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lace-coffin · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Can I ask how the slashers would feel if they ever accidentally hurt their s/o? Gender and everything is up to you!

How slashers would react to Accidently hurting their S/O

Thank you so much for my first ever request ah! I hope you enjoy 💖

Requests are open!

Warning for blood/injury - mild sexual content/reference to sexual activity and power dynamics -unhealthy relationships (I think?)

Reader is gender neutral!

Bubba sawyer

Most likely happened via Bubba playing too hard and Accidently pushing you over or being a bit too heavy handed with you. If it’s a case of them mistaking you for a victim and catching you with their chainsaw before being able to stop then they’ll be even more in inconsolable : (

Stops and stares for a minute to process what’s happened before devolving into full blown panic.

She’ll drop whatever she’s doing to carry you back to the house, even if that means letting the victim escape and having Drayton yell at her.

Will hurriedly explain in rushed sign to either Choptop or Nubbins to go take care of the victim as he’s busy caring for you.

Checks you over frantically. Please explain you’re going to be ok and help them calm down.

Once he knows you’re not in any danger he’ll feel absolutely awful about it and whine apologies to you even if you tell him that it’s ok and it wasn’t their fault.

Please comfort them once you feel better and reassure them.

Will insist you come up with a verbal and nonverbal sign to give if they’re accidently messing around to hard.

Will make you agree to stay in the house out of the way when victims are around so you don’t Accidently get hurt again.

Thomas Hewitt

After another night of Hoyt berating him for things out of his control, Tommy storms off to the basement to cool off. You follow after him, intending to comfort and wanting to help. You place a hand on his shoulder without thinking, forgetting he doesn’t enjoy physical touch without warning, thinking it might help. Whipping around he grabs your wrist a little too hard, causing you to wince.

He snatches his hand back as soon as he realises what he’s done.

Tommy will bring you to Luda may to have her check you over and assess the damage.

Once he knows you’re safe he’ll confine himself to the basement for a few days, only coming out to eat but even then it’s tense.

He’s truly sorry and feels like all those people who called him a monster and an animal were right, he hurt the one he cares about most, after all.

After a few days apart, a lot of hushed words of affirmation and kisses/nose bumps he’ll feel comfortable being with you again.

You know to let him cool off by himself and come to you when he’s ready after a heated argument now.

Michale Myers

You jump out at Michael thinking it would be funny to catch the shape off guard for once and not the other way around. Unfortunately this backfires and he swings his knife at you, thinking it may be an intruder since you’ve never pulled something like this before, You manage to jolt out of the way but the knife still catches you in the shoulder. Thankfully, it’s only superficial and will heal, but it still looks like it needs medical attention.

Initially Michael looks at you unamused, granted it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling underneath the mask. He gives you a kind of “well If you weren’t being dumb this wouldn’t have happened” attitude. However this is a front for the actual panic he refuses to show on the surface.

Having a few cuts and scratches isn’t super uncommon when your with Michael considering his tastes involving knives in bed ; )

Usually hurting others comes naturally and without remorse to Michael, so it shakes him to his core that he’s actively worrying about your wellbeing instead of feeling the usual indifference.

It disturbs him that he actually cares about someone enough to feel remorse for his actions.

After unceremoniously pulling your shirt off and looking the wound over he forces you go to A&E, practically marching your ass out the door.

Since he’s basically an escaped criminal he can’t exactly casually walk in the hospital with you, however he will stalk you the entire time, lurking close by to make sure you arrive and leave safely.

Although he usually has his guard up he vows to try be a little less bristly with you from now on if it means he doesn’t have to see you hurt and feel that awful tug of regret/worry in his chest.

Jason voorhees

You went out looking for Jason one night after he hadn’t returned to the cabin by his usual time. You were worried he’d been overpowered by a group of trespassers or caught in a trap and didn’t have any way to communicate that to you. The woods were beautiful but so dense and vast, getting lost or injured in the thick of them may as well be a death sentence.

Whilst searching for your missing partner you get your leg snagged in a bear trap he had set out previously for the trespassers. You howl in pain as you hear the sickening snap of your ankle between the traps jaws.

Jason was trudging his way back to the cabin when he heard it. Knowing that wasn’t a rougue teen as he’d cleared them out already, alarm bells went off in his head. He stormed to scene as fast as he could.

He could have sworn his undead heart stopped for the second time as he saw you sitting there in agony, murky blood seeping into the forest floor.

He rushes to your side and looks frantically between the trap and your teary face, he knows he’s going to have to disengage the traps and for you it’s going to be..less than pleasent.

He signs for you to grip onto his arm for support. Since he’s already dead and regenerates fairly quickly he feels it’s the least he can do to let you grip his arm for dear life as he wrenches the trap from your shattered ankle. If you cause any damage to his arm (which is very unlikely) it will heal up in no time anyway.

Once he’s carried you back to the cabin he’ll be frantically following Pamela’s directions in his head for what to do and how to clean/ wrap it.

If the damage is extensive he’ll relent and let you go to the hospital, only if a trusted friend takes you though, he’ll be sitting by the window of your shared cabin every minute until you return back to him.

You’re no longer aloud to be out in the woods after dark alone if he’s set traps. You both carry whistles now so if he’s not home and you need to know he’s safe you can whistle to each other and feel more at ease.

Billy Lenz

Interacting with Billy when he’s having an episode is never a good idea. You thought it would be fine to just be in the room though, providing you stay out of his way. As you enter, Billy is in the midst of trashing his attic once again, the disgusting feelings bubbling in his chest too much to bear. You enter just as he’s angrily thrown an old glass christmas ornament at the floor that the sorority had kept in storage. It shatters and flecks of sparkling glass scatter along the floor. One piece catching you in the hand in a nasty glass splinter. You swear under your breath and rush off to take care of it.

Billy doesn’t even realise what’s happened until you return to him, him now having exhausted himself and you knowing it’s safe to try do some damage control. You bring him a sandwich and juice knowing he’ll need it after all the energy and tears he just used up.

Your hands touch as he’s accepting the plate from you with a muted “thank you” and he notices the bandage.

Billy essentially bristles up like an angry cat at the idea of someone hurting his piggy and demands to know who did it and what happened.

Once you tell him it was actually from the ornament he feels horrible. He doesn’t even remember it happening with the state he was in.

He snuggles into the crook of your neck and mumbles apologies into your skin.

Billy will place sloppy kisses over it as an apology until you forgive him. (Not exactly hygenic since it’s an open wound but i mean…you’re dating the attic rat)

Brahms Heelshire

When living with Brahms there isn’t usually much to injure yourself on considering the estate is fairly out of the way from the rest of the village. You most likely caught yourself on a pair of sheers. Brahms is being stubborn about you being out of the house and slings the sheers in your general direction from the door frame when you ask for them. You don’t even notice you sliced your hand when catching them until you see a patch of blood soaking through your gardening gloves about ten minutes later.

You come in to grab a tea towel to wrap your bleeding finger in, not really fazed as it’s only a small cut. Brahms was lurking from the window as you tended to the hedges, not wanting to be away from you but not yet brave enough to tempt leaving the house he’s been in all these years.

As soon as he sees it he’s panicking, it’s only a little cut and you’re not concerned in the slightest but to Brahms you may as well have just came in with an arm missing. He’s instantly flittering around you asking if you’re ok and if you need a hospital.

You stifle your laugh at his over the top concern, you find it rather sweet, it’s not his fault he’s a little bit sheltered.

After cleaning the cut and bandaging it, it’s totally fine. If anything Brahms needs more reassuring and coddling than you do to get him to settle.

He apologises a thousand times for his attitude because he knows If he hadn’t been stroppy about you leaving the house and passed the sheers nicely then you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. He promises to try be more composed when he starts getting antsy.

He may need some ✨punishment✨ in order to encourage his behaviour change and to feel forgiven.

He begrudgingly lets you back outside to garden after about a week.

Asa Emory

If you’re the pet of Asa then it’s likely that most of your injuries are purposefully given from him and are no mistake. You’re poked and prodded often considering your residency in the collection. Wounds from experiments and correctional punishments when you disobey or refuse to submit are not uncommon at all. So it doesn’t bother him since he inflicted them. This also assures he cleans them with clinical precision. If you were anyone else he would leave the wounds to fester, if you died from a complication then that was just inconvenient. Not you though, you’ve caught his attention and heart. He loves you in his own domineering way.

If the wound was created by him on accident then he would give himself a hard time, chastising himself for his carelessness.

For example, if he had more trouble with law enforcement than he thought and that led to you to spending way more time in the trunk than you usually do, causing you to develop a sore from sitting in one cramped position for too long.

Asa would realise you’re injured once you’re let out of the trunk, hissing in pain as you stretch. He makes you show him where you’re hurting so he can inspect over it.

Despite Asa’s stony face his stomach is actively sinking. He knows you’re hurt because of him and it wasn’t purposeful or measured like it would be during a punishment. He sees this as failure in his pet care and it takes a blow to his god complex. Gods don’t make mistakes, but here he is, hurting his dolly by being so out of it.

He’ll make sure to clean it for you and even stop putting you in the trunk for a while. This does however still mean you’ll be attached to him via leash or chain connected to the ring sitting on his belt. Just because you’re hurt and his favourite toy, doesn’t mean he will except anything less than your complete and total submission.

He’ll be more tender and soft handed with you than usual for a while after. Punishments will be withheld until you heal. Then it’s back to normal routine as expected.

Predator/yautja

You were wearing a new perfume you’d picked up at the market during the day, You were only supposed to be getting meats and maybe a new fur for the bed but once the alien at the stand had convinced you to sample it you fell in love with it.

Your mate picks up on an unknown scent entering the house, hackles raising and stalking towards it. As soon as they catch the heat signature they throw a wrist blade in warning.

Their eyes widen in horror, rushing to the door as they catch scent of your tangly blood dripping onto the hardwood floor of your shared home.

The new perfume masked your familiar scent from them, making them believe the house was in danger and being intruded on. If their face could loose colour it would, cringing as they see the wrist blade sticking through your palm, groceries discarded at the door.

They start talking at you in rapid clicks before they realise you can’t actually understand. After making sure to keep the object in your hand so you don’t bleed out and that you’re not going to pass out on them, they insist on carrying you their medic instead of going to an ooman one.

They argue that their medicine is far more advanced and will heal your wound much more efficiently then your “ primitive ooman medicine”

Thanks to yautja medicine being far more advanced, It will heal like nothing ever happened in around two weeks. The wound stitched shut and given some kind of injection.

Your mate purrs and clicks for you deep from their chest the entire time you’re having the blade removed to try calm you.

They beg for forgiveness despite it literally being an accident and will need some reassurance that they haven’t failed you as a mate. Once you’re all healed up they’ll bring back an impressive skull from a hunt as an apology even if you’ve already forgiven them.

Whilst it’s healing you’re probably going be kept in the nest of furs and pulled tightly against them whilst they purr and sooth you.

My requests are open if you’d like to send any prompts or ideas for me to write!

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moondirti · 6 months ago

Text

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

#mostly a vent fic LMFAO #then he breaks into ur house and takes u as a pet like how all my fics end.🙄#mmnnmn i dont know how to feel about this!!#but thats no longer my problem #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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violetarks · 7 months ago

Text

"i like you, i like you, i like you!"

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan, luka

summary: in an attempt to make the new season of alien stage even more riveting, the pr team has decided to stage a relationship between you and one of the other contestants. despite it all being for show, can you two really keep it strictly business?

warnings: g/n! reader,, fake dating lmao, till has never seen someone else's back before, LUKA IS 30-YEARS-OLD????, you two share a room in till and ivan's, luka is condescending in his

↣ till

flashing lights from cameras and yells to 'look over here' are tiring to you now. while you were accustomed to it, being a model and all, you found this limelight to be much different. 'alien stage' wasn't like your job. and your guardian seemed far less hesitant to sign away your life than you would've hoped.

you hooked your arm around till's, standing in front of the back drop with 'alien stage' written in patterns on it. your 'boyfriend' was never one for this kind of thing, whereas it was your specialty. putting on a gentle smile and standing still for the audience was all you were made out to be. till couldn't help but squirm beside you, hands in his pockets and his face scrunched up in irritation.

"this freakin' sucks." he grumbles to you as more yells go out to you two and the other contestants.

"we'll be back in our rooms in a few minutes." you retort, not sparing at look at him. you only slide your arm to rest against his hip, pulling him taut against your side.

he squeaks, feeling his face heat up at the touch. but at the empty look in your eyes and the faux smile, he groans, placing his own arm around your shoulders lazily.

a reporter begs you forward, and one of the pr managers nods at you. you sigh softly, leading till towards them. they speak in a different tongue, and the tablet they provide give you real-time translations, showing up in holograms. a camera is shoved into your face and till scoffs, pushing it further from him.

"how long have you two been together for?"

"four months." you respond, brain reading off a script. you look to till, who suddenly looks back at you. your smile is superficial, but you hold his arm with urgency. "isn't that right?"

"yeah." he replies shortly.

"how have you been encouraging each other for this season?"

"we practice every day together." you say, tilting your head a little. your signature smile earns some more camera flashes. till can barely see, making his cover his vision with a hiss.

"any fear that you two might be facing each other?"

you freeze up for a moment, swallowing your nerves. you're running through every line possible, what was the answer? did you remember what you needed to say? why were you now drawing a blank? "well, thats—"

till drags you by your arm, taking you way from the reporter before scoffing out, "not a chance."

the walk down the carpet, behind mizu, sua and ivan, consisted of more flashes and calls. you don't answer them, only walking beside till and grinning at every reporter you see. this brand deal with some few names depended on you. meanwhile, till was showing them all his index finger, mouthing curse words at everyone who looked his way.

you have your arm around his waist again, and he wraps his around your shoulder. you look to him for a split second to see him already looking at you.

the doors close behind you two as you enter your shared room. two beds, two bathrooms, pretty much two different bedrooms, just meshed into one. till's one is to the left, and he flops onto it, not even bothering to rid himself of his clothes. you, on the other hand, open your closet.

"thanks." you say, breaking the silence as you unbutton your top.

till lifts his head to see you facing your closet instead of him. the sight of your bare back makes his face the ceiling again, red face. you don't notice, instead continuing to change into comfortable clothes.

"it's nothin'." he retorts, hands behind his head as he rests on his bed. you let out a hum, pulling a shirt over your head to cover your stomach. he finally looks back to you. "you don't get tired of all these questions, or do you just like hearing your own voice?"

he's been like this ever since you were little, teasing you and all. while you entertained him, teasing him back, you grew older and soon lost that part of you when you were adopted into the real world. till would rarely see you after that, only on billboards. it would be a lie to say that one of the few reasons he didn't oppose to joining alien stage is to see you again.

he doesn't know whether you feel the same about him. he can't tell from the way you act with him in public, all clingy and happy, compared to how you are in private. have you always been this distant?

"of course i get tired." you reply, changing into your sweatpants. your head hurts. "but they think it's better if i talk than if you do."

"tch." he clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as you close your closet door, "whatever..."

you go quiet again, rubbing your face, as you hear till get up from his bed. you continue to get ready for bed and you assume he's going to change his clothes and do the same as he ruffles through his closet. but after a few seconds you come back into the room, he's laying on your bed, resting his head upon your pillow. you look to him as you turn off the bathroom light.

"what? 's cold." he's wearing a tank top and sleeping shorts.

"right." you scoff, shaking your head. you blink at him, slight smile on your lips with upturned brows. he furrows his own brows and pout his lips as he turns to the wall. your stupid face...

you turn off the lights to your shared room, sliding into the bed. you can hear till's breathing and how he swallows his nerves. his back is nearly touching your shoulder. it wasn't a small bed, a queen size, but till was laying right in the middle and you didn't like being right against the edge. you face the ceiling, listening to him.

he doesn't know what to do. he's slept in your bed with you before. it always feels the same; it's always awkward. this is the closest he ever gets to you.

till is more than surprised when he feels your hands snake around his waist, pulling yourself to mold against him. your warm transfers to his back and your legs nudge against his. with your head against his shoulder, he's sure that you can hear his pacing heart.

"are you still cold?" you question, breath hitting the back of his neck. he shivers in your arms, making you hold him a little more taut against him. "i, uh... i don't want you to get sick."

"n—no." he stammers, breathing heavier. he's staring into the faded outline of the bedside table with your lamp and your headphones, trying to calm his heart. "thank you. you feel nice."

