#and as always...welcome to fucking wednesday

[tanjir0se]

As the World Caves In--Part 1 of 2

Pairings: Rengiyuu Words: 2.3k/? Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everybody Lives AU Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Canon-typical Violence, Medical Procedures, Blood

It felt like he was in a dream. No, a nightmare. Any moment now he’d wake up screaming, heart pounding in his ears until it settled back to a normal pace. Any moment now he’d be back in the mansion gardens with Rengoku by his side, wisteria on the breeze, warm from the sun and the sound of Rengoku’s laughter. All he could hear now was his own heartbeat, all he could smell was the sharp copper scent of blood. His entire field of view had gone red. 

Summary: Giyuu was fortunate enough to be on a mission just South of the Mugen Train crash and the site of Rengoku's battle with Akaza. Now he's all that stands between Kyojuro and death.

Thank you to @babykirara for the amazing header she made for me that I can't stop using to decorate my various putting of Giyuu in Situations

UPDATE: read part 2 here!

Giyuu rarely put much thought into where Rengoku was headed on his missions. Being a Hashira seemed as easy for him as breathing, swordplay coming as naturally as the ease of his conversations. As much as he missed their walks in the gardens, their one-sided conversations, the hot flush on his face while they sparred in the training grounds, the idea of Rengoku facing genuine danger was foreign to him. 

As for himself, quite a few times Giyuu had awoken in the Butterfly mansion, bandaged and bleeding and bruised, always with Rengoku waiting by his side. He’d chide him for his recklessness, extol his strength as a demon slayer, and offer to help him train during his recovery. Their positions had yet to be reversed. Rengoku was…well, he was Rengoku. The flame Hashira would return with a few scrapes here and there, but they were easily outshined by his bright-as-the-sun smile. It was easy to ignore them. 

Until it wasn’t. Until that day. 

Giyuu sheathed his sword and exhaled, watching the demon he’d just decapitated smolder apart, ashes drifting into the early dawn sky. He’d been on the case of a demon at a local theater for a few days when he’d received a raven with a letter from Rengoku, telling him all about the latest mission he’d been assigned to: investigating the Mugen Train. It never took very long for Rengoku to return from whatever mission he was on, so Giyuu figured he’d hear all about it once they both returned to the mansion. 

The piercing cry of his crow nearly made him jump as he was turning to find his way back to the mansion. 

“Backup urgently requested! Backup urgently requested!” His crow was screeching as it fluttered down onto his shoulder. “Flame Hashira Kyojuro Rengoku requires urgent assistance in his pursuit of the Mugen Train demon!” Giyu leaned slightly away from its shrill voice directly in his ear. His eyes widened. 

“What happened?” He gripped his sword hilt with white knuckles. Rengoku never requested assistance, not in all the years they’d been Hashira together. His stomach clenched tightly, nearly painfully, Giyuu readied himself to run. 

“The train has crashed just north from here! An upper rank demon has appeared in the fight!” The crow reported. 

All at once Giyuu couldn’t breathe. His throat clamped shut, chest heaving, and all he could manage through the strangling grip of fear was three words: “Take me there.”

***

Giyuu could recall only one time he’d run so fast in all his life: nearly twenty years ago. Cold air had torn through his lungs but he hadn’t slowed. He couldn’t. The more distance he put between himself and the strangers he’d been left in the care of, the more likely he’d find someone who would listen to him. He couldn’t save his sister, but maybe if he kept running he’d find someone who could help him save someone else. The last thing he remembered that night was collapsing into the snow, exhausted, throat raw. In his exhaustion he remembered seeing her standing there, watching him with her sad eyes and raven-black hair. That was his last image of her. 

He couldn’t save his sister. All his life he’d never forgotten that helplessness. Now, following his crow toward the ever-growing plumes of smoke on the horizon, he felt it growing in his gut again. Not him. Anyone but him. 

The sun was beginning to rise as Giyuu came to the scene of the train crash. Aside from the murmur of survivors helping each other out of the wreckage, and the distant crackle of flames, it was eerily quiet. Whatever upper rank demon had been here would be long gone. The impending sunlight made sure of that. Perhaps Rengoku had simply defeated the upper rank before the sun rose, leaving the battlefield in silence. He certainly wouldn’t put it past him. And hoping was easier at the moment than despair. 

A surprising streak of pink caught his eye in the shadow of one of the train cars. Giyuu jogged toward it, picking up his speed when he realized what it was. 

“Nezuko.” he said stupidly, finding it to be the only thing he could think to say. The blond-haired kid that was always hanging around her was kneeling beside her with Tanjiro’s box open, ushering her inside. She looked up when she saw him, her magenta eyes glistening. The blond followed her gaze and gasped when he saw him. 

“Mr. Tomioka--”

“Where is Rengoku?” Giyuu interrupted. The blond just shook his head at him, eyes wide with fear, and pointed toward a grove of trees on the far end of the wreckage. Giyuu wordlessly followed his direction. 

He heard the sobs before he saw anything. The sky was thick and hazy with clearing smoke. Just over a small ridge he found a clearing before a large grove of trees. The ground was scarred with slashes from a sword, footprints in a fighting stance, trenches were a body had been blown back by some great force. The dirt glistened with blood, for a moment it was the only color in the gray-brown haze of smoke and dirt kicked up from battle.

Giyuu stumbled down the hill into the smoke. The sobs were getting louder, his chest was getting tighter, he doubted he’d be able to breathe even without the caustic cloud around him. After a few seconds of searching, Giyuu’s eyes fell on a flash of yellow, bright as the sun. Rengoku. 

“Kyojuro!” Giyuu managed. Hope and relief carried him forward through the smoke, but he slowed once again when the full scene appeared before him. 

Tanjiro, on his hands and knees, looked up at him as he appeared through the smog. Tears cut sharply through the grime and blood on his face. Behind him was the kid with the boar’s head, trembling violently, unable to look at him. Kneeling before them both was Rengoku himself. 

“Kyojuro.” Giyuu said, ignoring the look on Tanjiro’s face, the blood, the smoke. Rengoku didn’t move. His haori spilled out around him, soaked from the waist down with a halo of blood. There was a long beat of silence before Kyojuro abruptly, grotesquely slumped backwards, deadweight, hitting the dirty ground with a loud but hollow thump. 

“Mr. Rengoku…!” Tanjiro whimpered. “Please, Mr. Tomioka, help him!” 

Giyuu stared, disbelieving. It felt like he was in a dream. No, a nightmare. Any moment now he’d wake up screaming, heart pounding in his ears until it settled back to a normal pace. Any moment now he’d be back in the mansion gardens with Rengoku by his side, wisteria on the breeze, warm from the sun and the sound of Rengoku’s laughter. All he could hear now was his own heartbeat, all he could smell was the sharp copper scent of blood. His entire field of view had gone red. 

“Mr. Tomioka!” Tanjiro was shouting. Giyuu wasn’t listening. He was staring instead at his friend’s blasted-open abdomen, an ocean of red pouring out from the mangled flesh beneath his torn uniform. Something snapped inside of him, the fragile scaffolding he’d built around his heart shattering into pieces like Kyojuro’s body. Not him, not him, not him--

“Tomioka!” Tanjiro screamed. Giyuu blinked and found Tanjiro had stood and was tugging desperately on his haori. “Please!”

Giyuu looked at Tanjiro and inhaled. There he stood between his friend and oblivion. If he did nothing else for the rest of his life, he would reach into that oblivion and yank him back. Hands shaking, Giyuu finally moved. 

Quickly but gently, Giyuu took Kyojuro--Kyojuro’s body?--by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground, where he hit the blood soaked dirt with a heavy and sickening squelching sound. Long ago, when his hands were too small to hold a sword and his body too weak to swing it, Urokodaki had made sure to teach him how to force a heart to beat, how to fill another’s lungs with air. How to reach into oblivion and yank someone back. 

Back then he’d warned him it didn't often work, even when done perfectly. Back then he’d seen that firsthand, as he’d uselessly pumped the heart of a lifeless body crushed beyond repair. Giyuu remembered the blood soaking through the patterned robe and splattering onto the crushed kitsune mask beside him. 

He couldn’t save his sister. He couldn’t save Sabito and Makomo. Kyojuro now stared sightlessly up at him, his eyes half-open and splattered with blood. Giyuu knelt beside him, placed the heel of his pale hand against Kyojuro’s ruined chest, and pushed down with everything he had. 

Immediately he heard the crack of ribs snapping, felt them collapse inward like twigs beneath his hands. Giyuu sucked in a surprised and disgusted breath but continued anyway. He had to. He counted in his head the best he could but kept losing count as he watched blood flow up from Kyojuro’s chest and throat and onto his hands, soaking his uniform sleeves. Even counting took huge effort; all he could think about was his friend’s voice, his smile, the heat that came to his face whenever Kyojuro drew close to him. 

1, 2, 3, 4–Ah, Giyuu! My friend, how nice to see you again!—6, 7, 8, 9–Hah! You always know how to make me laugh. I always enjoy your company. 

Panting with effort, Giyuu found a rhythm, bending at the waist to throw his weight behind each artificial beat of Kyojuro’s heart. All those kind things Kyojuro had said to him and he’d never returned any of them. Not for lack of trying, and he knew Kyojuro understood…Each silent upward tilt of his lips, each time he drew a little closer, handed him something he was reaching for without him asking, remembered his order at their favorite Udon cart—I love you I love you I love you—but he’d never actually said it. 

It wasn’t as easy for him as it seemed to be for Kyojuro. That strangling grip around his throat seemed to never lessen, and the harder he tried to summon the words to express what he felt, the further they retreated back into his. The tighter the grip became. He swallowed.

“Come on, Kyo,” he spat through his teeth and the tightness in his throat, far beyond caring if the boys heard or noticed his use of the nickname he’d never said aloud. “Please…”

When he reached thirty, or felt like he’d gotten to thirty, Giyuu stopped and leaned down, tilting Kyojuro’s chin upward, pressing his lips to Kyojuro’s and breathing into him. Kyojuro’s chest—what was left of it—rose with the breath and fell again. The air escaped his cold lips in a loose gurgle. Another borrowed breath, another rush of blood, another long and frightening silence. Giyuu came away tasting blood and resumed pumping his chest again. 

He lost track of time. For that matter he’d lost track of space, too. The earth had fallen out beneath them. In that moment the only thing that could pull him back into orbit again was Kyojuro. He didn’t realize that the Kakushi had arrived and we’re taking over, not even when Tanjiro’s voice managed to reach him again.  

“Mr. Tomioka…?” He was calling. Giyuu ignored him and continued. His chest was beginning to heave with coming sobs; they became so intense he could barely move or breathe. Still he continued. Someone else was calling his name. Still he continued. I love you I love you I love you.

“Master Tomioka, we will take over from here.” A voice said. His shaking hands were so soaked with blood they were beginning to slide off of their position on Kyojuro’s sternum. “M-master Tomioka, please…” Someone was pulling on his arm, pulling him back and away from Kyojuro. Giyuu set his jaw and tried to continue but the hands continued pulling into finally they managed to get him off of Kyojuro, though his eyes did not move from Kyojuro’s face. 

“That’s enough, Mr. Tomioka.” Tanjiro was saying. The moment Giyuu stopped yanking against him in an attempt to get back to Kyojuro, Tanjiro released his arm and let him watch while Kakushi descended upon the scene, his vision blurred with tears he hadn’t realized had been falling from his eyes. The Kakushi swarmed him as they took over, their training clearly much fresher than Giyuu’s. 

His breath caught in his throat as it ripped in and out of his shattered chest. Giyuu felt faint, he felt his own heart stop, ears ringing as if he’d just been in an explosion. His own ribs were imploding too. The cliff edge of oblivion stretched out before him, the reality of the rest of his life without Kyojuro’s smile. It was everything he could do to keep himself upright.

Through the haze he heard one of the Kakushi speaking. 

“I have a pulse!”

Giyuu blinked. To his shock, Kyojuro’s chest was moving slowly up and down even without his intervention. Each exhale brought a small flow of blood from Kyojuro’s mouth, but he was breathing. His heart, somehow, was beating. The world resumed its spin. 

“You did it, Mr. Tomioka!” Tanjiro whispered in disbelief. He watched them load Rengoku onto a stretcher and take off toward the medical camp they were still setting up. Tanjiro pushed himself into a standing position, wavered, tried to remember how to breathe. Beside him, Tomioka remained motionless on his knees, his face even paler than usual. “Mr. Tomioka?” 

He was surprised into silence as Tomioka abruptly bent forward and vomited onto the bloody ground. Tanjiro’s hands hovered uselessly over Tomioka’s back, wanting to comfort him, too frightened to touch him, too worried he might vomit, too. Before he could decide what to do Tomioka jerked upright again and stood, shaking, blood dripping from his fingers.

Giyuu was not a praying man. It had never worked for him before. But for one moment, exhausted and faint and feeling the world tilt as it attempted to find its orbit again, Giyuu allowed himself to offer not a prayer, but a bargain. 

If you let him live, I swear, I’ll tell him everything.

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot. 

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble. 

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly. 

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin. 

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him. 

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles. 

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning. 

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you. 

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans. 

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it. 

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully. 

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did. 

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top. 

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it. 

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely. 

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again. 

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything. 

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he. 

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies. 

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face. 

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass. 

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again. 

ease and silence…and love.

[dakusan]

W h e r e V a m p i r e ! S K Z L i k e s t o B i t e Y o u

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight fangs. eight fixations. and every filthy way they ruin you where it hurts the most

🔞synopsis: You thought you knew desire. You thought you understood sex. Then they bit you. This isn't love. This is hunger. Worship. Power. A kiss laced with venom. A cock buried in your cunt while your blood runs hot down their chin. Eight vampires. Eight bite locations. Eight ways to lose your mind and beg for more.

💌a/n: Welcome to fucking Wreck Me Wednesdays. This was supposed to be “mini.” Instead I wrote eight vampire sex case files with feeding traits, bite kinks, and full-blown NSFW lore. Somewhere between Chan’s heartbite and Han's “mine mine mine,” I lost the plot and my soul. Some are longer. Some are feral. Some are shorter. All of them ruined me and they shall ruin you too. Read responsibly. Stay hydrated. Stretch your legs. Cry in the bathtub. p.s. reblog = consent to be ruined by a vampire. p.p.s. Tell me who broke you. For science. p.p.p.s. pls enjoy the song :3. i will also get to the asks later today, haven't forgotten!

⚠️ warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY — minors will be fed to Minho. This series contains graphic vampire smut and feral content not suitable for the emotionally stable | Bloodplay + feeding during sex | Biting (everywhere) | Obsessive/possessive behavior | Power dynamics (soft dom to unhinged dom) | Crying, overstimulation, choking on moans | Praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink | Fang kinks. Vein kinks. Chest kinks. Thigh kinks. | Oral (receiving + giving), rough sex, soft sex, bubble bath sex, rage sex

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𓆪 BANG CHAN // Abnormal Vampire Obsessed with control. Addicted to your pulse.

🩸PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Neck or heart — where the pulse is loudest. He wants to hear it skip.

💉FEEDING STYLE ‣ Controlled. Lethal. Intimate. ‣ Always timed with orgasm. May edge before bite. ‣ Often restraints you during feeding. Uses voice as a binding tool.

🫀EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Rapid heartbeat. ‣ Dissociation from overstimulation. ‣ Emotional dependency post-bite. ‣ High risk of imprinting.

⚠️PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasmic blood-loss. ‣ Neck bites mid-thrust = blackout-level pleasure. ‣ Heart bites = ego death. Immediate sobbing. ‣ Lingering soreness + possession marks.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 001 𓆪

"Strip. Slowly."

You're standing in front of him—already trembling, already soaked. He hasn’t touched you. Not yet. Just sits back on the velvet chaise like he’s watching a performance he paid for in centuries. Legs spread. Shirt open. Mouth smiling, fangs peeking. Hands not on you.

Not yet.

You undress like you're unwrapping something forbidden. And his eyes don’t leave your chest. Not even once.

"There," he murmurs when your top hits the floor, voice like silk over blade. "It stutters when you know where I'm going to bite. Do you want it tonight?"

You nod, breathless.

"Words, darling."

"...yes. Please."

It doesn't take long, really it doesn't. Because one second you were putting on a show for him, stripping, peeling layer by later until you were naked and suddenly, you were now laid down on the bed with Chan knelt between your thighs, breathing against your cunt without touching.

With only one single kiss, not touching. Not yet.

"So warm here. You've been aching for me all night, haven't you? Dripping for me. Thinking about how it'll feel when I bite your chest and fuck you until your name melts off your tongue?"

You whimper, nod, hips twitching—but his hands grip your thighs down firm and leans forward, tongue finally moving—not inside you—no, he flicks along your folds. One stroke. One taste. Then stops.

"Mm. You're going to wait for me to bite. I'll have to make you cum with my mouth first."

He eats you out slowly. Sinfully. Like a king savouring dessert before the main course. Fingers spreading you, tongue teasing, lips sucking your clit just barely enough to make your stomach tense. Then he stops. Over and over. Until you're crying, hips grinding, begging.

"Please—Chan, please—fuck—just let me—"

"Let you what?" he says, smiling against your pussy. "Bleed? Break? Cum?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—all of it."

He hums against your cunt like you gave him a goddamn prayer.

"All of it, huh?" He drags his tongue up slowly, catching your clit just to hear the gasp he wrings from your throat. "Then keep those thighs open. Let me earn it."

And he does.

His mouth descends like a curse and a promise, this time not stopping. He licks like he’s reading scripture off your skin. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your moans. Two fingers press in, curling perfectly, while his tongue circles your clit with calculated cruelty. He’s not being sweet—he’s being precise. Every flick, every suck, every curl of his fingers is designed to make your legs tremble and your mind splinter.

“There it is,” he growls into you when your hips start bucking. “So fucking wet, baby. You gonna cum like this? Before I even bite?”

You try to answer. You really do. But it’s already happening. Your stomach tightens, thighs trembling, mouth open on a silent scream as your orgasm crashes down—hot, humiliating, perfect.

He doesn’t stop.

Licks through your orgasm, dragging it out. Groaning low, fingers still thrusting, until you’re gasping, writhing, overstimulated and dripping. Then—finally—he pulls back. Just enough to lift his head.

His mouth is wet. His chin shines with your slick. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are blown wide, black with hunger. “Now you’re ready,” he says, voice darker, lower. “Now you’ll taste right.”

He climbs up your body slowly, kneeing your thighs further apart as he goes. One hand cages your throat—not tight, just present—and the other cups your breast, thumb rubbing lazy circles around your nipple.

And then he leans in. Presses his lips right over your heart. The bite is sudden. Deep.

Your blood floods his mouth, and he moans—moans—like it’s better than sex, like it’s what he’s been starving for. His hips grind against yours as he drinks, hard cock pressing against your folds like a promise. You’re shaking beneath him—your orgasm still echoing, your body pulsing, blood pouring into his mouth like a gift only he deserves.

And then—just when you start to go dizzy—he pulls back. Fangs red. Lips stained. Chest heaving.

“Still with me?” His voice is rough, wrecked with restraint. “Because I’m not done.”

You nod—but barely. Your whole body is trembling, and your vision is hazy, floating from the orgasm and the blood loss and the fact that he bit your fucking heart like it was a fruit he’s waited centuries to taste.

And he’s still fully dressed. Shirt unbuttoned, dark slacks hugging his thighs, belt still on. You’re naked and wrecked and soaked, but he’s untouched. Pressed against you, blood-slick mouth and cock hard against your pussy—but untouched. “Look at me,” he whispers, dragging his fingers down your side, over the bite mark, over your trembling hips. “Look at me while I feed you something else.”

And then he leans back.

Slowly. Casually.

Undoing his belt with one hand, unzipping his pants like he's got all the time in the world. His eyes never leave yours as he slides them down just enough to free himself—his cock thick, flushed dark red, leaking at the tip, veins mapped like sin. You swear it twitches when he sees your thighs shake.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, wrapping one hand around the base and giving himself a lazy pump. “Open. Dripping. Ruined. And all for me.”

He strokes himself slow, torturing, his fist sliding up over the head and back down, slicking it with precum while his other hand presses down on your lower belly, keeping you there.

“You feel that?” he asks, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “That’s mine now. This heat. This slick little cunt. Your blood’s still warm inside me and now I’m going to fuck it back into you.”

You sob. Actually sob. Because even just the way he slides against your folds—up and down, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance—it’s too much.

“Please, Chan,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “I want you inside—I want to feel it—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He lines himself up. Presses the head in just a little. Just enough to make you gasp. “You’ll take it. Every inch. Slow.”

And he means it.

He pushes in inch by devastating inch, watching your face the entire time—watching your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter, your back arch. You feel every ridge, every vein, the stretch of him parting you slowly like he’s carving space for himself where no one else belongs.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking. “So fucking tight.” Another inch. Another. “God, you’re squeezing me like you missed me.”

You cry out. Not from pain. From pleasure. From the overwhelming fullness, from the feel of him dragging along your soaked, overstimulated walls.

He pauses halfway in. Just pauses—hips pressed flush, cock twitching inside you, breath hot against your cheek.

“You want more?” he asks, fangs still out. “Tell me. Tell me how bad you want me to fill you.”

“Please,” you gasp, tears spilling, voice trembling. “I need it—I need you inside—all of you—fuck, Chan, please.”

His hips snap forward. You scream. He bottoms out with one deep thrust, cock buried to the hilt, and the stretch burns so good.

“There,” he grits, grinding slow, deep, merciless. “That’s what I wanted. That fucking clench. That pretty little scream.” He stays buried in you for a moment—deep—just breathing, letting your walls flutter and your cunt adjust to the full stretch of him. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, trying to lock him in, but he just smirks.

And then he starts.

Slow. Precise. The first few thrusts feel like worship—or punishment—dragging out so achingly slow that your body clenches tighter, trying to chase what he won’t give you. His hips roll, grinding into you, the thick weight of him pressing against every oversensitive inch of your soaked, blood-drunk cunt.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he sets a slow, grinding rhythm. “So fucking warm. So tight. You gonna cry for me again, sweetheart?”

You already are. You’re gasping, eyes glassy, body shaking as he rocks into you with that slow, devastating rhythm. One of his hands cradles your face, the other beside your head, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And then—he leans in. Mouth dragging across your skin. Kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, your throat. Peppering kisses like you’re sacred. His fangs scrape lightly down your neck and you twitch underneath him.

“You like that?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “The fangs. The pressure. You want me to bite again, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “Not until you cum on my cock. Not until I’m so deep you forget how to speak.”

He picks up the pace now—still controlled, but faster. Harder. The sound of skin slapping, of your soaked cunt swallowing him in, fills the room along with your moans. Your nails drag down his back. Your hips rise to meet his.

“That’s it. Take it, baby. Take all of me. That greedy little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—fuck, yes—made for you, only you—”

He kisses you. Hard. Bruising. Tongue sliding past your lips like he owns your mouth too. And when he pulls back, his eyes are pitch black, fangs still bared, lips red from your blood.

“Say it again.”

“Made for you,” you cry. “Yours. Only yours.”

“Good fucking girl.”

His pace snaps harder now—deep, perfect strokes—one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressed firm against your throat. His body curves over yours, keeping you pinned while he fucks you like he’s staking a claim inside your cunt.

Your legs tighten around him. Your belly coils. You feel your orgasm building—hot and sharp and dizzying.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, rutting harder now. “Gonna let me feel it? Let me feel that pretty little pussy milk me while I drink from your heart again?”

You sob. You nod. You beg.

“Please, please—bite me—fuck, Chan—please—”

And that’s all it takes. He thrusts deep, one last time, grinding hard against your cervix, and then bites—again—right over your heart.

You cum instantly. Your walls clench so hard around his cock it triggers his own orgasm—thick, hot, flooding you as he groans into your skin, drinking and thrusting and owning you. When he finally pulls back, he’s panting, licking the wound tenderly. Your body’s trembling—soaked, stuffed, claimed—and he just looks down at you like you’re a masterpiece.

Chan leans down, kissing your lips so softly now. "You're mine sweetheart. Bloody, body, soul."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𓆪 LEE KNOW // Abnormal Vampire Sadist in silk. Devours screams. Fuck-first, feed-later type.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner thigh — where you're softest, where you beg hardest.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Slow. Pain-laced. Erotic. ‣ Often feeds while fucking from behind. ‣ Fingerplay first—he has to feel you fall apart before the bite.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Shaking legs. Sore hips. Oversensitive clit. ‣ Mind-fracture from orgasm + blood loss combination. ‣ Known to cause dehydration, bruising, and uncontrollable sobbing. ‣ Marked behavioral changes: submission, clinginess, obsession.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasm coincides with bite. Scream = trigger. ‣ Thigh bites may cause blackout + limp for 2–3 days. ‣ Post-bite euphoria. Known to whisper “again” while you’re still twitching. ‣ Irreversible addiction risk. Do not engage without safe word.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 002 𓆪

“You’re not gonna cum until I tell you to. Understand?”

His voice is silk-coated steel—low and lethal. You’re on your back, naked, legs spread wide on the silk sheets, with Lee Know fully clothed beside you. Not even undressing. Just watching. Eyes dragging over your soaked cunt like it’s something he owns. Like it exists to be ruined.

You nod, desperate.

“Use your words.” His eyes narrow, lips curling with warning. “If you want my fingers inside you, you’d better earn them.”

“Yes. I understand,” you breathe. “Please—Minho, I need it—”

He hums, finally moving. One hand strokes up your thigh, so gentle it makes you shiver. “So polite,” he murmurs. “And already dripping. All this for me?”

Two fingers press between your folds, parting you slowly. You moan. He doesn’t move fast—he just teases. Up and down, collecting slick. Spreading it messily across your clit before tapping it, sharp and precise.

You jerk. He laughs softly.

“No cumming, sweetheart,” he reminds you, before pushing a finger in.

You moan, clenching instantly. He’s slow at first, curling upward to find that spot, rubbing it deliberately. Then a second finger. Scissoring, stretching. His thumb rubs lazy circles over your clit, but never enough. Never fast.

And when you start to tighten around him, about to tip over—he pulls out.

You scream. He smiles.

“Again,” he says, and starts over. Fingers, curl, rub, drag—stop. Over. And over. By the fourth time, your body’s twitching. Your thighs shake. Your hands are fisting the sheets. “Minho—fuck, please—I’m going to lose it—”

“Good.” He leans over, mouth brushing your ear. “Then maybe you’ll behave.”

He grabs your hips, flips you over in one smooth motion—onto your knees, chest to the sheets. One hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your spine into a perfect arch. The other? Slipping down to play with your pussy again.

“You’re so wet baby,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers back through your folds. “I’ve barely done anything.”

You sob into the sheets. Then you feel it—his tongue. On your inner thigh. Not your pussy. Not yet. Just slow, deliberate licks on the sensitive skin right near your pulse point.

You freeze.

“Oh, did you think I’d forgotten about the bite?” he purrs.

He kisses the skin first. Then bites. His fangs sink in with a sharp, hot pain that melts instantly into pure fucking ecstasy. Your vision goes white. Your arms give out. You cry out, body trembling as blood leaves you in slow, sensual pulses.

And the second his mouth pulls back—

He’s undoing his pants.

You hear the belt unbuckle. The zipper lower. Then feel it—his cock, thick and flushed, dragging through your soaked folds. “You want this?” he asks, voice darker now. “Want to be fucked while your thighs are still bleeding?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—please—”

He slides in.

No warning. No mercy. One smooth, brutal thrust that knocks the air out of you. His hips slam into your ass, cock buried to the hilt, and he groans—deep and guttural—like he just found heaven inside your cunt. “Fuck,” he pants, grabbing your hips with bruising force. “So tight. Still twitching from that bite?”

He doesn’t wait.

He starts moving. Deep, hard thrusts that punch cries from your throat. Your back arches, cheek pressed to the sheets as he fucks you in a perfect rhythm—every stroke hitting exactly where you need him.

And he does not stop.

“Cry for me,” he growls, slapping your ass. “Scream. Let them hear how good I fuck what’s mine.”

You scream. You cry. You babble his name like a prayer.

“That’s right,” he hisses, hips snapping faster. “Fucking perfect.”

You’re gone. Broken. Bleeding. Full. And when your orgasm is close, when you're just about to cum—he doesn’t stop you. “Let go,” he pants. “Give it to me. I want to feel this cunt strangle my cock.”

You do. You collapse, sobbing, shaking, cumming so hard your thighs go limp. But he doesn’t stop.

Minho groans through his teeth and keeps thrusting—fucking you through your orgasm like he’s chasing something deeper. His grip bruises your hips, cock dragging through your soaked, fluttering walls, harder now, rougher.

“You sound so pretty when you break,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “I can feel it. Every pulse. Every squeeze. You're milking my cock like you want me to stay inside forever.”

You whimper, twitching under him, nerves fried, cunt still clenching in aftershocks. Your body is shaking—numb, overstimulated—but he fucks you through it, like you owe him every second.

“I’m close,” he growls, burying himself deep. “Gonna fill you up—fuck, just like this—”

A sharp snap of his hips, one final grind—and then he spills into you with a broken sound, teeth bared, fangs glinting. His cum is hot, thick, flooding your sore cunt as he presses as deep as he can, breathing hard against your spine.

But he’s not done. Not even close.

The second his cock slips free—wet and dripping with both of you—he’s flipping you over again. Your body’s limp, arms trembling, blood drying sticky on your thigh. You can barely focus. Barely breathe.

But you feel him. The press of his mouth. The heat of his breath.

“Still bleeding here,” he murmurs, fingers parting your thigh. “And you’re still so warm.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer before he bites again.

Same thigh. New wound.

You scream—not from pain, but from the crash of sensation. The moment his fangs sink in, your body floods with another unbearable wave. You’re twitching, crying, clenching around nothing—your cunt soaked, still dripping his cum—while he drinks, slow and deep.

Every pull of his mouth makes your stomach tighten. Your hands claw at the sheets. You’re delirious—gone—his mouth on your thigh, blood leaving in perfect rhythm with the mess between your legs.

He moans softly against your skin. Then he pulls back. Lips stained. Fangs gleaming. Blood running down your thigh like a love letter written in ruin.

He crawls over your body, eyes dark and hungry still. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, licking the blood from his lips. “But I’ll let you rest…”

One hand strokes your cheek, surprisingly soft.

“For now.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑 𓆪 SEO CHANGBIN // Normal Vampire Made of muscle, menace, and moans..

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Below the ribs or just above the hipbone

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Possessive. Worshipful. ‣ He growls when he drinks, like it's carnal. ‣ Usually feeds during sex. Leaves deep bruises around the wound from how hard he grips.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Breathless moaning. ‣ Clawing, overstimulated orgasms. ‣ Emotional grounding. Heightened intimacy. ‣ High likelihood of imprinting if bitten more than once.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Feral rut-level fucking. ‣ Bruised hips, shaky legs, blood-drunk sobs. ‣ Bite leaves a phantom heat that spreads like wildfire. ‣ Will absolutely carry you to a bath after and tell you you did so well.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 003 𓆪

You were teasing him. You didn’t mean to—but you were.

The corset was tight. The skirt was short. Your lipstick matched the red of your bite mark from two nights ago. You were only supposed to drop off the file he needed but you knew what the outfit would do to him. What it always did.

And the moment he looked up from his desk and saw you?

All bets were off.

He’s already panting when he slams the door shut behind you. One heartbeat later, you're pinned to the wall—hard. His broad chest flush against your back, his breath already ragged and hot against your ear.

You hear the low, animalistic growl deep in his chest before you feel it—rumbling through you like a warning.

Or a promise.

Because you’re standing there in his office after midnight, wearing nothing but a black lace corset that cups your breasts high, a tiny pleated skirt that barely covers your ass, and delicate panties—thin, sheer, soaked. Stockings, too. Garter belt. Lip gloss still shimmering.

You knew what you were doing.

And so does he.

“Take that shit off,” he growls, voice already thick with bloodlust and need.

You turn—barely—and meet his eyes. They’re black. Fully fucking black.

And you’re soaked.

“Changbin—” you whisper, breath hitching, thighs pressing together. It’s not a protest. It’s a plea.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask. One sharp tug and your corset jerks loose at the back—ripped. Another growl, and your panties are shredded in his hands, lace in tatters. The air hits your bare skin and you whimper.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Walking in here dressed like this? Like a fucking offering?”

You squeak as he grabs you under the thighs and lifts—one arm. Just one arm and you're airborne, slammed back against the wall like you weigh nothing to him.

Because to him? You’re not fragile. You’re his.

His mouth crashes into yours—hot, brutal, claiming. His tongue is deep before you can breathe. Fangs brush your lower lip and nick the skin just enough for blood to bloom, sweet and fresh, and he moans against your mouth.

