#How To Bring Back Your Ex Wonderful Useful Tips

[makoodles]

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🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

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reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good. 

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron. 

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to— 

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight. 

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin. 

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left. 

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless. 

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress. 

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed. 

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly. 

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead. 

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back. 

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face. 

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together. 

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give. 

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him. 

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed. 

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had. 

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp. 

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him. 

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again. 

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest. 

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good. 

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical. 

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him. 

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you. 

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face. 

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone. 

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible. 

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive. 

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized. 

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”  

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth. 

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold. 

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer. 

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips. 

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you. 

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated. 

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up. 

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up. 

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

[pinkmirth]

i need more cowboi reiner tryna knock u up pls 🥺 👉 👈

��� STUFFED!

SYNOPSIS ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ reiner just can’t seem to control how hungry he is for you. what better way to make you his than by stuffing you full of him?

CONTAINS ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ ( 2.5k+ words of . . . ) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), nsfw/smut, modern au, countryside setting, established relationship, reiner has a big fat breeding kink, sex flashbacks, doggie style, standing sex, creampie, use of pet names (ex. mama, sugar, honey), reader calls reiner ‘papa’, mentions of pregnancy, lowercase intended, explicit language, minors shoo!

MY LOVE NOTE! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ it’s undeniable that cowboy reiner’s got a raging breeding kink. thanks so much for sending in your thoughts, my love! now here’s rei-rei bein’ a shameless feen for his pretty girl! 🎀

reiner’s terribly distracted.

the last thing he wants to do is lay blame, but in a way, you’re the reason why. the mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild. rei-rei swears he usually has more self control, it’s just that you strip him of all common sense.

you, pretty little you, make him all scatterbrained. his head’s been filled with nothing but romantics and vulgarities ever since he took you on a date seven months ago. you’ve turned him into some fool in love, for goodness’ sake.

memories of last night’s escapades come to mind. his mouth practically waters when remembering your plush ass; how you tossed it onto his pelvis with an arching back and swaying tits, peering at him with the sultriest smile, not to mention those glimmering bedroom eyes of yours. he recalls having to hold you still, so you wouldn’t be able to squirm away if his pounding were to become too much. you were soft, he remembers, so soft. the flesh of your hips would squish beneath the imposing pressure of his callous fingers, digging tighter into your sides whenever you’d flutter around the girth of him. he remembers the way he came inside with a rumbly moan, leaving your pussy full and the sheets wet . . . he wants to do it all over again.

with all that’s going on in that perverse little mind of his, he can hardly bring himself to focus on feeding the cattle. the only thing that can solve his problem is its source; you. and just like that, reiner’s dropping whatever he’d been doing before. his chores can surely wait, but this surge of desire can’t be overlooked. not a thing matters as much as finding you, fucking you, filling you.

he rounds the barn, passes by the apple trees and the horse stables in search of you. his cock pulses with every step, prodding stubbornly against the soft cotton of his boxers, now smeared with sticky precum. reiner brings a hand down to provide himself some relief, palming his boner with a low grunt. he’s so fucking hard that it almost hurts. that’s what he gets for fantasizing about you for the past thirty minutes and doing nothing about it until now.

with heavy steps, reiner makes his entrance into the farmhouse and is met by the sight of you lounging in the living room. you’re seated on the floral-print recliner with your pedicured toes propped up, all nice and comfortable. you’re wearing the dainty string of pearls he bought you for your birthday earlier in the year. pride flushes throughout his chest when seeing how prettily it rests on your collarbone.

you greet your man with a glossy smile, one that makes his dick throb beneath his hay-specked coveralls. reiner wonders if you’ve taken note of just how red he looks, rosy heat scattered across his face, from the highs of his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. he can feel his skin blazing with complete and total need.

reiner elicits a weak mumble of ‘hey, sugar. . .’, a stark contrast to your tone being all light and cheery as you ramble on about the cute little mini-skirt you’re crocheting for yourself. ‘since the weather’s getting warmer,’ you chime.

reiner loves you. he really, truly does, but he simply isn’t in the headspace to pay mind to the mundane task you’re occupied with at the moment— not when he’s this close to tearing off your summer dress, bending you over, peeling himself out of his spurred boots and pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer. fuck, he’s breathing harder now. gradually, he feels his resolve slip.

“you alright, honey?” you set down your crocheting hook, staring up at him with big, curious eyes. your voice, soft and consoling, grounds him just a little. reiner pulls off his signature cowboy hat, sets it on the nearby coffee table, and ruffles his hair so it falls into place. “yeah, i’m just—“ a pause amidst his sigh. truthfully, he’s here because he wants to fuck you pregnant. “i wanted t’see you, is all.” he settles on saying that instead. it’s much sweeter, all the more more romantic. less fetish-y. you probably would’ve looked at him funny if he admitted to crossing the entire farm by foot just so he could fill you up.

“aw, rei! you were missin’ me?” you laugh out of flattery. oh, your reiner. he’s so sweet in his own right. your boyfriend wants to ‘see you’, as he claims, like he hadn’t woken you up with nibbles to your neck, taken a (somewhat long, fairly busy) shower with you this morning, and ate breakfast alongside you before heading off to tend to the farm. you assume he can’t help but cling to you and want more.

it’s sudden, but welcomed, how reiner closes in on you. he draws near like a magnet, until the space between you no longer exists. he’s crouching down to the level of the chair, hovering over you to press a kiss on your lips. “mhm. missed you so bad, mama,” he mumbles against your mouth. in reply, you whisper onto his lips, something about how he’s always ‘so eager.’ he leans into you, desperate for more, and the chair creaks underneath the addition of his weight. he’s a large man, anyone can tell. his brawny build and imposing height never fail to make you feel safe underneath him. 

reiner dips his head low and plants one, two, three sloppy kisses along your warm neck, and it gets you hotter than the southern heat. he leaves saliva in his wake, trailed by the lightest of bruises from his suctioning lips. he tries to undo your clothes and his, but the small space that this decade-old chair provides won’t allow for it. besides, it wouldn’t be wise of him to make you squirt on a family heirloom. “this won’t do,” he clicks his teeth, decidingly picking you up. your legs wrap around his torso like second nature, arms circled around the back of his muscular neck.

“reiii, baby wait!” you draw out the call of his name, but all it does is coax him further. can’t you tell that your voice is only making him harder? that your whines urge him to fuck you silly? 

“wait?” he reiterates, grinding up into your clothed core. you shudder upon contact. “what for?” from beneath the denim he wears, you can feel his stiffness poke against your flimsy panties. “don’t you wanna head to bed first, honey? hm?” you whine into his neck. it takes a good eight seconds for him to respond.

“uh-uh,” reiner gives you a half-hearted grunt, with his gaze fixed on your cleavage that the low neckline of your dress presents to him. obviously, he’s interested in other things. “here’s just fine, sugar.” he’s strong enough to fuck you standing up with nothing else supporting him, and you know that. he doesn’t need a goddamn mattress.

reiner’s large hands grab at your underside, using your ass as the perfect leverage to press you close to him. this is your third time fucking this week, and it’s only tuesday. you’d mention it, but he’s too busy kissing down the valley of your breasts. impatience seeps through his every movement, from how he grasps at your thighs to keep you upright, to eagerly feeling along your lower half like it’s his first time touching your body.

“slow down, rei.” begrudgingly, reiner removes his lips from your chest. he finally calms for just a moment, so that he can meet your beautiful eyes. your face has been overtaken by a subtle pout. “m’sorry, honey,” he murmurs between a deep kiss, all wet and tongue-filled. you assume that’s supposed to be his form of an apology. his toned arm re-fastens itself around your body, holding you tight, while the other bunches up your dress and pushes down his bottoms, “but i need you. so fuckin’ bad.” you could never deny him and that sweet southern drawl. he knows that his smooth mouth works magic on you— he always gets what he wants from his pretty girl. 

now freed of any confines, reiner lowers his hand to stroke at the base of his dick, tugging himself with a low hiss. involuntarily, his hips buck. “you can finish up that skirt later, hm?” he releases himself and appoints his attention to you, the pads of his fingers circling your clit in just the way you like. your head falls forward onto his broad shoulder. “hell, i’ll even buy you some o’those frilly ones at that fancy mall you like goin’ to . . .” he utters partially to you and a little to himself, still occupied with keeping pressure on your bud. by now, with your head thrown back, you’ve already forgotten what you were working on in the first place.

having done this countless times before, reiner’s quickly able to find your dripping entrance. the drag of his tip through your puffy folds causes a ‘shlck’ sound to elicit. reiner smiles to himself; you’re embarrassingly wet. your hips begin to swivel and writhe, that’s how he knows you’re getting as needy as he. choosing not to waste any more time, he pushes himself inside with one swift motion. you cry out from the stretch, already fluttering around the first few inches he gives you. so far, it's just the tip and some, but he's so wide.

“goddamnit, baby . . . i fuckin’ love this pussy,” reiner grunts through clenched teeth. he’d usually start off with a shallow thrust and ease you into it, but he isn’t feeling as patient. every thrust is fast-paced, almost rushed. the impact has you bouncing in his arms, all as he continues his unrelenting efforts.

“s’good, rei— so good,” wavering moans spill past your lips. he hisses when your manicured nails dig into the hot flesh of his firm, round biceps. you squeeze around him until his eyes go rolling back. “i know, mama. i know,” reiner whines and groans, because it’s all he can manage to do. if he was air-headed about you earlier, surely he’s braindead now. he pumps into you rapidly, restlessly, but he still finds a way to make it feel so thorough. that’s probably because he’s fucking huge; incredibly endowed, like every other big and buff part of him. with a cock this thick, how could he not strike every nerve and hit every spot? 

he rolls his hips up into you with breathtaking fervor, fucks into you until he’s balls deep within your pulsating cunt. sweat dripping down his furrowed brow, he rasps out, “can’t wait to fill you up,” sloppy kisses follow, and his tongue slides across yours as he mumbles on about cumming inside, stuffing you full, making you his. you finally know what he’s doing, you should’ve known all along— he’s going to pump his cum into you as deep as he can get it to go. thrust his seed into your pliant womb until he’s fucked a baby into you. 

the mere thought of makin’ you a mama has his head spinning. reiner’s breath catches in his throat, and your sounds heighten in pitch— the pair of you can tell that you’re bound to reach ecstasy. he squats a bit lower, goes a little faster, attempting to propel you both into your orgasms. it’s coming on like an impending wave; your belly tightens, toes curling from where your heels dig into reiner’s strong back.

he knows you’ve come undone once your smooth, ridge-like walls begin to spasm around him, to the point where he can hardly pull back or push in further. he likes to think that it’s your pretty pussy’s way of begging for his cum. still, he doesn’t let up, not until you’re thoroughly impregnated. “jus’ a lil more. hold on ‘fa me, honey, m’kay?” he pleads through throaty whimpers. weakly, you nod. the overstim makes you pant and mewl, biting onto the damp skin of his exposed jugular to try and quiet yourself.

reiner slams you down onto him, the veins in his forearms bulging as he desperately grasps onto the globes of your ass. the resounding slap of skin rings around his tingling ears, lewd sounds floating throughout the otherwise quiet farmhouse.

“g’na let papa fill you up? yeah?” you cry out a weak ‘mhm!’ along with other pleas of how much you want it; want him. his balls twitch and his abdomen goes tense. “m'close,” he gruffly whispers. you decide to spur him on: “g-gimme your babies, papa, i need it!” that’s all he needs to topple over the edge. “oh fuck, mama— m’gonnacum,” reiner’s words jumble together when he comes, coating your insides with warm globs of white. though his thighs never cease their trembling, he still maintains a steady hold on you, keeping your limp frame upright. 

reiner stays inside as a means of keeping all his seed plugged into you, just for good measure. he doubts that he’s got enough energy remaining to round up the cattle after this. his chest heaves slowly, and his hair’s a mess from all that pulling you were doing, but he’s more than satisfied. he's even got this dumb, blissed-out smile on his face to show his content. you're sure he's knocked you up thoroughly by now.

he’ll make sure to buy you a pregnancy test by next morning. 

[joelsrose]

Good Neighbours: Chapter 5

previous chapter Warnings: again SMUT 18+ !!!!!! Hey cuties - this is my fave chapter so far enjoyyyy

You hadn’t properly seen Joel in a week.

Not since that near-disastrous moment on his couch, where you lay bare, your skin warm against his, and Uncle Ray almost caught you two in the act. The memory lingered like a spark refusing to die out, igniting every time you thought about him.

Joel had been swamped with work—construction jobs piling up—and you’d recently started at a cozy little coffee shop in town. The job suited you more than you expected. Your boss was kind, the tips were decent, and you got free iced lattes, which was reason enough to stick around.

The café itself was charming, all bathed in golden sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Dogs were welcome, often lounging at their owners’ feet or wagging tails at the smell of pastries. The constant aroma of freshly brewed coffee felt like a warm hug, soothing enough to make the hours slip by.

Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts had a pesky habit of wandering to Joel—what he was doing, if he was thinking about you, too.

A silly notion, you told yourself, but it clung to you nonetheless.

You’d catch fleeting glimpses of him here and there, as neighbors inevitably do.

Each moment was like a stolen treasure, a tiny lifeline. Lingering gazes across the lawn as he unloaded groceries from his truck, the flex of his strong arms as he lifted heavy bags. The way his lips curved into a soft, crooked smile when he caught your eye, making your chest tighten in a way you’d never admit out loud.

He was right next door, but somehow, it didn’t feel close enough.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Joel found himself constantly wondering about you.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself—but you’d snuck into his thoughts and set up camp there. It started innocently enough with a few texts, a casual way of checking in. But soon, it became a nightly ritual, one he couldn’t seem to let go of. Not that you wanted him to.

During meetings with Tommy, he’d find his attention slipping, his gaze drifting toward his phone, willing it to light up with your reply. Tommy would joke about Joel zoning out, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to care.

At night, when he was supposed to be winding down, he’d break his own rules about screen time—something about the blue light messing with sleep, a lecture he’d once given Sarah. But with you, he’d stay up later than he should, typing out messages he hoped would make you smile, waiting for the little dots that meant you were typing back.

On your end, it wasn’t much different. You’d catch yourself glancing at your phone during your shift, sneaking peeks whenever you thought no one was looking.

Every buzz, every time his name lit up your screen, sent a thrill through you, the corners of your mouth betraying you with a twitch upward.

It was funny, almost disarming, how Joel could shift so effortlessly between the quintessential dad—practical, steady, and full of quiet concern—and the man who made your heart race with just a few words.

Didn’t you say your iron was low? Eat something with spinach, alright?

How’s work? Hope they’re not runnin’ you ragged.

My back is killing me today. Feels like I’m older than I am. Gonna have to start using one of those canes soon.

And then, completely out of the blue:

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Those five words sent your stomach flipping in a way that left you grinning like a fool, coworkers sneaking curious glances your way. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like he couldn’t help but check in on you.

Even in the middle of a hectic day or when his back ached from hours on-site, you’d managed to stake a claim on his thoughts. Somehow, you’d become his favorite distraction.

You thought back to your ex, and the stark difference hit you like a wave. You two had hardly texted—just the occasional logistics or a dry, obligatory reply. What time are you coming over? Don’t forget to grab milk. It was functional, transactional, like checking off items on a to-do list rather than nurturing something deeper.

He would go hours, sometimes days, without a word, and you’d told yourself it was normal, that he was just busy. But now, with Joel, you realized how much you had craved this—someone who cared enough to reach out, to ask how you were, to share the little things.

Joel didn’t need an excuse to text you. It had become second nature, these little windows into his life that he shared with you. Sometimes it was the simple stuff—a snapshot of his day, random musings, or just checking in to make sure you were okay.

Saw a dog today that looked like it wanted to fight me for my sandwich, he’d written once, and you’d laughed out loud, imagining his bemused expression, the corners of his mouth twitching in that way you’d come to love.

And then there was the way every day ended the same. You’d curl up in bed, your phone resting on the pillow beside you, waiting for that final message.

Goodnight, pretty girl.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

It was Halloween, and you couldn’t quite believe it—how had it already been nearly two months since you’d moved here? Your life in Chicago felt like a distant memory, like a bad dream you’d finally woken up from. You thought back to Halloween in the city: your ex’s bougie friends hosting over-the-top parties where everyone tried too hard, and you’d always felt out of place, like a last-minute addition to a world you didn’t quite fit into.

Now, you stood outside Sarah’s door, the faint hum of music and laughter spilling out into the warm Texas evening. A case of drinks rested in your arms, its weight grounding you as Uncle Ray fussed with his costume beside you.

As usual, he’d gone all out, making you feel underdressed in comparison. This time, he was Beetlejuice, the black-and-white striped suit as loud and chaotic as his personality. His face was powdered ghostly pale, with exaggerated dark circles around his eyes, and the wild green-tinted wig sat slightly crooked on his head, no matter how much he fussed with it.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering another Halloween from years ago when he’d gone just as over the top. That time, he’d been Edward Scissorhands—his shirt a perfect patchwork of leather straps and buckles, his face painted pale with dark shadows under his eyes that made him look both haunting and oddly endearing. He’d worn ridiculously oversized scissor gloves that clanked every time he moved, and he kept accidentally knocking into things, muttering under his breath about the impracticality of the costume.

He muttered under his breath now, adjusting his latest wig for the hundredth time, the same way he had back then. “It’s the wig that makes it, you know,” he grumbled, shooting you a mock-serious look.

You were dressed as predictably as every other girl on Halloween: an angel. A fitted corset hugged your torso, while the soft white skirt flowed delicately to your mid-thigh, catching the faint glow of the porch light. Glitter dusted your cheeks, shimmering faintly every time you moved, and the matching wings on your back fluttered slightly as you shifted the drinks in your arms. A delicate silver halo rested above your head, perched perfectly.

It was simple, classic—maybe even cliché—but it felt right.

Joel had texted you the night before, curious as ever.

Hey sweet girl, what're you dressing up as tomorrow?

Sweet girl. The words made your cheeks heat instantly, and you had to bite back a smile as your heart fluttered in your chest.

Nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to wait and find out, you typed back, already grinning at the thought of him sitting there, his brows furrowed in frustration in that way that always made your stomach flip.

You’re impossible, he replied, and you could practically hear the exasperation in his voice.

You can guess... you offered, biting your lip as you hit send, your anticipation growing.

There was a pause—a long one—and you could just picture him on the other end, thinking it over, his mind running through possibilities. Then, finally, his response appeared: Something sweet. You’re not the scary type. Bunny? Fairy?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt, shaking your head as you typed back: You’ll just have to wait and see.

You can be a real tease, he sent, followed by a 👎, which only made you laugh harder.

The door flung open pulling you back from your daydream, and there was Sarah, leaning heavily against the frame with a wide, tipsy grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her voice rising with excitement as her eyes flicked between the two of you. “You guys look amazing!”

She was dressed as a pirate, of course—a cheeky, haphazardly sexy one at that. Her loose white blouse was cinched at the waist with a wide belt, her tattered black skirt swishing just above her knees. A red bandana was tied around her head, matching the sash draped over one shoulder. She had smudged dark eyeliner around her eyes, giving her the perfect roguish look, and a plastic sword dangled from her hip.

“Ray, that is insane! Beetlejuice? You look like you walked straight off the set!” Sarah exclaimed, swatting at his striped sleeve as she doubled over laughing.

Ray, never one to miss an opportunity to perform, gave an exaggerated bow. “Why, thank ya, thank ya!” he said, his voice gravelly as he mimicked Beetlejuice’s signature tone. “Show’s just gettin’ started, folks!”

Sarah laughed harder, wiping at her eyes before turning her attention to you. Her grin widened as she took in your costume, her eyes sparkling. “And you—” she said dramatically, grabbing your wrist to pull you closer, “are the sexiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you replied, your cheeks heating despite yourself as her enthusiasm bubbled over.

She tugged you inside without hesitation, her laughter spilling into the warm glow of the party. Ray followed close behind, still in character, muttering something Beetlejuice-esque under his breath that had Sarah clutching her stomach, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sarah handed you a drink, her pirate hat slipping askew as she leaned in to shout over the music. “Alright, let’s get this party started!” she yelled, raising her glass with a wide grin.

You laughed, raising yours in response, though your mind wasn’t quite on the celebration. Your eyes flickered around the room, scanning faces, colors, and costumes, searching for one thing in particular—or rather, one person.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

You stood by the kitchen, chatting idly with a few of Sarah’s friends. The conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter bubbling up every now and then, but your focus wasn’t entirely on the people around you. You couldn’t help but steal glances across the room as you took a sip of your drink, and it wasn’t long before your heart jolted at the sight of him.

Joel.

He stood by Uncle Ray, half-listening to something your uncle was saying, his hand resting on his belt as he laughed softly, another one wrapped around a beer.

He’d dressed as a cowboy. A sexy one at that.

A fitted plaid shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tanned, corded forearms. A dark leather belt with a silver buckle sat low on his hips, the fabric of his jeans snug in a way that made your thoughts feel indecent.

And, of course, the finishing touch: a weathered cowboy hat tilted just enough to shadow his eyes, making him look like he’d just stepped out of an old western porno.

The dim lighting caught the stubble along his jaw, giving him an air of ruggedness that made your stomach tighten. He looked good—too good—and it wasn’t fair.

Then, as if he felt you watching him, he turned. His dark eyes found yours across the room, catching you so off-guard you nearly spilled your drink.

For a moment, he just stared, his gaze dragging over you in a slow, deliberate once-over.

His lips parted slightly, and he shook his head, almost like he was trying to clear his mind of whatever had just crossed it. Then he dipped his hat at you, a silent greeting that sent your pulse skittering.

You managed a small nod in return, your fingers tightening around your glass as if that could keep you tethered to the ground.

The person you’d been talking to excused themselves, mumbling something about the bathroom before slipping away. You were left alone in the kitchen, the dim amber light casting a soft glow over the countertops. The quiet hum of the party buzzed in the background as you picked at a bowl of chips, trying to distract yourself from how strong your drink was—or how your thoughts kept straying back to Joel.

Joel stepped closer, his familiar warmth and smell wrapping around you. The way he said “Howdy” sent a shiver down your spine, his voice warm and smooth, like a drawl dipped in honey. He was too close now, close enough that you were glad the kitchen was dim, hiding the flush creeping up your neck.

