#I think the quote was along the lines of I will be looking at that picture when I feel dirty like. plausible deniability out the window

[darkseidex]

What happens in Cannes…

AAH HE LOOKED SO FINE AT CANNES Y'ALL anyways we're going a different route!! Subby Austin. Also, I'd like to credit @movingmusically for her sinners quote in her fic that was so UGH amazing I included one of my own in here- let me know if you can spot it! kama - In Sanskrit, "kama" means desire, pleasure, love, or sex.  originally i was going to name her 'karma' but this spoke to me more. about 7k i think?? also REQUESTS ARE OPEN Y'ALL

The day had gotten away from him. Hell, he didn’t even know where the hours went—all he knew was that he needed a breather. A bit of reprieve from the hustle and bustle of everything that came with Cannes: the cameras in his face, the screaming fans, and—most of all—the weight of being Austin Butler.

The incessant questions about his “Elvis voice.” The ones about the recent split from his partner.

He needed a break. A moment to feel like a damn human being again—not a headline.

So here he was, tucked into some low-lit diner called Little Next Door, where the music played soft and sultry from a speaker above the counter, something old-school and full of bass. He pulled his baseball cap down low and turned his phone face-down on the table after letting his team know he was fine.

The warm scent of vanilla and something spiced—cinnamon, maybe—wrapped around him like a blanket, grounded him. The chatter from the few scattered patrons faded into the background hum.

Then he saw her.

A few tables over. Sitting alone, like she was meant to be watched.

Her skin—dark, rich, and impossibly smooth—seemed to catch and bend the light, glowing gold in the diner's moody hue. His gaze followed the line of her collarbone to the thin, gold chain around her neck, barely-there but glinting just enough to drag his eyes lower. It dipped between the swell of her breasts, resting in the valley like it belonged there.

He swallowed hard.

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, unthinking. His gaze lingered too long. He looked away. Breathed in. Don’t be that guy.

But the damage was done.

Because when he glanced back—just to check if she’d noticed—he saw that she had. And she didn’t mind.

Her lips curved into a slow, sultry grin, like she'd seen it all before and knew exactly how this kind of night could end. She tilted her head, her gaze heavy-lidded and warm with mischief as she crooked a single, manicured finger in his direction.

Come here.

Like a moth to a flame. Like she already knew he would.

Her acrylics caught the light—long, almond-shaped, painted a deep burgundy that matched the lipstick hugging her full lips. Bangles jingled on her wrist as she lifted her wine glass to her mouth, the gold clinking softly, sweetly. She took a slow sip, her eyes still locked on his, mouth wrapping around the rim with the kind of ease that made his thoughts blur.

That was temptation in motion. And damn if he didn’t want to be tempted.

Her name was Kama.

He’d learn that after she’d already unspooled something tight in his chest—just by looking at him.

Now he was seated across from her in a worn leather booth that had seen its share of stories, none quite like this. The lamplight above them was low and honey-warm, casting golden shadows across her cheekbones, the gentle gleam of sweat along her clavicle, the hollow of her throat.

She didn’t ask why he came. She didn’t need to.

“You looked like you needed something tonight,” she said, her voice low and textured, almost purring.

Her fingers toyed with the stem of her wine glass, nails clicking softly against the crystal. That rich burgundy polish caught the light every time she moved—like blood and velvet.

“Something quiet,” she continued. “Something that doesn’t look you in the eye and ask for an autograph.”

Austin let out a breath of a laugh, lips tugging into a tired smile. “Something that doesn’t know my name before I speak.”

She lifted her gaze then. Steady. Intimate. “I know your name.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Yeah?”

Her lips parted, tongue grazing her bottom lip as she set her glass down with a soft clink.

“Austin. Actor. Buzzin in Masters of the Air, hips in Elvis, heartbreak in Dune.” Her smirk deepened. “But that’s not what I meant.”

A beat of silence pulsed between them. Thick. His voice was hoarse when he finally asked, “Then what did you mean?”

“I mean… I know your name,” she repeated, more gently this time. “But I don’t know you. Not the you behind the press junkets or red carpets.”

Austin leaned back, eyes flickering over her—how her curls framed her face, how her eyes never flinched, how the tip of her shoe brushed against his under the table like it wasn’t an accident.

“I don’t even know me anymore,” he said, quietly.

Kama's smile faded—not cold, just softened into something quieter, more honest. “That’s the thing about becoming somebody to everyone else. You stop belonging to yourself.”

God.

That hit a little too close.

He studied her face, the elegant curve of her jaw, the way her earrings caught the gold of her bracelets whenever she shifted. Her perfume floated across the space between them, floral but grown—like jasmine and something darker underneath.

“Is Kama your real name?” he asked.

Her eyes twinkled with the question. “What would you do if I said no?”

“Still wanna know the story behind it.”

She paused, fingers ghosting the rim of her glass, eyes flicking down, then back up.

“It’s real,” she said. “My mother named me. Said I came into this world with desire written all over me—screaming until someone held me. I guess it stuck.”

Austin couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop feeling her. The air around her buzzed like static, like thunder before it broke.

“You wear it well,” he said, and it came out low, rougher than he meant.

“I know,” she replied, lips tilting again. Not cocky—just aware. Like she wasn’t used to being doubted.

They sat like that for a moment. Quiet. Watching. Outside the diner window, Cannes blurred by—neon and traffic, a world moving too fast. But in here, the night was slower. Warmer.

“You came in here looking for peace,” she said, voice gentle. “So what are you doing staring at me like you want chaos?”

Austin leaned forward just a little, arms braced on the table.

“Because peace doesn’t wear a gold chain down her cleavage and drink wine like it’s foreplay.”

Her brows lifted, impressed. Delighted. “Mmm. So you do want chaos.”

“I want a moment,” he murmured. “Even if it ruins me after.”

Her foot slid up his calf—deliberate, slow. “Then take it.”

He shouldn’t still be sitting here.

Austin knew that.

Every instinct in his body told him this was a bad idea—the kind of mistake that left fingerprints on your soul. But there was something about her. Something slow and magnetic and heavy that made the air between them feel thick like molasses.

Kama didn’t have to lift a finger to command the room. She just sat there—legs crossed, lip gloss kissed red, skin glowing like it had been brushed with gold dust—and the world adjusted around her.

She traced her fingertip along the rim of her glass, eyes locked on him like she already had him spread open in her mind.

“You always this shy when you want something?” she asked, voice low and smoky, the kind of tone that slipped beneath the collar and curled around the throat.

Austin leaned back slightly, arms crossed, fighting the pull. “I’m not shy.”

“No?” she teased, dragging out the syllable like she was playing with it. “Then what is this? Some long game? Some slow burn?”

“I’m trying to be respectful,” he said, the words dry in his mouth.

Kama tilted her head slowly, curls falling over one shoulder. Her laugh was soft, but it cut like velvet-wrapped steel.

“Respect’s not what I’m asking for, baby.”

He swallowed, throat suddenly tight.

Her eyes trailed over him—his shoulders tense beneath that plain black tee, the way his jaw clenched every time her gaze dropped a little lower.

“You walk red carpets like altars,” she murmured, “play gods and gangsters like second skin… and you’re telling me you can’t handle one night?”

Austin said nothing. Couldn’t. His chest rose and fell in silence.

Kama leaned forward then, elbows resting lightly on the table, and the scent of her—sweet, floral, with a whisper of heat—hit him full force. Her voice dropped, seductive and blistering:

“So you play broken men for a living… but you can’t steal this pussy for a night?”

He exhaled sharply. Like the breath had been punched from his lungs.

Her lips curled. Not a smirk. Not a smile. Something darker. Pleased. Dangerous.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her foot slid up the inside of his leg beneath the table, slow, deliberate. Her gold anklet clinked softly as her toes traced the edge of his knee.

“No, baby. I’m the answer to the question you’re too scared to ask.” She leaned closer, her mouth barely an inch from his. “You’re the one pretending you don’t want it.”

And in that moment, he knew—he was fucked. Whether he left with her or not, he belonged to her now.

The night outside pressed warm against them, the air humid with the scent of salt and cigarettes, a faint hum of jazz spilling from a bar down the block.

Kama walked ahead at first—heels clicking softly on the pavement, hips swaying in a rhythm that wasn’t for him but wrecked him anyway. Her silk top clung to her back in the heat, catching every amber streetlight they passed. The back was low, the curve of her spine on full display, tattooed with something small and cryptic in ink just below her neck.

Austin followed a half-step behind. Not because she asked him to, but because there was something about her that commanded pursuit.

She didn’t look back to see if he was still there. She didn’t have to.

“Where are we going?” he asked, voice a little rough, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans to stop them from doing something stupid.

“My place,” she said without breaking stride. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

He didn’t. He didn’t even have a thought that wasn’t wrapped in her voice, her walk, her skin, the memory of her mouth saying steal this pussy.

They crossed an empty intersection. The city buzzed low around them—cars in the distance, someone laughing off a rooftop, the distant clink of a wine glass. But for them? It might as well have been a vacuum.

At a red light, she finally stopped.

Turned to him slowly.

He almost walked into her.

She tilted her chin up to look at him under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, her mouth just barely parted. Her fingers brushed his chest—barely there, like she was feeling out the heat of his body before fully touching him.

“You nervous?” she asked.

He looked down at her—lips swollen from wine, pupils wide, her curls slightly frizzed from the night air.

“No,” he said. Then, because it felt like a confession: “Not of you.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “Good.” Then she leaned in, whisper-soft, and said, “Because once I get you inside, there’s no more pretending.”

That was the moment the switch flipped.

He kissed her.

Or maybe she kissed him. He didn’t know. All he knew was that one second he was standing still and the next he was full of her—hands in her curls, her mouth hot and soft against his, her nails dragging down the back of his neck like she wanted to mark him.

She tasted like red wine and something forbidden. Her lips moved like she knew what they were doing—sliding over his, then nipping at his lower lip like she wanted to see him fall apart right there on the sidewalk.

He gripped her waist and pulled her closer—chest to chest, heat to heat—because he couldn’t not. Because restraint had left the building.

When she finally pulled away, her lips were kiss-bruised and her eyes half-lidded.

She stepped back like she hadn’t just set him on fire. Like he was the one who should be catching up.

“Come on,” she said, her voice like honey warmed on skin. “I’ve got wine that doesn’t come in a diner glass. And sheets that feel better than sin.”

Austin exhaled, hard.

He was already following her before she finished the sentence

The door clicked shut behind them with a quiet finality.

Her apartment was exactly what he expected: low-lit, warm-toned, rich with scent—sandalwood, rose, and something vaguely edible—like cinnamon or clove. Soft music pulsed from a hidden speaker in the corner, the bass steady and smooth, like Kama had cued it up just before they left the diner.

She didn’t speak right away. Just walked further in, heels clicking against polished floors, hips swaying with the kind of ease that made him feel like his heartbeat was on a delay. Her satin top stuck slightly to her back from the warmth of the evening, the fabric shimmering like it had secrets.

Austin stood at the doorway, unsure of whether to follow, whether to wait, whether to fucking breathe.

Then— “Take your shoes off,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t like street dust on my floors.”