“You wore this for me?” he growls between kisses. “Fucking knew it. Knew you were trying to get ruined.”

You nod frantically, breathless. “Please—need it—need you—”

Then he drops. To his knees. Fast. Like gravity yanked him straight down. He’s still fully dressed in black slacks, fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, mouth already parted. And you? You’re bare now—corset loosened, panties gone, skirt hiked up around your waist, legs trembling over his shoulders.

Your back hits the cold wall. Your pussy is right at his eye level. And he looks up at you like he’s about to worship you.

Or destroy you.

“Fucking look at you,” he growls, dragging his thumbs up your inner thighs to spread you wider. “You're soaked. All this for me?”

You can’t speak. You nod. His smirk turns feral. “Good.”

He doesn't waist a second, Changbin devours you.

No teasing. No buildup. His tongue dives in like he’s starving—wide and wet, licking through your folds with a brutal, messy hunger that makes you cry out on impact.

“F-fuck—Changbin—”

He groans. Moans into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, nose buried, chin soaked, lips dragging up your slit again and again until they’re flushed and swollen with your slick. His tongue curls up to your clit—flicks, circles, sucks. Sloppy and relentless.

Then?

He starts making out with it.

No joke. Full mouth. Open, hot, filthy kisses against your cunt—like he’s Frenching your pussy with every ounce of his desperate need. Tongue moving deep inside, then sliding up to wrap around your clit, sucking hard, then soft, then hard again. Over and over.

Your legs are shaking on his shoulders.

He drags one arm around your ass, pressing you closer to his mouth, while his free hand slides two thick fingers inside—curling, fucking, spreading your walls until you're gasping like you’re being split open.

He’s growling into your cunt, fingers pounding, tongue flicking your clit like he’s trying to drag the orgasm out of you with brute force.

“Come on,” he pants between slurps. “Give it to me. Cum on my tongue, baby—now—”

Your scream tears through the room. It breaks you. Your orgasm hits like a punch to the gut—raw, loud, endless. Your whole body locks. Your thighs clamp around his head. Your vision goes black for a second.

And he fucking loves it.

Keeps sucking through it. Fingers still thrusting. His mouth sealing over your clit again as if your climax is what he’s been waiting for all day.

Only when you’re gasping, limp, twitching—only then does he finally rise.

And fuck, he looks good.

Mouth soaked. Chin gleaming. Eyes still black. Fangs bared.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his hands are moving—fast. Belt undone with a sharp snap, pants shoved down, briefs yanked below his thighs. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Harder than sin.

You don’t even get a chance. Because suddenly—he lifts you. Again. Effortlessly. Strong arms under your thighs, back slammed against the wall. And this time, he doesn’t wait.

He slams into you.

One thrust—brutal, perfect—and he’s fully inside. Stretching you open. Your head rolls back, mouth open in a soundless scream as your cunt grips him like a vice.

“Fuck—yes,” he snarls against your throat. “That’s it—tight little pussy—knew you could take it.”

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you into the wall. Rough. Desperate. Fast and deep and relentless. The slap of skin on skin echoes, your moans ricochet off the walls, and his name is the only thing you remember how to say.

“Changbin—Changbin—oh fuck—”

He groans against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then?

He bites. Hard.

Right into your neck—fangs sinking deep, blood spilling into his mouth like wine from a sacred chalice. You scream, thighs trembling, orgasm threatening again just from the pain, the pressure, the possessive violence of it.

But he’s not done.

He licks the bite. Bites again—your shoulder this time. Then your collarbone. Then your neck again.

Everywhere.

Like he needs you in his mouth, over and over, just to stay grounded. Like drinking you is the only thing keeping him sane. His cock is ruthless inside you—dragging through your soaked walls, pounding harder each time you clench around him.

Your head spins.

He’s drunk on you. Absolutely gone.

“Fucking addictive,” he snarls. “Gonna mark you everywhere. Fill you up. Drain you dry. Fuck—this pussy’s perfect—squeezing me like it wants to bleed.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails dig into his shoulders. He loves it. Groans from deep in his chest. Slams into you even harder.

“Take it,” he growls. “Fucking take it. All of it. Don’t you dare stop squeezing me—make me cum, baby.”

You do.

Your orgasm hits again, body seizing, cunt fluttering around his cock like it’s made to wring him dry—and he loses it.

With a guttural snarl, he slams in deep—hips grinding, cock twitching as he spills inside you in heavy, scorching pulses.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move.

Just stays there—cock buried, teeth still scraping your neck, hands fisting in your hair and thigh like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He pants. Shudders. Then licks your wounds. Gently. Worshipfully.

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing kisses to every bite mark. “Fucking mine. And I’m never letting go.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍 𓆪 HWANG HYUNJIN // Abnormal Vampire Beauty made ruin. Moans like a prayer. Kisses like a curse.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Pulse points — wrists, neck, inner thighs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Hypnotic. Addictive. Laced in poetry and pain. ‣ Always bites during orgasm. Sometimes mid-cry. ‣ Tongue traces first. Fangs follow like a kiss you asked for in a dream.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Euphoria-induced sobbing. Clutching, clawing, surrendering. ‣ Heart palpitations, glossy eyes, speech loss ‣ Often left with multiple bite marks in one session—each placed like a secret

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Known to say “You’re mine” while you’re still moaning. ‣ Multiple orgasms expected. Blood + sex high overlap. ‣ Post-bite daze may last hours. Often found still shaking in his arms. ‣ Extreme bond-forming. Danger of becoming his favorite. And never leaving.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 004 𓆪

You feel him before you see him.

That overwhelming stillness, the kind that drowns out thought. Your breath catches—and then there he is, walking in like a vision, black silk shirt half-buttoned, pale chest glistening, golden hair slightly damp like he’s just stepped out of a dream.

Hyunjin doesn't speak at first. He just walks toward you. Barefoot. Soft steps. Eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists.

And then?

“You wore my favorite,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing the strap of your lace slip. “Ivory. Like fresh canvas.”

His lips ghost over your collarbone. Not a kiss. Not yet.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers, “all night. What color you’ll bleed for me. What sound you’ll make when I make you fall apart.”

You tremble.

He lifts your chin gently, eyes gleaming obsidian. “Lie back, baby. Let me paint.”

You obey, shivering as you settle onto the bed—bare skin against cool silk, thighs pressed together from sheer need. He doesn’t make you wait long. Just climbs over you slowly, like you’re delicate, precious, sacred.

And then his mouth is on your wrist. Kissing. Worshipping.

“I’ll start here,” he breathes. “Where your pulse is softest.”

The bite is slow. Precise. A sharp flash of heat as his fangs pierce your skin, followed by dizzying pleasure—almost like he’s sipping your soul. He groans, low and ruined, as your blood coats his tongue.

“Mmm… divine,” he whispers against your wrist, pulling back only to let the droplets smear along his lips. “But I want more.”

His hands trail down. One over your breast, teasing your nipple, the other slipping between your thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he hums, licking the blood off his fingers. “Did you get this wet just from the bite?”

You nod. He smiles like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Then—he spreads you.

Kisses down your body, trailing open-mouthed devotion from your chest to your stomach, thighs, then—

“Oh, fuck—Hyunjin—”

He groans as he reaches your cunt, breathing deep. “So pretty,” he murmurs, “and all mine.” Hyunjin leans in to press a kiss over your clit. Soft. Like the place between your legs is a cathedral and he's repenting with every breath.

His lips brush your folds. Once. Twice. Then his tongue flattens against your clit, slow and wide, dragging up until your hips twitch off the bed.

“Sweet,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “So fucking sweet—like nectar, like stars, like sin.”

You moan.

He moans louder.

Because Hyunjin isn’t just eating you out. He’s savoring. Every lick is long and deliberate, every press of his tongue a whispered poem. He swirls around your clit—soft at first, then pointed—then sucks it into his mouth with such aching, focused gentleness you cry out without warning.

“Hyunjin—”

He groans at the sound of his name. The vibration floods through your cunt.

“Say it again,” he whispers against you, then kisses your clit again like it’s your mouth. “Please. Sing for me.”

“Hyunjin—fuck—please—”

You can’t help it. You’re squirming, writhing, lost beneath him. Your thighs tremble around his head but he doesn’t let go. One arm wraps behind your waist, anchoring you to his mouth like he can’t stand the idea of you pulling away.

His tongue starts to move faster—up, down, circle, suck—messy, wet, worshipful.

Slurping sounds fill the air. His own moans grow desperate. He drags you closer, face buried deep, nose pressed against your clit, tongue flicking mercilessly now. Like he’s not kissing anymore—he’s feasting.

You sob.

You’re panting his name like a spell now. Your back arches. Your thighs clamp.

His fingers dig into your skin. His tongue curls up and in. Every noise you make feeds him. Fuels him. Until he’s drunk on it. High on it.

High on you.

When you cum, it’s violent. Like drowning in silk. You clench around nothing, but feel everything. Your body locks. Your mind breaks. Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

And Hyunjin just groans. Like your orgasm was inevitable. A masterpiece finished.

He licks you through it. Sucks gently on your clit like he’s coaxing the last bits of your soul out through your cunt. Then another kiss. And another. Until he finally slows, breath ragged, mouth glossy with you.

His eyes rise to meet yours. Black. Dilated. Reverent.

Your breathing’s still erratic. Limbs heavy. The aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you in soft, involuntary flinches. And Hyunjin just watches. Licks his lips, eyes locked on the trembling between your thighs like it’s the final frame of a painting he’s not done signing.

Then? He shifts.

You barely register it until his mouth is on your inner thigh.

Not rushed. Not greedy. Just—gentle. Open-mouthed kisses along the softest part of you. His fangs slide out.

You feel the sharp brush of them ghost over your skin. He drags them softly, so softly, up the inside of your thigh, until your hips twitch from the sheer anticipation.

Then—

The bite.

It’s deep. Precise. His fangs sink into the flesh of your inner thigh like they were made for this—like your body was crafted just for his teeth. The sting is immediate, yes, but it blooms so quickly into pleasure that your head falls back, lips parted in a choked gasp.

Hyunjin groans the moment your blood hits his tongue.

His hands grip your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he drinks. Slow at first. Then deeper. His throat works in soft, rhythmic swallows. You can hear it. The slick sound of him feeding.

And all the while—he moans.

Like he’s tasting divinity. You try to move. He growls. “Stay still.” he breathes against your wound.

He licks the blood as it trails, mouth sticky and stained. Then another kiss. Another bite. This time, just a little higher—closer to where he just worshipped you with his tongue.

You gasp. The pleasure-pain bursts behind your eyes.

“Hyunjin—please—”

He hums your name into your skin. Wipes his mouth on your thigh like a signature. Then finally climbs up your body, hovering above your face. Eyes on your perfect pillowy lips, but he doesn't kiss immediately. He just hovers. Lets you see the blood on his lips—your blood—before whispering: “You’re mine, now. I’ll paint you in bruises and bites."

Then he kisses you.

Tongue deep. Copper-sweet. Blood-warm and you melt. Melt like puddle in his arms. His arms, exactly where you belong.

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 𓆪 HAN JISUNG // Normal Vampire Chaos incarnate. Bites first, thinks later. Addicted to your blood and your moans—equally.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Side of the neck ‣ Also: your chest, your fingers, your thighs—he’s not picky. Just rabid.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Chaotic, breathless, unrestrained. ‣ Often bites mid-fuck or right after you cum. ‣ Will feed and finger you at the same time, panting into your blood. ‣ Tastes you like he’s making out with your pulse.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Overstimulation. Dizziness. Bite-high. ‣ Orgasms feel drugged—like you're floating underwater. ‣ Can trigger full-body shivers, sobbing, giggles, and collapsing. ‣ Irregular heartbeat post-bite. Known to laugh while you cry.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Bite syncs with his orgasm. ‣ Feeds multiple times in one session—don’t expect to walk. ‣ Cums from your taste. Known to say “I need you again” before he’s even pulled out. ‣ Proceed with caution: addiction is mutual.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 005 𓆪

Han Jisung is already naked.

He wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to wait. But the second you walked into his apartment—short skirt, bare thighs, lipgloss still wet—he lost his fucking mind. Clothes gone. Fangs out. The kind of wide, dangerous grin that promised disaster and begged for it, too.

“You’re gonna ride me, yeah?” he pants, back hitting the bed with a thud. “Wanna see your tits bounce while I bite you.”

You swallow. Nod.

“No, no—c’mon,” he grins, already breathless. “Say it. Say you’re gonna ride me like you mean it.”

“I’m gonna ride you, Ji,” you whisper, crawling over him. “So fucking hard.”

“Fuck yes—” His head drops back, eyes fluttering. “My girl.”

You straddle him, feeling his cock hot and thick between your folds. He’s already leaking, already twitching beneath you. Your slick coats him in seconds. But he doesn’t thrust—no, he waits. Lets you drag your hips up and down until you’re both dizzy with it.

And then—you sink down.

“FUCK—” he cries, hands flying to your hips, gripping so tight you’ll bruise. “Shit—so warm—so tight—don’t move—fuck, baby, let me feel you like this—”

But you move anyway.

Start slow. Grinding your hips in circles, milking moans from his throat. He looks wrecked—sweaty, flushed, eyes half-lidded and glowing red. One hand sneaks up to grope your tits. The other stays on your hip, flexing with every grind.

When you start bouncing? He chokes.

“God—fuck—ride me—ride me, baby, please—”

You do.

Faster. Harder. Until your thighs burn and your pussy tightens with each drop. His mouth is everywhere—licking your collarbone, mouthing at your nipples, biting into your neck without warning.

He drinks. Moans into the wound. Licks the blood like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

You scream.

Not from pain—from pleasure so sharp it cuts. He pulls back, blood smeared on his lips, gasping like you just fucked the soul out of him. “You taste like heaven,” he whispers. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—baby, cum with me, ride me until we break—”

You do. Together.

A shared orgasm that hits like a freight train. Your cunt tightens around him in rhythmic spasms, and he holds you through it—groaning, babbling praise, licking blood from your skin while he cums so hard his whole body shudders beneath you.

But he’s not done.

Because your chest is rising and falling—vulnerable, flushed—and he leans up, presses one last kiss between your tits.

Then bites again.

And again.

And again.

Your body’s still trembling. Muscles twitching. Slick and cum sliding down your thighs where he’s still buried deep inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

But Jisung?

He’s laughing.

Low. Breathless. A little too unhinged to be safe.

“You’re still warm,” he pants, lapping at your collarbone like it’s glazed in sugar. “Still fucking clenching around me. You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You try to answer. You really do. But your brain has melted. Your mouth just opens—gasping—and that’s when he bites again.

Right above your heart.

You scream. Loud and broken. His fangs sink into skin like it’s the only place he belongs—like he can claim you from the inside out. He drinks like you’re water and he’s been parched for centuries. Moans like your blood makes him high. His cock twitches inside you, still half-hard and swelling again.

“Fuck—” he breathes, pulling back, his lips coated crimson. “You’re sweeter here. I knew you would be.”

Then he tilts his head. Looks down.

Sees it.

His cum.

Dripping out of your pussy like melted candlewax. A creamy mess of lust and love and loss of control. “Oh my fucking god,” he groans, manic. “I made you drip like this?”

A pause, a sharp inhale.

“Addicted,” he whispers. “Completely fucking addicted. You don’t even know—baby, I need—”

He bites again. Your shoulder this time. Then the other side of your neck. Then the curve of your breast.

He kisses each one after, messy and frantic, tongue smearing blood and spit across your skin like a mad artist painting his masterpiece.

And then?

He flips you. Again.

Pins you down now, hands on either side of your head, his mouth dragging over your body like he can’t choose where to ruin you next. I want to fuck you again,” he confesses, breath shaking. “Want to stay inside forever. Want to drink until I forget my name.”

“You already did,” you whisper, hoarse.

He grins. Wide. Bloody.

“Good.”

And then he bites again. This time? Your mouth.

Kisses you so hard his fangs nick your lip. Blood trickles in. He licks it up like a shot of liquor, hands gripping your thighs, your ass, your tits—anywhere he can touch.

"I love you. Mine, mine, mine forever."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𓆪 LEE FELIX // Abnormal Vampire Soft on the surface, deadly underneath. Sleeps in silk, fucks like a fever dream.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Over the heart or the curve of your breast

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Gentle at first. Almost shy. Kisses before teeth. ‣ Feeds while holding you close—rocking, murmuring sweet things into your skin. ‣ But when hunger takes over? He gets lost. Mouth drunk. Eyes glazed. Almost feral.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Full-body shivers. Skin hypersensitive. ‣ Overstimulation from prolonged oral + emotional collapse after the bite. ‣ Heightened affection post-bite—clinginess, sobbing, echo-pleasure. ‣ Bite mark often becomes an erogenous zone.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Dreamwalkers induce trance-like states in partners. Bite can cause mild hallucinations. ‣ Reader may experience floating sensation + blackout orgasms. ‣ Blood-sharing with Felix forms rapid bond. Extremely addictive. ‣ Warning: prolonged exposure may result in crying during aftercare. And begging for more.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 006 𓆪

The penthouse is quiet when you return.

Shoes off. Dress unzipped. Champagne still singing in your veins from the gala. Felix walks in behind you, shrugging off his velvet blazer, golden curls loose around his temples, skin glowing under soft amber lighting.

He looks too good—black silk shirt open at the chest, fangs glinting behind his smile, eyes already darker than they should be. Not hunger. Something else.

Devotion.

"You were perfect tonight," he murmurs, fingers ghosting your waist as he draws you toward the bathroom. “But I didn’t like sharing you.”

Your heartbeat stutters. “You weren’t exactly subtle either,” you whisper, recalling the way his hand had stayed glued to your lower back all evening, lips to your ear at every chance, voice dipped low with possessive undertones. Like you were his prize.

His worship.

His next meal.

Felix chuckles. “No. I wasn’t.”

The tub fills behind you—steaming, lavender-scented, full of white foam and rose petals. His idea, of course. He always did prefer indulgence after restraint.

He helps you in like you’re made of porcelain. Your skin sinks into the warmth with a sigh. Felix climbs in after, settling behind you, legs spread so you’re seated snugly between them. Your back hits his bare chest, and already, you can feel it.

The thrum beneath his skin. The restraint snapping thread by thread.

“You wore that dress to kill me,” he murmurs, mouth against your neck. “Slit up to your hip. No bra. Lace so sheer I could see the curve of your nipples under every chandelier.”

You smile. “And?”

“And now I’m going to take my time with you.”

His hands cup your breasts from behind. Thumbs flicking your nipples. Bubbles cling to his wrists, his forearms. His lips drag up your neck. Soft. Featherlight.

Then sharp.

A kiss first—then a bite.

Fangs sink in, clean and deep, right beneath your jaw. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder as the pain melts into pleasure. He drinks slow—just a few sips, just enough to make you squirm—and licks the wound clean with a reverent groan.

“So sweet tonight,” he whispers. “You taste like champagne and sin.”

You whimper.

His hands trail lower. One slips down between your thighs, parting you under the water, fingers pressing into your cunt with aching care. The other? Gliding over your thigh, then gripping it, spreading you wider for him.

He doesn’t tease.

Two fingers sink in—slick, hot, stretching you open as the water laps around you. His thumb finds your clit, circles slow and steady. The angle is perfect. Deep. Focused.

"You always take me so well,” he breathes into your skin. “Even when you’re trembling.”

You are. Shaking, helpless, your body already wrung too tight. The bite. The warmth. The way he touches you like he’s composing a symphony.

And then—he pulls you closer.

“Ride me,” he whispers. “Like you did the last time I fed on your heart.”

You whimper. Turn in his arms, straddling him with the water sloshing over the edge. His cock is already hard, flushed, pressed against your stomach as you rise onto your knees.

He watches you. Eyes half-lidded. Blood-drunk.

When you sink down on him—slow, stretching around his thick length—you both moan. Your nails dig into his shoulders. His hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself to reality.

“Fuck—baby—you feel like velvet,” he chokes out. “So wet. So fucking warm—”

You start to move.

The rhythm is gentle at first. Slippery skin, heavy breaths, the sound of water shifting with every roll of your hips. Felix bites your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower, tongue lapping blood before it cools, fangs sinking in again like he’s trying to mark every inch.

You're bleeding. You're riding. You're both coming undone.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Dripping for me. Bleeding for me. My perfect little canvas.”

Your orgasm builds like a tide—slow, inevitable. His cock hits all the right places, his hands guiding you faster, his mouth sealing over your throat for one final bite as he moans into your skin.

“Cum for me,” he pants. “Feed me while you fall apart.”

Your whole body tenses—like a wave crashing against fragile glass.

And then it shatters.

You break apart on him with a choked cry, thighs trembling, nails clawing down his back. Your orgasm ripples out in hot, helpless pulses, cunt fluttering around him, blood still seeping slowly from your bitten throat as you collapse forward into his arms.

Felix growls.

The sound vibrates through his chest, deep and guttural—feral with need. His mouth seals tighter around your neck, and he drinks as you shake through your climax. Every pull of his lips sends fresh aftershocks rolling through you. You're twitching, overstimulated, undone.

“That's it,” he whispers, lips stained, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “That’s my angel. Give me everything.”

He swallows every drop like he needs it to survive. Like your pleasure is the only thing that can keep him sane.

When he finally releases your throat, his tongue traces the wound—gentle now, reverent, like he’s kissing the holiest part of you. Blood paints his chin. His cock still buried inside you, twitching, heavy, throbbing.

Then—he lifts his head.

You see it in his face. The complete loss of control. His pupils blown wide, lips red, hair clinging to his temples in damp, golden waves. His hands clutch your waist again—and he thrusts up once, hard, a broken moan escaping his throat.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasps. “I’m gonna—”

You’re still pulsing around him. Still warm, wet, perfect.

He buries himself deeper, spilling into you with a low, desperate groan. His mouth finds yours mid-release, kissing you like he’s tasting eternity. Tongue slick with blood and love. You’re breathless, trembling, still locked together in the cooling water—and only then does he speak again. Softly. Against your lips.

“You’re divine.”

You smile weakly, forehead to his. “So are you.”

Felix brushes a petal from your shoulder. One last kiss to your jaw. One last whispered truth, low and sacred:

“I’d bleed for you too.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓆪 KIM SEUNGMIN // Normal Vampire The gentleman with a scalpel smile. Clinical precision. Calculated hunger.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner arm — intimate, exposed, and close to your heart. ‣ Sometimes the chest or side of your ribs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Calm. Measured. Strategic. ‣ He plans his bites—timed, placed, controlled. ‣ Often feeds during emotional peaks—after soft sobs, laughter, confessions, or sex. ‣ Gentle on the surface, but watch closely: there’s a dangerous edge underneath.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heart rate spike followed by unusual stillness. ‣ Floating sensation. Hallucination-like euphoria. ‣ Skin hypersensitivity for hours after. ‣ Develops strong dependency on his praise and attention.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Low-risk externally—but internally, you’ll never forget the way he says your name. ‣ Prolonged feeding can induce dreamlike sedation or emotional bonding states. ‣ Known to leave almost invisible marks—but you feel them for days. ‣ Vulnerability spike: tendency to confess secrets or cry in his arms after.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 007 𓆪

You hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

Not since the fight.

Not since he said, “Maybe if you didn’t run every time we got too close, I wouldn’t have to wonder if you actually want this.”

You’d slammed the door to the bedroom. Now you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts, staring at the wall like it’s going to offer answers. It doesn’t.

The air is tight. Tense. Like everything’s been coiled too long.

Then—you hear his footsteps.

And suddenly, he’s there.

Seungmin doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shout. He just walks over, grabs your jaw with cold fingers, and tilts your head up.

“You want to be left alone?” he asks quietly. “Or do you want me to make you feel something again?”

Your breath stutters. That look in his eyes—sharp, calculating, barely restrained—isn’t the usual teasing calm.

This is something else.

You whisper, “Make me.”

And just like that—he snaps.

You’re pushed back against the bed. His body cages yours, knees on either side of your hips, hands pinning your wrists above your head. You gasp, arching—but he doesn’t give you time to speak.

“I hate fighting with you,” he growls, voice low and lethal. “You know that?”

You nod, breathless.

“But you push me. You always push. And then you run, and I let you. But not tonight.”

His lips crash to yours—angry, desperate, hungry. You kiss back just as hard, teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Seungmin bites your lip—draws blood. Licks it up like you’re wine and he’s parched. “Take it off,” he demands, tugging at the shirt. You pull it over your head, baring yourself to him completely and his eyes darken.

His eyes scan your body like he owns it. Like he's earned it. Then—he lets go.

Just releases your wrists and leans back, chest heaving. You blink, confused, but he only settles onto the mattress, dark hair mussed. One arm folded behind his head. The other gestures lazily down his own body.

“Take your panties off.”

You hesitate.

He raises a brow. “Now.”

You obey.

Silently, you slide the soft lace down your thighs, aware of how his gaze never leaves your center. You think—maybe—he wants you to straddle his face. Let him taste the slick that’s already gathering between your legs.

But Seungmin has other plans.

“Turn around,” he murmurs. “Back to me.”

You do, breath catching.

“On your knees. Over my chest.”

And that’s when it hits you.

You’re not riding his mouth. He’s placing you above him, facing the length of his body, and when you obey—when your hands brace on the bed and your knees sink beside his ribs—he shifts both of you down.

So now he’s under you. And your soaked pussy is right above his mouth. But his cock? Hard. Heavy. Inches from your face.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he growls. “And keep it open while I ruin you.”

You barely have time to whimper before his hands are gripping your hips, dragging your pussy down to his mouth. His tongue licks one long stripe through your folds before his fangs sink into the plush of your thigh with no warning, no restraint.

You cry out.

But then—you moan.

Because his mouth is everywhere. Kissing. Biting. Tongue fucking you while blood still runs hot against his lips. He’s feeding and pleasuring, starving and devout all at once.

And you?

You finally do what he told you.

Shaky hands pulling down his grey sweatpants and his briefs, his cock springing out, hard, leaking, throbbing.

You lean forward. Wrap one hand around the base of his cock. The other balances on his thigh. And then—you sink your mouth over him, slow at first, tongue pressing to the underside of the thick, pulsing length that jerks the moment you moan around it.

He groans.

Deep in his throat. A growl of praise.

“Just like that,” he breathes against your cunt. “Take it all, baby. Feed me while I fuck your throat.”

You do.

Mouth stuffed full of his cock, your hips rocking over his face as he feasts between your thighs like you’re the cure to every craving. His tongue works in circles—then flicks. His fingers dig into your ass, spreading you wider, holding you still when your thighs start shaking.

You’re dripping. Gagging. Gasping for air.

And Seungmin? He never lets up. Every time your mouth slides down over his length, he rewards you with another harsh suck, another bite to your thigh, another moan against your clit that sends you reeling.

Until you’re both right there.

Teetering. Desperate. Drenched in sweat, saliva, and blood.

Then—his cock throbs. Your walls flutter. Your body clenches around nothing as the orgasm explodes from your spine, rolling over you like a wave of fire.

Your juices soak his mouth. He drinks. Groaning. Devouring. Never stopping.

Your body trembles through the high and just as you release his cock from your mouth, gasping, your hand wraps around his base again, stroking him once, twice before he finally cums. All over your chest. Your mouth which you made sure to keep open. Your tongue.

Seungmin is panting, eyes dark, lips red, blood dripping from his mouth like wine and he licks your inner thigh again. "Feel better now?" he asks hoarsely.

You collapse sideways onto the mattress, dizzy and dazed. "Fuck you," you whisper.

He smirks.

"You already did. But unless you want more, I'm happy to oblige~"

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓆪 YANG JEONGIN // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) Vampire The sweet boy with the sharpest bite. Addicted to affection. Dangerous when starved.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Shoulder blade, inner thigh & lower back

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Emotional. Impulsive. Clingy. ‣ Bites happen mid-kiss, mid-moan, mid-breakdown. ‣ Never feeds clean—always leaves marks. ‣ Mouthy. Sloppy. Overwhelmed. Often doesn’t stop until you pull him off.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heavy euphoria followed by crashing neediness. ‣ Breathing becomes erratic. Limbs tremble. ‣ Intense emotional projection—feels what you feel, tenfold. ‣ Causes your body to crave touch long after the bite ends.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Unpredictable: safest when loved, most lethal when rejected. ‣ High risk for overfeeding during sex due to overstimulation. ‣ Known to whimper while drinking. ‣ Will worship you for hours afterward like he’s trying to say sorry with every kiss.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 008 𓆪

You’re still wearing it.

That lingerie set—the one in soft wine-red lace, delicate enough to tear, pretty enough to drive him feral. It’s sheer over your chest, satin at the waist, and trimmed in ribbon. You’d worn it as a surprise. You didn’t expect him to unravel like this.

Jeongin stares at you from the mattress, already shirtless, eyes darkened and jaw clenched. He looks dazed. Hungry. Like he’s been trying not to lose control all night and now he’s at his limit.

“I’m not taking it off,” he says hoarsely, reaching for you. “It’s too perfect. Too hot. Just—ride me like that.”

Your breath catches.

You crawl into his lap slowly, knees bracketing his hips, arms wrapping around his shoulders. His hands grip your thighs, sliding up the sheer lace with reverence and a tremble. Then his mouth is on you—kissing down your neck, biting gently at first, tongue soothing the sting. But that’s not what he really wants.

“I need it,” he whispers. “Please. Let me bite.”

You nod.

He doesn’t hesitate. Sinks his fangs into the swell of your breast just above the lace, groaning low as your blood hits his tongue. You moan at the feeling of the heat rush that floods your body. Your hips grind down on instinct. He grips you tighter, hips twitching beneath yours.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling back with blood smeared at the corner of his lips. “You taste so good.”

You rock against him again. He’s hard already, pressing against your center through thin layers. Your pace quickens as you straddle him, grinding down in search of friction, your moans growing louder with every pass.

And then—he thrusts up once, twice, desperately, through his boxers, trying to meet you. It’s messy. Uncontrolled.

“Take me out,” he pants. “I—I need—please—”

You reach between you, freeing him from his briefs. His cock is flushed, heavy, leaking against your hand. He bucks into your touch, then holds your hips steady while you pull your panties aside and lower yourself onto him—inch by inch, lace still clinging to your skin.

His head drops back against the pillow with a moan so wrecked it doesn’t sound human. “You feel… fuck… you feel unreal.”

You start to move.

Slow at first—steady rolls of your hips, his hands roaming every inch of you he can reach. His fangs flash again as he watches you bounce, lace framing your curves, blood still drying on your chest.

“I can’t—can’t hold back,” he grits out. “Need to bite again—need to feel you everywhere.”

You nod, too lost in pleasure to form words.

This time, he bites your shoulder. Then your neck. Then your breast again through the fabric, enough to tear the lace slightly. Each time, his tongue follows, soothing the sting with a worshipful lick before he moans against your skin.

You’re shaking. Close. So close.

“Jeongin—”

“I know, baby," he growls—but this time, there’s a rasp in his throat. A dark edge. A thirst not just for you—but for what’s inside you. What feeds him.

Then—he snaps.

Jeongin bucks up into you with renewed force, rough and desperate, the rhythm turning messy and fast. One hand clutches your hip, guiding your motion, the other lands sharp against your ass—slap.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take it. Ride it. Don’t you dare stop.”

You try to answer, but your voice breaks. He’s deep, hard, relentless. The blood loss, the overstimulation, the lace chafing just so—it’s too much, and still not enough.

Then he sinks his fangs into you again.

Lower this time—just above your heart. A claim. A feeding. His moan is filthy against your skin as he drinks, hips slamming up with each pull from your vein. His lips seal to the bite like it’s sacred, tongue swiping the spill before it stains.

You feel yourself tipping, unraveling—body jerking, walls fluttering around him. He groans, hands digging into your ass, holding you in place as his thrusts become erratic.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants, blood-slicked lips against your breast. “I could drink you dry. Fill you up. Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop.”

You don’t. Your body moves on instinct—legs trembling, hands clutching at his chest, your moans dissolving into shattered gasps as you ride him harder, faster, deeper.

He fucks up into you like he’s chasing something primal—like he’s on the edge of breaking, of shifting into something unholy. His grip on your hips bruises. His jaw is clenched tight. He’s staring at you like you’re divinity draped in lingerie and blood.

“Fucking—cum,” he snaps, voice cracking. “Let me feel you.”

And then—you do.

It hits like a flood, your whole body locking around him, head thrown back as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out, shaking, grinding down on him as your walls clench and flutter and milk him mercilessly.

Jeongin loses it.