“Cowboy,” you said, your voice low and teasing. “Bit predictable, isn’t it?”

His lips curved into a smirk as he laughed softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and settling somewhere in yours. “And you,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long, “think a devil would’ve suited you better.” He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was studying you, savoring every little reaction you gave him.

Your brows arched, playing along. “Why’s that?”

He leaned in, tapping the side of your temple lightly with his index finger. “These thoughts,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “ain’t exactly heavenly, are they?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe not,” you admitted, your words barely above a whisper.

Joel chuckled again, his hand dropping back to rest on the kitchen counter, but the sound lingered in the space between you, filling the air with a warmth you wished you could memorize.

“Your uncle went all out,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Ray to come barreling through the door in full Beetlejuice regalia.

“I know,” you replied, laughing softly. “He’s actually scaring me a little.”

Joel laughed again, his head tilting back just enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of his throat. The sound was intoxicating, deep and rich, and you found yourself wishing you could hear it on repeat.

He looked around the kitchen, his beer in one hand. The way his fingers curved around the neck of the bottle, the strength in them apparent even in this simple gesture.

Sarah and Ray were nowhere to be seen. The distant murmur of the party seemed to fade into the background as Joel turned back to you. His eyes darkened as they traveled down your body, lingering just a beat too long on the corset that cinched your waist.

The soft, white fabric hugged your curves perfectly, the delicate lace trim dipping low enough to tease, revealing just a tantalizing hint of cleavage in the dim light. His gaze roamed lower, catching on the sheer white stockings that clung to your thighs, held up by delicate lace garters that framed the bare expanse of skin just above them. The way his eyes lingered made your breath catch, the tension in the air crackling as you saw the faintest flicker of something dangerous in his expression—like he was trying, and failing, not to let his thoughts run wild.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word rough and barely audible.

“What’s wrong, cowboy?” you asked, tilting your head as you stepped just a fraction closer, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Whose thoughts are impure now?”

He huffed, his jaw tightening as he set his beer down on the counter, the sound of glass meeting it sharp and deliberate. His fingers brushed against the surface with an almost irritated carelessness, his usual steadiness faltering under the weight of whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

Joel’s eyes flicked around the room once more, but when his gaze landed back on you, his resolve seemed to snap, quicker and sharper than you expected.

“Go upstairs,” he said, his voice low, commanding, each word dripping with a tension that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “My room. I’ll meet you there in five.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the heat pooling low in your stomach made it impossible to question him. You’d never seen Joel this assertive before, his calm, controlled demeanor giving way to something raw, something primal—and God, it did something to you.

Your heart skipped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He didn’t wait for a reply, his eyes locked on yours for a moment longer before he stepped back, the space between you suddenly too vast and too charged all at once.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you wove through the crowd, barely noticing the laughter and music around you. The way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself together, sent your pulse into a frenzy as you turned on shaky legs and headed for the stairs.

The heat of anticipation spread through your body, making it hard to breathe. Every step toward Joel’s room felt heavier, charged with the weight of what might happen.

When you finally reached it, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind you.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

It was the first time you had been in his room.

The room was simple, masculine, and undeniably him. The faint scent of cedarwood and something earthier—something distinctly Joel—lingered in the air. A neatly made bed dominated the space, the dark, plain sheets looking as if they’d been freshly smoothed that morning. A well-worn jacket hung over the back of a chair near the window, and a pair of scuffed boots rested by the corner, their placement almost methodical.

The light was soft, the dim glow of a single bedside lamp casting golden hues across the room. It illuminated the dresser, where your gaze landed on a photo—a younger Joel with Sarah, both of them smiling, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The sight tugged at something deep in your chest, a quiet reminder of the man who’d let you in here, both in his space and maybe, just maybe, his life.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt the cool sheets beneath your hands, grounding you for a moment. Your nerves churned in your stomach, and you wished desperately that you’d finished your drink downstairs. Anything to take the edge off the racing thoughts in your mind.

Your halo felt awkward now, too on-the-nose. You reached up, pulling it off and setting it down on the bed beside you. For a moment, you considered taking off the wings too, but before you could decide, you heard the sound of footsteps.

As promised, exactly five minutes later, the door creaked open, and Joel stepped in. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind him sent a jolt through you. He stood there for a moment, the soft light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the brim of his cowboy hat throwing shadows over his dark, unreadable eyes. His presence filled the room, and all the air seemed to vanish at once.

“Angel,” he said softly, his voice low and heavy, as he turned to face you fully. "Up," he commanded, his voice firm yet impossibly soft, and before you could even process it, your body obeyed. You stood, heart racing, your knees feeling shaky under the weight of his gaze.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed where you had been sitting, his legs slightly parted as he leaned back, his movements unhurried but deliberate. His eyes raked over you, dark and smoldering, as he patted his lap. “C’mere.”

You moved toward him, stepping between his knees before settling on his lap. His hands immediately found your hips, guiding you to straddle him, the hem of your dress creeping up with the motion. The cool air kissed your exposed thighs, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. The stockings that hooked onto your garters were now entirely visible, and his gaze dropped, lingering for a moment before meeting yours again.

That was all it took for Joel to tilt his head and capture your mouth with his. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as though the tension between you had finally snapped, spilling over in waves of raw, unrestrained need. His lips moved feverishly against yours, claiming you in a way that made your knees weak. His hands, strong and sure, slid from your back to cup your ass, squeezing hungrily as he pulled you against him.

“You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice thick and low, as his large hands splayed against your lower back, pressing you flush against him. His words sent a thrill through you, the heat pooling low in your belly as you instinctively rolled your hips down against him. The pressure sent sparks skittering through your body, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

He tasted faintly of beer, a heady mix that made your head spin. The faint scruff on his jaw scraped deliciously against your skin, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but not unnoticed. His grip on you tightened in response, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands threaded through his hair, curling at the base of his neck where it was soft and slightly damp with sweat. His response was immediate—a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your lips. His hands fumbled with the wings on your back, his movements impatient as he tried to rid himself of the obstacle. They were nothing more than an afterthought now, discarded with a few rough tugs onto the floor.

The space between you dissolved completely as he pulled you closer still, your bodies flush. His kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your head tilt back, giving him the perfect angle to devour you further. Every touch, every movement, felt like fire, consuming you both in the quiet heat of the moment, leaving nothing untouched by its flame.

Your mind clouded with the heat of it all, and before you even realized what you were doing, you began to shift off his lap, your knees brushing the floor as you intended to sink down. But Joel’s hands caught your wrists, stopping you.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice rough but teasing. “Wanna try somethin first’.”

Your breath hitched as you stood, his hands steadying you as he knelt slightly to unhook your underwear. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, but purposeful enough to make your head spin. The soft white lace slipped down your legs, pooling at your feet before you stepped out of them. You were so lost in the moment, in the heat of his touch, that you didn’t notice the way he curled the delicate fabric in his hand and tucked it under the edge of the bed, as if he were keeping it for later.

Then, with surprising ease, he adjusted you, positioning you so that your legs straddled one of his thighs. Your bare skin hovered just above the rough, worn denim of his jeans, and your hands instinctively found their place against his chest to steady yourself. His warmth seeped into you, even through the fabric, and the closeness made it impossible to think straight.

“Joel?” you questioned, your voice breathless and unsure, but his name on your lips felt electric.

“Trust me,” he said softly, his hands resting on your hips. His thumbs brushed against your skin in slow, soothing circles. “Take what you need.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice a mix of confusion and disbelief, your cheeks already burning.

“Come on,” Joel murmured, his hands firm on your hips as he lifted his thigh slightly. The motion pressed the rough fabric of his jeans against your swollen clit, the sudden pressure making you gasp. Your body jerked forward, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance, and you were suddenly, achingly aware of just how close you were to him.

“I’ve never…” you started, your voice trembling, but the words trailed off.

Joel tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “Never ridden a man’s thigh before?” he murmured, his voice warm and patient, laced with just enough affection to make your cheeks flush.

You shook your head slightly, your breath catching as his words settled over you.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, soothing motion, his thumbs brushing over your ribs before settling firmly on your hips.

His touch was steady, grounding, as if to remind you he wasn’t going anywhere. “I got ya,” he added, his voice soft but commanding, the promise in his tone wrapping around you like a tether.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears. But the way he looked at you—steady, reassuring, full of something that felt like trust—made you nod, eager to please him.

His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to vibrate in your chest. “Go ahead, baby,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy with intent.

Slowly, you began to move your hips, rocking back and forth against his thigh. The friction was unlike anything you’d ever felt, the roughness of his jeans against your bare cunt, igniting sparks that spread through your body with every motion.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as you found a rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Joel’s hands guided you, his grip firm but gentle, encouraging as you moved.

“There ya go,” he cooed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and molten, making your skin prickle. “Feel good?” he asked, his breath warm and teasing.

You nodded quickly, your movements becoming more confident as you chased the building heat inside you. “Y-yeah,” you managed to say, your voice shaky but sincere.

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and full of something primal. “That’s my girl.”

You kept moving your hips, faster now, the desperation building with every roll of your body against Joel’s thigh. The friction was maddening, deliciously unbearable, sending sparks shooting through your body with every movement.

Your breath came faster, harder, the small room filling with the sound of your panting, the creak of the bed beneath you, and the faint rustle of denim against your skin. The bass of the party thumped faintly in the background, a distant reminder of the world outside this charged, intimate moment.

Joel caught the change in your rhythm, the way your body trembled as you edged closer to the peak. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you as he began lifting his thigh to meet your movements. The added pressure made you whimper, your head falling forward as your hands clutched at his shoulders.

“Is my sweet girl getting close?” he cooed, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Look so desperate for me.”

His words hit you like a spark to dry tinder, igniting the heat already pooling low in your belly. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as your rhythm faltered for just a moment. You nodded quickly, unable to form words, the intensity of his attention making your chest tighten.

You glanced down, unable to help yourself, and gasped at what you saw. The dark denim beneath you was damp, a growing wetness marking the spot where your body met his jeans. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but before you could say anything, Joel’s deep voice cut through your haze.

“Making a fuckin’ mess,” he murmured, his words rough and laced with desire as he watched you. His eyes flicked back to yours, dark and heavy-lidded, and the sight of his gaze alone sent you spiraling.

His thigh bounced slightly beneath you, the movement sending a wave of sensation that pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, every nerve alight as you grabbed at his hair, clutching desperately as your release crashed through you. “Take it, darlin’,” he said again, his tone softer now, almost reverent. “It’s all yours.”

“Joel!” you yelled, his name tearing from your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, raw and unrelenting.

He held you through it, his hands steadying your trembling form, his thigh still pressed against you as your body shuddered with aftershocks. The low hum of his voice reached your ears, soft and soothing as he murmured something you couldn’t quite make out, lost in the haze of your bliss.

"Good girl," Joel murmured, his voice rough and full of praise as his fingers dipped into your heat, drawing a gasp from your lips. He lifted them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. His tongue swept over his fingers slowly, deliberately, and he hummed low in his throat.

“So sweet,” he said, his voice husky, the words making your already trembling legs feel like jelly.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice still hazy and breathless, the sound of his name barely more than a plea.

He smiled, a slow, crooked grin that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. But this time, when you shifted, sliding off his lap and onto your knees, he didn’t stop you. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized your intent.

You knelt before him, your hands sliding up his thighs as you looked up, meeting his heated gaze. You wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made you feel, to see him come undone the way you just had.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice low and strained as his hands came to rest on your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice steady now despite the trembling in your hands. Your eyes stayed locked on his as your fingers went to work, determined to show him just how much you wanted to please him.

You worked quickly, your hands moving to undo the buckle of his belt. Joel lifted his hips without a word, giving you the space to pull the rough material down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. The sound of the zipper, the rustle of denim—it was all so raw, so intimate, and it sent a thrill through you.

Settling between his thighs, you shifted, finding a position that gave you enough room. The hard wood beneath your knees burned slightly, the sensation grounding you amidst the haze of arousal.

Your hands rested on his thighs for a moment, feeling the heat of his skin through the faint shadow of his boxers. Joel watched you intently, his chest rising and falling as his breath grew heavier, his hands twitching at his sides as though he were fighting the urge to reach out and touch you.

You hesitated only briefly before curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, your eyes flicking up to meet his for silent confirmation. His nod was small, but the intensity in his gaze said everything you needed to know. Slowly, you eased the fabric down, freeing him completely, and the sight of him made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening slightly as you took him in. He was bigger than you’d imagined, and for a moment, a flicker of nervousness passed through you. You’d never been with someone so big before, and the thought sent a rush of anticipation mixed with a twinge of doubt through your veins.

But it was delicious, the way his length stood, proud and imposing, the sight of the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. The rawness of it, the sheer intimacy of seeing him like this, sent a shiver through you. It was overwhelming, yes, but also intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated, stirring a deep, primal need you couldn’t ignore.

“My angel,” he murmured, his tone soft yet filled with something that made your chest ache. He lifted one hand, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek, grounding you in the moment. The contrast of his touch—so gentle despite the intensity of his presence—sent a warm shiver through you.

You wrapped your hand around him, the warmth of him in your palm making your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, you began to move, your strokes measured as you pumped him in your hand.

You wanted to savor this moment, to memorize the way he looked—the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted into a soft, breathless "O" as his head tipped back.

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw tightening as your movements continued. The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your touch, and you felt a surge of pride at the way he was already unraveling for you.

Encouraged, you worked faster, your grip tightening just enough to pull a low, guttural sound from his throat. “Shit, darlin’,” he stuttered, his voice hoarse and heavy, the drawl thickened by the haze of pleasure. His hands gripped the bed, knuckles white as he fought to keep himself steady.

The sound of his voice, the raw need in it, sent a rush of heat through you and you grew yourself growing wetter, if that were even possible. You leaned closer, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just above where your hands worked. You wanted to drive him to the edge, to see him lose himself completely under your touch.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip, your lips grazing his heated skin. Your tongue darted out, painting slow, deliberate stripes up and down his side, tasting him, teasing him, while your hands continued their steady rhythm. Joel let out a sharp breath, a low growl escaping him that made your stomach tighten.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers through you. His eyes opened briefly, dark and hooded as they fixed on you. “So fuckin’ pretty on your knees for me,” he panted, his voice ragged and uneven, each word laced with desire.

The words made you hum against him, the sound vibrating softly against his skin. His reaction was immediate—a curse slipping from his lips as his head tilted back again, exposing the strong line of his throat.

The sight made your movements bolder, more confident, as you worked him with your hands and tongue, coaxing more of those delicious sounds from him.

Joel reached up with one hand, his fingers gripping the brim of his hat. He pulled it off and, with deliberate care, placed it on your head, the action so intimate it sent a flush of heat spreading through your chest.

“Keep goin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, his free hand sliding to the back of your head. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, holding you in place, not forceful, but guiding, like he couldn’t bear the thought of you stopping.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his as you continued, your lips and hands working in perfect tandem. His gaze burned into yours, his chest heaving with every shaky breath. “That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Just like that.”

You could tell he was close—the way his hips began to stutter, thrusting upwards into your mouth in shallow, needy motions. His breathing turned ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened, not painfully, but enough to let you know he was barely holding on.

The sounds he made, low groans and curses, were a symphony of pleasure that sent heat pooling in your belly.

It was almost too much—the fullness, the way he moved, the way he tasted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t stop, determined to see him through. You hollowed your cheeks, working him deeper, and his response was immediate.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that made your heart race. His head tipped back, and his thighs tensed beneath your hands as he asked, his words almost slurred, “Where does my pretty girl want me?”

You managed to speak around him, your answer muffled but clear enough, “My mouth.”

The way it came out, slightly garbled but eager, made him laugh, a breathless, strained sound that sent a thrill through you. “My dirty girl,” he murmured, his tone almost affectionate.

With one final thrust, he tipped over the edge, his body going taut as he finished, his hips pressing upwards one last time. You took him as best as you could, the salty sensation overwhelming but not unwelcome. His hand stayed in your hair, steadying you as he groaned your name, his voice filled with raw pleasure.

You pulled away slowly, swallowing as you did, the warmth of him still lingering on your tongue. A thin string of saliva connected you to him, glistening in the dim light, lewd and intimate. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your knees aching from the unforgiving floor, but the satisfaction in Joel’s eyes made it all worth it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable, before he reached down to pull his jeans back up, fastening them with practiced ease. The sight of him—still slightly undone but regaining his composure—sent a flush of heat through you all over again.

Joel adjusted his belt, the faint clink of the buckle breaking the quiet as he glanced down at you. His eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked into something that carried a warmth that made your heart stutter.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his voice lower now, touched with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His gaze lingered on you, affectionate and unguarded, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you in this moment.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you sat back on your heels, the weight of the moment settling over you. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice hoarse but steady.

Joel reached down, offering you his hand, and the warmth of his touch as he helped you to your feet sent a fresh wave of tingles up your spine.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but they landed with the weight of something profound. His voice was warm, filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache in the best way.

You didn’t know how much truth those words held—how much you could dare to believe in them—but you needed them. You needed him. You loved the way they sounded coming from his mouth, the way he claimed you with such easy confidence, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You loved being his, even if you didn’t quite know what being his meant.

Joel helped you to your feet, his strong hands steadying you as you wobbled slightly, your knees still shaky. You found yourself standing between his thighs, his hands settling instinctively on your hips. His gaze traveled up to meet yours, soft and searching, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“Was that alright?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost unsure.

He looked at you like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “You’re jokin’, right?” His lips curved into a lazy grin as his fingers traced small, comforting circles over your hips.

“Got the most perfect mouth on ya, darlin’,” Joel murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with lingering satisfaction. His words made your cheeks flush, a warm, pink hue spreading across your skin as you looked away for a moment, embarrassed by the compliment.

Joel’s gaze softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you. He couldn’t help but marvel at how someone who had just undone him so completely—so filthily—could still look so innocent, so sweetly flustered. It was a contradiction that sent a deep, simmering warmth through him, making him feel both protective and utterly captivated.

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek, his touch light and almost reverent. His eyes flicked up, catching sight of the cowboy hat still perched on your head, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“What?” you asked, frowning slightly at his sudden amusement.

“Mixin’ costumes now,” he teased, gesturing at the angelic white of your outfit beneath his hat.

You laughed, reaching up to take it off, but his hand shot out, stopping you. “Wait,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Wanna remember this.”

“Joel,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing all over again.

“Smile,” he said, ignoring your protest as he angled the phone at you. The flash went off, capturing the moment in an intimate snapshot.

You could only imagine what you looked like—wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, your lips still red and slightly swollen, with his cowboy hat askew on your head.

Somehow, despite everything, you looked angelic. Maybe even innocent.

You sighed but smiled softly as he lowered the phone. “Show me,” you murmured, stepping closer to him. You eased onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck as you leaned in to peek at the screen.

He tilted the phone so you could see, his voice low and filled with quiet reverence as he said, “You’re perfect.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone, your heart stumbling over the weight of his words. “I’m not,” you huffed softly, your cheeks burning as you burrowed your face into the crook of his neck, seeking solace in the warmth of him.

His scent surrounded you—earthy, faintly musky —and you couldn’t help but think about how you’d stay there forever if you could.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute as you felt him shake his head. His hand rested against your back, steady and reassuring. “Not fightin’ you on this, honey. You’re perfect.”

Before you could argue, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and tender, sending a shiver through you. The warmth of it lingered long after his lips left your skin, a quiet promise that echoed in the quiet room, wrapping around you like a blanket.

Joel didn’t need to say anything else—his touch, his tone, the way he held you—it all said enough.

“Take a selfie,” you said suddenly, grinning as the idea popped into your head.

“A what?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

“How old are you?” you teased, laughing softly.

Realization dawned on his face, and he chuckled. “Oh, the one where it’s of us.”

“Yes,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turned the camera toward the two of you. “Alright, alright” he murmured, his tone playful but warm. You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as he snapped the photo.

The photo was simple but intimate: your lips pressed softly against his cheek, your smile warm and genuine, while his own smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. But it was his eyes that stood out most—softened in a way he didn’t even know he was capable of, like you’d reached some part of him he hadn’t let anyone else touch in years.

For a moment, Joel stared at the image on the screen, his thumb brushing over the edge of his phone as though it could capture more than just the pixels on display.

He thought about how, in another lifetime, he’d make it his wallpaper. How he’d keep this version of you—happy, radiant, his—on his phone, a constant reminder of a moment he never wanted to forget.

But that was a thought he’d keep to himself, tucked away somewhere deep and quiet, too fragile to speak aloud - yet.

“Cute,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

“Very,” he replied, his voice low and warm.

Before either of you could say anything more, a notification popped up on his screen: a text from Sarah.

DAD WHERE ARE YOUUUU? NEED MORE DRINKS?!?!? HELLOOOO.

Joel groaned, letting his head fall back for a moment before sighing. “We better get goin’,” he said reluctantly.

Neither of you moved right away, though, both wishing you could stay in the quiet sanctuary of his room forever, wrapped in the intimacy that had settled between you.

Eventually, Joel shifted, his hands brushing against your hips as he helped you stand, the spell breaking just slightly as the sounds of the party filtered back into your awareness.

“C’mon,” Joel said, his voice softer now, a reluctant sigh slipping from his lips. “Let’s not keep her waitin’.”

You started to follow him, but a sudden thought froze you in place, the sensation of feeling bare dawning on you all at once. “Wait,” you said quickly, your voice a hushed whisper. “My underwear.”

Joel paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk so devilish it sent heat rushing to your cheeks. “What about it?” he asked, his tone far too casual for your liking.

“You know what,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing at him.

He shrugged, his smirk deepening as he leaned slightly on the banister, unbothered by your flustered expression. “Consider it… a keepsake,” he drawled, his voice laced with teasing amusement.

“Joel,” you whispered harshly, your tone a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said with a wink, turning to head down the stairs. “It’s in safe hands.”

“You asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glaring after him as he disappeared into the noise of the party below. But despite your annoyance, you couldn’t stop the way your lips twitched into a small, begrudging smile.

He had that effect on you, damn him.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

“Where’d you go?” Sarah asked, her words slurred as she swayed slightly, her pirate hat tilting precariously. She blinked up at you, a lopsided grin on her face.

“I, uh, had to use the bathroom,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual as you held onto your drink like a lifeline.

