arm around your shoulders. Listen attentively as he tells a funny story about a deposition gone wrong.

He really is a good guy, Michael. Steady. Dependable. The kind of man you could maybe build a future with someday, if you could just get Javier fucking Peña out of your system. Out of your head. Out of your goddamn heart.

But every time you look in Javi's direction he's already watching you, dark eyes inscrutable. It's unnerving. Like he's trying to see right into your battered, cynical soul. You drop your gaze to her plate, appetite gone. Push potato salad around with your fork as your stomach churns.

The seconds drag by with agonising slowness but finally, blessedly, the party starts to wind down. People drift off in twos and threes until it's just you, Michael and the Murphys left. You make your excuses, pleading an early morning at work. Hug Connie and wish Steve a final happy birthday. Determinedly don’t look around for Javi. He slipped away at some point without saying goodbye, Maritza, Mariana, whoever giggling on his arm as he escorted her to his car.

And that's just fine. It's not like you expected anything else.

Michael drives you home, one hand resting warmly on your knee. You lean your forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the city lights blur past, and try not to compare the feel of his fingers to another's. Rougher. More gun-callused. It's a losing battle, and you know it.

When he walks you to your door, you half expect him to try and invite himself in. Brace herself to demure. Things between you haven't progressed much beyond some heated kisses on your couch but you know he wants more. Can feel him holding himself back, trying not to scare you off.

But he just smiles. Touches your cheeks with tenderness that makes your heart ache. Tells you he'll call you tomorrow to arrange some plans for the weekend. You nod vaguely, murmur a goodnight and escape into your apartment. 

The door closes behind you with a muffled click, and you sag back against it, the exhaustion hitting you like a physical blow. You feel wrung out. Hollowed out. Like someone has reached inside you and scooped out all your vital organs, leaving you empty and aching.

"Get it together," you grit out. Push yourself off the door and head for the bathroom, stripping off your clothes as you go. A shower. That's what you need. A long, hot shower to scour the day from your skin. 

You stand under the spray until the water runs cold, forehead pressed to the slick tiles. Think about the night six months ago when you let Javi fuck your sadness and self-loathing into something resembling peace. 

And the memories come in flashes. Teeth sharp at your throat. Fingers dragging down your sides, digging into your hips, holding you steady as he pushed inside you, stretching you, filling you, his eyes locked on yours in the dark, seeing you, all of you, in a way no one else ever had.

You shove a hand between your legs almost angrily. Find yourself wet and wanting. It only takes a few rough strokes before you’re coming with a bitten off cry, Javi's name trapped behind your teeth.

And only after, when it’s over, you stand with your face tipped up into the spray of water, allowing yourself to cry. 

—

The next morning you’re in your cramped closet of a darkroom, a negative strip held up to the low light. You look for patterns in the grain. Clues to illuminate the black and white. Explanations that make sense. Pieces to solve the bloody puzzle. You hang the sheet with steady hands and reach for another. This is your comfort. Your penance. Your grace. In this red-tinged womb of a room you reconstruct narratives and build cases, one damning frame at a time. Javier Peña and his big sad eyes and dangerous hands have no place here.

Except the door is opening behind you, a sliver of fluorescence creeping across the floor to illuminate those shoes. Black boots. Great. Just what you need today.

You sigh and square your shoulders.

“Something I can help you with, agent?”

You don't turn around. Focus instead on the photos in front of your face. If you ignore him maybe he'll take the hint and fuck off.  But Javier Peña has never been one to fuck off when you want him to.

Instead, he steps fully into the room and closes the door with a soft snick. The darkness swallows you once more. And once more he says your name. Low and rough like the rasp of his calluses on your skin. You shiver despite yourself. Set down the negatives with fingers that tremble.

“What do you want, Javi?”

There's a rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight, and you can picture him perfectly, even with your back turned. You imagine him placing his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side. That stupid stance he adopts when he's trying to be casual. Harmless. As if a man like Javier Peña could ever be harmless.

“I want to talk.”

“So talk.”

A frustrated exhale. “Can you at least look at me? Please?”

The ‘please’ snags at your chest like a fishhook. Pulls you around to face him against your better judgement. He's haloed in the dull red glow, edges lined in shadow, and he looks like something out of a fever dream. Or a nightmare. You can't decide which.

“I'm looking. Talk.”

He drags a hand through his hair, already mussed from the humidity. Or maybe from someone else's fingers, and you stomp down on the curl of jealousy that licks up your spine, hot and bitter.

“I don't like how we left things.” 

You nod only once and look down at your hands. “Well, you made yourself pretty clear, Javi. “This—,” you gesture between you, “can't happen again.”

“That's not…” He makes a frustrated noise, moustache twitching as he presses his lips together. “I didn't mean for it to sound like that.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable, in the thin cotton of your tee. "How did you mean for it to sound?" 

He takes a step forward, then another when you don’t immediately back away. “I'm not good at this. Relationships. Emotions.” He says the word like it tastes foul in his mouth. Like it’s a foreign concept he can’t quite wrap his head around. “I’m fucked up. You know that.”

"Everyone's fucked up," you counter, your tone flat, unimpressed. "What's your point?"

"My point," he grits out, his jaw clenching, his hands curling into fists at his sides, "is that I care about you. More than I should. More than is wise, considering our line of work."

"You care about me." It comes out flat. Disbelieving. "Peña, I've got work to do...," you trail off, hoping he will take the hint. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, it's hard to believe that a man like you could care about someone like me. A man who could have anyone, anything, with just a flash of that devastating smile. A man who fucks his trauma into faceless, nameless women and tosses them aside like so much garbage when he's done.

But that's not fair, and you know it. Javi's not that man, not really. Oh, he plays the part well enough, all swagger and smirks and devil-may-care attitude. But you've seen beneath the mask, seen the wounded, vulnerable boy lurking in the dark wells of his eyes. The boy who's seen too much. Lost too much. The boy who's just trying to survive in a world that wants to eat him alive.

“Javi,” you start, then stop. Swallow hard. “What do you want from me?”

He's close enough now that you can feel the heat of him. Can smell the familiar mix of cigarettes and cologne that always makes you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. His eyes are intent on your face, searching for something you're not sure you can give, something you're not sure you have to offer.

"I want..." He pauses, his throat working as he swallows, his eyes never leaving yours. "Fuck. I want everything." His hands come up to cradle your face, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "I'm so tired of pretending I don't feel this," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips, his forehead pressing against yours. "So goddamn tired."

And you know the feeling. That soul-deep exhaustion that comes from holding yourself apart. From denying what you want, who you want, because it's safer that way. Except it's not safe at all, is it? It's just a different kind of pain.

"What about your reputation?" you ask, trying to be cheeky. Trying to lighten the mood, but your voice comes out breathless. Shaky. "Wouldn't want to soil that with something as pedestrian as feelings."

Javi huffs a laugh, warm and fond. “Fuck my reputation. Fuck everyone else's expectations.” He leans in, nose brushing yours. Voice dropping to a rumble you feel in your bones. “I just want you.”

It's too much. The words. The weight of his gaze. The nearness of him. It's everything you've ever wanted and everything you've ever feared, and you can't take it anymore. 

You fist your hands in his shirt and yank him down into a bruising kiss. He makes a hungry noise against your mouth, a growl that vibrates through your entire body, and angles his head, deepening the kiss until you're dizzy with it. Until you can't tell where you end and he begins.

He tears his mouth away from yours, blazing a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting. 

"Fuck, you feel good," he mumbles into your skin, his breath hot and damp against your flesh. "Been wanting this, wanting you."

"Javi, please..." 

"Please what?" He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your shoulder. Slips his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, his fingers finding your slick heat. Circles your clit with a teasing touch, a barely-there pressure that makes you want to scream. "Tell me what you need."

You writhe against him, shameless. "You," you gasp, your voice raw, ragged. "I need you."

And then he is lifting you onto the counter, scattering negatives and bottles of chemicals. You’ll care about that later. Right now all you can focus on is the heat of his skin against yours as he peels you out of your tee. The scrape of his stubble on the tender skin of your throat. The sound of his belt being unbuckled and the rustle of his jeans. The perfect stretch and ache as he pushes inside you, filling you up until there's no room for anything else. No room for doubt or fear or the certain knowledge that this will end in disaster.

You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him deeper, your fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his back. 

“Fuck—” he grits out, hips snapping into yours at a punishing pace.

You gape, unable to breathe, the cry lodged somewhere in your throat as your head rolls into his neck, your entire body surrendering to the pleasure. He doesn't stop, though. Just keeps going. Thrusting. Claiming. Filthy words in a mix of English and Spanish falling from his lips and into your ear. Words you both understand and have no idea what they mean.

Javi slides a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, finds your clit and rubs in tight, focused circles, and you keen. Tip your back against the wall as pleasure crashes through you in waves. He follows a moment later, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he pulses inside you. 

You stay like that for a long moment, trading lazy kisses as your heart rates slow and your breathing evens out.  Finally Javi pulls back to look at you. Smiles the way you’d never seen him smile before. 

"This is probably a terrible idea," you say, only half-joking.

His mouth quirks. "Probably.

"We'll probably blow up in each other's faces.”

"Most likely.”

You sigh, looping your arms around his neck. "But you still want to try?" you ask, your voice small, uncertain, afraid to hope.

He kisses you again, slow and sweet. Rests his forehead against yours. "More than anything."

And God help you, but you believe him. Believe in this impossible, improbable thing between you despite every instinct screaming that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.

But that's a worry for another day. Right now, at this moment, you have everything you want. Everything you need.

The rest you’ll figure out together.

[sturnsiolos0]

Hottub-Chris Sturniolo

You walked back into the hotel suite and kicked off your shoes before you hung your purse up on the empty hook. The patio doors were wide opened, so you sauntered outside. The cooling damp wood under your bare toes caused goosebumps to decorate your calves.

Chris was reclined in the hot tub, eyes closed as he took a long drink. It should be illegal to use your tongue like that without intent. You were well aware of how talented that tongue of his could be when he had intent. You shifted on your feet as a rush of heat passed through your body, but you kept your voice casual. "Did you finally decide that this place isn't all bad?"

"I guess." He lulled his head to the side, glancing up at you.

"Is it okay if i join you in there?" You let a small smile pass over your lips.

"Plenty of room, Princess."

"I need to change."

He smirked and gripped your wrist tighter, "Just throw your clothes on the rail. No one's around."

"Nice try." You slipped away from his hold and ignored his overly dramatic sigh.

"I'm always trying."

You rolled your eyes as you moved back through the hotel suite and into the bathroom. You place your jewlery in a dish on the bathroom sink after you tossed your clothing over the hamper in the corner.

You bit your bottom lip as a wicked plan popped into your head. You paced back to the patio, a smile forming on your face.

"Hey," He attempted to hold your  hand, but you didn't let him. He opened his eyes as you circled the hot tub, and they widened as he realized that you weren't wearing anything. The water sloshed as he started to get up.

"No." You stated plainly and he halted immediately. "Just sit back down." He complied without hesitation and a surge of power put a seductive smile on your face. Your fingers traced the edge of the hot tub as you positioned yourself directly across from him, letting the moonlight frame you from behind.

You ran your hands through your hair and held his gaze. Chris's knuckles were white as his grip on the rim of the tub hardened, "Y/n..."

"Shhh. Just relax."

Chris's eyes were nearly black with desire, he wanted you and nothing else mattered. You stepped into the hot tub and glided into his space as he gripped your thighs pulling you on top of him as he sought your mouth with his.

You placed a single finger to his lips. "No, no. Not yet."

"I'm not a fan of waiting." His tongue darted out and ran over the pad of your index finger.

"Really? I've never noticed." You settled yourself more firmly on him and rolled your body against his, feeling how hard he already was. You hook your fingers beneath his swimming suit before pulling it down just enough for his cock to come out.

He firmed his hold on your hips.

"Is there a reason i have to wait?"

"Because I say so." You leaned in closer and whispered, "Put your arms behind your head."

"Gonna be hard for me to touch you that way." He argued but still submitted.

"Harder is the idea, Handsome." You squeezed his thighs with yours as you reclined back into the hot water.  You were giving him a show, hair fanning out beneath you. "This feels amazing."

"Yes, it does." His voice was graveled. You loved his voice like that, it was like you were too much for him to handle. "How long I am going to be your hostage?"

You wrapped your legs around his waist and tightened your stomach to pull yourself up into a sitting position. You pressed your chest against his, the friction making him hiss and heat to burn through you all over again. You trailed your tongue along the shell of his ear until you caught the lobe in your teeth. "Until I say so. You do what I say,when I say...and maybe I'll let you get off...maybe if you're really, really good I'll let you get off buried inside of me. Would you like that baby?"

"Y/n." Chris groaned into your ear as he pressed his face against yours, trying to get closer.

