Having The Most Vile Thoughts About Bob + Needy Fucking + Breeding Kink

Men who sound like they’re gonna cry when they cum.

⁀➷ ∵ the soft blue guy

⟶ oc!na'vi x reader

⟶ cw. pure fluffy thirst, short smut, unprotected sex, size kink, SIZE : P na'vis are huge after all, established relationship, interspecies, alien!sex, lots of kissing, lovey dovey + more

⟶ note. hi! this is really short : ) just testing the waters

you never realized how pretty they were. well, from the photographs they just seemed like overly large blue cat people. up close, it's different–like any other species their skin had multiple hues.

soft fingers skim his sharp cheekbones, hues of turquoise and sky blue–darker, richer hued stripes peppered his warm skin. his eyes shut feeling the heat of your touch, and softness continues to linger across his lids–long dark lashes against your fingers. just like his hair.

his noise twitches when you touch it. your lips spread into a cheeky grin and a chuckle leaves your lips. he scrunchies his wide nose bridge shaking his head playfully as if trying to get you off him. "play nice."

"nice? you're making my eyes water with your tiny fingers poking around at it." little strands of hair loosen from his braids from his day out. you scoff, reaching quickly to nip his ears between your fingers.

"ouch." his eyebrows stitched holding onto his pierced ears, littered with hoops all over the cartilage.

you lean towards his face and press your lips against his nose, a gentle kiss that makes his skin brighten and face flush. "hush, you crybaby."

"i am an adult, not a baby."

you lean back onto your palms, "it's just a term, to tease you."

"i do not enjoy your teasing." he nudges into the crook of your shoulder, taking a chomp of your skin, "mate."

"i'm not your mate. you forget."

he breathes, groaning against your skin. "i recall, my love. you refuse to mate with me."

you roll your eyes, drawing his face into your palms, "do you recall what we're doing?" you breath out a moan, feeling him thrust upwards into you.

his lips stretch into a grin, "of course, i enjoy how warm you are." his lips blue, dusted with some purple press a wet kiss on your throat as he sucks on it. you throw your head back, releasing more music to his ears. you're sure this is his favourite position, after all it's uncommon for you to be his height in most situations.

riding him allowed that, and he loved feeling all of you. kissing all of you whilst you did so, he almost rarely allowed you to control the pace of it all–constantly interrupting your rhythm with his hungry ruts. you took too long, as he says.

you roll your hips into him, holding onto his large thighs on your sides as you did. your legs rested on his hips, whilst his entirety punishes your insides. "i still want you to be mine."

"i am yours."

he growls, "i want you to be mine, i want to devote my love to you under eywa."

you know what he means. yet you don't even know if it's possible, it's barely possible to think right now. your mind drunk on his touch and body burning with heated arousal. the angle was almost painful, his cock larger than anything you knew, you recall the first time you took him–he was so proud, pleased you were capable of taking him.

seemed like fucking him inside your makeshift treehouse and home for this mission wasn't enough for him. "my love, eywa is everywhere, is she not?"

his eyes glimmer, you were right. after all, all the sacred lands were destroyed, where would you perform such mating ritual and well, you weren't exactly capable to joining yourself to him in ways the na'vi would.

he loved the way you spoke, so intelligent, so wise. you always knew what to say. his large hand holds your cheek with love, he smiles, "will you be mine?"

he captures your lips. warm and tender it was. he picks up his pace slightly, causing your body to burn. it becomes sloppy, hungry–lips attempting to devour one another. between his heavy strokes and everlasting kiss you manage to catch your breath.

"i've always been yours," you say, breathless–dazed, "now stop asking, and fuck me properly."

he lets out a snort, shaking his head. "my love, your tongue is primitive." he pushes off his butt, pushing you into the soft blankets and cushions splayed across the floor, the bed wasn't big enough to fit him. he angles you, ready to pound, your toes curl feeling him enter so slowly, "but of course, i will fuck you properly."

© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.

NSFW Masterlist

updated: 7/11/23

about the author <3

Bucky Barnes:

NSFW Alphabet - [oneshot/hc]

- summary: just my nsfw opinions/headcanons for bucky

Eddie Munson:

I Was Made For Lovin’ You - [oneshot]

- summary: eddie believes you're a "quiet miss goody-two-shoes". you're going to prove him wrong.

Miguel O’Hara:

Dile (Cuéntale) - [oneshot]

- summary: miguel gets jealous of your relationship with peter. he's on a mission to prove he's better

Te Lo Ruego - [oneshot/hc]

- summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

Again - [oneshot/hc]

- summary: miguel finds out you can squirt, and he wants to make you do it again

DRABBLES

tasm!peter parker fwb

main blog masterlist

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two am automatic;

pairing. frank castle x female! reader warnings. swearing. alcohol, loud music, annoying neighbours. choking, female receiving fingering and penetration. ummm, talkative frank? i kno right. he says some nasty shit   an. yeah i kno. i kno okay? i kno, i kno i kno i kno. i finally wrote a fic about my fave boy. pls reblog and comment, yall kno the drill<33

synopsis. your neighbour is an asshole and plays her music at 2am. at first, frank is civil, then when she does it again, he’s not so civil anymore.

Keep reading

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 || eddie munson x reader

summary - have you ever heard that saying, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt? well, being eddie's best friend with benefits is all fun and games, too, until he gets a girlfriend.

word count - 10k

warnings - SMUT (18+ only), cheating!!, ANGST, completely fucking up canon because I can (everyone is alive but something supernatural did happen and eddie was still accused in chrissy's disappearance but ultimately cleared; also I decided this is vol 1 jason not vol 2 jason), oral sex m receiving, penetrative/unprotected sex, smoking, implied/mentioned drug use, sympathetic jason gets a touch of a redemption arc and also hooks up with the reader oops sorry, punk!reader, good ending, unrequited love (or is it?), pining, gareth being mvp, reader is self-hating and insecure

note - this is NOT meant as any kind of statement about eddie/chrissy as a ship, I'm not anti-eddissy and I firmly believe in 'ship and let ship', this is simply a very angsty idea I had and one interpretation of how their relationship could go. again, no ship hate here!

“What about Chrissy?” you sighed as his lips trailed down your neck.

“What about her?” he whispered back, biting down lightly on your pulse.

And you were so stupid, you were so goddamn stupid; when he said that, the first time it happened after they got together, you thought that meant he was gonna break up with her.  Stupider still, you thought he was gonna break up with her and finally date you.

You were so, so stupid.

Stupid for falling for your best friend.  Stupid for hooking up with him for months knowing he didn’t want the ‘more’ that you were desperate for.  Stupid for letting him come over after another fight with his new girlfriend; stupid for letting him touch you like this.  But, like I said, it was only because you thought he was gonna end it.  And not just because he couldn’t stay away from you; there were so many reasons why Eddie and Chrissy just weren’t working.

It started under such bizarre circumstances, and all that trauma brought them together, but no solid relationship is built on an experience like that; it made sense for a fling, maybe, but dating?  The couple had clearly run their course, but apparently they were the only ones that didn’t see it (or refused to).

She was too needy, he was too impulsive.  She was ambitious, he was terribly short-sighted.  She was a little… judgy, sometimes; honestly, he could be, too, but they seemed to always judge in the opposite way and then argue with each other about it.  She was busy with cheer shit all the time, but got mad when he couldn’t go out with her because he had Hellfire.  It was nauseating to watch.

Almost as nauseating as waking up to an empty bed, expecting him there, only for him to call you an hour later from her place to whisper, hey, what happened s’just between us, right?

Oh, it was.  Another dirty secret; you’d played this game one too many times, and yet you still always lost.

All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself.  Instead, you were pushing your food around your plate while they viciously made out at the lunch table.  You couldn’t be too jealous, knowing he was going to come over tonight and kiss you just like that— probably even harder.  All you ever wanted was Eddie all to yourself, but you were going to settle for the one little piece he let you borrow.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chrissy suddenly decided, pulling back from the kiss, and Eddie whined pathetically as he held onto her waist tighter.

“Already?” he pouted.

“I have to study before my Geometry final,” she insisted as Eddie leaned in to peck at her neck.

“Fuck Geometry,” he shrugged, smiling against her skin.  You wanted to look away so badly, at anything else, but your traitorous eyes were glued to the public display of affection— which was cut short a split second later.

“I’m going, okay?” she snapped suddenly, shoving his arms away, and he cleared his throat as he straightened up.  “Don’t you think that attitude is how you ended up having to repeat the year in the first place?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I was just playing around…”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, standing up.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” he sighed, turning back to the table as she left, offering an awkward half-smile to the rest of the table as they all struggled to hide their obvious discomfort.

The first time this kind of thing happened, Jeff joked about it— trouble in paradise? he said, realizing quickly that he’d hit too close to home when Eddie scoffed and looked away.  Now everybody was just… ignoring it.  

You remembered asking him about it later, trying to delicately broach the topic.

“I mean, what do you guys even have to talk about?” you’d wondered.  “You don’t like any of the same things.”

Eddie had just smirked.  “Honestly, we don’t do that much talking.”

And you’d wanted to vomit.  You hated imagining them together.  It was bad enough seeing it, seeing her perched on his lap or his arm around her shoulders, the kissing in the hallway— it felt like it never stopped! 

It was puppy love, and you kept telling yourself it would be over soon.  That felt like ages ago, it had already been months.  And, in some ways, it was over.  I mean, he was fucking you a couple times a week, so clearly it wasn’t quite thriving.  But it wasn’t over in the key way: that being, officially.  They were still playing along, still pretending. 

The almost-good news is that they hadn’t actually done it, like you’d assumed (and worried).  Apparently, Chrissy was a bit prudish— she liked to fool around, but stopped him before it got anywhere particularly interesting, and anything of that nature had become less and less frequent the longer they were together; you didn’t know much more than that, because he didn’t like to talk about it.  He didn’t talk about her when he was with you… made it easier for both of you to forget.

Well, he didn’t talk about her usually…

“Fuck, that’s good,” he sighed as his hand came up to rest on the back of your head.  “Take it a little deeper, baby?  For me?”

You did, blinking up at him just in time to watch his head fall back onto the top of the couch with a groan.

“She won’t do this,” he said suddenly, making your stomach drop; you really, really didn’t want to think about her, but your mouth was full, so you couldn’t tell him to stop.  “She never does this— fuck, you’re so good, baby, y’suck my cock so good…”

Letting go of the base, you took his head into your throat until your nose was buried in the patch of black hair above his dick; maybe some delusional part of you thought this would finally convince him, that if you gave him perfect head he’d have to leave her.  But he didn’t need to— he got the girlfriend experience from her, and he got this from you.  Sure, he was attracted to you, he liked fucking you… but he respected her.  He idolized her, actually, and it was why he’d never let her go.  You knew that, and your eyes were watering from more than just the tension in your gag reflex.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groaned, fingers tightening and semi-unintentionally tugging on your hair, which made you moan around him as you pulled back and gave your throat a moment of rest.  “Fuck, get up— gotta fuck you,” he rushed.

He pulled you into his lap as soon as you were standing, helping you unbutton your jeans quickly.  When they were open, he started roughly tugging them down faster than you could get in position to make them actually removable, and you laughed quietly.  “That desperate already?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he warned you sharply, pushing you down to lay beneath him on the couch as he finally got your jeans off; already, he was pressing his cock up to your opening, and you arched your back under him.  “You want it?” he taunted, just to make sure you knew your place— you did.

“Please,” you whined, “fuck me, Ed.”

And he did.

When it was over, there was always this brief silence before suddenly it was all back to normal.  It was even shorter than usual this time, him laying on the couch catching his breath as he watched you get dressed.  “Need a ride to Hellfire tonight?” he asked.

“Nah— I’m good,” you nodded.  “Finally got my car out of the shop.”

He scoffed slightly, reaching for a cigarette from the box he’d discarded on the floor earlier.  “Took them long enough,” he mumbled around it as he held it between his lips, fishing a lighter out of his jeans pocket.

“Yeah, with how much I paid, I was hoping they gave it fuckin’ rockets on the back or something,” you chuckled.

He took a drag of the cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he exhaled around it, his bare chest a little shiny with a sheen of sweat.

“Can I bum?” you asked, sort of hoping to share the one he’d already lit— for some reason— but instead he offered the pack to you and you pulled one out for yourself.  “Is this the same pack you had a couple days ago?”

“Yeah, why?” he wondered, handing you the lighter from his pocket next.

“You’ve barely gotten through it,” you noticed.  “You cutting back or something?”

He shrugged slightly, just as you were inhaling the first lungful of smoke.  “Chrissy wants me to.”

You coughed, puffs of smoke rising in front of your face, and you caught his bemused-and-confused look through them.  

“You alright over there?” he laughed.  “Never seen you struggle with smoking before.”

“I’m good,” you promised, though you were still trying to suppress a cough, which made your whole face feel tight and you just knew your eyes were all bloodshot and watery.  “I’d better head out though.”

“Aw, really?” he frowned.  “Thought we could hang out— you know, like we used to?  Feel like I hardly see you anymore… except, you know—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted quickly, finding your discarded jacket on the floor and shrugging it on.  “Guess we both just got busy.”

“Oh, we got busy,” he grinned, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile as you rolled your eyes at his joke.  

“You know what I mean,” you defended.  “I’ll see you at Hellfire anyways, just wanna go home and shower first.”

He shrugged.  “Guess I can’t blame you for that.  See you tonight!”

Your hand was already on the handle of the door.  You thought about staying; but honestly, you didn’t think your heart could take it.  If you stayed, you’d end up laughing until you cried, hiding your head in his chest, watching some shitty movie on tape and muted while he made up the dialogue off the top of his head in silly voices.  It sounded perfect, but it would kill you.  It’s just… too close to the real thing.  So close it makes you imagine what it would be like if he was really yours.  ‘Cause you can laugh together, and you can fuck, but you can’t hold his hand or kiss him in public— and he can’t look at you the way he looks at her.  Because she’s her.  And you’re… just you.  Just a friend.  Even if you’re this kind of friend.

You offered him a half-hearted wave over your shoulder before you jumped out the door and down the rickety little porch.  There was a tear on your cheek as you walked out of the trailer park, but you wiped it away quickly.

No more crying over Eddie, you’d made that promise to yourself a thousand times.

~

Eddie was staying late today, because Chrissy was staying late.  Apparently she had some kind of cheer thing on the football field; you, on the other hand, were staying late for office hours with Ms. O'Donnell.  Much less exciting.

Thankfully, you did leave her room with some understanding of how to prepare for the final— but it wasn't exactly the lift of your spirits that you could've used tonight.  Neither was walking out of the building and seeing them, a-fucking-gain.

