#And there was a sign that had the same words

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

hii I was wondering if u could write something where daeho and reader are already in a relationship and they find eachother after the first round and maybe they are upset with eachother for going into the games.

anc if it could have a bit of fluff that would be nice!!

tyy🫶🫶🫶

At Least We Have Eachother

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho and you both join the squid games for the benefit of the other. Neither of you know about it, until you find each other after the first game.

Warnings- Squid Games, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- Thank you guys for the overwhelming support with my Daeho fic. I am so motivated right now, it's not even funny. He is such a sweet baby, MY SHAYLAAAA

Word Count- 1,192

Your debt was not something you were proud of. To be honest, it crept up on you. It started with medical bills, then Daeho ran into some Ex-Marines, who dragged him into a bad gamble.

From there it kind of went down hill. Struggling to pay bills, borrowing more money, making the wrong people mad. In other words, the two of you were in an extremely bad position.

When a strange man with a suitcase approached you on your way home, you were hesitant. In any other situation you might have ignored him and walked away. But, you had just had another invoice from a debt collecting company. Not to mention the loan shark that came up and threatened Daeho two days prior. The eviction notice was also putting a hole on your kitchen table.

The idea of following the funny-looking card, winning a bunch of money, clearing your (and Daeho) debts. It was too good to be true, you knew that deep down. At the end of the day, you were at rock bottom. Desperate people do desperate things.

So, while slipping Daeho a simple lie about spending the night with a friend... You took off to the discrete location alone. Where you were picked up by a van. You don't remember much after that.

The regret sunk in deep when you realized what you had gotten yourself into. When you awoke seeing hundreds of people around you, all in the same position, you were noticeably scared. You barely left the bed you woke in. Only to stand with the crowd to listen to the guards and sign the needed contract. It seemed too late to back out now...

The first game was lonely, intimidating, and revealing. The only reason you weren't lying head face in the sand dead, was your fear. It struck you stone-cold still on 'red light'. The ring of your ears pressured you to move forward on 'Green light.' Due to the deadly shots to other players. It pushed you to move so you didn't suffer the same fate.

You were much too nervous to talk to anyone, you saw little point in making friends at first. That was until the realization of any team games.

After the first game was officially over and you had returned to the common room, you'd taken a moment to think. To think how it would be if you were able to walk home now. How it probably wouldn't even matter if you had died, so many people were out for your head anyways. It was all looking dark, but Daeho was your light. He was always so positive, he kept you happy. You owed it to him to keep fighting.

To keep fighting for that adorable, handsome, sweet face. That same face that was currently staring you down....

"Daeho?" You questioned, just in case your mind was playing a trick on you.

"What are you doing here!" He ran over, pulling you further behind the layered beds. His grip was tight on your arm, once the two of you stopped, he seemed to notice. At that he quickly loosened his squeeze.

"W-why are you here! I-I thought you were sleeping over at-" You cut him off, your guilty conscience taking over.

"Daeho, what are you doing here?" You rebutted, frantically pushing your hair back. He knew you were nervous.

"To settle some of our debt, but that doesn't even matter anymore. People are dying, you can't be here!" He stressed over you. He did a few takes over your form, making sure you were not hurt in any way. You thought he was finished until he slowly brought his hand up. He stuck his thumb out and seared a few drops of blood off of your cheek. You hadn't noticed them before...

An argument against him was impossible to think of, but you managed. "Well I can say the same about you! You could get killed also. Where would that leave me!" He threw his head back, pressing both hands over his face. He dragged them down, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Ohhh, this can not be happening.. I-it doesn't matter, because you're here, where you were not supposed to be!" He started to fidget with his fingers, a sign he was distressed.

"Dae...I'm also here because... I got fired yesterday..." You looked down, picking at your nails. His head snapped to look at yours. "What?"

"They were... overstaffed and, apparently a younger employee could do the same amount of work for minimum wage... So, they just got rid of me..." He looked sympathetic, but still mad.

"You should have told me. We would have figured it out. You didn't have to lie."

You thought for a second, "Its not like I wanted to lie! I was trying to help us!"

"How reckless!" He said. It was almost comical!

A laugh pushed its way out, "Oh my gosh, don't act like you aren't here too!" You started to raise your voice, frustrated.

He took a single step back, hands on his hips. "You're supposed to be the smart one! I'm fun, loving, a burst of fricken light!" He said, his words contradicting his tone, not joyfully at all.

"Whatever! What matters now is that we were stuck in a death trap! The money is not even our first problem. We might not even be alive before the day is over! Or worse, you'll be dead and I'll be left to suffer!"

He gave another sigh, stepping forward and embracing you. It was exactly what both of you needed. His arms wrapped impossibly tight around you. You could only reciprocate the squeeze. His head fell on top of yours, he nestled in.

"I don't want to argue, I just want you safe... We will be fine." He said, keeping you in his grasp.

"I know, but I just wanted to help... The man seemed so promising, that we could have a normal life again." You wanted to let your tears flow, but you couldn't risk looking weak. You had to remind yourself that there were still a couple hundred other players in the large room.

He shook his head on top of yours, "I would live in a tent as long as I was with you.... I can manage anywhere, as long as you are by my side..."

You pulled back to look at him. Your arms still wrapping around each other. "I just, I know you're not happy... I wanted to clear everything up, one day own our own house. One that we can never get evicted from." He pushed a stray hair behind your ear.

"Oh Dae, I don't care about that. I just want you." You shoved your head into his chest.

"I love you.."

"I love you too."

"What the hell are we going to do here." You questioned, peaking up from his chest slightly.

"Were going to stick together. We're going to get out of this alive." He pulled back and down to press a firm and reassuring kiss on your lips. Maybe things would be so bad after all.

Oh, how naive you both were...

A/N- Honestly, I like my first Daeho fic better. But that's probably because I am a SUCKER for emotional hurt/comfort. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed this one. Pls lmk how I can improve!!!

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-four —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: ily

England passes in beautiful shades of green, the last time you'll see it, so you soak it in. Rolling hills streak the landscape like scars. In the distance, you glimpse faded architecture, imagining people living and working there. An ivy-covered university appears, and you picture yourself dozing off in a lecture. These little fantasies entertain you for the next two hours, but Blue isn't distracted by the same game. When you look at her arm, you notice pink scratches just below where the friendship bracelet hugs her wrist, made by her nails mindlessly.

You tear your eyes from the window and nudge your shoulder against hers. "Hey. What do you call a cow with no legs?"

Her lips twitch at the broken silence and she lifts her azure eyes to yours, a bead of sunlight catching in them. "What?"

"Ground beef."

Those eyes roll. "That's stupid."

Nereida smiles from the other side of her. "Oh, I've got one. What did the ocean say to the beach?"

Blue sighs. "Ghost said that one before. Nothing—it just 'waved'."

A recoil passes over Nereid's kind eyes. "I apologize. That's the only one I know."

Quiet air fills the space again, and when you notice Blue's nails dig back into her wrist, you gently lace your fingers through hers and pull her hand to your lap, allowing her to scratch your thigh, instead. 

When an old theme park erects from the grass, Blue's interest piques. "Woah. What is that?"

"None of it works anymore," Ghost mutters, one hand on the wheel.

"It looks cool, though. I have to pee, anyway. Can we stop here?"

"I could use a little stretch for my legs," Nereida adds.

The pitstop is brief enough to allow Blue the chance to curiously look through the decrepit bumper cars, carousel, and even a small rollercoaster that still has the car sitting mid-track. She grabs Ari's hand to show him, but he doesn't seem as intrigued given the pale look on his face. He ends up rushing to a bush and keeling over.

"The back gets a bit bumpy," Kyle says when he notices your expression. "He'll be fine."

"I'll switch with him for the rest of the way."

"You don't have to."

"It's fine. He can probably entertain Blue better than I can."

Everyone uses the small break to eat a little lunch. You already had some of the beans Ghost packed, so you feel uncertain whether you should eat anymore of his food. You haven't even discussed sharing. Rather, you ration the jerky you made and save the rest. 

It is a small meal, so you eat it slowly to trick your stomach into feeling full. Just before getting back to the truck, you spot a tree by the entrance to Kettering Kastle. Hickory. Paul told you once they make for great arrows, a softer hardwood. Pliable yet strong. This excites you. Your sheath is only half-full, so you grab your serrated knife and cut a few midsized branches to take with you.

Sitting in the truck bed is far from pleasant. The tail wind makes it hard to breathe, and you have to grab the side of the truck to keep yourself from flying out. Kyle notices your struggle and seems amused, but reaches an arm over in offering. You hold onto him and it does some to keep you stable. 

The motorway passes through Kettering, which is a smaller city. The smell is retched, though the only Greys you spot don't take notice to you, trapped between buildings and toppled telephone poles. You make out a sign that reads A14 and figure it is headed to Cambridge. If you continue this pace, you'll reach the coastline by sundown.

Of course, things don't work out that way. The road becomes more obstructed with abandoned vehicles. Ghost has to weave through them like a maze, wasting time and fuel. The sun crawls higher in the sky. Finally, there are a few kilometers of straight road. Speed ticks up only to come to an abrupt halt when he reaches an underpass. You let go of Kyle and stand up to see what has caused the stop—a semi truck completely blocks the way through it.

"Jesus," you mutter.

Consecutive slams of the fronts doors indicate Price and Ghost are checking it out. Kyle hops out with them. After a few minutes, he returns and explains with a sigh, "We'll have to backtrack and find a side street that will lead to another motorway ramp."

"That's going to eat time. The sun will set soon."

He offers his arm again as Ghost begins reversing. "I know. It's fine, we'll just get to the water tomorrow. No rush, yeah?"

It adds an extra hour and a half. The sky turns a remarkable orange that would've had you gawking if not for your irritation of having to stop again. Ghost pulls over just before it gets too dark to set up the tents in a small market town called Haverhill. There's hardly anything here except fields of bright, yellow flowers and little shops with slanted CLOSED signs. It is actually pleasant and well-preserved, until you catch the distinguishable shape of a corpse hanging from one of the telephone poles, a black trash bag over its head.

"Don't look at it."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," you dismiss under your breath. 

A more forested patch of land at the edge of the town is where you make camp for the night.

They eat canned goods and you finish your last pieces of jerky. This means you'll have to find more food for yourself tomorrow, or ask Ghost for some. The thought makes you anxious. The last thing you want is to seem like an extra burden. Dead weight that they'd be better off leaving behind. But he also didn't comment when you ate the beans. The uncertainty of where you stand means you need to make yourself useful.

The men need rest, so you offer to keep watch.

Prices dismisses you. "You don't have to, Twix. The three of us can take turns."

"No, really. I'll keep watch and you guys can all get more sleep. I've just been sitting in a car all day, anyway."

He gives in, visibly fatigued after being up over twenty-four hours.

Ghost and Price sleep first.

That leaves you sitting with Kyle when the stars begin to flicker like bright, little heartbeats against the black night.

You pull out your smoother knife—the one you found back at that base—to carve the sticks you found, careful of your bandaged thumb. 

Kyle lays his rifle across his lap. "First time I am seeing you smile today and it's while carving sticks." 

"Arrows," you correct, holding one up and tapping your index lightly against the sharpened point. "And it's good wood. Hickory."

"You're an easy woman to please," he teases.

"My tastes have changed over the years."

"Really? I can't imagine you as one of those people who cared too much about nice things."

You flash him a raised brow. "Are you saying I was cheap?"

He nudges your knee. "Not what I'm saying. You just seem like someone who would prefer a little movie date over a fancy dinner."

"I liked sushi. Is that fancy?"

He hums. "There were some good cheap sushi spots in London—hole in the wall type places. When there was some kid doing their homework at one of the booths, that's when you knew it'd be good shit."

"You're making me hungry."

"Well, you should've eaten more." He looks at you knowingly. "You're scared to ask anyone for food, aren't you?"

Are you really that easy to read? You place the half-finish arrow across your knees and look at the ground, brushing your fingers absentmindedly through the soft grass. "I just—I am aware of my place here."

"Your place?"

Your hands tightens the grass into a fistful. "I am at the bottom."

"The bottom," he repeats slowly, and his voice lowers. "You really think that?"

You rip the grass and sprinkle it over your boot, glancing up at him. His eyes have darkened, or maybe they are simply mirroring the sky. "I am not complaining. I understand that everyone here has others who they would prefer to keep alive over me, that's all. I just don't want to stick out anymore than I already do."

He reels in your words. "You're forgetting that everyone here has their own perspective, their own wants. It is not as simple as you're making it seem." In a change of topic, he reaches for the arrow on your lap. "Here—let me help."

You hand him the knife and he begins carving expertly as a few minutes of silence ensue. You are lost in your thoughts, keeping your eyes on the surroundings, when he suddenly stops in his handiwork, holding up the knife. You watch him study the leather handle carefully, shake his head to himself, then look at you.

"Where did you get this?"

"Huh? Oh—I found it. At a military base actually."

Your answer seems to strike him, and he releases a disbelieving exhale. "The one near Manchester?"

You nod. 

"It was my brother's."

What?

Reading your expression, he shows you the handle and rubs his thumb over a small etching at the bottom that you can barely make out in the moonlight: PG.

"Patrick Garrick," he explains in a murmur, and your chest tightens. "I didn't even notice it at first. It's been years since I had it. The last time...the last time was when shit happened, and I lent it to a friend of mine at the base."

"Who?"

"Soap," he says, a memory taking over his expression as he rubs his jaw. "He was the other member of our spec ops unit."

"You... Someone mentioned him before. Ghost—he asked you guys about him when you arrived. You don't know what happened to him, right?"

Kyles nods. "He stayed back at the base to keep helping even when Price and I jumped ship. That was the Scottish in him—stubborn as hell. Soap was just his codename, of course. Like mine was Gaz." He looks up at you with a faint dimple. "And yours is Twix, huh?"

"I guess." You press your tongue to your teeth and grab the knife, frowning at it as you try to recall exactly where you grabbed it from. "What was his real name, then?"

"John MacTavish."

"I think—I think your friend is dead. I'm sorry." You gaze at him. "I remember now. I found it in one of the rooms, and there was a skeleton with that name. He... he had it quick, though."

The expression on his typically warm eyes turns unreadable and his shoulders stiffen in the slightest. You wonder if you should have bothered sharing this, but then he shrugs it off with a sigh. "It's okay. Figured as much. Many people have died. He's just another name to the list."

Instinct draws your hand to his shoulder, and the muscles softens beneath your touch. "I'm still sorry."

His eyes find yours. 

He smiles solemnly.

Then, somewhere in it all, he leans over and closes the gap. The sudden, foreign feel of lips pressed against your own stuns you. His lips move gently, cold and soft against yours, and only when he threads a hand through your hair to pull you closer do you fully register what he is doing. Your eyes fly open and you break away, leaping to your feet.

"Why did you—what was that?"

He stands up with you. "It felt right in the moment."

He tries to touch your shoulder but you flinch away. "I'm sorry. I just—I was just trying to comfort you."

"I misread the moment." His eyes are clouded. "So you didn't want it?"

Did you? Your mind feels fuzzy. "I don't know. I need to...I want to be alone right now."

You grab your knife and sticks, rushing around the tents to find solace by the truck, needing to process what just happened. As you move, you bump into a hard chest—Ghost. Somehow you failed to hear the jagged teeth of the tent's zipper. Avoiding his gaze, you try to slip past, but he grips your elbow, holding you in place.

"What is it?"

The lie wedges out of your lips. "Nothing. I just—thought I saw something so I am going to sit over there and keep an eye out."

The difference in height leads to his stare burning into your scalp. "What did you see?" 

"I don't know. Something. Maybe just an animal."

His hold doesn't soften. Stoicism forces itself on your face as you press your lips into a line.

You're easy to ready.

He finally lets go. "I'll take over now. You can sleep."

You find yourself nodding soundlessly, internally glad to be relieved of this duty. 

Sleep offers peace of mind, at least until morning. 

Dawn breaks over the small town in a quiet clatter of spoons against cans and the shuffling of bags being packed up. The dream you wake up from was one of an old life—the last kiss you experienced. But it fizzles quickly from the recesses of your brain the moment your lids shutter open. 

Both you and Kyle seem keen on acting as though nothing happened. More than anything, you are confused. You try to search inside that box of yours for how you feel, but all you find is fear. You've barely been able to keep up with the fear. You busy yourself with helping get everything back in the truck, fitting the supplies like a jigsaw puzzle. You have nothing to eat. A day or two without food is doable until you can properly hunt for something—

"Here."

It is Nereida who catches you by the truck before leaving. She practically shoves a can of tuna into your hands and you look up at her in hesitant gratitude.

"We're all sharing food," she says. "That is how it should be."

"Thank you. Really, this is—"

"Don't thank me. There is plenty for everyone."

For now, your mind chides, but you swallow the thought while scarfing down the meal you pretend is London's finest sushi. 

Once everyone is ready, you head to the back of the truck, expecting an awkward encounter with Kyle, only to find Ghost sitting there beside the kayak, hands relaxed behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Needed a break from driving."

You glance at the front to see that Price is behind the wheel, and Kyle is in the passenger side. In a way, you're relieved. You breathe through your nose and hoist yourself up. The bumpy ride is quiet at first. His body takes up space so that each pothole nudges your shoulder or knee against his. The morning ages. You swear you can see there coast at one point, but it must be your imagination, because the passing sign reads Halstead. 

"You really need to work on lying better."

The brash accent registers low against the hum of the engine, and his eyes are closed when you look over. He is leaned back, one leg straight and one bent, seeming to enjoy the seat more than you are. 

"Fine. I'm bad at lying."

"Care to share the truth, then?"

He needn't elaborate for you to know what he is referring to. "I was...I was upset because I found out my knife—the one I took from the base—belonged to Kyle's brother."

His brow ticks.

You continue, "But he actually gave it to Soap, and I—I found his dog tag on a skeleton. John MacTavish. You were friends with him, weren't you?"

His eyes open, but they are too murky to decipher from just his profile. His jaw flexes. "I wasn't a man with friends, Twix."

"You know what I mean."

There is a pause, and then, "He was a sergeant under my command. A good man. Grating, at times. But good."

"Well, I'm sorry he didn't make it. If you of all people say he was a good guy, then he really must've been."

He hums in agreement. Thoughtful. Then—two gloved fingers touch your jaw, turning your eyes to his. "You are still lying, and still bad at it."

You wet your lips. "I wasn't—"

"Help!"

Ghost drops your chin and grabs the gun from his waist.

Your eyes flash around at the sound of a second plea. There is a man at the side of the road, leg draped in bloodied bandages, but there isn't a chance for you to register more of him when the truck takes a sudden, sharp left down a side street and you brace yourself by grabbing the edge with both arms. The small city-scape whirls by in a blur. Ghost swears under his breath, scanning the area as he bends on one knee and keeps the gun secure in his grip. Confused, you grab his arm.

"That man was injured."

His voice is harsh and alert. "He has fucking friends somewhere here. He was just trying to—"

A shattering sound. An audible pop. You're thrown against the truck bed even harder this time as it skids across the street, nearly slamming into a flipped-over car. Ghost covers you, the weight of him keeping you from flying out. The truck swerves to a halt. Everything is black until his weight lifts. He barks an order, jumps out, and pulls you with him.

Pressed against the side of the truck, the world becomes consumed by loud sounds and the distinct smell of gunpowder. Ghost rips open the passenger door and urgently pulls Blue, Ari, and Nereida out, ordering them to keep low. From the other side, you hear Price and Kyle shouting, followed by another series of gunshots.

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

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[slafastri28]

I Hope You're Doing Well - LN4

Note: I literally pulled this out my ass, but it just flowed!

Word Count: 2.2k (yes that is a lot for me) Warnings: Idk a lot of kissing at the end, little angst

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well, I figure you are considering you just won the constructors championship, call me when you want to catch up, I miss you, okay bye,” you hung up the phone. You turned to face your parents along with Lando’s,

“Sorry kid,” your dad said rubbing your shoulder. The four sat you down in the middle of the F1 season telling you their concerns for their son, complaining of being homesick and lonely, which was not Lando at all. You had known each other as long as you could remember. Your parents all went to university together and forced you and Lando into a friendship like parents do with kids. It was awkward at first, but you were very social as a child, and hanging out with a boy a year older than you was cool to you, and if it made your parents happy you would do it. Despite being a year older than you, you were always the same height as Lando growing up. You fit perfectly in his kart, but he never trusted you to drive it. He was always on about traveling in Formula 1 eventually, and he was fine his first couple years but this year was different. 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t expecting an answer,” you gave the parents a half smile. You and Lando had lost touch after the first race of the year, after spending all of the winter together something shifted, but you didn’t know what you did to make him ignore you. You called him at the first sign of concern from his parents, but no answer, his parents even urged him to call you but they were rarely hearing from him as it was. Little did they know he would sit listening to the messages you left all the time thinking about home and being with you. 

Last winter your parents threw a big party, all their friends were there and of course Lando. There was no one else really your age there so you two find yourselves alone in your childhood bedroom sitting and talking. 

“I’m confident this year, we will perform better I know it,” he nodded.

“Well of course you will, and you are going to get that win, I just know it,” you smiled. 

“Yeah I hope, thanks for the belief,” he said.

“What are friends for,” that word friends hit Lando hard. He thought he had made so obvious these past few years about how he felt about you, but he was only a friend to you. The rest of that winter he was not his usual self leaving you questioning, he barely even said goodbye before he left for testing. You sat alone in your apartment finding yourself wanting to pick up the phone and ask him what you did wrong but you accepted he needed space. You soon felt something was missing as he didn’t call you after every race like he did last year, you missed seeing his smile, which you always thought was cute. Now without his constant presence, you discovered your true feelings for Lando. You sent him messages getting responses two days later, he wouldn’t take any of your calls due to being busy, but it was the time you would normally call last year, and you knew what was different. You began to leave messages when his parents went to see him. Each message started and ended the same way. 

“Hi Lando, it’s Y/N, I hope you’re doing well,” and ended with “I miss you,” or something along those lines. After his first win, you called,

“Hi Lan, it’s me, I hope you’re doing well, and celebrating this win, I’m so proud of you, I wish I could have been there, I miss you.” Your calls continued after each win he earned this year, each podium, each race he scored points, even in his worst races you still left messages, none being answered or getting a callback, making you long for him more. The season came to a close and there you were surrounded by the people near and dear to him leaving the same message again.

This winter he had not come back to visit his family yet, meaning you didn’t have that chance to see him in your time off from work. There you sat around the most important people in your life, as one was missing, holding back tears. His mother rushed out of the room picking up her phone and scolding her son in a message. You went to bed that night looking through the scrapbooks your Moms made of the two of you when you were younger, pictures of you hugging, your arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, pictures of you forcing a smile onto his face and him doing the same to you, so many memories. The books continued as the years went on, you at age 15 with a sign at one of his races and him hugging you after, your high school graduation, your college graduation, he was always there. Now this winter here you were alone a year from that night wishing he would come home. 

You woke up the next morning with a voice message lighting up your phone. You were stunned to see the contact picture, you and Lando as little kids. You put in your headphones and hesitated before pressing play on the message.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Lando, I hope you’re doing well, I am doing well, thank you for all your congratulations, I’m sorry I’ve ignored you this season, I will tell you more when I get home tomorrow, I miss you too, see you probably a few hours after you listen to this,” his voice was sincere and you could hear little cracks knowing he was upset. You could feel your heart racing, your mind was spiraling, what could he possibly have to say to me? This is going to be so awkward. What do I even say to him? Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. You quickly fixed your hair before pulling the blanket up over your pajamas hiding any possible embarrassment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard your mom’s voice outside, “can I come in?” 

“Yes, come in,” you put the blanket down, “what is it?” Your Mom looked unusually happy for it being eight in the morning, she must have already had her coffee. 

“Lando’s flight arrives in an hour, and we are all going to surprise him at the airport, I know you’re upset with him, but please maybe it will change things,” her eyes were pleading, and after the message, you knew it would be the right thing to do. You hopped out of bed grabbing your morning coffee before changing. You conveniently lived close to the airport so an hour was plenty of time. As you stood with your two families in the terminal waiting you began to think again, you had seen him on social media, which was easier to bury your feelings, but in real life, you didn’t know what you would do. 

You watched the hallway, seeing several people go by, none were the faces you wanted to see. It had been a few more minutes since you were distracted by your phone, but you chose to look up at the perfect moment.

“Here he comes,” his mom exclaimed. You shoved your phone in your bag immediately, putting on a smile. He dropped his bag greeting first his parents, then your parents, and froze when he got to you. It was like time stopped, and no one else in the airport existed. He stretched out his arms as you rushed into them. He pulled you so close, you felt your feet lift off the ground.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry, I’ve missed you so much,” he began to cry into you.

“Lando, Lando,” you sobbed feeling his warmth. The two of you pulled yourselves together as you made your way out to your cars.

“Why don’t you two ride together, you have some catching up to do,” his mom winked in your direction. The two of you did as you were told riding in the “kids' car” back to his parents’ home. You got home before them leaving you two some time after your silent car ride, both of you trying to keep it together. Once you got to their house, you made your way upstairs to his room. You watched him unpack his things before you noticed the stack of books next to the bed, the same ones you had looked at the night before. Something in your gut told you to open one, and it was right, it struck his attention.

“Wow look at us,” he said joining you sitting on his bed. 

“I know, we were so cute,” you laughed pointing at a picture of you two at Lando’s 9th birthday, you were blowing out his candle with him. 

“Still are,” he said softly, the look in his eyes showed he wanted to continue. You closed the book and took a good look at him, you saw pain in his body language, emotional pain. He was different than the Lando you saw the previous year. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you said resting your hand on his shoulder, “what did I do,” you thought back to last year knowing exactly what hurt him. 

“Y/N, hand me the book,” he pointed to the one from your high school years. You handed him the book and he began to frantically flip through it, finding one specific picture. You stared at it, then at him with a faint smile on your lips. 

“The dance,” you nodded looking ashamed. 

“That’s when it started Y/N, and ever since then I have loved you, I thought I made it obvious, but you only saw me as a friend, I couldn’t take it anymore, I was hurt, and didn’t want to waste my time,” his eyes stayed locked on the book. 

