#they're stretched TIGHT on him let me tell you

[ltash]

The Bodyguard pt-1

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

The boardroom was sleek, modern, and imposing, with dark wood panelling and a sprawling glass table. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp shadows across the faces of the people who had slowly filed in, each flashing rehearsed smiles in your direction. You leaned back in your chair, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a sleek silver pen, your eyes sharp, taking in every movement, every fake expression.

Five guards stood silently behind you, their presence a subtle but unmistakable reminder of your authority. You were untouchable here, or at least, that's what you needed them to believe. As the CEO and heiress of Aventis Pharmaceuticals, a company built on generational influence, you knew there were black sheep lurking within your empire. You could feel it in the way certain board members avoided your gaze, shifting uncomfortably under your silent scrutiny.

"Let's get started," you said, your voice calm but unyielding as you set the pen down, giving each person a measured look. "I need the details on the latest antinarcotic project we're working on."

There was a pause before the head of R&D, Dr. Marcus Lewin cleared his throat. He looked pale, though you couldn't tell if it was the lighting or nerves. "Ah... of course, Miss Aventis," he began, shuffling some papers before him. "We're in the third phase of clinical trials now. The formula has shown promising results, minimal side effects, with a faster recovery rate compared to the last version."

You raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm slightly. "Minimal side effects?" you repeated. "We're aiming for a groundbreaking product, Dr. Lewin. I expect 'minimal' to be an understatement."

"Yes, of course," he stammered, nodding vigorously. "I, uh, apologize. We're working on further improvements. There's also some data regarding efficacy rates in the latest testing group. I can forward the specifics to you."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze hardening. "Forward them to me? Dr. Lewin, I'd prefer a comprehensive update now from you. Or are there... issues you'd rather not discuss here?"

A few other board members shifted uncomfortably, casting sidelong glances at one another. But Dr. Lewin managed a stiff smile. "No issues, Miss Aventis. We've been gathering the results carefully. We're confident we can meet the expected deadline and provide a full report for you to review."

You nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch. "Good. I expect nothing less. And, just to be clear," you said, glancing around the table at the assembled members, "I don't tolerate surprises. If there are any... discrepancies, now is the time to disclose them. Otherwise, I expect total transparency."

A hush fell over the room.

Your gaze shifted to Martin Hayes, the company's CFO, a man known for his sharp financial acumen and, at times, slippery ethics. He sat across the table, his fingers tapping nervously against his folder. He offered a tight, polite smile as he looked up to meet your eyes.

"And about our deal with that company?" you asked, your voice cool, with just a hint of impatience.

Martin cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Yes, of course, Miss Aventis. The partnership with Arcadia Biotech is progressing as planned. We've secured favourable terms for both manufacturing and distribution, ensuring a significant reduction in costs while increasing production capabilities."

You tilted your head, studying him. "And Arcadia is still unaware of our... competitive projects?"

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but you didn't miss it. "They're completely in the dark," he assured quickly. "We've kept all sensitive projects under strict confidentiality clauses. As far as Arcadia is concerned, they're our exclusive partners in the development and distribution of the existing narcotic treatments."

You tapped your fingers against the table. "Good. I'd like a written assurance from you that our proprietary research won't leak. If Arcadia or any other competitor even hints at knowing about our new product, I'll know who to turn to, won't I, Martin?"

The colour drained slightly from his face. "Absolutely, Miss Aventis. You have my word; I'll have our legal team draft an ironclad document."

"See that you do." You leaned back, giving him a faint smile as if to relieve the tension just slightly. "And remember, gentlemen and ladies," you added, letting your gaze roam around the table, "we're here to lead the industry-not to compete in petty games. I expect only the highest standards of loyalty and discretion."

A murmur of agreement filled the room, the board members nodding.

You leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, and fixed each board member with a piercing stare. The boardroom fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

"Also, remember this," you said, your voice low but unwavering. "I am more than capable of running my father's company. Each of you is here because you're shareholders, yes, but let's not mistake that for immunity."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed a few faces, and you didn't miss a beat.

"If I find out that anyone here has tampered with our formulas, compromised our products, or made any attempt to sabotage the reputation of Aventis Pharma..." You let the threat hang in the air for a moment, letting them feel the weight of your words. "Then you'll all be sinking with me. I won't hesitate to bring down every last one of you along with this company if it comes to that."

Martin Hayes shifted uncomfortably, his collar suddenly seeming a little too tight. Dr. Lewin was looking down at his notes, his jaw clenched, while a few others exchanged uneasy glances.

"Now," you continued, sitting back but keeping your gaze sharp, "let's ensure that it never comes to that. We are all on the same side, or we should be. Our success is your success. I expect complete loyalty to the vision my father built and entrusted me to lead."

You let the silence settle, watching them absorb your message. Finally, you smiled, but it was a smile of steel. "Any questions?"

No one spoke up, and you nodded in satisfaction. The boardroom felt smaller, suddenly less crowded with ambition and more attuned to your authority.

The boardroom cleared, and with a curt nod, you dismissed the meeting. Rising from your seat, you walked out with purposeful strides, your five bodyguards falling in line behind you, each scanning the area, their presence, an unspoken wall of security. You exited the building and moved toward the parking lot, where the air was still and quiet, almost eerily so.

Your eyes drifted to a Hummer parked discreetly in the far corner. It felt out of place, like a shadow that didn't belong. You slipped into your sleek sports car, the engine purring to life, but an uneasy feeling gnawed at you. Suddenly, figures emerged from the darkness, men with sharp eyes and cold expressions, each one wielding M14 rifles. Diego Garcia's assassins. The Hummer door stayed shut, but you caught a glimpse of Garcia himself watching from within, his gaze locked on you.

Before you could react, a hail of bullets erupted. Your heart thundered as your bodyguards sprang into action, returning fire, but the assassins moved with ruthless precision. In moments, one by one, your guards went down, each man fighting until his last breath but hopelessly outnumbered. You watched in horror, paralyzed as they fell, each life extinguished in seconds. You barely registered your own scream, choked by terror and fury, as the sounds of gunfire faded, leaving only silence and blood.

Your hands fumbled, trying to unlock the doors, but they were stuck, trapping you in the vehicle like a helpless bystander in a nightmare. You felt your pulse race as the shadows closed in, and then Diego was there, standing right outside your window, his face illuminated in the dim parking lot light. He smiled, a dark, twisted smile that sent chills through you.

"Mine," he whispered through the glass, his voice laced with malice and satisfaction.

A wave of dizziness overtook you, and everything spun. His words echoed in your mind as your vision blurred. Helpless and horrified, you slipped into unconsciousness, the last image seared into your memory: Diego's face, and that sinister smile that promised nothing but darkness.

A week had passed since the attack, but the memory of it still haunted you, flickering at the edge of your thoughts as you sat on the plush velvet sofa in your expansive drawing room. Sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a warm glow over the gleaming marble floors and the breathtaking view of the Los Angeles skyline stretched beyond, grounding you in the opulence of your mansion. The faint hum of a helicopter faded as it settled on the rooftop, carrying with it your new bodyguard: Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, a man whose reputation preceded him.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the hallways, each step precise and deliberate, growing closer until the double doors swung open. You rose from the sofa, instinctively straightening your posture as the figure of Ghost entered the room, his presence consuming it instantly. He was massive, towering over you at 6'4", his muscular frame stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt, every inch of him exuding strength and danger. His broad chest and shoulders were carved with the kind of power that comes only from a life on the battlefield, and his thick, muscular thighs tested the seams of his black cargo pants. A holstered firearm rested against his leg, a stark reminder of the deadly world you were stepping into.

But it was his eyes that struck you the hardest. Deep brown and unwavering, they locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost physical, as if they could see straight through every secret you held. A skull-patterned bandana covered most of his face, concealing his expression, but his gaze was enough, it was fierce, calculating, and unyielding. His buzz-cut hair, a dirty blonde, caught a hint of sunlight, and a jagged scar traced down his left temple, the brutal souvenir of battles fought and survived.

The contrast between the two of you felt almost surreal, his raw, masculine power against your delicate, fragile beauty. At just five feet tall, your frame seemed almost dainty by comparison, a striking contrast of elegance and strength. The soft material of your dress hugged your figure, emphasizing the curve of your waist and your petite, curvy form, while your brown, doe-like eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"This is Ghost, ma'am," he nodded, his voice low, gravelly, resonant. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, filling the room as thoroughly as his presence did.

You hesitated, caught off guard by his intensity, before extending your hand. "Lieutenant Riley," you greeted, your voice steady even as you took in every detail of the man before you. "I've heard a lot about you."

He accepted your hand, his grip firm and respectful, but his eyes stayed sharp and assessing, as if already calculating every risk, every angle of protection.

"Welcome to my mansion. How was your journey?" you asked, settling yourself elegantly on the velvet couch, your posture flawless.

"The journey was fine, ma'am," he replied, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He took a step closer, crossing his arms, his gaze intense and assessing. "The view from the landing pad is quite something, too."

You felt his eyes linger, moving over you, taking in the details of your petite frame and the way your bodycon dress clung to your curves. He tried to keep his focus professional, but it was hard not to notice the finer details.

"Tea, coffee, or whiskey?" you offered.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Whiskey," he replied without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on you.

With a small nod, you rose from the sofa and moved to the bar across the room, reaching for the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. His eyes tracked your every movement, lingering on the bare skin between the thin straps of your dress. The dress hugged your form perfectly, and though he kept his face stoic, his attention remained unwavering as you poured the amber liquid into a glass.

You turned, holding the glass in your hand, and extended it to him. He stepped forward, his calloused fingers wrapping around the glass, brushing lightly against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt up your arm, but his face revealed nothing, not a hint of reaction. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip, all the while keeping his gaze steady on you.

You leaned back onto the plush sofa, crossing your legs elegantly, watching as he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. The slight tension in the room was palpable, each of you sizing up the other, feeling out the boundaries of this unfamiliar relationship.

"So," you murmured, a faint hint of curiosity in your tone, "you wear the skull mask, Ghost..."

His eyes narrowed slightly above the edge of his mask, a flicker of irritation passing through them. He lowered the glass, studying you in silence for a moment before he replied, his tone even. "It's part of the job," he said. "Helps me keep things... impersonal. No one gets to see my face."

You tilted your head, not breaking his gaze. "Not even me?" you asked softly, a subtle challenge in your voice. "Not even the person you're here to protect?"

There was a beat of silence, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the mask. For a moment, you thought he might look away or ignore the question altogether. But then he spoke, his tone a shade more guarded. "Protection is about distance, ma'am. Masks help with that. It's not personal, just how I keep a clear line between my duty and... everything else."

You took a slow breath, absorbing his words. "Clear lines, huh?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him, his formidable frame, his stoic face, the shadows that clung to him. "Is that what works best for you, Lieutenant? No attachments, no faces, just the mission?"

He held your gaze, unflinching. "It's what's kept me alive." His answer was calm, unwavering, as though he'd thought it through many times before.

You nodded, acknowledging the harsh reality he lived by. "Well, I suppose I can respect that," you replied, your voice soft but thoughtful. "But you should know, Ghost, this won't be a typical mission. There are things at play here that... don't fit within clear lines."

He didn't respond, but his intense gaze on you seemed to deepen, like he was silently bracing himself for the unknown. Finally, he gave a slight nod, the barest hint of understanding in his eyes.

"Understood," he said, his tone low and resolute. And in that moment, you realized that, for all the distance he wanted to maintain, his presence, steady and unyielding, was exactly what you needed.

"Diego Garcia," you said, your voice quiet but resolute. "The Santiago Cartel."