“Oh, okay,” she said, nodding as if that explained everything. Then her brow furrowed slightly, her gaze sharpening—well, as much as it could in her drunken state. “You’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “A lot of fun.”

She grinned again, satisfied, but then her eyes roved over you, her face twisting in confusion. “Wait... where’s your halo?”

Your heart stopped. For a moment, your hand flew up to your head, panicked, expecting to feel the brim of Joel’s cowboy hat still sitting there. If it was, what would you even say? But when your fingers brushed through your hair and found nothing, relief washed over you like a wave.

Joel had taken it back—thank God. He’d slipped it off your head before the two of you came back downstairs, a quiet, subtle move that now felt like a lifesaver. The thought of Sarah seeing you walk into the party with his hat still perched on your head was mortifying.

“Oh,” you said, exhaling shakily as you quickly composed yourself. “Must’ve lost it somewhere. It’s probably around here.”

Sarah tilted her head, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she considered something before breaking into a giggle. “Guess you’re not so angelic anymore, huh?”

You forced a smile, but her words landed heavier than she could’ve known. If only she knew. The guilt gnawed at you, sharp and undeniable. What you were doing was wrong, and there was no point in sugarcoating it. Sarah was a damn good friend, one of the best, and you had no right…

Your thoughts were cut short when Sarah’s gaze shifted, her expression brightening as Joel reappeared from the garage fridge, a couple of extra drinks in hand. Your eyes followed hers instinctively, heart doing that familiar, traitorous flutter at the sight of him.

“Hey!” Sarah called out to you, her voice a little too loud, her words slightly slurred from the margaritas she’d been nursing all night. She nudged your arm for emphasis, her grin wide as she turned back to you. “I think Dad is seeing someone!”

Your heart stopped. Completely froze in your chest as her words hung in the air.

“What? What do you mean?” you stammered, your voice uneven, betraying your attempt to sound casual.

Sarah waved a hand dramatically, leaning closer with the loose confidence of someone who’d had a few drinks too many. “I mean,” she said, dragging the words out, “I haven’t seen that man this happy in SO long. He’s like… humming in the shower.” She giggled at the absurdity of it, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, who does that?”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks already burning. “Oh,” you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper, trying desperately to will away the blush creeping up your face.

“And!” Sarah continued, clearly on a roll now, completely unaware of the panic clawing at you. “I’ll come downstairs at night, and he’s on the couch smiling at his phone. Like, full-on grinning. Who is this man? And who is he texting?!”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh lightly, brushing it off even as your chest tightened. “Weird,” you murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear the breathlessness in your voice. But the way Sarah grinned at you, so blissfully unaware, only made the guilt dig deeper.

You made a mental note to text Joel the second you got a moment alone: Hide the halo. The last thing you needed was for Sarah—or anyone else—to stumble into his room and find it.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

When you got home and finished showering, the warmth of the water washing away the lingering scents of the night, you slipped into bed feeling both exhausted and electric. The room was quiet, the hum of the party now a distant memory, but your mind refused to settle.

You replayed the events of the evening in vivid detail. Each time you thought of Joel, your cheeks flushed, your stomach fluttered with that warm, dizzying sensation you couldn’t shake.

It was impossible not to wonder if he felt the same—if the way he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you, was as real for him as it was for you.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow, willing the thoughts to quiet enough to let you sleep. But just as you began to drift, your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. The sound startled you, and your heart pounded as you reached for it, the faint glow of the screen illuminating the dark room.

It was a text from Joel.

You unlocked it with shaky fingers, and there it was—the selfie you’d taken together. Your lips were pressed to his cheek, his smirk lazy and crooked, his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache. Beneath the photo was a simple caption:

“Sleep well angel.”

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Tag list: @bbyanarchist @spoonflix @pedritospunk @ickearmn @nrreads @76bookworm76 @pastelpinkflowerlife @shantellorraine @spooky-sculder @merm4id5lut @brittmb115 @rosebuds-and-moonlight @joelscowgirl @spacemamax @locked-ness @bensonispunk @pal3rmo @mystickittytaco @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @rh1nestonecowg1rl @littlenicpascal @jsudsgf @addictedtothisyoungman @denisanoemi @l3zx1v @justsarahbella

[vampsol]

for your 3k celebration!! eee congrats my love you absolutely deserve it and i love you very dearly!!! ♡♡

okay hear me out, hear me out… ex!heeseung where you both go to like this small college reunion your friends you haven’t seen a while are throwing. emotions and tensions rise at not seeing each other since the breakup and you guys end up fighting again, but the two of you keep getting closer and closer until suddenly you’re both all over each other and hate fucking hehehe~~ (as a mean dom lover i’m sorry but you know i cannot resist lmao..)

𐔌 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𐦯 — oh my god kippy okay i can completely see this happening with heeseung, especially as a very sexually-controlling dom and you being an impossible brat. the two of you are verbally implicit in your arguments throughout the whole night. jake and jay can't stop heeseung from throwing secret vitriol only you can decipher (and they should be used to it by now—they spent a year doing this back when you were all in university together). you volley all of heeseung's comments back to him with a picture-perfect smirk and martini in your hand like he can't phase you at all. despite all the bickering, there's still this inability to fight the pull between the two of you, like magnets unable to repel each other. it's infuriatingly impossible to stay away with the way heeseung looks at you, dark eyes and swollen lips just begging to be kissed and all the memories come flooding back. how can you say no when he practically orders you to go home with him?

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝟑𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

𐔌 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𐦯 જ⁀➴ 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒅𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆

It's muscle memory for Heeseung, how quickly he remembers how much you like to be touched here and kissed there. He starts slowly and teasingly. He's a tidal wave begging to crash onto you, but he won't do so until you know how explicitly you drive him crazy, why this is the reason it fell apart to begin with. But he has no willpower to walk away, he never has.

It's a wonder the two of you stayed away from each other as long as you did. Two years clearly couldn't change a thing between you both, your resolves as strong as they were back then, your shared levels of integrity akin to tissue paper.

"You're an insolent thorn in my side, you know that?" He growls it into your neck as his fingers plunge into your underwear, the warmth of your walls welcoming him like he's come home from a long trip away, and it has been so long. Too long since he's felt your velvety folds sucking him in and coating his fingers in your essence, your body well-attuned to what he likes and doesn't like still. After all of this time, years spanning between the last time you two did this and now.

"You love it," you gasp as he presses his fingers in and out, almost pistoning them past your cervix to bring you closer to the cusp of an orgasm. He grunts and groans like he's ready to take you there as well, but you know better.

It's never that easy.

But this is exactly why he does love it. He loves to make you wait, leave you impatient and frustrated, watch you explode so he can put you in your place once again, even as you stand defiantly the entire trek back to where you belong.

The squelching noise of Heeseung's fingers coming out of you is undetectable past the whine that leaves your lips. But any resistant noises on your tongue die when Heeseung presses you hard into his dinner table, your body caged in with his front to your back.

"Spread your legs, now, or I won't give you what you want." You listen to his demand, despite how weak your body is already from what he still has yet to give you. He runs the tip of his cock along your folds and taps it lightly against your clit, making you flinch. You're so sensitive and aching and he laughs, laughs because he didn't expect less.

And you hate and love him for it. So when he does finally sheath himself completely inside of you, you curse. You scream. You practically bite down on a corner of the wood furniture from how good it feels.

You knuckles turn white from how hard you hold onto the table, Heeseung threatening to knock you off balance and onto the floor from how hard he thrusts in and out of you. He grunts into the shell of your ear how good it is, how much he's missed his "insatiable little whore," how he can never stay away from you again.

You'd think he wasn't fighting with you mere hours ago about your new job, how great your city commute is, all the little anecdotes he couldn't help himself from poking holes into.

Could it work again with how much you both rile each other up and break other down like this?

You both fall apart together, Heeseung yanking your head to the side to stick his tongue in your mouth to swallow your moans. Your cunt spasms around him as he fills you with his seed, warmth enveloping your lower half from the endless ropes of cum shooting into you. He doesn't pull out of you for another five minutes, still enraptured at how good it feels to be with you, around you, inside you, again. Even if you both drive each other crazy.

Heeseung thinks as he watches droplets of his cum leaking out of you that maybe he loves you for that reason alone. That that's why neither of you can get enough.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry @frenchkisstheabyss @prkhaven @tinycatharsis @fangel @aaa-sia @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @dawngyu

[wandaslittleweirdo]

Whisper

⋆⋆౨ৎ pairing: 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚡!𝚣𝚘𝚘𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary: On a still, quiet night in your remote cabin, you relax on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and your favourite childhood movie. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside is followed by three sharp knocks on your door. You peek through the curtain to find your ex-girlfriend, Zooey Kern, standing out in the cold on your porch. You reluctantly allow her inside, but the night quickly spirals into something far darker than you could’ve ever expected.

warnings: noncon, top!zooey, dirty talk, praise kink, obsessive exes, forced intoxication, toxic relationships, pet names (bunny, baby, sweetheart, etc), manipulation, fingering, zooey takes photos of you nakey TwT, a sprinkle of after care for the little softie in me

A/N: happy new years to the sick adorable cuties who like my blog !!! sorry I didn’t upload anything for Christmas, was busy >_> — masterlist.

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this is a dark fic. 18+. wlw. men & minors dni!

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You’re nestled on your couch, your feet propped up on the worn-out wooden coffee table, a knitted throw blanket draped over your legs with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows in your hands. You’ve always loved your own company, preferred it even, the silence and the space giving you a sense of comfort and order. The film's soundtrack played, a soft, cheerful backdrop to your peaceful evening. The plot is familiar, a fantasy movie you had watched every year since you were a child—it was comfort food for the soul, the kind that didn't require much thought.

As you slowly took a sip of your drink, the sound of something outside startles you.

These weren’t the usual little crunchy noises of a wild animal in the snow or creaks on your porch made from the old floorboards. These were powdery-like sounds of someone moving through the snow, and thumps made by boots. Footsteps, clumsy but unmistakable. The steps were followed by three distinct knocks, a shuffle, and then silence. You paused the movie, your eyes narrowing slightly.

Who could be out at this hour, especially in the hushed embrace of the woods? The isolation of the towering surrounding trees didn’t usually invite unexpected visitors. You slowly tip toe over to the window and crack open the curtain, the sight of your ex girlfriend causing you to gasp and snap the curtain right back into place.

You frowned. This wasn’t the Zooey you remembered. Her blonde hair once always controlled waves now a mess of tangles, and her body swayed, clearly struggling to keep her balance.

You let out a scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. How did she find you here, in the middle of nowhere? You hadn’t spoken or seen each other in a year.

You approach the door cautiously, wondering if the woods had finally led you into insanity and hallucinations.

The peephole provides a distorted view, but you know it’s her. The woman you used to love with all your heart and more, in all her disheveled glory, waiting at your door and looking up at the stars with a gaze softer than you had ever seen it.

She stood there, silhouetted by the moon as she pushed one of her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She chews her bottom lip while her eyes wander over your seasonly decorated porch, reaching out to fiddle with the antlers of a wooden reindeer you had sat on your porch swing.

You unlock the door, swinging it open with an emotionless stare. The crisp night air hits your face, bringing with it the faint scent of pine and something else... alcohol?

She's wearing a brown leather jacket with fur detailing, unzipped to show a white tank top hidden underneath, paired with simple dark blue jeans. Your eyes then fall to her necklace, delicate and silver with a heart pendant intertwined with another. Your stomach twists when you remember it’s the one you gave her for your two year anniversary.

Her eyes snapped to yours when she heard the creak of the door opening. She seems surprised for a moment, but her stunned expression was quickly replaced with a lopsided smile. "Hey, bunny!” She slurs, the confidence that once made her so irresistible now marred by a tipsy wobble.

You fold your arms and lean against the doorframe, blocking her entrance. "What are you doing here, Zooey?"

She tries to straighten up but fails, her hand reaching out to the porch railing to steady herself. "We haven’t talked in forever, Y/N. I wanted to see you.” She replied simply, her voice a little too loud for the quiet night.

You feel a twinge of pity, but the hatred from last year flares up again, causing you to grimace. “Okay, you’ve seen me. Bye now.”

Zooey's eyes widen, and she stumbles forward, her hand shooting out to grab the door. "Wait, I can’t go.”

You took a step back when she suddenly lunged forward, avoiding any close proximity with your hand tight on the doorknob. "Why not?"

She takes a deep breath before answering. "I don't know. I was driving to come see you, found a liquor store, stopped to buy some, and then I was driving again. Then I found a liquor store..." She trailed off, her speech slurred as her brows knitted together. Rolling your eyes, you fight the urge to slam the door in her face.

"And then what, Zooey?" you huffed, making it clear that you don’t have the patience or tolerance for her like you used too.

Her eyes refocus and she blinks rapidly. "Then my car broke down, but I realised I was close enough to walk. So here I am!” She says with a dramatic flourish, as if revealing a grand secret.

"Zooey, it's the middle of the night, you're drunk, and you expect me to just let you in after what you did?”

Her eyes widen even more, a look of shock flashing across her face as if she expected you to drop everything and help her like you used too. "B-but, baby, I just—“ She wobbles again, this time almost falling over. You can't help but catch her, the old instincts kicking in.

You groaned, propping her up by wrapping an arm around her waist and moving her arm to rest around your neck. "My god, Zooey,” you sighed, carefully leading her inside.

Zooey giggles as you guide her to the couch. “Sit down. Watch out for the rug.” She plops herself down and sprawls her legs out in front of her.

“You were never the one to give me orders, remember?" She smiled as her eyes ran around the room. The same old couch, the same knick-knacks on the shelves. But everything is in an entirely different home, away from the place she broke your trust and abandoned her loyalty.

“Just stay there, I’ll get you some water,” You called out as you walked into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

By the time you return, Zooey has made herself fully comfortable, watching your movie with droopy eyes and munching on one of your half-eaten chocolate chip cookies. You hold out the bottle to her, and she takes it with a sleepy smile. "Thank you bunny," she murmurs, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

You continue to ignore the nicknames, taking a seat on the single chair opposite the couch. "The guest room is ready, sleep in there." You deadpan. Zooey's smile fades, and she looks over at you in confusion.

"What?" She asked, setting the water on the coffee table without taking a sip.

"You’re sleeping in the guest room," you cross your legs as you lean back into your chair. "You're not staying in my room. I don’t trust you.”

"But I miss you," she whines, but you only shrug.

"Missing me doesn’t mean anything," you reply coldly. "Your car broke down, it’s too far out of town to call anyone at this time of night, and you aren’t sleeping in my bed. So, the guest bedroom or your car. That’s your choice, I couldn’t care less.”

“Why are you being so mean, Y/N/N?” The subtle pout on Zooey's face is the same one you used to find endearing, but now it only fuels your annoyance. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Zooey, we broke up because you’re a cheat. You took any sort of respect I had for you, this is your fault."

But she doesn’t seem to hear your harsh tone. "That Ruby friend of yours? She lied to you, she wants you for herself. I still love you, Y/N. Only you.” She whispers, her eyes searching yours, looking for something that isn't there anymore.

Your eyes widen, the words hitting you like a punch in the gut. You had been split up for over a year, and as far as you know, she wasn’t bothered to even try and contact you. Her eyes are genuine, but the alcohol clouds their depth, making it hard to discern truth from drunken rambling.

"Love?" You repeat, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. "You have a funny way of showing it." You stand up from your chair and hurriedly walk to the kitchen, hoping she’ll recognise your need for space. But she follows anyway, her movements inept and awkward from the alcohol.

“Go to sleep, Zooey.” You clenched your fists, but she persists, wobbling after you like a lost puppy. "Come on, Y/N!” she slurs again, a hopeful look in her eyes. "Can we talk? Please, my love.."

"We're not doing this, Zooey." You say through gritted teeth as you grab a bottle of wine and a clean glass from your top cabinet, unsure if you could continue talking to her sober without someone getting hurt.

Zooey sighs dramatically and leans against the counter. "I just want to talk to you.”

You shake your head, your hand tightening around the bottle. "Talk about what? You’ve said a lot already and you’ve invaded my space. I should be kicking you out right now.” You pour yourself a generous glass, bringing the cup to your lips and taking a large gulp.

Zooey's eyes follow the movement, her gaze trained on your lips. "We can talk about anything," she said quietly, reaching out to touch your arm again. "Everything. I just want to be close to you again.”

She tried to place her hands on your waist, but you jerk away from her touch, the revulsion clear in your expression. "Don’t touch me.” You hissed. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even hear me? I’m saying no and you’re talking crazy! You don’t love me and you don’t miss me. You miss controlling me. You’re sick.”

Her eyes harden almost immediately, as if you had flipped a switch inside of her. You see the anger that starts to seep through her irises, and you felt a pit form in your stomach. She leans in closer, the smell of cheap alcohol overwhelming your senses.

"I’m going to bed," you announce, your voice a little shakier than you wanted it to be. You make a move to step around her, but she mirrors that action, blocking you with her towering frame. The kitchen suddenly feels claustrophobic, the walls closing in on you as you tense and stare into her chest, refusing to look up and meet her eyes.

"I've had enough of your shit.” Her voice is lower than before, your heart skipping the same way it used to when you heard that tone.

"You think you're tough now, but you're still that fragile, weak little girl that let me break her heart over and over again a year ago." She pushed her finger into your chest, poking at the tender spot where your heart used to flutter when she said sweet nothings. Your eyes water, and she doesn’t miss it, the corner of her mouth twitching into a wicked smile as she watches you shrink.

Your eyes flicker up to her face, your vision blurred from the tears in your eyes. "I've changed, Zooey." But your voice is weak, showing the truth behind your words. She's right. You’re still the same, but every part of you wishes you weren’t.

"Aw, see, look at that." Zooey's tone held its teasing edge, her fingers reaching out to wipe away the tear that had spilled down your cheek. You flinched at her touch, your body instinctively recoiling from the warmth of her skin . “You're still that sensitive baby you were when I left.”

Still avoiding her eyes, you clenched your jaw. "I'm not a baby, Zooey.” You mumbled.

She tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re so cute.” She chuckled as you bit your quivering lip, feeling the heat of the wine in your cheeks. Your eyes sting, and you blink back the tears, determined to not let her see you vulnerable. Although it was far too late. She could already see the crack in your shell, and she knew what to say to get you to break completely.

"Just leave me alone.” You said shakily, barely audible as you sniffled and wiped your leaky nose with your sleeve. She leans in closer, her breath warm and alcohol-laden against your cheek. "You don’t really want that though, do you? Somewhere deep down, you still want me to hold you, kiss you and love you." She cooed, ever so softly, her hands slipping around your waist except this time, you don’t fight.

You feel the salty sting of the tears run down your face, and for a brief moment, you let her hold you. You couldn’t tell if her touch was welcome or not as she wrapped her arms around your head so she could pull you into her chest and shushed you. She had created a space in your head where you truly believed you needed her, even when you went an entire year healing and barely thinking of her.

But the sob that rips through your body isn’t one of longing, but of sadness for what you’ve lost. Your self-respect and the naive belief in true love, the hope that one day she’d change and you’d be the perfect couple you had dreamt about in the beginning of your relationship.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You sobbed again, your voice hoarse from holding back your emotions.

"Because you're just so easy to be mean too, honey," she replied, her voice devoid of affection, her smile cold. You recoil from her grasp as if it burns, and she laughed lightly, a sound that rings in your ears.

She's right. You do still have feelings for her, a dark and twisted part of you that you had buried deep down, hoping it would rot away. But here it is, blooming again like a poisonous flower in the middle of the night.

"Come on, baby, just one more night," she cajoled, “You know you miss me.”

She gently pries the bottle from your fingers, twisting the cap off with ease. The liquid streams into your cup, filling it to the brim with a deep, rich red. She extends the cup toward you, her eyes shining with something you couldn’t put your finger on. "Don’t forget about your drink. It’ll help you feel better.” She reassured. Her voice is soothing, almost hypnotic, reminiscent of a serpent’s hiss, coaxing its prey with sweet promises of relief.

You pull back slightly as the alcohol fumes rise to tickle your nostrils, but the tremble in your hands gives you away. She chuckles softly, putting the cup back down and bringing the bottle up to your lips. “Open.” You obey and part your lips without thinking, feeling it warm your insides as she starts to guide you to the couch.

She sits you down and takes a seat on your lap, her legs straddling yours as she lightly pushes you to lean against the back of the couch. The weight of her body presses down on you, and you feel the strength in her thighs, the dominance in her touch as she strokes your hair just like she used to. "You know,” she started, “I never stopped thinking about you."

Her words made you want to cry more, and you take another gulp of wine, hoping the alcohol would wash away the pain and the doubt. You want to push her off of you, scream at her that she has no right to be here, but the warmth of her body is a comfort you haven’t felt in so long.

As you drink, her hand moves to rub your back, the motion gentle and slow. You hate how good it feels, how your muscles loosen under her caress. It’s been a year, but it’s as if no time has passed at all.

"Why are you.. here?" you mumble, your words slightly gargled and muffled from the drink she’s feeding you. Zooey tipped the bottle towards your mouth again, ready to ignore your question until you pulled back. She sighed, taking the bottle away from your pink stained lips.

"Because, my love, I know you. I know that under that cold exterior, you’re still the same girl who cried in my arms every time we fought." She pecks your lips. "And I know that no matter how much you say you hate me, there’s that little place in your heart where you still love me, even when I hurt you. I can’t get enough of it.”

You can't argue with the truth, so you don’t. Instead, you lean into her, letting the warmth of the wine and the familiarity of her presence seep into your bones.

Her hand moves from your back to cup your jaw, tilting it back to allow the wine to flow, her thumb brushing over your chin to catch a stray droplet. The gesture is so intimate, so loving, but her intentions are far from that.

A warm, electric buzz coursed through your body, each nerve ending alive with an intoxicating tingle. Your hands, heavy and unsteady, rested against the center of her chest, as if trying to push her away, though any real effort was utterly futile. The rich, velvety wine pumped through your veins, leaving you feeling achingly vulnerable and helpless, your strength sapped from the alcohol.

Zooey’s hand drops down to yours, squeezing a few times to ensure you don’t miss a word as she talks. She tells you about her travels, the adventures she’s had, the places she’s seen, and the moments she missed you and wished she could’ve shared with you.