"really?" you hum out, hair tickling his neck. your lips brush against his skin at how close you are to him.

he shivers again and he mutters out, "sh—shut up! go to sleep!"

you go quiet after that, and till almost believes you listened to him. but your sudden movement to sit up behind him makes him turn his head to face you. except he catches the outline of your face, leaning close to his own. he has no time to react before you're pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

he's still, unable to move at how close you are to him. your chest is pressed against his, hand on the other side of the bed. till holds his breath, eyes wide as you barely kiss him.

when you pull away, he's staring at your figure. he doesn't know how you really feel, but maybe it's similar to how he does. before you can say anything, till's arms are wrapping around your neck and pulling you down.

you lay on your side, facing till and he hugs you to his chest. he's on his side as well, nose buried in your hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. due to your position, you can hear his heartbeat pumping as fast as it can. you chuckle, pulling your arms around him and feeling him shiver.

you chuckle, hugging him again, "goodnight, till."

"night, y/n." he sighs out. you were too much.

↣ ivan

"another photoshoot?" you sigh, looking away from the city-scape in your window. ivan, with his arms crossed against the wall, nods his head. you roll your eyes, eyes to the window again. "i'm not going."

"there's no debate." he retorts, shaking his head. he lifts himself from his position, moving to the clothes set on your separate beds. unzipping the bag, he sees the dark red material inside. this was just for the public view, not for the shoot itself. still, it was so... 'out there'.

you look at him, knit brows. "are you being serious?"

"you better hurry, we have to be at makeup in thirty minutes." he tells you, unbuttoning his collared shirt, "you don't want them to drag you out, do you?"

you click your tongue, getting up from your chair and marching towards your bed. ivan followed your movements with his eyes, turning to see you still annoyed as you roughly open the clothes. "stupid brand deals... why are you so freakin' popular, ivan?"

he sighs at your question, looking at you with pointed eyes, "you always complain."

you glare back at him before you both turn around and start changing. it's not long before you're ready and you have to be escorted by the guards to your photoshoot with some new designer brand. the ride down in the glass elevator shows you the crowd outside waiting for your arrival. the guards in front of you shield you from the flashes as soon as you land on your floor and walk outside.

ivan holds his head up high, showing a soft smile and waves at the fans and paparazzi. he wasn't afraid of the fame, it was just a product of how hard work. glancing down at you, he sees how you glare at the floor, clutching at the fabric around your wrist.

he internally groans, slipping a hand through yours and tugging you to stand closer to him. you make a small noise, bumping shoulders with him. "just relax." he whispers to you, giving you a smile that makes you feel a bit belittled, "we'll be in our ride soon. smile."

you glare at him a little before squeezing his hand, turning to the cameras and giving your most comfortable smile possible right now. with both you and ivan showing off your faces, the flashes doubled. it blinds you, and you're almost thankful for the car taking you to your photoshoot as it separates you from the public.

"ugh." you grunt, rubbing your eyes after dropping ivan's hand, "i'm gonna' lose my sight. i'm... i'm actually crying from how bright their lights are."

he glances at you, leaning his arm against the window. you were literally tearing up from the bright lights. ivan raises a brow before reaching forward towards you with his free hand.

"you're fine, stop whining." he huffs, brushing your tears with his thumb. he begs you to look at him, fingers guiding your chin to face him. you drop your own hands from your face, showing your irritated face. "don't look at me like that."

"i'm not doing anything." you claim with the same expression, letting him hold your face in his hand now. he was somewhat warm, even with the gloves he was wearing.

"right." he hums to you, bringing you closer. you let out a scoff as you shift closer to him, one hand grasping at his wrist and the other pressed against the cushion of the seat. your loose hold on him doesn’t do much.

ivan can feel your cheeks heat up under his touch, but your annoyed look stays. “don’t ruin your pretty face like that.”

you blink at him before pulling away, clicking your tongue, “shut your mouth.”

he watches as you face the window, crossed arms. it was cute how you played this act no matter what. ivan knows when people like him, it’s a skill he had acquired from being so popular. and he knows that you don’t hate him.

when getting into the photoshoot, ivan walks in front of you, having been here a thousand times before. the other individuals of all different space races stop to stare at you. ivan’s partner. you’ve never had a photoshoot done before.

you hold into the edge of ivan’s sleeve, walking close with him. you look around at everyone, accidentally bumping into ivan’s back for the lack of attention you were paying. he’s talking to who is probably the director, explaining to him what was going to happen. you understand very little, but you hear your name and suddenly feel another hand on your elbow.

“ivan.” you mutter out, now clutching onto his hand tightly. he looks back to you and the stylist asking you to come along. you look scared, not wanting to go alone.

he talks to the director for a moment before nodding at you. “let’s go. we have an hour before the shoot begins.” he says, holding your hand gently and leading you to the change rooms.

you are given your outfit not long after, the stylist setting up a divider so you can have privacy. ivan sits on the sofa on the other side, leg over his knee and an arm resting on the back of the couch as he waits for you.

when he hears you stop shuffling around, he listens closely. “ivan…?” you call quietly.

“i’m here.” he retorts. he watches as you step out from the divider and show your outfit. it fit you nicely, you looked breath-taking, yet you stand there nervously. he stands, clearing his throat and walking over to you. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. he finds himself staring. “it looks good.”

you look at yourself in the mirror. “i don’t know.”

he stands behind you, peering at your expression in the mirror. “you look amazing.”

you stare at him for a moment before you sigh, “okay. you can go ahead—“

ivan presses a kiss to your cheek, lingering for a moment before pulling away slowly. he doesn't know what came over him, he's never acted out like this. but you were just so captivating in that moment, how could he not kiss you?

you seem just surprised as he feels. you turn to face him, palm resting against where he kissed you.

“ivan—!” you mumble out, your face unbearably hot. he smiles a little before the stylist and makeup artist come in.

they talk with ivan for a moment before handing him his outfit and gesturing to the divider. he gives you a nod before you are whisked away to a joint room, where your makeup would be done.

your eyes never leave ivan, not until he goes behind the divider. and now you have to sit and get your makeup done while your mind is running.

↣ luka

he loves the attention he got on stage. the way his singing was appreciated was like nothing he had ever gotten. the press was always on luka, being a past alien stage winner. and since you were assigned as his partner, that meant all eyes were on you too.

you knew who he was, he was all over the billboards and the tv back at home. you were surprised when you saw him in real life, and even more-so when you found out that you were going to be his 'partner' in order to up the popularity in alien stage's new season.

sure, you had your fair share of popularity as well, but did that really make you the best candidate for this task? at first you were afraid of messing it up, but now? you wish they would fire you.

"singing is everything, y/n." luka says to you, watching as you put the mic back on its stand.

the stadium is nearly empty, which is perfect for you and luka as it was time for the both of you to practice and the stage was the best place. however, you despised the camera crew that had to come along. luka was in the middle of filming this documentary based off the behind the scenes of his shows. since alien stage was his most recent, and you happened to have struck a deal with the producers, that meant you were also going to be in this.

you glance at the camera as it zooms in on luka, sitting in the chair directly in front of the stage. he continues on, "you need to practice those runs, sweet thing. we don't want to be pitchy, now, do we?"

you want to throw the mic stand at his stupid face. he was so condescending, showing off his fake smile as if to lighten the blow of saying you were 'pitchy'. you click your tongue, masking your irritation with a nod of your head.

"good." he replies, clapping his hand, "now, shall we take it from the top?"

you internally groan at him. he had made you run through the song three times already, and it wasn't dwelling well on you. "why don't you start practicing, luka? my voice is about to give out." you offer, rubbing your throat.

he thinks for a moment before looking to the camera. "i suppose i can show off a little now." he sends a wink, as if to swoon anyone watching. you roll your eyes and head off the stage.

the camera pans to the both of you in the single frame. luka hands you your drink bottle, standing from the seat and allowing you to rest on it. as you sit down, you stretch your neck, closing your eyes.

luka reaches a hand around and cradles the back of your head. it's supposed to be comforting, but the feeling of the camera on you makes it the opposite. he has this dazed look in his eyes when he stares at you. a few seconds later, he seems to snap back to reality, opting to lean down and press a kiss to your forehead. "rest up, my star."

you watch as he gets up on the stage, fixing the microphone to his height. luka begins his warm-ups and vocal runs, and the camera suddenly turns to you.

"what do you have to say about luka's singing?" the director asks you.

"he's talented for sure." you respond, opening your drink bottle, "he knows what he's good at and excels at it. luka's got a beautiful singing voice and he uses it very well. like his falsetto, not many male contestants can hit his notes comfortably. he uses that to his advantage."

the camera lingers on you as you turn back to luka, who has started his music up.

it was all from a script, luka had given you clear instructions to say those things. you were hesitant at first, thinking you should be honest, but after seeing how strict it was that luka have a good reputation, you decided it was best just to listen to him. in return, he said he would hold back on the passive-aggressiveness. that seemed like a lie now.

an hour or so later, the others leave, claiming that they had more than enough footage for the day. it was good to leave you two alone to practice, not having to act with the cameras up.

you sit on the edge of the stage, utterly exhausted with your legs dangling on the edge. your drink bottle is beside you, and you gulp the rest of it down. luka stretches his back as he stands up from the chair, letting out a sigh of relief.

"well done, maybe you have a chance of winning this." he claims, walking towards you, "don't worry, just do your best, lovely."

he comes to stand in between your legs, hands on top of both of your knees. you glance at him finally, raising a brow. he was being somewhat nice to you, despite there being no cameras on around you. you give one last look around the stadium. "y'know there's no cameras. you can drop it."

luka grins, tilting his head. "i'm not acting, good-looking. you don't think i'm telling the truth?"

the smile he has on his face tells you the opposite. he has that look on his face when he's playing around or when he's trying to seem like a charmer to the audience. you've seen luka when he's not like this. you've seen him lash out, frustrated and on the brink of tears. and you've seem him in a way that just looks blank. this facade he carries around annoys you to the core, because you know nobody else has seen this side of him. they think he's a prince.

"you never compliment me out of the good of your heart." you reply, glaring at him a little. he raises a brow.

he holds your chin in his hand, bringing you closer to him. with a small grunt, you obey, furrowed brows. "such an adorable thing like you shouldn't be thinking that way." he claims, smiling at how annoyed you are, "i just love seeing you flustered."

you push his hand away from you, closing your eyes. "shut up, luka."

he doesn't reply to you which is odd. opening your eyes again, you see that he looks almost upset at what you say. at the kicked puppy expression, you go to apologise when luka suddenly leans forward, capturing your lips against his own.

you freeze up, blinking in surprise at his actions. you let his hand go and luka rests it against your neck, pulling you closer towards him. you ultimately melt against luka, reaching a hand to his chest and clutching his shirt. you begin to kiss back without thinking. his lips are cold, much like his fingers are, but with your warmth they heat up.

it lasts only a few seconds before he pulls away, letting go of your neck and resting his hand against yours on his chest. he sees your stunned expression and chuckles, "i'm sorry, love, am i too much for you to handle? you look the cutest when you're all confused like this."

you cover your face, all about embarrassed now. "luka...!"

he laughs some more, bringing you closer and cradling you against him as you sit on the stage. you're so humiliated, how could he catch you like that?

regardless, you slip your hands from between the two of you and hug his waist. while luka might play this game for the publicity and his reputation, you couldn't say the same. you hate to admit it, but in this world, it's nice to have someone who holds you like this. even if it is someone like luka.

#till x reader #alien stage till x reader #ivan x reader #alien stage ivan x reader #luka x reader #alien stage luka x reader #alien stage #alien stage x reader

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fifthnailinstevesbat · 7 days ago

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thinking of a new steddie fic/au hmmm.

It’s just the classic, Steve buys weed from Eddie in season 1 era, he and Tommy meet him at the bench in the woods behind school. Steve and Eddie have some playful banter and clearly get along, but it’s dismissed as just a drug deal and they go on about their lives.

Next time they meet is when a frantic Steve comes and finds Eddie after he’s just fought off the demogorgon for the first time. He’s rattled, and skittish, wearing a nasty black bruise on his eye, and just overall not acting like himself. He snaps at Eddie multiple times to just ‘hurry up’ and ‘get him his stuff’, and sure he’s being an asshole, but more than anything Eddie is just concerned. He has never seen The King Steve Harrington lose his cool like this. So Eddie cautiously gives him the weed, making sure not to give too much, and lets him go about his day, but not before asking if he’s alright. Steve clearly wasn’t expecting this and brushes it off defensively, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it for the rest of his week. How the hell did Eddie Munson notice something was wrong, when his own parents didn’t? Nor his “friends”?

They cross paths again a year later, the beginning of season two. Steve is still with Nancy and has freshly dumped his old douchebag crew of superficial friends. He is still sitting quite comfortably on the higher ranks of popularity, but there is no denying his status is not what it used to be. He comes to buy weed from Eddie in the first week back at school, and it’s a casual interaction. He’s still as charmingly stuck up as he ever was, but now without Tommy there to judge his every move, he seems a little more at ease when making casual conversation with Eddie. Eddie doesn’t mention the year before and Steve is so glad for it, secretly very embarrassed that he went to Eddie for some refuge after arguably his most traumatic experience to date. He gets his stuff, giving Eddie a smirk when he notices he’s dropped the price significantly for Steve when it’s just him alone. Eddie gives him a challenging smile back, almost daring him to call it out, but he doesn’t. They both just laugh and part ways.

The next run in is tina’s halloween party. They notice eachother when Steve first arrives, making eye contact and giving a polite nod. Maybe Eddie lifts his drink up to Steve in a silly salute. They don’t speak at all or make any effort to hang around eachother. That is, until Steve storms down the stairs in a rage after he’d gone up there with Nancy Wheeler. But then are those- tears? Eddie was standing on the front porch smoking a cigarette, trying to discreetly hide from one Billy Hargrove to avoid having to sell him anything, but staying visible enough that he won’t lose all chances of making any money tonight. Steve storms right past him and hits his shoulder. Eddie whips around and is about to call him a dick before he sees who it is.

Steve tries to quickly wipe his face, he won’t make eye contact with Eddie, and he’s clearly trying to get out as fast as he can. Eddie doesn’t let him, though, since he’s obviously not thinking very clearly and is most likely about to do something emotional and stupid. He asks if Steve’s alright, and his answers are all short and rushed, so he’s definitely not. They’re not really friends, but Eddie’s not an asshole.

— “Did you drive?” Eddie asks

“Yeah”

“Well, you’re drunk, Steve. You can’t get behind a wheel right now. And if I knowingly let you, then that makes me an accomplice. I’ll take you home.”

Steve tries to protest, attempting to push past him, but Eddie interjects. “Yeah, yeah, alright! Don’t thank me yet, Steve’o. This is not for you, see, I’m not trying to get a criminal record, here. I cant go to prison, Steve. Do you know what they’d do to a pretty guy like me in prison? Nope, let’s go hot stuff.” —

Eddie takes Steve home. They don’t talk much. By the time they reach Steve’s drive way and Eddie has put his van in park, Steve is making no attempt to exit the vehicle just yet. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he didn’t really plan this far, so he’s just tapping away awkwardly at his steering wheel while Harrington stares down the dashboard so clearly lost in thought Eddie fears his head might explode. Steve tells Eddie what happened, says it’s ‘relationship troubles’, and he’s not quite sure what compelled him into being so honest with Eddie Munson, but he’s blaming the alcohol. Eddie wasn’t expecting that. They chat for a bit, Eddie makes Steve laugh and considers the whole night a success after that. Then they start cracking jokes about their shared hatred for Hargrove, and Steve looks and sounds a bit more ok to go inside. He thanks Eddie, quite sincerely actually, and it throws him a bit. He stutters a ‘yeah, for sure. It’s no problem.’ And Steve goes home.

After that, it’s a little different. Steve, doesn’t actually really have anyone, anymore. When they go back to school he’s now greeting Eddie here and there in the hallways, making conversation when they find themselves alone together, in the lunch line or at the bathroom sink. He doesn’t approach Eddie when there’s too many people around, though. As much as he’s grown, Steve Harrington still carry’s some prejudice in him about how certain things may make him look. But it doesn’t bother Eddie too much. It’s not like they are really friends, they’re just like, strange acquaintances. And Steve would never deny that they get along, that really Eddie’s ‘not so bad’. So that’s a win.