“Lan, I feel the same, it took me not having you present constantly to finally realize I have loved you,” you smiled. His eyes picked up from the book,

“All those messages were cries for you to call me so we could have this conversation, I started to think you moved on after the constant lack of response,” you sighed.

“I should have answered all those calls, I should have called back, I should have said something-” you cut him off pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands quickly found your face as yours found his hair, running your fingers through his curls. You both gasped for air after that, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Your hands moved slowly from his hair to his hands which remained on your face. He let go interlocking his fingers with yours as your hands moved to your lap.

“This, this is how it was meant to be,” he smiled, before kissing you once more. 

“So should we tell our parents, who definitely have their suspicions already,” you laughed. 

“Not yet,” he said laying down in his bed and pulling you along with him. You two lay there your head on his chest with your hands locked over your heart. You were at full joy in the moment, a moment that you didn’t know you needed until now. You flipped over laying on top of him. 

“So despite my horrible dancing that night, that’s when you knew,” you laughed running your fingers through his hair again. 

“I wasn’t much better,” he laughed, “despite your clumsiness, you still were beautiful,” he said grinning. You pressed another kiss to his lips as his arms found your back pulling you in tighter. You two continued, intensifying the kiss as you both lay now on your sides. His lips moved from your face, down to your jaw and eventually reached your neck, letting you sigh.

“Kids dinner!” your mom called from outside the door. Lando continued moving back up to your lips. 

“Lan,” you repeated whispering, pushing him away, “come on,” you smiled. 

“Just a few more,” he begged.

“Later,” your eyes showed promise. You fixed your hair in his full-length mirror where he stood behind you wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Come on,” you laughed opening the door. You two walked hand in hand downstairs meeting your families in the kitchen. They all turned to face the two of you standing there with intertwined fingers, both with red cheeks. The Dads gave nods of approval to Lando and the Moms squealed gesturing for you to both sit.

“Finally,” his mom clapped as you sat at the table.

“Come on give us a little kiss,” your mom added on. The Dads rolled their eyes but still watched. Lando pulled you in by your neck pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You heard your Dad’s whistle, you shot him a glare after the kiss ended. It was just like old times in the winter when you would have dinners, the conversation flowed naturally as you felt Lando’s smile beaming on his face. This was secretly what you always desired. 

[keepingitformyself]

Hello, how are your day going?? could you please write a fluff natasha x reader where r loves to draw and paint and is very good at it? giving some drawings to nat, doodling on her arm when r is bored, drawing/painting nat thinking she isn't noticing (ofc she does baby is a super spy🤏) and having a sketchbook with a looooot of sketches and drawings of nat. R could try to teach nat how to paint while they have those cute dates where they do a painting of eachother yk? also, idk if you'll want to add that but after i finished Arcane, my dream was to draw Vi's back tatto on someones back, so if you want to maybe r could ask to make it on nat

hope you can understand my ideas, english isn't my first language :/

everything is blank until you draw me

A/N: hello! thank you for requesting. hope you enjoy :))

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha first noticed your quirk on the way home from a mission.

it’s hot in cairo around this time of year. humid, sticky weather. everyone was suffering from mild heat exhaustion, suits were unzipped and shallow breaths were heard among the jet cabin.

it was a taxing mission. the team was silent in a quiet mourning.

but you sat in your seat in a far corner, barely showing any sign of the discomfort everyone else was in.

instead you had your face pushed into a leather bound journal in your lap, a pen in hand. the strokes you were making on the paper were far too wide for you to be writing something down.

no, you were drawing. natasha concluded.

no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to point it out.

natasha didn’t really pay any heed to it. she was more concerned with passing around iv packs to the team, making sure they didn’t pass out.

when she got to you, you immediately closed the journal on your lap. her eyebrow rose at your behavior, but she didn’t question it. there was a boundary that you were entitled to, and she wasn’t one to cross any lines unless she needed to.

you looked up at her expectantly, wordlessly she handed you an iv pack, but you shook your head and pushed her hand away.

“i’m okay.” you said. “my body is good at regulating body temperature.”

natasha didn’t say anything, she already knew this, but call it good camaraderie. though, she tried not to notice the way your hand twitched in your lap, the same hand that covered the journal under it.

“save it for someone who needs it.” you added after a few seconds.

she considered you for a few moments. for the most part you seemed fine, aside from the slight twitch in your hand. she figured you just wanted a moment for yourself so she let you be.

natasha gave a curt nod before continuing on.

the quiet hum of the quinjet was the only thing that could be heard as she moved through the space. natasha had stolen a glance more than twice between you and her task at hand.

she wouldn’t pry but her fascination had grown more as she thought about the way your hands wrapped around the worn journal. how your fingers flicked at the edges of the frayed pages.

later that evening, when the team had finally settled back into the compound and were settled in their sleeping quarters, she found you again.

it was very late into the night. nearly nearing two in the morning.

this time you’d found a small nook by the large windows in the common room, you’d looked off into the night horizon, the pen in your hand making rapid strokes across the paper.

natasha didn’t try to hide her curiosity this time.

“drawing again?” she asked, her voice was soft.

you flinched at her voice and natasha noticed the way your hand tightened around the journal. your mouth opened and closed, as to find the words to ask how she’d noticed your recreation of putting pen to paper.

as if reading your mind natasha spoke up,

“i think you forget that i’m a spy and it’s my job to notice these things, Y/N.” she joked, plopping down on a seat near to you.

you glance down at the book in your hands, a sheepish smile graces your lips.

“it helps me…process.”

natasha tilts her head, elbows resting on her knees as she leans closer.

“can i see?”

you hesitate, but gulp down your nerves and slowly turn the journal towards her. the whole page was filled with dark shadows, lines to imitate the image of smoke, jagged lines to form silhouettes of crumbling buildings, faceless people running, catching their final moments of breath, and of them being carried away with help.

it was haunting, terrifying, but deeply fascinating all the same.

“is this from today?” natasha asked, voice careful.

you nodded. “it sounds weird, but…i remember things when i’m drawing them.” you pause, chewing your lip, “and i don’t want to forget them…not fully. so it’s like i take the weight of it and i trap it here, instead of…”

“…instead of carrying it.” natasha finished for you, her green eyes meet yours with a understanding.

you nodded again, looking down.

“it’s good.” she said after a moment. “you’re really good.”

the faintest smile graces your lips,

“i’ve been drawing since i was kid. but it’s kind of different now…it can be something really nice to look but sometimes it just gets really—”

“dark.” natasha finished again.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. natasha knew exactly what you’d meant.

over the next few weeks, the habit of drawing became something natasha couldn’t ignore.

on long missions, you’d often scribble quietly in a corner. at meeting briefings you’d doodle into the margins of notes. and once, she had sat beside you during a meeting when you’d wordlessly slid your journal towards her.

it was a sketch of her.

she was surprised, there was so much to look at. to unpack. she didn’t know whether to be impressed with how well you drew her or to be impressed with the way you’d captured her.

she didn’t how to place what it was; something vulnerable or strong, or both.

“you drew me.” she said softly.

you shrugged, a soft blush coating your cheeks.

“you’re interesting to draw.”

natasha smirked, she didn’t say anything, but she’d felt a small stir in her chest at your words.

then on you grew more comfortable with your sketches dedicated to your new muse.

it started off small—a simple sketch left on the table one morning before natasha had left for a solo mission. she’d found it tucked under her designated coffee mug. a doodle of a little black widow spider spinning on a web, with cartoonish eyes and a cute little bow on its head.

the detail was impressive, even for a quick piece, and at the bottom you’d written a small note.

thought your namesake could use a makeover. meet widow 2.0: terrifyingly adorable.

come back in one piece.

she smiled at your note, and without a word tucked the small piece of paper into her pocket.

after that, it became sort of a ritual. before a mission, whether it was long or short, you’d leave her something— sometimes a sketch of her infamous batons mid-strike, other times a miniature rendition of the team in cartoonish proportions.

there was one where you’d drawn a mini portrait of natasha smirking, with exaggerated sharp cheekbones and fierce eyes. the caption on it read,

don’t worry, i dialed down the intimidation factor…slightly.

they were ridiculous, but natasha loved it.

one day, natasha approached you in the common area, holding a new doodle you’d slipped into her jacket. it was a small portrait of her, but unlike the others, this one showed her more casual. more real. no weapons, no scowl, just her leaning with her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips.

she held it up with a raised brow. “you’ve been busy.”

you glanced up from your journal, a shy grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“you noticed.”

“i always notice,” she replied, and the warmth in her tone made your cheeks flush.

“just thought you could use the reminder,” you said, shrugging. “you’re more than just a fighter, you know.”

natasha stared at the drawing for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. then she folded it carefully and slid it into the inside of her jacket pocket.

“thank you,” she said simply, but her voice carried the weight of everything she didn’t say.

other times, you’d hand her sketches directly, usually without ceremony. a scrap of paper passed her way while the team prepped gear, a folded corner of your journal you tore out just before a briefing.

they ranged from serious-battle-ready stances and sharp silhouettes to utterly absurd, like the one of natasha holding a massive sandwich, labeled

big hero energy.

and natasha kept every single one.

“you know you don’t have to keep these, right?” you teased her when you caught her slipping another into the pocket of her duffel bag.

“i want to,” she said without hesitation. “they’re like…good luck.”

you didn’t argue with her logic, but a small smile lingered on your lips as you turned back to your journal.

unbeknownst to you natasha had a growing collection of your sketches tucked away in her bedroom. a small metal tin, the kind where you gift holiday cookies in—where they’re carefully preserved.

she’d look at them sometimes. when nights were long or dark and life was too heavy, she’d pull one out and trace the lines with her fingers, remembering the way you handed it to her with that quiet, knowing smile.

eventually though, your art started to spill over the edges of your journal.

it became part of your rhythm together. a constant, quiet act of trust. but there were moments, especially in the middle of long missions, when you didn’t have your journal or anything to draw with.

it started as a joke.

one night during a stakeout, the boredom and restlessness started bubbling out of you, and you found yourself tapping your fingers against natasha’s arm.

she caught your arm mid-tap and raised and eyebrow.

“no journal today?” she asked, smirking.

“nope,” you replied, frowning as you remembered how much in a rush you were that you forgot your journal. you leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“guess you’ll have to entertain me instead.”

“or,” she said, producing a pen from one of her pockets, “you could make yourself useful.” she handed it to you with a playful glint in her eye.

you hesitated for a moment before taking the pen from her hands and uncapping it.

“don’t complain if i mess it up.” you warned, shifting closer.

“just try not to make me look ridiculous.” she said, but the slight curve of her lips said she didn’t really mind it.

after that drawing on natasha became the norm when under a circumstance that denied you paper.

on long flights you’d trace floral vines curling up her forearm, and she’d be asleep as it happened. and during long nights in safe houses you’d sketch constellations of the stars on the back of her hand.

natasha never washed them off until she really had to.

sometimes, you didn’t even ask anymore. you’d just give her a look and she’d extend her arm towards you, wordlessly inviting you to begin.

and as your pen traced her skin she’d sit still, occasionally glancing down to see the progress.

“what’s this one?” she whispered. you’d drawn a small sleeping wolf, curling under a moonlit sky along her bicep.

“strength.” you replied softly.

natasha didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened in a way that made your heart stutter.

your drawings become more than just a way to pass time. they became a language of their own. a way of grounding yourself, of tethering your anxious thoughts to something steady.

and natasha became part of that steadying force.

“do i ever get to draw on you?” she teased once.

“maybe,” you said leaning back to admire your work. “if you’re good.”

she chuckled, shaking her head. a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

it was a silent agreement between the two of you now. you’d find your solace in the lines you traced along her skin and she’d find hers in letting you.

[vamptizm]

v. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. smut, cunnilingus (p receiving), scissoring, praise, bottom!paige i think?. kinda toxic!oc. no aftercare. basically porn with plot. do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

word count: 8.2k (longest shit i’ve ever written)

note: u can definitely tell that i’m not used to writing smut at all and that my literacy disappears when i try… anyway lmk if u wanna be added to the nonexistent taglist. like, comment below and subscribe and share this video with ur friends!

series masterlist

The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet kitchen as Clover stood at the counter, her back to the doorway. She moved languidly, her curly hair loosely tied up, wearing an oversized hoodie that hung off one shoulder and a pair of shorts. A bowl of cereal sat in front of her, spoon in hand, as she focused on eating, ignoring the world around her.

Paige shuffled into the room moments later, her blonde hair a disheveled mess, eyes still half-closed from sleep. She was wearing a loose white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, her bare feet making soft thuds against the tiled floor. She yawned as she made her way to the bathroom, rubbing at her face groggily.

When she returned, her attention fell immediately on Clover, who hadn't so much as turned her head in acknowledgment. Paige froze for a moment, her hand still on the bathroom door handle. ‘Really? Back to this already?’

The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface since the night before bubbled up again. She thought the tension between them had eased after the game, but clearly, Clover wasn't on the same page.

Paige tried to mask her irritation, playing it cool as she strolled to the kitchen counter. Her tone was casual as she muttered, "Morning."

To her surprise, Clover responded immediately. "Morning," she said, her voice calm and unbothered, her focus still on her cereal.

Paige blinked, momentarily thrown off. There was no sarcasm, no venom—just a steady, neutral reply. It only confused her more.

But then, an image from the night before popped into Paige's head: the blonde waitress standing in the bleachers, holding up that ridiculous sign. The girl's smug face flashed vividly in her mind, reigniting the irritation she'd been trying to push down.

"Your girl looked real proud of herself at the game last night," Paige said, her voice laced with a hint of pettiness. She leaned against the counter, folding her arms. "You two dating or something?"

Clover paused mid-bite, her spoon poised in front of her lips. Slowly, she looked up, finally meeting Paige's gaze. Her expression was unreadable as she chewed and swallowed her cereal before replying, her voice flat.

"Why don't you focus on your game instead of my love life? Maybe then we wouldn't have almost lost."

The words hit Paige like a slap. Her mouth opened slightly in disbelief before she quickly snapped it shut. "Excuse me?" she retorted, straightening up. "If I remember right, you missed that wide-open three in the first quarter."

Clover smirked faintly, clearly unimpressed by Paige's attempt to shift the blame. "And yet we still won, didn't we? You're welcome, by the way," she shot back, her voice light and almost teasing.

Paige bristled. "Oh, don't act like you carried us. You—"

"Paige," Clover interrupted, her tone sharper now, though her expression remained maddeningly calm. "You played like a shitty teammate yesterday. I know that, the team and coach know it, and so do you, so let's stop the theatrics, 'kay?"

Paige clenched her jaw, struggling to come up with a rebuttal that wouldn't immediately backfire. She knew Clover was right, of course she was. The brunette, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, casually taking another spoonful of cereal.

But then Paige decided to double down, the memory of that waitress gnawing at her. "Or maybe you were too focused on your lover and I didn't trust you with the ball."

"Oh, my lover?" Clover mocked with a scoff, tilting her head slightly. "Why? Jealous?"

Paige scoffed, her cheeks burning. "Hardly. Just curious, that's all."

"Mhm," Clover hummed, leaning her hip against the counter as she turned fully toward Paige. Her smile widened slightly, teasing and sharp. "You sure? 'Cause you've been awfully focused on who's in my bed lately."

Paige stiffened, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. "I'm not—"

"Oh, you're not?" Clover interrupted smoothly, her eyes twinkling with mock sympathy. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping an octave. "Then why do you sound so bothered, Paige? Why do you care so much?"

"I don't care," Paige shook her head lightly, her voice trying to imitate nonchalance.

"Could've fooled me," Clover replied with a soft laugh, her calm demeanor only fueling Paige's internal frustration.

She sighed dramatically, setting her spoon down with a clink. She turned fully to face Paige now, hands resting on the counter behind her, grinning and shaking her head as if to taunt the blonde. "You're so obsessed with me, aren't you?"

Paige scoffed with furrowed brows, her face almost flushing. "What? No, what—"

Before she could finish, Clover closed the distance between them in one swift movement, her hands landing firmly on Paige's hips as she backed her into the counter. Paige's breath hitched, her words dying in her throat.

Clover's gaze was steady, unapologetically taking her time as her eyes roamed over Paige, from her messy blonde hair to her hardened nipples under the thin shirt and sweatpants hanging low on her hips. The scrutiny was deliberate, almost predatory, and Paige found herself frozen under its weight.

"You've got a lot of opinions on who I fuck and don't, for someone who isn't obsessed with me." Clover said, her voice low and smooth, a stark contrast to the usual lightness it carried.

Paige swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come.

Clover's eyes lingered for a moment longer before she stepped back, releasing Paige as abruptly as she had grabbed her. "Eat something," she said over her shoulder as she returned to her cereal. "Maybe it'll help with whatever's got you so worked up."

Paige stood there, rooted to the spot, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened, but all she could focus on was the lingering heat of Clover's touch and the smug smirk that played on her lips as she turned away.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, an episode of Grey's Anatomy playing in the background as Paige reclined on the couch. She was in her usual position—legs spread lazily, an arm slung over the backrest. Her attention wasn't entirely on the show, though. It never was when Clover was around. 

Paige glanced up briefly as the sound of light footsteps approached, only for her gaze to lock on Clover's figure. The smaller girl sauntered into the space with her usual effortless confidence, her short denim skirt swaying slightly with each step. A cropped jersey hugged her frame, exposing just enough of her toned midriff and shoulder as it hung off to catch Paige's undivided attention.

Clover didn't acknowledge her at first. Instead, she made a beeline for the coffee table, where a set of keys rested. Paige's jaw tensed as Clover stepped directly in front of her, purposely blocking her view of the TV. 

"Seriously?" Paige muttered, her tone low but not nearly annoyed enough to match her words. 

Clover didn't respond. She leaned over just enough to grab her keys, giving Paige an unimpeded view of her outfit—gold necklaces catching the light, a delicate waist chain glinting against her skin. Paige's eyes traveled down Clover's figure shamelessly, lingering on her exposed legs before snapping back up. She swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. 

For a second, Paige considered telling her to move, the words forming instinctively in her throat. But that would mean Clover might actually leave, and she wasn't ready for that just yet. 

Clover straightened, her glossy lips curved into the faintest grin as she turned her head slightly, catching Paige's eyes for just a moment. "Problem?" she asked innocently, though her tone betrayed that she knew exactly what she was doing. 

Paige's mouth opened, but no words came out. She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck, her usual composure faltering under Clover's playful gaze. 

Satisfied, Clover didn't wait for a response. She tossed her keys in the air once before catching them and pivoted on her heel, heading for the door. The sound of her shoes echoed in the room, and Paige let her eyes wander one last time as Clover's hips swayed with every step. 

The door shut softly behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening. Paige released a long, frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her head dipping as if she could somehow shake off the tension. 

And yet, despite her irritation, she couldn't stop the small, almost involuntary smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. 

Paige couldn't stop thinking about her. No matter what she did—watching TV, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, even lying back and closing her eyes—Clover's image refused to leave her mind. It was maddening, like waking from a dream so vivid, so achingly perfect, that you'd do anything to slip back into it. 

Her thoughts were relentless, circling back to the girl over and over again. The way Clover looked when she was mad, her jaw set, eyes blazing with defiance. The way her hands had gripped Paige's collar the night prior, pulling her close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. Paige could still hear her voice, sharp and taunting, her words always laced with an angry edge that sent a shiver down her spine. 

And this morning? That was the worst of it. Clover had practically burned herself into Paige's memory. The teasing sway of her hips, the flash of her waist chain catching the light, the smug little smirk she threw over her shoulder as if she knew exactly what she was doing to Paige. 

But the moment that haunted Paige the most, the one she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried, was in the kitchen. Clover's hands on her hips, her grip firm, her body pressing close—too close—until Paige was caged against the counter. Her eyes had roamed Paige's body unapologetically, hunger blazing in them like an open flame. Paige had felt her breath hitch then, her pulse pounding in her ears, and the memory alone was enough to make her throat go dry now. 

It was all too much. The twisting heat in her stomach, the ache that gnawed at her with each passing second, was impossible to ignore. She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing, but the tension coiled tighter instead of easing. 

Finally, Paige gave in. With a sharp exhale, she reached for the remote and switched off the TV. The sudden quiet in the living room only seemed to amplify the storm raging in her mind. She stood abruptly, her legs moving on autopilot as she strode to her room. 

The door shut with a soft click behind her, but the sound felt deafening in the empty apartment. None of her roommates were home—not Clover, at least. Paige checked the time, knowing she had hours before anyone returned. 

But even as she stood in the middle of her room, hands braced on her hips, she couldn't escape the fire Clover had lit within her. It burned hot, consuming, leaving Paige feeling restless and craving something she knew she shouldn't want. Something she couldn't stop wanting. 

That's how Paige ended up laying on her bed, music playing in the background and her hand slid down the waistband of her sweatpants and boxers. It was to no surprise to the blonde, that she had already been soaked before she could even do anything. Her fingers rubbed slow circles, almost teasing herself with the chosen tempo. Images of Clover flashed her mind, her name escaping the blonde's lips like a mantra. It's not as if she didn't try to think of something, or someone else. She really did, but Clover's face, voice and body stuck. The sounds she'd made the last time Paige got to see her like that. Lips swollen, collarbones glistening and eyes dazed and cloudy. All of it drove her insane, her heart beating faster.

Her movements picked up in pace, soft and quiet whimpers and moans turning louder the more her pleasure built up. Biting her bottom lip did near to nothing to help her hold the noises back.

The music that continued to play in the background was loud enough to drown out the sound of the front door opening and clicking shut again, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sinful sounds seeping through from behind Paige's door. Clover only stood there, her weight leaned against the wall next to the girl's room door and her arms crossed. A smirk played on her lips, tongue poking against the inside of her cheek.

The debate that unfolded in her head was a tough one. Should she just go to her own room and pretend as if she hadn't heard anything, or should she open that door and give the Paige exactly what she seemed to need.

"Fuck, Clo." Paige's whiny voice rang through her ears, and the way her nickname sounded coming from her was enough to make the brunette crack.

Her hand reached out for the handle, the metal cold under her skin as she pushed it down, the door opening with a soft click. One that Paige seemed to miss, because when Clover slowly and quietly stepped in, her eyes were still closed, hand still down her pants and soft whimpers still coming out of her.

Paige was still unaware of the company. She was too caught up in the moment, her hand stilling abruptly only when the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the quiet room. Her head snapped toward the doorway, wide eyes meeting Clover's figure leaning casually against the frame.

Arms crossed over her chest, Clover wore an expression of pure amusement, a smirk tugging at her lips. The heat was rising to her neck and face, but she'd rarely been the type to visibly flush pink. Her dark eyes glimmered with something Paige couldn't quite decipher—teasing, yes, but there was something else, something that made the blonde's stomach flip in a way she wasn't prepared for.

Paige's hand darted out from under the waistband of her pants as if she'd been burned, her cheeks flushing a deep red. "Fuck—I didn't think anyone would be home yet," she stammered, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. She refused to meet Clover's gaze, as though her embarrassment might subside if she avoided the intensity of the brunette's attention.

Clover only shrugged, entirely unfazed. "One of my classes got canceled," she explained nonchalantly, pushing herself off the doorframe and taking a slow step into the room. "Lucky me, huh?"

The teasing lilt in her voice made Paige's heart race even faster, and the silence that followed was deafening. Clover let it stretch just long enough to make Paige squirm, her gaze unrelenting as it roamed over the blonde with unapologetic curiosity.

And then Clover spoke again, her tone shifting—low, sultry, and taunting. "Do you need help with that?"

Paige froze, her breath hitching as the words registered. Her thoughts scrambled, a million excuses and denials flashing through her mind, but none of them stuck. Instead, her body betrayed her, and before she could stop herself, she nodded. Quick, almost desperate, the motion came faster than she intended.

Clover's smirk widened, satisfaction dripping from the curve of her lips as she closed the distance between them. The door clicked softly shut behind her, the sound sending a shiver down Paige's spine.

Paige's pulse thrummed wildly as Clover reached the bed, the brunette's movements deliberate and unhurried. Paige's breath caught when Clover swung a leg over her, settling into her lap with effortless confidence.

Paige's back pressed deeper into the mattress as Clover leaned in, their faces just inches apart. Clover's fingers trailed along Paige's arm, featherlight, teasing, and when Paige finally met her gaze, she found herself drowning in the intensity of those dark, hungry eyes.

"You should've locked the door," Clover murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but no less commanding. "Not that I'm complaining."

Paige swallowed hard, her breath shallow and uneven. She wasn't sure if it was the weight of Clover on her lap or the brunette's piercing gaze that had her feeling so unmoored. Or maybe, it was her skirt riding up just enough to give the blonde a small peek of the color of her panties. Either way, the heat blooming beneath her skin was undeniable.

"I didn't think anyone would walk in," Paige muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clover's smirk didn't falter; if anything, it deepened. "Or maybe that's exactly what you wanted." Her fingers brushed against Paige's shoulder now, a featherlight touch that sent shivers racing down her spine.

Paige shifted beneath her, unsure if she was trying to pull away or lean into the touch. Clover didn't move, her composure steady and commanding, like she was in complete control of the situation—and maybe she was.

"You're so quiet now," Clover mused, her voice soft but teasing. "Not so bold when you're not in charge, huh?"

Paige's cheeks flushed deeper, a color Clover clearly noticed because she let out a quiet chuckle—low and knowing. "Relax," she murmured, leaning in just enough for Paige to feel the brush of her breath against her ear. " 'M not gonna bite... unless you want me to."

The words sent a jolt through Paige, and she turned her head, finally meeting Clover's eyes again. There was something playful in the brunette's expression, but beneath it, an intensity Paige couldn't ignore.

"Clover," Paige started, but her voice cracked, betraying her attempt at calmness.

"Hmm?" Clover tilted her head, feigning innocence.

Paige's hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching as if trying to anchor herself. "I don't... I don't think this is a good idea," she managed to say, though the words came out uneven.

Clover leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable for a moment. "And why's that?" she asked, her tone softer now, less teasing but no less curious. Attentive.

Paige opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Her thoughts were too tangled—caught somewhere between the electrifying tension of the moment and the gnawing doubt in the back of her mind. She couldn't look away, though, not when Clover was this close, her dark eyes searching Paige's face with such quiet confidence.

“Thought so.”

After a long pause, Clover spoke again, her voice gentle. "If you want me to stop, just say the words."