He growls—a sound feral, needy—and slaps your ass again, rougher this time, then grabs your waist and slams up into you with sharp, punishing thrusts. No rhythm now. Just desperation. His cock drags along every swollen, overstimulated nerve inside you as he chases his own climax, jaw clenched, breath ragged.

“Fucking—tight—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Another slap. Another thrust. His fangs flash again like he’s tempted to bite one last time, but instead he buries his face in your chest, breathing you in like you’re oxygen. His fingers sink into your thighs, holding you down as he spills into you with a deep, guttural groan.

His entire body jerks.

Once. Twice.

Then stillness.

His grip softens—only a little. His face stays pressed against your skin, your blood still drying against his lips. His cock twitches inside you, aftershocks making your thighs tremble from where you’re still seated on him.

He finally breathes. Hoarse. Like he’d forgotten how.

“…mine,” he whispers. Like a prayer. Like a vow.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco

[just-zy]

I chose you

pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader!

summary: When Wednesday transferred to Nevermore, the school lacked the fiery hostile attitude Y/N always spat out, perhaps a change of heart. But frankly, it never left in the first place. Wednesday frequently hears of the comments about your temper all around nevermore—it's like living hell, they said. Well, she thinks otherwise.

A/N: okay hi, long ass "summary" but short ass oneshot, sorry, so readers ability? ignition touch, anything the reader touches can be ignited on command. Mhmm makes this less boring lmao, dk if the story still needed it tho. (w and r are dating!)

warnings!: reader's a big ass bully (but an absolute baby) to basically everyone LOL (idk this js sounded so fun to write, dk if others would agree), use of curse words (ton of them), arrogant reader idk

Masterlist

One way to make Y/N's blood boil was simply looking at her wrong, asking her stupid questions that held no common sense whatsoever, and definitely bumping into her, accidentally or not. You're in for one hell of a ride, you'd think she's kept that attitude bottled up all night, but the thing is, that temper doesn't die down easily. First thing in the morning, once you see her passing by the hallway, even just a glance, she surely wouldn't notice, right? Well you'd be entirely wrong.

Because after that glance, she'd be all up on you, no matter what.

"The fucks with you, huh? Got something to say, stoner?"

"Look at me like that again and I'll fuck you up, one on one, mermaid."

"I'm not entitled to control my anger because I don't care, you mutt!"

You were ignorant, an absolute arrogant jerk who looks down on everyone, literally. You may have been a high-achiever, sure but you were boastful about that too, you were better than everyone in the school premises, even Bianca Barclay has presumed you are.

Egoistic and all, you were top of the class, every class you took you outstood, even the teachers took accountability of the mistakes you mentioned about the way they educate.

Weems wasn't all too scared of you, she didn't have any reason to be, obviously, you basically saw her as a mother-figure, and you respect her too much to actually do something rebellious in the school. You've always said empty threats, from the very beginning, you claimed it as being bored all the time, so you rile up the students just for the hell of it. Hopefully that was why you were constantly high up your ass, although you've always wondered how Weems don't nag your ear off about your behaviour.

Then the goth gore girl came, you didn't think much of it, more so even glanced at the name of the introduction of the girl. However, it took you by surprise how the new girl stood out from the others, not that she tried, she just did. You had wanted to take a harmless nap in the middle of the class, but then you heard it, a question from the teacher that was quite tricky to answer. Plainly you wanted to show off, not like anybody expected less, it just runs to your veins like a satisfying clink of glass wine to brag about your brains.

Then, a beat. Before you could lift your head, you heard an unfamiliar voice that belonged to none other than Wednesday Addams herself.

Even after she got the answer correct, you'd still wonder how deep thought her response was, it wasn't indifferent to yours, but it definitely was something else. And that's all it took to get you hooked by the raven-haired beauty.

—

When Wednesday met you, you weren't uptight, you weren't intense nor did you act like a hardheaded maniac that all inside them was fined with anger complaints.

You were chivalrous, courtly and noble, totally the opposite of what people imagined you were to be in a relationship. Shocking.

But, you were committed, of course you were, and that felt like a stroke of luck for the Nevermore students, satisfaction. No more angry mob of knuckles so early in the morning welcoming violence, no more flaming wide arms trying to wager students with fist fights, or in a more unbalanced and prejudiced way—a lit of fists with the opponent stuck with non-magical hands, and definitely no more sharp tense stares that can bury you six feet under in under a second.

There wasn't a day where Wednesday had to question anything with you, she's now too smitten to care less about you. Today's just the start of a trial in understanding you better.

—

Wednesday was reluctant on following a panting Enid, tho the pup insisted that it was important, her hand hovering over Wednesday's while she had her brows scrunched, clearly annoyed.

"Touch me again and I'll have your limbs fed to your fellow pack of werewolves."

"Okay! Chill out! I can't breath- Y/N's.. well she's okay but these students were interrogating her and–"

Well that was all it took to have the goth girl stride all the way to her beloved who was apparently in some type of crisis.

"Quad!"

And she was full on sprinting, all the thoughts in her head were full of you, all of you. If you were okay, if you were still breathing fine, god forbid Wednesday gets none historical days.

"Y/N."

The way she says your name was like capturing you with cuffs that were too tight on your wrists, her voice so evident it made you halt.

There you were, standing with rage and destruction. The way she sees your eye twitching, your ball of fury hung in the air ready to strike another punch, the other hand of yours scooped on the collar of the student who obviously had the guts to say anything in the first place.

The image itself was disturbing enough to make someone run away and sob. Honestly, a random student passing by would probably do that.

"Wednesday..I– I'm.. Look I—!"

You stumble on your words. You never do.

Wednesday didn't need to say anything, she just huffs and turns but doesn't move until she hears your boots drawing near.

She doesn't wait for you to say anything else tho, that's when you knew you were in a tough spot.

Wednesday wasted no time, after you both got into your dorm, she immediately tends to your wounds that would soon make bruises all over. Your bloody knuckles, your busted lip. Of course she mildly thought you looked sophisticated, but you didn't need to know that. She's supposed to be upset with you.

"I didn't... start the fight."

Wednesday let out a hum, urging for you to proceed while she gently nurtures your injuries.

"They said something about you.", your voice wavers, on the public's eye it probably wouldn't have been anything serious, but to Wednesday? It was every feeling that she felt when she heard your voice that way, the ache in her chest was undeniable. It was everything she's ever loathed.

"That you were only with me now because.. you've never really seen me so pissed off. And well, it got to me, I know it shouldn't have but what if it were true?"

Oh, how Wednesday's cold heart ached.

Wednesday gave out a light sigh while still caring for your wounds, the way her fingers suddenly twitched every time she heard your voice quiver, the way she just wants to embrace you till everything feels better, till her everything feels better.

And that's just what she did.

Her light touches meant so much to you that if someone were to ask you what your weakness was? It would be Wednesday Addams.

"Ever since I've been held captive in this hellhole, trying to get out of this place, then I saw you, yet I didn't care. You saw me and thought it would be easy waltzing your way into my life."

It wasn't supposed to be funny, but it was. Well, to you. Your ego was so high up, her barrier broke just for you.

"Allowing you in my life may not have been a conscious decision at first, but choosing you to stand by my side was a deliberate and genuine one."

You sobbed into your lover's arms, pulling her impossibly closer to you, afraid if you let go, she'll vanish on thin air.

"And I will remain by your side, not out of obligation, but simply because I choose to, because I chose you."

She was never planning to let you slip away—not now, not ever.

______+______

A/N: short and bad ik ugh i need to be on my A game next time, but anyway.. hope u enjoyed

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday!

I wasn’t tagged by anyone but this brain worm has been in my head for a while I just have to get it out.

🧠 🪱

Pre-S4 canon divergence because fuck that shit.

Steve secretly plans to learn how to play D&D to surprise Dustin with a game for his birthday. He obviously ropes Robin into learning with him since she’s gonna play with them whether she likes it or not. After all, they do everything together and Scoops Troop sticks together too, no matter what. It’s for Dustin’s birthday after all! She equally obviously agrees, though she makes fun of Steve for being such a good step dad.

Now, Steve can’t let any of the brats know, not even Erica, because he knows that they’ll spill the beans, so he goes to the only person he knows who plays who won’t snitch on him: Eddie Munson.

Which, yeah. Eddie thinks Steve is there to start some shit at first, or to make fun of him or whatever. He’d think it was just to score some weed had Steve’s first words to him as he accosted him by his van not been “Hey! You run that nerd dragon club, don’t you?” So forgive him for expecting some form of bullying.

Of course, Steve clears the matters up and, though he reluctantly has to listen to Eddie wheeze laugh at the prospect of teaching The Hair how to play DnD in secret for a few minutes, Eddie eventually agrees. So they set up a schedule for Eddie to go to the Harrington house to teach Steve and Robin how to play and get some characters set up for them.

After some back-and-forth, Robin decides to play as a half-elf Druid, while Steve goes for something much simpler and just chooses a human Fighter, smirking over at Robin as he noted a spiked club as a potential weapon.

And Eddie is…confused. Steve is nothing like he thought he was, and the relationship between him and Robin is even more confusing. He thought they were dating at first, what with how weirdly close they were, feeding each other snacks, sharing the same drinks, and practically sitting on top of each other on the other side of the table from Eddie. He was pretty sure they shared the same piece of gum at some point too.

That is, until during one of the tester games Steve’s and Robin’s characters shared a bed for the night and Eddie had joked that even in DnD, the Hair could get anyone he wanted in his bed.

Robin had promptly made gagging noises and shoved Steve away from her, while Steve had thrown his head back and laughed before making kissy faces at Robin, who promptly screeched and threatened to rub her chip greasy fingers in his hair. Steve broke into a truly horrendous parody of what sounded almost like Kermit the Frog, causing Robin to actually throw chips at Steve while shouting “You suck! You suck! You suck!”

They eventually got the game back on track, and though Steve came close to dying, they managed to survive Eddie’s (incredibly easy) starter game. They made plans for more, and somehow even convinced Eddie to come up with a special one-shot just for Dustin’s birthday too.

Despite himself, Eddie was having fun.

And, if he didn’t know any better, he would swear that Steve Harrington was flirting with him…

🪱 🧠

Anyways yeah that’s all I’ve got for it now, but I liked the idea of Steve learning how to play DnD in secret for Dustin, asking Eddie to teach him, and the two of them falling in love in the process.

Honestly this could even be pre-s3 if you want to have Steve still in school for this too, and opens it for an alt meeting between Stobin. Because Stobin will always be #1 in my heart.

This idea is absolutely open to anyone who wants to do their own version of it, just please tag me in it so I can your vision!

Just gonna tag my Hostage Hotties (my permanent tag list), no pressure tho and everyone else is welcome to consider them tagged, but also if any of y’all ain’t a writer, feel free do the tag with just something you’d love to see or your favorite tropes!

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1 @nebulaoz @renfrisol

@tinyplanet95 @hairspraywhore

[secretsofafangirll]

video star

summary: the time when Olivia appeared in a blind, deaf, mute baking video with the triplets and Matt couldn't keep his hands to himself.

warnings: touchiness in front of people/on camera, suggestive language, suggestive content, use of pet names.

a/n: the song doesn't have any significance, it just plays in o.c.'s headphones.

"Hey guys, welcome back to another Wednesday video," Nick blurted at the camera posed several feet in front of them, "Today we're doing another Deaf, Blind, Mute Baking Challenge."

"However," Chris butted in, sticking a mocking finger in the air, "We have a special guest for today's video," He drawled out and looked off to the side where I was standing. Matt was still leaning back against the counter and smiled at me.

"Come on out, sweetheart." Matt beckoned me over with a flick of his fingers and a nod of his head. I jumped into frame and smiled at the camera.

"Hi guys!" I waved enthusiastically and placed my hands on the counter in front of me.

"For those of you who don't know, Olivia is our best friend in the whole world and Matt's girlfriend. If you didn't know that, you've obviously never watched a video because she's in all of our vlogs and we never shut up about her." Nick summed up the basics for the viewers at home.

I've been friends with the triplets since my freshman year of high school. Chris and I instantly clicked one day in Math when our more extroverted personalities found their ways to one another. He introduced me to his two triplet brothers at lunch that same day, and the rest was history. We became inseparable and spent every second of every day together since. Things became interesting with Matt and me as we got older and grew into ourselves but we officially started dating after we graduated high school. We were always scared to announce our relationship to his fans because they can be volatile to their female friends, but once we did and they accepted that we loved each other, we've been so open and comfortable expressing that love physically on camera.

"So, how this is gonna work is..we're gonna draw out of a hat and three people are gonna be either blind, deaf, or mute and one person won't be able to use their hands. Let's hope that person isn't Olivia, because she's the only one of us that really can bake, like at all," Chris addressed the room and the camera.

"Dude, if I get fucking handcuffed, this is gonna be awful," I raised my brows and turned to Chris.

"Have a little faith, kid," Chris bumped my hip with his. I heard the car keys rattle on Matt's belt loop as he pressed himself away from the counter and came up behind me to wrap his arms around my neck. My hands subconsciously reached up to grip his muscular forearms.

"Alright, well, let's get the fuck on with it," Matt spoke.

"Okay, relax. We've been rolling for two fucking minutes." Nick stuck an accusatory hand up at Matt.

Nick reached around the counter for the hat and we all drew a card.

"Matt, you say yours first," Nick assigned.

"Mute," Matt chuckled, "Too easy."

"Deaf," I read aloud, "Yay! I just get to listen to music." I ran over to the couch and grabbed my headphones, working to connect them to my phone and find a playlist.

"Noo!," Chris whined, "Handcuffed."

"Loser", Nick teased.

"Which means that I am blind." Nick concluded, "Olivia wanted to bake something from scratch but that's a bit too hard for us, so we just got boxed brownies with, like, an extra cookie thing that we have to do too."

As Nick started to read off the contents of the box, I placed the headphones over my ears and pressed "shuffle" on Spotify. The first song to grace my ears was "B.Y.O.B" by System of a Down. A loud, scream-y nu-metal jam to deafen my sensitive ears. If I listened to anything too quiet, I'd be able to hear them. I watched as Matt tied the blindfold onto Nick and then Chris tied the bandana onto Matt. Matt then locked the handcuffs onto Chris' wrists behind his back.

I watched as the three of them tried to talk to each other, myself trying to read their lips and body language. I knew Matt well enough to know he was frustrated and Chris well enough to know he was giving Nick directions.

Quickly, when they started to struggle too much, they called me over. However, my eyes were closed as I mouthed the words to the song and I couldn't hear them.

"Everybody's going to the party have a real good time," I sang with Serj and wagged my finger to the Ooh.

What made me open my eyes was Matt pushing a hand against my lower back to guide me to the counter. The sudden jolt and touch startled me and I lurched forward, almost falling into the hard counter top face first. Matt's hand quickly shot and gripped my waist, pulling me back into him.

"Oh my God!" I yelped, my hands shooting out in front of myself to stop me before he did. He spun me around in his hands and I placed my extended hands on his chest, "Thank you!" I yelled, unaware of my volume. He just pressed a finger to my lips to tell me to be quieter. I whispered a faint apology in return.

I looked over to Chris who was probably spewing some bullshit at us about how cheesy we are, seeing as how his left cheek flexed up slightly in annoyance. Matt ushered me over to the counter where they handed me the box to try and fix what they already messed up. I took one look at the batter and knew they added too much oil.

"Okay," I started, "I think you guys just put too much oil, but it's not hard to fix. I just need a dehydrator like flour or cornstarch to dry out the oil." I turned around to grab the flour from the cabinets that I stock for them, because if I didn't they'd either starve or waste all of their money on eating out.

Due to my shorter stature, I had to stand on my tip toes and stretch the life out of my arms to reach the flour. Matt came up behind me and placed a hand on my side to tell me to relax and he reached up and grabbed it for me. I thanked him before turning around and continuing to mix the brownies, Matt's front just brushed my back the whole time as he watched over my shoulder, his hand resting gently on my hip.

Once I was done with the brownies, I needed to grab a bowl for the cookie part. I wasn't planning on making it, since it's supposed to be a challenge, but I still grabbed the equipment needed. I bent down in front of Matt to grab a smaller bowl from the cabinet below the island. When I leaned over, I didn't realize two things; one, how close I was to Matt and what he wouldn't be able to resist doing when he noticed the position we were in, two, how it would look on camera.

Both of Matt's hands found my hips when I unexpectedly stuck my ass into the air right in front of his dick and he subconsciously pressed himself a tiny bit further into me. Soon, his hand left my hip and it braced itself on the counter above my head so that I wouldn't hit the counter when I got back up.

"Okay, so you guys need to do this, because this is supposed to be your guys' challenge." I started clearly over the sound of Evanescence’s "Going Under”. I sang the words under my breath as I turned away to let them do what they needed to do. I hopped up onto the counter behind them and enjoyed my music as I watched them yell at each other.

At least I thought they were yelling at each other...

Turns out they were yelling at me to preheat the oven that I was sitting next to. I watched as Matt stepped closer to me. He placed his hands on my thighs and nodded to the oven dials. I quickly understood and turned the dial to 350 degrees. Matt's eyes darted all across my face and down my body that was only clothed in shorts and a tank top due to the intense Los Angeles heat. I knew exactly what look he was giving me and it was killing him that he couldn't kiss me.

"Later," I mouthed to him and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He dropped his head to my shoulder and I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulder to squeeze him into me.

Soon after, the brownies had made it out of the oven safely and we were all stripped of our sense-depriving shackles. I was kind of disappointed to be done with the music, but I missed hearing my favorite boys talk.

"Okay, the brownies are done and they look fine," Nick began to the camera, "But we did fuck them up a little bit, so hopefully Olivia's fix was okay."

"Bro, she's literally a professional chef at this point, I'm sure they're still gonna be great," Chris said matter-of-factly. Nick began to cut the brownies, which they should've baked on parchment paper, and got a piece for all of us. He slid it in front of me and we all tried a bite. They still tasted great and they looked like boxes.

"Obviously, if it were up to me, we wouldn't have boxed anything, but for a boxed brownie mix," Matt came up and hugged me from behind and my hands fell to his that wrapped around me, "I would give this is a solid 8 out of 10." I said giving a thumbs up with the camera.

When they had all given their notes and feedback, they said goodbye to the camera and turned it off.

"You guys need to practice a little something called self-control, you horny fucks," Said Nick as he shook his head and took down the filming equipment. 

"Shut the fuck up, Nick," Matt spat as he pulled me closer, "Hi, my girl. D'you have fun?" He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I pulled back slightly and leaned up to kiss his lips, "Mhm. I always have fun filming with you guys." I smiled up at his stunning face.

"What'd you listen to?" He asked, pulling away from the hug to reach over and grab a cup from the cabinet, but keeping a hand on my waist. I turned to watch him as he got what he needed.

"I listened to System of a Down and Evanescence. I wish that, like, Nirvana or something came on though." I sighed and looked down for a moment before focusing my attention back on him.

"S'nice. I need to branch out, broaden my musical horizons," He said as he filled his cup with water from the fridge.

"And your kitchen horizons, because, my God, you guys suck at baking." I teased exasperatedely.

"Hey, watch yourself," He tutted, "They suck at baking, I, on the other hand, can whip up a good dessert."

"Alright, mister, I bought already-been-smoked salmon and tried to cook it anyway, Sturniolo." I accused, rolling my eyes jokingly.

"Oh, yeah? You want to play it that way?" He smiled smugly and slowly stepped toward me, setting his water down on the kitchen island.

I backed away in response and put my hands up in defense, "I'm not playing anything. M'just sayin' it how it is. S'not my fault your egos too big."

"You little-," He cut himself off and reached for me. A high-pitched yelp escaped my mouth as I dodged his hand and I backed away from him before running to his bedroom. I might be more agile than him, but his legs are much longer than mine. He caught up to me as I was trying to slam his door shut, and he stopped the door before I could close it. He swooped in quickly, picked me up, and tossed me onto the bed, kicking the door shut somewhere in between.

"Matt!" I giggled, as I sat up, bracing my hands behind me. He crawled onto the bed in front of me and shoved my chest back down.

"Those brownies might have been good," He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss right below my ear, "But I know you're gonna taste even better," He whispered into my ear and began to trail a path of open-mouthed kisses down my neck...

//

author's note: alright...how'd we like it? I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I wanted to put something out. I liked the concept but I'm unsure of how it turned out. let me know what you guys think.

all the love, she <3

[navybrat817]

I need Bucky to blow my back out. 😮‍💨

Don't we all, nonnie?

You Asked for It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 700 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: We'll call this a Wet Wednesday blurb.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“I’d be better if Bucky blew my back out. How are you?”

You’re certain he doesn’t hear you say that in passing to Natasha after she asks how you’re doing, but super soldier hearing and whatnot. He smirks when he repeats the words in his head. The Sergeant may be an old man, but he isn’t that out of touch. He knows enough that you need him to pound your pussy and fill you to the brim. Fuck you so hard and so good that you won’t be able to close your legs or walk by the time he’s done with you.

Dirty girl.

He takes it as a compliment that you need his cock to have a better day and he’s more than happy to take advantage of that. And why wouldn’t you want him? You both know you have a greedy cunt and find any excuse under the sun for him to be inside you, your body always wet and ready even when he doesn’t stretch you out.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s shocked he doesn’t have a permanent hard-on with you around. Your pussy is the gateway to heaven, miliking him for all he’s worth. Because isn’t it a form of worship to paint your wet and quivering walls with his seed?

So later once he has you in his bed where you belong, he spends a minute just looking at your twitching hole as he spreads your glistening folds. His cock throbs and he doesn’t waste time making you beg. Instead of splitting you open the way he wants to, he slowly and deliberately slides into you inch by inch. You welcome him home with whimpers and sighs.

He wants to fuck you until you cry how much you love him.

But he doesn’t move once his hips are flush with yours, giving you a smirk at your dazed and confused stare.

“You know,” he begins, tracing a wet finger along your cheek as you try to wiggle your hips. “If you wanted me to pound your sweet little pussy so bad, all you had to do was say so.”

You narrow your eyes and purposely clench around him, almost hard enough to make him throw his head back. “Then do it, Barnes.”

He feels all too smug when he pulls out and thrusts back in with enough force to make you jerk underneath him. “Should’ve put that pretty mouth of yours to good use first, but we have time for that later.”

For now, he gets to work.

It’s like time stands still when he pins you down and makes you take every single thrust. He can’t help but lean down to bite your bottom lip, wanting you lost in pleasure. “So fucking wet. Making a mess all over me. Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his gaze leaving your face only for a moment to watch your tits move.

Yeah, I'm fucking those later.

“Please,” you moan, trying to raise your hips to meet his. “Fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” he groans, plunging himself deeper.

“Harder,” you beg.

You asked for it.

Minutes may pass. Maybe hours. But broken moans leave your lips as your pussy keeps opening up and taking Bucky in. Just like it was made to.

“Fuck, baby, I almost forgot what a slut you are for my dick,” he grunts before your eyes flash. You’re not quite cock drunk yet and he only chuckles when he thrusts harder, making your pretty eyes roll back. “Not just a slut. My slut.”

“Your slut,” you moan.

He glances down and watches how you swallow every inch of him. “Fuck yeah, you are. And you’re gonna take every fucking drop of me after you come,” he grunts. That has you moaning before he even gets a thumb on your clit, rubbing it in circles just the way you like it. He knows you’re on the verge of a powerful orgasm and wants it to consume you. “Come. Don’t you fucking hold back.”

He feels your release coat his cock as you scream his name, almost triggering his own as he tells you what a good fucking girl you are. But he’s not done yet. Not by a long shot.

He’ll blow your back out before the night is over.

And if you’re lucky, he’ll put a baby in you, too.

Um. Sorry? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR - ( c.s )

part two

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, drinking, no smut (yet 😁)

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: WELCOME TO MY FIRST REAL SERIES! i have a lot of ideas for this cuz i love this trope dearly so buckle up! more parts will come soon. also working on a tattooartist!reader x matt series (thank you anons) that will also be out eventually. in the mean time if you have smaller/specific reqs you’d like to see, my inbox is open babies! and if u just wanna say hello or ask a question i’m here xoxo

the music booms over the speakers inside the house next door, just like it always does on the weekends (and occasionally on thursdays too). it always drives you up a wall, but tonight it’s particularly bad.

you sit up slightly in bed, absentmindedly wondering who the fuck is on aux. you’re not sure why the thought crosses your mind, but you know it’s not chris, because these picks are horrendous.

it’s already past two in the morning, not to mention it’s the middle of the week. you haven’t been able to get a wink of rest, even with your headphones blaring at full volume. usually they do the trick, but tonight’s party is relentless, demanding to be heard.

wine wednesday, you think to yourself sourly.

neither of your roommates are home; they’re both off with their significant others, somewhere that’s not here, listening to fuckface and his friends get drunk.

you’re usually pretty passive about the noise, because they provide free alcohol for you guys when you show up and typically give you notice that they’re throwing something.

but tonight it’s just too fucking much. you’re tired, and groggy, and very much so still in your silky pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt, but you don’t give a shit.

you jam your feet into some sneakers and grab a jacket, clutching it close to your chest as you head down the stairs to the main level of your own house.

you pass the dark living room, shadows leering in the corners as you’re guided only by the light coming from the street lamps outside.

you step onto the porch and the cold smacks you in the face, breath fogging up the air. it’s the middle of january in boston, and the expanse of dead grass between your houses crunches under your feet as you tread toward the front door.

the rest of the street is quiet, aside from the party. but they’re all senior hockey players, and it’s the beginning of their last semester, so what else can you expect?

besides maybe some basic human decency every once in a while. in fact, you’re so frustrated that you’re going in without backup, and without a real plan of any kind.

for some reason, once you get up the three steps to their door, you pause to knock. as if anyone would hear you over the music, or care enough to open the door for someone who’s fucking knocking.

so you twist the handle next, and it’s unlocked. of course.

it opens to a hazey front hallway that you recognize, stairs to the left hand side, blocked off by a young-looking guy you assume is probably a freshman on duty.

the front area is full of people, pressed against the walls, chatting over the music. well, more like yelling over it.

you can smell weed, which confuses you slightly. you know none of them smoke, not during the season at least. they usually don’t let anyone do it inside the house, so it must be an allowance for a girl.

you’re already getting strange looks as you step inside, which is fair. your shorts are hidden by the length of your shirt and jacket, so you’re just legs and shoes. you’ve got no makeup on, and you didn’t check your hair before you came.

but you swallow the lump in your throat, because it doesn’t matter right now anyways.

you shift your way through the crowd, gaze skipping over the people as you finally reach the dark living room. multi-colored strobes flash, lighting up the hoards of tipsy college kids dancing on the soaked wooden floor. furniture is pushed aside to make room, though the championship banner from last year still hangs on the wall.

his eyes find you before yours find him.

he stares at you across the tops of people's heads, standing by one of the couches that’s shoved against the wall. one of his roommates, connor, is leaned back on the cushions, watching the two girls they were talking to pass a joint back and forth.

but he’s no longer focused on anyone else, because he’s spotted you across the room, and he thinks this is the most disheveled he’s ever seen you. your angry eyes lock in on him seconds later, and they narrow instantly.

you beeline toward him, right through a group of people that are half-dancing along to the terrible playlist.

he lifts his eyebrows at your attitude, but not in fear. he’s actually a little impressed. his friends are watching you warily, just as confused as everyone else who saw you walk in.

he can’t help but stare at your legs as you finally reach him, admiring how cute you look in your pajamas, pale pink bottoms peeking out underneath your shirt with every step. he briefly wonders if you’re even wearing a bra.

then you open your mouth, and the fantasy is over.

“what time is it, chris?” you snap at him, one hand balled into a fist, the other clutching your phone.

“i don’t know, but i have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” he takes a sip of his drink to try and hide his grin.

it takes a lot of self control to keep yourself from slapping it out of his fucking hand, just because of how smug he looks. you hold up the screen to his face.

two twenty-two in the morning. chris almost laughs.

“the answer is way too fucking late to be having a party on a wednesday.” you reply, bringing the device back down to rest by your thigh.

“why didn’t you come? i missed you.” he pouts.

you glance over at the people on the couch, at the girls who are still making eyes at you as they converse with connor. he’s giving you a weird look too, as if no one could possibly understand why you’re here like this.

“yeah, sure you did,” you turn back to him, “now shut this shit down before i call the cops.”

chris puts his hands up in surrender, though he knows this is an empty threat just as much as you do.

“wow, somebody’s grumpy.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously. “i’m serious. tell the puck bunnies to go home for the night or i’ll do it myself.”

he takes a tiny step closer, just a few inches, and yet it still seems suffocating. he looks too good, clad in a simple black tee and jeans, and he’s studying your face with the fire of a thousand suns.

“you don’t have to be jealous because other girls are here. you know you’re my number one.” chris replies easily.

even though his tone remains light, his expression is serious now. it enrages you more, that he thinks he has so much control over you.

“as if i give a fuck. i just want to sleep, so the choice is yours. police,” you wave the hand that holds your phone slightly, “or call it off.”

chris takes another sip of his drink, tipping it back so he can finish the rest of it in one foul swoop. then he nods his head, like he’s admitting defeat.

“fine. i’ll send everyone home.”

you can feel the relief creeping over you, knowing that you don’t have to actually get law enforcement involved. “thank yo—”

“on one condition.” he interrupts, and you furrow your brows.

“no conditions, chris. we’re not bartering right now.”

“come to the game on friday and we can hang out after for a bit. i’ll even give you a practice jersey to wear.” he offers, and the trademark smirk has reappeared on his face.

lights dance across his features, morphing his expression every few seconds. you just stare, because for once, you’re actually not sure what game he’s playing.

“what, can’t get a date without having to resort to blackmail?” you taunt, and he laughs.

“please, i don’t date. and i’d hardly consider this blackmail. just think of it as getting to know your friendly neighbor on a more personal level.”

there’s a humorous glint in his eye, one that’s daring you to say yes. what’s there to be afraid of? all you have to do is watch hockey, eat some popcorn from the concession stand, and deal with his attitude for an hour afterwards.

you’re still not sure what chris is getting out of this, or why he’s insisting that you need to be there, but at this point you don’t care. all you can think about is salvaging the rest of your sleep.

“alright, fine. now you have five minutes to get everyone out, and i better not hear any more shitty remixes for the rest of the week.” you point an accusatory finger at him and he shrugs, though he’s clearly content that you caved in.

“your wish is my command, princess.”

you turn on your heel to head back outside, retracing your steps from earlier as you slip through the mob. you half expect chris to follow, just because he’s annoying, but he doesn’t.

the overhead lights are coming back on now, and you can hear deep voices shouting, combined with collective groans from the crowd as they all realize they’re being kicked out.

luckily you make it out the front door first, and you jog back up the steps to your own place to get out of the cold.

you’ve only been inside for seconds when your phone buzzes in your hand.

chris

see you friday

sweet dreams ;)

[iidesxreii]

Fire, meet Medicine - E. Buckley

╔ Pairing: Evan Buckley x Plus Size!Black!Doctor!Reader

☆ Word Count: 3.2k

☆ Category: Fluff (near the end)/SMUT! (18+ YOU HAVE BEEN FOREWARNED)

☆ Summary: You find yourself at a halloween party with one particular person fighting to get your attention. And when he does, all hell breaks loose.

☆ Content: First meet, makeout, SMUT!!!!

╚ A/N: Since my first fic did so well (in my opinion) I guess I'm gonna keep going with posting my drafts. I have about 4 drafts that can be tied into this so I'm going to call this a series and just go through with posting these on Wednesdays. I'll post regular fics on Saturdays instead. This is written with a plus size, black female character in mind. I don't see a lot of Black!reader fics let alone PlusSize!reader fics so I decided to make one for myself as it is my ethnicity. At some point it will be VERY known, but hopefully it doesn't bother any of you! ALSO!! I know my smut scenes suck, I'm trying and working on them to get better. If you have ANY tips, and I mean ANY, please send them in or message me about it so I can get better. Literally anything to make my fics better helps.

As always, even if you hate it, let me know. constructive criticism is always welcome when it comes to my writing.

═══════ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ｡･ ═══════

You check your outfit over once more before turning in the mirror and making sure your modesty is still intact. It was halloween and you were finishing up your outfit. Which consisted of a small green dress, some wings you found last minute and a whole lot of glitter. You flattened out your dress before grabbing the clutch you had packed before you started getting ready. It had all of the normal necessities. A card holder, keys, lip gloss, makeup wipe, compact mirror, a stain remover stick and a miniature deodorant. You grabbed your phone off the charger and checked the time. The party you were attending was across town and had started at 10. You on the other hand hadn’t gotten off your shift until 11 and rushed to get ready as quickly as possible. You knew the party wasn’t going to end soon since it was an LA party, but you still wanted some time to mingle about. 