He did.

Not because she asked, but because his body obeyed without question.

She vanished into the kitchen for a moment, reappearing with two glasses of wine—real glasses this time, delicate and long-stemmed, already sweating slightly from the chilled bottle.

She handed him one without a word, then took a slow sip of hers.

Her eyes met his over the rim. And then she smiled.

Not sweet. Not playful. That smile was a trigger.

“Come here.”

He stepped forward.

Closer.

Her free hand reached up—fingertips skating lightly over the neckline of his shirt before trailing down the center of his chest. Not touching. Just hovering. Like she was memorizing the heat before she let herself feel it.

“You tense,” she murmured. “Let me fix that.”

She took his glass and set both drinks on a nearby side table.

Then she kissed him again.

But this time it was different.

Slower. More calculated. She tasted him like a winemaker with a glass that cost too much to rush. Her lips moved with precision, with purpose, like she already knew exactly how he’d respond—and was checking to see if he’d last.

His hands found her hips, then her lower back, then the bare skin at her waist, and she let him—for a moment.

Then she took control.

Hands on his chest, she pushed him backward—gently, but firmly—guiding him until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he dropped into it like she’d decided that’s where he belonged.

Kama stood over him.

Unhurried. Glorious.

She reached up and pulled her hair loose, letting the curls fall freely around her face and shoulders. Then she dragged her thumb slowly across her bottom lip, eyes trained on him like he was dessert.

“Take your shirt off,” she said. And he did.

She didn’t look away—not once—as his chest came into view, muscles taut with anticipation, throat bobbing as he swallowed. She stepped between his legs, barefoot now, bracelets whispering against each other as she let her fingers trail over his shoulders, across his collarbone, down the curve of his sternum.

“You’re beautiful when you’re trying to stay composed,” she whispered.

Then she climbed into his lap.

Not with a rush—with intention. Her thighs bracketed his hips, warm and firm. She rolled her hips just once—just enough for him to feel the press of her heat through the thin barrier of their clothes. His breath hitched.

Kama leaned in, mouth brushing his ear.

“Tell me something,” she said, voice like warm syrup.

“What?” he breathed.

“Are you gonna let me ride you slow?” Her lips ghosted his jaw. “Or should I pin you down and take what I want?”

His fingers gripped her thighs. Tight.

“You can have whatever you want.”

She smiled against his throat.

“I know.”

Kama didn’t move too quickly. No, she was precise. Every motion a command draped in silk.

Still straddling him, she reached for her glass again—lifting it from the side table like she had all the time in the world. She took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact, her lips hugging the glass like a secret.

Then—she tilted the glass slightly. Held it just above his chest.

A drop of red wine slipped over the rim—just one.

It landed just below his collarbone and slid down his chest in a thin, sticky trail.

Austin inhaled, sharp.

Kama’s smile deepened.

“Messy,” she murmured. “But beautiful.”

She leaned in, mouth hovering just over the drop of wine, her curls brushing his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her breath before her lips made contact.

Then—her tongue.

Slow. Deliberate. She licked the wine from his chest like it was her favorite flavor, chasing it with a soft moan that made his whole body tense under her.

“Mm. Better than the bottle,” she whispered. “You always taste like this?”

“I—” he choked on the word, hands tightening on her waist, “I don’t know.”

“Well,” she said, mouth brushing his, “let’s find out.”

She kissed him again—deeper now, wine-stained and open-mouthed, letting her tongue sweep past his like she wanted to drink him.

But just when his hands started to wander, slipping under the hem of her shirt, she pulled back.

“Ah, ah.”

Kama grinned, breath warm and voice teasing. “Sit still.”

Her nails dragged lightly across his abs. “You’ve been touched all your life by people who wanted something from you. But I’m not going to take anything.”

Her lips brushed his throat. “I want you to give it.”

His breath caught. “Give what?”

“Control. The ache. The way your eyes beg when your mouth won’t.” She rocked her hips slightly—barely moving, just enough to taunt. “The way your body’s screaming yes when your tongue still says wait.”

Austin’s hands slid up her back, rougher now, his eyes dark and burning.

“What if I want to give it to you?” he asked.

Kama tilted her head, smiling like the night belonged to her.

“Then say it.”

Her fingers trailed down his chest, nails dragging just enough to sting.

“Say I belong to you tonight.”

Austin stared at her—flushed, breathless, wrecked from just her mouth and her words. He’d never had someone look at him like this. Never had a woman make patience feel more carnal than rush.

He nodded slowly.

“You do,” he murmured. “Tonight, I belong to you.”

Kama kissed his neck—soft, reverent. “Good boy.”

Then she took his hand and guided it between her thighs.

“No more waiting.” She pressed her forehead to his, voice low, breath shaky now too. “Let me ruin you soft.”

He was already breathless, sinking into her couch like his bones didn’t belong to him anymore, shirt off, hands at his sides like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch. His eyes followed every movement she made like they might be his last.

Kama straddled him—her satin top soft against his chest, her thighs bracketing his hips like they belonged there.

She didn’t move. Not yet.

Just watched him.

His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, that perfect jaw tight with restraint. She liked that—how someone so public, so in control of his image, could sit in her home like this: quiet, pliant, waiting to be told what to do.

She reached back for her wine glass.

“Open your mouth,” she said, calm and clear, like she wasn’t even asking.

Austin blinked—but obeyed. Lips parting slowly, chest rising and falling beneath her.

Kama tilted the glass. Just slightly.

A thin stream of cold red wine slipped past his lips, pooling on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut at the taste, the contrast of the chill against the heat between them. Some of it dribbled from the corner of his mouth, down his chin.

She caught it with her thumb.

“Messy boy,” she said softly, more amused than scolding.

Then she leaned in and kissed the wine off his lips—slow, deep, sucking it from his tongue like she needed to taste it secondhand. He moaned into her mouth, hands twitching against his thighs.

She pulled back and dragged her nails lightly down his chest, just enough pressure to make him shiver.

“You wanna touch me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed, already desperate.

She leaned in, grazing his jaw with her mouth. “Then you’ll wait. You’ll sit there and be good for me.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

God, she loved that. The tremble in his voice. The way he couldn’t stop watching her mouth.

She took another sip of wine, held it in her mouth, then leaned in again—this time letting it pass between their lips as she kissed him, her tongue slow, wet, claiming him with every movement.

By the time she pulled back, his neck was flushed, eyes dazed.

“Undo my top,” she said next, reaching behind her to unclip the back of it, but not moving further.

He fumbled with it—careful, reverent, his hands shaking slightly as the fabric slipped forward and down, pooling between them.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

His breath caught.

Kama let him look. Let him stare. Let him ache.

But when his hands reached for her—she caught his wrists.

“Not yet.”

She guided his hands back to his thighs. Lowered herself onto his lap again. Rolled her hips once, slow and devastating.

“Good boys get rewards,” she said, mouth ghosting over his ear. “And you want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Austin groaned—low and ragged.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Kama.”

She smiled. “Then don’t move unless I tell you to.”

She watched him from above, straddling his lap like a throne, her top undone, the silk now resting loose around her elbows. The curve of her breasts—full, soft, dangerous—was right in front of him, kissed by candlelight and casting shadows that begged to be touched.

And finally—finally—she gave him permission.

“You can touch me now,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. “But slow. Like you mean it.”

Austin moved like he’d just been told how to breathe again. His hands came up cautiously, reverent and warm, fingertips skimming her ribs first, then sweeping up to cup her breasts like they were sacred. His thumbs brushed over her nipples—gently, testing, learning what made her shift, what made her breathe deeper.

She didn’t stop him. She just watched him.

His face was pure wonder—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like he couldn’t believe she was real. His hands trembled a little as he explored her, slow and soft, molding his palms to her curves.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, and it sounded almost accidental.

Kama smiled—not sweet, but slow, indulgent.

“I know,” she said, and leaned in close, one hand slipping behind his neck, the other guiding his mouth to her chest.

“Here,” she whispered. “Put your mouth on me.”

He didn’t hesitate.

His lips closed around her nipple, warm and aching with need, and she sighed—a soft sound, nearly content, fingers tightening in his hair as he suckled slowly. His tongue flicked, circled, worshipped, and she could feel the tremble in his thighs beneath her.

“Just like that,” she breathed. “God, you look so pretty like this.”

He groaned into her skin, heat pulsing between them, hips twitching beneath her—but still holding back. Still obedient.

She pulled back only enough to look at him—his lips slick, eyes glassy with need, cheeks flushed.

“I bet you’ve fucked on instinct before,” she whispered, nails raking gently down his chest. “But never like this.”

He shook his head, dazed. “Never.”

“Good,” she said, rolling her hips again—slow, hard, punishing. He choked on a moan, gripping her thighs like he might break apart.

“You’ll remember me every time you try to touch yourself after this.”

And when he whimpered, God help him, she smiled.

He was shaking under her.

Not from fear. Not from hesitation. From how deeply, achingly bad he needed her.

His hands were gripping her thighs like lifelines, fingers digging into soft skin, his mouth open and breath coming in shallow, staggered pulls. Kama hadn’t let him move—really move—since she climbed into his lap.

She was still fully seated on him, her panties the only thing separating her heat from the hard, twitching length pressed against her.

She rolled her hips again—slow and torturous—and watched his head fall back against the couch.

“Austin,” she murmured, voice low, teasing, “you’re trembling.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and it was beautiful. His throat bobbed as he tried to pull it together, but Kama didn’t stop. She ground down again, slower this time, letting the slick friction of her body through the fabric torture them both.

“Please,” he breathed.

Her brows arched gently. “Please what?”

“Please let me—God, let me move. I can’t—I need—”

She silenced him with her fingers beneath his chin, tipping his face up so he had no choice but to look at her.

“You’ll stay still,” she said softly, “until I say you can do more than breathe.”

He groaned, long and low, like it hurt.

His eyes were wild now—glass-blown, pupils swallowing up the color. There was sweat beading at his temples, and his hips bucked once—on instinct.

She stilled instantly.

“Oh, baby,” she purred, dragging her fingers over his lips. “That almost cost you a reward.”

He whimpered again, then pressed his mouth against her wrist like an apology.

“I’m trying,” he rasped. “I’m trying to be good—fuck—please, Kama, I can’t take it.”

She kissed his forehead, slow and deliberate, like he was something fragile.

“Yes, you can.”

Then she lifted off him just enough to make him whimper at the loss of pressure.

“You’re going to beg properly,” she whispered, dragging her fingers down her own chest, over the curve of her breast he’d just had in his mouth. “On your knees.”

His eyes widened, lips parted.

“You want me that bad?” she asked, thumb brushing over her nipple, her voice pure fire.

He slid off the couch so fast it was almost pathetic—kneeling in front of her, thighs spread, hands flat against the floor, looking up at her like she was heaven and hell wrapped in one.

“Say it,” she breathed.

His voice broke. “Please, Kama. I want to touch you, I want to fuck you, I want to feel you around me—please, just let me. I’ll do anything. I’ll be good for you.”

She hummed like she was considering it, eyes trailing down his trembling form.

“Take off my panties.”