"What is it?" You shifted back a bit and grabbed his chin. "You didn't answer my question." You dropped your voice to that purr that drove him crazy. "Do you want to cum buried inside of me, Chris?" You ground yourself down on his cock, relishing the searing jolt that you felt all the way to the base of your spine.

Despite the fact that his muscles twitched, Chris remained frozen and focused on your face, "Y/n, you know how much I love to cum inside of you,"

"Ah-ah-ah." You tapped your finger against him, "You didn't say the magic word."

His eyebrow arched, "I have to say please now?"

"Yes,"

"Please, I need you."

"I'm sure you do." You finally succumbed to your own urges and pressed your lips against his. He responded instantly molding his mouth to yours, trying to devour you as you acquiesced and let his tongue battle with yours. It was exactly what you needed, that erotic stimulation that made your toes curl every single time. You were letting him get away with too much. "Not so fast, baby." You panted.

He aimed to catch you in another kiss, but you avoided it, instead leaning away again this time palming your hands up your own body. "Do you want to touch me Chris?"

"Yes y/n, I..."

You pressed your finger against his lips again. "You talk too much sometimes. Yes y/n will do."

His stare was heated, but he kept silent as you rolled and teased your nipples not attempting in the slightest to control your moan. "This feels so good,the cool air on my wet skin, the weight of your eyes, and how hard you are under me. I can't wait to ride you." You massaged your breasts, dragging your lower half against his erection. "The question is...can you be good, Chris? Can you be obedient?"

"Yes, y/n." The phrase was so simple, but it fell so sinfully from those wicked lips of his.

You braced your hands on either side of him, he watched transfixed as you lifted elevated herself to put your chest level with his face. "You can taste me. You can run your tongue over my tits, you can suck on my nipples, but you have to stop when I say and you cannot move your lower half. Do you understand?"

"Yes, y/n."

His mouth was on your flesh before you could prepare for it. He sucked your right nipple with ravenous enthusiasm, it was akin to the way he kissed you, passionate and filthy. He switched the other breast and you whined as your body flushed. You couldn't help but slip one of your hands down your own body. He persisted in his ministrations drawing out another moan as you teased your throbbing clit and his cock in the process. He shuddered at your touch, but didn't thrust beneath you.

You always marveled at the things he could do with his tongue. You wanted him, but on your terms. The torment you were putting yourself through would be worth it. "That's enough." Your voice wavered.

He released your nipple with an obscene pop.

You slipped away from him and though he didn't move he was devouring you with his eyes, it was almost overwhelming. You dragged your nails up his chest and he bit down on the inside of his cheek as your pussy brushed against where he needed you most. His cock pulsed, but other than low moan, Chris remained compliant to your command to be still.

"Do you want me?" You asked coaxing another moan from him as you stroked him slowly.

His teeth were clenched, "Yes, please."

You worked him harder, you were so wet and achy that you wanted to take him in all at once. You were going to ride him hard and having him at your control was all the more intoxicating. You spread your legs a little wider as you moved over his lap. "You're going to keep your hands where they are and stay still."

You shamelessly crashed your body down onto him letting him penetrate you completely as you arched your back cursing at the magnificent thrill of the connection. He hissed and dropped his head back, since he wasn't allowed to do anything else and whimpered your name out like an obscene prayer. You flexed your internal muscles around him and gripped his shoulders. You used the leverage to impale yourself on him over and over as your blood pounded in your ears. You could feel your body already starting to tremble and the sweat start to gather on the nape of your neck.

"Kiss me." You ordered.

His mouth skimmed yours before drawing you in completely with searing desperation.  He shifted beneath you to get a better angle it was like he lit a damn match to your nerves. You could feel your cunt convulsing around his cock and you threw your head back to scream out his name with a plea for him to finish with you.

He released his hands from behind him and yanked your hips to give him some measure of control. He kept you over him, but pounded into you at a brutal pace. Instead of coming down from the high of your orgasm, you felt yourself re-climbing towards that peak. "Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."

He snarled and bit down on your shoulder as he fucked you mercilessly, his hand dipped between your bodies claiming your clit and pinching down, flinging you over the edge a second time in a matter of moments. You were barely aware of his convulsing as he emptied himself into you.

"You are so fucking amazing. Fucking incredible." He kept you enfolded in his arms as he twitched with the last remnants of his orgasm, breathing heavily into you hair. He sounded spent, but still managed to question, "And no complaints, but where did this all come from?"

"Just felt like it. I've got a few things that I'm still wanting to try. I have to keep you on your toes." You placed your hands on his chest, "On that note, we should go to bed."

He chuckled, "Sure thing, but give me a minute, you may have broken me."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Summer Breeze 9

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

“I don’t think I can make the drive back up,” Andy yawns, “I got us a house not far from here.” 

He gets in the driver seat as you take the passengers. The exhaustion is finally winning, so much so that you hard care about any of it. You just want to be in one place and laying down. 

“A house?” You rub your cheek and lean into the door. 

“Yeah, got a buddy. He rents it out on some app, thought about doing the same with our place,” he checks his blind spot as he backs out, “anyway, lot of whatever. He doesn’t have any booking so I called in a favour.” 

“Mm, lucky,” you mumble and your eyes droop. 

Your dad doesn’t have any convenient friends. Just Andy. Your mom told everyone he was a piece of shit during the divorce and she moved away once you hit eighteen so he had to live in the cess pool of it all.  

Andy moved in about the same time but you never really thought of him as more than a neighbour. He had a beer with your dad now and again whenever he needed help with some DIY but it was never that deep. You suppose after you went off to college, your dad had more time to waste on friends. 

Your mind keeps wandering to the minuscule; the irrelevant. Just so you don’t have to think about the worst. You let your eyes close and sink down. 

“Just relax, sweetheart,” Andy’s silty tone follows you down, “be like twenty minutes.” 

The motion of the car lulls you. Your head thrums and your body goes hollow. You feel like you’re made of air as your mind ripples. It’s only as you come to a stop that you’re roused from your trance. You sit up and sniff. 

“How ya doin’ over there?” Andy rests his hand on the corner of your seat. 

“Fine, fine, I’m just...” 

“Tired. Yeah, you were snoring,” he snickers, “kinda cute.” 

You blink and keep your brow from furrowing. Sometimes he says things that don’t need to be said. You suppress a yawn and undo the seat belt. 

“It’s been a long couple days.” 

“Tell me about it,” he tuts, “I’ll grab the bags.” 

Another storm of confusion takes you. You keep forgetting the little details. You get out and wait for him as he pops the hatch. He pulls out your pink duffel bag and his own dark blue suitcase. He hauls both with him as he approaches. 

“The key is on the door. You just need to put in the code,” he instructs, directing you ahead of him with the tilt of his chin. 

“Oh, sure.” 

You turn and lead him across the gravel. The house is just as nice as his cottage, crested by a small pond behind the tall porch. You climb the steps and go to the front door, a lock box hooked around the handle. He gives you the code but it declines. He tells you to flip the last two numbers and it unlocks. 

You take out the key and let yourself in. You stay by the door, holding onto it as he angles through with the luggage. He groans as he puts it all down and kicks off his dock shoes. You look down and slip out of your slides. Your feet are filthy from running all around. 

“I think there’s a shower upstairs, a couple of rooms. I can drop your bag in one while you get washed up,” he offers. 

“You know what, think I can figure it out,” you snatch up your duffel and hike it onto your arm. 

“Right, you go first, I’ll go after,” he shrugs, “I gotta make a few calls. Jacob’s mom has been blowing me up.” 

“Okay,” you say just to say something. You can’t think about his problems too. Call you selfish but you just can’t handle anything else. 

“Not your problem,” he says, “go, I’ll hold down the fort.” 

He as good as shoos you away and you’re all too happy to take the out. You tramp upstairs and peer around. You find the bathroom first and toss your bag in the room next to it. You take out a fresh pair of pajamas, you only brought two sets, and search out the linen closet for a towel. You feel like an intruder but you’re too worn out to care. 

You dip into the show and pull the door shut. God, the water is good. You could fall asleep standing up. You make quick work of scouring your body to avoid just that and dry off on the bath mat. 

As you come out of the bathroom, you listen to the house. It’s quiet. Andy must have taken his call outside. Ugh, he’s an adult. He’s proven he can manage a lot more than you. 

You fall into bed, cozy in your fresh shorts and tank top, and hug the pillow as you hook a leg around the duvet. Almost as quickly as you still, you’re out for the count. You drift off into an ocean of colours, swirling and streaming behind your eyelids, spinning you in a cyclone of obscurity. 

You stir as you hear a subtle thud. A cool breeze blows from the floor vent and chills your exposed leg. Your shorts are trapped between your ass, an embarrassing scene if anyone was to see you. You roll over and conceal yourself in a cocoon formed with the fluffy duvet. 

The door’s open... you swore you shut it. You’re so tired, you can’t remember. You don’t bother getting up. You’re too fucking dead.  

You close your eyes and a long groan drones through the wall. The noise makes you rigid. Maybe choosing the room right next to the plumbing isn’t the best idea. You wiggle down further into the bedding as the shower thrums and another deep utterance rolls in. 

You pull the blanket over your ears and try to tune it out. The steady spray can’t block out his grumbling voice. At first, you’re agitated. Why does he need to make so much noise? A shower isn’t that good—wait. 

Your cheeks burn in realisation. He isn’t... he wouldn’t do that. Not right now. You can hear his voice, rhythmic and strained. Wow. Oh god. You cup your hands over your ears and bite down. Talk about embarrassing. 

There’s a slap against the wall and a deep grunt. Jesus. 

You roll your back to the wall and huff. You’re glad he has something to distract himself. You can barely focus on living. 

[staarboyyy]

Paid in kind

cooper howard [ the ghoul ] x bounty!reader | no pronouns

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control

summary ; you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you.

word count ; 5.2k

a / n; inspired by the wonderful @ghoulsbounty and @ghoulbrain ! both are such lovely writers, i couldn't help but jump on this old man's bones !! (also as a texan i just had to put a fic out there using my southernisms)

The sun was achingly bright - That was the first thing you recalled. It beat down against the tattered and worn material of what you could manage for clothes, your eyes squinting as they couldn't resist to meet the sky. Everlasting, going as far as you could see - It brought strange comfort to have this one constant in this place, while also being a nice change from the large warehouse you took shelter in. Your feet moved slowly, the gravel against the soles of your shoes shifting with each step, eyes still pinned on the infinite blue stretching above your head forever. Instinctively, you knew being distracted, and taking time to enjoy the small things in this broken world, would be far less than short-lived. Though, taking in slow breaths of the thick air, clogged with the stench of the dirt below your feet and a dry breeze that stung your eyes; So much so, that you hardly noticed the hulking mutated mass moving towards you. It took in ragged breaths, crouched forward, wet tendrils obscuring its surging bloodshot eyes and split-cheeked jaw, messily hanging off the hinges. This action exposed rows of teeth, tattered and yellowed over the years roaming this land - As you whipped your head around, your hand moved with a practiced poise, already hovering over your weapon, itching with the need to draw against this thing that amassed itself towards you. An ear-shattering crack reverberated through the air before you could even finish bearing your teeth, white-knuckling your weapon. The blast was nasty, crushing through the reptile's large skull with an obscene squelch before falling forward to the hot ground with a thud. It lay in the seeping mess of what must be its blood, a dark pungent green, reeking of hot rubber - It stung your nose with a sharp sour tang, churning your stomach as you threw your hand over your mouth, staggering backward from both the sudden onslaught on your senses and the sudden shot tearing through the air.

"Well, well."

Your blood ran cold as the familiar gruff voice came a few yards past the bleeding mess in front of you, your eyes shuddering over the scene to meet the speaker with a widening gaze. He came from around the corner of the warehouse, that man - The one that insisted on shadowing your every move, no matter how far you ran. The soft breeze of the blazing day swept the tattered edges of his long coat, soft jingles following him as he took a few slow steps forward. He had lowered the gun level your face, gloved hands steady on the weapon as his eyes found yours. They were alive - Coherent, a sharp contrast to the little visible skin he showed, stretching scars bound over his cheeks and neck arching down and distorting the grassy texture of his tanned skin. Slowly, his thumb rose, letting it rest on the gun's hammer with a punctuating step.

"Looks like someone's not payin' attention."

You had been on the run for hours, and yet he cocked his head off to the side as his gaze raked over your hardening expression; It was all for nothing, the ghoul hardly affected by the travel you were desperate to turn into escape. Escape from the world that still tangled itself around your neck, pulling you across this wasteland with little, if any direction. Your heart slammed against your ribs, taking in a tentative breath of the nauseating air, keeping your eyes as far from the gurgling body of the reptile. You were hot, hungry, and most of all, exhausted of running. Maybe he knew that - Maybe that's why he chased you, knowing that one day, you would finally give up. The clicking of the hammer being drawn back pulled you from your thoughts, eyes moving to meet the barrel, then scrape back up to him.

