#wanting burns you up from the inside out (about)

[eiightysixbaby]

winter dreams

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

eddie really wants to give you a baby for christmas

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. reader and eddie are actively trying to get pregnant, unprotected piv, creampie

The fire crackles in the fireplace beside you, orange embers licking at the logs below them. The carpet is plush beneath your bare back, skin pleasantly warm from the flames.

There’s a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, its pretty colored lights partnering with the fire to cast the prettiest glow across the space. A Bing Crosby holiday album plays from the record player, volume turned low, making him sound far away; dreamlike.

Your eyes wander momentarily to the window, and you can see the snow falling down in slow, fluffy flakes. It’s like you’re inside of a snow globe, and someone just shook it upside down. You smile warmly, letting this moment wrap you up in its joy.

Eddie rocks slowly into you, hands braced on the floor beside your head. Every move he makes is entirely intentional, filling you completely full of him with each thrust. Despite his loving pace, it still knocks the breath out of you, feeling him all over you; everywhere.

You let out a satisfied hum, to which he grunts softly in response. His wide, beautiful brown eyes look down at you, twinkling with the reflection of the lights. Long lashes flutter before his eyelids close, face leaning into yours to press a kiss to your mouth, open in a sigh of his name.

"Fuck, baby," he groans. "Feel like fucking heaven." His voice is deep and husky, and it seems to wrap around you, enveloping you in the affection that pours from him.

You don't really respond, aside from another moan. He's turning you to mush, slowing down your brain, rendering you incapable of forming a sentence. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades, nails digging in to his soft skin.

"Are you feeling good, sweetheart?" he asks, watching the way your eyes roll back as he delivers another deep thrust.

Typically, that question would come out a little cocky; smug. He'd be pounding you senseless, knowing damn well he's making you feel so good and also that you're in no state to respond to him. But right now, there's nothing but pure adoration behind his ask. This is love-making in its purest form, slow and steady and passionate, hands caressing tenderly and lips moving languid across searing skin.

"Yes," you gasp. "So good, baby," your brain manages to string the words together, leaving you breathily.

A pleased noise erupts from deep in his throat, and his mouth dips down to kiss the side of your face, trailing purposefully down to your neck.

"God, I love you," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, strands of his unruly curls tickling your neck.

It drags another high-pitched sound from you, and that's all the response he needs.

"Gonna get you pregnant, holy shit," he pants, statement enunciated by the slick, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you.

And that was always the plan, but hearing him say it now, in the heat of the moment, has your walls clenching around him, your brain fuzzy with desire.

"That what you want, baby? Hm? Want me to give you a baby for Christmas?"

You whimper, back arching til your tits are pressed against his chest, eyes screwing shut.

“Need you to use your words, honey,” he coaxes, letting his mouth dip to your cleavage, pressing a kiss featherlight to the skin.

“Yes, Eddie,” you burn. “That’s what I want.”

It’s something you’d both been talking about for a while. A baby. You’d been less and less cautious during sex lately, rolling with the mindset of, ‘if it happens, it happens’. But this, tonight— this feels more intentional, more promising.

His tongue swirls around one of your nipples, hips unwavering in their steady rocking.

“Good, baby. ‘M gonna give it to you,” he rasps, bringing his mouth back up, bottom lip dragging hot up the column of your throat until he catches your own mouth.

His tongue slots between your lips, moving slow with yours, sending a shiver straight through you. The rough pad of his thumb carefully finds your clit, snagging on it, rubbing in soft circles. A moan catches in your throat, coming out strangled, head tipping back against the soft carpeting.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, feeling that familiar swell of tension in the pit of your stomach.

“C’mon, baby. You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, letting him play your body like an instrument, getting such pretty sounds out of you; working you up to your crescendo.

The weight of him on top of you is grounding, comforting as he sends you tipping over your edge. A few more swirls of his finger around your bud timed perfectly with his deep thrusts has you unraveling entirely. You moan unashamedly, hands desperately pulling him secure against your chest as your body shakes.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his voice wrecked. “I’m gonna cum, gonna cum inside you—”

And just like that, you can feel his cock twitching and his hips stilling, your insides coated with his release. He curses and groans, the noises dizzying, music to your ears. Two chests heave in unison, rising and falling, rising and falling as you both catch your breath. He doesn't pull out, in fact you think he might even push himself deeper, like he's really trying to make his seed stick.

He kisses you like it's his last moment on earth, like he's trying to breathe life into you and steal the life from you all at once. Bodies still entwined, still connected.

When he pulls away, everything feels still. The record player croons, dreams of white Christmases floating through the air. The look in Eddie's eyes says everything, no need for words.

If this were a dream, you'd never want to wake up. You're pretty certain it's real, though.

[kngrose]

situationship with sevika part two

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, coercion if you squint, kinda steamy

authors note: see part one here. this was hiiiighly requested! ^^

“You gonna answer that?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

The smell of whiskey and faint smoke lingered in the room, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on the walls. You hadn’t meant to come here—not again. Yet, your feet had carried you across the city, through dimly lit streets, and to this place that held so many secrets.

A single unread message glared in your mind, though you hadn’t dared to open it. It was from him. Your boyfriend. You shook your head, feeling the burn of guilt prickling at your chest. “I shouldn’t even be here,” you murmured, but your words lacked conviction.

Sevika stood by the window, her broad shoulders silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Her cigar burned lazily in her metal hand, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. She turned slightly at your rebuttal, her sharp gaze settling on you with that same unreadable intensity.

“But you are,” she replied simply, taking a drag from her cigar before stubbing it out in the ashtray. She stepped closer, her boots heavy on the floor, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. “And this isn’t the first time, is it?”

Your breath hitched. She was right. Despite every promise you had made to yourself—and to him—you were here. Again. The memory of the first encounter was still vivid—fleeting moments of passion, stolen in the shadows.

That night had been a mistake. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But the way she had touched you— the heat of her touch, the way she made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in months. It was a mistake, you remind yourself. A one-time thing. But as the days stretched on, you couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the pull she had over you.

“Guess that boyfriend of yours isn’t enough for you.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you flinched, guilt and shame swirling inside you. “Don’t,” you whispered, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak. You swallowed hard, your resolve wavering as she closed the distance between you. She stopped just a breath away, her metal arm glinting in the dim light as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Her touch was deliberate, teasing, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at her from your spot on the couch, your head eye level with her hips. “It’s not right,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. Her metal hand brushed your cheek, the touch cold but strangely grounding. “It’s not right…” she murmured, repeating your words. “Doesn’t stop you from wanting it, hm?”

The question hung in the air, daring you to respond. You looked at her—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, the dangerous glint in her eyes that drew you in like a moth to a flame. She leaned in, and your breath hitched as her fingers traced a slow path down your arm, sending shivers through your body. “You don’t have to stay,” Her voice was calm, almost mocking. “But if you do… you know how this ends.”

You hated how true her words were, hated the way your body betrayed you as she she pulled to to your feet, backing you into the wall. “I…” you started, but the words died on your lips as she leaned in, her scent—smoke, leather, and something distinctly her—filling your senses. Her lips brushed against yours, “Tell me to stop.”

You should have. You knew you should have. But instead, your hands found their way to her chest, clutching at her shirt as if holding on to her could steady the chaos inside you. “I shouldn’t—”

“But you will,” she interrupted, her voice firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth of her breath on your lips. “You didn’t come here to say no.”

Her hands, one warm and human, the other cold and unyielding, gripped your waist as she pulled you impossibly closer. You shouldn’t be doing this—not again. But the way she touched you, the way she made you feel like the center of her world, was impossible to resist.

Your chest tightened with guilt, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. It wasn’t enough to keep you from leaning into her, from letting her lips claim yours in a kiss that was just as intoxicating as you remembered. All the guilt, the hesitation, the promises you’d made melted away under the heat of her kiss. Her hands were firm and possessive, pulling your hips flush against hers, as though daring you to regret this later.

You knew you wouldn’t be leaving when she hiked your leg over her hip, gripping your ass with an almost aggravated slap.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, Sevika chuckled, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Second time’s the charm, huh, Baby?” You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The weight of what you’d done—again—settled heavily in your chest. But as her fingers trailed down your arm, lacing with yours, a part of you wondered if you’d ever be able.

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[bigbrosfriend]

Dad has a trip out of state for a week. He used to leave me home alone, but then I got caught throwing a party and now he has to drop me off to be “watched.” Normally it’s at my grandmas house but she is on a vacation. Dad’s last resort was uncle Robby, who in dad’s words is “a lazy piece of shit who is either drunk or hungover.” Dad didn’t even come inside, he just dropped me off.

Robby was still at work when I got there. When I walked in, there was a note on the counter that said my room was upstairs and to the left. I snooped around the house for a bit, beer cans and liquor bottles were half full all over the place. I snagged one of the open beers and downed it, not like Robby would notice one of the 200 lying around. The bathroom was rank with a strong piss smell, likely from the sticky yellow floor around the toilet. The kitchen smelled a lot better, but wasn’t much cleaner. In the fridge I saw mostly beer but also some leftover pizza. I finally made it to the bedroom. The sheets looked like they used to be white, and pillows looked like they don’t even remember what color they used to be. *This better be a joke* I thought.

I walked around the house twice and only found the one bedroom. I was about to check out the basement when I heard the door open. “SAMMY! Where are you my nephew?” The words were a bit slurred. *was he already drunk this soon after work?*

“Hey Uncle Rob.” I said

“Did you find your room? I’ve only got the one bedroom so I’ll be sleeping on the couch. Don’t worry, I am not your dad, if you want to have people over, you go for it.” While he was talking he was dropping his pants. “Feel free to eat or drink anything you find laying around.”

He flopped on the couch and was out like a light. The rank scent from his crotch hit my nose. It was worse than anything I’d ever smelled in the locker room. I picked up a bottle of vodka and went up to the bedroom. I drank and scrolled through my phone for a few hours, until curiosity overcame me. I started snooping around the room again. I found a pile of laundry that smelled just like Robby’s crotch, but now, after the liquor, the smell was starting to turn me on. I grabbed a pair of underwear and took a deep whiff in. Like a light switch my cock was hard. *Woah, why is this getting me going?* I wondered. I kept snooping. I opened the bedside drawer where I found condoms, a fleshlight, and a dildo? *Was uncle Robby gay?* I kept digging and found a magazine filled with naked men. I decided I found more than I wanted to and should go to bed.

As I lay in Robby’s sweat, piss, and cum soaked sheets, I couldn’t stop thinking about the smell of Robby’s bulge. I creeped downstairs and saw Robby had turned on a porno, and had fallen asleep while jerking off. The porno was an incest flick about an uncle creeping on his nephew. The smell hit my nose again. I couldn’t stop staring at his bulge. Without thinking I sat on the floor next to him and took a deeper sniff. The scent burns my nostrils but I like it. I reach my hand for his bulge but the moment my hand touches his bulge he pulls his hand out and grabs mine.

“I knew it, you really are a perv. Well if you like the smell so much…” he didn’t finish talking, he just grabbed me by the back of my hand and pushed my face into his crotch. Rubbing his clothed boner up and down my face.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom!”

[bandgie]

Stuffing to Give

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, AGE GAP, reader has an asshole family, hickeys (brief mention), cumming inside, Yunho bites once, clothe tearing, no protection, size kink if you squint, Yunho says 'young pussy', stomach bulge mention

3.5k words

notes! sorry I've been gone, life or whatever. buuutttt happy holidays! this fic took me too long but for being in a drought, I'm proud of it. hope you enjoy :) (divider from @/anitalenia) tag! @desirehorizon

“You know, you should be looking for a husband. Not worrying about your classes or anything like that. No man likes a woman too smart for her own good.”

It was your mom who opened the can of worms during Thanksgiving. The air was already uncomfortable being that distant family who were more like strangers sat at the dinner table, but mentioning that you’ve been single for so long, at such an ‘old age’, made everything a thousand times worse. 

You’re not even old. Some would argue being in your mid-20s was still very young. 

But no matter how much you’ve tried to defend yourself. No matter how many times you said you just wanted to focus on furthering your education, your aunts and uncles pressed one and one thing only. 

Your uncle lifted his fork to his greasy lips, the white meat of the turkey forcing itself into his already stuffed mouth. “Y’know, your youth will only last you for so long. You’ll end up an old cat lady and regret not settling down.”

Regret. You hate that word, as if these people know anything about you, let alone have a right to say how you should live. The food you're trying to swallow feels too big for your throat. There’s a burning in your chest. A feeling you’ve tried desperately to suppress since the holidays started. 

Anger. Hate. Hurt. Disgust. Fear.

You don’t want to be here anymore. 

Dramatically, you throw your fork on the table. The silverware clatters harshly against your plate and bounces until it lands on the other side of the table. The chatter stops immediately, all eyes on you as you stand so quickly the chair topples to the ground.

A pin could drop and it would echo in the quiet room. 

“You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me getting knocked up. It’s fucking weird. Get off my dick.”

Aunts gasp. Some Uncles laugh. But your mom, her eyes are so wide and shocked as if she wasn’t the one who started this whole issue and didn’t do anything to defend you. 

Her own daughter. 

“And you.” You look at her, but it’s hard when your vision blurs. “When I do find a husband, and when I do have kids, don’t expect to hear from me.”

Voices call your name as you turn away. Someone tries to hold you back by the forearm, but you tear from their grasp. Your only goal is to get the fuck out of there, heading for the front door and slamming it on your way out.

It’s cold. A gentle breeze blows your hair as you turn to the side of the house. The crunch of leaves sounds on the ground therapeutically. You can’t help but look at the pretty orange and brown beneath your feet. It’s the only thing keeping your frustrating tears from falling. 

But you don’t see that there’s already someone at the side of the house with your gaze on the ground. You forget how close the houses are in this neighborhood.

“Bad day I take it?”

You lift your head, surprised to see someone already at your spot. The sun is setting despite the early hours. The only thing illuminating his face are the porch lights. His cheekbones are high. His brown hair is decorated with a few gray strands, framing his handsomeness perfectly. His lips curve into a smile, but more friendly than humorous. 

Shit, you’re staring. “Oh you know, just family butting in when they shouldn’t.”

He grins at that. “Ah, good ol’ holiday joy. I can’t stand them either. Pretending they know me when they don't.”

Relief settles on your shoulders. At least you aren’t alone. “I know right? They change my diaper once and suddenly think they know what’s good for me.”

The man laughs. His smile lines deepen at his lips and his eyes close for a brief moment. You smile at him.

“I know the feeling all too well.” He studies you when he opens his eyes again, gaze dropping to your nylon-covered legs and the cut of your dress. He travels up to your face smoothly. “What was your name?”

It takes a second for the effect of his gaze to fade, but you manage to tell him. “I’m studying Chemistry right now. On my way to getting a Masters.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh wow! That’s really impressive! You look too young to have all that under your belt already.”

His compliments make you burn. “Oh, thank you. I just study hard.” You tuck a strand of hair that blows annoyingly in your face. “And you are...?”

“Yunho.”

You furrow your eyebrows together. “You know? No, I don’t think I do.”

He looks just as confused, but then realization settles on his face and he laughs again. This time, he clutches his stomach and bends over, getting close to your bubble. Not that you mind, you like the smell of his light, earthy cologne.

“No- not ‘you know.’ Yunho. Y-U-N-H-O.”

That smile is still on his face when it clicks in your mind. You feel your face burn from embarrassment, covering your mouth with cold fingers. “Oh my god. I’m such an idiot. Yunho. Okay, I get it.”

You’re still burning when he chuckles again, deep and velvety. “No worries. I think that’s the first time that’s happened to me.”

The two of you laugh once more before you settle into silence. The quiet doesn’t last long when he asks, “So why are you out here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Maybe it’s the warm, pleasant feeling in your stomach from talking to Yunho, but you don’t have an ounce of hesitation in telling him. “My family has always bugged me about starting a family. The moment I graduated high school, it’s like the only thing I’m good for now is popping out babies.”

Yunho scoffs. His jaw clenches attractively and you hate how your legs press together upon the sight. 

“I know completely where you’re coming from. Trust me, that nagging never goes away. I’m already well above my prime and my brothers still bother me about finding a wife. With all this gray hair? I don’t think the ladies would want an old man like me.”

A demon must possess you because you speak before you can even think. “What? Yunho, I know we just met, but you’re like…very attractive. Finding a wife won’t be hard for you, even if you think you’re old.”

The lift of his eyebrow says it all. He’s shocked, at the very least. He stands straighter, towering over you. You hadn’t realized he was leaning against the wall to appear smaller, but his height stuns you.

He cocks his head to the side. “You think so?”

It takes a moment to gather your thoughts. His defined chest shows through his black turtleneck, nipples pebbling in the cold. His lithe arms wrap over his chest, adding to the clothed cleavage. If his upper body looks this good underneath clothes, you can’t even imagine anything less.

“I…” Fuck it. “Yeah. I do. You’re tall, handsome, fit, and some chicks dig older guys.” 

He scoffs a little, but it’s more from embarrassment than pride. His full cheeks blush further and you know it’s not from the cold. If you manage to play your cards right, you can ditch your family dinner for a different type of feast.

Yunho’s smile turns darker, more sinister as he looks down at you through his bangs. “Oh yeah? What type of chicks?”

“If you want to get specific, maybe the one standing in front of you.”

His grin deepens. Bingo.

-

His car is nice. Like, really nice. The seats are leather and he's got interior lights that shine when he opens the passenger car door for you. 

What a gentleman. 

But it’s his flat that impresses you the most. The ones you see are usually in the movies, either too small for any average person to live in or big enough for a whole town. Yunho has the latter.

You want to compliment him. Or more so, ask what type of job he has to afford all this space, but the large hands on your back push you to the bedroom and remind you why you’re here in the first place.

He doesn’t bother closing the door when you two make it to his room. Yunho cranes his neck down, lips ghosting over your own before he finds your neck instead. You lean to one side, hands going up his back trailing to his hair that you intertwine with your fingers. His mouth is so warm on your cold skin. It has you shaking for a brief moment before you get used to his heat.

Yunho starts with pecks. His lips feel plush and delicate, causing your flesh to rise with goosebumps. He moves to the center of your neck and kisses there too, but just when your eyes are starting to flutter shut and your mouth opens to sigh, he bites. 

You gasp instead. “Ah! Yunho!”

He doesn’t pull away from your throat, but you can feel his body jolt with giggles. He presses his kisses harder where his teeth marked you, a tiny apology you grow wet from. The two of you are still standing mere inches from the bed, but you don’t want to part from him. Yunho’s leg fits perfectly snug between your thighs and though you aren’t grinding, your cunt likes the warmth it provides. 

But you can feel it throbbing. The aching for any tiny movement, but you force yourself still save for how you keep pressing yourself against him.

Yunho makes you feel so small. His hands feel as if they could hold you easily, and they seem to do that with your lower back. Long fingers dig into your skin, and it doesn’t take long for his hands to travel further down until he finds the fat of your ass.

He takes a moment to stop giving you hickeys and groans into your shoulder. “So fucking soft. Your ass looks so good in this dress.” He swipes his tongue from your collarbone to the place below your ears. Your nipples harden almost immediately, the wetness makes you cold for a moment.

“You should see how it looks without it on.”

Challenge sparks in his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. All it takes is a reassuring nod from you before he pulls away almost completely, save for the hands squeezing your ass.

“On the bed then. Let me see.”

You smile and pry his hands off you, lifting your dress above your hips, but not off your body completely. You turn around for Yunho to face your back, hands finding the bed so you crawl on the bed for him to see. Your knees are on the edge, but finding balance is easy when you arch, wiggling your ass in the air.

The nylons are still on, but the see-through fabric adds a layer of sexiness. Yunho’s fingers graze your ass, stuck on squeezing and spreading your cheeks. It makes your pussy lips move with it, opening and closing against your clit softly. 