You make your way down the stairs of your loft and into your living room area to check on your dog. Cerberus was fully capable of protecting the apartment while you were gone, but you always made sure to check on him before leaving. Your heels click against the hardwood as you walk over to your dog and rub your hand against his head. He makes a little sound which has you poking your bottom lip out. You almost cave in and say fuck the halloween party. You could have your own. You, Cerberus and a bucket of candy from the store. You sigh and shake your head before heading into the kitchen. You check his automatic bowls before peeking back at him in his bed. You blink a few times before making your way to the door and heading out, locking the door behind you.

You put in for a rideshare and make your way down to the lobby. The rideshare app dinged and you were donned with a wait time of 3 minutes. You shuffled a bit as you felt the eyes of your doorman on you. Connor was nice, you spoke to him every once in a while but not like you spoke to Fredrick. Frederick was your favorite, he treated you like his own daughter. Asking about your residence at the hospital and making sure you were taking care of yourself. You spoke to him every morning and you were sure you wouldn’t miss another chat tomorrow morning. Maybe you’d bring him a coffee. Before long your phone is pinging and letting you know your ride was outside. You make your way outside and get into the car. Immediately your trek starts and you’re on your way.

You walk into the house of your friend who was hosting the party and sca around for her. You wanted to say hi before heading anywhere else. The minute you walked through the door boys looked your way. Some approached but others just watched, you could feel their eyes digging into you. Before long you find your friend and give a hug before thanking her for the invite.

“You look so good! I’m so glad you could make it. Hopefully residency isn’t so bad?” Your friend, Emara, gave you a hug before looking you over once. Emara was your dorm mate in med school. You guys clicked almost immediately and clicked even better when she found out you were 2 years younger than the preconceived notion she had placed on you. She wasn’t aware she was bunking with a ‘literal genius’. Her words, not yours.

“It’s just as I expected! How is yours?” You look over her costume and smile. She was of course dressed as a sexy nurse. She was waiting for residency before she pulled out all the stops. She was waiting for the chance to actually drop the bomb that she was a doctor.

“Calmer than North Med! Enjoy the party and the hotties! We’ll have to catch up later on!” She turns and heads off into a crowd with a handful of shots in her hands. You turn towards the makeshift bar and pour yourself something to drink. You turn around and lean on it before noticing the lovely, and very hot, man dressed as Robin. He had his eyes on you, and you were attempting to ignore him. You turn away from him and make your way deeper into the crowd and away from his eyes. A good 15 minutes later you find yourself talking to a girl that was also a student at your med school. Though you had never formally met her, you were excited to talk to her. You had also managed to avoid the blonde haired boy pretty nicely. Ever since the encounter 15 minutes ago he’s been trying to get to you, but you wanted to play the long game first. 

You hadn’t let yourself experience a relationship in a while seeing as you were always busy with schooling, then med school came around, and then residency. You had no time for a relationship back then, or right now. But you could have fun in the meantime. You turned to the girl and said you were going to grab a drink and heeded off towards the counter. You stopped to grab another drink and managed to slip away to the backyard as you noticed the guy coming your way. You stayed hidden from him for a while before you caught him coming at me from a little ways away. You tried to hold back a smile before turning to him as he approached you. He stopped right next to you and made no effort to speak to you just yet. You sipped your drink and checked the time on your phone that you had pulled out of your clutch when you were getting that other girl’s number. 1:38. It wasn’t like you had work tomorrow, but you still wanted to be in bed by a certain time. 

“Are you playing a game with me?” The guy turned to you ever so slightly and you giggled into the cup that was at your lips. You peeked at him for a second before taking another sip of your drink and turning to him fully.

“It’s my first night out in like a couple months. I just wanted to have a little fun is all.” He drank the rest of his drink and he sat it down somewhere. He turned back to you and asked a question. 

“And why did you choose me to play it with?” You looked up into his eyes. He was taller than you expected and you kinda liked that. He had a birthmark above his eye, he smelled like alcohol and it was mixing with something so good. You couldn’t explain it. It smelled like something You needed in your apartment all the time. If you were being honest, you wanted him in your apartment all the time. The things you’d do if you had his scent near you all the time. Wait…no. 

“I dunno. You were cute. And you caught my eye.” He shook his head and let out a low chuckle. It riveted into your brain and straight through you. It was hot, fuck that, it was sexy. You loved the sound. And you wanted to hear it again and again and again.

“Ah. Cat and mouse. Which one am I?” You let out a giggle and shook your head. He had a point. But you weren’t sure which one he was. You bit your lip and scanned his body, you didn’t know if this was the alcohol talking or if you genuinely thought this, but why were you running from someone as sexy as him? Instead of running you should’ve been getting your payback for the last few months. You were in desperate need and you had finally found something that appealed to you as much as your vibrator did. 

“What’s your name?” was what came out of your mouth. You watched confusion pass by his face before his answer slipped out of his mouth with a quickness. 

“Buck.” You raised your eyebrows at that answer. Who names their kid Buck? But like he read your mind he continues. “It’s a nickname. I-it’s my last name. Evan Buckley…hence the Buck…” You shook your head and smiled as you extended your hand. You think it was the alcohol hitting. Whatever you mixed in those few cups were coming back to bite you in the ass.

“(Y/N), nice to meet you Buck…but I have a proposition.” He made a face and you assumed he was listening. You placed both hands onto his shoulder, and leaned up to his ear. You were close enough to whisper but not to get lip gloss on it. “I’m not going to lie, this could definitely be the alcohol talking but, I’ve never met someone who appealed to me as much as my vibrator did. And I’d kill to have her right now. So instead, how about we get one more cup of whatever it is they have in that kitchen, get shit faced and make our way to the bathroom. That way, I get what I've been needing for 9 months, and you can learn my last name.” You leaned back onto your feet and winked at him. He easily grabbed your hand and beelined his way to the kitchen area. You both grabbed a cup each, and downed it in that same second. Then you made a direct line for a bathroom. You both make it to a bathroom and the minute the door closes your back is pressed against the door with his hands running all over your body. His hands felt so good running over your body, everything felt surreal. This is exactly what you needed in your life. Or at least right now at this moment. 

He pulled away for a second and instead went into your neck. Sucking, licking, soft kisses, all of it was pushing you to the edge. His hands found your ass and gripped it tightly, which made you moan. In turn, you rake your hands down his back and he almost growls in your ear. He pulled away from your neck and quickly lifted you onto the bathroom counter. The feeling of the cold counter threw you off for a second making you gasp and arch your back. He took this as an opening and pushed his way in between your legs. He began rubbing your thigh with one hand and dipped his head back to meet your lips in a kiss. You felt him grind against you and your eyes almost rolled out of your head. There was a knock at the door and you both ignored it. You wanted this. You needed this. Nobody could stop you from going through with this right now. Then there was another knock. And another and another and another. It was constant at this point, and you knew it was only going to get worse. You pushed him back a bit before checking your phone. 2:10.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

By 2:27 Buck has you pushed up against his door and is trying to unlock it to no avail. You release him and he grumbles as you step to the side to allow him to unlock the door properly. You were sure that if he didn’t get the door unlocked he was going to have you in any way in the hallway of his apartment building. The lock clicks smoothly and Buck opens the door before bringing you in. Before you can get a look around you’re tugged into him and he’s picking you up with ease. Before you know it you’re being tossed onto a bed.

“Are you sure about this?” Buck is standing over you and your mind is anywhere but vanilla. You watch as he takes his shirt off and you almost pass out from how good he looks. Instead of marveling like you want to, you find his eyes again and smile.

“Thinking I’m going to change my mind Buckley?” You’re perched up on your elbows and Buck is eyeing you up from head to toe. You watch as his eyes darken and his pupils dilate before they find yours.

“I’m all about consent.” His smile is shit eating and you almost find it funny. He leans down and places both hands on the bottom of the bed. He’s leaned over almost primal looking. He’s cute, what else can he do?

“That’s hot.” you mean it towards him, but the consensual part is just as hot. You bite your bottom lip and motion for him to come to you. He crawls up the bed and you find it in you to take off the dress you’re wearing. As the dress passes your eyes you find Buck sitting back on his ankles undoing your heels. He takes one off, and then moves to the other. Your heels are soon discarded along with your dress and wings. His pants soon find a home on the floor with your costume and you both are back to kissing. His kisses trail down the valley of your breast, over your belly button and to the top of your underwear. He looks at you before watching for any type of wavering. When you nod he drags your underwear down and is faced with your soaking cunt. He all but groans as he licks a tender stirpe up your center. You shudder and reach for his hair. As you come in contact with his locks he dives into you licking recklessly. Sucking, licking, hot breaths passing your sensitive bud. Everything feels much better than you could’ve imagined. He hums something and your back arches. Your breathless moans push him over the edge and he finds every way to get you to react like that again. You feel the bud in your stomach growing and your grip on his hair gets tighter. He flattens his tongue against you and you immediately find release. 

He doesn’t let go though, he moves and inserts two fingers into you making your legs wrap tightly around his head. He takes this as something you liked and continues digging into you. He takes his time exploring the inside of you and your moans become a mix of heavy breaths and incoherent words. He finds that ever loving squishy spot and picks up his pace. Buck watches as you fight the inevitable, taking pride in the fact that he’s doing so well you think you have to hide anything that falls out of that pretty mouth of yours. You, on the other hand, have to stop the string of curses that threaten to fly out of your mouth. Buck finds your bud once more and expertly licks at it with his tongue. He starts slow, picks up space and then slows it down again. You arch your back and pull him into you more as you find release against his face once more. Your legs begin shaking and you’re reluctant to let go of his hair. He pulls your hand from his head and kisses the back of your hand.

He lifts his head from you and pulls his fingers out, licking them clean. A devious smile on his face as he moves up to find your lips. He captures them in a kiss and you immediately taste yourself on his lips. You didn’t know what about it had turned you on, but it made another pool between your legs. Buck pulls back with your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it just a bit. 

“Can you give me one more? You’re shaking and holding on pretty tight.” You nod your head and Buck bites his bottom lip before kissing you once more and heading back down. His fingers find that spot inside of you again and this time you hold nothing back. You let out every moan and whimper that graces your lips. It turns Buck on more as he finds your bud and licks at it relentlessly. From how good it felt you find yourself grinding into his face for more pressure. Buck tries to find release from his bed. He grinds his own hips into the bed as you moan from how good he’s making you feel. Your hips become sloppy and Buck knows you’re about to reach another release so he takes his free arm and wraps it around your hips. He locks you to the bed and continues his assault on your cunt. Within moments your moans become breathless gasps and Buck sits up to watch your face fully. Your eyes roll back and you cum but he doesn’t let up on his fingers and you find yourself squirting onto his chest. Buck in awe, cums in his underwear at the sight of you.

“Oh my god! I’m so sor-” you begin to panic. You had never experienced that in the many years you had been sexually active. No guy, or girl during your small phase, had ever made you feel like that. Buck immediately closes his eyes and you wish the bed would swallow you whole.

“No. No no no. Do not be sorry.” Buck gets off the bed and heads into the bathroom with a slight jog. You hear water running and then in seconds he’s back out and leaning over your trembling legs. “That was the hottest thing ever, oh my god.” His reassurance calms you almost immediately and you find it comforting that he wasn’t mad about it. He wipes at your legs and your core before making sure he’s got everything with another swipe of the towel. He immediately heads over to the dresser and digs into one of the drawers. He grabs a navy blue shirt and turns to head down the stairs. He comes back up and is holding sheets in his hand. You notice the wet spot, courtesy of you and a blush finds its way onto your cheeks. You grab the comforter and wrap yourself in it as Buck changes the sheets as fast as possible, then he turns to you with the shirt in hand and holds it out to you.

“I’m gonna go shower. Do you want to stay or do you want me to call an uber?” His voice is softer as you make your way back into the bed. He follows suit and places himself on the edge of the bed and his hand finds a place on your ankle. He’s rubbing soothing circles into it while your leg jerks ever so slightly.

“W-whatever you want…” You whisper it and Buck’s eyebrows crease. You had never been asked if you wanted to stay, let alone given something to sleep in. Buck smiles and his hand finds its way to your thigh and he pats it softly. He hands you the shirt before standing and heading towards the bathroom.

“It’s way too early to be kicking you out. I’ll drive you home tomorrow.” and with that he’s in the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on and then slight humming. You place the shirt over your head before fixing the duvet over the entire bed and lying down. Before long his pillow lulls you to sleep.

[totothewolff]

The Lonely Hearts Party

Toto x reader fem!merc!employee, boss|Toto, Valentine's Day | Fluff, romance, and comedy.

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day to all of you! Send you lots of love. Masterlist: Here

The most beautiful flowers have been arriving at your desk every Wednesday morning for almost a month now. Every week, as you reach your office in the early hours, they are already in place to welcome you. 

You love smelling them; they are always fresh and sweet-scented, and you love to look at them even more.

You feel a rush of excitement to read the handwritten note that always comes attached, filled with a different poem paragraph each time, something along the lines of "She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright."

Every girl in your department finds it so romantic, the mysterious admirer, but you and your besties at work, Rose and Oliver, who work in the same station that you, joke about finding it a bit creepy. 

"The Creepy Flower Guy" is a nickname you came up with to refer to him as an inside joke, being the three of you true crime enthusiasts.

—Maybe it's one of those garden gnomes HR placed outside —Oliver jokes as he finishes eating his scrambled eggs after you told them about the new Lilacs you received that morning at the breakfast quick break. —Perhaps he fell in love with you by watching you walk past —he jokes.

The hilarious idea of a tiny plastic guy sneaking into the headquarters, wearing his little red hat and fast feet to get incognito to your office, and on his tiptoes, placing the flowers on your desk makes you giggle.

You have to give it to HR this time; those gnomes were a great addition to the garden's pond; every time you sit on the benches near it, you enjoy the new scene the mechanics or engineers put together every few days, having fun moving the gnomes around or placing them in the funniest scenes, even someone during winter knitted them Christmas sweaters.

—Or maybe one day we'll find you dead on the floor, poisoned in your desk after inhaling azaleas for too long —Rose adds with the most casual tone as she bites her sandwich.

—Or you go missing! Kidnapped at the parking lot by "The Creep" —Oliver adds. 

—GUYS! —Ava turns around after overhearing the conversation; she is sitting at the same long table in the cafeteria, not getting your usual dark humor, a bit concerned, and creeped out. —You three need to cool it down with those goddamn crime podcasts!

—NEVER! —all of you answer at the same time.

—You freaks!

As you all finish breakfast, in a rush because the "off-season" is always the busiest time at the factory, you ask out loud. —Who do you think it is? 

—It's evident! It's... —Grace from the control room team starts saying.

—Lewis Hamilton! —and she finishes along with the other five people on the table now. 

Oh, the classic joke.

The entire table burst into laughter. It's a common joke to do about Lewis since almost every family member or friend thinks that working in the Mercedes racing team instantly makes you Lewis's best friend and that you always hang out with the guy, which couldn't be further away from reality. 

Most of you only see him in corporate gatherings or pass by from building to building, usually on his way to the simulator or in the hallways on a lucky day. 

He is always sweet and polite with the team and staff but quite distant; he still is Lewis fucking Hamilton. Unless you are part of his immediate team or Toto's, you get that privilege reserved for the key players only. 

Even so, almost everyone has a Lewis or Bottas story, and ALL of you have Niki's anecdotes cause that man is bonkers and a LEGEND. 

Most of them go hilarious as all of you try to act human around them, like the one Oliver has where he bumped into Lewis one day as Oliver was getting out of the bathroom and Lewis was on his way in, offering him a completely wet hand to introduce himself, which Hamilton noticed and sweetly and quickly patted Oliver on the shoulder with a "nice meeting you, man" and quickly got in.

—REAL theories only, guys! —you address the table. —Is my life a joke to you all? —you mess around, getting on your feet and closing the lid of your topper. —Please don't answer that.

-

Another week goes by, and a new stunning bouquet arrives. 

—Oh, how exquisite! That man is so into you. Those blue mophead hydrangeas sure are expensive! —the receptionist points out to you because you are a total flower ignorant who only goes: "Oh, pretty, colorful, smell cute" without giving it much thought. 

Most of the time, you have no idea what you are looking at, but you have fun googling it and trying to decipher; in your defense, no one has pampered you like this before. 

You are brand new at the getting flowers game.

-

The following week, a couple of bets start happening at the building as the word spreads, and many wonder who the mysterious guy is. 

Some think it's not a guy but a girl, as one day after a meeting, as you all are leaving, one of the engineers approaches you and makes the clever remark that the attention to detail about the type of flowers, the color palettes, and the scented notes is too much for a simple guy. —Either he is getting advised, or it's not a guy! Maybe you could obtain a reference from the company that delivers it.

This entire thing feels surreal and truly takes you by surprise since you have always considered yourself the most average girl, especially in looks and more so in the sea of beautiful blondes working at Mercedes.

Which, for some weird reason, reminded you of when you dropped your resume after one of your buddies from college - who still works there at the machine shop - gave you the heads up there was a job opening that suited you perfectly; he even had to insist you a couple of times, because you were almost sure they wouldn't give you a callback. 

To your eyes, Mercedes was one of those companies that cared about looks or looked for a specific ethnic type; it turns out you judged too soon; they care about skills, productivity, and professionalism, too, and it ended up being a bit more diverse than you expected the place to be.

It still has many areas for improvement, but it's become your favorite job ever.

-

By the end of the day, you wait for Rose to come out of her meeting to leave together, standing in the perfectly lit hallway leaning on the impeccable white wall; it's "Cheap Thursday" at your favorite local pub, and you two desperately need fuel to finish the heavy week, so nachos and a couple of pints sound like heaven.

After what feels like an eternity, a group of people comes out of the double doors by the end of the corridor facing you, and you catch a glimpse of a very hurried-up Toto getting out, too, looking handsome and elegant as ever.

You feel his dark eyes looking you up for the briefest moment, making you shiver and blush like a teenager in front of her crush.

Thank god he doesn't stop his pace and gets out of your view within seconds but leaves you distracted enough not to notice Rose approaching you till she is by your side, looking almost pale as a ghost, whispering in your ear. 

—I swear it's Toto's handwriting! I just saw him writing on the board for over an hour, and his calligraphy looks exactly like the one of "Creepy Flower Guy"!

—Come on?! Toto? Shut up! —a crackle comes out of your mouth, thinking it's the most ridiculous idea. —The billionaire smocking-hot boss falls in love with the average employee; what do you think this is? An 80s telenovela? Fuck off...

—Well, his handwriting is the same cursive style, and the "r" and "t" are almost identical —Rose starts to overexplain, trying to justify herself, looking timid and embarrassed now, and you instantly feel awful at your reaction.

—I'm so sorry, Rose, I overreacted; I tend to be too blunt! —you quickly wrap her into a hug.

—It's just that I have been seeing that calligraphy for a while now, and I found it freaky similar.

—Now, how can we make sure, Rose? Any ideas?

She shakes her head. —I'm not friends with his assistants or anyone on Toto's team.

—No one is friends with his assistants. I wouldn't be surprised if they turn out to be ex-MI5 agents or worked for the KGB —Rose starts to laugh hard, agreeing. —I think getting to the Prime Minister is easier than reaching Toto under their hands!

—You are screwed then. 

—Let's rule Toto out for the moment —you add.

—Yeah.

-

That night at your flat, a crazy thought comes to your mind as you brush your teeth; the wackiest thoughts tend to happen to you when you brush your teeth; you need to make yourself with a piece of paper handwritten by Toto to compare it with one of your notes.

You know Toto places sticky notes on the far wall inside his office; you have noticed those on your many and regular trips to the CFO's office as your boss always sends you to deliver the reports in person by the end of every week, always passing in front of Toto's office on you way there, which most of the time it's empty since he spends the year traveling, but you try to do your best when he is in, slowing your steps a little bit more to enjoy the view and fixing your appearance a little bit too before crossing in front of him. 

Still, his assistants are always at their front desk near there, making it impossible to sneak in. 

If only you could make it inside Toto's office without raising questions and with a good excuse. You laugh at the idea; it's wild and ain't going to happen, and if it does, your ass is getting fired. 

As the Mission Impossible cord from the ceiling scene comes to your mind, it's time for you to go to sleep.

-

As you anxiously roll from side to side of the bed, struggling to shut your brain off, you remember that Niki's surprise birthday celebration is scheduled in two weeks; you could volunteer to help organize the event and usher the people around, including Toto.

There is the slightest chance to make it to his office and take a quick photo of the sticky notes on the wall; it's borderline mental, but you really want to find out because Rose sounded so sure!

This is fucking insane. 

-

Two weeks, two new bouquets later.

When you finally reach the upper floor, where the "top-tier people work," almost everyone has left to get to the party on time. 

Being on time in Mercedes is a must, so there are few people you need to usher there.

You got accepted to join the Niki's celebration committee as a helper minion. Weirdly, it will be hosted in the base race of all places instead of the Silver Arrow Lounge, where most celebrations are usually held.

The decor is ready, the cake is at the counter, and the many photo props and snacks inspired by Niki's red cap are in place; even the catering and most of the people invited have arrived.

But Allison and Toto are nowhere to be seen, and the head of HR is on her nerves about it, thinking it could ruin the surprise or that two of the most influential people there are going to miss such an important event.

As you approach the bosses' offices area, you quickly search in the surroundings for them; it helps you that all offices have glass panel walls.

You venture to wander more, but nada, they are not there, and at this point, no one is there. As you return to the stairs, you pass in front of Toto's office once more. 

You just need to snap a quick picture. What could go wrong? No one is near to see you, and there are no cameras around since Toto dislikes that.

"Okay, Y/N, listen, it's just a couple of steps; you have your phone in your hand; it won't take more than a few seconds..."

You feel your body acting on its own and your feet slowly moving ahead. 

You gradually enter the luxurious and immaculate office.

"Okay, like four steps more, and I'm close enough to zoom in the picture." 

When you almost reach his desk and the perfect distance to snap the photo, you sense movement outside, fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel someone standing behind you, right at the door. 

Busted!

—Yes? Can I help you? —Toto's voice comes severe but calm.

You feel your heart in your throat as you slowly turn around. 

—Yes, you can! —you quickly reply, pretending to be looking at the cool helmets and steering wheels at the corner. Is it the best move your mind could come up with? Certainly not —...Sir... —you kind of finish saying, remembering he is the boss.

Toto stares at you, waiting for you to continue as you stand motionless in the middle of the room, looking straight at him. His eyebrows go up a little, and a tiny, amused smile forms on his lips as he moves his hand, gesturing you to continue.

—They are all waiting for you at the race base, sir... to start Niki's surprise reception. He is about to arrive. 

—And they sent you to get me?

—Yes —you feel the need to explain yourself more, feeling nervous. —Niki has no idea who I am, so I'm not blowing the surprise away if I bump into him on my way here! 

—Interesting... —he lets out gradually.

Oh god, Toto has no clue who I am either, right?

Fuck, I'm such an idiot!

—Oh, I, I'm Y/N —your brain starts working again as you quickly introduce yourself to him, offering him a hand to shake.

He looks even more perplexed at you but grabs it; it's awkward, and you want to crawl into a hole or hide beneath the expensive rug you are stepping on.

—We should get going; I have places to go, and I'm on a schedule today.

—Oh yes, of course, sir —you quickly exit his office as he closes its glass door behind you. Well, you literally pass below his muscular arm. 

Toto doesn't move much, so you squeeze in, almost brushing his body as you out, and he simultaneously closes the door, fuck, he is tall and smells so so so good.

-

It's a quiet walk downstairs; just the sound of your steps and breaths fills the room. You feel intimidated by Toto's presence, not used to having him that near you and being a shy-natured girl.

He seems to slow down his step, prolonging your agony. 

Should I say something? But what about? Work? Something casual? You assume he wonders the same since you feel his eyes on you every few steps, but he dares to break the ice before you can.

—So y..

—I'm To... Oh, sorry, go ahead —he says at the same time.

—Oh, no worries —you nervously place a strand of your hair behind your ear. He follows the movement of your hand with his eyes. —What were you saying? —you look straight at him, Jesus; he is way cuter up close; that's some strong jawline, you can't control your eyes going all over his features.

—That I didn't introduce myself upstairs. I'm Toto, by the way —he offers you a kind and unintentionally sexy smile.

You notice, a bit way too much, how all his traits soften and how relaxed and joyful he looks when he smiles.

It turns out that "The Creepy Employee Girl" should be your nickname now.

After perceiving him as less threatening, you joke around to make the air less awkward. —Really? I had no idea! I thought you were that Lewis guy everyone talks about! But nice to meet you Toto By The Way —you fool around.

He laughs a bit. —You never heard of me before? I guess I'm losing popularity around here nowadays!

—You must hang around more to be part of the "popular squad".

—Who holds the title right now?

—The gnomes.

—Oh, yes, they are quite popular.

—A bit too much, yeah.

As you two reach the entrance to the race base, he rushes his step to hold open the door for you, letting you go first; you feel his intense gaze follow you every step as you pass right across from him, making you feel things he shouldn't. 

Everyone who got invited is already there; the usually squeaky-clean and clear white counters now hold cups, party hats, bottles of champagne and sparkling water, delicacies, and a big red cap-shaped cake.

—Great! The boss is here! Please, bring Niki in —you hear the HR director speak through the intercom as she looks your way, sounding so relieved, and a minute later, all of you start cheering as Niki enters the room.

You expect Toto to instantly leave your side and go near the big names of the company and his precious stylish drivers, but no, he stays right next to you.

As Niki almost reaches you two, getting hugs all his way down, he comes closer to Toto first and says in a low voice, but you are still able to hear him. —Is the cake vegan?! —looking concerned before tightly and roughly hugging him, knowing they would call him to blow out the candles and bite the cake soon.

—No, sir, this time they brought Lewis his own cake —you inform him, getting in the conversation, as the two of them turn to look at you.

—Oh, thank god! I almost spit out last year's "fake" cake! Hi Y/N! I didn't notice you there! This mountain was on the way —he pats Toto's chest a bit too strongly. Niki makes a funny face, eyebrows going up, not sugarcoating around as usual but earnest and light-spirited.

You laugh, exhaling cute sounds; even you have to admit you have a lovely, infectious laugh.

—Hi sir, happy birthday!

How on earth does Niki know my name?! He knows who I am?! WHAT...

-

—...the fuck were you thinking?! —Oliver looks shocked and pale as you update him and Rose about your little adventure today. —You honestly thought it could be Toto?!

—Can a girl have a dream?! —you shrug as you keep typing violently on your computer, wanting to finish that notice as soon as possible to move on to the next task, starting to feel stressed.

—You could have got into serious trouble, like big trouble, like getting fired trouble —Rose says, dead serious. —I feel terrible for enabling you!

—I know it was reckless and stupid, really stupid! —you admit, feeling dumb now about your actions.

God knows what got into you!

-

The next day, on your way to the cafeteria for lunch, you sense something is going on; everyone is acting weird.

Until you enter the room to find Toto having his meal in there, alone at a table, aware of the looks he is getting.

What is he doing here? He usually goes out for lunch or eats inside his office.

The fuck.

He waves a hand at you; you look around to see if he is addressing someone else till he arches an eyebrow, slightly annoyed, so you hurry up to reach him.

—Well, you weren't wrong! By all the looks I received on my way here, and fairly now, it appears I don't hang around much —he invites you to sit, stretching his arm, pointing to the chair in front of his, before continuing. —It wasn't unusual to see me everywhere before; of course, it was the early days, and we were a smaller team back then —he almost looked sad and nostalgic about it.

—Look at you, man of the people!

—Eat your salad —he rolls his eyes at you as you get your lunch out.

—Is that like a boss order, or?

—Maybe, if I'm feeling moody. 

—So, I guess most of the old guard is gone?

—Are you low-hand calling me old?

—Well, how ancient are you?

—I'm almost 70 —he makes you smile and looks all pleased with himself and his dumb humor. —I know, I look good for 70!

—Who would have thought you had a sense of humor? You always look severe and bossy.

—Can you stop low-key insulting me?

—Neva'

-

After two weeks of having lunch with Toto and getting to know each other more every day, you two become friends; some days, a different person joins you; at some point, you can't believe you are sharing quinoa recipes with Lewis and comparing drinking pub stories with Niki.

—Is it me, or have you abandoned us, the peasants? —Oliver says to you when you return to the office.

—Oh, come on! You can join, you know that! He knows who you two are; we talk about you guys a lot, and he greets you daily!

—Now that you are part of the "big farts" table, hanging with the famous, why would you care about two random coworkers? —Rose overdramatizes.

—OH COME ON!

—Apparently, you don't care about the old and wise saying "Bros before hoes," —Oliver adds.

—Of course, I care about you two hoes. Please join us tomorrow. PLEASE?! —you beg them with the biggest smile and puppy eyes ever seen.

—Eating with the boss and talking to him? I'm not risking it! —Oliver says, dead honest, not trusting himself.

—He is trying to reconnect with the team; he isn't going to judge you! Besides, Toto knows you are my besties.

Two long "aw" come your way.

—That's so cute, but NO! —Rose ends the conversation.

-

As you admire the new bouquet of tulips you get delivered the next day, your phone suddenly buzzes on your desk, distracting you from finishing updating the chart with the latest data.

—Lunchtime already? 😩🥙

—Who this? 👀

—Luke, I'm your father.

—He dead 🙏🌫️

—Oh, shit, sorry! Bad joke!

—💀💀💀

—There's no need to be that explicit.

—It means dying of laughter!

—Oh, shit, I'm old, it's Toto By The Way.

—I'm saving you with that name! How did you get my number?

—By boss privilege.

—YES! LET'S LUNCH PLEASE! I'm Hungarian.

—What?

—Typo sorry, hungry!

—HA! See you in five! 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

-

—Could going to lunch with someone at the cafeteria be considered a date? —you turn around in your office chair to address Oliver.

—Dreaming is free, bestie!

-

On your way to meet Toto, you bump into the most annoying senior engineer, Mr. Schäfer, in the corridor. 

OH GOD! Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, you think as you two cross paths, but sadly, you notice him stop his step after making eye contact with you.

—Miss, Y/LN. A minute?

SHIT!

-

—Sorry I'm late! "Gwen Stefani" got me on my way here!

—Who? —Toto looks at you, amused and confused.

Shit! You burped out.

—Ahem, Mr. Schäfer —you quickly correct, taking your water bottle out of your bag and drinking it after rushing there. Toto stares at the couple of drops that escape your lips and slide down your chin and neck, and he swallows hard.

—What did you call him? —Toto asks, clearing his throat.

—Oh, don't mind me!

—Yes, mind you! It's a pretty accurate nickname, I must admit it, even if I shouldn't, but it fits —Toto shrugs nonchalantly, with a chuckle on his face. 

Schäfer is really pretty, lean, blond, pale, has big bambi's brown eyes, and his voice is so annoying.

And now you feel embarrassed.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, as you two eat, Toto says: —Do I have a nickname?

—Oh, no, no one dares.

—Why? Do people fear me? —his expression changes to one of concern. —Maybe that would explain why people always seem to slow down their pace in the main corridor as soon as they see me inside the elevator. I always try to press the hold button to wait for them.

—This leaves me with a question: How do you fit in there? Your hair sure is touching the ceiling —he looks at you with an "Are you kidding me?" face. —No, for real!

—Don't avoid the actual question!

—Okay, okay, it's more like you intimidate. You look a bit, ahem, stern.

—Really? So, that was your first impression of me?

—Well, not really —you feel your cheeks turning red, fuck. —The first time I saw you, IRL.

—Sorry?

—In real life! You were being interviewed at the reception on that pearl/grey, awful porn movie-esque rug, which is inappropriate to say because the interviewer was a kid; anyway, It was something adorable to see. So that was my first impression of you, sweet and kind —his eyes soften at your answer, and you feel your knees touching beneath the table. —And also well lit —you joke. 

As you do your best at not being honest and admitting to Toto, you fell in love with him the first time you saw him. It was instant.

—Oh. 

-

Another week goes by, February starts, and the most stunning bouquet to this moment arrives. Okay, this one is a lot. 

—Good lord, "Creepy Flower Guy" went full force with this one; what did you do to him?! —Rose asks, jaw on the floor as she stares at that humongous thing.

—I have no fucking clue.

—You think he is about to reveal himself? —Oliver points out. —Maybe this is a "going out with a BANG!".

—Honestly, I don't care much about it anymore —you admit. You feel several heads turning your way, shocked.

"It's not who I would like it to be," you think. You don't need to say more to know that Oliver and Rose get it.

-

That working day was cut short since it was the Monster-sponsored "Spartan Race," a cross-fit competition. 

Many coworkers listed at the contest held outside on the garden grounds where a fancy circuit got built, but not you. You volunteered to help deliver the medals to the participants at the finish line.