"Why don't you just kill me?" It hurt to talk, your throat cut up and raw from breathing the thick radiated air - Still you couldn't shake the question as it pressed past your chapped lips, keeping your eyes pinned on the barrel. It was challenging, how you spoke to the shell of the man. Your eyebrows drew together, focusing past the smoking barrel of his shotgun with an insistent expression. At this, his eyebrow muscles shifted with a slightly suprised chuff.

"So you do speak." The Ghoul. You heard stories, making your way across the wasteland with little you could to make do, falling into bounty work, and getting caught up with bad people - The wrong people. The ones that talked about digging him up, that he would be able to take out the one target that seemingly ruled the wasteland. The Ghoul's voice scraped across the air, the breeze carrying the rough twang in his voice, the jingle of his spurs as he shifted his weight. You didn't care for the stories of your peers; And my, there were stories. Cooper Howard, movie star, face pasted across battered billboards. You also didn't care for the night three men you worked beside insisted on digging him up - But when you saw your face smeared across the radiated land, posters crumbled and pinned messily to boards and the inside of almost every building; You knew he was looking for you.

"I don't know what you want from me," You said in a rasp, unable to dwell on the near teasing tone in his rugged voice, not in this sweltering heat, not with the stifling smell of the creature between you and The Ghoul - The thing, the shell of a man, Cooper Howard; Or at least what was left of him.

"Well - Looks to me, I just saved your life," He mused, clearing the raggedness in his throat as his eyes lowered to your hand. How it twitched over your weapon, tattered gloves hiding bruises and scars. Cooper pushed his tongue to his cheek, head falling slightly to one side as he eyed your trigger-happy fingers strum at your holster teasingly; His mind pulsed with flashing images, the forking of how this awaited meeting would actually pan out. His tongue slid over the grit of his teeth with a slow hissed breath.

"Now, you plan on usin' that thing?"

A beat met you, breath hitching for a moment as he flicked his speculative gaze to return to yours - And just as you caught each other's eyes, your hand moved. Your fingers wrapped over the mangled handle of your pistol, fabric tied over the base for some steadying on your trembling hands; And as soon as you drew, the bullet fired, keeping his eyes on yours as you squeezed the trigger tight. The sound rocketed through the dusty air, his left shoulder falling backward with an unnatural shift, letting his weight fall off to the side as he grunted softly. His gloved hand reached his shoulder, rubbing at the hole now torn through his jacket, hissing through his teeth. You tried to move quickly, the exhaustion cementing you to the hot dirt of the wasteland as your boot heels scraped against the rubble, pushing yourself away from the other. However, it didn't matter now, not as his hand moved from his crooked shoulder to the coiled thick rope slung around his thick belt, wasting no time seeing your sudden urgency to escape.

"Not lettin' you get away again sugar." You nearly made it to your feet as you heard the chilling metal clinks of his spurs, panting as the sun that boiled overhead went dark; Cooper stood above you with a scowl, grasping the lasso now looped around his hands, clutching at the fraying rope with the assured intent to use it. "Now, you best put that toy of yours away. I need you alive." The sharp pull of the lasso whipped through the space between you, taking hold of your throat with a sudden drawn pressure of your quickly swallowing breath. Your hands rose, letting the pistol fall from your grasp as you white-knuckled the rope, now being pulled by it to your feet. Cooper sucked his teeth, tightening the knot with a gruff exhale as your cheeks flushed, blood rushing in your ears in crashing waves. It wasn't choking you per se - Though the pressure spun your head, staggering as he yanked you forward, invasive eyes now inspecting both your growing frantics and the expertly tied knot.

"From how I'm seein' it - I deserve a little kindness for not lettin' that thing tear you apart," You still managed to scoff, even as the rough frayed rope pressed tighter, threatening to take your breath completely.

"Just trading one monster for another," You spoke in a strained voice, eyebrows twitching together as you still tugged at the rope constricting your air, temples pulsing with hot sparks of pain. His lip twitched, eyes darkening and forcing the knot to slide tighter against your throat for just a moment. You choked, breath pulled entirely from your lungs before suddenly falling against the dirt to your knees, ragged coughs pushing between your lips, drinking down gasps of air with a gluttonous groan. Upon opening your eyes, you could make out his boots, and the sound of his soft snickering - He was entertained by it, the way you so quickly fell from challenging him to kneeling, saliva spilling from your lips onto your chin as you coughed on the radiated air, finally able to tear the constricting rope away from your bruised neck. Cooper let it go on, head tilting off to the side with a smug expression before one of his hands met the top of your head. The leather creaked as his fingers spread and tangled themselves in your hair, gripping the locks and yanking back, you had no choice but to rest your watering eyes on his, trying to control your desperate need for clean oxygen.

"You know how many people want'ya dead?" He looked down at you with a blank expression, his jaw shifting slightly as he kept a firm hold on your hair. "Now, I could sure as hell use the caps," Cooper went on, the muscles of his brow shifting as he sucked his teeth. Your mind raced with the many posters you remember seeing, pasted in nearly every store window in Filly - You didn't know the price they set for you, you just knew it was enough to keep your head low and stay far away from any wastelander that seemed a bit too keen on helping you.

"But, I could also see about being paid in kind."

The hot smell of aged leather clogged the wash of dusty oxygen you gasped down in shuddered breaths. He gripped your chin with his free hand, thumbing the pooling saliva glossing over your bottom lip. He looked perversely deep in thought, eyeing the glassy strings as he drew his thumb back, lips parting slightly with a dry chuckle.

"Well ain't you a sight." Cooper sighed the words in a lower tone, as if speaking to only himself. You bared your teeth, jerking your head off to the side with a grunt, the hot sting of his iron grip on your hair causing you to hiss. "Ah, ah. You cut that shit right now," Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders, glaring towards him with a determined expression.

"You've been tailing me for weeks, you know I don't have anything you want." You spoke through grit teeth, making an attempt to reason your way from his grip on your hair, at least long enough to get a better shot on him.

"We both know that ain't true." Silence befell your snarled lips, eyes twitching over changing his expression - It was somber. As close as his mangled face could manage, muscles clenching in his jaw as his eyes sought something distant and familiar. He looked as if he was trying to remember a dream, eyes searching for that connection. How long has it been since he touched another with no violent motive to do so, you wondered. Your eyes softened, a sigh making its way past your cracked lips. Cooper would never admit just how human you were, that familiarity of how your breathing wavered haunting him. The man would not admit many things, that this motive for caps had fallen away weeks ago, that he pictured what this meeting would look like for hours on end; Would you be terrified, fight back as any normal wastelander would? Would you wriggle free of his desperation for a broken connection, even if rooted in malice? Questions like this kept him from approaching you on those nights.

The nights he watched you from afar, making a fire for yourself as you glanced over your shoulder every moment you could, cooking the little amounts of meat you managed to harvest while on the run. He considered interrupting it all, a quiet shot through the night you wouldn't see coming, even going as far as to click back the barrel with an uncharacteristically shaking hand. Though he never did. Even as you slept, and as he held his gun with a ferocious intent to use it, he never even made himself known.

"I saw you." Cooper's grasp on your hair reflected those many nights, fingers twitching, his senses toying with the idea of allowing you to go on or stopping this entire conversation entirely. "I saw you so many times and just waited for the moment you would fucking do it. And you didn't. So please, just be a human for a second and," The man growled, throat rumbling with a charred snarl as he shoved you backward onto the dirt, releasing your hair and wiping the remaining saliva on his glove over his duster. You caught yourself with a grunt - What would it take then? The heel of your palms scrapped into the hot gravel, as you refused to back down. You deserved answers. "And tell me what you want!"

You shouted the last words - If he killed you, so be it. It would just proved to you how much he's lost of himself, the stories, the fuzzy black and white movies you'd heard endlessly about; That you were right the entire time, there was no legendary Ghoul, just a man in pieces reformed by the wasteland. He grimaced at your voice pitching up, hand hovering his holstered gun with an instinctive need to defend himself before glaring down at you.

"Don't look at me like that." He muttered as he watched you push yourself from the ground, grimacing at the throb in your wrists as you knelt with squared shoulders before him. Your lips shaped the words, throat vibrating with the hum of your voice, though they never came to be; What could you say? He wouldn't answer you, and looked at you with pain in his eyes - Your eyebrows twitched, pursing your lips to pacify the pressing questions that threatened to spill. With a slow movement, you lifted your hand, perching your fingers against the worn fabric and leather of his thick belt.

"How do you want me to look at you?" You asked, the question desperate, seeking any answers he would give you. His gaze darkened, head tilting forward to carefully watch your hand, the shadow of his hat cast over his face. A part of you knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe part of you didn't want him to, even as your other hand lifted to slide the coarse leather tail of his belt through the metal buckle, trying your hardest to ignore the holster just off to the left of his hip. As you drew it away, your eyes snuck a glance upwards to meet his eyes. It sent chills through your veins, the focus on his expression a twisted part monster and so painfully human, his brown eyes unable to settle on just one part of you. He hadn't been touched by someone like this in years - Far longer than he could ever explain, let alone remember. His heart stuttered in his chest, lips twitching as a shuddered breath escaped him.

"Like that," Cooper whispered. His voice - Alluring, a deep purr pillowed with a desire. The voice was nearly foreign, the canvas of the wasteland falling away just for a moment; He let himself fall back in time, eyes softening as the familiar pull of his pulse rushed through his veins, the gloved hand that shielded his holster falling away. The warm leather of his glove met your hand, guiding you to him even as his eyes refused to keep your gaze for too long. His grasp on you was soft, his breathing wavering as your palm met the base of his cock, the friction even through his pants eliciting a soft grunt.

Cooper Howard was never a man to beg, even before the wasteland. Though, as he tipped his head back slightly, the word shaped his lips, swallowing back the urge with a clenched jaw. Now was not the time to let his guard down - But your hands were just so goddamn warm. Moving on their own now, your fingers dancing with the rusted zipper and loose button, he pressed his tongue to his cheek, unable to shake the urge. He released your hand and with an animalistically watchful eye, spoke.

"Please." The desperate tone of his growl was not one of demand - It was the need to be touched without scorching ropes, without venomous words, to be human again, even if for just a moment. There it was, you thought. The man in the movies, you could see it in his pleading eyes, in the way his fingers now laced themselves with tremors. He knew better than to be distracted in the heat of the chase, yet in that silent moment, he was helpless. As your touch lingered on the zipper of his pants, a barely audible groan escaped his lips. The coy tug at his clothing was met with barely resisted impatience, his jaw clenching and eyes darting around, warily assessing the safety of your surroundings. With a final click, the last barrier between you and Cooper's now sparking need was removed, freeing him from this teasing torment of anticipation. His cock resembled the rest of his visible skin, scars arching down the stiff base, veins tracing the underside of his shaft, and aching tip beading with arousal; You had your fair share of dalliances across the wasteland, and so had he - Though not like this, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the size of him, how his eyes watched your every reaction. As your hand wrapped around the man's throbbing cock, rugged and needy, hot and pulsating, his breath hitched.

In that moment, you were as much a captor as he was the hunter. The Ghoul's muscles tensed, beads of sweat dewed against his temples; He bit his tongue, silencing the breathy gasps pushed from his lips. Each stroke of your hand along his shaft sent a shockwave of pleasure and agonizing need crashing through him, his lungs straining for breaths that seemed to evade him.

"Shit," Cooper seethed the word through grit teeth, escaping your locked gaze with half-lidded eyes. His cock responded to each one of your movements, his hips stuttering forward in an unpracticed motion as he ached for more. Your thumb breezed over the scabrous tip, gathering the beading arousal now sliding down his shaft with a shudder.

"Like this?" Your lips ghosted over the tip of his twitching cock, eyes heavy as they sought perilously to meet his, letting the hot weight of him press against the soft of your cheek. Hesitantly, his brown eyes found yours, flickering over the wasteland behind you and your tattered clothes, how they shaped the silhouette of your body. His were parted, taking in unsteady breaths with tense shoulders, anticipating your every motion. His eyes were inexplicably human; Perhaps, you thought, for just a moment you could fall into the very same fantasy that he did. That connection, that heat - You craved it just as much as he did. As your tongue pushed from between your lips, you could hear the pleased groan fall from his chest, shoulders rolling back as he yearned for the pleasure you held just over his head.