Steve finds Eddie again not long after the party to buy some more weed, a plan that sparked purely out of boredom. Eddie says yes, of course, but tells him if he wants it today he will need to wait till after school and meet Eddie at his place, since he was busy. So Steve takes a trip to the Munson trailer to make his deal. Eddie invites him inside and they sit together on the couch as he gets Steve’s bag ready. They end up making quite pleasant conversation, joking around and ultimately finding they are really enjoying each other’s company. They enjoy it so much so, that Steve ends up smoking there, with Eddie. So now they are kind of like, hanging out? And it’s fun, so they do it again. Still they’re not, friends friends, they just get along. Eddie just sells Steve weed sometimes and they keep it civil.

He doesn’t hear from Steve for a while, and the next time he sees him it’s from a distance, in passing. The man has the most roughed up face Eddie has ever seen, bruised and swollen in multiple areas, stitches and bandages all over. It’s really, concerning? completely metal, but alarming. This is the second time Eddie has seen the guy all beaten up like that. He knew that boys fight, but surely not that bad? As worried as he was, Eddie doesn’t approach him to ask questions, because they don’t know eachother like that. So he goes on about his day, and he doesn’t see Steve again after that for quite some time.

Then it’s summer, Eddie isn’t graduating again, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself over the break. The new mall has just opened up, and there’s a cool music store up on the second floor that he likes to visit sometimes with his band friends. And wouldn’t you know, working at the Scoops Ahoy located directly across from his favourite store, is Steve Harrington. The guy hasn’t come to Eddie for any weed since last year, and then there was that sighting where he looked like he’d just fallen face first into a flying fist or two, so it’s been a minute since Eddie’s seen him. And he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a nice surprise. He only goes into scoops once. He’s curious, okay? Sue him. And, he knows the girl who works with him, Robin. So he plays it off like he had no idea he’d see Steve there. And to his surprise, Steve actually acknowledges him. He doesn’t act like Eddie is a total stranger just because they’re not in school anymore. The interaction is quick, they make very casual conversation, Eddie says hi to Robin, grabs his milkshake and goes home. That’s all. He doesn’t go back, and he doesn’t really plan to. Steve’s nice, and he knows Eddie’s around if he needs to buy from him again, and that’s really as far as their relationship goes. That’s all it ever was. It’s been fun getting to know Steve Harrington a little bit better, even if it was just for a short time. Eddie liked having the chance to see in past the quaffed hair and pressed polo shirts to learn that Steve was really just a person under it all. He never thought he’d say it, but Harrington wasn’t so bad. It was a nice little eye opening experience for Eddie.

Eddie was ready to write off his little blips of interaction with Steve Harrington as a thing of the past, no hard feelings, and move on with his life. That is, until he gets a knock at his front door in the middle of the night afew days after the big mall fire. And it’s Steve on the other side. And he looks awful, his face is the worst Eddie’s ever seen it. And he wasn’t really knocking, more like pounding. He says he needs Eddie’s help.

What the fuck?

#and then he #he asks eddie for help getting really strong drugs oit of your system #and if he knows if there’s anything out there that can have long lasting affects on your system #and if he can please have some weed too actually so he can sleep because maybe that will help #because please give me more paranoid steve not just moving on right away from being fuckinh drugged non consensually !!!#i need to see season 3 steve going to eddie for help after the russians because he doesn’t know anywhere else #and eddie is just like what the actual fuck is this man on about ????#what the hell goes on in the harrington household that causes him to get a black eye annually #and now be rambling about getting drugged????#eddie getting so curious about what is actually going on with him #ugh #anyways might write this proper oooh what do we think #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #robin buckley #st3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #steve and eddie #steddie fic #steddie au

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ghostarii · 2 months ago

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SILK STRINGS & PEARL RINGS, SCARAMOUCHE

ʚɞ kisses with the weight of pain and bruises colored like love — his heart hits like a punch and you’re the sucker to catch it.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, referred to as kuni, impact play, asphyxiation, biting / marking, hair pulling, degradation, name calling, praise, creampie, overstimulation, more scaramouche than wanderer, minors & dc antis do not interact!

NOTE ݈݇- hey . . hey . . how y’all doin ^w^ ive been gone a while becuz tumblr wasnt it anymore nd life was lifeing ! am back now bc i missed u guys nd missed being a freak :c theres sm of u now �� thank u sm for 900+! ! i loveee youu loads xoxoxooo Anywayyy i hope u enjoy this quick littl drabble to flex my muscles :3

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 1.1k

LIMBS LIKE STRINGS OF silk: soft, pliable, and delicate, all in the hands of an unworthy sinner. His rough callouses rub burning patches on your skin as he runs his hands across your supple skin. Even the finest silks blemish under unclean hands and you are no exception — you're the example.

The name he bears stumbles out of your mouth in broken gasps and he only wishes you would shut up; he tells you again and again in hopes of your compliance, to no avail. Your voice is a constant reminder of who he is to you and, otherwise, who he’s destroying for superficial, fleeting pleasure. He’s far too deep to pull away now and scurry away—he has no choice but to double down and bump the sense out of your brain in hopes of fogging your memory. It works in a skewed way: condensing your mind to the two syllables of his name. “Kuni! Kun—i!! God, Kuni—!!!” Your pitiful screeches play on broken recurrences.

And as the master weaver he is, your pleasure is sewn up to its peak for what feels like the millionth time. Your body quakes and trembles, quivering under his weight and attempting an escape jaggedly. A hearty, choked-up whine jumps out of your chest, “Sto—I can’t! K-Kuni, please—!”

Deaf ears ignore your cries and pound deeper, harder—slamming his pelvic bone against your twitching clit. His hands move from the expanse of the mattress to your neck: pressing you into the mattress with pressure on the sides of your neck just right. “Shut the fuck up,” he grits, rolling his hips into you. “Just shut up and take it.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, lashes fluttering rapidly as, quickly, your brain computes nothing but pleasure.

His hips snap against you with such intensity, that it makes you feel like he hates you. It borders on painful, eliciting sharp lightning rods to pierce and prod around your body. The sheer weight of this impassioned thrusting has you jolting up the bed and thrashing around under him, looking to escape the white-hot harvest of pleasure pulsing in your pussy.

On top of you, he burns a pretty rose that can only be described as fire. The tight grip around his cock fills his head with foggy air—but it's the wetness that spools around his length: splat, splat, splat, that sings out the lost orgasms from rounds previous and ample arousal. It’s that that has him grumbling out blurbs of pleasure, chasing his orgasm that rests in your depths.

Every sensation is heightened tenfold with the ever-demanding charge that is being fed in your tummies. Every pulse, squeeze, leak, prod—all of it is akin to plugging you up to an orgasm charge-port and capping off the battery.

It’s too much; you scream that out enough until you can't gather enough air to breathe, let alone speak. Kuni agrees with you but he really, really, wishes you would shut up. He can't think and with every sound you make, he’s urged on in this unshakeable, carnivorous desperation to fuck harder. He's not immune to pleasure; he may be more susceptible to its threats, in fact. Knitted brows and screwed eyes blind him to the overstimulated writhing you enact, wriggling under his touch in vain hopes of reprieve.

Tears stream down your cheeks to mix with a layer of slobber splayed on your skin—a pitifully nasty mess, born out of the relentless palms of your man. He has the liberty to see you at your most vulnerable: degeneracy painting itself all over your body. A beautifully disgusting mess, you are, and he only makes it worse.

Stirring around your guts is his angry hard-on, circling your walls in shaky rolling manners, letting you both rest against the other and heave out deep breaths. The tip grinds against your g-spot and has you whimpering weakly, slapping his forearms and rolling your stomach. “I’m gonna—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He grits, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging your head to the left. The stinging burn that dances at your roots has you wincing and whining, scrunching your face up. “Hold it.”

“I c-can’t, Kuni!” Just as the words leave your mouth, his hips are re-angled to push up into your pussy, the right-bound hook he sports curving right up to a gummy cushion in your walls. They contract around him and he groans, tightening his grip on your hair.

He dives into you, letting his hands grip your waist as his head wedges itself between your chin and shoulder. “Get it through your thick fucking skull,” he berates, nipping your collarbone. “You can't cum until I say so,”

His hips grind upward, drilling his dick deep into your depths that the hoarseness in your voice is shaken off for a shrill yelp to be squeezed out. He laughs at you menacingly, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to then circle the mark with his tongue. “Take it like a good bitch and I may be nice to you.”

Not a word he said will be upheld. You're so good—the best girl for him and he still dangles your release in front of you. Like a dog to a thick bone, you pant and whine in anticipation of being thrown your Achilles heel.

Exhaustion catches up to him and he can only lazily rock into you. His left hand presses on your stomach as he does so, trapping pressure in your tummy and mixing deliciously with your pleasure.

Heat swims beneath your skin and spills out beads of perspiration, gluing your bodies together.

Proximity; your bodies are so close and burning up fervent flames that swallow you down. Like the pliable silk you are, you slip around under his hold and that knot your stomach is tied up in easily unwinds.

“You’re coming, aren't you?” He shakily asks, exhaling deeply. If you aren't, he is.

Your non-answer is answer enough—he moans pathetically in your ear, falling apart as he ruts into you.

Holding on is a thing of the past as he slams against your sweet spot, unfurling his orgasm into you in milky ropes. Simultaneously, you release your biggest orgasm yet, splashing against his stomach and streaming down your legs. The pressure pushes him out with a grunt, a sadistic laugh of his echoing in your head.

Your swollen pussy is shining in pearlescent, bubbled strings, rolling out of you in a gushing mix. Oh, it's nasty; and you're utterly destroyed—flushed and blemished and patterned in bites, bruises, and prints. Your lips are swollen and bitten; your eyes are low-lidded and teary; your face is sweaty and tear-stained; your body quivers and spasms and Kuni thinks that you've never looked better.

Reprieve only lasts a mere moment before your legs are pushed up to your shoulders, spreading and stretching your limbs to their limits. Drawing out a whine, you speak hoarsely, “What’re you doing? No more..”

“I never told you to cum, did I?”

A break quickly becomes a distant memory.

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asunflowerana · 3 months ago

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eye candy — Sakusa Kiyoomi

summary: only you have kiyoomi's heart. and he'll make sure every single one knows that.

It's lunch break, and Kiyoomi peacefully savors his beef stew, his cousin making him company as usual, sitting beside him at the table far from the noisy students. Among the cafeteria, comments about the next volleyball match can be heard, especially with the semifinals of the spring tournament qualifiers, wondering if the team’s star will keep up with his performance or fail to give the school another victory.

What does he think about their opinion?

Well, actually, he just doesn't care.

Sakusa doesn’t play to get fan’s approval or popularity: he plays because he enjoys what he does. Being noticed is just an effect of his efforts to become a professional someday, and even though the spotlight brings some benefits, he wouldn’t mind if his whole fanclub disappeared suddenly. Most of their support is superficial and sham, too shallow for his liking.

Who truly matters to Omi is those who have always been there for him, way before his rise. Like you, for example.

His favorite fan.

He cares for you so, so much, in a way he never imagined he could do it. It’s strange, now thinking of it, how someone so skeptical about love before now does anything possible to show you how much he appreciates your existence, and how grateful he is for being yours, and for having the honor of calling you his.

If it depends on Sakusa, this will remain for the rest of his life.

Motoya’s a front row spectator of your relationship, being there since the moment you and his cousin first interacted with each other, you politely asking to borrow one of his pens in History class. Imagine the blonde’s shock when he saw Omi not cleaning the pen after you’ve returned.

He was the first one to hear about the brunette's feelings, the one who helped him pick the first date place, the flowers, the gifts, even the dorky letters Omi sent to your address, wanting to be different from the usual texting-guys. If there’s one person in the world who knows how crazy in love Sakusa Kiyoomi is for you, it’s Motoya. He isn’t bothered at all, having a lot of fun every time he watches his cousin getting all doki doki whenever you’re around.

And how protective he gets when you’re not.

“Sakusa.” A girl suddenly approaches their table, her sultry but invasive voice interrupting the chewing of both cousins. If Motoya’s not mistaken, this girl is Tai, one of Class D students. He secretly grimaces, already predicting the reason she came to talk to Omi, like all the other girls that has been crushing on his cousin.

Poor girl.

Kiyoomi doesn’t even look up from his food, preparing a spoon full of vegetables. “Yes?”

“Um-” She fidgets a little with the disinterest in his tone, but a charming smile appears on her face nonetheless. Oh, she’s trying hard. “I just came to wish you a good game this Friday. I’ll be cheering for you on the stands.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn’t even hide his boredom, contemplating the pleasing taste of the seasoned stew. He hopes the staff used gloves while preparing it this time. “Didn’t know you were part of the cheer’s team.”

“N-no!” She chuckles a little too loud, trying to hide her nervousness. “I’m not part of the team. I just… I wanted to cheer just for you, you know? Give you some boost for the game.”

Unfortunately for her, this time he raises his gaze until it finds her anxious eyes, which averts when they notice the unpleasant frown on his face. “Boost? Do you think I need your cheers to play well?”

“N-not at all. But, you know, having an eye candy could help you play even better.”

Motoya snorts loudly, not being able to hold how impressed he is by the girl’s dumb confidence. Is she that clueless? Sakusa has been dating you for almost six months, there’s no way she doesn’t know by now that he’s taken. He watches as his cousin stares at her for a few uncomfortable seconds, his cold glare making even him uncomfortable. Thank goodness, he is not the target this time.

“I don’t see any eye candy here.” Short and frank, Omi answers her move.

Tai looks clearly dejected, but she took the hint that insisting wouldn’t do any good to her side. To lessen the embarrassing moment, she nods at him, pretending his words didn’t have an effect on her heart, and she offers him a brief goodbye before rushing away from their table, shoulders slowly falling with shame.

“Oof, that one hurted.” Motoya breaks the silence, his eyes widening as he checks his wristwatch. “Twenty-five seconds! It’s your new ditch record, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes at his comment, having another spoon of his stew “She's been trying that for weeks. She even knows ______.”

“Well, I think she got the message now.” The blonde chuckles, eyes twinkling as he spots you entering the cafeteria right after his comment. He raises his left hand and waves at you with a smile, succeeding in catching your attention.. “And look who’s coming to the party.”

From his cousin's excited tone, Omi has a pretty good guess on who he’s referring to, and he instinctively searches through the crow to check it out. It’s amazing how Omi’s semblance lights up when he sees you. The transformation is visible, and if he could, Motoya would totally take a picture of his cousin’s starstruck face right now.

“Hey guys!” You greet them as soon as you get closer, and your boyfriend immediately takes a chair from the closest table and arranges beside him for you to sit on. Motoya holds back a laugh, and you thank him with a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Omi.”

Hearts could come out of Sakusa’s eyes.

“You’re so beautiful today.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, making you giggle in that sweet way that makes his heart flutter every single time.

“Okay lover, you can go back to eat, she won’t go anywhere.” His cousin cracks a joke, but the brunette doesn’t even pay attention to his words, choosing to focus on you instead.

The displays of affection don’t stop, and he doesn’t even notice how sappy (but sweet) he’s being with you. He holds your hand on top of the table, absently stroking your skin with his thumb and occasionally kissing the back of it; he nuzzles your head when you cuddle his arm, loving to smell the scent of your shampoo; he looks at you intently as you speak about your last class, paying attention to every word that comes out of your pretty mouth like it’s the most important speech he’s ever heard.

Motoya doesn’t know if he looks the other way in disgust, or if he just smiles, happy that his cousin has finally found someone special for him. Or if he takes some pictures of sweet Omi, which would be a good opportunity to make fun of him later.

“Okay guys, I’ll catch up with you later.” The blonde announces, figuring you’d better have your privacy; being the third wheel can be really tiring sometimes.“ Omi, see you at the warm-up. Enjoy your time together, lovebirds.” The blonde leaves, leaving the two of you more comfortable getting closer to each other. Omi kisses your cheek sweetly before caressing it with his palm.

“Will you watch the match today?” He questions, loving the idea of spotting your beautiful self in the middle of the game.

The question sounds a little strange to your ears, because you almost never lose his games. But you choose to answer regardless, caressing his scalp full of curly locks, to his delight. “Yes, of course I’ll be there.”

“Good.” A small smile of his grows with your touch. “I need my eye candy.”