It’s such a tiny movement to your pussy, but with how you’ve been ignoring its leaking, it feels like so much more. You moan in the sheets, gently rocking yourself back and forth to try and get Yunho to spread your ass more.

“Jesus Christ.” He puts his thumb on your pussy, guiding it against your slit until he finds the bundle of nerves underneath your nylons and underwear. “I can feel how wet you are. You need it real bad, huh?”

His fingers are muted from the layers of clothes, but that doesn’t stop you from whining. You press back until his thumb is hard against you, swiveling your hips for friction. 

“Yesyesyes. So bad. I want your cock.”

His one thumb turns into multiple fingers. You sing with pleasure, showing no shame as you ride his hand until you feel the subtle, but familiar feeling coil in your stomach. Your styled hair is now a mess as it covers your eyes from how hard you’re rocking. Though you can’t see, you can feel the arousal leaking down your thighs and gather at your nylons.

Your orgasm comes quickly. It gets easy to grind on his fingers when your body is desperately chasing the high. “Cumming! Fuckfuckfuck, I'm cumming.”

You lift yourself on your forearms, halting all your movements to let the blinding pleasure wash over you, hot and delicious. Moans tumble past your lips. The tiniest bit of drool seeps from your mouth as you shake. You rock again, this time, to milk out your orgasm to completion. 

But Yunho pulls away.

A desperate cry leaves you. “W-wait. M-more. I want m-”

Familiar hands push you back into the sheets. Yunho holds you by the back of the neck, forcing you to keep your trembling ass in the air. 

Your heart races. More gasps and heavy breaths filter through your chest, but it’s an excitement that bubbles in your stomach. So much adrenaline runs through your body that half of the shaking is from your nerves. 

You just know he’s going to fuck you good.

“You came on my hand and you’re already asking for more?” Yunho tuts. “So impatient, but don’t worry, you’ll get it. Girls like you love cumming their brains out, huh?”

There’s no denying that. You nod in the sheets and whimper a pathetic yes, but Yunho approves nonetheless.

“Yeah, that’s why you’ll take any cock you can get, right? Even if it’s a stranger…” His free hand smoothes over your ass, but once he finds a good grasp on your nylons, he yanks. Your entire body pulls back from the force. You have to grab onto the mattress to not slip off the bed. 

“Even if it’s a man who’s almost twice your age…”

Another harsh yank and you hear fabric tear. Yunho pulls and pulls until your ass and cunt are free from the material. It’s only your underwear in the way, but you doubt that’ll be a problem.

Yunho leans down until he’s at your ear. Your body breaks into chills. He feels everywhere. He is everywhere from how big he is. You know you’re safe, but the thought of being at his mercy heightens your pleasure.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll buy you a new one.” He sweetly pecks your head and pulls away.

You’d laugh from the drastic switch-up, but you moan instead when you feel his fingers at your cunt. He plays with your folds through your panties, poking where your entrance is and smearing the arousal staining the underwear. 

You’ve never been this wet before. It usually takes some lube or way more foreplay, but Yunho turns you on in ways you didn’t believe were possible. His deft fingers and how his brown eyes can be warm but threatening. Everything about him is captivating and you can only hope he thinks the same about you.

With a finger hooking to the side of your panties, he tugs until your bare cunt is finally freed. You clit peeks from your hood, throbbing between your lips desperately. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel nervous. Yunho stares at your pussy longer than you’re used to, making you try and press your thighs together to hide it. 

“Nuh-uh.” He jiggles your ass. “Don’t do that. I wanna see your pussy.”

You whine but obey. You put yourself face-first into the bed, ignoring how your cheeks turn red. 

Soon, the bed shifts weight and you hear the sound of a zipper. You pick up your head to look back, but Yunho forces you to face the bed. 

You pout. “I wanna seeeee.”

“You just want everything, don’t you?” Yunho sounds condescending, but he rewards you with the head of his cock. Your lower lips wrap around his tip when he grinds against your pussy, making sure to keep your underwear out of the way. “You want to cum, you want my dick, you wanna see it…And the worst part is, you’ve got such a pretty pussy that you’ll get everything you want.”

Yunho pulls back just enough to line himself up. You still haven’t gotten over how his tip felt brushing against you. He’s slicked himself up nice and wet to press, intruding on your entrance. 

You squeal. His shape opens you so easily that his size doesn’t sting at all, but makes your brain fuzzy. Though Yunho won’t let you see, you know he’s big. You turn dumb too quickly, chest burning from the oxygen he fucks out of you when he buries himself to the hilt. 

‘Oh my-...fffuucckkkk.”

Yunho groans at your moaning. He opts to hook his thumb in your panties and splay the rest of his fingers on your ass. Messily, he gathers your hair to create a makeshift ponytail with his other hand, forcing your chest up. 

Out... In... Out... In…

The pace is slow, but that doesn't mean it’s dull. Yunho pulls out until his tip is barely inside before pressing back in. When his pelvis is flush against your ass, it has you kicking your feet up and down on the bed from the overwhelming sensation. 

He feels like he’s in your ass. In your throat. You can’t escape how deep Yunho drills into you when he keeps you still by the hair, forcing you to take every unbearable inch.

You love every second of it. 

“Nghhh. Yunnhooo. Fuck meee. Fuck me pleeasseee.”

The sound of your cunt squelching echoes in the room. Yunho grunts at your command, pulling you up a few inches. 

“Yeah, you want it? You want it? Then fucking take it.”

It’s like a switch. That cautious pace turns animalistic, rough, and quick until your breasts manage to slip from the top of your dress and bounce freely. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. There’s no sound until a harsh thrust forces the moan out. Once you start, you can stop. All you can manage are gasps and whines from Yunho’s drive. 

Every vein, every curve doesn’t go unnoticed between your walls. The repeated pistons force you to know his shape. You know he’s carving a place for him. So deep and good that you don’t think you could ever go back to hookups at your university again. 

But it’s Yunho’s tip that does it for you. There’s no you could ever unknow how it kisses your cervix or how the shape digs into you. You can't stop clenching down on it, sucking it back in over and over despite the pleasure overload you’re enduring. 

Your pussy’s in loooove.

The haziness of your mind clears a bit when Yunho pulls you up more. Your fingers barely graze the mattress, but the pain in your scalp feels dull when you look into his eyes.

They’re dark, hungry, and possessive. There’s nothing but carnal desire when you dreamily look up at them, eyes losing focus rather quickly. 

“You’re gonna cum. I fucking know you are. You cunt’s so fucking loud, it’s begging for it again.”

You swoon. Yunho knows he can make you feel good, he can feel it. Something like affection burns in your chest and you look at his pink lips. 

He grins. “You want a kiss?”

You nod, but it must look silly since your entire body is jolting. 

Yunho looks borderline psychotic when he breaks out into a smile. “Fuck. I love how young and stupid your pussy is. I’m gonna cum all over it. You’d like that, huh?”

“Loooveee iiiit.”

Yunho quickens his pace. You swear if you look down, you could see his cock poking through your stomach from the angle. Instead, you’re held to look into his eyes, vision blurring as your second orgasm approaches. It’s so much more intense than your first. Now you have something to clench on. Something to cream on when you inevitably burst. 

And with your crossed eyes looking into his, you do. You feel a burst of warmth from your stomach speedily reach your pussy. It makes you feel hot, the even hotter arousal pooling down your thighs and onto Yunho’s cock.

He moans above you. His hips grow sloppy, hitting different parts of your cunt that have you squealing. Yunho doesn’t break eye contact when he stills in you, dick throbbing as his cum shoots inside. 

The two of you stay moaning into each other's mouths, lips a mere inch away until he finally gives you what you want. The kiss is sloppy, full of breaths and moans as you messily shove tongues inside.

He swipes the inside of your cheek. He twists his tongue with yours until salvia trickles down your chin. You suck on his muscle and he does the same, pulling away with a wet smack that leaves you buzzing.

Yunho stares at you for a beat, eyes blinking as he comes to a sudden realization. “I think I'll keep you.” 

You don’t have the energy to respond, but you're thinking the same thing.

[xetlynn]

ekko and reader friends to lovers where reader gets hurt and ekko freaks out and confesses his feelings

I was half asleep writing this, please forgive me for the weird writing🙏

Arcane Imagines- Ekko

Investigation

[arcane] [main page]

Two Fireflies running through the back allies. Following the map that was given to them to track down some corrupt officers that have been known to go to a certain area of the Undercity to mock and terrorize defenseless people. 

Normally they’d have other people with them but today was just investigating what was going on. Making sure the rumors are true before creating an attack. “I can get a look up top. Stay here.” You speak behind a mask, motioning up the pipe covered in overgrown plants. “Be careful.” Ekko mutters as you were already halfway up the building. Partially ignoring his words. Almost falling a few times. 

Grabbing onto the ledge of the structure, lifting your torso upon it before throwing your legs over. Not very graceful looking but you didn’t care. You snuck over to the other side of the ledge and glanced over. Seeing three officers laughing as they were going towards a woman holding a large bag. You furrowed your brows before going back to the pipe. “C’mon, I see them.” You slide down slowly, if you didn’t have gloves you would’ve gotten scratches and some sort of burn from the weeds. 

You trip as you land on the ground, you catch yourself before falling and turning around to do a stupid pose at Ekko. He shakes his head, walking ahead of you. “Rude.” You whisper under your breath before sprinting after him. You turn the corner and hide behind a crater once the officers are in clear view. 

“Hey, princess! Where you going with that heavy bag?” The first of the three asks with a smirk.

 The lady looks at them in fear. “Uh-m.” She takes a step back. “Uhm? Is that Undercity for something we don’t know about?” The next one speaks. She glances around, not knowing what to do or say. They begin to corner her, backing her into a wall. “We asked you a question, lady. You gonna answer or give us some trouble?” The first one asks, hands on his hips. The third and second snicker. 

Your fists curl as your body tenses. Ekko looked over at you, he couldn’t see your face but he knew the exact expression you were making. “Don’t do it, [Name].” He says quietly in your ear. You roll your eyes, leaning away from him. “I’m not doing anything.” You grunt. 

“I know what you want to do though.” He looks back to the scene in front of him. The first enforcer smacks the back out of the girl's hand. It falls to the ground. You grab onto the crate, wanting to break it. “Check what's inside it.” The first one says to the two beside him. Second guy picks it up, shoving his hand inside the bag. Taking out a baby blanket and baby toys. “Are you pregnant?” The first guy tilts his head. “N-no, it’s for my little sister.” The lady stammers, watching them go through her things. “Ah too bad. My wife’s been needing a few things for our daughter…” He hums, pretending to be disappointed. You were shaking with rage. They’re from the Uppercity and they want to steal from the less fortunate!? How does that make sense? “[Name]. Please. I’m figuring out how to get the stuff don’t worry.” Ekko places a hand on your back. You shoot your head his way. “Hurry.” 

“My sister needs that stuff though.” The girl cries out, she goes to grab the bag but gets shoved back into the wall. You stand up, jumping over the crate and attacking the guy who pushed her. “[Name]!” Ekko grabs his head, irritated that you didn’t listen to him. He turns around the building, wracking his brain on how to help you and the other girl now. Making an escape plan. 

You attempt to choke the guy out, he flails around, reaching behind him to pull you off but you don’t loosen your grip. Legs wrapped around him like a koala to a tree. “You bitch, let me go!” The enforcer shouts, back into a wall and slamming your body. It barely affects you, you tear off his hat, pulling at his hair and scratching his face. “You like putting your hands on women? Huh?” You grit your teeth, unfortunately your attack didn’t last long when the other enforcers pulled you off of the main guy. 

You kick your legs. “Don’t touch me!” You scream, shimmying out of their grip. Kicking one guy in the crotch. Elbowing the other guy in the face. “Fuck!” 

You grab the closest thing to you, which was a metal scrap. You hit the one guy repeatedly until he was curled on the ground. When you look up to the second one he was already running away. 

Your attention goes back to the first guy and the guy who you had on the ground got up to follow the other that ran away. You take out your pocket knife, flipping it open. You jab at him but he dodges out of the way. The two of you go back and forth for a while until you step on one of the child’s things, slipping backwards on your ass. “Hah, stupid cunt.” The enforcer laughs. You slide your body backwards. 

“Oh. no you don’t.” He stomps down on your ankle, putting his full weight on you. You scream out in pain. Ekko comes running towards you as the officer twists on your already broken bone. Ekko takes the baby toy and breaks it over the guy's head. The enforcer turns to him, finally getting off of your ankle. The pain shoots throughout your body. You let out a sob, gripping onto your own jacket. 

Ekko fights with the enforcer, throwing punches towards his face. The guy couldn’t keep up with the hits, losing balance. The girl they were helping comes up with the scrap you originally had and bashes the enforcer's head, knocking him out. 

The girl breathes heavily, Ekko running down to your aid. You don’t move the hurt leg, just holding yourself as you cried. “Shit.” You mutter, throwing your head back. “You okay? Can you move it?” He touches your shoulder, his other hand on your knee. “No! I can’t! It hurts!” You hyperventilate. He frowns. “I can get someone to help. I’ll be right back.” The girl from before says, picking up her things. Ekko only nods in response as she runs away from the scene. 

“It’s going to be alright, I promise.” His body shakes, hating that you got hurt because he didn’t know how to help. Wanting to figure out a safe exit instead of joining the fight. “Ekko, it hurts.” You whine, grabbing onto his arm and gripping it. “I know, I know. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He looked around, he didn’t know where the girl was going or when she’d come back. 

Your best bet was getting you to the other Fireflies. There was a medic there. “Okay, I’m going to lift you up. You think you’ll be okay?” He questions, getting on his feet, crouched down to get into position to lift you up. “Maybe, I don’t know.” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut. You were sweating from how bad it hurt and the mask only made it worse. 

“Okay, on the count of three I’m going to lift.” He warns you, his arm going underneath your knees and the other firmly on your back. “Mhm.” 

“One… two… three.” His body goes up and you let out a squeal. The feeling of your ankle not having a place to rest made the injury ache. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeats, running through the allies back to home. Your little noises of pain only made his heart hurt even more. It was his fault you were dealing with this. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He slows his pace a little just in case but you shake your head violently. “Keep going please!” You beg, your head against his shoulder and your arms wrapped around his body. He pushes forward, turning down the last ally. Two Firefly members stood in front of the entrance. “Open it!” He shouts, the two were confused at first but when they saw your body in his arms they hurriedly did as told. 

After getting to the medic, he worked his magic, wrapping your ankle. Ekko was outside the room the entire time, pacing back and forth as he had to hear your pain-filled cries. They gave you pain medicine but it hadn’t kicked in yet. 

When it went quiet he stopped in his tracks. His eyes were staring at the door. The medic comes out, Ekko attempts to rush in but he’s stopped with a hand on his chest. “Let us speak first.” 

Ekko’s eyes land on your body lying limp on the bed, chest heaving up and down. The medic closes the door. “She won’t be able to walk on that for 6 months. Whoever did that to her crushed it to a point that I’ve never seen before.” He tells Ekko whose nose is scrunched in anger. “Here’s the pain medicine she’s going to need for the next few weeks until the pain calms down.” He shakes the bottle before handing it over. 

“Anything else?” Ekko asks, antsy to see you. “No, go ahead.” 

The boy was next to you as fast as you heard the door open. You squint your eyes open. The light being bright after wearing a mask and tears not flooding down your face anymore. “I’m so sorry.” Ekko falls down to his knees, his head bowed down. “It’s not your fault. I was an idiot to think I could take them.” You sigh. “I’m sorry for not listening to you.” You sincerely tell him. He looks up at you.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” He grabs your hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t help you. If I stepped in this wouldn’t have happened to you. Hearing your pain was like daggers through me. It’s my fault this happened. I can’t protect the one person that means so much to me.” He rants with a sour expression on his face. Gripping onto your hand. 

“Like that scream you let out, I repeat it in my head. It’s all I hear right now. How could I let this happen to someone I love?” He tears up, you watch him quietly as he vents. Your heart filled with butterflies by his words. “You love me?” You ask in a whisper. His eyes widened, just now catching what he just blurted out.

“I mean, I have love for you. Am I in love with you? Pssh, I mean I could be? Who knows? I say crazy things sometimes.” He lets go of your hand, now rambling on and on. 

“Ekko.” You smile. “Yes?” He asks with his hands behind him. Looking guilty. “I love you too.” You giggle.

“Really?” His head perks up, you nod, putting your arms out for him to hug you. He falls into your body, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

“Thank god because I would’ve killed myself or something if you didn’t feel the same way.” He jokes, causing you to laugh loudly. “You’re so stupid.” You snort. 

“Whatever, you love me.” He proudly reminds you, keeping himself on top of you. 

[lovegalor333]

can you do a short little smut when paige is overstimulating the reader??? i would love that and also i love your writings

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

i can do it better

summary: paige finds your vibrator and asks you to show her how you use it

content warnings: nsfw smut overstimulation sex toy fingering munch p squirting

“Care to explain this?” You hear your girlfriends voice call out to you from your bedroom. You’re in the bathroom getting ready for bed, you were exhausted after a long day of classes and wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and fall into a deep sleep. “Explain what, baby?” You call back with a roll of your eyes, Paige couldn’t see you thankfully, you’re sure she’d have a few choice words for your brattiness but you were tired and didn’t want the hassle of whatever Paige was talking about.

“This.” Paiges voice is closer now and you flick your eyes up to the mirror in front of you, to see your girlfriend leaning against the bathroom door frame, a cheeky smirk on her face and to your dismay the small purple, bullet shaped vibrator that lived in your nightstand, in her hand.

Your cheeks flushed a deep claret as you spun around, reaching out the snatch the toy off Paige but she has great reflexes and she’s a lot taller than you, “Uh uh.” She shakes her head, holding the vibrator up and and out of your reach. “Were you snooping in my drawers?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “No, I was looking for melatonin. Now tell me why you have this? This can’t do what I do.” Paige says and she presses the small button and the bullet begins to vibrate in her hand and you feel your temperature begin to rise.

Sex wasn’t a taboo subject for you and Paige but you’d never spoke about masturbation and the fact she had your toy in her hand made you feel slightly dizzy. Truth be told, since you’ve been together you’ve hardly used that thing but sometimes Paige plays away and this summer she was hardly in Connecticut and a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

“Can you turn that off?” You ask seriously, now frowning at Paige, embarrassment more than anything creeping in. “Tell me why and how you use it?”

“Paige-”

“Just tell me.” And she places the vibrating toy against your left nipple, the thin material of her t-shirt you wear to sleep not doing much to buffer the sensation. “When you’re away…and I…” You struggle to speak between Paiges intense eye contact, your nipple being attacked and the awkwardness of the subject you don’t know what to say. “Don’t be embarrassed baby.” Paiges voice is soft and sensitive, a stark contrast to the look on her face. “When you’re away and I’m horny, I use it sometimes.” “How do you use it?” “For Gods sake Paige, how do you think?” You’re losing patience now and suddenly you’re no longer tired. Paige is being a tease and it’s pissing you off.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to show me.” Paige taunts with a raise of her brows and before you can detest, you’re over her shoulder, hand on your ass.

Paige throws you down onto your bed and hands you the vibrator, “Show me how you make yourself cum.” The husk of her voice and the stance she was in, looking down at you on your back made you ache.

You pressed the vibrator to your clit, over your lace thong, the initial sensation making your thighs shudder. Paiges gaze doesn’t falter for a second, you can practically feel her eyes burning into you, “What do you think about when you’re doing this?”

“You. Your fingers- shit- how they feel inside me.” The wet patch inbetween your legs is growing with each buzz of the toy and you need more. You pull the lace material to the side but before you can reposition the bullet, Paige is on the bed, her hand on top of yours, stopping you from pleasuring yourself. “I thought you wanted me to show you.”