The afternoon was turning to evening already, the sun low and bright orange in the sky— it made the trees look black when it shined through them.  The field was nearly empty now, whatever cheer practice had taken place was clearly over… all that was left was Chrissy, laughing as Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist.  

You looked over to the side, and noticed someone just a few feet away on the front row of the bleachers, staring out across the field.  Of course, that gaudy green jacket and quaffed blonde hair could only be Jason Carver— but if it weren't for that, he'd be unrecognizable.

His eyes were red, sunken and hung low over purple dark circles.  He looked pathetic; he looked how you felt.

“Hey,” you offered softly.  Sure, he was kind of a douche— okay, he actually sort of tried to kill your best friend, but hey, sometimes you wanted to kill Eddie, too.

“Leave me alone,” Jason sniffled, glancing away.  “Freak.”

You ignored his demand, sitting down next to him on the steel bleacher.  For a long time, neither of you said anything— it wasn’t that long, but it felt like ages, even though it wasn’t quite an awkward silence.  Somehow, without saying anything, you seemed to come to an understanding with each other.  You didn’t have anything in common, except your pain; without asking, just by looking over at you for a second, he seemed to know that it hurt you like it hurt him.

“How much longer?” he finally asked you.  “How long do you give it?”

You shrugged.  “I don’t guess anymore.  I thought it would be over by now.”

“What if they really—?” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a sad little laugh.  “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this— but what if they really make it, you know?  Like, what if this is it?”

You didn’t say anything.  You were trying not to think about it like that.

“I’m so stupid,” he announced.  “I mean, I really thought it was gonna be me and her— I was gonna play for Indiana State and she was gonna be my girl.  I was gonna get a ring, I would’ve… I would’ve done it sooner, I just thought we were still a little too young.  I never even thought about what my life would be without her in it, not even when everyone thought she was dead.  ‘Cause she is my life.”

“That must be hard,” you offered.  “Maybe— I mean, it could still happen, right?”

“No, no,” he shook his head defiantly, “she’s gone.  And I still have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do without her— she’s supposed to be my wife!  I know she’s not, but that’s how it feels… I mean, I look over there, and I’m thinking, fuck, Eddie Munson is kissing my wife!”

“You are stupid,” you agreed with the biggest smile you could muster— which was barely noticeable.  “So am I.”

“She told me she loved him,” he sighed, whispering instead of letting his voice break.  Your heart twisted, you almost gasped; you'd never heard her say that.

“When?”

“When I first saw her,” he explained, reaching up to cover his eyes— but it didn’t stop a tear from sliding out underneath it.  “I just found out she was still alive, and I thought he’d kidnapped her or something, brainwashed her— she told me not to hurt him, she said she loved him.  She said that shit to me!”

Eddie never told you he loved Chrissy, but you knew that he did— or that he thought he did.

“How can she just throw that all away?” he wondered, rubbing his eyes and gathering himself slightly to look across the field at them one more time.

“I think she still loves you,” you decided.  “I mean— I’m not saying you’re gonna get back together, I’m not even sure that you should.  I’m just saying… I think she’s not quite over it yet.”

He turned to stare at you.

“It’s a rebound!” you insisted.  “He doesn’t believe me— but she’s trying to get over you, with him.  But she can’t, it’s not working.”

“Really?  She looks like she’s having a great fucking time,” he sneered as he nodded over at them.

You were about to tell him that, no, she’s not— at least she doesn’t seem to be— but he spoke first.

“Tell me he’s good to her,” Jason pleaded.  “Does he treat her right?  Are they happy?”

You froze, but he spoke again before you even considered what you might say to that.

“You know what,” he sighed, “don’t tell me.  I don’t think either answer would make me feel any better.”

“He’s cheating on her,” you heard yourself blurt out, and you didn’t even know why you said it.  Maybe you just needed to tell someone.

You knew then why they say when someone’s really mad, they’re fuming— because you could all but feel heat coming off of him in that moment.  “I’m gonna kill him,” he announced as he stood up, “I really am this time, I fucking mean it—”

He was stepping forward to storm across the field already, but you jumped up and put your hands on his jacket to try to stop him.  You expected him to glare at you, but when his eyes fell on your face, there wasn’t rage there anymore; there was this indescribable thing instead, the same thing you knew he must’ve seen in your eyes, too.  Like grief, but for someone still alive.

His mouth fell open, but he didn’t say it right away.  “Oh god,” he breathed, and you were already nodding before he asked the question.  “It’s you, isn’t it?”

You wanted to look away, his stare was like a bright light shined in your eyes during an interrogation; but you couldn’t, your eyes were looking forward to him even as they filled with tears.

“How can you do that to her?” he whined, almost sounding like a plea, as he grabbed your arms.  “She’s a good person!  How can you— how could you—?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, biting your quivering lip.  

“Yes you do!” he insisted.  And you figured you owed it to him, and to yourself, to admit it.

“You love her, right?” you began, obviously a rhetorical question.  “Who would you hurt, to be with her?  You almost killed Eddie over it, right?  Wouldn’t you burn the whole fucking world down just to hold her again?”

He didn’t say anything, and you felt his chest rising and falling under your hands as he breathed heavily.

“I know how that feels,” you offered.  And that’s all you said.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t give you any warning— just glancing down at your lips for a second before he pulled you towards him.

Kissing Jason Carver felt wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.  But even kissing Eddie didn’t feel right anymore, knowing how many people were getting hurt— including yourself.

Jason’s hands on your waist felt wrong, his breathing against your face and his tongue over your lips felt wrong.  But you clutched at the lapel of his varsity jacket, whimpering quietly and leaning in for more.

It ended suddenly, and when you both pulled away, you saw him looking over your shoulder.  “Are they looking?” you wondered.

He shook his head. 

"Are they still kissing?" you added, sounding slightly defeated.

He nodded.  “Let’s— you wanna get out of here?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

~

Listen, nobody ever really knows how their day is gonna go when they wake up— they might think they do, but they really don’t for sure.  But even still, you never woke up today thinking that the next time you were going to be in your bedroom, you’d be dragging Jason Carver through the door with you, kissing him hard and helping him push his jacket off.

He lifted you for just a second to get you down onto the bed, clutching at the sheets beneath you as you whimpered a little.  You were making quick work of his belt and jeans at the same time that he was trying to navigate getting your t-shirt over your head.

It’s hard to say what you were expecting sex with Jason to be like, because, well, you’d never expected this or even pictured it.  If you’d tried to, before— likely during some twisted game of fuck marry kill with Eddie while stoned in his van— you would’ve said it must be horrible, It was actually really… freeing.  You both knew that the other was thinking of somebody else, you didn’t need to hide it.  You didn’t need to say anything, you didn’t need to stop crying or act sexy or be what you thought he wanted. 

It was kind of a hatefuck, because you hated each other— and you hated yourself— but it was also… sweet, weirdly.  He was certainly more tender with you than Eddie was most of the time.  

When it was over, you just laid next to each other for the longest time.  You didn’t hold each other, you didn’t kiss, or talk, or laugh.  You just laid on the sheets, feeling the slight dampness from your sweat start to go cold.  It got darker every minute, until the sun finally crossed the horizon and a chilly breeze blew in through your open window.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked after what must have been nearly a half hour of silence.  You nodded.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, you didn’t even remember shutting your eyes— but suddenly, you opened them, and the sun was up, and Jason was beside you with his back facing you.

Your fingers reached up and tentatively traced over his back— he had a mole, and a couple scars, which was more than you expected from someone like Jason… he always seemed like he must be blemishless.

He lifted and turned his head over his shoulder, looking at you.  You found less disappointment in his eyes than you expected, but you knew that you weren't who he was looking for— and you didn't blame him.  Wasn't the first time you slept with a guy who really wanted Chrissy.  Kind of a bizarre pattern you were setting, actually.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Not time to get up yet," you offered.  "Sorry if I woke you up…"

"No, it's okay," he promised as he turned onto his back and looked at you.  "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah, I did," you admitted, "better than I have in a while, actually."

He smiled at you gently.  "Me too."

His hand reached up to brush against your face, and your breath caught as he started to move in closer to your lips.  You were about to let him kiss you when your hands instinctively shot up to his chest and held him back.  "Jason, I—" you began. 

"I know," he breathed, looking down.  "Just thought it might be nice."

So you leaned in and kissed him; and it was nice.  Shockingly comfortable.  But you both tasted that sadness, knowing this wasn't anything more than what it needed to be— just two heart-broken people staving off the loneliness for a night.  

When he pulled back, he looked at you for a second before he cleared his throat.  "Mind if I, uh, use your shower?"

"Take a right down the hall, first door on your left," you nodded at him, and he sat up with a quick stretch before hopping out onto the floor.

You stayed in bed a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, looking at the crack that had started by the corner last year and slowly spread further and further; maybe this whole roof would collapse onto you, that would be nice.

Eventually, you got up and got half-dressed so you could forage for some kind of breakfast before school.  You were halfway into toasting a bagel when you heard a knock at your front door— but it opened a second later, because he already knew it was never locked.

“Hey,” Gareth greeted, sauntering in and hopping up to sit in the chair by your kitchen island.

“Morning,” you offered, trying to act casual— because you weren’t about to tell him you had someone over, because he would just ask who it was…

Gareth being one of your closest friends meant that he showed up unannounced sometimes, especially in the morning before school— you’d been carpooling since your car was in the shop anyways, but he usually stopped by regardless.  And if Eddie was here in the morning, he wouldn’t even blink— because Eddie stayed the night with you all the time and it didn’t mean anything to Gareth, even if you and Eddie knew it hadn’t been a just-friends sort of sleepover.  But this would be harder to explain, and you kept glancing at the closed bathroom door, hoping Gareth wouldn’t notice the sounds of the running shower.

“Have you eaten already?” you asked him.

“Yeah— m’not here to mooch, don’t worry,” he smiled.  “Although I could use all the free food I can get while I’m saving up for a new drum set.”

You hummed around a mouthful of bagel and shmear; “Stick went through the snare again?”

“Yup,” he nodded.  “Collateral damage when you rock this hard.”

You snorted a little laugh, though your face dropped as you looked over Gareth’s flannel-clad shoulder.

Jason appeared out of the hallway, wearing only his basketball shorts and drying his hair with a towel.  Gareth spun around with wide eyes, and you choked on nothing as the two boys stared at each other.

They didn’t say anything to each other— I mean, what would those two have to say?  Other than sorry for almost breaking your fingers, maybe.

But Jason didn’t say that, he just cleared his throat and looked at you again.  “Listen, I’m gonna… head out,” he informed you, “do you maybe… have a shirt I can borrow?”

“Um, I’ll see what I can find,” you offered, walking out of the kitchen and ignoring the weight of Gareth’s bewildered stare as you followed him down the hallway again.

You slid out your drawer and flipped through the folded t-shirts, searching for something suitable that might even mildly fit him.

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna rock a Dead Kennedys tee?” you snorted.

“Is that some sort of political statement?” he wondered, frowning. 

“It’s a band,” you corrected.

“Oh, well— yeah, maybe no band shirts.  I’d rather not get asked too many questions,” he explained, rushing as he added at the end: “N-not that I’m, you know, embarrassed or anything.  I mean, it doesn’t have to be a secret, but we—”

“Hey,” you interrupted with a smile, looking at him, “it’s okay.  Nobody else has to know— I don’t wanna damage your reputation.”

“It’s not that,” he promised, “my reputation’s not doing so hot anyways.  I figure you’d be more ashamed to be seen with me.”

Yeah, that’s… accurate.

“Uh, sorry about coming out while your friend was there, by the way…” he trailed off, “I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, “he’s… I’ll figure out what to say to him about it.  But other than that, I think what happened tonight is just for us.  Not out of shame— just… I don’t think anyone else would understand.”

He nodded, just as you found an old Hoosiers Baseball shirt stuffed in the back of the drawer and handed it to him.  He mumbled a thank you and put it on quickly, finding his varsity jacket on your floor and slipping it on again.

You followed him to the door, opening it for him as he left. 

“I guess I’ll see you at school,” he offered, hovering in your foyer for a moment.

“I mean, maybe not,” you shrugged, “we never see each other normally…”

“Right,” he nodded.

“Drive safe,” you offered, a little surprised when he reached up to rest a hand on your shoulder.

He kissed you on the cheek, and you froze and let him.  “You too,” he whispered, squeezing your arm before letting it go and stepping outside.  You shut the door behind him, sighing as you waited a moment, not wanting to turn around and see the look on Gareth’s face.  

You didn’t have to see it, though, because you could hear it in the way he said your name.  “Don’t,” you pleaded, spinning on your heel and storming into the kitchen.  Gareth’s eyes followed you as he twisted around on the chair, gaping in disbelief.

“Tell me it’s not what it looks like,” he begged.

“Okay, it’s not what it looks like,” you offered.

“‘Cause it can’t be, right?  You didn’t… you and Jason aren’t… it’s—” he stammered, stopping and starting a thousand new sentences.

“Is it that hard to believe?” you finally snapped at him, crossing your arms.  “Think I can’t pull a hot, popular guy or something?”

He didn’t even respond to that question.  “Jesus Christ!” Gareth yelped.  “We really are in the end of fucking days!  Eddie’s dating Chrissy Cunningham, you’re fucking Jason Carver— it’s madness!  Cats and dogs living together!”

“Shut up,” you frowned.

“I’m so sick of this,” he groaned, head falling into his hands, dirty-blonde hair flopping down limply as if it were just as defeated as him.  “I just want things to go back to normal, you know?  Eddie’s not coming to practice anymore, and we had to take a vote to decide if we should just break the band up, or still be a band but kick him out, or what— and his campaigns suck!  You noticed too, right?  He’s spending so much less time on them, he’s always with her—”

Or me.

“I hate it!” Gareth admitted, looking at you again.  “And honestly, you know, I think I could take it if I really thought he was happy.  But doesn’t he seem kind of miserable?”

You nodded softly.  “Yeah…”

“He doesn’t even seem like himself,” he added with a sigh.

“He’s not,” you stated plainly, making Gareth give you a confused look.  “Everything that happened… and I don’t know everything, maybe only he does… but he almost died.  So did Chrissy— technically, I think she did?  I don’t even know,” you groaned, shaking your head.  “The point is, it changed them.  I guess they want to be with each other because they want to be with someone who understands."

Sort of why Jason's here, actually.

"And clearly I don’t fucking understand— neither do you, neither does Jason.  But yeah, I wish they hadn’t left us all in the fucking dust," you concluded.

“Us?” Gareth repeated.  “No, you’re… something’s up with you, too.  For a while now.”

You sighed.