In the meantime, you take a good spot with Oliver to watch the competition unfold and cheer for Rose.

—You go, Rambo! —you scream at her as she completes another obstacle course.

You watch Toto pass in those goddamn shorts, looking so hot, all sweaty. Toto's shirt's tight fabric on the skin leaves little to the imagination.

You meet him at the finish line an hour later, as you are now doing your duty. As soon as he notices you, he starts to jog in your direction with the most mischievous smile.

—Oh no, no, no! Don't you even...! —you receive the biggest and tightest hug from a sweaty, wet, and full of dirt and mud Toto.

—OH GOD! Get off! —you pull him away, making yucky faces.

—I was hoping to bump into you at the circuit! —he tells you, still with a lot of energy, as you place his gold medal on his neck, he is bending to your height.

—I'm not that sporty; you would have to drag me to the finish line.

—I would have gladly carried you around in these powerful arms! —he jokes while flexing.

You roll your eyes at him.

-

The next day, at your desk.

As you blast the newest episode of your favorite crime podcast, Rose and Oliver start making eye contact with you, trying to grab your attention, moving their eyes several times to the left as you take out your AirPods.

—WHAT?!

—Sure, those things cancel noise! I have spent about an hour trying to talk to you!

Oh shit, you jump a little at the sound of Toto's voice near your ear.

—Were you listening to a murder podcast? At work?! You are going to hurt your ears; I was able to hear it from here —Toto is leaning on the left side of your desk.

—Maybe... I was... —you look at him with squinted eyes, and he looks back at you the same way.

—What is that thing?! —Toto says, a bit disgusted at the exuberance, pointing to the enormous bouquet beside your computer.

—It's a long story —you try to avoid the subject.

—I want to hear it when I return. I will not join you at lunch today or the rest of the week.

—Bummer, where are you going then? —you turn in your chair to face him.

Everyone looks at you with a "Did you really ask the boss that?" face.

—Austria, It's my mom's birthday.

—Aw, sweet, wish her a happy birthday for me!

—I will —you look at each other tenderly, both wanting to say more. You suddenly feel the desperate need to hug Toto, but a simple: —See you next week, then! —comes out of your mouth, ending the interaction.

-

It's almost Valentine's Day, and Toto has returned from his little adventure in the mountains; he laughs when you text him that. You two talked even more than usual every day during his absence.

So you text him if you could go up to his office.

—Knock, knock —you say as you pop your head in at his door.

He brightens as he sees you, fully smiling at you, making your stomach feel butterflies. 

—Please, come in!

You approach his desk, holding something in your hands; it's an envelope with an invitation in the old-fashioned way. —Hi! —you smile big at him. —I have the obligation to invite you to the traditional "Lonely Hearts Party" on Valentine's Day!

—No one wants the boss at an outside-the-office party —he looks at you a bit taken out.

—Yeah, I know, we know. But still, you are invited. It's for singles only, assuming that you are single, which no one thinks you are, so here —you feel Toto's hand touching yours as you deliver him the envelope, leaving you with a lingering sensation on your fingers, a very Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy moment in your delulu mind.

—I'm going to be in Brazil, but thank you anyway, and yes, I'm single —he pays attention to your reaction to his words, and you pray for him not to notice the little happy smile forming on your lips. —Are you... are you like... seeing someone? —he asks you.

—I'm going to attend the Lonely Hearts Party, you think?! Listen, my neighbor, Miss Tailor, is 80 and has a boyfriend; even that old rag has seen more action than me this year!

Toto's palm goes onto his face, bursting with laughter; he is laughing so hard at your comment that no sound comes out of his throat, just hallows of air, and he goes all red, not believing your words. —You are quite something! —He lets you know and looks at you with adoration, his face resting on his hand and his elbow on the desk. 

—I know —you nod, kidding. —Anyway, have a nice day, and see you later!

-

During that day's lunch break, Toto demands you to explain to him in detail all about that "Creepy Flower Guy," he even ventures to guess who he is after listening to the whole story.

—Milo, Ben, and Ansel all have stared you down when you walk past in front of them, with lust obviously, and I heard Finn once complimenting your good looks to say it nicely —he informs you.

Is that jealousy you detect?

Toto does pay attention.

-

It's Wednesday, and your car is out in maintenance, so you make it extra early on that day at the office; you wanted to avoid risking it being late since you aren't used to using public transport to get there.

You make it just in time to witness Mike walking away from your desk inside your desert office through the glass panel wall from afar. As you walk to your chair, you notice new flowers are already in place. You feel your heartbeat going full speed and a wave of disappointment washing you over; what were you expecting, for it to really be Toto?

That entire day, you remain all moody and quiet, and your friends notice it, but you say nothing about it.

You even ask your boss to leave early, being unable to handle being near Toto today, which leaves him worried, judging by the four texts and two missed phone calls you received from him, wondering where you are and if everything is okay.

-

Four days later, you are like nothing has happened. As you walk your way to enter the building where you work, you notice Toto sitting alone in the distance, having a call; you slowly start to walk toward him, switching paths.

He finally has returned from his trip to Stuggart.

—Well, the "Creepy Flower Guy" saga has come to an end, my friend; I found out who he is —you inform him, unenthusiastic, as you sit on the bench in the pond's garden right next to him.

—You don't seem so excited —Toto's eyes look slightly concerned as he tells you.

—Well, no, to be honest.

—Drumrolls —Toto says, trying to lift your spirits, slapping his thighs, making the sound. —And the creep is?!

—Mike, from financial.

—Magic Mike?! —Toto lets out a bit too loud.

—Yep!

—Are you sure? Like 100%? But how?!

You nod. —I saw Mike near my desk in the early hours a couple of days ago, and the flowers were there as he was walking away from the crime scene! Also, by the drawer full of flower receipts at his office desk. They all match the types of bouquets I received and have the exact dates.

—Are you creeping around in people's offices again?

—WAIT A MINUTE! I wasn't creeping into your office! 

—Oh no? What were you doing near my desk? Looking for Niki's cake?

—Shut up! I was looking for you. 

—Yes, I love to hide myself in there —Toto playfully and softly pushes you. 

—And NO! I wasn't creeping around in Mike's office; Anita sent me to get the notice she needed, and I went there; it turns out Mike was on holiday, but he left the instruction to collect it from the drawer on his desk, and then I opened the wrong drawer and BAMB! It was full of receipts and bills from the flower company that delivered my flowers. Not to be nosy, but Magic Mike is doing pretty well; I had no idea how expensive they were!

—Wait! But you aren't telling me! Are you into Magic Mike? Do you fancy him?

—No, not him, anyway.

Toto stares intensely at you and wants to say more. If you weren't so in the zone, you would have noticed it and given him a chance, but no, you continue blurting out words.

—But I will go and thank him, I guess. I don't want to hurt him; he is lovely. Everyone told me to go out on a date with him. I don't feel like it right now, but it's not always love at first sight, right? Maybe that doesn't even exist; I was expecting to fall in love, you know, movie style, but that may not be real, or at least not for girls like me. Besides, Valentine's Day is approaching, and I don't feel like spending it alone again —you let out a sigh after talking forever.

—Weren't you going to that Lonely Hearts Party? It sounds fun. It's better than going on a date with someone you don't like just to feel better —Toto tells you a bit moody.

—Oh god, I love you; you are always right; you are so annoying —you add while hugging and kissing him on the cheek. —Is there any chance I can fit in your suitcase for Brazil? I wouldn't mind spending Valentine's Day with a hot Brazilian or at the beach.

Toto laughs while shaking his head.

—I have to go! —you complain, checking the hour on your smartwatch. —Unfortunately, I have work to pretend to do! 

—Sometimes I feel you forget I'm the boss here —he jokes with you as he crosses his arms and watches you walk backward, still facing him, getting further away.

—YES SIR!

-

It's the Wednesday before Valentine's Day, and to everyone's surprise, the flowers stop arriving.

"Did Toto tell Mike I don't like him and to stop sending me flowers?" You take out your phone to text him.

—Apparently, even "Creepy Flower Guy" gave up on me.

—Really?! —Toto replies.

—Yes. No flowers today.

He gives you no further information, no replying text comes your way.

-

It's Valentine's Day, and you are wearing a shiny red mini dress with matching bow heels to the Lonely Hearts Party.

You took your time doing your makeup, which you feel you nailed, and your hair looks sleek. 

As you check yourself in the mirror, you feel confident and hot!

-

After several drinks and enjoying the music and the vibe, you relish the party, but your mind keeps wandering to the anticlimactic ending of the flower guy mystery.

The only crime and murder here was the one of your feelings and heart.

Two hours later, you start to feel bummed out enough after witnessing many hookups and new couples forming, slightly envious of them and feeling lonelier than ever, aching that Toto was here with you instead of Brazil. You decide you've had enough and are about to leave when you feel a soft finger tap on your right shoulder. You turn around to see who it is.

Definitely, you aren't ready for the scene that greets you.

Toto is standing right before you, holding a bouquet in his hands, looking extremely handsome, with a shy smile on his lips.

—What are you doing here?! —you look astonished at him. Am I that drunk?! Thinking you are seeing things now.

—I felt like delivering them to you in person from now on —he offers you the roses.

Your brain takes its time to process his words and what's happening. This is really happening.

—You are? —you try to say and instinctively grab the bouquet.

—The Creepy Flower Guy, yes.

You laugh at the sound of the nickname on his lips.

—Let's call him "flower guy" from now on.

—Yeah, let's call him Toto better, or my love, if you prefer. I hope you aren't as disappointed this time.

—But Mike? —you ask, confused.

—Have you ever heard of the terms invoice and tax returns? He does my accounting, too. Mike helped me deliver the flowers till I felt ready to show myself. He is a long friend of mine.

—That's why he had all the receipts; that makes sense. Wait!

You close the distance between Toto and you and place a kiss on his lips; getting on your tiptoes, he slowly and hungrily starts kissing you more, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer, not letting you move an inch away from him.

—Thank you for the flowers, my love but weren't you supposed to be in Brazil by now? —you ask him as you both catch your breaths.

His lips are so soft and warm.

—Oh, I'm going to be in Brazil soon, but I forgot to mention to you that you would also be there. Happy Valentine's Day, my love! —he gives you another long and delicious kiss.

—Shouldn't I have packed? —you ask against his lips, already overthinking.

Toto shakes his head.

—We aren't going to need much clothes, anyway. -

Would you like to read another Toto fic? Masterlist: Here

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[comphy-and-cozy]

Lessons in Chemistry (Part 1) - Matt Martin

Pairing: single dad!Matt Martin x Reader

Summary: They say there's nothing hotter than a DILF. Especially a single one. Unfortunately for you, the one you've found also happens to be the father of your student.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Mentions of divorce and alcohol consumption. Adult/sexual content (18+ ONLY); mentions of previous hook-up (unprotected sex, public sex), fingering (f receiving) in a semi-public space, questionable decisions, references to future smut.

NEXT PART → ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

As a fifth year kindergarten teacher, you’ve been around the block. Over the years you've learned a lot of lessons—you're still finding macaroni and glitter from that one art project 2 years ago—and for the most part, you've got a good handle on how you approach the school year.

Despite that, one thing remains consistent: Open houses are always nerve wracking. They're a temperature check for how the year might go, your first opportunity to meet students as well as their parents. The immense pressure, the desire to ensure that your first impression is a good one, never gets any easier; and, for all of your experience, you've still never figured out how to ease the feeling.

This year, there's an extra layer while prepping for the Wednesday night Open House. As you flit around your classroom, finalizing the decorations and ensuring each desk has the proper name tags on them, you catch yourself smiling like a fool. You wouldn't be surprised if you started humming. There's a pep in your step and a feeling of ebullience that can't be replicated.

You know why: you had the best sex of your life the other night.

Like, toe curling, eyeball rolling, leg shaking kind of good. The kind that brings every other lover to shame. That makes colors seem brighter and your body hum with warmth.

And he was hot. So fucking hot. Tall, huge biceps, and a kind of lazy, teasing smile that makes your skin heat up just by thinking of it, even now.

In any other circumstance this would be welcome news. Except instead of rejoicing, you’re… annoyed. Pissed off. Kicking yourself.

You’re annoyed because you didn’t get his number. You didn’t even get his name, come to think of it. You had the best fuck of your entire life—against the door of his truck in a dive bar parking lot, no less—with a man that you have no way of contacting again.

So now, all of the things that come with that just-been-fucked glow aren’t even something you can appreciate because all they do is remind you that you’ll never be able to feel his enormous hands gripping your hips or the most delicious stretch between your thighs again.

And though it was one night, you already know that you’ll be comparing all of your future escapades to the stranger who got away.

Glancing at your watch, you take one more walk around your classroom, ensuring that everything is in place. You know you have to banish all thoughts of that man from your brain for the next two hours and plaster your best kindergarten teacher smile on. There's a gentle throb between your legs in protest, but, with a silent promise that afterwards, you'll unwind with the toy in your bedside table, you're able to fully morph into Teacher Mode.

The first hour passes quickly, families trickling in slowly at first and then suddenly your classroom is very full, the sound of voices echoing off of the alphabet and number posters stapled to your walls.

There's a brief lull in the crowd, and you take a moment to take a sip of your water. In the fleeting moment of your breather, thoughts of Best Sex of Life Guy leech back into your head. A roll around with him after a night like tonight would heal you biblically.

A blonde woman approaches your desk, cutting your daydream short when she introduces herself. "Maddie Martin."

You shake her hand and smile. She tells you that her daughter, Kinsley, is one of your new students.

Maddie glances at her watch. "She should be here with Matt—my ex—soon."

Years of sorority recruitment have perfected your small talk skills, which you use with Maddie, telling her about your annual lesson plan and learning about Kinsley's her tree nut allergy along with her favorite activities (swimming, coloring, and watching Daddy play hockey).

And then, almost like he was conjured just by the thought of him, you glance up and the object of your affections is standing in front of you. You blink, sure that he's just a figment of your imagination, but then Maddie is speaking, introducing him. "This is my—this is Kinsley's dad, Matt."

You're surprised sparks don't literally fly out when your hand shakes his. Flames wick through your body in an instant, like a chemical reaction of his skin pressed against yours. And based on the way he’s looking at you, he feels the kindle burning just the same.

"Nice to meet you," he says with that same lopsided smile that had you on your knees in the parking lot. His blue eyes simmer with recognition. I've been looking for you.

"You, too," you reply back, feeling the tingle even after he releases your hand.

"Kins, c'mere and get your coat on," Matt calls, pulling out the small pink raincoat from the closet. Little footsteps sound down the hallway and he can't help the smile that breaks out on his face at the sight of his daughter pattering toward him.

"Where are we going again?" she asks, sticking one arm at a time into the sleeves of the coat that he holds up for her.

"We're going to your kindergarten open house. That means we are going to see your new school and your classroom and meet your teacher."

"Is Mommy going to be there?"

"We're going to meet Mommy there, and then you're going to go home with her because I'm going to training camp tomorrow," Matt explains, picking up her to-go back that's by the back door.

Kinsley’s face falls. “How long will you be gone?”

“Only a couple days,” he says, “and then we can have a slumber party and watch Moana.”

He holds up his wrist, showing her the beaded bracelet she’d made him, 'DADDY' spelled out in white letters flanked by a mixture of blue and orange beads. She'd made it for him before one of his road trips last year, and he returned the favor by making her a matching one. They agreed to wear it when they were apart, so she'd always have a piece of him with her, but he'd grown used to wearing it and never really took it off.

Kinsley's smile is wide, revealing the gap from her first lost tooth. Matt's seen a lot of teeth lost in his line of worth, has lost a few of his own, but he has to admit that Kinsley definitely looks the cutest with a gap in her smile.

Once they arrive at the school, Matt takes Kinsley's hand and walks inside with her. He follows the signage directing him to Kinsley's classroom, where he scans in search of a blonde head. Once he spots Maddie, he leads Kinsley over to her and offers a cordial greeting.

And then he looks up and sees her. His heart plummets and his dick throbs the moment their eyes connect. There's a flash of recognition, of the mutual memory of their rendezvous, a secret for just them two to share. He hears Maddie saying something, giving their practiced explanation for their separation arrangement—Kinsley lives with her mom, but stays with him during his home stands in-season and for the majority of the summer—but it's all he can do to stop himself from staring at her.

He eventually manages to pull himself together, partly due to the fact that his hand is being tugged by a much smaller one. "Daddy! Help me find my desk!"

Matt offers an apologetic smile, grateful for an excuse to step away from her suffocating presence, before he's pulled down the first row, then the second. Kinsley smiles with a nervous excitement when she finds her desk, sitting down in the chair as if to see what it feels like. Matt pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, feeling shaken from his surprising, albeit brief, interaction.

Maddie appears while Kinsley is inspecting the bookshelf, ready with her analysis. "I like her. She's really sweet. This is her fifth year teaching kindergarten."

He nods in approval and dares to flick his gaze over to the topic of his conversation. The woman who made him come so hard he saw stars.

Matt's jerked off more times than he can count to the memory of the way she looked pressed against the door of his truck, the tightest cunt he's ever felt gripping him like a vice. She's been on his mind almost as much as Kinsley the last few days, trying to dig in the depths of his memory for anything he can find that might help him find her.

And now, he has. And she's his daughter's kindergarten teacher.

He resists the urge to groan. Because of course she is.

The sex was that good. And they had chemistry. Like, that kind of chemistry that leads to babies and wedding rings. He'd know—Kinsley is living proof of that.

But now? All of that just went up in flames because of the little girl wearing a bracelet matching the one on his wrist. Kinsley, who seems to know just when to say the perfect thing. "She's really pretty!"

Matt forces a smile, doing his best to resist the gravity that's pulling him back toward the woman on the other side of the room. He wonders what she's thinking about, what she's feeling—if she feels the same undeniable spark that he does.

She has to. It's cosmic. Groundbreaking. Earth-shattering.

Matt and Maddie walk around the rest of the classroom with Kinsley, admiring the setup and letting her chatter away her excitement about starting school. Nerves haven't seemed to set in, might not come for her at all; he's glad that at least one of them didn't seem to have any anxiety about what starting school means for her.

Outside, Matt says goodnight to Kinsley, handing her bags to Maddie. He waves goodbye and watches their car drive out of the parking lot. A glance at his watch tells him it's nearing 8 o'clock.

The open house ends in 10 minutes.

Inevitably, his mind trails back to the woman inside. He can't help but laugh at the irony of the situation.

It would be good to clear the air, he thinks. Address the elephant in the room.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself as he's walking back in through the front doors of the school. He lingers for a few minutes before approaching her classroom, contemplating what he should say to her.

She's alone, tidying up the classroom after the chaos of the last few hours. Matt knocks on the metal frame of the open door to announce his entrance. When she looks up, he watches her expression shift, her breath hitching in her throat.

"Hi, there."

His voice is still that sultry, gravelly purr that makes your pussy throb, though maybe it has less of a slur than before. Standing in the doorway, nearly as tall as the frame itself, his muscular arm resting against the metal.

"Hi, Mr. Martin."

The lopsided smirk curls up on his face. "I uh, didn't catch your name before."

You tuck the stray chairs into the desks, hiding the shiver that runs through you at the memory of before. The urge to laugh at the awkwardness of getting someone's name after you've slept with them is strong, but you manage to swallow it before replying, "Likewise."

He steps into the room further, then gestures around. "D'you need any help cleaning up?"

"Actually," you say, "could you help me move that table?"

You're not sure what happened next, but soon you're pressed against the shelves in the teacher's supply closet, Matt's lips sucking a mark beneath your ear. Your hands card through his hair, roaming over the large curve of his biceps, doing your best to swallow your whimper.

Feeling his skin against yours is a pleasure you had already mourned the loss of, which makes each pass of his tongue over the sensitive flesh on your neck feel like a stolen indulgence. Matt’s hands dig into your hips, gripping tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away and disappear again.

At least this time, you know where to find him.

Your head falls back—nearly knocking into the cardboard box full of glue sticks—when one of Matt’s thick thighs slots its way between your legs. This position is familiar, except last time you were pressed against the cool metallic of his Ford F-150 rather than the hard, metal shelves inside a dimly lit supply cabinet, the only light streaming in through a very small horizontal window in the door.

Your cardigan hangs loosely off your frame, revealing your arms. Matt’s fingers deftly slip the garment the rest of the way off your body. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Thought I was never gonna see you again,” he murmurs against your neck, where he’s begun to alternate nips and licks.

A breathless nod is all you can muster, his large hands cupping your backside and offering a generous squeeze. The throb between your legs has returned, and this time, there’s a desperation now that it’s been awoken under his all-knowing touch.

“Thought I was gonna have to jerk off thinking about your cunt for the rest of my life.”

This time, his filthy words elicit a strangled moan from your throat. His confession gives you confidence to make one too. “I haven’t stopped thinking about your cock since Saturday.”

A low chuckle sounds against your stomach and he glances up at you. There’s a cockiness in his eyes, one that tells you he knows exactly how well he rocked your world. “No?”

The rest of his response is nonverbal, standing up and pressing his hips into you so you can feel the member in question, hard beneath the expensive denim of his jeans. Another moan escapes at the mere feel of it.

Matt groans, crushing his lips against you again. “You want it? Want me to bend you over? Right here, in the supply closet?”

Each probe has your pussy throbbing with want. You know you shouldn’t—it’s wrong, and unprofessional on so many levels. But the school is probably entirely empty by now, families long gone and teachers all filed out for the evening. And you’ve been dreaming—fantasizing—about seeing him again, feeling him again.

You want him so bad you can barely think straight.

“Don’t think I can wait til we get home,” you breathe.

“As badly as I’d like to take you over your desk, I don’t think us getting caught is an ideal way to start the school year,” he says, infusing just a touch of sense back into your lust-laden brain. Even as he says it, though, one of his large hands dips past the waistband of your pants. The air in your lungs freezes, mouth opening to allow his tongue access while he toys with the hem of your panties.

Slowly, his fingers unbutton your pants, even more slowly dragging the zipper down the teeth; he allows you the time to protest and stop him if you want.

But you don’t want him to stop.

With more room, Matt’s hand slips back into the front of your pants, cupping your heat. The touch alone, even through your panties, makes you rock into him, craving more, seeking that same pleasure and passion and fire you had the other night. His lips curl up into his lopsided smile, a soft chuckle falling out as one finger begins to stroke you gently.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. His voice is a sultry purr that has moisture pooling between your thighs, right against the pad of his finger.

“Matt,” you whisper, his name feeling strange coming out of your mouth in such a wanton, desperate sigh. His answer is a soft hum, finger continuing to lazily trace over the outline of your center, collecting the slick that’s begun to soak into the cotton.

Your hands trail up his arm, over the firm muscle of his bicep underneath the fabric of his cream-colored polo. It flexes under your touch as his hand continues to tease between your thighs.

His lips trail along your jawline, breathing heat over your skin and sending goosebumps cascading down your spine. “Fucking soaked for me, baby.”

Your hips press forward, desperate for more, wanting to feel him in your achingly empty core. Even his fingers, which are thicker than you’ve ever seen, won’t be enough—not after you’ve seen and felt him pressing into you, splitting you open and stretching you so wide you ached deliciously for almost two days.

Matt’s hand explores further, dancing over your mound. Your clit throbs in anticipation of being touched.

“I’m gonna take you back to my place and fuck you until the sun comes up,” he whispers, voice low and heady and full of sinful promise. “But first, I’ll give you something to tide you over until then.”

Something between a gasp and a moan leaves your mouth, hand gripping tightly onto the upper part of his bicep when his finger finally, finally brushes against the bundle of nerves that’s been vibrating with anticipation of his touch. He lets out another low chuckle, pleased with the way your body responds to even the smallest of touches.

“So responsive,” he coos. “I can’t wait to get you all spread out in my bed.”

The thought heats you from the inside out. Your half-cleaned classroom and the ever-growing to-do list that’s inevitable just weeks before the school year begins is a distant thought, pushed out of the way by the large and looming figure and the burgeoning erection pressed against your hip.

Just as Matt’s hand begins to descend further into your panties, the sound of a door slamming has your entire body freezing, your senses jolted by a rush of fear and panic. His other hand claps over your mouth, urging you to stay quiet. Down the hall, the voices of your coworkers echo distantly, the sound of their footsteps coming closer.

Your eyes lock with his, heart threatening to beat out of your chest as the voices and conversation become clear enough for you to identify them as that of your Principal and fellow teacher. Matt’s hand stills, his fingers poised at your entrance in such a way that you know you’re dripping down his hand.

The voices hit their peak just outside the door, so close that you’re sure one of them is going to open it to grab something. Your heart thuds in your chest, frozen in place, saying a final, desperate prayer.

And then, just like that, the voices begin to fade, walking further down the hall.

Sensing that the coast is clear and that you’re no longer at risk of jeopardizing your location by making noise, Matt releases his hand from your mouth. The one in your panties follows soon after, though that one goes straight to his own mouth. His tongue sticks out to lick off your essence, humming with pleasure at the taste of you.

He doesn’t seem to be fazed by your close encounter, instead eyeing you hungrily. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I—we can’t—” you splutter, the combination of adrenaline, fear, and arousal coursing through your system muddying your brain. Words jumble in your mouth, heart still pounding in your chest. "Matt—"

But Matt’s already in action. "I’ll sneak out. If I run into them, I’ll say you and I got caught up discussing my schedule and I stopped to use the restroom on my way out. You can leave here with some supplies for the classroom."

Somehow, amid the fogginess, his words click and you nod, accepting your assignment. Before you can say anything, he’s pulling out his phone, the brightness of his screen illuminating the dark space. He hands it to you, the number pad open on his screen.

"Give me your number. I’ll text you my address."

You take the phone, blinking stupidly. He takes your pause as hesitation, adding, "That is, if you still want to…"

The angel on your left shoulder is screaming at you to cut this off now, before things get messy. Bid him farewell, go home, finish that bottle of wine, and spend the rest of the night with your vibrator between your legs, thoughts of his lopsided smile etched into your brain.

But then the devil on your right shoulder reminds you of his words from earlier, echoing through your mind: I’m gonna take you back to my place and fuck you until the sun comes up. The memory of his hand between your thighs, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin, sinks back in and pours gasoline on the already burning flame inside of you.

"How far do you live from here?"

Author's Note: Happy Father's Day to my favorite DILF! This idea came to me in a fever dream and the next thing I knew I had an outline and an entire backstory. So, I guess this is an unofficial series. Part 2 coming soon! S/O to @smileysvech for answering some of my questions about kindergarteners 😅

[dakusan]

UNTOUCH-UP

Tattoo Artist!Lee Minho x Reader | Exes. Ink. Unfinished business. And nowhere left to run.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You go in for a touch-up. He’s the one holding the machine. Your ex. The one who fucked you like he loved you—and left like he didn’t. Now he’s working on your skin again. And you’re both trying not to fall back in. Too late. You never stopped wanting him. He never stopped being yours. This time, he’s not letting go.

💌a/n: bro. BRO. i am ✨deceased✨ this fic nearly ate me alive. i was so lazy writing it my brain was just like . . . O.O static noise the ENTIRE time. BUT I DID IT. I DID IT. SHE’S DONE. Minho's demon dick: delivered. Tattoo angst: served. You: ruined. also not me having a day™️ — my cat knocked over a potted flower like she pays rent in this house?? broke the damn pot. soil everywhere. ON. THE. CARPET. and guess who was sitting in the mess like a chaotic forest gremlin? her. the criminal. not even sorry. anyway enjoy the filth I bled for <3 p.s. reblog for minho's sake. he worked very hard. p.p.s. if you read this and didn’t moan once, you're lying. p.p.p.s. minho said “mine” and I folded like a lawn chair in a hurricane.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI | Exes to lovers with years of tension | Fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), face riding | Protected sex because Minho is a King | Overstimulation, squirting, rough sex | Hair pulling, light choking, possessive behavior | Filthy talk™ and degrading praise | Clit play so intense you might ascend | Reader is gone. dumb. dripping | Minho lives upstairs. You live upstairs now too. It’s canon.

📌 Please read with caution. Scream into a pillow. Mop your floor. Apologize to your downstairs neighbors.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » WANT — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:29 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

BACKSTORY

You met Lee Minho back when he was still building himself. Not the man with a waitlist. Not the name clients whispered like prayer. Just a perfectionist with ink-stained fingers, a cigarette habit, and a sketchbook full of obsessions.

He only took blackwork clients. His designs were architectural. Cold. Brutally beautiful. Like cityscapes carved into skin. Like cathedrals swallowed by shadow. You used to tease him—“Do you ever draw anything soft?”

He never answered.

But he kissed you like his mouth was a vow.

You were chaos to his control. Bright to his brutalism. A fire escape on legs, always halfway out the window—but you stayed for him.

The first tattoo he gave you was on your ribcage. Fine lines. Intricate, dark, permanent. He said, “I’ve never done this for someone I care about before.”

You said, “Don’t make it perfect. Just make it ours.”

He made it perfect anyway.

But love wasn’t enough—not when his world narrowed to ink and reputation, and yours was spinning with needs he couldn’t name, let alone meet. He stopped coming home. You stopped trying to explain. The last fight was quiet. The kind of silence that ends things.

You left. He let you. Neither of you ever reached out again.

Seoul, South Korea. Wednesday, 4:03 PM

The bell over the door jingles.

It’s the same goddamn sound. That soft metallic chime, like a warning.

You step into NO SAINT INK and inhale the familiar scent—disinfectant, ink, citrus cleaner, and something darker beneath it. Nostalgia, maybe. Or just Minho’s ghost.

“Hi! Welcome to—”

Jisung’s voice cuts off the moment he looks up. Eyes widen. Blink. Blink. Jaw slightly drops. He’s behind the counter in a ripped vintage tee, one glove on, holding a paper cup of iced Americano like it’s mid-scene in a music video.

“...Holy shit.”

“Nice to see you too,” you deadpan, stepping up to the reception desk like it’s a confession booth.

From the back, Felix emerges, sliding in with a practiced spin on the rolling stool. His crop top says “NO SAINT, JUST HOT” and he’s chewing pink bubblegum like it’s personal.

He squints. “Wait. Waitwaitwait—no way.” He turns to Jisung. “That’s her, right?”

Jisung nods slowly, eyes still on you like you might disappear if he blinks. “Mm-hm. That’s her. The ribcage girl.”

You sigh, reaching for the clipboard. “Still the same greeting process, I see.”

Felix leans in over the counter, lashes weaponized. “So. What brings you back to the scene of the crime, gorgeous?”

“Tattoo,” you say simply, checking the box marked cover-up on the intake form.

Felix raises a brow. “Cover-up? On what?”

You give him a flat look. Then slowly, deliberately, tap your rib.

Jisung immediately chokes on his iced coffee. “Oh my god. You’re covering Minho’s piece?” he hisses.

“Don’t say it like that,” you mutter.

Felix gasps dramatically, grabbing your form. “Does he know? Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Does he know you're gonna cover the sacred rib tattoo of doomed romance™?”

“Still no.”

Jisung is now whispering to himself in horror. “He’s gonna combust. He’s gonna short-circuit like a printer from 2003.”

Felix pats your hand. “You’re braver than the Marines.”

You slide the completed form back to them. “You gonna let me through, or you want me to relive the breakup right here?”

“Booth Three,” Jisung says instantly. “He’s in there right now. I’ll text him that a client is coming in.”

Felix grins like the devil. “We won’t say who. Surprise trauma!”

You exhale slowly as you make your way to Booth Three and pushing the door open.

Minho is inside, doesn't even look up. Of course he doesn't. He is seated at his workstation, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, long fingers flying over his iPad. The screen glows with precision: a mandala lattice interwoven with brutalist architecture, all angles and absence. It’s violently elegant. Just like him.

He’s got one AirPod in. The other rests on the desk, silent. His tattoo gun is prepped and sterilized beside it. Black gloves folded, still untouched.

You stay silent for a beat.

He’s changed, but not really. Hair darker now. Under-eye shadows deeper. Forearms inked in blackwork he used to say wasn’t “for him.” You recognize his neck tattoo—you designed that motif. He said he’d never use it. Guess he changed his mind.

You speak, voice even, soft.

“Hope you still remember how to do ribs.”

He freezes. Literally freezes mid-stroke, like someone hit pause on a film reel.

His eyes flick up.

And when they meet yours—his stylus drops.

“...No fucking way.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Hi.”

Minho blinks. Once. Twice. Then leans back slowly in his chair, as if needing distance just to believe you're real. He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes drag down you like a scan—lips, collarbones, arms. His gaze stops right where it used to rest: the dip beneath your ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here.” You shrug, like this isn’t a slow-burn emotional arson scene. “Cover-up.”

He exhales like he got sucker punched.