The sincerity in her tone startled Paige. For all her teasing and playful bravado, Clover wasn't pushing—she was offering a way out. Paige's chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about taking it. But instead, she shook her head, the movement small and hesitant but clear.

Clover's smirk returned, softer this time, and she leaned back in closer. "Good," she whispered, her hands settling lightly on Paige's shoulders. " 'Cause I wasn't ready to leave anyway."

She straightened, her dark eyes never leaving Paige’s flushed face as her hands slowly slid down the blonde’s arms. Her fingers moved with purpose, tracing the soft curve of muscle and bone, lingering just long enough to leave a faint, electric trail in their wake. When she reached the hem of Paige’s shirt, she paused, her fingers toying with the fabric as though testing the weight of the moment.

Her gaze flicked up, brown eyes locking onto blue. There was no rush, no demand—just a silent question, one that Clover didn’t need to voice. Paige swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling unevenly, before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. That was all Clover needed.

In one fluid motion, Clover pushed the shirt up, the fabric gathering as it rose along Paige’s torso. Paige arched her back slightly, her shoulders lifting from the mattress to help, and the shirt slipped off with ease, leaving her pale torso and chest bare under Clover’s attentive gaze.

For a moment, Clover stilled, taking her time as her eyes swept over Paige’s form. Every mole, every curve, every shadow and line of her body seemed to command her attention. It wasn’t just a glance—it was as though she was memorizing her, committing her to the deepest recesses of her mind.

The words that rose in Clover’s throat felt too raw, too close to the parts of herself she usually kept hidden. She swallowed them down, opting instead for the kind of playful charm she always fell back on.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Clover’s lips curved into a grin, her tongue darting out to swipe along the edge of her teeth as she spoke. The compliment was delivered casually, almost cheekily, but the fire in her gaze betrayed the depth of her admiration.

Her hands moved again, this time trailing upward. Her palms came to rest softly on Paige’s chest, her touch firm but not overbearing. She gave a gentle squeeze, her thumbs brushing lightly against smooth skin. Paige’s breath hitched audibly, and her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she fought to contain the small sounds threatening to escape her.

Clover leaned in closer, her knees shifting against the mattress to position herself more comfortably. She was hovering now, her body poised above Paige’s, one hand planted beside the blonde’s head for balance. The other hand slid to her waist, her grip light but grounding.

Her lips found Paige’s shoulder first, the kiss soft but deliberate, her breath warm against her skin. Slowly, Clover began her descent, her mouth tracing a line down Paige’s collarbone, lingering in places just long enough to leave a faint sting of warmth in her wake. Paige’s breathing grew shallow, uneven, and Clover could feel the tremor beneath her lips as they moved lower.

Each kiss was unhurried, as though Clover was savoring every inch of Paige’s skin. Her own breathing grew heavier as she moved, the tension between them palpable in the charged silence of the room. Every soft sound Paige made—every faint sigh, every quiet intake of breath—spurred Clover on, her lips trailing lower, igniting a fire that neither of them seemed inclined to extinguish.

Clover's lips paused just above Paige's ribs, her

breath brushing against the sensitive skin. She glanced up, her dark eyes catching the blonde's, searching for any hint of hesitation. Paige's flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips were all the confirmation Clover needed. 

With calculated slowness, Clover shifted her weight, her free hand sliding down Paige's side. Her fingertips danced along the curve of her waist before finding her hip, her grip tightening just enough to ground them both. She pressed a lingering kiss just below Paige's ribcage, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she heard the faint, shaky exhale it elicited. 

"You're holding your breath," Clover teased, her voice low and teasing as she lifted her head slightly, her lips brushing against Paige's skin as she spoke. "Relax for me, Blondie." 

Paige's cheeks darkened further, her hands nervously fidgeting with the blanket beneath her. "Easy for you to say," she muttered, her voice soft but laced with a nervous laugh. "You're not the one being—" 

"Admired?" Clover finished for her, arching a brow. She grinned, her lips trailing back upward until they hovered near Paige's ear. "Trust me, you've got nothing to be nervous about." 

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they carried a weight that made Paige's breath catch for the umpteenth time. Clover's tone was light, but her gaze was anything but—it was heavy, intense, and filled with an undeniable hunger. 

Clover straightened slightly, her hand moving from Paige's waist to her jaw, gently tilting her face upward. "Tell me if you want me to stop," she murmured, her thumb brushing over the curve of Paige's cheek. 

Paige shook her head quickly, her blonde hair splaying across the pillow as her voice came out in a quiet, trembling whisper. "Don't stop." 

Clover's grin softened into something almost tender as she leaned down, their faces mere inches apart. "I won’t," she reassured, her breath warm against Paige's lips. 

This time, when Clover kissed her, it wasn't teasing or lighthearted—it was slow, deep, and deliberate. The world seemed to melt away as their lips moved together, the kiss carrying all the heat and intensity that had been building between them. Paige's hands instinctively moved to Clover's back, her fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as though she needed something to anchor herself. 

Clover's hand slid from Paige's jaw to her neck, her touch firm but gentle as she deepened the kiss. Time seemed to blur, each second stretching into eternity as they lost themselves in each other. The only sounds were the faint rustle of the bedspread, their uneven breathing, and the quiet hum of tension that filled the room. 

When they finally pulled apart, Clover rested her forehead against Paige's, her dark eyes searching the blue ones beneath her. Neither of them spoke for a moment, their breaths mingling as they tried to steady themselves. 

Clover's lips continued their path, slow and intentional, leaving another warm, tingling trail as they ventured lower. She savored the way Paige shivered under her touch, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Clover's fingers curled just beneath the waistband of Paige's sweatpants.

She paused, her lips hovering just above Paige's navel as her knuckles brushed up and down the smooth, pale skin at her waist. What had her captivated was the way Paige's body responded to her every move—the slight arch of her back, the soft gasp when Clover's knuckles ghosted over her skin.

She tugged slightly, just enough to tease, her touch grazing lower. Paige's breathing was uneven as Clover pressed another kiss to her hipbone, leaving her teetering on the edge of anticipation. She felt like her body was being lit on fire, almost as if somebody had entirely doused her in gasoline, Clover's touch and lips against her skin being the lit match igniting the fire.

"Been wanting to eat this pussy for a while," she murmured, and with that, she eased the fabric down, taking her time, savoring every inch of Paige's bare skin as it was revealed, who was practically almost kicking her pants and boxers off.

There she was, in all of her glory for the brunette to admire and take in. The world outside the room disappeared entirely, leaving only the quiet rustle of fabric and the sound of the blonde's uneven breaths filling the air.

For once, Clover didn't waste any more time, her body shuffling down enough to where she was facing the girl's dripping cunt. Her hands gripped Paige's left thigh, swiftly swinging it over her shoulder for better access. She had to take a deep, subtle breath— filling her lungs with desperately needed oxygen as she took in the sight.

Clover’s lips followed suit, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to the inside of one thigh, and then the other. Her movements were unhurried, almost reverent, as though she had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing something so intimate. Each kiss was a silent promise, a wordless expression of affection and desire, and it made Paige’s head spin like it never had before.

It wasn’t just the touch—it was the care, the attention, the way Clover’s every action seemed to whisper that Paige was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

And for Paige, that feeling was almost overwhelming. It was foreign, like a language she had never bothered to learn.

"Wanna taste you," The brunette whispered, her voice thick with desire as she looked up at the blonde.  "It's only fair you let me return the favour." She wanted to make Paige feel good, to make her scream her name. Wanted to give her pleasure like she had never experienced before.

Paige could feel herself getting lost in Clover's chocolate brown irises, in real time speed, hyper aware of everything about the girl. Her eyes, her warm breath against where Paige needed her most, her somewhat rough and veiny hands from playing so much basketball stroking her skin. It all felt heavenly and she was sure that she never wanted this to end as she only nodded her head in response, not trusting her own voice.

That was all it took for Clover to delve in, her tongue flatly licking a long stripe up her folds. The small, airy moan that followed was like music to her ears, only encouraging her to keep going. Clover couldn't help but press a few open mouthed kisses before going back to working her tongue against Paige. The taste was heavenly— near to intoxicating.

It wasn't the first time that Paige had somebody go down on her, not even the fifth or tenth, but for some reason, this time it felt completely different from all the other times. As if Clover was doing it for her own pleasure, perhaps enjoying it more than the blonde herself.

Paige's hand landed on the back of the girl's head, subconsciously pushing her face further down, and luckily Clover wanted nothing more than to be impossibly close to her core.

She felt like she was being burned alive. She propped herself up on her elbows, determined to look down at Clover while the girl continued to messily lick and suckle

"Fuck, Ma. Doing so good." Paige couldn't stop herself from praising the brunette's efforts, a satisfied grin on her lips while her hand reached back down to brush a stray strand of her hair back.

Clover grinned at the praise, her tongue working more urgently, her hands gripping Paige's hips, holding her close. She could feel her arousal growing, body responding to Clover's touch. She increased the pressure of her tongue, repeatedly flicking it against the girl's clit, her hand snaking up to cup Paige's tits, thumb teasing her hardened nipple.

Her soft moans filled the room, and Clover could feel her body trembling beneath her. She continued her ministrations, determined to make this the best experience, sloppily shaking her head from side to side like a starved man, lapping up everything Paige was offering. Gluttony adorned Clover as she wanted to consume her entirely. "You sound so fucking pretty. Anyone ever tell you that?" She pulled away briefly to speak.

Despite all of it— the sin, the unholy sounds and actions, Paige could still feel her face flush pink, somehow growing shy at the unexpected praise. Her heart thudded in her chest as she shook her head, her grip tight on the now messed up bedsheets.

Clover halted, raising a brow in surprise. How could no one have told her that before, when she sounded as soft and angelic as an angel? The complete opposite of her public image. "Shame. We both know that no one can make you feel like I do. They're too selfish to touch you like I do." Clover mumbled against her sopping cunt, causing another whine to escape her at the words.

Paige continued to watch Clover, the sight of the girl in between her legs, feverishly licking and sucking on her cunt was almost as pleasurable as the feeling itself. By this point, Paige was a whiny and whimpery mess, Clover's name leaving her lips like a memorized prayer, her hands uncontrollably pushing the brunette’s head further down.

Paige's other leg had hooked itself over her shoulder, the other hand placing itself over the brunette's hand groping her tits, encouraging her to be as rough as she liked while the girl continued to lap up at her. "Clo, fuck, Baby."

Clover hummed against Paige at the use of her nickname, sending vibrations up her core. Her fingers digging into her hips as she felt her body tense. She loved the taste of her, the sound of her voice, the way her body responded to her touch. Clover increased the pressure and speed of her tongue, her fingers pinching Paige’s nipple harder, grip tightening. She could basically feel Paige's heart pounding, breath coming out in short gasps. Clover wanted to bring her to the edge and then push her over

"That's it, baby," she murmured against Paige’s core, her voice husky with desire. "Cum for me. Make a mess on my face, yeah?" She could feel it, the tension in Paige's body, the way her muscles clenched and released.

There was no denying that Paige was dangerously close, the longer and hungrier Clover continued to eat her out, the tighter the knot inside her tummy got. Clover's words of encouragement and praise only fuelled Paige's pleasure, dragging her closer and closer to the edge. By this point, she had given up on propping herself up, sacrificing the sight of the brunette to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m so close—“

It wasn't long before she felt her climax creeping up on her, until it suddenly hit her like a truck, allowing her to fall and crumble apart against Clover's tongue. The girl's name left Paige's lips over and over, chanting it like a mantra, a chain and series of cuss words escaping her as she came down from her orgasm.

Clover could feel Paige's body tremble as she came, sweet release flooding her mouth and soaking the bottom half of her face. She swallowed, her gaze still focused on the blonde's cunt, a smile spreading across her face.

She pulled back, a string of saliva mixed with arousal connected to her lips and the girl's core before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her body aching with need as she pushed Paige's legs off her shoulders. She sat up, gazing down at the blonde, her chest heaving, breath coming out in short pants.

Clover leaned back, her weight shifting off Paige for a moment as her hands slid to the hem of her own shirt. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed through the window, casting a soft light over her, highlighting every curve and shadow of her form. As she moved, the long gold necklaces around her neck swayed gently, catching the light and adding an almost hypnotic rhythm to her movements. 

She paused, glancing down at Paige with a small, teasing smile. 

Paige was still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her flushed face was framed by her tousled blonde hair, and her blue eyes remained fixed on Clover, wide and slightly dazed. She looked almost enchanted, like she couldn't believe this was happening, like she didn't want to miss a single second of what came next. 

Clover slowly lifted her shirt, further revealing not just the toned lines of her stomach but the tattoos that adorned her skin. Fine lines drawing a cybersigilistic design that rested just beneath her breasts and along her ribs, curving slightly with her movement. Another intricate design spanned her womb, a soft but striking contrast against her smooth skin. The details were mesmerizing, yet understated. 

The fabric peeled away like the layers of a gift being unwrapped, and Paige's gaze followed the movement, her lips parting as her breath hitched again. 

"Enjoying the view?" Clover teased softly, her voice low and playful as she tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it carelessly to the side. 

Paige swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink as she nodded wordlessly. Her eyes flickered between Clover's face, her jewelry, and her newly exposed skin, lingering on the delicate gold waist chain that rested against her hips and the black-lace bra. It seemed to frame her tattoos, drawing attention to the soft lines and curves of her body. 

Clover's smirk softened into something more tender as she reached for the button of her skirt, her fingers working at the closure with practiced ease. She kept her movements slow, calculated, letting Paige's gaze linger. There was something deeply satisfying about the way Paige looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. 

"Breathe, Blondie," Clover said with a small laugh, her tone light but warm. 

Paige let out a shaky laugh of her own, exhaling deeply as she ran a hand through her messy hair. "I... I'm breathing," she murmured, though her voice was barely above a whisper. 

Clover's smile grew, a mix of confidence and affection flashing in her dark eyes. "Good job," she praised simply, stepping out of her skirt with the same slow grace. When she straightened up again, her hands on her hips, the sunlight glinted off her necklace and waist chain, her tattoos shifting slightly with ever movement. She took a step closer to the bed, watching as Paige's gaze traveled upward to meet hers. 

"You're beautiful," Paige said suddenly, the words spilling out unfiltered, her voice tinged with awe. 

The comment caught Clover off guard, and for a brief second, the teasing façade cracked, replaced by something raw and genuine. Her lips curved into a softer smile, and she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paige's face. 

"Thank you," Clover whispered, her voice gentle and sincere. 

For a moment, they just stayed like that, the air between them heavy with a charged silence that felt more intimate than any words or actions. Then Clover climbed back onto the bed, her motions slow and purposeful, as if savoring the closeness they were about to share again.

Clover moved to get on her knees, peeling her panties off and unhooking her bra, before throwing both to the floor, leaving her just as bare and exposed as Paige. She grabbed a pillow next to the girl's head, patting her hips for Paige to lift them so that she could place the pillow under her.

Clover's arm gently lifted Paige's left leg up, eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of the girl's still sopping cunt before hooking that leg over her chest and on her shoulder. Before doing anything else, Clover stroked and caressed Paige's thigh to relax the girl and her muscles.

"Don't know if I can take it. Too sensitive." Paige mumbled quietly.

The brunette only grinned, her eyes cloudy and her voice low. "You can and you will."

It didn't take long for Clover to throw one leg over Paige’s other thigh and lower herself on the blonde under her, their cores finally meeting as electricity sparked all throughout their bodies, a small and satisfied moan leaving the blonde's lips.

"Damn, Baby. You're still soaked." Clover chuckled as she grinded against the girl's cunt, playfully teasing in hopes of helping her relax further and let loose. She didn't want the atmosphere to be serious.

Paige's body arched up into Clover's, her hands gripping her hips. She wanted more, wanted them to be impossibly close. To melt into one.

The brunette let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as she began to grind against Paige, the sensation and pleasure sending shivers down her spine. She let out a soft, needy moan, her body responding to Paige's touch, whose hands were still firmly clasping her hips. "I'm supposed to be doing the work."

"Can't have that, Mama." Paige mumbled breathlessly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as she guided Clover's hips up and down.

All that could be heard next, was the sound of wet squelching and soft, needy moans and whimpers from both Clover and Paige. The room felt hot and suffocating, the smell of sex filling the air as both of them panting for more oxygen.

"Words, Paige. I need words." Clover demanded firmly, her nails digging into the soft flesh of the blonde's thigh against her chest. "Tell me how I'm making you feel." She continued to rock her hips against Paige's, trying to hold back her own moans as much as possible, but that proved to almost be pointless.

Paige looked absolutely stunning beneath her—straight out of an erotic painting—fucked out face, parted lips and rosy cheeks. Clover couldn't stop herself from placing soft kisses against her thigh, her hand reaching down to intertwine her fingers with Paige's, the other gripping the leg closer to her chest.

Paige let out a strangled moan, her blue eyes meeting Clover's brown, body trembling with need and her heart still thudding in her chest. "You feel so fucking good. Making me feel good." she panted, her voice thick with lust. "So soft ‘nd wet. Can't get enough of you, Ma."

Her hips once again bucked against the brunette's, fingers tightening around Clover’s as they continued to hold hand "Fuck, Clover, please." She whispered, her voice barely a whisper. She could feel her muscles tightening, losing herself in the sanctuary of pleasure, her heart pounding and skin burning

Paige's breath hitched again, her hands instinctively gripping Clover's waist as if grounding herself, her fingertips brushing against the delicate chain wrapped around Clover's hips. The sensation of the cool metal against her heated skin sent another wave of shivers through her body, and she closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. 

"I... I need..." Paige stammered softly, her voice trembling under Clover's knowing gaze. She couldn't quite get the words out, her usual confidence completely shattered, leaving her bare and vulnerable beneath the brunette's smoldering intensity. 

Clover tilted her head, her dark brown eyes locking onto Paige's as her fingers trailed along the side of her neck, sending goosebumps down her spine. "You need what, Baby?" she asked, her voice a whisper of mischief and affection. Her hand traced a slow, deliberate path from Paige's neck to her collarbone, pausing to toy with a loose strand of golden hair before moving lower. 

Paige swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Clover's steady weight. "I need you," she finally admitted, her voice whiny and barely above a whisper but raw with sincerity. Her hands slid up Clover's back, brushing against the intricate ink curling around her ribs, the warmth of her touch drawing an audible sigh from Clover's lips. “Need to cum so bad.”

Clover's smirk softened into something gentler, more intimate. "Good girl," she murmured, her tone a blend of praise and satisfaction. She dipped her head slightly, her lips brushing against the corner of Paige's mouth, still teasing, still withholding just enough to leave the blonde aching for more. 

Their bodies moved together again, Clover's necklace and waist chain catching the soft light and reflecting delicate patterns onto Paige's flushed skin while dangling over her. Clover's lips hovered just a breath away from Paige's, and the tension between them reached its breaking point. With one last whisper, Clover's voice turned molten. "Whenever you're ready." 

Clover's words hung in the air, each one a soft promise that vibrated through Paige's chest, making her heart race all over again. She could feel the weight of Clover's presence pressing down on her, not just physically but emotionally, as if Clover were holding a piece of her in the palm of her hand.

Paige exhaled slowly, her body still trembling from the tension that Clover had so expertly drawn out of her. There was an intimacy to the moment that felt different from anything she'd known before, a deep connection that swirled in the space between them, weaving tighter with every shared breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure Clover or maybe to find the words to express the overwhelming pull she felt, but her thoughts scattered as Clover's fingers brushed over her waist, sending sparks of warmth where they touched.

The blonde's muscles tensed, her hips bucking against Clover's once more, blunt nails digging into the skin of her hips as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves, sweeping her away like a sandcastle built near the shore. She cried out Clover's name, her vision blurring as she rode out the orgasm, her body trembling. Paige had almost missed the way Clover was quick to follow along, brought over the edge by the sight of the blonde beneath her.

Clover's chest rose and fell heavily, her breathing uneven as she stayed poised above Paige. For a moment, she felt herself softening, the sight of Paige sprawled beneath her—a mixture of flushed cheeks, mussed blonde hair, and half-lidded blue eyes—making her hesitate. Paige looked so beautiful in her afterglow, so raw and unguarded. A quiet part of Clover wanted to stay, to lean down and press a lingering kiss to her lips, to let herself feel the intimacy of the moment instead of running from it.

But then the memory crept in, uninvited.

It hit Clover like a sharp jab to the chest—the last time they had been in a position similar to this, how Paige had left her without a second glance. Her jaw tightened subtly, and she straightened up, the decision crystallizing in her mind. If Paige could leave her like she didn’t matter, then Clover could do the same.

Her fingers twitched as she quickly sat up, no longer interested in being close. No longer interested in lingering in the warmth of Paige's body. The image of Paige's face—beautiful, bizarrely innocent, but so distant—made her blood boil, and she stood abruptly, pulling herself together before Paige even had a chance to react.

She didn't look back. Didn't wait for the moment to dissolve into some kind of apology or shared understanding. With swift movements, Clover gathered her underwear from the floor, pulling them on with mechanical precision, trying not to focus on the tightness in her chest or the way her hands shook ever so slightly as she dressed.

Paige's voice broke the tension in the room, but Clover didn't even flinch at the confusion in it. The blonde's breathless question cut through the air, but Clover's heart was already somewhere else. Somewhere colder. Somewhere removed.

"Where are you going?" Paige asked, her voice was small, still carrying the traces of what they had just shared.

Clover's gaze flickered over Paige for the briefest of moments—just long enough to see the furrow in her brow, the question in her eyes. She almost felt something—regret, maybe—but it was drowned out by the sting of that memory. She couldn't afford to be soft now. She couldn't afford to care.

"I got a date in less than an hour," Clover said, her voice flat and emotionless, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside of her. She didn't give Paige the courtesy of another glance as she pulled her shirt over her head, the fabric falling into place as if she were shedding some piece of herself along with it.

With a final glance at the room, Clover turned and walked out, each step harder than the last. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving Paige in a stunned silence, her mind racing, her body still warm from the aftermath of what had just happened.

Paige lay there, staring at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling with the remnants of their shared moment. But instead of the satisfaction she had expected, she also felt hollow. Something in her chest felt empty, as if the pieces of her that had once been tethered to the moment had been pulled away, leaving her exposed and uncertain.

The confusion that filled her just moments before quickly turned to something else—regret, maybe, or perhaps guilt. She hadn't meant to hurt Clover. She hadn't known that leaving that night would leave such a lasting mark, but the coldness that Clover had shown her now... it stung.

As the minutes stretched on in the silence that Clover had left behind, Paige realized something. The distance between them was more than just physical. It was emotional, and it ran deeper than she had thought. She could feel it, that growing gap. Clover had shut down, and Paige had no idea how to bridge the divide that was suddenly so wide and unspoken.

Her breath came shallow and quick, her hands clenching into the sheets as she replayed the last few seconds over and over in her mind. Clover had mentioned a date. A date.

The thought hit her like a bucket of ice water, dousing any lingering haze of satisfaction from her mind. Confusion and guilt twisted in her chest, but it didn’t take long for something sharper to bubble to the surface. Annoyance.

"Really?" Paige muttered to herself, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. She tugged her shirt back over her head with more force than necessary, her jaw tightening. The image of Clover’s nonchalant expression as she casually mentioned going on a date burned into her mind, setting her teeth on edge.

Jealousy twisted its way through her stomach like a knot, coiling tighter with every passing second. She couldn’t help the questions that began racing through her mind. Who was the date with? Someone Clover actually liked? Someone better than her? Was it that same waitress?

The thought made her stomach churn. Clover leaving so abruptly, leaving her this time, stung more than Paige wanted to admit. It left her feeling unmoored, exposed in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige hated how much it bothered her. And she hated the idea of Clover going to someone else, smiling that same teasing smile, leaving someone else breathless and wanting.

Her scowl deepened, her heart racing in a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to longing. She didn’t know if she wanted to pull Clover back or push her further away.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers

[please-destroy]

Afterglow

Scarlett Johansson x Reader

Word Count: 4k

.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended. Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You’d only been hired as her assistant a month ago, but you knew it wasn’t nothing.

.

You didn’t meet her in person until after you’d gotten the job. 

At your interview, conducted over zoom, Scarlett Johansson had explained her skin-care line would be launching before the end of the year. She’d detailed the lengthy list of job responsibilities with an edge to her voice. Even through the screen, you’d caught the challenge in the tilt of her chin. 

The unspoken dare. If it was too much for you, back out now.

You only smiled.

‘I’d love the opportunity.’ You told her sincerely.

Scarlett’s eyebrow raised. For a moment, you thought you saw a sparkle of humour in her eye. Then, the tension returned.

‘I’ll be in touch.’ She told you, ending the call before you could respond again.

The job contract, the NDA and the practicalities of relocating for your new job took two weeks. 

.

There was something Scarlett did not mention on the phone. 

You knocked on her door on the first day. 

You’d already been let through security checks at the gate. You knew you were expected.

Scarlett opened the door. 

You were anticipating her to be very tired, exhausted even. Scarlett was currently on a virtual press tour for her new movie. 

You were not expecting her to be so.

Pregnant.

Scarlett’s face was smooth, except for subtle lines of tension around her eyes. She waited, holding the door ajar, daring you to comment. 

You glanced at the cardboard boxes lining the hallway behind her. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, feeling your senses come back to you. 

You followed Scarlett through to her own kitchen. Even walking behind her, you felt in awe. You savoured the moment out of her sight to let the shock of her pregnancy run through you.

No-one knew.

You’d been watching her press junket interviews for the past few days, calling it work prep. There had been no indication. No hint at all.

You tried to wipe your expression blank again when Scarlett next turned to face you. The same warning was written across her face. You let a belated congratulations die in your throat.

‘I have a busy day.’ She told you in a tight voice. ‘I have video interviews scheduled back to back.’

You gave a silent nod. Scarlett gestured to yet another taped cardboard box sitting on her kitchen counter. 

‘I need to move him out.’ She continued. 

You kept your face frozen. Colin Jost, your mind supplied helpfully. You’d been researching your boss, more work prep.

‘I need you to move him out.’ Scarlett corrected herself. She gave you an assessing look. Disappointment swirled in her eyes as she took in your stunned reaction.

You snapped back to the moment. 