"Just like that." Cooper gave a slight dip of his chin, shadowing his eyes with the brim of his hat. You hummed at his confirmation, your tongue pressing to the underside of his throbbing cock, generous with your saliva as you slid your mouth to wrap over him entirely. He hissed a chain of curses under his breath, now refusing to move his gaze from yours as his hips eased forward. He wanted more, greedy upon getting the first taste of something so painfully familiar, that heat he craved, the slick warmth of your lips making their way lower around him. Your tongue worked in slow waves, drinking down the salt of his sweat and the sounds you pried from him with every deliberate movement of your head. The texture of his cock rolled over your tongue, the tip now prodding at the soft of your throat, your lips tightening to accommodate the size of him; At this, his hips jutted forward, eyes tightening closed for a brief moment, eyebrow muscles drawing together in a pained expression of impetuous pleasure. He pushed himself deeper, hips now rolling forward in a rhythm he craved, his fingertips tingling as your teeth grazed against the sensitive scarred skin of his cock. "Fuck baby, that's it," Cooper took a heady breath, lifting a hand to his lips and bearing his teeth with a hiss. He took hold of the tip of his glove, swiftly biting down and pulling the thick leather away from his large hand. Warm bare fingers, met your hair, tangling through it with a purr strung tight in the mans chest. You were so soft, hot to the touch, searing his dulled senses with an electric singe he swore he forgot long ago. Glassy saliva slid over your chin, spreading messily over your lips as you took him as far as your throat would allow, the size of him taking your breath. " Christ - Takin' a ghoul's cock down your throat like that," He followed his obscene growl with a shallow thrust, threatening to surpass the limits of your pillowy mouth and throat as he watched you silently struggle for air. He held himself deep inside, each twitch and spasm of your throat working breathy gasps and trembling groans from his shivering body. After a smug moment, he pulled your head away from his length, the sting of your scalp hitching your messy breathing, instinctively moving to wipe the back of your hand against your soaked lips.

Cooper caught your wrist with his still gloved as it rose, swallowing down the biting urge to continue his ravaging of your throat. Sweat traced his jagged features, the shadow of his hat shifting with the glinting sun overhead, his panting causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall. He found himself searching for the words, on the tip of his tongue he could swear it - How long had it been, since he's been run this desperate for someone? His cock tensing and twitching at the simple idea of someone bent over for him? He tugged you to your feet with a chuffed exhale, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to keep your gaze on his. He wouldn't let you go, not now, not as the hunger flamed in his veins, not as he pressed your stomach against the warehouse you once took shelter in. The man pried off his other glove, tossing it to the dirt below your feet. He wanted to feel you.

"Is this what you wanted?" You breathed raggedly, a chuff of an almost smug exhale ghosting past your lips as you rested your cheek against the rusted steel of the warehouse. His hands were invasive, hungry as the rough skin grabbed hold of your waistband, calluses and scars rubbing over your skin as he yanked your pants to your ankles. A glaze of sweat lit your body aflame, his rough palms groping your ass with a shameless groan. "Is this what you pictured those nights you watched me?"

Your words tugged a deep moan from his throat, his bare fingers making their way to your lips; He gathered the left over saliva from your chin, yet your tongue extended to wrap over his middle finger, coaxing him into your mouth with a tantalizing arch of your back. His cock was heavy against your ass, pulsating with a fierce need for release, fingers lathering over your tongue.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" Cooper leaned down, his length glazed with your saliva sliding over you - He purred in your ear, the throaty bass of his voice stippleing goosebumps over the nape of your neck. He drew his soaked fingers from between your lips, moving to slide them messily against your hole. Your breathing hitched, thighs parting instinctually as his fingers prodded teasingly at your entrance.

Cooper thought of those nights briefly, gloved hand wrapped at the base of his cock as he watched you from afar, teeth crushing into his tongue to silence himself. Cumming to the sound of your voice, the images of you pulsating in his mind wading into his mind, positioned just like this. He chuckled darkly, the tip of his cock throbbing against your soaked entrance. "Arch that back baby - There you go, that's it," He spoke against the shell of your ear, the rough palm of his hand planted at the small of your back, pressing down gently to arch you to his satisfaction.

You don't remember saying his name, though you distinctly recalled the scrawled cursive of navy blue and yellow all over billboards and television screens; There was nowhere he wouldn't follow, there was no way to forget the taste of his name falling over your tongue as he pulled you tight against him, pushing inside you with little hesitation. You could feel him still for a moment, heart staggering in his chest as you cried out. You cried out for him.

"Cooper!"

The man snarled, the palm on your back clutching at your clothes as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you. The moment your hips met his, he pulled away, then back again. He filled you ruthelessly, pulling your weight against his own just to draw back and fill you again; He clawed at your hips, your lower back, grabbing any of you he possibly could to be sure he'd keep you there. Your head swam with electricity, the slight burn of being stretched so suddenly easing into a head spinning heat, bundling itself tight in your abdomen. Each one of his thrusts stoking the roaring fire in your senses, beads of sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you moved in tandem with the Ghoul.

"Fuck - Sayin' my name all pretty like," He grunted, his head falling back as he pulled one of his hands back, cracking his rough palm against the soft of your ass. You yelped, body flinching at both the sting and the sudden sound, but that seemed to only rouse his hunger for you more. You gasped and arched into the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the slickness of your saliva and his thickness meld together in a twisted symphony of desire. You pressed against the warehouse, white-knuckled as the pleasure and pain coursed through your body. Every slap echoed in your ears, each time intensifying the sensation, your body clenching around him as you begged for more.

"Cooper, please" You cried out once more, the words tumbling from your lips as if his name was the only thing you'd ever need to say. His hands were tight on your hips, a strangled moan escaping him as he took you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost to the euphoria of it all. You could feel the walls of your entrance clenching and pulsing around him, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The Ghoul's rough hands explored your body as your hips began to meet his animalistic thrusts, matching the rhythm and urgency until you were both moving in perfect synchrony, a symbiosis of lust and need. You clawed at the warehouse wall, your legs trembling as your body inched closer and closer to the edge.

"Shit, I'm- I can't, I'm gonna," You knew it wouldn't be long, the coiled rope of need within you was about to snap. A low growl escaped his throat in response, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine, and you knew he was close as well. A hand gripped your hair, tugging gently, his other hand still wrapped over your hip as he drove into you with renewed fervor.

"Cum for me, baby," He moaned for you, a bated breath on his lips. And so you did, the world shattering around you in a wash of blinding pleasure, the shudder that wracked your body echoing the spasms of your core. You screamed his name once more, the sound guttural and raw, as you shattered into pieces, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Each spasm of your inner muscles caused him to shudder, his own release close at hand. You could feel your knees shaking, his body accommodating your limp weight as he kept you close against him.

"Look at you, fucked so stupid you can't even stand, sugar?" Cooper spoke between grunts, his hands lined with tremors as he held onto you with a desperate gasp. "Shit baby," His eyes locked on your ass, watching how you threw your weight back against him with reckless abandon - He clenched his jaw tight, the fire in his mind and senses sparking aflame in a sharp thrust forward. His movements became messy, clinging to you and muttering obscenities, shuddering out gasps as the fire roared inside him. "This what'ya want huh? Get filled up rough by a man like me?" Cooper groaned at your responsive whimpers, tipping his chin forward in a slow nod, the fire crumbling into an explosion within mere seconds. He came with torn outcry, burying himself to the hilt inside you, watching your hips slowly milk all he was walling to give you.

For a long moment, you remained locked together, breaths coming in ragged pants, before he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling both empty and full at the same time. You slumped forward, still clinging to the steel wall of the warehouse, feeling every nerve in your body tingling. The soft clatter of a glass bottle pulled you from the wading pleasure of your mind, eyes slowly opening to see a bottle of Rad X hit the heel of your shoe. You swore his hands were still on you, the heaving of his breaths still on your ear - Though as you turned, kneels wobbling slightly, he had disappeared into the sinking dusk of the wasteland. Your eyes circled the land around you, shoes crunching the gravel as you leaned your sweat glazed back against the warehouse.

"Fuck," You sighed the word through panted breaths, glancing down at the Rax X, and quickly doing a double take upon catching sight of something else. A leather glove, discarded in the sand and gravel. With a hesitant breath, you leaned down slightly, fingers hooking the glove into your grasp. You held the warm leather in your hand, turning it in your grasp fondly.

Surely he'd be back for this.

[jennay]

My Best Friend

Noah Sebastian x reader

1/2/3/4/5

Summary: Reader goes through a break up and Noah does Noah things.

Master List

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you ascend Noah’s driveway. Your skin prickles, as if it’s trying to escape the confines of your body. The air feels heavy, suffocating, and you’re torn between wanting to kick something, hit something, or simply collapse into a heap of tears. It’s a symphony of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a dash of disbelief.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You thought you were in a cozy rom-com, complete with candlelit dinners and shared playlists. But reality just pulled the rug out from under you, leaving you sprawled on the floor of your own heartbreak.

And the worst part? Everyone else saw it coming. They waved red flags like semaphore signals, but you were too busy dancing in the fog of infatuation.

You even told your friends, “It won't be serious and if it is we will move slow.” But Michael? He came with baggage—suitcases, trunks, and emotional carry-ons. A tortured soul with unresolved trauma, dragging dread behind him like a shadow.

As you stand there, staring at the door, you wonder if it’s too late to turn back. It was going to be embarrassing asking Noah if you could move back in.

You open the door and quietly enter the house stopping at the side of the couch where Noah sits. He looks up at you with a soft smile. “You ok?” He asks even though he knows you aren’t. He scrunches his face and pats the sofa next to him, “Come sit, tell me what happened.”

“He said he knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to work. We were both too damaged. He was using me to get over someone else and we’re better off apart,” your voice trembles with defeat. You hurl your phone onto the couch and collapse next to Noah. Tilting your head up, you drape your arm over your eyes, hoping to shield your vulnerability from him.

“What a dick,” Noah chimes in, his tone edged with anger. “And seriously, how does this keep happening to you? You’ve dated so many people.” He pauses, studying your face for any sign of reaction. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but damn, this was the longest relationship I’ve seen you in and it lasted—what, a year?” His brown eyes lock onto you, probing deeper.

You drop your arm, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Stupid. That’s how you feel. You craved love desperately, yet it seemed like nobody wanted to love you back. “I got attached to his kids like a fucking idiot,” you admit, your voice barely audible. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, unstoppable. “Why doesn’t anyone want to love me?” The words escape in a soft whisper, your shoulders slumping as you gaze at the floor. A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you think it’ll be the last, but another follows, and another. You bury your head in your hands.

Noah’s hand rubs your back soothingly. “Dude, don’t cry,” he murmurs, inching closer. His thigh brushes against yours, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling your sobbing form into his chest. In that moment, his warmth feels like the only comfort in a world that’s left you feeling unloved and broken.

“I can’t help it…” you whine, attempting to wipe your eyes. “I know it wasn’t that long, but it was like a Netflix series—short but intense. Not the ‘binge-watching Stranger Things’ kind of intense, more like ‘accidentally watched a documentary on tax law’ intense. I mean, I loved him, but I also had moments when I wanted to throw his clothes out the window because I hated him.”

Noah takes a deep breath, and you feel your body rise with his. He leans in, ready to drop some wisdom. “Listen, I’m no relationship guru, but I’m pretty sure ‘hate’ isn’t in the official handbook. It’s more like ‘tolerate their weird quirks’ or ‘pretend to enjoy their cooking.’”

You pull away playfully, glaring at him. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. Next, you’ll tell me that water is wet.”

He chuckles at your comment. “So,” he pauses dramatically, “when should we go grab your stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow, “The breakup happened like thirty minutes ago. Give me a break,” you say with a soft smile.

Noah shrugs like it’s no big deal. “The spare room is still how you left it. I’m sure Jolly will help us move some stuff upstairs too. I could ask Folio and Nicholas, but you know how they are,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, Folio would probably turn it into a moving party, and Nicholas would just complain the whole time.”

Noah laughs. “Exactly!”

You stand up, sighing. “Yeah, but the last thing I need is Michael spreading rumors about how quickly I moved on to one of you.” You bite your lip. “Can I just borrow some clothes tonight? I’m not ready to face him yet.”

Noah nods, “He’s a mediocre middle-aged basic white dude. I didn’t think you’d be this heartbroken over him.”

You smirk. “Well, he did have a decent dick.”

Noah stares at you in horror. “What the fuck, dude.”

You chuckle. “Now, about those clothes?”

“Anything to get away from you at this moment. I need to go bleach my eyes…and burn that image out of my brain.” Noah starts for the stairs, pretending to gag as he walks up them. “Let’s go get some stuff tomorrow. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

You quickly follow behind him, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “You’re such a drama queen.”

He grins over his shoulder. “And you love me for it.”

Walking into his room, he grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his dresser, tossing them at you. “Here, these should fit. They’re my comfiest.”

“Thanks,” you say, catching the clothes. You head to the room across from his. “Goodnight, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.” You take a deep breath and open the door, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders.