#hq x reader #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #hq sakusa #sakusa x you #komori motoya #sakusa fluff #kiyoomi x reader #w.hq #{ bouquet }

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jhopezwrld · 2 months ago

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can you do some nsfw five headcanons? thanksss

aw hell yea man. i want aidan gallagher so bad it’s criminal i need to be locked up in horny jail !! (surprise surprise i like another white man)

five hargreeves nsfw headcanons

tw: smut !! mdni plz xoxo 💋

ngl it took him a WHILE to stop cumming so quick after the two of u had sex for the first time. dude was alone for like 50 years with nothing but a mannequin and his left hand ok cut him some slack

but trust me when i say he always made up for it. if he’s cumming after 5 minutes he’s making u cum at LEAST two times that night (more for himself than for you bc busting so quick damaged his ego a bit)

had never eaten pussy before you so he was super hesitant going into it at first, even though he didn’t act like it

probably spent a few minutes exploring what you had down there before rlly going to town on you

picks up on things very quickly bc he’s so smart so it was easy for him to figure out what you liked and didn’t like

is able to make you cum the first time he goes down on you and will never forget it (huge ego boost)

blowjobs are one of his favorite things in the world, second only to actual sex with you

he’s heard his brothers talk about sex in passing but brushed it off as some stupid superficial thing they were obsessed with

but oh man after the first time you two do it he wants it all the time

for the first few months he’s practically insatiable, which is so far from his normally calm and collected persona

after a while, he’s able to control himself more. it becomes less of an addiction and more of a luxury to him

but don’t get me wrong, just because he doesn’t need it every day doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it often

he considers it the perfect way to unwind from a long and stressful day

or the best way to apologize after upsetting you

prefers using his fingers over his mouth on you because he gets a better view of your face and how good he’s making you feel

he gets super possessive sometimes (especially when he’s drunk) so he will occasionally leave dark bruises on your neck, just below your collar. easy enough to cover up but easy to show off as well

doesn’t like hickies on himself but appreciates scratches on his back from time to time

doesnt talk about your sex life with his siblings, but it’s clear by the way he relaxes around them more after the two of you get together that he’s getting that ‘good good’ (direct quote from diego said to a disgusted allison)

keeps his hair long because he likes when you tug it

favorite position is missionary bc he’s a classic man what can i say. he loves that he can see your entire body and your face all at the same time

however you on top is something he’ll never refuse

pls just top him every once and a while he’s so tired from saving the world thrice and taking care of his siblings and murdering people… he needs a break !

is always so hesitant to relinquish control to you but he knows he always enjoys himself in the end

doesn’t usually get into ‘roles’ during sex but he prefers being the one to call the shots

if ur able to get him to sub be prepared bc he’s a mouthy little brat

probably likes being slapped around a lil bit i can’t lie

is a secret sucker for soft romantic sex (but he saves that for special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays)

he’ll cradle your face and whisper how pretty you are and press gentle kisses to your cheeks. he’ll even hold ur hand the whole time!!

ok last addition but i feel like when he gets super drunk he’ll accidentally spill the beans about your sex life to klaus and ben and now ben can’t look at him or you the same without remembering that five told him you swallow LMAO

#five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves headcanons #umbrella academy imagines #umbrella academy smut #umbrella academy x reader #jhopezwrld #my writing #mwahahaha enjoy #five hargreeves x reader

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igotanidea · 28 days ago

Text

Superstition: Jason Todd x witch!reader

requested by anon because it's October!

***

For some reason, the world is always in danger on Tuesdays.

And the newest threat to the existence of the people involved a group of superheroes and vigilantes and even anti-heroes gathering together to discuss the best way to tackle it.

Familiar faces and new ones, arrived at one deeply hidden lair (not really), not causing any reasons for suspicions (again – not really).

Who would pay attention to various, spandex-clad people, climbing to one apartment in the suburbs through the doors and windows, from the ground, air and water, right? It was freaking Gotham after all, weirdest things have happened.

And she was definitely someone new.

He didn’t pay much attention to that girl.

But somehow he noticed how she stood in the back of the room, watching everyone instead of joining in the conversation. How she mostly stayed quiet while the gathered was discussing plans and methods to defeat the newest opponent, only now and then throwing some well-pointed argument.

She was weird with that watchful eyes, focused face, specific kind of humor, wearing unusual clothes, speaking in a manner that indicated she knew something no one else did.

And that smell, he couldn’t quite decipher.

What was it?

Sage? Lavender? Rosemary?

Who, out of normal people, smells like kitchen seasoning?!

But –

Out of it all, she was at least useful. Or so it seemed, otherwise Dick would not bring her out to this meeting in the first place.

And hell, he wouldn’t let her know everyone’s identities.

Well – not everyone. Jason was pretty stubborn with keeping his signature helmet on. He was not risking a stranger to know too much about him. Always the one to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Who is she?” he muttered to Dick, his voice distorted by the metal

“Her name is-“

“I don’t care about her name. What is she?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make that face on me, Dickhead. You have aliens friends, robotic friends and turning-into-an-animal friends. What is she?”

“Oh, that!” Dick laughed, but then turned serious “I am not telling you that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This was obviously a bait, and he was not some silly fish to rise to it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“You will have to- wait, what? You don’t want me tell you?” Dick’s face dropped a little

“Nope.”

“But-“

“I said nope.”

“Come on, Jas-“

“Don’t use my real name, idiot!”

“But I want to tell you!”

“A second ago you claimed that-“

“You are no fun.” Dick pouted like a five year old, crossed arms over his chest and after a moment of zero reaction from his brother walked away, probably to share how unfairly he had been treated.

***

She was a witch.

A freaking witch.

Without hair in her ears, warts, boils and hooked nose.

A witch!

Where was her cat? Her broom? Her – whatever else was a signature for that type of supernatural being.

“You might want to take it a little easier on me, you know?”

“Huh!?” Jason spun around only to notice she was now standing behind him with a soft face expression. “What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t you know that witch can read minds?”

“What now?” he blushed under the helmet on being called out on that, but obviously did not let it show. “Who gave you the permission to invade my head, witch!?” The last word was almost spitted with anger and venom dripping from the voice, followed by crossing arms that was supposed to be intimidating. However, much to his surprise she only chuckled. “Are you laughing at me now?!”

“Yes.”

“Careful there, harpy.” The second that word left his mouth he regretted it. First, she did not deserve to be judged so superficially and Jason should know better how painful it can be. Second, it showed that he was getting agitated and that was not the point. Third, fourth and fifth – she could drop him dead on the spot with her dark magic powers.

“Careful there, tin-head.”

Oh wow. She was mean.

“Or what?” he challenged

“Or I threw a curse at you.”

“And what?”

“Don’t test me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh I bet, you’d be so happy, being able to boost to everyone who’d love to listen that you battled a witch that’s half your size, huh?”

“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, feeling a little offended and hurt.

“Well you don’t know me.”

Shit.

“What’s that scent you smell of?”

“Excuse me?!”

Idiot. At this point he felt like facepalming. So stupid trying to rectify the situation while simultaneously not wanting to say anything that would even resemble apology.

“The- ”

“It’s thyme. And verbena.”

“Why-?”

“It’s supposed to bring out luck and peace . And thyme brings out mental powers.”

“Hence the mind reading?”

“Oh, I was kidding about that. I cannot truly read minds. You were muttering to yourself and since I was standing close there was no way for me to not overhear.”

“So you are not-“

“A I’m -going-to-curse-you-with-pain-in-the-ass witch? No. I’m a little bit more reserved when it comes to that, but don’t tell anyone. I would be casted away from the clan.”

Despite himself he chuckled.

“So, what other discrepancies are there between you and the myths about the witch.”

“I’m not giving such secrets to just anyone, Hood.”

“I can respect that. Got my boundaries too.”

“Hence the helmet still on your face?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I can respect that.” She nodded, “The world can be awful when it comes to quick and superficial conclusions, right?”

His head snapped her direction. How come she was speaking freely all those words he was holding deep inside his heart. Why did it feel like she actually meant everything said and didn’t just throw around empty platitudes?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you look at me like I’ve just murdered a cat for a dark ritual.”

“You can’t see my face. And I don’t like cats.”

“Sure not. Cause you are a dog person, right?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

God, he was hating her already.

***

Two weeks later, he was sitting in her apartment, helmet off, with her black cat on his lap, caressing the soft fur, observing carefully how Y/N was getting ready for the Valpurga Night, taking the weirdest clothes existing from the wardrobe. Judging by the style she had either robbed a homeless man or a prank store.

“Seriously this is how you guys are dressing?” he pointed out at the black robe and a pointy hat.

“What? No! Of course not, are you crazy? This is my Halloween costume. No respectable witch will ever wear a hat like this. God, last time the chairwoman of the assembly had a channel costume and three sets of pearls. Show off she was…”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“You’ve got a Halloween costume six months in advance?”

“Stop laughing or I’ll-“

“Curse me, yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He raised hands in surrender, causing the cat to meow desperately, demanding more touches. “See, your cat likes me, why can’t you?”

“That cat happened to swallow too much catnip when I was preparing my potions earlier today. He’s not a credible judge at the moment.”

“I’d rather take his judgment over yours.”

Y/N flicked her wrist and the blanket on the bed wrapped over Jason turning him into a giant burrito.

“Seriously, this is the best you can do? Claiming to be powerful and –“

A second later he was levitating by the ceiling, heads down, not liking it at all.

***

One month later he found himself having a panic attack during the night. All the memories from the pit, the pain, the hurt, the trauma came back flooding him like a freaking tsunami.

The last thing he wanted was seeing and hearing things that did not exist.

A lunatic that was what he was.

And there was only one person he knew who was familiar with supernatural things and knew how to play with minds and reality with her skills.

“Y/N.” he stuttered to the phone, her name the only lifeline connecting him with the remnants of crumbling reality.

“I’m on my way.”

Of course she already knew what was happening.

Of course she was already coming to him, to save him from himself.

Ten minutes later, the window creaked and she just flew inside effortlessly, discarding her cloak on the floor and rushing to his side.

“The doors are out there, you weirdo” he stuttered, hating that she saw him in this vulnerable state. “You had to make a show, didn't you?”

“Though it could lift your spirits.” She muttered, without a hint of tease in her voice “and speaking of spirits, can I?” her hands lingered around his head.

“Please…”

Softly and slowly, she placed both palms on his temples, whispering something that might have been a spell, incantation or that curse she was threatening him with since the moment they met.

Regardless of what she chose to place on him, it seemed to work. The fog on his brain slowly dispersed and he almost felt the fear and anxiety floating away.

At least she was useful.

“What- what did you-?”

“hush. Quiet. Here, take that” she handed him a little vial.

“what’s that?”

“A poison. What do you think, jar-head? It; a potion. It will strengthen you.”

“I don’t need strengthening-“

“Just take it.” Her smaller hands wrapped around his, forcing him to keep the bottle. “Please.” For a moment their gazes met and the time seemed to stop. “I can’t risk having you waking me up in the middle of the night again, right?”

“Waking you? Thought you were out casting spells and running naked over the meadow?”

“Not really. It's the incoming moon phase. It’s the time for white magic, and we both know I’m a dark witch right?”

They both chuckled softly. She was as dark as Jason was lenient towards criminals.

“Stay?” he asked softly

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

***

He didn’t plan it.

Definitely not, but how was he supposed to help being drawn towards that weirdo that seemed to shake up his world? How could he resist the pull towards the otherworldly and the only person that seemed to understand him completely?

The first time she saw him use the all caste he almost noticed the admiration in her eyes.

The first time he observed her actually casting curses and using her powers he felt like he could jump into fire for her.

And it was not because of a spell.

He was –

Oh boy….

A vigilante and a witch.

A walking zombie and a mistress of spirits and supernatural.

What could possibly go wrong?

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 11 days ago

Text

he set my house on fire, you lit my heart ablaze; when the smoke cleared, you stayed, coughing up ash with me.

jh86 x reader: the revenge plot doesn't go as planned (ft. ex-fiance am34).

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's on the tamer side, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), spit and descriptions of bodies and stuff like that, hair pulling (big fan), lots of talk about toxic relationships and being mean and using people and sad moments (we can thank this fictional am34 for that), oh, and slight bullying of tz11). idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: round two? you liked this one a lot the first time around. i hope it's just as good as you remember. much love to you and your snakes).

since you were a young girl, you had known that your greatest motivation, your deepest truth, perhaps your fatal flaw, was just how deeply you felt.

when you were little, that meant tears came easily, anger festered like weeds in a prized garden, and happiness felt like flying.

it also meant you could read others' emotions almost as clearly as your own.

it made you different, it made you a good friend, it made you the person you were. for much of your life, you had made peace with the fact that your well of emotions went deeper than others. you had loved that part of yourself, even.

but the night you broke off your engagement to auston matthews, you wanted nothing more than for everything you were feeling to disappear, to evaporate into the air as if it had never been.

"you couldn't've at least tried to hide it from me?" you had said, willing your fragile voice not to break.

and he had sat at the kitchen counter, that massive body on the stool that you had carefully selected for the house that you shared, that you thought you would share forever. and he had sighed, sounded almost annoyed. "would that have made it better, angel?"

his indifference coated your bones like lead paint. that name, once one you felt would call you out of a coma, would lead you out of hell like a northern star, now felt like nothing but a condescending, patronizing taunt. silly, stupid angel, the god might as well have said, how could you think you could ever be enough?

understanding settled like ash on your eyelashes. "you think i'll forgive you," you said, little more than a whisper. "you think i won't leave."

he scoffed at that, then. at you. "and go where?" he asked, sounding almost genuine. "where do you have to go?"

how superficially he knew you, it seemed, at that moment. how had you not seen this before?

"you honestly think i could ever look at you the same?" you asked.

he shrugged, his shoulders so imposing, stature so suddenly frightening. a body you knew better than your own, suddenly foreign. a ghost. "maybe differently, but still looking," he said, "your eyes have only ever followed me, angel."

and maybe he was right, but you were done proving him so.

"send my things to my parents' place," you said, cold, devoid of anything. emotion welled up in you like a flood, but you froze it before it could crest through your mouth, come out like some mythical fire-breathing dragon. you slipped off your ring, placed it on the counter.

you didn't feel lighter without it, though. you felt so devastatingly heavy, like cinder blocks were tied to your ankles, like liquid stone filled your head.

"are you kidding?" he asked. to your silence, careful pause, he tilted his head, shook it once. "you're just gonna quit?"

your hands were shaking. you could feel rage rattle through your body, shake your bones. you clenched your fist so tightly you wondered if blood would drip from your palms, stain the light hardwood floor that you had spent so long deciding on. "how dare you," you said, begging your quivering lip to still.

his smirk was cruel. "not like it matters," he mused. "you've never been able to quit me."

you had seen him mean. on the ice, sometimes to journalists, sometimes to fans, sometimes to you, even. but this was past mean. this was past elementary bullying, past joking insults that don't land. he was trying to call your bluff, trying to push you into forgiveness, trying to hurt you.

"watch me," you said, your voice made of ancient rock.

"are you mad because she's hotter than you?" he asked, his brow contorted in false concern. "is that it?"

despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your mouth. a smile that made your eyes glitter. a smile that should have scared him. a warning.

"she is beautiful," you conceded, because she was. what good would it do you to deny that? you approached him, then, in his personal space for what you believed would be the last time. he turned to you, your eyes meeting in a clash, like sword on sword. cruel, brutal arrogance and pure, pretty wrath. you held the side of his face in one palm, the other hand resting on his shoulder. "but when a beautiful person hits on me, auston, i say no."

his eyes flickered down to your mouth, simmering with lust. you laughed at this, at him, raw and true, let pity soak your tone like acid. "i'm not mad at her, auston," you admitted truthfully. "i'm not even mad at you." you patted his cheek, perhaps a little harder than you needed to. "i'm just so disappointed."

that had been weeks ago. you had moved back to the states, so embarrassed on the plane at how you couldn't stop the tears from flowing, until finally you were back with your parents in new jersey. they had welcomed you so warmly, so easily. it had taken a few weeks for the tears to finally slow, for the utter devastation to fade, for your red eyes to brighten again.

at first, it had been hard to remember anything but how his embrace felt like home, how tightly he hugged you after games, how his eyes shone when he laughed, how he had teared up when you had accepted his proposal, how he had gushed about picking the right ring.

but as the sadness faded, as it festered into something much more serious, you remembered less of the fairytale moments, less of his perfect smile, less of the "pretty girl" utterances in his rough bedroom rasp. soon the sadness gave way to steely rage, to an almost bloodthirsty need for revenge. for him to hurt the way he had hurt you.

and no one does bloodthirsty like a group of university-age girls. after catching up with your childhood friends, and getting them caught up on your situation, you looked at your confidants with eager eyes. "what do i do?"

your best friend from high school spoke first, banging her fist on the table. "burn his house down?" she offered. "steal his dog?"

her friend from college put a gentle hand over her fist, "i think for now we try to avoid the federal crimes," she said, then turned to you. "when my ex cheated on me, i got with the lead singer of his favorite band." her eyes shimmered. "and then bought his dream car and wrapped it pink."

you giggled in delight. "oh, you're good."

your childhood friend nodded. "pyschological warfare." she looked at you. "who's his idol?"

you thought for a moment, tapped your fingers on the table. "i don't know if idol is what i should be going for," you thought out loud.