You don’t say it. You don’t have to. He knows which one. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is the quiet buzz of the fluorescent light, and your pulse hammering against silence.

Minho finally breaks it, voice lower now. Raspier. Rough around the edges.

“Sit.”

You walk forward. The vinyl of the chair squeaks as you lower yourself onto it.

Minho adjusts his stool with one foot, pulling closer—close enough that your knees nearly touch. He reaches for a fresh pair of gloves and pulls them on with a muted snap.

“You still flinch?” he asks, without looking up.

“Only when it matters.”

A breath leaves him like a short laugh, disbelieving and hollow. He nods at your ribs.

“Show me.”

You tug your top up slowly. The air is cool against your skin. But his gaze is colder.

The tattoo’s still there—his lines, his shape, the intimate architecture of a design he once called a cathedral just for you. You watch his eyes trace it like he’s reading a language he forgot he wrote.

He exhales through his nose, once. Then leans in. Not touching. But close.

“Still healed well,” he mutters. “Even after everything.”

He lets out a short sound—not quite a laugh. Not quite not.

Then turns to grab his iPad.

You watch him swipe past old sketches. Lines. Shapes. A few human figures, but mostly… structures. Always structures. Stained glass, brutal staircases, the shadows between pillars. And suddenly—one design with your face sketched into the edge of a crumbling spire flashes past.

You blink.

He quickly flips to a blank layer.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, stylus in hand.

You hesitate. Then: “Something clean. Cold. Geometric. No softness.”

He looks at you. Just looks. Then tilts his head. “So the opposite of what you used to want.”

You lift a brow. “People change.”

“Do they?” He doesn’t say it like a question.

Silence. Only the soft tick of the stylus moving. Drawing. Erasing. Redrawing.

You glance over.

The lines are sharp. Intricate. Interlocking shapes—architectural, yes, but still haunting. There’s depth beneath the harshness, shadows where light should be. He’s already building something brutal.

“You always sketch this fast for clients?” you ask.

He doesn’t look up. “Only the ones who know how to bleed for it.”

Your breath stutters. He notices.

After another beat, he holds the iPad out to you, jaw tense. “You want this? Final answer.”

You study it. And it’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. The kind of piece that erases history—not by covering it, but by burying it in monument.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s perfect.”

He huffs softly. “It’s not.”

“Minho—”

“It’s not what I wanted to put here.”

The sentence hits like a quiet car crash. No screech, just impact. You say nothing. He turns away to print the stencil. You watch the lines appear on paper, black and cruel.

“This gonna take long?” you ask lightly, trying to breathe again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “It’s big.”

“Good. I’ve got time.”

He turns. Looks at you—really looks. The gloves are still on. The stencil in hand. “You sure you can lie here for hours with me that close?”

“You sure you can touch me for that long and not fall apart?”

For one suspended moment, the room goes still.

Then Minho steps forward. “Let’s find out.”

He sets the stencil aside. Pulls out the prep tray. It’s methodical—his ritual. You remember it. He moves with that same detached precision: antiseptic wipe, alcohol spray, barrier film over his tray, black nitrile gloves pulled snug with that quiet snap that used to make your stomach twist.

The scent of alcohol hits first. Then the click of the spray bottle. Then his voice—low, close. “I’m cleaning the area.”

He waits. You nod.

And then his hand—gloved, cold—presses gently at your side, just under your ribs. The contact makes your breath hitch. He feels it. “Still ticklish,” he murmurs, but there’s no amusement in it. Just memory.

His fingers move across the old tattoo and you close your eyes as he presses the stencil on.

“Hold still,” he says softly. Too softly.

You feel the pressure of his palm, the warm slide of his knuckles against your waist, the careful tension as he positions the design.

Then he pulls back. Steps away. And you exhale.

“Mirror’s there,” he says, voice neutral.

You sit up, top still raised, and step to the full-length mirror near the booth’s edge.

The stencil is stark black. Clean. Brutal. It spans from just under your chest down to your hipbone—an interlocking spiral staircase, collapsing inward on itself, surrounded by broken geometry and cathedral archways. Inside the spiral, there’s a single vacant silhouette—like a missing piece in the shape of a person.

“It’s…” you begin. But you can’t find the word.

“Empty?” he offers.

“Yeah.”

Minho shrugs slightly, adjusting the height of the chair. “You wanted cold. Unsweet. Brutal.”

You nod. “I did.”

He doesn’t move until you return to the chair and settle in again. He leans down, pulls the stool closer—so close his knee brushes yours. “Ready?”

“No.”

A pause. Then: “Good. That’s honest.”

The machine buzzes to life. He dips the needle into the ink—pitch black—and presses the foot pedal. Then the first contact hits. The sting. The bite. The sound.

Your breath stutters. His hand is firm on your waist, grounding. “Still breathe like that,” he murmurs.

“Still touch like that.”

The buzz of the machine fills the booth like static between stations.

Minho works in silence. You breathe in silence. Time stretches. His gloved hand stays steady on your waist—anchoring, professional, unyielding. But every time his fingers shift to wipe the ink, every time his forearm brushes your side, you feel something buried rattle. Like bones under floorboards.

You focus on the ceiling tiles. Count them. Try not to flinch when he drags the line near your ribcage. He’s precise. Too precise. You feel every goddamn millimeter.

And still—he says nothing. It’s been maybe an hour. Then—quietly, like a thread being tugged:

“You finish school?”

Your eyes blink open. “Yeah. A while ago.”

“Thought so,” he murmurs. “You used to study here. In this chair.”

You huff. “I used to do a lot of things in this chair.”

He pauses. Then wipes your skin with slow, deliberate pressure. “Still mouthy.”

“Still quiet.”

“One of us had to be.”

The machine hums again. You both fall silent. But the air isn’t. It hums now—charged and heavy. After another few minutes, you speak, voice softer.

“You still living above the shop?”

Minho’s hand doesn’t pause, but you hear the answer in the way he exhales. “Yeah.”

“You ever fix the leak by the kitchen window?”

“Eventually. Felix slipped on the water and broke his assbone, so…”

“Justice.”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You catch it. Pretend not to. “What about you?” he asks. “Where are you now?”

You shrug. “Seoul. Still. I work freelance—mostly visual design, some concept art stuff. Clients suck. Pay’s decent.”

“Still draw?”

“Always.”

He nods, as if that explains something only he understands.

Another beat of quiet. Then: “You tattoo now too?”

That makes you pause. “A little. Not full-time.”

“Anyone ever ink your ribs like this again?”

You meet his eyes. “No one ever touched me here again.”

That silence? Not like before. This one cracks. Minho sets the machine down slowly. Wipes the needle. Re-inks. Doesn’t speak for a full thirty seconds.

Then: “Good.”

You shift, heart thudding. “Why?”

He glances up, and for once, doesn’t look away. “Because it’s not theirs to touch.” He says it like he didn’t just lay a claim. Like it’s fact. Like it’s law.

You don’t reply. You can’t. Your ribs ache—not from the needle, but from the breath you’ve been holding since he started this goddamn piece.

Minho presses the foot pedal again.

The machine whirs to life, slicing through the silence. The black ink spreads, sharp and deliberate, marking over what was once softness.

His hand settles against your waist again. Firmer now. Less technician—more… anchor. His fingers brush under the hem of your top again. Not on purpose.

But he doesn’t apologize.

“Gonna do the lower spiral now,” he murmurs. “I need to adjust your position.”

You nod. Try to keep your voice even. “Tell me what you want.”

His gaze flicks up. Something flashes in it—heat, recognition, regret. “Lift your arm. Stretch back.”

You obey. Your back arches slightly. The angle shifts. Your shirt slides up higher. And suddenly, his breath catches. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you feel it—in the tiny hesitation between glove and skin. He moves slower now. Drapes the barrier cloth gently over your chest. Focuses on the lower edge of the design.

His hand brushes the curve of your hip. “Still got the scar,” he mutters.

“From your old chair. That screw that stuck out.”

“I told you to stop climbing into my lap during sessions.”

“I told you to fix your fucking chair.”

Another small ghost of a smile. Another memory you didn’t mean to let through. The machine buzzes. The lines go deeper now. Bolder. You wince slightly—less from pain, more from the weight of his closeness. “Hurts?” he asks, quiet. “Not as much as losing you did.”

The machine goes silent. He sets it down. Slowly. His head tilts up, eyes dark, unreadable. “You think I didn’t lose you too?”

Before you can answer—knock knock knock.

The booth door creaks open an inch, and Jisung’s head pops in. “Hey, just checking—OH.” He blinks. Stares. Feels the temperature of the room. “Never mind.”

Another head appears behind him—Chan, black tee, clipboard in hand. Owner. OG. Quiet ringleader of this whole tattoo circus.

“Minho, did you review the—” He pauses mid-sentence. Eyes shift from Minho to you. To your lifted shirt. To the way Minho’s gloved hand is hovering just above your skin.

Chan arches a brow. “...So this is happening again.”

Minho doesn’t even flinch. “Out.”

Jisung salutes. “Godspeed, soldier.”

Chan just sighs. “Try not to punch holes in the wall this time.”

The door shuts. The lock clicks. Silence again.

You exhale. “They always this nosy?”

“You always this distracting?” His voice is low now. Tight.

You blink. “Minho—”

“Lie back.”

You obey. He pulls the stool closer. Closer than necessary. Then, gloved hands on your hip, he says—quiet, slow: “I’m finishing this. Every goddamn line.”

You nod. And the machine starts again.

You lose track of time somewhere around the fifth wipe.

The sky outside is darker now. The booth hums with that post-tattoo stillness—low light, blood buzz, the deep ache under your skin like something blooming and bruised.

Minho’s working slower now. Not out of fatigue. No—he’s dragging it out. You can feel it in the way he traces your skin. The pauses. The glances.

It’s 7:23 PM.

You know this because your phone buzzes uselessly on the counter and Minho glares at it like it’s an intruder. Then again—he hasn’t looked away from you much at all.

“You’re almost done?” you ask quietly, voice hoarse from the hours of not speaking.

“Final shading,” he says, shifting. “Then bandage.”

You nod, letting your head fall back against the chair. You close your eyes.

Until—click. The door opens again.

“You better not be tattooing her feelings back on,” Jisung says, peeking in once more.

“It’s after seven,” Chan adds, stepping in behind him. “We’re leaving. You can lock up.”

Minho doesn’t even glance at them. “Bye.”

“Damn,” Jisung mutters. “I missed when you were nice.”

Chan folds his arms. “He was never nice.”

Minho wipes your side again. “Do you two need something, or are you just doing walk-in commentary now?”

“We’re giving you the key,” Chan says patiently, tossing it toward the counter. It lands with a clatter. “And also warning you: no sex on the chair.”

“Especially not that chair,” Jisung adds. “That’s the holy one. Client blood and heartbreak juice only.”

You blink up at them. “You do know I can hear you, right?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like three moans away from a confessional,” Jisung grins.

Minho’s hand tenses on your hip.

Chan gives Jisung a sharp look. “Okay, that’s enough. Let the man finish tattooing his ex.”

Minho’s voice cuts in—low, flat, and dry: “I’m raising the booth rent if you two don’t leave.”

Jisung gasps. “You can’t evict my vibe.”

“Watch me.”

With one final laugh, Chan tips an invisible hat at you. “Pleasure seeing you again. Don’t break our boy, yeah?”

You don’t respond. You just hold Minho’s gaze.

The door closes. The lock clicks again. Alone. Again.

He exhales. “They never change.”

You hum. “Neither do you.”

“Not with you.”

His hand brushes your skin again, wiping the last bit of ink away. He doesn’t move it. Just leaves it there. Warm and steady.

“I’m done.”

You nod. Slow. Dazed. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

But neither of you move.

The machine is off. The gloves are still on. His hand is still resting on your bare waist.

You watch his throat move as he swallows.

“I need to bandage it.”

You nod.

Minho finally pulls back. Peels off the gloves, slow. Tosses them into the bin with a soft crack. His hands are bare now—warmer, familiar, devastating. He reaches for the tattoo film. The kind that clings like a second skin.

“This part’ll be cold,” he murmurs.

“So were you.”

His hands pause.

Then, with infinite care, he presses the bandage to your ribs. The plastic clings, sealing the ink beneath. His fingertips ghost over your side. Flattening. Smoothing.

Too gentle.

His hand lingers a second too long on your hipbone. Then again on the edge of your waist, just under your breast. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

Neither does he.

“You’re still warm here,” he murmurs. “Still soft.”

“I never stopped being yours here,” you whisper. “Even after you let me go.”

His hand freezes.

And then—

Minho exhales. Slow. Controlled. Devastated. “Fuck,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

He looks up at you, finally. Face unreadable. But his eyes? Wrecked.

“I didn’t stop wanting you,” you say, soft. “I just stopped begging.”

And that’s when something inside him cracks. Minho drops the rest of the bandage. One hand cups your jaw. The other pulls you forward by the waist. His lips crash into yours—not neat, not planned, not patient. Just real. Messy. Hot. Familiar. Like all the years you lost were just smoke.

He tastes the same. Regret and hunger.

You kiss him back. Desperate. Needy. Home.

When he pulls away, he’s breathless. “The shop’s closed,” he says hoarsely.

“I know.”

“You’re not leaving yet.”

“I know.”

But he can't stop kissing you and his kisses leave you gasping, lips parted, your ribs burning with fresh ink and something even hotter under your skin.

But Minho doesn’t move for your mouth again.

He just looks at you. And presses the last edge of the bandage into place. Palms flat on either side of your ribs, holding it there. Holding you there.

“You need to keep this clean,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Saniderm on for at least a day. No sweat. No friction. No heat.”

You smirk. “So I shouldn’t fuck my tattoo artist, huh?”

He closes his eyes like that physically hurts. Then opens them again, and they’re darker. Gone. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”

He grabs your face and kisses you again—harder this time. His mouth is warm, demanding. He tastes like ink and restraint and the last piece of something you thought you’d never get again.

You whimper into it, fingers fisting into his hoodie, tugging him closer. He moves fast now, pulling you upright, spinning you around so your back hits the wall behind the chair.

Your top rides up, exposing your waist. His hands drag along the un-tattooed side of your ribs, his touch finally hungry.

“Minho—”

“You still talk too much.”

His hand finds your thigh, fingers digging in as he lifts you onto the edge of the chair.

“Don’t you dare come undone on this chair unless you want your name carved into it,” he growls.

“Do it,” you whisper, breath hot. “Like old times.”

He groans. Hands gripping your hips, pulling you forward against the bulge in his jeans. But even now—he's careful. His fingers skirt around the bandage. His mouth trails everywhere but the fresh ink.

“I can’t touch there,” he pants. “But everywhere else? Mine.”

He leans in—bites at your neck. Licks under your jaw. You shudder. “Mine.”

You nod, breathless. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

He groans into your skin. One hand slips under your waistband—slow, deliberate, filthy. “Keep still. You move too much, I’ll stop.”

“Minho—”

He kisses your collarbone. Soft now. “I never should’ve stopped touching you.” His voice is low, almost broken against your skin. And then his hand dips further—sliding past the waistband of your pants, then beneath your underwear. You flinch at the first brush of his fingers against your bare heat.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Already soaked?”

You moan, soft and unfiltered. “You did this.”

“Damn right I did.”

He doesn’t dive in right away.

Minho’s fingers ghost along your folds, barely there—just the suggestion of touch. Teasing, cruel, worshipful. Like he wants to remember this. Every slick, desperate twitch.

“Still so fucking warm,” he murmurs. “Still react to me like this.”

“Because I never stopped needing you.”

That does something to him. His jaw tightens. His free hand grips your thigh harder.

His fingers stroke your clit now—slow and purposeful. He still hasn’t pushed in. Just teasing, rubbing, feeling every tremble in your core.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “All this time and I still ruin you like this.”

You whimper, hips bucking up—but he presses you down against the chair again.

“What did I say?” he growls. “Keep. Fucking. Still.”

You nod, gasping. “I’m trying—fuck—Minho, please—”

He slips one finger inside. Just one. It glides in so easily, so wet, he groans low into your neck.

“Still tight,” he pants. “Still perfect.”

You clench around him and he curses, fingers curling just slightly as he begins to move.

“Say it again,” he whispers, lips dragging over your ear.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m—fuck—Minho, I’m yours—”

His second finger joins the first. Scissoring. Filling. So slow it’s maddening. His thumb circles your clit in rhythm, expertly cruel. You’re grinding against him now, trying not to cry out.

But it’s no use.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let me hear you. You think I forgot what you sound like?”

You moan—loud this time—and he smiles against your skin.

“There she is.”

His fingers curl again—deep, deliberate, cruel. You cry out, thighs trembling, body completely unhinged on his tattoo chair.

“Fuck, you’re clenching so hard,” he groans, dragging his fingers out almost entirely before plunging back in with a wet sound that makes you whimper. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp.

“How much?”

You can barely breathe. “So much—Minho—fuck—”

“That’s not good enough.”

He pumps harder. Faster. His fingers scissor deep inside you, stretching you wide while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged, jaw clenched like he's holding back a growl.

“Feel how fucking hard I am for you,” he grits, grabbing your free hand and dragging it down between you both.

Your fingers brush the bulge in his jeans and—fuck. He’s thick. Hard in a way that hurts even through the denim.

“All that from just your voice,” he rasps. “From your pussy sucking my fingers in like it still belongs to me.”

You whimper, hand tightening instinctively over his cock. He twitches under your grip.

“You’re gonna make me cum just from your fist at this rate,” he breathes, panting into your mouth. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your hips roll against his hand, the wet slap of your cunt obscene now, the squelch of each pump making your eyes roll back.

“M-Minho—can’t—too much—”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Take it. You used to take it so well.”

You cry out, grinding shamelessly against his hand, your wrist still caught against the outline of his cock. His fingers are relentless now—deep, punishing strokes that angle just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, voice hot and filthy. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Please—need to—”

“You think I’m letting you go home with anyone else’s cum in you again?” His hand grips tighter. “Nah. You’ll cum on my fingers. Then my tongue. Then my cock. One by one. Until you remember who you belong to.”

You sob into his shoulder, body locking up.

“Then cum,” he growls. “Let me feel you fucking fall apart.”

And you do. You shatter. Right there in his chair, cunt clenching around his fingers so hard he curses, hips bucking involuntarily, thighs shaking. The orgasm crashes through you like a wave that never breaks.

You’re still gasping, barely coming down, when he kisses you again—rough and breathless.

Then he pulls his hand out and brings his digits to his lips, licking his fingers clean with a sinful groan. “Still the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Minho leans in—presses a soft kiss just beneath your jaw. Then another. Then pulls back, his lips swollen and wet with you.

“Stay,” he says simply.

“Yes.”

“Upstairs.”

You nod again, dazed. He grabs a clean towel, wipes his fingers off, then flicks off the booth lights.

You stumble to your feet. He steadies you with a hand on your lower back—protective, but firm. The other hand? Already sliding down to cup the curve of your ass.

“Don’t test me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Or I’ll take you right here. Front door be damned.”

You laugh breathlessly. “You always talk this much now?”

“Only when I’m starving.”

He steps out first. Walks to the front.

The shop’s dark now—just the glow of the neon sign outside, and the sound of him flipping the lock with a click. Pulling the blinds. Turning the CLOSED sign.

The only other sound is your breath. And the creak of stairs.

Minho turns back to you. Extends his hand. “Come home.”

And you do. You follow him up the stairs—your fingers tangled in his, your heart in your throat. He pulls you behind him, not once looking back.

The upstairs apartment is dim, clean, and familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

His hoodie hits the floor first. Your shirt follows. Your bra is gone with one snap of his practiced fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathes, stepping in closer. “I’ve dreamed about this. Exactly this.”

“Then stop dreaming.”

“I’m not stopping anything tonight.”

He kisses you hard, mouths crashing, tongues tangled. His hands roam over every inch of skin he missed—the good side of your ribs, your back, your thighs. He lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist.

Your back hits the hallway wall.

Your pants are yanked down, barely a memory. His belt clinks open, jeans shoved past his hips. You’re both gasping, biting, pulling, years of silence poured into filthy, reckless touch.

“I missed your body,” he mutters into your mouth. “Missed how you sound. How you taste. How you fucking feel.”

“Then take me.”

“You think I won’t?”

He kicks the bedroom door open with one foot, lays you down onto his bed, and finally—finally—he crawls over you like you’re something holy. You are.

Minho kisses you again, slower now, lips dragging down the column of your throat. Over your collarbone. Across the top of your chest. He palms your breast—squeezes, just enough to make you gasp—and then closes his mouth over your nipple.

You arch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue over the peak before sucking hard, slow. “Still so good for me.”

Your hands knot in his hair.

He kisses across to the other one—giving it the same attention, tongue lazy, mouth open and hot. Every sound you make fuels him.

Then lower.

His mouth trails down the center of your stomach—soft kisses, open-mouthed and hot, then bites just sharp enough to leave blooming heat behind. He kneels between your legs, hands parting your thighs.

You’re soaked again. Dripping. Panties long gone.

He growls low, eyes locked to your pussy like it’s fucking divine.

“You knew this was next,” he says, voice low, hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips. “I told you.”

“Then shut up and—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Minho licks one long stripe up your slit—slow and filthy—from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. And moans. Loud.

“Still taste like a fucking fever dream.”

Your hands shoot into his hair again. “Minho—fuck—”

He flattens his tongue against your clit, then circles it. Slow, heavy pressure. Just enough to make your thighs jerk around his head. “Keep them open,” he mutters, pulling back only to kiss your inner thigh, your hipbone, your mound. “Let me see all of you.”

And then he devours.

Tongue pressed deep. Lapping. Sucking. Flicking. He eats like he missed meals for years and this is how he survives now. Your moans go from soft to broken, gasps ragged, legs shaking around his head.

“Oh my—fuck—Minho—”

He groans into you, the vibration making your hips buck. His arms wrap tighter around your thighs, holding you down, keeping you right there as his tongue circles your clit in tight, ruthless rhythm.

He sucks your clit—harder now. Lips wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling in circles so precise it feels like he mapped this out. Every flick is a promise. Every kiss, a punishment.

“Minho—fuckfuck—please—”

Your thighs tremble against his shoulders, toes curling, head thrown back into his sheets. But he’s relentless. Focused. Cruel in the way only someone who knows your body this well can be.

Then—suddenly—his tongue dips lower again.

He licks into you—deep—pressing into your entrance, slow and wet and hot.

Minho—”

He moans into your cunt, arms flexing around your thighs, nose pressed into your mound like he never wants to come up for air. He tongue-fucks you harder, the slick sounds obscene now, spit and arousal dripping down his chin.

He pulls back just enough to suck your clit again, messy and loud—then goes back down, tongue fucking you like it’s a competition. Like it’s penance. Like he’s going to draw the second orgasm out of you with his mouth alone.

“You’re close again,” he pants. “I feel it. You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak my face?”

“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles down—tongue driving in and out while he rubs tight, fast circles on your clit with his thumb. Your thighs snap around his head. You try to pull away, too sensitive, too much—

But Minho just growls, deep and possessive.

“Fucking take it.”

Fuck you do. You fucking do take it. How can you not. And you finally break apart on his face, legs locking, body spasming as that second orgasm rips through you harder, wetter, longer. He holds you through it, licking and sucking until your voice is nothing but choked whimpers and your body can’t stop twitching.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth is glossy, chin soaked.

He smirks—wild, satisfied, dark before kneeling up, grabbing a condom from the drawer, tearing it open with his teeth.

“Now I’m gonna ruin this pussy properly.”

You’re barely conscious of the way he tears the condom wrapper open—just the sound of it, sharp and needed in the haze of your wrecked body. He rolls it on quick, jaw clenched, hand pumping his cock once, twice, eyes locked on you like you’re prey he’s finally allowed to devour.

“Get on all fours.”

You try to move, limbs shaking, but he grabs your hips and flips you himself—effortless, firm, like muscle memory. You barely get your arms under you before he’s behind you, one hand gripping your ass, the other dragging along your spine.

“You remember how loud you used to get?” he mutters, voice thick. “Gonna make you scream into my fucking sheets again.”

He guides his cock to your entrance—rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, slow and teasing, soaking himself in your mess.

“Fuck—you’re dripping,” he groans. “You came so hard for my mouth, and you’re still ready for my cock?”

“Please—Minho—need it—need you—”

He sinks in. Deep. One smooth, devastating thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“Oh my fuck—”

“That’s it,” he growls, bottoming out. “Tight as ever. Like your pussy never forgot me.”

You choke on a moan as he pulls out slow—just to slam back in, harder this time. Your arms buckle, face falling into the mattress as his hips snap against your ass with punishing rhythm.

“Minho—fuck—you’re so—deep—”

“Yeah? You missed this cock?” His voice is ragged, filthy. “Tell me. Tell me who fucks you like this.”

“Only you—fuck—only you, Minho—”

“Damn right.”

He grips your hair, pulling you up by the back of your neck, arching your body so your back curves into him. His mouth is by your ear now, panting, biting.

“No one touches you here,” he growls, fucking into you harder, deeper. “Not your mouth. Not your thighs. Not your pussy. All mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours—Minho—I’m fucking yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He snarls into your neck and slams into you so deep you see stars. One of his hands slides down to your clit, rubbing fast, relentless circles while his cock drags against your g-spot.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants. “On my cock this time?”

“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

“Let go for me, baby.”

You don’t even need to try.

His thumb circles your clit with such devastating precision, and his cock hits so deep, so right, you come apart again—body locking up, mouth falling open in a moan that barely sounds like your own.

Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, sharp and overwhelming, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping him, milking him like your body knows he’s supposed to stay there.

“Fuuuuck—Minho—!”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Cum on my cock like a good girl. So fucking wet—so tight—I can feel you pulsing, fuck—”

Your vision blurs. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting through it, relentless, dragging it out with brutal pace, your pussy so sensitive now you can barely breathe. His hand’s still on your clit, rubbing slow now—just enough to make you whimper.

“Minho—please—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

He leans over your back again, teeth dragging along your shoulder, breath hot and harsh. “You gonna take it, baby,” he pants. “You’re gonna be good and take it. All of it. Until I cum too.”

You cry out when he fucks you harder, cock slamming in deep, hips slapping skin, the sound so obscene it makes your whole body flush. You feel your own slick running down your thighs, pooling under you—and still he keeps going.

“You said you were mine,” he groans. “So act like it. Let me fuck you how you need.”

“Minho—f-fuck—it’s too—too much—”

“It’s never too much,” he hisses. “Not for my good girl.”

His fingers leave your clit, only to grip your throat—lightly, possessively, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. His cock drives into you deeper from this angle, the stretch unbearable, perfect.

“You feel this?” he whispers into your ear. “You feel how hard I still am inside you? I’m not even close, baby.”

“Oh my god—”

“You’re gonna take every fucking second of it.”

You moan, broken and needy, as he slams into you again and again. His hips are ruthless now, fucking you straight through your oversensitivity, chasing his own high while demanding you keep up.

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans. “Gonna fill you up and fuck you until you can’t even stand—until all you know is my name in your throat.”

“Please—Minho—yes—yes, please—”

You feel another orgasm building and he knows it. His hand snakes down again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick tight circles just as he starts fucking you even deeper, fucking into your sweet spot with perfect, punishing rhythm.

“Cum again,” he growls. “Do it. Show me how good your pussy gets when it’s mine.”

Your legs are trembling now, slick and spent, but Minho doesn’t let up.

“C’mon,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Give it to me again. You know you can.”

His fingers never leave your clit—tight, ruthless circles in time with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. He’s fucking into you so deep you swear he’s carved out space inside you. Your body’s a live wire, too sensitive, too soaked, too close.

And then—

You break.

A cry tears out of you as your body convulses, squirting hard around him, wetness gushing as your vision whites out. He curses low and vicious, gripping your hips to ride it out, holding you through the aftershocks.

“Fuck—just like that, baby. Look at this mess. All for me.”

You’re limp, gasping, gone—and he’s still fucking you, chasing the edge with a growl in his throat. His rhythm stutters, hips snapping faster, deeper, until he finally buries himself to the hilt with a sharp gasp.

“Mine,” he groans. “Taking all of me—fuck—mine.”

You feel the shudder of him spilling into the condom, body tight, muscles locked, every filthy, pent-up second poured into you.

And then—

Silence.

Only breath. Sweat. Your heartbeat in your ears. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, chest pressed to yours, mouth by your ear and pressing soft kisses.

Then finally—slowly—he pulls out. You both shiver from the loss.

Minho moves carefully now, the storm in him simmered down to something softer, raw-edged but human. He slides off the condom, ties it off, discards it in the bin by the bed. Then he vanishes for a beat—into the bathroom maybe—but returns just as fast with a warm cloth, water, tissues.

“Easy,” he murmurs as he wipes between your legs, his touch gentle, reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

You wince slightly when the cloth brushes too close to your clit, overstimulated and twitchy. He notices immediately.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “You okay?”

You nod. Too gone to speak yet, but he sees it—your blinking gratitude, the softness returning to your breath. He kisses the inside of your knee before tossing the cloth aside.

And then he climbs back into bed, arms open. You crawl into them without hesitation. He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucks your head beneath his chin. One hand rubs slow circles into your back; the other is tangled in your hair.

For a long time, neither of you say anything. Just breath. The muted thud of his heartbeat under your ear. The faint creak of the studio pipes somewhere above.

Until you finally whisper, “Why’d we stop talking?”

His fingers still for a moment. Then resume. Slower. “I was angry,” he says. “And stupid.”

You hum. “Me too.”

He sighs. “I hated that you left without saying goodbye.”

“I hated that you let me.”

A pause.

“You came back,” he says quietly.

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

Another beat of silence, heavier now. “I never moved on,” he admits.

You look up at him, eyes glassy. “Neither did I.”

His jaw flexes. His thumb brushes your cheek. And this time, when he kisses you—it’s slow. Deep. No lust. Just longing. A kiss built on what-ifs. On might-have-beens. On maybe-again.

He whispers against your lips, “Stay the night.”

You nod, barely breathing. “Okay.”

It’s been three weeks since that night. Since Minho locked the studio door, fucked you senseless, and told you—without words—that he never stopped wanting you.

Now?

Now, your toothbrush is in his bathroom. Your sketchbook’s on his kitchen counter. Your bra’s been living on his bedpost for four days and counting.

You’re upstairs more than not—first it was overnight visits, then a drawer, then a closet, then one morning he just grunted, “Your stuff’s already here. Might as well stop pretending.”

So you stayed.

Mornings are quiet. Shared coffee in oversized mugs, his hand on your thigh while he skims client bookings. Nights are louder—sometimes it’s just TV and takeout, sometimes it’s moaning into his mouth while he fucks you over the arm of the couch, one hand tangled in your hair and the other keeping your legs spread.

Rebuilding hasn’t been linear. You argue. You remember old fights. You see old wounds still healing. But you talk now. And when you don’t have the words, he kisses the silence out of you, palms framing your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

One afternoon, Jisung barges in to drop off a delivery and freezes at the top of the stairs. You’re half-naked in one of Minho’s shirts. He’s behind you, tattoo gun still buzzing.

“Are you seriously tattooing her naked again?”

Minho doesn’t even flinch. “My apartment. My rules.”

Jisung groans. “I’m gonna start charging rent for the trauma.”

Minho just smirks, wiping your skin clean and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Close the door on your way out.”

You laugh into the sleeve of your shirt. You’re glowing. A little inked, a lot in love.

And Minho? He’s not going anywhere this time.

[novemberdrift]

𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | colby brock & sam golbach x fem reader

summary: slight enemies to lovers trope, sam/colby, and you are from kansas, and make haunted content, only difference is they blew up months before you did. you and the guys have a rocky relationship, jokingly but also not jokingly hating eachother. what happens when you both plan to film at the stanley on the same day. | a/n: hey guys, uh warning for like the beginning of smut(?) also please call me out on spelling mistakes!! also don't be shy to request jake words: 12k

"hey guys, welcome back to another video! if you saw my recent tweets, you'll know that our next series is going to be based around the stanley hotel, one of the most haunted areas in the us." you introduced the video idea. "and to make it even more special, we're going to be joined by three very special guests that you may recognize."

you pan the camera towards your three best friends. "vera, milo andd finn!"

"hi guys!" vera smiles, waving to the camera, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. her light brown hair blowing in the slight wind.

"hey whats up." milo says, putting his hand to his mouth and biting his lip, making his brother roll his eyes.

"nobody likes that." finn murmurs seriously, before chuckling. "hi fans! i've missed you guys." he makes a heart with his hands.

"cringe alerttt." milo snickers, making fun of him.