Then you remember. The pain, the humiliation, the countless nights spent crying over her, and all the effort you made to live happily on your own. “Stop.”You mumble, moving your head to the side and attempting to scoot back further into the couch. But she doesn’t move, her grip on your hand tightening.

"Just one more, please. For me, darling." She murmurs softly as she nudges the cool glass bottle to your lips. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, urging you to resist, you find yourself surrendering to her charm, tilting your head back to take a long swig.

“There we go, you did so well. How do you feel now?” She asked before placing the empty bottle onto the coffee table behind her. You cough as the alcohol starts to blur the edges of your reality, feeling Zooey's hands move to your shoulders, her thumbs working into the tight muscles that have held years worth of tension. Your eyes flutter, your mouth parting slightly as a soft moan left your lips.

"I'm okay... you should go to sleep, you’re drunk." You waved her away, your gaze glazed over and confused as if suddenly lost in a distant fog. You made an attempt to stand up, but halfway to your feet, your knees buckled beneath you. You stumbled back, sinking into the soft cushions once more, the world around you swirling slightly.

"Oh, Y/N/N, look how sleepy you are. You need someone to take care of you."

One of her hands leaves your shoulder and moves to rest on your hip. You know you should stop her, that this isn’t the way to heal, but the words seem to jumble together as you try to speak.

Her other hand finds its way under the hem of your shirt, her nails gently scratching the skin of your tummy. "No..” you mumbled, but it's lost in the sound of her breathing, ragged and hot against your neck. You tried desperately to find her hands to push them away, but your vision and common knowledge is muddled from the alcohol.

"I don’t- stop," you try again, but it's weak, a feeble protest that she ignores. Her hand slides up, her thumb brushing against the bottom of your breast, and you suck in a breath, the chill of the air biting at your exposed skin. You buck your hips in an attempt to wriggle away, but the friction you received from her knee slotting between your thighs made you gasp.

"Zooey?…” You try to push her away again, but your muscles feel like they’ve turned to jelly. She chuckles, low and dark, her teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck.

"Shh," she soothed, her lips trailing further down as she spoke. "You're hurting. I'm taking care of you."

Zooey's hand moves upward to squeeze your breast, and you whimper loudly. It's a sound you hate, a sound of need and desire that you never thought you'd make again, not for her. But your body remembers the way she touched you, the way she could make you feel alive even when you were practically dead inside.

Her fingers play with the sensitive peak, and your breath hitches. You're not sure if you want her to stop or to keep going, but your body is betraying you, your breath quickening and your heart racing.

Zooey notices the subtle change in your breathing and smirks, taking it as a sign to continue. She inches closer, her breath warm against your skin, and captures your lips in a kiss that feels both achingly familiar and foreign. Your lips part on instinct, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping inside to reunite with yours.

She moans into your mouth, her hand underneath your shirt roughly groping and squeezing you. You move your head to the side and out of her reach, trying to form coherent words through the haze of alcohol.

"You’re so soft," she whispers, her voice a sultry murmur that warms the air between you. As she pulls her hand out from beneath your shirt, she grips your shoulders and gently maneuvers you, coaxing you to lay flat on your back.

In an effortless movement, she shifts so that her hips press against yours, her hands moving to unbutton your shirt with surprising deftness. The cold air hits your skin, sending a shiver through your body that she mistakes for excitement.

Her cold hand slides down your stomach, and you arch your back, a breathy moan escaping your throat as she pushes her hand into your pants and reaches your core, cupping you with her cold hand.

You’re laid out on the couch now, your legs kicking as she rubs you. Your panties are damp, clinging to you shamefully. The wine is doing its job, the buzz making it harder to resist her as she starts to pull down your pants with her free hand.

Hearing you moan her name again after so long made her growl, nipping at your bottom lip as she traced your slit through your thin panties. You can feel your body respond despite the horror of the situation, your pussy pulsing under her touch. "I can feel you," she husked. "You’re all wet and throbbing for me.”

"Zooey!" You whined loudly, struggling to tighten your muscles and tug your pants back up.

"Please, wait," you begged. Your heart hammers in your chest as you try to sit up, but she's too fast. Her hand whips up to your shoulder, her fingers digging into you as she shoved you back down.

"Don't you remember, baby? You used to beg for it. Every night. Zooey, I need you. Zooey, please touch me, right here…”

Your cheeks burn with a mix of humiliation and arousal as she recounts moments you'd buried under the weight of anger and resentment. Her fingers prod at your covered cunt, and you bit down hard on your lower lip to stifle a whimper.

She watched your chest rise and fall quickly as you panted, your cheeks and neck flushed and tear stained. "Tell me you need me."

You remember the passion, the heat, the desperation. But you also remember the betrayal, the pain, the coldness that settled in your chest like a rock when you heard she had been with someone else. "Stop it," you whisper, weakly trying to pull her hand away.

Her hand moves from your shoulder to your face, her thumb wiping away the tears that are now streaming down your cheeks. "Aw, but I don’t want to stop. I just want to make you feel good,"

You stare at her, your eyes glassy and distraught from the wine. Your body shakes with the effort to push her away, but she’s too far gone now. “Say it. Say you need me.” She pulls your panties to the side and her thumb circles your bare clit, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. "Please, Zooey.." you begged.

But she just smirks, her eyes sparkling as she slowly pushes two fingers inside of you. Her lips part and she sucks in a shaky breath hearing you gasp, your body twitching from the sudden intrusion. She moves them roughly, her thumb circling your sensitive bud as she invades you with a brutality that feels almost animalistic. You whimper, the pain mixing with a corrupt pleasure that makes you want to hate her even more.

“You’re so cute.” She kisses you again, her tongue finding its way back into your mouth, tasting of bitter wine. Her fingers work inside you, each stroke bringing a tear to your eye, a whimper to your throat. You want to stop it, want to push her away and tell her to leave, but your body won’t listen, your hips moving with her hand and your toes curling.

Her thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you can’t hold back the tiny moan that escapes your lips. The sound seems to fuel her, her hand moving faster, her fingers pumping into you skilfully.

"There it is," she breathes, "Just like that. Keep making those pretty noises for me,”

Her thumb works your clit in a brutal rhythm, her fingers plunging into your wetness as if she's trying to claim you again, to prove that she still owns you. You're close to the edge, so close, and you can feel it. You can feel it in the way your walls tighten around her fingers, the way your breaths are coming in short, desperate gasps.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, focusing on the pain, grounding yourself in it. You push another moan that's fighting to get out back down into the pit of your stomach, where it belongs. You don’t want her to hear it, to feed on it like a vampire craving for blood.

Her eyes narrow slightly, sensing your resistance, and speeds up her movements. You can feel your orgasm approaching, but you refuse to let it happen. You dig your nails into the couch cushions and squeeze your eyes shut. You bite down even harder on your cheek, the taste of coppery blood flooding your mouth. The pain helps, it’s something you can focus on, something to hold onto as she tries to pull you back into the abyss.

Her breathing is harsh in your ear, the hand that’s not inside of you snaking it’s way up to your neck, holding you in place. You can feel her hips moving, grinding urgently against your thigh.

"You can’t hold out on me for much longer, baby,” You try to push her away again, but she's too strong, her grip on your neck tightening. You feel your body start to give in, the beginnings of a climax threatening to overwhelm you.

"No no no," you say under your breath, trying to squeeze your thighs shut. She smiles, her hips rocking against you in time with her hand, her eyes looking for yours, watching the battle between your need for release and your need to resist her.

Your body arches upwards, a silent scream trapped in your throat as the orgasm rips through you, shuddering and raw. She grins, her eyes glowing with a twisted triumph as she feels you squirt around her fingers.

The room spins as she pulls away, leaving you gasping for breath. "There you go, sweetheart. Wasn’t that nice?” she readjusted her jacket as she stood up and reached for her phone on the table.

"What are you doing?" you rasp out.

"Just going too.. capture the moment,” she says with a wink. She opens the camera app, and before you can react, she points the back camera at your tear-stained face and your exposed, trembling body.

"Look who I found,"

Your heart sinks as you realize what she's doing. "Zooey, don’t," you warn, trying to shield your face with your hands. But she's too quick for you, snapping a few pictures with a cruel smile.

"Oh, come on, don’t be shy. You look so cute!" She praised. "It's been so long since I've had you all to myself like this."

Your face is the picture-perfect example of humiliation, flushed a deep shade of red that matches the bruises she left on your neck. Tears clung to your lashes, sparkling like diamonds in the low light, tracing paths down your cheeks to your neck. Your shirt is gaping open, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and the smooth plane of your stomach, your jeans pulled down just enough to expose the skin of your upper thighs.

"Please, Zooey," you hiccup, your voice hoarse and pleading. She ignores your pleas, taking a few more shots, zooming in to ensure she didn’t miss a single detail.

You feel more exposed than ever with the cold, clinical flash bouncing off your skin. You attempt to sit up, but your legs are jelly, and your strength is waning.

"What are you going to do with those?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“They’re just for me, honey. A little souvenir of our reunion. You don’t mind, do you?” Zooey’s voice is sweet, but there’s a bite to it that makes you tense. She sits on the edge of the couch, flipping through the images with a sadistic smirk.

She tucks her phone away with a dramatic sigh. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, darling. It’s a New Year, I’d hate for you to stay like this.” She says, her tone switching to something strangely close to affectionate. She walks away to grab a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom and returns to your side, her movements surprisingly gentle. You flinch as she wipes away the tears and the smudged makeup, and again when she uses a different cloth to clean up your other sticky mess.

Zooey carefully dresses you in a festive Christmas sweater that you had neatly folded in your top drawer. You watch her in a daze, unable to process what's happening. She tugs it down over your head, the smell of fabric softener and her woody perfume a painful reminder of happier times.

"There, you look much better.” She says, stepping back to admire her work.

With a sigh, Zooey sits beside you, her hand finding its way to your thigh. "You know, I missed this," she whispers, gently taking your chin between her fingers and turning your head to look up at her. "Missed having you here, all the time, right next to me.”

Her hand moves higher, her thumb tracing the edge of the sweater, grazing the valley of your breasts. You stiffen and your breathing stops when her fingers brush against your throat. She chuckles when she catches your reaction, and leans in, her lips brushing against yours.

“Happy new year, bunny.”

⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

moth to a flame

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, praise, body worship, eye contact, public sex act, dry humping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your friend invites you to a bonfire where you meet a man who knows you better than you think. plus! reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: this is my first of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Natasha is the coolest person you know. Probably the coolest person most people will ever meet; if they have the privilege. So it is that you wonder how she’s your friend. It’s really too good to be true which is why you can’t help but feel a bit enamoured by her. 

It has to be real though. If you’re not friends, she wouldn’t invite you to her annual bonfire. A sacred tradition for her, or so you’ve heard. A gathering of all her closest friends. They are truly elite company. Not just your everyday schmucks, but The Avengers. 

You’re sure you’ll seem a bit lame walking up with your basket of pumpkin muffins home-made cider. Still, you were taught to always bring something with you. Though it does provide an obstacle to getting to the front door smoothly. 

You carry the large glass jug of cider by the metal handle as you hug the basket to your side. You struggle you hit the lock button on your keys and stop short as the cider sloshes around dangerously and throws your balance. As you try to correct yourself, footsteps scuff up behind you. 

“Need help?” The deep voice is like silk. 

You look over your shoulder, nearly tipping over as you do. The stranger manages to scoop up the basket before you tip it and you giggle in embarrassment. You sigh and let him take it from you. 

Oh, he’s not a stranger. Well, you know his name, even if you don’t know him. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. One of Natasha’s many high-profile friends. Again, you ask yourself how you ended up there. 

“Oop, thanks so much,” you say. “I should’ve made two trips.” 

“No problem,” he assures you. “You a friend of Nat’s?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you smile, turning back up the walk as he keeps stride with you. “New friend, I guess.” 

“Friend is a friend. She only keeps me around because I made friends with a string bean back in 1930.” He chuckles. 

“You mean--” You stop yourself and look away. You don't want to come off as a fangirl that quick. “Uh, well, we met at an event. She was teaching self-defense for the woman’s shelter.” 

“Oh, you work there?” He asks. 

You keep your eyes off of him, “I lived there. Not anymore.” 

“Ah, well, that’s good? You’re in a better place?” He asks. 

You nod, “much better.” You swallow and exhale. “I know who you are. You’re Bucky Barnes.” 

“I’m never gonna get used to that,” he scoffs. “Takes the excitement out of meeting new people.” 

“Oh, sorry, I...” you trail off before your nerves can break through.  

You don’t think Natasha would ever have become your friend if she knew you were such a geek about her other friends. Cap and Iron Man and even Thor. They were the real-life heroes that inspired you to be your own. And it was a poster of Steve Rogers himself that sparked the last fight that led to you leaving your ex. 

“It’s fine, so, do I get a name? Unfortunately, I don’t have the whole mind-reading thing going on,” he knocks on the heavy door as you shift the jug in your grip. You give your name as you peek over at him sheepishly. “These smell...” he lifts the basket and takes a whiff, “delicious.” 

“I hope they are. My first time using my apartment stove. It’s gas. I’m used to electric,” you explain. “Uh, pumpkin muffins, if that’s what you were asking. Sorry, I...” you turn to the door and rub your lips together, “if I’m honest, I’m super nervous.” 

“Nervous?” He echoes. “About?” 

“Well, I’m not the greatest with crowds. Especially since the shelter... ugh, I don’t know why I keep bringing that up.” You cringe, “but uh, just... new people. I guess.” 

“Ah,” he nods and teeters on his treads, knocking again, “damn it, Nat, what the hell are ya doin?” He grumbles. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not really a people person either. The arm... it’s quite the ice breaker.” He sniffs, “I hate talking about the goddamn thing.” 

“Um, yeah, that would be... awkward,” you utter. 

The door opens before he can respond. You’re glad for it. You hadn’t thought about it but now all you can think of is if his arm has a built-in can opener. 

“Oh, he-eyyyy,” Natasha stutters as her eyes flit between you and Bucky, “you’re here. Both of you. At the same time?” 

“Uhhh, yeah,” you peek at Bucky. 

“Ran into each other a few steps back. You’re shit at introducing people, Natty.” 

She rolls her eyes and waves him off. She turns to you. “Wow, and what’s all this?” 

“I brought cider and--” 

“Muffins,” Bucky finishes for you as he lifts the basket higher. “I’m not much of a baker.” 

“Or a guest,” she retorts. “That’s so amazing, thank you.” She reaches to take the basket, “come on, I’ll show you around. Bucky, I think you already know where the litter box is.” 

Bucky tuts and shakes his head, “nice seeing you too.” He follows you in and faces you, “try to enjoy yourself. I know she’s a bit of a party pooper. Even if she is the host.” 

“With guests like you, how can I not be,” Natasha trills and beckons you onward, “don’t worry about your shoes. We’ll most be outside so I’ll do a full sweep and mop tomorrow.” She turns and struts away. 

Your eyes creep down her hour glass figure. You feel like a pervert as you do but you can’t help it. Even in a flannel and jeans, her body is perfect. The cowl neck of your red sweater and your corduroy feels a little less cute. 

“You made these yourself?” She asks as she leads you into a large kitchen.

There’s a square island with a hardwood top and matching counters and cupboards; the tile is burgundy with black iron accents. You marvel as you compare it in your head to your boxy apartment with the peeling laminate and squeaky faucets. 

“Uh, yeah,” you answer as you lift the jug of cider onto the counter. “Apple cider and pumpkin muffins.” 

“You are too sweet. I have to admit, I got catering for tonight. I'm no good in a kitchen,” she chuckles. “Lived off of Hydra rations for so long, I can’t do much more than open a can or vacuum seal.” 

“Oh, right. Nothing fancy,” you shrug. “You know, I just found the recipes online. Got some apples from the farmers’ market... I don’t know if it’s any good.” 

“I’m sure it’s all delicious. Bet the cider would be great with some whiskey,” her voice is smokey as she smirks. “Wanna put that theory to the test?” 

“Um, if you want. I’m okay either way.” 

“I won’t blame you if you need some liquid courage before facing the rest. Work friends can be a bit much,” she chuckles. “Besides, I have a bottle that’s been sitting in my cabinet for too long.” 

“Sure,” you accept, not wanting to be rude. And she’s right. You need something to take the edge off. 

She hums as she leaves the muffins next to the jug and she spins to the cupboard. She takes out two glasses that resemble jars and a dark bottle of liquor. You watch her put it all together with ice and a cinnamon stick to boot. 

“May as well get some before the rest devour it,” she slides a glass toward you and lifts the other, “cheers.” 

You smile and clink her glass. You taste it and your cheeks pinch. The cider is good but you can definitely taste the whiskey. You hold back a cough and cover your mouth. 

“I am just rewarming the hors d’oevres but if you want to wait, I can introduce you to everyone.” 

Heat roils from the oven as it glows from within and there are trays waiting for serving. She’s already put so much in. You don’t want to make her day even more strenuous. After all, she didn’t have to invite you. 

“No, it’s... you’re busy but if you need help.” 

“Don’t be crazy. You’re a guest. Go, enjoy the party. I’ll be out shortly. Everything’s mostly out there already.” 

“Okay, but um, I can take the muffins at least.” 

“Alright,” she agrees. 

You grab the basket and go to the door. You pause as you realise you don’t know where you’re going. Natasha laughs again. 

“Other way, back door is right on the other side of me,” she sweeps around the kitchen swiftly. 

“Right,” you turn back and cross the tile; one arm around the basket, your other hand cradling your glass. You push outside with your shoulder and step out onto the deck.  

There’s a long table of snacks as promised. You go to it and put down the basket as you dare to glance up at the guests speckled around the yard. Pairs and trios stand in the grass and around the already crackling fire. They all seem to know each other and you recognise quite a few of them. 

“Buns?” The question has you lurching in surprise as you face another partygoer. 

“Oh, uh, no, muffins,” you lift the lid to show the contents. “Pumpkin.” 

“Oooh,” the blond grins. The golden hair, the square jaw, broad shoulders; how could you mistake Captain America? “Can I try?” 

“Of course. I brought them for everyone,” you smile and tightly clutch your glass of cider. “You’re... Captain America.” 

“Ha, well, not here. I prefer Steve,” he takes out a muffin and peels away the liner. “And you’re... one of Xavier’s recruits?” 

“Xavier? Who—no. I’m...” you introduce yourself as he sinks his teeth in to the muffin. Your stomach flips. What if it’s bad? “Natasha’s friend. Erm, I guess that’s what we all are but nope, I’m just me. Just a... civilian?” 

He laughs, “just a civilian? Damn good baker. I don’t go for pumpkin often but this is amazing.” 

“Really?” You beam and bounce on your toes. 

“Oh, yeah--” 

“Save some for the rest of us, punk,” Bucky comes up from behind Steve. “Just like him to be chatting up the cutest girl at the party. What line did he use?” 

“Line? I’m just having a muffin,” Steve grimaces. 

“Mm, muffins,” Bucky reaches in front of his friend to claim a treat of his own, “was waiting on these.” 

He eyes your glass of cider and you take a sip. You pull your lips off the brim and gulp, “oh, the rest is inside if you want some.” 

“She made that too,” Bucky points at your cup. “Who knew Natasha had cool friends?” 

You giggle, “no, I’m not... just muffins.” 

“Good muffins,” Bucky says through a mouthful, “mmm.” 

“Might be good to hide them,” Steve remarks as he gives Bucky the side eye. 

“Hey, these two meatheads giving you trouble?” Another figure approaches from the back door. You turn as Tony stark flips up his dark sunglasses. He sports a red velvet jacket with collar popped. 

Bucky’s lips thin and Steve shakes his head, “you’re late,” the latter rebukes. 

“It’s a party, capsicle. Chill. Wait, don’t do that. We might not see you for another seventy years.” 

Steve scowls and takes another bite of his muffin. Bucky picks at his own and looks away. You nervously glance between them all. 

“Tony Stark,” the new arrival offers his hand, “but you already know that, don’t you, sweetheart? So who are you?” 

“Charming,” Steve comments. 

“It’s called getting to the point, Rogers. Some of us aren’t gonna wait around until they’re in the nursing home.” 

Steve growls and Bucky nudges him. The blond nods and looks at you, “I’ll see ya around.” 

“Sure,” you accept. Bucky waves with two fingers and follows Steve’s retreat. You turn back to Tony and shake his hand as you recite your name. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Natasha didn’t say this was a meet-cute,” he winks. 

“Ummm,” you glance around nervously. 

“Teasing ya. You look lost. You want the low-down on the dweebs,” he flicks his index towards the grass. “Now, you see, that kid right there, that’s Parker. His alias is top secret. For his safety. He might blurt it out anyway. And that’s his buddy Miles,” he points at to younger guests. “Someone should really separate them. We don’t need a mess.” 

He snickers and puts his arm around you as he moves you toward the top step of the deck, “and there’s the mighty God of Thunder. We all know the puppy dog, and then there’s his stray cat of a brother. Trust me, I tried to have him ejected into space but apparently, they can survive that.”

He tuts. “And there’s Bruce, good guy. When he’s calms. And Brock. Real question mark, that guy. Maria, Coulson, Sam, Strange; the better Steve if you ask me. And Wanda, her husband; I made him, his name is Vision but I guess Victor is more ‘human’.” 

He runs his hand up your arm as he pulls you closer, “there’s Charles, he prefers Professor, and his group of ragtag individuals. I could tell you their names but I’m already bored. Oh, except that one, the angry one with the swoopy hair. That’s Logan. Leave him alone. He’s even worse than the bozo with the vibranium arm. 

“Now, T’Challa has more important things to do so we don’t got anyone else worth mentioning,” he drags his hand down your sleeve then lets go, “I’m sure you’ll be tired of all of us before the night’s done. I assure you, heroes save people, not the vibe.” 

He clicks his tongue and jumps off the top step. You watch him strut off and you stare after him. There’s a lot more people than you expected. Familiar but still strangers.  

The only good thing is there’s more than enough guests for you to fade into the background. You’re tempted to go back in and offer to help Natasha. You know better than that. She always sees right through you. She’ll know immediately that you’re just hiding from social interaction. 

🔥

The night wears on into darkness. The large pit burns brightly as voices buzz and shadows waver. You stand watching the lick of flames, unnoticed amid the furor. Or so you think. 

“Hey, there’s cider left,” Bucky appears at your side, his sleeve brushing yours. “Got you a top up.” 