“Hey!” Noah slightly yells, clearing his throat. “Why don’t you stay in here with me tonight? It’ll make me feel better knowing that you can’t jump out your window.” He teases, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “We can watch a movie… My brain will be at peace, and if you need to cry, you won’t be alone.”

You pause, feeling a lump in your throat. “Let me change first.”

When you arrive back in Noah’s room, he has the TV turned on and the blankets pulled down. He’s already in bed. “Come on, get in here. I’ve got Bojack Horseman ready to go.”

You take no time crawling into bed and snuggling close to the blankets. “You know me too well,” you mumble, feeling a bit more at ease.

Noah smiles softly. “Of course I do. Now, let’s forget about Michael for a while and just relax.”

As the show starts, Noah doesn’t say a word, just watches your eyes slowly flutter, signaling you’re tired. He reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. “I’m here for you, always.”

You squeeze back, feeling a bit of the tension melt away. “Thanks, Noah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on the screen but his thoughts on you.

[midnight-pluto]

ROUND 2 : PG.00 — well shit

ROUND 2: dazai osamu x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: When you decided to attend Chuya's volleyball game, you didn't expect to see a familiar face. A face of someone you thought you would've never seen again; what's more annoying however, is seeing said face repeatedly.

TW: talks of a successful suicide

round 2 master list || next

OCTOBER 18 ; 18:07

IN ALL HONESTY, you were just there for the fact that you all were going to get ice cream afterwards. What you expected was for your team to win, everyone congratulates Chūya, then you both drive to get ice cream.

Your expectations came true, for the most part. Chūya's team won, but when him and other teammates were celebrating you catch a glimpse of a face you had presumed to have died.

Dazai Osamu. Now grown compared to the boy had once knew, still giving the same shit eating grin to a pissed off friend — not a mutual one this time.

Eyes locked onto him, afraid he was going to disappear on you like he had before, Chūya gently slaps your arm to get your attention, "What're you looking at?"

You simply point in the brunettes direction, still unmoving.

"What the fuck?" his eyes widen, two pairs of eyes now locked onto a man they haven't seen in three years.

A man they once knew.

His grin fell as he turned towards your direction, but there was nothing to be seen where you both once stood. "Huh, I swear I felt someone staring at me."

"What're you on about this time, Dazai?" the blond man raised a brow, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry about it, it’s no longer a matter that’s important to me,” he replied.

“You’re not as edgy as you think when you talk like that.”

Your grip on Chūya's shoulder loosened, as you both slowly turned towards each other. "There's no fucking way that was him," Chūya muttered.

"And here we thought he actually succeeded in killing himself," you huffed out, "Of course he wouldn't be lucky enough for that to happen."

"Well, I guess our night's been ruined," he sighed, kicking his shoes against the gravel, "And you teleported us without letting me change out of my uniform."

"Did you want him to see us or not?" you ask, looking at the frustrated expression on his face.

"I doubt he'd do anything in the first place," he rolled his eyes, "Clearly he wanted to cut all ties with us and start fresh at another school, don't know how he'd manage that with how popular he was here."

"I guess he did grow taller and doesn't have a broken arm this time around," you shrug, amused at Chūya's eyebrow twitch at the mention of height. "Still has that insane look in his eye though, don't know how anyone can miss that.”

Chūya sighed, "Well, people are dumb. Now I'm gonna go change." As he begun to walk away he felt your eyes trailing on his figure, "Don't worry! I'll be back in under ten minutes, you won't be waiting long."

"Good," you say, not loud enough for him to hear though; you didn't feel like shouting right now. Unlocking your car, you hop into the drivers seat and went on your phone as you wait for Chūya.

'SHIT SHIT SHIT shit! Why would those guys be here of all places? To make themselves feel better? That’s actually kinda pathetic… Are they seriously glaring at the back of my head right now?��

Sitting in the booth by yourself, you swallow another serving of ice cream down your throat, pretending to observe the color changing spoon that you were given.

‘Ah yes, the spoon is changing from pink to blue. How cool.’

Tasting the remaining ice cream left on the spoon on your tongue, you glance behind you to see if they had moved and meet Dazai’s eyes.

He was standing behind his friends admiring all the ice cream flavors, his face blank as he continued his make-shift staring contest.

Your eyes widened slightly, but your gaze slightly hardened noticing the intense look in his eyes. You shift yourself so your legs are no longer hiding under the table; ready to get up if he wants to try something.

“Dazai! What flavor do you want?” a voice interrupted, but failed to shake his gaze.

“Cookies n’ cream.”

“Okay!”

A few more moments passed and the frown you initially wore didn’t change, the only thing that caused you both to break your gaze was a white-haired boy handing Dazai his ice cream.

Unbeknownst to you, the brunette looked back only to be met with the back of your head.

You continued to munch on your now somewhat melted ice cream as you could hear footsteps approach your booth.

A sigh made you look up to see a familiar redhead sitting across from you again, “What were you even trying to do there?”

“What do you mean?” you tilt your head as Chūya scooped his ice cream into his mouth.

“That staring contest you both did. Hella weird,” he elaborated.

“The bitch was staring at me and I ain’t no pussy so I stared right back,” you shrug, “Shit, I finished my ice cream.”

STICKY NOTES:

im trying my best to not unintentionally make this an enemies to lovers

TAGLIST : @heeslovr @atlasnessie @cvidy @rattyrattyratty @chaos-inperson [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[theprongspotter]

State - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 27 - 810 words

When Sirius moved to the United States and begged Regulus to visit him, Regulus did not expect to find himself standing in front of a sprawling ranch. The main house, a charming yet rustic structure with a wide porch and peeling white paint, stood proudly amidst acres of rolling fields. Horses roamed in the distance, their silhouettes framed by a backdrop of towering mountains. It doesn’t seem like a place to find a Black. The Blacks belong in opulent manors, with manicured lawns and marble floors—not here, where the air smells of hay and the earth crunches underfoot. But his phone has no signal, so he stares ahead for only a moment longer before hesitantly walking closer, the gravel path shifting under his polished shoes.

He doesn’t even make it to the barn, a weathered structure with faded red paint, when a horse comes flying up behind him, kicking up dust in its wake. Regulus startles, instinctively taking a step back as a cloud of dirt settles over him, clinging to his tailored slacks. He makes a face, wiping at the smudges with a huff, thoroughly unimpressed by the situation.

The palomino, golden and gleaming in the late afternoon light, comes to a graceful stop in front of him. Regulus lifts his gaze to the rider, and damn if he isn’t gorgeous. Dark skin, rich like polished mahogany, hazel eyes that gleam with mischief, and brown hair that sticks out in unruly curls from beneath a weathered cowboy hat. The man’s stupidly bright smile is almost blinding, more dazzling than the sun that casts a golden halo around his figure.

“How can I help you?” the man asks, his voice carrying a thick southern accent that makes Regulus' stomach do an unexpected flip.

Regulus straightens his posture, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I’m looking for my brother. Is he here?”

The man’s brows shoot up in surprise, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I’m not sure, darlin’. You sound an awfully far way from home, though. Are you new to the States?”

Regulus nods stiffly. “Yes, but I won’t be staying long. Just long enough to visit my brother.”

“That’s a shame.” The man’s eyes take their time as they rake over Regulus’ body, and there’s no mistaking the appreciative gleam in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Regulus,” he replies, crossing his arms defensively, though there’s a spark of curiosity in his own eyes now.

“I’m James. This is Leah.” James grins wider, patting the horse’s neck affectionately. Leah’s ears twitch in response, the horse shifting its weight as if pleased with the introduction.

James dismounts Leah with an effortless grace that makes Regulus’ heart skip a beat. The fluid motion is smooth, practiced, as if James has been riding horses his entire life. He dusts off his jeans as he walks toward Regulus, the dusty trail settling around his boots. "So, Regulus, you’re Sirius’ brother, huh?" he says, extending a hand, roughened from hard work but surprisingly gentle in its offer.

Regulus eyes the offered hand for a moment before taking it, surprised by the warmth of James’ grip, the way it feels solid, grounding. "Unfortunately," he replies dryly, though there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, betraying the humor beneath his stoic facade.

James chuckles, clearly amused. "Well, I think you’re in for a surprise. Sirius has really settled into this place."

Regulus raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Settled? My brother? In the middle of nowhere? I find that hard to believe."

"You’d be surprised what a bit of open sky can do to a person," James says, his tone gentle, as if he’s trying to make Regulus see something beyond the dusty ranch and endless fields. There’s a sincerity in his words that Regulus isn’t used to, something almost disarming. "But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure you find him."

Regulus feels a flutter of something he can’t quite place as James leads him toward the barn, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The barn doors creak slightly as they approach, the smell of hay and leather wafting through the air. There's a strange sense of ease around this man, despite the dirt on his clothes and the roughness of his hands—things that Regulus would usually turn his nose up at. But here, with the sun setting over the horizon, casting long shadows across the ranch, and the sound of Leah's hooves echoing softly in the background, everything seems... different. Almost like he belongs, though he’s not ready to admit that.

He pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. He’s here for Sirius, nothing more. But as James walks beside him, that bright smile still on his face, Regulus can’t help but wonder if this trip might end up being more than just a family visit.

[undercovercameron]

only you

summary: a midnight meeting is never off the table for him.

notes: i cranked this one out like two two weeks ago but i didnt get around to editing it... apologies! this is a continuation of my same person, same mistakes fic, as it concerns rafe with a gf and the reader being highschool fwb with him. features a masturbation kink, dirty talk, and a whole lot of nostalgia! enjoy my darlings, and dont forget to watch the fuck out of obx 3 (i finished it an hour ago and its 2:00 am my time and im not sure). feel free to talk to me about it ;)

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2213

It’s nearly 3 am when he shows up at your house, mind all over the place, and parks in your driveway. He knows your parents won’t be mad seeing his truck— they can’t help but love him. He slams the driver’s door shut and jogs around to the backyard, breathless in the cooler night air. The grassy shore two hundred or so yards from your house ripples with the harsh wind of early summer storms, and he wipes a hand at his forehead. It’s still hot. 

Rounding the corner, he sees the metal basin that curves around one of your basement bedroom windows, and drops down onto the gravel that lies at the bottom. 

You barely register the sound, fast asleep in your bed when he glances in at the dark room. 

He digs around for a second in the gravel and finds the familiar curve of the window key and quickly unlocks the latch. Throwing it back down, he uses his arms to push up on the handle and slide it far enough so that he can crawl in. 

You turn onto your back in your bed, and he nearly smiles at how you look. So calm, yet so stressed with your eyebrows drawn. But Rafe just hops into your air conditioned room clumsily, shoes quiet on the carpet, and nearly tips over into your desk. He turns to the window and closes it quietly. 

He takes a moment to listen for any movement in the house. He knows your parents go to bed before midnight, so they’re sound asleep—he’s mainly worried about your brother. He was such a cock block in highschool. 

You move in the sheets again and his attention is drawn back to you. You’re so peaceful. Oh, well. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, and reaches to shake your leg. You lick your lips and burrow deeper into your pillow. “Y/N!” He raises his voice, glancing at your locked door. 

“Hm,” is all that comes from your mouth, and your eyelids twitch. 

“Fuck,” he curses to himself. Fine. Grabbing one of your ankles, he drags you to the foot of the bed. 

“Hey!” You croak, startled awake, and blink furiously around. “Oh.” You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. There’s a handsome man at the foot of your bed.

“Hey,” he says, looking down at you, and his hand finds your shoulder. You’re dressed in soft shorts and a skimpy tank top in an effort to remain cool in this summer heat—it makes his heart thump against the wall of his chest.

“Why’re you here?” You ask, voice still groggy, and your skin erupts in goosebumps where his fingers move. 

“I told you I’d come today.” 

“Yeah, during the daytime.” Your eyebrows draw together and you push up onto a hand. “Not in the middle of the night.”

“Do you want me to leave?” His eyes stare down at yours. You look over him, liking the way those jeans and flannel shirt look on him. The crickets chirp outside, and you hear a branch moved by wind brush the side of your house. His hand migrates and a thumb rubs at the skin of your stomach, nudging the hem of your tank top up. 

“No,” you finally settle on, and he steps closer to the bed. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, and dips. Your lips connect, soft against soft, and you shiver. He smells like the sun and that car freshener he keeps in the glove compartment. His hands find your hair, cradling your head, and your body prickles at the touch. It’s so late, and he’s so warm— you just melt into him. You grip at the sides of his shirt and fall back onto your bed, taking him with you. 

He grunts, pulling away from your mouth for a second, and follows you up the bed as you move closer to the headboard. He looks huge like this.

Your legs come together.

He bites his lip and with a hand on your knee moves them back apart. You settle with your shoulders against your pillow, and he leans down, between your legs once more, and kisses you. 