“I did but it’s pissing me off. I’m gonna show you just why you don’t need this thing.” She rasps, taking the vibrator from your hand but she doesn’t turn it off. Instead she uses one hand to hold your panties to the side before dragging the toy through your damp folds. You buck your hips up, desperate for more. More of Paige. Fuck the vibrator.

Paige continues to tease and taunt your dripping cunt, pressing the vibrator to your clit before dragging it down to your hole, “Paige, please. Stop teasing.” You groan but with the way she’s looking at you, eyes hooded and determined, you know for a fact she’s not going to listen to a word you say.

“Just be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper as Paige turns up the intensity and you jolt in shock, “You can be a good girl, right?” Paige asks as she circles your clit causing arousal to drip out of you. “Y-yes.” You choke out and Paige spreads your legs, a knee on each of your thighs, holding them in place.

“Fuck, you look so good spread out for me like this baby.” Paige grunts and she lets a blob of spit out of mouth and it lands on your cunt, you whine at the feeling. “Ne-need more, P.”

Paige misinterprets your pleads for her…or chooses to ignore then and further increases the intensity of the vibrator, pressing it hard and firm on your swollen clit. The band in your stomach tightens and your legs begin to shake beneath your girlfriends knees, “Fuck Paige, I’m about to- ugh shit- I’m about to cum.” You moan, eyes rolling back in your head as the band threatens to snap but the soft buzzing and intense vibrations come to a halt, “I’m not watching you cum with something that isn’t me.” Paige says matter of factly and your words are lodged in your throat as she pushes two fingers inside of you with ease, “Oh fuck!” You gasp as she hammers in and out of you, her long fingers knocking into the gummy spot with each inward movement.

Without warning, Paige adds another finger into the mix and you bite down on your lip as she stretches you out, “Shit Paige, don’t stop.” You beg, reaching down to grab onto her wrist to ensure she doesn’t rob you of another orgasm. But Paige simply bats your hand away, linking it with her free one.

You feel yourself contracting around Paiges fingers and know you’re close so you move your hips in circular motions, guiding her hand to hit all your favourite places. Paige brings her thumb to your clit, starting off in gentle swipes before she’s full on pressing and pinching your sensitive spot.

“Shit Paige, right there!” You cry out as the feeling overwhelms you and your body writhes and jerks beneath her and you come undone all over her fingers. Your heart rate is rapid as Paige pulls her fingers out of you and you whimper as she slides them across your folds and over your clit, spreading your slick as she goes, “I love how messy you are.” She purrs, taking her fingers into her mouth and sucking on them, moaning at the taste of you on her tongue.

You watch in awe as her tongue flicks and swirls around her sticky fingers, “You’re so hot.” You breathe out and Paige just smirks before she leans down, mouth inches away from your soaked cunt and she blows out two sharp breaths making you shiver.

Still sensitive from your orgasm, your moan is throaty and rough as Paige buries her face into your cunt. She’s devouring you like a woman starved and you’re her favourite meal. With every flick of her tongue, your back arches of the bed, just pushing her face further into you. Her nose nudges your clit as she slips her tongue inside, “Fuck Paige! Pleasepleaseplease!” You babble, not sure what your begging for, your head spins at every sensation and when her teeth graze your clit and fingers slip back inside, you damn near lose it.

Her movements are insatiable and unrelenting and you squeeze her hand in yours as it all begins to feel too much. “I- I can’t Paige.” You choke out as tears begin to fill in your water line. “You can.” She mumbles against you and the vibrations from her voice sent jolts of ecstasy through your body.

This feeling was different from any you’ve felt before, Paiges fingers driving into you at a pace so fast, all you could hear was the sordid sounds of your wetness. Her tongue and lips working overtime as they sucked and swirled at your clit. The ache between your legs was crushing and your head tipped back, jaw going slack as a sudden surge soared through you, from your core to your feet, toes curling and you felt an unfamiliar gush as everything went black.

Just as quick as your eyes closed, they opened again and Paige was pressing kisses to your inner thigh. She looked up at you, chin dripping and realisation hits you, “Did I squirt?” You ask, voice hoarse and breathless. “Damn right ma. This girl loves me.” She smirks sending a light smack to your pussy and your legs clamp shut, “That’s enough. You just destroyed her.” You chuckle and Paige leans over you, pressing her lips to yours and you get a taste of yourself. “That was so fucking sexy.” She whispers into your ear before trailing wet kiss down your neck.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: yall!! i know the request said ‘short little smut’ but i got carried away 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this was rushed and barely edited and im writing this with a glass of wine so apologies in advance for any mistakes, i know i could have done better 💋👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway! love yall, send gays vibes to me tonight, im on a mission x

tag list: @paigeluvvr

[keferon]

Okay- I adore the Mecha AU.. so now I have to share MY terrible idea, dunno if anyone has said this yet but- you remember that in pacific rim when Raleigh & Mako DRIFT and they both experience each other’s trauma?

What if that happened with Jazz & Prowl?

Like-

One day Prowl starts noticing a difference in Jazz's behavior, noticing how he would suddenly tense up or flinch whenever somebody suddenly started speaking loud or in the morning he’d notice how he was soaked in sweat and shakily making his way to the wash racks. Whenever he’d ask if he was alright he was always met with a smile and a reassuring remark, yet he knew something was off and he wanted to help.

So then (once he’s fully healed) he suggests to Jazz that they should do trust exercises under the guise that since he doesn’t have another Mecha so they should strengthen their own bond for any future battles. Jazz is hesitant, especially since he blames himself for Prowl being in that situation in the first place, but he also wants to spend time with Prowl so he agrees.

Prowl probably would go to a secluded spot in the forest they’re in, somewhere safe where, once Jazz is relaxed enough he can ask him about these strange behaviors he’s recently been exhibiting. Surely nothing bad will happen and surely Jazz will be fine like he usually is…

The training exercises go well, Jazz is feeling fine and they’re both in the zone when suddenly a bad memory spontaneously starts to haunt Jazz and it triggers a PTSD-esque Episode where Jazz freezes up and is suddenly taken back to that horrible time..

The time he was strapped down to a bedbunk, his body writhing in agonizing pain, the constant sting of needles piercing his skin followed by an intense burning sensation that can only be likened to being burned from the inside out, his vision going blurry and his throat raw and bleeding from screaming and crying, his body shaking and shivering as a thick sheen of sweat coats his body.

And right now… because of the DRIFT.. Prowl sees it too, he not only sees it but he’s there, standing over Jazz's restrained body, he hears screams and sounds he never EVER wanted to hear, not from Jazz of all people. His precious partner, he’s looking down at him unable to help or protect him from these strangers, these monsters who are ignoring the ear piercing, spark-wrenching screams of pure agony. Worst of all? He can’t move, he’s frozen in place, forced to stand there helplessly as Jazz is begging for mercy, begging for someone to help him… and. he. can’t. move.

It lasts just for a moment but for both of them it felt like an hour until Jazz screams himself back into reality, freeing both him and Prowl from his nightmare. Prowl drops to a knee, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what the actual hekk he just saw until he feels Jazz pounding his fist against his chest, he can vaguely make out his choked up plea which scares Prowl as he’s never heard Jazz make that noise before. Prowl opens it and barely manages to catch Jazz as the man tumbled out into his own shaky servo in a trembling heap.

Jazz is slightly pale and tears are in his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath, he knows he’s not there anymore but he still feels it.

Prowl rushes back to Ratchets hideout where he the others are and calls for him, fear gripping his tanks as Jazz is still huddled in a fetal position, hyperventilating as he grips his soaked hair. Ratchet immediately recognizes what’s happened and quickly moves to help Jazz calm down before he has a heart attack which he is very close to having with how high his pulse is. It works but the man is so worn out from the stress that he just passes out.

I don’t know but that’s been plaguing my mind since I started reading your AU and I just HAD to share it lol, what do you think? How do you think Prowl would actually react to that? I figured he’d freak out as humans and their fragile bodies are still new territory for him.

Also sorry if it’s all a bit unclear or confusing or like- boarderline rambling I’m not good at storytelling and just stick to RP and making RP plots lol.

OH MAN. OH FUCK. YEP UH HUH YEAH. THIS. oh my god

Knowing Prowl, he would probably rush to learn every bit of information he can access about. You know. How to help someone in that scenario. Because he’s scared that something would went wrong while he has zero knowledge about humans.

But also. I think it would make him realise just how strong despite his small size Jazz actually is.

Jazz might drop something about his brain being over dramatic when it’s not helpful at all. While Prowl is just are you fraggin serious you’re a superhuman

[poisonsage808]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

Steb x Reader

warnings: set before and in season 2, language, angst, violence, police brutality

Judgement was a hard thing to shake. Topsiders were wealthy in their demeaning ideas of how the undercity worked. Fortunately, it often would work in your favor. They could say what they wanted about Zaunites, you took care of your own. Rumors and lies didn’t spread half as fast as a warning.

“Enforcers!”

Promises sacred down here too. Deals? Made to be broken, everyone knew that. Anyone could make a deal knowing full well that double crossings were a daily occurrence. Promises were special, though. Friends hooked their pinkies together in sincerity, a vow to uphold; while lovers whispered sacred oaths coated in devotion. A promise is a promise.

You should’ve known a topsider wouldn’t keep one.

Fuck, your lungs burned and itched like they were turning to cinders. You were on fire from the inside out, set ablaze when you couldn’t outrun the giant, moving, grey cloud that chased you. You could barely breathe inside of it, choking on the ashes of your lungs while your body tried to force them out.

You were staggering blindly on your hands and knees just trying to make it out of the death cloud alive. Another cough racked your body, desperate for air. Through your closed eyes you were blinded by white light. You fought against the hands that gripped you.

Swearing with a scratchy throat, you growled out, “Leave us alone!”

You heard your name, felt an obscenely gentle palm at your cheek and instantly knew who it belonged to. Behind that soulless mask was—

“Steb?” You croaked, peaking out of one bloodshot eye to no avail.

It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do something like this.

Not-Steb ripped off his mask and pressed it to your face. The hissing noise made you wince and pull away but the enforcer held it firm against you. Air— real air; not the poorly filtered kind that you were used to— rushed to your lungs. It was frightening, addictive. Something topsiders took for granted every waking day.

Barely clear headed, thoughts and questions began battling in your mind. Weakly, you wrapped your hand around Not-Steb’s wrist. The grey smoke was lingering in the distance but you’d been dragged just far enough that you could breathe again. Suddenly, you shoved the hand and mask away. You kicked back, hitting a wall that you used to get back on your feet. Blinking away the sting, you shook your head until your vision focused.

Your heart sunk.

“You’re…” Your brows stitched together in confusion and rising anger. “What’re you doing?”

Steb, the Steb that you loved and trusted, straightens at your accusatory tone. He blinks carefully, eyes darting all around as he tries to come up with an answer.

“I thought when you wanted to become a fucking bucket head, it was to help.”

You never minded that he was quiet, never made him talk when he didn’t want to. The two of you could sit in silence for hours. Sometimes the conversation would go on and on with only your voice filling the gaps, sometimes he felt like contributing more and you’d tease that he was being too chatty. He’d laugh, a sound you loved, and find a way to get back at you.

You and Steb found a way to communicate without words.

“How is this helping, Steb?”

However you needed a fucking answer for this.

Hurried footsteps rush towards you just when his lips part. A smaller enforcer, but an enforcer all the same. Orange whisps peak out from under the barrette and you can feel their glare underneath those haunting goggles. They point their gun at your nose, voice distorted from the mask.

“You got one!” They say, rather cheerfully, to Steb. To you, “Do you have information on the fugitive Jinx?”

You spat at their boots.

Steb’s eyes widen slightly, his brows tilting up. He’d never seen this side of you before. He’s never had to.

The enforcer turns their weapon and the butt of their gun comes crashing, aimed for your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, so you didn’t miss Steb throw his arm out to stop his colleague. There’s a moment of confusion, a struggle as he grabs their weapon and wrenches it away.

“What the hell, Riba!?”

“Yeah, what the hell.” You mock.

“That’s enough, Nolen!” Steb’s deep voice holds a bizarre sense of authority. You’re not used to seeing him this way either.

You’re almost jealous of the silent argument he shares with the enforcer, Nolen, until he pushes their gun into their chest. You smirk, feeling mildly satisfied at their walk of shame back into the grey but it falls the minute you find yourself back in Steb’s gaze.

“So that’s how it is, huh? Gas and beat the answers out of us?”

He reached for you quickly, desperate to tell you that wasn’t what was happening; it wasn’t what you thought it was; this was important. Something along those lines you were sure. Enforcers were predictable that way. And you knew if he managed to get ahold of you again, that you would melt into his touch and believe him because you so very badly wanted to.

“Why d’ya wanna be a bucket head anyways?”

Hopping off the last stone, you made it over the stream only to slip backwards. A hand shot out immediately and locked on your arm, yanking you to the rocky shore. You laughed but your friend didn’t. Steb’s vicious side eye was halfhearted but serious all the same.

“Yeah, yeah, you wanna help people. I didn’t forget! Jus’ think it’s stupid s’all. Never met one enforcer that wanted to help.”

Your heart constricts so tightly it brings tears to your eyes. Anger turns to mourning before you can stop it.

“We pretended as long as we could Stubby, but we can’t ignore it anymore.”

A familiar warmth encased your wrist, smaller sliding down until a smaller digit curled around your pinky. Your shoulder slumped upon contact. You knew when you turned around his ears would be flattened and his big, blue, crystal eyes, soft and pleading.

“Please,” he manages. His mouth open and shuts but he can’t summon any other words.

“Riba!”

You can see his ears flattening at the sound of returning footsteps, and more. Locking eyes with him, you make sure he knows what you can’t bring yourself to say. Steb winces as his name is shouted again, unable to tear his eyes from you. He’s scanning you like he’s trying to commit your face to memory, something he’s done in adoration and longing when you’re forced to part. This time it’s fear. His boot shuffles back, body angled to leave but he refuses to move, torn between duty and love.

“Go do what you have to.” You said as sweetly as you could in hopes it would cover the venom of your words.

“I didn’t forget, Stubby,” you tilted your head, wearing a lopsided smile. Intertwining all your fingers, you held his hand firmly and continued tugging him down the path, “You promised to be the first.”

You made the choice for him and took off running.

~

comment jinxer or firelight to help me decide part 2

firelight 3 _ jinxer 0

come talk about arcane (and more!) with us on [discord]!

[atinyslittleworld]

Risk It or Drink It

san x f!reader

Summary: Y/N joins Wooyoung and Yeosang for a group hangout with the other members of Ateez. When a tipsy game of "Risk It or Drink It" leads to an unexpected dare, Y/N is faced with a choice that puts her secret crush on San in the spotlight.

Word Count: 1,5k

Genre: flirty, established crush, teasing

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dares, physical tension

The night had started off innocently enough. Wooyoung and Yeosang had dragged you along to one of their group hangouts, promising a relaxed evening with drinks and laughter. You had met the guys a few times before, usually at parties or small gatherings, and you were comfortable around them by now—especially with San, since he was practically glued to Wooyoung’s side most of the time.

The evening quickly picked up pace, the conversations flowing smoothly along with the drinks. Laughter filled the room, and everyone seemed to let loose as the alcohol settled in, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. Some of the other boys had brought their friends too, and soon the apartment was full of cheerful chatter, the group bonding over inside jokes and silly antics.

But as the hours wore on, and the drinks flowed a little too freely, the atmosphere took a playful turn. Someone suggested a game to keep the fun going—a card game called "Risk It or Drink It," which was supposed to push people out of their comfort zones. A stack of cards lay in the middle of the coffee table, and everyone took turns drawing them. Each card had a dare or challenge; if you didn’t want to risk it, you had to take a shot.

The dares started off silly. “Imitate a celebrity,” “Do your best animal impression,” “Sing a song in a funny voice.” But as the game progressed, the challenges became bolder. The alcohol was working its magic, loosening inhibitions and making everyone a little more daring.

When it was your turn, you reached out with a tipsy giggle and picked a card from the stack. The alcohol had made you braver, but there was still a nervous flutter in your stomach. You read the card aloud, feeling your cheeks heat up as you did. “Sit on the person’s lap next to you and spell the word ‘cocoa’ with your hips… or take a shot of whiskey.”

A chorus of “Oooohs!” filled the room, and you froze, suddenly hyper-aware of who was sitting next to you: San. Of all the people it could have been, it had to be him. Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of your secret crush settling heavily in your chest. San, who was already blushing and giggling drunkenly from the earlier rounds, looked at you with wide, expectant eyes.

You hesitated, glancing at the bottle of whiskey sitting temptingly on the table, but the idea of taking another shot made your stomach churn. You were already past your limit, your head buzzing pleasantly with the effects of the drinks you’d had so far.

“I… I’ll risk it,” you blurted out, the words leaving your mouth before you could second-guess yourself. The room erupted into cheers, and you heard Wooyoung’s exaggerated whistle of encouragement. You shot him a look that said, You’re not helping!

San, for his part, was blinking at you in a mix of drunken excitement and surprise, his cheeks already flushed pink. As you moved to sit on his lap, you tried to steady your breath. Your knees felt weak, and the air seemed to thicken around you. You settled on top of him, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his clothes, his breath hitching slightly as your weight pressed down on him.

His hands instinctively rested on your waist, his touch feather-light and hesitant, but you felt the way his fingers twitched slightly, betraying the nervous energy beneath. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everyone else in the room. All you could see was the way his pupils had dilated, the faint scent of cologne mixing with the alcohol on his breath, the softness of his lips as he gave you an encouraging smile.

You cleared your throat, your face burning, and slowly began to move your hips. The room seemed to fall silent as you spelled the word with exaggerated movements, swaying your body in rhythm to an invisible beat. “C… O… C…” Your movements were slow and deliberate, each curve of your hips feeling like an eternity, and San’s grip tightened around your waist as if he couldn’t help himself. His breath came out in uneven puffs, and you felt his fingers dig slightly into your sides as you continued.

By the time you reached the final “A,” your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it through your clothes. As you finished the dare, you felt a shift under you—San’s body was tense, and his face had gone from playful to something more intense, his eyes darkening as he tried to hold your gaze. When you started to get up, his grip on your waist tightened, holding you firmly in place.

“Wait,” he said, his voice low and rough, the playful drunken slur gone. His eyes were half-lidded, and his cheeks were flushed an even deeper shade of red. “Just… stay a second.”

You froze, realizing what he was asking. He was too embarrassed to say it outright, but you felt it—the evidence of just how much your little dare had affected him. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were grateful that the alcohol had dulled your own embarrassment, because you weren’t sure how you would have handled this sober.

“Okay,” you whispered back, settling back down on his lap, your own face heating up as you pretended not to notice. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers loosening their grip on your waist as he tried to compose himself.

The group was still laughing and joking around, too tipsy to notice the shift in atmosphere between the two of you. Wooyoung and Yeosang were loudly arguing over the next dare, giving you a brief moment of privacy. San’s eyes were locked onto yours, and you felt the tension between you like a live wire, humming with unsaid words and unspoken feelings.

When he finally took a deep breath and let you go, you stood up slowly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. San’s gaze lingered on you, soft and a little dazed, and you couldn’t help but smile nervously back at him before returning to your seat.

The game continued, but you could hardly focus. Every time you looked at San, you felt the lingering heat from where his hands had held you, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavily between you.

Later, as the night wound down and the group dispersed, you found yourself standing by the door, saying your goodbyes to the others. San approached you, his steps a little unsteady, his expression still warm and soft, but more serious now that the noise had died down.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice more sober than you expected. “I… had fun tonight.”

“Yeah,” you replied, the atmosphere between you suddenly shy, as if you were both too aware of what had just happened. “Me too.”

San hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before he looked back at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe… we should hang out. Just the two of us. Sometime.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, your smile widening. “I’d like that.”