"who's someone who would make him uncomfortable? insecure?"

"his dad!" your friend said, making you shake in a laugh.

"his biggest insecurity is the spotlight leaving and not coming back," you told them. you had known that for a long time.

"being forgotten?" your friend asked.

"being replaced," you said, your eyes widening with understanding. "with someone better. more promising." you shared a look with your friends, felt anger solidify into a plan. into hope.

"you look like you have someone in mind."

a memory flashed across your mind like a shooting star, engulfed in flame.

"how was the game, aus?" you had asked when he got home, stirring the pot of soup on the stove.

you heard some kind of grumble as he dropped his things in the mudroom, made his way into the kitchen.

"what's wrong?" you asked when you met his eyes, sensing something wrong like smoke in the air.

"just this young kid," he muttered. "'s nothing, really."

and you knew then that it wasn't just nothing, because he never tried to hide things from you, to diminish his feelings, unless it was really bothering him.

you turned the stove off, approached him, wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him tight. "who's this new kid?" you asked, muffled by his chest.

his arms pulled your closer, tighter. this had always been where you felt warmest, safest. "some h name," he muttered. "hicks? hughes, maybe?"

you smiled into his chest, knowing him, and knowing he would never have forgotten the name of this kid. knowing auston matthews never forgets people who make him feel like anything other than the world's brightest star.

"whoever he is, probably just had the game of his life," you had said, your voice a comforting lullaby. you had pressed yourself up on your tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "nothing to worry about, yeah?"

he had smiled back at you, but something dark had swirled behind his gaze. something like knowing, like ominous understanding, like an empire, falling. "already forgotten, angel," he had said, but you knew, even then, that he was lying.

the memory fizzed and dissolved like baking soda in vinegar.

you looked at your friends and smiled. "what do you guys know about jack hughes?"

from there it was surprisingly easy to shift from a tangent line outside jack hughes's circle to someone inside of it. you were patient, too, careful not to rush. you wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect, after all, refused to enact any plan that wouldn't end in exactly the revenge you sought.

one of the other wags from toronto, whom you had grown close to, insisted on helping, giving you the numbers of some friends close to the devils.

"i'm honestly so, so proud of you for leaving," she had told you over the phone, her voice nothing but genuine, knowing. "all of us, we all knew you were way too good for him."

"did you?" you asked, maybe a little shocked. having been so completely deceived, so absolutely blind, for so long, it was interesting that others had not been as deluded as you. to hear their perspective, to see what you had not been able to before.

"sweetheart," she said, gently, "everyone who meets you can see that you're good. that you deserve someone good." there was a pause. "and everyone also sees that he was never that."

you let her words settle like glitter on a childhood craft. "thank you," you said. "i miss you."

"we miss you so much. see you soon?"

you agreed, thanked her for her help.

"i hope he's good," were her closing words. "maybe better, at least."

having started classes with your old friends, intent on finishing the degree you had so quickly and thoughtless abandoned for auston, you had ample time to plot.

"feels like we're in a spy movie, or something," your friend had said excitedly.

"we'll be your guys in the chair," the other chimed in. "here the whole way."

the rest of the initial plan came easily, with the help of the people who were on your side, which you quickly learned was a group made up of more people than you thought.

very soon, it was time for step one, and you were in front of your mirror, having just finished getting ready, your friends by your side.

you took a deep breath. "what if this isn't a good idea?" you whispered.

they squeezed at your hands. "no going back now, okay? we'll be there the whole time."

"what if he's not interested?"

"look at yourself," one of them said, "don't be stupid."

"what is he thinks i'm a crazy stalker?"

your oldest friend shrugged, her eyes full of mischief. "what if you are?"

so you found yourself at a dingy, run down bar, the lights low. according to your contacts, this was where the team and their friends came after home games.

when was the last time you had come to a bar looking for something? for someone? it felt distantly familiar, but so strange, like hearing a language you spoke as a child but that hadn't graced your tongue in decades.

you had been with auston for years, after all, having met him when you were 19, him 23. a whirlwind, a tornado, a perfect tempest of pink dust and white teeth. a proposal two years later, a break off a year further.

you were 22 now, and had never felt further from your nineteen-year-old self. a foolish child, a delicate doll, a phantom cloaked in a desperate desire for acceptance, for love.

you didn't know how to flirt in this new body, new being. you didn't even really know to how flirt with anyone but auston - it had been so long since you wanted anyone else. and you didn't even really want jack, at this point. you just wanted justice.

a cluster of motion and noise behind you ripped you from your thoughts. you didn't turn, though, just stirred your drink, let the liquid settle again until you could see yourself in the reflection. until you could make out your eyes, until you could plead with your mouth to tell you what to say.

a game, the beautiful girl mouthed to you, a secret code, it's only a game.

your hazy eyes caught on a pool table in the corner of the bar, vacant, the lamp above it flickering. you smiled to yourself, made your way over, picked out a cue, ran your fingers along the edge of it.

you took a sip of your drink before setting it down, lining yourself up to break. with a swift, even motion, a pleasant cracking noise rung out, colorful balls moving in different directions.

you scrunched up your nose, having sunk none initially, gracefully lining up to go again when you felt a few figures approach.

the first one who spoke, the one right next to you, was not someone you recognized. you didn't even think he was on the team, but he had the build of a hockey player, probably a quick center.

"need a private lesson, there, sugar?" he asked sleazily, his voice the arrogant drawl of a child, almost endearing in its steadiness. he leaned on the table as you looked up at him, straightened, tilted your head to rest against the cue.

"awful kind of you, coach of the year," you teased before nodding to the other person who had joined you, looming across the table like a shadow. "gonna help me beat your friend?"

your new coach scoffed, ran a hand through his long, unruly hair. "trust me, sugar," he said, "you don't need any help beating him."

you locked eyes with the figure across the table, whom you had only seen before on a screen, the one you had heard about in the arms of your ex-fiance. here he was, the soft contours of his face shimmering in the dim light. the mythical and heroic jack hughes, the shaker of the unshakeable auston matthews.

he was shorter than you expected. "not much of a competitor, is he?" you asked the man next to you, talking about jack as if he wasn't right there. as if you hadn't been looking at him the entire time. "doesn't like to play?"

you tilted your head, dared him with your eyes to prove you wrong. the familiar fire of flirtation, of the chase you hadn't engaged with in years flared when he took a step out of the shadows, letting you see him clearly and up close.

during your research, you had seen pictures of him, but they didn't do him even a semblance of justice. he was gorgeous in a fairytale prince sort of way, like he might save the day with a true love's kiss at any moment. his eyes were a striking blue, his nose almost dainty, his jaw angular. your gaze caught on his full mouth before finally landing on his eyes again. he had the kind of complexion and expression you could tell lit up when he smiled. your stomach twisted at the thought. a game, you repeated in your mind. only a game.

"i'll play," he said simply, his voice goofy in a way you weren't used to. not sleazy, like his friend, who was currently behind you while you bent forward, lining up the cue. it wasn't the classic baritone you were used to hearing in auston, but something more cautious, something sweeter.

the game progressed, each of you sinking shots with the tell-tale soft thud. it was his long-haired friend, the one who kept calling you sugar like you were some southern belle, who was much closer to you, who was adjusting your hips and arm placement before each turn, who was flirting with you so openly, his breath hot on your neck, his gaze open and obvious.

even then, a quick exchange of glances with jack felt much more intimate than any innuendo-filled comment and fumbling touch from his friend. whenever jack would sink a ball, his eyes would flutter up to meet yours in a fleeting catch of flame, of promise, of knowing.

with only a few balls still on the green felt of the table, his careful voice broke you from your trance. "what are we playing for?" he asked, eyes alight.

the look you shared was teasing, probing, yet deadly serious. this is everything, the look said. are you ready to give everything?

"how about this?" you began, your tone light and smoky. "if you win, you get my number." his full mouth quirked upwards in the slightest of smirks. "and if i win, i give it to him," you finished, nodding towards his sugar-spewing friend.

jack looked at his friend. "good with you, z?" he asked.

his friend, z, you guessed, let a cocky smirk drape across his face like velvet curtains. "more than good," he said, "as we're gonna win."

with the stakes agreed upon, the game continued until only the eight ball remained. you lined yourself up, your ever-so-involved coach just next to you as you called your pocket.

"have a game, sugar, here we go."

you ignored his friend's voice, lining your cue up perfectly, the smooth wood resting delicately between your fingers, the angle of your arm and neck smooth and sensual. everything about your preparation lent itself to a winning strike, everyone at the table knew it. you could feel it in z's early celebration, see it in the slight quiver of jack's hand.

bent over the table, in the final seconds before your strike, you peered up at jack through dark lashes, all dim light and foggy promise. you gave him a sly smirk as you followed through, the black and white ball missing the pocket by an inch, hitting the side of the table with a soft sound.

jack narrowed his eyes at you with a curious sort of look before quickly calling his pocket and immediately sinking the ball.

his friend sucked on his teeth before throwing up his hands in defeat. "christ, sugar, didn't take you for a choke artist," he said. "unless you're into that." he shot you a wink before heading off to grab a drink.

for the first time, it was just you and jack. you leaned on your cue, let your gaze fall over him lazily, in the same way you knew he was doing to you. he was close now, close enough that you could see how blue his eyes were, how long his lashes, how high and soft his features, how his hair was just a little too long on the sides.

"you let me win," he said, a gentle observation, not anything accusatory.

you smiled. "prove it," you said, to which a matching smile graced his own face.

"must be my lucky night, then," he said as he handed you his phone and you typed your number in.

you laughed. "i don't know," you mused, "you seem like a guy who's used to getting what he wants." and he did seem like that - who could say no to those pretty eyes?

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, a motion you tracked. "'m a guy used to earning what he wants," he corrected, and you hummed. a distinction that auston had never made, even though he worked hard, sure. but he was a natural. what would it be like to be with someone to whom everything didn't come just so, so, easily?

"like to work for it, hm?" you teased.

his gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.

you stepped forward, pushed and poked at the imaginary line between the two of you. you looked up at him, gently swiped at his cheekbone with your thumb, felt heat rumble between the two of you, something volcanic. "don't work yourself too hard, yeah?"

without a second glance, you placed your cue against the table, grabbed your bag and made for the door.

on your way out, you overhead the conversation that had erupted in your exit.

"i was the one talking to her the whole time," that long-island-ish drawl said.

"if you think she was into you for even a second, you're an idiot," jack replied.

you swore the door was chuckling as it shut behind you.

everything had gone exactly as you'd hoped, exactly as you'd known it would, so you weren't at all surprised to receive a text the next day asking if you were around that night to get a drink.

so you found yourself at a different bar, this one a bit more upscale, quickly spotting jack as he waited for you outside. you blew out a breath as you approached, as a smile made his face glow. it was still so new to find someone else beautiful. when would you get used to his imperfect teeth, his oceanic eyes, his feminine nose, this greek sculpture opposed to autson's roman one?

you blinked. "hi," you said, suddenly feeling lame.

his mouth quirked. "hey." he opened the door for you, nodded. "after you."

"i'm gonna warn you," you started as you ducked past him and into the building. "i haven't been on a date in a while."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, a juvenile habit that made you blush. "find that hard to believe," he said, his tone playful. "pretty girl like yourself."

you scrunched up your nose at that. pretty girl. auston had called you that so many times, but for the first time you actually thought about its meaning. something flipped in your stomach at jack calling you pretty, but it was the girl part that had you pausing for a moment.

you were a girl, pretty much, you were jack's age, but you hadn't felt like one in so long. maybe it was being with someone a little older, but you felt almost ancient, so tired, so drained. but here you were, on a date, every bit the pretty girl he had deemed you.

you just laughed, taking a seat at the counter, smoothing out your dress against your legs. "real sweet talker, are you?" you joked, turning to him and meeting his eyes.

his mouth quirked like he knew something you didn't. "somethin' like that," he said.

the night went by fast, conversation flowing easily, no sign of pressure or anything of the like. you asked about his career, what he did that day, his family, his friends. he made you laugh, and it came so easily, so fluidly. he asked you about what you liked to do, what you were studying in school, how you were enjoying jersey.

surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be completely honest with him, even though you couldn't be. you found yourself wanting to tell him everything, to answer any question he asked, to never leave him wishing or wanting even for a second.

you got hung up on the curve of his upper lip, on the slope of his shoulders under his button down, on his girlish laugh, his firefly of a smile.

the night was over too soon. too soon, you had the sinking feeling that you were in over your head, that perhaps you had chosen the wrong person for your revenge plot. you wanted to hurt auston, after all, but not yourself. certainly not this shimmery spark of a boy in front of you.

he walked you out, both of you pausing outside the bar, under the dull streetlight, a theatre spotlight for your praiseworthy performance.

you turned to look at him, and him at you, sinking into each others' gazes like quicksand, the air thick with expectation.

"i don't kiss on the first date," you blurted out, talking to his lips, talking to yourself.

he smiled, his shoulders rumbling in a laugh. "'s okay," he breathed, "like to work for it, remember, baby?"

you shook your head as your cheeks erupted in a delighted rosy flush. "goodnight, jack," you said, your voice every bit the giveaway. he returned the sentiment with a knowing grin.

the next day, you invited your girls over to watch him play. as you all settled on the couch, a homemade cocktail in your hand, you couldn't help but hide your face when the camera lingered on his profile during the anthem.

one of your friends gave a mock-salute. "god bless america," she said, shaking her head as you threw a pillow at her.

"alright," you chastised.

"what?" she asked, raising a brow, "just appreciating the wonderful offerings of our country."

your other friend shook her head. "you don't usually go for guys like him, eh?" she asked. "i mean, ever since we were in middle school you always went for the guys with biceps bigger than my face." she held her hands in front of her face for visualization.

"'s not like he's tiny," you said, almost embarrassed.

"no, no," she amended, "but he's no auston. he's just, i don't know, pretty."

you smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. auston was so masculine in every way, and jack was softer, somehow, pretty in a way you didn't usually go for.

pretty in a way that made you smile at your phone when he texted you the next day, asking if he could cook you dinner later that week.

you were blushing to yourself, the morning of, after he had texted you asking if you had any dietary restrictions.

and you didn't, but wasn't it just the sweetest, most thoughtful thing to ask? would you have even thought to ask?

i want you to be comfortable, his text said, i want you to laugh with your mouth full in my kitchen.

careful, angel, a deep voice called from the back of your mind, from the inside of your teeth. this is about me, remember?

your fingers twitched with the reminder as you stood on his front stoop, waiting for jack to answer the bell. the air had a brisk twinge of a chill to it, a chill that had your nose turning pink and your feet stiffening in your boots.

but he answered the door, and the breath you blew out rose between the two of you like a misty curtain, one you resented, because it distorted your view of him, even just so.

the mist settled, and his smile was left in its wake.

a smile that silenced all the gossiping voices in your head, left the throne of their malevolent king vacant, abandoned.

"you're here," he breathed, almost like he couldn't believe it, like he couldn't believe you.

"and it's your fault," you teased, scrunching up your nose.

he shook his head, laughed at some joke in his mind, stepped aside. "you must be freezing, baby, come in."

the butterflies in your chest soared as he helped you shoulder off your coat, his fingers leaving just a ghost of a touch on your wrist, the back of your neck, leaving scorched skin behind. you shivered, took in his graceful figure hanging your coat up on a hook by the door, let a smile come easily to your face when he turned back to you.

"what?" he said, grinning.

you let out a half-laugh. "nothing," you said, looking around as you kicked your shoes off. anything to avoid the white-hot light of his undivided attention. "i like your place."

and you did like it, truly, it was just so unexpected. homely, not cluttered, but definitely not the modern, futuristic, almost barren aesthetic you can come to associate with successful hockey players.

he flashed you a shy smile as he led you into the kitchen, bowing his head, making his hair fall into his face, almost bashful. "it likes you too," he told you, swinging his hand up to hit the top of the doorframe like a basketball-obsessed middle-schooler. you bit your lip to stop your grin.

what a pleasure it was to get to know all the most intricate and intimate manners of someone new.