“And this—” he gestured towards the hallway and then the door, basically everywhere he’d seen Jason in your house— “is just part of it.”

“I know you don’t like him,” you mumbled.  “Honestly, I don’t either, but… it’s complicated.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was fucking simple,” he rolled his eyes.  “Are you… is this something I’m gonna have to get used to?  Like, is it gonna happen again— is he your boyfriend?!”

“Jesus!” you spat.  “No!  It’s not— I can’t explain it, okay?  Can we not talk about it?  I wasn’t exactly planning on telling you.  You wouldn’t know if you didn’t just show up at my house whenever you want.”

“Should I stop doing that?” he asked.

“I mean, if you wanna lower your odds of interrupting another guy’s walk of shame…”

Gareth let out a long breath, resting his chin on his fist, and you watched the anger and confusion on his face start to fade— and there was just a solemness left.  You recognized it quickly because you were so familiar with it on yourself.  “Everything’s different now,” he said quietly.  “I fucking hate it.”

“Me too,” you nodded.  “I mean— that’s part of life, though.  Things were gonna change soon, anyways, don’t you think?  If Eddie finally graduated.”

“I figured he didn’t graduate because he wanted things to say the same,” Gareth theorized, and the insight— as well as how obvious it seemed now that he said it— from only a junior caught you off guard.

“Things were always gonna change,” you offered half-heartedly.  “It couldn’t stay how it was forever.”

“But wouldn’t that have been nice?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Well— I guess things were never great for you.”

“What does that mean?” you pressed.

“You know, just— with Eddie…” he trailed off.

You felt a little nauseous.  “What about Eddie?”

“You and him… you know…” Gareth continued.

“Did you… know about that?” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow.  Didn’t seem like Eddie to kiss and tell— he always swore he never told anyone about you two—

“It’s hard not to know how you feel about him,” he finally replied.  “And I always wanted you two to get together— I mean, it would just make sense, you and him.  It was hard to watch you look at him that way sometimes…”

Okay, so apparently this kid was seeing a lot more than he let on— but apparently he hadn’t quite figured out about your and Eddie’s little affair of nearly a year.  But even he could see that what you had for Eddie was completely unrequited, and that stung.  You sometimes imagined that part was just in your head…

Gareth shook his head, as if shaking the thought out of his mind, and hopped up off the chair.  “Whatever,” he decided.  “Wanna ride together?”

“No, I should… I could use the alone time,” you explained.

Gareth raised his hands as he shrugged a bit, turning around and walking towards the door.  “See you there!”

“Not if I see you first,” you called back, staring blankly at your half-eaten breakfast as you heard the front door open and shut.

~

It was an unusually quiet day— aside from a quick conversation with Jeff and Dustin in the hallway between third and fourth period, you didn’t talk to anyone you knew.  You saw Jason walk by, wearing your old t-shirt… but he didn’t see you, or pretended not to.  Not that you were planning on waving or anything.

You had been sort of dreading lunch, because you couldn’t keep avoiding Eddie at that point; you considered eating outside, but that would be even worse.  Maybe, when you did see him, he’d notice that you’d been avoiding him all morning and ask about it.  Or maybe he wouldn’t have noticed at all because he was too busy locking lips with Miss Perfect.

Instead, before lunch, he found you.  He said nothing as he dragged you in the Hellfire room, spinning on his heel to glare at you as the door slammed shut.

"You… you," he said with narrowing eyes.

"...What?" you waited.

"Jason?!" he shouted, and you deflated.  "Jason Carver— him?"

"I guess Gareth told you," you sighed.

"He tried, but I didn't even believe him, nearly gave him a black eye for saying something so sick about you," Eddie hissed.  "I had to find Jason to figure out it was true."

"You talked to Jason?!" you realized.

"I didn't have to— he used your fucking shampoo, didn't he?  The morning after?  He smells like you," he groaned.  "Made me fucking sick."

You bit your lip, not sure what to say to that, struggling to keep your cool with him this livid.  You'd never seen him angry like this, ever.

“And the Hoosiers shirt?” Eddie scoffed.  “Nice touch.  Did you tell him I used that as a fucking cum rag?”

You kept your mouth shut, rage bubbling up in your gut as you started to pick at your nails nervously.  No, Eddie, you used me as a cum rag— and I learned my lesson.

“How could you fucking— god, I can’t even say it!” he choked.  “How could you sleep with him?  Let him stay over, even!  After he had the whole fucking town after me?  After how he treated Chrissy?!”

“Oh god, Chrissy,” you rolled your eyes, “won’t somebody think of poor fucking Chrissy?  Because what kind of freak would ever do anything to hurt her?”

He winced.  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore— you and I are over.  For good this time.”

“Over?” you repeated.  “Eddie, we never even fucking started.”

“Really?” he scoffed.  “So when we were fucking almost every night for nearly a year— what was that?”

“That was you being horny and me being stupid,” you explained.  “That was the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Yeah?  Agreed,” he sneered.  “I can’t even look at you now.”

“Good!” you shouted.  “Now you know how I feel!”

“You can’t look at me?  What the fuck did I do?”

“I can’t look at myself!” you corrected.  “You know how much I hate myself for being like this?  For fucking Jason, for being your other woman, for being a fucking loser?  For not being able to help you, for not being there when you almost died?”

That made him stop, looking at you differently.  “What are you talking about?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Everything that happened to you,” you sighed, “Dustin tried to explain it— but I still don’t really know.  And you never told me.  But I wish I was there for you… I wish you’d told me what was going on, what really happened to Chrissy— I would’ve helped you more.  I would’ve done everything I could, do you believe me?”

He didn’t say anything, just blinking at you.  You wished you hadn’t said anything.

“Go!” you demanded.  “Just fucking leave, Eddie, please.”

“No,” he decided, stepping closer.  “No— I’m not leaving you again.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to push him back, but he stepped up to you again and grabbed your arms.

“He wasn’t lying, was he?” Eddie realized, staring intently at your face.  “Do you love me?  I mean, really.”

You swallowed thickly; fucking Gareth.  Apparently he hadn’t just told Eddie about Jason…

“Just say it, if you do.  Please,” he insisted.

“I can’t,” you breathed, “come on, Eddie, don’t make me—”

“Please!”

“Of course I do!” you yelped, finally getting him to let go of you as you jolted away.  “Okay?  Why can’t you just leave me alone, if you know?  I’m so, so tired of hurting, Eddie, I’m tired of giving you everything and getting what you can spare— I’m fucking tired!”

“Me too,” he promised, “I’m so— god, I can’t believe I let it happen like this.  I waited so long for you to tell me you love me and it’s all fucking wrong.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head down but looking up at him anyways as he covered his face with his hands for a second.

“It should be us— it should’ve always been us!” he announced suddenly, throwing his arms out wide in frustration.  “I always felt that way, but you never… I thought we were just friends, you know?  That you didn’t want more.”

Your gut twisted.  You were still worried this was all some terrible joke, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t.  “More?  Eddie, more is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I— I figured I wasn’t boyfriend material,” he explained.  “And then there was Chrissy— she seemed to think I was worth it, so I went for it, and now she can’t fucking stand me.”

“Did she say that to you?”

“Does she have to?” he shot back, and you sighed.  “Writing’s on the fucking wall, don’t you think?  She’s tired of dating a loser— a dropout, somebody who’s never gonna be anybody.  And I realized that was why I always thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Never gonna be anybody?” you repeated, shocked.

“What, you think I will?” he scoffed.  “With what, the band?  What are the odds of that?”

“No, Eddie,” you stepped closer, “you already are somebody.  To me, I mean.”

“Chrissy says I need to make something of my life,” he breathed, and you reached up to tentatively touch his face.

“You’re my life,” you admitted.

He reached up and held your hand, squeezing it, shutting his eyes tight as he turned his face to kiss your palm.  "I love you," he sighed, "I love you— I'm sorry I didn't tell you.  I was… I tried so hard to forget.  But even with her, I couldn't let you go.  I can't be away from you."

"I thought you were just with me because… since she wouldn't…" you trailed off.

"I lied," he blurted out, "it wasn't her that kept us from going further— it was me.  I just didn't feel right about it.  And I wouldn't admit to myself why."

When you looked down, you saw his scuffed up Reeboks stepping closer to you still, even with him already so close; when you looked up again, he was right there.

"It's not too late for us, is it?  I didn't ruin everything?" he asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.

You smiled a little.  "It's never too late for us, Eddie.  I think I was gonna wait for you until the very last second."

He kissed you, and it was different.  It wasn't like when he pulled you into him after you stepped into his trailer, it wasn't like when you got stoned in his van and started messing around— all those were like transitional kisses.  They were just where you started before it went further.  But not this— this wasn't a beginning kiss, it was a concluding kiss.  This wasn't a what's next? kiss, it was a this is it kiss.

Because this is it; this is all that matters, that you and him are together, like you always have been— and always should’ve been.

He held your face and pulled back all too soon, looking at you with those big, soft eyes starting to water.

"Please, tell Chrissy," you begged.  "I'm not her biggest fan or anything, but I can't do this to her anymore—"

"She already knows.  I told her, last night."

You froze.  "What?"

"I think she knew— she's really smart, you know,” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"So, what?  Are you guys over then?"

He exhaled through pursed lips.  "I mean, we haven't said it, but, yeah."

"Then say it.  Talk to her about it,” you insisted.  “Because really, Eddie, you two don't need to love each other but you don't need to hate each other, either.  You went through something nobody else understands— that brings people together, people you'd never expect.  I mean, you're friends with Steve Harrington and I slept with Jason, so…"

He looked away from you for a moment.  "Yeah…"

"I want you guys to be friends, if you still can after everything…"

"I said the same thing to her, actually.”

You cleared your throat quietly.  “And I hope you can still… I hope you can forgive me for what happened with Jason—”

“I guess I really don’t have any right to be jealous, do I?” he tilted his head for a second.  “But still— god, imagining you with him… drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

“I noticed.  It’s why I’m late to Spanish.”

He sighed.  “We can… we’ll talk more later.  Maybe I can come over tonight?  A-after I see Chrissy, I mean.”

“Just call me when you’re coming over,” you nodded.

He gave you another kiss before he left, with his eyes shut tight and his hands still on your cheeks.  “I love you,” he whispered, when he pulled back— his face still an inch from yours, his eyes still shut.  “I’ve loved you for so long…”

This feeling, it was almost like heartbreak, shockingly similar in fact; but it was the polar opposite, it was all the abandoned broken pieces coming together, mending one edge at a time.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promised.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded.  He hesitated for a second before he left, and you stayed in that empty room for far too long even though you were already massively late.

For a while now, you’d been telling yourself not to get your hopes up— not to imagine that Eddie could feel the same way you do.  It was fear, undeniably; cowardice, even.  Maybe if you had thought to just ask, none of this would’ve ever happened.  He could’ve been your boyfriend from the first night you two decided to hook up— back then he told you that he wanted to stay friends no matter what.  It seemed obvious now that he meant that he wanted your relationship to stay strong, and not necessarily that he didn’t want to date… but insecurity had blinded you.  And you almost thought it was too late.

Still, you didn’t want to get your hopes up too high, you didn’t want to believe that this was really happening.  Just in case you woke up and it was all a dream.  Just in case he changed his mind and decided he couldn’t love you like that.  Just in case the world ended tonight and you never got a chance to be together like you’d dreamed.

Yet, you couldn’t keep a small smile off your face for the rest of the day.

~

You waited for him for hours, watching the clock, watching the phone— you had the TV on in hopes of distracting yourself from trying to imagine how it was going with Eddie and Chrissy now.  For all you knew they were making up and deciding to run away together or something…

11:54.  Chewing your nails, you blinked at the clock; it wasn’t even that late yet, but it felt like he should be here by now.  You wanted him here so badly…

Within a few minutes, the TV had become useless as the broadcast had ended with the national anthem before fading to static.  You hadn’t turned it off yet, though— it was the only light in your living room now, and the only sound.  Not a particularly soothing sound, but there wasn’t much else to do.  

12:19.  You stood up instinctively when the door opened, and from where you were in the living room, you had a clear view of Eddie standing there, shutting the door behind him, staring at you.  “Sorry,” he blurted out, “I forgot to call.”

“How’d it go?” you asked.

“It was hard,” he swallowed, “but it went okay— we cried a lot.  She hugged me… I kinda thought she was gonna hit me, so that was a relief.  I think we both knew things hadn’t been right for a while…”

Your heart was racing, for some reason, as he walked up to you; he reached up and brushed his fingers over your face for a second, before wrapping his hands around the back of your neck comfortingly.

“Things are only right when we’re together,” he added.  

You nodded in agreement, eyes falling shut as he leaned in closer, feeling his lips press to yours a moment later.  You melted into it, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  His hands moved down to hold your back and waist, keeping you upright and pressed to him as your knees went weak.  He’d kissed you a thousand times but he’d never kissed you like this; you felt your eyes watering and warm tears running down your cheeks as he pulled you even closer.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you too,” you replied quickly, sniffling as he pulled back and wiped your tears away.

“Happy tears, right?” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as he kissed the height of your temple where a new tear was falling.

“Don’t ever wanna make you cry again,” he breathed.  “This is gonna be the last time, okay?”

You nodded again.

"Let me show you how it should've been," he pleaded softly.  "Let me show you what I've really been dreaming of."

"What's that?" you pressed.

"Making love to you," he replied.  "Making you my girl.  No more quickies, no more meaningless fucking with you leaving after— I should've never let you leave."

One more time, you nodded; and he kissed you again, the two of you moving slowly backward towards the bedroom.  He fumbled to open the door behind your hips, but he knew this room like the back of his hand: he pulled you with him onto the bed, rolling to pin you under him as he pushed his arms up and hovered over you.

“Please tell me you’ve changed the sheets since Jason was here,” he sighed, and you bit your lip to suppress your smile.

“Um…”

“Y’know what?  Doesn’t matter,” he decided.  “It’s better, even— I’ll give it to you so good that you and your sheets are gonna forget he was ever here.”

You were laughing as he kissed down to your neck, pressing his body against yours.  Usually this is when you’d start hurriedly kicking off your shoes, the two of you separating to strip just so you could come back together and get this show on the road.

But this time was different— he helped you undress carefully, admiring every new inch of skin he exposed.  He made your skin erupt in goosebumps, tickling you gently with his fingertips and lips, but then he soothed you and warmed you up with palms spread wide and running all over you.  “So fucking beautiful,” he purred, “and all mine, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

You did your best to return the favor of helping when he started to undress, but he had already figured out how to take his own shirt off so really you were just running your fingers up his torso.  Your hands started just above his belt and your fingers spread out as you moved them higher and higher, parting the light dusting of hair as you reached his upper chest, tracing the shape of his tattoos— including your favorite, the one you’d designed for him.