[at0m-b0mb-baby]

The unspoken truth

viktor x mage!reader

| part of a series, angsty in this chapter but it will get better I promise

re-uploaded

part 2: (wip)

2.5k words

The dim glow of Hextech light flickered in Viktor’s workshop, painting the room in a soft, golden hue. You leaned against a workbench piled with scattered blueprints and tools, your gaze fixed on Viktor as he moved through the space. His cane tapped against the floor in an uneven rhythm, the sound mingling with the faint hum of machinery.

It was always mesmerizing to watch him work. His hands were steady and precise, moving with an almost mechanical efficiency. But tonight, something was different.

He seemed distracted.

You noticed the way his fingers lingered too long on the edges of the device he was repairing. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes flicked toward you every few minutes, only to dart back to his work when he caught you looking.

“Viktor?” you asked gently, breaking the silence.

He froze for a moment, his back to you. Then, he sighed and set the tool in his hand down with more care than usual. When he turned, his amber eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation in them—a rare sight. Viktor was a man of conviction, always sure of his thoughts, his words, his actions. But now, he looked… uncertain.

“Miláček,” he said softly, his voice laced with his thick accent, though it lacked its usual confidence. “There is something I must tell you.”

The way he said it made your heart tighten. You straightened, a faint hum of wild magic stirring under your skin in response to the unease settling in your chest. “What is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated again, his fingers curling around the head of his cane for support. “It is… difficult to say,” he admitted, his brows furrowing deeply. “But I have waited long enough. I owe you the truth.”

Your stomach churned, but you nodded, urging him to continue.

He exhaled sharply, like a man prepared to be shot. “I am dying.”

The words hit you like a physical force, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, you could only stare at him, waiting for some sign that he was joking, that this was some cruel misunderstanding. But Viktor didn’t look away. He held your gaze, his expression resigned and heavy with the weight of his admission.

“No…” you breathed, shaking your head. “No… you can’t you’re not-” She couldn’t even get her words out properly a stammering and stuttering mess.

“I am.” His voice was quiet, but firm. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I have known for some time. My condition… It has progressed beyond what science can repair.”

Tears stung your eyes as his words sunk in. You grabbed his hand, gripping it like he’s going to fade away, as. “Viktor,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw something you almost never saw in him—fear. “Because I did not want to burden you,” he admitted. “You are… everything to me. The thought of leaving you-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I could not bear with it.”

“Well, too late for that!” you snapped, though your voice cracked with emotion. “Viktor, you’re the one who’s dying, and you were worried about me? And please… please don’t call yourself a burden, you are nothing of the sort!.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Yes,” he said simply.

The raw honesty of his answer left you momentarily speechless.

But then, something shifted inside youaa surge of determination that burned hot and wild, like the magic in your veins. You stood straighter, letting go of his hand to wipe at your tears. “No,” you said firmly. “This isn’t over. I won’t let you just-just give up!”

His brow furrowed. “This is not something you can fix, miláček.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” you shot back. “If science can’t save you, then I’ll find something that can. Magic. I have read about ancient mages that can heal sickness. If they can do it, I can learn.”

He shook his head, his expression pained. “You cannot fix everything with magic, my love.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I can still try even if it’s the death of me.”

The next day, you ventured onward. Your path was set, even as doubt gnawed at you. If there was even the faintest hope of saving Viktor, you had to try. The thought of him—his soft voice calling you sweet names, his careful hands brushing yours in quiet moments, his unyielding determination to improve the world gave you the strength to leave. But it didn’t silence the fear that churned in your chest.

The ship was weathered and cramped, its crew brusque and disinterested in your presence. They ushered you into a small cabin that smelled of salt and mildew, barely large enough to hold the narrow bed and a rickety table pushed against the wall. The grime-streaked window offered little light, and the faint creak of the ship settling in the water was the only sound.

You dropped your bag onto the bed, your shoulders heavy. Your eyes caught on a small vase atop the table, holding what might once have been a bouquet of flowers. Their petals hung lifeless, browned and curled, the stems brittle and drooping over the rim.

Something about their frailty twisted in your chest.

You reached out, brushing a withered petal with your fingertips. It crumbled under your touch, scattering into tiny flakes.

Without thinking, your magic stirred. Purple light glimmered faintly around your hand, the energy coiling through your fingers like smoke. It flowed into the flowers, weaving through the decay and coaxing it away.

In moments, the transformation was complete. The bouquet stood tall and vibrant once more, soft pink peonies blooming as if they had just been plucked from a garden. The sight was beautiful, almost painfully so.

For a brief moment, you smiled. But the smile faltered as reality crashed back over you.

Your hand hovered above the flowers, trembling. “I can heal this,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I can heal flowers. I can mend scratches and cuts. I can close wounds.”

The words grew louder, tumbling from your lips faster than you could stop them.

“But I can’t fix him!”

The last word broke into a sob. You stumbled back, your knees hitting the edge of the bed as your breathing hitched. Tears blurred your vision as you pressed your hands to your face.

“Why? Why can’t I fix him?”

The question echoed in your mind, over and over, growing louder with each repetition. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, your chest heaving as the room seemed to tilt and blur around you.

Your magic flared uncontrollably, sparking from your fingers and racing through the air like wild lightning. The ship groaned beneath you, the wood trembling as though responding to your anguish. The table rattled, its legs scraping against the floor, and the window shattered outward with a deafening crash.

“Stop,” you whispered, clutching your head as the sound of your own voice became too much. “Stop. Stop. Stop!”

But it wouldn’t stop. The pressure in your chest built until it felt like you couldn’t breathe, the air clawing at your lungs but refusing to fill them. Your hands trembled violently, and your magic surged, making the room ripple with an unnatural hum.

“I can’t, I-….” you choked out, the words barely audible. “I can’t do this!”

Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, each one cutting through you like a knife. The pounding of your heartbeat filled your ears, drowning out the creaks and groans of the ship.

You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest and pressing your forehead against them. “Please,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure who you were begging—yourself, the universe, or some unknown force that might be listening. “Please, just let me breathe.”

The ship rocked violently beneath you, the waves slamming against its hull as if matching the storm inside you.

And then, finally, it stopped.

Your magic fizzled out, the purple light dissipating into nothingness. The shaking ceased, leaving the room eerily still. Shards of glass glittered on the floor, reflecting the dim light from the broken window.

You forced yourself to breathe—slow, measured breaths that felt like they scraped against raw wounds. The air was too thick, too heavy, but you forced it into your lungs anyway.

Tears still streamed down your face as you stared at the shattered window, the bouquet of flowers untouched amidst the wreckage.

“What good is this magic?” you whispered hoarsely, your voice shaking. “What good is it if I can’t save him?”

The words echoed in the silence, their weight sinking into your chest.

You crawled into the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself into a fetal position as the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you. The sound of the waves outside lulled you into an uneasy sleep, but even in your dreams, the pain of your helplessness lingered.

[joelsrose]

Good Neighbours: Chapter 1

NEW SERIES!!! i know yall are still waiting for the next chapter of guns and roses its still in the worksss

no warnings, slow burn - reader is 24, joel is in his mid 40s

The apartment was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses heavy against your chest. The space that had once been your sanctuary now feels cold and lifeless, stripped of everything that made it yours.

Boxes are stacked against the walls, their edges frayed from too much tape and too little care. The bare floors creak under your steps, each sound echoing like a reminder of how empty this place has become. Your eyes linger on the window by the fire escape, the view of the city you used to love now feeling distant, like it belongs to someone else entirely.

Chicago had been your dream. The bustling streets, the never-ending noise, the late nights at cramped bars with friends, and the early mornings at the publishing house, fueled by coffee and ambition. It was everything you’d wanted—until it wasn’t.

Your life here didn’t fall apart all at once; it unraveled slowly, piece by piece. The first crack was the breakup, a betrayal that still feels like a sucker punch every time you think about it. Three years with someone who looked you in the eye and lied. Someone who had the audacity to cheat on you with your ex-best friend.

That revelation shattered something deep inside you, leaving a hollow ache you couldn’t quite fill. You cried for weeks, the kind of crying that leaves your chest raw and your pillow soaked, until eventually, even your tears gave up. When that ended, it took more than just your relationship—it took the version of yourself who believed in happy endings.

Then came the job. Or rather, the lack of it. Months of feeling distracted and unsteady after the breakup led to a mistake on a project too big to recover from. You were let go with a sympathetic smile and a box of your things, the kind of professional pity that only makes the sting worse. With no savings to fall back on and no one to catch you, you were forced to face the one option you had left: starting over. Somewhere far away from all of this.

That’s how you ended up on the phone with Uncle Ray, the one steady, no-nonsense presence in your life. When he offered you a place to stay in Texas, you hesitated at first—what did you know about small towns, about fixing cars and country music and people who knew your name before you even introduced yourself?

But you didn’t have much of a choice. A fresh start sounded like the only thing that might save you from drowning in everything you’d lost.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You stood outside the airport, feeling entirely out of place as sweat clung to your skin. You hadn’t expected it to be this hot, the kind of heat that seemed to cling to you, making the air feel heavier.

Tugging at the hem of your shirt, you scrolled through your phone mindlessly, the notifications blurring together as you tried to distract yourself from the awkwardness of waiting. Then, you heard it—a low rumble that grew louder with every second, the unmistakable sound of a truck’s engine.

Looking up, you spotted it, an old Ford pickup that had seen better days but still rumbled along with purpose. Uncle Ray was behind the wheel, his grin wide as he pulled up to the curb. He climbed out, his arms open as he approached you.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted warmly, pulling you into a hug that smelled faintly of motor oil and aftershave. He felt solid, familiar, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax into it.

"Hey," you returned, your voice softer than you intended.

"You ready to head home?" he asked, leaning back to give you an appraising look.

Home. The word felt foreign, strange on your tongue, but you nodded anyway, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I’m ready."

The truck’s interior was worn and weathered, the seats cracked in places—a surprising sight considering Uncle Ray was a mechanic. Yet, it carried a charm all its own, a lived-in feel that spoke of countless miles and stories etched into every scuff and tear. As you settled in, pressing your back against the sun-warmed vinyl, Uncle Ray climbed in beside you, his fingers deftly adjusting the stubborn air conditioner until it rattled to life with a sigh.

The scenery outside was nothing like Chicago. Gone were the towering buildings and chaotic traffic, replaced by open stretches of land that seemed to go on forever. Fields of green, the occasional barn, and roads that seemed to shimmer under the weight of the heat. The town came into view slowly, a scattering of small businesses, a diner with a flickering neon sign, and houses spaced far enough apart to feel lonely.

You thought about the last time you’d seen Uncle Ray. Years ago, he’d taken you fishing on one of his rare visits up north. He’d been the same then—chill, a little chubby, always ready with a story that had you laughing until your stomach hurt.

"You holding up okay?" he asked, his eyes darting to you briefly as the truck slowed to take a turn.

"Yeah," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you finally reached his neighborhood, you leaned forward, taking it all in. The houses were modest but well-kept, each with a wide porch and a patch of green that looked as though it had been freshly mowed. Kids played on the sidewalks, their laughter echoing in the warm air. It was the kind of neighborhood where people probably knew everyone’s name and said hello every morning.

Uncle Ray pulled into the driveway of a double-story house with faded blue shutters and a swing on the front porch. The lawn was dotted with a few wildflowers.

"Here we are," Uncle Ray announced, cutting the engine. "Home sweet home."

You stepped out of the truck, the scent of freshly cut grass and something sweet—maybe honeysuckle—filling the air.

As you reached for the first overstuffed suitcase, your gaze drifted to the houses next door. Neatly trimmed lawns, colorful flowers in hanging baskets, and wide porches with rocking chairs. It was idyllic, picturesque even—a world away from Chicago's cramped apartments and noisy streets.

Your new neighbors.

It was strange being back in suburbia, where people probably waved over fences and borrowed sugar like a scene straight out of an old movie. In Chicago, you hardly saw the people next to you.

Sure, you’d hear them: the clattering of keys as they stumbled in after a late night, the thud of their running shoes as they left for an early workout. But no one lingered for niceties or exchanged cheerful "good mornings" like they probably did here.

You were lost in your thoughts, trying to reconcile this new reality, when you heard a low chuckle from the front of the truck. Uncle Ray was leaning against the hood, talking animatedly to someone.

His laughter carried easily in the warm, sticky air, a sound you’d always found comforting. Curious, you craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of who he was talking to.

That’s when you saw him.

He stood tall, broad shoulders casting a shadow that stretched over the gravel driveway. His hands rested on his hips in a way that made him look like he owned the space around him, completely at ease. He wore a plain t-shirt, faded from too many washes, stretched just enough to hint at the strength beneath.

His jeans hung low on his hips, worn at the knees, and scuffed boots completed the look. He wasn’t trying—God, he wasn’t even trying—but the way he carried himself made it hard to look away.

He had to be in his mid-40s, the faintest streaks of silver catching in his dark hair, but that only made him more handsome. Ruggedly so, in a way that felt deeply unfair.

"There she is," Uncle Ray called, catching you staring. He waved you forward, his grin wide. "C’mere, kiddo. Meet our neighbor."

Reluctantly, you abandoned your luggage and crossed the driveway. Every step felt heavier under Joel’s gaze—or Mr. Miller, as Uncle Ray had introduced him—but when you got closer, you noticed his eyes. Warm, earthy brown and piercing all at once, like he could see straight through you.

"This is my niece," Uncle Ray said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "She’s staying with me for a little while. And this here," he motioned toward the man, "is Mr. Miller. Lives right next door."

"Nice to meet you, darlin’," Joel said, his voice low and smooth, with a Southern drawl that seemed to settle into your bones.

Oh, right. The pet names. Sweetheart, honey, darlin’—you’d heard them at least fifteen times since your plane landed, each one dripping with charm. But coming from him, as his hand reached out to envelop yours in a firm, calloused grip, it felt different. Better. You liked it more than you cared to admit.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller," you replied, your voice softer than you intended. His hand was rough and large, making yours feel almost laughably small.

He shook his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Call me Joel, please. Mr. Miller makes me feel like I oughta be signing up for a retirement home."

You couldn’t help it; you laughed. A genuine laugh that bubbled out before you could stop it. He smiled at that, a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, but it was there. You noticed.

Uncle Ray, ever the social one, leaned in conspiratorially, a sly grin on his face. "Hey, Joel, how’s Sarah? She’s what—23 now? Same age as this one," he added, nudging you lightly with his elbow, as if you were part of some inside joke you hadn’t been let in on.

"I'm 24," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. For some reason, you thought it might make you sound more mature in front of the very much older man standing before you. Immediately, you regretted it—like he needed to know or cared about the one-year gap.

"Same difference," Uncle Ray said with a wave of his hand, completely unbothered.

But Joel raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through his dark eyes.

"She’s good," Joel said, "Working over at the diner, keeping herself busy."

You must have furrowed your brows because Joel caught it immediately. "Sarah’s my daughter," he said, clarifying before you had to ask.

"Oh," you said, feeling a little silly.

Of course, he had a family. He probably had a wife, too. Your gaze drifted toward his house, half-expecting to see her step outside—a vision of blonde hair and a warm, effortless smile. The kind of woman who bakes cookies from scratch, smells like vanilla and sunshine, and waves cheerfully to the neighbors. Maybe there was even a golden retriever named Benji, lounging inside on the couch, completing the perfect picture.

"I’d love to meet her," you offered, trying to mask the pang of disappointment you didn’t fully understand. "I don’t really know anyone here yet."

Plus, my ex-best friend kinda betrayed me by sleeping with my boyfriend, so I could really use some new friends, you thought bitterly, the memory flaring for a moment before you shoved it back down.

"Course, she'd love that" Joel replied easily, his tone warm. "Y’all are coming over tomorrow for the barbecue, right?"

"Course," Uncle Ray said, already moving toward the house as his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. "Wouldn’t miss it. Joel makes the best ribs in town," he called over his shoulder with a quick smile.

Then his expression shifted as he glanced at the screen. "Sorry, it’s work—I gotta take this," he muttered, answering the call with a distracted wave before disappearing inside.

And just like that, it was just you and Joel.

You stood there, awkward and unsure, while he seemed entirely at ease, hands still resting on his hips. He had a way about him—calm, confident, charismatic.

"You need help with your bags?" he asked, tilting his head toward the suitcases you’d abandoned.

"Oh," you blinked, realizing you’d completely forgotten about them. "No, I should be fine."

Joel’s gaze shifted to the two enormous suitcases that were clearly over the weight limit, and he raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a laugh. "You sure about that?"

Before you could protest, he was already moving, lifting one suitcase with ease and hoisting it into his arms like it weighed nothing. You couldn’t help but notice the way his bicep flexed, the fabric of his t-shirt pulling taut as he carried the weight effortlessly. It was distracting, the kind of subtle strength that you knew he wasn’t showing off—it was just there, in every deliberate movement.

"You pack bricks in here or somethin’?" he asked, his tone light and teasing, as he glanced back over his shoulder. That faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he’d caught you in the act of staring, though he didn’t say it outright.

Your cheeks burned instantly. "No, I just—uh, I guess I overpacked," you stammered, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

He chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head as he grabbed the second suitcase, hefting it just as effortlessly as the first. "Just teasin' darlin" he said simply, his voice steady, but something about the way he said it—calm and self-assured—left your stomach fluttering.

This was going to be a problem.

Your cheeks burned, and you hoped the heat of the day would mask the blush creeping across your face. "Thanks," you mumbled, biting back a smile.

He carried the second suitcase up the porch and set it down with a satisfied nod. "There. Easy enough." He turned back to you, his gaze holding yours for a second longer than necessary.

"Well," he said, his voice low and steady, "Welcome to Texas." Your name rolled off his tongue in that unmistakable drawl, each syllable slow and deliberate, like he was tasting it.

It settled in the air between you, making your knees feel just a little weaker, your chest tightening in a way that you refused to acknowledge.

You swore he gave you a once-over before he strode back toward his house, his boots crunching against the gravel. Just before he reached his door, he glanced over his shoulder and tipped his head.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and then he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart doing something entirely inconvenient in your chest.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

After dinner—a greasy but satisfying burger and fries from the local diner—you finally settled into your room. It was modest, with a bed tucked into the corner and walls painted a soft beige. A worn wooden dresser sat against one wall, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air from a small sachet tucked into the bedside drawer. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy enough.

What caught your attention, though, was the window. It faced the backyard, and as you peered out, you realized it looked straight into Joel’s. The same backyard you’d be standing in tomorrow night for the barbecue.

The space was neat, with a patio table and chairs under a faded umbrella, a small grill parked in the corner, and string lights dangling above. You could imagine it already—laughter, the smoky scent of ribs, and Joel moving easily through it all, a beer in hand and that rugged smile.

Shaking off the thought, you flopped back onto the bed, the mattress letting out a soft creak under your weight. With your phone in your hand you unlocked the screen and hesitated for a moment. Your fingers opened Instagram hovering over the search bar before typing: J-o-e-l M-i-l-l-e-r.

You weren’t a stalker—you told yourself that twice as you pressed search. You just wanted to know more about him. Maybe seeing his wife, his family, would yank your head out of the ridiculous fantasies that had started creeping in since the moment he’d carried your suitcase like it weighed nothing.

Nothing.

The results came up empty, just a scattering of people who were very obviously not the Joel Miller you were looking for. You sighed, biting your lip, and switched apps.

Facebook. He was older—he probably wasn’t on Instagram anyway.

Jackpot. There it was—a profile with a photo that looked like it had been taken years ago. Joel stood with a much younger girl, who you assumed was Sarah, all teeth and curly hair, her arms flung around his neck as he smiled faintly at the camera. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was sweet—simple. A glimpse of him you hadn’t expected.

You scrolled further, the glow of the screen lighting up your face in the dim room. There were more photos: Joel and Sarah on vacation by a lake, Joel in construction gear with a hard hat tucked under one arm, Joel standing next to what looked like an old truck, his hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder as she beamed up at him.

But there was no wife. No wedding photos, no anniversary posts, nothing to suggest she existed. Huh, you thought to yourself, your brow furrowing slightly.