Ghost's expression darkened. The name carried weight, a reputation steeped in violence. "Diego Garcia," he repeated, his tone grim. "Powerful, ruthless, no ordinary drug lord."

"He's bigger than Valeria Garza. More dangerous than El Sin Nombre."

Ghost's gaze was sharp, intense. "I know. Santiago Cartel is one of the deadliest in Mexico, and Garcia's the head of the snake."

"He's after me," you admitted, feeling the weight of the words as they left your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"My company produces anti-narcotics," you explained. "We sell the cure. He sells the poison."

Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're cutting into his profits," he said, understanding dawning. "You make him look weak."

"We're about to launch a new antidote," you continued. "One that blocks the effects of drugs like cocaine, fentanyl. It's still in testing, but it'll be on the market soon."

He nodded slowly, processing it. "The cartel won't let that happen. They'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

You felt a shiver at his words but pushed on. "He's already killed for it. My bodyguards... I watched them die, right in front of me."

A muscle tightened in Ghost's jaw. "He killed them in front of you," he said, his voice low, edged with anger. "Bastard doesn't play by any rules."

"He sent his men. They were armed with M14 rifles. My men didn't stand a chance."

His expression grew grim. "M14s. No wonder your guards didn't make it."

"Laswell suggested you," you continued, watching him closely. "She said if anyone could handle Garcia, it'd be you."

He met your gaze, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "She's not wrong. I've dealt with men like him before." His voice was calm, unshaken. "And I'll take him down.

"Let me show you around," you said, motioning for him to follow.

Ghost nodded. "Lead the way."

The mansion was sleek and modern, blending luxury with privacy. As you walked through the marble driveway, you passed the tall, solid wooden door into the living room, its polished granite floors gleaming in the light. To the left, a door opened to the swimming pool area, surrounded by greenery. Above, a glass skywalk connected the house, offering a view of the water below.

A spiral staircase led to the second floor where your master bedroom and its luxurious bathroom were located, complete with a Jacuzzi and a high-tech shower. The back lawn opened up to the underground parking area.

As you walked, Ghost took in everything with a sharp, calculating gaze. The mansion wasn't just a home, it was a fortress. Every detail, from the barbed wire to the strategic location, was a reminder of the protection it offered.

"Like what you see?" you asked, watching his reaction.

Ghost's expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. "It's secure," he said, eyes flicking over the property. "More than most would need."

"It's still smaller than other mansions here," you countered.

"Smaller, yes. But more secure," he said. "Most billionaires settle for an alarm system. You went further."

"The reason I don't go bigger is security," you replied. "I know Diego could breach it, but it's L.A. He'd think twice."

Ghost nodded. "Smart. L.A.'s dangerous, but Garcia would hesitate."

"Good. Let him be intimidated. Makes my job easier."

He shifted his attention back to you. "What about inside? Armed guards?"

"Outside," you said. "The perimeter's covered."

He raised an eyebrow. "Inside?"

"You..." you trailed off, letting him fill in the rest.

Part 2

Pic credit: VhenanVirabelasan

https://www.instagram.com/vhenan_virabelasan?igsh=MWpmdnVzaXN5czYyZg==

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Some Mountain and Ifrit fluff because i feel people kinda forget Mountain was also part of the Popestar ghouls and I need more of those two interacting.

Mountain's lips twitch up when the smell of cedar and caramel fills his nostrils, a second before strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

"Hello, Ifrit. Everything alright ?"

The fire ghoul pushes his forhead between Mountain's shoulderblades with a small noise. It's an awfully warm day, everyone sweating bullets, and yet Mountain wouldn't dream of pushing Ifrit off him, as hot - in every ways- as he is, the fire ghoul's skin feeling like he laid down under the sun for hours.

Still bent over a wooden table in the greenhouse, Mountain checks one last time the state of the struggling plant he attempted to save for the better part of the day, before straightening and turning around in Ifrit's hold despite the fire ghoul's dramatic whining.

They both realize how the other is dressed at the same time, eyes raking up and down the other's frame.

Well, as for Ifrit, "dressed" is a generous word. In nothing but very short bright pink shorts with the ghost logo printed on the ass, hidding absolutely nothing, the fire ghoul looks positively slutty.

"Why are you dressed like those oversexualized characters in action movies ?"

Ifrit snorts.

"Just missing the shirt tied in a knot right under my huge tiddies, uh ? 's comfy. You're one to talk, looking like a victorian wet dream."

Mountain glances down at his brown pants, held by leather suspenders over a widely opened flowy white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and admits to himself that he does look nice.

"Point taken. Is there something I can do for you, firebird ?"

Ifrit grins, retrieving a bag he probably dropped to hug Mountain, from which he extirpates a reusable bottle with lemons and daises doodled on it. With a flourish, he hands it to the earth ghoul.

"Lemonade. Zephyr made it. They thought you'd be thirsty, working your ass off in that weather."

The bottle is blissfully cold in Mountain's hands, probably kept that way by the air ghoul's doing, but he doesn't even have time to thank anyone before a box is shoved in his arms.

"And that's from me. Cupcake. Pistacchio and raspberries. Fresh out the oven. They're still a bit hot though, so you can wait to eat them since it's like, so freaking hot already, but anywa-"

Mountain cuts Ifrit off with a kiss, tasting the raspberries the fire ghoul indoubtably snatched while cooking directly from his lips.

When Mountain leans back with a smug smirk, Ifrit just blinks at him, mouth hanging half opened and cheeks flushed.

"...what was that for ?"

Dragging Ifrit toward an old bench, Mountain huffs.

"That was a thank you."

With a wheezing laugh, Ifrit sits right after Mountain, not questioning the manhandling for a second.

"Remind me to cover you in gifts then."

The box of cupcakes is swiftly opened, filling the greenhouse with its mouth-watering smell, bottle uncapped just as quickly.

"We're sharing this," Mountain anounces.

Ifrit opens his mouth to protest, but the earth ghoul is faster, shoving a cupcake in the fire ghoul's mouth before any sound can be uttered. Only barely avoiding to drop it, green frosting smeared on his nose and upper lips, Ifrit cackles, nearly slipping off the bench and dragging Mountain with him in his attempt to keep his balance.

"You- mrgh - absolute bastard," the fire ghould chuckles in between bites.

The lemonade tastes divine in the suffocating atmosphere of the sun-drenched afternoon, the cupcakes a welcome sweetness after long hours of work, but better than anything, Mountain thinks, is Ifrit smiling soft and tender at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, his laughter bouncing off the greenhouse's glass panels.

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗.

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part two • part three

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants.

tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, p in v unprotected, breeding kink.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ me writing angst?? wow could never imagine it. i hope you guys like this i dunno what came over me. almost 7k (oops) words of hurt confusion and a filthy finish to dry your tears. not proofread!!

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally met someone after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it—the gold band, the small, delicate stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only nineteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man—how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, low and careful. He was rough around the edges, with that Southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came around.

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with affection. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, a steady, looming presence.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." There was a weight to his words, the way he said it, something that settled deep in your bones, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade. You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to thicken. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest. "Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been steadily growing between you and him.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You couldn’t keep going like this.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom. But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you could see. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

he feels it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now, his presence like a shadow that followed you everywhere. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away. "You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I think I know you better than that." Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away. One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped your drink slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air." Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the quiet night. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?" You sighed, setting your drink down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated. Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered, unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. But it had evolved into something else—something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby." You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel." He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice barely a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful. "You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?"

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken. "I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?" The question hung in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom—she looked radiant, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words still hanging between you.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him—rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?" Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to stay strong. "You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is." He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go."

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

Joel pulls out, making you moan. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, licking his lips as a palm rubs your lower belly. He hopes it'll stick.

[wolviensabes]

Logan has a massive breeding kink. 18+ Minors DNI.

I wrote something kinda similar with the whole 'rut' thing, but this will focus more on the 'breeding' aspect. Possibly will write a deep fic about this at a later date, for now this is just a short little drabble. Wrote with both afab and amab, as an afab I am not super familiar with reactions for those born as amab, so I tried my best!

Warnings: Uh filthy breeding sex thoughts?? Don't read if it's not for you. I did not edit this I typed all of this in like ten minutes.

I don't care if you are afab or amab, or capable of actually being biologically 'bred' or not...and neither does Logan.

He is going to fuck you full of his seed, no matter what hole he is stretching.

A lot of my followers have come to me and said they are amab, and I want to give you guys some love too. Logan will throw you on the bed...or couch...or floor. He will tear your clothes off while leaving all those lovely bites on your neck and shoulder, trailing down your chest and abdomen, his rough and calloused hands feeling you as he finally reaches your pants. I hope you didn't pay much for them because they're in tatters as he grows too frustrated to unbutton them.

"Look at you, rock hard from the thought of my cock in your ass?" He teases you, watching you throb and twitch, your own sex felt swollen and leaked like crazy. This man knew just how to get you going. He likes to stoke you until you squirm, spitting on your dick as his hand works you. His thumb trails teasingly on the tip and he grins down at you as you whine for him. "Ah, gotta lube up my fingers to stretch ya...don't want me goin' in dry do you?" he teases, using your precum as lube on his fingers and circling your tight hole.

He leans down, spreading you and licks over you, his tongue prying and greedy. Once you seem wet enough, he will push one finger in. Two, maybe three. Curling them against that pretty little spot that makes pleasure jolt up your spine and make you a moaning mess. So desperate for an orgasm you try reaching for anything to grab onto.

When Logan does penetrate you, it is so intense and you feel like he splits you in half. It stings and burns, but it also feels so damn good you don't want him to stop. Ever. "Logan! Oh my god, please, move...please." Your voice wavers with begging pleasure, just as he likes to hear. It gets him going, so riled up and ready to fuck you until you can't take it.

His balls are so heavy and his stockpile of cum is huge. It doesn't matter if you're a dude, he will breed you. It was funny the first time it came up during sex, he rolled his eyes at your genuine concern telling him you can't get pregnant. He deadpans at you and scoffed, "Ya, I know that, bub...it's called fantasy for a reason. Just let me have this." he grumbled, though your concern to his words was pretty cute...and funny.

"Damn it...fuck." he snarled as his cock buried as far as it could in your ass, watching himself disappear inside you. "Takin' me so well aren't ya, pup...watchin' you squirm with my dick inside you 'bout makes me unload." he groaned and teased you, enjoying how your face blushed darkly and you mewl under your breath, biting your lip to keep yourself from sounding like you're in a fucking heat.

"M'gonna fill your tight little hole with all my seed, you're gonna be drooling it outta your greedy ass, swallowing and milkin' me already..." he spoke filthy words while he thrusted hard and fast, you felt so dizzy and lightheaded in the best way. It was incredible, such pleasure overtook your body and you felt yourself spasm as he teased your tip, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train.

You sputtered cum onto your belly and chest, he laughs lowly, grunting like a feral animal in your ear. "Messy boy. Look what you did..." He leaned down and licked a stripe through the mess and kissed you, your own cum on his tongue and you tasted yourself on the messy kiss. His hips stutter into you and he grabs you tightly, curling around your body and pressing you until he exploded inside your ass. That delicious snarling cry from him, a guttural roar, and his repetitive thrusts fill you up with his spunk.

He goes until every last drop is inside you, and he settles with his hips against you. "You're gonna keep me in ya...even if I have to keep my dick inside you."

With your pleading whine and groan, you pressed back against his cock, still hard in your ass. It makes Logan give a small thrust back, chuckling at you. You were so needy, it made him so fucking happy seeing how much you needed him. "That's my good boy, ya need it...? Fine. I'll give ya another load."