His hands moved—reverent, slow, careful not to rush—and when he peeled them down her thighs, his lips brushed her skin without even realizing it.

She smiled. He was gone.

Kama’s panties hit the floor with a soft whisper of silk.

Austin stayed kneeling. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run through fire, and in a way, he had—straight into her heat, into her control.

He looked up at her from the floor like she was scripture.

“Tell me what to do,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want.

Kama slid forward on the couch until her thighs opened in front of him, draped over the cushions like a goddess inviting worship. Her skin glowed in the low light, glistening at the apex of her thighs, and when she leaned back, fingers threading lazily through his hair, she smiled like this was all exactly how she’d planned it.

“I want you to eat it like it’s the only thing that’s ever fed you,” she said, voice syrup-slow. “You understand me, baby?”

He nodded fast, already shifting forward, but she tugged his hair just enough to stop him.

“Words.”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Kama. Please let me taste you.”

Her fingers relaxed. “Good boy.”

He dipped between her thighs like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do.

His mouth met her slowly—tongue flattening over her with a reverence that made her inhale sharply, his hands sliding under her thighs to hold her in place, but gentle, still seeking permission in every touch.

He moaned into her like her taste broke him a little. And it did.

Kama leaned her head back, one hand gripping the arm of the couch, the other still tangled in his hair. “Mmm, just like that,” she murmured, voice low, breath catching as his tongue circled her slowly.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t try to show off.

He just listened—to her breath, her sighs, the way her body shifted under his mouth—like he wanted to learn every single thing that made her fall apart. He moved from long, slow licks to tight, rhythmic pressure, tongue curling, nose brushing her clit when she bucked up slightly.

“God, you’re so good at this,” she gasped, hips stuttering just once. “Look at you. On your knees, eating like you’ve been starving.”

He whimpered in response, the sound vibrating against her, and she tightened her grip in his hair.

“You like making me come, don’t you?”

He nodded against her, mouth still working, tongue still coaxing her closer.

“Say it,” she ordered, breath ragged.

He pulled back just enough to pant against her, lips slick with her, eyes glassy.

“I love it. I love the way you taste, I love feeling you on my tongue. Please—let me make you come, Kama. Let me have it.”

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

“You’re gonna get it,” she whispered, hips rolling forward to meet his mouth again. “And you’re gonna stay down there until I’m done with you.”

And he did.

He buried himself in her, moaning softly with every flick of his tongue, every pull of her thighs around his head, until she came with a gasp and a roll of her hips that had him digging his fingers into the couch cushion just to stay grounded.

Her thighs trembled around his ears. Her breath came in ragged little sighs. And he stayed there—mouth still soft on her, drinking it in like the obedient mess he was.

When she finally pulled him up by the hair, he looked wrecked. Lips swollen, chin wet, chest heaving.

She smiled and kissed him hard. Tasted herself on his tongue.

“Now,” she whispered, her voice low and lethal, “you can fuck me.”

He was still catching his breath, chest slick with sweat, lips swollen from kissing and pleading and moaning into her skin.

And Kama? She looked untouched. Ruined in the most elegant way—but in control of every last tremble in the room.

She reached for him slowly, fingers ghosting over his stomach, trailing down to the waistband of his jeans, then back up again—teasing, like she wasn’t in a rush.

“Take them off,” she said, sitting back on her heels, thighs still slick and glowing with the sheen of his worship. “All of it.”

He obeyed without a sound.

Shucked his jeans and boxers in one motion, breath shallow, eyes glued to her.

When she saw him—hard, flushed, twitching slightly as he grew thicker at the sight of her already dripping for her—she let out a soft hum of approval.

“Poor thing,” she murmured, crawling back over him like a panther. “You’ve been aching for me all night, haven’t you?”

He nodded fast, eyes fluttering as her hand wrapped around him—slow, tight, twisting just enough to make him hiss.

“Words.”

“Yes—God, yes, Kama—I’ve been thinking about you since the diner, since the second I saw you.”

She kissed him again—hard, filthy, tongue claiming him one last time—then reached between them and guided him in.

Her body welcomed him like it had been made for him.

He moaned against her mouth, hands gripping her waist as she sank down onto him inch by inch, slow and unrelenting.

“Fuuuck,” he gasped, eyes rolling back.

She rolled her hips once, testing the fit, and he almost lost it right then.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” she whispered against his ear. “Not until I say.”

“I won’t,” he choked out, voice shaking. “I swear—please, please don’t stop.”

She didn’t.

She set a pace that was devastating—slow, deep, deliberate. Every grind of her hips pulled a different sound from him. Soft whimpers. Choked groans. Her name, half-prayer, half-sob.

“Look at you,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his. “You’re falling apart.”

He was. And he loved it.

His hands slid to her ass, then her thighs, trying to anchor himself, but he didn’t dare take control. Kama owned this moment. Owned him.

She gripped his jaw in one hand, forcing him to look at her as she rode him—her rhythm slow, her eyes wild, her mouth open just enough to taste the air between them.

“You like being used like this?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “God—yes.”

“You gonna come for me, pretty boy?”

“Please,” he gasped. “Please let me.”

“Then beg.”

And he did. He begged beautifully.

Whispers of “please, I need you”, “I can’t hold it”, “you feel so good, I can’t take it” spilling from his lips as she rode him harder, faster now, chasing her own release—using his body like it was hers.

When she came, she bit down softly on his shoulder, moaning his name like a secret. And only then—when her hips stuttered, when her nails dug into his chest—did she whisper in his ear:

“Now.”

He came with a cry. Not loud—but guttural, raw, like she’d reached into his soul and pulled the orgasm from his chest instead of his cock.

He gripped her like he’d float away if he didn’t. And she let him

He was still panting beneath her, mind fogged with release, heart hammering like he’d run a marathon in chains.

But Kama wasn’t done with him. Not even close.

She pulled off him slow, like silk sliding off skin, and sat back on her heels, brushing her curls out of her face. Her chest still rose and fell with every breath, nipples tight, skin glowing with sweat and power.

She looked at him—looked through him—and smirked.

“Get behind me.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

She crawled forward onto her hands and knees, arching her back, slow and fluid, like a cat stretching in the sun. The curve of her spine was obscene. Her ass round and high, thighs glistening, her center still wet and aching between her legs.

She looked over her shoulder at him, lashes low, lips parted.

“You said you weren’t done,” she said softly. “So show me.”

And just like that—he was hard again.

The ache slammed back into him with dizzying speed, but this time it came with reverence, with something more guttural.

He got up behind her, hands hesitant as they slid over her waist, gripping her hips like they might vanish.

She looked back again. “Don’t hold back.”

Austin groaned low in his throat and lined himself up, his cock twitching at the heat of her, the way she presented herself to him like a gift with a warning label.

He pushed into her slow at first—both of them gasping at the stretch, the depth—and then she moaned.

“Fuck—just like that,” she breathed, her elbows lowering slightly, ass pushing back into him. “You feel so good, baby.”

That’s when he lost it.

Still obedient, still worshipful, but now he was driven. Driven to feel her clench around him again. Driven to hear her break.

He gripped her hips tighter, thrusting deeper now—not rough, but focused—like every movement was a prayer. He wanted to give her everything.

Kama rocked back against him, moaning low, biting her bottom lip as he picked up pace. “You’re so deep,” she gasped. “That’s it. Right there.”

His fingers dug into her flesh, lips parted, sweat rolling down his neck. “F-fuck, Kama—you feel like heaven.”

And she did. She took everything. Let him lose himself in the sound of her moans, the tightness around his cock, the slick heat of her pulling him back in again and again.

“Touch me,” she demanded. “Right there.”

He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as she pushed back onto him, their rhythm filthy now—wet skin slapping, her moans rising, his voice caught between worship and surrender.

“Come for me,” she panted. “I want to feel you lose it.”

And he did. Again.

Burying himself deep, his body shaking, forehead dropping to the space between her shoulders as he cried out her name—raw, broken, devoted.

Kama came seconds later, his fingers still working her through it, her body clenching around him as she let out a sound that could only be described as holy and unholy all at once.

He stayed inside her as long as she let him.

Breathing heavy. Hands trembling.

When she finally pulled forward, collapsing onto her side, he followed—body to body, chest to her back, face buried in her hair like a man who didn’t know how to exist without her heat.

And Kama? She reached back, fingers tangled in his curls, and smiled.

The room was quiet now.

Not silent—just quiet in that heavy, golden way, like the world had been turned down to a hum.

Austin lay on his back, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven waves. His skin was flushed, body spent, legs slightly trembling with leftover adrenaline.

And Kama?

She was already moving. Not away from him—but toward comfort.

She slipped off the couch, legs shaking a little, and disappeared into the next room without a word.

He blinked, trying to come back into himself, nerves still tingling, heartbeat slowly returning to baseline. It was always like this after—after something too good, too much.

But then— She returned.

A warm towel in one hand. A bottle of water in the other. And that expression on her face—soft. Whole. Still in control, but quieter now.

She knelt beside him and started gently wiping between his thighs, cleaning him with care, no hurry in her touch. He flinched slightly—still sensitive—and she smiled faintly.

“Sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I know. I’ve got you.”

When she was done, she tossed the towel into the corner, then opened the water bottle and held it to his lips.

“Small sips,” she said, brushing his damp curls back from his forehead.

He drank, eyes fluttering shut, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Kama…”

She leaned in and kissed his temple—tender, not teasing. “I know,” she said quietly. “You did so good for me.”

He made a broken little sound in his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him like he needed the pressure to keep from floating off. She settled there—straddling his thigh now, facing him, her fingers threading through his curls.

Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp, a soothing rhythm.

“You okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded against her skin. “Yeah. Just… feel a little wrecked.”

She smiled. “That’s because you let go.”

And he had. Completely. For her.

She leaned down and kissed his lips again—slower now. Not hungry. Not lustful. Just… present.

“I’m gonna get us under the covers,” she said, already sliding off him. “Then you’re gonna lay your head on my chest, and I’m gonna play with your hair until you fall asleep.”

He blinked up at her, hazy and overwhelmed. “That sounds perfect.”

“It will be.”

She helped him up, slow and careful, leading him to her bed like he was something delicate. When they curled into each other under the sheets, warm and bare, she pulled him in close—his head on her chest, hand over his heart.

And as she dragged her nails lightly through his curls, she whispered:

“You were everything, baby. Every fucking thing.”

And in her arms, he finally let go—not just of tension, but of the weight. The cameras. The noise. The world.

All he knew now was Kama. And her touch. And the soft sound of her heartbeat.

Morning came gently.

Sunlight streamed through Kama’s sheer curtains, painting long golden stripes across the bed, across Austin’s bare back, across the sheets still rumpled with sweat and memory.

He lay there for a moment—awake but still. Kama’s body was curled into his, warm and slow-breathing, one of her arms draped loosely across his waist. Her fingers twitched slightly in sleep, like they were still trying to hold him close.

And he wanted to stay. God, did he want to stay.

But his phone had buzzed seven times in the last two minutes. His team—agents, publicists, assistants—all probably wondering where the hell their golden boy had vanished to after ditching the event circuit last night.