“Rafe,” you mutter into his mouth, and he hums wordlessly in response. Your body is so soft and nice when you arch up into him that he forgets about anything besides you. You grab at his hand at your waist and drag it up your body, and when his thumb brushes your hardening nipple the crotch of his pants tightens. Fuck. 

He pushes his knees into your bed, keeping your legs spread for him, and straightens. His large hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and he shrugs it off. The material of the shirt underneath nearly rips with how quick he takes it off. His skin is shiny and strong in the moonlight, and it takes all of your mental strength to not lean up and kiss all over his chest. That would mean you’re desperate to feel and touch him— and you’re definitely not. Between your legs definitely doesn’t ache terribly when he unbuttons his jeans. 

“Please.” You lean up to him, sliding a warm hand around his shoulders, and bring him back down with you. He makes a noise when he feels your fingernails scrape his skin, but your mouth is back on his, so what reason is there to complain? His nose brushes your cheek when he pulls away to tug the tank top strap off of your shoulder, and you shudder in the cold air. 

His thumb nudges your nipple back and forth, making your blood rush in your ears as your chest heaves, and he bows to catch it in his mouth. Rafe sucks, pink lips perfect just for this, and you arch up into him. The scent of body soap washes over him, and he just breathes you in. So sweet. He curls an arm around your waist, forcing your skin up against him, and you make a noise of contentment. 

He mouths at your breast until he has you panting up into the night air, eyes closed, and then moves to the other. Your eyes open briefly and you slide a hand across his head, feeling his warm scalp and soft hair under your fingers. 

He hums into your skin, nipple caught between his teeth, and you nearly cry out. But you hold back, wanting to save it. He pulls at it again, wanting to hear that pained noise you know he loves, and your heart skips a beat. You suck in a breath. 

“So responsive,” he murmurs into you, and his gaze briefly moves to your face—his dick hardens even more. 

“I’m impatient, Rafe,” you huff, petting his hair, and squeeze your thighs around him. “Please.”

“Needy,” he says more to himself than you, but pulls away to get a hand at the waistband of your shorts and move out of the way so he can rid you of them and get to what he’s actually been thinking about all day. He throws them over the edge of your bed and crowds you against the headboard again, mouth insistent upon yours as his fingers find your slick. Your thigh jerks when his pointer finger draws a line up your folds, and he just hums into your mouth. His thumb pushes into your clit, demanding, and his middle finger slides easily in. You clench around him, head thrown back into the pillow, and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fucking wet,” he grits out through his teeth, digging his face into your neck. Your skin ripples with goosebumps at his hot breath on your throat, and he slides another finger in. 

You’re so warm, so tight, so wet around him— it makes his heart smash into the cage of his ribs. It’s just like high school. You, sweet and perfect for him, and him, brooding and in the palm of your hand. He tried to not let you know that too much, though. Can’t let people around him know that he cares. 

“So perfect.” His teeth nip the soft skin on your neck, and you grab a hand at his forearm, guiding him faster. He accedes, knowing what you want, and slips another finger in. You tingle and curve up into him, unused to the stretch, and the breath is stolen right from your throat. 

His thumb slides off of your clit when you push it away. Your fingers replace his thumb, and he just tries to breathe. You know every fucking avenue to getting him to cum in his pants, and he’s really trying to avoid that outcome. 

Your noises become higher in your throat, whinier, and he feels you start to pulse around him. His fingers push even deeper, going the perfect speed, and then you’re shaking and trying to both get away from and get closer to his hand. 

He grabs at your hip and keeps you in one place, hand continuing, and you grab at him frantically. 

“Too much, Rafe,” you cry, neck cramping at the angle you’d stretched it to for the longest time, but he continues on. Your blood is pumping so fast, so hard in your body, and the rush of orgasm fades into numb pleasure that makes you pulse around him. 

“Come on, baby, I know you can.”

Your mind calls memories to the surface— memories of him pushing you past your limit, making you scream, cry. You loved it, and he only continued when you were nodding and shaking for him. Any inkling that you weren’t into it he was off of you. He was no stranger to felonies, such as drug distribution or grand theft auto, but he didn’t dare do anything that was a question of consent. Off the table. 

“Your fingers are so—so big.” You ramble on, talking of good things only like the size of him and how he feels and tastes and smells, and his hips twitch where they're pressed to you. Fuck. 

“So close, Y/N,” he pants into your ear, hips rolling steadily into your thigh and pelvis, and you feel his dick jump against you. “You’re so close.”

Your torso shakes with the effort and tension in your muscles, and he bites into your pillow. 

“I fucking—,” you start, but you fling your head back into the pillow before you can finish. He really wishes he knew what you were going to say. “Yes, yes, yes—fuck!” You chant, and your hips twitch where they meet his hammering hand as you cum onto his fingers. He continues on for a little bit, loving the feel of you, but pulls his fingers out. They immediately push into his mouth and you take the moment to pull yourself together. 

Sweat sticks the sheets to your back, beading at your forehead too, and you’re sure your face is flushed red. The room is undeniably hot, filled with the hot breath and energy palpable in the air. You’re sure it smells like sex, too. 

Rafe catches your jaw in his hand and tilts you up for a kiss, lips hot and smooth against yours. As he settles into you again, your hand finds the crotch of his pants. He breaks away immediately, cursing and looking down at your fingers. 

“Touch it,” you breathe, eyes locked on his. His wide, clear, blue eyes. “For me.”

Rafe’s large fingers push yours away and dig into his underwear, and his eyes close when his palm circles the tip of him. You look up at him, hands coming to your chest, and you cup your breasts. His eyes follow your fingers as they pinch your nipples. You back arches, and his hand around his dick pumps faster. 

“You’re so good for me,” you say, as breathless as you can manage without sounding like a corny phone-sex operator, and his head cants back at your voice. 

“Shit,” he gasps, mouth hanging open when he looks down. “O-Only you.” It’s more to himself, but your chest swells. 

“Yeah?” You ask, and sit up. Your hands find his waist and his torso, and you lean up so his mouth is inches from yours. “Not your girlfriend?”

“Fuck,” he exhales, cheeks pink, and his eyes close when you trace his chest with a finger. “No. Not her. Never.”

You just hum, pleased, and curl a hand around his own to slow his hand. His hips twitch, fucking himself between your two hands, and his mouth opens in a “fuck” before he’s cumming right into your bare chest.

“Christ, Y/N,” he says, panting, and covers the upper half of his face with his forearm. His knees ache. 

You rise clumsily from the bed and stumble into your bathroom, returning with the hand towel. You wipe at your chest and throw it back into the bathroom, careless. 

“Are you staying?” You ask, nearing him, and lean one knee on the bed. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer in the darkness, lips pressed to your temple. 

“I don’t think you could get me to leave your bed right now, sweetheart.” He smells like sweat and the remnants of cologne, and you breathe him in.

“I’m counting on it,” you whisper, and kiss him square on the mouth.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-nine] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst

word count: 3.1k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

“How much longer until we reach it?”

“You’ve asked that six times in the past ten minutes!”

“That’s because no one’s given me an answer!”

“Because no one knows, Felix! None of us have hiked this path before.”

Felix grumbled something behind his brother’s back but he must not have heard because he didn’t argue further.

The majority of the hike thus far had been uphill, something that the park rangers had neglected to mention when they sent you off into the forest. Thankfully, the mountains and canopy of trees provided some kind of shade but it was still scorching hot. And humid. And you were sweating like crazy. 

Everyone was. Minho had already taken his shirt off and Felix had completely sweat through his. That was probably why he was complaining so much. He refused to take it off, though. Something about not wanting to get sunburned again. 

“You doing okay?” Jisung asked, looking over at you. 

The two of you had found yourselves in the middle of the pack for once, walking behind his parents and in front of his brothers. 

“Yeah, fine,” you answered, trying not to sound as out of breath as you felt. 

“Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Um...”

“Why do I even ask?”

-

After fifteen more minutes of walking and a bathroom break, you finally reached the waterfall. 

Felix sighed. “That’s it? We walked all this way for this?” 

“Shut up, Felix,” Jisung snapped. “It just looks small from the bridge, it’s not actually that small.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty average size,” you added, “maybe even kind of big.”

Minho laughed behind you. Thankfully, his parents didn’t seem to hear your comment. To be fair to Felix, it wasn’t a huge waterfall. It certainly wasn’t the biggest waterfall in Hawai’i, but it was one of the few that visitors could swim under. That’s what made it so popular. 

And the bridge had made it look smaller than it really was. 

There was an area to rinse off before and after getting in the water so you all took turns under the showerhead. 

Nikki was the only one who didn’t want to swim, which meant that she was stuck with all of the bags. You felt sort of bad when Jisung handed over the backpack you were sharing but Nikki assured you that it was fine, that she would rather hold them for you than have you rent one of the rusty lockers to store it in. 

Waimea Falls required everyone to wear a life jacket, regardless of swimming ability. You knew it was a liability thing but you still couldn’t help but shiver when you slung on the cold, wet vest and buckled it around your chest. Who knew how many people had worn it before you today.

Shoes were optional so you left your sandals in the gravel by the bleachers and tiptoed your way back over to the edge of the water. The boys did the same. 

The five of you stood there, staring at the rocks leading down into the lagoon, trying to figure out how to proceed without falling. It was hard to determine the best way in as all of the rocks that were big enough to step on were either jagged and/or slippery.

“Ladies first,” Felix said unceremoniously.

You glared at him but decided to take a step down anyway. Someone had to go first and since everyone else was being a pussy it might as well be you. You moved at a snail’s pace, trying your best to move in a way that wouldn’t send you tumbling down the incline if you misstepped. 

The rocks seemed stable enough to hold your weight without sliding around in the mud but one of them wobbled under you upon stepping on it, making you nearly lose your balance. 

“Careful!” Jisung and Minho shouted at the same time, causing you to turn around and make a face at them both. 

They traded weird looks with each other before turning their attention back to you, who had made significant progress toward the water. By the time you finally reached the edge, the boys had started trekking down behind you, much more haphazardly than you had. 

You extended your leg out in front of you to feel it out, trying not to scream when your toes grazed the water. It was freezing, way colder than you expected, but you knew it would feel incredible once you were fully submerged. It was one of if not the hottest days of the trip and you had sweat through everything. Even the life vest they’d saddled you with was beginning to feel sticky. 

“How is it?” Jisung called from behind you. 

“Feels good!” you lied, not trusting yourself to turn around and show him your face. He’d know you were bluffing instantly. 

Since you didn’t want to hold up the line, you took a deep breath and pushed yourself off of the ledge, finding your footing with both feet in the water. The bed of the lagoon was also covered with rocks. They were more slippery than the ones on the path seeing as they were wet and covered with algae so you had to be extra careful. 

You moved away from the shore so that the boys could get in after you. 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” was Jisung’s shout from behind you.

You turned back to see him submerged up to his waist. He apologized to the people around him for cursing before glaring at you. 

“You little brat!” he muttered, lunging at you.

You let out a yelp as the weight of your best friend dragged you under. You both emerged with dripping hair, laughing and sputtering. 

“You said it felt good!”

“It does! It’s refreshing!”

“It’s cold as fuck,” he muttered, “and you knew that.”

“What, can’t take a little chill?” you taunted.

He splashed you. 

“Are we going to swim over to the waterfall or what?” Minho’s voice echoed from behind you both, sounding annoyed. 

Jisung smirked before turning around to face his older brother. 

“We don’t all have to go together. You could have gone on without us.”

Felix was the last to get in, gingerly stepping on the algae-covered rocks to make his way over to the three of you. Dom stayed by the edge, content to keep Nikki company from the water. He claimed to be too old to swim against the current just to get thousands of gallons of water dunked on him. 

“Let’s go, babe,” Jisung said, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction of the waterfall.

Swimming to the base of the waterfall proved to be a lot more difficult than it looked. The current was strong and moving against it required a lot of effort. People who weren’t strong swimmers had no chance of making it all the way under. 

It was doable for you, but not without struggle. The boys seemed to be in the same boat, save for Minho, who was the fittest out of all of you. He was already several strokes ahead of the rest of you when Jisung called out for him to wait up. He paused and tread water while he waited for you and the twins to catch up. 

“I thought we were going together,” Felix panted bitterly. 

“Not my fault you guys are slow,” he rebutted. 

“Maybe we should hold hands,” Jisung suggested and pointed to another family who was making significantly more progress. “They’re doing it.”

“You think that’s going to work?” you asked. 

“Yeah, how do we know you guys aren’t just going to hold me back?”

Felix clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Minho-”

“You could stand to pull some more weight, K-pop boy,” Jisung pointed out.

“Tsk, fine. How should we do this?”

Minho obviously helmed the line. You were stuck between him and Jisung, with Felix bringing up the rear. You didn’t argue about your place in the order but it did feel strange to be holding both Minho and Jisung’s hands at the same time. You couldn’t tell whether they felt similarly but you had to assume they did. 