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just private, or maybe…

You tried to push the thought from your mind, but it lingered, the possibilities swirling in your head far longer than you wanted to admit.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"You ready, kid?" Uncle Ray’s voice boomed from downstairs.

"Yeah, just one sec!" you called back, turning to the mirror one last time. You smoothed your hands over the fabric of the white halter dress you’d chosen, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It was simple, breezy—perfect for the Texas heat—but there was a part of you that wanted to look good. Not over the top, but enough to feel confident. Enough to catch someone’s attention.

As you descended the stairs, Uncle Ray was balancing a platter of meat and a case of beers, muttering something about forgetting the tongs.

"I’ll take these," you offered, grabbing the beers from him before he could protest.

"Thanks, kid," he said with a grateful smile.

The short walk to Joel’s house felt longer than it should have, anticipation bubbling under your skin. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. Maybe it was the thought of finally seeing inside Joel’s house, the place he lived.

Maybe even meeting his wife. If he has one, a voice in your head whispered, though you tried to ignore it.

Uncle Ray knocked on the door, the sound heavy against the wood. Moments later, Joel’s unmistakable voice called, "Comin’!"

When the door opened, your breath caught in your throat.

If it was possible for him to look even better than yesterday, somehow, he managed it. His hair was slightly tousled, damp at the edges, and there was a sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned skin—no doubt from working outside at the barbecue. He wore a faded gray t-shirt that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath and a pair of jeans.

Your gaze lingered a second too long, and as if sensing it, his eyes flicked to yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You swallowed subconsciously, the motion betraying you. He noticed.

"Ray," Joel greeted warmly, clapping your uncle on the back. "Just through there to the kitchen," he said, nodding toward the hallway for the meat Uncle Ray was carrying.

"Got it," your uncle replied, brushing past him and leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway, the beers still in your hands.

Why did you feel so out of place? Why were you so... flustered?

"Hey, sweetheart," Joel said, his voice dropping into that low, his arm leaning against the doorframe, his familiar drawl sending warmth cascading through you. He motioned to the beers in your arms. "These for me?"

It took you a second to process what he meant. "The beers?" you asked, dumbly, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

"Yeah," he said, amused, his lips curving into a faint grin. "The beers."

"Oh. Yeah," you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here, I’ll take ’em off your hands," he offered, stepping closer. As his fingers brushed yours, a spark zipped through you, quick and unbidden. You glanced up, catching his eyes just as they shifted—flickering down for the briefest moment.

That’s when you realized where he was looking. You followed his gaze instinctively, and your heart stuttered. The condensation from the beers had soaked into your dress, dampening the fabric over your chest. You could see the faint outline of your pink lace bra through the thin material.

Joel murmured something under his breath, so quiet you couldn’t make it out. His jaw tightened as his gaze snapped back to your face, his expression carefully neutral.

Your cheeks burned, your entire body flushing a deep crimson. But Joel—ever the gentleman—pretended not to notice. His eyes didn’t stray, not once. Instead, he made steady eye contact, his tone smooth and unaffected as he said, "Hey, come on in. You can meet Sarah. I’ll introduce you two."

He stepped back, holding the door open wider for you to enter. His voice remained calm, his movements composed, but there was a tension in his posture, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before.

You ducked your head, mumbling a quiet "thanks" as you stepped inside, the air-conditioned coolness of his house brushing against your overheated skin.

Joel’s voice followed you, steady but quieter now. "She’s out back helpin’ with the food. You’ll like her."

You nodded, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that Joel Miller had just seen far more of you than you’d intended—and that the way he handled it, with his quiet restraint and piercing eyes, somehow made it even worse. Or maybe better. You weren’t sure anymore.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ Sarah was incredible—her energy was infectious, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke made you feel like you’d known her for years. She had Joel's kind eyes and smile. Conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating every other sentence as you sat in the shade of the patio, the warm buzz of music and mingling voices filling the air.

"So, you moved from Chicago?" Sarah asked, taking a sip of her beer, her head tilted curiously. You nodded, but before you could answer, she grinned. "What gives? I’d do anything to get out of Texas, but I think my dad would have a heart attack if I tried."

You laughed softly at her playful tone, but inside, your heart clenched, the real reason for your move bubbling to the surface. The betrayal of the two people you had trusted most in the world—your boyfriend and your best friend—still stung like an open wound. For a moment, you thought about answering with one of the rehearsed lies you’d been telling people since it happened. Something casual, vague, easy.

But there was something in Sarah’s eyes—kindness that felt so effortless, so genuine—that made you hesitate. She wasn’t prying; she just seemed... safe. Your lip caught between your teeth as you glanced down, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"Well, uh, my boyfriend cheated on me," you said quietly, the weight of it easing slightly as you said it aloud. Sarah’s eyes widened, but before she could respond, you added, "With my best friend."

Her gasp was immediate, her beer nearly slipping from her hand as she leaned forward. "Oh my God. Are you serious? What fucking assholes!" she said, her voice sharp with indignation.

You managed a small, sad smile. "Yeah. So, uh, here I am, trying to figure out what to do with my life. Honestly, I don’t have a clue."

Sarah’s expression softened, and without hesitation, she reached over to rub your shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "Hey," she said firmly, "they’re both idiots for doing anything that got you out of their lives. I’ve known you for, like, an hour, and I can already tell how stupid that was."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading in your chest as the corners of your mouth lifted into a genuine smile. "You’re too sweet," you murmured, your voice soft but sincere.

"I’m serious," she insisted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if daring you to argue. "If they couldn’t see what they had, that’s on them, not you."

For the first time in a while, you felt something shift—just a little—a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you were in the right place to start over. "Thanks, Sarah," you said, meaning every word.

"Anytime," she said, raising her beer with a grin. "And hey, if you need someone to curse them out over the phone, just say the word. I’m really good at it."

You laughed, a sound that felt lighter than it had in months. "I’ll keep that in mind."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You sat by yourself now, nursing a drink as you watched the scene unfold around you. Sarah had disappeared into the kitchen to help with something, leaving you to take in the warm buzz of conversation and laughter that filled the air.

People were scattered in groups, mingling, sharing stories, and you couldn’t help but smile at how… nice it all felt. Like being part of a community, even if only for a little while.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you—the absence of a partner in Joel’s life. No photos, no affectionate glances exchanged with a woman across the yard, no lady hanging off his arm.

You’d been looking, admittedly more than you should have. And you’d noticed another thing, too: his left hand. Bare. No wedding ring, no tell-tale tan line suggesting one had been there recently.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement, and when you glanced up, Joel was walking toward you, his figure outlined by the afternoon sun. One hand lifted to shield his eyes from the glare as he stopped in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Hey," he said, his voice low but carrying easily over the noise around you.

"Hey," you replied, sitting up a little straighter.

"You havin’ fun?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze steady, like he genuinely wanted to know.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "Sarah’s the best. She’s been really great."

His lips twitched into a grin, one of those subtle ones that made you feel like you’d earned it. "I figured you two would hit it off."

There was a brief pause, a flicker of something in his eyes as he seemed to consider his next words. Finally, he nodded toward the grill. "Hey, you, uh… wanna help me out with the grill?"

"Oh," you said, caught off guard but smiling nonetheless. "Yeah, sure." You stood quickly, brushing your hands on your dress. "I don’t know how much help I’ll be, though."

"That’s alright," he said, already turning to walk back to the grill, his voice carrying a hint of teasing warmth. "I’ll teach ya."

You followed him, the scent of charcoal and smoked meat growing stronger as you approached. When you reached the grill, Joel handed you a pair of tongs, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he did.

"Alright," he said, stepping beside you, his shoulder close enough to brush yours if either of you moved even a little. "First rule: don’t flip ’em too much. Just let ’em sit there for a bit. You flip too early, you lose all the good stuff."

You nodded, gripping the tongs tightly. "Got it. No premature flipping."

He chuckled at that, low and warm. "Exactly." He reached over, his hand lightly covering yours to guide the tongs. "Here, like this. Just slide it under real careful, and then—" He helped you flip one of the ribs, his movements steady, deliberate, his voice low in your ear.

"See? Easy," he said, stepping back but not too far, his hand lingering on the edge of the grill.

"Sure, when you’re helping," you replied with a small laugh, turning to glance up at him.

"You’ll get the hang of it," he said, his eyes meeting yours for just a beat longer than necessary before he looked back at the grill. "Soon enough, you’ll be the one teachin’ me."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever reach your level of grill mastery."

"Mastery, huh?" he teased, his grin widening slightly. "You’re just sayin’ that ’cause you’re tryin’ to get on my good side."

"Didn’t realize you had a bad side," you said before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out light and teasing.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized how they sounded.

This was so not you—flirting? With Joel? .You immediately regretted it, your stomach twisting as you replayed the words in your head. You made it weird, you thought, biting the inside of your cheek. He probably thinks you’re a freak.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin softening into something quieter, almost contemplative. Then, as his gaze lingered, something shifted—something darker, deeper that wasn’t there before. His eyes traveled, not overtly, but enough to make you feel the heat of his attention, before they settled back on yours, steady and unreadable.

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of tone that felt like it carried a secret meant only for you. It was so quiet, so deliberate, that if the laughter and hum of conversation around you had been any louder, you might have missed it entirely.

Your breath caught for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty threading through your thoughts. Was he—? No, he couldn’t be. Could he? The weight of his gaze, the subtle shift in his demeanor, it all felt different now. Like the casual, teasing banter had taken a step into something else—something charged.

You blinked, trying to shake the thought as your heart gave a traitorous thump against your ribs. Joel’s expression shifted back to something lighter, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, almost amused smile, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Before you could say anything—ask, deflect, do something—Sarah’s voice called from the patio, pulling both of your gazes away. And just like that, the moment dissolved, leaving you standing there, wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The rest of the evening unfolded like a whirlwind. Sarah had pulled you into the fold of her hometown friends, introducing you to a group of easygoing, lively people who made you feel like you’d known them for years.

They shared stories of growing up in the small town, teasing one another in a way only lifelong friends could, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. It was lovely, and for a while, you let yourself forget everything that had driven you here.

You hadn’t seen Joel. Not since your brief moment at the grill. Uncle Ray had left earlier, muttering something about an emergency at the shop—a customer with car trouble that couldn’t wait until morning. He’d pressed the extra house key into your hand before he left, telling you to stay as long as you liked.

But now it was late, and most of the guests had filtered out. The once-lively backyard was quieter, the string lights casting soft, golden halos over the empty tables and half-finished drinks. You hugged Sarah goodbye at the door, a plate of leftovers in your hand that she’d practically begged you to take.

"Seriously, come over anytime," she said, squeezing you tightly. "It was so nice meeting you."

"You too," you replied, genuinely meaning it as you hugged her back.

As you pulled away, you glanced around one last time, hoping to spot Joel, but he was nowhere to be seen. You shifted the plate in your hand and opened the door, stepping out into the cooler night air. The distant chirp of crickets filled the quiet, and you felt the weight of the day settling into your shoulders.

"Leavin’ without sayin’ goodbye?" a familiar voice drawled, stopping you mid-step.

You turned sharply, startled, to see Joel leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and his gaze fixed on you. His shirt sleeves were rolled up slightly, and his hair was mussed like he’d run a hand through it more than once. The soft glow of the porch light caught the sharp line of his jaw as he tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"What, I work you too hard?" he teased, his voice low and laced with that easy humor that made your stomach flutter.

You let out a surprised laugh, adjusting the plate in your hand. "I didn’t know where you went," you said, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze.

"Had to clean up a bit," he replied, straightening from the doorframe. "Didn’t think you’d sneak out on me, though."

"I wasn’t sneaking," you countered, smiling despite yourself.

Joel’s smirk widened slightly, his eyes catching yours in a way that made your pulse skip. "Good," he said simply, stepping closer until he was just a little too near, the space between you shrinking in a way that felt intentional. He glanced at the plate in your hand. "Sarah guilt you into takin’ that?"

"Of course," you said with a small laugh. "I didn’t stand a chance."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, before his gaze flicked back to yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet night wrapping around you like a cocoon. His expression softened, the teasing edge fading just slightly as he said, "Glad you came, though."

The way he said it—low, steady, and deliberate—made something in your chest tighten. You nodded, your voice quieter now. "Me too."

You turned toward the driveway, ready to head home, when Joel cleared his throat behind you. "I’ll, uh, walk you home," he said, his voice calm but steady enough to make you stop in your tracks.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Joel, it’s like three steps," you pointed out, gesturing toward your house practically next door.

"I know," he replied, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "But here in Texas, us gentlemen protect our ladies."

Our ladies. The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been, and you felt a sudden warmth rush to your cheeks. You knew he didn’t mean it like that—not like you were his—but still the idea made your stomach flip all the same.

"Okay," you murmured, the word barely audible as you started walking, Joel falling into step beside you.

You both walked slowly, the kind of unhurried pace that almost felt like stalling. Joel’s hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his gaze flicking around the quiet neighborhood before landing back on you.

"So," he said, his voice easy but laced with curiosity, "how long you here for?"

You sighed softly, your fingers brushing the plate of leftovers Sarah had given you as you considered your answer. "I don’t know," you admitted, glancing at him briefly. "I’m here until I figure my shit out, pretty much."

Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful. The light from your porch illuminated the edges of his profile as he turned toward your house, his next words slipping out low and steady. "Well," he said, "let’s hope that takes a while, then."

Your breath hitched, his words landing like a soft knock against your chest. He said it so easily, so casually, but something about the way his voice dipped made it impossible to ignore. You felt the blush creeping up your neck, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Joel stopped just short of following you up, rocking back slightly on his heels. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the warmth in his gaze sent your heart into a full sprint.

"Good night," he said, his voice softer now, before turning on his heels. He walked away slowly, his hands still in his pockets, and you couldn’t help but watch him until he disappeared into the shadows of his own porch.

You stood there for a moment, breathless and still, your mind replaying his words on a loop. The weight of them lingered, warm and undeniable, leaving you leaning against your door long after the night had fully settled around you.

Tag List:

@pedritospunk @ickearmn

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 6.)

Summary: Things between you and Melissa are working out on their own complicated way. And you start to feel comfortable with your new life while questioning if the redhead really cares about you.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Melissa’s green eyes were fixated on you, a flicker of mischief dancing behind them as she studied your every movement. The intensity of her gaze was enough to make your heart race, a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. There was a quiet power in those eyes, a hypnotic pull that made the air around you heavy. A depth you could never quite comprehend, but it made you crave her in ways you didn’t think it was possible.

She wasn’t just looking at you; she was seeing you, all the parts of you that you never let anyone else touch. And in that moment, you realized she could always read you, knew exactly what was going on inside your head without a word from you. It was both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

“You’re too quiet, baby,” the redhead murmured, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your mound before pitching gently, making you flinch and moan in response. “What’s going on? Did Mommy left you speechless?”

The way she said everything was soft, different from the teasing and raw degradation that you grow used to and learned to enjoy it. But there was an edge to it—an urgency that tugged at something deep inside you. You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. Your mouth was dry, and you couldn’t seem to form the words that were desperate to escape.

The truth was still clawing at you, fighting to be heard. It wasn’t just about the way she touched you, or how her presence made everything else fade into the background. It was bigger than that. Melissa had become everything to you. She wasn’t just your sugar mommy anymore—she was your world, anchor, everything to you. And the realization hit you like a wave again, crashing over you, pulling you under before you even knew what was happening.

But you couldn’t say it to the older woman about your true feelings, not yet. Not when you were so wrapped up in her touch, in the way her eyes held you captive, in the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You couldn’t say it because it felt too real, too raw. Too dangerous.

You wanted to say it. God, how badly you wanted to say it. The words bubbled up in your throat, desperate to escape, to make themselves known to the one person who despite the conditions—made everything feel like it had meaning again. But every time you opened your mouth, they got stuck. You couldn’t do it. No. Not now.

Not when you were so consumed by her touch—the way her fingers brushed against your skin with a tenderness that left you breathless. The way her lips found yours moments earlier with quite intensity, her kisses both soft and demanding all at once. The way her eyes, those deep, searching eyes, seemed to hold you captive, drawing you in with every lingering glance.

The redhead had no idea of the depth of your feelings, of course. She had no idea how deeply you felt, how you burned for her in a way that scared you. She didn’t know that when she smiled at you, when she laughed, or when she looked at you with that unspoken understanding in her gaze, you were drowning in a sea of emotion you didn’t know how to navigate.

It wasn’t just the physical connection that had you tangled up. No. It was the way Melissa made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. It was the way her presence filled the space around you, making everything else fade into the background. It was the way she made you feel safe—vulnerable, even—but safe.

But how could you tell her? How could you admit to the intensity of what was growing inside of you when you weren’t even sure if she felt the same way?

Hell, you weren’t even sure if she saw you as anything more than a passing sugar baby, a warm body to fill her loneliness and blow off some steam when she needed it. The uncertainty gnawed at you like a hunger you couldn’t satisfy. You wondered—did she use you? Was this just another game to her, another brief entanglement to pass the time until she moved on to someone else? You had no way of knowing. She had never given you any reason to think otherwise, but the thought lingered, uninvited and persistent.

Sometimes you thought she might be just playing with you—testing boundaries, seeing how much you’d let her get away with. The Schemmenti woman wasn’t cruel, but she was careful, and her intentions remained shrouded in mystery. You couldn’t read her the way she seemed to read you, and that left you with an unsettling sense of insecurity. The fear that you were only a toy in her hands, a distraction when she needed one, and nothing more.

You promised to yourself that you would never ask. You would never confront her, never would ask for more that you were receiving because you were too terrified of the answer. Terrified of what it would mean if she told you that all of this—that connection, that spark, those moments that felt so real—was just something fleeting, a brief affair in the grand scheme of things.

Although, you couldn’t help but wish, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. That Melissa Schemmenti wasn’t just using you, that you meant something to her the way she meant everything to you.

The fear of the unknown gripped you, but the desire to be with her—to be more to her than a sugar baby—was stronger than the silence that kept you from speaking your truth. So you held it in, buried it deep where it couldn’t escape. Not yet. Not until you were sure she felt the same.

Because if you said it now, if you told her how much you needed her, how much you liked her, you might just break your own heart. The thoughts raced through your mind, a jumble of confusion, fear, and longing. Could you let yourself be vulnerable like this? Could you trust her with all the pieces of your heart you were so desperate to give, but terrified to lose?

But just as the question swirled in your head, you felt her right hand—warm, sure, and gentle—glide over your back, her fingers brushing the hooks of your purple lacy bra from the lingerie she bought you with an almost practiced ease. A shiver ran down your spine as her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, the sensation so intimate that it knocked every stray thought from your mind.

You hadn't even realized how close she’d gotten, how her arm stretched and reached towards your chest and squeezed your sensitive breasts, making your pink nipples harden at the contact.

“Fuck, Schemmenti,” you forced your eyes shut. You were suddenly hyper aware of every inch of her, of the way she touched the bud between her fingers, twisting and pinching.

There was no hiding from her. Not when Melissa was looking at you like this, her gaze stripping away every defense you’d ever built. Her other thumb from her left hand moved in lazy circles against your lower skin, her touch both teasing and commanding.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” she coaxed, leaning in closer until her lips brushed against your knee. “You know you can tell me anything. You’re mine now. I can feel it. Tell me, what’s going on?”

“I- nothing,” you stammered, breathing fast while covering your face with sweaty hands. “Just- keep going. Please, Mommy.”

Her green eyes locked onto yours, darker now, full of hunger. She moved lower again, her breath hot against your inner thighs. Then, with an ease that made your breath catch in your throat, she buried her face between your shaky legs that were already spread for the only Melissa Schemmenti, you couldn’t speak properly, couldn’t answer anything. Your heart thundered in your chest as her touch edged you closer to surrender. She tilted her head, auburn hair spilling over her shoulder like a cascade of silk, and lowered herself further between your thighs. Her swollen lips brushed your dripping folds as she parted them gently with her firm fingers.