"okay, okay calm down guys, i need to explain to them what's going to happen today." you stated, setting down the camera onto a tripod, before sitting down yourself on a bench outside of target. "come sit down, i want to get a cool shot."

one by one they sit down on the bench with you, everyone squished so they could be in frame. "okay, so! i'm hoping to film the entire trip so i have a series worth of content for you guys. and i was thinking on how we should get to the stanley, like by plane or something but then i had a thought.. what if.. we did.. a roadtrip!" you announce to not just the viewers but also your friends.

"what." milo gave a disapointed look. "how long are we going to be in colorado?"

"i was thinking that we start driving there tonight, it's kinda a long drive so we'll get to colorado around 11am, and we can like chill out until we check in at stanley around 5, explore the most haunted areas, and then we can sleep for a bit and then wake up at 3am." you explain, earning a nod from the group.

"i'm thinking we only stay there overnight and then we leave in the morning around 10 or so, another 17 hours back, makes it just like two days and a half i think." you say, overexplaining the time, to make sure nobody was busy.

"what day is it today?" vera asks, looking to the two boys.

"wednesday." finn answers, giving a smile to the girl, earning a smile back.

"wait wednesday? shit i don't think i can go y/n, i have a modeling thing on sunday." milo shrugs.

"you'll be back saturday morning, though." you say, raising an eyebrow, and crossing your arms.

"i need my beauty sleep, this trip sounds exhausting, i can't come back, having a shoot with eyebags." he says, earning a scoff from finn.

"whattt." vera pouts at him. "but the ghost squad won't be the same without you! the viewers will be so upset at you."

"yeah! milo we need you to come with us, you always make for good content." you say, before giggling.

he pauses for a moment, thinking about his schedule before looking to vera. the two had a weird relationship, something along the lines of friends with benefits.

finally, he shrugs. "i guess i'll go, but i need to be back that morning, i need time to recharge." he says.

"awesome!" you smile, jumping out of your seat on the bench. you glance at finns watch. "okay so it's about 4, we need to leave around 6. so i'm thinking we get loads of snacks and some ghost type stuff here at target, get to the apartment and then we can pack like anything we need."

"fuck yeah." finn nods. "i'm down for snacks." he laughs as you jokingly pass your credit card to him.

"since i'm dragging you guys out here, the snacks and stuff is all on me so don't worry about paying."

"yoo really?" finn actually snatches your card this time, laughing mischievously.

"are drinks on you too?" vera asks, with a smug smile. "i could use some vod- i mean water." she looks into the camera directly as she corrects herself. she coughs. "water, yes water."

"i fucking love water." milo laughs, wrapping an arm around vera, making her blush.

you clear your throat, before looking to finn, and pulling him along into target. "lets go guys! we don't have much time."

the four of you grab a cart, trying to keep the camera down so an employee doesn't see and kick you out. vera suggests you getting into the cart, so you do and suddenly shes pushing you down aisles at rapid speed.

you scream at the movements. "vera! be careful!" you laugh, the boys chasing you two down.

"how will we get snacks if you two are fooling around with your shenanigans." finn comments, trying not to burst out into laughter.

"okayy, fineee." vera stops the cart, making it jolt.

"so, what snacks should we get?" you ask from inside the cart, looking at the chip selection.

"oo definitely doritos." milo reaches for them, throwing them in.

"i want ms vickies." you say, grabbing two kinds, both your favourite, and finn's.

"hmm i don't know what i want, i'm more craving licorice." she walks away into the direction of the candy aisle.

"she left us!!" you pout, encouraging finn to push the cart slowly.

as you three make it to the other aisle, you see vera with her hands full of candy. licorice, m&ms, gummy bears, popcorn and some chocolate.

"yes the m&ms!" you shout, making grabby hands towards the small package.

"i know you so well." vera snickers, chucking not one but two packages directly at you. "score!!"

"do we need any other snacks?" you wonder aloud, looking back to the guys.

"i could use a drink." milo comments, shrugging.

"to the drinks!"

everyone goes completely different in their choice of drink. you watch as finn reaches for two monster cans, vera on her tippy toes trying to grab a bottle of fresca, and milo looking at coconut milk. you scoff and roll your eyes at that.

finn notices the look and shuffles over to you, whispering behind his hand. "he's so lame."

you try not to laugh, as he's a few meters away. "i agree. i don't know what vera sees in him." you mutter back, knowing that finn has been in love with her since preschool.

you had all gone to the small school, finn meeting vera, and milo meeting you in kindergarten. because of classes you didn't really know finn until he was at vera's 6th birthday party.

and ever since you three had been the best of friends. with milo he was slightly different. it was like he was popular since the womb. he came out and immediately was the cooler sibling. it took a few more years for him to be apart of the group, only really joining because vera had a huge crush on him.

it was a weird love triangle. them being brothers and all. it was obvious milo didn't have feelings for her but he couldn't not play into it.

"i'm being serious, i can't believe she's still all over him." you say. "he treats her horribly. you really should confess." you encourage him.

"dude, i'm not ruining our 18 year long friendship just because of my dumb feelings." he sighs disappointingly.

"atleast consider it. you're perfect for her!"

"perfect for who?" both you and finn become still, eyes wide turning to the girl standing infront of them.

"perfect for selena gomez." you blurt, before whispering into her direction. "his celebrity crush." you shrug, trying to hide what was actually happening.

finn rolls his eyes, annoyed. "yeah."

"oh cool. she's hot i guess." she turns away and walks back towards milo, attempting to look over his shoulder.

"close one." you mumble.

"don't talk about this stuff around her, i can't risk her finding out." he pleads, embarrassed of the situation.

"yes, of course, sorry about that." you rub the back of your neck awkwardly before getting a drink too.

about 20 minutes later, and you're leaving target, still in the cart, packed tightly around the bags. you click the button on your key, the trunk popping out. the guys begin to pack away the bags in there, before vera takes you on one last run with the cart.

"wooooo!" you smile, feeling the cold wind hit you at your fast past. you're going so quick that you can only just make out the figures of the guys, finn with his camera out, taking a few pictures of the two of you.

after the shenanigans were over, you were driving the car back to the apartment you, vera and finn shared. you remember when vera begged you two to let milo move in as if there was room.

the apartment was bigger than an average one, but for four people, it would suck and be cramped with eachothers things.

and it wasn't like you couldn't afford a real place, because you could. your youtube channel was absolutely blowing up. you were about halfway to three million subscribers, around the same amount as your social media arch nemesis, sam and colby.

your channel and theirs have always been really close, them having no more then 10k subscribers then you at a time. it's been noticed by many fans, and earlier this year it became a competition. both yours and their fanbases have almost gone against eachother, starting a rivalry.

it was such a serious thing to their fans that they would leave hate comments on most of your videos. you tried not to let it get to you, and you made sure to only take them as jokes.

you honestly felt a bit betrayed by sam and colby as a creator. you thought they would've spoken up about the real threats, but they chose to leave it unnoticed, leave their fans spewing hate.

infact one time they even made a passive aggressive dig towards you in their haunted series a few months ago. colby said something along the lines of how they would always be better and he made a joke about sexism, that womens youtube content could never be as good as a mans. he clearly said it was a joke, but who jokes about that stuff?

and that's when you really declared war. if they wanted to be assholes, they would get treated as such. you ended up blocking him on instagram so you’d stop getting tagged in stuff with him.

you sighed, walking through the door behind everyone else, going to your room to pack a few clothing items. you turned the camera back on, setting it on the side table. "hey guys, just an update, we are now each packing our bags, and hopefully we will leave within the hour! hmm i think i'm gonna post the picture finn took in the parking lot for you guys."

you go onto your phone and post a picture on instagram. this was something you would do often to interact with fans.

you would post a picture while filming, and reply to a few comments on the video.

@y/nslittleworld

Liked by verakeys, finnsphotography, tarayummy and 310k others. y/nslittleworld: this is how we're getting to colorado, by cart view all 4,381 comments.. verakeys: when i was pushing you inside the store i was so scared of an employee 😭 finnsphotography: pretty tarayummy: you guys r so hot!! brennen: pls answer my dms | y/nslittleworld: brennen for the last time i won’t be your girlfriend

y/nsbiggestfan12: she posted!!, new lock screen check! | y/nslittleworld: you’re adorable <3 i love my fans

team_y/n776: team y/n! she's so pretty!! | team_colby_brock: no she's not 💀she looks basic view 109 comments..

you giggled at your comment to brennen. it's a running joke on both of your channels that brennen has a major crush on you.

"oh god." you put a hand to your mouth, looking at all the replies arguing about which youtube channel is better. you hated how seriously all of this has become, you never wanted this many people hating on you on the internet but it seems like it was practically inevitable.

hearing a light knock on your door, you spotted milo looking at you. "hey just to let you know we're ready and waiting."

"alright, i'm coming."

the roadtrip was long, uncomfortable and almost unbearable. you were only two hours in and you were tired. since you planned this, everyone demanded you drive, atleast until you get too tired. finn offered to take turns with you. "hey vera, can you pass me that five hour energy shot?"

she chuckled, passing it to the front.

the car you had was very large, it was like a family van. you bought it, knowing you'd need space for camera equipment, and people since you were a youtuber. the seats were down in the back, creating a bed like base. was it a little unsafe? possibly, but you were a very good driver so you were confident it'd be fine.

finn opened the bottle for you, and you took it, chugging the container in a few seconds. before making a screeching sound. "yuck."

as he put his hand up to move his hair out of his face, milo started talking. "so like, what's so scary about this place?"

"oh i have tons of stories." you chuckle, gesturing for finn to grab the camera and place it on the dashboard. "hey guys! we're about two hours into the drive, and i think it's a good time to share why the stanley is so haunted." you smile.

"me and y/n did a lot of research and took some notes." finn shows the paper he's holding. "because she's driving i'm going to do most of the explanation this time."

he places the paper infront of him. "okay so first." he looks back to his brother. "ya'know the shining? like the movie."

"uhh yeah i think so." he shrugs. "why?"

"well the shining was created by stephen king, and it's based on a dream he had while staying here." "he had crazy dreams and feelings from the hotel. there's many different spirits that reside there."

"yeah like room 217, the most haunted room in the hotel. it's haunted by a spirit named elizabeth wilson, she was the hotels head housekeeper and didn't die in the room, but got injured during a storm in 1911, and now she chooses that room to stay in." you pip in, while turning.

"there's the vortex, which as you all know." finn looks to the camera. "is those mirrors facing eachother, creating a kind of portal, or 'rapid transit system' he repeats from his notes.

"also the concert hall." he continues. "if you watched our video from last year, you'll know we did a throughout investigation in the concert hall, where a young spirit called lucy lives. she basically froze to death outside after getting kicked out by janitors in super cold weather."

"i really recommend you guys go check out our first video about the stanley, because we give tons more information about the hauntings." vera says to the camera.

"i'm thirsty." milo groans.

the group laughs at him, you grabbing the camera and turning it off. finn throws a waterbottle into the back, not looking. it ends up hitting milos face, earning a scoff. "watch where you're throwing things."

finn just rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh. "sorry brother."

you chuckle at the sibling behaviour, before sighing looking out ahead at the road. "this is so tedious." you yawn.

finn laughed, before asking if you were okay to drive. "yeah, i'm okay. you guys should try and get some sleep! i'll pull over and wake finn up when i need to switch. but for now, really get some z's."

"you don't have to tell me twice!" vera announces, sinking into her blanket.

"i won't purposely try and fall asleep but if i do, wake me up the second you need to okay?" finn said, earning a nodd from you.

as the sun set fully, the dark began to set in. it was honestly pretty nice. there were no cars on the road, and occasionally anytime they went through a town there would be plenty of lights. it felt calm, rather than scary.

you felt like you were preparing yourself for the stanley. you had been once before, about a year and a half ago with just vera and finn, and your experience was crazy. so many noises, feelings, stuff moving around.

you loved the paranormal so even though places were crazy, it was fun. you were nervous about milo coming, knowing he didn't believe in ghosts, and from previous experiences in videos. you were scared about him disrespecting whatever was in the hotel.

you just hoped he'd be respectful, because this kind of stuff hit you hard. you've had tons of paranormal experiences ever since you were a kid.

you yawned, keeping your eyes on the road.

suddenly the car was lit up, you glanced down to your phone that was sitting in the cup holder. you had an instagram notification from tara, one of your youtuber mutuals.

you wouldn't exactly consider her a close friend, but you've gone to tons of partys with her. because of tara, you had met jake who was friends with sam and colby.

you actually really liked tara and jake, they were cool and really nice. you slowed the car down, pulling onto the side of the road to look at the notification.

she had messaged you a longish message.

tarayummy: hey girl, just wanted to ask if you knew that jake and the guys are going to the stanley tomorrow? i saw your tweet about going and wanted to warn you

y/nslittleworld: oh shit what? did they say that publicly? i had no idea they'd be there

you began to panic, you were clueless about the guys coming to the stanley hotel. what if they think you copied them?

tarayummy: no they haven't told their fans yet, jake saw your tweet and told them about you being there, so i thought it was fair i did the same

y/nslittleworld: thanks for the heads up! i'm about to start driving so i'll talk to you later :)

tarayummy: okok, have a good trip

about 4 hours later, you had to quit. your eyes watering from how bad you needed to sleep. you gave finn a nudge, and pulled over.

thankfully he was happy to help, and told you to rest while he drove. you were out like a light in seconds.

you woke up much later than you thought, it being around 7 in the morning. you stretched out, eyes opening to the bright sunlight hitting the car. yawning, you turned to finn, who was slumped into an uncomfortable position, driving the car.

"hey." you smiled, rubbing your eyes. "need me to take over? i didn't mean to sleep that long." you chuckle.

"no it's okay, i've got this." he said back, taking a sip of his monster.

"okay well, don't be too stubborn, let me know when you need to switch again."

he nodded.

"where are we?" vera asks, her voice raspy from waking up. with her arms over her head, she stretched, and cracked her back.

finn yawns. "close to colorado, we're in utah right now. about an hour till we're in colo, but 6 i think until we get to our hotel."

she groans. "we're so far away." "guys i have an announcement." you say, frowning. "sam and colby.. they're filming at the stanley today too."

"sam and colby?!" vera peeks up. "okay, okay i know this is bad for you but oh my god we're going to meet sam and colby." you and finn looked to her with confused faces.

"since when were you 9 years old." you say, rolling your eyes at her fangirling. this was your borderline competition, she can't be excited about the enemy.

"for real." finn adds, continuing to drive.

hours later, you four realized you were an hour behind schedule so you just decided to check into the stanley hotel early. you had room 217 and 401 reserved, luckily.

you wondered where sam and colby were staying.

you carried two bags into the main room you wanted to stay in, which was 217. "guys, hurry up." you rushed them, waiting for them to follow you.

finn nodded, grabbing his and veras bags, her and milo following close behind. "i'm excited." finn states.

"me too actually, last time it was crazy! i'm excited to see what happens." vera smiles to him.

"this camera equipment is so heavy." slowly one of the bags starts to fall from your grip.

"i got it." milo rushes to your side, grabbing the bag. he smirks, now hip to hip with you. you smiled back awkwardly.

you weren't the biggest fan of milo for multiple reasons. the way he treated vera, and what he does behind her back. like smirk, wink and touch your shoulder unwantedly. it made you uncomfortable everytime but you brushed it off as just his cocky flirty personality.

"this is our door!" you call out, setting the bag down temporarily to unlock the door with the key. milo pushes open the door, holding it open for you.

everyone shuffles in and puts their bags down onto the floor. "okay." you sigh, relieved.

"now what do we do?" vera asked, looking around before jumping on the bed. "woo!"

"i'm thinking change, and we go check out the bar, maybe get something to drink and eat?" you offer up earning nods from the group.

"yes please." finn moans at the thought of food.

as you four make your way downstairs, you start to hear loud male voices. you pause, holding your arm out so nobody comes down. you listen, hearing jakes voice.

"sam, colby, jake and corey are at the front desk." you whisper.

"be non chalant." milo shrugs, walking infront. you all follow him down the stairs, like he was a bodyguard.

you adjust your tank top, pulling it up, and uncreasing your baggy jeans.

immediately you see the four guys, standing and talking to the camera. jake notices you first, eyes widening before waving. his wave got the attention of the rest of the group and they turned to see you four walking to the bar.

the four guys were looking at your group.

you accidentally lock eyes with colby, before his trail down, clearly checking out you. eventually you're walking out of sight and his eyes follow you. "i can't believe she's here on the same day we are." he mumbles.

sam took a step away from the group, glancing towards the bar. there you were, giggling with your friends, sipping a drink. even though your fanbases rivaled, he was a huge fan of your channel, and loved your content.

"i know, it's crazy. what are the odds?" he chuckles, sending a polite smile your way when you notice him staring. 'odd' you think to yourself.

"what if we did a video with them." he suggested.

"dude that would be sick if we teamed up." jake agreed with the other.

colby stared at them with wide eyes, wondering what the fuck they were thinking. "guys, no fucking way." he said. "sam what has gotten into you. don't you remember that she hates us? and vice versa."

"she's not even that bad, all she did was block you on instagram." he shrugged.

"what did you do brother." corey shakes his head in disappointment.

"all i did was make a dumb joke last year, and she blocked me." colby shrugged, frustrated.

"that's such a half truth." jake called him out. "you literally made a sexist joke towards her and didn't apologize, and your fans sent her death threats and you didn't do anything about it."

sam and colby looked to eachother, not even knowing about the hate messages you were receiving because of them. "shit really?"

"there's no way you didn't know. her instagram dms, comments, youtube comments are full with hate from toxic fans." jake pushed.

"i really didn't know." sam said, putting his hands up, grimancing. "i should go over there and apologize." he began to walk towards the bar before colby grabbed and pulled him back by his arm.

"dude no, that's so embarrassing." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "besides, she's being dramatic over a dumb, obvious joke i made." colby tried to explain what he thought was right. "i didn't do a single thing to upset her, it was a joke." he defended.

"what is up with you." sam shakes his head, not recognizing his best friend. he sounded like an asshole, and he couldn't figure out why.

while in reality, colby was just embarrassed for making such an ignorant joke... an ignorant joke to someone he actually looked up to. both sam and colby had been privately watching your videos, honestly getting inspired to make their own content.

"yo, are you guys good to check in? i might go say hi to y/n." jake said, ignoring colby's eyes.

"actually can i come too? i'd like to meet her, and apologize." sam asked.

"i feel left out, i want to meet her too." corey said.

"okay, we're going to y/n, you can come if you want i guess." jake says towards colby, before they began to walk away.

"yo, y/n!" jake called out, walking in your direction. you turned, just expecting jake, shocked to see corey and sam following behind him.

"hey jake!" you smiled, hopping off the barstool to hug him. "i've missed you, it's been awhile." you sayy, sitting back down, before hesitantly looking to the other guys.

finn looked up from his phone, seeing them surround your area. he made sure to keep an eye out for you while vera and milo were drinking a few chairs down.

"it really has." he sat down on the chair next to you. "this is uh sam and corey." he gestures towards them.

"oh hi, what's up." you sit their awkwardly, doing the so called white person face out of awkwardness.

"hey, i'm corey." he holds out his hand, you give it a little shake.

"good to meet you." you smile, sensing his chill personality. you are then met with sam, him standing there awkwardly, trying to figure out a way to apologize to you.

you being socially awkward and hating the silence, speak first. "it's uh cool to finally meet you." you nod, avoiding eye contact with him, not sure on how he's feeling about the situation.

"it's awesome to meet you too, i'm a fan of your content." he smiles, making you surprised and flustered, not expecting that.

"wow really?" you giggle. "i could say the same thing about your channel." you take notice of one boy missing and glance around. he notices your wandering eyes.

"colby's uh.." sam trailed off, looking to the check in desk, before realizing he wasn't there. he felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped back, before realizing said boy was right behind him. "right here i guess." he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"we were just looking for you brother." corey says, grabbing his shoulder.

"i uh put the bags in the room, it's a pretty nice room actually." he says to his group, trying to not even look in the direction of you. you notice the behavior and spin the stool around, to talk to finn about exploring.

you hear the guys murmur, not exactly sure what they're saying until you hear a groan and a sigh.

"yeah i'm thinking we take a look around at the hotel right now while it's light out, and visit our other room." finn said, taking out a map of the hotel, since it's been awhile.

"i agree, sounds like a great idea." you nod.

"hey y/n." a voice says from behind you. you turn to see sam again. "would you be down to do a collab or something for atleast a part of both yours and our series?"

hesitantly, you pause, looking towards finn. "what do you think?" you give him a confused face, so he's aware you're not sure of the idea.

he also makes a face.

sam clears his throat. "it's totally okay if not, no pressure." he smiles.

you nod slowly. "i guess we could." you shrug, sipping more of your drink. "what do you have in mind?" out of the corner of your eye you see vera and milo make their way towards you, the latter glaring at the guys infront of you.

"what's going on here?" he asks, leaning on the bar.

"oh hey. this is sam." you introduce him, them shaking hands, milo's cleary very stiff. "he want's to do a collab with my channel."

he raises an eyebrow. "anyways, we're doing a seance later, so i thought maybe if you and your friends wanted to join it?”

you sigh. “i dont know, seances are very powerful and not to be disrespected. i would only agree if you guys were doing it properly, no jokes, no mocking.” you said seriously.

“i mean we can try our best, but when we’re scared we tend to joke a bit, im sure we could take it more seriously.”

“i.. i don’t know.”

“here well i’ll give you my number just incase you change your mind.” he smiles towards you. you nod your head, handing him your phone.

he gives it back and you slide it into your pocket. “hopefully i’ll see you later.” he looks proud of himself as he walks away to the guys. jake waves to you, before they’re out of eyesight, probably going to explore.

you blush slightly at his kindness. before finn nudges you with his elbow and raises his eyebrow.

“what was that about? why are you blushing.” he interrogates you, making you blush more.

“he’s cute.” you shrug, trying to lessen your large smile. “and he just exchanged numbers with me.”

everyone decides to finish their drinks before they go anywhere. you were pretty surprised and happy about the events of a few moments ago.

you had been trying to squash whatever was previously between you, sam and colby, so this was a good start. you were pretty flustered when vera and milo started asking about the blush on your cheeks.

sam on the other hand, when his friends, mainly jake questioned him about you, he was holding himself together, not showing any weakness. “what are you guys talking about.” he shakes his head at the claims of him liking you.

“that was so flirty of you brother.” corey points out, smirking at him.

“are you guys gonna bone.” jake jokes, making a weird voice.

“ew, dont say that.” “thats weird.” sam says, shaking his head once more.

“she is pretty hot.” colby comments, looking at her as he walks away.

“colbyyy.” corey calls out at him. “don’t be a weirdo, bro.”

sam huffed at his friends childish behaviour, but to be fair if the roles were switched he would probably tease them about it too.

if he was being honest, you were really cute, and he loved your personality. every video you’ve made, he’s watched and not just watched, enjoyed.

he’s wasn’t following you on any socials, but he always checked up on them every week or so. he was well aware of your fanbases rivalling, and he was obviously there when colby made the comment about you and he remembers in a video of yours when you said that you disliked the duo.

after hearing that and seeing you block colby, he assumed you wouldn’t want him following you either.

but after what jake said, he realized how shitty him and colby had been. he couldnt believe all the hate you were getting on twitter. when jake showed him, his mouth was wide open, shocked at how horrible their fans were being to you.

the worst hate comment he had gotten from this whole situation was a few of your fans saying you were better then him. and he was used to comments like that from the traphouses prank war.

he felt horrible, and wanted to apologize, but he felt weird doing it with everyone around him which is why he wanted to see you again, so he could say sorry in a private setting.

and he did have to admit, that he just wanted to talk and see you again too. he definitely had a crush on you, and has had one for atleast a year now.

your style, your personality it was just above and beyond what he was attracted to. one problem.. he could tell colby thought the same as him.

the boy would never admit this, but sam remembered one time a few months ago where he came over, and saw you on colby’s tv screen. he had been binging your channel on a thursday night.

it was clear he liked your videos, and content because a week after you uploaded a video, he copied the point of it and did his own verison.

sam encouraged him to apologize or talk to you but he was being too arrogant and full of himself. he didnt want to seem like he was in the wrong, even if he was. (which he knew he was)

“so you invited her to the seance?” colby asked, as they walked around outside.

“yeah, she said she’ll think about it.” sam replied.

“i hope she does, she seems cool, id like to get to know her.” corey said, genuinely liking your clothing style and hair. he thought it made you unique, and in the best way possible.

“her group is also going to explore soon so we might see them around.” sam added.

“great.” colby rolled his eyes.

“brother, if you just apologize, it’ll be fine. y/n is so forgiving. trust me, before i knew her i spilt my drink all over her outfit at a party. she was so cool about it.” jake said, trying to explain how chill you were.

“it’s not that easy.” he scoffed, frustrated at this dumb feud he caused between the two of you. but to be fair, he still thought you were too dramatic about it.

“whatever colby.” sam shrugged, before pulling out his camera and updating the viewers about the concert hall they were going to explore.

you, and the three others finished what you were doing at the bar, and headed back to your room to unpack a few items, mainly stuff to film with and use.

you had the spirit box in hand. you were really excited to use the estes method, because you hadn’t tried it before, and finding out it was invented here at the stanley was crazy.

finn grabbed the emf reader and walked with it around the room. it blinked to the first level before staying grey. “mm nothings showing up, we’ll definitely retry it later.” he says to the camera.

"the emf is one of my favourite devices, it'll either be neutral or just going off like fucking crazy." vera says, scrolling on her phone. "oh also y/n, you're trending on twitter." she says carelessly.

"what?!" you exclaim rushing over. trending on twitter was almost always a bad thing so you panicked as you pulled the phone from her.

you read the headline. "famous youtuber, y/n photographed in etes park, colorado by fan." "huh." you scroll under #y/n, and see a picture of yourself at a gas station you stopped at on the way.

"that's not creepy at all." finn murmurs.

"yeah like what the hell, the fan didn't even come say hi or ask for an actual picture." vera says, with a slightly disgusted face.

"maybe they were just nervous." you shrug. "thank god i'm not cancelled or something." you chuckle, anxiously.

"what would you even be cancelled for? being too nice?" milo gave a rhetorical question, making vera laugh.

"no really though, what would i get cancelled for." you thought aloud.

"definitely murdering someone." finn replied, before snickering. "you scare me when you're angry."

"heyy, i'm not that bad." you said, rolling your eyes.

"you threw a book at me when i didn't do the dishes!"

"it was your turn! you are supposed to do the dishes once a week! once! i do it five times a week! they were there for 2 fucking days!" you shout, jokingly frustrated.

"i forgot!" he defends, chuckling to the camera. "this is what i go through on a daily guys." he says for sympathy points to the viewers.

"should we start exploring?" you ask.

"hell yeah." vera grins, putting on a sweater.

"okay guys." finn hands the camera to you. "we are now going to the other room we reserved, room 401 and hopefully we'll hear children laughing."

it had been about thirty minutes, you holding the emf reader, slowly walking around the room and asking questions. vera was looking out the window, spotting the guys from earlier, milo was watching you with the emf, curious on how it worked, and finn was editing a video you had filmed a few days ago.

nothing had been happening, so everyone was just relaxing.

but suddenly, the emf reader went to orange, you dropped it out of fright, everyone looking at the device going off. "holy shit." you mutter.

"is there someone in this room with us?" finn asks, looking up from the laptop.

the emf went green, before boosting up to orange again.

milo's eyes widened. "woah."

"are you a child?" the question made the device turn off.

"are you a maid? or one of the-" it shot back to orange.

"this has never happened before." you say to the camera. "this has been the only time that the emf and the questions have been spot on."

it was about 30 minutes later, and you were leaving the room by yourself. everyone was a bit tired as well as bored, and decided to chill out. it was about 8 now, and you checked your phone as you were walking around the hotel.

you realized sam had messaged you a few minutes ago.

sam from the bar: "hey! just checking in. if you're free, us four are about to go into the concert hall if you and your friends want to join."

sam had been waiting for a reply, looking at his phone every few seconds, before sighing and putting it down. just as he was walking into the doors with colby, corey and jake, his phone vibrated. "guys wait!" he called out.

y/n: hey! i'm totally down :) the rest of the crew is napping in our second room rn so it would just be me, is that cool?

you didn't have to wait for a reply, him texting back immediately.

sam from the bar: yeah that's awesome, we'll wait for you outside the hall

you began your walk outside, quickly realizing you should've brought a sweater, the wind nipping at your exposed shoulders and neck. you saw them in the distance and waved.

sam took notice of you, and smiled at your gesture, before waving back. he saw you were still wearing the clothes from earlier, and realized how could you must be. in this moment he wished he would've worn a sweater he could give to you.

he saw a smirk on colbys face as you made your way over, and scoffed quietly.

"hey y/n!" you heard from sam. you quickly rushed over and you stood infront of him.

"hey sam!" you gave him a light side hug, before looking to the others. "so, are you guys ready to meet lucy?"

"no." corey fake cries.

as you begin to walk in, you trip up the stairs, colby snickering, before making a comment. "watch where you're walking princess." he rolls his eyes, stepping by you.

sam holds his hand out for you, helping you up before giving colby a face, as if to ask why he was still being a dick.

you tried to ignore him, and turned your flash on, looking around the concert hall. it was pitch black, and looked very creepy, everything neutral and dead looking colours.

colby and corey pointed out the mirror that had pictures taken in it, before a loud bang was heard. "what was that." jake turned to the area, before corey discovered a picture he took with a streak down the middle.

"that looks like a face almost." colby said.

"to me it just looks like something to do with the mirror, and the flash." you shrug, getting an annoyed face from the boy.

corey started taking more pictures, and a light turned off in the other room, getting colby's attention. everyone stood still, facing the room. "i have a horrible feeling about that room." he said.

in a few seconds everyone was running out of the building, from a picture that showed lucy peeking around a piece of furniture. sam looked at you before going back into that room with corey, trying to figure out what the shadow could have been.

you, colby and jake were sitting in the other room, jake distracted on his phone. you clearly caught colby checking you out, him watching you carefully.

"so where's your crew?" he asked, with a odd tone of voice.

"they are napping and relaxing in our room." you said, short and plain, avoiding eye contact with him.

"cool." he was mentally slapping himself. he had no idea how to start a conversation with someone, especially someone that he had offended. "are you dating that kid? the one with the dark brown hair?"

you raised an eyebrow. "that's not really your business, but no i'm not. he's my best friend. also his name's finn."

"he looks like a nerd." he points out, trying to joke, but only making you more uncomfortable. "that other guy though, looks like an asshole."

"he is. and that's milo." colby sees your face as you talk about him, making him curious. he watches as you shiver from the cold, and he sighs, taking off his sweater.

"you're so unprepared." he chucks his sweater in your direction, it hitting your eye. you wince, before scoffing.

"what the fuck." you mutter, rubbing it until the pain lessens.

"cmon princess, lighten up." he hums, finding amusement out of your annoyed face. he could tell you were getting more and more pissed off. "if you were smarter, maybe you would've worn a sweater."

"i'm not taking your dirty ass sweater." you throw it back at him, it practically slapping him.

he shrugs, seeing you shiver once more. "your loss."

as soon as corey and sam rush out of the back room, colby shuffles away from you, pretending to be on his phone.

"we need to leave." corey says, eyes watering. you all follow him outside, and look at the pictures he's been taking.

"jesus." you mutter.

sam stands right next to you, his arm touching yours. you visibly blush at the action, and take a small step away when colby starts watching you. "this is crazy." sam states, zooming into the picture.

"lucy is definitely calling you guys pussies." jake jokes, making you laugh.

corey refuses to go back in and eventually convinces the rest of the guys to go back to their hotel room. you agree, thanking them for inviting you.

as the others leave, sam stays behind a second. "you're really cool." he comments.

you gush at that, and giggle, trying to stop the red coming to your face. "thank you, you're cool too, i look forward to the seance, which i've decided to join."

sam grins. "awesome! we'll do it around 3am if thats okay with your guys."

"that's fine with them." you say, looking into his bright blue eyes. "you're a lot nicer than i thought."

"vice versa, you're so much more chill then i imagined."

"you imagined meeting me?" you say, jokingly pouting before laughing.

"i actually have, pretty big fan right here." he plays into the joke. it's silent for a few seconds, just the two of you looking at eachother.

sam tried to keep himself from looking at your body, finding it disrespectful since he just met you, but his eyes wandered slightly, the outfit you were wearing attracting him. the way it hugged your curves, it made him drool.

"you're really pretty." he huffs, slightly frustrated at how attractive you were.

you're absolutely stunned hearing that, your face clearly showing you were giddy. you knew both of you had been sharing little touches since you met, and been flirting very slightly but you didn't actually think anything would come from it.