He grinned at you proudly, glancing down as he tossed his shirt away.  His hands moved down past yours to work on his belt next, the handcuff buckle clinking as you watched intently and weaved your legs in between his that knelt on the bed.  “So pretty,” you cooed.

“I don’t know about that,” he defended, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, my pretty Eddie,” you insisted, and he laughed softly.

He descended to hover over you again, his bent arm sinking into the squishy mattress by your head as his hand played with the hair at the top of your head a bit.  “My pretty girl,” he returned.

His free hand was pushing his unbuttoned jeans and boxers down, but he had to sit back up to kick them off completely— apparently this wasn’t the kind of sex you can have with your jeans around your thighs.

Actually, you couldn’t think of the last time you and Eddie were completely nude together like this.  Usually he’d just hike your shirt up high enough and let his pants dangle at his knees or ankles; once he even just took it out through an unzipped fly, yanked your jeans down a bit and had his way with you, but that was because you were in the Hellfire room and had to make it quick.

As fun as all that was, it felt like ages ago— it felt like another life, or even a dream.  This felt so real, almost too real, it made you shiver under him as he pressed his bare skin against yours with a hum.

“You cold?” he asked quietly.

“N-no,” you replied, teeth chattering, “it’s just… I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to, okay?” he promised.  “You don’t need to say anything… just look at me, okay?  Don’t close your eyes.  Keep looking at me.”

It was too much, looking right into his eyes like this— brown and stormy and warm— like he was staring right into your brain, watching all your thoughts swirl around.  Wouldn’t’ve been too interesting to watch, though, since your only thoughts were of him— like looking into a mirror.

He slowly pushed his hips forward, watching closely as your mouth fell open with a sigh; you felt every detail, every ridge and vein of his cock as he split you open on it, and your legs fell open even wider as your hands clutched at his shoulders.  He shuddered slightly, a shaky breath falling from his lips, as his hips pressed up to you and he was fully seated inside your warmth.

“Eddie,” you whispered to him.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say it…”

He smiled and kissed you softly, whispering your name back to you a few times— and each time, your insides held him a little tighter, overwhelmed by not just the sound of your name in his voice but the way he said it.  Of course, you’d heard him say your name plenty over the past few years, occasionally in the throes of passion— but there was a reverence to this, a… worshipfulness, maybe.

He started to move carefully, pushing a bit deeper each time as you moaned lowly and wrapped your legs around his hips to keep him from pulling out too far.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he admitted, voice breaking slightly as he kept his eyes trained on you.  “You feel that?  How wet you are for me?  Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered and bit your lip, eyes falling shut, but his hand squeezed your thigh.

“No, baby, eyes on me,” he reminded you, “y’gotta keep looking at me, please— please, darling?”

That pet name was enough to get you to open your eyes again, even though you felt like you were burning up under the heat of his stare— god, it was really too much, but it was exactly what you needed.  You moaned a little louder, and his hand on your hips moved them to just the right angle, lifting you up so his cock hit just a bit deeper.  But wow, what just that little bit could do; you broke eye contact only because you had to, your eyes were literally rolling back.  “God, Eddie, s-so fucking deep…”

“I know,” he breathed, “I know— but you can take it, right?”

You nodded eagerly.

“This is how you want it?” he presumed.  “Tell me— you can tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.”

“This,” you promised, “just like this— don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t,” he replied, “just— god, baby— tell me you’re mine, one more time.”

You only hesitated because you were so caught up in the feeling, in digging the heels of your feet into his ass to keep this delicious feeling of fullness from ever ending.  You didn’t mean to get him so worked up that he’d start begging.

"Say it, come on," he demanded, "say you're mine."

"Yours, yours," you promised quickly.

"M'yours too, baby," he sighed, "always was, I swear— just us, baby, please, just gotta be you and me now."

You nodded.

“You and me,” he repeated again, breathless, leaning in to mouth along your exposed neck from your head falling back in pleasure.  “Us.  Way it oughta be.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling that familiar weight sinking in your gut— fuck, you were way too close, it was embarrassing.  Except that it wasn’t, because you didn’t feel self-conscious with him anymore, if anything you were excited to fall apart for him this time.

He didn’t even have to ask if you were reaching your peak, which he normally did— normally he’d be teasing you a little, taunting you, encouraging you to go ahead and let go or maybe tell you to hang on until he told you it was time.  Instead he just watched you, breathing heavy and feeling the rhythmic pulses of your body around his.  “So good,” he praised when the last wave had washed over you and you went limp beneath him, “so good for me— my beautiful girl, all mine, mine—”

“Yes,” you whimpered, choking on a sob, holding onto his back as he fucked you faster.  “God, I didn’t— fuck, wasn’t supposed to come that fast.”

He laughed a little— in a sweet way, not mocking or derisive— and gave you a soft kiss.  “It’s okay, baby, as long as you can do it again.”

You nodded quickly.  “Yeah, fuck yeah— just don’t stop…”

Thankfully, the next one took you a bit longer— but still, your stamina was weak with him filling you so wide and deep, stretching you out and whispering soft praises to you all the while.  “That’s it, that’s it,” he spoke under his breath, “so beautiful when you come for me, can you open your eyes again?  Wanna see you, wanna see my girl, please…”

Your eyes were so heavy halfway through your second orgasm, but you managed to get them open for him, finding his face even closer to yours than you remembered.  He moaned at the sight, fingers digging a little deeper into your skin and chest pressing against yours.

He watched your last moan jump from your lips as the bright-white heat of your ecstasy burned out into a dull warmth, a soothing sensation that made you sigh and relax again.  “Feels so goddamn good when you do that,” he whined, “fuck, I— baby…”

You could tell he was close, finally— you could feel his cock starting to flex, pressing against your walls while he fucked you a little faster.  “Want it so bad, Eddie,” you whimpered, “want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he gasped, “whatever you want, sweetheart, s’all yours, m’yours, I promise— god, I love you so much—”

“I love you,” you moaned your reply, feeling him pick up the pace again, though it was still slower than he usually fucked you even in the beginning.  You didn’t even know he could come while moving this slow— well, you hadn’t known you could come from this, either.  It was overall a learning experience for everyone.

He pulled you closer, he kissed you hard, and you felt everything just… melt.  His movements stopped and you thought you could just sink into the bed and stay forever in this warm, soft, slow feeling.  It did last for a few minutes, the two of you just breathing together, before he eventually rolled off of you and pulled you to cuddle up into his side.  “I wasn’t supposed to come that fast either,” he announced quietly with a little smirk.

“Oh come on,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m more than satisfied.”

“Oh, I know,” he clicked his tongue, “but I’m not.  That was just round one.”

“Of how many?!” you were forced to wonder.

“Mm,” Eddie considered that as he lifted his wrist— but he’d already taken his watch off.  “We’ll see.”

You laughed as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your neck again, his hair getting all over your face and in your mouth as you spluttered to try to spit it out.  “Eddie!” you whined, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

“Nope, not letting you go,” he promised, holding you tighter.

“Your hair’s in my mouth!” you complained.

“Get used to it,” he purred.  “I mean it, babe— not letting you go again.  Ever.”

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his thick torso, submitting to your fate.

“Ready for round two yet?” he asked suddenly, making your eyes go wide.

“Fuck, are you?!” you yelped.  “Hardly been a minute—”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he promised, and you whimpered as you felt his hard cock— still wet from his cum and your own— slide against your inner thigh.  “Can you take me again, darling?”

“O-of course,” you answered quickly.

He hummed proudly as he laid you on your back again.  “Fuck, so good for me, always ready, huh?  You still want more?”You nodded, still numb and tingly all over— still sore, even.  But you wanted it, so fucking bad.  “More is all I’ve ever wanted.”

this is a lil thot here but excuse you the breeding kink and baby fever go brrr.. anyways imagine mickey like finding out you want kids and then going FERAL. i just- that image in my head is one i am PROUD of creating

But it is an IMPORTANT thot. This awakened something, I think. A lil nsfwish so 18+, and there's a cut. (Reference to their conversation about what they'd name their kids from "swallow you like sunshine") ahoy, ahoy this became a whole thing --

--

so deep in love with you (baby love) [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!civilian!reader, aka “cielo”]

Word Count: 1.3k (always a nerd, never a blurb) of nerves, honey-sweetness, and the eternity of love’s promise

Warnings: hints of smut, fingering, breeding kink (obvi) and comeplay. mildest of mild hints of choking. 18+, please.

Why were you so nervous?

No, seriously, why were you nervous? You and Mickey had had this conversation before. There was no reason for you to be this anxious, sitting silently during the dinner he had made for you, twirling spaghetti around your fork endlessly.

If Mickey found your silence disquieting, he had the good grace not to say anything, eyeing you with those bourbon-honey swirled eyes of his that drove you absolutely crazy.

You could do this. This is Mickey you were talking to. Mickey, who had stood in front of the censor so the sliding door at the grocery store stayed open while you tried not to slip in a puddle on your way in. Mickey, who wraps his hands around you and puts them in the pouch pocket of your hoodie while you wait for movie tickets. Mickey, who brought you coffee in bed this morning. Mickey, who plays with Bob's kids, talks to them like they're adults, and excitedly talks too fast when he spills to you all the new facts he's learned about cuttlefish after spending an afternoon with them.

You could tell him this.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, putting down your fork that had a veritable hive of spaghetti twirled to the end of it by now. "M?" You ventured, waiting for his eyes to meet yours across the table before continuing.

"Yeah, Cielo?" He must sense your nerves. He put his fork down, too, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You cast your eyes down the smear of red sauce across your plate that looked vaguely like a bloated bear before, murmuring,

"Ithinkimreadytotry," you rushed.

Mickey cocked his head to the side, eyes swimming with questions, "Sorry?" He asked.

"I think," you exhaled, tilting your jaw to boldly (in your opinion) meet your husband's eye. "I think I'm ready? To start, you know, trying? Only if you are, I mean, I know you leave again soon, so we don't have a ton of time, and it doesn't have to be now, but I'm ready if you're ready and I just wanna have a baby with you, if that's cool--" you rambled, cutting yourself off when you saw Mickey's eyes widen, his hand reaching over the table to press his finger gently over your lips, rendering you silent.

"Baby," he chuckled. "A baby?"

You nodded, slumping back in your seat, deflated, at the toll your rant had taken on your body.

Mickey eyed you again, seemingly not eager to respond.

He nods, pushing his chair back and standing up, making his way around the table and over to you.

"So," he reaches for you, beckoning you up from your seat with the gentle tug of his warm arm around your waist. "Which one do we try for first, hm?" He asks as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, lips trailing the thrumming pulse along the column of your throat. "Vero or Valencia, boy or girl?"

Without giving you a chance to respond, Mickey hoists you over his shoulder, carrying you through the threshold to the living room, gently depositing you on the couch. You gasped at the feel of his fingers tugging at the waistband of your leggings, seemingly perpetually warm, something that emanates from him, tried and true.

And Mickey barely lets you get a word in edgewise, as you open your mouth to respond, he fuses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his fingers continue to tug your leggings down your legs.

Like a heatwave on a summer's day, Mickey had overwhelmed you, sunshine and molten gold, his hips now rolling into yours on the couch.

"W-wait," you pushed his shoulders, his lips separating from yours, flushed, kiss-bitten, and honeyed. "Now?!"

"You just gave this whole spiel about how we don't have a ton of time," Mickey reasoned, his fingers trailing to your waist as he rolled his hips into yours again, causing you to buck at the feel of him through his sweatpants. "Why not now?"

"M!" You swatted his bicep lightly with the back of your hand, "I haven't showered today. I'm wearing ratty old leggings, for god's sake. I look a mess!"

Mickey hmm'd, a purring little hum of dissent lodged in his throat, like a perpetually displeased jungle cat.

"Agree to disagree, amor," he eyed you as though you were the meal he had been enjoying moments ago.

"First of all," he presses a kiss to your throat, one hand coming up to follow it, fingers lightly wrapping their way around your neck as he feels the effect he has on you in the blood rushing through your veins, beneath his fingers, heated and heady. "You aren't wearing your leggings ... Anymore."

He presses a kiss to your lips, following the gentle gesture with an intentional scraping of teeth, a little bite to his bark.

"Second of all," his other hand at your waist now slips between you to feel the now-soaked lace at the very center of you, plucking it aside to allow him to stroke the seam of your cunt, his touch causing your lips to part in a gasp, your eyes to flutter closed. "You look hot as fuck. Always do."

With that, Mickey slips a finger inside of you, pleased at the feel of your heated walls around him as he plays you to an unheard rhythm, rolling his thumb over your clit. Eagerly swallowing your breathy little moans as he kisses you through his attentions.

"M'gonna fuck you, Cielo," he murmurs, the heat of his body leaving yours as he rocks back on the couch to shuck his sweatpants down. "Gonna give you a baby. Gonna make you come first, though..."

"I want that," you sigh, twining your fingers through the curls you know will be shorn once he leaves, eager to tug, eager to capitalize. Eager to make him yours. "Want everything with you."

...

Later in the night, Mickey takes in the serenity of your features bathed in the white-blue glow of the television as you two take in "The Empire Strikes Back" with unseeing eyes, exhausted and high off of each other. He had put on the movie and grabbed you a chocolate bar after round ... Three, was it?

And he didn't know if it would take right away, really. But he was hell-bent on trying, having fucked you into the couch until you'd forgotten your own name, pushing his release back into you when he had withdrawn, fingers gently sweeping along your opening to urge you through another orgasm, while keeping his spend inside of you.

Now, he's admiring you, the curve of your waist. Imagining the way your stomach will swell someday, the genesis of your collective devotion.

So, really, he doesn't know what compels him to tell you, but he says it anyway --

"You know," your eyes meet his at his words, lips curled in a sweet, sleepy smile, encouraging him to continue. "If you get pregnant this year, Javy owes Payback twenty bucks."

"Excuse me, what?!" You cock an eyebrow at him, seated on your elbows the better to take in what your husband had just said.

"Ehm, yeah," Mickey was sheepish now, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "They were teasing, you know how they are... And, well, I know that I've got it in me, so really, I don't know what they were trying to imply. Just giving me shit, I think."

You put your hand up to silence your husband, biting back a chuckle as you clarify,

"M, do you mean to tell me you wagered with your co-workers about how soon you could knock me up?"

And Mickey, expert at reading you though be was, was grasping to tell whether you were amused or upset. It's a fine line to walk, sometimes, truly...

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did..." He trailed off, glancing at you with apologetic doe eyes.