He slipped out from under her arm carefully, breath held, heart pounding—not from fear, but from guilt. From the sudden weight of what this meant. Of what it could mean if he stayed.

She stirred only slightly, brow furrowing in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, fully nude, fully wrecked, staring down at her.

Kama looked peaceful. Like last night hadn’t changed anything for her. Like she trusted the morning to be soft.

And he? He was already ruining it.

He gathered his clothes off the floor, dressing slowly, quietly, casting one last look at the bed where her silhouette still rested, bathed in gold.

His phone buzzed again.

He grabbed it, swiped away the flood of notifications, and took one last glance around her apartment.

It still smelled like her—sandalwood, spice, wine and sex. He let the scent hit him like a bruise before stepping toward the door.

No note. No kiss. No goodbye.

Just a man walking out the way he came in: wanting something real but letting the world convince him he couldn’t have it.

The flashbulbs were relentless.

Each click and pop echoed like gunfire down the red carpet, bouncing off gowns, cufflinks, and white marble. The crowd buzzed with energy—reporters shouting, fans screaming, security pushing photographers back with polite but exhausted hands.

Austin stood in the middle of it. Every inch of him camera-ready—black tux tailored to perfection, hair slicked back, the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow from the sun and the heat of being Austin Butler in Cannes.

He adjusted the cufflink on his wrist. Smiled when someone called his name.

And then— the air shifted.

He felt it before he saw her. Like a change in barometric pressure.

The crowd’s noise dipped—just a fraction. Enough to cut through the haze of flash and fabric.

Then she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Kama. Descending slowly, deliberately, like the goddess of something dangerous.

Her dress was molten gold, wrapped around her like liquid fire, the kind of couture that clung lovingly to the hips, dipped scandalously at the back, and shimmered like it was stitched with stardust. Her skin caught every last ray of sun—rich and glowing, like deep bronze kissed by honey. Her curls were piled into a gravity-defying updo, tendrils spilling strategically along her temples, a diamond-encrusted ear cuff glinting with every step.

And her face?

Unbothered. Untouched. Unfazed.

Not a twitch. Not a hitch. Not a flicker of emotion when her gaze met his—clean across the chaos of the red carpet.

But he stopped breathing.

It hit him all at once—the memory of her thighs, her voice, her breath on his neck, or the sounds she made as they both found their releases, that night.

Now, here she was.

Gliding toward him, cameras worshipping her with the same desperation he once did. And she wore it all like armor.

A publicist brushed against his shoulder. “You okay?”

He couldn’t speak. He could only watch as she came closer, and the world slowed around her. People parted without realizing it. Photographers turned their lenses like flowers to the sun.

And then— “Have you two met?”

A film exec, grinning, unaware. Holding champagne in one hand and power in the other. “Kama Devereaux, Austin Butler. Two of the most talked-about names at the festival. You’ve gotta be introduced.”

He barely heard it. Barely breathed.

She turned to him with that same quiet elegance, her eyes sharp as obsidian, her lips glossed the exact shade of sin he still tasted in the back of his throat as he felt himself twitch in his pants.

She extended her hand.

And smiled.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

[cockroachesunite]

Thought about them for a little too long

[waytootiredstudent]

You ever watch someone write the corporate equivalent of "fuck you and the horse you rode in" (cc'ed her bosses boss and HR)

[jichanxo]

how it started:

how it's going:

[summerendroll]

im thinking about tehanu again

[mattynmarns]

just finished the hobey baker podcast series and oh man

[ronanlynchbf]

diversity loss! those ppl correctly gendering u assumed you're straight..

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

been loving the jack abbott fics soooo much!!!

A request for a potential fic about Jack. I was thinking something along the lines of his wife is maybe in the Peds/Psych department and comes to consult in the ER sometimes. The newbies don't know her as Jack's wife, but just the kind peds/Psych doc and then something something they discover she's Jack's wife and they're all like "how did that happen?"

thank uuu!!! this is a good one!!

The Other Dr Abbott

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

“Vitals are stable but he’s swinging between psychosis and charm like a damn metronome,” Santos muttered, watching the patient over the rim of her coffee cup.

Jack Abbott stood by the trauma bed, expression unreadable, arms crossed, as their patient—a shirtless man in his 30s with wild eyes and blood still drying under his nails—grinned up at the fluorescent lights like they were divine.

Dr. Whitaker explained the patient's history to Dr. Abbott, “He assaulted a pedestrian, bit a paramedic, and started quoting Shakespeare to the defibrillator. I think we’re out of our depth here.”

“Page psych,” Jack said without looking up.

“Already did,” Santos replied. “They said Dr. Abbot’s on call.”

Javadi looked up sharply. “But he’s standing right here.”

Jack sighed. “No. The other Dr. Abbot.”

Santos blinked. “There’s... two?”

Whitaker’s brows furrowed. “Is she your sister or something?”

But before they could interrogate further, the doors swung open.

In walked her—the hospital’s most requested psychiatrist. Elegant. Kind. Intimidating in the quietest way possible. She had a pen behind her ear, a folder under one arm, and a calm confidence that silenced the room the moment she entered.

“Hi,” she said gently. “I heard you needed psych?”

The patient lit up. “Ohhhh. There she is. Finally. Someone beautiful around here.”

Jack’s jaw ticked. “Watch it.”

The patient smirked. “What? Just saying. You all bring me the mean doctor with the wavey hair, but then this goddess walks in? Tell me you see it. She's the moon and you’re... I dunno. A pencil.”

Javadi bit her lip. Santos turned away, grinning.

The psychiatrist pulled on gloves with practiced grace. “I’m here to help, Mr. Reed. Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

“Like I’ve seen heaven,” he said smoothly. “And heaven is you. Are you single?”

Jack stepped forward. “She’s married.”

The patient cocked his head, eyes narrowing like he suddenly understood something far more interesting. “Wait a second... no way.”

“What?” Santos asked.

The patient pointed at Jack, then her. “You’re married. You two. I see it now. That stare. The way you hovered when I called her beautiful? You’re totally married.”

Silence.

Then:

“She’s your wife?” Whitaker all but gasped, looking at Jack like he’d just revealed he was an alien.

Jack didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Santos’s mouth dropped open. “Hold on—how long has that been a thing?”

“Seven years,” she answered calmly, scribbling notes onto her chart.

Javadi stared. “You mean to tell me we’ve been working beside both of you this whole time and never knew?”

“We keep it professional,” she said, glancing at Jack, who was clearly trying to sink through the floor.

The patient beamed, delighted. “This is way better than when I saw a guy get tasered in the cafeteria.”

“Please sedate him,” Jack muttered.

His wife smirked. “Not yet. He’s lucid enough to spill tea.”

Santos laughed so hard she had to turn around. Whitaker looked like he was trying to solve an algebra problem with no numbers.

“But—but she’s so nice,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Jack said flatly. “And she married me anyway. Try not to think too hard about it.”

As she moved to the side of the bed, the patient winked at her. “I’m just saying... you could’ve done better.”

Jack leaned down, eyeing him coldly. “Say that again and I will intubate you awake.”

Everyone blinked.

The patient raised both hands. “Okay damn. The wave’s kinda hot now that I get the context.”

Javadi crossed her arms. “Well, now I get why he punched that radiologist last year for calling her sweetheart.”

Jack didn’t deny it.

[valer1esgallery]

Small ways they show affection

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer

Leaves roses on your desk or bedside table with a small cup of tea/coffee for you in the mornings, even if he isnt there, i feel like he would make you something warm to drink along with his normal coffee he has in the morning. Its not outright said, but he cares alot for you to do this every morning without fail, its become part of his routine now, not that he minds

Mammon

I feel like he would subconsciously play with your hair or your jewelry if you both are together, you both could be lost in deep conversation and he would just reach up and start playing with a strand. If you mention it to him, he would turn red and look away, claiming that he did nothing of the sorts

He gives you small shiny objects like a crow. A small bracelet, a pair of earrings, shiny rocks, coins, a cool leaf he found, he would give you those types of things

Leviathan

Leviathan is pretty socially awkward so you don't really get large displays of PDA from the demon, but if your waiting in line or are in a large crowd, he intertwines your pinkies together or holds onto your sleeve

I feel like he would also pre-save games that he thinks that you would really enjoy, sending you a vague text about saving it for you while his face is bright red behind the screen

Satan

He leaves you little note with quotes from romance novels, i will die on this hill. If he finds a book that he thinks you will like, he will leave the book on your desk with a small sticky note that reads something like 'and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable, and its all thanks to her/him', cheesy stuff like that

Asmodeus

This man is so into PDA, a arm around your shoulder, his hand on your waist, arms linked together, fingers interlocked, he just loves PDA. But when you both are alone, you could just be talking and you have your legs over his lap, he rests his hand on your calf as you both talk

Alone, his touches are more gentle, more loving. He likes touch, and he feels just resting a hand on your leg or just resting his head on you

Beelzebub

He knows all of your favourite devildom drinks and snacks, he makes sure that he brings enough for you while he's on snack time. Sometimes they don't make it to the house but its the thought that counts!

But when they do, he restocks your small snack draw and leaves some on your desk, making sure you never go hungry

Belphegor

He would give you a small bracelet that he tops up with magic every night so that you don't have bad dreams, Is it annoying? Yes, but is it worth it to see you happy? 100% Yes

He would just lean on you, not out of sleepiness (even though it does happen), he likes to lean against your arm or rest his head on your shoulder

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry i disappeared off of the face of the earth for a while, things came up and i was in a massive writing rut for a good long while lol

but anyways, IM BACK :D

This has not been proof read lmao, what should I do next?

[2hightocare]

COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

[unsuperingyournatural]

no takebacks

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

dividers @saradika-graphics

@po3tbbygirl not sure this is what you were thinking but a little something along the lines of what you were mentioning in your post

"And the Oscar goes to..."

You hear your name and everything slows down. Like the world is just… pausing for you.

Then Pedro is standing.

A deafening roar of applause erupts around you, thunderous and wild, and Pedro’s already pulling you up, arms wrapping around you tight, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek—then another, right near your temple. You hear him say it, warm and close:

“You did it. You did it, baby.”

You barely remember the walk to the stage. Just the blinding lights, the sound of applause, and the surreal weight of the Oscar now in your hand.

You step up to the mic, still a little stunned.

“Well... this is awkward,” you begin, earning your first wave of laughter. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and now my entire left eyelash is threatening to mutiny.”

More laughter. You smile.

“Thank you to the Academy. Thank you to the cast and crew. You made this performance possible through hours of night shoots, uncomfortable contact lenses, and—shoutout to our stunt team—multiple fake injuries, and one real one that reminded everyone I’m not invincible.”

Laughter again. You breathe a little easier.

“To my team—thank you for fighting for me. And yes, Dan, I am finally thanking you on a stage. Let it go.”

A laugh from off-stage. You spot him—your lawyer—smug as ever.

You take a breath, and your gaze finds Pedro, seated in the front row, grinning up at you like he already knows what’s coming.

“I wasn’t going to bring this up tonight…” You pause, then smirk. “…except I absolutely was.”

You turn your gaze toward the front row. “Pedro,” you say lightly, “you told me—back when I got nominated for a Golden Globe—that if I won one, we could finally talk about the whole kids thing.”