Logan talks a bit more if there's a possibility of getting you pregnant, or if he's with an afab. He's a little more filthy with his words since he knows the risks involved.

"Yeah...you want me to cum inside ya? You wanna get pregnant with my babies? Nngh....I'm gonna fill that womb. I'm gonna make sure you are leakin'..." he snarls at you while he's completely buried in your stretched, swollen cunt.

Can you barely register his words? Yes. But you don't care. You want his cum, you want him to fuck you senseless...which he has been. You were no better than a bitch in heat for him and he fucking loved it.

"Gonna be so damn full, gonna get you pregnant," he groaned and grunted hard, his instincts flaring with the possibility of actually impregnating and breeding you. It drove his hips faster and harder into you, like he couldn't control himself or stop.

His hips thrust so hard into you, the impact on your plush ass began to grow sore, you knew that your backside would be bruised and it wasn't even from spanking. He continued to pound into you, he bent you in all sorts of ways, positions you didn't think you could bend in.

Your body was covered in love bites and dark bruises, your nipples swollen from his teasing and they had a sting that enhanced all your pleasure with every thrust.

"Damn, look at you writhing. Such a good thing for me, sweet girl," he laughed as his dick kissed your cervix over and over, precum coating your inner walls. "I'm gonna fill you, princess...make that pretty little womb full." his hips continued to snap into you, biting your neck as he let out muffled growls against your skin.

You feel yourself crying with nothing but the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm, what number is this? You don't know. All you know is the pad of his finger is playing with your precious bundle of nerves and you can barely feel anything besides the raging fire of your climax shooting through you.

When he does cum, it is so much it overflows out of you, the sheer amount of it is insane. Your eyes widen, feeling the hot seed filling your precious fertile womb. If you're ovulating don't even think about running. Logan will literally hunt you down and bend you over until he is completely empty.

Thanks for reading my filthy thoughts lol. Maybe I'll turn this into an actual fic one day.

Byee 🧡

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ fantasy smut, description of a threesome, hospital/medical jargon request: team dinner, sick fic, someone drops the L word

"Cannae get over the size of the lad."

Orion's got a fist curled around Johnny's fingers, trying and failing to pull them into his mouth.

"I know." You roll your eyes, inclining your head towards Simon. "Are you really surprised though?"

Everyone laughs. Simon warms.

You've broken out of your shell, piece by piece over the course of dinner, shyly getting to know everyone, watching their banter and usual bullshit.

He wasn't sure it was possible, but the way you tease Soap makes him love you even more.

"No, suppose not." Soap laughs, and you smile at him, full and bright, so cute he could tug you into his lap right here in front of his entire team, spread you wide for them to see, show them how much of a good girl you are. How perfect you are, how you cum on his fingers, how tight your pussy squeezes. Of course, he'd never let Johnny or Kyle touch you, too much inexperience, too much raw energy, but his captain-

he'd help you take John's cock. Hold your back to his chest, pull your knees up towards your ears. You'd whine and cry and he'd lick your tears, telling you how pretty you are with his captain's fat cock in your belly, reaching down to rub your clit and spread his fingers over where you're stretched.

It's fantasy. Nothing more. He's shared girls with John in the past, but the things they did as younger men are in the past, where they belong. They’re both too possessive, obsessive, and neither could bear it.

You'll never know another man again.

"Okay," Cami claps, pulling his attention, "Pie?"

"I'll help." You push your chair back, leaning over to press a kiss against Orion's cheek, and then stand, brow crinkled, slowly blinking.

Everything in Simon goes cold, muscles tensing. Something is wrong. He calls your name, but you don't respond. "Hey, hey mama-" In a split second, he hands the baby to Soap, turning back just in time to see your legs buckling, falling towards the edge of the table, where Price leaps from his seat, catching you with a forearm.

Chairs scrape, Cami shouts, Gaz starts dialing as you're lowered to the floor, his captain's fingers firm under your jaw. "Pulse is elevated." Nausea roars, skull pressurizing as Simon drops to his knees at your side, holding your face between his hands. He says your name, says it over and over, desperation and fear cracking the syllables, splitting them wide. You're breathing, but your heart is racing, triple a normal rhythm.

This is his fault. He should have pushed you harder to see a specialist, should have paid better attention, should have taken better care of-

Orion starts to cry.

"They're on their way." Gaz tells the room calmly, level head prevailing. It jolts Simon, orients him, pulls him out of a dreadful spiral and back to the needs at hand. He holds onto it, composure barely a shred as he strokes his thumb across the apple of your cheek, counting your breaths, gaze locked on the rise and fall of your chest.

"It's okay," he says, hoping somewhere behind your closed eyes, you can hear him, "it's gonna be alright, honey. I'm here, 'm right here."

Time passes in a blur, everything happening too quickly and all at once, medics arriving, flat keys passing to Gaz and Cami, who offer to take Orion home and stay there for as long as needed, John and Soap promising they'll meet him at the hospital as you're loaded into the back of the ambulance, Simon stepping in behind.

"She's gonna be alright, LT." Johnny yells right before the doors close, confidence in his eyes. It's hopeful, and firm, and Simon clings to it as they race down the road, unable to look away from where you lay with an oxygen mask fitted over your nose and mouth, monitors beeping too quickly in the foreground on the sirens.

"Mr Riley?" He turns from his pacing on a dime, registering the subtle jerk from the nurse before her expression turns placid. "Your wife is conscious, we've admitted her for some testing. Would you like to see her?"

"Yes." He croaks, looking over his shoulder at Johnny and Price, who give him a serious nod. Testing. Admitted. Christ. "What happened? Is she..." he loses his words, fear seizing his lungs yet again, before he manages a breath, "is she going to be okay?" They come to a stop in front of a room, and the nurse gives him a sympathetic smile.

"She's conscious, heart rate down to a healthy bpm. The cardiologist will be by shortly to discuss everything with you." It's a non answer, building frustration in the pit of his stomach, but he nods. "Found him!" She announces as she opens the door, and you smile from across the room.

He's never closed a distance so fast in his life.

"Hey-" He covers your mouth with his, hand on the back of your head. He was supposed to protect you, keep you safe, and look where you are. "Whoa." You whisper, and he shakes his head.

"Scared me to death."

"I'm sorry. I d-don't... I don't know what's wrong." Your voice creaks, breaking on a thick note, and he pulls a chair as close as he can manage up to the bed, holding onto your hand.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. We're gonna figure it out, alright?" You nod, lower lip rolling, trembling, and he wants to wrap you up, rip himself open and bury you inside his heart, hidden away from everything, anything that could hurt you, even your own body.

"Orion?"

"Went home with Kyle and Cami. They'll stay as long as we need them." You sniffle, tear spilling down your cheek. He feels sick.

"Shhh, you're alright, mama."

"I'm scared." You're crying now, trying to wipe your face with trembling fingers.

"I know. I know you are, but it's going to be okay. I'm here, 'm gonna make sure you're taken care of. Take a breath f'me," your inhale is shaky, but you manage it, and he smiles encouragingly, "that's it- good."

The knock on the door comes a few seconds later, and Simon swallows everything threatening to upend him as the doctor steps in the room. It's okay. It's okay.

"Mrs Riley?" You manage a raised eyebrow in Simon's direction, and he gives you a small smile. Best to not get into it. You clear your throat.

"That's... me."

"A what?"

"A tilt table test. It's the most accurate test for diagnosing POTS." You're nervous, Simon can tell, glancing continually at him, who is latched onto every word coming from the doctor's mouth.

"What... how does it work?"

"We lay you flat on a table, and then after a few minutes, tilt you directly upright. At the same time, we track your heart rate with an ECG, and your blood pressure with a cuff. If the tilt doesn't trigger the response, we usually start an IV to give you a little bit of medicine which can provoke the response so to speak, if needed." You gulp.

"Is it safe?" Simon grits, the idea of you strapped to table with wires and an IV making his head spine.

"Very safe," the doctor reassures patiently, "the test has little risk of complications." You squeeze Simon's hand, and he squeezes back. I'm here.

"Okay, let's... let's do it then."

The test takes too long. Every minute, every second you're not within eye sight breaks him down, threatens to derail his level head.

By the time you’re back in the room, he’s resumed pacing, hand rubbing the back of his neck raw.

“Hi.” You smile. You seem… better. More relaxed, less scared. It soothes him.

“Hey mama. Everything go alright?”

“I fainted during the test.” You whisper, and he brings your hand to his lips.

“That’s alright.”

It’s POTS. More severe than a standard case, the doctor says, explaining how an off label side effect of a specific medication helps treat the condition. In addition, he goes over things that may exacerbate it, caffeine, alcohol, stress, and promises you can still breastfeed on the medicine and resume normal activity.

There’s a plan. A treatment. An answer, and Simon likes that. He likes knowing the path ahead, how to better care for you, how to make sure you’re supported, and you’re more comfortable too, happy to know there’s an end in sight for your symptoms.

What started as a terrifying experience ends as an okay one, and when the two of you relieve Gaz and Cami at home, he can’t help but pull you into his body, Orion snuggled in your arms.

“Want to tell me what that Mrs. Riley thing was about?” He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can muster.

“I love you, mama, and you’re going to be my wife. Might as well get you used to the name sooner rather than later.” He doesn’t miss your sharp intake breath, the shiver cascading over your skin.

Your head tips back, lips parted, and he kisses you long and slow, holding you tight, safe in his arms.

Where you belong.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.” 

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.” 

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

--

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?” 

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

--

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod. 

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut. 

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight

[luveline]

bombshell!reader getting caught sleeping over at spencer's before making their established relationship public & the team still thinks spencer is uncomfortable with r's approaches. 🤭

Spencer bought you pyjamas. You're sick with secret pleasure at the fact, staring at yourself in every passing window and reflective surface. They're simple skinny knitted sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and it's not necessarily something you'd buy for yourself, but why would you ever complain? Spencer got you new clothes as a gift with no occasion or motive; you'd marry him now if you thought he'd say yes. 

Too bad he's still sleeping. 

You turn away from his kitchen window back to your cooking, an oiled frying pan sizzling hot on the stove, eggs browning at the edges as Spencer likes. Two twin mugs of hot coffee steam on the counter next to two plates of crispy bacon and toasted english muffins, deconstructed breakfast sandwiches. You're ninety percent sure he likes breakfast sandwiches. 

It's odd knowing enough about Spencer to fancy yourself in love with him, but being in a relationship that's so new that there are a thousand gaps. You know how he likes his eggs but not his bacon. Does he like melted cheese? Does he drink orange juice this early?

You'll have to ask him. If he's brave enough to ask you to stay the night, you can ask him about breakfast. 

It's getting way too hot in the kitchen. The opened window isn't cutting it. You hook your elbow into the hem of your hoodie and pull it over your head before folding them to set neatly aside. You feel cooler in your vest, if a little exposed. Good thing it's just you and Spence—

A knock rattles the door. "Reid, you home?" 

Well, I brought that on myself, you think with a laugh. You take the eggs off of the heat and wipe your oily fingers clean on a dish towel as you meander to the door. It's too early for running. 

"Hello, Derek," you say, opening the door with a put upon casualness. He blinks at you. He's wearing gym clothes, a sleeveless t-shirt and tight sweatpants. You wolf whistle before he can say hello himself. "Looking good. Early run?" 

"You're kidding," he says. 

"Am I ever? You look great! Did you want to come in– woah!" 

Deft-fingered hands pull you out of the doorway and firmly behind it. Spencer steps into your place, closing the door to a slit. "Hi, Morgan." 

"Reid. You're both kidding." 