A laugh bubbled from your lips, a tipsy little thing, telling champagne bubbles as you laughed at your husband's ridiculous antics, tugging him toward you, and pressing your lips to his.

"Claro. C'mon then, daddy," you murmur, kissing him with each word. "We've gotta get Reuben that money."

--

tagging some fanboy girlies (so sorry): @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain @thegirlwhowritesfics  @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @moonlight-prose  @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid  @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemana @mxgyver  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood  @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn

you are the only one

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions, wears a dress/long hair/jewelry/make-up)

rating: e+

word count: 8,791

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian have to pretend to be in a relationship for a mission, but you're already in a secret relationship, and this would be a lot fucking easier if adrian didn't look this good in a suit.

author's note: this was just indulgent!! just very self-indulgent!! also i started rewatching peacemaker and i'm unhinged!! i want us to wear fancy clothes and go bonkers on each other!! and he's not even real!! that is all!! sorry i wasn't very active tonight i was determined to finish this and upload it!!!!! and again, for pre-emptive clarity: features reader with gender-neutral pronouns, and gender-neutral sex descriptions, but the reader is wearing a dress, long hair, jewelry, and make-up because that's what i'd want to be wearing and i'm nb and really this is so so soooo self-indulgent so!!

read on ao3!

It’s not often that you actually get to go out on a mission that could be considered fancy, but, tonight, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

The basic rundown of the mission isn’t all that difficult. It’s Emilia’s responsibility to get close to your target, a wealthy older Swiss fellow who apparently needs to be very covertly killed. She’s meant to get close enough to do the job— it was recommended they poison him but, knowing Emilia, she’ll probably end up luring him away to just shoot him in the face or something simpler— while Chris serves as her backup.

They work well enough, especially with Emilia with her hair done and makeup in place and a shockingly stunning gold dress on. She doesn’t like to dress up; you rarely ever see her in clothes that aren’t also tactical and/or practical. The effect, as a result, is a little overwhelming, because she is beautiful and she so rarely shows that off. Chris is meant to be playing the role of her bodyguard, but he keeps just— staring at her. Which, you figure, is fair enough, because she does look incredible, and it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for his character to be infatuated with hers, so nobody says anything.

It’s an open secret that they’re already essentially together, anyways. Not like with you and Adrian, whose relationship is still a secret secret, kept hidden under wraps. You worry often about what would happen if any of the higher-ups found out that you had started a relationship with somebody you weren’t even supposed to be working with in the first place.

They barely let Adrian join the team at all in the first place. You’re not about to go and fuck it all up for him just because you’re in stupid love with him.

Besides, he agrees with you that you should keep your relationship secret. Though, of course, he’s more worried about what he refers to as one of his “many, many, many evil nemeses” getting their hands on you.

“Babe, I’m a superhero,” he had said to you, like he was Superman or Captain America and not the masked instigator of half of Evergreen’s fights. To you, though, he’s a greater superhero than the rest combined, so you’d just nodded, unable to stop smiling. “There are so many people who would want to use you to get to me. Like, so many. I can’t let that happen.”

You both had your reasons, and, right now, those reasons were too important for the two of you to reveal your relationship. To you, it was enough that you were with each other at all. Eventually, you’ll have to do something— You’ve already told each other, “I love you,” eventually this is going to have to go somewhere.

Today, though, is luckily not that day.

However, a big part of you wishes it was, because you think you’re about to actually go insane otherwise.

Because John and Leota had opted to stay behind in your team’s new van and provide behind-the-scenes support, the tech and tactics John’s so good at and Leota wants to be better at, you and Adrian had been the ones assigned to monitor Emilia and Chris while you were all inside the lavish hotel ballroom together. The cover Emilia’s assigned to you is a married couple that’s visiting the city. You’ve been invited to this party— which isn’t really a party like parties you go to, but seems like more of a gala like you’d seen in movies— because a friend of a friend of “yours” is here. It’s all made up, but you’re used to going undercover. You can sell this.

It is the responsibility of you and Adrian to keep an eye on Emilia and Chris all night. Don’t let anyone get too close; keep track of any suspicious figures; make sure nobody gets hurt. Pretty basic. You could do a mission this easy in your sleep; you don’t even think you’re going to have to shoot anybody tonight. By the end of the night, you’re all supposed to go to the hotel rooms you’ve been assigned, sleep there, and regroup in the morning. When you’d asked why you all had to stay, Emilia said it was less suspicious than if someone checked later and saw you were the only guests who had neglected to stay afterwards.

So, really, it’s not that bad. You just have to have your friends’ backs, eat some nice food, and sleep in a fancy hotel room. Really, it’d be nice if all missions were like this.

The major problem here has nothing to do with the target, or the gala, or the mission itself. It has to do with your assignment, with Adrian’s assignment, with your roles together; it has to do with what you’ve been told to do, and what you’ve been dressed in—

—Which, you can’t be too mad about. Your clothes fit you perfectly, shimmering and ornate and just— fancy, much fancier than anything you’ve ever owned before, or even worn before. Even the fabric feels rich, so silkily textured beneath your fingertips. The material had practically slipped out of your fingers when you first lifted it out of the box Emilia had given to you. It was thin, nearly sheer; the material’s so dark blue that it nearly shimmers to black in some places, small drops of brightness beaded throughout. It drapes off your shoulders, hugs your frame tightly down your body. At your waist, the tight bodice of the dress flows into a looser skirt; a slit comes up the side of your right leg to stop shockingly high. The overall effect of the dress, when you put it on, is like stars in the night sky, or moonlight on water— light winking in and out of existence as you move, twisting in the mirror to examine it from all sides.

You’d protested the dress on instinct, telling her that you had no protection while wearing a dress like this, but she informed you that wearing a dress like this was your protection.

“You’re supposed to blend in,” she’d said, and then stepped in to adjust the front, checking the fit. “This is your armor. Now, turn around so I can button it and make sure it fits.”

It had fit you well enough, but Emilia had pinned it in a few places anyways, determined that it fit exactly right. It’s part of your costume, she told you; people as wealthy as you’re pretending to be would be wearing something bespoke, that fit them perfectly, so you have to, too.

The same had happened with Adrian, even if you hadn’t actually gotten to see his clothes yet. He’d been too embarrassed to show you then, even though you reminded him you’d see him in it eventually.

It’s not until you’re actually showing up at the coordinates Emilia gave you that you’ll get to see Adrian fully dressed.

You get there before he does, tragically, showing up in a parking lot you’ve all used as a pre-mission meeting spot before. It’s easy to find Chris, Emilia, Leota, and John already there. With your arrival, you’re all just waiting for Adrian.

When you get out of your car, already ready to go, John playfully whistles at you. You laugh, unable to stop yourself from actually blushing— partially because you’re not all that used to compliments on your appearance, and partially because you’re embarrassed, you never look like this in front of them. It feels strangely revealing, to be dressed so well in front of people who frequently see you at your worst; it’s like you feel like they’ll know it’s all fake, or something.

Chris and Emilia are dressed up, too, though, and they look incredible, and that doesn’t feel fake to you, so— maybe there is something real to their compliments of you. Emilia’s golden dress falls down her body like shimmering water, clinging tightly to each small dip and curve of her body. She has her hair straightened, sleek and shining and elegant; her makeup’s done even more beautifully and dramatic than normal, her eyes, just— stunning. She looks incredible. You’re not surprised seeing that Chris is having a hard time not looking at her. Even you’re having a hard time not looking at her.

For his part, Chris looks handsome, too. Emilia must have dressed him, because he actually looks muted, for once. She’s put him in all black, and he looks the perfect picture of an imposing bodyguard— even if he can’t stop looking at his supposed employer. You feel like you’re practically invisible next to them, even if you spent way longer than you would normally doing your hair and everything to make sure you looked as perfect as you could tonight.

For the mission. Obviously. Not for Adrian.

“You’re going to be taking this,” Emilia tells you, motioning you over to one of the two cars beside your team’s mission van. They’re impossibly nice, sleek and clean and new, a car you’ve never even seen before, let alone driven in. “Chase should probably drive.”

“What, don’t trust me?” you ask, examining the gleaming black exterior.

“No,” she says. “Because that’s not your role. He’s the head of the household, you’re—”

“The demure partner, I know,” you finish for her. “I read your whole bio you made up. You should be a playwright or something, it was pretty good.”

Emilia actually laughs, then says, “Glad you liked it,” and you can’t help smiling. It puts you at ease that she’s in a good mood. She’s relaxed, and you’re relaxing, and—

—And Adrian’s car is pulling up along the other side of the mission van. Your heart is instantly in your throat, the same way it usually ends up whenever you see him while there’s other people around. You always want so badly to go right to him, but you almost never can.

Tonight, the feeling is amplified, multiplied infinitely because of the way he looks. You have never seen him like this, never. Adrian’s usual wardrobe consists of one of only a few different options. He’s either in one of his favorite sweater-jeans combos; his Vigilante armor; shirts and shorts that are legally color atrocities; his work uniforms; or nothing at all, which seems to be his personal favorite when you’re alone at one of your places together.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him in actual formalwear. And this is more than just him wearing nice clothes because he’s trying to take you out to dinner somewhere he has to wear a tie. This is—

This is Adrian rounding his car in a suit. His clothes fit him so perfectly, and they’re so— so fucking nice, beautiful and dark. You can’t look away from him, from the broad spread of his shoulders in the well-fitting suit jacket, over his strong chest beneath the white dress shirt underneath, down his legs that feel impossibly fucking long in these pants, the way they’rethey’re fitted to his legs, tucked up around his body. His satiny-looking shirt is buttoned up to the top, a black bow tie in place at the center of his throat. He’s even combed his hair back, though the way his hair is curling can’t really be held back, already loosening in a couple places.

When you actually manage to focus on his face, he’s adjusting his glasses, a flush melting over his cheeks, spreading red up his ears. You linger over the dimples at the smiling corners of his mouth, the freckle by his eye, the tiny scars along his jaw. He’s cleaned the lenses of his glasses, you notice, and his eyes seem so bright through them.

His eyes don’t meet yours when you look at them, though. They’re below your eye level. They’re looking— right at you, burning over your body everywhere, moving from your throat down over your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs, down and back up. You can’t stop yourself from blushing, too.

“Jesus, Adrian, put your eyes back in, you’re being a creep,” Chris says, and you snap back into yourself. You’re embarrassed, heart belatedly pounding. You hope nobody thinks too deeply about the way you were just fucking— eye-fucking each other in this parking lot.

“Sorry,” Adrian says. “I really— I wasn’t trying to be a creep, you just look stupid nice. Like, you should dress like that all the time, you look—” He huffs a little nervous laugh, says, “Ah, fuck, I’m being a little bit of a creep. I don’t mean to be. Uhh— This is— What if— Okay, so, this is me being normal and trying to be not creepy: you look really, really nice.”

You can’t help the smile that comes up at that. In the back of your mind, you wonder what Adrian would be saying if there weren’t people here and he could say anything he wanted. You wonder what he’d do, if he could do anything you wanted.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his again, and you make yourself be as normal as you can be, too, when you want to run and just— jump at him.

“You look really nice, too,” you tell him. “And you’re not being creepy, don’t worry. Not everyone has to be so distracted by Emilia that they can’t compliment anyone else.” You have to force yourself to smile at your own joke, to tear your eyes away from Adrian to look at Emilia instead. “Not that I blame him, obviously. You did a great job with all of us, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emilia replies. “Literally ever.” She tosses the keys to the sleek car you’re standing beside to Adrian. “The location’s already keyed into your car’s GPS. Remember, watch us until eleven, make sure you see my signal, and then go up to your room like you’re sick and going to bed early. There should be pajamas and toiletries— like, toothbrushes and all that shit— provided for you by the hotel, and I’ll have clothes for you to change into in the morning.” She hands you a hotel key in the form of a card, says, “Sorry, you’ll have to share a room tonight to keep up the act, but it’s got a huge bed so just— build a pillow wall so he doesn’t hump you while you’re sleeping.”

“Got it,” you reply, smiling up at Adrian as he draws closer, trying to make it clear to him— without making it obvious to everyone else— that that’s not necessarily unwelcome.

His eyes catch yours, blown mostly black; his movements are stiffer than normal, and you can’t help reaching out to catch him by the shoulders. He stiffens impossibly further, back straightening, shoulders spread. You slip the hotel key card and your phone into the inside pocket of his jacket to hold for you before fixing his lapel for him. Your fingertips reach for his collar next, straightening it out for him. Just to keep touching him, you continue moving to pick at the sleeves of his jacket, loosening them up a bit, giving him a little more movement.

When you reach up to fix the very top edge of his collar, you can feel his pulse rabbiting in his throat, impossibly fast. His skin is warm under your touch, and you exhale with a hint of a shake to your breath. When you glance up at him through your eyelashes, he’s already looking at you. This close up, it’s hard not to drag your palms flat down his chest and yank his hips into yours and just— beg him to do— something, anything, but you make yourself just smile, even as the backs of your knees sweat.

“There you go,” you tell him, taking your hands off him. He exhales, but doesn’t step away, leaving it to you to do it.

You separate, making to head for the passenger side door, but Emilia says, “Wait, hold on,” and you turn back, brow furrowed. She’s fishing through the tiny bag she’s carrying before she holds something out. Adrian reaches out automatically, and she drops whatever it is into his palms. “There’s your wedding rings.”

“Congrats,” Leota laughs. Your pulse jumps, even though it’s fake, even though there’s no way Leota actually knows anything. “Should I have gotten you something?”

“Haha,” Adrian says, out loud. You glance up at him, bewildered. “Yeah, because— it’s fake, so— There’s no real— Anything. That’s super funny, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence before you try to salvage his brief mental lapse, saying quickly, “So, are you going to give me mine, or are we already divorced?”

Adrian’s eyes snap to yours. His fingers briefly curl around the matching rings in his palm before he steps closer to you again, reaching for your right hand. He pauses, reconsiders, then reaches for your left.

“That was my left,” he comments, humor and anxiety lacing his tone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. He takes your hand in his, slips the ring onto your left ring finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at it.

Then, you say, “Okay, let me,” and take his to do the same for him. You slide it on, then turn his hand over, running the pad of your thumb over the band. “This is really nice.”

“And here,” Emilia says, fishing through her bag. She motions to you, says, “Come here.”

You step closer, and she gives you another ring. This one is less of a band, and you realize it’s meant to be an engagement ring.

“Almost forgot,” Emilia says, and you want to just— lay down and breathe, for a second, but you have to make yourself be normal.