You tried to form words, but all that came out was a broken stutter, your tone trembling. “M-Mel... I… I can’t… I c-can’t… I... oh, God.” The rest was lost in a breathless moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with the lightest touch.

“You’re drenched like a freakin’ waterfall, hun. That’s perfect ‘cause I’m ready to eat you out,” she purred, voice heavy with intent. You gasped, your body arching instinctively, craving more of her touch, craving her fingers inside you. But just as you thought you were going to lose yourself in her, just as her lips were about to press against your sweet pussy, the sound of something—or better, someone echoed through the entire room, loud and clear enough for both of you to hear.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Missy, sweetheart? It’s Pearl,” the voice of her longtime retired housekeeper and confidante echoed through the penthouse. “I need a moment of your time downstairs! It’s urgent.”

The sound reached further through the bedroom, breaking the moment entirely. You froze, heart racing in panic, your entire body tensing at the unexpected interruption. The thought of being caught in such a vulnerable position sent waves of embarrassment through you. You tried to cover yourself instinctively, pulling the blanket over your naked form as Melissa let out a frustrated curse under her breath.

The older woman gruffed, pushing herself off the messy bed with a frustrated sigh. “What the fuck,” she muttered, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She shot you an apologetic look, but it only made you feel more exposed. Your body was still trembling from the tension, and you could feel your face flushing with embarrassment.

“W-What if she comes in?” you prompted, the words slipping out with fear and vulnerability, your pulse still racing from the sudden interruption.

Melissa, still adjusting the collar of her shirt, glared toward the closed door, her brow furrowed in irritation. “She won’t,” she muttered firmly, smoothing the fabric of her trousers. She turned back toward you, and for a brief moment, her gaze softened.

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you watched her pull herself together, her every movement deliberate, trying to mask the way the tension hung in the air between you two.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice small, almost pleading.

“Yeah,” the redhead replied, her tone much steadier now. She wasn’t looking at you as she adjusted her sleeves, but you could see her lips press into a tight line, the frustration giving way to something else—a quiet possessiveness, like she was trying to calm you without admitting how much this was bothering her. She then stopped, turning to face you directly, her posture shifting.

“I’ll be right back,” she said softly, low but confident. She took a few steps toward you, pausing right in front of where you lay.

You looked up at her, the blanket still clutched to your chest, unsure of what she was going to do next. Olive eyes locked with yours, and she lowered herself just enough to be within arm’s reach. Without breaking her gaze, she cupped your chin gently, tilting your head back a little, her fingers cool against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” she commands, but it wasn’t harsh—just quiet, almost tender.

You blinked, your heart fluttering as her gaze intensified. There was something in the way she said it that made your body obey before your mind could question it. Your lips parted, and almost immediately, you felt her finger still wet with your scent slide past them, resting lightly against the inside of your mouth.

You stared up at her and whined, your wide eyes full of that familiar mix of longing and uncertainty, the sensation of her finger so close to you filling you with both warmth and vulnerability. And you couldn’t help but suck on her digits like it was your job.

“Good girl. It looks like someone has a oral fixation, good to know,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip before she pulled away, her expression softening ever so slightly. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary, as if memorizing the feel of you under her fingertips.

You kept quiet, processing Melissa’s features aching adoration. She let out a breath, almost like she was trying to steady herself before turning toward the door, but not before casting one last look over her shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, you exhaled a shaky breath, your heart still racing as you tried to compose yourself. The silence that followed was deafening, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something that neither of you had fully acknowledged yet.

In the stillness of the house, you heard the faint hum of voices coming from downstairs. Melissa and Pearl. Their voices were muffled, but you could make out the tension in their tone, the words they were whispering between themselves too faint to catch, but heavy with unspoken truths. You curled further into the bed, the sheets pulling tighter around you as you pressed your face into the pillow, trying to drown out the faint sounds.

The low rumble of a car engine, starting and then fading as it pulled away from the driveway, filled the air. Your hand tightened around the blanket as reality began to settle in. Melissa was gone. She promised to you that she would be back quickly. It wasn’t just the absence of her presence in the house—it was the absence of her warmth, her voice, the life she brought.

Minutes ago. The last time you had seen her, you had been so sure that nothing would have interrupted your almost tentative of sex.

But now, it was just you. And her sudden absence felt louder than anything. Frustrating, even.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Well, this is fantastic,” you muttered sarcastically to the empty room. “Who knew it could turn into this?” You buried your face in your hands, the ache in your chest growing. Your own bitterness mixed with the hollow space she left behind, and you couldn’t tell which hurt more—the nonchalant way she left, her absence or the way the world seemed to spin on without her.

You spent the next hours wandering through the redhead’s penthouse, marveling at the sheer opulence of it all. The sleek, modern furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, and the art that adorned the walls—it was all so far removed from your cramped, old dingy apartment.

Your eyes wide with awe, as your fingers brushed lightly against the polished wood and cold marble that adorned the space. The grandeur was overwhelming—a stark contrast to your own previous home, where cramped spaces and peeling wallpaper made up the bulk of your existence. The penthouse was like a dream, all glass windows that looked out over the city and surfaces that gleamed, untouched and pristine.

With a quiet sigh, you turned back to the bathroom, and that's when you noticed the tub—a massive marble thing that looked more like a small pool than anything you’d ever seen before. The sight of it made your heart flutter. You had to try it. The thought of the bubbling water pulling you in like a soothing embrace was more than enough to sway you. The whole penthouse felt like an oasis compared to the clutter and grime of your own place.

You moved closer to it, slowly running your fingers along the smooth marble edges. A bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside it, glinting in the soft light, its gold foil catching your eye like a beacon. It felt almost surreal—like something out of a movie.

You chuckled softly at yourself, half-laughing, half-giddy. The idea of indulging like this, something you’d never thought you’d do, felt like a small rebellion against everything in your life. You uncorked the champagne, the satisfying pop echoing in the bathroom. The bubbles inside danced like tiny stars, and you poured yourself a glass, the cool liquid an instant contrast to the humid heat of the water.

Slipping into the tub, the water engulfed you, its warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, relaxing every muscle in your body. You sank deeper, feeling the bubbles fizz around you, the steam rising and swirling in the air like a cloud. You took a deep breath, letting it all go, letting the warmth of the water take over and clear your mind of the mess of your life.

The glass of champagne rested comfortably in your hand as you leaned back, the tension that had built up over the past few weeks melting away. You could feel your body starting to relax—something you hadn’t been able to do for so long. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining yourself as someone new, someone who was leaving the dirty, cramped world of your apartment behind and live like this every day. The thought made you smile.

But that smell, the scent of old clothes, garbage, and the stagnant air of your apartment, still clung to you. You could almost taste it on your tongue, but it was fading away with each passing second. Here, in the luxurious warmth of the bath, you felt different. Clean. Free.

You took another sip of champagne and sighed, your thoughts drifting, your body swaying with the ripples of the water. This moment felt so far removed from the cluttered, stale reality that awaits you.

After your bath, you padded back to the main area, more specifically on the closet, wrapping yourself in one of Melissa’s robes. The fabric was luxuriously soft against your skin, and its scent—cigarettes, expensive perfume, and something distinctly her–wrapped around you like a quiet, fleeting embrace. You buried your face in the collar, inhaling deeply, feeling a pang of longing settle heavy in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the silence in the room, the penthouse too quiet without the older woman’s presence. Unable to resist, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you typed out a simple text.

Hey, are you okay? :(

It wasn’t long before the message buzzed back with a curt response.

Busy. Be home late.

You stared at the cold words for a moment, the disappointment settling in your gut, an unshakable knot of worry that twisted tighter with each passing second. You set the phone down, heading to her bedroom to lay on her expensive bed—not caring about going to the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling as the hours dragged on.

Finally, the front door creaked open well after nightfall. You heard the soft thud of her heels against the marble floor and got up, the sound stopping abruptly at the doorway. The rhythm of her footsteps—always so sure, so in control—was different tonight. More tired.

When she appeared in the doorway, she looked… broken. Her green eyes were red, streaked with the traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something unspoken. Melissa Schemmenti’s usually perfect, poised demeanor was replaced with something that felt more fragile, more human. She didn’t say a word, just kicked off her heels with a quiet sigh and padded into the room.

Her movements were slow, almost languid, as she stripped off her clothes, shedding her ‘armor’ piece by piece until she was left in nothing but a simple white shirt, the fabric loose against her skin. She didn’t even bother to look at you as or question about you being there without permission as she climbed into the bed.

The moment her cigarette touched her red lips and the first drag of smoke slid from between them, you could feel the tension in the air. It was as though she was trying to calm something inside her, and yet, it only made her seem more distant.

Still, the urge to be near Melissa was undeniable. You crossed the room with quiet steps, your heart racing, and sat beside her on the bed. You didn’t speak, unsure what to say, what to do. The silence between you was thick, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt… like a shared space of unvoiced understanding.

Melissa didn’t look at you, but after a long moment, her hand reached out—her fingers brushing against your wrist before wrapping gently around it. The gesture was so tender, so soft, that it sent a shiver down your soul.

Without saying anything, she pulled you down, guiding you to rest your head against her chest, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. You could hear her heartbeat, erratic at first, but gradually steadying as you settled into the crook of her shoulder. The heat of her skin, the softness of her shirt against your cheek—it was like being wrapped in a sanctuary.

The Italian redhead still didn’t speak, but her other hand came up to cradle your head, her fingers threading gently through your hair. You pressed a kiss to the side of her chest, right over her heart. The cigarette smoke lingered in the air, but it was no longer the thing that filled your senses. It was the warmth of her, the rise and fall of her breath, and the quiet, steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“Stay with me tonight. We talk more in the morning,” she whispered, barely above a breath. The words held so much weight, an invitation wrapped in vulnerability, as though she needed you more than she was willing to admit.

“Okay,” you nodded without hesitation, your lips brushing against her skin, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke all the things you couldn’t put into words.

Her arms tightened around you then, pulling you closer, her body against yours, as if she feared you might slip away if she let go. There was a tension in her, something coiled tight beneath the surface, but the longer you stayed there, the more it unraveled. She breathed in, deeply, and then out again, and you felt her begin to relax. The weight of her exhaustion settled deeper, her movements slowing until they stilled entirely.

You pressed another kiss to Melissa’s chest, lingering there, your lips warm against her skin, feeling the subtle shift of her breath as she started to drift. Her body melted into the bed, her grip on you loosening, and the space between you felt infinite—no longer heavy with the unspoken words of the night, but soft with the weight of shared silence.

Her breathing became slower, more even, and you knew that she was falling asleep, her body surrendering to the warmth and comfort of your touch.

You stayed there for a while, watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the steady rhythm that grounded you both. Your fingers lightly traced the outline of her shirt, brushing against her skin where it peeked out from the collar. Your lips found her chest again, a soft kiss that promised to stay as long as she needed.

And as she slept, curled around you, her warmth and presence surrounding you like a quiet haven, you knew you’d stay with her. No matter what happens.

[stellasdrafts]

Coffee & Confessions - Leon Kennedy

Summary: he regrets what he said. (RE2R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really- angst, thoughts of cheating if you squint (not on reader), forced proximity, no use of Y/N, reader’s features are not described but is briefly mentioned as female – self insert to your heart’s desire <3

Notes: Leon may be a bit OOC, still working on characterization. It’s a long one! Kinda let myself go. Hope you enjoy my first one shot! ~Stella

“Don’t you understand?! No! I’m sick of saying no to you!”

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

You’re not even processing Leon standing before you, panting and lingering in the weight of his words. Kind, soft-spoken Leon… Even he doesn’t know what came over him. It was a moment of irritation brought forward by an exhausting day, and a girl unfortunate enough to be standing in his line of fire. You hadn’t even realized you had been pushing his buttons. Sweet, sweet you – feeding into an innocent crush on the newest addition to the task force with soft greetings and warm smiles… You don’t recall when humble acceptances of coffee turned into apprehensive ones, then polite rejections.

Sure, maybe those cordial acts of service were your subtle way of flirting and making an impression upon the rookie, but you had never seen yourself as pushy. They were simple acts of kindness, special enough to make him notice that you were going out of your way, but simple enough to pass off as coworker decorum – or so you thought. You had even backed off to a certain degree after finding out that he had a girlfriend. Though, clinging to the selfish hope that maybe things wouldn’t work out between them. Leon isn’t like any man you’ve met before. He’s selfless, caring, funny… There was something about him that kept you hooked, despite your better judgement. He was a real find, and you couldn’t bring yourself to completely let go of him. The guilt ate up at your insides.

Your subtle relentlessness wore him down. Unbeknownst to you, he had been battling torn feelings of his own. He didn’t enjoy rejecting your coffee date offers – though you never used the word date. He’s a smart young man… perceptive. It was part of the job. He didn’t miss your longing stares, the purity of your smiles when directed toward him, and the way your warm fingertips lingered just a moment too long when you handed him paperwork and office supplies. That had grown to be his most used word around you: no. Not because he doesn’t want what you continuously offer, but because he is a faithful man. His relationship feels more like a duty at this point, much like processing perps that came in the station or filling out paperwork after an arrest. That love had lost its spark a long while ago. You on the other hand�� He had always found you to be a pleasant presence. There’s something about you that brings a glowing light into his life. A spark, brighter and more powerful than the one dimmed by the woman in his bed.

And now he has to watch as he snuffs out that spark from your eyes.

“R-Right… Okay.” You’re completely taken aback by the bite in his words. You step backwards, stiff as a statue. Your mouth gapes open and closes repeatedly. Never had you expected him to speak to you like that. Tears immediately well in your eyes. You look utterly heartbroken… Maybe you deserved it.

Leon is so caught up in his own tormenting feelings that the realization of having hurt you doesn’t really hit him until he sees the tears in your eyes. His expression drops from frustrated to shocked. This is the first time he’s seen you without your usual effortless smile – it’s the polar opposite of it. “Wait- That’s not-” the officer tries to say something, but the words catch in his throat, a war raging in his mind.

You lift your hands in surrender, still staggering back and blinking back tears. You raise the white flag at his counterattack. “N-No. I understand. I should… I should’ve stopped a long time ago,” your voice breaks.

Leon flinches. His heart clenches as he realizes just how badly he’s hurt you. You with your pure and loving intentions… A sickening feeling of guilt arises within him. His mouth opens and closes, so much like yours had just done. There’s a million thoughts racing through his mind, yet he can’t find the right words. His body yearns to reach out to you, to stop you from walking away and leaving this irreparable fracture between the two of you, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s so much he wants to say – anything, really, but he’s frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing again. Terrified to let the emotions swirling inside him take over.

You look away in a futile attempt to hide your crying, to salvage the last bit of your dignity. You quickly gather your things from your desk and messily dump them into your bag. You head for the door at a fast pace, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from this living nightmare. “Goodnight. See you… tomorrow.”

The man’s body jolts as he registers the slam of the door closing behind you, the sound ringing in his ears. The realization of what just happened hits him like a bus. He could have stopped you. He could have called out your name, said anything, tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched you trip over your words, watched you go. He just stood there and watched you take a part of his joy with you.

Tomorrow. He had to make things right with you.

But you don’t let him. Downright humiliated by last night’s incident, you pour all of your efforts into avoiding him. The day turns into the week, which turns into a month, which turns into ten. Ten months without speaking to Leon Kennedy beyond simple task updates at work. Maybe it was excessive, but you were plain embarrassed to talk to him, and when you felt slightly okay again, it felt too awkward and out of place to approach him after the hiatus.

Approaching him is what set him off in the first place, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing of yours. You realize perhaps you had been pushy, but what’s done is done. It felt bizarre to cut him out of your routine when your heart still yearns for him, despite the shame he’s caused you. Alas, you learned how to live without him: one less warm greeting as you enter the station, one less enchanting smile, one memorized coffee order stored in the back of your mind never to be ordered again.

Your vow of silence is successful these ten months until Chief Irons assigns the two of you to a dreaded stakeout. As if being stuck inside a cold car at night for who knows how long doesn’t sound like hell enough, you’ll have to do it with someone whom you can barely even look at. Wonderful.

The ride to your suspect’s house is as silent as a tomb. That combined with the cold of winter and the feeling of unease circulating around the small space – you both might as well be in one. You can’t say you’d mind being six feet under right about now. Leon parks a few houses down and across the street from the target. He turns off the engine, bathing you in complete silence now, save for your breaths and the occasional crumpling of your coats as you readjust your positions. It’s excruciating how aware you are of his icy eyes on you. You keep your eyes on the house because you’re frankly terrified of looking at him.

“Look out for any movement, particularly women, coming in and out of the house,” you softly remind him of your orders, hoping to entice him into turning his unwavering attention away from you.

“Noted,” he grunts, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “And how long are we supposed to keep watch for?”

Was he not listening while you were getting briefed? You sigh. “Until we see something interesting.”

He lets out a sigh of his own. “And if we don’t?”

“Until the sun comes up.”

This has to be a form of torture. Leon nods absentmindedly, his gaze shifting from you to the house and back. He can’t help but steal glances at you, his chest tightening as he notices how you go out of your way to avoid looking at him. He taps his fingers against the cold steering wheel in a slow, irregular rhythm as he tries his damnedest to keep his eyes on the house. “Guess this could take a while, huh?” he mumbles, his gaze slipping to you once more. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife, you’d need more of a fucking chainsaw.

You shouldn’t be this upset by it all… Everything happened almost a year ago. You’d both changed. Hell, he wasn’t even with his girlfriend anymore. In theory, you should both be able to behave normally – professionally. But that’s not the case. It’s so strange. You two used to be able to chat and joke around together. Now, neither of you could say ‘hello’ without feeling like you were treading on thin ice. Your heart aches at the thought that you drove him away, that you ruined things between the two of you. You suppose a dark, freezing car with nothing to entertain yourself but the mist of your own breath isn’t exactly great to keep up morale.

Once again unable to stand the silence, Leon hesitates before speaking. “You cold?” he asks quietly, catching on to how you hug your thin jacket tightly around your frame.

“No,” you lie.

But his sharp analytical eyes don’t miss your slight shivering. He can’t help but roll his eyes and let out a half-hearted huff. “Liar,” he mutters under his breath, careful to hide the slight fondness in his tone. This is so like you; brushing aside your comfort to appease those around you.

“Believe what you will.” You tuck your legs underneath you, hoping to maintain at least some of your body heat. You still can’t find it in you to look at him, settling for the perp’s house and his neighbours' holiday decorations.

The young officer’s lips twitch. Why couldn’t you just admit it? Was it really that hard for you to let him help? He sighs again. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll freeze in here. Take this,” he scolds, already unbuttoning his coat.

You shake your head when you notice what he’s doing in your peripheral. “That’s stupid. I already have a jacket. You won’t have one at all if you give me yours.”

He rolls his eyes again, his hands pausing on one of the buttons. “I’ve got a sweater on, I think I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of winter, that excuse of a jacket won’t keep anything warm.”

“I’d feel better if you kept it. It’s going to be a long night.” You clench your jaw.

It was almost infuriating, the lengths you would go to deny any kind of help. He scowls at you, but he can’t deny the fact that part of him craves the chance to take care of you. “I don’t care how you think you feel at the moment. You’re taking my jacket. It’s no good if my partner gets frostbite during the night and we have to call the stakeout off,” he rumbles, already pulling the jacket off his body.

“I don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

He bites back an amused smile and reaches over to drape the coat over your shoulders. You try to hide the immediate relief it brings – a blanket of his body heat. It smells like him too… his aftershave, you think. It makes your heart ache with memories of earlier this year. How you would’ve done anything for him. How you still would if it came down to the wire… He watches as you bury yourself in the material, practically being engulfed by the puffy thing. The sight alone makes his chest pang with emotion. Seeing you wearing his jacket – he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

“Let me know if you start getting cold,” you say quietly because you can't bring yourself to say thank you.