"everything's almost done, now," he said, quickly turning off the stovetop and peering through the glass of the oven.

his tone was much more at ease then when you had talked to him before. he was at home here, and you could tell. he wore home like a hand-me-down sweater, too big in the shoulders and worn in the elbows, but lovely and familiar in all of its comfort.

you sat atop a stool at his counter, nervously rubbing the sole of one foot into the top of the other. "thanks for cooking, jack," you said, "you really didn't have to do anything fancy, or anything." suddenly, sitting here in this space, surrounded by the evidence of his effort, you felt guilt settle deeply into your body. unworthiness, perhaps, of the smell of food in the air, of the drink he had poured for you so gently, of the smile he kept throwing your way.

that voice in your head huffed. look at all this, he said, look at the burden you are.

and you were feeling it, so heavily, until jack took a sip of his own drink and waved you off, furrowing his brow as if confused. "'s how a date works, right, baby?" he said. he tilted his head, teasing, "tellin' me no one's ever pulled out all the stops for you?"

and you laughed, shook your head, because you supposed it was, supposed no one really had.

you got to know each other even better over the meal he had cooked, surprising you once again with how easy everything felt between you.

"tell me what you did today," he might say, his voice soft, muffled from chewing.

and you might tell him about your classes, how midterms were coming up, how you were nervous but felt pretty good about most of them.

maybe then you would ask about practice that morning, to which he would tell you some story about his teammates, how they were giving it to him all morning.

"why?" you might ask, to which he would look up at you with that bashful flush.

"'cause they knew you were coming over tonight," he admitted, pushing broccoli around his plate. "kept saying how i was probably gonna make you a box of kraft or something."

you laughed, a genuine rumble from deep in your chest, tilting your head back. when you looked back at him, he was looking at you with something like wonder.

and maybe later, you would ask what his favorite part of his house was, and he would say it was his wall of framed pictures, which would make you melt a little bit, your heart a puddle of feeling.

too soon, you were setting down your fork and knife, crossing and uncrossing your legs in restlessness.

"did you like it?" he would ask, his voice so full of hope it could have killed you.

so full of hope that you reached across the counter to hold his hand in yours, if only for a moment, to squeeze his fingers in meaningful emphasis.

your touch caught him by surprise, hesitant for a moment before locking eyes with you, simmering, then squeezing your hand back in his warm, callused grip.

a grip that said i'm no natural, but i'll work for it. for you.

"it was perfect," you said honestly, because it was. "but please, please let me do the dishes," you pleaded, looking at him through your lashes, just wanting to do something to help.

it would feel so wrong to be doted on for the whole night while giving nothing in return. at the very least, it would feel foreign.

he shook his head playfully, but relented. "you can help," he conceded, "but 'm not letting a pretty girl clean up my mess by herself."

you scoffed with a smile, squeezed his hand a final time before pushing yourself off of your stool, gathering all the plates and glasses in a single go.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he asked, genuinely, as he followed you to the sink.

you carefully set everything down in a graceful swoop, let your lips quirk upwards in nostalgia. "once a waitress, always a waitress," you explained, referring to your short-lived stint at a busy restaurant in toronto before auston insisted on you staying home.

and at the time, even a little now, it was a sweet gesture, one you had taken as him wanting you to relax, wanting you to have the freedom to do whatever you wanted with your days.

you just secretly wished he had considered that what you wanted to do with your days was working, going to school, doing something for yourself.

jack leaned on the edge of the counter, his lopsided grin like an electric jolt to your heart. "what, did they show you the door 'cause you were making all the tips?" he teased, nevertheless making you blush as you washed the plates with soap. "not fair for everyone else, 's that it?"

you gasped in dramatic accusation, flicking sudsy water from your fingers his direction. "how dare you?" you exclaimed before turning away from him in a huff, feigning sadness. "'s not like i can control this face."

his mouth widened in shock, then took on a scheme-filled smile as soon as the water hit him, a short laugh escaping him. "you didn't," he said, dipping his hand in the soap and flinging some at you.

you squealed, holding your hands up to shield your face as he reached in for more, bubbles filling both of his palms. "wait, jack, i'm sorry!" you laughed. "i swear, i didn't mean to!"

"liar," he cooed, his gaze sparking like a lighter, you swore you could hear the clicking sound. then he was right in front of you, only a breath apart, so close you swore you could feel the beat on his heart in your own chest.

he reached down and gently held your face in his hands, the soap now all along your jaw and cheeks.

you closed your eyes for a second, sighed in defeat, still so aware of him so close, of his touch, feather-light on you skin.

when they opened again, you both had not moved, frozen in place, perhaps willed by the moment, compelled by the growing sensation of rightness, of being exactly where you were supposed to be. when he spoke, he was speaking to your lips, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes like it weighed something stark.

"do you kiss on the second date?" he breathed, and your breath caught, your heart stuttering at his utter politeness, his thoughtfulness, the idea that he remembered things you had told him.

you bit your tongue, because, if you were being honest, you usually didn't - you took the rule of threes very personally. you liked to take your time, savored that lovely period of what could be. besides, you had learned the hard way what happened when you let people in your life too quickly, too hastily. you knew all too well that giving in to a toothy smile and a sleeve of tattoos only led to shrugs met with tears.

but here, now, with jack's soapy hands on your face, in the space he had so warmly accepted you into, you had the feeling this boy in front of you was going to be an exception. that he would be an exception for many things, perhaps the exception.

as if hearing your internal dialogue loud and clear, he dipped his head down until he was impossibly close, so when he spoke you could feel the words on your lips.

"please let me kiss you, baby," he pleaded, his eyes hooded and heavy, his voice a rasp.

deciding he was an exception indeed, you answered him by pressing up on your toes, meeting his mouth with yours in a kiss that bruised.

and later, you would think about how auston had never been a please let me kiss you man, instead he had been a give me a kiss, angel kind of guy.

after, you would think about how it felt so much more personal, so much more sweet to be asked please, can i instead of being ordered give me, give me, give me, like a demanding, red-faced child.

later, you would think about how the previous kisses in your life paled in comparison to the feeling of jack's lips on yours. how before this moment, you were used to kisses that felt like transactions, like the necessary box being checked before the next step, how they felt like being swallowed.

after, you would swoon over all the details and nuances, but, right now, there was nothing but his lips, his hands, the way he melted into you and practically whimpered when you kissed him harder.

kissing him didn't feel like being swallowed, it felt like taking the biggest deep breath of your life after slowly suffocating for years. you forgot you had soap bubbles all over your face, you forgot about auston, you forgot about everything - there was only him, and you, in this moment.

he held your face like you were something precious, moving one hand into your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he tasted like lemon and rosemary, as well as something so deliciously him you could feel yourself become addicted immediately.

his grip in your hair was soft, and when his lips moved against yours it felt like melting snow in the warmth of the morning, pure and sweet and natural and right. kissing him felt like waking up with sunlight streaming through the windows, like laughing while taking your makeup off, like cinnamon and clove and home.

when you pulled away from him, only just slightly, both of you catching your breath heavily, he opened his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly. his eyes were almost glazed over, and you had a feeling yours looked in a similar way, syrupy and hot.

he gently swiped his thumb along your swollen bottom lip as if testing to make sure you were real, not just some shadow, not just a dream.

you traced your nails along his neck, smiled as he brought his hands down to wrap around your middle, resting them on the small of your back.

"god, you're just so fucking pretty, aren't you?" he breathed, like a revelation.

you swore he had your head spinning for days after, days you unfortunately and cruelly had to spend apart due to a week-long road trip for the team.

you told yourself it was a good thing that he was going away for a bit, as it would give you a second to regroup, to revaluate, to familiarize yourself with what your initial goal was for your plan. you reminded yourself over the week apart that jack was a means to an end, that whatever had blossomed between the two you had a finish line, that all of it was meant to make a point, then hopefully leave this whole hockey world behind after the damage had been done.

but then one of your girls would throw on the game, and jack's expressive face would fill the screen, chewing on the fingers of his gloves during warm ups, and your heart would sink at the thought of leaving him behind. and it just about combusted at the idea that you were using him, even though that's exactly what you were doing.

you've only been on two dates with him, only kissed once, you reminded yourself. he's probably seeing other people, anyways, probably with some other girl right now. it's not like you're exclusive. this is probably not a big deal to him.

the thought was comforting but also devastating, a brick in your stomach.

while he was away, midterms came and went. as you walked into your last one, you thought about maybe texting jack after, trying to get together tonight, since he would finally be back.

then your pen hit the paper and time passed in a blur.

you exited the lecture hall in a flurry of relief and pride, happy to have accomplished something so concrete, something that you had truly worked hard on.

walking down the stairs outside of the entrance, your smile stilled, frozen in shock, when you looked up from your feet and saw a familiar, beautiful figure leaning against his car, an excited grin on his face, flowers in his grip as he locked eyes with you, making your breath catch.

"is that jack hughes?" some kid from your class said altogether too loudly to his friend. you had seen that same kid wearing devils gear more than once.

his friend didn't look up from his phone. "who's jack hughes?" he replied.

you couldn't stop your disbelieving laugh, your smile, already making your cheeks sore as you finished descending the stairs, until you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before you even realized what you were doing.

this was so unlike you, really, letting yourself feel as deeply as you could without filtering it, but anything else would have felt so wrong it could have killed you. especially when he brought his arms around you without even a second's hesitation, held you tight and close, so you could feel the petals of the flowers on the back of your neck.

"you're here," you said, breathlessly, still shocked, into his firm chest.

"had to make it back for your last test," he said into your hair, both of you not wanting to let go.

"how did you know?" you murmured, pulling away from him, only slightly.

he loosened his embrace, pulled away to get a look at you, let his eyes run over you carefully, indulgently. he pushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle, like you were a relic, something worth treasuring. "you said so, last week," he said simply, like it was obvious.

he said it as if, for years of your life, you had wished and yearned so reverently for auston to remember the little things, like your coffee order, like the dates on which your parents were coming to visit, like your anniversary.

he said it as if it didn't mean the entire world that he had listened, that he had remembered.

you only leaned into his chest, looked up at him with something seriously dangerous in your eyes, something that was not supposed to be there. "'d you bring me flowers, jack?" you asked, a playful note in your tone.

he flushed, so lovely, hid his face behind the bouquet, peeking only one deep blue eye out, as if embarrassed. "too much?" he asked, still shielding his face.

you laughed, squeezed his bicep lightheartedly. "just enough," you assured him, your eyes full of meaning, willing him to lower his shield, let you see the face you had been dreaming of all week. "thank you. i missed you."

you would have told him that a thousand times just to see the way his whole face lit up, like he could never hide how happy your words made him. he wore the late afternoon sunshine like a dream, the dewy rays dripping down his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, slow and golden as honey.

he had this way of making you feel like you were first choice, every time, and it was so foreign that you hadn't known you had been craving it until he had laid it at your feet like an offering. every time he texted you to check in, to ask how your day was, to finalize plans, it would send a flurry of butterflies swarming your chest, a rosy flush to the bridge of your nose.

he was so, so beautiful, inside and out, that you effectively forgot what the whole point of your plan was in the first place. you basically had forgotten about it, that day that he dragged you along with some of his friends to pick out a christmas tree.

"do i know any of these friends?" you had asked on the way up, riding shotgun, reaching over periodically to run your nails along his neck, just below his hairline, your way of saying i'm happy you're here. and he would reach over and rest his hand on your thigh, not possessive, just a reminder of your presence. a reminder that made your insides twist with want, nonetheless, that made your gaze simmer.

one of the things you appreciated so genuinely about jack was that he didn't rush you for even a second, so happy to go at whatever pace made you most comfortable, whatever pace would keep you around the longest. it felt almost wrong that his acceptance of a slow pace made you want to speed things up, made you want to know what he felt like in your hands, what sounds he might make if you teased him, what his voice would sound like in your bed.

he let out a rumble of a laugh at your question, shaking you from your daze. "you'll definitely recognize one of them," he said. "though i don't know if he's fully recovered from your last meeting."

"oh no." you paled. "not him." you winced, thinking about how you had probably bruised his inflated ego. not beyond repair, though, you knew. for guys like that, never beyond repair.

jack traced circles on your thigh with his thumb in affirmation. "don't worry, baby," he said, "told 'm to be on best behavior."

when you arrived, you recognized that boisterous voice immediately.

"so good to see you again, sugar," he drawled, his tone especially toying.

you decided to cut any hard feelings immediately, going up to him and giving him a quick hug in greeting. "i think i owe you a thank you, coach of the year," you said, pulling away with a smile.

luckily, he seemed to forgive quickly, even to appreciate your efforts. "i prefer my thank yous in hot chocolate form," he said, and you promised to fulfill his request later. he gave you his name in exchange for yours.

you spent the afternoon leisurely ambling around the grounds, looking at potential trees, but really just enjoying the company of those around you.

most of the time, you spent laughing, tucked into jack's side, finding warmth in the firm feeling of his hip against your waist.

"what about this one?" trevor asked, holding up an especially short and stout one.

the two of you decided jack would need a taller one to better suit the ceiling proportions in his living room.

walking around, it felt like you were in your own dreamy winter wonderland, in a fog of laughter and warmth and a million other beautiful things.

"you leave again tomorrow?" you asked at one point, unable to hide the slight disappointment in your voice. you peered up at him, your eyes warm, your cheeks rosy from the cold.

he met your gaze and nodded, hugged you tighter into his side. "back in a few days," he said.

you couldn't help but pout just a little. jack's roadtrips felt longer and more lonely than auston's ever had.

jack ran his thumb along your bottom lip. "what's that for, baby?" he asked.

you shrugged. "just gonna miss you, 's all," you told him honestly.

something sweet bubbled up in his gaze, but the moment was effectively interrupted by trevor's voice coming from behind you, now shockingly close.

"oh?" he said, dramatic, "what's this? is that - mistletoe?" he emphasized all of his words with dramatic pauses. you briefly thought that maybe, if he hadn't been all in on hockey, he would have made an excellent theater kid.

you both turned to find trevor standing right behind you, holding an alarmingly large branch of something that resembled mistletoe.

"where did you find that?" jack asked his friend.

"never mind that," trevor said, waving him off.

you elbowed jack lightly. "looking for an excuse not to kiss me, are you?"

he shook his head incredulously, as if you had said something funny. you were about to tease him again, but he didn't give you the chance, immediately taking your face in his hands and angling his head down slightly to meet you in a kiss that seared every bit of chill from the air.

would you ever get used to this? would his lips ever not feel like they belonged on yours? would your heartbeat ever not thrum, like some perfect harmony?

the warmth of his hands on your face, the security of yours against the plane of his chest, all of it, everything - it was so perfect you wanted to stay here, just like this, forever. and the thought didn't even scare you as want began to pool inside of you, hot and heavy.

a mixture of a cough and a laugh had the two of you pulling away from each other. one of jack's other friends who had tagged along let out a low whistle, making you blush deeper.

jack just slung a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

luckily, trevor's attention had already strayed, as he was now holding the branch over his own head and the head of the other friend. "don't fight it!" he was calling out as the friend broke out into a light gait.

"get away from me, you scumbag," the poor kid called out over his shoulder.

your eyes were stuck on jack's face, still hazy from your kiss. he turned to you, his mouth quirking up. "staring, baby?" he said, low enough for only you to hear.

you nodded, shameless. "want you," you told him plainly, barely recognizing the tone of your own voice.

the fire in his own eyes welled up as you placed your hands flat on his chest. "fuck, now, baby?" he asked, looking around to where his friends chased each other around.

you bit your lip, pleaded him with your eyes. "please, jack," you said, "please take me home."

he took your hand in his immediately, tossed some parting words over his shoulder to his friends, who paused, watched the two of you stumble into jack's car with urgency.

as he started the engine and pulled away, you heard a faint the hell are we supposed to do with this tree?

the car ride back felt longer than it really was, both of you practically buzzing with want. you kept a hand in his hair, his palm planted firmly on the inside of your thigh, close but not close enough.

you let out a sigh of relief when he pulled into the driveway, let him pull you into the house, push you up against the closed door, kiss you again with heat and force and somehow, such softness.

it was the softness that filled you with want. his desire was obvious, especially when he pressed his hips up, hard against you, but that didn't mean he wasn't just so gentle with you, so in tune to what you wanted.

you fisted your hands in his hair, pulled until his posture faltered, until his lips parted further and he moaned into your mouth.

you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him closer, relished the way he began to rock against you.