The crowd chuckles, and Pedro immediately drops his head into his hand.

“You said—and I remember this clearly—‘If you win, I’ll think about it.’”

You pause for effect, smile widening. “Well. I won.”

More laughter and cheers. You glance down at him. “So we talked. And you said maybe. Then you said—and I quote—‘If you win a SAG Award, then we’ll definitely talk.’”

Pedro’s already blushing. The crowd is loving this.

“Well,” you continue brightly, “I won that too. So we had the big talk. And you said yes. No timelines, no pressure—just, yes. Open to the idea.”

You pause again, letting the room settle.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about this,” you say, grinning as you shift the statue to your other hand. “And I realized... you kind of kept moving the goalpost on me.”

The crowd perks up again. You glance down at him with faux suspicion, eyebrows raised. He’s already shaking his head, bracing for impact.

“First it was, ‘If you win a Golden Globe, we’ll talk about kids.’ Then it was, ‘Well if you win the SAG Award, we’ll definitely talk.’ And then—then—you say, ‘If you ever win an Oscar, that’s it. One kid. Definitely no takebacks.’”

You hold up the statue like a mic drop. “And I just feel like... maybe you didn’t think I’d actually get this far?”

The laughter explodes. Pedro groans into his hands.

“Like, were you just setting the bar so high that I’d give up and stop asking?” you tease. “Because if so... tough luck, honey. We’re in it now.”

Pedro mouths something that looks a lot like “I panicked!” and you can’t help but laugh.

As the laughter rolls through the theater, the actor sitting directly behind Pedro—someone very A-list and enjoying this way too much—leans forward and claps him on the shoulder with a huge grin. Pedro just slumps slightly, still laughing, nodding like, Yeah, okay, I earned that.

You tilt your head, lifting the Oscar just a touch. “Look, I don’t know what kind of strategic reverse-psychology delay tactic that was, but it backfired spectacularly. I won. This is happening.”

You pause dramatically. “So unless you’ve got another awards show in mind... better start warming up those lullabies, Pascal.”

The room loses it. Pedro throws up his hands and calls out with a groan and a laugh:

“Alright—but you’re telling my sister.”

"Deal!"

The crowd howls. Someone near him claps him on the back again. He just shakes his head like a man who’s been thoroughly outplayed.

The laughter swells again, and you take one last look around the room—at Pedro, at the sea of faces, at the moment you never quite let yourself believe would happen.

You lift the Oscar just slightly, smile slow and certain.

“Thank you,” you say one more time, voice warm.

Then you step back from the mic.

You're barely behind the curtain before someone hands you a bottle of water and starts congratulating you. There’s glitter in the air. Your heart’s still pounding. You can’t feel your feet. The statue’s heavier than you expected and warm from your hands.

And then—he’s there.

Pedro slips through the crowd like it parts for him, his eyes locked on you with that soft, breathless kind of smile that makes your stomach drop every time.

Before you can say anything, he pulls you into him.

“Jesus,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “You really did it.”

You laugh into his chest. “You sound surprised.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his hands still warm on your waist, his face completely undone with pride. “I mean, yeah. I always knew you were amazing. I just didn’t think you’d actually call me out that hard on live television.”

“You deserved it.” You smirk, still slightly breathless. “You started the whole ‘if you win’ saga.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually pull off the triple crown.”

“Well,” you say, holding up the Oscar between you like evidence, “I did. So...”

Pedro lets out a quiet groan and presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t believe you did that to me in front of everyone. My phone’s going to explode. My family’s phones are going to explode.”

“I warned you.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“Okay, maybe I implied it. With my eyes.”

He laughs again—real, deep, glowing with pride—and then brushes his fingers down your arm.

“You were perfect,” he says softly. “Up there. You made the whole damn room fall in love with you.”

You lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Too late. I already picked you.”

He exhales like that broke something in him. Then he tugs you back into another hug—one of those hold-on-for-dear-life ones—and kisses your cheek, then your neck, like he can’t quite stop.

“Hey,” you whisper near his ear. “Just a heads up…”

Pedro stiffens a little, playful. “If you say ‘no takebacks,’ I swear—”

…“I was gonna say,” you cut in with a grin, “your sister’s probably texting you in all caps.”

He groans again, but he’s smiling.

You feel it—how proud he is. How completely stunned.

Like in this moment, there’s no one else in the world. Just the two of you, tucked into the softest kind of silence.

And as he holds you, smiling into your shoulder while the chaos hums around you, you let your eyes flutter shut for a breath.

This— this feels like the start of something even better.

[hexfe6f5e]

lurking on other people’s dark and distressing posts & feeling strange

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[hellinistical]

in which your attempts at teasing him backfire.

tw: not proof-read. afab.reader wc: 1.7k

You step into the room, the faint scent of rubber and sweat hanging in the air. The hum of the ceiling fan is steady, the only sound breaking the silence. The floor is lined with thick black mats, the kind that dulls the impact of each step, each weight dropped. The walls are decorated with posters—motivational quotes, athletes mid-motion, the colors vibrant in contrast to the dim lighting that casts shadows around the room. A large mirror stretches across one wall, reflecting your every move as you glance at your reflection.

The scent of metal greets you next as your gaze shifts to the weights stacked neatly along one side, a collection of dumbbells, kettlebells, and barbells glistening under the faint light. The bench press sits at the center, its leather worn but sturdy. To your left, a treadmill sits untouched, and beyond that, the elliptical machine waits patiently for your attention.

There's a small section by the window with a yoga mat rolled out, soft light filtering through the blinds. A set of resistance bands hangs from a hook nearby, and a jump rope lies coiled by the corner. You can feel the space welcoming you, pushing you to move, to work, to reach your limits. The room is yours, an arena for your body to push against its own boundaries.

And in the middle is your boyfriend, doing pushups. 

You can’t help but watch as Caleb’s muscles ripple with each push-up, his back shifting under the strain. His skin glistens with sweat, the droplets tracing down his back and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. Every time he lowers himself, the dog tag around his neck swings down, grazing the floor with a soft clink. The sound of his breath, deep and measured, mixed with the occasional grunt, only adds to the moment. There's something about the rhythm of it all that pulls you in.

You shift silently, careful not to make a sound, your steps light on the rubber floor. A small, mischievous smile plays on your lips as you inch closer, his focus completely on his workout. You can’t resist; the moment feels too perfect, too tempting. You sneak up behind him, just as he finishes a push-up, and almost without thinking, you reach out, gently tapping his shoulder, a playful challenge in your eyes.

Caleb looks up, surprise flashing across his face for just a second before his lips curl into a grin. His breath catches slightly as you stand there, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you grin, "Mind if I join you?"

Caleb pauses mid-push-up, his body locking in place. He looks up at you with a smirk, his breath still coming in quick bursts. "Hm? Course you can, princess—oh!" His voice falters slightly as you suddenly hop onto his back, your legs on either side, your hands lightly resting on his shoulders for balance.

The muscles in his back tense under the unexpected weight, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he gives a huff of laughter, his deep voice vibrating through his chest, and you can feel the heat from his body. His dog tag bounces off the floor again, and the slight jingle makes you smile, knowing exactly what you've just done.

"You're cruel," he mutters, pushing himself back into his rhythm, but his tone has a playful edge. He doesn’t skip a beat. As soon as the words hang in the air, Caleb shifts beneath you, the playful grin still plastered on his face. He pushes himself deeper into the movement, each push-up becoming smoother, more controlled. His body doesn't seem to strain under your weight—it almost seems like he's showing off now, making it look easy. You can feel the strength in his muscles, the way his back flexes and shifts with each rep, as though he's daring you to try and throw him off.

His dog tag swings faster, hitting the floor with a soft clink, a rhythm to match his pace. You can feel the heat of his body, the tension of his muscles as he adds more power to each push-up, lifting you up ever so slightly with each press. His breathing is steady, but you sense an almost playful smugness in the way he moves, like he's enjoying proving just how little you weigh in comparison to the challenge he's setting for himself.

You, however, are stuck in a position where you're trying to hold on and not fall off, and there's a growing sense of realization that while this moment feels full of playful defiance, it’s clear—you're nothing to him. He’s doing this effortlessly, with a quiet confidence that makes it impossible to ignore. You smirk, but it’s no longer playful—it’s more of a challenge.

You can feel the space between the two of you in more ways than one. He’s showing off, but you’re beginning to wonder if that’s all this is ever going to be.

Before you can even process what’s happening, Caleb shifts suddenly. With one smooth movement, he flips you off his back and swings you under him, pinning you down gently against the rubber mat beneath you. His hands rest on the floor beside your head as he continues with his push-ups, his arms steady and sure.

You're lying there, completely caught off guard, your breath catching in your throat. Each time he lowers himself, his dog tag swings forward and lands on your chest with a soft clink, the cool metal pressing against your skin. The sound, the sensation—it’s like the world has narrowed down to just the weight of him above you and the steady rhythm of his movements.

And then, Caleb laughs, that low, easy chuckle that makes his chest rumble. It’s teasing, playful, and a little smug. "Told you I could handle it, princess." His voice is light, but there's an edge of amusement in it, knowing how completely he’s caught you off guard.

You can’t help but feel the strange mixture of embarrassment and something else—something that keeps your heart racing, even as he doesn’t stop, his push-ups continuing like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re trapped under him now, his dog tag steadily tapping against your chest with each descent.

You roll your eyes, the warmth creeping up your neck as you turn your face away, pretending to be unimpressed. “Yeah—well, whatever,” you mutter, trying to play it off, but inside, something flutters that you can’t quite ignore.

Caleb chuckles again, his breath warm against your ear as he continues his push-ups. And then, as he lowers himself toward you for the next one, he pauses just before the descent—and then he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

The contact is soft but undeniable. You freeze for a moment, your heart racing, caught off guard by the sudden, gentle gesture. His lips linger there, even if just for a second, and then he’s back to his rhythm, continuing his push-ups like nothing happened.

You’re left staring up at him, your cheek tingling from the kiss, your pulse skipping. His laugh follows, still light and teasing. “Had to make sure you were paying attention,” he says, his voice full of amusement.

You bite your lip, trying to hide the surprise. “I’m paying attention,” you respond, though you’re not sure if you mean the push-ups or something else entirely.

His smirk is undeniable, that familiar playful glint in his eyes as he looks down at you, like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind. "Are you?" he teases the question hanging in the air between you two.

Before you can answer—or even process what’s happening—Caleb lowers himself again. This time, instead of just the soft tap of his dog tag, his lips meet yours in a quick, fleeting kiss as he comes down. The pressure of his body so close to yours, the warmth of his lips, it all catches you off guard. Your breath hitches, and for a second, everything else disappears except that kiss, leaving you both suspended in the moment.

He pulls back just as swiftly as he came, the smile on his lips widening as he finishes his push-up, still managing to keep his rhythm. “Just makin’ sure,” he says, that playful smirk still lingering.

Your heart is pounding, and you’re left staring up at him, not sure what to say next. You’ve never really known how to respond to him when he acts like this—all teasing. 