Minho tugged you along and you pulled Jisung in turn. They held on to you tightly so as not to lose you in the tide. You tried to focus on keeping your head above the surface instead of the feeling of both of their hands in yours. 

Jisung’s hand-holding strategy actually worked and you made it to the waterfall twice as fast as you would have on your own. 

Trying to get under the waterfall was another ordeal. The water pressure was so aggressive that you had to fight against the water in order to get up on the rocks right beneath the stream. 

“This kind of hurts!” Jisung shouted over the roaring of the water. 

“Yeah, I think I’m getting bruises!” Minho agreed. 

“You guys are pussies!” you yelled, even though it did hurt and you wouldn’t be surprised if was bruising you. 

“I think Mom is trying to take a picture!” Felix screamed.

Automatically, all four of you posed even though you couldn’t see where Nikki was and you could barely open your eyes under the stream. You grabbed for Jisung but got Minho instead, accidentally squeezing his ass in an effort to hold his hand. How you mixed up the person standing beside you and mis-approximated where their wrist was, you didn’t know, but you immediately let go once you realized your mistake and fumbled for the right person’s hand instead. 

If Jisung noticed what happened, he didn’t say anything about it. Minho definitely did notice and you could see him trying not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

“Should we swim back now?” one of the boys, you weren’t sure which, asked after you had stood there for what felt long enough for their mother to have snapped a couple of photos. 

“You guys can, I think y/n and I are going to swim around by ourselves for a bit longer.”

That was news to you but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. You hadn’t been in the water for long anyway and you wanted to make the most of it. And if Jisung wanted to be alone with you, you weren’t going to say no. 

Your number one priority was winning him back, making it up to him, as much as you could. 

You followed Jisung to a secluded part of the pool, letting him tug you along as you floated on your back. Minho and Felix either got out or fucked off to another part of the lagoon. You weren’t paying attention when you split up and you weren’t about to look for them. 

“Did you want to talk about something?” you asked your best friend. 

“No, just wanted some space from my brothers.”

“Oh, ok.”

“Did you want to talk about something?” he parroted. 

You made a face. “No, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

You could tell he knew what you referring to immediately from the way his expression shifted. 

“Not here, yeah?”

You nodded in agreement. He was right, you should have that conversation somewhere private. Still, you took his answer as a good sign. ‘Not here’ implied that there was somewhere that you would have that conversation, which meant that he was willing to have it. You counted that as a win. A very small win, but a win nonetheless. 

“What?” Jisung asked, squinting at you through the sunlight. 

“Huh?”

“What’s got you smiling like that? What’s on your mind?”

You hadn’t realized you were smiling until he pointed it out. 

“Just happy to be here with you.”

-

You had dinner at some famous burger place that night. You were too tired to pay much attention to what you were eating or what everyone was talking about but you’re pretty sure the food tasted good. 

The restaurant was in the middle of their dinner rush when your party arrived so you had to wait for a table. There was a small surf shop attached to the same building so you went with the boys to check it out while Nikki and Dom scoped out somewhere to sit. Everything was expensive so no one bought anything but window shopping kept you occupied for the time being. 

After dinner, you rode with Jisung’s parents back to the resort. He seemed indifferent to your presence this time, which you took as another win. He held your hand in the back seat and you rested your head on his shoulder. Neither of you fell asleep but you kept your eyes closed, enjoying the silence.

“We’re here, kids,” Nikki said softly once Dom had parked in the lot.

Jisung stretched, forcing you to sit up too. You thanked them for the ride, and for dinner since they paid, before Jisung asked if you wanted to take a walk on the beach. 

“Sure, let’s go.”

He led you by the hand through the maze of buildings to the hotel’s beach entrance. You passed other couples as you strolled past the pool and the firepits and it made your heart sink a little. You were jealous of them. Jealous that they could enjoy each other’s company out in the open like that. Jealous that they looked so happy. Jealous that they weren’t sacrificing one relationship for another. 

You were definitely projecting, they absolutely could have been in the same situation as you and you would never know but you refused to acknowledge that possibility because you were resolute on feeling bitter. 

The sun hadn’t fully set yet despite the late hour. Being that it was still the middle of summer, it wouldn’t get dark until much later than usual. You were also convinced that daylight lingered longer in Hawai’i than it did in other places but you had no evidence to back that up. 

“Here, I’ll carry your shoes for you,” Jisung offered, holding out his free hand for them. 

You paused. “Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I know you don’t like the feeling of sand in your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

You bent down to undo your sandals and handed them to Jisung. He looped the straps around two of his fingers and resumed holding your hand. 

The sand was still warm, holding on to the heat of the day. 

“Are we going all the way down to the water?” you asked. 

“If you want to,” Jisung answered. 

“I don’t really feel like getting wet again.”

“That’s fine with me.”

You settled for walking along the outline of the tide where the sand was still dry. You followed the curves of the waves from hours past, tracing the remnants of high tide with your arms out like you were walking on a tightrope. Jisung trailed behind you for a few moments before catching up with you again. 

You had pulled your hand out of his grasp moments earlier to run ahead, distracted by the seafoam in the distance. You waited for him and put your arms back by your sides. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ditch you,” you sighed when he reappeared at your side. 

“I know,” he replied. 

Instead of offering you his hand this time, he gave you his elbow. You took it gently, resting your hand on his bicep. 

He was uncharacteristically quiet. You wondered what was on his mind. When he invited you down here, you thought it would be to talk, to finally have that conversation. Maybe it had been and he changed his mind. Or maybe it had never been his intention in the first place. 

You were starting to think you’d never get an answer when he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

You tensed but kept walking, not wanting to confront whatever expression might be on Jisung’s face. If you stopped, you would have to look at him or stare at the ground. If you continued walking, you could just look straight. 

“I... didn’t mean that shit... about wishing I never met you. Or any of it really. I wanted to mean it. But I couldn’t, because none of it’s true. I was just really hurt. I still am, to be honest.”

“I understand,” you responded. 

“I want us to move past this,” he continued, “but it still feels really fresh. I mean, I only found out about you and Min a few days ago.”

You nodded as you listened. He was right. It had only been a handful of days even though it felt like an eternity. Being at odds with Jisung was hell. He was your best friend, after all. You had lived life with him by your side for the past four years. You didn’t want to imagine what that would look like without him. 

“Right.”

He cocked his head to the side, lost in thought. 

“I’m sorry too,” you added, wanting to reiterate just how shitty you felt about the whole thing. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I know you are. I knew you were then too. I’m sorry for invalidating your apology-”

“Don’t be!” you interrupted. “My actions and my words... they don’t add up. I would’ve thought I was bullshitting too.”  

Jisung scratched the back of his neck and forced a laugh. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy to wrap my head around. But I get it, I think. There’s just something about Minho, isn’t there?” 

You snuck a glance at him but didn’t say anything. You had a feeling it was a rhetorical question. 

“You must have been miserable this whole time. Trying to push down your feelings for him and then finally acting on them but being consumed by guilt when you finally do.”

“It hasn’t been the best,” you admitted, “but it’s my own fault.”

“Not entirely,” Jisung reasoned. 

You were surprised he was coming to your defense but you figured he’d go up to bat for anyone if it was against Minho. 

“Enough of it is.”

Your best friend shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re known for your decision-making skills.”

You scoffed and nudged him with your shoulder. He laughed a real laugh for the first time in days. You had missed hearing it. It made you smile too. You rested your head on his shoulder and for once it felt natural. 

“I really am sorry, Ji,” you sighed, your voice wavering. 

“I know. I can’t pretend that I’m over it... but I will be. I also know that I can’t ask you to end things with him...”

“You can-”

“No,” he murmured. “I can’t. You would resent me for it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Jisung shook his head and you closed it again. “You would. Maybe unconsciously, but you would. Things wouldn’t be the same.”

“Things won’t be the same if I don’t end things with him,” you pointed out.

“I know,” he agreed solemnly. Then he sighed as if it was something he had already come to terms with. “But you’ll still love me the same. And that’s enough.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[pullhisteeth]

hello, lovely! so so happy to see you writing again, you're really one of my fave writers here 🥹 if you want, would you mind writing a fluffy best friends to lovers one with eddie where he accidentally overhears nancy and robin talking about reader's feelings for him, and how the reader feels like she should just give up on her feelings towards eddie because it seems like a hopeless case lmao i'm sorry if it's too specific! ily ❤️

hi! I love you!!! I'm so sorry this took so long, I got stuck in the middle of it with no way out, so I scrapped it and started again. I hope you love it. thank you for the kindest message, you're a star xxx

contains some dubious eavesdropping and lots of fluff. somethin' suggestive towards the end but nothing huge. :-)

[3k (ish)]

-

“Hey, handsome.”

Eddie turns to the door. There you are, between the edge of it and the doorframe, socked feet on the step. You’ve got your hands behind your back and you want something.

He smiles at you softly and reaches his hand out without a word. He watches you return the smile and step down onto the porch and towards him. You lift your hand, take the lit cigarette from between his two fingers and lean on the post opposite him.

His eyes linger as you pull it between your lips and inhale, eyes fluttering shut and cheeks hollowing.

“You look nice today,” he tells you.

Your eyes open slowly as you turn your head to look at him. You bring the cigarette down and hold it out to him, twisting back towards the road to blow the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

As he takes it from you, you say, “Thanks.”

“New top?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“‘S’pretty. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you say through another smile. This one’s sly, coy, a wall because he’s complimented you twice and that’s at least one time too many for you. He likes the way he can see how your cheeks warm and how you shift your weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting to stop yourself swooning.

You watch cars go by and listen to the distant sound of Robin’s laugh inside the house, passing the cigarette between the two of you until it’s nothing more than a butt. Eddie throws it onto the gravel at the foot of the porch steps, being gracious enough to save the Wheelers’ nicely varnished wood from being ruined by ash and a filter, and does his best to stomp it out without shoes on.

“Your sock’s gonna get wet,” you tell him.

“‘S’okay,” he says, hopping back up onto the porch and swaying about until he reaches the front door. “C’mon. There’s a mean game of Irish snap waiting for us in there.”

You hum again, only this time it’s a sadder sound. He feels the skip of his heart and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“‘M’gonna stay out here a minute. Need some air.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes half a step back towards you. “Okay. You want company?”

You shake your head and it rips something within him. It aches. “I’ll only be a second.”

The ache yawns open somewhere in his chest but he surrenders, returning to the door and leaving it ajar for you as he goes back inside. His mind stays with you as he moves through the house, eyes on his feet and the damp spot on the side of his left sock.

He passes the stairs and as he rounds the corner, he stops dead at the sound of your name.

His ears perk up like an animal and he moves, without thinking, so his back is against the wall.

“-And I get why she feels like that, you know?”

Robin’s pacing. He hears the soft thump of her fluffy slippers each time she takes another step on the carpet.

“She just…” Nancy sighs. “Surely she should try to tell him?”

“Nance, c’mon. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

“I just…”

“Nance.”

“He’s just… They’re so close, there’s probably so much we don’t see.”

“She tells us everything.”

Eddie catches his breathing getting heavier and stops, holding it at the hilt with lungs full of air. His hands are splayed across the wall behind him and he’s leaning with all his might, willing the floorboards beneath his feet to stay quiet just for a few moments more. His ears strain because to his right, Steve, Argyle and Jonathan are having some kind of cruelly-timed debate about pizza crusts in the kitchen.

“We can’t know that,” Nancy says. Eddie thinks she sounds sad; he can hear her mouth turning down in the shape of her words, and her fingers are drumming across the glass-topped coffee table, her anxious tell.

“We’ve known her long enough. And we’ve known him long enough. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“She just seemed so sad. I wish she’d try.”

“It’s not worth it,” Robin tells her, words short and frank. Her repetitive footsteps stop. “Clearly.”

Nancy hums.

“He’s hopeless,” Robin continues. “She’s been pining after him for what? A year?”

“More than that,” Nancy says quietly.

“Exactly! She deserves to be happy, we want her to be happy. So she has to-”

“Move on,” Nancy offers.

“Right.”

“But… We see him all the time. He’s our friend.”

“I guess we just… Help her through it,” Robin says. “Get Steve to set her up or something. Surely we know someone who’s far removed enough from Eddie?”

The colour has drained from Eddie’s face, seeping down his body and through his damp socks and into the floor. The hands keeping him steady on the wall are rendered useless, because he can feel them clamming up and slipping down the tasteless wallpaper the Wheelers have covered their hallway in. He slowly pushes himself up to stand and his head spins, the gaudy florals on the walls blurring to crisp bursts of colour.

What the fuck?