"you are too, sam. you're pretty." you say back, making him smile.

"can i kiss your cheek?" he asks. your smile is unbearably large, it starting to hurt.

"yes, you may." right as you say that, he kisses your left cheek, his hand lightly hovering around your waist. his lips were on your face, so close to your own.

you were never one for kissing on a first date, so only just meeting this guy, talking to him a few times and letting him kiss your cheek was crazy.

you honestly wished he would've asked for a real kiss. you definitely would've said yes. his lips leave you, his breath hitting your neck. "i think-"

right as he began to talk, a loud shout came from a window on the top floor. "sam, hurry the fuck up!" colby yells, smirking. it was like he was watching for the correct moment, wanting to interrupt.

sam sighs, his head dipping. "i'm sorry, i have to go." he rubs the back of his neck anxiously.

"it's okay." you say, still smiley. "thank you for the kiss." you look back up at colby and you can see him still looking. you propped yourself up on your tippy toes and gave him a quick kiss, before walking into the hotel, him following slowly.

he didn't know why but he was obsessed with you, watching from the window. he couldn't take his eyes off of you. and when he saw you kissing his best friend, he felt irritated. (from his angle it looked like you were actually kissing sam)

he honestly felt like some kind of stalker. he sighed, from the window, shaking his head. you were making him crazy.

as you got back to your room, you saw your friends asleep. milo and vera were on either side of the bed, and finn was sleeping on a foot rest. you grimanced at that, and woke him up. "dude, that cannot be comfortable." you laugh quietly.

he groaned. "it's not. this sucks." he looks over to vera, sleeping peacefully.

"wanna go to the other room?" you ask, he nods.

both you and finn walk to the other room. you both moan once you lay on the bed. it was so uncomfortable after standing and walking around the entire time. "god this is the comfiest bed." you say, stretching your arms.

"i agree." "so how was the concert hall?"

you blush, remembering what happened. "sam kissed my cheek." you whisper, him getting up and looking at you.

"no way! really?" he smiles for you, happy that you're finally having a chance at a relationship.

"it was so.. ahhhh." you can't even finish talking, before you throw yourself into a pillow, screaming into it.

"also at 3am they want to do the seance." you said, letting him know. he nodded and continued to lay down.

you quickly both fell asleep, sleeping peacefully. however you slept a lot longer then you anticipated. when your first alarm went off, you were shocked.

you had set a 2am alarm, so you could be ready for 3.

you didn't think you were that tired to nap for a few hours. you threw the blanket off of you and quickly realized finn was sound asleep next to you. you rushed to turn off your alarm, and once you did you watched him snore for a few seconds.

glad that he was still asleep, you got up and dug through your duffle bag, looking for something else to wear. you quickly changed into black baggy jeans, and a white tee. you grabbed finns sweater and put it on as your teeth began to chatter.

you were annoyed at yourself for forgetting a sweater, something you wore almost everyday. bored of waiting for the time to pass, you decided to take a walk around the hotel again.

as you're walking down the stairs, you hear a few children laughing. you jolt to look behind you, seeing nothing there. maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

continuing your stroll, you see the bar closed, a few benches scattered around second floor. about to go sit, you see colby walking in your direction. "hey princess. didn't expect to see you here." he has that smug smile still on his face.

you, not wanting to deal with his arrogance turn away from him, and go sit on the bench. he follows, sitting next to you. "what? am i disturbing your 'me time'."

"yes, actually you are." you snap at him. you hated when people purposely tried to push your buttons. "i'm not in the mood for whatever you're trying to do." you sigh.

"i'm not trying to do anything, i'm just talking." he shrugs, noticing your sweater. he remembers seeing finn wear that earlier at the bar. "are you sure you're not dating your friend." he pinchs at the hoodie.

you pull your arm back away from him. "i didn't bring a sweater and i'm freezing. i already told you we were just friends."

"so you're single?"

you pause, thinking. maybe if you said you were taken, he would leave you alone. "i didn't say that."

colby raised his eyebrow. "so you're telling me your in a relationship but kissing my best friend?"

closing your eyes, you scoff. "can you just leave me alone. i don't understand why you hate me, and like i said, i don't want to deal with your bullshit."

he stops, genuinely feeling a bit bad. "i don't hate you." he says lowly, looking around the lobby.

you turn to him. "sure." you scoff. "first you make an asshole comment towards me, basically bringing down everything i've worked for, making it seem like nothing, then you and sam let your fans attack me, now when i actually meet you, hoping to squash whatever this is, you're being an asshole to me." standing up to walk away, he pulls you back.

"i don't hate you." he reassures, holding a tight grasp onto your arm. he looks into your eyes, with such a sincere emotion on his face.

you shake your head. "then why are you such a dick?"

"because i'm an idiot. okay y/n? i'm a fucking idiot. your channel, you, are so inspiring, and i'm intimidated by you. the fact our subscribers are so close, and your fans are loyal to you, it intimidates me.

he grates his teeth together. "because i know that you're going to beat us, and that our fans are going to like you better. because you're such a genuinely cool person."

"i made a dumb joke, and didn't want to admit i was wrong..." he trails off. "so.." "so i'm sorry." he finally apologizes. your eyes are almost watering from how deep that apology was.

"and.. i think i like you." he adds, his hand moving from your arm, lower to your wrist.

your mind was running a thousand miles a second. not even a few minutes ago this guy was teasing you, and you hated him for it. now he was confessing that he was in the wrong, and likes you.

what were you going to do? there was sam, a kind, cute and gentle guy, taking his time to get to know you, and then there was colby. an edgy, incredibly attractive, deep but bold guy.

you were leaning towards sam, he has been kind to you since the beginning.

but quickly, you weren't left with a choice in the matter. colby put his hand on your back, and pulled you into him, his lips touching yours.

you were about to pull away, but something about the scenario made you stay. kissing him back, you couldn't help but be attracted to him. he was bold, and dominant. it was obvious from the way he was kissing you, completely overpowering your mouth.

eventually you get ahold of yourself, and push him back, hands staying on his chest. "colby.."

"shit i'm sorry y/n." he pulls away, turning his back to you. "fuck." he mutters. "i'm sorry, i don't know what came over me." suddenly the tension in the air pauses, as his phone rings. he reads the contact.

"sam." he mumbles, before answering.

you sit there, listening, feeling guilty. you had no commitment towards the other boy, but god did you feel bad, like you had cheated on a partner.

"hey colby, where are you?" his voice comes through the phone.

"i'm just in the lobby."

"why are you in the lobby?" he asks, confused.

"i was just taking a walk since i woke up early. i've been reading a magazine down here." he looks to you as he lies to sam.

"oh, okay. well it's about to be three, so i'm gonna message y/n and invite them over to do the seance." you panic, looking to colby before running upstairs, to hurry and get to your room. he frowned, watching you leave.

you got to your room, opening and closing the door quickly. finn sat awake on the bed. "where have you been?" he saw the panic in your eyes. "y/n are you okay?" he gets over to you and looks at your face.

"colby kissed me.. and i kissed him back." your breath got shallow, and it felt hard to breathe. your chest was going up and down frantically.

finn knew you had anxiety, and he had dealt with attacks like this before. he ushered you onto the bed, and held your hand. "hey y/n it's okay." he rubbed your back gently.

as you breathing got back to normal you gave finn a large hug. "what do i do."

"what you want." he answers. "you owe nothing to either of them so, plus why are you trying to make up your mind right now? you just met them, silly." he continues to rub your back.

"okay." you breath, before a knock at the door makes you jolt. you check your phone seeing two messages from sam.

sam from the bar: hey, we're going to set up the seance soon sam from the bar: i'm gonna come to your room if that's okay

finn decided to answer the door for you, only having it slightly open. he saw sam standing there awkwardly. "hey man." he greeted him. "we're just getting ready."

sam nods. "alright, i'll wait here for you guys."

finn shut the door, asking if you were okay, you nodded. he noticed his sweater was on you, before rolling his eyes. he got dressed, and called vera.

she said she would meet at sam's room in the next 15 minutes.

you said hi to sam as you opened the door, and he started to talk to you about what was going to happen during the seance. finn was right behind you, listening to his explanation.

you saw vera and milo standing outside their door, vera in her pajamas, while milo was wearing a tank top and cargo shorts.

they waved at you and finn, vera giving you a hug. "i'm so ready for this." she says, excitedly.

"i know right." finn adds, earning a smile from her. milo just shrugs, still tired.

you walk into their room, immediately seeing colby sitting on the bed looking at his phone. right as he sees you he puts it away and looks at you to see what you're thinking.

you take a deep breath and start chatting to corey and jake about how they were feeling towards the seance. you glanced towards colby, seeing him whisper to sam before he pulled him out of the room.

you tried to stay calm about it, hoping the situation was unrelated to you.

colby stood a few feet away from sam, taking a deep breath. "what's up?" he asked, seeing the other looking nervous.

"i have something to tell you.."

as they were chatting, you continued to talk about the seance, and you asked corey about the safety precautions they were taking. which were none other than being saged.

"i swear to god if a spirit follows me because you guys are being stupid." you shake your head at them.

everyone assembles on the floor, sitting in a circle. finn sits on one side of vera, while milo sits on the other. you grimace at finn, him shrugging, accepting it.

sam and colby re-enter the hotel room, both looking smug. you let out a sigh of relief, assuming since they were both in a good mood, that they didn't talk about what had happened.

sam takes a seat on your left, while colby, your right. you look to him, seeing a smirk across his lips. you couldn't help but stare, thinking he looked so attractive right then, a bead of sweat falling down his forehead.

sam had his normal gentle smile on his face. "alright, are you guys ready?" he asked, looking to everyone around the circle, before leaning to spill the salt in a circle between the group.

you did honor of lighting a few candles, flicking the lighter. corey began to get really freaked out hearing little noises, feeling things, and noticing the candies moving.

"i have a really bad feeling." he was being really defensive, about doing the seance, refusing because he was thinking about what the physic said.

because of that, he decided to sit out, leaning on the window seat. you all began to hold hands.

sam reached his hand out to you, you taking it. it was soft but he was definitely nervous, the light layer of sweat giving him away. you then gave your other hand to colby, he took it quickly.

his hand was freezing, and more calloused.

you flinched at a sudden noise coming from the closet. corey stood up in awe, shouting. "what was that." "in the closet!" he stood up pointing. "dude! can we stop?"

"i think whenever we hear things it means we should keep going." jake comments, shuffling closer.

"exactly, what's the point of the video if we stop the most important part?" you say, looking into your camera placed next to you.

"yeah we're literally saying lets do this, then-." sam is quickly cut off by corey.

"i hate this crap." he goes to sit on the bed, and watches. sams hand rejoins yours, and everyone closes their eyes for a few seconds, preparing themselves.

sam says a few things, talking to the spirits, telling them they can't harm any of us, while noises in the room pick up. weird knocks from the closet and bangs on the roof.

he encouraged corey to open the door, before he sat back down again.

colby sighed, trying to get him to join the seance, his hand up to gesture with.

he placed it back down, but on your upper thigh, before giving it a squeeze. you lightly gasped at that, everyone too busy to notice. you shot him a glare, only making grip harder.

shaking your head, you noticed corey sitting next to him now. you took the hint to grab the boys hands again.

sam kept speaking, leading the seance, asking about their experiences so far in the night, and acknowledging their room was haunted by a cowboy.

colby spoke up. "you moved the lolipops, we heard you earlier while we were relaxing, it's not time to play games anymore, use our energy, show us you're here."

a candle's light blinked, spooking the boys, followed by more noises coming from the closet. you shivered, sensing something around you.

corey got scared, standing up, followed by colby. "i'm out." he said, hands up.

you gave him a look. "literally why." you rolled your eyes, earning an annoyed face from him.

jake agreed with you, wondering why they would quit after hearing what they wanted.

sam sat his hand on your lower thigh before moving it to your back, reassuring you in this situation. he knew you weren't scared, you were fearless, but he felt he should comfort you regardless.

eventually everyone sat back down again, vera this time quitting, going on her phone in the corner. finn following short after, taking this as a chance to talk to her one on one since they got here.

you close your eyes as noises began to happen again, and right as it's getting good, you get pulled back by sam, grabbing your arm. everyone but jake is rushing to the corners of the room, away from the closet.

corey rushed out of the room, leaving everyone behind. you ripped away from sams grasp, not wanting to follow. he sighed, before telling you he'd be back.

you walked to finn and vera, milo behind you. "this is crazy." he comments, looking out the window to see the guys filming.

"i understand being scared but genuinely what's the point of committing to a seance then disrespecting the spirits willing to talk?" you say, sighing, leaning on vera.

"i'm tired." you yawn, realizing the lack of sleep you've been getting. "to be honest i might go back to our main room."

vera, for once during the trip agrees with you, asking if she can come along. you notice how she avoids milo, even as he's asking her to come to the other room.

finn notices as well. he waits back a few minutes as both of you leave, wanting to talk to his brother.

you glance at vera. she looked upset. "you okay vee?" when she looks up at you, it's obvious she had been crying. "oh my god, are you okay." you grab her face gently.

"no." she begins to sob, pulling you in for a hug. "i'm so stupid y/n.. so stupid to think he would want me for something other than sex."

you comfort her on your way to the room, asking her what happened. "he's been talking to a girl he met in the lobby all day." she pouts. "he told me that he might go have sex with her.. not even 10 minutes ago." you hug her tightly.

"vera, it's okay. he's just a douchebag to not realize what was right infront of him."

"nobody is gonna love me the way i want to be loved." she pours out. you think for a minute, finn..

"vera.. i believe in soulmates okay? and i know you have one for a fact. don't get too upset over milo. we tried to warn you about his behavior, i'm sorry."

"it's okay. i was too blinded by his handsome face." she sighs, wiping her eyes. you feel a vibration in your pocket, pulling out your phone.

you see both a message from colby, and sam. you put it away, focusing on vera. "you'll get over him girl, look at you! you're so gorgeous, and funny, there's someone that will treat you like a princess."

you hear a knock at the door. "hey, it's uh finn." you look to vera, and she nods.

opening the door, you see finn with a already turning black eye. his left eye looked like something out of an action movie. "holy shit!" you shout, before covering your mouth, aware of the noise complaint you've already gotten.

"holy fuck." you whisper. "what happened?"

he shakes his head. "did something i should've done awhile ago. i punched milo." he says proudly, vera poking her head up. she rushes to him, wiping the slight blood away from his face. "andd.. he punched me back."

"jesus." vera exhales. "now why'd you have to go and do that?" finn looks to you, and gestures to your phone. you check the notifications from sam and colby, asking where you had gone.

"ohh." you said, getting the hint to leave. you smirk at him, pulling out a finger gun or two before leaving.

right as you step into the hall, there are the boys. sam notices you immediately, asking what happened. "just a little tussle between brothers over a girl, nothing much." you say. "how's corey? still being a puss?" colby snickers.

"yeah, but we atleast got him back into the room, so he's chilling out now."

you three stand in awkward silence, taking notice of how they look at you. you clear your throat before speaking. "i'm really tired." a yawn slips its way out of your mouth.

"us too. corey's already sleeping, snoring like a madman." sam says, making you giggle.

"it's so loud." colby rolls his eyes.

"i get that, finn snores sometimes. i can usually hear it from the other room in our apartment, boy does it piss me off." you relate to them, before they walk you to your room.

you open the door, looking in to see if milo was around. your eyes widen, seeing his luggage gone. "milo must've called a cab." you say, turning to them.

they both look at you with smug looks, like they had been for most of the night. "if you guys want, you can sleep in here to avoid the snoring." you offer. "but i'm going to fucking bed."

you walk into the bathroom, changing into some pajamas. by pajamas, you mean almost no clothing at all because you get too dang hot.

as you're freshening up you hear a few whispers. "we don't even know if she'd be into that." sam said lowly.

you yawn loudly, coming out of the bathroom.

the way their eyes watched your body.. it drove you crazy. you quickly took notice of their lack of clothes, while in your bed. very bold of them to think you'd let them sleep with you. it was a queen bed but is that really enough for three strangers.

"you guys are surely making yourselves comfortable." you point out, seeing the only space for you was in the middle of them.

sam rubs the back of his neck, apologizing anxiously. "sorry, we can sleep on the couch or something." colby rolls his eyes at his friends behaviour.

"it's okay, as long as you too don't make me sweaty i'll be fine." they look to eachother at that.

jumping into the bed, you get under the covers between them. because you were nervous about the situation, you laid stomach down, face into your pillow.

you would never get tired of this amazing bed, god was it comfortable. and having two attractive, shirtless guys on either side of you made it even better.

you felt the bed dip as they came closer, colby touching you first, his finger trailing along your side. "i like this outfit." he mumbles close to your ear, making you melt.

the feeling of his hand caressing you was something out of a movie or book. it started from your arm, down to your waistline, his finger rubbing light circles between your waist and shorts.

"it's pretty." sam comments. you giggled, clearly seeing how different both of them are. to you, it seemed like colby was teasing you and trying to turn you on, while sam was making you feel like the most important girl in the world. and woah the combination of it made you flustered.

"thanks." you say into the pillow, making colby chuckle. his hand slowly going to your ass, you breathed shakily as it happened, but let him.

and in seconds, he was taking a handful and squishing it, massaging it, whatever you want to call it. he was obsessed with your ass. you propped yourself up slightly, turning onto your back just to frustrate him.

you watched his eyes flicker as he couldn't touch that part of you anymore. your lips were slightly stuck out, pouty almost at the heat you were feeling. "fuck y/n, you're so hot." he blurted out, not regretting it.

you looked to sam, trying to tell his reaction with how dark it was. you couldn't decipher what was happening, and if both of them were coming onto you. it seemed like they both talked about it before hand, and now just needed your permission.

you locked eyes with colby, his hand coming to your neck, and lighting hovering over it.

gulping, you lean back a bit, hesitant. he notices, and goes back to touching your side. "he's right. y/n you're the most gorgeous girl on this planet."

colby didn't like sharing your attention, pulling your face to look at him gently. his eyes flickered to your lips, and you nodded.

his hand slid behind your head, holding you in place as his tongue explored your lips. you kissed back, feeling how passionate he was. his body moving in a rhythm. as he pulled away slowly, he looked at you hungrily.

sam took this as an opportunity. "can i kiss your neck, y/n?" he asked, you nodding frantically. the way you felt right now, it was almost unbearable.

he started kissing your neck area, sucking and biting at your skin. you hoped he didn't leave any marks.. but secretly you craved it, thinking about the way you would show off their lovebites.

you felt colby's mouth on you now too, licking down your stomach till your shorts. he lightly tugged at them, making you move to where he could pull them straight off.

he lightly trailed his hand around your thigh, getting closer and closer to where you wanted him. he moved, getting inbetween your legs, and licking up your thigh.

you let out a raspy moan at the combination of sam's mouth on your neck, and colby's tongue getting closer. once he heard you moan, he came back up to kiss you again.

"you sound pretty needy, princess." he comments, both of them taking back their touches, making you open your eyes.

you look to both of them, colby clearly confident in his teasing. "fuck i want to kill you." you groan, shaking your head as he chuckles.

[missmielyhoran]

Chapter 1

Welcome to Humphrey high my loves...

I don't know shit about the british education system, and tbh it's confusing when I googled it, so I just made one up! But it's a all rounder school, more like fiction people are doing anyone and anything except studying.

Sunshine asshole × Grumpy sweetheart enemies to lovers

[Warnings - Angst, death threats, Harry being asshole as always, y/n having stick up her ass, bullying like a lot of]

Masterlist

*****

Humphrey High was a prestigious school for wealthy families. People from all over the world would send their kids there to get education from exceptional teachers.

It was basically boarding school for rich trust fund babies who have their head up their asses.

The school had seen many things from inappropriate relationships to enemies at each others throat to lovers who would die for each other.

Still, there was one story that stood out the most...

The whole small stadium of school was packed, yet no one dared to make a sound. Sweat glistened down the side her head to her neck as the sun was shining right above her head. It was too hot of a day, but nothing could stop her.

This was the last shot it would either make or break her streak of winning. The scores of both parties were equal, and even she had to admit that after a long time, she found a good opponent. The other girl served, and the intense game was on, but as good as the other could be, she wasn't her. The ball made a loud sound when it hit her racket, making the ball fly just an inch from beside the other girl, insuring her win.

The whole stadium roared while some booed, but there was a single person, the loudest of them all whistling and cheering for her, knowing it would get on her nerves.

Y/N rolled her eyes, looking over the bleacher where he stood with his smug taunting smile. She ignored him and walked towards her coach, who gave her a patt on the back and congratulated her.

There were a few things Y/N was known for, her great skills in tennis, physics, her resting bored face, which rarely turned into a smile and hating Harry Styles. It wasn't like she grew up in a traumatic household or had a traumatized childhood. Well, she did have traumatized childhood and experiences, but she feels like she had always been this way. That's why he called her that stupid nickname-

"My My Wednesday" Harry said, walking towards her, his ring clad fingers making clickling noise as he clapped.

"I will see you at the practice on monday, coach." She nodded her head and picked up her bag, looking around for her best friend who was nowhere to be seen.

"Why you ignore me, darling?" Harry asked, pouting feigning hurt. He was walking backward in front of her, and she had all mind to push him.

So, she did.

He fell on the grass with a thump mumbling a small 'ow' as if falling on grass would hurt him. Y/N took the opportunity and race walked out of the stadium to the parking lot where she saw her friend dry humping with some girl on her car!

"Get off" Y/N said once for all, and the other girl was scrambling off of her car's hood while her friend laughed. She looked at her car for any dent or scratches when there were none she hummed contently. Y/N threw her bag in the backseat while Amelia slid into the passenger seat.

"Next time don't fuck on my car" Y/N said giving Amelia side eyes. Her best friend raised her hands in defeat, knowing the love she had for cars. It wasn't like Y/N was obsessed with cars or has a passion for collecting them (she had), no. It's just this old Mustang she got as a gift that she loves more than anything cause it was given by the only tolerable person in her family, her grandma.

"Did you win?" Amelia asked as Y/N started the car. Y/N gave her a deadpan look and shook her head. "Of course you won it was silly of me to ask" Amelia laughed.

"Hey doll, can you give me a ride with you?" she suddenly heard the infuriating voice again. Harry stood on her car's window, his face way too near hers for her personal taste. It irked her, and he did it more. He knew she hated when people were near her, and he did just that.

He stands way close to her or puts her in a position where she has to be near a lot of people or talk to them. He did everything he could to push her buttons.

"No" Y/N said, and just as her foot was going to accelerator, Harry ran and slid in the back seat.

"Such a sweetheart, aren't you?" He gave her a fake smile and fixed his attention to Amelia.

"Hey, wasn't that the girl from history class?" He asked Lia, earning an eyeroll from Y/N. Y/N wasn't one to judge people for their preferences, but she did judge her best friend's preference in men cause their was one boy she keeps going back to and has almost fucked half school to make him jealous but as always it never works and she has to be the one listening to her cries and rant about how shitty men are.

"Yeah" Amelia agreed with same sly smile as Harry's. "She's so hot I was shocked she even agreed" Amelis laughed.

"Are you kidding me you're hot as fuck. No wonder she agreed" Harry sat back in the car seat like it was his own hands behind his head and all. "Get your friend some too it might get that stick out of her ass" Harry chuckled.

"I don't want something. All I want is for you to get out." Y/N said, looking at Harry through the rearview mirror as his dorm had arrived. He just shook his head and got out of the car. He leaned against the window like before, way too near her for her taste but she didn't back cause that would mean he knows it affected her and she would rather die than admit that anything he does affects her.

"And if you can't find anyone, my dorm is just a garden away" Harry said, "You can get details from your bestie. I can assure you my service is very satisfying. " He winked and gave Amelia a smirk. Y/N glared a whole behind his back as he skipped towards his building while Amelia laughed beside her.

Oh yes, forgot to tell...Amelia and Harry used to fuck. Alot. And yes the service sounded very satisfactory from a thin wall but she will never admit that.

"He's just joking babe calm down." Lia laughed as if it was funniest joke, but all it did was annoy her.

*****

"I just don't understand why he won't even look at me!" Amelia whined, "Am I not pretty?" She asked Y/N sadly.

She looked at her friend and sighed, "You don't look bad" She said and resumed her homework.

"Then why won't he ask me out!?" Amelia let out a loud groan and fell back on bed. Y/N just shook her head and tried to concentrate back at her homework.

"Why won't you ask him out if you're so desperate?" Y/N said and Amelia looked at her like she has 3 heads.

"I'm desperate that stays between you and me. I would rather die than let him know that" She said, "Anyways what are you wearing for the annual ceremony this year?" Amelia asked.

Y/N slammed closed her notebook and put her head down on the desk. Every year except her first she had found a way to dodge going to that god awful ceremony.

It was the time that inncident with him happened and after that she can't stand being near him or go to that ceremony again.

"I'm not going" Y/N said putting an end to the discussion.

"But it's our last year!" Amelia whined, "I don't want to be there alone. Pleasee Y/N" Lia practically begged.

"Don't worry, you will find someone" She said and put her books where they belonged. It was true Lia was the perfect person to exist she was pretty, smart, outgoing, she made friends werever she went just don't let her know Y/N thought all that about her cause she won't let her hear the end of it.

"But I want to go with my bestieee" Lia whined again, giving her best puppy eyes.

"We do this every year, and just like every year, it's not going." She said, going to the washroom to change into her pajamas.

She breathed heavily as she looked into the mirror. She hated crowed places and told everyone and herself also, but she knew why she didn't want to go, really.

*****

So, yeah... this was this. I will write a new chapter soon. I'm also working on the 2nd part of the stages of grief, so that may be out soon also.

Thanks for all love. I love you guys so much<3

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @gxbiqs

Please Like, Comment and Reblog♡

You can tell me how it was here♡

[sincerestlove]

Mother Nature

thank you so much for the request Anon! i hope i did the idea justice!

Request: hii! my sincere welcome to tumblr, hope u find it a great community here 🫶 u said u were taking requests, i really liked ur writing so what about regina george and reader are on their periods but g gets extra mean and r gets super sensitive and emotional?

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: None; just Regina being moody and mean

~

The second you woke up, you knew it was shark week.

You could feel the dull, painful ache in your lower stomach and the tension in your lower back. Your boobs were sore and to top it all off, you could feel a migraine working its way to the front of your head.

Yeah, today was going to be hell.

Sluggishly dragging yourself out of bed, you somehow managed to get ready for school, gathering all of your things into your backpack. You were about to text your girlfriend, Regina, who picked you up for school every morning, when you heard her obnoxious car horn outside your window. You figured she'd stop after her usual 3, but no.

She kept honking.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way downstairs and out the door. The second you laid your eyes on the blonde, you could tell she was in a bad mood. She looked stunning as usual though, clad in a pretty multicolored pink top, pink high-waisted jeans and her signature docs. It was Wednesday, after all.

"You want to stop staring and get in the car?" Regina all but snapped at you, bright blue eyes icy cold as they glared at you. You didn't respond but did as she asked, settling into the passengers seat. You leaned over to press a kiss to her cheek, but she leaned away, brushing you off.

Okay, ouch.

"Don't, Y/N. I did my makeup perfectly, today. You'd just mess it up."

You felt the harsh pang of sadness and hurt settle deep in your chest, turning away from her to stare out the window. The rest of the car ride to school was silent, thankfully. When you arrived and Regina parked the car in her usual spot, you rushed out, not stopping to hear anything more from her. She didn't say anything, anyway.

~~~

The rest of the day dragged on uneventfully, the only notable event being that your migraine had gotten substantially worse. By lunch time, your vision was blurry and you could barely keep your eyes open. Regina hadn't texted you all day either, which only made your mood worse than it already was. You were used to secretly texting in class, but she hadn't reached out at all. Settling at the Plastic's lunch table, you were the first one there, and decided to lay your head down, offering you some minimal but much needed relief.

"What are you doing? You look ridiculous, sit up." You looked up to see Regina towered over you, arms crossed, an annoyed look on her face. "God, you look awful. What, did you get hit by a bus?" She all but laughed at you, a sneer resting on her pretty lips.

You didn't know what her problem was, but ever since this morning, she had been mean to you. One thing about Regina that you knew for a fact, was that she was always nice to you. Ever since you met, she had been nothing but sweet. She had a soft spot for you. But today, something changed. You had enough of her bitchiness for one day.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, a few of them falling down your cheeks. When Regina saw them, her expression changed, eyes softening, her hands reaching out to you. You swatted them away, standing up from the lunch table. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going home." Without another word, you grabbed your backpack and made your way to the front doors of the school. This time, you heard Regina call out for you, but you didn't turn around.

You made it halfway down the walkway when you began seeing spots in your vision and fell to the ground. You groaned in pain, hands coming up to hold your throbbing head. Regina called out for you again, a moment later feeling her arms wrap around you. "Y/N, hey, what happened?!" That was the last thing you heard before everything faded to black.

~~~

When you opened your eyes again, you were laid in the nurse's office, headache still pounding against your temples. "Y/N?" Warm hands cupped your face, turning your head to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes filled with worry.

You smiled softly taking hold of her hand into yours. "Hi." She sighed with relief, leaning down to take your lips into a gentle kiss. She brought you into a tight hug, nosing herself deeper into your neck.

"God, I was so worried. I didn't know what happened to you, I just saw you fall." She rushed out, voice breaking at the end. You shook your head, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm fine, Gina. I'm just on my period. I think it's because I haven't eaten or drank anything all day and on top of my emotions, it caught up to me."

She lifted her head, meeting your gaze. "Y/N, I'm so sorry for being a bitch to you. I woke up and started my period today, too, which just ruined my whole mood." She sighed, brushing her thumbs over my cheeks. "But that doesn't excuse how I treated you and how I acted. I'm so sorry for hurting you and making you cry. I'm so sorry."

You saw tears bubbling up in Regina's eyes, making your heart ache. You knew she wouldn't and couldn't be mean to you without something going on. "It's okay, Gina. I know you didn't mean it, I was just hurt and confused. I didn't know if you hated me, or what."

"Of course not. I could never ever hate you. I'm sorry, baby." Regina kissed you then, running her hands up and down your shoulders soothingly. "I promise I will make it up to you. For now, c'mon, let's get you some painkillers, food and water."

You nodded gratefully, taking the hand she offered you. Leading you out of the nurses office, she guided you to the cafeteria and sat you down at the table. She kissed you once more, before walking off to the lunch line.

Gretchen, Karen and Cady were all staring at you like you were an alien.

"What, is there something on my face?" You reached up, wiping a hand on your eyebrows and cheeks.

The three girls smiled at each other knowingly. "Yeah, it's called Regina George's complete love and adoration."

You rolled your eyes at them, falling into familiar banter and gossip about the happenings of the school. Regina returned a few minutes later, armed with a full tray, a bottle of water and an Advil. You smiled at her warmly, waiting until she sat down beside you to kiss her. "Thank you, Gina." You mumbled against her lips, feeling her smile.

"You're welcome, baby."

~

i hope you enjoyed!

please leave requests if you have any ideas! :)

[letorip]

| Welcome Desk

leto (or soren, if we’re cool like that 🤨) ☆ 19 year old ☆ he/him ☆ trying not to suck at writing ☆ fuck the idf ☆ cis straight ally

if you have any questions, click that lil ‘ask away’ button at the top or shoot me a message

REQUESTS: closed until i regain my bearings

| Masterlist

jenna ortega (celebrity)

don't delete the kisses tiny moves maps not allowed j’s lullaby

best kisser character headcanons clingiest character headcanons meeting/first date character headcanons tall reader character headcanons

wednesday addams (wednesday)

somethin' stupid ☆ somethin' stupid [ii] ☆ somethin' stupid [iii] ☆ somethin’ stupid [vi] crimson & clover ☆ crimson & clover [ii] ur so pretty aline the way things go

obsessive headcanons jealous headcanons

tara carpenter (scream)

kiss with a fist ☆ kiss with a fist [ii] ☆ kiss with a fist [iii] ☆ kiss with a fist [iv] ☆ kiss with a fist [v] hot to go! nothing’s gonna hurt you baby

headcanons clingy headcanons

lorraine day (x)

the house on prairie street

headcanons

cairo sweet (miller's girl)

i heard your name ☆ i heard your name [ii] ☆ i heard your name [iii] ☆ i heard your name [iv] intolewd second nature

headcanons

mabel (finestkind)

paper bag

headcanons

vada cavell (the fallout)

headcanons

lucy maclean (fallout)

(you) on my arm accentuate the positive

natalie scatorccio (yellowjackets)

casual ☆ casual [ii] ☆ casual [iii] i bet on losing dogs i'm not in love twin size mattress

headcanons

lottie matthews (yellowjackets)

linger your best american girl always an angel, never a god