‘Of course.’ You murmured, trying to calm your reeling mind. You moved over to the kitchen counter and the box.

Scarlett stepped away from your advance automatically, heading over to the door. 

The distrust in her body language trickled over you. You blushed in embarrassment.

‘The NDA.’ She reminded you bluntly, voice rasping. 

‘The iron clad one I signed?’ You asked, voice too innocent.

For a moment, a hint of humour sparkled in Scarlett’s eye. Exhaustion cut through it quickly. 

‘I’ll be back later.’ She told you evenly, before she left the room.

When she was gone, you nearly had a panic attack. 

Standing alone in her kitchen, staring at a box of her ex’s belongings. 

Scarlett Johansson was beautiful. You closed your eyes and knew she was embedded in your brain. 

It didn’t matter. 

The box was heavy as you lugged it through to sit with the others in the hallway. You walked through her house numbly, searching out more cardboard boxes. You avoided only the room that you could hear her laughing in. You found half a dozen more heavy boxes. 

Back breaking work on your first day should have been a red flag.

Still, you’d never had a pregnant boss before. You found yourself grateful that you’d been designated the task. You didn’t like to think of her doing it herself. 

You spent the next half hour pacing unsurely around the kitchen. At last, Scarlett came through at lunchtime. 

There was nothing subtle about her exhaustion or tension now. Her hair was tied back, it made her look drawn. 

A buildup of questions fell from your mouth before you could help it.

‘Can I get you something to eat? Who should I call about the boxes? Is there anything else I can do?’

Scarlett stared at you for a moment in the doorway. You watched her exhale in frustration. Alarm flared inside you.

‘I don’t have time for lunch. I have back to back interviews.’ She told you, voice simmering. ‘If it’s not in front of me right now, I don’t have time to eat it. I assumed that was clear.’

An apology caught in your throat as she unlocked and slid her phone across the now bare kitchen counter. 

‘He’s my last missed call.’ She told you bluntly. ‘Tell him to pick the boxes up.’

You nodded nervously, searching for the contact hurriedly. 

Scarlett moved to the fridge.

She stared at the contents with a kind of misery that told you how hungry she was.

Her expectation that you’d have known to prepare lunch was unreasonable, but you still felt awful.

‘I’m sorry.’ You squeaked out before she left again. 

Scarlett gave you a wry smile, it didn’t meet her eyes. 

‘I’m fat enough already.’ She shrugged, nodding down at the bump.

Your chest felt hollow with her joke, her final acknowledgement of the pregnancy. 

Colin Jost answered the call immediately. This was not surprising. There were fourteen missed calls from him on Scarlett’s phone. 

‘Scarlett.’ He sounded relieved. 

‘This is Scarlett’s assistant.’ You cut in immediately, not wanting there to be any confusion. 

You arranged for the boxes to be collected that afternoon by his own assistant. 

Impossibly, Colin had sounded tenser than Scarlett had. Guilt had dripped from his words and you didn’t want to imagine why.

.

You were dismissed when Scarlett next left her office. 

This time, you hovered at the foot of the stairs. Scarlett was notably ungainly as she walked down them, hand gripping the railing. 

Your heart caught in your mouth with a panicked premonition of her falling. Scarlett was very pregnant. Her centre of balance was clearly off. 

You moved to climb the stairs, ready to help before you could think it through. 

Scarlett froze midway down. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously at your presumption.

Cautiously, you backed down from the stairs.

‘My daughter will be home soon.’ She informed you, in the same blunt tone as earlier. ‘You can go now.’

You nodded silently, not admitting that you’d snuck a look at her schedule whilst her phone was unlocked. 

Scarlett gave a careful sigh then. You glanced up at her, still several steps above you on the staircase. 

‘I should have been more prepared for today.’ She admitted suddenly, shifting slightly with the discomfort of standing. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’

‘Okay.’ You said simply, not sure where you stood at the end of your first day.

You left the house. You ignored curious texts from friends wondering about your new mysterious job. You ignored the fact that, all things considered, your new boss had not been fair to you at all.

Instead, you wished desperately that you’d been brave enough to insist on making her dinner.

That night in bed, you stared up at your ceiling, trying to imagine what the next day would bring.

The next morning, with not nearly enough sleep, you found out.

.

It did not take you long to become good at your job. If you were being honest, this was because you thought of little else.

Your job had two main parts. 

The things you were asked to do. 

The things you were not asked to do. 

You excelled at the first but you lived for the second.

Scarlett’s calendar was colour coded within the first week. You parsed through various scheduled appointments, altering as many as you could so they didn’t overlap with her time with her daughter. 

You didn’t expect recognition for it. You lived for the small smile Scarlett gave when she checked her phone and saw the afternoon clear yet again.

Her favourite lunch was chicken salad. Soon enough, you could’ve prepared it in your sleep. 

Scarlett never thanked you directly. 

You didn’t need her to. Her voice softened towards you. You thought about it at night. You thought about a lot of things you shouldn’t.

.

You never touched Scarlett. 

Not that you were expecting to. 

A flush crawled up your neck every morning just from looking at her. You couldn’t get used to being close to someone so beautiful.

But, you didn’t even touch Scarlett in passing. You brought her lunch up to her office every day. Every day, she would lean subtly away from you as you put the plate on her desk. 

You would hear her breath catch in discomfort. She radiated tension at your proximity.

You tried not to let it bother you. You hoped desperately that she couldn’t see your crush, even though it felt painted on your skin.

.

And then, one morning, Scarlett met you impatiently at the front door. Her hair was tied back neatly. You understood the visual clues immediately. She had a professional meeting scheduled soon. You remembered her talking about potential investors the day before.

‘I have a call this morning.’ Scarlett confirmed, matter of factly. ‘I’m already late and I need you to take notes.’ 

You nodded, eyes widening in surprise. This was not usual. Scarlett’s office door stayed shut for most of the day, and you didn’t disturb her when it was closed.

Scarlett turned to hurry up the stairs, making you immediately nervous. Your hand hovered secretly at the small of her back as you walked a half step behind her. 

She handed you a notebook when you reached her office. Her fingers dragged over the back of your hand. Scarlett went very still. You forgot to breathe. 

She turned back to her desk and you caught the pink flush to her cheeks.

Longing burned in the pit of your stomach. The back of your hand was seared with her fingerprints. 

When the call began, you sat to the side of her desk, just out of sight.

You realised quickly why Scarlett had implored you to sit in. Distracted didn’t cover it. She couldn’t sit still. You watched her fidget in her seat for thirty minutes, barely remembering to nod at the right moments. 

Your attention stayed on her as you wrote out your notes. 

Discomfort was to be expected. You tried to remind yourself that it was inevitable. Scarlett was only becoming more pregnant. 

You watched her subtle winces as she continued to readjust herself in the office chair. 

There was an inevitable date approaching that neither of you had discussed. Scarlett hadn’t confirmed a thing, but you were sure she had entered her third trimester now. 

The call ended at last. 

Scarlett’s focus turned to you immediately. 

‘I’m hungry.’ She informed you pointedly. Her words took you by surprise. She never acknowledged the meals you were preparing for her. She’d never commented about the dinners you’d begun to leave stacked in her fridge before you left.

‘Okay.’ You agreed, waiting for her to stand first. 

Scarlett looked back at you, impatiently. 

There was an awkward silence before you realised she wanted you to leave first. You exited quickly, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

.

It didn’t take long to prepare a snack in the kitchen. 

You focused on the task angrily, wishing you were brave enough to ask the questions that were burning inside you. 

You’d been in this job long enough now and still every conversation was stilted and formal. 

Scarlett was very cautious about what others could see. Nobody in her family even seemed to know she was pregnant. Or at least, no one was checking in. 

You could see the cracks in the cold facade of it all. The brief pain on her face when she rejected an incoming call. 

You wished you could see all of her, not just the cracks. 

The obvious discomfort you’d noticed today felt like the final straw.

.

Still, you watched her descend the stairs surreptitiously.

Every few steps, Scarlett paused and her eyes squeezed tight with pain. Once, she pressed her knuckles hard against the small of her back. 

You didn’t say anything when she entered the kitchen. 

Her eyes were determined, the challenge in the tilt of her chin always present. Her hands were carefully at her sides. She walked straighter than ever. 

You didn’t move away from the counter, blocking her path to the plate you’d prepared.

You tilted your chin in an imitation of her own expression. Irritation crossed Scarlett’s face as she met your gaze. After a moment, her hand moved subtly to press against the small of her back again. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, quietly but firmly. Scarlett startled at your question.

You looked pointedly down at her hand.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended.  Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You were getting sick of this. Renewed strength brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

‘How can I help?’ You repeated your words to her calmly. You tilted your chin again in defiance, it was more demand than question.

You stared at each other for a long time.

Scarlett’s attention flitted to the snack that you’d prepared. Suddenly, it was her who was looking down at the ground.

You watched as the cracked pieces of her broke entirely. 

She stretched her hand out, leaning against the counter and relieving the pressure on her back.

‘Please.’ She whispered, admitting everything. 

You stepped forward. Your hand touched her back gently, unsurely. Scarlett’s breath hitched.

‘Lower.’ She whispered, something almost humiliated in her tone. 

You moved your hand obediently.

Scarlett moaned between clenched teeth when you found the spot.

Slowly, but surely, you pressed the heel of your hand against her back. 

Scarlett gave a strangled whimper, leaning automatically into your touch. You moved the pressure in a slow circle, trying to ease out the pain. 

Scarlett covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the noise. Her eyes were closed, but you saw a tear slip down her cheek.

When Scarlett turned around a few minutes later, she did not look like the woman you’d been working for. 

Defeat tangled with embarrassment in her expression. 

You watched her unsurely, not knowing what to say. 

Her voice cracked. 

‘I’m just so tired.’ She admitted, purposefully avoiding your stare.

.

Touching her now was easier. 

You took her hand, soft and warm in yours. It felt perfectly weighted. Gently, you led her to the sofa. 

Scarlett had never sat on it. Not whilst you were here. She gripped your arm suddenly as she lowered herself carefully down onto it. Shame tinted her cheeks pink. You understood abruptly that she would need a hand up from it too. 

Annoyance flared at her relentless stubbornness.

Scarlett exhaled shakily at the relief of a comfortable seat.

She looked over and caught the frustration written across your expression.

‘Y/N’ She murmured lowly, uncertainly. A shiver went down your spine at the way she said your name. 

‘You’re still hungry.’ You said quietly, getting back to your feet. Scarlett’s face burned with embarrassment as she watched you leave. 

When you returned, she was sitting as straight as she could on the soft sofa. Despite your frustration, it made your lips quirk upwards. 

You placed her plate down on the coffee table. 

You didn’t speak as she ate. Instead, you played nervously with your fingers. You tried to find the right words. 

You waited until you heard the plate thud back against the table. 

‘I want to take care of you.’ You whispered at last, staring at your hands. ‘I know it’s my job. But, I want to do it too.’ 

Scarlett didn’t speak. Your strange confession hung in the space between you.

Your skin tingled and your heart jumped erratically in your chest. You took a chance, glancing over at her. Scarlett’s eyes closed for a brief moment. You recognised the expression on her face. She was also trying to find the right words.

‘It always.’ She started unsurely. ‘It always goes wrong.’

Your head tilted in confusion. Scarlett gave a sad smile. 

You looked down at her belly and she followed your gaze. 

‘I’m sick of being disappointed.’ Scarlett’s voice caught, tangling with a raw pain. Her hand curved across her front. The action was stilted, as if her stomach was still unfamiliar to her. 

‘But, it’s me.’ She whispered, voice cracking open now. Her eyes glanced up at the ceiling, and you watched them fill with tears. ‘It’s always my fault.’

You wanted to help. An ache rippled through you.

You touched her leg. Scarlett froze.

She caught your gaze, and your intention too. 

She shook her head suddenly, you saw the tears slip down her cheeks.

‘Don’t pretend.’ She whispered now, almost begging. ‘Just, please, don’t pretend to care.’

‘I don’t know how.’ You murmured.

You leaned closer, giving yourself up to the want of her. 

Her lips were fuller than you expected. You could taste the salt on them.

Scarlett’s fingers were shaky as she touched the nape of your neck. 

Shivers rippled down your spine.

You kissed her harder and she responded in kind. 

Scarlett’s fingers tangled in your hair now. Her grip was sudden and tight. You felt her desperation in the curl of her fingers.

Blindly, you searched for her other hand, resting at her side. Already, the warmth of it was familiar. You held it tightly in yours, Scarlett exhaled slowly.

You leaned back to look at her. The flush of her cheeks doused you with affection and arousal. 

‘Scarlett.’ You said unthinkingly, enjoying the sound of her name on your tongue. 

She didn’t look up at her name, still focused on your lips. 

‘You’re perfect.’ She murmured, trailing a finger along your cheek and down the side of your neck. You wondered if she could feel your jumping pulse. ‘You’re not going to stay.’ 

Anger flared through you now. Indignity at being judged by other people’s mistakes.

You moved to kiss her collarbone harshly. Your teeth stung her skin as you nipped and sucked. Scarlett moaned into your ear. She fidgeted on the sofa as you left wet marks across her exposed skin. She grabbed at the sofa cushion to the side of her. 

‘I just want to help.’ You murmured determinedly, planting one last kiss just below her ear. Scarlett whined, her head tilting back.

You moved to kneel on the floor. 

You settled between her legs, fingers tugging down her pants. Everything felt predetermined. Maybe because you’d dreamed it. Maybe because it was always going to happen.

You looked up at her as you spread her legs. Scarlett was looking down at you, her pupils had dilated entirely. Everything felt right. You had wanted to be here for so long. 

You dragged your nails up her bare thighs. 

‘Thank you.’ Scarlett rasped and your heart clenched at the strange insecurity of it. You wanted to be here, you didn’t know how to tell her again.

Instead, you licked along her cunt. You could taste her already, coating your tongue. Scarlett couldn’t reach you from around her stomach. Your eyes flitted up to see her nails digging into the sofa cushion. Her head tilted back against the sofa, eyes closing.

She mumbled something quietly to herself. Annoyance continued to flicker inside you. You wanted to hear her.

You pressed your tongue hard against her clit and made her scream instead. 

When you were done. When she’d fidgeted against your wandering tongue. When you could taste the sweet tang of her in your mouth. When you would never think of anything else ever again. When she was trembling. You looked back up at her.

Scarlett’s hair was mussed, her mouth was parted as she panted. 

Scarlett was undone. 

You kissed her clit lightly, giving her one last aftershock before you slid her pants back up her legs. She acquiesced limply, still not quite in the room.

You sat beside her on the sofa, enjoying the weird domesticity of her afterglow. You rested your head against her shoulder feeling her chest move with each ragged breath. 

Your heart was still pounding beneath your ribs, trying to adjust to the new way the world was hung.

After a minute, you felt Scarlett tense again. You knew she was going to speak. 

‘What now?’ She asked bluntly, words purposefully calm. You lifted your head and read the challenge in the tilt of her chin. You knew instinctively that she was daring you to leave, readying herself for it even now. A strange, soft affection built in your chest. You realised that you would always win her dares.

You took her hand in yours. You weaved your fingers together and held tight. The warmth of her skin trickled inside you. 

You didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

You watched her thumb rub circles against your knuckles, enraptured.

.

(Some time later)

.

‘It won’t stop.’ Scarlett looked down at her phone cradled in her lap. Her voice was tight.

The phone buzzed in her hand, over and over as the news stories rolled in. You sat next to her, on the edge of her bed. You touched her very rounded stomach, still covered by the dress she’d worn to the earlier meeting. 

Even now, you found yourself hesitant to touch her, for so long she’d been your boss. 

Scarlett gave you a searing look. You weren’t sure if she regretted it. The public announcement of you. The personal assistant turned girlfriend. The implications for her, her sexuality, her career, her expected child. 

Her phone kept buzzing as more implications rolled in. You watched the headlines appear on the screen, one after another.

You watched Scarlett’s forehead crease with worry. Your stomach clenched, the moment felt unbearable.

You touched her shoulder, your fingers slipping under her sleeve. Her skin was warm. Scarlett’s breath caught. 

‘You’re all I think about.’ You told her, letting your mind cloud with familiar want. 

Scarlett’s lips parted. She watched you, something still unsure in her eyes. You scratched her skin lightly. Her eyes closed.

Her phone slipped in her grip and the buzzing became louder. Her gaze returned to it.

‘I can’t ignore everyone. It’s not polite.’ She snapped suddenly. 

With confidence you rarely had, you moved to stand in front of her. You pulled at the phone in her grip, Scarlett released it with unexpected obedience. Maybe she could see your mood better than you could feel it. 

You let the constant tug between your souls pull you forward. You leaned down, letting your lips find each other. You pressed yourself against her front, feeling her bump brush against you. 

The air was thick with anticipation. You slipped the vibrating phone beneath the skirt of her dress.

‘I have no interest in being polite or heterosexual.’ You whispered against her ear. Scarlett gave a soft cry and her hand twisted the fabric of your shirt.

You pressed the phone higher, letting it sit against the familiar cotton of her underwear. Scarlett moaned. She gripped your shoulder with sudden fierceness, holding you in place. 

You moved your fingers over the elastic of her panties, desperate to feel her. The vibrating phone stayed cradled against your palm, pressed to her.

Scarlett was slick against your skin. She started to whine, her neck falling back as she held you tighter. You kissed her neck, letting your teeth graze her skin.

Your fingers moved inside her with every vibration, Scarlett jolted against you. Her eyes were screwed tight, her cheeks flushed. She called your name, over and over. 

Her walls tightened around you at last and she screamed into the room. 

In the moments after, she lay back against the bed. You slid the dress up to kiss her exposed stomach. Scarlett’s breathing was still heavy as she reached for your hand, slipping her fingers between your wet ones. 

You kissed damp cotton and whispered a secret there, just to make her body twitch.

[hwaightme]

Bung-yeo-ppang

(masterlist)

🐟pairing: bsf!yeosang x gn!reader 🐟genre: fluff, friends to lovers, long distance 🐟summary: during what you think is a simple trip to visit your best friend, some not so simple feelings come to light, but what can you do when the one you adore is just oh so sweet? 🐟wordcount: 3.5k 🐟warnings/tags: unedited, and they were besties, who yearn, but don't want to ruin things so they keep yearning, yeosang is too precious, yeo and reader live in different countries, no specific locations mentioned, bungeoppang appreciation, confessions, eating, food, much love language-ing, one mild curse word 🐟taglist: at the bottom <3 🐟a/n: to the wonderful, beautiful lheo, i love you. the happiest birthday to you, @starrysvn

Have you ever fallen in love?

Sometimes, it could be as simple, but beautiful, as the rays of sunshine that come to rest on thousands of eternal green leaves on a chilly winter day. Other times, it could be as brutal as the freezing, merciless gusts of wind that carry flurries of snow across abandoned city streets. For you, well, for you, you were not sure if you even wanted to dive into those feelings and explore them, but when faced with love in every way, shape and form, you could add to the definition.

Sometimes, love could be unexpected, but at the same time, something you have always subconsciously known, much like the taste of a pastry you have never tried, but could imagine in astonishing detail.

Between countries, between what felt like huge stages in your life, you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Whether it was reality that looked so threatening or the admonishing voice inside your head, a swift escape to something, or rather someone you adored turned out to be not just something you desperately wanted, but also needed. Or at least that was what you had told yourself - no strong feelings, just the comfort of someone who knew better than you knew yourself. 

The flight was a blur, the train ride to the hotel, too, was much the same. Of course, your friend was very adamant on you coming to stay with him, but you did not want to impose. After all, out of the two of you it was you who was on vacation, while he still had to commit to the daily grind of waking up at seven in the morning at the latest and tackling commuter hell in the underground tunnels. But that ‘enticing’ picture did not stop your friend from immediately booking a couple of days off, despite your insistence that ‘you would be fine’ and ‘you would find your way’. Apparently, Yeosang could be stubborn when he wanted to be. Not that it was a surprise for you after having known him since you had cried over multiplication and division together.

Had it really been that long? The question plagued you as you regarded the view out of your hotel room - it was a challenge to find a hotel that was not extortionate but still had some visual breathing space, but worth it. You wondered where Yeosang was right now. You had messaged him as soon as you landed, and then again as soon as you arrived at the hotel, but still, nothing. Perhaps it was a sign that what you thought to be polite talk was in fact the reality, and you would be mainly alone.

Jet lag and overall fatigue hit you like a sledgehammer, and you allowed yourself to finally collapse on the bed. While massaging your temples, you pondered whether to brave the freezing outdoors or to laze around this evening and embark upon an adventure tomorrow. Apparently, a certain someone else had the answer ready for you. Incessant vibrations of your phone startled you into semi-wakefulness, and you quickly realised that the dialler was none other than your best friend. In one swipe, you were met with this face, barely visible behind a thick scarf and hat. Clearly, he was outside. His voice was muffled, partially by the clothing and partially by the traffic. But with one flip of the camera, you were met with the facade of your hotel. You did not need to be told what to do.

Foregoing any outerwear, you rushed down the corridor and into one of the many elevators to hurry to the lobby, where you agreed to meet. You spotted him faster than he could spot you, and slowing to a more socially acceptable amble, you stalked towards Yeosang until you could tap his shoulder. You swore if you could see the smile he graced you with upon turning around every day, you would be in an eternal paradise. He was the sun to your moon, the summer to your winter, the calming waves, the freshly fallen snow. It was too easy to construct poetry about him in your mind, but far too challenging to ever let the lines slip, so you resort to giving him a gentle, but meaningful embrace. 

“I’m so happy to see you, I missed you-” you whispered, eyes tracing every feature of his face as if you wanted to memorise them all.

“I missed you more, it has been too long,” this voice that you could listen to forever. You sighed. This was your home. 

“Shall we go up?”

“Oh! Am I allowed?”

“Why not?” he simply shrugged, happily following you with a smile dancing on his lips. You made a note of the bags that he was diligently carrying with him, wondering if he had done some shopping for himself before going home.

When in the room, you made a beeline for the suitcase to search for presents you had packed for Yeosang: all the snacks he had fallen in love with when he was a kid, and those he missed dearly when he settled into work in the big city halfway across the globe, along with some accessories and trinkets that screamed “Yeo” to you. Once you were done and Yeosang had finished his miniature balancing game of trying to get his large puffer coat to hang on one of the wall hooks and not succumbing to gravity, you cheerfully beckoned him closer, only to be met with the two bags.

“Gift exchange!” you mildly hated yourself for how fast your heart started beating.

Somehow, it only got worse when you and him sat down on the bed to give in-person reviews and impressions, and you had to bear witness to every delighted exclamation, restrain yourself from staring at the sparkles in Yeosang’s eyes as he stumbled upon some hair clips in his favourite red, down to the shade, and had to bite down on your lower lip when he enthusiastically adjusted his hairstyle to accommodate one of them, and immediately launched into the other presents.

His gifts for you looked like a dossier, in all honesty. It was a study of what you adored and what you had expressed your interest in to him over one call or other. You attempted to discreetly place a heart over your chest to make sure that you were still somehow alive. So far so good, but when you spotted a box, and within it, a leather bracelet with intricate metal studs, one of them having a quote from one of your favourite songs engraved, you could not help but whisper out your friend’s name.

“What’s wrong? What’s up? Ah, if that’s not okay with you I can go take it ba-”

“I LOVE IT. HOW DARE YOU. KANG YEOSANG,” you shot back, a hand resting on his shoulder. 

His benevolent nonchalance had always astounded you. Clearly, this quality of his never left him, for even now, his demeanour did not change, aside from the redness appearing on the very tips of his ears, and a soft pursing of the lips. And there it was. His laugh. Your music. 

“Wel, I am very glad. I’m sorry it isn’t too much, you literally brought life back to me through your gifts I-”

“Again, don’t you- YEO IS THIS A TRAVEL CARD?!”

“...yes, I set it up and topped it up and everything, so you should be okay to travel all the-”

“Yeosang let me just-”

“Hm?” you faltered. What did you want to do? What were you about to say?

“Ah, nothing.”

“Okay,” another quality in Yeosang that you could not help but adore. 

You knew that he was fully aware that you were on the verge of spilling a kind of truth that you did not even have a wholehearted awareness of, but in the split second that you changed your mind, he did too. He was not interested in what you were uncomfortable with sharing, and at lightning speed, erased it from his memory. What you did not say to him was not yours to ache over, and not his to pry out of you. Certainly there were moments when he had been insistent and you had your fair share of deep conversations, but Yeosang could strike a magical balance, reassuring you with a soft smile. He was a gift. You looked at him as he opened one of the snacks, feeling the gears turning in your head.

This trip was going to be a lot more than you had anticipated.

Oh you could not be more wrong. If you had anything in mind before, you should have amplified it by infinity, because you were not prepared for what Yeosang had in store. From taking you to historical parks to raiding shop after shop to indulging in the most delicious dishes at family owned restaurants, your day to day was nothing short of spectacular. Every other photo in your camera roll was Yeosang or the two of you together, not that you minded, and your suitcase was rapidly starting to protest against the sheer volume of things that you were adding to your return luggage. What had made you begin believing that this was all a fever dream, however, were the changes that you had observed in your friend.

He was more attentive than you had ever known him to be, more open to initiating conversation and so actively taking the lead to show you around the city he now called his home that you were left breathless. He was in his element, but he was trying his hardest to make this your element too. Your pre-flight demands for yourself to not feel were demolished, and with every step you took by his side you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into the chasm that was your infatuation with Yeosang that you could not bear to combat the orchestra-worthy arrangement of premonitions, conclusions and assumptions any longer.

Time flew past. There were still a few days left, yet you were already mourning. Truth be told, you had been in that state upon your arrival, but you had a stronger resolve and the desire to spend your time with value and positivity. Nothing in the world could convince you that you would be happier in the trenches of routine life, and away from whoever Yeosang was to you. In the weeks that you had spent with him, it was harder and harder to figure out the limits and lines. It had been easy in school when you would focus more on your studies and were essentially each other’s free therapists. It was difficult in university when distance separated you, but even then, you had gotten used to it. Or maybe, in hindsight, it was simply a wound that you had put a bandaid on and decided that you could walk through life just fine, and now, seeing Yeosang again, talking to him again, being with him again, opened this wound up to show that it had never healed.