You slip it on, avoiding looking at Adrian again as you do so, while Emilia busies herself fixing a heavy jeweled necklace around your throat. You shift it where it sits, readjusting the weight against your chest; Emilia moves to your ears next, slipping earrings in that probably cost more than your own fucking car. You should definitely be getting paid more than you are.

“There,” Emilia finally says. She sweeps your hair up and back. “Alright, perfect. You actually do look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you reply, “though I could do without the surprise,” and she laughs again.

“We ready to go?” John asks, hauling open the back door of the van so Leota can climb in.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Emilia says. She pushes her keys into Chris’ hand, says, “You’re driving me,” before she turns to you and— you think— fucking— winks at you.

You’re not sure you saw it, before you have to move and get into the car. You’re pretty sure you didn’t, actually, but— it would be funny if you did.

You climb into the passenger’s side of the sleek vehicle, slipping down into the low seat, the material of it soft and warm beneath you. When you’re sitting inside, you tug the door shut and turn only to find Adrian already beside you.

“When we get there,” Adrian says, “You should let me get out and get the door for you. It’s— It’s probably what Jack would do.”

Your characters for the night are Jack and Morgan Curtis, a newly-married couple; you are just supposed to be a trophy partner, whereas Adrian’s character is meant to be some wealthy media investor. His bio also said he was very shy, and prefers to spend time alone with only his partner— which you assume is Emilia’s way of trying to avoid letting Adrian talk too much and allowing something to slip by accident.

“Okay,” you agree. Adrian draws his driver’s side door closed behind him, then exhales.

Looking down at the wheel, he says, “I’m not gonna crash this. Right?”

“Right,” you agree. He takes another breath before actually moving to start the car. When the engine snarls, pushing a light little vibration through the car, you can’t help leaning back a bit, getting comfortable in your seat.

Adrian glances over at you, then forcibly looks away, eyes snapping violently forward.

“P— Do you think they can hear me?” Adrian asks abruptly, voice dropping down.

You glance backwards, then towards him again, shaking your head.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now,” Adrian tells you in a rush, his head still down. He’s staring hard at the car’s little screen; you can see his pulse throbbing in his throat, his face pinking again. “Oh, my God, I’m so fucking hard right now, I’m going to go insane, I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do this without cumming in my pants.” You huff a tiny laugh, heat throbbing between your own legs. “No, I mean it, I’m serious, I’m so fucking— See, here, feel— No, wait, don’t—”

“Adrian, goddamnit,” you laugh, a little breathless. “We still have three hours until eleven o’clock. Fuck, we still have to get there.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” Adrian replies. “Can I even drive like this? Wait, hold on—” He reaches down, readjusts his dick in his suit pants. You look down, then back up quickly. He wasn’t lying; he’s very hard, and it’s impossibly obvious, when he’s grabbing it in his own hand. “Okay, f— fuck, there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, then look out the window, just trying to breathe. You hear Adrian take another deep breath himself before he’s buckling himself in and moving to start driving.

“Buckle up,” Adrian tells you. “It’s the law.”

You smile to yourself again as you do as he says. “Would you kill me if I didn’t?”

He considers your question for a moment before replying, “No. But that’s not an invitation to break the law, just because I have a soft spot for you, alright? Because people are gonna figure me out if that happens.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you reply, still smiling. He nods, eyes fixed ahead on the road.

The air in the car is— impossibly warm, and thick, and charged. At least, to you, it is— and you think it is to Adrian, too, because his muscles are all still stiff as he drives. He’s keeping all of his focus on the road, which, for Adrian, means his mind is definitely somewhere else, because he can’t really ever do just one thing at a time.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore, and you tell him, “I think you look— insanely good tonight. And it makes me feel kind of crazy that nobody knows about us because part of me wants to just— kiss you so fucking hard—” You bite your words back, say, “I’m sorry, that’s not helping—”

“No,” Adrian replies, a little strangled. You don’t know if that’s a, ‘No, it’s not helping,’ or a, ‘No, please, keep going,’ so you risk leaning over the center console between you a bit. There are low blue lights in the car, casting his handsome face in sharp shadows, defined by the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose, his brow. He glances at you, eyelashes casting a shadow down his cheek.

You can’t really resist him, especially not now that you’re alone. You chance another shift, leaning up to gently press your lips to his lower cheek, close to the line of his jaw.

Adrian’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and he says, “We have a mission, we have a mission, we have a mission,” over and over on a loop, like he’s trying to remind himself of that fact.

You pull away from him, making yourself let him go. You practically have to push yourself against the passenger’s side door in the car, near the comparatively-cold glass of the window, just to cool yourself down. When you turn back to Adrian, you see him glancing down at the GPS screen, then starting to make a turn. He flicks on his fucking directional, then executes a madman’s turn, winging around the corner.

You reach over, letting your fingertips rest just inside his elbow. The fabric is silky-soft beneath your touch, and you glide upwards until your fingers are gliding over his on the wheel.

Adrian takes that one hand off the wheel so he can turn it over in yours. After a beat, he glances down, then draws the back of your hand up to his mouth. He presses his lips to the fine bones in the back of it. After a beat, the kiss pushes a little firmer. The throb of heat between your legs is pretty much impossible to ignore.

Adrian separates you, then, letting your fingers thread with his as he draws your hand away from his mouth. Tangled up, your hands rest between the two of you. You stroke your thumb over the strong back of his hand.

“I wish I could give you road head,” you comment, and Adrian accidentally flicks on the turn signal again. Face pink, he turns it back off, eyes fixed ahead.

“We’re going to be there in two minutes,” Adrian tells you.

“I think I could still get it done,” you reply,

Adrian makes a strangled noise. “Please, I think I’ll die, and we’ll crash, and then you’ll die, but—” You let your fingers drift up the soft skin inside his wrist for a moment. “—But, you know, I’m actually a pretty good driver, and you’re pretty good at sucking dick, so maybe we c—”

“You have reached your destination,” the tiny, robotic voice of the GPS says, and Adrian bangs his fist on the wheel.

“Motherfucker,” he curses. “You fucking— cockblock GPS, you’re a bag of fucking dicks—”

A valet waves Adrian up, and he instantly changes his entire demeanor, beaming at the guy. He rolls his window down, says, “What’s up?”

The valet hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to say something. He chances it, though, and says, “You have to— step out of the vehicle, sir.”

Adrian blinks up at him, then says, “Oh, d— Yeah, right. Yes, of course.” And then actually parks the thing to get out. He practically sprints around the car to get to your side before you can get your hand on the handle, jerking it open for you.

He holds out his hand to you, and you take it. You are, actually, grateful for his help standing; you wobble for a second, climbing out of the low car, but he steadies you, keeping his hand in yours, reaching to balance you by the shoulder. When he offers you his arm instinctively, you take it, looping your own through his.

“I wish I had more guns,” Adrian whispers to you as he helps you up the hotel stairs. The entire place seems old as shit, like it’s from a hundred years ago, all huge cream columns and beautiful statues and rich, lush carpeting. There are incredibly strange and intriguing paintings on the walls that you examine as Adrian scopes out the other guests. He’s doing what he always does, you know that: automatically looking for every way he could kill everyone in your immediate vicinity.

“I have a knife strapped to my thigh,” you tell him, voice low. He glances down at you in a snap, then looks up again, eyes scanning the lavish hotel lobby.

After a beat, he says, “Oh, shit. We’re supposed to be married.”

You’re about to ask what he means by that phrasing, exactly, but then he’s ducking down to press a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t have any finesse, just a quick, smushing press, his glasses digging into your temple before he withdraws.

That’s when you get what he means. The two of you can be as close as you want tonight. Everything you usually suppress— every kiss you want to give him, every touch, everything— can come up and out tonight, spilling right out of you. You’re allowed to do any of it, all of it. The others will just see it as you being good at your job, if you do.

You turn to look up at him, reaching to touch the side of his face. He looks briefly startled, for a moment, before his eyebrows lift and he’s smiling. You guide him down into a soft kiss— your first like this— and your heart leaps up into your throat. You’re glad that it would be too obvious for you to have an earpiece; only Chris has one tonight. If Leota or John needs to tell you anything, Chris will have to pass you the message. That means you can’t hear them— and they can’t hear you.

You shift into him slightly. When you twist up, you can see the light of the chandelier above your heads reflecting over his face, in his bright eyes. You hadn’t even noticed it before; you’ve been too distracted by Adrian.

It says a lot, you think, that this is one of the nicest places you’ve ever been invited to go to, let alone been, and you’re too focused on Adrian to notice any of the finer details. Instead, you’re just captivated by him as you lean up into him, reaching up to thread your hand through his soft curls, feeling the light product he’s combed through it under your fingers.

“That’s true,” you reply, heart racing. You lean in closer, adding, “Husband,” and his cheeks flush pink. You drag your touch along his face, your thumb pressing into the freckle beside his eye.

All his breath punches out of his lungs, and he says, “Oh, my God, I think you found a new kink for me. I kind of want to be married to you so fucking hard— Oh, shit, should we get each other pregnant?”

“Adrian,” you whisper softly.

Adrian makes a soft whining noise, then hisses to you quickly, “No, my name is Jack, remember?”

You kiss the line of his jaw before releasing him. He doesn’t let you go far, reaching down to snag you around the waist. He’s a little too jerky to be subtle, but that’s okay, if he’s supposed to be shy and newly married. You think he’s giving off the honeymoon phase vibe pretty well.

“Well, Jack,” you reply. “You have three hours to keep it together before we can go up to our room. Do you think you can handle it?”

Adrian shakes his head automatically. “But I’ll try,” he tells you, impossibly earnest.

You huff another laugh, not sure of your own abilities, either. You push up into him one last time, drawing him into a proper kiss. He smiles, briefly, before you deepen the kiss, parting your lips so he gets the hint.

His hands reach up, threading into the intricate weave of your hair as he draws in closer to you, licking into your mouth for a moment. You feel the fleeting press of his hard cock against your thigh before he’s withdrawing again, chest heaving, practically yanked backwards.

Actually yanked backwards, you realize, as Chris and Emilia pass you by, and Chris subtly grabs Adrian by the back of the jacket and jerks him away from you.

“Keep it subtle, dude, you’re gonna freak ‘em out,” Chris hisses to him on the way past. You don’t think you’re supposed to hear that; judging by the way Adrian’s eyes dart to yours, you think you definitely weren’t supposed to. You wonder how long Chris has been trying to set the two of you up, not knowing you’re already together.

“Okay,” Adrian breathes. He shakes himself out as Chris and Emilia leave, passing you by to continue onward into the ballroom. Exhaling, tilting his head so his neck cracks to one side, then the other, Adrian attempts to refocus on the mission. He starts guiding you to follow after Chris and Emilia into the ballroom, saying, “Alright. Let’s do this. We can do this, I can do this. I’m a professional. I am not going to cum in my pants—” as you laugh at him, hoping desperately he’s right— about the both of you, honestly.

— — — — —

There’s only about half an hour left to go, and you very deeply, sincerely, genuinely don’t think you and Adrian are going to make it.

The entire night, the two of you have only been getting— closer, and closer, and closer to the edge. It’s by the grace of some fucking god you don’t even believe in that the two of you make it through the dinner part of the evening without anything illegal happening in public. His hand does push your skirt up to trace along the bare inside of your thigh more than a few times, but you keep enough strength of will to keep pushing him away.

You’re weakening more every moment, though. As the night wears on, the two of you really start losing your handle on yourselves. You can’t keep your hands off each other. The fact that you’re not only allowed to be doing this with each other, but encouraged to, is making the both of you a little bit unhinged.

You’d had drinks next before music had started and you’d been encouraged to dance. The night was coming to a close, and Emilia was drawing nearer to your target. You and Adrian are both half-keeping an eye on her and Chris, half-focused on each other.

Adrian had held his hand out to you, and said, keeping his voice low, “I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m willing to try,” and you just couldn’t resist that.

You’d taken his hand, and Adrian had drawn you close, and then it didn’t matter if he didn’t know how to dance. Just being close was enough, and the music had gotten slow, and you just— how the fuck could you say no to something like this? You’re usually not allowed to touch him in front of your friends, and now you’re basically being told to dry-hump him in a ballroom, for your job. It feels like a dream come fucking true.

Adrian lifts his eyes, watching Emilia as she finally gets close enough to the mission target to strike up a conversation with him. Adrian spins you, just slightly, so you can both watch subtly, sideways.

You both see as Emilia drops something in his drink without anybody looking, Chris’ bulk covering the only camera with eyes on her from the angle they scouted previously. You’re experts, you’re good at this.

Emilia turns to you then and inclines her head, then signals to you with a glancing motion along her hip. You nod your head in return, returning your attention upwards to Adrian.

“All set,” you inform him, voice low.

“Mission accomplished,” Adrian says, throat tight.

“Well,” you reply. “First mission accomplished.”

Adrian’s eyes are dark, his face flushing as you slip a little closer to him. One of his hands drifts down, slipping just beneath the slit cutting up your dress, gliding up your thigh to find your hip beneath the material.

The juxtaposition of the Adrian you usually know and this Adrian is just— incredible. You love everything about him, and seeing him dressed up like this is so— so— so. He’s such a fun guy, and goofy, and he’s an excellent murderer, but so rarely do you see him dressed up. It’s impossible how handsome he is; you feel a little wild, knowing that anyone else can see him right now. You want him all to yourself.

With the way he’s looking at you, so hungry as to seem fucking starving, you think he might just be feeling the same way about you. The edge of that thought has your skin prickling in the darkness of the ballroom, beat pounding through you. Your skin is prickling with heat.

“Sorry I’m not so good at dancing,” Adrian says. “I’m good at, like, other kinds of dancing, though. If you ever wanted to go out. I could definitely take you. Or I could learn— Aah,” he bites off near your ear when you slip your arms up behind his head., winding to tangle your wrists at the nape of his neck. “Oh, fuck—”

“I think you’re pretty good at it,” you murmur upwards to him. You take his hips in your hands, helping him move along to the rhythm with you.

You can feel Adrian’s heart galloping where he’s pressed against you. Yours is paced to match, thundering in your chest, up into your throat. Every shift of his body against yours with the music has your blood pulsing madly through your body, surging down to your core, beating between your legs. You can barely breathe when he drops his head down, cheek dragging along yours. You don’t care if it does anything to your makeup; it’s about to very severely not matter anyways.

“Oh, shit, I’m going to lose it,” Adrian murmurs near your ear. “Please, please, please, are we done? I promise we can go dancing some other time, but, fuck, I’ve spent, like, three hours just getting harder and harder and I think I’m going to fucking die—”

“Okay, yeah,” you breathe. “We can be done, I can— I can— What am I doing?”