"I don't know what you mean." Spencer rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair. You try to ignore how much you enjoyed him moving you around. 

"Reid, I just saw her!" Morgan laughs more happily than incredulously. You can't see him but you can picture his smile and his slightly slouched posture, his arms crossed over his chest. "Since when do you guys bunk up? You're a jerk, you know that? I'm always telling her to stop bothering you, but now I'm thinking you like being bothered." 

"I never asked you to do that," Spencer says weakly. 

You nudge Spencer aside gently, popping your head back into Morgan's view. "My AC broke, my apartment's a hot hell. Reid let me come over." 

"Oh yeah?" Morgan asks, rolling his eyes. "That why he tried to hide you? What's so secret about broken AC?" 

"He's a genius, he's not perfect. I'm sure he was just trying to protect my decency. I'm not dressed for company." You put a more than friendly hand on Spencer's back, the dip of it like a tempting line under his thin sleep shirt. You want more than anything to dig under his shirt and feel along the curve of it. You'd pictured it this morning, eating eggs and drinking coffee under his arm, your fingertips tracing the short wall of stretch marks he has just above his coccyx.  

Spencer rolls with your lie as well as he's able to, which, having been caught off guard, is not very well at all. "Right. She's not wearing a bra." 

You snort. Morgan laughs and almost turns around to walk away. 

"Did you want breakfast?" Spencer asks weakly. He sounds resigned to his fate. Skewed, he uses the hand furthest away from you to reach behind his back and squeeze your hand in a swift apology. 

"I'll pass, man." Morgan pulls his cap down a touch. "Sounds like you're having breakfast fit for two." 

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY SIX: breath play with toji fushiguro.

kinktober masterlist

cw for mentions of fucking you after ur passed out, so somno and dubcon?

Toji has withheld the breath of many people before—stolen their right to oxygen for intel or the satisfaction of watching the realisation dawn on someone's face that they're going to die if Toji allows for it.

With you, though, it's different—intoxicating, romantic. With you, it's the way you ask for it; guiding his hand to your neck in silent confession of what you want. It's the way you speak, words dry, to tell him that you want to be completely at his mercy: every part of you is his, breath and life included.

It's the trust in your eyes as he wraps a thick hand around the column of your throat and squeezes his fingers down on either side of your airway. The want that swims over your face, the desperate look you give him when you want it harder, meaner, more dangerous.

It's the way you clench impossibly tight around him when he's seated deep inside of you and wraps a hand around that pretty neck of yours. How, with every thrust of his cock into you, you jolt with an attempt for air that you just can't satiate. It's how he's so deep in your stomach that you'd feel equally as choked even without his hand restricting your breath. Every rock of his hips into yours sends air out of your lungs and into the heated space between you.

It's the way he chokes you with his left hand, so that you can feel the cold metal of his ring against your skin as he takes you for your breath. How his fingers dig into your skin the closer he gets to orgasm; how blissed out he gets, the slightest possibility he'd get carried away and let you slip just a little too far. Would he even stop then, once your eyes have rolled back and your mind is no longer present? Would your body still react to his touch? To the searing stretch of his cock?

It's the way you gasp each time he offers you a moment of reprieve, gifts you a breath and then steals it away again with a kiss. His lips on yours are mean and hungry above all else and when he speaks into your mouth it's almost poetic how his words become your breath. 'even your fuckin' lungs belong to me, doll—shit, trust me with your life, huh?"

It's the bliss on your face when, just as your orgasm crests and you fall into ecstasy, he tightens his grip on your neck so much you'd be surprised to wake up without markings left behind. It's the way your mind spins, lack of oxygen in conjunction with the dizzying orgasms Toji is pulling from you one-after-another like you dispense them at will.

It's the way you can't even say his name, can't even beg for more or less because you're so fucked stupid you don't realise he's let go of your neck a long time ago— you're holding your own breath at this point. And Toji takes it as a sign that he's left a subconscious mark on you, alongside the hundreds of physical ones.

tags:

@medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

@veraiku @niinistudies @jexx233 @logoleptic-since-06 @kirishimasboobs

@samaraxmorgan @brainwashedskullz @uranosbaaee @actuallynarii

@sweetsformysoul

[usedtobecooler]

calling up virgin!eddie whilst he's watching a porno and talking him through jerking off <3

content warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, f masturbation, m masturbation, dirty talk.

“and so then i told steve to fuck off because seriously, i thought we were passed the stage of him constantly staring at my ti—"

your ears catch it then, and you cut yourself off mid-sentence to make sure you're really hearing what you think you are.

the grunting, the clapping, the loud moaning. tinny and crackly through shitty speakers.

“eddie?”

“hmm?”

“are you watching a dirty movie?” you’re giddy with it, knowing the question is going to embarrass eddie and turn him into a bumbling fool. you can’t help but call attention to it.

“i— uh, what?” he feigns stupidity, though a little gasp gives him away. like he’s trying to stop himself from cumming.

“are you jerking off right now? you little perv!” you accuse him, wiggling around on your bed as a large, seedy smile spreads across your mouth.

eddie harrumphs at that, and you can almost hear his eyes rolling, “well you did kinda call me out of the blue, it’s two in the morning.” he argues, a choked off, strangled sound falling from his lips.

you flush dark. clench your thighs together. god, his strangled and embarrassed little arguments sounded so hot.

and maybe it has something to do with the fact he's inexperienced, possibly a virgin — scratch that, you know he's a virgin. this is hawkins, the girls aren't lining up down the street to fuck the town freak and 'satan vessel', no matter how hot he was.

knowing he's fucking his own fist watching a dirty movie. knowing it's probably something he does most nights when wayne works. craving his own touch because there's nobody else to do it for him. your pussy throbs.

"well don’t let my presence stop you. tell me what they're doing right now," you giggle, cheeks burning as you writhe around on your bed, legs falling open ever so slightly, free hand not holding the phone receiver dipping low on your belly.

the cap of eddie's lube bottle pops open, rattling through your swimming head, the unrhythmic squirting noises a clear indication of how empty the bottle was. it's bold, bold enough to make you wonder if he's even aware that you can hear it.

your ears prick at the loud, faked moaning in the background vaguely, a woman gasping and begging 'fuck my pussy harder!'

"they — they're..." eddie trails off, sighing when he wraps his hand tightly around the base of his cock, squeezing and crying out in relief, "he's got her on, uh, all fours. slapping her ass."

your skin prickles, excitement and arousal thrumming through your veins as your ears catch the slick glide of eddie's hand pumping up his length, "you getting yourself nice and wet?" the smirk is evident in your voice. he whines.

"shit." eddie curses, a shaky little sigh escaping him — he is wet, it's hard to ignore how loud it is, "y-yeah, fucking christ."

you can almost picture how much of a mess he's making of himself. lube dripping down his shaft and coating his heavy, cum filled balls, soaking his hand, a constant stream of precum blurting from the needy head.

he's in the living room, you know he is. it's the only room in the trailer with a tv. you wonder if he was smart enough to lay a towel under himself, or if he's gonna end up in a soaked patch of his own cum and lube.

it honestly makes you dizzy, the guttural noises he's making have you thinking of how flushed his face is, his hazy, heavy lidded eyes glued to the tv set — watching the woman be fucked within an inch of her life, her stretched pussy within eyeshot.

"are you still watching? or are your eyes shut, thinkin' about me bouncing on your dick?" you're nonchalant, lazy with it, drawling on the words — eddie's breath hitches, the rhythmic schlick of his hand coming to a stop.

"y-you — would you?" eddie asks, gasping and arching up into his fist as he starts up again. slowly, not as tight, trying to savour it whilst he can. your voice is sending him hurtling towards the edge far too quick.

"yeah, would climb on top of you and sink down on your fat cock," and you can't help it, your own hand finally slips into your soaked panties, two fingers gliding through your slick lips and pressing on your clit, relieving the dull throb, "you'd love it, eddie. feeling how wet i would be for you, how tight i am."

"mmph," eddie garbles, hips bucking up wildly as he gives up fighting the losing battle, precum leaking uncontrollably from his slit and spilling down his fist, "you'd feel so fucking good."

"i would," you agree, fingers running over your clit in tight, fast circles, heat blooming in your lower gut quickly as your ears are invaded by eddie's whining, the motions of his hand on his cock, "i promise you i'd be so good for you, get you off so quick."

"fuh-uuck, you can't — can't say that, you're gonna make me cum," he's practically crying, voice strained and high pitched, almost totally drowned out by the wet slap of his hand flying up and down his cock.

"was kinda the point," you bristle, slapping your clit slightly and gasping his name — his breath hitches, he breathes a loud gasp down the line, "how big is it? tell me, need to picture it whilst i fuck myself thinking about you."

"oh my fucking god," eddie grunts, working his fist over the head of his cock until he's crying out, the noise shooting straight to your cunt, "i don't— it's six, maybe. thick. my... my own hand barely fits around it."

you catch yourself whining, keening into your hand, hips arching as you rub frantically over your clit, "eddie," you whimper, thighs clenching around your own wrist, "need you splitting me open on it, please?"

"anything, anything you want you can take it," eddie's voice shakes, the slapping of his hand further increasing in speed, and you know he's close before he even says it, "m'gonna cum, you're making me cum, fuck."

the winding in your gut coils tight and snaps all at once, unable to cope with the pretty noises you're eliciting from eddie, and you cry out, a gasp of his name escaping your lips as you reach your high. fingers slipping over your needy, soaked cunt as you cum, whole body shaking with it.

"yeah, yeah," eddie grunts, "can't believe you just came thinking of me — god, feels so fucking good, fuck—"

you hear the telltale sound of the receiver dropping as he all but wails in the background, and you ache to see it, the way he's probably hunched in on himself as his cock pulses, all pretty with his eyes squeezed tight and spit slick lips dropped open.

"fucking hell," eddie pants, and you hear him rustling around down the receiver — he's made a mess, you know he has. probably spurted up his shirt, covered himself in it. you try not to think too much about it, your swollen clit throbbing, "you — i came so hard, shit."

you cackle, cheeks flushing dark as your brain starts to catch up on what just happened, "sorry i interrupted your movie."

eddie chokes out an embarrassed laugh, "don't worry about it, this was — this was so much better than all that staged shit."

you shoot your shot, because fuck it, what's the worst that can happen once your best friend has heard you cum?

"i can show you something much better, if you like? say friday, my place at seven?"

[rainydayathogwarts]

Red BMW - Steve Harrington

summary: steve and reader are in a relationship and they just happen to have sex in the back of his car in a restaurant's parking lot. When they're done, a clueless Dustin knocks on their window. warnings: SMUT, car sex, almost getting caught 1.2k+ wc

You giggle loudly, dragging Steve by the hand as you run through the restaurant's parking lot, trying to find the right car. His red BMW lights up when he clicks his keys desperately, letting you tug the door to the backseat open, allowing him to climb over you, peeking out into the dark parking lot one last time before shutting the door closed. Steve chuckles when he turns back around to see you laying flat on your stomach, trying to shimmy your tight skirt over the curve of your butt. "Oh, that's how you want me sweetheart?" He only half-teases, knowing fully well that he enjoyed taking you from the back just as much as you did. "Yeah, Stevie." You mumble, gasping when he leans down to press a kiss onto the exposed nape of your neck, your hair falling to the side, dangling over the edge of the car seat.