He meant too much to you, to put it simply. Yeosang was too entangled in your soul for you to ever disregard the impact he had made on you and the effect that he continued to have on your life. His every text mattered, every silly reel he would send mattered, even the wildest photos were priceless to you. You cared about the colour of his hair, about whether his company had his favourite lunch on offer today. You felt uneasy when you sensed that something was wrong with him, and you felt like you were on cloud nine when he shared good news with you. For the longest time, you thought that this was normal for friendships, but now when he was holding your hand as he led you through one of the many street markets, it hit you. No, friendship was not enough.

You felt greedy. Yeosang had been in your life for so long and you still wanted more. How could you? The evil thoughts in your brain were yelling at you ceaselessly - you should quit him while you still could, you should let him do what he wanted to do, and that was nothing to do with you. A burden, a burden so big that you did not even even realise it. Yeosang was just too nice to ever tell you all of this. You could feel tears starting to well up in your eyes; with a shaky breath you tried to blink them away before your friend could see them. Your hand started to slip, or maybe it was your busy mind trying to pry you away from him, but much to your dismay, Yeosang only gripped it tighter and urged the two of you on. 

He had mentioned that there was a specific stall he wanted the two of you to visit, but the market only opened closer to night time. So, after a lot of stumbling about the city, hopping from neighbourhood to neighbourhood and enjoying local life, he led the way to this bustling haven. You could not help but feel selfish, drowning in your own misery while Yeosang was trying with all his might to share with you what you could see was a piece of his heart. Everything in you ached. You did not want this to end, you did not want to let Yeosang go, but you had to, for everyone’s sake, or at least this was the idea that you had convinced yourself was the only correct path.

“We’re here! Wait a moment, I’ll get a couple for us!” Yeosang let go of you, and with a quick gesture of the hands and a grin, walked to the lady selling what you knew to be bungeoppang. Sweet pastry filled with whatever the heart desired, traditionally with red bean, of course. Of course, Yeosang would bring you to try the one thing you mentioned you never had gotten. You glanced at the night sky.

“So, I got one red bean and one choux-cream, the first one as you probably know is the original, but the cream one is quite tasty too. There are some other flavours, so, if you like these we can get some others too,” he was rambling, but it was far too endearing to ever pause. It was like a beautiful melody that flowed and flowed, soothing you.

“Bung-yeo-ppang.”

“Sorry?” he tilted his head while stretching out his hands, waiting for you to choose which pastry to try first.

“Bung-yeo-ppang, isn’t it?”

It did not take long for Yeosang to erupt in a fit of giggles. You managed to take the red bean bungeoppang out of his hand before he leaned forward slightly in an attempt to compose himself.

“Maybe time for a rebrand, my name is made for it,” he was all smiles, biting into the other pastry and savouring the rich, warm flavour, “delicious as always, what do you think?”

“Fantastic, give me fourteen of them right now,” you joked, but when you noticed Yeosang’s brief rise of the eyebrows and a tentative hand reaching into his pocket to find his wallet, you had to very rapidly track back, “Yeo, I was joking I-”

“Oh do you not like them? I’m sorry,” with full understanding and sincerity he answered you, immediately confused why you started to wave his remarks off.

“No!! I mean about the ‘fourteen’ part… I don’t think I am ready for that kind of an investment yet.”

“Not until I open my own stall, that is,” he answered back, grinning playfully, “you’d visit, right?”

For some reason, this question seemed to carry a lot more weight than what one would expect of an innocent play-pretend. Would you visit him? In general, sometimes, at all? When? Judging by the sudden intensity of his gaze, it was clear that you were not alone in your ruminations. 

“I-”

“I know I’m not really… to everyone’s tastes but-” you could see that he was drifting between meaning one thing and another. Your heart hurt deeply. What was he assuming you thought of him?

“Yeo…”

“I- I am just. Happy. Yeah. Happy, like this. I’m sorry I-”

“Me too,” you captured his hand in yours before he could turn away. You saw he was misty-eyed, but chose not to comment, instead emphasising, “I’m always happy with you. And yes, I would visit your stall. Hell, I would live in it,” he smiled at your words, though there was a hint of melancholy that settled in his features. 

Your gaze drifted down to your hands - a rather bold move on your part since you rarely ever initiated more personal contact. A touch here, a touch there, sure, but this? This was you listening to yourself for once. Instead of racing away from the sensation, you lightly bit the inside of your cheek and intertwined your fingers with his. 

“If anything, it is me who is being very silly right now,” you mumbled, taking another bite of the pastry, noticing it having rapidly cooled down. You couldn’t meet Yeosang’s eyes, nor could you look at your hands, so you just studied the depths of red bean paste, wondering if you could dissolve in it right this second.

“What?”

“I mean… Look at me, a loon who flew across the world to waste your time. How’s that?”

“What are you saying-”

“And for what? I mean, yes, I am having the most amazing time but you must be so tired playing tour guide and working and doing all these other things-”

“You’d do the same for someone you love, right?”

You froze. With a quick tug, you followed Yeosang out of the market towards the side streets where there were noticeably less people. Upon finding a quiet alley, he stopped, and lowered himself a little to find your face. His words were ringing in your head and you were trying to make sense of them. It was agonising to try and decipher whether it was pity or reciprocation, and you barely registered a soft “right?” being repeated to you, this time right next to your ear. Unknowingly, your fingers clasped Yeosang’s hand tighter, and he stepped closer towards you.

“It’s okay,” you knew exactly why he was saying this. Again, caring, gentle Yeosang, precious soul. He was giving you a way out. One that you were not going to take, not this time, not ever.

“I would.”

“Hm?”

“I would do the same. I’m sorry. I sounded so damn ungrateful it is-”

“I understand, really, I do and-”

“I am horribly in love with you, Kang Yeosang.”

You took in his expression. His mahogany eyes that you could bet contained flecks of gold and sunshine. His rosy lips that were parted ever so slightly. His hair, now a cherry red that you had helped him dye it to peeking out from under a black, fluffy bucket hat. Your heart was on the table, along with the many years that you had spent with and thinking about your friend, and the many years in the future that you were either going to cherish, or curse, or spend comfortably numb in the absence of the one who would always have your heart.

“I hope it’s not too horrible, because loving you, for me, is magical, and very sweet,” you blinked once, twice before asking:

“Huh? Since when-”

“Hm… university, give or take? I think? Maybe earlier. Either way I kind of accepted that whatever happens I would love you anyways. So…”

“So… uhm, shall we try? I don’t know… I mean I am leaving in a few days and the distance is-”

“Since when did that stop us? Besides, we can figure things out as we go. That is what we have always done. Main thing is to not hide things. Isn’t that what you tell me all the time?” You nodded. Indeed, after a few too many occasions when Yeosang had not shared his troubles with you or denied your help, you had made it a point to check in on him, and this habit had never stopped even with many countries separating you.

As you glanced at one another and, with a timid “may I?” you closed the space between the two of you, you realised that, no matter the filling, no matter the sugar content, no matter what, nothing could ever be as sweet as him. You really would travel all those miles again and again even if just for one single moment like this, knowing that he would always do the same for you - your favourite, your only, yours truly, Yeosang.

🐟pairing: @charreddonuts @preciouswoozi @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @wooyoungjpg @yeonjunnie @ren-junwrld @asjkdk

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

[dollfacefantasy]

how’d you think spanking with frank would go ><

frank castle x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, spanking, brat taming, subspace a/n: eeee thank you for the frank ask bb, i hope you enjoy <3

you cry out as another harsh smack lands on your backside. the sting reverberates across your ass, already burning from several previous swats just like that one.

a whine trickles from your lips, and you lazily kick your feet up and down. it's not an attempt to fight off frank, just a way of coping with the painful glow you feel developing on your cheeks.

either way, your boyfriend doesn't care. you know the rule. no moving when he has you over his knee. he responds to your disobedience with another two swats, one on each side.

you cry out again at that, bucking your hips atop his thighs and trying to squirm forward. now you are trying to get away. you reach out and claw at the blankets in front of you. frank had sat down at an angle when he started this, allowing you to rest your front half on the mattress, to bury your face against the bed if needed.

the position wasn't meant for you to escape though.

wrapping his hands around your waist, he drags you back and centers you on his lap again.

"such a brat tonight. you must want this bad, sweetheart," he grumbles before delivering another firm lash.

you squeal, toes curling and thighs flexing. "'m not being bad," you whimper. your voice comes out breathy through your shaky pout.

"really? we're lying now too?" he taunts, clapping his hand against the space where your thighs meet your ass, "you know you're supposed to stay still. not make this harder for me."

"i can't help it," you plead, "it hurts too much."

he chuckles at the petulant ring to your words. for a moment, you get a little break. he rubs his hand against your bottom in soothing circles, smoothing it over the aching skin. but it only lasts a second before he brings his palm down harder than before, slapping you so hard tears form in your eyes.

"frank!" you whine, sniffling a little.

"it hurts too much," he echoes your words mockingly, "i know you can take it, babydoll. just like all the other times i've had to deal with your attitude."

"i'm sorry," you whimper. you turn your head to look back at him over your shoulder, giving him a glimpse at your shimmery eyes.

it doesn't soften him up any though. he tuts at you and pats your ass. ordinarily, the touch wouldn't hurt, but with how many times he's hit you, it bites a little.

"crying won't get you out of this, honey. i warned you. told you what would happen if you kept running your mouth," he reminds you.

"i know but-" you start only to watch his hand raise again.

his palm is red by this point. you wonder if it stings a little at the same time your skin does. even if it did, frank would never move to something else. he'd threaten the belt on occasion, but you'd never come close to actually provoking it off his waist. it was always his hand correcting your bratty attitude. never a tool. always skin on skin.

a few hot tears stream down your cheeks as he pops you this time. you let out a tiny sob and drop your head forward again.

"i don't want excuses. you take what i'm giving you," he says.

in contrast to his words, his touch eases up a bit. his palm runs up and down your spine, sliding under the hem of your shirt that's bunched around your waist. the thumb on his other hand ducks between your thighs and rubs up and down your center over your panties. the digit slots between your puffy folds. it glides across your clothed entrance, flattening out to massage your slit.

he hasn't even neared your clit yet, and you're already melting. your breathing is still rough, but your sobs have quieted. that light pressure against your pussy is all it takes to reduce you to a puddle. you're not sure why, what part of your brain reacts so strongly to the first sign of tenderness after all the spanks, but it's out of your control.

you lower your head onto the bed, cheek squishing against the cool sheets. one of your hands stays on his knees, loosely attached to the rough denim.

"there you go. take a deep breath," he murmurs.

the tip of his thumb ventures south and circles that throbbing bud. it swirls in tight rotation, teasing its arrival. when it does finally press on your button, you mewl and a shudder courses through your body.

he wiggles the fingertip back and forth, stroking your clit just how you like. your fingers flex against his joint while you smoosh your face into the bed.

"for someone having such a hard time, you're pretty wet," he says, "almost soaking through your underwear onto my leg."

"it still hurts..." you defend weakly.

he huffs out a small laugh. he can tell your head is drifting to that sticky, sweet space where thoughts come second to feeling good. your words sound slightly garbled. your hips lightly rock up and down into his touch.

"yeah, and you like how it hurts, so no complaining next time," he says.

he stops playing with you for a second to flip you over. you whine at first, but settle down the second he gets you cradled to his chest. his hand slips right back into your panties, this time at an angle to rub you more strategically. you whimper, letting your mind empty out again. every little flick to that nub between your legs drains another thought from your head.

frank holds no delusions that this will be the last time you act up to the point of a spanking, but that's because neither of you want it to be. you'd never get tired of ending the night limp and dazed in his lap, and he'd never stop wanting to get you like that.

he didn't mind dealing with his little brat's tantrums when she looked so precious in the end.

[saphiccarma]

Can I request an  Possessive Agatha Harkness x reader fic? Agatha and Reader are in a date. Agatha goes to buy something for Reader and another person flirts with Reader. Agatha sees everything

- Don't forget that you're mine

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary - Agatha was not a jealous woman, a better term was possesive. She hates it when other people touch what's hers and she doesn't let you forget that.

Warnings: Possesive Agatha, like one kiss, maybe dark Agatha (depends on how you see it)

Agatha Harkness wasn't a jealous person, per say. Jealousy didn't fit her personality quite right. The term implied that she had something to fear, a worry, but when it came to you, she had none. Agatha wasn’t insecure about your relationship together. She knew you were hers, and you knew the same, so perhaps a better term would be possessive. Agatha kept what was hers and held it close without letting anyone near. That was part of her you adored. Along with her honeyed tone, voice just slightly raspy, her blue eyes that were always calculating - your favorite part was her personality.

She had a tendency to let her hand linger on your thigh, her touch light in a way that made your stomach, or the brush against your hand when passing you something. There were subtle ways that Agatha kept her claim on you. Nothing too noticeable to others, but a reminder to you. You never forgot who you belonged to. Not with her sharp words, still laced with a sweet undertone tone, or her stern glances and gestures.

Her fingers curled into your waist as she led you into the bar. The lights were dim above you, illuminating the room just enough, and people mingled happily. Saturday night meant there was a good crowd, but it wasn't too much. Just the perfect amount. The bar was a smaller one, not super popular, but you loved the drinks served here. Agatha guided you to a table, her hand leaving you so that you could sit. Leaning down, she pressed a light peck just below your ear. Her lips left a faint stinging sensation, but it didn’t last long.

"I'll go get us some drinks. Wait here." Warm breath fanned onto your skin and sent shivers down your spine. You gave her a small smile, nodding, and she returned the smile with one of her own. Her fingers brushed against your face, trailing lightly down your cheeks before she was off. Her touch left a faint red blush in its wake.

You tapped your fingers on the wooden table as you waited. Other couples and friend groups sat at their tables around you, their joy contagious as they laughed happily. Absently, you began picking at the chipping paint while you eagerly waited for Agatha to return. Already you felt alone without her. You hardly noticed when a man slid into the seat across from you until he was tapping onto your hand. Blinking at the sudden touch, you jerked away, the hand was too callous for it be Agatha.

"Woah easy," The man teased, his voice gruff, "I'm not gonna hurt you, just wonderin' why you're here all alone?" He had a distinct accent, although you could hardly place it and you didn't care to. Anxiously you glanced to see if Agatha was near, but there was no sign of your girlfriend. When you didn't reply immediately, the man continued, "Ma name's Jack."

You met his eyes before you replied. They were a deep brown, a contrast to his light blond hair that fell slightly in front of his eyes, and the small signs of a beard. His smile was charming, you would give him that, a crooked one that held so much joy. But as he leaned close his breath was filled with a distinct smell of alcohol that told you he was drunk. Of course he was.  

"Y/N" you muttered, not really interested in talking to him. Although your curt tone didn't deter him. He began rambling, some of his words slurred with his rushed speaking. Not once did his eyes leave your face, but you smiled politely throughout the whole conversation. He was probably just lonely, needing a friend. Based on the story he was telling you; Jack was having a rough time. So, you sat and listened, but that didn't stop you from constantly checking for Agatha, hoping she would save you from this situation you did not want. What was taking her so long?

She always told you that you had too kind of a heart, too willing to let people in. You were lucky that she wasn’t a bad person, or her love would have been dangerous for you. Agatha kept you safe from all the dangers of the world, keeping you shieled and making sure you were protected. Since you were unable to realize danger yourself, she did it for you.  

At some point his calloused hand landed on your own, squeezing it, and keeping you trapped to the table. He was just looking for a friend, you reminded yourself. Taking a small inhale to calm yourself, you did another glance around for Agatha. Again she was nowhere to be seen. Jack continued to ramble, his hand tightening on yours, and a small smile light up his face as he blurted out a comment. You couldn't stop the small blush that filled your cheeks. He may not be Agatha but a compliment always warmed your cheeks and made you feel seen.

It was then you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder, cold hands landing on bare skin. You didn't have to look to know it was Agatha. You could recognize her touch anywhere.  Relief washed through you when Jack glanced at her, and you took a quick peek back. Agatha was seething, her blue eyes alight with anger and her nails dug into your skin slightly. Her lips were set into a firm line. Simple signs that she was pissed. You just hoped it wasn’t at you.

"You're in my seat." She said, her tone was curt and sharp enough to cut through metal. Jack blinked at her, his brown eyes shimmering with slight tears, before his expression cleared a bit. It took a moment before he nodded and let go of you.

He stood, tipping his hat politely, "Sorry ma'am, I was just talking to this fine lady. I'll be out of your hair now." That was surprisingly composed for how drunk he seemed. Agatha gave didn't bother with a tight-lipped smile like the one you gave at his compliment, instead settling for squeezing your skin tighter, then releasing it and sitting across from you. In her other hand she balanced two drinks, although you could tell it was with the help of a little magic, and she slid on in front of you.

You were about to reach for it gratefully before she snatched it away again, and when you tried to hold her hand, she pulled that away too. Whining, you pouted at her, wondering why she had taken it away. She didn’t give in to your pathetic protests, her expression remaining as composed as ever.

"Do you really deserve this?" she mused, the question leaving you confused. Agatha brought the drink to her mouth, light pink lips curling around the straw delicately, and then she took a couple small sips. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement, but also something darker, something you couldn't quite read. "You seemed quite content to let him flirt with you, maybe I should let him buy you a drink."

It clicked into place, and you shook your head quickly, "No, he was just rambling about something. I was hardly listening - I promise." She set your drink down, humming skeptically, and raised a single brow in question. You tried to reach for her hand again, longing for physical contact, but she retracted it from your reach.

"And what about the way he was holding your hand? Hm?" Agatha casually curled her free hand under her chin, leaning against it as she studied you. Once again, you shook your head, hair flying slightly.

"He was strong!" You protested, "And it felt wrong because he was so sad." It was true, his grip was like iron, keeping your hand in his. And you felt bad because he needed a source of comfort and depriving him of that was cruel.

Frustration bubbled in your stomach when Agatha seemed to contemplate your words, but you weren't really frustrated at her. More so at yourself. You shouldn't have let him touch you or even sit down. You should have ignored him or told him to leave the moment he tried to talk to you.

Just when you were about to open your mouth and persuade her it meant nothing, Agatha's hand reached out, snatching you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you close. Her breath was warm against your face, and you could feel heat pooling your stomach at the proximity. There was just a moment where she stared you, eyes scanning every visible part of your face. You felt so small under her gaze, almost like an insect.

"You're mine," she hissed, eyes locking with yours, filled with a possessiveness that seared into your soul, "Do you understand?" You nodded, desperate for her to believe you but at a loss for words. Just being near her robbed you of all coherent thoughts sometimes. That wasn't enough for her, "Words, pet."

"I understand," you breathed, your voice hardly audible over the music and chatter. But Agatha heard it, and she cupped your face, pulling you in for a kiss. It was a kiss that was teeth and tongue on her end, you just being a puppet. It was her marking her claim on you. The thought made a distinct wetness become apparent between your thighs. Agatha pulled away, smirking at the dazed look in your glazed over eyes.

She gave you the drink and you took it happily, muttering a small thanks.

"You're mine," Agatha reminded you once again, finally letting you hold her hand. The touch was burning hot, but you didn't pull away, the sensation familiar. "Never forget that."

[kingkat12]

feeling (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, fingering, voyeurism, semi-public sexual activities, smoking, teasing, praises, Roman shouldn't be allowed on school grounds

summary: you've finally mastered the art of feeling nothing at all. emotions don't serve you, they're painful, and everything about them downright suck. however, what happens when you're suddenly faced with the fact that feeling can feel... good?

word count: 3,200

a/n: hey luvs!! I've always hated being someone that feels everything deeply and painfully, even the smallest things, so I wrote the start last night just to get it out of my head, but... you know me, it spiralled, SORRY!!! tihi oh well, enjoy!<33

Everything in life had to be a fight. Always.

Living could be so painful sometimes. Feeling was exhausting. Therefore, it was easier to shut down all my emotions instead of dealing with the overwhelming pain cramming itself down the veins of my forearms, ripping through the vessels of blood at the tips of my fingers with every bad thing that happened in my life. 

If I could walk around with a sign saying 'I'm not trying to be mean, I just don't care enough', I would. People always assumed I was a piece of shit due to my inclination never to smile. However, the sign would make me more of a freak at school than I already was, and I had an inkling that I shouldn't dig myself a deeper hole than I already had. High school was hard as it was, why complicate it further?

My lack of social indulgence left me rather lonely. Not that I cared. It was easier this way-- I didn't have to pretend to be bearable to be around. I didn't have to smile, I didn't have to laugh, and I didn't have to fake anything in the world. 

However, I wasn't allowed to live peacefully on my island of isolation. Every so often, a little boat would float by the shore and ask to park by the dock for a short break, to rest from its travels and seek momentary company, despite the fact that I hadn't sought this out whatsoever. And to make matters worse, the boat would do so every day, with its voice calling louder with every passing of the sun and moon-- eventually, I had to relent. 

So here we sat, on my island of isolation, also known as the empty bleachers. Roman pulled two cigarettes out of his box and placed them between his plush lips, lighting both at the same time. It had become a ritual of sorts, where he'd approach whenever he saw me at school and sit with me in silence for a little cigarette break. When we first started running into each other like this, he would try to small-talk, but this died down when he pieced together that silence was the best for us both. 

We needed the time away from everyone, Roman probably more than I. He handed me the cigarette, and we exchanged a short nod at the other with the exchange.

Someone wise once said that you learn something new every day. Because after all this time watching his extroverted social life from afar, wondering how he had the energy for all the people around him all the time, I realized there was only one other person in the world that understood the wish to surrender of a full-body shutdown as well as I did-- and that was Roman Godfrey. 

And that was why he sat here with me, smoking in silence.

Still, after all this time, I never knew why he sought me out. Why he had approached at all the first time, and why he had chosen me. Was it maybe that he saw solace in my carefree rejection of everything and everyone? I wondered whether he wished to be like me. 

And I wondered whether he knew that I wished to be like him.

I loved to watch the way Roman inhaled the first drag of his cigarette-- it was always with a small moan followed by his eyes closing, his legs spreading out on his seat, and a nod to himself. Like he had been waiting for a new hit for years. Because whenever I watched him and his ritualistic ways, I felt specks of something. The only something that didn't hurt, and didn't feel like my arms were about to rip themselves open and gush blood. 

When he didn't look, I allowed myself to smile. I could give in to it. And today, after months of sitting in silence and barely exchanging more than a few sentences about ourselves, I wanted to tell him what was on my mind. "Roman?"

He slowly opened his eyes, surprised that I had spoken. "Shit," he breathed, exhaling a ring of smoke. "You broke your vow of silence for me? I'm flattered."

I would've laughed. His tone was dead serious, yet I could see him fighting a smile. Nonetheless, I went on, but in a different direction; "Do you think we're friends?" I asked, inhaling another drag of smoke.

Roman stilled, watching me. He was surely trying to calculate the way this conversation was going, or what I was trying to get at. Eventually, he spoke; "No,"

"No?"

"No," Roman shrugged-- "You sort of remind me of this guy I once knew, Tyler. He was at every party I was at, and he always had a stash of weed with him, so we ended up smoking it on the porch at, like, every occasion. I never knew anything about him, though, so I don't think we were friends."

"And... you don't think Tyler thought you were friends?"

It looked like Roman hadn't thought about that. "I don't think he ever cared," he mumbled. "And I didn't think you did either."

I nodded to myself as I exhaled the smoke, unsure whether to keep his gaze or look away. I was scared I'd start feeling again, with the way this convo was going. "Alright then," I said, rolling the cigarette between my fingers. 

Perplexed, Roman's brows drew together. "Would you want to be friends?"

"No,"

"... Okay?" He let out a laugh which sounded an awful lot like a huff, and he shook his head as threw the cigarette down to the floor and stomped it. "Luckily for you, you've made it to the rapid round of today's quiz." Roman turned to me, nudging my shoulder. "And I'm allowing myself to be nosy, for once. So, tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you don't want to be friends,"

It spilled past my lips easier than I thought it would; "Because you make me feel,"

A pause. It was too long. 

"Feel?" Roman looked more puzzled than before. "Feel what?"

"Just... feel. You make me feel stuff,"

"What stuff?"

"Just stuff!" I wasn't sure why it annoyed me to explain it to him. In my mind, he should've gotten it. Understood it. "It's not a particular feeling, it's just feeling in general."

Roman cleared his throat, and with his next breath, he took the cigarette between my fingers into his hand. "Ever heard of sociopaths"? he muttered, taking a drag. With the way his shoulders tensed, I couldn't make out whether he was nervous or excited. 

"I'm not a sociopath,"

"Then what the fuck do you mean?" Roman leaned in closer, yet I didn't move. Up close, his eyes were much greener, much more vibrant-- I didn't want to think about it. It made my stomach flutter. 

"You stole my cigarette..." What else was I supposed to say?

Roman stifled a laugh. "I didn't steal it. Ever heard of sharing? It stems from an emotion called caring,"

"Fuck you,"

Being so close to him was intoxicating. Stupid. Dangerous. My heart hadn't beat this fast in months-- why had I opened my mouth at all? My thoughts raced as Roman reached forward, gently placing his thumb on my bottom lip as he watched my eyes widen. A shaky breath escaped me, fanning the skin of his fingers. With a soft push that didn't meet much resistance, Roman pressed down on my lip, parting my mouth as he took a drag of my cigarette, maintaining just about the most intense eye contact I had ever had in my life. 

There was nothing I could do to move away. Not that I wanted to, anyway. So when Roman's upper lip brushed up against mine as he leaned in close, exhaling the smoke into my mouth, I was sure my heart would jump out of my chest, up my throat, and leap right at him. 

Even after I inhaled the substance, Roman didn't move away. My mind was buzzing, wondering what to do, whether to say something, whether to ask what was going on-- all I knew, was that I had enjoyed the first physical contact I'd had with another human in a while. 

"I've always wondered what it must be like to be a sociopath," Roman whispered against my lips, his thumb leaving my skin. "Do tell."

The more flustered I became, the more my cheeks burned. "I'm not a sociopath,"

"What are you, then?"

"Exhausted," I breathed. "Do you know how tiring it is to feel?"

Roman let out a huff, a laugh, as he let the cigarette burn out between his fingers. "It can be exhausting if you're feeling all the wrong things, sure. But if the feelings are good..." His voice lowered as his nose nudged mine with a teasing touch, and I could feel him smile against me as he heard the small hitch of my breath. "If they're good, you'll suddenly find yourself wanting to feel everything all at once." 