Leon nods quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deafening silence returns yet again. He struggles not to say anything. This is unbearable. Sitting in a silent car, with you a mere foot away, and he can’t even speak to you normally. It’s driving him crazy.

“God damn it, why can’t you just look at me?” he suddenly blurts out, breaking the silence.

Fuck. You knew this was coming. “Because we’re supposed to be keeping our eyes on the house.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know we have nothing to do but sit and watch the house for god knows how long. But you’d rather stare at the damn streetlight than talk to me or look at me for even a split second.”

That’s true. You think that seeing him – bewitching as ever even when you want to hate him – would break you. “I’m doing my job. I suggest you do yours.”

Leon clenches his jaw, annoyance flaring up inside him again. You are infuriating, acting aloof as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn’t bother you at all. “You’re being impossible, you know that?”

You hug his coat tighter around you, wanting it to swallow you whole right about now. “We’re coworkers. I wasn’t aware you expect me to be a certain way.”

The sight of you melting into his jacket just makes Leon’s heart clench painfully once more. He’s torn between your evident hurting, and cold words and attitude. “You’re twisting my words and you know it,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “We used to be more than coworkers.”

That’s it. You look. And dear god it’s a mistake because things are always more beautiful when you can’t have them. He’s everything you remember – everything you etched into memory all those months ago. If anything, he looks even more ethereal now as the streetlights and holiday lights reflect off the snow and onto his pale face.

“No, we weren’t. Because you never let us be, Leon.”

His heart tightens in his chest all over again as you finally look at him, his breath catching in his throat. It’s almost painful how beautiful you look in this moment. Sitting here in the car with him, wearing his jacket, with the soft glow of the outside lights illuminating the planes of your face. As much as he’d like to deny it, you are right. He is the reason for your coldness toward him now, so how could he possibly blame you for it?

“You really want to go there?” he asks softly, his eyes not leaving your face.

“No, but you seem to be pushing me there,” the hostility slips out.

“Because you’re not being honest. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

“You think you know better?”

“I think I know you.” He looks deep into your eyes. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me, but look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me and I’ll leave you be.”

You can’t. You couldn’t lie if you tried, not about this. You feel that bezoar of dread return to the pit of your stomach just thinking about cutting him out of your life completely. That’s about the last thing you want. “Why are you doing this? So you can humiliate me all over again?” Your whole demeanour softens, that naïve, lovestruck girl from ten months ago trying to claw her way out of the cage you banished her to.

He hates how hurt you look right now, all because of him. It breaks him. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know I did, but-”

“You raised your voice at me and told me you were sick of me. Not that you needed some time to yourself, not that you were having a bad day, not simply that you didn’t feel the same, but that I made you sick. Do you realize how fucking damaging that is, Leon?!”

He winces away from your outburst, his mind reeling at the memory of that night. It still makes him nauseous to think about it. He is ridden with guilt – has been for the past ten months. He takes a breath. “I didn’t say I was sick of you. I said I was sick of saying ‘no’ to you… Look, I know nothing I say can make up for speaking to you like that, but please… Just try and hear me out, okay?” He tries to reach for your hand gently, but you pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me or believe me for that matter. I just need to explain myself. You deserve at least that… It’s no excuse, but- but I was already stressed to my limit from things at home… And you-”

He sighs, looking dreamily into your eyes. “God, you made me feel. You made me feel so much that it scared me. I went to work and all I wanted to do was search for you in every room… You were so kind, so- so compassionate. I got attached and at some point, I started to feel guilty. I had my ex at home, but our relationship was rocky and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was like… like some emotional affair. I knew that wasn’t right – that it wasn’t fair to either of you, so I was stupid enough to think that distancing myself from you until I got my shit sorted out would be the lesser of evils… I was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hated rejecting you every time. I hated hurting you. A-And I guess it stressed me out so much that I just snapped…”

Tears glaze over your eyes. Do you believe him? You thought you were done crying over him. “H-How was I supposed to know what you felt- what you wanted?” You feel the warm tears slip down your cheeks.

He’s quick to lift a hand to wipe your tears. “You weren’t- You weren’t,” his voice is more delicate than you’ve ever heard it before. “That’s on me. That was my fault. You couldn’t have known,” he coos. “But I want you to know now…” You look up at him expectantly through wet lashes. “I want you to know that I wanted this. I wanted you. I still do.”

Your breath hitches. You’re surprised at how unsure you are about something which you thought you wanted more than anything. The hopeful part of you wants to trust him again – trust him with your heart. You remember how you thought of him before that night; gentle, caring, selfless… One mistake didn’t mean that that had changed. It’s not like you had never accidentally raised your voice at anyone before… A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Only he could lull out that old part of you, the one you had so carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

You open your mouth to scramble for an answer when the dark figure of a hooded man exits the suspect’s house. Leon follows your gaze.

“You got something?”

Making up your mind, you extend the hand that you had previously pulled from him. “Let’s go catch our guy, Kennedy.”

He takes it, his face lighting up. “I’ve got one condition.”

“What?” you ask confusedly. Your suspect was right there.

“In the morning, you let me buy you that coffee.”

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 8

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. This part does not contain texts! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1 | Part 9

The ride to her house was quiet.

Not the quiet that leaves you unsettled, no. It was the kind that fills the air with unspoken truths, with glances exchanged and withheld words that echoed louder than any sound could.

Their eyes met once, twice... more than that. Each time, his gaze lingered just a second longer than it should have. And hers? Hers did the same.

Simon pressed his hands together, squeezing them into fists so tight he could feel the strain in his knuckles. A faint tremor shot up his palm, almost like a jolt of electricity. His body betraying the control he worked so hard to keep.

Fucking nervous, aren’t you, Riley?

It shouldn’t be like this. None of it should be. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? A few women. A few beds. A few nights.

But why does this feel different?

Her. She was the difference.

There was something about her, something he couldn’t define, couldn’t pin down. Something that pulled him in and ripped apart every defense he’d built over decades. He couldn’t look at her too long without feeling that pull, couldn’t hear her laugh without that burn in his chest igniting again.

He let himself think, just for a second, about what came next. About what would happen when they stepped inside her house, when the air shifted from unspoken tension to something tangible, something raw.

Would she invite him in? Would she want him there? Want him the way he wanted her?

God, Riley, you’re acting like a fucking teenager.

But then, his thoughts veered into uncharted territory. Past the heat, past the urgency, to something softer. To the aftermath—their breaths slowing, the room cooling. To her lying beside him, her hair spilled out on the pillow, her hand reaching for his.

Would she ask him to stay?

Stay, Riley? You don’t stay.

But he wanted to. For the first time, the thought of leaving twisted something deep in his gut.

And then came the doubt, creeping in like it always did.

Was she really going to let him in? Did she really want him? A man like him—older, broken, scarred in ways she hadn’t even begun to see. Did she know what she was doing? Reaching out to someone like him?

Inadequate.

That’s what he was. A man inadequate to this. To her. To the way she made him feel.

But still, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it all.

The air was too sharp, biting against their skin as they stepped out of the Uber. It clung to them, sinking into the silence, as if the night itself held its breath.

She reached for her keys, fingers fumbling in a way that made her curse under her breath. He stood behind her, his boots scraping against the gravel.

When the car pulled away, the street swallowed them whole.

She stepped inside, the keys jingling in her hand as she flicked on the lights. Her heart was racing, an uncontrollable rhythm that almost drowned out the sound of her own voice.

And she left the door open.

Left it open for him.

"Aren’t you coming in?" Her voice carried through the space, louder than she intended, the kind of loud that tried to mask the nerves clawing at her chest.

The sound of her keys landing on the table followed, a small clatter against the quiet.

He stood there, unmoving, the cold air wrapping around him like a vice. Then, a step.

Another.

What the hell is happening to me?

His mind raced, a mess of contradictions and uncertainties. Why was he losing himself over this woman? This maddeningly young, unpredictable, vibrant woman? She was like nothing he should be tangled with—and yet here he was, walking into her space, letting her pull him in like a moth to a flame.

The smell hit him like a punch.

It wasn’t just her perfume or the faint traces of shampoo in her hair. It was her—her home. The clothes tossed carelessly on the couch. A coffee mug abandoned on the table, still half-full.

It was alive. Lived in. Hers.

She could feel his eyes on her. Heavy, focused, lingering on everything she did. The way she rushed to grab the coffee cup from the table and carried it to the kitchen. The way she shifted, half-heartedly trying to block his view of the pile of clothes on the couch with her body.

Her smile was awkward, forced, but fuck, it was endearing.

"So, uh, another cup? I have some wine. I mean, I like wine, not in an unhealthy way or anything, not like I drink every night. Well, okay, twice in front of you, but that’s not—"

"You get talkative when you’re drunk," he interrupted, his voice low, steady, like it always was. Then, softer, with the smallest hint of a smirk: "Or are you always this... bright?"

She froze, the word hanging in the air between them.

"Bright?" she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Is that just a polite way of calling me loud?"

He stepped closer, just a little, his eyes unyielding, pulling hers into his orbit.

"No," he said, shaking his head lightly. "I don’t like loud. But I like you, so you’re not loud."

Her lips parted slightly, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath she couldn’t quite take.

Oh, shit.

Hell.

Fuck.

Every curse word she could think of rattled in her mind, each one failing to capture the way her chest felt—full to the point of bursting. Like her heart was going to explode right there in front of him, leaving a ridiculous mess of butterflies and stupid little cartoon hearts scattered all over the room.

"Are you flirting with me just to escape that wine, huh?" she joked, her voice barely steady, a desperate attempt to lighten the air crackling between them.

And then he did it again. That thing he did.

His head tilted back just slightly, his eyes steady and sharp on hers, his lips pressing together before curling into that maddeningly subtle side-smile. Barely there, but enough to make her knees weak.

"Maybe not just for that."

Her brain short-circuited. Her heart stopped. Or sped up. Or maybe both. She couldn’t tell anymore.

"Second intentions now?" she managed, her voice climbing an octave as she fought to keep her composure.

Yes. That was good. Tease him. Keep the upper hand. Don’t you dare melt—

"Hm," he murmured, his voice deep, gravelly, dripping with that dangerous calm he carried so well. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to her lips. "And some more."

That was it.

That was the moment she died. Right there. Gone. End credits rolling. Goodbye.

Her breath caught in her throat, her body betraying her with a shiver she couldn’t suppress.

He saw it.

He felt it.

The way she melted right in front of him, her eyes wide and bright, her body leaning into the pull of him like gravity itself was shifting between them.

It did something to him.

No, she did something to him.

Something he couldn’t name, couldn’t control.

And for the first time in years—hell, maybe for the first time in his life—he let it happen.

His body surrendered, inch by inch, to the magnetic force pulling him toward her, and he didn’t care if it consumed him whole.

That little doubt from earlier—the lingering what’s next?—had died a long time ago.

It had evaporated the moment the wine settled in his system, the moment he became fully aware of how alone they were, how quiet the house was, how it was just him and her in this small, warm space.

It had died the moment he noticed her watching him like she was waiting for something. For him.

He took a step closer. Then another.

Her breathing quickened, and he saw it—the way she stilled, her body tense but not pulling back, her lips parting slightly as if the air between them had gotten too heavy.

She felt small. Like a little prey animal frozen under the shadow of a predator. Nervous, fidgety. But she wasn’t moving away.

"So you don’t want anything?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.

He tilted his head, studying her, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel it crawl down her spine.

"I do," he said, his voice low, deliberate.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "... A drink, I mean."

And then—oh god—he chuckled.

An actual laugh left his lips, soft and deep, rumbling through the space between them.

"No, sweetheart," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her brain short-circuited.

AGAIN.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Wait. Wait. She wasn’t ready. No, maybe she was. No, she wasn’t. Or was she?

"I—uh—excuse me for a moment," she stammered, her words coming too fast, too messy. "I just need to go—"

To go where?

To check if she’d shaved? To look in the mirror and see if she looked okay? To remember what underwear she’d put on?

None of that mattered because she wasn’t going anywhere.

His tall, broad frame moved closer, closing the space between them until he was just inches away.

His eyes—god, his eyes—were locked on her with an intensity that made her stomach flip, her knees weak.

"Wait," she blurted, her voice a rushed mess. "Was this the wine? Is this why you ‘don’t handle it well’?"

His lips quirked into a small, almost amused smile.

"That’s one way to say it."

Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded against her ribs as his presence wrapped around her like a second skin.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not when his entire body was leaning into hers, his heat, his scent, his everything pulling her under like a tide she didn’t want to escape.

Simon hadn't told her his age, not his story, not his intentions. Not even his last name.

He was a mystery, a locked box, and yet...

There was no rope to climb up here, no anchor to hold onto. There was just this. This big, electric, and intense thing that settled between them, threading through every stolen glance, every lingering moment of silence.

Waves of purple, waves of blue, crashing and coursing through her veins every time he stared at her. Every time his brows furrowed in thought, every time his lips made the slightest movement, like he was holding back a secret he refused to share.

And then, there it was again. Intense.

When his hand reached for hers, it wasn't what she'd expected. A man like him—so big, so strong, so stoic—shouldn’t have been capable of touching her like that.

Gentle. Purposeful.

His fingers curled around hers, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath until he looked down, where their hands met, like he couldn’t believe what he was doing either.

And yet, it didn’t feel like he wanted to pull away.

It hit her then—hard. That little (no, enormous) feeling in her chest, something stirring in the hollow point she hadn’t even realized existed.

It wasn’t his eyes or his lips or his body leaning closer that made her feel like she was coming undone.

It was this. Him holding her hand.

It was intense in a way sex wasn’t supposed to be. Intimate in a way it shouldn’t have been for someone who, she thought, just wanted a physical moment.

But it wasn’t just physical, was it?

It was something else. Something raw, unspoken, and terrifying. Something that made the hollow ache in her chest feel full for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Are you going to kiss me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges like a fragile thread.

Her eyes—wide, searching—locked onto his, meeting brown, the heat of her stare refusing to back down, though it screamed vulnerability.

Are you, Riley?

Want to kiss the girl, do you?

Want to feel her lips, want to know she wants it, too?

No.

No, that wasn’t it.

He didn’t just want to kiss her.

It was awful, this craving, this ache, this yearn that clawed at him from the inside. This primal need for more, for something deeper, something that wasn’t fleeting or shallow.

It wasn’t just her lips he wanted to taste.

It was her. All of her.

And not just tonight. Not just in the haze of wine and electric stares. No, this was worse than that.

It was the want for the start of something. For safety in her presence, for the kind of silence that wasn’t suffocating but soothing. For the comfort of knowing she was there, even in the quiet moments.

For a future.

The word alone twisted in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar.

His gaze traced her in silence, betraying him as it lingered on the curve of her smile, the slope of her shoulders, the tremble in her fingers as they hovered near her sides.

Her eyes. Her legs.

Her laugh, her touch, her very existence.

Everything about her was a piece of something bigger, something to pick apart, to examine, to memorize.

And it crushed him.

That want, that need, set a weight on his chest so deep, so dark, it made it hard to breathe.

So fucking terrifying.

Her question lingered in the air between them, but all he could do was look at her like she was something precious he couldn’t risk breaking.

"Simon?" she whispered, tilting her head just enough to pull him from his thoughts.

He blinked, his jaw tightening as he inhaled sharply, the weight pressing deeper.

His voice came out low, rough.

"I don’t think I can stop at just a kiss."

The start of something.

This was it.

She knew it.

Even if he tore her heart into a thousand jagged, unrecognizable pieces, she knew. She wouldn’t be able to forget the rasp in his voice, the distinct smell of his truck—a sharp mix of faint cigars and worn-in cologne. She wouldn’t stop turning her head every time she saw another man in a hoodie, a cap, or a face mask, hoping, wishing, aching for it to be him.

Simon Riley had intoxicated her life, his presence laced with something she couldn’t purge, no matter how hard she tried.

It wasn’t romantic; it was corrosive.

And God, she wanted more.

"Why would you even think about stopping?" she whispered, voice barely holding steady as her gaze dropped to their still-entwined hands.

His thumb moved in slow circles against her skin.

How could a man whose hands had likely done unspeakable things—taken lives, committed horrors she couldn’t begin to comprehend—touch her so gently?

"Few things come to mind," he muttered, his tone gruff, guarded, but his touch never faltered.

"But you're not telling me," she teased, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Fuck.

Fuuuck, Riley.

He didn’t know what to do with that smile. It was dangerous. It unraveled him, stripped him bare.

When she laughed. When she smiled. When she breathed.

When she looked at him with those eyes, wide and filled with something fragile and trusting that he didn’t fucking deserve.

"It’d be easier to disappear," he admitted softly, his voice dropping lower. The words weren’t meant for her ears, but they slipped out anyway, betraying him.

Her head tilted slightly, her brow furrowing as if to question him, but he stopped her with his next words.

"I’m not tellin’ you anything that might push ya away."

Because he felt it.

The sinking ship they were on. He felt every creak and groan, every crack in the hull as they both willingly dragged it underwater.

And the worst part?

She didn’t.

She hadn’t noticed the weight pulling them down. Not yet.

But he had. And instead of running, instead of diving overboard, he stayed.

Because he was no good. He’d never been any good.

And he wasn’t starting now.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, but I really wanted to post a new chapter heh. Whatever, I’m being exploited at work (kidding… well, maybe not… help).

TAG LIST: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98 @h0ney-mushroom @beelzebee @momowhoo @sheepdogchick3

[junedenim]

to say good night

sleep can happen anywhere

warnings: fluff, smut, blowie, piv, and raspberries

word count: 3.6k

You watched him make the bed. He was always slow and careful with this kind of thing. It was rhythmic, second nature to tuck the duvet under the mattress and fluff the pillows just right. It was weird for a man to be so careful after sex. The sheets had been a mess covered in each of you. He still spills out of you now, trapped by your underwear. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself but got trapped in the doorway watching this meticulous routine as he changed the navy blue sheets to baby blue ones. You wonder if he has any different coloured sheets or if they are all blue.

He's fixing the nightstand now. His alarm clock that your hand pushed off when he was going down on you. His spine curves, little rivets showing through the skin of his bare back. You get to drag your hand down it tonight when you lie side by side and go to bed with one another. Not just fucking bed but sleeping bed.

And he's so lovely. You're not sure you've ever seen something, especially a man so lovely as he sits down on the bed to fix the time on the clock. His eyes shine back at the glaring red digits. Your hand curls around the doorframe, trying not to give yourself away to him. He's so cautious when he knows he's being watched, but here, he's loose, uncaring, and serene, so serene.

His hair is a fluff mess. One that swirls and makes cascading waterfalls as it tries to fall forward on his face. He slightly jumps at the beeping noise the clock makes and a giggle escapes you, impossible to hold back at his cute, jolting, meticulous, lovely, serene self. No hand covering your mouth hides the giggle. His eyes snap up with the fear he's been caught out like you've accidentally caught him masturbating in his childhood bedroom, not fully grown fixing his alarm clock.

But then he releases, not everything, but just enough to lightly chuckle. "You snooping on me?"

Part of you wants to shrink behind the bathroom door and hide but his laughter is solaceful. "I'm just going to the bathroom," you say as you slowly shut the door.

He laughs, this time more boisterous. It's easy for him to let go when he's making fun of you. "Uh-huh, yeah, right."

"I swear!" You yell back through the closed door as you drop your panties and wipe him out of you (disgusting but not and that almost disgusts you more about how you can be so affected by a person that you start to cherish their semen) and dispose of it. Your cheeks are flushed red in the mirror and you splash water to temper the fire burning its way out.

Exiting the bathroom, he stands by the dresser having covered that gracious bare back with a T-shirt. It makes you want to yell at him for the crime he's committed. It was horrible that he covered his butt with his boxers but this. "Why'd you put a shirt on?"