“Oh, that’s... nice.” You accept the glass as he holds another for himself. “You didn’t have to.” 

“You look... lonely. I don’t know. Felt bad. You went to all that trouble and you’re wading through this sea of people you don’t know.” He shrugs. “Hate these things myself. I just came ‘cause Nat asked. Well, she tells. You know, you can’t say no to her.” 

“Ha, yeah,” you agree. She isn’t just strong-willed, she’s intimidating. 

“I usually end up just drifting around until everyone’s distracted, then I dip,” he explains. “Or find somewhere quiet.” He quiets to take a sip, “how about it? Everyone’s out here, there’s a sofa up on the deck.” Your teeth chatter as you try to taste the cider, “and A blanket.” 

“Mm, it said it wasn’t supposed to get cold,” you look down embarrassed. You finally get a mouthful. It’s sweeter than before. Maybe because there’s no whiskey. 

“Huh, well, you don’t gotta hang out with a boring old man like me. Just figured I’d offer,” he says. 

“Thanks, that’s nice.” 

“Well, I can be nice when I want to,” he raises his glass slightly and turns away. 

As he marches off, you watch his back. Your eyes wander around. No one else even notices you. They’re all so wrapped up in each other. Even Natasha’s barely stopped to chat. 

“Wait,” you call after Bucky, “I could sit down.” 

He stops and turns as you scurry after him. The fire light flickers and limns the sharp angles of his face. He waits until your right beside him to continue on. 

“So, you already know what I do for work. What about you?” He asks as you climb the steps in tandem. 

“I’m a cashier,” you answer. “I work at a pet store.” 

“Hm, I like animals,” he leads you to the sofa. You can see the glow of the fire but the voices aren’t so raucous from up there. 

“Yeah, we mostly just have birds and hamsters there. Nothing very big. It’s a small place,” you explain. “I... It’s a new job.” You keep yourself from mentioning that the shelter helped you find it. It’s not really what you want to do forever, but it’s something. 

“Still, that’s nice. You get to help people in your own way. Make sure they can spoil their pet,” he leans back as he balances his glass over one knee and you drink deeply from your own. “I got a cat. Demanding. A bit abusive.” He laughs then chokes on it. “Jeez, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke.” 

You shake your head, “no, it’s not... really. I’m not upset.” 

“You sure?” He angles towards you. 

“Yeah, really. I can handle it,” you say. 

He nods and hums, “yeah, I’m sure you’ve dealt with worse than words.” 

You’re silent as you look down at the cup. You take another sip. He clears his throat as he shifts in the seat. He reaches back to put slide his phone from the back of his jeans. He leans forward to place it on the table. 

“Ugh,” he sits back. “Better.” 

You smile, “well, you don’t just work, do you? When did you get your cat?” 

“Oh, she just made herself at home really. It wasn’t exactly a conscious or willing choice,” he laughs. You fold one arm around your middle and shiver again. “Ah, where’s that blanket--” 

He reaches to the back of the couch and pulls down the blanket. It hits his glass and he loses grip of both. He huffs as he soaks the flannel in cider. 

“Damn,” he stands and holds out the sopping blanket before it can drip onto him or the couch. “Just like me. Hold on. I’ll go get another blanket and clean this up.” 

He untangles the cup from the blanket and sidles past you. You sit back silently as he heads for the back door. You glance over and consider sneaking over to the table to pick at the leftovers. Instead, you huddle down against another evening breeze.  

You finish all but a mouthful of side and reach to place it on the wooden table. His phone lights up and draws your attention. You blink as your eyes instinctively find the screen. You get a glimpse of the wallpaper right before it goes dark again. Huh? 

You shake off what you think you saw and the phone lights up again. You lean over and sink your teeth around the gasp that threatens to spill out. That can’t be. 

You check over your shoulder before you reach for the phone. You tap the side button and gape at your own image staring back at you. There’s a chat bubble floating on the front screen; new messages. You tap and expand the preview. It’s from Nat; ‘you find her?’ 

Your stomach sinks and you nearly drop the phone. The door opens and you quickly set it back down and sit back. You cross your arm and stare out at the other guests. Nothing can happen as long as you don’t leave. 

He comes back and you flinch as he drapes a blanket over you. He drops down onto the couch as he pulls it snug around your front. He drags his grip down the edges before he lets go. “Better?” 

“Mhmm,” you agree and blink. Your eyes feel dry. You reach up to rub them. 

“Really good cider. You’ll have to send me the recipe,” he insists. 

“Sure,” you slur and try to shake it off. “I’ll find the link...” you swallow and cough. You don’t feel right. You need some space to think. “I need to use the bathroom, one sec.” 

You try to stand but don’t even get your ass off of the sofa before you slump over. Your head crashes into Bucky’s shoulder. He opens his arm around you and rubs your back. He hushes you as you babble. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he rubs your back, “I got you.” 

You try to make a noise but you can’t. You can’t whine or whimper or scream. You can just squeak as he pushes you back up so you fall back against the arm. 

“I measured...” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t pass out.” 

You gurgle and lift your arm. It takes so much effort that it drops down like a bag a sand. The cider...

He shifts and stands, moving your leg behind him before he lowers himself back down. His hand rests on your thigh. His thumb presses into your soft flesh. 

“God, you’re so beautiful, doll,” he traces up and down the seam of your pants. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He runs his finger along your pelvis, making a vee back and forth, “soft and... warm.” 

“B--B—B--” you stutter. 

“The moment I saw you, I knew you needed me,” he moves even closer, his hand crawling up your stomach. “Whoever chased you into that place, he didn’t deserve you. You deserve better.” 

He moves carefully, lifting himself and twisting onto his knees. His hand glides back along your thigh as he folds it around him. You twitch but can’t do more than that. He bends and holds himself over you. 

He curls an arm under your head and nuzzles you. Your eyes roll back as you hide behind your eyelids. This can’t be real. What is he doing? How can he have photos of you on his phone? And that text... did Natasha set this up? Why would she do that? She’s your friend. 

“Look at me,” he growls. His voice is scary. Your eyes snap open and you groan. The tip of his nose rolls around yours. “God, you’re beautiful. Doll, I’m gonna take such good care of you.” He leans his pelvis against you as he presses down, “I’m going to keep you safe.” 

He tilts his hips until you feel his bulge against you. Your eyes round and you puff out a foggy breath. What is he doing? 

“Don’t look away,” he snarls as he slides his arm back and grips the back of your head. “Mmm, I just... I love the way you look at me. The way you feel beneath me.” He rasps as he rocks his hips steadily, “I can’t wait to have you on me, doll. To feel you on top of me. Around me. Mm, I wanna taste you so bad. 

“Mm, your chest,” he touches your tits, “your stomach, your hips,” his hand explores with his declaration and he hooks his hand under you, “your ass. All mine.” 

His coarse whispers tingle through you. What he says is nasty and wrong and yet it’s thrilling. Terrifying because you can do nothing to stop him. Defeating because all the people only feet away won’t either. 

[sanguniemcordis]

some kyle garrick roommate headcanons to get my blood flowing

roommate!kyle garrick x fem!reader (fluff)

cw: alcohol, pretty much that.

• wasn’t expecting a girl when he put the ad out, but when he saw you he couldn’t complain

• but you needed somewhere to stay and honestly a man wasn’t your favorite pick either but what can ya do

• gives you the bigger room without telling you (literally switches over the couple days that he has before you move in)

• definitely under charges you for rent

• the apartment is bare because he’s never home for very long so he just tells you to decorate how you want

• helps you bring all your things up, happily takes pizza as payment

• kyle is nice. he’s funny, clever, not bad on the eyes

• he turns out to be a really nice roommate

• shares his food because he never knows when he’s leaving so it’s all up for grabs

•sings loudly and BADLY in the shower

• watches nature documentaries like 9 out of 10 times you see him on the couch (the other 1 time is soccer football)

• also probably falls asleep to them but then complains when he wakes up and you’ve turned something else on (“hey, i was watching that..”)

• scarily quiet sleeper due to his job, barely moves either

• but terrifyingly easy to wake up, even if you take a step within 10 feet of him his eyes open

• sometimes leaves the toilet seat up

• if you leave your bra in the dryer he puts it on over his shirt and waits for your return OR goes into your room, strikes a pose then leaves (you have to chase him to get it back)

• listen. it’s not that he thinks women are weak, not in the slightest, it’s that he knows men are crazy, so don’t even think about leaving at night

• seriously, don’t (one time you didn’t tell him and he thought you had been kidnapped)

• if you go out with your friends, expect he’s up waiting but not in an obvious way, but pretending he’s been watching another movie

• he makes a mean hangover breakfast

• he also has a very specific routine for shutting down the house and locking the doors or windows to make sure its secure

• makes too much food and gets offended when you don’t eat it all

• and if you have a potential partner or date over, he’s interrogating them, but in an unsuspicious way, one that seems friendly at first then goes south

• (“so you were just dating your ex only three months ago, you posted a picture on instagram with them and yet you already moved on?” “KYLE!” what? i was just asking a question!” “how did you even find their instagram?!”)

• kyle who for some reason hates every single person you bring home

• kyle who used to have a few regular fwb but slowly got rid of all of them

• kyle who started tagging along on night outs, casually stating he was bored

• then hes paying for several rounds but only having a drink or two, and yes, he’s forcing you to have water

• yes he takes you to get food when you’re drunk and begging

• then suddenly he starts suggesting activities for you guys to do together, puzzles… walks… restaurants… a pottery studio (“come on, it’d be fun!” “kyle have you ever done pottery?” “no! but it’d be fun, yeah?)

• kyle who starts to get just a little more touchy, starting small. i’m talking lower back touches, hugs, finger tips brushing over your bicep, grasping your wrist, even playing with a ring you had just bought

• eyes lingering on you longer and longer

• and just as the tension is bubbling, he’s gone.

• for months and the entire time he’s unable to focus entirely on his mission, part of his mind always going back to you, are you okay? are you warm? are you eating?

• and you’re in the same boat, wondering if hes eating, drinking, sleeping okay. if he’s coming home, when he’s coming home

• kyle who is only able to call you once and it’s the best fifteen minutes of his life

• whenever he comes home he always quietly checks on you, peeking his head in.

• is loud when he comes home sometimes, which is an accident, but it’s a welcome disruption because you know he’s safe. one time he was because he couldn’t bend over to get his jeans off and he woke you up, but it was welcomed help

• then after the jeans incident would be the first time you guys ever sleep together is when he found you up after coming home late. you made him food, turned on the tv and watched a movie on the couch

• the next morning you wake up first, curled up towards him, a crick in your neck and legs hanging off the couch

• kyle is turned towards you, plate nearly finished on his lap and arms crossed, head nodding forward

• then comes the weird limbo..

• because kyle is definitely touchier, sweeter SOMEHOW

• starts to sprinkle in some affection (“hand me that, love, would you, the best thank you,” “okay darling, i’ll get my shoes-“ “i’m just going to the corner-,” “no it’s fine, i need some fresh air.”)

• gets “strangely” protective whenever you’re in public and a guy approaches, even if he was across the store he’s by your side in an instant. (“sorry babe, whose this?” “kyl-,” “y’know i saw some of your favorite wine on sale, grab a bottle or two?”)

• speaking of wine, kyle LOVES wine night. props his feet up, pours you both a hefty glass of wine and turns on whatever guilty pleasure you both have

• (right now its 90 day fiancé)

• when he gets wine tipsy thats when he gets clingy, shuffling closer and closer until he rests his head on your shoulder, thighs pressing together.

• “he doesn’t love her,” kyle will mutter, discontent with the man on the show “how do you know that?” “because i do.”

• kyle who ends the night holding you, because hes clung his arms around you then managed to wiggle the pair of you together

• kyle, who even after you fall asleep stays up, unable to move because this just feels so right and like it was supposed to always be this way

[latenightdaydreams]

Shower Time (MLM)

MDNI🔞

>CW: Masc/amab, p in a, handjob, cum shot, MLM

For more: Master list

1.4k word count

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You joined KorTac about eight months ago to advance your career. Everyone had been decently friendly, except one. Colonel König. His gaze would pierce through you constantly. Never saying a word to you even when you would talk to him. He would simply look down at you and walk away. He always made you feel small even though you by no means are a short man, he is just a fucking behemoth.

At first you tried to not take it so personally, maybe he was just not a friendly guy. Yet, you would see him have no issues talking to other soldiers and would never just straight up ignore them. You begin to assume he is just homophobic; he did see your ex-boyfriend come to base and visit occasionally.

Today was like every other day and you end your day at the gym. In grey sweats and a tight black shirt, you finish your workouts by doing a light jog on the treadmill. In the mirrors surrounding the gym, you can see König using free weights and glaring at you. Being intimidated by him, you keep your gaze away from his. Once your cool down was over you got off the treadmill and made a quick beeline to the locker room door.

Walking to your locker you grab your clean uniform and underwear before walking back to the showers. You set your clothing down on a bench across from the shower and step in. The sound of the water drowns out the sound of the locker room door closing and locking, unaware König just stepped inside after you.

König sits down on the bench next to your clothing. He grabs your bright blue underwear and inspects it. His mind was wondering how it would look on your tight little ass. His eyes wandered over to the shower while he continues to hold your underwear. The blurry reflection of you as you shower is a tease. His eyes lingering on the bulge he can notice until the water shuts off.

As you open the shower door you stall and look petrified as you see König sitting with your underwear. A hand moves down to cover your dick and balls and you begin the breath deeply. With slow steps you get out of the shower and reach for your towel, wrapping it around your waist.

“Not going to say anything private?” His eyes travel over your body once more.

“Wha- what do you want?” Your voice not as strong as you were hoping it would sound.

A smirk appeared across Königs lips under his mask as he doesn’t answer your question. He stands and walks towards you, his body soon looming over you as he looks down into your eyes.

“You’re…gay, right?” He asked finally.

A familiar fear in your heart conjured as you answer, “yes.”

“Good,” König brings his hand up to your face and softly caresses your lower lip with his thumb. His eyes exploring your face like he is trying to commit it all to memory. His eyes finally settling back on yours. “Are you interested? In me?”

The fear changed as you realized he doesn’t hate you, but the opposite. You swallow hard and maintain eye contact with him. You had never thought of him in that way due to all of the fear, but you’d be lying if you said you never wonder how big his cock is. You give a small nod.

König lifts his mask slightly and leans down to kiss your lips tenderly at first, as if he is hesitant. Then more passionately the second time your lips clashed. One hand cupped your face gently to hold you in place as his other went down your abdomen, his fingers gliding over your chest hair and soft midsection before touching the fabric of your towel. With one tug, he pulls your towel off and lets it fall to the floor.

The kiss breaks as König takes a step back and looks at your body again. This time your cock is fully erect with a bead of precum dripping off the tip. You feel your face get hot with excitement and nervousness as he looks at you.

“Come here,” he gestures with his hand as he walks over to the sinks. You follow without asking any questions.

König moves your body so that you are facing the mirrors and he stands behind you. All you can see are his eyes as they are glued to your ass before moving to meet your gaze in the mirror. You can hear him begin to undo his belt and pants before the heavy fabric falls to the floor around his ankles. You can hear the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper as your eyes watch him in the reflection. Wanting to see how big he is, you turn your head slightly.

“Eyes ahead,” he demands but in a kind voice, “you’ll feel it soon enough.”

You listen and continue to watch him in the reflection.

One of his hands caresses your back to the curve of your back as he pushes you down just a little. He spits on your asshole and uses a finger to rub it around, sticking it in your ass slightly before pulling away. His hand goes to his cock to guide it to your hole. His gaze locks with yours in the mirror as he pushes forward. The head of his cock begins to stretch your asshole. His eyes are watching you to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. He begins to rock his hips back and forth gently to let you get used to his size.

“Fuck you’re tight…” His voice quivers with pleasure.

“Oh god,” you let out a loud gasping moan as he pushes himself all the way in, feeling his full size. He lingers there for a second as you breathe and relax your body.

“You okay, Prinz?” His hands run along your ass, feeling the shape and enjoying your soft skin.

“Mhm, yeah.” You moan in reply. With that he nods and begins to pull his cock back before shoving it back in with more force this time, generating a loud moan from your lips. His pace became harder and more determined.

Your hand slides down to your cock, desperately wanting attention as König fucks you. His hand moves around and pushes yours off.

“Spit,” he says to you, holding his hand in front of your mouth. Your gaze goes to his as you spit in the palm of his hand. He pulls away and begins to stroke your cock with his large warm hands. “Your cock would feel so good in me…” he whispers to no one in particular lost in the pleasure of the moment.

You become a babbling mess as your body becomes overwhelmed with the sensation of his hand pumping your cock and his meaty monster cock filling your tight ass. The sound of his broad hips slapping against your supple ass filling the room. You can see your balls tighten as your hands grasp the counters until your knuckles turn white.

Without warning your cock begins to spurt milky white beads of cum all over the floor and Königs hand.

“That’s it, cum for me my pretty boy…” he groans out. Moving his hand off of your cock, he brings his hand under his mask and licks off the small bit of your cum on his fingers and palm. He moves that hand to your hip and he grips you tightly. His motion begins to pick up even more as he brutally pounds into your ass chasing his climax now.

“On your knees,” he pulls out gently but fast and pulls the condom from his cock.

You quickly turn around and get down on your knees in front of him. Your eyes widen as you finally see what was just stretching your ass and he is truly gods gift to man. His hand pumps his dick as the other one grasps your chin, holding your face in place.

Soft groans leave his mouth as you instinctively jerk back from the feeling of the first rope of warm sticky cum shoot out and hit your face. You open your mouth as more shoots out, the salty taste of him gracing your tastebuds. He guides his pulsating cock to your mouth as you wrap your lips around the tip and suck, milking him for the last bit of cum he had.

He looks down at you from behind his mask as he breathes heavily. His hand gently caresses your jawline as he looks into your eyes with more than lust.

From that day on, König was attached to your hip.

[sevarchive]

wish you were sober ༄.°

a oliver aiku story. 2k words

synopsis: in which a summer party brings oliver aiku and his long-broken friend back to a night they once tried to forget, forcing them to confront the memories and everything left unsaid.

the backyard smells like cheap beer, citronella, and a little too much nostalgia,

fairy lights sag between poles, flickering faintly like they’re tired of holding the night together. a bluetooth speaker croaks out early 2010s throwbacks, the kind that make you cringe and ache at the same time. red cups litter the grass. someone’s cousin is already passed out on a beanbag chair.

you’re leaning against the patio railing, half-listening to your friend ramble about grad school. you nod, offer the occasional smile, but your mind is somewhere else entirely: floating just beyond the smoke and summer air, waiting for something you don’t want to name.

then it happens; the temperature drops a few degrees. like the air tightens, coils. you feel it in your spine before you even register the sound.

you don’t need to turn around to know. you already know.

“hey, stranger,” he says, voice warm and familiar and just a little too close. “didn’t think i’d see you tonight.”

stranger? yeah, right. like you weren’t stuck to me for four years. like i didn’t know your coffee order, your mom’s maiden name, or the exact playlist you’d cry to when your ex cheated. sure, stranger.

you raise your cup. “free drinks and bad music. felt like a sign.”

he chuckles. “still got that edge. missed that.”

you scoff lightly. “what, you missed me?”

he hums. “wouldn’t be the first time.”

you roll your eyes. “smooth.”

the conversation starts light. familiar. he teases you about your tragic music taste. you throw back a jab about his hair still being a crime against humanity. he makes a show of fake offense, dramatically flipping nonexistent bangs.

“okay, but be honest,” you say after a moment, tipping your drink toward him, “how many poor girls have fallen for the aiku charm since uni started?”

he laughs, low and unbothered. “i plead the fifth.”

you raise a brow. “so more than five.”

he winks. “i didn’t say that.”

you tilt your head. “still keeping your options open, huh?”

“trying to find someone who can keep up.” he pauses, gaze flicking to you. “still haven’t.”

then aiku glances down at his drink, mouth pulling slightly at the corner.

“hey…”

his voice drops.

“remember that party in second year? the one where we—uh, we got, like… way too drunk?”

your fingers clench the cup so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter, and your breath catches, stuck somewhere between panic and something you’re not ready to face.

the music keeps playing.

it was the summer before our third year—right after second year ended—that our friends threw that party.

nothing fancy. just a small house, loud music, too many red cups filled with cheap drinks, and all the reckless energy that comes with being young and careless.

aiku was there, laughing a little too loud, flirting with that damn cocky grin, like he owned the night. i kept close, nursing my drink, trying not to get lost in the way he made everything feel electric.

“you gotta keep up, y/n,” he joked, but you caught the slight catch in his breath.

when the world tilted too much, you slipped your arm around him. “c’mon,” you said quietly, voice firmer than you felt. “i’m taking you home.”

his laugh was soft, almost vulnerable. “yeah? like i’m some kid who needs babysitting?”

i ignored the tease, guiding him through the noisy crowd and out into the chilly night. the cold air hit my skin, sharp and sobering, but his warmth pressed close against me. he was heavier than usual, like the drink had dragged something down inside him. i kept him steady, leaning on each other as we walked the quiet streets.

back at my place, the air felt thick, heavy with everything neither of us wanted to say. i helped him settle down, my hands brushing his arm, and the electricity of that tiny touch hit me harder than i expected. my heart was pounding like a drum in my chest.

god, he looked so damn peaceful. almost… pretty. like the chaos inside him had softened just enough for me to glimpse the real person beneath.

my mind was spinning.

why now? i wondered. why did it feel like everything was about to break or explode or both?

i wanted to tell him how i’d held onto him for four years—how he was the one person i’d trusted more than anyone, my ride or die. the one constant in a life that never felt steady.

but words failed me.

and then, out of nowhere, he opened his eyes, the haze still thick but his gaze locked on mine like he was searching for something real in the dark.

his hand found my arm, pulling me closer with a force that was both desperate and unsure.

i should have pulled away—

but i didn’t.

instead, my breath caught when his lips brushed mine; soft, tentative, like testing fragile ice that might shatter any second.

then, like a dam breaking, the kiss deepened. his mouth claimed mine with an urgent, messy hunger that left no room for doubt.

his lips moved against mine; warm, and insistent, telling stories we’d never spoken aloud. his hands slid from my waist to cradle my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with a tenderness that broke me.

my hands curled into his jacket, holding on as if letting go would mean losing everything i’d ever wanted.

we kissed like time had stopped and the years of silence and longing were crashing down all at once. rough, desperate, and achingly real.

every nerve in my body screamed, every doubt clawed at me, but none of it mattered when his lips were on mine, and for a moment, the world was just us. i wanted to pull away, to tell him he was drunk, that this wasn’t right. that i didn’t want to take advantage of him like this.

still, i didn’t pull away.

not yet.

because the look in his eyes—half-lidded, searching, vulnerable—kept me frozen. like we were both holding onto something fragile, afraid to shatter it with one careless move.

when he finally leaned back, the tension didn’t break. it only thickened, tangled in the silence that fell between us. i told myself maybe—maybe this meant something.

maybe we’d finally crossed the line we were always too afraid to admit existed.

but morning came too fast.

oliver stretched and rubbed his eyes, then glanced around like waking up from a blur.