Steve gropes the globes of your ass before hooking his fingers into the band of your thong and pulling it down your thighs. He quickly moves to undo his belt, pushing his trousers and boxers down his legs desperately, one hand already working itself into your entrance, two fingers pushing against your tight hole. "Steve I'm ready, just put it in." Your boyfriend laughs from over you, his deep voice only making you part your legs for him even more. Despite your words, he keeps pushing his fingers in you, quickly making work of stretching you out for his cock. "Come on Stevie, 'M so wet for your cock. Don't want your fingers." Steve fakes an offended gasp, finally pulling his fingers out of your entrance.

A loud gasp escapes you at the sudden emptiness, but it quickly turns into a moan when you feel Steve's hard cock pushing into you instead. Your body is supporting near to his full weight, his entire body pressed up right against yours as he begins rocking against you. You feel his dick dragging right up your cunt agonisingly slow, and you moan loudly, pushing your ass up against him. "Oh fuck sweetheart." Steve mutters against your neck, his forearms tucked underneath your shoulders so he can carry some of his weight off you. Your pussy throbs against his dick, and you try squeezing your legs for more friction, begging "Please. Don't tease, Steve."

The loud moan from him tells you he isn't lying when he replies with "Not teasing baby, just enjoying how you feel." But he speeds his pace up for you nonetheless, his pelvis making a loud smacking sound against your ass. You're sure the car is rocking with his strong movements, but the only thing you care about is your boyfriend's cock, and the way Steve starts sucking on the perfect spot on your neck. You whine at the extra stimulation, body jerky in pleasure. Steve's leg kicks the car door accidentally, barely fitting due to the inconvenient position you're in. His second leg rests on the car's floor, helping him push the rest of his body into you.

"Shit baby. I swear you were made perfect for me. Cunt's so tight around my cock." Steve's kisses move up your face, and his hand tugs your face to the side from where it's hidden in your arms. Your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, mouth agape, letting your loud whines escape freely. His kiss on the corner of your mouth has your pussy pulsating against him, and you finally say "I'm so close Steve. You-you feel so-" Your words are cut off by a loud moan, a reaction to one of Steve's particularly hard thrusts. He pushes himself off his forearms and onto his hands, his knee squeezing itself between your thigh and the back of the carseat so that he can support himself on his leg, making his thrusts both harder and faster.

"Fuck!" You cry out. The sounds in the confined space were absolutely vile. Steve's new pace only made the sound of skin hitting skin louder, your loud moans paired with his raw grunts and whimpers creating a vulnerable environment. "Say my name baby." Steve begged, his thrusts becoming sloppy. You shifted your hips up, snaking a hand underneath you to rub circles on your clit. You moaned again, eyebrows furrowing "Steve, fuck Steve! M'gonna cum!" Steve's arms shook above you, panting loudly as he thrusted into you a few more times before moaning your name loudly, accompanying it with "Fuck, baby!"

His whines of your name had your thighs shaking, and you were coming undone within seconds, chanting Steve's name desperately. Your cunt squeezing his cock while you came triggered Steve's orgasm, and he cursed loudly, sweat dripping onto your back from his face as he shot spurts of cum into you. Steve's thrusts slowed, and he slowly let himself lay back down on you, rocking his hips slowly against you until you were gasping from the overstimulation, and his movements completely stilled. "Holy shit." Steve cursed, pressing his forehead next to yours against the carseat. "Holy shit is correct" You pant, chest heaving with each breath you took.

Steve pushed himself up and you whimpered as his dick pressed itself further into you before he pulled out completely, making you both moan at the sudden movement. You sat up so Steve could sit down next to you. Suddenly, he was pulling tissues out of the hidden box under the passenger seat, messily trying to clean you up before pulling your underwear back up and skirt down so that you were at least modest to some degree. You giggled at Steve's struggle, snatching the tissues from him to return the favour. Steve stuffed the dirty tissues into the door's compartment, leaning back against the seat to catch his breath fully.

Looking over at you with a wide grin, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You squealed, falling against him with a loud giggle. "Can I get a kiss now?" Your boyfriend kindly asked, smiling when you pressed yourself up against him, leaning up to kiss him softly. "You were so quick to get to business that I missed these gorgeous lips." He spoke against your lips. Cheeks flushing, you dug your head into Steve's chest, mumbling "Flirt."

A knock against the car window had you flinching, spinning around quickly to find Dustin standing out in the cold with a wide smile, waving frantically at you both. You looked back at Steve, unable to help the smile from making its way onto your face as you rolled the window down. "Hey Dustin!" You and Steve spoke in unison. "I knew I recognised this red BMW!" he cheered. "What are you doing here?" You asked. The boy grinned at you, holding up a paper bag with grease splotches on it. "Food!" "All alone?" Steve inquired, frowning when the boy nodded. "That's dangerous, Dustin." You scolded, opening the car door. "Hey, how come are you guys in the back seat?" He asked, sitting down next to you when you shuffled down to make more space for him.

You and Steve glanced at each other before you said "Uh, discussing life. Deep conversations, you know?" The boy looked at you for a moment, nodding while taking a sip from his drink before he frowned, pulling a disgusted face at you, evidently noticing how flushed your faces were. "Ew! Gross!" You giggled, pushing Steve out of the door he just opened on his side of the car and racing to the passenger seat and he hopped into the driver's seat. "Hey, no fair! Why do I have to sit in the back when you just had sex here!?"

[sweetkiitsunez]

❞ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 - synopsis: being gangbang by Beelzebub and his clone inspired by Attack the king card

❞ warning: nsfw content (18+) + f!sub (afab!reader) + Dom!Beelzebub + Gangbang + Clone sex + rough sex + double penetration + dubcon(?) + overestimated + public sex + creampies + bites/hickes all over your body + bulge

a/n: I apologize if it so bad!! I was in the rush, but thanks to the person i've talked with share the ideas :3🫶

"Your moans are my favourite sound."

“I could make you feel better.”

“Who would have thought that this is something that you’re into?”

"Can you feel how my body is reacting to you?"

You don't know how long that they had been destroying your holes. There's two Beelzebub penetrating your pussy and hole in a fast pace and your hand rubbing the other Beelzebub's dick. You look like a mess. You are filled with sweats and cums and juice. Your clothes were taken off, but your panties were torn apart due to Beelzebub being impatient, stripping your clothes.

"Aaah, ngh, you're so tight...!" Beelzebub in front of you thrusting your insides.

"Aah! Nngh! Mm!! Aah!! Aaah!" You moan feeling hot already. You could see Beelzebub's dick bulging your tummy. It's so big... you already feel so full. Your eyelids were getting heavier, but you couldn't afford to fell asleep yet.

Hearing the loud wet slaps noises in the busy clubs. Everyone is getting high, drunk, having sex in front of everyone. You felt the third Beelzebub grabs your face as he pulls in for a tongue kiss. You continue to rub your hand on his dick, pressuring him.

Beelzebub from behind you playing with your nipples as he continues to pound you from behind. He growls in your ears while pounding your hole. "Fuck, you're taking me really well, heh." You couldn't respond as the third Beelzebub is kissing you. His fingers is digging into your flustered cheeks. You let out a loud groan as your eyes rolls back of your skull.

“Oh, I love that sound you make.” Beelzebub in front you, laughs while he held your thighs tighter while thrusting ferociously in your pussy. You felt crowded as Beelzebub's clone is eating you alive. You're so cute and sexy in front of them. Completely covered in their sweats and semen. You felt Beelzebub from behind push your abdomen while Beelzebub is in front of you thrust his penis inside you. You let out a squeal and a loud cries while he laughs at you from behind.

“I never imagined you to be so sensitive, but I love it.” He whispered from behind. His dick is still inside your hole. You felt like they're gonna stretch you. It's hurt, but it's feels so good! You never want them to stop.

"Aah!! Ah! Mm!!" You already came... how many times? You don't remember. You felt so full. Your jaw was so sore after sucking third Beelzebub's large dick when he slaps it in front of your face. He just wants some fun. Your mouth was so warm...

They prefer hearing your moans and cries while they're fucking you. They indeed take turns in different positions to fuck your pussy and hole and doing a blowjob or handjob. You switched positions as Beelzebub third is taking over your pussy as he laid on the floor and the second Beelzebub took over your behind and the first Beelzebub grabbing your hair as he thrust his large dick into your mouth. You don't even know which is the real Beel or could tell which positions that they had took.

"I will give that mouth something to do." Beelzebub in front of you groans as he bit his bottom lips. Your throat is so warm... too bad that he has to destroy you.

They're all look the same to you. The third Beelzebub grabbing your hips as he slams your body deep as the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. Your eyes widen as your mouth vibrant while Beelzebub's dick is still in your throat as he let out a sultry groan.

"Oh, you like that?" Beelzebub underneath you, chuckles as he continues to grind you.

"Oh I can do this all night long." Beelzebub from behind as he pounds deep into your hole as he slaps your ass.

Of course the night doesn't end. You continue to gag and cry as they kept fucking you in a new position. Your body aches as you are covered in head to toe with bites marks. You don't even know who, beside Beelzebub.

"Who knew that you're hiding such a dirty mind."

"Our bodies fit so well together."

You were about to reach your climax. Hands are all over you. Beelzebub's hands is much larger than you as they grope your body. You don't enough energy to move or foucs anymore. How much energy does he have...?

"I-I'm coming! Fuck! You're so tight!"

"Aah! Shit! You're taking us really good!"

All of the Beelzebubs are reaching their climax and you too. They even gone a faster pace, literally destroying you and tearing you apart. Your jaw is so sore as Beelzebub wouldn't let you breathe for a second!

"Mmh! Mmn! Mmm!" Gagging into Beelzebub's dick as he thrust his hips in your mouth. Your body is trembling badly, but it feels so good!

Beelzebub took his dick out of your throat as he releases his semen onto your face as the white milky liquid spills into your mouth as you stick your tongue out to taste his cum.

Your body shivers as you feel your tummy is filled with others Beelzebub's semen. You couldn't help as you let out a shiver orgasm. You all came at the same time. You feel messy as you are covered head to toe with Beelzebub's liquidity semen. You fell on top of Beelzebub that was underneath you as his hands spreads your ass cheeks to show off "their" meals.

Liquids semen are dripping from your thighs on the dirty floor. You couldn't move anymore as you laid on top of him, tired and exhausted and filled.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought.”

"One more round? Don't fall asleep with us~"

Your eyelids feels heavy as you laid on top of his chest, panting heavily.

" One more round? "

[quintinh43]

Fucking Canada | Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke is out with an injury, Y/n is on break from school. Obviously, the only logical thing is for them to head down to Vancouver to visit Quinn.

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Meantions of Anxiety, Drinking (drink responsibly kids), Some light suggestive content. Use of the name Mariana. Let me know if I missed anything!

Wc: 4.9k

This one's for @toasttt11, stay awesome 🫶🏼

---

Luke had been been out with an injury for a week. And it was driving him insane. He had begged and begged the trainers to at least allow him on the ice with the team. He'd batted his long eyelashes and given them puppy dog eyes and the famous Hughes pout, yet somehow they resisted and firmly told him he was not to touch a pair of skates until after his two-week check up.

And that was only if his check-up came back all ok. So in his boredom, he flew down to Michigan to spend time with you, and then decided that as soon as your break started he was flying both of you down to Vancouver for the week, because fuck he missed his big brother.

He rolled his wrist around in its brace, and you smack him in the chest. "Stop doing that. You're gonna aggravate your wrist and make it worse."

"Baby, I swear its fine," he whined, "The trainers don't know what they're talking about."

You snort, and grab his arm, pinning it beneath your torso, being careful to ensure that the strained part of his wrist was not under you.

"Baby, please," he whined, tugging his arm gently. "Let me up,"

"Only if you promise to stop rolling your wrist." You glare.