“Playing sick,” Adrian says, dropping into your throat. “Pretend you’re about to shit yourself or something so we can get out of here.”

You huff a laugh, then draw away from him. You drag your hands down, over your own stomach, then lean into him. If anyone were watching, they’d see you weakening, leaning into him. They probably don’t know why your face is flushed all red and your knees are nonexistent, so you use it to your advantage.

“Oh, no,” Adrian says loudly, in the affected little voice he’s adopted for this character. “You don’t look good, darling,” and the endearment rolls off his tongue so well that a bolt of lightning crackles down your spine. “I think you should lay down, you look awful.”

He drops down and scoops you up into his arms. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to him that people don’t just— do that, scoop their spouses up off of the floor in ballrooms when they’re wearing fucking gowns, and there’s something about that that’s even more endearing than you thought possible. And— fucking hotter than you ever thought possible.

“Let me take you to our room,” Adrian begs you. It’s not so much an instruction as it is a plea. Hopefully, nobody’s actually paying enough attention to notice the exact cadence of his tone. “Make you all— all better.”

You have to fight back a laugh. Instead, you turn your face into his chest. If he’s going to carry you, you’re going to play up needing to be carried, weak in his arms. You know you’re not supposed to want to feel weak— and you’re not, and you don’t, but— but there’s something really comforting about letting him take care of you, and something erotic about how badly he wants to do it, and you’re just— overwhelmed by how much you love him.

You’re also overwhelmed by how badly you want him to fuck you, but you’re so close now, you just have to— focus on getting there.

Adrian carries you to the elevators, pressing the up button with his elbow. He’s watching the numbers ticking above the doors, for a moment, before he glances down at you. When his eyes meet yours, you can see intent blazing there, hard, dark determination.

He exhales shakily, and looks up again. Staring straight ahead, he says, “I want to totally just— obliterate you. You make me feel crazy. Like I was born to climb inside you.”

You clutch at his suit jacket with your fingers. He gathers the skirt of your dress up so he doesn’t trip on it as he carries you into the elevator, your hands slipping the top buttons of his shirt free. You glide your palm along his heated skin beneath, seeking his chest, and he exhales in a punch.

“Please, we’re so close,” Adrian says. “Don’t make me cum in my pants here, I really think I’m gonna make it—”

As the elevator doors are dinging shut, you draw Adrian into a searing kiss. Away from eyes that are supposed to think you’re sick, you let Adrian dive into your mouth. He licks behind your teeth, pushing over to the wall of the elevator so he can use the railing there to balance your body. He kisses you so hard his teeth drag along the seam of your lips when he draws back; he makes a sharp little sound, strong muscles moving in his broad arms beneath you as he tries to keep his grip while losing his control.

The elevator dings again, the doors starting to open. Adrian nearly staggers before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and then he’s hauling you down the hallway.

“Get the key card,” he tells you, and you reach inside his jacket to pull it out, as told. “What’s the—”

“1018,” you read the room number off the card. He’s reading the signs on the wall, then taking off. After a beat, he turns, realizing he’s supposed to be going in the opposite direction. He’s moving faster than you think you’ve ever seen him move, and you reach up, dragging his head down a bit so you can suck a kiss into the column of his throat.

Adrian groans, guttural and primal, as he finds the door and nearly slams into it. You reach to push the card into the slot in the door, and then Adrian’s kicking it in, the two of you fumbling with and at each other desperately, spilling through the doorway into the room.

You barely have time to notice anything about the room. Later, you’ll get to spend the rest of the night alternatively fucking each other in the suite’s enormous bathtub, and in the shower, and over the balcony edge, and on the long sofa in the little sitting area, but right now, Adrian doesn’t even stop to look at any of that. He heads right for the huge bed in the center of the suite’s bedroom, not hesitating, single-minded in his quest.

You have to agree with his methods, because you’re pretty much out of your mind yourself, by now. The bed is enormous, taking up most of the space in the bedroom, lavish, heavy curtains hung around the entire thing. He kicks open the curtain at the foot of the bed in dragging jerks before he’s throwing you down on the mattress.

The covers are so impossibly soft beneath you, just like the sheer, silken material of your dress, and the satiny glide of Adrian’s suit over your bare, hot skin. He shoves you up until your head is on plush pillows, dragging himself down between your legs.

“Fuck,” he groans, already pushing your dress up. He gathers the sheer material in his strong hands, trying his best not to rip it as he noses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He finds the knife holster you told him about; smiling, he murmurs, “Gotcha, you little fucker,” before biting the clasp apart with his teeth.

The holster comes off, and he lifts it in his hand. Sitting up, he evaluates you, then removes the knife from the sheath.

He drops down over you, bringing the knife up to the hollow beneath your throat so he can drag the blade down. You keep it as sharp as you can, and so it easily parts the material of your dress, splitting it apart, exposing you like he’s unwrapping you, all your skin on display underneath. Your heart throbs beneath the glint of your blade in his hands. You’d opted to wear nothing underneath to avoid lines in your form-fitting clothes, and Adrian moans when he realizes, dropping down to bury his face in your belly.

“Holy fuck, oh, fuck,” Adrian curses into your skin. He drags down between your legs, his hand coming up to push your thigh slightly further apart. His eyes coast over your center, starving. “Please, can I—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and he drops down over you, hungry, desperate to get his mouth on you. His tongue is— fucking insane, because all that talking he does is not for nothing. He knows how to use his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He’s devouring you like he’s dying without you, like this is the only thing he actually wanted in his mouth tonight.

Adrian’s hand glides up over the fabric of your dress, dragging up roughly to your chest so he can thumb your nipple. You cry out, back arching; tilting your head down so you can see Adrian, you almost sob.

He’s still fully dressed in that fancy fucking suit, but he’s humping the mattress beneath him like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The unconscious movement just keeps— happening, his hips moving as his mouth works on you, lower lip dragging, and then his hand is dragging in closer, and you reach down to thread your hand through his thick hair. You can’t stop watching his dark head moving between your legs, and you can’t help it— You need to kiss him, now.

Watching him enjoy putting his mouth on you like this so much that he can’t fucking control himself, grinding down for friction because of how he feels giving you pleasure, you think you’re about to fucking pass out. You tug on his hair, and he lifts his eyes to you. Seeing the green shine of them meet you sends a jolt through you, and you say, “Pl— Adrian, please,” practically begging.

Adrian seems to get what you’re saying without you even saying it. He draws away from you so he can climb up between your legs, dropping down to brace himself on the bed beside you. He threads his fingers up through your hair, guiding you into a hard kiss; you can taste yourself in his mouth.

He makes a soft noise, then a harder one, reaching to push your dress further away so he can touch you anywhere, everywhere. His touch is practically tearing you apart; he is rending your dress in strips, destroyed where it lays in a pile along the edges of the bed. You hope Emilia won’t care, but you can’t bring yourself to care, right now. All you want is him.

Adrian guides himself to where he’s just had his mouth on you, where he’s just eaten you apart, sloppy and loose and wet. He almost seems to forget that he’s fully dressed himself.

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing back up onto his knees. He tears his jacket backwards off his arms, throwing it blindly backwards. His dress shirt joins it, bow tie practically ripped apart, buttons being torn off to fly and land in all random places across the hotel room. He practically breaks his pants opening them, but then, then he’s drawing his cock into his hand, melting with the relief of it. He groans, spine relaxing, wrapping his hand around it. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted this so fucking bad, oh, shit— I’m not gonna last—”

“I don’t need you to, just— Get in me,” you beg him, feeling so impossibly empty.

He doesn’t waste any more time. The mission was a success, and nothing else matters but the two of you, and you’ve been on the edge all night, and he’s finally, finally bringing his cock to your entrance and pushing in.

You swear, you fall apart around him. All your muscles start falling apart, and Adrian gathers you up in his arms, drawing you nearer. He fucks into you in a smooth slide.

Your name falls out of his mouth, and he falls over you, hand slamming down onto the soft sheets beside your head. His eyes find yours, and then he’s kissing you, finding a slamming rhythm with his thrusts into you. You grind up into him, grasping for him, grappling to get more friction. Mumbling his name into his mouth, you thread your fingers up through his hair, breath coming fast, faster. Heat and lust is gathering in your spine, pooling like lava, spreading like fire, and it’s all-consuming. It’s been building for so long that just feeling it is overwhelming.

When you look up at him above you again— at the strong lines of his face, at the dark sweep of his eyelashes above his light, bright eyes, at the shine of his this glasses still on his face so he can see you when he looks up at you, at the pink flush spreading across his handsome, sharp cheeks, over the freckle beside his eye, until you chase it up into his dark, sweat-slick hair— you’re falling apart. This is Adrian, the person you love more than anyone, and you just can’t fucking deal. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, right now.

His hand comes up, dragging up your side, and you can feel the press of his wedding ring where it pulls along your skin. You’d forgotten about them, and it doesn’t matter if they’re fake; seeing it on your hand, feeling it on his, has you almost about to cum, just so close to the edge—

“Fuck, I love you,” Adrian says, like he knows. He drags you in for another kiss, says, “Oh, my God, you’re like— the hottest person ever, oh, God, I want to— I want to lock us in a room together until we die there, I just— I want— I want you forever, holy shit—”

The nonsense ramblings of his brain spill out of his mouth as he gets closer and closer to losing it. He’s falling apart, unable to keep his rhythm as his kisses along your throat grow sloppy, his grinds into your slick heat dragging and pulsing. He takes all of you, slams into you as fast as he can. He even pulls your leg up, hitches it so he can fuck deeper into you, and you drag him into another kiss.

It’s then that you tell him, “You have me forever,” and he cries out, kissing you with a loose jaw, unable to coordinate himself. He’s making out with you like he can’t breathe without you, his cock impossibly hard and thick inside you, taking you to pieces. “I’m yours, c’mon, Adrian, fuck—”

He yanks you back in for a half-biting kiss, your name falling off his lips in half-syllables down your throat as he cums inside you. He breaks off into gasping for breath, just trying to keep his mouth on you as he fucks you through his orgasm, unable to stop moving. It’s enough to drag your orgasm out of you, too; an explosion that sparks inside you, rocketing to blow a haze through your limbs and your mind until all there is is him.

As you come back into yourself, all you want is him, so you open your eyes to find him. He’s still keeping himself half-upright above you—

You realize it’s so he can look at you, his bright eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, and you can’t help smiling back, automatic when you see him so happy.

“What is it?” you ask him.

“I kinda love you,” he tells you. It’s something you’ve said quite a few times to each other, now, but it still makes your stomach twist, your aftershocks rattling pleasantly through you. “I kinda wanna really marry you or something. Maybe we should— Maybe we should think about doing, like— relationship paperwork or something. Right? Like, something dumb like that, maybe? That says I’m yours and you’re— You’re mine, maybe—”

“Is that what you want?” you reply lazily, catching him. His red face goes even redder, caught, and you drag him in for a smiling kiss. He shifts slightly inside you; you both make soft sounds in response, broken off into each other. When you gather yourself, you ask, “You want me to say I’m yours? That I’m only yours, that—”

“Please,” he begs you, “give me, like— five minutes, babe, okay? I’ll get so hard, but right now— Oh, fuck, you have to stop looking so hot, you’re gonna make my dick explode—”

“Jesus fuck,” you laugh, and tug him into another kiss. He whines, dragging his hands along your sides, gripping you as tight as he can.

“Okay, two minutes, then,” he amends. Your next laugh disappears down his throat, and he’s already dragging you off the bed, intent on the bathtub he knows he saw on the way in here.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain

and he’d be so sweet to you when you’re pregnant!

meeting your every need and he’s with you every step of the way during labor and once the baby comes he’s over the moon and he def cries bc he’s just so happy to be a dad😭

dad!bob is what keeps me up late at night, I need to give that man as many babies as he wants!!! (and he wants a lot, he has a breeding kink, trust me I know him)

Bob has a DIRTY BREEDING KINK

and the man wants a whole house of kids and I would happily provide

no bc you don’t understand how obsessed I am with this fic, I love you forever for writing this💓

The text post about “ your fav is fucking his fist rn thinking of you” please lord let it be for Steve ( I’m. Late I know)

a/n: heheh it is :) 1.5k words of male masturbation ayyye. also, if you have not already, go check out @heavenbarnes’ ficlet, which haunts me everyday. please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

slow hands*

Steve jerks off— a lot.

Even before the serum, when he was just any other violently hormonal, grass-fed, free-range human boy, instinct couldn’t be denied. Even after a long period of reflection during his catechism days, he wasn’t able to make heads or tales out of why any creator might give two shits about whether or not Steve fucks his hand.

Now as a whopping 200-pound slab of grade-A, laboratory-engineered, serum-enhanced super-soldier, if he doesn’t pump one out every twenty-four hours, it’s hard to focus on much else. All of that unbridled testosterone crawls right up behind his eyes and his brain fizzles at the edges, agitated like an animal in a cage.

(So, although it’s mostly pleasure, it’s also necessity.)

He knows that it’s best before bed because early mornings or while showering requires working within the constraints of a ticking clock; if he’s got a packed schedule and needs a quick rub, fine, but not his favorite.

He knows that he likes certain activities, and if he’s looking at porn, specific categories and maybe a few performers will fit a niche—but sometimes he’ll spiral into a hundred other videos and he’s stayed up one (or five) too many nights doing that.

More than anything, Steve knows nothing beats his imagination, and he knows the best lies you can tell are ones with a bit of truth attached to them.

So, he plays a little game.

He thinks about you.  

Cheeky you, who’s always teasing him about taking life too seriously. So prim and proper, Steve, you purr, always Mr. Punctual. Aren’t you tired of being nice? Loosen up—go dancing, meet a girl, have a one-night stand; fuck with the lights on for once.

Hm. Sure he’d like to, but all he’s got is about forty-five minutes before bed because he’s frankly too busy (see: stubborn, see: not interested in just any girl) for anything else.

For forty-five minutes, Steve takes a moment of truth and runs warp speed into the burning sunset with it.

The time you put your hand in his hair to fix a flyaway before a press conference—what if you gripped it hard, instead? Your candy pink lip gloss on Friday evening—what if it smudged off on his jaw, his collar, his eager cock? How you looked lifting out of the pool with rivulets of water dribbling into the hollow of your throat—what if he pressed his cheek to it, drank from it?

(The expression that might cross your face when you realize Steve would very much like to fuck you with the lights on.)

When you kissed him on that mission in Thailand, sliding into his lap to hide the both of you in a corner nook of a restaurant. The taste of sweetened coffee passed from your mouth to his, and he couldn’t help but dart his tongue out. You playfully scolded him about taking advantage of a dangerous situation (it wasn’t that dangerous), and despite all your usual attitude, it was surprisingly cute how you couldn’t make eye contact afterwards, making him want to kiss you again just to figure you out.