“man, last night was wild. when i was walking up here earlier, i swear i saw that weird dog from down the street—did you see it too? creeped me out.” his voice was casual, light, like the world was spinning just fine and nothing heavy hung between us.

he didn’t mention last night’s mess, didn’t even glance my way like something important had happened. it was like he’d hit reset, erased the night from his memory.

i swallowed the lump in my throat, pretending not to care. “no, didn’t see any dog.”

he laughed, oblivious, and kept talking about something else completely random.

and just like that, the moment disappeared—like it never meant anything to him at all.

he didn’t even pause when his shoulder brushed mine in the kitchen. didn’t look twice. didn’t ask why i was so quiet.

and me?

i stood there, mouth full of silence and regret. trying not to remember the way he kissed me like he meant it. trying not to crumble under the weight of everything unsaid.

he joked about something dumb. he laughed. and i forced out a laugh too, because what else was i supposed to do?

scream?

cry?

tell him he kissed me like i was home and then forgot all about it?

he leaned against the counter, stretching. “shit, i must’ve been so gone last night.”

i nodded.

my throat burned.

my heart did worse.

and in my head, all i could hear was the echo of that kiss. and the truth i never got to say.

real sweet, oliver. but i wish you were sober.

he swallows. “i remembered, y’know. the whole time.”

it’s quiet between you. the music keeps playing—loud, bright, oblivious.

“you knew,” he says, like he’s just figuring out how badly that stings.

“you remembered too. and you didn’t say anything.”

you lift a shoulder. “neither did you.”

“i was scared,” he confesses. “i thought it’d ruin us. or that you’d say it didn’t mean anything and i’d have to pretend that was okay.”

your mouth is tight. he keeps going.

“i thought i could live with just being close to you. just you and me, always messing around, always half something but never all the way there. i thought that was enough.”

he shakes his head, angry now—but not at you. at himself.

“but then i started dating. hooking up. doing the whole stupid college thing. and i kept finding girls who laughed like you. who spoke like you. who wore your perfume or made that dumb face when they were confused. and for a second i’d think, ‘maybe this one. maybe i can forget her with this one.’”

he looks at you, voice cracking. “but i couldn’t. i’d leave in the morning and feel worse. like i’d traded you in for a bad copy every time.”

you take a slow sip. your hand doesn’t shake anymore.

“i saw pieces of you in every girl i touched,” he says. “and i hated it. hated that it was never really you. that you were always the one thing i wanted and the only thing i couldn’t ask for.”

your stare is steady now. no flicker, no flinch. he’s the only one trembling.

“and all this time,” he says, his voice dropping, almost pleading, “you remembered too. so why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

you let the silence hang just long enough to make him squirm.

you stare at him like you’re staring down the ghost of every goddamn second he never fought for you.

“you wanna know why i didn’t say shit? because saying it would’ve been handing you the goddamn truth—and i knew you weren’t ready to hold it. i lived every goddamn day replaying that night, the way you kissed me, the way i wanted to believe it meant something real. but then you left. you walked away like i was nothing but some stupid mistake you forgot to erase.”

tears burn behind your eyes, but you refuse to blink them away. you want him to see everything: the hurt, the hope, the anger.

“i wanted you to fight for me, to chase me down like i was the only thing that mattered. but you didn’t. you let me sink, drowning in all the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs.’ and i was left holding pieces of a story that was never finished.”

“you think i was fine pretending it never happened? that i didn’t wake up every morning haunted by what we lost? you think i didn’t watch you walk away, time and time again, chasing everyone but me?”

you swallow hard, voice breaking now, raw and ragged.

“i loved you. i fucking loved you with everything i had. but i couldn’t be the girl waiting in the shadows, holding onto a memory that kept slipping through my fingers. i needed to survive. so i built walls around the truth — around us — so i wouldn’t shatter.”

your eyes lock onto his, fierce and broken all at once.

“so yeah, i remembered. but i was chasing a ghost—a half-drunk version of you that vanished every morning. i loved what wasn’t real. and i paid for it. every sleepless night, every shattered piece of me.” i took a shaky breath, my eyes burning holes through his soul.

“you weren’t just drunk on that night. you were drunk on not facing what we were. you were drunk on running away, on pretending it was easier to forget than to fight.”

your voice drops, cold and merciless now.

“so yeah, i wish you were sober. not because it would have saved us—fuck, we were already dead the moment you stopped showing up. i wish you were sober so i could finally stop lying to myself that the boy i loved was real.”

“because maybe if you’d been an honest sober, i wouldn’t be this numb drunk.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ© sevarchive ✦ masterlist

[fairydvsts-blog]

i loved “i could fuck you better” sm! 🥵 reading the part where she begs rafe to finish in her without protection made me wonder, could u maybe write something for ex!rafe getting reader pregnant? 🤫

𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Rafe Cameron x ex!fem!reader

obx masterlist

summary; your relationship with Rafe hangs by a thread, but a mistake will forever bind you together

warnings; SMUT, p in v, unprotected sex, unexpected pregnancy, some angst but fluff in the end

a/n; english isn't my first language, so you might find some mistakes; I'm open to constructive criticism. Sorry for the delay, I'm a slow writer :(. I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for your request!! ❤️

When Sarah had invited you to her birthday party, the last thing you expected was to end up in Rafe's bed... Once again.

You two had broken up a few weeks ago for the hundredth time, and you had been ignoring him since the break up because you knew it was likely you would get back with him if you didn't.

And he didn't deserve it after what he had done.

But that night he was acting very different from how he usually acted: kind, sweet, caring. You hadn't seen him snorting any coke and he had even apologised for being a jerk —which was almost unthinkable coming from him—, causing you to soften in no time.

Before you knew it, you were naked under his dreamy body.

He was pounding into you hard, your bodies were covered in sweat and you couldn't help but moan with every thrust, each one of them hitting your g-spot. His hands were everywhere, touching and caressing every part of your body almost like he was worshipping you.

"I've missed you so much, baby," he whispered while he grabbed your neck to bring your face closer so he could kiss you, taking your breath away.

His tongue slipped between your lips and you moaned, closing your eyes and pulling his hair so hard that he groaned in your mouth. You used your legs to push his hips rougher against yours and you swore you felt the tip of his dick rubbing your cervix.

"Have you missed me?" he asked when you didn't reply, desperate to hear an answer.

He grabbed your left thigh, hard enough to bruise, and he placed your leg over his shoulder, heightening your pleasure. You cried out and hold onto his biceps with so much force that your gel nails dug into his tanned skin. You tried to give him an answer, but that new position was clouding all your senses and you weren't capable of putting words together; you had lost count of how many times you had come thanks to his fingers and his dirty mouth, but you could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm again.

"Are you gonna answer or should I stop, baby?" he insisted, slowing down his movements.

"No, no, please, I'm so close, Rafe," you begged him as you ground your hips to try and get yourself off.

"Have you missed me or not?" He pushed your body against the mattress so you couldn't move and stopped thrusting.

"Rafe..." you stuttered, looking at him with pleading eyes, but he didn't budge.

"Yes or no? It's an easy question, baby." He placed his thumb right over your clit, rubbing it at a torturing but very pleasing pace.

"Yes, I've missed you so much," you finally recognised, whimpering and biting your lip because of his actions.

He smirked, clearly satisfied with your answer, before he started pounding into you again, faster this time. He kept touching your clit with his fingers, making your eyes roll back, and you tried to match his pace the best you could. Soon, you were standing on the edge of the cliff, ready to jump off it.

"I'm going to cum," you told him, grabbing his hand to encourage him to rub your clitoris faster, and he complied.

"Me too, baby." His breathing was heavy while he started letting out more and more moans as seconds passed.

You stroked his belly, feeling his abs contract under your fingertips, and his thrusts became sloppier. You knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but neither were you, so you tightened your muscles around his cock and he groaned aloud; his raspy voice caressing your ears. With one last touch on your clit you came hard, trembling under him and moaning so loud that you were sure people on the first floor could hear you.

"Oh, fuck yes."

Your climax triggered his; Rafe cried out a bunch of curses while he fucked you through your orgasm and his own. You were so lost in the moment that you didn't even realise he was not wearing a condom. Three weeks later, though, when your didn't get your period, you became aware of your enormous mistake.

You sat on your bed, shaking and holding the pregnancy test in one hand, your phone in the other. It was positive, you were pregnant, but you were so scared of Rafe's reaction to that information that you didn't dare to tell him. You started crying your eyes out, not knowing what to do.

Should you tell Rafe?

Should you tell your parents first?

Should you keep it a secret and have an abortion?

You were too damn young to be a mother and you weren't ready for a responsibility like that, but it didn't seem fair to Rafe that you made that decision without being honest with him about the situation first; he deserved to know, even if you weren't together anymore.

You hadn't talk with him since your last encounter at Sarah's party given that you went back to ignore him as soon as you had left the house the morning after. He, on the other hand, was being more persistent than ever, blowing your phone with calls and messages every day.

That time, it was you who called, and it took him less than thirty seconds to pick up his phone.

"Baby, I'm so glad that you called." He sounded relieved to hear form you.

"We have to talk, Rafe," you simply said, struggling to contain your emotions that were all over the place.

Now at least you knew the reason behind all of your recent mood swings.

"See you in five." He hung up the phone.

As he promised, he was ringing your bell five minutes later. You opened the door, your eyes clearly puffy due to all the crying, and he frowned when he noticed, hugging you almost immediately.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asked, concerned.

He carried you inside, sitting on the couch and motioning you to sit on his lap. You did so, crying inconsolably on his shoulder as he whispered reassuring things to your ear throughout. He didn't pressure you to tell him what was going on; he just waited till you were ready to talk.

"We fucked up, Rafe," you said when you had calmed down, turning to look him in the eyes, "I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened when he heard you, his mouth dropping open because of the news, and it took him a few minutes to overcome the shock.

"Say something, please," you asked, feeling your eyes starting to water again.

Your heart was hammering in your chest; you were terrified. What were you supposed to do if he didn't support you in the most difficult moment of your life? For you, that would mean the end of your relationship forever.

Thankfully, that did not happen.

He just put his arms around you one more time and said, "Baby, whatever decision you make, I'm here for you, okay? I'll always be there for you when you need me, because I love you with all my heart."

For the first time since you had met him, you felt truly safe in his arms and you knew right away: he was the one, your one. It was pointless to try to stay away form him; you were his and he was yours and the universe would always conspire to bring you together, because you were meant to be.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Destruction//Creation (Vox x Alastor's ex!Reader x Alastor)

Pairing: Technically Vox x Alastor but also a little Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor refuses to let the past die and Y/n would rather pretend it never existed.

Warnings: Mild angst. Mentions of a past unhealthy relationship. I'll write some fluff of my own accord soon, I promise.

Word Count: 1,523

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

The party was supposed to be a fundraiser of sorts, designed to get the word about the Hazbin Hotel out into the world after their numerous previous failed attempts at doing so. Charlie had insisted all the overlords be there and even when Alastor had tried to leave the Vees off the guest list, she had caught him in the act and admonished him for it.

He cursed himself for not being quicker about it, more slick. Vox wasn't a threat but he was an annoyance and one Alastor would rather not deal with. The added threat of further dressing downs from Charlie should he fail to conduct himself in any less than perfectly pleasant in the mans presence was just the icing on the cake. Vox was screeching, he was haughty, he was overwhelmed by himself, he was-

Alastor's train of thought ran off, his breath caught in his throat. The man in questioned had entered, ready to join the fray, but that wasn't the distraction. No, the distraction came in the form of the charming little demon he was helping take off her heavy fur coat. Alastor watched as she smiled gracefully up at Vox, standing up on her tip toes and planting a tender kiss on his cheek.

How could he have forgotten? In the chaos of the past seven years, she had slipped from his mind. How had looking for her not have been the first thing he did when he was allowed any semblance of freedom? He could blame no one but himself. Now, she had fallen into the enemy's arms. Alastor bristled, seizing the opportunity of Vox bringing her coat over the to coat check Husk was running and using his shadows to appear at her side.

Y/n gasped as he materialized beside her, holding a hand to her chest in shock.

"Jesus... Al?"

Confusion marred her features as Alastor took her hand, whisking Y/n towards the dance floor.

"Hello, my dear." he smiled down at her as the music began.

It was a waltz, something by Shostakovich with all his wild rises and falls, all his nonconformity. The perfect soundtrack to their reunion, Alastor thought. Despite her shock, Y/n kept to the timing of the dance perfectly, never missing a step.

"But how... where..."

"I'm back now, darling. That is what matters."

Alastor dipped her and Y/n let out a sharp laugh. He assumed it was joy, it couldn't be anything other in his mind. She watched him in disbelief as he pulled her to her feet once again.

"I am so sorry."

She seemed only to be growing more confused by the moment. He reveled in her wonder as if it were the finest delicacy, a perfectly cooked steak. He had shown her the world again and again, he hoped never to stop having the opportunity.

"For what?"

Of course she would understand, wouldn't blame him, would know it wasn't his choice. She was always so unbelievably perfect like that, surprising him at every turn. Y/n fell into line without him ever even having to ask, it was just who she was. She didn't even have to try.

"For letting you fall into the arms of scum like that. He doesn't own your soul, does he?"

Y/n opened her mouth to speak but in his newfound joy, Alastor was unable to stop himself. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten?

Her eyes, her smile, her sharp wit -- all of it. Y/n was and had always been, since the first day he had met her, the absolute center of his universe.

"It's no matter. That is easy enough to fix with a contract of our own."

"Alastor."

"Then everything will be all right, things will be just like the old days."

"Alastor."

He spun Y/n out, pulling her back in and catching her in his arms.

"Goodness, I've missed you."

"Alastor!" She pulled himself from his grip, panting.

They stood at the center of the dance floor, still among the whirling bodies. Y/n cleared her throat, smoothing the skirt of her dress. Alastor was thankful that the world around them seemed distracted for the moment, everyone too caught up in themselves and their own lives.

"My dear," he asked softly through gritted teeth, "what are you doing? You'll make an embarrassment of the pair of us."

"That's what I am trying to keep from happening."

"Whatever do you..."

Alastor trailed off, catching sight of Vox as he approached them, weaving in and out of the writhing mass of bodies. His eyes narrowed, his ears laid flat against his head.

Y/n leaned forward slightly, about to ask him what was wrong when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, a smile crept across her face at the sight of Vox.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you."

Vox caught sight of Alastor now. Alastor expected the man to attack him, to boast, to do anything except what he did which was lean down to Y/n, his voice laced with concern.

"Are you alright? He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

Vox scanned her, looking for any visual signs of upset.

"No." Y/n patted Vox's hand reassuringly where it lay on her shoulder, "No I am fine, I promise."

"Alright, I am sorry. I just know..."

"I know. Thank you for remembering."

Alastor cleared his throat and Vox straightened as he and Y/n turned to face him.

"I have to ask you to leave my girlfriend alone." Vox stated.

His civility sparked something in Alastor, a familiar hunger.

"Your girlfriend?"

Before he could say another word, Y/n cut him off. She took a step forward as she spoke, Vox's hand falling from her shoulder.

"Yes, that is what I have been trying to tell you but you wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise, you never do."

"But..."

Alastor was completely at a loss for words, a rare occasion. His eyes flicked back and forth between Y/n and Vox.

"What can he give you that I couldn't? What can that bucket of bolts do better than me? I wasn't right, was I? Did you sell him your soul? I know I was gone but how foolish can you be, Y/n?"

She stiffened at the sound of her name on his lips.

"He lets me breathe, Alastor!" Y/n threw her arms in the air, adding emphasis to her words, "He lets me breathe. You never did that. With you, what you said went and I had to follow perfectly, I had to..."

She took a deep breath, her hands balled into fists. Vox took a step forward, they shared a look of reassurance.

"I was never happy with you." Y/n admitted, "I am with Vox. He is a good man, he treats me well, he listens, he takes me as I am."

"And I didn't?"

"No! No, you didn't. You wanted me blood hungry and ravaged, you wanted me as destroyer but that is not who I am. It never was."

Decisively, Y/n turned to Vox, his hand slipping gently into hers. Alastor watched in a mixture of shock and horror, unable to act.

"Do you want to go get a drink?"

"That sounds like a good idea. I think I saw Velvette already over by the bar."

"Of course." Y/n smiled.

The pair's locked hands turned into locked arms. Things had been good, he had thought they had been perfect. He had seen Y/n as the other piece of himself, the extension of the whole.

"I don't understand."

Y/n and Vox froze, their backs to him. With a soft pat to Vox's arm, Y/n turned to Alastor, her expression firm.

"I don't... I thought you loved me."

He was helpless, lost and floating. Alastor's mind ran wild, trying to regain any semblance of control over the situation. There was none to be found.

"I did." Y/n nodded sadly, "For a long time. I didn't know any better, I didn't know what love had the potential to be."

A moment of silence, a heartbeat.

"And he gives you that potential."

Y/n looked at Vox over her shoulder. When she turned back to Alastor, she was smiling. Alastor had never seen her smile like that before.

"He does." she confirmed.

"Come on, sunshine." Vox hummed softly from behind her, a hand outstretched, "Let's go get that drink."

Eagerly, Y/n ran up to him, their fingers entwining once again. Just as they were about to leave Alastor, standing alone on the dance floor, Y/n looked back at him. A wild hope flashed in his heart that was dashed when he was the conflict in her eyes.

"It was nice seeing you. I am glad you're alright."

"You too." his voice was weak, blurred. There was nothing he could do to stop it from being that way.

"I hope... this hotel seems good for you. I hope it works out the way you want it to."

---

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet 

@reader3

[thealtoduck]

Reunion

Cal Kestis x Male Mirialan ex-Jedi!Reader

Warnings: You flirt with stormtroopers…

Part 1: Being a mirialan jedi youngling and getting your kyber crystal…

Y/l/c = Your lightsaber color

Summary: After the fall of the Jedi Order you fled to Raxus Secundus for your survival, 5 years later Cal Kestis and the crew of the Stinger Mantis land on Raxus Secundus with their ship in need of repairs…

——

You walked in to the cantina looking around at the different patrons, you walked and sat down at the bar. The bartender soon showed up in front of you and asked ”What can i get you?”. You thought for a second and decided ”A phattro, please”.

”Coming right up” he said and soon placed a glass filled with a purple beverage in front of you. You took a sip and a familiar refreshing taste hit you. Two off-duty stormtroopers were sitting a few chairs away from you, their helmets placed next to their drinks.

They were looking towards you. You gave them a small smile and raised your glass to them in a little ”cheers”. They smiled back at you and grabbed their drinks and helmets coming over to you, sitting down on each of your sides.

”Hey beautiful, what’s your name?” said the one to your left. ”I’m Y/n, what’s yours?” you said in a alluring tone. ”They call me Red” he introduced himself with a smirk. You turned to the trooper to your right and asked ”And you?”. ”Spikes” he answered cooly.

”How may i be of assitance for the troops?” you asked taking another sip of your drink. ”Well, we’ve had a lot to attend to lately and it can get very stressfull” Red explained. ”Extremely stressfull” Spikes added. ”And we thought a pretty thing like yourself might help us… relieve some of that stress” Red said putting a hand at your waist.

You smiled a flirty smile. ”Oh really, how about we-” you started but was cut off by a sudden feeling brought on by the force, a warning? No. A familiarity, a memory, a very distant one. You stood up and looked around seeing no one. ”Are you alright?” Spikes asked.

”Uh yeah… Sorry i have to go” you said, leaving credits and a tip for the bartender. Red scoffed annoyed and said a snide ”Tease”. You ignored him and walked out on to the streets of Tamwith Bay. The connection you had felt was now lost.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus, reaching out through the force, trying to find the connection again but there was nothing. You were left alone and confused.

As you wandered home you thought to yourself about what or who it might’ve been, a Jedi? Just another force user lost in the galaxy?. Memories of the jedi and your training started flooding your brain as you entered your small apartment.

You had been made a padawan only 4 months before the collapse of the Jedi Order and the Republic. In most cases you would’ve most likely been to young to become a padawan but the Clone Wars had taken a big strain on the order and because of the deaths of many masters and padwans in battle there were a lot of gaps to fill.

You had been assigned to Jocasta Nu, the chief librarian of the Jedi archives. You didn’t earn a lot of battlefield experience from this but your master had shown you some of the secrets of the Jedi temple.

Once the destruction of the Jedi hit in full force you and your master escaped the temple through a secret passage hidden within the temple. Once on the streets of Coruscant she ordered you to get on a shuttle while she had drawn away a group of Clone Troopers.

That had been the last you ever saw of her as the shuttle had left. Sometimes you wondered if she had survived that night and had managed to escape the purge as well but even then they might’ve caught up with her sooner or later.

You lifted a loose floor panel of the ground revealing a box containing your now dusty jedi robes, a hard drive containing Jedi texts and your twin lightsabers. You brought your lightsabers out afraid to turn them on incase someone could here the noise and report it to the empire.

You shouldn’t even bring them out of their hiding spot, you never knew who was watching. But something told you that you would be needing them in a couple of hours. You went to bed that night with your lightsabers hidden under your bed in case of a intruder or sudden attacker.

You were kept allert by the force the next day, you hid your lightsabers beneath a cloak as you ventured out in to town. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so you just tried to go about your business as usual but as evening came, things would change.

You were once again making your way home but saw people running away from the town square, you decided to check it out. Once you got there you were met with a life changing sight. It was jedi, or at least someone carrying a lightsaber who knew how to fight like a Jedi.

He was fighting what you assumed was an imperial inquisitor, you had heard rumours about them but never seen one in person. They were Jedi hunters, sent out to find the survivors of the purge.