"fuck, baby," he breathed out, strained, stuttering in places, "don't wanna fuck you against the door."

later, you would think about how auston had never had such a problem. he had never cared where you were, how uncomfortable a position had made you. sometimes you had thought he found his own bed boring.

but jack just pulled you into his room, lightly rocked you back onto the bed, pressed soft kisses down your jaw, your neck, your stomach. you both pushed and pulled clothes aside, looking to give the other as much access as possible.

"so fuckin' pretty," he mumbled against your stomach, making you flush all over.

"please, jack," you whined as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds, making you shiver.

"what do you need, baby?" he asked, pumping himself a few times, up and down, his voice low and rough.

you sat up for a moment, took hold of his hand, peered up at him through your lashes as you spit into it.

he groaned, ran his hand over his cock, now glistening with your spit. desire glowed in your eyes like fireflies. "tell me," he begged.

you laid back on the bed again, the smell of him everywhere. another time, you would insist on feeling him in your mouth, maybe on feeling his mouth on you, but you knew the both of you were far too desperate for that.

"just need you inside me, baby, please," you said, your eyes raking over his figure above you, all gentle slopes and hard lines together.

"ask me so good, baby, so good for me," he said, a careful rasp. he thumbed your clit, making you jolt, dragging his fingers through you again before bringing them to his mouth. "and so ready, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, your mouth falling open as he finally pushed into you, his groan deep.

you whined, the stretch so surreal as you reached forward to grasp at his forearm, anything to ground you.

staying still in the stretch for a second, you waited for the feeling to weaken, but it didn't, not really.

he dropped his head, his exhale coming out shallow, the muscles in his shoulders constrained.

you tightened your grip on his forearm, let your nails dig into him to pull him back to you.

"fuck, baby, i can't," he bit out, "can't, i swear."

you rolled your hips back and forth, trying to will some movement from him. "please, jack, please move," you begged. "please fuck me, baby."

never one to deny you, he began a slow pace, the friction and depth almost unbearable. one of his hands dug into your hip, so hard you could feel bruising, the other beginning to rub careful circles on your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"you're so deep," you choked, "faster, baby, need you faster."

he obliged, picking up the pace of his rhythm, moving his hand faster against your clit, making that wave well up within you, forcing moans from your throat.

"fuck, sound so pretty, baby," he said, a glistening sheen now painted across his brow, his collarbones. "so pretty, squeezing me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach began to contract as you felt yourself dangerously close.

his rhythm continued, bruising in depth and force, so lovely in softness. you tugged his hand from your hip, placed his fingers on your tongue, desperate for something to do with your mouth. you sucked, pulling a guttural moan from him. "don't stand a chance when you do that, baby, swear," he said, "fuck, don't stand a chance with you, hm?"

you felt yourself smile around his hand, your eyes watering, glazed over.

"gonna make me cum, baby," he whined, his motions becoming jerky, his voice little more than a plea. "cum with me, baby, hm? make me feel so good, yeah?"

you fell over the edge at his words, felt his orgasm follow yours almost immediately, the air warm and sticky around you. he collapsed on top of you, his exhales like liquid on your skin, yours like dreamy sighs as he pulled you to him, held you close as you waited for the rise and fall of your chests to settle.

he drew his fingers lazily around the flesh of your thigh, your hip, you pushed his hair back from his face as you both fought sleep, wanting just a few more seconds in the conscious presence of the other.

everything was so lovely you could barely stand it.

you should have known it wouldn't last long.

a day into jack's time away, you received a text from one of your friends in toronto. it was a picture from auston's instagram with the message just thought you should know. we miss you.

something cracked in your chest at the photo of your ex-fiance and this new girl. it wasn't really jealousy, definitely not desire, no, it was harder to pinpoint.

maybe it was the fact that after four years of being together, and after a whole year of being engaged, auston had never once even thought about posting a picture of the two of you.

and you had always chalked it up to the fact that you didn't have any social media, but now, you realized there was something to be said about letting the world know that you were taken.

and you also knew, now, that that was a statement auston had been unable to make your entire relationship.

a voice in the back of your mind, tone watery with tears, wailed. what makes her so special? it pressed. what makes her so much better than me?

it didn't help that she looked absolutely nothing like you. you wondered passingly if you would have preferred a look-a-like to be staring back at you through your screen. you didn't really know, but you did know that her features were sharp to your soft, your eyes are hair completely different in coloring. her face had you questioning if he had ever really found you beautiful, or if you had been the exception to his regular type. the idea weighed heavily on your shoulders like a cape made of cement.

but you knew, at the end of the day, that it was not about her.

and so you decided that as much as your relationship with jack had become genuine, maybe it was time to bring back the plan, just a little.

it can be two things, you told yourself, jack doesn't need to get hurt.

so when jack arrived back from the road, your relationship now teetered on a tightrope, balancing between two things, two motives like a trapeze artist.

still, you tried your best not to let your desire to rip out the heart of your ex-fiance stand in between you and jack. you could be bloodthirsty and gentle at the same time, you told yourself. two things.

the idea became easier when jack began to ask you to come to his games.

at first, you had been skeptical. auston hadn't wanted you there until maybe a year and half into your relationship. you didn't want to push this, press your luck, make yourself a burden, in fear of him abandoning you.

"are you sure you want me there?" you had asked the first time, a little timid, your face resting on your clasped hands, sitting at his kitchen counter, keeping him company as he made something on the stove.

he had turned to you, head tilted, confused. "of course i do, baby," he had said, calmly and clearly. "i want you everywhere i am."

and that had been the end of that.

so you began to become a regular attendee at his games, getting to know the people of his life more closely, becoming a fixture in his life more solidly.

you let him post a picture of the two of you, so touched that he would even ask. he showed you the post when he was done.

you kissed his shoulder in response. "your eyes are closed, jack," you said, half-laughing at the fact that he had chosen this picture, so flawed in nature.

"hm?" he looked at the picture again, then shrugged. "hadn't noticed. no one's gonna be looking at me, anyways."

you shook your head, disbelieving. he was making it hard for this to be two things. he was making it really, really hard to care if your ex-fiance even saw this post. he was making it really hard to care about your ex-fiance at all.

"i don't believe you, sometimes," you mused aloud.

he twirled a lock of your hair, mesmerized. "how?"

you tilted your head back to allow him easier access. "you're pretty perfect, you know that?" you smiled up at him, blissful. "too perfect."

seeing his face go pink with your praise made you make a mental vow to tell him more often.

and he gave you every opportunity to be surprised by his perfection, over and over.

every kiss was something teenage you would have dreamed about, every time he led you into his bedroom was something current you dreamed about. how he seemed to enjoy every moment no matter what you were doing, even how clearly he communicated with you during your first fight, all of it astounded you.

he made all of your friends jealous, but so happy for you. he met them, one time, when he dropped you off to get coffee with them after class.

he was so respectful with them, asked them genuine questions, but never anything that told you that he wasn't in on you one hundred percent.

when auston met your best friend in toronto, he had dropped your hand that he had been holding.

"didn't tell me she was so pretty, angel," he had said, and you had hoped it was just to show you he was putting in an effort to impress the people that were important to you.

when jack said he had to be going, to get to morning skate, he just kissed your cheek. "use my card, yeah, baby?" he called out, waiting for your nod and smile before he drove away.

how had you stumbled into this? was it possible that it wasn't too good to be true?

jack had asked you to come to toronto when the devils headed up north to play the leafs, because he knew you had lived there, because he had lived there, too, and wanted to show you around. and it had reached a point where refusing him when he offered a piece of himself to you seemed cruelly impossible.

you told yourself that it was just another game, just another day. it helped that you honestly didn't feel any attachment to this rink, even to this city. you had watched jack play plenty, now, and you were determined to treat this game just the same as any other, if not rooting for jack with just a little more urgency, a little more emotion.

you loved how easy he was to cheer for. you loved how you could see how much he loved the game, how he smiled after every good play, how he saw things you could have never seen on the ice. you could practically hear his laugh in the rafters, see his imperfect teeth in the glass. he was everywhere, here, are you loved it.

of course, you noticed that your ex-fiance was here, but it honestly wasn't even that bad. if anything, it was confirmation that you were over him, that what you had with jack was real, that you weren't in for revenge anymore. you weren't in this for auston at all.

until he scored, and his goal song echoed through the arena. you knew that this year, the leafs had decided to try out individual goal songs after players scored, songs that they chose before the season started.

you did not know, however, that auston matthews' goal song was the song that, months ago, was set to be the soundtrack to your first dance.

the crowd was eating it up, of course they were, the juxtaposition of auston's dynamic scoring ability with the old-fashioned crooning of you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.

the song seemed to reverberate off of the walls, into your head, behind your eyes, where it settled like thick fog. it smelled like champagne, waxy makeup, hairspray. your eyes began to water, which made your throat constrict.

like a dream, maybe a hazy memory, your first dance that never was flashed across your mind. an ornate, almost gauche white dress, the beautiful heels you had been practicing to wear. his pressed suit, slicked back hair, stupid designer socks that used to make you laugh. his hand on your waist, your arms around his neck, the two of you lost in each other, swaying, swirling around the floor to this song, surrounded by loved ones, high on laughter and the future and love.

slowly, the image blinked out of your vision as the song faded and the puck dropped, play starting up again.

it blinked out like a dying star, and then it was exactly that. dead.

because as you trained your eyes back on the ice, never once did they stray from 86 in red. never once did anything like regret or nostalgic desire well up in your heart, because you were not the one who lost. you were not the one with something to prove.

finally, you buried that wedding dress, laid it six feet under, let the soil spoil it, knowing one day you would wear a white dress and it would mean something to both parties involved.

in a breath, the game ended, and jack won, and he was truly all you were thinking about.

waiting for him, though, practically bouncing up and down, you were suddenly pulled into a side hallway by a grip you would recognize anywhere.

you were not surprised to look up and see the calculating eyes of auston matthews looking down at you with some lethal combination of heat and arrogance.

"angel," he said, a greeting that made you grind your teeth.

you pulled your arm away from him, shook him off of you, willed strength and stone into your posture and tone. "cool goal song, asshole," you bit out.

"i missed you too," he cooed, not taking you seriously, even now. his frame seemed so imposing now, looming large, too large for someone you didn't trust.

you rolled your eyes. "if you'll excuse me, i'm waiting for someone." you turned to leave the hallway, go back to the exit where jack would surely be walking out of any minute.

auston grabbed at your wrist, and it burned. "what, you mean that kid?" he scoffed, but didn't let go. "c'mon, angel, you know he's nothing to you." he rubbed a circle into your wrist that once, might have been soothing, but now made you feel sick. "you know you're all for me."

and you could have said so many things. like how that kid was your age, actually, so what did that say about him? like how that kid was twice the man he would ever be. like how this would be the last time you ever saw him, the last time he would ever have your attention.

the opening of a door ripped you from your thoughts as both you and auston glanced up to see jack in the doorframe, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face flushed from the game, tired blue eyes caught on auston's hand around your wrist.

time froze for a millisecond as you felt like you were pulled between worlds. it can be two things, you had told yourself once. it was never two things.

you watched as painful realization settled in jack's eyes as he simply turned away, let the door close behind him.

you ripped your arm from auston's grasp. "you've never taken me seriously," you told him then, looking him square in the face, your tone steady and serious as anything. "but if you believe anything i say, let it be that you are nothing to me, and you never will be again."

for the second time, you were the one to leave, this time running towards something worth saving.

you cursed under your breath, looking around for that head of soft brown hair.

you found him in a different hallway, sitting on the ground, his bag slumped next to him, his back leaning against the wall, his feet flat on the ground.

for a single moment, it was so quiet you swore that your exhales echoed against the walls. he didn't turn to face you, but obviously knew you were there.

"so you're with him, then?" he practically whispered, his tone like a cleaver to your chest, so defeated and blindsided, almost like he was talking to himself.

you slowly made your way over to him, sat down next to him, mirrored his position. side by side, but he felt so far away. "i'm not," you said back to him.

he let out some kind of bitter laugh, a sound you hated, a sound you hoped you would never have to hear again. "so that was you making friends?" he picked at a thread on his dress pants. "just meeting new people, 's that it?"

you turned to face him, then, but he still faced forward, as if looking at you would ruin him. "it's not what you think," you said, softly.

"well, what is it?" he paused, looked at you, then, and he wore his sadness like a suit fit for mourning. "be honest with me, please."

you took a shaky breath, knowing that this, very possibly, might be the last time you would ever be so close to him. knowing that your next words, your explanation, it might drive him away from you forever, before you had even really had the chance to have him.

you savored this breath, this liminal space between the truth and the now.

"i was going to marry him," you said, and the confession felt like letting go of every single vengeful thought you had ever had, like all the spite and disdain in your body had evaporated into dust.

"you were going to marry auston matthews," jack murmured, his face blank, his tone confused.

"yes."

"but you're not anymore?" he asked, looking at you, leaning his cheek onto his knees like an impatient elementary school kid waiting for recess.

you shook your head. "no. he cheated on me."

there was a pause, brutal silence, as his brow furrowed in confusion, his fists clenched briefly before letting go. his gaze fell to his hands for a moment, and when he spoke again it was so cautious, so pointed, that your stomach sank. "and then you just happened to start dating me?" he looked so tired. "same job, same goals, pretty much same life." he let out a breath. "you can't tell me that's a coincidence."

you sighed, prayed to whatever god would listen that honesty would count for something. "no, it wasn't a coincidence." your heart felt like it was lulling itself to sleep. "you were never a coincidence."

he dropped his head between his knees, and hurt vibrated through the air like sound waves. you could feel his hurt in your fingertips, could have melted in down, frozen it, wielded it like a weapon. "tell me something, baby," he pleaded, muffled by his legs. "please."

you knew it was unfair, but you laid a gentle hand on his fingers. "let me tell you all of it, please, jack, and then you don't have to see me again if you don't want to."

he took a breath that you felt in your bones, then in an act of mercy you cherished, gave a soft nod.

so you did. you told him the whole story - how you had been so devastated and hurt that you were blinded by a desire to make auston suffer. how you had chosen jack on purpose, because you knew it would cut the deepest. how you had not simply shown up randomly at that bar, all that time ago, how all of it was part of a plan, down to flirting with his friend, down to that first game of pool.

he didn't push your hand away, actually leaned his leg into your arm as you told him the story. the scary part's over, you wanted to say, you can stop hiding under the covers, now.

and so you told him about how he had hijacked your plan entirely. how you never expected to determine how good your day was based on how often you heard his laugh, how no one could have predicted how often you dreamed of his smile, how days when he was away truly felt like a loss.

"if i had known you, i never would have put you through this," you told him, finally, honestly. "i would have left you alone."

he was quiet for a moment, and then he picked his head up and looked at you, genuinely, thoughtfully. "you never would have used me to get back at your ex-fiance?" he asked, but there was not really any bite in his tone.

you tried your luck, reached up, brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "i did use you," you admitted. "and i don't have an excuse." he looked at you with clear eyes. "it was mean, and cruel, and all i can do is say that i'm so, so sorry and i will never hurt you like that again. i promise, that's the truth."

in the silent moments after you finished speaking, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, waiting for his reaction.

when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you. he opened his legs and knees wide, held open his arms, waiting. "i believe you."

it took no convincing for you to settle into the space he had created for you, to lean back against his chest, feel his heartbeat between your shoulder blades, his arms coming around your sides to clasp in front of your middle.

"you believe me?" you said, almost a whisper. you picked up his hand, held it to your chest, shocked that he was letting you. shocked that he was still here, making space for you.

you let the smell of him engulf you. it felt similar to walking into your mother's closet - the evidence of her living, loving, everywhere around you. the evidence of jack was everywhere, now, all over you, growing like some carnivorous plant over your heart.

"you promised," he said simply, into your hair.

and how spectacular it felt for someone to take you seriously, to take your words at face value, to understand that when you promised something, you meant it.

it felt like words were failing you, so you brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his palm lightly.

he hummed into your hair. "tell me about now," he said, voice steady and patient.

"hm?" you twisted your neck to look him in the eye, leaned back further until the back of your head rested on his chest.