You blink up at him, still trying to steady your breath, but his presence is too overwhelming. Caleb’s smile widens, that familiar, teasing grin stretching across his face. "Just makin' sure," he repeats, his voice light and almost smug, as if he knows exactly how flustered you are.

The way he leans over you, his body so close, makes everything feel a little bit heavier, a little bit more intense. His dog tag swings again, brushing against your chest with each push-up. You can feel the weight of the moment, the quiet challenge he’s setting for you, and the playful way he keeps pushing the boundaries, making sure you’re paying attention, making sure you’re still here with him.

His eyes glint down at you, the smirk never leaving his lips. “You alright down there, princess?” he asks, though it’s clear he’s already enjoying every second of this little game.

You quickly gather yourself, trying to shake off the heat spreading through your cheeks. "I—yeah. Yeah, I’m fine," you say, your voice coming out a little more flustered than you intended. You stare up at him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he continues to smile down at you, completely at ease, while you're left trying to regain some semblance of control.

He chuckles softly, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he resumes his push-ups, but the teasing edge doesn’t leave his tone. "Good," he says, clearly enjoying how much he's gotten under your skin. "Wouldn’t want you to lose focus now, would we?"

And oh, fuck if that didn’t make your stomach flip. 

[hugheshischier4313]

YOU MISS HIM DON'T YOU | Q. HUGHES

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Quinn Hughes x fem!reader 

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | Emotional cheating (not on Quinn),  angst, fluff, oblivious!reader and Quinn, soft!Quinn, neighbors-to-lovers, reader x OC (Andrew, reader's boyfriend), alcohol, flirting. 

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Months into your friendship with Quinn the two of you finally admit to what's been there all along. 

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Based on a scene in Season 3 of Desperate Housewives (No spoilers in the writing. Bolded words are quoted from the show): “Don't tell me nothing happened. We’ve been fighting over this all week. You miss him, don't you?”

𝗪/𝗖 | 6.8K

𝗔/𝗡 | hi lovelies, thank you for being patient with me for the full fic of this idea. The lines indicate time jumps, they jump back and forth to different scenarios of reader and Quinn through the time they have spent together. I absolutely love these two and this idea and I couldn't find a perfect ending. I rewrote multiple endings and ultimately decided to just make a part two when I finally figure it out. Hope you enjoy, love ya!

It had been a wonderful night, the wine glass in your hand still full, the bottle sitting on the coffee table. The random episode of Bob's Burgers in the background forgotten, adding nothing more than a soft glow to the room. As you sat there listening to Quinn talk about his summer back in Michigan, you found yourself examining him. The way his eyes roam the room as he speaks, the smiles before he lets out a laugh and the way his hands run through his hair occasionally.

"You should have visited, even for just a weekend. You would have thought this was way more entertaining if you were there." Quinn teased as he finished his story. You pushed down the feeling of guilt as you smiled back at him, poking a finger into his shoulder. "I wouldn't have let you live it down if I had been there. So it's probably for the best," You teased back, but the truth was you had wanted to visit Quinn over the off-season, but when the time came, life had another plan.

_________________________________

"You should come down for the week. The sunrise and sunset alone would make the trip worth it. Imagine spending your week off by the lake, a beautiful sky for you to take pictures of. I can send you a ticket, just say the word." As the smile crept onto your face, so did the slightest tinge of pink. You had been putting away groceries when your AirPods had read the message out loud. Quinn had a habit of making fun of your love for the sky. Always calling you out, shrieking, 'The sky is so pretty' like you had repeatedly done (in a terrible attempt to match your voice). You swear you could hear it through the text despite him being over 2,000 miles apart. 

When Andrew's call came through, you found your phone and typed the text about sending it. "Y/N! I got it, I got the promotion!" His voice came booming out, and the excitement was evident in his voice. "Congratulations, Andrew!" you reciprocated his excitement. "And what better time than before you have a week off. I was thinking of going away for the week, maybe Banff? I'll rent us the cabin we had when we went last time." He kept ranting, too excited to keep anything in, but his voice was drowned out by the thought of Quinn. 

"I have to go, but I'll send you the flight information later tonight. I can't wait to see you." Andrews's voice didn't falter, almost like he was on autopilot, just rambling what he knew to say. They exchanged their quick goodbyes before he hung up. 

As if to taunt you, the next sound into your ear was' NEW MESSAGE FROM QUINN 'Or even just for the weekend if you have other plans for your week off.' As you looked back down at the phone and saw the unset message,  'A whole week of sunset pictures? Count me in Q'; the thought of deleting it weighed heavily on you. 

The truth was you had truly missed Quinn this summer. You had moved to Vancouver for grad school in the fall, and as luck would have it, Quinn lived in the apartment next to you. In the past 10 months, you had known each other; the only time you hadn't seen each other was when he had away games. And even then, when he returned, he made it up to you by devoting time to be with you. He bought you a postcard from all the cities he played in, and you had them displayed on your fridge. He signed all of them after the few glasses of wine you shared after one of his longer roadies.

You had (in your tipsy state) jokingly told him to sign one so you could sell them if he ever decided to be a jerk to you. And as he did, you knew you could never sell them; they meant too much to you. He had made a joke about writing nonsense on them to lower the value if you tried. Over the off-season, you found yourself religiously turning them over to look at his little notes, his penmanship holding inside jokes that you held dear to your heart.

As you stood there staring at the postcards on your fridge, thinking of the brunette, you couldn't help but feel the guilt in your chest. The nagging thought that your friendship with Quinn may not be as platonic as the two of you acted.

Why were you standing there thinking of another man when you were just on the phone with your boyfriend? You hadn't and would never cheat on Andrew, but the world seemed to disappear when you were with Quinn. Time slipped by faster, and you longed to sit on a couch with him again.

And at that moment, it had become apparent that you no longer had a choice; you had to choose between the two men, Andrew or Quinn? But then again, it wasn't really a choice between the men; it was a choice between right and wrong.

'Sorry Quinn, I can't this week. Take lots of pictures for me. Can't wait to see them when you're back.' Send. It was vague, and you knew he could send them to you whenever, but you also knew that, at least for this week, he couldn't be your primary focus. You needed to focus on your partner and his accomplishments.

_________________________________

As you had sat in a surprisingly unpopulated section of the airport for a Friday night, you haphazardly skipped through Instagram stories until you were faced with Quinn's private story of him on the boat with his friends. You had no reason, or right, to be this upset, but as you looked at the sunset on the picture's horizon, you couldn't stop yourself from hitting the call button. 

The phone barely rang once before you heard his voice, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Hey, I was j-" His voice was laced with exhaustion as if whatever physical activity he was doing was still fresh. And you found yourself more clam than you had been in days. Oh, how you had missed his voice.

"Are you upset with me?" The words were rushed and tumbled out before you could comprehend the repercussions. You knew that now was not the time to be having this discussion. You were sitting in the corner seats at the airport, waiting for your plane to begin boarding. But it had been two days since that last message you sent, and you had heard nothing from Quinn.

You had been a little hurt when you spent all of Thursday waiting for a response from the brunette. He had never taken more than a few hours to respond to you, which is why you had given him the benefit of the doubt that Wednesday night after you sent the last message. But now that you had spent the entirety of your workday contemplating writing a new message, you were upset, and the Insta story had only added fuel to the fire.  

"No, of course not. Why?" His voice was genuine and calm, a nice contrast to the loud background on both sides of the phone. You figured he was still on the boat with his friends. "Oh, I just figured you were upset since I haven't heard from you." You felt stupid for calling and continuing to talk despite it being obvious he wasn't alone. "But I'll let you go; sorry for calling." you hit the red button before you had time to overthink. Your voice had become weak, and you hated that you were taking time away from him and the time he had to spend with his friends and family.

You had the overwhelming feeling to cry, but you didn't know if it was because of guilt for Andrew or Quinn or because any doubts you had that Quinn was mad at you had disappeared. NEW MESSAGE FROM QUINN: 'Give me 10 minutes, I'll call you back'. The message held an inevitable dominance over it; there was no question that it was a conversation that had to happen, and it had to happen now. 

_________________________________

Quinn had known about your boyfriend from the very beginning. He had seen you together, bringing boxes to the apartment beside his, and noticed you immediately. He wished he could say it had all been innocent, but the first thing he saw was how your legs looked in the tennis skirt you had been wearing. You bent down to pick up a fallen pillow as he exited his car in the parking garage. His eyes lingered on you, and he forced himself to turn away before you noticed. He swore he would offer to help you before he met eyes with Andrew as he stepped out of the parking garage elevator.

"I didn't mean to; it just happened. You were bent over, in a skirt, right outside my car; it was hard to look away when I didn't expect you to be there." Quinn had a slight pink tone to his features right now, and you were smiling, trying to suppress a laugh. You stood in the kitchen, pouring the margaritas into your cups.

"You mean the skirt I'm wearing right now? Is that why you mentioned it? Quinn, you could have kept that secret forever. I mean, you couldn't waterboard that information out of me." You were always more giggly when drinking, which was contagious to Quinn. "But since you didn't, I'm gonna use this against you for the foreseeable future."  The laugh left you when you got back to Quinn's couch. "I'll try not to make any sudden movements that may catch you off guard," you teased as you stood before him and handed him his drink.

"It's not funny; I've felt bad about this for months." he tried to be serious, but the smile never left his face. As you nodded with a smirk on your lip, you turned from him after he grabbed the glass, "Y/N, I'm serious." He wasn't; he could never stay upset with you, even in a joking manner. 

"I guess I'll just go back to my apartment then; I don't want to bring back any of your past shame." your body once again turned towards him as you leaned down over to hug him, "Bye, Hughes, I'll make sure to only wear this when you're out of town." He let out a sarcastic 'ha.' "You don't have to leave; I can control myself. I promise." he rolled his eyes and slowly got up to stop you.

"I don't know; I think the only logical answer is to wear your Drew sweats." You had pivoted and ran to his room before he could reply. You had bugged him countless times to try them on over the past months; you had just wanted to see if they were worth the hype because the black sweats had been sold out forever (and maybe, subconsciously, because of your past love for Justin Bieber). And every time he said no, you took this as your opportunity to try them and bug him simultaneously.

Being in Quinn's room was familiar to you. You had spent most days at one of the two apartments, and sometimes that meant laying in his bed watching TV after he had just returned from a string of away games or after a challenging game or practice. You had worn his clothes before, too; it was always in a platonic way, the first time you had locked yourself out after being out on a run when it started raining. You lost your key on the run, and the concierge was gone for the night. You had also spent the night; he let you sleep in his bed and took the couch. 

As you ran into the room, you closed the door behind you and walked into the closet, closing that door, too. You had found the sweats and slowly walked out of the closet. There was no sight of Quinn, and the bedroom door was still closed. You walked towards the door, sweats in your hand, as you called out to him, "Q? Are you -" But you were cut off as he tackled you onto the bed next to you.

The two of you lay on the bed laughing before turning to face each other. The laughter died down, and you were smiling and looking at each other. The two of you lay there for a while, not saying anything until you broke the silence, "Your eyes are a different color every time I see you, but today I can see every shade in them." You don't know why you needed to share your observation with him, but it felt right. "You cut your hair." He reached out to tuck a strand behind your ear and play with the end of another. His voice had been so him, soft yet dominant. It was true; you had gotten a slight trim the day before and a few longer layers at the bottom of your hair, a small and simple detail that could have been missed. In fact, he was the only person to notice; none of your classmates or even Andrew, although over Facetime, had noticed. 