What the fuck did he just listen to?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have listened; it was a private conversation, a private conversation about you. And yet he can’t bring himself to move, ears trained solely on the now-quieter mumblings between Nancy and Robin about how to cheer you up, and…

Andy.

Eddie’s stomach turns at the four letters as he hears Robin say them, louder than she’d been before, bright like a lightbulb.

Andy.

He lives down the street from Nancy, in a big house with a wrap-around porch and a mailbox Eddie probably knocked over at some point in his early teens. He has a good car - better than Steve’s, even - and wears ugly, pasty polo-neck sweaters and pristine tennis shoes. He probably plays tennis, Eddie thinks.

He’s everything Eddie knows your parents would love. Hell, he’s heard you complain more times than you should ever have had to about the sly comments your mother makes, the garden parties and barbecues you’re dragged to on hot Saturdays with the sole purpose of setting the two of you up.

“She hates him,” Eddie hears Nancy tell Robin flatly, their voices hushed again but just loud enough for him to do exactly what he knows he should not be doing.

“But he’s interested,” Robin whines.

“Only ‘cause her parents try so hard. He’s awful, Rob.”

“At least he’d try! I bet he’d take her to Enzo’s if we asked him to.”

“Rob,” Nancy hisses. “You can’t be serious.”

Eddie thought his stomach had dropped out of him a while ago, at the first mention of your name, but he’d been wrong, because he gets that awful sinking feeling once more when he hears the front door close.

In the seconds that follow, everything happens both incredibly quickly and painfully slowly, the way a car crash does, or watching someone fall. You round the corner, footsteps softening as you tread over the rug. Nancy and Robin’s hushed voices stop. Steve throws something at the bin in the kitchen. He misses. Argyle and Jonathan shout. You look up from watching your feet, and your eyes find him, wide and unsure. Eddie dies.

Well, whatever he’s feeling is what he imagines dying is like. There’s a cacophony of sensations and emotions bursting from within his body: firstly, there’s nerves, taking the form of butterflies the way they always do when he looks at you. They’re followed by a wave, though, of shame and, later, dread. He shouldn’t be here. He thinks you have worked out that he shouldn’t be here. He can hear Robin’s slippers again, only they’re getting closer this time, and then she’s at the door, right by his left ear. He can’t tear his eyes off you.

She calls your name, once in a tone so soft Eddie’s surprised it came from her mouth, and then again, only more confused.

He sees her in his peripheral vision as she leans her head around the doorframe and finds him with his back against the wall. She gasps, a quiet, wobbly noise, and then Nancy’s there, too.

You’re still standing a few paces from him, damp socks on the rug, looking at him with an expression that he cannot read.

“Eddie?” you call and he wants to die, he seriously wants to die. The world should swallow him whole for this, spit him out in the pits of Tartarus, let Cerberus have his way with him.

“Oh, god,” he hears Nancy say slowly from her spot beside Robin.

“Eddie,” you say again. “What’s wrong?”

Your face has crumpled into something between concern and remorse. Something unspoken hangs in the stuffy air of the hallway, broken only by the sounds of trash can basketball happening in the next room.

“Uh,” Robin drones, “We’ll, uh… We’re just gonna-” She slides out of the room, past Eddie, pulling Nancy with her by the wrist. “We’ll be in here,” she says, more to you than to him, an unspoken declaration that says come find us if you need us, before disappearing into the kitchen and closing the door.

He’s still looking at you, and you’re still looking at him. You’re about as pale as he feels as he stands upright again.

“What happened?” you ask him.

“I, uh… Fuck,” he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the top of his nose. He catches your wince at the curse and the aggravated edge it comes out with. “Uh… Nance and Rob, they were… They mentioned you, I might have… Overheard a couple things.”

He looks away from you as he admits this, that wave of shame more akin to a tsunami now. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t have listened.

But he did.

“I don’t…” You’re fiddling, fingers winding around fingers, standing before him looking more lost than ever. He chances a glance at you and your face is twisted in confusion. And then it relaxes, mouth agape, as realisation dawns.

“Oh.”

Warmth crawls up your neck. It spreads like wildfire behind your ears, across your scalp, over your cheeks. Everything is hot, the room’s too small, the air’s too close; more than anything, Eddie is too close.

He watches you fidget. You step forward, and your face drops again, wincing like you’re standing too close to a flame, so you step back and turn, moving away from him quicker than he can process. His call of your name falls on deaf ears and ends just as the front door shuts again.

He hears the shuffling of many feet behind the kitchen door but ignores it, pushing himself off the wall and through the hallway. The space is like water, the pressure pushing him down, keeping him from the fresh air - and you.

When he wrenches the front door open he’s hit first with the smell of rain, that hollow, metallic scent. And then it mixes with something like sorrow, and he feels it burrow into his bones, a deep-set melancholy he wants so desperately to fix.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your back to him, hunched over with your head in your hands. The way your shoulders move gives you away; Eddie’s at your side quicker than he can think to breathe, touching you before really checking that you want that from him right now. It doesn’t seem to matter; you lean into him like always. You hiccup and sniffle, face pressed into his t-shirt without thought, and his arm sits around your shoulder and his fingers press into your shoulder.

“I’m here,” he says, unsteady. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his chest. You lean back and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I didn’t… You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

Eddie’s brain is working too quickly for him to keep up with, but he manages to tell you it’s okay. “I’m not mad,” he says, thumb pressing into your jaw, the pads of his fingers on your neck, checking you over.

“I’m mad,” you choke. There’s the hint of a laugh there and he can’t help but return it.

“That’s allowed,” he says. He’s surprising himself with how quickly he’s turned into something solid and reassuring. “Want a do-over?”

You look at him and he aches again, his nose burning. You’re flushed and your eyes are pinker than usual, and as his eyes dance over your lips he sees they’re wet from crying and ripe for kisses.

They twist into a smile and he decides that, for now, that’s better.

“Eddie,” you breathe, coy. You nudge him softly in the stomach with your elbow. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he laughs. “I can leave you out here, if you want. Maybe Andy will come save you from m-”

Your elbow hits his lowest rib this time, with far more force than before, and the gasp he pulls from you is almost comical.

“Eddie,” you hiss, “they did not-”

“Oh, Rob would set you up in a heartbeat.”

You groan and let your forehead fall to his shoulder. And it’s here, where he’s enveloped in the smell of rain and the feeling of you, that he feels something open in his chest, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“He’s better than me, anyway,” he says quietly, fingers carding through the ends of your hair. “You’re too good for me. Some other boy would be better.”

“Other boys are boring,” you tell him, leaning back. Your voice is small and you can’t meet his eye but it’s the truth; he’s blind to it, apparently, but Eddie Munson is the only boy who has ever interested you. He is the only boy who listens, the only boy who sees you, the only boy you have any desire to know inside and out. You’re not sure you ever will know him completely, but if you spend the rest of your life trying, you’ll be happy doing it.

His fingers dance through the space between the two of you until they find yours, toying with the loose threads of denim at the frayed hem of your jeans. His bigger hand takes yours and you still can’t look him in the damn eye. You’d find a smile if you did, though.

He squeezes your hand and touches your chin lightly with the other, pressing the side of his index finger to the underneath of it to bring your face level with his own.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You obey, because it’s Eddie, and he’s so close and you can smell his uncle’s washing powder and the stubborn stain of pot and you love him.

“We could go for pizza,” he says, just as soft. “How’s Enzo’s?”

“You don’t have t’go fancy on me,” you whisper back. “I like Benny’s more.”

A grin splits his face and you match it, giggling.

“My girl likes burgers, huh?”

“Y’know I do,” you say, squeezing back. “Your girl?”

“Gotta take you on a date first,” he says. “Do it properly.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a gentleman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Your breaths are one and the same by now, your mouths so close together that your vacant space has become his. Your eyes move between his eyes and his lips and you catch his doing the same, and there’s an ache somewhere between your legs that makes you pull your thighs together.

He dips his head just enough, thumb pushing into your chin to pull you closer. You let your eyes shut and feel his lips over yours, slow and distant, before you lean into him. He kisses you sweet, his hand smoothing over your jaw to hold your face like it’s made of gold, and he moves against you with certainty.

He’s determined and as his tongue meets yours you bend into it, relenting. It’s magic, just as you’d imagined all these years.

He releases your hand and grabs your waist in his firm grip. It starts to get slovenly, your hips against his thigh, his tongue everywhere, and your head’s starting to spin.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you say, panting, smiling, pulling back from him to look him in the eye again. He’s all browns, dark lashes and darker irises, never wavering from your sight. “Thought you had to take me on a date first.”

“You’re too pretty,” he says, kissing you gently at the corner of your mouth. His breath blooms across your skin as he speaks. “Got years of not kissin’ you to make up for.”

His fingers dig gently into your sides and you suck in a breath that’s half a giggle.

“Gotta get back at Rob and Nance,” you say as his mouth moves over your jaw and leaves a mark somewhere beneath your earlobe.

He hums and leans back, saying his goodbyes to your skin with one last peck to your cheek, just below your eye.

“I think we owe them,” he says. “I do, anyway. Was never gonna get my ass in gear. Coulda lost you to Andy.”

“Never,” you say without a beat.

“Never,” he says back.

-

[urfavfakeblonde]

stiles helping ease his gf into trusting him because he knows that she has issues trusting men because of the role models she's had as men in her life

ₘₑₙ ₗᵢₖₑ yₒᵤ

Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety disorder, awkward!reader, fluffy, sad :(

thank you for requesting love <3

My leg bounces up and down, my shoe hitting the floor quietly with a gentle pat, pat, pat. My eyes shift over to the clock, watching the hand click. A sigh of relief involuntarily comes out as I loop my backpack around my shoulder, silently, yet quickly walking out of the classroom, and into the crowded hall of chattering students. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch at the unexpected touch. Turning around, I see Stiles with a soft smile on his face. I smile back, not fully, but enough to greet him. "Hey," he says, removing his hand, shoving both in his pockets. "Hi," I reply softly, shifting my bag. "I was just about to text you," I mumble, looking to the side to watch my classmates laugh and parade out the doors. Stiles squints, as if he doesn't believe me, but opens his mouth to say something instead. "You okay?" He asks softly, moving his head down to capture my eyes in a trance. I almost forgot how to speak, my fidgeting stopping for just a moment. I swallow, hard. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay," I stutter, stepping back, rocking slowly. Silence. "You wanna come over to my house?" I mumble, looking up at him. He smiles and nods. "Sure," He replies, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading us out of the school. We walk slowly, the loose gravel in the parking lot crunching under our feet. "How was your day?" He asks, opening the door to the driver's side. I slide into the passenger's seat and set my backpack down by my feet. I shrug and click the seatbelt on. "It was fine, yours?" I ask softly, glancing at his hand as it turns the key to the engine. I swallow and quickly look out the window instead. "Mine was good, Scott wasn't here today though," he answers, backing the car out of the lot. I nod, observing the buildings, the trees, anything to distract myself. Stiles glances over, watching my fingers fidget for a moment before returning his attention to the road. "Did you eat today?" He asks to break the silence. I blink and turn to look at him. He knows when I'm lying anyways, so I might as well tell the truth. "A little," I whisper, picking the skin next to my chipped blue nail. I hear him sigh, but he doesn't question any further. I know he's disappointed, but I think he also knows pushing it wouldn't help. My eyes focus back on the pictures through the window, letting my thoughts take over.

Sometimes, I wonder if he'll leave me. I mean, I'm a nervous wreck, I don't eat as much as I should, I don't communicate--so why does he stay? When it's late at night, sometimes I hear my father's voice in my ear, "I'll never leave you," "I love you so much." But tears just wash away the memories, and the voice in my head tells me that he left because of me, I'm the problem. Stiles clears his throat as I look up to see the car door open, him standing above me, waiting for me to unbuckle. "Sorry," I whisper, shakily unbuckling the seatbelt. He gives me a worried smile but holds out his hand. I swallow before taking it as he grabs my bag and loops it around his shoulder. "Thanks," I say, moving some hair behind my ear. Again, my mind, no, eyes, wonder as they glance at his hand closing the door. He hums in approval, walking up to the front door. He sets the bags down in the entry way and watches me take off my shoes. I glance up at him to see that he is already looking at me, causing my body to tense up and face become flustered. "Did I do something wrong?" I ask timidly, setting down my shoes. He lets out a small laugh and rubs my arms. "I was just admiring," he says softly, moving a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I blush hard, harder than ever and look down. Yet, he tilts my chin up with his hand and forces me to look into his eyes. "You know your beautiful right?" He asks with a strict tone in his voice. He gives me a look that if I don't agree I'll regret it. So, I am left with no other option than to nod slowly. He smiles and kisses my forehead. I wrap my hands around his torso, welcoming his warmth. "You promise you'll never leave me?" I whisper, tears threatening to spill. He hums and holds me tighter. "I promise."