You then felt the connection from the day before reignite, you had met this Jedi before… but who was it? Suddenly the Inquisitor used a force push to knock the Jedi in to a stack of crates, knocking him over.

As the Jedi layed among the crates you caught a glimpse of his face, he looked like… Cal Kestis, a friend of yours from the order. The Inquisitor walked menacingly towards Cal, spinnig his double bladed lightsaber.

Without thinking you forced jump up in the air and landing between Cal and the Inquisitor. You faced the Inquisitor and ignited your lightsabers making two y/l/c blades emerge from them.

”Two Jedi, this just got a lot more interesting” the Inquisitor said, his smirk being covered by the helmet. It had been a long time since you fought or even practised with your lightsabers so you begged the force would guide you.

The Inquisitor slashed at you but you dodged, you flipped over his head cutting at him but he blocked. The two of you started attacking back and forward while Cal tried to absorb what just happened. A hodded Jedi had just come out of nowhere and saved his life.

He watched as the Jedi fought, lightsabers skills clearly rusty but skilled. Cal then got of his feet and jumped, attacking the Inquisitor from behind. The Inquisitor managed to block but started to struggle keeping up with the three blades slashing at him.

While the Inquisitor was blocking an attack from both one of yours and Cal’s saber. You managed to get a cut in down the middle of the doublebladed saber, destroying it. You and Cal then force pushed the Inquisitor at the same time sending him flying in to a stone wall which knocked him out.

Cal then let out a sigh of relief at the Inquisitor’s defeat. He then turned to you and said ”You’re a Jedi”. ”Not quite” you said lowering your hood making Cal’s eyes widen as regcognition hit. ”Y/n?” he questioned.

”Hi Cal, it’s been a while” you greeted. Without warning Cal ran up to you and threw his arms around you. You were caught of guard at first but then wrapped your arms around him as well, it didn’t hit you until now how much you had missed him.

You heard troopers approaching and broke the hug. ”Come on, this way” you said and started sprinting down an alley way. Cal followed close behind. You led him back to your apartment, you gave one last look outside before closing the door, making sure you weren’t followed.

Once behind closed doors you find your arms locked around each other in another tight embrace. ”How did you survive? You were on Coruscant that would’ve been the most heavily guarded planet?” Cal questioned in amazement.

”Let’s sit down” you said, you made some tea for the two of you and poured it up in two cups. You both sat down around a small table and you started telling him how Master Nu had saved your life and that it had let you escape Coruscant.

”How about you?” you asked and Cal explained that his master had sacrificed himself for him. He then told you of the events that led him and his crew to land on Raxus Secundus a couple days ago for ship repairs.

”Y/n, you should come with us, we’re trying to rebuild some of what’s left of the Jedi Order, you could help us” Cal suggested. You thought about it for a second before answering ”Cal, I’m not sure how much i will be able to help you, i only just became a padawan before the fall of the Jedi”.

”To us that’s enough, we need to rebuild with what little we have left” Cal insisted. ”I don’t know Cal, i just need some time to think” you told him. ”Alright, you have until tommorow, me and my crew are leaving once our repairs are done” Cal said.

You opened the floor panel and brought out the hard drive out of the box. ”What’s that?” Cal asked. ”It’s a hard drive, it contains a few Jedi texts from the library. It’s not a lot but it’s something, i think you should have it” you said handing it to him.

”Thank you” Cal accepted gratefully. Cal then contacted his crew and let them know about the events of the day. They decided it was best for Cal to stay the night with you as security had tightened because of the reveal of two Jedis in the city and that he should try sneak his way to the ship at the crack of dawn.

”Where should i sleep?” Cal asked, looking around your small apartment, there weren’t many options besides the bed and the floor. ”You can have the bed” you offered. ”And let you sleep on the floor, we can share your bed, wouldn’t be the first time” Cal suggested.

”Alright” you nodded and the two of climbed in to bed together, laying on your sides to face each other. ”This reminds me of when we would sneak out of out temple rooms to have sleep overs together” Cal said making a smile spread over your face.

”I remember that and that one time Master Skywalker caught you on the way to my room but he promised not to tell anyone” you reminded Cal who let out a chuckle. ”Then after you left the temple with Master Tapal, i remember how much i missed you and how lonely i felt” you admited.

”I missed you too Y/n, especially after purge. It was terrifying having no way to know if you had survived or not” Cal said as you gazed in to each others eyes. He continued ”But now we’re both here again and i never want to leave you behind”.

Cal then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, from which you didn’t pull back. While attachment was against the Jedi teachings their was no order around anymore to supervise you. You were free.

As you both pulled away from each others lips you brought a hand up to cup his cheek stroking it lightly. ”I’ll come with you, i don’t want to lose you again either” you confessed. You both then fell asleep, hands clasped together ready for the challenges tommorow would bring.

[deans-queen]

𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 💜

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Beau is thinking about the last kiss he has with his ex (Reader)

Warnings: angst, alcohol use, emotional themes, break-ups.

Pre-AN: this fills the “Last Kiss by Taylor Swift” square for @jacklesversebingo purple text = song lyrics

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The moon was heavy tonight, hanging low in the Montana sky. I was out on the porch, boots propped up on the railing, a bottle of whiskey in my hand. The air was cool, biting at the edge of my skin, but it wasn’t the cold keeping me awake—it was her. It was always her.

Y/N.

It had been six months since she left, six months since the last time I held her, kissed her, and watched her walk away from me. But that kiss—our last kiss—still haunted me. It wasn’t just a memory; it was a ghost that lingered in the quiet moments of the night, in the spaces between breaths.

I do remember the swing of your step, the life of the party

You’re showing off again…

I could see her in my mind so clearly, her laugh lighting up the room like a damn firework. She always had this way of making me feel like the most important man in the world, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved it. That night, she wore a sundress that flowed with the breeze, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of gold. I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time I’d ever see her like that—free, full of life, and mine.

I do remember the look on your face, lit through the darkness at 1:58…

It was late, almost two in the morning, when she told me she had to go. Her eyes brimmed with something I didn’t understand then—regret, sadness, maybe even love. She said it was for the best, but how the hell could losing her be good for me? I didn’t fight her, though. I didn’t beg her to stay. Maybe I should’ve.

She leaned in, her lips soft and trembling against mine. That kiss—it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, like she was memorizing me, taking one last piece of me before she walked out of my life.

I never thought we’d have a last kiss

Never thought we’d end like this….

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, trying to drown the ache, but the memory of that kiss lingered, as sharp and vivid as it had been that night. The way she smelled like lavender and sunshine. The way her hand trembled when she pulled away. The way her voice cracked when she whispered, “Goodbye, Beau.”

So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep…

I still had her picture tucked away in my wallet. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out, even though it felt like a damn knife in my chest every time I saw it. Sometimes I’d pull it out late at night, after a few too many drinks, and stare at her smile until my vision blurred.

She was out there somewhere, living her life without me. I hoped she was happy. Hell, I wanted her to be happy. But selfishly, I wanted to be the one making her happy.

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.

The worst part was knowing I was probably just a memory to her now, like she was for me. I wondered if she ever thought about that night—about me. Did she ever replay our last kiss the way I did? Did it haunt her too, or had she moved on?

I tipped the whiskey bottle back, letting the burn settle in my throat. But no amount of liquor could numb the ache. Y/N was a part of me, whether I liked it or not, and I didn’t know how to let her go.

I never thought we’d have a last kiss… never imagined we’d end like this.

The night stretched on, quiet and empty, the way my heart felt without her. I closed my eyes, and there she was again, her lips on mine, her voice breaking as she said goodbye.

It was a memory I couldn’t outrun, a ghost I couldn’t shake. And maybe that was my punishment—to live with the ache of her, the memory of our last kiss, and the knowing that I’d never feel her lips on mine again.

I stayed out on the porch until the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, chasing away the darkness. But even as the light returned, she didn’t fade. She never did.

She was my last kiss, and damn it, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to kiss anyone else without tasting the ghost of her on my lips.

Your name, forever the name on my lips…

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞💜

Hope you enjoyed this story! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback! This one was sad to write — I’m sorry for putting out the tear jerkers lately but I guess this is my challenge as a writer. Honestly Taylor Swift inspired stories are always the best 😌

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[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (epilogue) (from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | -->Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn't having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Angst but a little bit of hope.

WORD COUNT: 5,1k

A/N: Hii! So I didnt forget about this story, I actually had it in my drafts for some time now--only that tumblr is totally screwing me up and all my links suddenly dont work anymore for some reaseon! But oh well. Anyways, this is the last part of this series :) For now I'll start focusing on other fandoms mainly, but that doesn't mean I wont write some drabbles here and there of the mcu girls or for this universe. Just trying to expand my horizons and creativity! I hope you enjoy it and have a nice day <3

**

“Oh yeah, absolutely not,” you deadpanned as soon as you saw Natasha’s means of transportation. You hugged yourself tightly, the shirt you had thrown on earlier doing little to keep you warm. Natasha looked at you in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m not getting on your bat–…widow bike. That’s literally a death trap.” Your eyes wandered to the street the two of you were on. There was still traffic streaming through, even at this late hour, and you were sure you could hail a taxi or something.

She huffed. “Bat what? You literally crossed half the city on a makeshift path of ice, but a bike is where you draw the line?”

Rolling your eyes, you felt the tip of your nose growing colder and your cheeks heating up in contrast. Okay, when she put it like that, it did sound a bit ridiculous.

“That’s different! I was in control of the ice,” you protested.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Natasha shot back, her tone sharp enough to make you flinch. A flicker of regret crossed her face as she realized it. She sighed, reaching for the secondary helmet.

“Listen,” she began, voice softening slightly. “This is our fastest way to Horvat. All the other vehicles are escorting his van right now. You’ll just have to…” Her voice faltered as she hesitated over what she was going to say. Finally, she sighed and finished, “Hold on.”

She swung one leg over the bike and settled into the seat, hands gripping the handles firmly. You couldn’t help but notice how her fingers flexed and tensed against the worn leather of the grips, almost like a nervous fidget.

Reluctantly, you trailed toward the bike. She had pursued you all over town and still managed to catch up. Heart thrumming slightly, you followed her lead and mounted the bike. The next step—actually holding on—was done with even more hesitation.

Trying to regain your usual confidence, you finally reached out and grabbed onto Natasha, leaning closer to her for better support. “You know,” you said, your voice dripping with mock bravado, “if you wanted an excuse to get me all over you, you could’ve just said.”

She scoffed. “Just make sure to not take us both down.” Her reply was causal enough to resemble your typical interactions. You basked on the familiar mess of all, wondering if this night has changed it all for good.

“I’ll try.” Your mutter got muffled by the roatrign force of the chassis.

***

“Oh God,” you sputtered, dismounting the killing machine without even a fraction of the driver’s grace. Natasha watched in disbelief as you practically threw the helmet at her, your face pale as you fought off the dizziness.

“You good over there?” she asked, a hint of amusement lacing her voice as she stashed the helmets in the compartment. Gripping your stomach, you did your best to keep your last meal from making a reappearance.

“Good? I’m not good! You’re a maniac!”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha laughed for herself, spinning the keys in her hand. “So dramatic.”

When she turned her back, you stuck out your tongue in mock defiance. Once you finally regained your equilibrium, you reluctantly trailed behind her. If someone had told you that you would voluntarily set foot in a S.H.I.E.L.D. building, you’d have laughed in their face—or shot them, depending on your mood.

The location wasn’t particularly large, but it sufficed. The security system was in plain sight, cameras ominously displayed at every corner, leaving no blind spots. Yep, Fury was definitely a paranoid man. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you quickened your pace.

The halls were mostly deserted, save for a couple of lower-ranking agents handling assignments. They gave you confused or disgusted glances, which you returned with a cheeky wink. You knew you had a reputation around here.

After touching her comms, Natasha turned slightly, gesturing for you to head left. “Horvat is already waiting.”

Your hands fidgeted nervously. “Perfect,” you muttered as the two of you finally reached the interrogation rooms. Some held lower-class criminals, but your attention was caught by the familiar sight of slick red hair. You perked up, the reflective glass allowing you to peer into the room.

“So…” you started, breaking the silence. “What’s our strategy?”

Natasha glanced at you as she retrieved the identification card. “For now, just follow my lead.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Before you could move, Natasha caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“I mean it. No funny business.” Her eyes shifted, the green hardening with traces of steel. That’s when you knew she wasn’t playing around.

But neither were you. Pulling your wrist free with a quick tug, you said nothing. For now, your silence seemed to suffice as she stepped into the interrogation room.

Natasha’s shift in demeanor was almost immediate. She stood tall, commanding, her face impassive—devoid of even a flicker of emotion. The transformation was unsettling, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Miss Black Widow, glad to see you made it out okay,” Horvat huffed amusedly, his tone dripping with mockery. He lounged back in the chair with overconfidence, his smug gaze flicking over to you only briefly. “And you’ve brought company. Never thought a hero like you would associate with the likes of them.”

Your fist clenched at his words. How dare he lump you and Natasha into the same box? You took a step forward, ready to retaliate, but Natasha cut you off with a sharp glance. Begrudgingly, you relented, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall, though your glare didn’t falter.

“We’re not here to talk about us,” Natasha said smoothly, ignoring his jab. She flipped carelessly through the file in her hands, her movements calm but deliberate. “We’re here to talk about you.”

Horvat scoffed, his confidence unshaken. “You seem to be wasting your time then. I’m a very busy man, Romanoff. Much more important than whatever vendetta you’re chasing.”

Natasha chuckled softly, though the sound carried no warmth. “Busy indeed,” she mused, her eyes scanning the pages. “Arms deals, smuggling operations, money laundering… You’ve got quite the résumé, Mr. Horvat.”

Horvat shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk. “Business is business. You of all people should understand that.”

From your vantage point, you could see the tension in Natasha’s posture, though her face betrayed nothing. The air in the room grew heavier as she set the file down and leaned forward, her green eyes locking onto his.

“Business,” she repeated, her voice dropping a note. “Is that what you call shipping weapons to rogue states and endangering innocent lives? Just business?”

Horvat’s smirk faltered, just slightly, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You can’t pin anything on me. I know how this works. You’ve got nothing.”

Natasha tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “That’s what you think.”

Her calm demeanor was unnerving, even to you. Horvat shifted slightly in his chair, the faintest crack in his façade. This wasn’t going to be a short conversation, but you could tell Natasha already had the upper hand.

And from your spot against the wall, you couldn’t help but smirk. You’d seen many things in your line of work, but watching Natasha Romanoff dismantle someone’s ego piece by piece was quickly becoming one of your favorites.

**

For all his bravado, it didn’t take long for him to crumble under Natasha’s overwhelming pressure. She knew exactly which buttons to push, the precise words to make his ego shrink. His once-neat hair was disheveled, his perfectly tailored suit rumpled, and his breathing slightly erratic. Suffice it to say, she got the intel rather quickly.

“This is all I have,” he muttered.

You scoffed at his pathetic state, your eyes sizing him up. After he finished writing down the name, you stepped forward, making your presence known again.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. Now it’s my turn.”

Rounding the table, you stepped into the dim light, moving closer to the agent. When his tired eyes landed on you, the same lack of recognition dulled his gaze, igniting a subtle fury inside you.

“And what business do you and I have?” he asked.

Mimicking Natasha’s move from before, you slammed both hands onto the table, leaning in. “Oh, are you really going to sit here and tell me you don’t remember?”

He genuinely seems to try, but no reaction is sown into his expression. You huff, frustration prickling under your skin.

“Alright then, what about this, hm?”

With methodical precision, you tug down the neckline of your sweatshirt, ensuring Natasha doesn’t have a clear view. It’s like striking a match—terror instantly flares across his face, consuming the blank facade.

“No… you—you’re supposed to be dead,” he sputters, his voice trembling.

You chuckle darkly, the sound devoid of humor.

“Aren’t we all?” Straightening your clothes, you fix him with a piercing stare.

“Where is she?”

“…W-Who?”

You slam your fist against the table, the sharp sound reverberating through the room.

“Don’t play this game with me, Horvat. Where is she?”

“I-I don’t— The warehouse was ambushed! Everything got destroyed! We couldn’t recover anything or a-anyone—”

He looks as if he’s seen a ghost—one that haunts his every waking thought and denies him sleep at night.

”Raven…” Nathasa warned.

“Don’t lie to me!”

Fire courses through your veins, anger igniting every nerve as your hands lash out. With a swift motion, you flip the table aside, the screech of metal tearing through the tense air.

Before either Natasha or Horvat can react, you grab him by the lapels of his suit, yanking him upwards. You slam him against the concrete wall, the sickening thud of his skull hitting the surface only fueling your fury.

“Do you think I’m a fool? You were their weapon supplier, their lifeline for arms. “You knew their routes and cargo. Do you really want to test my patience?” you growled, hands trembling with barely restrained fury.

Unconsciously, the temperature in the room began to climb—hotter and hotter… and so did your hands. A sharp, agonized shriek erupted from him as his neck started to burn under your grip.

“Y/N! Enough!”

Natasha lunged forward to stop you, but the instant her hand touched your arm, a sharp pain shot through her. She recoiled with a hiss. Your body temperature had risen so high, you were practically sizzling.

Confusion and hurt flashed across her face. She knew about your water powers—she’d seen them in action countless times. But this… this was something else entirely.

Her pained yelp broke through the fog clouding your mind. You blinked, realization crashing down as you registered the scene around you. The man dangled limply in your grasp, coughing and gasping as the searing heat faded. Your grip slackened, and he collapsed to the floor, trembling.

But you didn’t even look at him. Instead, you turned toward Natasha.

Your mouth opened to speak, to explain, but the words caught in your throat when your gaze fell on her reddened, burned hand.

Shame and regret hit you square in the chest like a sledgehammer. Your hands dropped to your sides as your breath hitched. For the first time in a long while, you were utterly lost for words.

So she spoke for you.

“Out.”

One single word. One you were about to refuse.

“Out. Now.” she repeated, more firmly this time. Her stance straightened, harsh and commanding—the high-level agent in her taking charge. Defeated, you had no choice but to comply.

Once outside, she turned to face you, her sharp eyes sizing you up.

“What the hell was that?”

It sounded like a question, but there was no room for anything but an answer. Still shaken, you sighed, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

“I—I don’t know, okay? I might have… gone a bit overboard before, but—”

She scoffed, cutting you off.

“A little?” she exclaimed, disbelief dripping from every word. “That man has second-degree burns at the very least, and you’re telling me you just lost a bit of control? You weren’t in control at all!”

You opened your mouth to answer, but she wasn’t finished.

“No. You shut up right now,” she growled, stepping closer. “I’m sticking my neck out for you by bringing you here. Quite literally, I put my hand above the fire for you.”

The reminder hit hard, and your gaze dropped to the ground, guilt gnawing at you. But this wasn’t the time to shrink away.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that, now did I?” you shot back, your voice sharp.

Her brows furrowed at your defiance, but you pressed on. “We had a deal, Romanoff. I help you get him, and then I ask him what I want to know.”

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhaled deeply, willing the heat coursing through your body to subside. Slowly, you exhaled, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“Is it a woman?” she asked, her tone softer, though the weight of her words struck harder. She already knew the answer. “And what did he mean when he said you were supposed to be dead?”

Great. Now you were the one being interrogated.

“That has nothing to do with this,” you said, brushing the question aside.

“It has everything to do with this!” she snapped, stepping closer. “If this is personal, I can’t let you back in with him.”

Her words struck a nerve, making you bristle.

“That is not what we agreed on,” you said firmly, holding her gaze.

“Because you didn’t tell me anything from the start,” she countered, frustration lacing her voice. “If this is about someone you’re looking for, I can help you. I want to help you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she raised a hand to stop you.

“But you can’t just walk in there and attack him like that. Not again.”

Her words were laced with sincerity, and for a brief moment, you let them sink in. You knew she meant it—knew that if you asked, she would help you.

But to let her in would mean revealing everything. Your past. The truth you had buried so deeply, it still haunted your nights. No. Some things were better left untouched.

“You’re right, okay? I lost control. But it won’t happen again,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. “Let me go back in. I know what kind of man he is, and while you’re standing there with me, he won’t take me seriously.”

She watched you, disbelief etched across her face. “There is no way I’m letting you go in there alone. You clearly have a personal grudge against him.”

“But I—”

“No. But nothing,” she cut you off firmly. “As hard as it is for you to believe, I’m doing this for you. I promised you a truce, but if you actually harm a captive here—in a SHIELD building—my superior won’t care for it.”

You scoff. “Oh please. You don't trust me enough, just say it.” Hesitancy makes it to her eyes, but she seems to push it far back her mind. Instead, she put her foot down.

”You are going in with me, or you aren’t going at all. And that is final.”

Your jaw clenched in frustration, head rolling back slightly. You wanted to push back, to argue —be your stubborn self— but you knew Natasha was at her limit. And a part of you still felt guilty about hurting her.

Yet, that same nagging voice reminded you of the truth—that no matter her words from before, she didn’t think you were capable. But what other choice did you seem to have?

“Fine,” you spat, the word dripping with bitterness, probably making you sound like a petulant child.

“Great,” she replied coolly, gesturing toward the door. “Now that we understand each other, let’s go back in there.”

As you moved past her, she reached out and caught your wrist. The suddenness of the gesture made you stop. For a moment, you blinked in surprise. After what had happened mere moments ago, you hadn’t expected her to touch you again so easily.

“Look,” she began, her voice quieter this time, a trace of something almost soft slipping through her usual composure. “I don’t know the details, but if that person you care for is in danger, I’ll help you get them back. Just…don’t try anything reckless.”

You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The weight of her words settled over you like a blanket, the unexpected emptathy catching you off guard.

The fluorescent lights above cast a strange hue over the room, and for a fleeting second, you noticed how her green eyes seemed to shift. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in them, which confused you even more. She’d been burned by you, and yet…

You smirked, the familiar expression helping to conceal your true emotions. “You can’t seem to keep your hands off me lately, Agent. Should I be flattered—?”

Carefully, you grasped her wrist with your free hand, gently removing her grip and turning her palm upward. Her reddened skin was exposed, and you studied it closely. Thankfully, the rest of your body didn’t seem as hot as your hands had been earlier, and there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage. You exhaled in relief.

Focus. You needed to focus. If you were going to generate water, your mind had to be clear.