Last night—when you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes like a sliver of moonlit coin and if he blinked at the wrong time, he might have missed it. Your breathy laugh, your little giggle, how you raggedly pant while you spar, he thinks about those sounds mingled with his name. Your weight, a perfect amount of pressure crawling on top of him, mapping out the expanse of his chest.

He’d be happy just to watch, finally able to see you in glimpses not bordering voyeuristic like when you zip up in the hangar or concerned when you peel off Kevlar layers smudged with gunpowder. No, you’d be relaxed and tangible, full and felt—breasts, waist, belly, the sides of your hips as you straddle him, pulling his hands toward your body and letting him touch you.

Steve sighs into the darkness of his room, sweats shucked off, lube-slick hand feeling for his already aching cock. What’s he going to think about tonight? The small of your back when you lean over the pool table? The long, graceful shape of your fingers exploring his torso? Your face dazed, tipsy-tinged after a few drinks and sweet on his shoulder?

(He would like more of that. He could make you look like that if you ever asked.)

His hips move in careful circles, testing his grip, nudging at the tunnel of his fist like how your pussy would resist the first thrust until he wedges his way past it, slipping the head of his cock into your warmth. You’d be so, so warm. So soft and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve mutters, eyes squeezed shut.  

He fucks into his fist, the sound of slick gushing out like wet slaps, like the hot clutch of noise your tight hole would make as he’d stretch it out—as he’d stretch you out.

He’s panting harder. You‘d look breathtaking on all fours, head turned around to see him rutting inside, jaw slack in disbelief that your body could keep taking him like this, like you could break any moment.  

The pretty, pretty whimpers at the harsh punctuation of every thrust. They’d tear loose from your throat and you wouldn’t be able to bite them down anymore. You could unravel because of him—shattering because he’ll have gotten past your defenses, gotten so deep you could do nothing but arch back for more, needing him further, needing him to know you how nobody else knows you.

Steve’s mind races through each position— every arrangement of your arms and legs in ways you’d give into because he would make the burn delicious, blurring discomfort into pleasure, and how you wouldn’t care if it might hurt because desire would be the drive— him behind the wheel taking you closer to that cliff’s edge.

He’s peeling off into the horizon now, moaning, bucking carelessly, blinded by the bright sun, by the white threatening to explode behind his eyes.

“Uhhhnn—” he looks down at his throbbing cock, swollen with friction and fiction, his other hand rolling the tender skin of his sac between his fingers. He squeezes a hair trigger tighter, in pulses, mimicking how you’d feel close to coming, begging for his release to fill you. Your hands gripping his hair for purchase, hard and frenzied, the scrape of your nails on his scalp. And finally, the abandoned, purely physical response of your body during orgasm, the undeniable wrecked wail of his name.

He’d be rough and gentle all at once, he’d make you taste yourself, clean up the mess you’ve made on him, and then he’d kiss it out of your mouth when he fucks you again. You’d be sore already, and sore the next day. He’d want to leave you aching, shuddering, babbling and delirious for more, for only him.

You’d cry, Steve, oh—my god—oh my god—feels so good, Steve. Fuck me harder, please. However you want—whatever you want, I promise.

You’d suck on his fingers, bite down when it became too much, too good. You’d shake, and shake, and shake and Steve— he falls.

Spun out, headfirst, off the steepest bluff of his inventions and crashes into open waves beneath. Your moaning mouth, your soaked cunt, your entire being an unprimed canvas waiting for his splatter.

And it’d be perfect.  

He comes in ropes, gasping into the reverberating echo of his own breath, hips still moving, back still arched, wet slick dripping down into his fist where he keeps going, using it as another coat of lube. Maybe you’d squirt. Maybe you’d put your face in your hands, embarrassed, or maybe you’d lose all control and he’ll have to hold you up.  

The second wave comes fast and better than the first.

The third, easy, only tinged with a prickle of rawness that makes his toes curl.  

Steve’s chest is sweat-slick and heaving, heat rising off his body as he evens out, throat murmuring the syllables of your name in yearning. He nudges hair off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, and then he checks his clock.

Back to reality, forty-five minutes on the dot tells him he’s still punctual, as you say.

He cleans up, stretching his back as he ambles to the restroom before returning to bed, satisfied. And when Steve tucks himself in for another peaceful night’s sleep, he wonders what you do in the privacy of darkness and if your ritual is anything like his own.

Do you shuck off your lounge clothes? Do you fuck yourself beneath layers of covers with your fingers? A toy? Grab your tits and put those same fingers in your mouth? Do you think about someone—do you think about him? His dick is still half-hard, half-raring for another session because the fourth and fifth time, when it hurts even worse, feels like coming up for breath after a drowning-- feels beyond good.

He’ll think about you some more tomorrow.  

(He’ll think about making you come four or five times.)

IM LITERALLY GOING SO FERAL OVER THEM WTF I NEED THIS ASAP

taking nsfw polaroids with the dagger squad

Warnings: afab!reader implied, mentions of female body parts, mentions of sex/sexy times. the race & body type of the reader is not implied & is meant to be open to interpretation! as a plus-sized woman myself, I tried to imagine myself in the reader's position, so I did my best to keep the verbiage in regards to that as neutral as possible. there's swearing, possessiveness, spit kink, borderline almost choking?, real nasty stuff. any of the links that are included to show pictures WILL be genuinely nsfw, so please proceed with caution. let me know if I missed anything!

word count: 1828 words of deliciously sinful content

A/N: no minors or ageless blogs allowed! I will not hesitate to block you. this is so incredibly self-indulgent & I will make absolutely no apologies about it lmao. please be kind as this is one of the first things I've written since like 2016 and one of the first spicy/smut-adjacent things I've ever written. has this idea been done before? it's entirely possible. but that's the great thing about this chaotic internet space, we all have our own interpretations of things. also at this time I will not be taking requests as this is just something random that I decided to share. maybe in the future I might, but for now, only when inspiration strikes. you are more than welcome to stop by my inbox to share whatever you want though! I will be writing accompanying blurbs to some (maybe all??) of these hcs for the "favorite shots" and those will come when they come 😏 (pun not completely intended, but welcomed nonetheless) here is the accompanying inspo moodboard for these!

so with that being said, enjoy you filthy animals & let me know what you think!

be kind & be well 💗

Javy/Coyote

let's be real, Javy is the most fun and playful when it comes to this

when you first suggest it to him he's like "oh shit baby, for real?"

will 100% drive around town to stock up on polaroid film because he is so stoked y'all are doing this

and you can't help but giggle at how he's almost literally vibrating in line at Best Buy

"babydoll it's on my sexy bucket list!" "Javy shhh there's children here" "if I'm quiet, can we do this as soon as we get home pleaaaaase"

it's hard to say no to him, so you playfully roll your eyes and say yes

he has a specific pose in mind for you, so once you're done with the last stop for film, he swings by the makeup store to grab something & has you stay in the car

he's spent enough time shopping with you & his cousins & mom to know exactly where to go, so he's in and out within 10 minutes

it's a tube of dark cherry red lipstick and you just look at him and it clicks

his ultimate favorite polaroid of you isn't even one of you bare ass naked (although those are pretty good contenders)

nah it's the one of you suggestively licking a lollipop, that dark cherry red lipstick on, pushing your lace-covered tits up in your face, leaning towards the camera and making eye contact

he can never truly look at the jar of lollipops Penny keeps next to the register at The Hard Deck, the same way ever again without getting hard

jokes on Javy, he essentially Pavlov'ed himself

definitely into pin-up girl poses as well, but a lot less clothing

the man loves a good prop (they are teammates, not the enemy. take that as you will 😏)

Jake/Hangman

he gets so fucking smug when you bring it up one night while you're laying in bed

"Oh you're going to miss this cock so much, you want a picture to remind you of how full and wrecked it makes you feel, don't ya sweetheart" "Shut up Jake, you know you'll miss this pussy just as much when I'm not around. So wet and oh god, oh so needy for you" fake moaning to really sell the silliness of it all

he has so many of you in different poses, but his absolute favorite? definitely the one of you sitting in his big leather office chair, legs spread and hanging over the sides, heels on (but out of frame), that big ole engagement ring on your finger that he gave you a few short weeks ago, that same hand is sliding towards your center, gently crazing your clit and your other hand squeezing your breast

this man is possessive, so seeing you, his fiancée touching his pussy? he's done for. that picture has gotten some serious mileage on nights apart & he always calls you when he can and you just know what's about to happen phone sex duh

I think the entire fandom has made it well known that Jake is a Navy man, born and bred, so you know he's got to have a military-inspired shot

something a little bit like this (with you saluting & wearing his dog tags) that he begs you to keep at his desk, but you don't want to run the risk of his nieces or nephews seeing your bare tits when they come to visit

so you compromise and let him keep it at his bedside table

Mickey/Fanboy

He's so much like Javy in the sense that he is absolutely buzzing with excitement over this

You both have shared a fair amount of nudes with each other (carefully of course) and so now having a physical copy? Mickey almost cums in his pants at the thought

Now he is not a particularly handsy guy outside of the bedroom. He likes holding your hand and will slide a sly hand in your back pocket every once in a while

In the bedroom though?

His hands are alllllll over you

I'm talking like, caressing your thighs as he goes to tease a finger at your entrance, squeezing your boobs & tweaking your nipples to hear you whine and moan, gripping your hips so hard as he's thrusting into you

so that means his favorite polaroids are ones with his hands in them

He's hitting it from behind? his hands are grabbing a handful of of your ass, spreading your cheeks to get a good shot of his cock deep inside you

He'll have his hand around your throat, a thumb in your gasping mouth

very much likes it when you return the favor and have your hand around his throat, knowing he's at your mercy

or even one with your hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it up against his toned abs, precum leaking from the tip

Bradley/Rooster

As cliché as it is, you know this man is driven wild at the thought of you wearing any one of his Hawaiian/Tropical shirts

regardless of if the Navy stopped issuing dog tags or not, he finds a way to have a set just like his dad's with his own info on them

which leads us to the fun stuff

Rooster's favorite shot is one of you on your knees, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and the dog tag replicas

he has you keep your hands to yourself, mouth open and waiting, while he jerks off and cums on your face

breathless, he snaps the first picture, but then takes his thumb, swirling his cum over your lips and into your mouth

he thinks he might cum again right then & there

very much likes the idea of a beer poster adjacent polaroid as well

finds a way to get you, with your legs spread sitting on the open tailgate of the Bronco, yet again wearing nothing but that shirt and those damn dog tags

basically likes to see you wet & messy in his clothes

will tuck his polaroids away in a corner of his own little home shop, far away from prying eyes

he learned the hard way when Jake came over to help work on something and he found a polaroid of you, ass up, lacy thong in view, hidden in his tool box

that is something they never speak of, but when Jake's partner sends a bottle of wine & flowers, Rooster knows what happened and leaves it at that

Reuben/Payback

with Reuben, I feel like he's not super into it like the rest of the squad, but he's not, not into ya know?

why have a picture when he can have the real thing

but when he can't, he will 100000% indulge

maybe for your birthday or an anniversary, or whatever thing it is your celebrating, he will do whatever to make you happy

he likes more of the "classy"/artistic shots, but that doesn't mean that they're not sexy as hell

BIG fan of when you wear his dress shirts as you're getting ready for an event or a night out especially if you haven't put on your lingerie yet

you'll be a big tease and bend over and wiggle your ass at him

"take a picture it'll last longer" "don't mind if I do, hold that pose for me"

definitely plays with shadows a lot

really likes when your silhouette shows off your nipples

you'll be laying in bed, still naked from the night before, your hair is a mess

but Reuben thinks you're the most stunning being to set foot on this earth

so when he sees you stirring from a deep sleep, he grabs the polaroid camera from the bedside table, and pulls the sheets off your chest, nipples perking up at the cold as you let out a whimper (another favorite of his)

Natasha/Phoenix

she's truly something else

when you're one of the only women in a male-dominated field, you get real fucking tough & are immediately a bad ass no matter what

and I think that translates into almost all aspects of her life, but she doesn't let it change her too much as a person ya know?

in the bedroom though? oooof

now this may be controversial, but she was the first person out of the entire squad I thought of, when it came to mind, but bear with me here

she spits on your face and/or in your mouth

don't ask me why or how, she just does and my god you both get off on it

maybe it's a dominance thing or marking you as hers but it's hot

the first time she takes a polaroid after spitting in your mouth, she has you stick your tongue out, let your now mixed saliva drip off your tongue

you looked so dumb and fucked out and blissful and she LOVES it

she's a BIG fan of marking you

whether it's leaving lipstick marks all over your chest or hickeys instead

but spit on your face AND hickeys all over your chest? double-fucking whammy you're both going another couple rounds after those pictures finish developing

her stash of polaroids are tucked in her pocket because who the fuck would dare to go snooping in Nat's stuff??? (not Jake because he knows now to ask for a pen, instead of looking for it)

may have a few shots of you using toys on each other but that's a story for a different day

Bob

Oh darling Bob, Bobby, Robby, Bobert

now he's the wild card of the entire sqaud in my opinion & I feel like he could go either way

I could see him being very meek and nervous about taking nudes of you

like even though they're physical copies & there's no chance of them ending up on the internet, he doesn't want to take advantage of you, ya know? (We stan an absolutely respectful King)

But then...

I truly could see him being the raunchiest fucker out of 'em all

I'm talking like shots of his cock in your mouth, drool dribbling out the sides, your mascara running down your cheeks

There's some of him eating you out, glasses askew & fogging up, eyes blown wide and black, staring you down while he is doing his damn best to get you to cum so hard you forget everything but the feel of his mouth on your cunt

maybe one day he's on leave long enough to grow just the right amount of stubble

so after date night & he's just eaten you out within an inch of your life, he takes a polaroid of your dripping cunt, a mixture of your cum staining the sheets, your thighs red and raw from the baby beard he's growing

but because Bob is Bob, he takes such good care of you afterwards though and is constantly checking in, making sure you were okay with all the pictures he took

we are Team Bob Fucks here at mxgyver dot tumblr dot com thank you very much

tagging some tgm pals that might be interested!: @rae-gar-targaryen, @withahappyrefrain, @rhettabbotts, @theharddeck, @bioodforbiood, @ellariasand, @fidogo, @hangmanbrainrot, @fanboygarcia

a/n #2: woooow y'all that was... something. if you've made it this far, thank you for reading & thank you for indulging in this! I was very nervous to post this, but we're going into 2023 with the mindset of don't think, just do!