Everything indicated that he would kiss me. I couldn't believe it. My heart raced in my chest as air refused to leave me, and I could feel the drumming of my blood coursing through my veins in anticipation. This was a rush unlike any other. So I braced for it, stilled in my seat, made my mind accustomed to the thought--

Until I couldn't feel his breath falling against my cheek anymore. Until all I felt was the cold breeze of the air brushing a strand of hair away from my face. I opened my eyes only to find Roman was getting up from his seat next to me. He briefly turned to catch a glimpse of the stunned expression on my face before he gave in to a snicker. "There you go, there was my crash course," he joked. "Sorry for making you feel things again, I guess. It wasn't my intention. This was nice though." Roman motioned to the both of us-- I didn't like his tone. This felt like a goodbye. This felt like I had broken some holy contract I didn't know I had signed. "I'll leave you alone from now on, don't worry. I'll find out whether Tyler is available for cig breaks at school instead--"

I had no idea what came over me as my hand shot forward and clasped his wrist. "Don't do that,"

"Do what?" Roman was unreadable-- a part of me wondered whether he was dragging this reaction out of me on purpose. Had his skills with people brewed down to developing mastery of manipulation? 

"Did I piss you off somehow?" I tried. "Did I say something wrong?" 

Roman's brows raised in confusion. "You haven't done anything,"

"Then why are you leaving?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. "You said that you didn't want to feel anything. And since I make you feel stuff, I'm doing you a favor, no?"

Roman was a smart guy-- I had known it deep down. Still, I rose from my seat, only to be reminded of how tall he was. How handsome he was. "And what if I... want to feel?"

Silence laid itself like a thick duvet over us as we stood and stared at each other, none of us knowing when to speak or what to say.

Eventually, Roman let out a short hum as his eyes rounded out. There was an emptiness to his gaze. "I don't have any love to give," he breathed. "If that's what you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place."

That was almost nice to hear. Love would've been too grand of a start. I finally spoke; "Not that. I just... want to feel good again. I don't remember how that feels anymore," 

Roman's ears perked up. "Oh?" The corners of his mouth curved into a look I couldn't decipher. It was somewhere between intrigue and calculated success; 

"Well... I could make you feel real good, that's for sure."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

So... I succumbed. Not everything had to be a fight, at the end of the day. 

I succumbed in a secluded part of the school library, a section Roman said nobody ever came to. He had led me down a path of stairs, past the archeology section and the biographies of famous mathematicians, and into the far corner of the philosophy area. 

It was there that he had finally kissed me, finally pulled me in by my waist, and led my back against the wall next to a whole row of books about Platon-- and it was there that he put his large hand beneath my skirt and pressed the heel of his palm into my clit through my underwear, making me gasp into his mouth. 

I squirmed, my grip in his hair tightening as I pulled him closer. Roman tasted like cigarettes and smelled like expensive perfume you'd test out at an airport when you're bored at Duty Free. However, my thoughts dulled as my hips keened into his hand, against the sweet pressure, and my heart thumped harder in my chest with every brush of his lips against mine. 

"So..." Roman whispered, his cocky smirk gracing his beautiful face. "Feeling anything yet?"

Bastard. He knew damn well. "Yeah-- Yes," 

"Good," With a rather patronizing laugh, Roman pressed kisses to the corners of my mouth. "I've waited to see you like this for so long, do you know that? Since the first time I sat next to you and you barely paid me any mind, I've wanted to see you squirm." My breath hitched as he pressed his finger into the wetness that had formed in my underwear, tapping it to test the slick. His lips brushed over my ear; "Should've done this earlier, hm? Relieved you a little, made you feel good?"

This was the most horrifying feeling of gratification ever. I never thought I'd be the type for this sort of behaviour, but I suppose life pushes you toward the direction you're destined to take, right? 

"Who would've thought," Roman purred, a small chuckle building in his chest. "And here I thought you were one of those people that don't even get horny. Bet you're the type to lay in bed and get off when you're bored." 

My cheeks burned. Burned. "N-No--"

"No? Aw, you're still fighting," And just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, Roman pulled my panties aside and eased a finger into me. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore as my hands gave into a tremble, and I clutched the fabric of his shirt as I hid my face in his chest. 

"Tell me, then," Roman whispered, reaching his free hand into the hair at the nape of my neck to pull me away from him. He dragged my head back, forcing me to look up at him as he pressed himself further up against me, cornering me as he pushed my back harder into the wall. I was panting against his lips at this point, feeling him curl his finger into my sweet spot like he had done this a thousand times before-- he probably had, anyway. I hated the jealousy that coursed through my veins, one of the emotions I hadn't allowed myself to feel in ages. He spoke with a smug grin; "Tell me what you're feeling, you little psycho."

That would've earned him a snicker, had I not been in such a compromising position. "Good," I breathed, finding his green eyes. "Feels-- Feels n-nice."

"Nice? Only nice?" Roman tsked, shaking his head. "That's not enough." And with that, he eased another finger into me, which only had me gripping his shirt harder. Being filled by Roman's fingers like this, knowing we could be walked in on at any moment, made my whole body burn with adrenaline. "Ro--"

"How many times have you thought about this when we've been smoking, huh? Don't tell me you've been wishing I'd do this shit this whole time?" Roman pressed a kiss to my ear as his fingers stroked into me, pressing into my sweet spot with a gentle rubbing-motion. 

I could only shake my head. That was the truth. I hadn't ever allowed myself to think about him like that to spare my feelings. I know I'd have been squirming in my seat, staring at the way his hair always fell over his eyes, and the way his broad shoulders sunk in pleasure with every inhale of nicotine, if I had allowed myself to think those thoughts.

"No?" he cooed, feigning disappointment with a pout. The way he was almost mocking me made my stomach flutter-- or was that his fingers? "Well, I have. Many times. I've always wondered if it'd make you talk or shut down more. Or mostly, I wondered how you'd look if I did--" Roman placed his thumb on my clit, and the added stimulation only made my eyes water with pleasure as my hips bucked into his hand once more. "This."

"Fuck--" I hissed, leaning forward to kiss his neck. If Roman wasn't going to make it easy for me, I had to shut myself up somehow. Now more than ever, his perfume was prevalent. 

He let out a small sigh of pleasure as the thrusts of his fingers grew harder, not paying any mind to the way my knees gave into a slight tremble. "God, wouldn't it be bad if we were caught right now?" he said with a laugh. "You wouldn't be known as the quiet one anymore, that's for sure." Roman pulled me away from his neck with the hand he had in my hair and scanned the look on my face. My eyes glossed over as I drowned out my moans with heavy breaths; "Fuck-- Fuck you!"

"Is that how you talk to your friends?" Roman cooed, leaning down to press a short kiss to my lips, the soft pillows of his mouth pushing me into submission. "Cause wasn't it friends you wanted us to be, hm?" 

I couldn't answer. Not when his tone made me clench around the stretch of his fingers, not when he looked this good, not when he talked to me this way. "N-No,"

"No?" 

"No!"

"What, then? Best friends?"

If I could punch him, I would. Yet I only managed to gather the strength to suppress another moan, feeling my high creep up on me faster than ever before. It was almost embarrassing how fast I was about to cum on Roman's fingers in the fucking school library. He was making a wreck of me. "Wait, I-- no, fuck, I might--"

"Ulta-mega-best-friends?" Roman only giggled as his unrelenting pace continued. "Fuck-friends would probably serve us both the most, though, hm?"

"Okay, s-sure--"

"Don't you think?"

I let go of his shirt as my body keened against his fingers, sinking down a little against the wall as I squeezed my eyes shut. The pooling feeling of arousal in my stomach made me tense up, and I prayed I wouldn't collapse to my knees-- I hadn't had a standing orgasm before. How did that even work? "Yeah," I cried. "That-- That sounds good."

Roman kissed me again as a reward, smiling from ear to ear as my muffled moans filled the empty section of the library. I clamped down on his fingers, feeling my clit pulse against his thumb as I gave in to the strongest, most intense feeling I'd had in months. 

"That's it, feel it all," he purred, rubbing me through my orgasm. 

"Good girl."

[justordinarygirl]

"All i want for Christmas is you"

Megatron x Reader NSFW

What, I'm late for catholic christmas?? Too bad, in my defense, I'm Orthodox and my Christmas is in January~ Here: a little pet play, soft domination, first time Enjoy and happy new year!

The glass container with drinks was almost completely empty, you tried desperately to tie the choker around your neck, drunkenly wobbling with stiff arms in front of the small mirror, but the effort was worth it. The contents of your backpack were pulled out and the festive outfit you had changed into was already tightening around your body. The peppermint candy melted on your tongue as Megatron finally entered his compartment, immediately recognizing your small figure on his desk.

"Evenings, huma-" he stopped himself through coughed, calling your name this time as the organic head turned in his direction in response. Soft lips stretched into a smile, greeting Lord as he approached the workstation.

"I've been looking for you master, where have you been?" with careful movements you crept closer to the gray frame of the mech sitting at the console.

"After a long day's work Soundwave is sick of flashing garlands" Megatron's voice was slightly tired, not showing what a pleasant prick in his spark this address to him provided. You covered your mouth with your fingers in surprise.

"Oh dear, poor thing. I didn't mean to, my Lord."

"I didn't blame you, lay off the snot," he interrupted you instantly, raising his voice just a percent and shifting the stern gaze of scarlet optics to your face. You fell silent, but no shadow of fear or apprehension flashed across the soft skin. So uncharacteristically human. Like so many other things. You knew why they were here and you were with them anyway. From your earliest days on Nemesis, you were poked from corner to corner and still you were with them. Missions and espionage were sometimes at the level of the impossible, but you managed, though not perfectly, and you still came back. This and other reasons led to the fact that among the billions of other upright animals on this planet, it was you that the warlord named his personal pet.

Feeling the alcoholic fog coming on, you move closer to the massive manipulator, jingling and causing Megatron to frown.

"What's that sound?" the Lord's voice is hoarse but calm, compared to the commanding shout he uses to give orders on the battlefield. His voice weighs on your eyelids, but not because of drowsiness, sending a pleasantly light current under the skin. The alcohol seems to be working faster than intended.

"М? You mean the bell?" your head snapped up, revealing a choker with a golden jingle bell that you'd half-heartedly fastened around your neck. At the same time, there was a pendant with a Decepticon insignia around your neck. "I thought it was charming."

Charming. Yes, Lord Megatron might have agreed that was a very apt word. He pulls his manipulator towards you, letting the choker pass his attention but clasping the same insignia that flaunted his chest, fingertips turning the thing with interest and watching the light reflecting off it. A foolish blushing femme, so naively putting her neck on the warlord. He could break you with just a finger…

"You know why you haven't seen pendants or other jewelry on any of us? Just marks burned into the metal?" he grinned at the silent negative shake of your head. Of course not.

"Since the earliest times of Cybertron, jewelry has been hung on slaves or those who belong to someone. The crudest and most tasteless baubles hung on the bodies of scavengers or prostitutes. The most expensive jewelry was bestowed upon the personal slaves of the superior or very young partners. Monarchs and senators favored almost children and adorned their necks with the most expensive necklaces, marking their property." finishing his monologue, he hummed and released your jewelry. Your own fingers took up the same sign, now you too were twirling it thoughtfully.

"I…that's how it is?" you babble drunkenly and Lord smiles briefly as you lean closer to him with a determined gleam in your eyes. "Then when may I also have the pleasure of wearing your mark on my flesh? As your associate."

A hoarse and rough laugh escaped from his chest, and you cried out with some movement before you realized that he had clutched you loosely in his fist like a doll and planted you on your buttocks right in front of him. As an associate? Are you fearless or is that an empty bottle on his desk with obvious alcohol inside not the container but your stomach?

"You've served long enough to rise from prisoner to hopeless one-time spy, and from there you jumped with speed to the honorable human rank of beast. Be patient, little femme. To bear the name of a trusted friend you must first prove yourself as a loyal pet" he rubs your hair on the top of your head, then slides a finger down the side of your face to go lower and scratch your chin. Your slow-moving brain doesn't allow you to resist, or at least embarrass yourself for decency's sake, so your eyelids close slightly and you give in.

Such a life wasn't intimidating, he didn't yell at you, never hit you, never threw you, the feeling of specialness in his company was not lost. It was amazing how a tyrant known in the entire universe managed to be so careful and gentle with someone like you. His caresses made your body feel more warm and it didn't escape the mech's sensors.

"If I could give you one single good thing this holiday, what would you wish for?" thick metal fingers run along your shoulder, giving you goosebumps. You discreetly close your eyes in thought, submitting to his touch. Your whole gut knows what you want. You want to be more than just an animal to him, to be closer to that mech. Perhaps unforgivably closer. You pondered your words for a long moment, so long that Lord thought you were dozing off in his arms.

"Just love, my Lord," you answered sharply, with a gasp. "all I want for Christmas is you."

Love. A vulnerable feeling, like a flashing light bulb in a back near a weak spot labeled "hit here" and you're asking that of him of everyone? You really are a remarkable specimen. Anyway, there's nothing he can't use to his advantage.

"Love? You? Oh sweet naive pet" his voice deepens even more as he tilts his helmet. "Love is at odds with every cell of my personality."

You visibly pouted your lips at his words. And he continued in a low voice.

"But there's a first time for everything, right? Also, I've been smelling your hormones for a while now," his fingers yanked at your outfit, ripping the fabric off your bust in a quick and unexpected jerk, exposing your skin.

The sudden movement sent your buttocks sliding forward across the surface of the table, nearly falling over the edge with a shriek. Sobriety spread quickly through the hemispheres of your brain, your arms reflexively hugging your body as you covered yourself, fixing your gaze on Megatron. The meaning of his words slowly reached you as you lowered your head in embarrassment. Does he really feel it or is he bluffing?

"Are you shy about something? I thought you were a fearless representative of your species." his large palms press against the sides of your waist and his thumbs spread your arms. "We need to add more trust if we're going to be anything important to each other."

He successfully parted your upper limbs, leaning closer, causing you to shift your own weight from your buttocks to your lower back, leaning back. He studied the anatomy of your breasts with great interest, clearly seeing a naked human body for the first time. You wriggle under his gaze, embarrassed but not quite resisting his actions. It's unexpected, it's new, and despite the sharpness, it's not something you hate. Your nipples harden instantly from the change in temperature, a scattering of goosebumps blooming on your arms and legs. You don't hold back a sigh as mech run his finger over the protruding pink part with care, like a blind man touching a absorbent cotton figure, trying to figure out what it looks like and not break the shape.

"Fascinating. We don't have anything like that." The metal completely covers the bump, gently kneading the flesh. The softness delighted him beyond belief and he slides further down.

As his manipulators grope the curve of your soft buttocks, you tighten your lips and press your palms against his wrists, how small your hands are, unable to fully embrace this part. Your thighs clench, reducing the throbbing between your legs while reflexively hiding the vulnerable spot from his burning gaze.

Everything seems fast and yet agonizingly slow at the same time. He slides his hands underneath you, as if studying the details of a tabletop figurine rather than exposing someone else's body. He squeezed your tiny legs and, wrapped around the limbs, slid along to your knees. After this delicate groping and stroking, he suddenly pulled your legs apart sharply and, letting go of your right knee, he pressed the end of his finger firmly into the damn right place. You arch your back with a whimpering groan.

He feels the fabric soaking wet and smiles so predatory, as if he hadn't told you a little while ago that he'd known everything for a long time.

"Ah, you're tiny." he pressed his index finger against your belly without a shadow of shyness and it took you a moment to realize he was measuring how much of him would fit inside you. His finger alone reached just above your navel and your thighs clenched again, trying to reduce the heat. "Even too tiny for all of me. Do you even have experience with anyone of your species?"

You quickly raise your eyes to him, only to also sharply look anywhere but.

"I see." Megatron enjoys observing your shyness, so sharply contrasted with your boldness and daring in conversation. He can see so much submissiveness in the small organic eyes that he hasn't seen in any of his soldiers' optics and it brings out something special in him. "So, I've never been in this position with a human either."

He pulled your bottom off pretty quickly, not tearing the fabric this time, but pulling it off completely. The entire inside of your thighs is smeared with clear, natural lubricant, and it feels like such a shame when he's only touched the sensitive nerves once. But can you blame you? His look, his voice, he's the only one responsible for the whole mess. He spreads his legs even wider again, and your muscles between your legs clench involuntarily at the scrutinizing gaze. He doesn't seem to be confused by anything, he doesn't find your human anatomy repulsive or strange, on the contrary, he just absorbs every detail like a sponge.

His fingers pressed against your labia, pulling them apart with a wet smacking sound.

Your talkativeness and responsiveness are gone without a trace. You're so quiet, sighing, ahhing or humming at the touch, but saying absolutely nothing, dont give him any comments, completely following his actions. Fascinating.

The lord ran his phalanx over the damp, smooth flesh, picking up the moisture with interest. What an amazing similarity between his and your race, it's astounding. His index finger swirled around the tiny entrance, could even one fit inside you? It's worth finding out in practice. Megatron doesn't prepare you, finding it pointless to fondle one that's already wet beyond belief. The tip presses in, slipping in with a small amount of force, minuscule for a warlord like him.

"Look at me." he commands you, but the excitement makes your eyelids so heavy, almost unbearable. You try, really try, turning your head toward him, biting your lip with quickened breath. But he presses his finger inside you, sliding deeper, and you squint.

"You're doing great, good girl." his praise is like sudden thunder in the sky and a current runs through your entire body. Your fingers clench as he says the words with a shadow of approval, pressing his thumb against a bundle of nerves and teasing the sensitive spot.

From your heat and arousal, Lord's finger easily entered a few more centimeters, making you arch your back. He flexing slightly, unclenching and clenching the joints, feeling the insanely warm and pliable walls. Steam nearly billowed from beneath his body at the thought of how good his spike would feel. Oh, he wouldn't stop at just one finger, except just for tonight. But he has to find a way to fit inside you completely.

His finger alone spreads and fills you so much that you can't hold yourself. Rolling around on the surface of the table, you try to find somewhere to put your hands, but your master has made the decision for you, taking your wrists and holding them above your head.

With a rougher slide of his finger, the choker jingled, amusing the mech and inviting him to speed up. Thrust after thrust he got the hang of it, found the perfect angle and now with quick movements both inside and out he brought you to discharge. His compartment filled with the sounds of tinkle and wet sliding, mixed with meek sighs, moans and smell of alcohol and mint. A bud of desired orgasm began to blossom in your belly.

“You know what I'm thinking? I think that day after day, fate shows you that you're here for a reason. You were born to belong to me.”

The strong manipulators continue to hold your hands firmly above your head, the stiffness only adding to the pleasure, fueling the arousal and hastening the approach of orgasm. The fingers inside you slow their movement and instead the mech focuses on sliding quickly over your clit. Megatron's handling is so wonderful that your nerves instantly burn with a special heat and the hips shake uncontrollably. With a loud whimper and a moan of his name, you cum on the manipulator, clamping it firmly between your thighs.

Lord takes his time coming out, letting you go through the full wave of your orgasm before gently removing his finger from your folds and slowly withdrawing from your womb, letting your upper limbs go to the surface of the table.

"I suppose I should say 'happy holiday'" he looks mockingly at your collapsed tiny body.

"Thank..you, my Lord”

Twirling his own finger in front of his optics, the mech swipes the gloss over the grease covering the entire length, cleaning itself. He continued to sit beside you, looking over your deep-breathing body and returning his gaze to the pendant with his mark, silently considering something.

[rosie-read-that]

a nonsense christmas / tyler owens x reader

summary: an unexpected snowstorm traps tyler owens with his workplace nemesis over the holidays. bonus points: there was only one bed.

content warnings: f!reader, allusions to smut

word count: 9k

author’s note: happy holidays! 🎄🎊🤶🏻🕎 i hope they were merry and bright and as stress-free as possible. thank you so much for supporting my three little fics. this is unedited, but i wanted to post it before i went out of town as a gift made specially for the glen girlies - i wrote it to bring you some december cheer. see you next year!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Over the span of the last twelve hours you’d lost count of the number of times you’d muttered that sentence underneath your breath.

First, it was the office building in New York, where Tyler had the appointment right after yours at a ritzy funding agency. Then it was the airport, where you’d both flown standby and had a Wild West confrontation over the last seat on the plane, only for another passenger to volunteer their place in exchange for a travel voucher. (“It’s not like I’m in a rush to see my family, anyway.”) The woman manning the desk had given you both a look that said, “See, this is how an adult behaves,” which you thought was rich when the guy was clearly trying to cheat his way out of a Christmas dinner. Then, Tyler got assigned the seat behind you on the plane, and in keeping with his infuriating personality, spent the entire flight kicking your seat - or, I’m sorry, just trying to stretch his legs.

After landing, you’d raced to the same rental car company. The woman at this desk kept pointing out that the weather seemed dire and that a snowstorm might hit at any moment, to which you assured her that you weren't headed far—a lie—and glared at Tyler’s back before shuffling into the parking lot with your borrowed keys, hoping his heater would break or that an ex-girlfriend had broken into his house during his absence and left coal in his stocking.

It turned out that the woman at Enterprise was right. The weather was dire; your visibility was shot to hell after the first forty miles, leaving you to squint through the flurry-turned-blizzard, your knuckles white on the steering wheel as you inched forward in your seat, as though you could magically see through the storm if only you pressed your nose just so to the windshield.

After a while you gave up and started to admit that unless you wanted to turn into a human Popsicle, you might need a Plan B. You let out a weary sigh, listening to the weather report on the radio—“If you're safe and cozy at home, it's gonna be a white Christmas, folks, but if you're out on the road, I suggest taking cover and waiting it out for Santa Claus to slide down the chimney.”

You scanned the passing road signs for fast food restaurants, gas stations, and rest stops, even took a few exits just to be hit with NO VACANCY in bright neon reds, making mental calculations for the rest of your trip.

Home was still a long way off: three hours, after dark. Normally you’d power through with an extra-large coffee, but it was snowing, and your window to remain safely on the road was closing with every passing minute.

Dammit.

After the fourth failed attempt at finding lodgings, you sat in the driver’s seat with the heater on and called your sister.

She answered after a few rings. In the background you heard your nephew and nieces screaming their heads off in that kid way. God, you loved those little rugrats but they were undoubtedly a nightmare—you imagined Margo plugging up one of her ears and waving at them to be quiet. Of course, to no avail.

“Where are you?” she demanded, the accusation sharp in her voice. You knew to expect it, so instead of answering, “Well, hello to you too, I can’t control the weather, in case you haven’t noticed,” you went with a plain response, facts only.

“Somewhere in the middle of Benburg.”

“Where?”

“Exactly.”

You heard her sigh. “The snow’s getting pretty bad.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, don't ‘no shit’ me! I told you traveling right before Christmas Eve was going to be a nightmare.”

“And I told you I had no choice.”

She paused. There was whispering on the other end, an almost-silence that put your body on high alert until, finally, she said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Margo, no!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears. The phone was jostled as your mother took it and began to speak.

“Honey, are you almost here?”

Covering your face with your hands, you kept your voice light, knowing she’d be able to detect even the smallest hint of frustration, and then you’d have to put up with another round of “why on earth did you take a meeting in New York right before the holidays?”

“No, mom, I’ve still got a-ways to go.”

You pictured her narrowing her eyes, maybe placing a hand on her cocked hip.

“How long a-ways?”

“Less than two hours,” you lied.

It was absolutely more than two hours.

A pause. “Well, I guess that's okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Through gritted teeth and the voice of a demented schoolteacher, you added, “Mom, can you put Margo back on the phone now, please?”

“She wants to talk to you,” you heard her saying from a distance.

After some more jostling, you felt the caller change as you merged back onto the highway and left the motel behind.

“Marg, can you tell her to cut me some slack, please? I’m doing my best.”

“Ha!”

You glared at the console, hoping she could feel it over the phone.

“Gee, thanks! So much for the Christmas spirit!”

“Listen, when you have three kids, two dogs, a husband, all of your in-laws, your parents, and your stepmom breathing down your neck, I’ll have a little more sympathy.”

“Fine… But I promise I’m not leaving you in the lurch on purpose. My flight from New York got delayed, I had some asshole kicking me in the kidneys the whole time, and I can barely see a yard in front of me because of this storm—it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

No cigar; it was you who felt her glare over the phone this time. Clearly, her issues outweighed all of yours on this occasion, and knowing her sister-in-law, you were inclined to agree.

You added: “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

The wipers on your rented car worked overtime to clear your windshield. You were about to end the call to focus on driving when, up ahead, you saw the red and blue lights of a highway patrol vehicle stopping traffic.

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“The road is closed.”

“The whole road?”

“Yeah, Marg, the whole road.” She would've argued with you over your tone, except you cut her off with “Hold on—I’m being flagged down.”

A middle-aged man with a mustache came over to your car. He was wearing a fuzzy hat and holding a flashlight now that the purpling sky was fading to black. Without being asked, you lowered your window and shivered at the stream of icy wind that cut through the artificial heat.

“Evening, officer.”

“Good evening. Where’re you headed?”

“Sayre or roundabouts.”

“Rough night to be doing so. This road is no good, you're gonna have to turn around, find a place to wait it out for the night.”

Your heart sank. You knew Margo was listening to everything. By the time you made it home, your ledger would have a massive list in the red which she’d make you pay off somehow—by doing the dishes, playing horse with the kids, or worse, entertaining Kayleen, who would say as she always did that you really ought think about having children soon unless you wanted to get used to “a self-absorbed lifestyle.”

God forbid.

“Do you know anywhere that might have a last-minute vacancy?” you asked the officer, whose shiny name tag read HARRIS.

He scratched behind his ear, twisting his mouth in thought.

“Try the Sunnyside Inn. Back this way to Fairmont, right after the exit, left on Vail.”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Right. Merry Christmas.”

You put your window back up.

“Did you catch that?”

“Sounds like you're grounded,” said Margo. Her eyebrow must be arched because the judgment could be heard loud and clear—if you hadn’t gone to New York…

Well, there was nothing you could do about it now.

“It’s meant to clear up by morning. I’ll still be there long before Christmas.”

“You’d better be.” She sighed.