"I promise" Luke mumbles shifting towards you to run his lips along your jaw. Your stomach flutters, pink dusts across your cheeks, and you let him go immediately. He leans on his elbows and kisses down your neck.

"Luke" you whisper breathlessly.

"Hmm" he hums, nipping at the sensitive skin along the column of your troat.

You bite your lip, debating telling him off. But kissing Luke is much much better than studying physiology, and you haven't had a break in a while. You slam your textbook shut, and all but kick it off the bed.

"You're such a menace," you huff, he wraps his uninjured arm around you, and drags himself fully on top of you, kissing gently down your neck.

"You know you love me," he grins.

"You're lucky I do, Hughes. Now get back to kissing me,"

"Yes ma'am," he chuckles, lips dancing along your collarbones.

There's a knock on your door and before you can tell whoever it is to fuck off, your roommate and best university friend; Mariana barges in.

"Enough sexy time, kids!" she says, ignoring the murderous glares both you and Luke throw her way, "If you still want a ride to the airport, we are leaving in ten." She walks out, leaving the door open. You sigh, nudging Luke with your shoulder, to get off of you. He pecks one last kiss to your cheek and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet so the two of you can get all your things together.

You slide your laptop into your bag, grab all your chargers, and make sure you have an extra set of headphones. Because God knows the worst thing that could possibly happen is being stuck on an airplane with no muisc. After double and triple checking that you have everything, Mariana ushers you out the door hurriedly.

The ride to the airport is nothing special. You and Mariana sit in the front while Luke is banished to the back. You stretch an arm back to hold his hand, and he leans his head on your seat to be closer to you.

"Have fun in Vancouver Babe," Mariana says giving you a tight parting hug, and kiss on the cheek.

"Better take care of my girl Hughes, or I'm coming for that other wrist" She threatens, giving Luke a hug. Luke laughs, patting Mariana's back.

"You know it, Mari," he grins, winking at you.

"Text me when you land, ok?" She says, squeezing your shoulder.

"I will. Thanks for the ride, Mar." You hive her one last squeeze goodbye and take Luke's hand as you head through the airport.

Everything goes smoothly, thank God, and soon you and Luke are boarded the plane. It's a fight over who takes the window seat. You think Luke should have it cause he has longer legs, and Luke thinks you should have it because you deserve the best seat.

After convincing Luke that as long as you're sitting beside him, you do have the best seat, he reluctantly takes the window seat. And makes sure to tell you that if you want to switch at any time, just tell him.

You nod, knowing that you absolutely won't be doing that, but what Luke doesn't know won't hurt him.  You're set to arrive just before Quinn's game tonight, which means that the two of you won't get to see him until later. After going through your mental checklist, making sure everything is organized, you stick your headphones in and rest your head on Luke's shoulder and promptly pass out.

Luke is shaking you awake gently when it's time to get off the plane. "Wake up, Baby, it's time to get going," he says softly.

You sigh, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, "Alright lets go,"

You grab all of yours and Lukes belongings from the overhead compartment, much to his dismay. "Baby, let me help,"

"Luke Warren, I swear if you touch any of this luggage with that wrist, I'll chop it off," you say sternly. You hand him his backpack, and he slings it over his shoulder with a pout.

You grab his injured hand gently, lacing your fingers together as best as you can with his brace on, and head off the plane. As you step into the Uber, both your phones buzz with a text from Quinn.

Q: I left a key for you guys with the front desk, Luke just has to show some ID.

Q: You guys are coming to the game right?

Luke: Yep, excited to see you Q

You: Were just heading to your place now, to get settled and then we're on our way. See you soon!

Q: Excited to see you guys too.

You arrive at his apartment, and Luke shows his ID to the front desk, and they hand over the key. Quinn's apartment is nice, but it's so clean. It looks like a place out of a modern decor magazine, except for the photos of his family scattered here and there.

There's a two jerseys folded neatly on the bed with a sticky note that says 'Don't be a little bitch' on top. "Nope" Luke says as he immediately lays eyes on it, "I'm not wearing that, nither are you."

You roll your eyes at him, but don't argue. It makes sense that he wouldn't wear it. Players have a thing about not wearing another franchises merchandise. He unzips his suitcase and pulls out two black hoodies with white stitching that says Hughes 43 on the back. Except if you look carefully, the devils logo is stitched on the sleeve.

You shake your head with a smile and take the hoodie from him. "Let me just change into something better, and we'll head out."

Luke nods, digging around for a pair of jeans for himself.  The two of you make quick work of changing, and then you're on your way to the game. Quinn, smartly left the tickets under your name, lest someone spill the beans that Luke Hughes is in Vancouver to watch his brother play.

Your seats are right by the glass. When Quinn notices you, he skates over, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Bitches" he mouths with a smile, as he takes in the lack of Canuck blue in your outfits.

You grin and flash him a heart with your fingers while Luke flips him off, making sure he can see the devils logo on the sleeve. Quinn shakes his head at Luke and skates off to finish warm-ups.

Thankfully, no one really takes note of the interaction. Luke has a cap pulled low, so unless someone is really looking for Luke Hughes, then he shouldn't be recognized. The atmosphere is electric. Canadian hockey really hits differently.

The game is nerve-wracking, and for most of it, you and Luke are on the edges of your seats, grabbing at eachother hands, and slapping eachothers knees in excitement whenever something particular exciting happens. And when Quinn picks up a goal, the two of you are jumping and screaming.

The game ends with a canuck win, and as you two make your way down to the locker room to greet Quinn, you're chattering excitedly about all the good plays that were made. Especially Quinn's. He picked up a goal and three assists, making him the top point scorer of the game.

As he walks out of the locker room, he can't keep the smile off his face as he lands eyes on you and Luke. As much as he doesn't mind being on his own, seeing his family is always the best. You've been around the Hughes boys since you were growing up. From Toronto to Michigan. Your family's were really close and still are to this day.

He pulls you into a hug first, "Good to see you Y/n" he says, patting you on the back.

He goes to hug Luke, and in true brotherly fashion, he can't help but make a jab at him as does so. "I swear to God, you get taller every time I see you." Rather than standing on his tip toes to throw his arms around Lukes neck, he hooks his ankle around the back of Luke's knee and Luke's knees buckle.

Quinn catches him in a hug before he can hit the floor. You and Quinn are laughing, while Luke grumbles. He snatches Quinns hat off his head, making his hair stick up in every which way and holds it as high as he can. Quinn rolls his eyes, not taking the bait, and starts to walk.

Luke huffs and throws his hat back at him. "How did y'all get here?"

"Uber," you say, throwing an arm around Luke's waist as you walk. He drapes his arm around your shoulder, fingers brushing patters against your shoulder.

"The team is going out to celebrate. Do you guys wanna join, or do you want a ride home first?"

"Well, come with," Luke smiles, "Good game, dude, you made some nasty moves."

Pink dusts Quinn's cheeks, and he changes the conversation. "How's the wrist?"

Luke rolls his eyes, and before he can roll his wrist, you glare at him. "It's completely fucking fine."

"It's not" you say

"The trainers don't know what they are talking about." He mutters.

"They do" You add poking luke in the side.

Quinn scoffs, "Yes, im sure the people whose literal job it is to treat your injures don't know what they are talking about."

Luke pouts, "I can't believe my girl and my brother are ganging up on me like this,"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so stubborn." You and Quinn say simultaneously, looking at each other with a grin.

Luke grumbles unintelligiblly and Quinn throws his bags in this trunk. Luke takes the front seat, and this time, he's the one reaching his arm back to hold your hand. You smile, lacing your fingers together. Quinn rolls the eyes at the two of you with a smile.

The drive to the bar is filled with the light chatter of the three of you catching up about life. Unsurprisingly, Quinn has nothing interesting happening in his love life. The man eats, breathes, sleeps, and lives hockey. Luke teases him about becoming an old spinster while he glances at you lovingly. No doubt envisioning the magnificence that your lives will be together.

The bar is absolutely packed. Not surprisingly. It's a Friday night and the Canucks won. Some of the team is already there, in a roped off Vip area. They wave Quin over urgently. He grabs your hand and you grab Luke's so as not to get separated in the crowd of drunk people.

Quinn greets his teammates with hugs and back slaps and inside jokes. Some of them grin at you and Luke, wiggling their eyebrows at you and dragging Luke into hugs.

"So why are Mr. And Mrs. Huggy Jr. Here?" Brock asks, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Luke smiles at that, tracing his finger over the back of your left ring finger. "Luke is out injured, and I'm on a break from school," you shrug, playing with Luke's hand in yours.

"I'm going to get a refill," Luke hums, kissing the tip of your ear as he detangles himself from you, "want anything?"

"I'm good for now, baby," you say, kissing him on the cheek. When you turn back to the guys, they are all leaning close to you, batting their eyelashes like a group of High-school girls waiting to hear the latest drama about your crush.

Petey is the first to speak, "So when is he proposing?"

Millsy slaps him in the back of the head, "How is she supposed to know when he's proposing dumbass?"

"That man is so fucking whipped for you," Brock smirks, and you can't help the blush that colours your cheeks.

"You guys will have some cute babiess," Garland grins, just the slightest bit tipsy.

"Alright, alright, leave her alone. That's my sister-in-law you're bullying" Quinn says, coming to your rescue. He throws an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

"You ok?" He asks quietly, the guys already forgetting the previous topic of conversation.

"Yeah, thanks Quinn," you smile, squeezing his hand back.

"Well, I'm absolutely beat, so I'm gonna go home. Do y'all wanna stay, or are you ready to head home?"

"We'll stay I think, me and Lukey are having fun, and I have yet to drag him to the dance floor. Are you ok to drive home?"

"Yeah, I haven't been drinking," Quinn says, smiling softly at your concern for him. "Sorry to leave y'all hanging."

"Don't worry about it, Quinn, we'll see you tomorrow. You played a good game, go get lots of rest," you smile, wrapping him in a quick hug.

He hugs you back and turns to address the guys. "I'm heading out if anyone wants a ride," Before the sentence fully leaves his mouth, Petey is practically throwing himself at Quinn. He stumbles into the two of you, and you both reach out to make sure he doesn't eat the floor. "I drank too much," he mumbles.

You laugh, patting his back, as Quinn stabilizes him. "I'm making you do bag skates next practice," Quinn says with entirely too much joy, as he practically half carries Petey out of the bar.

With Quinn gone, you dip out of the Vip section to find Luke, you spot him sitting at the bar, cheeks flushed, empty shot glasses littered suspiciously close to him. He's holding another glass that looks like soda, and there's a girl leaning much to close to him. He's leaning back slowly, looking very unimpressed.

Until he spots you. His megawatt lady killer smile appears as he all but pushes the other girl out of the way, and practically sprints to you, as well as someone can sprint in a crowded bar. Your hands rest on his arms, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Luke, are you ok?" You ask concerned, eyes flitting across his face, "have you been drinking?"

"Y/n!" He is way too giddy to be sober, "I know we said, we weren't drinking, but then I was sad about my wrist and someone said that the alcohol would make me feel better, so drank a little teeny tiny shot, and then another one cause somone got me another one, and then this group of girls asked me if I wanted to do shots with them, and I was gonna say no, but then they already ordered the shots and then-"

You cut off his drunk rambling, your voice laced with concern. "Luke baby, do you remember how many shots you took?" You ask, the calmness of your voice not giving way to the absolutely disastrous thoughts swimming in your head.

"Four, I think!" He grins, trying to count the glasses that were littered on the bar top in front of where he was sitting. There were five. Your eyes widen almost comically. He was barely gone for half an hour. He took five shots of straight alcohol in less than half an hour. Fuck.