The room felt heavy as you looked from his hand in your hair to his eyes again, stopping to look at his lips for a second. And when you reached his gaze, it was unreadable. "I -" A phone began to ring as Quinn was about to speak. You could see a shift in his demeanour as you continued to look at him. He got up to find the cause of the sound. "It's your phone." He walked it over to you before heading out to the living room again. The phone illuminated ANDREW CALLING.

You looked towards the empty doorway as you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hey you," your playful voice sounded forced, and the smile on your lips was even more so. "Hey, I have a surprise for you. The notification said it was in the lobby." This shocked you, not only because it was a surprise but because Andrew was never one for small gestures. It was always something big like him ordering 4 dozen roses to your desk after your fourth date. But he had never just sent you or given you something randomly.

Andrew could be a sweet guy; you worked together before he asked you to have dinner with him. You knew you were moving and had no intention of starting anything serious before moving to Vancouver, but he had been so persistent, and it felt nice to have a distraction with all the craziness of moving. But living in different provinces has brought no comfort to either of you. It felt like pen pals most of the time. You would call him a few times a week and talk for an hour before he had to go. There had been a few times where you could have sworn you heard someone else there, but the times you mentioned it, it felt like the fight had been more trouble than the issue itself.

And maybe subconsciously, you felt like a hypocrite. Your relationship with Quinn was platonic, but the number of times you were confused as a couple in public could be seen another way. In fact, you hated to admit it, but it felt like you communicated more with Quinn when he was away than with your boyfriend. 

"There's something for me in the lobby of my apartment complex? Andrew, what did you do? It's 7pm?" As you started talking, Quinn walked into view, bringing your drinks and extending to you. "It's a surprise; you should go get it now; I'm assuming it's just on the concierge desk based on the picture." You stared up at Quinn as you listened to Andrew, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute, and I'll call you back once I have it." The phone call was quickly over. 

"What did you order?" Quinn asked with a smile, used to all the packages you've received. A few that had been too heavy for you to carry on your own that Quinn had taken himself. Even when they hadn't been too heavy, he would carry them for you if he was there. "I'm not sure, Andrew sent it to me." You could have sworn there was a look on his face that was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You want me to go with you in case you need help?" there was no hesitation in your quick reply of 'yes.'

As the two of you walked down the hall, you were overly aware of the distance between you. It was no different than it had been in the past, but there was a particular charge. The words shared and unshared in the bedroom hung heavy. "So I never got to even put the sweats on," you joked while waiting in front of the elevator. "You can borrow them when we get back up if you want," his answer made your breath hitch. He had never let you try them on, much less borrow them.

He looked at you, letting you walk into the elevator first. The ride down was quick and quiet, but how you looked at each other made everything race faster. Your heartbeat quickened as you saw his slight deviation towards your lips before making their way back up. "Quinn," your voice came out as a low plea; whether it was to continue or to stop was uncertain. He stepped closer to you as the two of you stood in silence for a brief moment before the doors opened. As you stepped out, your heart felt heavy.

As you made your way towards the front desk, you saw the back of a man at the desk, but when you heard the voice,  it made you freeze. Andrew he was in your lobby waiting for you, Quinn failed to notice your pause and ran into you. However, before you could tip forward, Quinn had steadied you with a hand on your arm and waist. Andrew called out when he turned around. 

"Andrew! What are you doing here?" You didn't miss the look he gave the sight of the two of you or how his gaze only lingered on Quinn's hand on your waist as he walked closer. You unhooked yourself from Quinn to hug Andrew. The hug was stiff; he held himself higher, and his head hadn't moved from the position it had been in before. You figured he was still looking at Quinn. 

"I wanted to surprise you; we settled a case earlier than expected, so I took a few days off." You had pulled yourself to his side, a view of both him and Quinn. They kept looking towards each other, completely ignoring you. "Well, Andrew, this is my friend I always tell you about, Quinn. He introduced himself the day I moved in, remember? He lives next door to me." Andrew smiled down at you as you continued. "Quinn, you remember Andrew." Quinn looked from you to Andrew before extending his hand. "Good to see you again, man." Andrew hesitated before shaking his hand. 

There was a quick silence before Quinn grabbed his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, excusing himself, "I have to make a phone call; I'll see you around," but before he could walk off, you gave him a side hug goodbye. You had done it a thousand times before, and feeling like you couldn't because Andrew was there didn't feel like a good sign, so you did it anyway. "I'll text you," you quietly said as you let go.

The next few days had been uneventful, showing Andrew around Vancouver. The hallway had felt unusually empty each time you passed, hoping to run into Quinn. A string of away games was starting that Monday, and when you came back from dropping off Andrew at the airport on Sunday night, you noticed the bag sitting in front of your apartment door. 

The black sweats were inside with a note, 'I'll pick them up when I'm back. Enjoy :). ~ Q" He never asked for them back

_________________________________

"Hey," his voice was clear despite the pixilated quality of his Facetime call. He was wearing a white T-shirt, his hair was wet, and he had a look on his face you had never seen. "Hey Q," your pulse felt overwhelming as if anyone who looked at you could see it throbbing against your neck. "Are you having a good time back home?" It was a buffer; you didn't know what Quinn wanted to say, and judging by the look on his face, you weren't sure you wanted to.

"Andrew called me." His voice was blunt, direct to the point, despite the few seconds he stared at you, hesitating to continue. "He asked if I was sleeping with you." His eyes held yours while the rest of his face had no expression. "What?" The nervous laughter that filled the air around you was nothing more than a way to suppress the hurt and anger of this new confession.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Quinn. I don't know why he's been so paranoid lately. It seems like he misinterprets everything I mention to him as something else." For the last two months, you had known that Andrew suspected your friendship with Quinn was something more. He had brought it up the last time he was in Vancouver and again over the phone a few weeks ago (although it had been in retaliation to the question you had asked him about the girl with him in a video his friend had posted on their story). 

"Did he misinterpret it, or did he just see what is obvious that you and I can't admit?" The question was loaded with truths that weren't meant to come out. The look that the two of you shared through the screen had only confirmed it. In a split second, months of ignorance had led to a confession when the two of you were thousands of miles apart.

His breathing was heavy; you could hear it through the phone; he had a look on his face that closely resembled his look when his team lost in the Playoffs. It was the look you saw in the mirror this morning when you had not heard from him. It was the split-second look he had in the lobby the day Andrew surprised you.

Everything playing in your head; all the nights he would knock at your apartment after a game with a box of food, the way you would pack him an 'after-game snack' consisting of oranges, a granola bar and a fruit snack (which he teased you about until you mentioned it was like they did in little leagues), the way your breath hitches every time he gets shoved or falls. 

All the times, the two of you had gone for a drive when life felt too heavy, and you shared secrets you had never told anyone before. The way he took off your makeup when you had gone out one night or how he knows your coffee order for every cafe you go to. Quinn and you had been in the in-between since you first hung out. 

"I mean, how long are we going to pretend like nothing is happening?" His voice was calm and demanding, with a hint of subdued anger or annoyance you hadn't picked up. "Quinn, I -" You were at a loss for words; nothing could genuinely capture how Quinn had made you feel. 

You knew you were safe with Quinn around, not only in a physical sense but emotionally. The way he made you feel heard and seen. The two of you were floating in two separate worlds, but the weight that engulfed you was the same. You understood the complication of pressure and leadership; you understood needing to be the most prominent presence in the room, even if you weren't the loudest. You understood the pressure of wanting, no needing, to be the best for everyone else even if it tore you apart. 

It was all those things and more that drove you together, the ability to soothe the ache the buildup of burden had left sacred on the two of you. When you felt a crushing weight on you, the only thing that could alleviate it was being around the man who had quickly become your best friend. Immediately, he knew whether you needed to just sit and cry while he comforted you or go for a drive so you could yell out lyrics or if you needed him to just talk about mundane things.

And you do the same; you knew by the way he left the ice, by the way, he knocked on the door, by the way, he walked down the hallway toward your apartments. You knew when to go over to him so he could catch the recaps, and you knew when to invite him to yours to force him to ignore the criticism. You knew that even after a winning streak or after a goal, he needed comfort, understanding the overwhelming feeling of the slightest reprieve until the next game.

And the honest truth was that you had pushed back any romantic feelings because you knew without a doubt he was your person. You had never been one for friendship with men, and when your friends asked about what you could have in common with a professional hockey player, you never knew what to tell them. Because from every book, movie, series and scenario you knew, as cliche as it was, the only quote that could describe what the two of you shared was, 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' 

"Y/N, please." His voice was barely above a whisper, a plea to say anything. "It doesn't have to change anything. I just need to know; I didn't mean to hurt you; I tried to give you space. I've tried to respect your relationship." He had been ignoring you to avoid hurting your relationship, and in the process, the two of you were the only ones who were hurt. "Quinn." There was only one way you could describe it: "You consume me." Despite the tears that fell, you stared at him through the phone, wishing he was there with you, wishing your plane was going to Michigan. 

"Now boarding flight-" The announcement couldn't have come at a worse time; there was so much to say, and an airport right before boarding was not ideal. "That's my flight." You wiped your tears as you stared at the man on the screen. "Y/N, I'm sorry for bringing this up now; it's not my best moment." he was trying to cheer you up; he wanted you to know that everything would be okay. "Quinn, I don't know what to do," your voice was a quiet plea to understand what was to come.

"Given everything that was said and that we're in two different countries right now, I think we should take some time to digest. I know you're spending time with him, and I don't want you to feel overwhelmed. I think we should take the next week or two." your heart was breaking, but your mind knew that was the best option. And for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, you thought of Andrew, and the slight tinge of annoyance arose again. 

Quinn must have noticed because he was quick to interject his following comment with the most sincere look, "But before you go, I just need you to know that you consume me too." He had his signature half smile as he continued, "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. I think about you constantly. I think about you when I look at the sky, when I'm practicing with my brothers, when I go out with friends and when I lie in bed. I watch for you in the crowd during warm-ups. You've become one of my favourite people so quickly, and I'm so glad of all the apartments in the city, or even just in the building; you moved into the one next to mine." 

You smiled as the tears fell; if there had ever been any doubt, you now knew for sure that Quinn was your person. "I'll be forever grateful that the universe brought me to you too." And with a quick goodbye and promise to reach out in two weeks, you were in your seat on the plane. 

Your mind racing with thoughts of Quinn and the revelations that had come to light and then again to Andrew. You didn't know why, but your annoyance was morphing into slight anger, the idea that he had called Quinn and accused him of sleeping with you. What annoyed you more was that he had done that and hadn't mentioned it to you. He hadn't mentioned the idea of your friendship with Quinn being something more since that one phone call a little over a month ago. 

You sat with that feeling for the rest of the flight. 