You closed your eyes briefly, conjuring the image of soft waves caressing the shore, retreating only to return again with gentle, soft motions. Slowly, a clean barrier of water formed around your hand. Redirecting it, you guided the water to her palm. It wasn’t freezing cold, just cool enough to alleviate the swelling and soothe the burn.

Her eyes followed your movements with almost childlike wonder, trailing the water as it enveloped her hand.

Then, something unexpected happened. The water began to shimmer, sparkling with an otherworldly green fluorescence. Surprise flickered across both your faces as you watched the redness of her skin fade, leaving behind its natural, pale hue.

Huh. You’d never done that before.

You’d always thought of your abilities as a curse, something meant to harm. But now, you were healing, and the revelation churned a storm of emotions within you. Turmoil, confusion, and maybe—just maybe—a flicker of hope.

Your hands lingered on hers, roughened by years of work but still soft beneath your touch. “...Or should I be worried?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finally, you released her hand, stepping back and turning to face the door. Natasha seemed to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. She always looked like that—guarded, calculating. But this time, there was something else. Something like before, when you two were in that destroyed shop.

She’ll see you for what you are later than sooner anyways. Better for you both to avoid disappointment.

Eventually, she moved to stand beside you, wordlessly pulling the door open for you to enter. You chuckled softly, the tension breaking just enough for a hint of playfulness to seep through.

“Such a gentlewoman,” you teased as you stepped inside, hands sliding into your pockets.

Horvat’s reaction was immediate. He threw himself against the wall like a cornered rat, his eyes wide with fear.

“Th-this can’t be serious! Are you seriously bringing this—this freak back in here? Look at my fucking neck—”

Before Natasha could respond, the door slammed shut with a loud, jarring sound. The piercing wail of an alarm echoed through the halls, red lights flashing on and off in rapid succession.

Startled, you jumped, spinning toward Natasha, who looked just as shocked.

“What—Natasha?” you demanded, your voice rising as you tried to unlock the door from the inside. It was no use. The door was sealed tight.

“Natasha, what the hell is going on?!”

She was already at the control panel, her jaw set, her movements quick. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, the curse being muffled by the alarm. “The protocol’s engaged. There must’ve been a breach.”

You huffed indignantly, your frustration boiling over. “We had a truce! I swear to God, if this is some kind of trick, I—”

“Just calm down!” Natasha snapped, cutting you off as her hand moved to her comms. She nodded to herself, listening intently as someone on the other end spoke, then turned back to you.

“How is that possible? The location is supposed to be encrypted!” she demanded, her tone sharp with frustration. Whatever response she received must have been far from satisfactory, judging by the way her expression tightened.

“Fine,” she said curtly, exhaling in exasperation. “Just get into formation—I’m heading down.”

“…Someone hacked the system,” she explained, composed but tense. “They’ve triggered the lockdown protocol. Everything’s sealed.” Her hands flew across the control panel, trying to override the locks, but she froze when Horvat’s sudden laughter broke through the chaos.

“I knew it,” he said, grinning like a madman. “They just can’t let someone like me be captured. I sure hope you have enough manpower for what’s about to happen.”

Natasha gave up on the panel and turned to you, her expression grim. “It’s no use. I have to go check it out.”

“One minute ago, you wouldn’t let me go in alone, and now you’re leaving me here?!” You protested, hands against the window.

Reloading her gun, Natasha muttered commands into her comms, directing others to secure the gates. She looked back at you with a fleeting softness in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, that was before we could actually open the door, couldn’t we?” she said. Then, after a pause, she added, “ Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Talking as if I had a choice…” you muttered, kicking the door as she exited, leaving you alone with Horvat and the unsettling tension in the room.

“He better be alive when I come back!” Natasha called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the corridor, catching sight of two agents rushing toward the north entrance.

“Has anyone assessed the threat?” she barked.

The younger agent, Katherine—Natasha thought that was her name—shook her head. “No, ma’am. But all the footage and electricity has been cut off. We have light thanks to the secondary generators.”

Sighing in frustration, Natasha finally arrived at the central control hub just outside the gates. The room was in chaos. A couple of ech analysts and security personnel were scrambling, screens flashing error messages. The main display read in stark, bold letters: SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED.

“What’s the status?” Natasha demanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

One of the tech analysts turned to her, sweat beading on his forehead. “We’re completely locked out, ma’am. Someone’s bypassed the encrypted firewalls and overridden the mainframe. The entire system is under external control.”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowing.

“It shouldn’t,” the analyst agreed, “but it is. They somehow installed an external backdoor into the system—and still seem to maintain remote control.”

Natasha’s mind raced. Backdoors weren’t simple. Whoever did this was an expert. Her gaze fell on one of the screens that still flickered faintly with fragments of activity. “Well, can’t you trace it to the controlling device?”

Nervously, the man nodded, throwing himself into a rolling chair and furiously typing as he tried to make one of the laptops work. He mumbled something Natasha didn’t catch.

“What is it?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Hesitation flashed across his face as he glanced at her. “…This doesn’t make sense. The signal—it’s coming from inside the building.”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to one of the distorted screens, her sharp eyes catching something buried in the fragmented data: a black, feathered emblem embedded in the system’s override signature.

A cold realization swept over her.

“Raven,” she muttered under her breath.

“Just try to remove the block. Prioritize retaining the system’s stability,” Natasha ordered, her voice sharp over the comms.

Getting out of the central control room, she sprinted down the hall, rushing toward the interrogation room. What awaited her was nothing short of disappointing.

“Seriously, Natasha. It can’t be that easy to fool you!” you said, laughing as you held an unconscious Horvat in one hand and a remote in the other—another one of your clever gadgets. “You just fall for it, every time. Hm, perhaps I should have persuade theater.”

Before she could react, you pressed the button on the remote. The spot on the wall, which had appeared to be some kind of reinforced gel, detonated with a loud bang, leaving a sizeable hole for your escape.

“Raven! Don’t you dare!” she growled, trying to unlock the door, but it was no use. It was completely frozen.

“Hey, this isn’t easy for me either, alright? I mean, fuck, he’s heavy,” you grunted, opting to create more ice on the ground so you could drag him more easily by the lapel of his suit.

“We had a deal,” she tried, her voice edged with frustration.

“Yeah, well, sometimes deals just get rewritten,” you replied coldly, your eyes steely as the ice on the walls.

Natasha didn’t give up. She stepped closer to the reinforced door, her tone softening. “Don’t do this, Raven. You can still do the right thing—”

“She’s too important, Natasha!” you finally snapped, your voice rising with raw emotion. “I can’t just wait around for him to talk through psychological tricks. Every second I spend here, she’s in danger…” You paused, your voice breaking slightly. “Maybe she’s already dead, for all I know.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, your desperation and determination written all over your face as you glanced back at Natasha. And yet, a hint of sadness crosses you eyes.

“I am sorry, Natalia, truly. But you and I…we are worlds apart. So stop trying, okay?” Your voice is gentle now, as if trying to tune her down without really meaning to hurt.

Natasha’s expression softened. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” she whispered, her words barely audible as she reached out, but you turned away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her, as you pulled your prisoner through the hole. You werent supposed ot feel bad. You have done this more times that you could cont! So why were you so affected now.

You know why.

Your gaze softened as you took a breath, the bitterness still lingering as fresh air hit you. “The world already has too many heroes. So let me be the villain.”

You disappeared into the night, leaving Natasha staring helplessly at the jagged hole in the wall, her thoughts racing. Anger and frustration hit her square on the chest. Both her pride and ego were defensively brushed off by how you managed to fool her—again.

And yet, for all the frustration, she didn’t feel anger towards you—not really. Instead, your last words to her left her with something she couldn’t quite place. You had a way of making her feel that way.

She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her comms. “Alert all units. Subject Raven has escaped with Horvat. Lockdown override was an internal breach. Sweep the perimeter immediately.”

“Ma'am,” came the reply. “We have a unit near her position. Do we engage?”

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the hole in the wall as if you might come back through it. She saw your face in her mind—the glint of defiance, the flicker of vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The need painted in your eyes that tugged at her heart.

“No,” she said firmly. “Do not engage. I’ll get her next time.”

The ring of her work phone broke her out of her focus, putting the safety on the gun and leaving it at the range. She didn’t even need to see the target to know she got a perfect score.

“Romanoff.”

“We found the Hydra general—beaten but alive. And a note. From her.”

A sight she didn’t know she held made her feel lighter, tension leaving her shoulders. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Now she had one thing to do.

An hour later, she found herself doing something she didn’t know she’d ever do. Convince her team to bring you on their side.

She met their skeptical stares. “You know what she’s capable of. She’s not just a threat; she could be an ally. We need to bring her in. She’s perfectly capable and a huge help if we do it right.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Are you sure about this? She’s unpredictable, Nat. She isn’t afraid to… get her hands dirty.”

“Yes, but she has a code—a morality. I’m not saying it won’t be complicated at first to make her change her ways, but we should at least give her the chance. Despite her methods, she truly wants to do good.”

Clint nodded, but still doubted. He remembered Natasha’s endless complaints about you and your attitude. “This feels personal. You sure this isn’t a mistake?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and she looked them both in the eye. “She’s the call I didn’t take,” she said firmly, her voice thick with meaning. “Just like Clint didn’t take me out when he had the chance. And you know how that turned out.”

Tony smirked, breaking the tension. “Well, if your ‘friend’ is joining us, I’m having a very long conversation about how she hacked FRIDAY.”

“Focus,” Natasha snapped. “This isn’t about FRIDAY. It’s about doing what’s right. Are you with me or not?”

“Did Fury greenlight this?” Bruce asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, of course. There’s nothing that old man loves more than to add another member to his little dysfunctional family—“ Tony cracked, but Natasha’s gaze silenced him.

Silence filled the room, but one by one, the team nodded. Natasha slipped the note into her pocket, her resolve as solid as ever. Whatever came next, she would see it through.

Afterwards, Natasha went to the balcony, the sight of the city familiar yet intriguing in its own way. Checking around to make sure she was alone, she exhaled as she opened the paper you left her.

Dear Natalia,

Don’t misinterpret this. I’m not going soft or anything, but I do feel bad about… well, humiliating you in front of your buddies. It wasn’t my intention, really. But, I did find my friend, and you did help me—even if I betrayed you in the end.

Consider this a token of appreciation, a little something for letting me go (which I know you did). Sometimes, this game of ours is the only thing that keeps me going, y’know? And besides—you weren’t a bad dance partner. You’ve got moves, Romanoff. I guess that’s part of your charm.

Always your favourite archenemy,

Raven

[atreyucannamos]

X: Promontory

Soundtrack: Deus Ex Mankind Divided OST - Prekazka District

To the bold and brash Lady Ironhand, The cunning and clever El-Ahrairah, Prince of a Thousand Kingdoms, issues unto you this challenge: meet them two hours after sundown at St. Cassander's Balcony. Bring only your erstwhile self and a drinking vessel you trust free of poison. There shall you and they imbibe the good stuff from Khayradin* and speak of things past. m.p. Lord Atreyu-Cannamos P.S. *here is meant the actual good stuff from Khayradin, not the tasteless swill Throne Karakiz distilleries dribble out and falsely label "Khayradi Brandy."

And so there was Atreyu, ten minutes after the appointed time, wondering if they'd just made a fool of themselves.

The day had been very long. After the tumultuous events of the previous weekend and the stress of a long academic week, Caelan had cajoled the entire squad into going on a hike up a mountain. This had required them to get up at 5:30 AM yesterday to catch an early flight out of the metropolis, an arrangement that had pleased nobody but Caelan himself.

The hike itself was no trouble. Atreyu was no stranger to mountaineering - it was one of the few forms of solace they'd had from the oppressive regime of pseudo-house arrest uncle had put them under. Even after weeks of acclimation, the lower gravity of Karrakis still made every movement feel like they were walking on clouds. Delamar and Tuera seemed to be fine - clearly, their training had involved a lot of long walks over rough terrain. Even Persephone seemed to be handling it with aplomb; she talked a lot about spending all her days in a lab, but Atreyu suspected she must've undergone some manner of intensive physical training to buff up for the College.

Nevertheless, even with all five of them confident and competent, reaching the summit had taken most of the day, and getting down most of the evening. They would've been back to the College late that night, had a storm not rolled in and grounded aerotrans flights until the following morning. Atreyu, who was only just getting used to their quarters at the College, had spent hours tossing and turning in their hotel room, and eventually elected to do some revision - which, of course, put them to sleep almost immediately.

They'd dozed on the flight back to Throne Karakiz, and then slept most of the afternoon. Sometime during that messy, surreal stretch of time, they'd taken it into their head to handwrite that note and have a servant deliver it to their cousin. Now, with the time rapidly ticking up on fifteen minutes past the appointed hour, had they just spent a considerable sum of their limited personal wealth on an expensive brandy they were going end up having to drink alone?

The sound of heavy footsteps dispelled the anxiety - even when she was trying to be quiet, Praya had an unmistakable tread.

Atreyu didn't look back. "Checking how patient I was?"

"It's a virtue," Praya grunted, holding out a tumbler.

"You weren't checking whether I'd trapped the place?" Atreyu grabbed the bottle off of the balustrade and poured a slug into the offered glass, before filling their own.

"Not your style," Praya replied, waving a hand dismissively. She put the glass to her lips and inhaled gently. "But let's see you drink first."

"Oh, if you insist," Atreyu retorted, tipping their glass and taking a healthy sip. "So my style isn't to set traps, but you fear I might poison you?"

Praya smirked. "You've been full of surprises lately, rabbit." She finally took a drink, and her eyes widened just the slightest. "The actual good stuff. You're as good as your word. Well, at least if you've poisoned me, you haven't skimped on the trappings."

Atreyu raised their glass with a nod. "If I'm serving you strychnine, you can be sure it'll be hidden in a 15-year aged."

"Good," Praya quipped, nodding. "Poisoning I could forgive. Weak booze? Damnation to the seventh generation."

"I missed you at the infirmary last weekend." Atreyu just said it, straight out, with no warning - and it showed, from the silence that hung in the air afterwards.

Finally, Praya spoke. "I was never worried." She clearly meant to leave it at that, but from the look in Atreyu's eyes and the set of their jaw, she relented, and decided to add something. "You were never going to let some two-bit thugs from the House of Smoke get you down. Moment I heard you were walking, I knew you'd be fine."

"Still," Atreyu replied, eyes narrowed, "it would've been nice to see you. Sometimes things are better when they're more than just implicit."

Praya shrugged. "And yet here you are, strong as the stone you were birthed on. A warrior, a fighter, a survivor. Just like the family asked of you."

"I never wanted to be what the family asked of me," Atreyu spat.

"Yes, and the family threw you on your ass because of it." Praya took another sip of her brandy. "Yet here you are - fuck, if it weren't for father's displeasure, you'd basically be an exemplar of our ways. Tenacious. Uncompromising. Undeterred, even in the face of impossible adversity. You plant yourself in the path of your enemy and dare them to break you. The only people who can't see it are the House - and you."

Atreyu felt a sudden, violent urge to change the topic. "I wasn't afraid this time, you know."

Praya looked over. "How's that?"

"When I faced down the assassin. He had a rifle, my shield was all but dead. If I'd hesitated, made a single mistake, he could've killed me right there. But I wasn't afraid. I just took my shot. After facing you down in a mech, at the duelling fields, after the live-fire exercise - I didn't have time for doubt, or anxiety. I just acted." Atreyu stared back at Praya. "I realise now that the thing I was most afraid of already happened. I lost your respect. I lost uncle's respect. Even after I lied to keep it, I just ended up losing it anyway."

Praya cocked her head. "You lied?"

"I wasn't fearless in the face of the tiger, Praya. When it was charging at me, I wanted to run. I wanted to scream 'I don't want to die!' I wanted to do anything but stand and face it. I didn't feel close to the Titan at all. I felt small, and powerless, and afraid. But I lied to uncle, and to you, and to those kavaliers, because you'd never have respected me if you knew the truth."

Praya had an unreadable look in her eyes. "Do you think your declaration to father was a lie because you felt fear?" From the look on their face, Atreyu didn't understand the question, so Praya continued. "Do you think courage is the complete absence of fear? Do you think... wisdom is found in those who throw themselves carelessly into danger? Fearlessness isn't bravery - it's stupidity. There are a whole lot of things it's entirely correct to be afraid of. We were twelve years old. It was a rock tiger. You stood your ground despite your fear. That wasn't your failing."

Atreyu remained silent, waiting for Praya to finish her thesis.

"Your failing was being so afraid of father's opinion - of my opinion - that you couldn't be truthful. You were brave to face the rock tiger. You were cowardly not to admit your fear to father. You were cowardly to pretend you felt close to the Titan just because it was expected of you. You had a duty to the truth," Praya concluded, "and you were too afraid of losing our approval to fulfil it."

Atreyu chuckled bitterly, turning away. "So it was a choice between losing your approval then, or losing it later?"

"You've lacked my approval these past ten years," Praya shot back, "and you've survived. Perhaps you never needed it."

Atreyu whirled back around, taking a bold swig from their glass. "You know what, Praya? Perhaps I did. Do you know what happened out on the duelling field that day? Everyone expected you to beat me. Even my own squad. It would've been so easy to lose. And I've spent my entire life wanting not to lose, even though I lose, even though I lose all the fucking time! Passions, I'm so sick of losing all the goddamn time!"

It was Praya's turn to fall silent, waiting for Atreyu to finish.

"But something happened. I stopped wanting not to lose. And I started wanting to win. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to beat you in that moment. I had to win. I wasn't just satisfied with proving everyone wrong anymore."

"You had to prove yourself right," Praya suggested.

Atreyu nodded. "Exactly. There wasn't time for doubt. For second-guessing. I had to find the thing that won, and do it. I had to beat you. I had to prove to myself that I could."

"And you did," Praya acknowledged, taking a long sip. "I'm proud of you, by the way. I wasn't holding back. Glad to see you weren't either." She paused, and then added a little more. "And... glad to see you've got something you want bad enough to fight for it."

Atreyu shot back. "And what do you want?"

Soundtrack: Andrew Prahlow - River's End

There was a long, long silence - Atreyu counted the seconds on the Clock of Rosaline, and they numbered three-hundred-and-twenty-seven before Praya spoke again. In those five and a half minutes, eternity seemed to pass.

"Volition."

Atreyu inclined their head, content to listen.

"I'm tired of walking the path laid out for me by others. I want to live for myself, as I wish to live, free of the endless expectations people impose upon me. I want to make decisions based on what I want, not what's best for the House." She turned to look at Atreyu. "I want to decide for myself what battles are worth fighting, and how to fight them."

Atreyu raised their glass to take a sip of brandy, but found it empty. Undeterred, they answered. "You know, I think I want the same thing, deep down. Freedom."

"Perhaps you do," Praya murmured, nodding. "You know what I've always respected about you, Atreyu? Whatever you believe in, however braindead I think it is, you fight your own battles. Even if it's for the worst reasons, even if you're afraid, even if you have no idea how to win, you pick yourself up out of the dust and you raise your damn fists. There's nothing I hate more than cowards who expect others to do their fighting for them when they could do it themselves."

Atreyu narrowed their eyes. "How about cowards who kick people when they're down?"

Praya said nothing.

"I can't force you to do anything," Atreyu continued, "but I think you owe Rawan an apology. I've already apologised on your behalf, of course. But you wouldn't want me to fight your battles for you."

With that, Atreyu poured themself another glass of brandy, left the bottle for Praya, and walked off without saying another word.

[esoteric-chaos]

Ferns - The Mundane and Magical 101

Working with my local land more has taught me to source local plants and connect with them. By properly taking care of it and working the land. That also means connecting with local plant spirits.

The Fern is one of those species of plants. This wonderful herb is abundant, protective and hold much wisdom for they are very old. With some dating back to 360 million years (or so they say). It is known some species can live up to a hundred years.

They are full of wisdom, you might just learn something from them if you actively work with them as a spirit.

Scientific Name:

Family: Pteridophyte

Parts used: For species of Fern it varies

Planet: Mercury

Element: Air

CAUTIONS: ALWAYS check with your local herbalist and doctor before consuming any medicinal medicine as they will be able to direct you on proper dosages. Some medications can also interact and so can some conditions with certain herbs.

IMPORTANT: Some Ferns are harmful (like the Pteridium genus aka Bracken Fern) to the airways and can let off spores that can harm or cause death in immunocompromised people. Always be wary of Fern species around pets as well. Source and research responsibly.

Uses in Herbalism and Healing:

Certain Fern species are used to treat different ailments. Ex. Sensitive Fern (Onoclea sensibilis) used for arthritis while Maidenhair Speenwort (Asplenium tricomanes) is used for coughs.

Always check which fern species is used as some can counteract and aren't always used for the same ailment.

On a fun note, Fiddlehead Ferns are used from a culinary standpoint and are quite delicious when prepared correctly.

Uses in Magic:

When placed in the home, it is said to hold protective properties, and when planted at the doorstep.

Dried Fern, when burned, carries exorcism properties.

Some folklore speaks that when Fern is burned outside, it causes rainfall.

When carried or worn, Fern has the power to guide to treasure.

Some Celtic and Irish legends speak of Ferns being used in from healing to magic.

A Slavic folk tale speaks of a flower on a fern that blooms for a very short time on the eve of the summer solstice. It is said it brings fortune to the person who finds it. In some tales, it allows humans to understand animals talking. It is guarded by malevolent entities. Though the one who succeeds in gathering it can receive earthly riches, that attainment has always brought unlucky energy to the poor soul, so some leave it alone.

Recipes:

A very yummy recipe using Fiddlehead ferns. Check it out!

Sources and extra reading material:

Please remember while I provide sources, some content is my own UPG from working for years intuitively with this herbal ally. What you do not see from my sources assume it is my UPG and take what information you will. Always cross-reference and research yourself. All medical knowledge will be sourced.

Medical Links:

Cao, H., Chai, T., Wang, X., B. Morais-Braga, M. F., Yang, H., Wong, C., Wang, R., Yao, H., Cao, J., Cornara, L., Burlando, B., Wang, Y., Xiao, J., & M. Coutinho, H. D. (2017). Phytochemicals from fern species: Potential for medicine applications. Phytochemistry Reviews, 16(3), 379-440. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11101-016-9488-7

Spiritual:

Books:

Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham

Links:

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