"you told me about before. about him," he said, his eyes swimming with home, with hope. "tell me about us. tell me about now."

you searched for words, wondering how you could convey just how important he was to you, just how deeply you cared.

you could have said that his eyes were the most beautiful ocean you'd ever swam in. you could have said that kissing him felt like swallowing stardust, that listening to him talk about his day was a privilege and honor.

you could have said how you loved his voice after a long day, how he wore his emotions openly, shamelessly, how kind he was to those around him, how he didn't let you leave his house in doubt for even a second about his feelings, how he let laughter come easy, how he was many things but never, ever, indifferent.

you could have said so many things, but sometimes poetry and fancy words are inadequate, just diluting the true meaning, make it taste like watered-down juice, faint and lacking.

you could have said so many things, but you just told him the truth.

"i wake up every morning and i think of you," you said. "every moment you're not with me, i wish you were." you willed every ounce of meaning into your gaze. "you are my first choice, every time, jack. and it's not even close."

there was a silence as he processed what you said, and something like adoration dawned in his gaze like a springtime sunrise.

he tilted his head down, pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that told you he understood.

that no matter how you had gotten here, you were here, now.

"tell me again," he whispered against your mouth, and you smiled into his. that, you could do.

fin.

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl smut #hockey #hockey smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #auston matthews #auston matthews x reader #toronto maple leafs #new jersey devils

303 notes · View notes

shellxrls · 9 months ago

Note

hannah … u said u would probably physically fight w jj if u were in obx which same but now i’m thinking …. thinkin abt “play fighting” w bsf!jj …. and there’s loads of charged energy there …. lot of ass to crotch and giggling and teasing from jj mhm yup

HELLO ??!;);6 okay i confess i was thinking about play-fighting with bsf!jj turned to him pounding me while im headlocked in between those hot ass fucking arms of his 😓😓. and you’re idea is like.. spot on celeste omg.

─── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───

being pushed around the thin mattress by his body weight, evidently stronger than you due to acquired muscle from years working in physical labour. his hips brush against the back of your ass, the seam of your crotch — gentle touches that seem to dissipate in fervor but grow in length as the pretence of ‘play-fighting’ soon begins to fall to deaf ears and heaving chests.

the stiffness in his shorts was difficult to let go by unnoticed, and as much as you attempted you couldn’t restrain the muffled noises of grated pleasure that would leave your pursed lips every time his body weight banged into yours, a heavy muscle catching your side or a stray hand wrapping around you.

“jayj,” you huff out, laboured pants puffing onto his face as you attempted to call a truce, “can we just— just pause for a minute, take a lil’ break?”

he thinks this means he’s won, the adrenaline getting him into a ditzy as he gets up all in your face, spittle visible as he starts intimidating you with a superficially pridefully interrogation, “oh you wanna take a break huh? j’s so strong you had to tap out little girl? that ‘t? no deal. i won this round fair and square sweetheart.”

and you’re laying beneath him in such utter shock, pouty bottom lip quivering due to a combination of adrenaline and fear induced arousal that for a minute he’s scared you might start crying.

that is until you align your face right with his, knocking knees and letting out a whispered, “please?”

and he knows, knows by the way your chest is rising in paced slopes, and by the way he can see your nipples hardening under the sheer fabric of your top. hell, he’s been your best friend for years, he’s known since you broke up with your most recent ex and came running into his arms for support. but he still asks “please what?”

and then you were done, blubbering out a string of indecipherable sex-fuelled pleads about how turned on you were, how you needed him.

and before jj could continue letting his best friend fall under so much duress, he bends you over the arm of the couch and strips you of your clothing, stuffing himself into your cunt so unexpectedly that you let out a wail, walls contracting around him at the initial sting of the intrusion.

─── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───

859 notes · View notes

hyewka · 11 months ago

Note

soobin + humiliation kink + hes such a perv

priorities, you perv | c.sb ࿐

⭑ synopsis. a blind date? oh thats immediately pushed aside just for the addictive high you get off messing with your roommate, who seems to be more pouty than usual tonight for whatever reason.

⭑ warnings. sub perv soobin, panty sniffing, underwear used as ball gag kinda, handjob, fuck buddy roommate au, humiliation kink sortaa, dacryphilia, vibrator, bunny/pup petname, not proofread, use of goddess

Soobin’s been intent on following you around like a puppy this evening, all around the house, but the longer he keeps it up, the less it becomes cute and funny and the more it crosses into the ‘overbearing jealous boyfriend who isn’t actually your boyfriend’ territory. Because really, why the hell has he been acting like a pet with abandonment anxiety the day you have your blind date scheduled?

“You can’t come in my bedroom with me.” you finally say, flashing him a superficial wide smile, behind your door.

He abruptly stops, stumbling back like his mind really was on autopilot following you—then his face falls, brows knitting together. “What, why?”

“Because I don’t want your cooties all over my bed.” He isn’t amused, clearly, with a brow raised. You groan, it could be life or death and your roommate would still not choose to humor you. “I’m going to change idiot.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before?”

You click your tongue at him—he might have an amazing track record with academics, but sometimes it really is rocks for brains in there. “You’re not coming in Soobin, tough luck!”

In lightning speed he sticks his arm between the crack before you shut your door. “Wait, no, I wanna—I wanna help you pick something out!”

Now its your turn to raise a brow. Soobin? Help you get ready? He’d rather die of boredom.

You knew you weren’t crazy.

All day, hes been acting extremely out of character. Throwing you pouts during the one lecture you shared, feeling his eyes bore into you like he’s trying to burn a hole in your face, yet still spending money to buy you your favorite tiramisu even when he’s been sulking like you’ve wronged his entire bloodline.

The craziest thing is that you truly do not know a bigger cheapskate than Soobin. He’d chase a quarter in a crowd of people even if it took him all the way to Japan. So the tiramisu was a mind boggling investment. For you, let alone. It’s like he was bribing you.

He couldn’t have magically fell head over heels, it has to have something to do with the one thing different today. Your blind date.

You reach out to pat his head, mock pouting. He takes the bait anyway, lowering his head a little, looking so cute confused. It’s adorable actually, how quick he is to go with whatever you do.

“Aww Soobie, it’s okay, I promise you’ll always be my number one good boy. You really don’t have to be jealous and act out.” you tease, intentionally using baby talk to agitate him a lot more than it would’ve.

He scoffs loudly snapping his head to the side, bewildered this is the direction you decided to take things. “What? Jealous? Jealous? Jealous of what? I’m not jealous.” You stand there wearing a skeptic look on your face and a cross of your arms over your chest.

He wags his finger at your face like he can’t believe your audacity, dryly laughing (which really just sounds like a bunch of scoffs stringed together). “You’re funny, I—I gotta give it to you Y/N, you should really try your luck with Hueningkai’s comedy group again. Is it a crime to want to support your roommate after being all too aware of her notorious losing streak with the dating world? I don’t think so!”

Ouch, the all too real call out. “Damn, okay asshole you can help.” you faux hurt, not missing the chance to flip him off before walking inside and leaving your bedroom door wide open behind you. Maybe his input will have you get to your date earlier. “By the way, I do not have a losing streak.”

————-

There are outfits you just think you’d never wear to a first date—your black bodycon with cuts at the waist was an absolute no-go, especially with it’s length. Then there was the crimson red shoulder-off that had your tits looking too full—that was a big no. You don’t even know how your blind date looks, you wouldn’t want to have a man you find sexually unappealing to find you sexually appealing. That’s always a cause for a migraine.

But the problem you’re facing right now is far greater than any migraine you’ll experience. Soobin seems to think every outfit you wound up coming out with is, in his own words, “too much”.

This one’s the worst of all. “It’s literally just ripped jeans and a crop top!”

“That’s the problem! It doesn’t even look pretty!” he splutters, eyes wide and a large pout on his lips.

“You want me to wear something pretty?”

He looks to the side, mumbling, “Whatever.”

It’s raining, you hear it pouring and you’re like, fifteen minutes late already. All for Soobin’s useless input. It’s not worth it, and you’re proven even more correct when you come out the bathroom with the outfit you picked out. White, tight, but flowy at the ends of the dress. Girly and especially tight at the chest, just like you know he likes it.

Soobins eyes don’t fail to shamelessly rake over your body, stunned, looking like a deer in headlights. He clears his throat, snapping out of it. “No, absolutely not.”

You feign innocence, tilting your head. “Why not? It’s pretty.” You make it more of a point when you turn around, acting like you’re just checking your outfit through your wall mirror, knowing damn well the horndogs probably salivating at your ass barely being covered.

“It’s too much.” he parrots again lamely, chewing slightly on his lips. “Change, you can’t go out like this.”

Okay, that sort of pisses you off, turning around with your arms crossed again to the boy sitting at the edge of your bed. He doesn’t have the right to order you around. “Yes I can, I very much can.”

Suddenly, there’s a switch—he cowers like a kicked dog. “You can wear whatever you want I didn’t mean to-”

You break into a grin all of a sudden walking towards him, shutting him up.

He gulps, sitting there, avoiding eye contact when you’re close. You prop his chin up, and he just lets you, forcing him to look you in the eye. God, he already looks stupidly entranced. “You’d hate for me to wear this, huh?”

“Yeah..” he admits way too easily, a little whine in his voice, brows knitting up. Cute.

“But you love the dress, don’t you?” you purr, caressing his face with your thumb.

Your phone suddenly rings and you’re pulled out of the moment for a second, glaring at it then back to your roommate who looks like he’s under some love spell. Yeah no, this is much more fun.

You ignore the call, letting it ring as you drag your thumb down his bottom lip and god how obedient he is just sitting there and looking up like you’re his deity.

“What?” you giggle at the way his breath hitches the further you trail your finger down his body. The switch right before your eyes, oh that transformation’s worth more than anything else in the world. Bunny’s horny.

“You’d love to take this off me, right? You’d love me tease you bit by bit, have my tits bouncing in the restrictions of them, just struggling to keep your hands from ripping it apart...” you trail off, finally getting your hand on his half erect clothed dick.

You can see him holding back, holding back from humping your hand, the one you just purposefully let rest on his growing boner. “Your date.” he reminds.

You quirk a brow, taken aback. “Want me to go?”

Suddenly, he vigorously shakes his head, “No, no, don’t. I want you, please.” The strain of his voice when he pleads—god it’s the sexiest, most sinful thing ever.

Shameless. Just the way you like him.

“Hm? You do? Don’t you always?” you tease, walking away to get something out of your drawer.

“What are you looking for?” he mumbles skeptically.

You gleam, pulling out the vibrator and turning it on, showing it to your unsuspecting roommate. “Let’s play with this.”

He frowns. “You know I can make you feel ten times better than that toy, you don’t need it.”

“Who says its for me?”

You enjoy the blush that trickles his cheeks, and how easily the tips of his ear turn red as he blinks rapidly to collect himself. His adam apple bobs up and down again, stumbling over his words. “God, you’re such a himbo.”

“W-wait!” he shrieks, suddenly covering the tent in his pants.

You halt, the vibrator only a few inches from his crotch. “Can—can you…” he sighs frustratedly, looking away from you, the steam coming his red ears has you curious, what’s he so hesitant for? “Can you take off your underwear?” Oh.

Of course.

Your lips form into a smirk, knowing exactly what he wants to do with them. Slowly, with one hand you pull down your panties and let them drop to the floor. His eyes are, despite having a hard time telling you what he wants, eagerly fixed on the black lace, you could see the bead of sweat that breaks from his forehead. Pervert.

You bend down to grab it, purposefully making a show of it and he just huffs. “Get with it already.”

You laugh, “You’re being so bratty today. Think you’re owed a fuck?”

He whimpers dejectedly, shaking his head. Mockingly, you wave your panties in front of his face like an owner wagging a bone in front of their dog. He’s so indecent he has the audacity to take a whiff when the garment is close enough. God, he really is absolutely shameless.

And you really need to relieve yourself. You’re trying to not rub your thighs too much.

You crumble the underwear in your hand, and coo. “Open your mouth wide baby.”

Soobin’s mouth falls open almost immediately, tongue lolling out, looking up at you expectantly so much so it would be endearing if not for the situation you’re currently in. You shove it in his mouth, cringing at the saliva that wets your fingers.

“This is how it started huh?” you near the vibrator on his inner thighs enjoying the way he sighs through his nose, shuddering. “Fooling your roommate into thinking you were a studious, innocent good boy but in reality you just snuck in the laundry room every night to jerk off with her panties. Disgusting.”

He moans wantonly around the fabric, his hair brushing over his eyes as you near the vibrator to where he actually wants it. His dick. Poor him, its probably weeping in his pants.

“Violating me like that without my knowledge— you’ll always be a bad boy.”

Again, he shakes his head hard, to the point your panties fall out of his mouth already. “No, good boy. I’m your good boy.” he pants, face flushed. How’s he so easily worked up?

You giggle, pressing the vibrator against his cock, having Soobin’s jaw fall slack. “Couldn’t even keep the underwear in your mouth for more than two seconds. You’d make a really good camboy, always wanting people to hear you moan and whine like a slut.”

“No, no, just want you. Just want you to hear me.”

That affects you more than you’d like, and you try to fight the blush that warms your cheeks. God damn Soobin.

But he isn’t even aware, if his babbles were any indication. He dips his head back, big hands digging onto your sheets as you run the vibrator up and down. “Fuck.” he groans, still keeping his eyes open to watch your chest. You know he’s trying hard to keep up the good boy act for you, so you throw him a bone.

He gasps when your hand goes down his pants to wrap around his cock, and it’s the cutest thing ever how he immediately melts. You’re sitting next to him, twisting and jerking off his dick with his head leaning on your shoulder when you’re supposed to be under an umbrella with a future dating prospect instead.

Who cares, that man you’re sure wouldn’t give you what he’s giving you.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, wanna fuck you f-first.” he breathes into your neck. “Please goddess, please. Want your pussy.” he begs dumbly, starting to lay wet kisses to your neck— hes just not leaving room for you to really hold back.

“Holy shit, you’re good.” you realize in awe, probably wetting your bed with how aroused you are right now.

“Then take me baby, take me how you want. You’ve been good, so good.” you slur, and he practically jumps onto you like an oversized bunny, having your back on the mattress and him hovering, pulling you into an open mouth kiss almost immedietely.

“You’re so hot, fuck, you drive me crazy.” he says rushed, kissing you again, melting his mewls and pants into it.

You feel the roughness of his hands playing with your tits already, kneading so desperately you think he must’ve been itching to do just that this entire time. You like it with him, how it’s so dirty and quick, but still passionate enough to keep you wanting more.

“Fuck, wanna see them, please, please.” he whines as he salivates even more, playing with your nipples through the fabric, cheeks red and flushed, pathetically humping your cunt with his boner. “No, be a good bunny and fuck me good.”

He’s sniffling and tears stain his lashes, yet he still nods obediently, humping your cunt like he’s just restless enough to not pull out his dick and put it in—it’s the hottest thing ever.

But eventually the fabric feels rough against your skin, and you hiss, taking it upon yourself to pull out his cock from his pants.

God, his tip is red, leaky— it’s gross, a testament to how he gets with you and you love it. “Come on baby—bunny, fuck me.” you look up at him with wide, doe eyes and it immediately has him nodding frantically, missing your entrance once before he completely bottoms out, suffocatingly filling you up in one push—you’ll just never get used to his size.

“Always so mean, you’re always so mean to me.” he dumbly babbles, tongue out as he fucks into you maniacally, getting lost in your pussy.

“But you’re in my cunt right now aren’t you?” you mock, knowing that’s always his end goal with you, his end prize.

You’re breathless, curling your toes the harder he snaps his hips. You’re used to how it is with Soobin, he’s always animalistic and unrhythmic, rubbing your clit like he has no idea what he’s doing. But that’s the fun in it, how inexperienced and pathetic he is.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, are you? Are you?” he’s out of it, kissing your neck, biting, panicky as he nears his orgasm, that before you could respond, you’re already feeling his seed fill your cunt.

He can tell, he can tell when you didn’t get there so he’s already pulling your dress up over your tits, attaching his mouth on one of your nipples, pulling the other through his hands, playing with them till they become puffy and have you withering under him. “Fuck, fuck Soobie…just like that,” you moan, feeling his long fingers squeeze into your pussy, speeding up, trying to rip an orgasm out of you.

The tense of his arms, veins showing, cease once you arch your back and cum at getting a good look of his face— lips raw and red as he bit onto them for majority of the time, eyes wet and big, just silently begging you to cum on his fingers, you let yourself go, the tightening band finally snapping.

—————-

note. lol im not super duper confident but let me know how you guys feel about this one, feedback keeps me going

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