_________________________________

"Okay, fine, you are mad at me! But name one thing that I have done to deserve it!" Andrew was standing on the opposite side of the room. His breathing was heavy as he ran a hand through his hair. "You called Quinn." your voice was laced with a hint of sadness and betrayal. The statement was simple and direct but held a meaning that both of you knew would change everything. 

The argument had started with something so small: the two of you walking on eggshells the past few days and your passive-aggressive comments when he mentioned anything related to Vancouver. Over the past few days, you had tried to get Andrew to admit to calling Quinn; he wasn't stupid; he had connected the dots and was simply choosing to ignore it (which infuriated you even more). The days dragged on; waking up and getting ready in silence, spending the day exploring, trying to avoid long conversations at all costs, getting ready for bed with few words and getting into bed facing away from each other. 

Andrew's response had taken a second longer than it should have. His hesitation made it clear that he was surprised by the direct approach, almost as if he hadn't thought you would say anything.  "You're damn right I did, I've seen the messages, the glances, the pictures. What was I supposed to do? Pretend that nothing was going on?" His voice was slightly louder as his eyes narrowed on you. 

"Nothing was going on. He never touched me." you raised your voice, but the words weakened. Your hands were flailing around, trying to emphasize your point.  The tears behind your eyes aching to be let free. It was too much, and you knew the implications of your words. This time, however, Andrew didn't hesitate to answer; his reply, even louder than before, came out the second you were done talking. "And I wasn't gonna sit around and wait until he did."  

The two of you stood there staring at each other, chests heaving, eyes full of emotion. You sat on the counter stool beside you before looking away from Andrew and placing your head in your hands, elbows propped on the counter. You heard his footsteps getting closer, and soon, Andrew was pulling out the stool next to you. 

You glanced at him from your peripheral view; he was staring at the kitchen in front of him, a look of contemplation on his face. "Do you have feelings for him, Y/N?" you diverted your eyes back to the counter. The question caught you off guard, "Hmm?" you could feel his eyes on you again, but you couldn't gain the strength to look up. "Do you have feelings for Quinn?" Each word was emphasized by the slight pause he took between them. 

Although you couldn't meet his eyes, you mustered enough courage to look up from your hands towards the kitchen. "I would never cheat on you, you know that." you shook your head as you said it, knowing it wasn't the answer he sought. "That's not what I asked." you wanted to look at him, to tell him he was all you wanted, that there was nothing between you and Quinn, but that wasn't the truth, and all you could do was continue the slight head shake you had started. 

Andrew didn't say anything for a bit, but you could hear the sound of his movement as he repositioned himself on the stool and leaned closer to you. "Did you fall for him?" His voice was softer and more quiet, slightly above a whisper. You tried to speak, but the tears beat you. As the tears left your eyes, you looked towards Andrew. His eyes were glued on the fridge, his expression hurt, and his eyes held a slight gloss. "Oh god," he was avoiding eye contact with you now. 

You stared at him a moment longer, trying to calm down, "Nothing happened." your voice was shakier than it had been all night, and the tone held no conviction. He turned his head slightly, the two of you locking eyes. "Don't tell me nothing happened. We've been fighting over this all week." He turned away before he even finished his sentence. Your tears continued, "You miss him, don't you?" The look on his face had hardened, but his voice remained the same. He knew the answer; it had been evident every time he called you, and you were alone or when he would try to call, only to be met with a text saying you were on the phone but would call him back. 

You kept your eyes on him; the guilt weighed heavy on you. The implication of every choice you had made since the first interaction with Quinn ran through your mind. You couldn't put your thoughts into words or rationalize your feelings. "I'm sorry." It wasn't even a valid answer, but it was all you could think of. Your emotions were running too high, and you needed a breather. He leaned back on the stool and let out a breath, but a few tears trickled down as he did. "Damn" His voice was barely audible; if you hadn't been looking at him or if the room hadn't been so quiet, you would have missed it. 

_________________________________

It hadn't been your intention to end things with Andrew that way. Despite all the issues the two of you shared, you didn't want to hurt him. When you talked everything through the following morning you both knew the relationship had been over longer than either of you cared to admit.  It had been as civil as a breakup could be, and the guilt that had once overwhelmed you started to blur.

As you looked out the plane window and saw Vancouver, you felt the missing pieces of you start to come together. It was strange how life finds a way to bring you exactly where you need to be. Accepting your graduate program at The University of British Columbia led you to a weekend of exploring and apartment hunting in Vancouver. You had found your apartment complex by accident; you had been lost looking for another building when your eyes landed on it. The large winders on every floor practically shoved you into the lobby, and when you applied, only one unit was available for your expected move-in date. It had been a long shot, and somehow you ended up winning. 

You could recall the sound of a car pulling into the attached parking garage as you pulled a box out of your trunk, unintentionally knocking down a pillow in all the commotion. As you bent down to pick it up, you could hear the car door open and close before hearing a few footsteps. They stopped as you located your missing pillow; as you stood back up, you turned to find the stranger but found yourself searching for Andrew after hearing his voice. As you stood there waiting for him to grab another box, you looked towards the elevator and saw the stranger standing there. You couldn't see his face; he was just a blur of brunette hair and a gray outfit as the doors closed, and although you couldn't make out all his facial features, you could have sworn you saw him give you a smile before the doors closed completely. And before you even had a chance, Quinn captured your attention. And unbeknownst to you then, you had made a lasting impression on him, too. 

As you stared at the city, music in your ears, in the back of the Uber home, you could see every moment you and Quin shared. Every mundane moment, from knocking on his door in the morning with breakfast bagels and coffee to drunk conversations in the back of a car after a night out celebrating to sitting in either of your living rooms watching a movie with your commentary. It was like watching a montage scene, and it felt freeing because, for the first time, there was the possibility for something more. The feeling of longing had been hidden underneath your guilt, coming hand in hand, and now both were gone, instead replaced with something positive. 

"Miss, you have a package." The voice of your building's concierge brings you back to reality. It was a relatively wide rectangular box; you hadn't ordered anything that would come in a box of that size, which fueled your curiosity even more. "Thank you." You smiled and offered a kind goodbye before walking to the elevator. 

Without hesitation, another image of Quinn flew into your mind as the elevator doors closed. The first time you spoke was in the elevator up to your floor. He smiled, encouraged you to enter the elevator first, and asked if you needed help with your box despite carrying his bag. However,  after declining his offer, he made no other effort to continue the conversation. The two of you casually glanced at each other as the doors closed, waiting for the movement to begin, but when it didn't, you looked over to the right side of the door and laughed slightly. "What floor do you need?" he asked with a slight chuckle. "Sixteenth, please." You returned his chuckle and smiled. You watched as he clicked the sixteenth button but no other. "Are you on the same floor?" You could hear excitement in your voice, but you pushed it down. "Yeah, guess that means we're neighbour neighbours" Once again, that damn smile felt contagious; he felt contagious. 

When you reached your floor, you found yourself walking faster than usual to reach your door. It had only been a week; somehow, everything was completely different yet utterly the same. You walked into the apartment and set the package down on the counter, needing to know what was inside. Opening the lid, you are met with the most beautiful arrangement of your favourite flowers. There were different shades of your favourite colour, layering beautifully on each other, but what caught your eyes was the distinct blue rose in the middle, an envelope sitting directly on top. 

The envelope had your name written on it with the handwriting you had come to memorize. Inside was a postcard from Michigan, "Y/N, I can't get you out of my head. Only two more weeks left before I'm back in Van, and I can't wait to see you again. I found this while I was out, and it reminded me of you.   -Q" You held the card close to you for a second; it had the faintest mix of florals and Quinn's cologne. You looked at the fridge before deciding to keep the note in your room. It felt intimate, something you wanted to keep between you. Something caught your eye when you took the flowers out of the box and into a vase. Inside the envelope was a small plastic bag; you reached for it and found a necklace. 

A delicate chain with a small pendant with a sun and a moon, and when you turned it over, your breathing hitched; there was a small 43 engraved. When you read the note, you assumed the postcard was what he had seen, but it was the necklace. He had seen a necklace encompassing the sun and moon, something you were passionate about, and he had added something personal. The engraving must have been something he did; the probability that it had been done in manufacturing was slim to none, making it all the more special. You put it on and never wanted to take it off. 

You grabbed the postcard off the counter and lifted it closer to your chest before taking a close-up picture from your lips to showcase the necklace and postcard, "I'm thinking about you too. To the longest two weeks that will ever exist. To the sun and the moon and back." And as you hit the send button, you couldn't help but think about what was yet to come.  

_________________________________

[hellishjoel]

taste you

514 words // joel miller x f!reader

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word: book

warnings/information: smut!!! pussy pronouns!!! joel being a book boyfriend!!! oral f!receiving!!! fingering!!! dirty talk!!!

a/n: joel miller, you will always be famous. my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

Joel slowly nudges your legs open with a gentle guide of his hand, his lusty eyes flicking between your sleep shorts and the flustered look on your face. 

“This how they do it in your books?”

Your mouth is watering. You’ve never felt more attracted to Joel, all broad with his chest puffed and looking to prove something.

He’s noted how enamored you’ve been with a particular book series. One book after the other, he swears he sees you clutching one with new cover art every night. But whenever he asks about it, you clam up. 

He thinks, it’s just a book, right?

But after leafing through the pages of your most recent obsession left on the nightstand, he’s intrigued. 

There’s a lot of fucking sex in here. A lot. 

No wonder you always wiggle around in bed when you read it. You’re turned on as hell. 

This book was clearly written for the female perspective, but thinking about doing these things with you was getting him a little riled up, too. 

Now, he’s here, quoting similar lines from your book while his mouth makes out with your cunt. His tongue works slow and precise movements up and down your seam, moaning at the taste of you as your fingers comb through his greying waves. 

You whimper his name as he gently suckles on your clit, his tongue and teeth flirting with your sensitive bundle of nerves while his thick fingers stretch your throbbing pussy. 

“Joel,” you pant breathlessly, digging your head into the pillow as your stomach only tightens with immense pleasure. 

“Know she likes this,” Joel mutters with a smirk against your folds, his lips lacquered in your arousal. “Know this pretty pussy likes bein’ taken care of. That’s all she needs, someone to take care of her.” He curls his fingers, the tips gently massaging that special spot only he can service.

“Oh— shit,” you gasp, your thighs beginning to shake as your impending orgasm sinks low in the base of your stomach. “Joel, fuck, your goddamn mouth,” you groan his name as he attaches his mouth to your pulsing clit, your thighs clamping against the sides of his head. 

Everything he spoke was pure filth. 

“She’s so damn pretty, baby. Wet just for me. You know how much this turns me on? You laid out on this bed, takin’ what I give you. Eatin’ this pussy so good, you can barely talk.” 

Joel’s taunts make you whine, your body writhing against his possessive hold as he reaches up your front, his fingers toying with your peaked nipples. It’s just enough to push you over the edge, every nerve in your body set alight simply by what your books have taught him. 

“Holy hell,” you pant as he licks his fingers clean, a smirk painted on his lips as he writes the letter J on your thigh in your sticky arousal. 

“You can have your book boyfriends, I don’t mind,” Joel mutters as he runs his fingers along his square jawline, “but you’re mine off the page. Okay, baby?” 

What do you say?

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