Now it wasn't as if Luke hadn't drank before, undoubtedly he had. But definitely not that amount of alcohol in that span of time. Plus, it wasnt really recommended for professional athletes to drink anyways, so the amount of alcohol he'd consumed since the beginning of the season probably didn't even equate the amount that he'd drank tonight alone. Double Fuck.

And on top of all of that, Quinn had already left. "My wrist feels so much better!" Luke says happily, "I can take off my brace!" As he reaches for straps on his brace, you grab his hand.

"Absolutely not Luke." You lace your fingers with his to keep him from taking off his brace while you try to figure out what to do. Before you know what's happening, there's another full shot glass in front of you, and Luke is knocking it back. Triple Fuck.

"It burns," he pouts, shaking his head like he just ate something sour.

"Luke, how did you even get alcohol? we're underage!" The disbelief is evident in your voice.

The bartender hears your statement and decides that he'd better clear up that misconception before he gets into some kond of trouble. "No ma'am," he says, leaning over the counter. "I checked his ID, says he's twenty, that's legal"

Suddenly, you are very pissed that the bartender is telling you how old your own boyfriend is. Just as you're about to snap at him for clearly not being able to to his job correctly, if he thinks twenty is legal, you remember that you're no longer in the States.

You're in Canada. Fucking Canada. Racking your brain, you try to recall the legal age in British Columbia. You feel so stupid. It's nineteen. Ninteen year olds are legally allowed to drink in B.C. Luke is twenty. Fuck fuck fucking fuckitty fuck.

Before you sprial into a full-on panic, you take a deep breath. Luke is drunk out of his mind, and he needs to get home now, and you panicking will not help the situation. You slap your card down on the bar top and tell the bartender to close Luke's tab.

You don't trust Luke to be left to his own devices, so you sling his arm around your shoulder and half drag him to where you left your phone and purse with Brock. You gently guide Luke to sit on one of the chairs. He does so shakily and wraps one arm around your chest, pulling you flush against his body.

His knees are squeezing your hips, his fingers are tracing over your collarbones, and his face is tucked against your neck.

"Woah! is Huggy Jr. drunk?" Brock asks, grinning madly as he hands you your phone and purse.

"In the span of time that he disappeared, he took six fucking shots" you grumble, as you order an Uber to get home.

Brock almsot chokes on his drink. He stares wide eyes, "oh so he's fucking blackout," he takes his phone and snaps a photo of you and Luke. The glare that you send him is so murderous that if looks could kill he'd be six feet under.

"Sorry," he shrugs with a shit eating grin that says he's not sorry at all, "I need some proof of this for when he wakes up hating his life tomorrow."

"Alright, well, at least send it to me." You grumble, Brock laughs, and your phone buzzes with a notification from him immediately after. "And hey, please don't tell Quinn anything right now. He's probably home and in bed by now, and I don't wanna stress him out unnecessarily."

Brock nods, "Don't worry, kid, my lips are sealed." He sighs like an older brother, "if I was sober, i'd be driving you home."

"Oh Brock, don't worry about it. You guys had great games, and you deserve to celebrate. We'll be fine, I promise," you smile. Your heart melts a little, you've only met the canucks a few times but from the instant that you did they treated you like family.

"Alright, alright, just let me know when you're home safe, I'll feel much better."

"You got it, Brocky," you smile, standing on your tip toes to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. Brock grins like a school boy who just got a kiss from his crush. Thankfully, drunk Luke doesn't decide to make an appearance. Otherwise, he might have absolutely decked Brock in the face.

Not that he would've succeeded, based on how drunk he is. You're almost sure he's fallen asleep. Until his lips start moving against your neck. Quadruple fuck. You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud as he nips at your throat with so much care you'd think he was fully sober.

His fingers start to make patterns along your collarbones, dipping lower toward the curve of your breasts. You don't want him to stop.

"Luke," you whisper desperately, laying your head atop his gently.

His hum of response reverberates against your skin, and pleasure melts down your spine, stomach fluttering.

"Luke," you try again, voice strained as his teeth screen against the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, "not here baby, we're in public."

" 's go home" he murmers into your skin, "wanna fuck my pretty girl."

Your cheeks go red faster than you thought possible. What a time to find out Luke is a horny drunk.

"Luke," his name is a prayer on your lips. The fingers of his injured hand burn as they press into your waist.

" 'm starvin for you baby," he mumbles, the tips of his fingers brushing under the waistband of your jeans.

Heat coils in your stomach, and you bite your lip to keep a whimper from spilling from your lips. As if some Devine power is on your side, you get a notification that your Uber has arrived.

"Our ride is here." Your voice is practically a squeak.

"Want you to ride me." Luke says, and you can feel his lips turn up into a smirk against your skin. You have to cover your mouth with your hand. Luke chuckles darkly. "Pretty girl has to cover her mouth so everyone doesn't know what a dirty girl she is." he hums nosing at your neck. If you're here any longer, you might actually combust. You make sure you have everything because you can quite literally never return to this bar every again.

You help pull Luke out of his chair and drape one of his arms over your shoulder. You wrap your arm around his waist to keep him steady. "Gonna eat you up when we're alone," he mutters, his grin all teeth. He's so fucking beautiful it makes your troat go dry.

You're blushing like a school girl as you help him out of the bar. He's leaning most of his weight on you while he whispers dirty things in your ear. You're surprised that you even manage to get him out of the bar on your own, mainly because his comments are making you weak in the knees. And partially because he's a 6'2, 185-pound man.

You successfully get him into the backseat and give the driver Quinns address. Thank God he lives close. A ten minute drive at most. But unfortunately for you, it feels like hours.  Because Luke had been very perceptive as to how his advances were making you react and continues them with no mercy.

"So pretty f' me" he mumbles, hand trailing up your thigh, lips fluttering over your neck, "gonna let me fuck you pretty girl?"

"Not here, Luke," You whisper, grabbing his hand. You kiss the back of his knuckles and looks at you with such desire in his eyes it takes every ounce of self control not strip and let him fuck you in the back seat of this random car. Your eyes flick to the driver and you swallow the nervous lump in your throat, and say a prayer for forgiveness as your lips trail up his hand.

You close your lips over two of his fingers, and he groans, his head falling against your shoulder. "Gotta be quiet, baby," you murmer, squeezing his knee with one hand before closing your lips back over his fingers.

"m' quiet, m' quiet," he murmers against your neck. Then he's grinding his hips against yours, and there's a whimper caught in your throat. The car comes to a stop in front of Quinns building, and you are hopping out of the car like it's on fire and dragging Luke out behind you.

He stumbles into your back, an arm wrapping around your waist, his lips reattach to your neck, and you can't help the moan that slips out. As soon as the elevator door shuts, Luke pins you to the wall with a knee between your legs, and you drag him down for a desperate kiss.

He tastes like alcohol and cinnamon and home. And you never want to let him go. Then he's hissing with fire, a yearning, pleading fire as he grinds his hips against yours. All you want to do is let him have his way, but he's so so drunk. And no matter how many years the two of you have been dating, and how many times you've slept together, you made your decision way back at the bar that you wouldn't go further than kissing and grinding.

The elevator opens on Quinns floor, and the two of you stumble out. You pat your pockets for the keys to his apartment, and fuck- they aren't there. They must have gotten left in his car on the way to the bar.

You knock on the door nervously. One hand wrapped around Luke's waist, and the other braced against his chest. His uninjured hand is tracing up and down your side and in a way that makes it hard not to squirm as he places tender kisses along your jaw.

Quinn opens the door, looking oh so tired, a toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth. Clearly, he didn't expect you back so soon. His eyes go wide at the sight in front of him, and he resists the urge to gag, lest his toothbrush fall out of his mouth.

"Whad da fack!" He exclaims, spitting into the kitchen sink and closing the apartment door behind you. "Is he drunk?"

"Yes, just let me get him into bed, and I'll explain," you say urgently.

"Only going to bed if you're coming with me," he murmers, squeezing your hip, "need m' pretty girl."

"Do you have advil?" You ask Quinn, ignoring Luke's statement, Quinn wisely chooses not to comment as he grabs advil and a glass of water.

You deposit luke on the bed, huffing from his weight. He pulls you down with a smirk. "Wait, baby, let me get your clothes," you say quickly.

Luke wiggles his eyebrows and lets you undress him. You strip him of his jeans and t-shirt leaving him in his boxers. "Be good and drink this for me," you say, sliding the advil into his mouth.

"I'm good for you, baby," he mutters after he swallows.

"So good for me," you assured as he slipped under the blanket. As soon as his head hits the pillow, his eyes are fluttering. " 'm tir'd."

You stroke his hair back from his forehead softly. "I know, baby, I know,"

"Still want you," he pouted.

"I know, baby, and you'll have me tomorrow. It's sleep time now, ok?"

"Mm'kay," he mumbles, barely audible. You stroke his hair and mutter sweet nothings to him as he falls asleep. You change into a pair of sweats and one of Luke's devils' hoodies before shutting the bedroom door with a quiet click.

Quinn is sitting on the couch, with two mugs of steaming tea. You flop onto the couch, leaning your back against the armrest and tucking your feet under his legs. He hands you a mug of tea, and you take it gratefully, holding it close to your face and letting the steam warm you.

"So what the fuck happened?" Quinn questions.

"After you left, Luke still wasn't back and I went to find him, I don't know what really happened on his end, but he said he was sad about his wrist, and someone convinced him alchool would make it better." You sigh, taking a sip of your tea.

"Anyways, by the time I got him, he had had six shots in the span of a half hour."

Quinns eyes practically bulge out of his head. He looks like he's running calculations in his head, and his jaw drops. "I know," you grimace, "I'm sorry, I should've watched him better, I knew he wasn't happy about his wrist, and I let him -"

"How did he even get drinks?" Quinn asks, "He's not 21."

"Hush, Y/n, it's not your fault. He's a big boy he knows what he's doing." Quinn says softly, drawing you into his arms.

"Quinn, you don't feel bad either, ok?" You say softly knowing Quinn is beating himself up on the inside. He sighs, purses his lips and doesn't say anything for a long minute.

"It's Canada," you mutter like that explains everything. And to Quinn, it does explain it all.

"Fucking Canada" he mutters shaking his head.

---

Hi guys!! I was very excited while writing this, so I hope y'all like it. Comment comment comment! I love comments, I wanna hear all your thoughts! They always make my day a bit brighter.

On that note, I'm going on a bit of a writing break for a week-ish cause schools getting a bit busy with midterms and final papers and whatnot. I'll still be active, tho (unless i feel like it's distracting, then I might fall off the face of the earth for a bit).