Alex once again jumps at a surprising sound. He turns around and smirks. "Why'd you put a shirt on?" He counters.

Fair. But it's his shirt and your underwear, isn't that what most guys find sexy? He's in his pajamas, very cutely, but five minutes ago he was coming inside you so a tad more explicit behaviour tonight shouldn't be out of the question. So, if he needs something from you then you'll trail your hands down the shirt, fiddle with the bottom—teasing, of course—and take the garment off, dropping it at his feet as an offering.

His lust-filled eyes work as encouragement, straying you from an insecurity. His hands move from his side and meet the bottom of his shirt. He's slow, much more than you were. You ripped the Band-Aid off, and he's easing it slowly away from the skin. He nearly gets trapped in its collar and has to twist his head back and forth to withdraw from it. Then, he tosses it at your feet, a slight chuckle of embarrassment rippling through him. "Now get in bed," he tells you.

You look toward the pristine sight, something off of HGTV or an Ikea catalogue. "But I don't want to ruin it," you candidly reply. It even has one of those small useless pillows sitting there for merely display purposes.

He walks toward you. "Get in bed," he says with a smirk. He pats your ass giving a light squeeze to your right ass cheek before heading into the bathroom. You look behind you at the closed bathroom door and inch your way to the bed, carefully taking off the small useless pillow. You pull back the duvet and slide into the sea of blue and then you wait.

You see the light spilling out from the bottom crack of the bathroom door. You hear him turn on the sink, the sound of him brushing his teeth. The water shuts off but he doesn't come out immediately. He takes his time and you wish you could peek in on whatever he's doing. Washing his hands, styling his hair, psyching himself up in the mirror, whatever it may be you want to be witness to it.

The door clicks open and he walks out, making his way to the bed and under the covers. He pulls the blankets over both of you and moves close by means of huddling for warmth. Your nipples rub against the blanket, shielding them from his view, but not his imagination. "Are you cold?" He asks.

You shake your head but tighten your hold on the blanket. You are a little cold but mostly nervous, just a tad. He nods and you can see the hesitance spilling from him. There's something intimate about sex but in comparison to this, it's nothing. The personal laying of your figures side-by-side. Your boobs are exposed and his chest is so close your palm can almost touch it. Instead, you two sit in silence, scared to be the first to speak because it's the first time you've done this with each other. 

Because it's not just spending the night or a hook-up, it's something far greater that you can't name. Something you want to work so badly it could kill you. Because he's looking at you like that: eyes warm and shiny, perfect for falling into. Him. Him. Because he's right up against you without touching you and now you have to relinquish yourself to him in a far more vulnerable way than sex. But the idea of falling asleep in his arms seems so nice that you can't bear any distance, even if it is small. 

"Do you always make the bed like that?" You ask him. You relax down into the pillow, turning onto your side to face him more clearly.

His smile grows warmer and it makes your insides feel less cold. "No. I'm neat but I'm not that neat."

"Why'd you do it that way then? Special occasion?" You smile back knowingly. He's always been one for silent gestures. Only the little things you notice way down the line. The little things you know now and the ones you have yet to discover.

He blushes, turning bashfully away from you. "Maybe. Yeah. Thought I'd make it look more homely."

You giggle, not because it's very funny, but because he's very charming. Enough to make any girl giddy. "It looked more like a display room to me but it was very pretty to watch."

Alex turns onto his side now, smirking in such a delight that it pierces through you. "Yeah. And you like to do that stalking thing?"

You bite your lip from mild embarrassment and in an attempt to hide to smile he's forcing increasingly on your face. "You're very cute to watch. I'm sure you know that."

"Well..." He trails off but his hand moves under the covers, landing on the curve of your side, just under your ribs. He's delicate, not trying to make a big deal out of it, the same with everything he does. But you notice. It's hard not to notice that warm touch.

"I don't even think I made my bed this morning," you tell him. Not that it matters much when you're lying in his.

He chuckles and gradually leans closer and closer. "I like to be organized." That's plenty nice under these nice sheets but his lips are far greater as he comes toward yours. He hovers before latching on. It's a smooth grip, nothing harsh as you lock lips. Everything about it flows.

His hand moves up your figure, his thumb lightly caressing the bottom of your boob. Your hand steadies on his shoulder. He feels firm as your hand grazes down his arm before shifting over to his chest, feeling him beneath your hand.

The kissing becomes harsher, not aggressive, but determined passion from both sides. You were drawn together and it felt impossible to ignore, even as things became more rushed. You rolled over and he followed with his body on top. His hand massaged your side and your bodies smushed together, your boobs stuck in between each other in that small space.

"You just changed the sheets," you mumble in the chaos of attached lips.

His lips strayed, moving down from your lips, kissing your chin, and down the column of your neck on that tender part of your throat. "Fuck that. I don't care," Alex kissed into your skin. He paid tribute to your right collarbone, briefly sticking out his tongue and running a line across it. He kissed your shoulder and moved down further to your breasts. 

He licks his way to the nipple, already sensitive from the cold and rubbing up against him. Suddenly, he makes a loud smooching noise and blows a raspberry on it. It's ticklish, erupting impossible to avoid laughter as you push his head away from the affected spot.

"Stop it," you manage to get out. "So much for being sensual."

Alex kisses one of your ribs like it's him and it may be what created you. "I never promised sensuality."

"I thought you making out with my breasts implied that." He laughs and kisses the untouched boob. His lips hover like he's threatening to do it to the other one. "I'll leave if you do it again. What if someone did that to your dick?"

He thinks about it, tossing his head back and forth. "It'd probably feel good." His eyes look away like he’s imagining the pleasure.

Your hands reached down, snaking in between your two bodies. You grab a hold of the waistband of his boxers, snapping it against his skin. "You want to bet?" You push him onto his back, gazing down at him.

"You don't know men very well if you think the threat of a blowjob is gonna scare them off."

Still, you descend him. Your fingers dance on his hip bone. He delightfully protrudes onto you. He conflicts with himself whether to revel in the feeling with his head on the pillow or watch you as you tease him. His eyes remain on you as your pointer finger grasps onto the elastic of his boxers. Edging him in anticipation. A dance between the dainty and the robust. 

You send him a mocking grin, displaying your teeth, latching onto that waistband, dragging it slowly, revealing the bottom portion of his stomach before stopping. You kissed the newly exposed skin as he sucks in a breath like he hasn't taken one in minutes. You press your face into him. Your nose inhaling him into you, the smell of him plain, only a simple bar of soap has passed this area. Yet, however plain, it calms you. You wish to rest your head here for a little while, maybe fall asleep here because he isn't restless here. This is where things calm.

You resume. Your hands drift further down, dipping into his boxers, giving a slight touch to him. Your hands are cold against the warm skin. It might turn him on even more. Finally, you pull his boxers down fully, letting his erection pop out on display. Your hand grabs a hold of it. He shivers from the cold, anticipation, and the soon-to-be relief.

You hold him carefully in your hand like you're observing him scientifically. You need to cover every surface with your eyes, every vein needs to be noted, and the way he twitches should be put in the records. "Come on," he just barely mutters.

It's the complete opposite from earlier when he was quick with you. When you were messy with each other. When alarm clocks were pushed on the floor and sheets were left with no choice but to wash. You're careful now, if not, torturous. Alas, you lick up the side of him to the tip. Your tongue grazes over the slit, enjoying the way it makes him stiff. 

You seal a kiss on it before your mouth covers the top of him. You suck on him, pleasurable for both him and you. Then, you blow a raspberry on him. You wish to capture the way he wiggles around and groans but you're too busy laughing at him. "How was that?"

Alex brings a hand to his head. He rubs his fingers between his eyebrows to calm that distress in him. "Not very sensual." You share a laugh before taking him off guard with how quickly you return to the task at (or in your) hand. 

You stroke him, moving the salvia from the top down to lubricate the bottom. Your mouth covers him again, but this time takes him fully in a slow controlled manner. The pressure pushes against your throat as your nose rubs that spot on his stomach again. You pull yourself off, wiping the string of spit that connects you. Your hand continues its work as you kiss his hip, then the top of his thigh, then his pelvis, then his penis.

His hand stops you from taking him completely in your mouth again. "Get on me."

"What?" You question.

"Let me fuck you again." He's almost begging, his eyes fluttering shut and his grasp on your upper arm strengthening. "Please."

"What about the bed?" It was so nice moments ago but the blankets have been thrown and the sheets exposed, a trace of your spit already covering them.

He shakes his head on the pillow, trying not to lose the moment. He pinches that glabella. "Let's just fuck on the fucking floor."

You hesitate on the bed but he's quick, already has his knees pressed on the cold wood floors. He reaches a hand up to you, which you take, kicking your feet out and meeting him on the floor. "I'm gonna get a splinter from this."

He laughs, placing his hands on your waist, his thumb stroking up and down. "How do you want to do this?" He doesn't hesitate, dragging your panties off as soon as he can.

"I don't know. It was your idea. Just fuck me, I guess."

"Okay," he mutters like he's still trying to figure it out himself. He looks around, trying to place the space on the floor, and then kisses you, overpowering you. You're on your back, your shoulders grazing the floor's rug. You could start a fire with the way your skin brushes against it. You clutch his neck to grasp on something desperately as he moves himself through your folds, soaked up in you.

Now, it's sensual as he eases slowly into you. It's barely anything but then it's barely nothing. Everything is touched and you were just like this less than an hour ago but it already feels different. The way his eyes land on you is much softer and his touch is caring. There's no rushing, roughness, or scratching. It's tender, graceful, and clutching. He's powering but not overtly. His hips snap but not aggressively.

It's fulfilling. He kisses every nerve ending in you. It's making love in all those stupid, cheesy, romance movie kind of ways but it's him and it's you, something yet to fully be explored and you get to be a first-hand witness to every touch he lands on you. His thumb strokes you so carefully but it lights you up completely. 

You arch up into him and you know he's much closer than you are, so, you reach up and smooth your hand over his cheek before wrapping your arm around his neck. You whisper into his ear for him to let go and give himself over to you. It's late and tiring, it's like falling asleep in each other's arms as he lets go into you.

Everything in him is sensitive. He shudders as everything comes over him. He buries his head into your neck, rubbing his nose against your jugular. Your hand runs through his hair as he groans the last bits of relief into your skin. It's content. Your heart rates settle against one another as if you're beating in time with one another. 

Alex starts to move again, even slower than before, but he's not willing to let this go. He doesn't like it just being about him. He doesn't like all that attention. So, he gives it, gives it all over, fucking you with the remnants of him still inside you. 

His overstimulation settles as he begins to rush forward. The thumb stroking picks up right over your clit and it's cold hands on warm flesh. It's so divine, an enhancement. It's not just a regular touch, it's an imprint as the cold seeps into you and he drives himself into you. He groans and you moan but it's all whispers for just one another. No soul will ever hear each other this way because it's never been like this before and you're not sure it will ever be like this again, even with him. It's a sliver of time for just the two of you.

Each of your breathing grows heavy and your hips lift. It all moves quicker and you can feel the rug burn forming on your skin as you come. It overrides anything. You clutch onto him in any way possible. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, him still sitting inside you. It's a release. Completely. 

When everything relaxes just enough, your grasp loosens and he rolls beside you onto his back. You tilt your head slightly up to look at his profile, even with barely any light in the room it's scenic. It's like looking out at the ocean from the cliff. 

He has steadied himself when he turns his head over to meet your eyes. "Good?" It could mean a number of things. If you're okay, if the sex was okay, if you're alright staying here on the floor forever.

Either way, you are. "Good," you answer in the affirmative. You reach out to him, pushing his hair back so you can get the best view of his eyes. "You?"

Alex nods. His eyes are obviously tired, fluttering with the wind. "We should get back in bed."

"Or stay here for a minute more," you suggest because the moment will be gone, ending forever, the second you stand up from this small cocoon of space.

He doesn't reject the idea. His body is so relaxed against the wood. "When I was younger," he tells you, "I used to sleep on the floor because I was scared of my bed."

It's a privilege to know these small stories about him. To run your fingers through his hair as he tells you a childhood story that has him smiling. "Why?" You ask.

Alex shifts closer, his arm landing over your waist. He tugs you closer to him as if he wants to absorb you, live in one body with you. It almost feels like that in this small space where your breaths duel one another. "I don't know. It was my first big kid bed. I think I thought monsters lived in there."

You squint. "So you slept closer to where they lived under your bed?"

He chuckles and gives a light squeeze to your side. "I was four, I had no logic."

You recall, "I used to just sleep in my parents' room. Might've caused their divorce." Your hand drifts away from his hair and down to his back, at long last rubbing down his spine, feeling those notches in him. If he sleeps on his stomach, you might wake him up tomorrow by kissing your way down those vertebrae.

"Why?" He questions just like you.

"They could never have sex 'cause I was in there all the time." There's laughter shared, an increased amount, maybe because you just had sex and you'll have plenty more sex but for now you'll lie here. You want to squeeze him in between your fingers, pinch a piece off of him, and carry it around with you in your bag, in your pocket, in your skin.

His hand moves to your back, moving along your spine, massaging the muscles around it. "I walked in on them once. I think I'll take your side of things," he said. He pulled a disgusted face before dusting a smile. "I thought they were wrestling."

Your laughter is loud, infectious and it makes him laugh too and you'll get up off the floor at some point but for now, you'd like to stay here in a world with just the two of you.

*

a/n: i like this one. maybe because i was more relaxed when i wrote it. excuse yet another 'perfect sense' title, it just fits so well. thanks, bye.

[sixerstanley]

Sealed With a Kiss - Teen Stancest ficlet

Hey all! I'm here with a bit of an appetizer, if you will, for a fic I've been thinking about for a while. The stans are 16/17 in this. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think as I still have to work on the entire fic.

After Carla criticizes Stan's kissing, Ford offers to help him practice.

~~~~~~

“Ya sure ya still wanna do this, Sixer?”

Truthfully, Ford feels like he’s about to pass out—either that or puke. He isn’t used to this, isn’t used to sitting so close to Stan, not like this—not with him on Stan’s bottom bunk sitting cross-legged and Stan inches apart, their feet touching, and Moses, Ford can feel Stan’s breaths as he glances at his lips—

“Ford?”

He drags his gaze from Stan’s lips, back up to his eyes. They’re blown wide with…something, but Ford can’t exactly tell what.

“Uh…s-sorry,” he stumbles out, trying to shake himself out of it. “We can—we can still—”

A hand touches him gently, stopping the words from coming out of his mouth. Ford looks down at Stan’s hand intertwining with his own.

They fit perfectly, like they always did.

“Hey,” Stan says, voice quiet and serious, which is a bit odd to hear from him. “If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No,” Ford blurts out immediately. Stan's eyes grow a bit wider and he realizes his mistake, feeling his face burn up. 

“Uh…I just mean…” he trails off before taking a deep breath. He looks directly back at Stan with a newfound determination. 

“It’ll be a good thing for both of us. We can practice with each other and get ready for the real thing.”

Stan stares at him for a moment, Ford watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

It’s hypnotizing.

Then Stan is nodding. “Yeah. Sure, yeah. That makes a lotta sense.” He glances down at Ford’s lips for a split second, and Ford is really starting to question if he’s going to be able to do this without blowing his cover. “But to be fair, it’s not like I ain’t got the experience,” Stan says lowly, a teasing tilt to it.

Ford rolls his eyes. “Sure, but Carla still complained about it.”

“Hey. Watch it. At least I don’t need a robot.”

“You said you weren’t going to bring that up.”

“I say a lot of things.”

“Hey,” Ford starts, a significant weight to his words. “Are you sure you still want to do this? We don’t have to.”

Stan swallows again glancing down at Ford’s lips briefly. He tries not to stare at his throat again.

He fails.

“Nah,” Stan eventually drawls, although there’s an unusual bit of shakiness to it. “Like ya said, this will only make us better at it, y’know? It was a good idea of yours.”

An idea I had with no ulterior motives whatsoever, a small voice inside Ford’s head says. He internally tells it to shut up.

There’s a moment of silence before Stan leans in closer to Ford’s space. He feels his heartbeat start to increase like crazy, and he attempts to steady his breath. 

Stan places both of his hands on either side of Ford on the bed, crowding him. 

This is how I die. A heart attack from kissing my own twin brother.

“C’mon, Poindexter,” Stan murmurs, his voice soft and barely louder than a whisper. It sends shivers down Ford’s spine. “Show me what ya got.”

Now it’s Ford’s turn to swallow. 

He inhales deeply before he moves his shaky hands towards Stan’s face, cradling his jaw with his fingers at the back of his head.

He tries not to think about how good this feels so far even though they haven’t even started, tries not to think about how right it feels to be touching Stan like this, but it’s wrong, he shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t feel this way about his own brother, he’s nothing but a disgusting little freak—

“Hey,” Stan’s voice interrupts the foggy cloud of thoughts in his head. It’s soothing, and calming in a comforting, familiar way. 

“Hey, hey,” Stan says again, moving one of his hands to Ford’s side, holding him. Ford tries not to jump at the sudden touch. “Relax,” Stan croons, lifting his other hand to Ford’s cheek.

And it really should be bad how grounding that is. How, at this moment, it truly feels like it’s just the two of them in the entire world.

“Relax,” Stan whispers this time, stroking Ford’s cheek with his thumb, and what can he possibly do other than positively melt under his touch?

He gazes directly into Stan’s dark eyes, and immediately, Ford knows this is it. This is the last moment he has to back out, to say no to this, and call it off without any permanent damage. 

This is the last moment he has before he finds out how Stanley kisses.

Every rational part of his mind is screaming at him, telling him to turn back now, but he realizes this could be his only chance to kiss the person he’s been in love with his entire life.

Any last bit of his resolve absolutely crumbles when Stan licks his lips, making them shiny and wet, and Ford leans in, finally pressing his lips to Stan’s.

He’s hesitant at first, not too sure what to do, but then Stan’s arms fully wrap around him, around his body, and his lips part a little bit and oh.

Ford can’t even bring it within himself to feel embarrassed about the small little whine that escapes him when Stan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip, he needs more, he needs more, he needs Stan—

Their bodies draw closer together than ever, and Stan starts to press his weight against Ford as he lays down on the bed and just lets himself be kissed by his brother. 

This is wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this, a small voice in Ford’s head says.

But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care—he’s laying down with Stan’s sturdy body on top of him, and Ford does not care about right or wrong at this moment.

All he cares about is making sure that this never ends.

Ford opens up more for Stan, deciding to mimic the move he made earlier, a giddy feeling rising within him when he hears Stan groan in return. He wants to keep doing that, keep drawing noises out of Stan that he’d only been able to fantasize about before this.

Now that he has the real thing, he’ll never want to let go.

And that’s the real danger of it all, isn’t it? That this is supposed to be nothing but practice. Something to help the both of them when it comes to other people.

It would be selfish of him to keep these pseudo-lessons going. Stan is with Carla, and even if they break up, Stan is going to find someone else, because he always does, he’s Stan.

It would be wrong to continue this purely because of his own desires. 

Stan pulls apart from him, both of them breathing heavily. He looks down at Ford, hovering over him, and wow having Stan on top of him is going to fuel his dreams for decades to come.

“Was that…was that okay?” Stan asks, gently petting Ford’s hair with one hand, looking down at his lips again.

He should say something. He should stop this.

He needs to stop this.

But looking up at Stan like this, with his eyes blown wide open with what he can pretend is desire…Ford thinks he can be a little selfish. 

At least for a little while.

He’ll let himself have this for a bit, let himself know how Stan feels against him, how he tastes, how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed by pleasure.

Ford will memorize it if he has to. He knows he will. 

After all, Stan is going to end up with someone else. Someone who isn’t him.

Shouldn’t he be able to enjoy himself while it lasts?

“Sixer?”

Ford raises a hand to Stan’s face, cusping it gently. 

“I think we need a bit more practice.”