Your niece Haley was screaming out the words to “The Twelve Days of Christmas” like a possessed banshee and giggling at what she knew must be an ear-splitting performance. You didn't know whether to be more horrified or amused; you remembered doing something similar when you were a child, back when you didn't have to worry about spreadsheets and grants and the trials and tribulations of flying Economy during the worst time of the year.

Margo must be thinking the same. Her tone sounded a little more sympathetic when she said, “Drive safe, and let me know when you find somewhere to spend the night.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Don’t get murdered.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try—do. Someone’s got to help me defuse the tension during Christmas dinner.”

“Me? Defuse tension?”

“Good point.”

After hanging up, you followed Officer Harris’s directions to the Sunnyside Inn. Wherever it was in relation to the highway, there weren’t any signs you could see from the road and it reminded you of a famous, albeit fictional, location where people did go to end up murdered.

You only hoped whoever was on duty at the check-in desk had zero resemblance to Norman Bates or you’d have no choice but to sleep in your car.

Ten minutes later, you arrived at a quaint little building like something out of a Hallmark movie with six parking spaces and no neon out front. The facade was fake stone, the ornamental bushes lining the circular drive covered in a postcard layer of fresh snow. The wooden sign read VACANCY and had an empty slot where the NO might go, which gave you the tiniest sliver of hope, tempered by the thought that a place like this might not pay the utmost attention to a detail like that, especially in the middle of a storm. All in all, it was the sort of place you stayed at when you had no choice, being off the beaten track, but it looked as well maintained as it could be given its age, which you dated back to the 70s because of its slanted roof.

You parked and got your suitcase out of the trunk, the wheels clattering and then coming to an abrupt stop when you saw a figure across the way doing the same with his black carry-on.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you called out.

Tyler Owens grinned. Even from here you could see the dimple on his cheek.

“Road closed?” he asked, still walking towards the entrance. You did the same, glaring as you tried to keep pace with him—no, tried to beat him to the front door.

“You know it is,” you answered, eyes narrowed, dashing the rest of the way just for his hand to reach the metal pull bar first. Damn his longer limbs.

With a smile, he opened the door and waved you through like a Manhattan doorman.

“Ladies first.”

“Wow, I didn't think you were remotely a gentleman.”

“What gave you that impression?”

You brushed past him into the heated lobby, pausing long enough for him to close the door so you could send him a pointed look.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe your knee on my back?” you enunciated.

“I told you—that was an honest mistake.”

“Right.”

The Sunnyside had a single check-in desk that looked more like the host’s stand at your favorite restaurant than the counter at the cheapest Marriott, but it was decked in cute bells and garlands and baubles that glittered in the light. Behind it stood a woman around your age with straight, shoulder-length hair partially covered by a Santa hat.

As soon as she saw you walking in, she pushed the red strands out of her face and cleared her throat visibly before launching into a practiced spiel.

“Welcome to the Sunnyside Inn, where every day is sunny!”

She was smiling from ear to ear. The effect was a little like that of the creepy twins in The Shining and bah, humbug, were you not in the mood.

“Can I have a room for the night, please?”

You were made to feel guilty by the sudden fall of her face. But clearly Carol—you had to do a double take. Was her name really Carol? At-Christmastime Carol?—had gone to one hell of a customer service training program. Instead of letting your frown turn her smile upside down, she tacked it on with impressively greater fervor. The bell at the end of her hat rattled as she cleared her throat again.

“You’re in luck! We have one vacant room left in the entire hotel—continental breakfast included!”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler butted in, “did you say only one room?”

“Yes, er…” She looked between you, biting her glossed lip. “Is that a problem?”

“We’re not together,” you said, refusing to look in Tyler’s direction. 

Carol blushed. She was so pale that you thought it might be her actual blood you were seeing rising to her face and turning a shade of Veruca Salt. Or was it Violet Beauregarde?

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought—well… you arrived together.”

“We arrived separately.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

She blinked owlishly. Your own face was heating up as you felt Tyler putting his hand on his hip and sending you a shit-eating grin. You wouldn’t hear the end of this. You could practically hear him bringing it up at a later date, saying, “You’d be so lucky.”

You felt your jaw lock and your dentist cry. Lips together, teeth apart! She’d obviously never met anyone like Tyler Owens before.

“I can assure you, that's what it is,” you said in a steel-laced voice.

Carol might be an A+ at the customer service thing, but you were an A+ at staring people down until they begged for mercy. The only person you knew who was better at it was Margo, and the only person immune to it—though it drove you crazy to no end—was standing next to you, all six feet of him, in a jacket with snow at the shoulders that had quickly melted and rolled off the fabric. Shoulders… his annoyingly broad shoulders, which you’d had occasion to see with more frequency than you would’ve liked, dressed in what Samantha, one of your colleagues, described as his “slutty little white tees.”

It wasn’t enough for him to be a perpetual thorn in your side, he had to be attractive too, thereby proving that there was no God or that, Whoever they were, they must have an evil sense of humor.

“I’m so sorry.” Carol hung her head. Her hat drooped, the glitter-paper trimming on her suit drooped—there was a high chance that she was actually an elf and you’d just worked your way onto Santa’s Naughty list. Come midnight, you’d be visited by the ghosts of all your ex-lovers and Sarah DeAngelo, your high school nemesis.

Meanwhile, Tyler swooped in like the big hero.

“No worries, I’ll just stay at the next place,” he said. “What is the next place?”

“That would be the Cozy Roadside! But they're all booked up, I’m afraid… It's the storm, you see. Everyone’s trying to hunker down for the night.”

“Right…”

Well, he was taking it better than you’d have done—though it was clear he wasn’t jumping for joy at the thought of turning around and trying his luck in the growing whiteout.

And that was if there weren't more road closures along the way.

“Are you sure you're not together? I’m just saying… it is the holidays.” Carol’s little damn bell jingled again. Could you be charged with assault if you snatched it off her head? you wondered.

You pinned her with a stare and she had the temerity to flinch like a little cartoon dormouse.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, it's a time to let bygones be bygones! You make such a lovely couple…” Her laugh was high-pitched, nervous.

You might have ruffled like an angry bird of prey. “We are not—”

“Absolutely not,” said Tyler.

“‘Absolutely’?”

It was the closest you’d ever come to seeing Tyler crack under the force of your EF5 stare. He looked sheepish, his hands in his pockets, giving a little hunkered down shrug that might have been read as boyish and kind of adorable to someone else.

“Listen”—turning to Carol before you could rip him to shreds—“do you know of anywhere I could stay until the roads open up again?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“What about the lobby?”

“I would if it were up to me, but it's against hotel policy. I could get a write-up.”

This hotel has a policy? You stopped yourself from blurting out the words. There was still a chance this Strawberry Shortcake of a person was one of Santa’s little helpers and, if you kept up being a meanie, you’d end up going to the Bad Place—the Bad Place being the seat next to Margo’s sister-in-law at dinner.

You sighed. “Does my room have a couch?”

“It has a chair,” Carol offered.

You exhaled through your nostrils like an angry bull—would the creature metaphors ever cease? Turning to Tyler, you held up a finger and said, “You’re gonna owe me big time,” and fished your wallet out of your bag.

You slammed your card onto the stand and waited for Carol to check you in. She took out a book from a little cubby and took down your name and ID number, then fiddled with one of those old-school credit card imprinters, the ones you had to use actual elbow grease to use.

“I can have extra linens sent up! And I’ll give you our Friends and Family rate—in honor of the season!”

You have got to be kidding me…

Tyler put his hand on your elbow, stopping your words.

“Thank you, Carol, you've been a real gem.”

Carol flushed again, preening under Tyler’s cowboy charm. I’m gonna be sick, you thought, grabbing your suitcase by the handle and wheeling towards the stairs before you could say anything else.

Your case banged against each carpet-covered step. Tyler was behind you, carrying his without sounds of trouble. You supposed that was a benefit to having arms the size of tree trunks, but you’d rather drop dead on this commercial grade floor than ask him for help.

To drown out the sound of the obvious weakness in your upper half, you adopted a high-pitched baby voice that was nothing like Tyler’s and said, “‘You’ve been a gem, Carol,’” just to mock him.

From Tyler came a huffed-out laugh. “Why, ’re you jealous?”

“As if. I hope your chair has bedbugs,” you called over your shoulder, arriving at the landing and looking for room 227. You unlocked the door without waiting, tossing your bag and coat onto the bed to stake your claim.

In the open doorway, Tyler paused to stare at the promised bit of furniture.

“Oh,” came out of his throat. “When she said chair, I thought she meant…”

You followed his gaze. Like Tyler, you’d pictured a dusty old recliner when Carol guilted you into sharing a room with him. The relic actually taking up space across from the queen-sized bed was a chair that might have come out of your high school principal’s office. The seat was covered in a similar material to the carpet, deep purple, not falling apart at the seams, but still just a chair.

Not in your wildest dreams would you think of making an enemy sleep on a thing like that. And here you were, poking fun at sweet, freckle-faced Carol… sweet, sweet Carol who had done you a bigger solid than you could’ve ever imagined.

Tomorrow at check-out, you were going to leave her a $50 tip. You might name your firstborn after her.

You looked at Tyler. He looked at you. The poor man was aghast, and the more he glanced despondently at his abode for the next eight hours, the funnier it got until you were cackling, actually cackling like a Disney witch.

You unzipped your suitcase and took out your toiletries bag, still laughing as you stepped into the room’s bathroom and sent him a little wave.

“Sweet dreams, Owens!”

Hell, it was Christmas—you’d be leaving Carol an even $100.

-

You made a point of taking your time in the shower, luxuriating both in the steam and the dejected look on Tyler’s face. A chair! An actual chair! After finishing, you took the robe hanging off the hook, figuring it was your prerogative as a lady, and opened the door just the tiniest crack to see what Tyler was up to. What you saw made you snatch your phone off the counter and leap from your hiding place like a fearless war photographer.

The shutter clicked, a series of lightning-quick flashes that caught Tyler’s attention. By the time he whipped his head to the side with a glare and a command to “delete that!” you’d snapped half-a-dozen photographs of his position on the makeshift “bed.”

Carol must have sent up linens while you were in the shower because he’d pushed the chair up against the coffee table in a futile attempt to be more comfortable; his legs stuck out to a truly comical degree and he was covered in a floral blanket that could only be described as grandmotherly. Your phone—bless it—had captured the exact moment of shock mixed with absolute indignity.

There was no way he’d be able to sleep without falling over. You only hoped that when he inevitably fell on his ass it happened with enough volume to wake you from the sound sleep you’d be having in bed by yourself.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, smiling like one of Hell’s angels.

“Absolutely not,” you said to his request. “Shower's yours.”

Tyler grabbed a bundle of things off the floor.

“Let me guess, you used up all the hot water.”

“You wound me,” you lied. “I’d never be so petty.”

He scoffed, gestured to his eyes in the universal symbol of I’m watching you and moved past, locking the bathroom door with a resolute click.

A few moments later, you heard the sound of the shower turning on and settled into bed—your lovely, only-yours bed—pleased that the sheets were clean, the mattress soft, the pillows comfortable, and debated whether or not to turn on the TV, but the shower taps squealed sooner than you expected.

Huh. Guess Tyler isn’t a fan of an ice-cold rinse.

You rushed to turn off the bedside lamp, adopting a deep-sleep pose. You barely managed in the time it took him to pad out into the main room, bringing with him a warm, clean, soapy smell.

You held your breath, imagined he could tell you were faking—especially when he paused his movements at the foot of your bed. But then his footsteps moved towards his sad little chair and he turned off his own light.

All you heard for a while was the rustling of sheets, the creaking of the chair beneath his weight. There was a moment of total silence when you almost fell asleep. Then he tossed and turned. The chair protested. You heard him groan.

“Y’alright over there?” you asked, hoping the answer was no.

Tyler’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“Who, me? Just peachy.”

“Nighty-night, then.”

You sighed contentedly and dozed, thinking about Tyler’s future back pain and the satisfaction of winning Carol over to your side with a generous tip. Take that, Tyler’s dimples! The problem was, you actually wanted to get a few hours’ sleep; there was still a fair bit of driving left for you to do, and Tyler just wouldn't shut up.

You heard every creak, shift, and sound of frustration.

Finally, you sat up and growled, “Could you try being more quietly uncomfortable?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to sleep.”

“I can hear your breathing all the way over here!”

“That's not my breathing,” he said, “that’s your guilty conscience.”

You glared into the dark. I will not let him get the better of me. You took a fortifying breath and kept your voice light—viciously light.

“You know, there’s still time for you to sleep in your car. You’ll be the first person ever to be cryogenically frozen.”

“That's not how cryogenics works, you muppet.”

You launched a pillow in his direction, pleased when it made contact. He sat up and protested, “Hey!”

“Did you just call me a muppet?! You know, if you disappeared I could always blame the storm.”

“Carol would remember me,” he rejoined.

“Maybe I’ll disappear Carol too.”

“Wow, two bodies? Sounds like you'll have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Oh, I bet you are…”

Argh! Slamming your fists down, you ground out the words you’d been holding back ever since you saw his grinning rodeo-ass face in New York:

“There is no way I’m letting you win that Heller Grant!”

Your nostrils flared, chest heaved, eyes all but emitted laser beams. Tyler, for his part, remained annoyingly composed.

“I don't think that's up to you. But,” he added, “I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

“No reason, just a friendly head’s up.”

“Something tells me there’s nothing friendly about it.”

He paused. “Hey, what’s a little harmless competition between meteorologists, right?”

“…Did you really just ask that question?”

You both knew scientists were messy as fuck. Denying that they could be egotistical, overly dramatic, delicate with their egos, and especially prone to schadenfreude was a cheap attempt on Tyler’s part.

He chuckled, as if admitting it was true.

“Fine, touché. But it’s really not personal. It's a grant—everyone wants to win it. It’s not like we’re trying to run you out of business or anything.”

“Oh, believe me, we aren’t worried about that,” you shot back. “Everyone knows Kate Carter is the ace up your sleeve. But that’s it—one ace.”

“One ace is all you need.”

“Not in this economy it’s not.”

“It’s about the storms!” Tyler said. “You do get that, don't you? Saving lives, limiting damage…”

“Right, I forgot—you're Saint Tyler, the Tornado Wrangler for profit!” you mocked.

There was a silence in the room, accusatory. Deafening. After this, you were definitely going on Santa’s Naughty list, you thought, not only this year but for at least fifteen to life.

“Sorry, that was shitty,” you admitted, swallowing your pride.

“Yeah, it was. You have no idea why I do what I do. And obviously I have no idea why you’re such a—”

“Bitch?” you supplied.

“I wouldn't use that word. I wouldn't,” he reiterated seriously. “I was going to say ‘why you’re such a bee in my bonnet.’”

You let out a snort. “Shut up.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're unreasonably distrustful?”

“Only about three-point-five therapists.”

“Why the point-five?” he asked.

“One was a grad student.”

He laughed. “Guess weather research doesn’t pay—even if you do wear fancy suits.”

That made you smile. You and Tyler were as diametrically opposed as two could people get, even down to your clothes.

“Let’s just agree,” you said, remembering the spirit of the season, “that we rub each other the wrong way and leave it at that.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a problem with you. I mean, yeah, we’re always up against each other for funding. It’s a race to the top—winner takes all, whoever publishes first gets the bragging rights. But that’s the game—I know that. Now, if you have a problem with me, this seems like as good a time as any to clear the air because I really have no idea what I could've done to make you hate my guts like this.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sure, be the mature one, take the high road… Tell me, Owens, does it ever get exhausting being so fucking perfect all the time?”

Another pause.

“What the hell are you going on about?” The chair creaked. “‘Perfect’? I’ve never said I was—FUCK!”

You perked up, reached an arm to turn on the light. Tyler was sprawled on the floor. The coffee table and chair were no longer attached and he was nursing what looked to be his hip while kicking at the granny blanket tangled round legs.

“Did you just fall into the gap?” you said eagerly, trying to record the image in your brain.

He wrestled the blanket until he finally won, then stood resentfully, his hair mussed, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Yes, I fell into the gap! But there was no video evidence,” he said pointing. “You can’t prove it. At this rate, it might be smarter to sleep on the floor.”

“Looks like it.”

You watched him kick the chair away with his foot and lay the blanket on top of the coarse brown carpet. He tossed his pillow down and picked up the sheet, holding it in front of his body and looking like he might actually prefer to try his luck in the parking lot than on the inhospitable floor. You observed him with interest, biting your thumbnail and watching his throat move with a sigh, the dejected set of his shoulders, the strong jaw set until it looked like it would break glass.

“Oh, fine!” you said. “You look like my senior dog trying to decide where to lay down!”

“You have a dog?” he asked with enough skepticism to be insulting.

“She lives with my sister.”

“What’s her name?” His jaw relaxed, eyes softened.

“Doppler. Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, though it fell on deaf ears.

“That’s kind of… really nerdy.”

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor anyway.”

You whipped the covers off the left side of the bed. Tyler’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“No.”

“Come on, Owens, I don't have cooties.”

“It’s not about the cooties, I’m trying not to get killed Basic Instinct-style!”

You knew the scene: Sharon Stone fucking her rock star boyfriend before stabbing him to death with an ice pick. Unbidden, your mind filled with images of Tyler underneath you, his throat bared to you as you rode him.

“You wish!”

Tyler looked at you sternly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We’ll make a divider out of pillows!” you suggested, starting the master feat of engineering by plopping all your extra ones vertically down the center of the bed.

You didn’t know where this sudden stroke of generosity had come from. Only ten minutes before you would’ve been perfectly fine—nay, ecstatic—to know that Tyler was about to spend six hours in pain and discomfort.

Maybe it was your guilty conscience. Maybe he’d convinced you that this vendetta you had against him was one-sided and kind of silly. Maybe you just wanted to get some damn sleep without feeling like you were racking up bad karma by not offering to share the bed.

He eyed your attempts like a skeptic, his hands on his hips.

Damn, they were slutty little white tees… you thought.

“This is ridiculous,” he pointed out. And yet he’d dropped the sheet and stopped all attempts at sleeping on the floor like an imprisoned martyr.

“Ridiculous” was a good way to describe what the start of this holiday was turning out to be. If you’d told your past self that come December 23rd you’d be sharing a hotel room, even a bed, with Tyler Owens, you’d have laughed in your own face. But here it was—courtesy of the weather, a possible redheaded Christmas elf, and a series of minor coincidences that had all resulted in this: you shrugging and saying, “Tell me something I don’t know. Tick-tock,” you added with a clap for emphasis, “my goodwill has a time limit!”

“Very festive of you. Are you sure this is okay?”

He approached you with a cautious air, turning down the covers like you might yell “psych!” and attack him at any moment. Even when he laid himself down, it was at the very edge of the bed, and you thought he might end up on the floor anyway given a hasty mid-sleep roll, but then, that would be his own doing and he’d have nothing else to blame but his own clumsiness.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you decreed.

“Obviously.”

You turned the light off.

This isn’t so bad, you thought. If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget he was there. You hummed to yourself, snuggling down, finally making headway on the quest for rest and relaxation. Twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour. Hell, it might have been two—all you knew was that Tyler was not keeping up his end of the bargain.

“You’re encroaching on my space!” you hissed, pushing back against pillows that had moved to your side of the bed.

Tyler turned, not remorseful in the least. “I’ve got, like, half-a-foot on you! What do you want me to do?”

“That’s sizeist,” you sniffed.

There was a sound from his direction.

“Are you laughing?” you accused.

“Yeah, I’m laughing… You’re funny. And that’s how I know I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were unexpectedly pleased, despite his bed theft and the rehashing of your previous conversation. No one had ever called you funny before, though you’d always thought you were.

Tyler Owens thinks I’m funny?

So sue me—you were only human and not above hoarding little compliments.

“What did you mean,” he started to ask, shifting so that he could lay on his back, “about me being ‘perfect’? Not that I don’t find it flattering, it's just not true at all and it didn't sound like a good thing, by the way that you said it.”

You kept silent, staring at the A/C unit attached to the wall.

“I know you’re not asleep!” he declared, poking you in the back.

“And how would you know what I sound like asleep?”

“Well, it wouldn't sound like speaking, now would it?”

Shit. He had a point.

You let out a sigh, regretting your magnanimity now that you were in a dark room side-by-side with the man and couldn't avoid his charm or the ease he inspired like magic.

You’d always found that the most unsettling thing about him.

“You’re gonna get the grant,” you admitted with more sincerity than you meant. In your voice you could hear the layers of frustration and insecurity and anger and disappointment that you couldn’t face in the day, when you had people counting on you and a reputation to uphold.

Tyler was quiet a moment.

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not good with the whole… schmoozing thing. Not like you are.”

“Schmoozing?” he asked.

“That’s what it is! You’re good with people.”

“So are you.”

“No, I’m not,” you laughed bitterly, craning your neck to say it over your shoulder. “I’m prickly.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler said. “And, anyway, this is research, not a personality contest.”

“Ha!”

“You do know there are plenty of prickly scientists out there getting people to throw money at them all the time? Sometimes, it’s the pricklier the better—people think that if you're really a genius, you should treat everyone around you like the bottom of the garbage pail.”

“It’s different for you,” you pointed out.

“How so?”

You sat up, eyeing his shadowed form.

“Well, sweetie, there’s this thing called discrimination—it’s what happens when having certain anatomy makes people more inclined to think you know what you're doing.”

“Very profound… That’s not what you meant.”

He was right. While sexism did come into funding, as it came into a lot of things where it had no place, your main gripe about Tyler had nothing to do with him being a man and everything to do with him being, well, him.

You raked a hand through your hair.

“All you have to do is walk into a room and get pally with the panel,” you confessed. “I can’t compete with that.”

Somehow, through the dark, his eyes found yours. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel his attention on you, his scrutiny—thoughtful, patient, wanting to understand.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at last.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me be honest with you and then leave me holding the hot potato of awkwardness?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he laughed. “I just… It’s not like I get up in the morning thinking, ‘Hm, what grant can I possibly steal from you today?’”

“Right,” you drawled, “you just can’t help being you.”

“I can’t!” he insisted, rising up on his elbows. “I like people. I like meeting them… talking to them—even the buttoned-up ones that look like they haven't been outside of an office building in months. I can't apologize for that. But it is a little unfair of you if your sole reason for being mean to me all the time amounts to two cents and a bit of pocket lint.”

“I am not mean!” you protested.

Tyler cocked his head.

“Okay, maybe I’m a bit brusque,” you allowed. “But I let you sleep in my bed!”

“For which I’ll be forever grateful…”

You opened your mouth.

“…but not enough to turn down the grant.”

You shrugged, not expecting him to hand you the award on a silver platter.

“It was worth a shot,” you said. Another joke.

Tyler gestured with his hands; you could see them fluttering around expressively in the near dark.

“You’ve just gotta stop approaching people and automatically assuming that they’re not on your side,” he said gently, and because you were a contrarian, you chose to take at least one-sixteenth of offense.

“Are you mansplaining relationships to me?”

“Not mansplaining, just a friendly bit of advice. Take it or leave it,” he tacked on, shrugging his shoulders—damn his shoulders…

“Thanks.”

You were trying to wrestle your brain away from the thought of his bare chest again.

His bare chest… the expanse of his chiseled abs, the dip of his hips…

You looked away, your face as hot as your shame. You would not have sex thoughts about a man you were sharing a bed platonically with. You would not admit to yourself that your traitorous gaze had wandered down to the outline of certain parts while he was standing there in gray sweats and a white T-shirt that left little or nothing to your debauched imagination.

You would not.

You would not.

Santa, come get me before I forfeit all brownie points for life.

“Now this is awkward.” The words slipped out of your mouth. You pulled the sheet up to your chin as if it were a straitjacket and Tyler chuckled to himself, probably thinking that you meant awkwardness at having a moment of vulnerability rather than red-hot lust.

“Go to sleep,” he said kindly, turning back on his left side.

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

-

Later, you would swear it didn't happen on purpose. At some point in the night, after Christmas Eve had settled well and truly over this random Oklahoma town, the pillow fort was forgotten as you and Tyler fell asleep, succumbing to the fatigue of the day’s travel and your late-night conversations.

The first inkling you had was that your pillow was far too warm against your cheek—and it moved, up and down, like the gentle swaying of a boat upon a calm sea. When you regained enough consciousness, you realized that the “pillow” kept a beat, and that's when you realized your pillow wasn't a pillow at all but the cradle of Tyler’s chest.

He’s quite comfortable, you thought, still half-asleep. He had his arm thrown around you and the tips of his fingers rested against a patch of naked back where your shirt had ridden up.

So far, so good; you couldn’t complain about the weighted blanket treatment—at least not in your hazy, sleep-softened state. You sighed happily, snuggling further into his shirt.

You felt his arms tighten.

His breathing shift.

You were straddling the line between dream and wakefulness when you noticed his legs tangled up in yours…

…and the hard protrusion pressing right against your stomach.

You opened your eyes. Tyler was awake and springing out of bed like he had a whole swarm of bees in his bonnet.

“Oh god,” he exclaimed, “I am so sorry! That is not… I did not—”

“It’s fine,” you tried to say.

“No! No, it’s not.”

“Tyler, would you stop acting like a virgin with the vapors? It’s cold, I’m not the stillest of sleepers, nothing was meant by it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then put it on his hip, then pointed—you didn’t know at whom, he was simply unable to be still, and the more he panicked the more you thought it was silly how he was making such a big deal out of nothing.

(Okay, so maybe it wasn't nothing, but one of you had to be the adult about it.)

“I was not trying to put the moves on you,” he emphatically declared.

“That was made abundantly clear by what you said to Carol. Also by the drool on your pillow.”

“The—”

His gaze darted. His face took on an added hue of pallid as he bent over his pillow and straightened, eyebrows battened, finding nothing there.

“See, that was mean.”

“No, that was funny,” you laughed.

The whole time, you did your best to keep your eyes trained above his shoulders, though you had a bone-deep curiosity now that you’d felt the impression of his dick against your skin.

If your periphery was to be trusted—which, your doctor said you had excellent vision in that regard—he was as well-endowed as he was rumored to be, sometimes with envy, sometimes pejoratively and in relation to his ego. Now that you’d spent an entire day crossing paths, you weren't so sure about that last bit. But you were sure that in the privacy of your own thoughts, you’d have a bitch of a time unknowing that Tyler Owens was, in every regard, unfairly blessed.