Anyways, with that, I hope y'all have a lovely, lovely evening. Love Soph ♡

[9toji]

Can u do make up seggx please (and with a wholesome aftercare with a lot of apologizing) 😭😭😭 with either toji nanami megumi getooo !!! <33 ty

I really love ur works btw 💗

A UNIQUE FORM OF SORRIES + toji, geto

tags ; nsfw, mean doms turned soft, they're so sorry for mistreating you, toji's position is mating press, while geto's is missionary, cockwarming (toji), mentions of wanting a child (toji), tons of sweet words thrown and aftercare is sweet, not fuck but making love, sweet kinda segsy time

rina's comments ; OFC ANON <3 thamks so much for the kind words!! i hope u likey likey this!! ill make a part 2 for nanamin and megumin

toji

he was such a big meanie earlier that day, avoiding you because he was in a pensive mood. almost screamed at you but after seein' you almost cry, he goes soft and he says sorry.. by fucking you

“let me make you feel better, sweet thing.” he groans, his huge figure was hovering over you. cock buried deep, stretching you out with ease as he bottomed out. toji's tongue was lapping up your neck, “ 'm sorry, feels good.. huh?” he chuckles after hearing you whine out, one of his hands was placed under your head so that two of you stared at each other while he pounded into you.

toji rarely treated you with this much softness n care so you buried your head in the crook of his neck, blushing. he notices this and makes you look at him, gentle fingers squeezing your cheeks so you two can maintain eye contact, “wanna see your face when i make ya feel good baby, forgive me, hm?” he coos, smiling at the way you purse your lips, “you know ya love me.”

his thrusts aren't what you're used to, they're slow and sensual, making sure to hit those sweet spots just right that it makes you go dumb and dizzy for him, he cradles you in his arms with care till both of you reach your high, toji doesn't pull out though. he has his dick lay inside you, softening as the base gets coated with your cum.

you giggle into his warm and bear-like embrace, watching him kiss your body all over. from your cheeks to your shoulders, to your wrists and palms. “love all of this, you're the only one f'me.. gonna have my babies soon, don't get so mad baby. still need to marry you and make you have my babies, okay?”

geto

you two had a major disagreement that lasted weeks, geto avoided you like the plague and gave you the silent treatment. but not until he saw you sobbing, his heart aching for you so he places a warm kiss, that ends up in something more

“missed you baby, there you are.” he breathes, kissing your nose as he thrusts into you. geto's hands were on either side of you, and your legs were dangling off his forearms. geto groans every time you pull on his locks, and he fakes a sad expression when you mumble, “hate you suguru.” “but i love you more.”

your eyes droop and he taps your cheeks, “watch me make love to you baby, see how much i missed lovin' you. so so sorry, what else can i do for my baby, hm?” he asks softly, brushing off the sweaty strands of hair that covered your face. geto definitely felt bad, n you could tell by the way he talks to you.

normally, he would hiss and spit of how much of a whore you were; prompting you to bend over. but now, he was staring into your eyes, nodding everytime you showed signs of pleasure, “like it baby? mm, yeah.”suguru grins, watching you twitch after you reach your high, pulling out and asking politely if you could sit on his lap, rubbing warm circles on your back as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, “i love you, so much. nothin's gonna pull us apart.” suguru swears, kissing your forehead.

he keeps whispering into your ear, making you feel a little sleepy. his eyes soften at the sight and he kisses you once more before he hugs you tight, “love you baby.” he mumbles, falling asleep alongside you.

[madschiavelique]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

[spookykoolkat]

tattoo shop - e.m. blurb

main masterlist

an : something i was thinking about bc eddie obviously loves bigger women. should i turn this into a short story? :p

let me know! i love feedback <3

wc: less than 1k? maybe 1k? idk i didnt count LOL

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

the thing about eddie is that he noticed he'd only ever have crushes on bigger women. it started in high school, when he had a crush on one his literature teacher. she was full, round hips and thighs that forced the fabric of her pencil skirts to stretch, and the outline of the buldge of her tummy. eddie could tell she would wear things to flatten her figure out, and struggled not to be that one weird student and comment on her body.

maybe it's milfs. maybe it's older women you were attracted to.

well, he leaned that way for a while. until he started his new job as a tattoo apprentice. you worked there, not chosen with talent or skills to actually tattoo pieces of artwork on bodies, or pierce flesh with needles all day. you settled for doodling at the front desk of the tattoo shop, and eddie managed to watch your every move.

you dressed in tight tops and baggy pants, always hanging off of your thick hips enough to show the hemline of your boxer briefs you wore. somehow you managed to look feminine while masculine at the same time.

you noticed him staring, but being too shy to say anything to the shaggy haired metalhead, you kept your distance and gave small, blushing smiles to him. he took it.

he didn't think he'd go from getting small smiles from you to bending you over his dining table at his place after a party he threw. but he did. eddie came on to you, told you how sexy you looked that night, asked if it was weird working at a tattoo shop with zero tattoos. that's when you asked him, who said i didn't have tattoos?

eddie quickly found out that you did. and you had a lot. they were littered over your stomach, your thighs and shoulders. how he managed to never see them was shocking, but what became even more shocking was when you accepted his flirty invitation.

i have to see it to believe it, sweetheart.

so, the house emptied towards the night, not a single person in sight besides you and eddie. you were in eddie's kitchen cleaning up solo cups and alcoholic residue when he walked in, thick with silence. he was watching you from behind, bending over his counter slightly to scrub away the stickiness.

"you don't have to do that, honey," eddie said as he walked toward you.

you stopped scrubbing with the rag, and faced him with the small of your back digging into the counter. "i know. just, felt like i should." you blushed, feeling heat rush to your cheeks from the mix of alcohol and embarrassment.

"you're a sweet girl, you know that?" eddie said with a cheeky smile, moving to stand in front of you as you stayed put.

"you don't have to compliment me," you said and averted your gaze. it was enough you had the epitome of your dream man standing in front of you, but he had to call you a sweet girl too?

"why wouldn't i compliment you? i think you're a real pretty girl. a real pretty girl who i didn't know had tattoos." he said with a smile, easing your nerves with a small joke and you felt yourself melt.

"they're just hidden. a surprise for whoever gets to see me with my clothes off." you admit and your face heats up even more, making eddie take a few steps closer to you.

"those lucky fuckers." he breathed, somehow closer than you remembered. close enough for his hand to ghost yours, and move to your hip.

"mm, don't know how lucky they really were if they never talked to me again afterwards," you said with a soft chuckle. he scoffed, moving closer and placing both his hands on the curve of your hips. you let him, the feeling of his large hands squeezing the parts of you that you hated.

"psh, you'd might need to get a restraining order on me if i ever saw these tattoos of yours," maybe he should've said something less forward, but the silence that rang through the house was so defining — he had you alone.

still, you played dumb. not necessarily dumb, you just wanted to hear him say it. "why would i get a restraining order on you?" you laughed. your hands instinctively rested against his abdomen as he brought himself closer.

"don't think i could ever leave you the fuck alone even if my life depended on it."

"eddie," you warned, as if you felt he was unsure about what he truly wanted, "you don't want me, i know you're acting like it but, that's not true,"

it came out weak, sad and almost insecure until eddie moved his hands up your curves, over the rolls of your back, and grabbing you with your cheeks in his palms.

"i don't really think you can tell me how to feel, isn't that right? i think i'm allowed to want whoever i want." he said confidently and your eyes went wide, doe like as if you were struck with the most impossible words you'd ever heard.

"you want me?" you squeaked, your voice not cooperating with you.

"will you let me have you, pretty girl?"

[thisissirius]

Do you think they're gonna fight?

hmmmmm

it might go something like this

"What is your problem?"

The words ring through the weird echo in Buck's kitchen. Eddie's furious, the lines of his body tense, holding himself apart from Buck.

Which shouldn't be as life-changing as it feels.

"Eddie," Buck says, fingers tight around the counter. "I thought you were out with Tommy."

"I was," Eddie says slowly, and there's confusion in the way he stares at Buck, a little betrayed, a little hurt. "You said you were busy tonight, but then Maddie sent a text. You told her we were going out?"

Fuck.

Buck shrugs, sliding his beer bottle off the counter. "Does it matter?"

"You're lying to your sister, to me, and you're asking if it matters?"

It's not lying. It's preservation. Buck can't—can't do this. "You were having fun, I was having fun," as if, "everything is fine."

Eddie watches him as he crosses the kitchen, cradling the beer bottle in his hands. Buck wants him to leave, to let him have this, whatever it is, in private. "You don't lie to me."

"Yeah well, people change," Buck mutters, because the hurt lances through him. Eddie and Tommy, getting on better, their relationship so effortless when Buck was jealous and angry and, and, and. "Tommy's—"

"I don't care about Tommy right now," Eddie says, coming to stand on the other side of the counter. "I care about you and whatever you have going on! it's not like you, Buck, and you can talk to me, you know you can."

Buck opens his mouth, closes it. "Not this. Not this."

There's definitely hurt in Eddie's expression, but he turns before Buck gets a good look. "Aren't we," Eddie starts, cuts off. His shoulders fall, sag a little. "Alright, Buck. Just—there's nothing you can tell me that I wouldn't—"

"Eddie," Buck whispers. He always thought it would be some furious thing, angry and heavy with emotion. Instead, he feels desperate, knows that if Eddie leaves like this, tension and hurt between them, it won't matter anymore.

"I think I might be bisexual!"

The words fall faster than he can stop them. It settles like lead in his stomach and he takes an involuntary step backwards.

Eddie turns, his eyes widening a fraction, his mouth closing. He stares.

The stretch is long enough that Buck starts to panic, feels something claw at his chest and it's tight, so tight, he definitely need to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

"Why would that," Eddie starts, cutting himself off.

Eddie's not stupid, of course he's not, but Buck hopes, begs, that he thinks it's Tommy, that Buck's like this because—

"Buck," Eddie says.

Shit. "Eddie, I don't—"

"Look at me." Eddie's words are soft, so soft. Buck wants to look up but he can't, he can't. Not if he wants to keep breathing or standing or doing anything that isn't collapsing because this is Eddie and he's, he's, everything.

Feet move into his periphery, fingers curling around his bicep.

"Buck," Eddie says again, this time firmer. "Buddy, look at me."

Like he's moving through mud, chest still tight, body warm, Buck is helpless to do anything but look up. Eddie looks the same way he always does. Buck isn't sure what that means; aren't things supposed to change? To shift beyond comprehension?

"Me?"

The word shouldn't be so life-changing. It's two letters, but it feels like so much more as Buck stares at his best friend. He wants to say yes, wants to run, but whatever Eddie sees in his face must say everything he can't.

"Shit." Eddie's fingers rest against Buck's collar, and he tips his head forward. Their foreheads touch and Buck doesn't know what to say, what to do. "Your timing, man."

Buck swallows. "I didn't know, not really. Not until—"

"Tommy," Eddie says. "Did you think—?"

"It seemed so easy, you and him," Buck starts.

"It is," Eddie agrees, shaking Buck a little. "But that doesn't mean anything against you. How could it? How could anyone come close to you?"

It's—Buck's fingers curl slowly around Eddie's waist, hooking in his jacket. "I'm sorry," he says, "about the lying, about not telling you. I couldn't, I didn't want to ruin anything."

"I know." Eddie sighs, pulling back, but his hand stays on Buck's collarbone, thumb rubbing against the exposed skin. "I'm so proud of you for saying it."

Something loosens in Buck's shoulders. "Thanks."

"But," Eddie says, and the lead is back, molten and hot in Buck's stomach. "I can't—Marisol and Chris," Eddie starts. "I need to speak to them and I can't, I need—"

The words trail off into silence.

Buck stares at Eddie, at the stricken expression, the concern. "I'm not going anywhere."

A smile curves Eddie's face and god, how could Buck have thought he'd be okay with this losing this? With letting Eddie go and being alone?

"It doesn't have to be now," Buck says, finding himself back on familiar ground. "You're the forever kind of guy, Eddie."

Eddie looks gut-punched, and his fingers flex against Buck's collarbone, tugs him forward by his shirt. A kiss brushes against Buck's temple, and Eddie drags him into a hug. "You're something else, Evan."

The hug is warm, tight, and Buck clings to the back of Eddie's jacket. He feels wrung out, worn and used, and he buries his face in Eddie's neck. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Eddie says gently. "It's not an easy thing to say."

Buck doesn't ask what about you or why did you come here or you make me so fucking happy.

Eddie doesn't say I don't know or I'll always come for you or you're the forever kind of guy, too.

Eventually, they will.

For now, it's enough.

or something :)