“Back to neutral corners?” you asked, patting the bed.

Tyler stared at the mattress with something like horror.

“You are not being normal about this!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe I oughta sleep on the floor.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s just for a few hours more.”

You sighed.

“Tyler James Owens, now you are the one being a muppet.”

“Take that back! And how do you even know my middle name?”

“It’s called Google. Now stop acting like a muppet and I’ll stop calling you one!”

Drat… You were so close, but your eyes snagged on the bulge in his pants at the exact moment Tyler was looking at you. There was no way to deny it.

You wiped your face of all expression.

Tyler pleaded, “Do not make this worse for me than it already is.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to, it's written all over your face.”

Me? My face? You pointed at yourself.

Tyler huffed, “You aren't letting me forget this for as long as I live, are you?”

“Not in your dreams…” you fessed up. “Need me to pace around the hall for ten minutes, let you take care of business? I have a spare sock you can hang on the door.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nooooo, where are you going?” you needled, watching him head to the bathroom with a scowl on his face. “I was having so much fun!”

“Mind your own business!” he yelled back.

“But Tyler, it’s perfectly natural!”

He locked the door.

Only then did you cover your mouth and really let yourself have a laugh.

-

He took exactly 23 minutes. You knew because you timed him, a childish impulse you indulged in trade for not probing the question of what he might be thinking about as he got off. Obviously, you knew enough biology to not flatter yourself into believing that his morning wood was down to you; still, you allowed yourself to believe it just the tiniest bit. It made you feel better—to think he was affected by you. To believe you weren’t alone in being provoked to unexpected places.

He came up to the bed with a wary glance. On purpose, you pretended to be uncommonly interested in your nails.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you said, buffing a nonexistent spot on your shirt. “All good?”

“Don’t start.” He took his pillow and made for the chair.

You clicked your tongue. “You really don't have to sleep on the floor, you know…”

Which was kind.

“...I thought that was the whole point of Tyler’s Special Solo Time.”

Which wasn’t.

He rounded on you with his finger outstretched.

“Do not call it that!”

“Okay!”

“Never again!”

“Fine!”

“And for your information—that isn’t what I was doing in there.”

“Oh!” you said, genuinely surprised, “I just assumed…”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

You make an ASS out of U and ME.

Color me surprised—you genuinely thought Tyler had been in the bathroom rubbing one out.

Could it be that he was too much of a gentleman to do it with you the next room over? That seemed like the likeliest explanation.

You were touched. Weirdly, inappropriately.

Also let down by the fact that you weren’t sexually irresistible enough to make him lose all sense of propriety—granted, you hadn’t been trying to be sexually irresistible at the time, more like drooling into his shirt.

“God, what?” he asked, eyes boring into yours like he was trying to crack open your mind and read it like a book, pushed to the brink when he couldn’t figure out what you were thinking or if you believed him about not masturbating in the bathroom.

“Nothing! Why are you chewing me out just because you got an erection?”

“Don’t say ‘erection’!”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not gonna call it a boner—I’m not in middle school anymore!”

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

He face-planted onto the bed, not consciously, you didn’t think, more like the natural result of a situation that’d understandably fried his brain.

You could relate… and it was supremely satisfying to hear him say the words you’d been thinking for over a day: you have got to be kidding me, indeed.

“This is the weirdest fucking Christmas I have ever had,” he mumbled into the mattress.

You laughed, feeling not an ounce of animosity as you watched his prone form. He was funny, and he’d been nicer than you deserved. You no longer believed that he had kicked you in the back during your flight on purpose.

“What are your plans for the holidays?” you asked him, letting him off the hook about his penis.

He turned his head and searched you for any trace of nefarious intent. He answered when he was sure you weren’t going to keep messing with him.

“The team and I are going to Kate’s. Then I’m spending the start of the New Year at home, hopefully, if there isn’t another fire to put out.”

“You’re from Arkansas,” you said.

“Mm.”

“‘Regnat populus.’”

He quirked his brow.

“‘The People Rule,’” you explained. “You don't know your own state’s motto?”

“Nobody knows their state’s motto.”

“I had to learn them all for school.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “so you grew up rich.”

“Shut up.”

He sat against the headboard next to you, crossing his ankles.

“What made you want to become a meteorologist?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“What?”

“It’s a cliched question.”

“It’s a getting-to-know-you question!”

You frowned.

“Why would you ever want to get to know me? I’ve done nothing but fight you since the day we met.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Plain, simple.

The lamplight made it impossible to hide a thing. There was a line between his brows, as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why you couldn’t understand. “I like people.” You’d thought it trite at the time, you didn’t trust it, but you were thinking maybe it was true. Instead of judging you by the way you challenged, harangued, goaded, mocked, judging him, he’d kept trying to figure you out. It was one of the reasons he was good at his job—the merging of both science- and people-smarts.

If you had a brain in your head, you might learn from him. But to do that you’d have to get your head out of your ass and stop seeing him as the enemy.

Except you didn’t.

Sometime between the Heller offices and this moment in the Sunnyside Inn, your feelings towards him had changed. The animosity? Gone. All that was left in its place was a newfound respect, fresh like the layer of snow sitting over the world outside the walls of your hotel room, and, if you were being brutally honest, an attraction that was hard to ignore.

You held your breath.

His hair, glinting bronze, was sleep-mussed—the detail intimate, arousing, just like the stubble on his cheeks and the rugged line of his throat leading to the curves of those shoulders you couldn’t stop thinking about. What was that one corny-as-fuck phrase some fuckboy musician had once said?

Sexual napalm.

Tyler Owens was sexual napalm and you weren’t immune.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said.

It was Projection 101, but in this case you weren’t entirely wrong.

Tyler’s eyes wandered down to your mouth, seductive without even trying. He was breathing as fast as you, his lips parted, tongue peeking out to wet them when he said, “Can’t.”

And that was all it took. One second you were staring at each other with twin fuck-me expressions and the next you were in his lap, your hands buried in his hair. The kiss was eager—messy—uncaring of finesse, indifferent to perfection. It was the exact opposite of the way you’d been living your life and it was mostly down to him. Even when he’d been driving you absolutely insane, there was no denying that Tyler brought out in you something hard to control. He made you ambitious, competitive, unfiltered—sometimes to an unflattering degree—but God, did it feel good.

He tilted his head and delved his tongue into your mouth. You groaned, pulled him back by the hair until you felt a rumbling sound in his throat which you decided to chase on instinct, latching your mouth onto that part of him you’d been obsessing over for the last few hours, sucking, biting, laving your way down to his clavicle.

“This is not how you get to know someone,” you joked, feeling him get hard again underneath you.

“Yeah, it is…”

“Don’t say 'biblically.’”

He laughed—it was a giggle that made you smile and peer into his face.

“You said it, not me. Are you gonna kick me out of bed later?” he asked, stroking a hand up your thigh.

“No. Are you gonna run for the hills like I soiled your virtue?”

He balked. “That is not what I did.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well”—he nipped your jaw, hand slyly making its own path up to your breast, which he stroked open-palmed so that you rocked your hips against his—”I promise not to be virtuous at all for the next…” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m a people pleaser. It’s my curse.”

-

Suffice to say, by the time 10:00 o’clock rolled around and you and Tyler made your way down so you could settle up the room with Carol, you were feeling like a million bucks. Not even a full spa day could have infused you with this much energy.

There was a pep in your step, a smile plastered to your face, and when Carol said, “Happy holidays! It was nice having you with us!” you were so smug that you slipped the tip in her hand and said, “Thank you, Carol, you sure made it sunny!”

Tyler cackled, but tried to do it subtly. (And failed.)

Right on the money, the snow had stopped falling during the night. It’d be a white Christmas, all right, but you should be able to drive home safely and arrive in time for lunch.

Tyler loaded your suitcase into your car, gallant as ever.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

You exchanged shy glances, which was new for you. You’d never had reason to feel shy around Tyler before, but then, you’d had him inside you not too long ago and the memory of the things you’d done, the things you’d said, which you wouldn’t admit even under threat of perjury, were enough to make you almost blush.

“We should hit the road,” you said dumbly, schooling your features into an unbothered mask.

“Yeah. I’m sure the others have already made it to Ms. Carter’s farm.”

“Well… merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas.”

You opened your door, settled into your seat. You were about to pull the door closed when Tyler stopped it, hand closed around the top.

“Can I call you, after the holidays?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

He laughed. “Who’s holding the hot potato now, you or me?”

“I think we’re sharing this one,” you replied.

“I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah,” you said, “neither do I.”

He smiled at you for a while, then closed your door and watched you drive off. You followed his movements in the rearview until your paths diverged, then turned up the radio.

“Merry Christmas Eve, one and all! It’s a gorgeous one out there—we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s one just for you. I’m sure you know it, so sing along: it’s Dean Martin and it’s our ‘Winter Wonderland,’ right here, in the heart of good ol’ Oklahoma…”

[siri-ike]

The last couple of years have been good to Danny... too good, apparently. He'd accidentally joined a gang, beat up so many would be r**ists, made cops look like fools (an easy feat when you have ghost powers;) and he learned how to properly format an excel spreadsheet. Why, now of all times, did shit have to hit the fan?

There were clues well before Danny realized someone was after him. Hightened ghost activity, all the letters he couldn't read because they were cursive, the occasional horse-drawn carriage becoming him inside. But when a neon green sticky note appeared in a puff of smoke, right in front of his face. That's when he knew Clockwork wanted his attention. Which always means disaster.

That morning, Danny followed his usual routine. He went to the same coffee place, got the same order (sweet tea, a late with 3 sugars and a bagel with jam) and he brought it to the boss just as he was about to bash someone's skull in. He was such a calm and kind natured man but was somehow always in a bad mood before Danny got there.

Even though he never removed his mask, Danny could tell Red Hood was smiling when he looked his way. Not the sadistic way he was smiling before he came in. This was a pleasant smile. Amazing what a cup of coffee can do.

Even though he hid it, Danny knew The Red Hood loves routine. Not just the exact same breakfast and 8 am. sharp every morning for 2 years. He had also ridden the same beat-up motorcycle and used the same gun the whole time they had known each other. He always sat down to read between the hours of 1 pm and 2 pm, then again from 8 pm to 9 pm. And despite clearly preferring to be up at night, he seemed to do everything during the day (as if out of spite).

Safe to say, he wasn't going to appreciate the request Danny had to make.

08:06 am

Hood had ordered his goons to leave. That was another routine. He liked to eat alone. At least, that's how he worded it, but he never seemed to want Danny gone. And so, he did as always; recited the list of things that need to be dealt with in order of importance. A lot of it was kind of depressing. Greedy businesses displacing orphans, a lab infecting animals with degenerative diseases, someone's been stealing wheelchairs and two other gangs plan to have a shoot out at a playground. After that, it was less important things like a meeting with the Don, a suspected traitor, and some kids were cought dealing weed and amphetamines. Slow news day.

A pit forms in Danny's stomach. There's no more putting it off. He takes a deep breath.

But that was enough to get his attention.

"Something wrong?" You wouldn't expect a crime boss to have such a soothing voice.

Danny diffencively grabbed his own arm. He knew it was a sign of distress, and he knew Hood could tell. But Danny's always been such a terrible liar. "I, ih, " He stammered. "I need" in... and out. "I need to take some time off." You could have heard a pin drop.

Finally, Hood spoke. "Are you in danger? Do you need protection?" There was genuine concern in his voice. How could someone so kind be so feared?

Of course, Danny couldn't tell him the real reason (he didn't know the real reason), but he did eventually convince Red to give him one week before checking in. He's so lucky to have a boss who cares so much.

On his way out, 18 different goons begged him to stay. He didn't know them. It wasn't even an organized effort. Each one was alone. He reassured them he'd most likely be back in less than a week, but they still tried to stop him.

It's not like he's worried either, Red Hood can more than take care of himself. Most of what Danny does is just personal assistant stuff, mixed in with a little "crime" sometimes. Plus, with how sweet Hood is, those goons have nothing to worry about.

He hadn't even exited their base when he heard what could only be the sound of a horse-drawn carriage emerging from green fire. (Green ghost fire makes a distinct hot screaming noise, unlike blue ghost fire, which sounds more like a sad scream or red, which sounds like angry botulism). Opening the door confirms his expectations. The same distinct horses as before, too. A bone horse and shadow horse in the front, a scrawny flesh horse and glowing white horse in the back. A short ghost in a fancy but old looking suit held the carriage door open. Danny took a deep breath and put on a brave face (or at least that's what he was going for)

It took mere seconds for them to dissappear from infront of the red hoods base and appear infront of a giant purple castle in the ghost zone. He'd say it looks haunted, but... yeah. He barely stepped out of the carriage before another short, well-dressed ghost opened the front doors.

Inside was Frostbite. The relief must have shown on his face because the yeti was clearly expecting a warm embrace. Frostbite may be covered in furr, and he may have a warm personality, but he is cold to the touch. Danny doesn't care, though. If he wanted heat, he'd put his arms around that piece of hot nope nope, Danny, that is your boss! Get those thoughts out of your head this instant!

"My boy! My how you've grown. Why, you're almost my size." Frostbite said, holding Danny in one arm.

Danny didn't acknowledge the lie. He looks up from where he had buried his face in Frostbites shoulder. "Do you know what this is all about? I assumed the creepy letters were from Walker, but then Clockwork sent a note." He sat up on Frostbites forearm like a parrot. "I know I haven't exactly been a law-abiding citizen lately, but what do ghosts care?" He confessed, far too openly.

Frosbite chuckled. "You think you're in trouble, young one? No, my liege." He placed the halfa down. "It has been 10 years since you defeated Pariah Dark, and no one has taken your title from you. It is time you take your rightful place on the throne." Frostbites eyes shined with pride, and his hands encompassed Danny's whole torso.

Danny couldn't believe it. He came to the ghost zone expecting to get arrested, proposed to, or challenged to a duel of some sort.

Not this.

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members’ from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[thetxtdevil]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ New Years Event ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Firework View

Jay x Reader

synopsis: You were not in the happiest mood after a bad day at work on New Year's Eve. Irritated by Jay, who was dragging you up the stairs of your apartment building, you find out why he wasn't returning any of your calls.

content: NSFW/MDNI, smut, angst if you squint, bf.top.jay, bottom.fem.reader, business worker reader, slight fingering, dick stroking, referencing temperature play, no protection smh, p in v, let me know if I'm forgetting anything :)

word count: 1.8k

devil's note: What's this... I am an Enhypen writer now?!? Happy New Years my demons! I am honored to have collabed with the lovely @jakedustry and @hmusunoo check out their fics of the other members.

Your feet ached going up the many flights of stairs in your work heels. The concrete walls trapped the outside’s cool air in, this part of the building was a stark difference from the cozy warm lighting of the main apartment building. “Jay, why couldn’t we use the elevator?”

“Because the elevator doesn’t go up here.” You huff at his answer. You don’t know where your boyfriend is dragging you or why he was ignoring you all day. Jay stays quiet throughout the climb, leaving you in your thoughts. 

It was New Year's Eve, and you had work. You shouldn’t complain because you had Christmas Eve and Day off, but it wasn’t fair getting out of your warm bed with Jay still sleeping soundly. He looked so peaceful, having no worries about work today or tomorrow, that it made the sting of jealousy rise in your chest. But alas, you shimmied your way into your knee-length skirt and button-up dress shirt, ready to face the business world. 

Not even a few minutes after you clocked in and sitting at your desk you get a text message from Jay, “What time are you coming home today?” You smile thinking he was already missing you and you reply to the planned time you’re supposed to leave. Of course, the universe seems to not be on your side today, Jay never responded, assignment due dates were being changed, and work was piling up. You look at the tiny numbers on the corner of the screen showing ‘4:30 pm’ You groan knowing that it was past your scheduled time to clock out. Your fingers harshly card through your hair, becoming more stressed looking at the piles of papers and the many tabs on your desktop. You were going to be there for a while. If that didn’t stress you enough, your silent boyfriend made it worse. No sign of a reply from the morning, and no sign of checking in. Every once in a while Jay would text you to see if you were well, especially on his days off. He would always find time to get food and eat with you during your break. You don’t expect it every time but you thought it would be different since it was a holiday, but nothing, just a simple “read” notification.

Nicely putting the papers in their designated folders, making sure all documents were saved, and the emails were correct and sent, you rush to log out and turn the desk lamp off leaving you in the cold darkness. Typing a message to Jay on your way out of the building, your heart jumps hearing a “ping” soon after it is sent. Rolling your eyes at the simple, “sounds good,” your overthinking habit flares up, wondering what in the world he was up to. After the decompressing ride to your apartment and the sight of the tall handsome man you call your boyfriend, your anger melted away. However, it wasn’t long until that same anger came back with Jay tugging you up the last few steps showing you the door with red print, “Rooftop Entrance.”

“Jay I’m tired and cold,” you pant as you once again card your fingers in your already messy hair, “I’ve been working all day, and not to mention your ignorance.”

“I know, I know-” Jay tilts his head towards the door hiding his crooked smile. He was not proud that he ignored you, it hurt him desperately, but he had to keep today’s activities a secret. Texting you would for sure make him slip, but he was debating if he should’ve told you since you were working late, and he now had you rushing up all the apartment fire escape stairs. “I have my reasons, but it's outside.”

You furrow your eyebrow, and your aching feet take a few steps toward the door. Looking back at your boyfriend like he was crazy, you turn the handle opening to a warm atmosphere. Your eyes were big, and every single fairy light reflected on your teary orbs. Expecting to be hit with the winter’s brisk cold weather instead you were engulfed by the hot fireplace crackling by cozy patio chairs. Jay wasn’t too far behind you, a content smile was displayed on his chiseled face looking at your reaction to his work. Spinning around the rooftop, grasping every sight of the place, your lips smack as you try to find the words. “Did– did you do this?” You breathlessly get out the words.

Jay scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, I talked to the building’s owner about it and he said he’s been wanting to do something with the empty place, so that’s how I got permission to do this.” His hand releases his nervous scratch when he sees you walking towards him. You bring Jay into a big hug. He asks, “Do you like it, honey?”

“I love it,” you lift your head to look into his chocolate eyes, “but I don’t like you ignoring me.”

Jay frowns, “I’m sorry, I just wanted this to be a surprise and-” Your lips crash into his, shutting up his unnecessary ramble. Jay quickly accepts his fate and lets his words be forgotten as he deepens the kiss. 

His hands latch onto your waist massaging your tired muscles. You moan into his mouth, instantly relaxing into his arms. At that moment you knew there was nothing to be worried about with your boyfriend, thankful that you have him here in each other's arms. Then you feel his grasp inch lower to your ass and squeeze the plushness. His kisses drift from your lips to your jawline, down to your neck. Tilting your head back to give him more room to explore, you hum at the light kisses and love bites he leaves. Jay’s exploring hands loosen your tucked-in shirt making you shiver at a gust of wind flowing up your torso. Then he tugs at your skirt, bunching it up so that your panties are the only thing covering your cunt. You’re quick to hold his arms, stopping his movements, “Wha-what are you, we can’t do that here!”

Jay groans, his pleading eyes made you want to give him the world, not to mention the hard-on poking you. “No one knows about the rooftop. You didn’t.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the bland entry door and then at the cozy patio set up Jay built. Weighing your options you whip your head back to the man, “Fuck it, and fuck me.”

The biggest smirk spreads on your boyfriend's lips, a screech leaves your lips when all of a sudden Jay picks you up. Both of you giggle as you cling to him, you forget how strong your boyfriend is even though you remind him how big his muscles are. Plopped down on the couch cushion you take the moment to observe your surroundings. Above you was Jay with darkened eyes, something you’ve seen plenty of times yet it still makes your stomach do summersaults. “Was this your plan all along?”

He kisses your lips while unbuttoning your top, “I wanted a nice place to celebrate New Year's,” he says in between kisses down the valley of your breasts, “but you’re always so tempting.”

Lifting your body to help Jay unclothe you, you unbutton his top as he unhooks your bra resulting in a relaxed sigh. Garments being thrown without a care as to where they land, his lips find your perky nipple fueling the fire inside you. You instinctively close your thighs only to be stopped by Jay’s broad body in between them. Grinding against his clothed hard-on, all you could do was moan mindlessly under the man’s body.

Jay’s hand wanders down in between your thighs rubbing your cotton panties, playing with the lacey hem. “Mmm, don’t tease.” You whine becoming more desperate bucking your hips up.

His fingertips follow the lining hooking the material before dipping his middle finger within your folds, “Shit, baby, you’re wet.” Heat creeps on your face, and a cool gust streamlines between your bodies, causing your nipples to perk up and your cunt to ache. Jay straightens his posture and releases his fingers. You whimper, admiring his honey-skinned torso as he licks his fingers of arousal clean. The crisp air of the night makes your whole body shiver as he nicely tugs your panties off. The half-naked man leans down lips coming together like a puzzle piece passionately kissing. Your hand then drifts down his lightly toned abs before unzipping his trousers, grasping his hard cock. A shaking gasp spilled into your mouth signaling you to continue your actions, lightly stroking his veiny shaft and thumbing his pink tip.

“Baby, baby,” he sighs, his big hand stopping your smaller one around his dick.

“Aw- always so sensitive,” you smile at his face, a light layer of sweat glowing from the fairy lights above.

“Maybe this new year I will do better.”

You smile, “sounds like a lot of fucking,” Jay holds back a giggle to your statement, lining his tip at your gushing hole, slowly pushing in. Soft sounds disappear into the atmosphere, slightly wincing at the stretch from his thickness. He admires your contorted face, already looking fucked out as he dives deeper filling you up. Then Jay finds that spot that has your mouth gapped and fingernails digging into his biceps. Jay wants to follow apart at the feeling of your pulsating walls but you feel, look too good to end it so soon. The man above you speeds up his thrusts making sure he hits your G-spot every time. Melody of moans escapes your lips as your lower belly tightens in pleasure. Each drag of Jay’s cock had you wanting more, you lift your hips trying to match his rhythm. However, Jay wanted you just to relax and take it. Lifting your legs over his shoulders, the new position felt deeper, more addicting. Jay starts pounding into you like an animal, watching you lose it, tits bouncing, head tilting back, eyes rolled to the back of your head. It was beautiful to him, making it more beautiful as he decorated your skin with his love bites. You lift your hand to the nape of his neck, combing your fingers through his dark strands while your other hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing it hard to reach your climax. “I-ah, I’m close,” you sigh with ecstasy, Jay nods his head in agreement, releasing his harsh grip on your thigh and replacing your hand on your sensitive button with his.

The dark blue sky was now blinded by white as you came around your boyfriend's cock, soon feeling him painting your walls white. Jay collapses on you, kissing your neck calming you both from your highs. Everything was peaceful until your heart felt like it jumped out of your chest hearing a loud crack, opening your eyes, past the warm lights you see colorful twinkling sparks shoot into the night sky. Jay lifts his head watching the fireworks with you, amongst the booming sparks, distant cheers are heard all around you. Looking at your Jay’s phone on the coffee table it shows 00:00.

“Happy New Year’s, Honey”

Yours Cruelly,

Enhypen's Lucifer

taglist: @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme, @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[justrymesblog]

Before you read this, I want you to know that this message might be hard to hear, but it could also be the beginning of the change you’ve been seeking.

Many of us, myself included, spend our lives searching for a savior, an epiphany, or something external to rescue us: a book, a speech, a mentor, a sign. We think that this one thing will open the doors to a better life. We cling desperately to small details, convincing ourselves they’re the confirmation we need to keep going: mirror numbers on a clock, a fallen feather, a butterfly crossing our path. We say, “It’s a sign from the universe, I’m on the right track”—all while staying trapped in a cycle we hate but find so hard to escape.

We often become slaves to the material world. We buy talismans, books, or listen to subliminal audios on repeat, seeking immediate results: “Why isn’t this audio working?”, “How many times do I need to listen to it to see a change?” We even sleep with headphones on, hoping it will speed up the process, yet the change never seems to come.

I understand you because I’ve been there.

It took me years to escape that cycle. Years of feeling lost, stuck, tied to my own thoughts and patterns. I spent months not knowing what to do, always ending up back at the same point. I turned to religions where I never felt truly at home. I prayed in churches, temples, and altars, waiting for miracles that never came. I lived believing that something external would change my destiny, but each attempt only led to disappointment. The reality? Nothing changed—or worse, things got even harder.

Then I realized: the only salvation comes from within.

We are the architects of our lives. Our minds are the most powerful tool we have. There are no limits beyond the ones we impose on ourselves. Imagine something unimaginable—a dream, a reality that seems impossible—and yet, you have the power to manifest it! But here’s the challenge: you must truly believe it. You must understand that you are in complete control.

If you want to be wealthy, you can achieve it. If you desire perfect health, unconditional love, travel, or anything else, it’s within your reach. Nothing is too big or too small for your creative power. But first, you must let go of limiting ideas like, “I wasn’t born rich” or “My life would have been different if I had better advantages.” These thoughts are just chains you’ve placed on yourself.

The first step to change is to take full responsibility for everything that has happened in your life. Yes, everything. It’s difficult, but that’s the key: accepting that you created your current reality, which means you also have the power to transform it.

If you’re tired of living the same way, PUT AN END TO IT.

Dare to change. Break free from everything that limits you. Rebuild your story from scratch. One of my favorite phrases always reminds me:

"When you see no way out, remember: the end is the beginning of everything."

Did you know there are scientific experiments that prove the incredible power of our minds? The CIA has documented studies on practices like remote viewing, where individuals can perceive things beyond space and time. These studies are not theories or pseudoscience—they are real evidence of our infinite potential.

There are also studies about how our thoughts impact matter. Researchers like Masaru Emoto demonstrated how our emotions and words can alter the molecular structure of water. If our words can affect something as tangible as water, imagine what they can do to your life, your cells, and your entire reality.

The limits don’t exist, except in your mind.

Life is as malleable as clay in the hands of a sculptor. And you are the sculptor. The question is no longer “What can I achieve?” but “What can’t I create?”

The time you have is precious. Use it to build the life you truly want, because the only obstacle standing between you and your dreams is you. The key is to believe and to act from that powerful force within you.

Remember: nothing is impossible. The moment to transform your life begins now.